“In the grim, dark future of ponykind, the world is trapped in an impenetrable shadow of evil. Very infrequently, distinguished individuals take a stand to try and alter the course of reality as they see fit. In these times when heroes and villains can no longer be classified into clear definitions of good or evil, there are moments when the very boundaries of the universe are pushed to their limits. At the end of the day, be they machine, ghoul, seapony, pegasus, unicorn, or champion, all are still ponies. Furth—”

“Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t ya?” came the sarcastic verbal jab of a sea-green unicorn. He had braided white and black hair and was leaning in from the restaurant window, his hooves hanging over the windowsill near the corner booth of the cafe.

“Oh, I’m just trying to set the scene and—shut the hell up!” the other unicorn in the booth screamed. He looked young, especially with his dangerously long blond mane and his well-groomed ashy gray coat. The sheer volume of his voice sent the window-borne pony further into the decorative pool out in front of the diner. A large dolphin-like tail flipped upwards with a splash, flinging a small torrent of water into the booth. Twisting his fins around, Riptide lifted himself back up to the window.

More and more patrons began filing into the diner in short order, all of them in various levels of costume. Some looked as if they’d clawed their way straight out of the grave, their coats perfect likenesses of rotten flesh save for their faces, where masks had been peeled or otherwise washed off. Others wore casual clothes or no clothes at all. Some still wore their filming equipment or rigging gear, which probably meant they’d been released for a break before returning to work.

“Looks like the pre-costume department rush is coming in,” Riptide mused. “Everypony wants a quick bite before they wait for a straight hour for someone to undress them.”

A young stallion with an apron bustled by, moving from table to table busily collecting dishes and wiping down the recently vacated tables. He was an earth pony with a red coat and a blonde mane.

“Heyo, Understudy, still working the commissary? Or are you method acting today?” Riptide jibed from across the table. The stallion looked up and rolled his eyes, smiling.

“Looks like we’re a few stars short,” Understudy noted amiably, brandishing a tray laden with five drinks of differing sorts before passing them out to all of the seats starting with the furthest. “Another orange juice for the seapony,” he said, passing the refreshment to Riptide who was leaning in through the window.

“You are a gentlepony and a scholar.” Riptide sucked down the remainder of his original orange juice through an extended curly straw. Removing the empty glass from the table, the waiter carefully positioned the full one so that Riptide could drop the straw into the bright yellow beverage.

“And here’s a Fix-it PhD for the one and only Inkwell.” A dewy silver can bearing a pleasant swirl of white and dark reds and a grinning doctor pony was gently placed on the table along with a cup full of ice, the cubes within tinkling softly as they settled within the glass.

“Much appreciated,” the unicorn smoothly responded.

“Three double espressos, extra vanilla, and extra cherry syrup for Frosty Winds the caffeine addict, whenever she arrives; strawberry juice for the equally missing suave rogue that is Mach; and I’m pretty sure I know what Frost Windchill wants, but we’ll see once he gets in.” A massive dark mug with large bold lettering embossed around the circumference scraped across the table, followed by a small pink carton bearing the picture of a ripe strawberry.

“When are the other three supposed to get here?” Riptide inquired, turning to Inkwell with a raised eyebrow. “I know that they were going to see if Littlepip wanted to join us, but it’s not that long of a walk to her trailer.”

Right at that moment, a very exhausted-looking teal pegasus drifted down into the cafe through the open skylight. She looked left and right, whipping around her white mane before identifying the booth occupied by her friends. A few random stripes of blue still showed in her mane and short tail, displaying plainly that she’d just gotten off set. There were traces of dark circles under her eyes that even her makeup couldn’t cover. Riptide smirked as she dropped in.

“Had to fight the autographers?” Riptide verbally poked the pegasus. “How many siggies did you have to give up?”

“Nah. Filming stretched out longer than expected, then the costume and makeup department happened. Ugh, I hate having to wear a giant, green ping pong ball-studded boot for twenty hours a day.” Frosty pulled her favorite ‘I hate days that have vowels in them’ mug right up to her face and inhaled the enriching scent of her ninth coffee of the day. “At least filming is done for the week, so I can finally relax.”

“I’d gladly wear that boot if it meant not having to film in a hot studio wearing a stifling full-body suit with fake snow everywhere,” Inkwell snorted, recounting his own morning on set.

“C’mon, Inky. It can’t be that bad. I’m basically wearing what you usually are on set sans the helmet.” Frosty ruffled her feathers and settled into her seat. “You’re just jealous I’m cooler.”

“Just keep cool on camera.” Inkwell waved at the nearest visible one. “Please tell me you read your mail. Or skimmed it, at least.”

Obviously not having read her mail, Frosty happily chirped, “Oh, I love getting paid.”

Riptide stifled a snigger. “Frosty. Cool. Teehee.”

“Don’t even try that with me today,” Frosty warned.

"I do my own stunts, Frosty—I will throw down with you." He raised his hoof, pointing at the smug mare.

"Oooh, I'm so scared that you'll splash water all over me. The. Horror." Frosty leaned back in her chair in a mock display of fear. “You might mess up my mane. Don’t get me started on my very extensive makeup.”

Inkwell sighed, “Girls, girls, I don’t care if it’s that time of the month. Stop squabbling about who’s got prettier lipstick.” Riptide looked like his head was about to explode from the thoughts building up in his mind.

“You bet your ass I’ve got prettier lipstick,” Frosty taunted with a flip of her mane.

“I DON’T HAVE AN ASS!” Riptide wailed, half in outrage and half in crushing disappointment.

Frosty’s victorious smirk turned into a puzzled frown. “Huh. You do make a really good point. Damn, there goes half of my material, too.”

With a deafening crash, the door to the small cafe slammed open and rebounded against the wall, letting in the outside sunlight and, along with it, the sound of hundreds of excitedly screaming mares. The three ponies seated at the table each turned to look toward the source of the commotion, all of them aware of who it was before they even turned.

True to their guess, a blood-red pegasus galloped through the door, darting nimbly to the side and out of sight before pressing his back tightly to the wall, looking rather harried. The cause for his behavior became apparent scant moments later when a group of clamoring fanfillies attempted to cram themselves through the door all at once, causing complete gridlock within the doorframe. Although he appeared to be trying to hide it behind a mask of inconvenience, the pony's smug sense of self-satisfaction was betrayed by the massive grin plastered all over his face.

Once security had dealt with the rampaging horde, the pegasus breathed a sigh of relief and trotted over to join the group at the table.

"Fanfillies, I swear," the pegasus said, still grinning a mile wide. "I think it's the wings, you know? Drives 'em nuts. Or maybe it's my ridiculously well-toned muscles. Or maybe my pearly whites," he said, flashing that grin again. "What do you think, beautiful? Any input on this?" the pegasus asked, unfurling a massive wing and curling it around Frosty's shoulders.

“I do like the wings, but keep ‘em to yourself, Mach.” Frosty hid her embarrassed grin behind a quick retort. “I’m sure your legal puppies would enjoy solving yet another suit of sexual harassment.”

“Shot down while I'm in character on set, shot down when I've got you away from the cameras… you can only hold out for so long, baby. All the fillies cave in eventually. C'mon, Frosty, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure wants you to buy me my next coffee. Maybe then we’ll talk.” Frosty contentedly sighed into her mug. “Mmm… espresso.”

“HEY, CAN I GET SOME FREAKIN’ SERVICE OVER HERE!?” Mach bellowed, glaring around in an undignified manner, as if expecting ponies to be there to wait on him the minute he’d strode through the door. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a strawberry juice over here? I CAN ONLY EAT AND DRINK THINGS THAT ARE THE SAME COLOR AS MY COAT! ANYTHING ELSE IS UNACCEPTABLE!” he roared again, slamming a hoof down on the table before noticing the beverage already waiting nearby. “Oh, it’s already here,” he murmured, taking a sip before turning to Frosty, expression completely neutral as if he hadn’t just caused a scene with his obnoxious outburst.

“Very smooth.” Frosty nudged Mach in the ribs.

Mach scooted fractionally closer to the mare in question. “Got any feelings for your favorite stallion in the Wasteland?”

“Let’s pull it back a few notches. We’re off-set, so at least I won’t have to tolerate your wimpy set attitude all evening,” the teal-coated mare teasingly retorted. “Besides, you’re just mad that I’m a hard counter to you.”

“Oh, ow. Ow, Frosty. Ow,” Mach said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve shut me down, whatever shall I do?” Mach’s playful grin slowly faded as Frosty self-satisfactorily began to drain her massive mug, and a nagging question came to his mind. “How much are those, anyway?”

“Let’s see…” Frosty stared into the mug. “Three espressos for forty bits each, cherry syrup for ten bits, vanilla syrup for ten bits, I think. There’s also that stupid, scrubby ‘all-natural’ sugar bull—”

“Uh…” Mach uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

“—and one spurtzamajig of whipped cream for another three bits.”

“Is that a real unit of measurement…?” Mach muttered softly to himself. “Um, you know what? I think I left my wallet in my armor prop,” Mach stated with an awkward cough. "A-anyway… where, uh… where's Little Miss Pip?"

“I thought you went to ask.” Riptide frowned, sending up little splashes of water as he changed leaning positions.

“Wait, why me? Didn’t we agree that you’d be going?” Mach asked, glaring at the seapony in the window.

Frosty’s head came off the table and she dragged her mug back to her. "Word has it she’s got a prior engagement with somepony else. Homage, probably."

Everypony gathered at the table nearly simultaneously came to the exact same conclusion. "They're banging."

There was a lull in the conversation as laughter petered out and the gathering of ponies consulted their drinks for new topics. Inkwell poured the remainder of his Fix-it PhD into his glass. “So, what’s everypony been doing on set?”

Riptide recounted the latest bits of filming in the Oceania Arc. “Well, we finally got to the damn island. And maybe we can actually move the plot along. Gotta admit, costume department did a freaking amazing job on Sugar. You’d think she actually was full of wires. None of the green screen crap.”

“Sheesh, all I do is green screen at this point.” Frosty eagerly gulped down the last dregs of her coffee. “We’ve gotten to the point where after filming whatever scene we’re on, I need to immediately change outfits after takes so that my character can talk to herself. You know how hard it is to look at empty air where another character is supposed to be and deliver lines and reactions? This isn’t what I became an actor for.”

“Don’t they have stand-ins for that stuff? Y’know, so you don’t look like a stupid doofus talking to thin air?”

“Here’s the thing—we spent too many bits on special effects, so I just have to make do with what I’ve got.” Frosty shoved a hoof into her mug and gleefully eyed the glob of cherry syrup stuck to it upon withdrawal. “It’s too bad that my stunt double can’t act for shit.”

"You think you guys have it bad? Come take a peek the next time I’m shooting, I guarantee you’ll cringe at how lame my character can be,” Mach scoffed. “A whinier, more angsty person I've never met in my life. Seriously, the guy has insane daddy issues, and he's a stallion. That's a total mare problem. Not only that, but he turns into a blubbering wreck whenever he's faced with his own mortality. Come on, seriously? Buck up! Face your doom like a stallion, not a scared little filly! Sweet Celestia, my producer is out of his mind if he thinks anypony will buy a ticket to watch this drivel."

Inkwell snorted sarcastically, “Oh, it’s just sooooo terrible for you. I’ve seen what you get up to after filming, Mach. Lazing about the beach, trying to catch yourself a nice piece of flank. I have to wear this clunky cumbersome power armor outfit every day and then I have to wade through ‘ice cold snow’ in a insulated little studio. Snow as deep as my chin! MY CHIN!”

As the others chattered, a green-furred unicorn with a sharp muzzle and a rough beard entered the cafe with far less commotion than the previous patron, wearing a full set of Lunar Guard armor. Even if it was just a costume, it looked just as imposing—and heavy—as the real thing. The predatory slits of his irises and the subtle amber tint of his eyes completed the image. His mane and tail were a greasy black, the former poking out from his helm ever so slightly. He spared a quick glance at the others and settled down at the counter. “Strawberry daiquiri,” he said in a grave, smooth voice.

Understudy grunted, “Frost, you know we don’t have those.”

“Still?” The green unicorn frowned. “Hard lemonade.”

The waiter nodded and quickly returned with a small, frosty glass bottle filled with lemonade. The green unicorn let out a sigh of relief as his drink arrived, firing up his horn with a soft-blue glow and popping the cap off to take a long, drawn-out sip as if savoring the drink.

Inkwell swirled the ice in his cup. “Hey, Frost. How’s it going?”

Reflexively, both Frosty and Frost both looked up. “Huh?”

Frosty instantly realized she wasn't being talked to. "I should really remember how to listen carefully," She muttered to nopony in particular.

Inkwell fought to suppress a chuckle, then added,“Oh, careful with the language. We’re on camera.”

Frost Windchill glanced off to the side. “Cameras? What, are they—oh, don’t tell me they’re filming this! I have enough mo—”

Mach let loose an epic belch that rattled the entire table’s drinks.

“—to deal with just playing the damn guy!”

“Yep. They are, unfortunately.” Mach adjusted the straw in his juice box. “And cool it with the language, huh? You know what they say: profanity is the effort of a feeble brain to express itself forcibly.”

“What, do we have to be in—”

Frosty loudly groaned and rubbed her eyes with both hooves.

“—ing-character for this too?” Frost scowled.

“Nah, just act natural.” Riptide began to balance a plastic water lily on his nose. “You know. Recognition. Profit. Licensing fees. Hey, at least we’re still getting paid for this.”

A teal hoof went up. “I like money.”

“Fine,” Frost grunted. “It’s bad enough acting as a schizophrenic anti-hero with CGI cryomancy. Too many damn retakes… the hay do they expect me to pull that off perfectly?”

“Don’t you get paid the most out of all of us?” Frosty asked.

Frost turned his cold glare to the pegasus. “What’s it to you?”

“Hey, any of you get pestered by this one reporter?” Inkwell interjected, quickly changing the subject before anything more physical broke out again.

“What, huge sunglasses, horrible pink coat?” Frosty asked, her curiosity piqued.

“She shoves a microphone in your face and immediately starts asking stupid questions, right?” Frost grunted.

“Yeah, something like that.” Inkwell nodded.

“Hey, wait I’ve got a story—she asked me ‘what do you do in your free time?’ yesterday.” Frosty excitedly sat up with a flutter of her wings and a dramatic foreleg flourish.

“And?” Riptide leaned in further, awaiting an answer.

Frosty began to laugh. “In my mind, I was like ‘say masturbate, it’ll be funny’.”

“So what happened?” Mach eagerly asked, leaning in expectantly.

Suddenly, Frosty was the center of attention from the four other ponies at the table that were all waiting with bated breath for her to continue. “Not much. I told her to buzz off and talk to my agent,” she awkwardly responded, ears lowered in embarrassment.

There was a collective groan from the gathered actors. “Aww, and I was hoping it would be something more interesting.” Riptide flopped backward into the pool with a resounding splash.

“Woah, what’s with the evening crowd?” Mach asked, shifting uncomfortably when he noticed that the diner was considerably more populated than it normally was at this time. “I don’t like big crowds. I have way too many unpleasant memories of overzealous fans. Have you ever been glomped by a four-hundred pound fanfilly? It’s no picnic. It’s like being dive-bombed by a blue whale.”

“What was it…?” Inkwell scratched his chin. “I heard they’re filming ‘Too Many Doctors: The Return’. It’s just another one of Quick Sell’s D-rated movies.”

“What was their tagline?” Frost huffed, setting aside another empty bottle. “Something about death?”

“I believe it was… ‘Time for a second opinion’, right?” Frosty attempted to dramatically draw out the movie’s terrible catchphrase. “I think it’s a suitably corny title.”

Frost stared blankly at the cyan mare. “…I was close.”

“…no, you weren’t,” Frosty replied. “A second opinion is nowhere close to death. Well, in this case it isn’t.”

Juice was noisily slurped up through Riptide’s long curly straw. “Goddesses… that is really corny.”

“It gets better—there are zombies and sea monsters.” Frosty failed to stifle a hysterical laugh. “I’m surprised that there aren’t giant robots as well!”

“What.” Frost slumped his shoulders. “Ugh, the things movies get away with…”

“Says the pony that plays a rehydrated, freeze-dried Lunar Guard that loves those little cute flippy knives,” Frosty jokingly pointed out, then paused in thought. “Well, I guess this is also coming from the pony that plays a partly robot pegasus with an obvious hot-filly-with-a-big-gun thing going for it. Hmm.”

“Zombies and b—”

Mach loudly slurped at his empty juice box.

“—ing sea monsters are worse,” Frost grunted back. “Don’t argue.”

“Hey guys, my shift’s almost over, so this lovely mare will be taking over drinks and snacks.” Understudy nodded his head at the mare standing next to him. “This is High Tide. She’s a friend of mine and she used to work at the ‘Take-out’s Totally Terrific Themed Tacos’ on the other side of the lot.”

A bubbly little waitresspony trotted up to the table where the group had settled in, a little name tag on her work blouse declaring her to be High Tide. She was a cornflower-coated unicorn with a cutie mark of a tray loaded with meals. Her chestnut-brown mane was tied up into a manageable ponytail, and she wore a waist apron tied around her midsection just beneath her work blouse. A pen and a little booklet for taking orders were neatly tucked away in a pocket.

She wore a big smile as she approached the group, horn flaring into life and pulling her order book out to hold at the ready. Her demeanor was pleasant and inviting, and she paused to quickly scan the table before speaking.

"How is everything going so far?” High Tide immediately chirped. “Can I get anypony anything? Refills? Would you like to start things off with an appetizer, or are you ready to order?"

Frosty peered into her mug and swirled it around. “I require additional caffeine.” She gently slid the heavy ceramic container across the table to High Tide.

The mug was levitated onto a small tray on High Tide’s back. “No problem! What were you having?” she asked.

“Just the usual.” Frosty caught High Tide’s momentarily confused look. “I’ve spent a fortune on coffee here. Placeholder’s been making my coffee for months now. He’ll know.”

Riptide waved his hoof. “More orange juice!”

“Gladly!” The empty glass joined Frosty’s mug. “And what about you, sir?”

It took a second for Frost to realize he was being addressed. “Sure, whatever.”

“I might as well get another soda then,” Inkwell sighed.

Mach expectantly held up his empty juice box. “One more of these, too! Oh, and could you bring some of those spicy tomato chip things as well? Red warrior need food. Badly!”

“Ooh, on the topic of food… I know Placeholder’s got some of that killer blueberry buckle hidden somewhere,” Frosty interjected. “And I’m not going to believe his ‘I ate all of it’ excuse!”

High Tide finished writing everything down in her pad. “Excellent! Your drinks and food will be along shortly.” She gave the group a giddy grin before heading to a different table.

With drinks and introductions taken care of, Understudy returned and pulled up a chair stolen from another table to add to the end of the booth. He left the table again and came back with an assortment of books and a box. “Okay fillies and colts, you know the drill. Scoot the drinks and stuff back and wipe up your messes. I don’t want more salsa on my boards.” Obediently, everypony sitting at the table hastily wiped up their section of table with their fetlocks or somepony else’s fetlocks.

“Hey!” Mach tugged his hoof away from Frosty. “Use your own!”

“Coffee stains don’t come out of my fur very well,” the teal mare simply replied.

“After what happened last time and considering the circumstances, I think it might be best if you all rolled up new characters,” Understudy sighed, mentally recounting the disaster a few days ago while laying out the game board and the models he had retrieved from the box. “This week’s ‘Guns and Ghouls’ campaign will be an original draft, courtesy of yours truly.”

Paper and an assortment of pencils and quills were produced from various undisclosed locations. From within the innards of a large box, Understudy drew dice and reference books for use by the present company.

“Hey, Frosty, want to play Sniper?” Mach asked, giving the pegasus mare a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You’re a sniper on set, right? A good one? Should be like jumping right back into your role.”

Frosty shook her head. “Sounds too much like work. I think I’d like to play a necro for once. After I got this job, sci-fi future post-apoc stuff just doesn’t do it for me anymore. And I know this game supports the Dungeon Adventurers rules, so fantasy classes are totally legit.”

“You? I really can’t see you as being the dark and edgy crazy enchantress,” Mach jokingly teased. “Although I can picture you in a sexy, dark gothic outfit done up in red and black.”

Inkwell sighed. “He makes a point. You can go right ahead, but I just can’t see you being all shadowy and brooding.”

“C’mon, I could totally be the necromancer!” A shadow appeared to loom over Frosty’s face. “Imagine the following scene, if you will.”

The clock tower struck midnight. All around the knight, fog began to swirl and collect at his hooves. Gargoyles and headstones cast menacing shadows in the moonlit graveyard. Out of the mist emerged a shadowy cloaked figure, magical glowing blue staff tucked under one wing. The figure waved her staff a few times in the air before forcefully slamming it down on the ground, cracking weathered stone and dirt alike. A lance of dark eldritch magic burst from the staff and lanced into the ground.

Skeletal hooves burst forth from the dirt, a mysterious pulsing beat moving the bones. “Behold, the catastrophic power of… DISCO,” Frosty cackled. “Fear the necrodancer!”

Blank stares.

“No,” Frost stated simply.

“Yeah, that might be a bit much,” Inkwell agreed. “And it’s a little corny, too.”

“I dunno, I thought it sounded kinda neat,” Mach said with a shrug. “Progressive, even.”

“Brownnoser,” Frost mumbled.

“Stuff it, you miserable butt! Try shifting your paradigm for once! Who knows? You might actually have fun!”

“I had fun once,” Frost deadpanned. “It was awful.”

“Why are you always giving me the business, anyway? What did I ever do to you?” Mach asked, agitated.

“I just don’t like you,” Frost said simply.

“What? That’s impossible!” Mach stated incredulously. “Everypony likes me!”

“The fact that you take that as a given is exactly why I don't.”

“I think you owe it to me to at least level with me.”

“I find you boorish and obnoxious, and your disrespect towards the princesses irritates me to no end,” Frost said, placing both forehooves on the table and glaring straight across its well-polished surface at Mach as he said it.

“You can’t judge me on my performance, I like the princesses just as much as everypony else!” Mach replied defensively, looking to the other ponies seated around him for aid. “I can’t help it if my character is a blasphemer! Talk to my director!”

“I think you could read your lines with a little less conviction, if that’s the case,” Frost nickered. “You don’t have to sound quite so committed to the belief that they’re regular ponies and not in a league entirely their own.”

“You’re just acting all elitist because you get to work so closely with them. The rest of us should be so lucky. My billing isn’t good enough for either of them to make guest appearances. And aren’t you supposed to be making the point that they’re just ponies like us?”

“All right, settle down you two,” Inkwell interjected, attempting to make peace. “It’s the same thing every time we gather here. You’re always butting heads with each other. We’re here to have fun, right? Let’s have fun, then.”

“Fine,” both ponies grumbled sourly, intentionally averting their gazes from each other to stare at separate corners of the room.

“Never mind, I’ll just be the party tank,” Frosty sighed. “The true power of the Necrodancer might not be ready for the world.”

“Rogue,” Frost quickly uttered in a deadbeat tone. “The Masked Felon. Five strength, eight perception, four endurance, five charisma, five intelligence, eight agility, five luck.”

“Dude, you’re always rogue,” Riptide complained, splashing his tail in the pool behind him. “Why can’t I be the rogue? And seriously? Unhonored?”

Frost sighed and proceeded to kick a nearby chair over as he stood up and set his forelegs onto the table, “Well sorry I can’t shake the—”

Riptide violently sneezed.

“—mn character off, okay?! I can’t get him out of my head! It’s like he’s—”

Riptide sneezed again.

“—king with my head and I’ve—”

Riptide sneezed so hard that he launched himself backwards into the pool with a resounding splash.

“—ing become him, okay? Do you know how—”

Riptide noisily hauled himself out of the water and blew his nose with the napkin that was offered to him by Inkwell.

“—ng hard it is to play him? I have to think like him, move like him, and it’s so—”

High Tide returned with her tray laden with the group’s requested items, everypony’s murmurs of thanks drowning out Frost’s angry tirade. Mostly.

“—ing demanding! Sorry! So let me be the goddesses-damn rogue with the damn name and the—”

“Whoa dude, take a pill! Just… calm down, will you? Shh, we’re calm now. Do your exercises!” Mach encouraged, holding his hooves up to his ears. “Woosah.”

Frosty gave the green unicorn a worried glance. “Getting in character is all part of the job, but isn’t that a bit… much?”

“Fine, you can be the rogue,” Inkwell sighed.

Frost finally eased up and slumped back in his seat. “Rogue. The Masked Felon. Five strength, eight perception, four endurance, five charisma, five intelligence, eight agility, five luck.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed among the group, some more hastily than others.

Riptide craned his neck, looking at the others at the table. He nodded his head, understanding some hidden fact or situation. “I’m playing a Cleric-type character. Let’s see… seven intelligence, five strength, six agility, four charisma, five endurance, five perception. Serenity, unicorn priestess of the Goddess of Alcohol and Revelry.”

“Ah, yes, many an ancient theological text speak of the prowess of the deity of late night parties,” Frosty said sarcastically. “And her one memorable commandment—thou shalt don the effervescent toga to the fifth day!”

“Would you prefer her to worship the god of anal penetration?” Riptide snarked back.

“As funny as that would be, let’s go with no,” Frosty replied, looking up from the character sheet she was busy putting the finishing touches on.

“Right then! She has the stabby stabs of a spear gun and a bottle of Redrum,” Riptide elaborated.

The gray unicorn beside him sighed. “So, it looks like I’ll be playing the most normal character out of all of us. Not like that’s anything new.”

“You’re just jealous that Serenity’s prettier than—” Riptide leaned in to take a better look at Inkwell’s character sheet. “—‘Charuoal the arsunist’? That’s a terrible name.”

“Pfft, how many U’s in that? Like, five?” Mach snickered. “Is that even a word?”

“That’s not a ‘U’, that’s a ‘C’,” Inkwell growled, furiously erasing his character’s name and writing it again more neatly, this time much more careful about the tidiness of his writing. “And hey, with seven agility and luck, six endurance and intelligence, and four charisma, he’s the most balanced of the group.”

“So, what’s his angle?” Mach off-hoofedly asked, busy with his own character.

Many hooves met faces. “He’s an arsonist. He burns things.” Inkwell sighed again.

“Hey, that’s fantastic.” Mach nodded, apparently having stopped listening nearly the moment Inkwell started talking. “Truly enthralling.”

“Yes, these stats will do perfectly!” Frosty triumphantly slammed the reference book shut and blew off the eraser shavings stuck to her paper. “Ten strength, ten endurance, ten luck, two in charisma and perception, Three in intelligence and agility. Meet Beefsteak… BEEFSTEAK McRAGEPECS THE MINOTAUR!”

“I'm afraid your Super Sledge will be no match for the heavy machine gun of griffon heavy gunner Kurtis Warhawk!” Mach said excitedly, knocking over his juice box in his unbridled eagerness when he made a grand sweeping gesture with his hooves, as if hefting a heavy weapon. “Strength and endurance eight, perception and intelligence six, charisma three, agility five, and luck four. Everything will be dead before you get to it, sweet cheeks! Everything!”

“See, there’s a problem with that,” Frost huffed. “You actually need to be smart in order to play a character with above-average intelligence.”

“Somepony get the medic, we’ve got a major buuuurn!” Riptide crowed.

Inkwell covered the ear closest to the seapony. “Ow. Not so loud.”

“No suh!” Mach pouted. “No burn! Get bent, Ice Cube!”

“Minotaurs do have pectoral muscles, right? Can his pecs have pecs?” Frosty energetically bounced in her seat. “Wait, can I name his Super Sledge ‘The Meat Tenderizer’? That’d be awesome!”

As the group of actors continued to excitedly discuss their characters, Understudy finally finished putting the finishing touches on his campaign. “Are we prepared to begin?”

“Rock ‘n’ roll!” Mach exclaimed.

Frost managed a somewhat enthusiastic, “Eh.”

“Let’s do it,” Frosty happily mumbled into her mug.

Inkwell nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Yay!” Riptide pumped one of his hooves in the air.

“And so, our five brave Wasteland heroes venture forth into a brand new adventure...”