//------------------------------// // The Trouble with Fallout // Story: Night Clerk Whooves // by No one is home //------------------------------// I hate Equestrian Wastelands.  Their lousy with fallout, for one, literally radiation everywhere.  And don’t get me started on the fucking weather. But the worst thing is the damn ponies who show up at an all night caravan stop at 2 o’clock in the morning.  Sun and Moon can’t keep a rhythm between the two, and somehow there’s still a two o’clock in the morning. And somehow there’s still a bar crowd, because despite the eternal nuclear hellscape, of course there’s still a bar right up the road.  It really sucks to work the graveyard shift in a universe like this. Which is why they pay slightly better than average… once you figure in the exchange rate on bottle-caps… “Welcome to Slurp and Burp, I am the Night  Clerk, how can I help you?” Obviously they’re about to rob the place, but the words kinda come with the job.  “We keep fifty caps in the register and the Sales Clerk on duty does not have access to the safe” “I told you, Wacko,”  the female raider whined, I noted her cutie mark was a crosshair on a pony silhouette. Pretty tame for a raider, but who was I to judge.  Ain’t no good pony awake and refueling at two in the morning. I ain’t never been no different. “He got some way in the safe!  Just shut up and keep pointing your bloody plasma on his head!  You don’t open that safe and there ain’t gonna be nothing but goo to mop up!” His cutie mark was a stick, stabbing an eye.  Now that’s the kinda mark I love in a universe like this.  Easy to read as a headline, and as predictable as the rising sun.  Which in these post-apocalyptic Equestias was is not actually very predictable.  Sunrise... random as fuck… But I digress, and continue, “That sounds like the day shift’s problem.  Obliously *I* ain’t gonna be mopping up that goo…” “Do you think I’m joking?!?!” Mr. Pokey Eye demanded. “Not really,” I tried not to roll my eyes, I really did, “But do you really think there’s such a thing as ‘more dead’?  I mean. Gun size stopped being more intimidating like five sizes ago!” “Hey!” Eye Poke Objected as ‘sniper girl just kinda watched. “I ain’t…” “Don’t care… you want me to open the safe… I ain’t got a key.”  I had to be grinning like the cat that didn’t get caught in nuclear flash.  “But I do got a sonic pipe wrench… wanna see it?” “Wait a what?”  The mare asked suddenly… I always had a soft spot for that pony curiousity. “Sonic Pipe Wrench,” I replied easily as I pulled my one tool from beneath the counter, “Believe it or don’t they actually used to make these in screwdrivers.  But you trying buyin’ one of those on a sales clerks wage.” “It’s a funny story…” I shuck and/or jive because you gotta keep em’ talkin’. “Gator bits are actually pony on a stick.” Poor mare justs starts vomiting.  Guess she’s bought lunch here before.  Eye Poke got his eyes on the prize. “You can open the safe with that thing?” “Yeah, it kinda made me feel the same way when I found out.  I mean, I really liked the gator bits. That’s another thing about this universe that I hate, you can’t never trust the mystery meat.”  I activate the sonic pipe wrench, and it’s hard to tell which sound is more emotionally stimulating, the beep of my LAP (Pip Bucks are an inferior product don’t be fooled), or the noise of his gun’s battery draining.   “So, the safe is open, there’s, like fifty caps in the register. Have fun robbing refueling points and raping each other.” “Where to you think your going,”  The idiot stallion snarled, oddly still pointing his now useless gun at me. “I was thinking a 19.86% negative shift on the improbablity, 32% possitive on probability, maybe back about 200 years.  Somewhere where your boss probably won’t turn out to be a casual canibal capitalist.” I shrug and laugh. “Wait, his gun doesn’t work?” The mare asks. “Neither does the bomb vest under your armor.”  I reply as I walk to the door. “Sonic Pipe Wrench. Your welcome.” “Wait… what?”  Those words, followed by the sound of an angry mare cursing and beating a raider to death is honestly the nicest thing I have to say about this universe. “Where do you think your going?” I almost made it to my ride before the mare caught up to me.  Honestly gotta say I thought she’d spend more time kicking eye-stab-butt-mark. Girl works fast.   “I told you, I’m skipping over a few universes.” I hate repeating myself.  “Your world is a shit hole. I swear, it’s the Ashes of Everglow with more rape and cannibalism these parts.  Why does anypony live here… oh yeah… no time machines…” “Take me with you.”  I look back and realise how… young… she is… even by pony standards.  And she wasn’t really going along with the robery… at all. “Oh sweet prozac,” I mutter as things add up, “No wonder he didn’t give you a loaded gun.  Your not a raider, your just a filly.” “I’m not a filly!” The filly screams the most filly argument I’ve ever heard as I turn around and walk back in the store. “Of course not,” I roll my eyes as I grab a jug of warm booze off the nearest shelf, “Dammit, I am not gonna deal with this sober.” I toss some bottle caps on the counter as I walk back out the door.  I walk to the broken down dump truck. “Diane, are you as tired of living here as I am?  I’ve got a +1.” “That’s not a time machine.  I’m not stupid. It’s a wrecked dump truck”  The filly obviously thinks I should be on a watch list. “She smells.”  My girl speaks up.  “You are not keeping that stinky pony grub inside me.” “I’m not a grub… filly… I’m not a foal!” I remind myself that she doesn’t know just how small she is.  Nine hells in the sun. “Wait, why did that dump truck just call me smelly?” “Lighten up, D.  Obviously she has to take a shower.”  I sigh and roll my eyes. “This is why no one gives their Tardis a voice interface.” “Who are you?” The young mare asks, as she stares blankly ahead. “I told you, I’m the Night Clerk,” I open Diane’s driver side door and gesture for my companion to step instead, “Don’t worry, it’s smaller on the outside.”