//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Unshaken // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// A brown mare stared into a tumbler of whiskey, and a brown mare stared back out of it. The mare frowned as she swirled the glass held between her feathers, dashing her reflection away. She was more interested in the drink than contemplating her appearance. She already saw it enough as it was; there were always posters with her face on them back home. Though they could never seem to agree on if she was better off dead or alive… But home was a long, long ways away. Almost another country, at this point. Down here, nopony knew her face, nor her name. And that was good. At least it meant the posters weren’t here. There was still a little bit of freedom left in San Palomino, even if the jaws of civilized society were slowly clamping down at it. She scoffed, nostrils flaring for a moment. Civilized society. What an alien concept. Weren’t nothing civilized about society, that was for damn sure. The glass touched her dusty lips, and a river of liquid fire poured down her throat. She closed her eyes and grimaced as the heat settled in her stomach, then pushed the glass aside. A few bits rattled onto the bar, and the bartender happily took them as the mare stood up to leave. He waved at her in appreciation for her business, and she touched the brim of her black gambler hat in return, dirty horseshoes already thumping across the floor as she moved to the exit. A few faces turned in her direction out of curiosity, but she ignored them, only muttering a “pardon me” when she nearly bumped into a stallion slipping out of his seat, cider in hoof. He turned to spit something back at her, but the ruffle of one of the mare’s spotted gray wings just so happened to pull back on her duster and reveal a bit of gleaming iron at her side. Instead, after a startled blink, the stallion muttered something to himself and returned to his drink. The mare pushed the saloon doors open with her wings and squinted as she stepped out into the midday light. Whoever was the idiot that decided on naming the town Rock Ridge deserved to be hanged or shot—or maybe both. As far as the mare could see, there wasn’t much in the name of rocks around the little two street town, and the nearest thing she could call a ridge was nearly five miles away. But the ponies of the southwest were common folk, and expecting a little clever ingenuity out of them was like expecting a fish to learn how to fly. She looked left down the main road of Rock Ridge. A few wooden buildings had been hastily erected down the dusty dirt road, making up everything a little town in the middle of nowhere could need: a general store, a blacksmith, a doctor, a gunsmith, and a saloon. At the end of the road, the sheriff’s office stood in proud, faded, Equestrian Blue paint. Somepony must have known the governor of San Palomino, because the sheriff’s office was big enough to lock up the whole town if need be—overkill at its finest. Not only that, but they had a gallows that could hang three ponies at once. She idly wondered how often they’d even been used, and if one day she might have the honor of getting her neck broken there. She turned her attention to the right. A few residential buildings and a hotel made up the right end of the town’s main street, and beyond them was a post office and a train station. That only further confirmed her belief that the town mayor had to be good friends with the governor, otherwise there was no reason anypony would build a railway to this dead end town. As she watched, however, an off-yellow unicorn emerged from the post office, magic tugging at the hooks of his suspenders. A pair of revolvers glistened at either shoulder, and he scanned left and right before his eyes settled on the mare and he began to trot over. The pegasus made no effort to meet him halfway—she was comfortable as it was in the shade of the saloon’s porch and didn’t particularly feel like walking out into the sun for no good reason. Instead, she waited for the stallion to trot up to her before raising an eyebrow. “So? What’d ya dig up?” “Well, it took a bit of pokin’ and proddin’, but I found what we’re after,” the unicorn said, relaxing a bit once he joined the mare in the shade. “There’s an armored wagon that passes through the crossroads a bit out south of us. It stops at all the little shitholes out here in our wild, untamed country to collect its dues before dumping the haul on a train and runnin’ it back to Manehattan. It's on its way to Rock Ridge today. Easy pickin’s, if you ask me.” The mare shook her head. “Easy pickin’s ain’t gonna get us back on our hooves, Boss. ‘S probably only a few hundred in there.” “Need I remind you, my dear Kessie, that we’re down here because we tried to rob a fancy hotel in Appleloosa, and that near brought the damn sky down ‘round our heads?” His features softened into a teasing smile. “Though I suppose, what with you bein’ a pegasus and all, that analogy’s a little lost on you.” The mare scoffed and shook her head. “Naw, naw, I get what you’re sayin’, Tumbleweed. It’s just…” She sighed and shrugged. “I dunno. Felt like we was kings and queens not too long ago. Wanderer might just be right, the ol’ bastard. We ain’t never gonna see a haul like that train ever again.” Tumbleweed put a hoof on her shoulder and leaned in. “We will, Kestrel,” he assured her. “And we'll be royalty once again. But reminiscing on the past ain't gonna help us none out here. So!” He lightly clapped her on the shoulder and held up a piece of paper in his magic. “I’ve got Roughshod scouting the crossroads, seeing where we can set up an ambush. Silvie and Snapshot’ll be there too. It’ll be through before we know it, so we don't have a lot of time to come up with the perfect robbery. But, given your knack for brilliant plans…” Kestrel sighed and let her wings sag. “Ain’t never gonna let that poker tourney go, ain’tcha?” The unicorn smirked back at her. “I figure I let you make a call here, prove you still got it. So, how do you wanna approach this?” 1.     Hard and fast. We jump ‘em and start shootin’, ain’t no way a buncha lousy-paid guards gonna stick around for their boss’ haul when they got five ponies shootin’ at ‘em. It’ll be a piece of cake. 2.     Use a distraction. We don’t have to shoot ‘em if they ain’t lookin’ at their cargo. Some of us joke about bein’ on Bridleway—I say let’s give ‘em a chance to prove it! 3.     Let Tumbleweed come up with the plan. Boss ain’t never steered us wrong before. Sure, we get in some bad scrapes, but he always gets us out in the end. A wagon robbery should be easy as they come for a mind like his. 4.   We should really wait until we have more information. I ain’t exactly fond of waitin’, but then again, I ain’t exactly fond of walkin’ into a firing line unprepared. Maybe it’s best if we wait until we know exactly what we’re dealin’ with.