//------------------------------//
// Chapter Ten: City Life 
// Story: Fallout: Equestria: New Beginnings 
// by Ilushia 
//------------------------------//


Chapter Ten: City Life


“... Ain’t nothin’ in the world for free...”



There are certain basic needs which everypony shares. Food, water, housing. When these things are taken away from a pony they’ll do almost anything to get them back. Friendships become secondary to survival. The Wasteland had a way of stealing the most basic decency from everypony. Depriving them of what they needed and driving them to their very limits. What would you do to get another meal? Would you steal it? Would you kill for it? Fight monsters? The world’s a dangerous place.

But those needs also draw ponies together. Together it was easier to get what you needed than alone. Communities could grow food, build structures and search for water far easier than a single pony alone could. Even raiders, horrors that they are, stuck together. These common needs drew ponies close, made them rely on one another, care for one another, even if they cared nothing for those outside their community. How far apart, then, was a pony who didn’t need those things from the rest? When you were never hungry, never thirsty, had protection from wind and rain simply by being what you are? How big a gap does that put between you and those who rely on each other just to survive?



***        ***        ***



A tiny mote of dust drifted silently through the air. Stained a soft golden by sunlight streaming through a cracked window. Gentle breeze of wind swept silently from some yet unpatched gap in the ramshackle walls carried the little ball of fluff aimlessly. The whimsy of the wind tossed it slowly through the open air, gently dancing above the hard, flat surface of the counter.

Others joined it in a quiet dance as a little whirlwind pulled them closer near the ancient table. Ancient magazines, read a thousand times over, sat beneath their play like an audience locked in a burning theater. In a moment their dance was done, drifting away again across open air. One slowly floated lower, landing upon a great purple plain where gusts of wind from two enormous caverns caught it. Dragged helplessly by the winds it vanished into the depths.

I sneezed.

Ugh. Dusty, boring, and lonely. That pretty much summed up the state of Scraps’ store for the past two weeks. I slumped back down onto the counter top, chin laying limply against it and staring half-focused at the far wall. An ancient peeling poster was plastered there, one I had somehow missed before Scraps asked me to mind the shop. ‘Be a part of something bigger than yourself!’ read the top, a valiant looking white unicorn posed dramatically below with hoof raised up to point into the distance, ‘Join the Equestrian Guard today!’. It was hard to believe someone like Scraps would have chosen that to put on a wall she’d spend hours every day staring at. Then again, she probably spent her days in her work room anyway.

The radio quietly spewed music from the corner. The same song played for what must have been the thousandth time. I’d heard it so many times I didn’t even pay attention to which song it was any more. Just more words and noise, nothing meaningful. Bored. Heaving a sigh kicked up more tiny dust motes to amuse myself in staring at. It wasn’t much, but it was better than doing nothing at all. Somewhere behind me in Scraps’ workshop I could hear the soft squeaking of her ceiling fan, a constant quiet rhythm, just enough to be noticeable and not quite loud enough to be ignorable like the radio. So bored.

Scraps was working on something in there. I could hear the occasional sound of machinery, the fizzle of electrical arcs and every once in a while the sharp whining crack of a blow torch. She’d been working for days, barely taking the time to eat and sleep. She’d been trying to do it since the day after her ‘experience’ with my cooking. Part of me, the exhausted, bored and depressed parts mostly, desperately wanted to stab myself for that mistake. I was doing my best not to agree with that part. Self-mutilation only occasionally solved problems, after all. Plus it hurt.

Frozen Fog, at least, had managed to force her to get a few days rest before she started working again. Threatened to tie her to a bed if she didn’t cooperate. Almost had to make good on that threat, when Scraps started insisting that somepony had to mind her shop. Of course I volunteered. She was a friend, and that’s what friends did, right? Parts of me really regretted that decision after almost two weeks of staring at the same wall without a single customer.

Oh, sure, there’d been some basic maintenance. The occasional individual coming by to drop something off for Scraps to repair from the settlement outside. Most of them didn’t stay to talk. I got the feeling that, despite all I’d done to help, a lot of them were still nervous around me. Not that I could blame them. From what they said, at least a few had ended up in that camp because of me. Part of me wanted to go back there, find Doublethink’s remains and do something unconscionable to them. Most of me was trying to bury that part in a thousand tons of mental cement. It wasn’t working very well.

My wings were starting to cramp again, time to roll over. A great heaving motion brought me most of the way to my hooves, followed by a swift thunderous ‘thump’ as my bulk hit the ground again on the other side. “I’m bored.” As though verbalizing my problem would somehow force the very fabric of the universe taught and cause it to spit up an answer for me. It was almost enough to make me wish I was back out there being shot at, stabbed or blown up again. Almost.

I wasn’t even sure what Arsenal had been doing all this time. After her ‘encounter’ with Scraps she had mostly vanished. I wasn’t sure if she was avoiding me or avoiding Scraps, but she wasn’t coming into the store at all. It was worrying, with the way she’d been acting I almost expected her to do something drastic. But she didn’t seem the type to give up so easily. She’d been beaten, broken and wounded by the wasteland. Giving up over some one-night fling just seemed pathetic by comparison, somehow. She was better than that. She had to be. Right? It must have just been boredom driving my mind to the worst places.

A quiet creak brought me back towards reality, dragging me painfully from my own thoughts. The door swung open just a little bit, but nopony stood in the doorway. For a moment there was silence, then a young voice spoke up. “Come on! You’ve got to learn how to talk to somepony sometime, right? You trust her. It’ll be easy!” A familiar voice. Earth Bound. She’d been trying to get close to Requiem ever since they came to the Junkyard. I think she was just thrilled to meet another pony roughly her age. Requiem was, as ever, silent in return.

Tiny little grunts filled the air a moment later. Slowly, I heaved myself to standing position again, climbing up over the counter and down the other side. One advantage of having long legs, at least, was that furniture was surprisingly easy to get over. Just have to be careful not to accidentally put a hoof down on it. Ruined a good chair that way a few days ago. I think Scraps was still annoyed about that.

Outside the door was Earth Bound, stalwartly trying to drag Requiem inside by her tail, tiny wings beating as hard as they could as she attempted to drag forwards. To the little pegasus’ favor, she was doing a fairly good job at it, judging by the small furrows left in the surface of the ground outside. Requiem was pressed tight against the ground, trying to grip it with all four hooves as hard as she could manage.

For a moment I just stood and stared at the two quietly. Earth Bound had clearly been struggling to get Requiem in here for quite some time. Though why I wasn’t entirely sure. “Do... Do you need help with something?” The moment the words were out of my mouth I wanted to cover my face with a hoof. Of course she needed help with something. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be coming into the shop.

The little pegasus squeaked again in frustration, before finally answering me. “Yeah! You can get Requiem to stop trying to run away from me!” The moment Requiem’s tail was out of her mouth the little grey filly bolted, dashing past the pegasus and through the door, taking refuge behind the counter. This time I actually did lift a hoof to my face with a sigh.

“Why don’t you come inside and we can talk?” Slowly I headed back behind the counter, checking to make sure Requiem was doing alright. She was hiding underneath an empty crate labeled ‘milk bottles’. Whatever had happened this morning must have terrified her much worse than normal, usually she just chose to take a position others wouldn’t notice, rather than actively hide like that. “Is there something I can help you with? In specific?”

Earth Bound trotted in after me, standing a short distance back from the counter so I’d be able to see her when I sat behind it. “Well... Do you have any dolls or anything? We used to have some when I was younger. I even had a talking Prince Blueblood action figure once! It was great! But most of them got lost and Granny said we could only take the most essential stuff from home. But toys -are- essential! I still feel bad for leaving my Virtuoso Lyra behind. She’s a great musician, after all!” For a moment all I could do was stare and blink numbly at the question. Was this what foals were normally like? Part of me, a big part, said yes. That this was what a filly was -supposed- to be. Not a ball of horror and shyness, but friendly and happy.

Still, I contemplated her question a few moments. “Dolls..? I don’t think Scraps has anything like that.” At least not that I’d ever seen. The best I could do was give a nervous smile. Part of me really wanted to cry about that answer. Here was a child who wanted nothing so much as something to play with, and I had to turn her away? Somehow that hurt worse than being stabbed.

“Awwww.” The filly sunk her head a little. “I wanted to give something nice to Requiem. I thought maybe if I gave her a toy or something she’d be my friend! But she doesn’t seem to like me at all. Always running away.” For a moment there was silence before the little filly leaped upwards and planted her forehooves against the counter with a grin, “Oh. Oh! I know! When you first came to our town you had an old doll in your bags! I remember seeing it during the flight back. She was little and grey and had one of those fancy anklets like you do! I bet she’d love that!”

My mind went blank at that question. A... toy I had with me then? In my saddlebags? Wait, that was right wasn’t it? I had found a doll. In... oh. There. The sound of gunfire rang in the back of my thoughts, the dying light in the eyes of a colt danced across my imagination. For a moment I wanted to cry again, what kind of monster was I, stealing from a place filled with innocents and condemning them to death? But they were monsters. Monsters in the skins of ponies. Not a pony, just a monster. Right? Right...

Slowly I slid a hoof under the counter to remove my saddle bags. It took only a moment with the help of my PipBuck’s inventory sorter before I had the doll in my magic: an old ragdoll, looking to have been patched several times over the years. Her dark grey coat had small patches of purple and green sewn into it where it must have torn. The thickly curled mane of yarn was stretched and slightly battered. She looked lived with. Old. Not broken, just aged. Like the wasteland in a way, some part of me quietly suggested.

Quietly, I floated the doll to the counter. “Well, I have this I guess... I’m not doing anything with her.” It was a her, of that I was sure. I didn’t know how I knew, the doll was hardly distinctive about such things as stylized as it was, but some part of me insisted it must be female. I offered a slight smile to Earth Bound. “She’s yours if you want her. As long as you promise to take care of her.”

The little filly stared up at the doll wide-eyed for a moment with an excited smile. “Really!? Just like that? But... Granny says you should always pay for something. It’s only fair to give somepony something in return if they’re doing something nice for you!” My mind scrambled to try and comprehend that. Friends just did nice things for one another, didn’t they? It didn’t have to be about paying things back, did it? “So... Uh... Um... Oh, I know! What if I help teach Requiem to talk! I bet that would be worth a doll, right?” She grinned excitedly at the prospect.

For a moment I just stared, then slowly a smile crawled from the depths of my mind to battle its way past tears, sorrow and disbelief, crusading its way through my thoughts to take up encampment on my face. A small giggle even managed to follow in the trail it blazed with minimal resistance. “Alright. But you should take it slow.” I lowered my head to almost whisper, as though what I was about to say were some great secret, “She’s kind of shy.” Another giggle managed to sneak its way past my defenses before I slowly straightened up again.

Earth Bound just grinned as she leaped from the floor to the top of the counter, beating her wings hard to give her enough propulsion to actually make it. “Don’t worry! I’ll take good care of her! Granny taught me how to sew, too. So I’ll make sure that she doesn’t get hurt or anything, too!” Somewhere beneath me I heard the soft sound of wood shifting against metal. Out of the corner of my eye I could just spot Requiem moving from her hiding place at the mention of her name.

Slowly she climbed from her hidey hole, slipping up onto my back and then to the counter. She was still hiding, standing behind the large register which dominated part of the counter. Some chimera of an adding machine which Scraps had patched together from half a dozen different pieces. She stared at the back of the doll curiously a few long moments before slowly slinking her way across the counter. Earth Bound hadn’t even noticed her yet, she was so enamoured with the doll.

For a moment I smiled, then an idea occurred. Wrapping my magic around the doll I turned it around. My eyes closed a moment as I presented it to Requiem. Careful to move slowly so it didn’t startle her. “Requiem. Meet Miss Stable Pants,” that was the name my PipBuck had given the doll, for some reason, “I hope you like her very much. I think she likes you!” I wasn’t sure why a doll would like someone, or how, but it just felt like the right thing to say.

When I opened my eyes Requiem was no where to be seen. A moment of confused searching with my eyes revealed the brilliant red fluff of her mane poking out from behind one of the boxes of spare parts near the corner of the room. Slowly she peered out at the doll, only to spot it still there and immediately flee again. Like she was terrified of it looking at her, even though it wasn’t alive. But that was insane, wasn’t it? It was just a doll, it couldn’t hurt her! Parts of me protested the prospect in its entirety, but another part, that horrible dissenting part which seemed to assume the worst of the world, insisted she was terrified of the very idea of being looked at.

I opened my mouth to talk to her, reassure her, “Requiem, I-”

*BOOM!*

A deafening detonation came from Scraps’ work room, drowning out the rest of my words and immediately drawing all attention to that closed door.



***        ***        ***



For a few long moments silence reigned supreme in the small shop. Requiem had darted back into her hiding place, whatever words Earth Bound had been speaking were cut off as surely as mine. Cold, horrid fear ran down from the base of my skull along my spine to settle like an iron weight in my gut. That explosion had been violent, even now I could see black smoke trailing from the top of the door. The fear that Scraps had accidentally killed herself choked words and thoughts from my mind. Even the usually conflicting bits of thoughts and emotions were silent in those long moments of trepidation.

Finally, the explosive bang of wood against metal broke the silence. Thick, black smoke rolled from the now-open doorway, obscuring my view for a moment. The smell was awful, like burning tires mixed with ozone, a horrid stench which I was certain had been born of some dark pit from beyond the world. The smoke rose high, clinging to the ceiling and gradually leaking out the tiny gaps and holes in the walls. No wonder Scraps had never fixed those drafty corners. Part of my mind quietly wondered how common this kind of thing was if she felt the need to leave ventilation holes in her house. The rest of me didn’t want to know the answer.

What felt like eternity, stretching out moment by moment, passed in that small room before the smoke thinned enough to see a figure standing in the doorway. Scraps was coated in a thin layer of black soot, her braided mane looked singed around the edges and the ash clinging to her goggles gave them a matte black coloration, a contrast to their usual shine. A soft cough passed through her as she regurgitated inhaled smoke. “I’M OKAY!” Well she was certainly loud, and talking. ‘Okay’ was perhaps pushing it a little.

“Okay? Okay!? You blew up your workroom! We should get you to Frozen Fog, make sure you’re alright!” Scraps just stared in my direction quietly a moment before fishing for a rag from one of the boxes nearby with a hoof. At least I assume she was looking for a rag, she didn’t seem to be having much luck seeing where she was going. “Why don’t you just take the goggles off?” A mostly rhetorical question, as I was already in the process of levitating one of the ratty pieces of cloth into her hoof.

A few moments and Scraps had wiped her goggles clean, “WHAT!? I CAN’T UNDERSTAND A WORD YOU’RE SAYING! THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, EARS ARE STILL RINGING.” Wonderful. Not only was she crazy, she was deaf too. I raised a hoof to my face, as much to block out that horrid stench as out of embarrassment on her behalf. The clinking of glass bottles made me open my eyes again, catching Scraps fishing around in her refrigerator. She didn’t look pleased as she pulled herself clear, a bottle of Sparkle~Cola held in her lips. She mumbled something around it I couldn’t understand.

I heaved a sigh as a squeaky voice from behind me spoke up. “Wow! Do you do this a lot Miss Scraps? You must have the best job ever!” Earth Bound’s familiar tones made me groan. Please no encouraging the crazy science pony. It was bad enough she’d allowed her lab to explode, the last thing I wanted was someone telling her she should do it more often. “Thanks for the doll, Miss Princess Aurora.” Augh! Was everypony in the wasteland really going to call me that? “I’ll take good care of her and make sure Requiem has lots of time to play with her and everything!” The voice grew more distant as the little filly departed with her new toy. Thank Celestia.

The solid thunk of a full bottle of Sparkle~Cola hitting the counter dragged my attention fully back towards Scraps. “I asked you a question. Why are we so low on Sparkle~Cola? The caravans know to bring extra out here. I even give them an extra good deal on the stuff most of the time.” She frowned and grabbed hold of the bottle opener in her mouth. A moment later it was seated on the bottle and the resounding ‘thump’ of her hoof pulled the cap clear in a single swift motion. Something I hadn’t witnessed her do personally since the first day I had arrived.

The part of my mind still cross about her blowing up her lab was winning the arguments over how to answer. “Maybe if somepony didn’t drink ten bottles a day we’d have more of it.” Without much thought I rolled my eyes. Scraps was a friend, and I tried to be patient, but she blew up her workspace and her first thought was about why there wasn’t enough soda? This pony had the strangest priorities in the entire wasteland! “Besides, there haven’t been any caravans to buy from. Not since you had me minding the shop, anyway.”

Requiem had made her way out of her hiding place, slinking silently between Scraps’ legs, around the counter and towards me. A moment later, she was taking refuge behind me from the arguing. I could feel her pressing her chin up against my shoulders as she peered out at the ash-covered Scraps. If the explosion had shaken me, it had almost certainly done far worse to her. Parts of me were amazed she was still even in the shop. Much more of me was just thankful she was close by. She needed somepony to remind her the world wasn’t entirely frightening, and at least it gave my life some small measure of meaning.

“Eh? Really?” Scraps’ frown grew more pronounced as she took her first drink from the bottle. “That’s weird. Usually they come by about once a week. If it’s been that long since any came, then something must be wrong.” She raised a hoof to tap her chin. “Or maybe they just don’t care for my choice of salesmare.” Hey! That was hardly fair! Usually ponies had to at least see me before they ran away in terror! Or shot at me. The shooting seemed a lot more common than the running, actually. “This is no good at all. If something’s gone wrong in Trotonto then we’ll need to get someone down that way to talk to them. Find out why the caravans are moving so slow.”

Slowly I rose to my hooves, “Alright. But first you’re getting checked out by Frozen Fog. You just blew yourself up, and I’m not having you end up seriously hurt and just ignoring it.” For all her skill with machines, the mare seemed to have no willingness to take care of herself at all. Dirt, grime and grease I could tolerate, but injuries weren’t to be ignored. Scraps opened her mouth to protest, but I didn’t give her a choice. Purple light surrounded her and her Sparkle~Cola bottle as I levitated her in front of me. “Whatever you have to say can be said on the way to the clinic. No complaints.” It was surprising what being the bigger pony let you get away with.

Scraps grumbled in annoyance and waved her legs in a futile attempt to escape my magic a few moments before returning to the topic at hand. “If there’s something wrong at the Pasture Passage company, someone will need to go see them. They’re the only ones who usually send caravans out this way. And we’re going to need supplies, lots of supplies, till we can get some kind of local farming going on. No caravans means no new food. We’ve got plenty of water, thanks to you, and some stockpile. But... no new food means we’re running on borrowed time.” The mare downed another mouthful of Sparkle~Cola.

I knew where this was going. These ponies were my responsibility, I was the one who brought them here and promised them a safe home. As we walked through the streets several paused in their daily activities to offer friendly waves and smiles. Part of me protested they were only doing it because they were afraid of me, that they secretly hated me, wanted me gone. Another part lavished in the attention, but demanded more. They shouldn’t just be waving, they should be groveling, bowing, showing proper respect for their princess! I tried to strangle that piece with some mental piano wire, but it wasn’t working very well.

Whether their actions were ‘enough’ or not, these ponies had accepted me. The only ponies I’d met who had. Not like they had much choice, I suppose, but I wasn’t going to abandon the closest thing I had to a real home now. “I’ll go.” I heaved a sigh; I really didn’t want to leave the Junkyard again. The wastes outside were horrible and dangerous and this place was safe and calm.

The distant ache of gunshot wounds mixed with the dreadful horror of killing ponies and the cold rage from memories of slavers and torture. But if civilization was to survive here, somepony had to face the fire. Better it be the monster who nopony needed than somepony important, right? The quiet weight of Requiem on my back reminded me there was at least one pony in the wasteland who needed me. Somepony I couldn’t abandon. For her especially I had to go. I wouldn’t sit here and wait as she starved.

“Well, duh.” Scraps’ response was as eloquent as it was immediate. “But not just you. Trotonto’s a long way away, it’ll be at least a week by hoof. And you’ll want to bring help. Take Arsenal with you. She might be a stuck up pretty pony, but she knows enough about machines that you might be able to barter some of her skills in return for the return of the caravans.” ‘Might’ didn’t sound very good. “Besides, I really don’t want to put up with her coming and bothering me about how her mane won’t sit quite right, or how the two hundred year old shampoo doesn’t smell like flowers and rainbows any more.” I admit, a smile crept across my face at those words, that definitely sounded like Arsenal.

We were already approaching the clinic and barracks of the Steel Rangers. “I’ll go find her and drag her with if I have to. Who knows, maybe we’ll be really, really lucky and she’ll find a dress shop in Trotonto which meets her taste. That’d be nice.” I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the idea. Scraps, surprisingly, didn’t laugh but just downed another mouthful of her soda. It almost felt like she was trying not to do something worse.

Heading inside, I dropped Scraps off with Frozen Fog. He’d need some time to check her over properly, and the sooner I went and retrieved Arsenal, the better. At least it wouldn't be too hard to get her to come with me, right?



***        ***        ***



The home which Arsenal had claimed sat small, almost humble, compared to the larger surrounding buildings. Tucked neatly between Rosemary’s diner and the Steel Rangers’ barracks, the building was easily dwarfed by both. The reason she had chosen it was obvious enough to anypony who paid attention, as electrical cabling ran to both of the largest structures in the Junkyard. The dangling wires which had been patched into those power sources and run off to her own home easily visible beneath the morning sun.

It wasn’t at all what I expected of the mare. I had thought she’d pick one of the huge, sprawling almost-mansions a few of the more upper class ponies had picked. For definitions of upper class which include ‘formerly a slave’, in any case. The Junkyard was wanting for many things, but construction materials were not one of them. But she had picked a place which supported convenience over size, though the reason why wasn’t entirely clear to me at first.

I hadn’t seen the interior of her home before, making it something of an adventure in an otherwise familiar place as I approached the front door. Requiem stirred on my back, peering around me towards the doorway out of curiosity. Knock first, right? I raised a hoof to bang on the door. “Arsenal? We need to talk!”

For a long moment I stood in relative silence. Other ponies trotted past me, the shufflings of early morning in a small town, but nothing from within. After a minute I tried again, with a little more force. Still no answer. Now it was moving from odd to worrying.

Grabbing the door handle with my magic I turned and shoved the door open. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. Apparently wherever Arsenal was from didn’t worry much about theft. Parts of my brain threw up huge warnings about her safety and health if somepony in the yard turned out to be dangerous.

It only took Requiem a moment to leap from my back, instantly shuffling into the house and vanishing from sight. I was pretty good at picking her out, but the interior provided ample places to hide. Small piles of junk, obviously fished from the piles outside, lined walls and corners. A work bench patched together from half a dozen other pieces of furniture sat in a corner with a disassembled radio strewn across the surface.

The front room was only the first in a long line of disaster areas. Pushing past the initial junk, I came to a second room. This one was larger, a small pile of cushions set out on one side with a low table in front of them. The whole room lit by a single hanging bulb from the ceiling, casting an eerie yellow tinge to everything nearby.

Through one of the side doors I could just make out the shape of a large arcanotech machine with a cylindrical helmet attached to a long, multi-jointed arm. I didn’t even want to hazard a guess what that was, but Arsenal apparently valued it, if the fact that it had obviously had parts replaced from other, similar, machines was any indication. Patches of other-colored metal where she’d replaced housing and plating, tools leaning against it and what I could only guess were spare parts piled in a small crate nearby.

The thunder of hooves against the floor upstairs brought me out of my wanderlust, drawing my attention towards the sound of rapid movement. Worse than that, a moment later a shriek filled the air, not precisely in pain but definitely loud and abrupt. My mind leapt to the darkest places, imagining some horrible pony had broken into Arsenal’s home and was doing unmentionable things to her at that very moment!

In an instant I took off across the house towards the staircase. Which, in itself, was actually quite hard. The building’s doors weren’t really large enough to let me move through them easily and I very nearly smashed my horn into an overhang just getting around the corner.

Two by two I rushed up the stairs in a huff. Cold fear running down my spine as the warm, wet feeling of dieing raider projected itself across my mind. That horrible way a pony gasped and heaved as they breathed their last few breaths. The thought of something like that happening to Arsenal shaking me inside.

The door at the top of the stairs was closed, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I grabbed it with my magic as I rushed upwards and onwards, and flung it wide moments before what would have been collision. For a moment my nostrils flared, anger rushed to my mind, rage fueled by panic as I came face to face with Arsenal’s predicament: the flurry of white robes and the twitch of broken wings, the way her mane tossed with every unexpected motion. The thunder of hooves against metal and carpeting beneath her hooves as she moved without warning or direction.

She was dancing.

Or maybe prancing might better describe it? Rushing, bounding from place to place across the room. Dressed in the same fluffy white robe she had been during her unexpected awakening over a week ago, patched together from a dozen towels. She looked healthier, happier, than I’d seen her... well, ever really. No longer just skin and bones, the times of good food and exercise having done her wonders. Though perhaps not as wondrous as the regular bathing had.

For a moment I just stood dumbstruck as she rushed and turned, enjoying the simple pleasure of motion. I suppose after spending a week or more chained to a wall any freedom at all must have been a joy. But this was still unusual. Sitting on a small table near her bed was what resembled a radio, the glowing lights clearly indicating it was on, but there was no sound issuing from it. The way Arsenal was prancing about, she undoubtedly had music.

Without much thought I grabbed the controls to the radio and switched it off. At least that still worked the way it should. “Arsenal? Are you okay? You’ve been holed up in here for a week!” She had barely even been seen around town. Hadn’t even come to visit me! Was this really what she’d been doing all that time? Even for a mare as obsessed with appearances as she was that seemed a bit much.

The dark red mare blinked a moment as her radio turned off. “Hey! I was listening to that!” She reached up a hoof to remove the small metal clip from one of her ears. I hadn’t spotted it before, with her mane in motion and her body following after, but she had an earbloom for her radio like the one which went with my PipBuck. Odd, I’d not seen one used with any other kind of machine before. For a moment she was silent as though considering what I said before finally answering my question. “It’s been a week? Really? Are you sure?” Her hoof tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“Yes. I’m sure. Agonizingly, absolutely positive.” A week of sitting in the front of Scraps’ store checking the time over and over, just to make sure I knew when exactly I could leave. That kind of boredom bred a sense of horrible, agonizing dread which made me almost wish for- No, not even that would make me wish for something like Stable 66 again. A tiny shudder ran down my spine at the very thought of visiting that place again.

Arsenal furrowed her brows. “Oh. Well. Why’d you come and bother me anyway? I’m fine. See? Just been working on some things in my free time. Basic needed-for-life things. Like a mane dryer and washing machine. You know, stuff everypony should have!” For a moment all I could do was stare at her in disbelief. There was a serious chance the town would starve, that there wouldn’t be enough to go around, and she was worrying about shampooing her mane and keeping her clothing properly pressed? I fought the urge to grind my teeth in irritation at that prospect.

“We’re going to Trotonto.” No, not a question. We were going, and that was final. She was going to help me get this done. It needed to be done, for the good of the town. “You’re coming with. I need your help.” Plus there was the fact that, pegasus or not, it was way more likely that ponies would listen to her than me. At least she usually managed not to get shot at before they asked who she was. Maybe after they met her, but not before.

The look I got in return was like I had just asked her to travel to Tartarus with me. “You cannot be serious, Aurora. Why should I give up all these wonderful conveniences and comforts of my very own home just to trek across that awful, ugly wasteland, getting sand and dirt in my nice clean mane I might add, when there’s so much to do here?” Ah, there were the words I was expecting. Well, maybe not those precise words, but the basic idea was there at least.

“Because if you don’t all the ponies here might starve.” I frowned a moment. “Well, not all the ponies. Maybe only around two thirds? I know I won’t starve. Neither will the other Alicorns. But you probably will. Is that a good enough reason?” I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her about whether or not she was coming. Better to just make it clear what she stood to gain, right? “Plus, Trotonto is where Merry-go-Round was from. If there was one dress salespony there, maybe you’ll get lucky and find another.”

At first her look was one of disbelief, then fading into annoyance, then finally acceptance. “Fine. If you need me so much I’ll come. It’s not like I could expect a bunch of muckdwellers to be able to do even something so simple and basic as farming right. You ponies down here are probably still surviving off the wreckage from two hundred years ago!” She raised her nose high in the air and snorted. “I’ll get my things and we can go. And maybe if you’re really lucky I’ll even help you find something which will fit such a generously proportioned pony as you.” … Did she just call me fat?

Arsenal shooed me out of the room as best she could. One advantage of being so ‘generously proportioned’ was that it was actually quite hard for another pony to shove me around. “Just be by the gate by mid-day, okay? It’s going to be a long trip and I need to make sure we have enough supplies before we leave.” I waved a hoof to her with a grumble, slowly trotting back down the stairs. Really, after all this time, she was still complaining about something so simple as the world being dirty? Were clouds really that clean? Ugh. Sometimes she could be so infuriating.

Out the front door I went. A moment later Requiem caught up with me, carrying a small silver locket in her mouth. Levitating it up from her I gave it a look over. Empty inside, must have been pulled from one of the junk heaps. An idea occurred which made me smile, something to deal with later, if we were lucky. I tucked the little locket away in her saddle bag. “Take care of that, someday it might be important.”

Now, it was time to visit Rosemary and Frozen Fog. We’d need food, water and medicine for a trip this far. Well, Arsenal and Requiem would. Some part of me kept insisting I’d be better off traveling alone. That I was stronger than they were, didn’t need what they did. I did my best to gag that part of me.

I didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Not ever again.



***        ***        ***



Three days of relative peace had passed on the path between Junkyard and Trotonto. We traveled mostly in silence, though Arsenal seemed to find something new to complain about every day. She was a good soul at heart, but some part of me insisted that no matter how good the world was she’d always find some flaw in it. Something which could be made better, maybe. A part of me thought that was a good thing, something the wasteland needed so very much. Most of me just wished she’d find a better way to express her distaste than whining to me about how hot the sun was or how hard the ground was.

The journey had been uneventful for the most part. The occasional well-picked-over ruins near our path provided protection from the elements, with only occasional disruption by radhogs or similar minor concerns. Nothing we couldn’t handle under our own power, thankfully. Today had been more peaceful than most, and the scattered remains of the night’s meal sat not far from where I was resting.

The last embers of the dieing fire were the only illumination besides the stars left. Arsenal had fallen asleep hours ago. She’d left her robe back in the junkyard, thankfully, but had insisted on bringing a sleeping mask with her, crudely stitched together from what I guessed was cloth taken from an aged couch. Watching her sleep made me wonder how she had ever made it as a soldier. Maybe things really were that much different where she was from. Maybe they could be again someday.

A slight pressure and movement beneath my wing alerted me of Requiem rolling over in her sleep. She tossed in her dreams, her legs twitching just slightly for some unknown reason. My wing pulled tighter around her. She was one of the most important things in my life. No, not one of but the most important, and I wasn’t going to abandon her to whatever horrors haunted her dreams. She deserved better than that. Better than I could give her. But I had to keep trying.

The storybook sat open on my forehooves. I had barely even moved for hours from where I lay. I wasn’t tired, not really, but the quiet ache of loneliness drove me to sleep each night. Better to sleep with my friends than just sit and stare and wonder what tomorrow might bring. But tonight was different somehow, the story I’d read to Requiem tonight had been a story of the six. The six most important mares in Equestria before the fire which burned the world. Something in it kept me up tonight, aching and gnawing at the back of my mind.

Silently a purple glow bloomed around the book on my hooves as I turned the pages one by one with my magic. Looking at the pictures more than the words, the stories of their struggles. Six mares gathered together, white, orange, blue, pink, yellow and purple. The six colors of the Preacher’s mark. The six colors on the recordings.

They stood together, depicted with energy flung from them towards the form of a great black alicorn. In her mane were stars and flares of the night. Night Mare Moon, the name was familiar but distant, that too gnawed at my mind. I should know these names. Should know their faces. Parts of me insisted on it and others agreed. This should be important, the most important thing in the world. But they wouldn’t come.

Silently I traced by hoof over the image. The purple mare resembled the one I had seen on posters far away in the library. Her name was so close I could taste it. Something I should have known instinctively. It was important, vital. But I couldn’t place it. Not right now.

The pink earth pony, I had seen her as well, in the great palace owned by monstrous raiders. A recording of her was there, which tore at my heart and my mind to see. She needed help. She had suffered greatly in the war. I wasn’t certain how I could know that, I had never met her, had I? She’d died two centuries ago, when the world burned.

A cyan pegasus with a mane of rainbow streaks. I knew her appearance. The figurine which Violet Strings had given me bore her appearance. ‘Be Awesome!’, such advice felt very appropriate somehow despite the distance in time and place between us. She was the mare in the photograph at the library. She had been important to the world beyond just these legends. She’d had an impact. Inspired a generation. Maybe more. That distant feeling of confidence swelled slightly when I thought of her. It chewed at the loathsome feeling of forgetfulness, reminded me that even the greatest ponies weren’t without flaws.

The white unicorn, her name was beyond me as well. But I had seen her writing. Tom had been hers before he was mine. The letter was signed by her magic, as she had left her hoofprints upon the weapon I now carried. My heart felt crushed when I thought of that. She had done something she found personally distasteful for the good of Equestria. Why was I so certain she had? I didn’t know her. I couldn’t know her. But that was what I knew, and that hurt worse.

The last two were unfamiliar to me. I hadn’t found or seen any signs of either of them in my travels. But I knew they should have mattered, should have been somepony important. I couldn’t remember their names, or the stories about them, not any more. But each night, reading them to Requiem brought back memories of a distant time. They were comforting in their distance and diffusion. The illusion of remembering was perhaps preferable to actual memories, the distant foggy thoughts calming and pleasant in their unreality.

As I stared at the image I found my eyes clouding beyond my control. Tears crept from the depths of my mind up my throat and to escape through my eyes. Falling in small drops down my muzzle to land on the book below. The water beaded and fell from the book like it was plastic, the ancient magic meant to protect it from harm working its wonders still. That image ate at my heart, crushed my mind and spat upon my memories. It demanded I know more, and every moment of failure was a horrible thing, born of my loss and sorrow. It gave me hope and reminded me of everything I was missing all at once.

For a long moment I just sat and stared at that image, my heart ground beneath its weight, allowing tears to fall in silence beneath a cloudless, star-lit sky. I had begun this journey with no knowledge of myself, no past, no memories. Parts of me said I’d have been happier if it stayed that way. This horrible feeling wouldn’t be there. The pain of losing everypony I cared about wouldn’t weigh upon me so much. But it mattered.

Desperate for anything to take my mind off my pains I closed the book and turned on my radio, let the words and songs of others drown my sorrows. The trailing end of a jazz song filled my ears, cutting off after only a few moments to be replaced by an aged male voice. Comforting, confident, calm. A voice which could have motivated dozens in happier times.

“Hello out there, all you lost souls in the wasteland. I know there’s not many of you tuned in right now, but I want to let you know that I care about each and every one of you. Without you the wasteland wouldn’t be worth living in. So remember, no matter where you go, there’s someone out there who wants to see you succeed.” It was odd, but even that distant voice gave me some small measure of happiness. I had never met him, would probably never meet him, but even those hollow words calmed my heart just a little. “Now, it’s time for a very special segment, another from the stories of heroism and wasteland rescues.”

Silence reigned for a few moments before a new voice broke in. This one was female, older, but smoother. She was calm, confident.

“You’re listening to the adventures of me, the amazing Argyle Stockings and my stalwart ghoul mareservant Xyra! Today’s episode, Ponies of a Feather Die Together!

“Now, now, dear ladies there’s no need for you to be so single minded!” The sound of hooves moving together filled my ears. Half a dozen ponies must have been working together to make that kind of sound. “Just put your spells down and we’ll talk about this properly!” The sound of a gun cocking was easily audible over the radio.

A different voice filled the sounds now, or rather several voices at once, all perfectly in tune with the same tone and even pronunciation. It sounded like six of the same pony were speaking at once. “You have interfered with the Goddess for the last time!” My heart sank at that word, my memories churning. The Goddess. That title was important. Very important. Painfully so. “Now it is time for your end. Surrender and join the Unity or be extinguished.” Unity. Scraps had mentioned Unity before, when we talked about what I had forgotten. It stirred memories as well. A horrible sense of powerlessness mixed with a wonderful freedom from responsibility in the depths of my mind. That was what the other Alicorns sought to reclaim. It was no wonder it was so hard to get them to listen.

“Come now, ladies. We’ve had this song and dance before, haven’t we? There’s no need for this to end in bloodshed!” The other voice came back, this time she sounded scared, or at least nervous. She was... Expecting something to happen between then and now perhaps? “There’s no need for such harsh prospects. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial understanding!” The crack of thunder filled the audio followed by gunshots. Evidently, friendly was not the outcome.

Suddenly amidst the chaos of spells and pistols came a veritable blast-wave of noise. A detonation I couldn’t begin to understand how the studio had duplicated, which seemed to mix the worst parts of a grenade and a scream. “Sorry I’m late, boss! These slingshots weigh more than I remember and I had to find an appropriate present for our mutual friends.” Another female voice. This one sounded old, gravelly, weathered, yet not broken. It was upbeat and enthusiastic despite obvious age.

Laughter followed as the sound of the detonation fell away. “Xyra! You munificent zebra, I could kiss you!” You could practically hear the grin which was behind those words. “Why, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up in time. Those ladies were not in the mood to talk at all. Such a pity.”

The sound of hooves descending a staircase filled my ears as this zebra approached her friend, at a guess. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boss. I’d feel like I was robbing the cradle. Maybe you should come back in another century and ask again.” The two shared a laugh as their hoofsteps grew quieter and more distant, fading into low tuba music.

A moment later the original voice of Argyle Stockings broke in again. “Remember to tune in next time for more adventures of me, the amazing Argyle Stockings and my stalwart ghoul mareservant Xyra!” Before the radio cut back to the smooth, calming jazz which had been playing before the special broadcast began.

Slowly, I lowered my head as I thought on that. That could easily have been me, until very recently. It was no wonder ponies reacted with such hate and distrust. But I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t a slave or servant or anything but me. Was I? I didn’t want to be that, not ever again. Even if it might be easier. Even if it might be less painful. Cold fear ran up my spine which I did my best to stamp out.

The feelings of weighty loneliness caught up with me as I closed my eyes, slowly drifting off.



***        ***        ***



The approach to Trotonto was slow but safe. It was obvious from the way that the wasteland gave way to once-civilized construction that we were approaching our destination. Outcroppings of ancient highways stood high overhead, the roadwork between their mighty pillars long collapsed. Amidst those few patches still standing I could see clusters of shoddily built houses, with long ramshackle staircases or pulley systems connecting to the ground below. A few ponies were in the process of coming or going from their homes as we passed, though not close enough to see them clearly.

Great billboards stretched skywards above the ruined cityscape as we drew closer, marking where the old roads had run. Most were faded, weathered to the point of being illegible. One, however, stood high and proud and didn’t show any of the fading or damage of the past two hundred years. A cream-colored earth pony mare with a curly two-tone mane and tail, dressed in the most absurdly gem-heavy outfit I had ever seen, stood upright on the image, mouth open.

A flow of magical notes across the image made it clear she was supposed to be singing. ‘This week only, live at the Sunrise Hotel and Casino, Sapphire Shores!’ was written across the top of the image. Beneath it was what had once been instructions to reach the establishment. Somepony, or perhaps griffin given the lack of easy access to the monolith, had scrawled ‘FUCK GHOULS!!!’ in thick black spray paint lettering across the bottom in its place.

Beside me, Arsenal was staring up at the image with no small degree of awe. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was attracted to that mare. But she was probably- “Look at that dress!” -in love with her clothes. Of course. “I wonder if this Trotonto place has anywhere to get clothes like that. If so, maybe I’ll have to re-evaluate my judgements on you muckdwellers and your choice of attire.” Even as she said those words she was strutting ahead of me, heedless of any danger. The promise of fancy clothes apparently motivated her at least as much as the promise of not starving. I couldn’t help but marvel at her bizarre choice of priorities.

Against my back, I could feel Requiem stir just a little, peering out over my head at the distant cityscape as we approached. Hardened, trampled earth slowly gave way to harder, ancient concrete and asphalt. Around us I could see sagging buildings, damaged by centuries of rain water and wind. That they were intact at all was a testament to the way that the pre-war ponies had constructed their homes. The signs of burning were around the edges of the city, ancient craters left pockmarks in the landscape as we crested the small hill at the far edge of the town.

The interior of Trotonto stretched out before us, many of the ancient buildings still mostly intact. Mostly short, squat buildings of brick and mortar. The roads led us onwards towards the town, as we could see a metal wall had been erected around much of the exterior. The wall was a melange of metallic plates, welded together from pieces of salvaged chariots, both land and sky, as well as dozens of sections of metal taken from less distinctive origins. Ponies moved beyond the walls as a small group stood near the lone visible opening dressed in thick combat armor.

As we approached those on duty did little to stop us. This was surprising enough in itself. Everyplace I’d been so far somepony had decided I made a great target. It was enough to make me wonder if my special talent might be getting shot at, sometimes. The placidity of the security here, the way they paid me no more mind than any of the other passing ponies, was a comfort. Yet there were parts of me whose hackles rose at the prospect of being ignored. Both out of fear and out of indignation. We were great! We were strong! We deserved attention! Those feelings ground at the back of my mind like hooves across a chalkboard, as I did my best to ignore them.

As we passed by the group, one of their members stepped into our path. “Whoa there.” Okay, here it comes, they were going to tell me my kind wasn’t welcome here and that we’d have to turn around and go back home. Right? “Before you head into town, there’s something you should know. Now, ponies ‘round here aren’t gonna hate you for the color of your coat or the shape of your body. But you better have caps or a willingness to work. Had a few problems with your kind rolling into town like they owned the place. Rather not have that happen again. So if you’re not here to work, negotiate or trade, I suggest you just keep traveling.” A nervous swallow from the smaller stallion revealed easily the nervousness he had just standing up to me like that.

Bits of me rankled angrily beneath the accusation that I would cause trouble. Other bits were angry that he’d dare to claim we didn’t have a right to travel where we pleased. Most of me just didn’t want any kind of trouble. Better to get the simple answer out first. “I’m looking for the Pasture Passage company. I’ve heard their headquarters are here? Their caravans have stopped coming and I’m here to find out why.” Might as well be forthright. Better than getting shot at, again, over some stupid misunderstanding.

For a moment the stallion looked me and my companions over. Well, companion, I doubted he was even aware Requiem was there with the ferocity she had taken to hiding beneath the mass of my mane. Arsenal just snorted. “Aurora, darling, you shouldn’t be so rude to a pony who’s obviously risking life and limb to protect his home.” She stepped forwards in front of me and gave a warm smile. The first time I’d seen her do that for anypony living on the ground. “You’ll have to pardon my large friend for her lack of manners. Up until recently her only friend was some crazy old mare living all alone in the wasteland. A pity, really. I’m Arsenal and this is Aurora Borealis. We’re looking for the Pasture Passage company headquarters, as she said. But we’re also in the market for other things around town.” The thick red and brown robes which hung off her frame did little to lend any kind of charisma to her statements, in fact they seemed to make him even more suspicious.

The stallion stood quietly a few moments, tapping his chin with a forehoof. “You can find Pasture Passage headquarters down the roads that way. Follow the signs, shouldn’t be hard. Might want to watch out, though, I’ve heard they’ve been having some problems lately. Local employees might not be too happy.” He pointed off in another direction a moment later. “Market’s down that way. If there’s anything else you want you’ll find it somewhere there. Lots of stuff comes here from all over the wasteland. Advantage of being the center of trade and all that.” He gave a look up to me again then back to Arsenal. “Just watch yourself. No stealing, no attacking others, no sabotage. The usual kinds of things. I’d hate to have to shoot a lovely mare like you.” The way he said it made it clear that even though he’d hate it he’d still do it.

I breathed a sigh of relief I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as the stallion moved out of our way. That was easy, at least. Arsenal practically pranced past the guard post, immeasurably pleased with herself. I just sagged a little as we headed on inside. I wasn’t that bad with my manners, was I? we walked down the streets together towards the Pasture Passage headquarters.

The walk wasn’t long as we followed the simply constructed signs hung from half-collapsed buildings towards a small collection of still-intact warehouses. Large, concrete walls stretched two stories high and were shaped into a U with a central loading and unloading yard between them. Dozens of ponies meandered about the main yard, along with many ancient chariots in various states of loading and unloaded. These weren’t like what we’d seen with Tumbleweed, they must have been running far larger quantities of supplies across the wastes with these teams.

Dozens of other ponies, clad in armor ranging from simple leather to heavy shaped metal, hung around the edges of the yard. Most were talking to one another, in various processes of maintaining weapons or drinking. Sharing stories, one would assume, though we didn’t get close enough to find out for ourselves. Most likely they were guard ponies for the caravans which came and went from this place. None of them seemed to be paying us much mind, for which I was thankful. There was enough firepower here to make the town guards blush, it was no wonder they’d warned us about potentially angry employees.

“Hey! What’re you all doing here?” A familiar voice called across the yard. A moment of searching brought my eyes to Tumbleweed as he trotted up towards us. “Surprised to see you lot way out here. What brings you to Pasture Passage headquarters? Looking for work, or just wandering the wastes without purpose?” He gave a surprisingly friendly grin up at me considering the surroundings.

Nervous electricity ran up my spine at the thought that he might consider this normal. “None of the caravans have come to the junkyard. We’re here to find out why. There’s a lot more ponies there now, and they’re going to need food soon...” No doubt there. A week travel out, a week travel back, and a week travel for the caravan even if they came with us back. This wasn’t going to be good, we were cutting the supplies awful close.

Tumbleweed’s smile died down a little bit. “Oh. Well, at least things went alright in that stable, right?” That just made my heart seize up, horrid memories of dieing foals and the awful sight of a pony losing their cutie mark flashed through my mind. Arsenal just silently shook her head with closed eyes. The smile vanished entirely from Tumbleweed’s face. “Oh.” For a moment the four of us were all silent, as the commotion in the yard went on around us. “Well, I’m afraid I have bad news. The boss has corralled all the caravans for now. He’s not letting any of us leave. Rumor is that we’ve lost four caravans to some unknown attackers and he’s worried that we’re going to go belly up. No one knows anything, though.”

“Wonderful. Why can’t it be easy, just once?” I wondered aloud, perhaps not the best idea as it elicited a laugh from Tumbleweed. The frown and annoyed glare I gave back was enough to kill that. “I don’t suppose you could get us in to talk to your boss, could you? We’ve got to get a caravan moving soon or the junkyard is going to start starving. There’s a whole settlement of ponies out there who need supplies. I’m sure he could make a bundle of caps off them if he was willing.” This time I listened to that cynical part of myself. It wasn’t enough to appease a pony with what was best. Better to appeal to their self-interest, yes.

“Well, I suppose I could. It’ll take a bit though. Probably not until tomorrow. He’s busy discussing some kind of plans with his assistants. Dunno any details. But I’ll do what I can.” Tumbleweed pressed a forehoof to his chest. “Being the senior-most caravan driver has to have some benefits, right? Most of us don’t stay in the business very long. Make a good haul and then retire, right? Me, I just like the chance to travel.” He shook his head as he was getting off track. “I’ll go see what I can do. But it’ll be at least until tomorrow before we can. Why don’t you lot go check out the town and come back here tomorrow morning and I’ll let you know what’s going on?”

Arsenal just grinned as she agreed. “Yes. That sounds splendid. We’ll have a chance to check out this wonderful city of yours and find something worth seeing here. I’m sure there’s got to be many valuable things left over in the ruins you’ve seen here.” She didn’t even give me a chance to answer before trotting away behind me, grabbing my tail in her teeth and tugging me after. I could have stopped her, it wouldn’t have been hard, but right now I had to agree with her.

I gave a brief wave of my forehoof before I turned; time to explore the town and find out what there was to this Trotonto. Maybe we’d be really lucky and this would be simple. But most of me doubted it.


***        ***        ***



The sounds of the market made finding it easy. Masses of ponies moved between stalls amidst ancient, decaying buildings. Ratty awnings hung from stained tents, patched together from many different pieces of fabric. The waves of pastel ponies mixing and flowing through the market were a comfort and a horror in equal measure. I could feel the eyes on me as we walked, the occasional stare of disbelief, the glare of hatred, but most seemed to ignore me completely. Part of me wondered if this was how Requiem always felt, as though anything she did might set others off into an angry mob.

The market was hardly wall to wall ponies, but I had never seen so many in the same place before. There must have been at least a few hundred spread across all those stalls. Talking, trading, walking. The variety of clothing, some of it clearly taken from ancient high society designs while others wore worn down utilitarian barding, made it clear that these ponies came from many places. How many places could exist like this? Where ponies from across the wasteland might travel even if for only a single day?

Barkers stood upon street corners beneath bent street lamps, calling out to passers by, advertising the stores on old broken streets.

“Come and see our selection-”

“-nothing like them this side of-”

“-guns you’ll ever own!”

Talking over each other to mix with the sounds of ponies doing business. Stylized signs hanging from those rebuilt stalls advertised their products, most clearly built by the owners from sections of salvaged metal, patchwork things built from ancient license plates stolen from broken chariots. For all its life and motion, this was a city of salvage and re-use, a place where scavengers came to pass on their goods and those few with practical skills came to ply their trades.

Arsenal’s voice rose above the crowd. “Well, at least there’s some things you muckdwellers know how to do. I was beginning to worry that nowhere on the surface would even resemble a civilized place.” She let out a huff as she glanced across ponies dressed in once-fashionable attire now half-decayed from age and use. “Though they should learn to take better care of their things.” All I could do was groan a little. She really had no concept of what life was like, did she? Then again, did I? It was only those horrible memories which gave me any perspective at all. “Why don’t you and Requiem run along and see if you can find more of those books or recordings or whatever it is you collect. I’m going to look for something practical.” Without another word she turned and walked away before I could even interrupt her, vanishing into the crowd.

I might have been able to follow her, find her amidst the crowd and drag her back, but this place seemed safe enough. Comfortable enough. A place to rest and relax, to let our guards down just a little bit, maybe. Together with Requiem, I forged ahead through the crowds in the market, amongst the masses of stalls and trading to look across goods and signs.

My eyes, lifted above the mass of ponies, could see others down alleys and hidden from obvious sight. They rested behind ancient dumpsters, wearing neither clothing nor rags, and gathered close with one another. Many seemed twitchy, angry or frustrated, the way they eyed the market. Ponies who had nothing to trade, and nothing left to give. My heart ached angrily at the sight, memories of worse times flashing through the back of my mind. I did my best to ignore them.

Light grey hay, yellow asparagus, twisted and gnarled little apples, cans of peas and carrots from before the war, the occasional tin of soup or box of cake. Such was the bounty of the wasteland on display here. Yet the local ponies seemed content, neigh enthusiastic, about acquiring such ancient goods for their own consumption. It reminded me of Arsenal and the tunnels beneath Central Junction. The irradiated cake wedges she had wanted so badly she didn’t even stop to consider whether they were dangerous. Take away their most basic necessities and ponies would satisfy themselves on anything at hoof.

Amidst the stalls I saw machines, the shattered remains of a once-functional terminal, a set of tools like those Arsenal carried with her. Most were corroded, weathered and beaten. Bent, cracked or even shattered outright, used as a display for the gems within. I couldn’t imagine any ponies here would want to buy spell matrixes, I doubted very much most even knew what they were. But as we walked my eyes fell upon one thing which made my heart leap and lightning race down my spine. A recording, marked with six gems and two alicorns chasing one another’s tails. A mark which matched the preacher’s logs. Another marker in somepony’s path across the wasteland.

The stall wasn’t crowded. The rest of its contents were bits of ancient machines which had been gutted and hung from hooks. Ancient wiring in a variety of colors, cracked gems which would never again channel arcane energy, none of it interested me. Only that recording. The pony behind the stall was a young unicorn, her white coat meshing well with her soft pink mane. No dress nor fanciful clothing marked her, and from where she was standing behind the small stall I couldn’t make out her cutie mark. Her face lit up the moment my shadow fell over her, as though she’d been waiting for anypony to notice her.

“Hello! Hello, hello! Welcome to the World of Junk! I’ve got pieces of machinery brought in from here to Trottingham, can I interest you in some 15 milliether cables? Maybe a Model 12 earbloom?” She reached up with a hoof to poke at one of the collections of cabling and then nudge a small earbloom towards me. For a moment she looked towards me with contemplation. “No. I imagine a pony like you wouldn’t be interested in anything like that. Ah, I know! You must be here to buy one of my amplification crystals! They’re guaranteed up to 2 megaether!” She lifted a large gem from the table, holding it between us. A shimmering blue crystal with five points cut like a star.

All I could do was stare at her in confusion. There was somepony down here who understood this kind of thing? Silently I wished Arsenal were here. She’d have some idea what all this meant. A moment of hesitation and I shook my head. “No... I want the recording.” Motioning towards the tape with a hoof. “Where did you get it?” I wanted to know where this strange pony had come from, the one in the recordings not the one in the booth.

The unicorn just stared at it a moment and blinked. “Really? You want that? Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in some Ministry of Arcane Technology magical charge balancers? They’re great for grounding out excessive arcane energies from devices!” She gave me her best smile and indicated an odd device on the table with a pair of metal prongs on it. I shook my head. She gave a sad sigh. “Awwww. Well I guess it’ll be good to get rid of it finally. Nopony ever seems to want to buy it. Somepony dug it up out of one of the old buildings here after it collapsed a year or two ago.” She lifted the recording from the table in her magic and turned it over. “Fifty caps for the recording. Darned thing is overwrite protected anyway. Can’t use it for anything but playback.”

I dug the caps from my saddlebag without a second thought and dropped them onto the counter. I hadn’t brought a ton of spare money, but Scraps knew enough to let us bring some. “Thank you.” Wrapping the device in my magic I pulled it away from the table. She gave me a sad, almost pleading look. “And I’ll bring my more technically inclined friend back here before we leave town. She’ll probably be interested in what you’re selling.” That instantly cheered her up again. At least it was better than leaving her without anything to hope for, right?

Stepping away from the stall I plugged the recording into my PipBuck and let it play. Preachers Log #3, the earliest of any I had found. In an instant that familiar voice was filling my ears as I wandered the city of Trotonto wherever my legs would carry me, engrossed in the past.

“Blessed be the Goddesses and the Six. May their path lead us back towards greatness and their lessons mark our way.

“Trotonto. It’s nothing like what I imagined. I’d heard stories from mother, I mean the High Priestess, of her times traveling the wasteland when she was a Preacher. But Trotonto is different. There are ponies here, as many as home, maybe more. They live, they cheer, they talk and play. But there’s more here than that.

“The trade companies argue, privately and publicly, I’ve seen it in our time here. A week in this place, each day I find more who will come and listen at least for a time. So many others selling something in the markets, as I stand alone in the small park at the heart of the city. But some come, they listen, they leave. But they listen! I’m sure they’re listening! Even if some of them are probably just there because they have nowhere to go.

“We all have nowhere to go. The wasteland is vast and dangerous, or so I’ve heard. But our words can heal it. It was ponies who damaged it, and it will be ponies who make it right again. All it takes is for us to work together again. Learn the lessons of the past, purge yourselves of the pains of the dead. To work away the damage so many deaths and so much magic did to the world in a single day.

“... I’m sorry, I suppose anypony listening to this probably knows all that already. Still, it’s so exciting! I’ve never been beyond home before except for the walk here. The recorder Makeshift helped put together for mother’s PipBuck is working fine. I’m still amazed she managed to get that thing working again. I didn’t think anypony could fix them! Shouldn’t have doubted her, she is my best friend after all.

“We’ve been in Trotonto about a week now, and we’ll be leaving soon. But there’s still so much more good I think we could do here! When I get back home I’m going to recommend that the Seekers send more here, establish a local church maybe. I think the ponies here will listen, if they’re given the chance. They just need something to believe in.”

A second voice broke into the recording, this one was younger and higher. With an odd sort of flow to it and an even odder choice of words. “Our departure comes quickly from this place, dear Crepe. Would you please stop fiddling with that tape? Packing all these chariots will be quite hard alone. The sooner we get moving, the sooner you help ponies atone!”

The original voice returned a moment later. “That’s Makeshift. She’s a little odd and silly at times. And she knows how much that rhyming annoys me. Ah well, I should get going. They really do need all the help they can get, and we leave from Trotonto in the morning. Heading towards Baltimare. Don’t know much of anything about it. Mother never visited there in her travels. The caravaneers all seem to think the ruins there are dangerous. Hope we won’t run into any serious trouble.

“Talk to you again when I arrive!”

The recording promptly cut out. My wanderings had carried me far from the marketplace. The ruins of an ancient part of town surrounded me. Weathered and broken. No signs of crowds or caravans or trading. As I took a step there was a clatter of wood beneath my hoof. A glance downwards brought my eyes to a sign. A sign which made my collar burn and my blood run cold. My heart seized in my chest.  My flanks throbbed in dull pain. The marking of an upside down horseshoe surrounded by a red circle and struck through.



***        ***        ***



Rage.

Rage burned in my heart like a blast furnace. Ran down my veins like liquid fire. Seared my muscles. Tinged the whole world red. For a moment all I could see was that symbol, that marking, which should not be. My head throbbed with the weight of the past, the pounding raindrops of memories splashed against my mind a dozen times in a second. Mixed, confused, swirling images born of a stormy mind and a confused past.

Pain.

In anger I flared my nostrils and took a step back. My horn lanced with energy as the board bearing the symbol floated before me. For a moment I stared, the sharp cutting pain of memories dragging against my mind. The pain of times I didn’t want to focus on, but which that sign kept bringing back carried me. My magic grew brighter.

*CRACK*

The board smashed in half cleanly along the grain, cleaving the image in two. My heart danced in my chest, the feeling of joy which that brought almost enough to stomp out the flames of hate. Almost. The beat of magic along my horn stung like lightning which only drove my fury higher. It hurt to stress my telekinesis this way, but it was worth it. My world was red, filled with hate.

*SNAP*

The boards broke again. Now four, cut into quarters. For a moment I held them, floated them before me, my eyes not even seeing what was beyond them. In my fury I flung them across open air with all my strength, the brilliant purple glow terminating in an instant. They smashed through the door of the ancient barn with ease, cutting wood to splinters. My eyes snapped back to reality though it did little to quench my anger.

Around me was an open yard, well-trampled dirt which showed only the faintest signs of having fresh life growing upon it. Steel posts sunk into concrete anchors measured out the yard, once used to support chain link fences. My mind insisted they had been pens. Places where ponies were locked and held without choice or chance. My heart pounded and my collar burned.

The barn before me stood open and without thought I muscled my way within. Empty. Ancient, decaying wood was all that remained within. Not even the usual debris you expected to find in the wasteland. No terminals, no locked boxes, no supplies. Just emptiness. Emptiness which sang to my heart and fueled my anger.

I stormed further within, thinking nothing of what I was doing. In frustration I turned and bucked one of the wooden struts as hard as I could. “Why!?” The beam cracked, but didn’t give way. Another buck. “WHY!?” Again the beam cracked, worse now. The roof sagging just slightly. “Why is it always empty!?” A third buck. The beam gave way. The roof sagged far worse, but didn’t give way. For all its age and abandonment, the barn had been built to last. It wouldn’t outlast this day, I wouldn’t let it.

My mind frothed and raged, screamed and denied. I could feel cold water run down my face, washing away long dried tears. I could hear the drum beat of hooves like ten thousand tears falling upon uncaring earth. I could see ponies, great and small, young and old, marching away into the distance. Each a face I had known once, but meant nothing now. Each a pony who had been here, been here with me. And I could hear that horrible, awful laughter. That cruel, sadistic, twisted laugh I had heard in my memories before.

My mind threw up awful ideas. Horrible prospects. Prospects of destruction and hatred and the desire to destroy. A voice far away and deep down whispered secrets of unmaking into my mind. Like an angry child I seized them without thought. Grabbed the promise of power and the memories to reclaim it. A spell wove through my horn, streaking with flourish and rage. Purple flames burst into existence and danced through the air. For a moment controlled and restrained, then hurled with force into the wood construction which surrounded me.

The burst of heat and smoke was instant. A moment, my shield surrounded me, the fires beyond licking at its edges but not reaching within. My eyes throbbed and vision pulsed. My horn sung with power as the glow around it grew brighter. More flames. More fire. This place deserved to burn. To be unmade. To be ash and forgotten by everypony. So long as even the memory of those who had done such awful things remained the world would never be whole. Such were the voices, neigh demands, which fell upon my mind.

The fire burned brighter, a great plume of smoke rising into the skies, and I stood at its center. My hooves moved without thought in a dance of triumph and fury in equal parts. This place would not harm another. Could not harm another. I would see to it. I had seen to it.

Hooves closed around my throat.

For a moment I thought an enemy had snuck up upon me. Fear and anger mixed in my mind as I tossed and squirmed beneath those hooves. But they were small, not large enough to even wrap fully around my neck. Requiem’s hooves. Requiem. My mind turned to ice as the heat of the flames burned around us. My vision congealed into reality once more. What was I doing? How could I do something like this with her here? She shouldn’t see this. Shouldn’t be this.

Tears welled up in my eyes and in an instant I rushed towards the burning doorway, my magic protecting us from the flames as I fled the shattered remains of the barn. Ponies had begun to gather around the outside, watching the barn burn. I didn’t even stop to look at them. I could feel their eyes upon me. Fear, hate, confusion, curiosity. The thoughts of ponies who hadn’t seen what I had, hadn’t felt what I had. Couldn’t feel it.

I ran. I ran down streets which I had never seen yet were somehow familiar. I ran from my past, from my actions, from myself. Anywhere but here.



***        ***        ***



The town whizzed by in a blur of panic and horror. My mind was so wrapped up in what I had done that I scarcely noticed the surroundings changing as I wove through streets without heed. Tears fogged my eyes and made the whole world surreally unfocused, like it was just some bizarre dream.

What had I been doing? Parts of me insisted it was justice, appropriate purging of the evils of the world. Other voices claimed it was revenge, fulfilling and self-mandated. Only one voice spoke against those claims, reminding me of Requiem and that the ponies in that building were long dead. Long dead, like every other pony I had found connected to my past. It wasn’t fair, nothing but ghosts and bones. Was I the only one left? The only sign that my once-friends and family lived at all? My inner turmoil was rudely interrupted when an elderly mare stepped out of a building just in front of me.

*WHAM!*

One of the downsides of being so large is that it’s very hard to stop moving quickly. Despite shoving my hooves as hard as I could into the dust-covered concrete beneath them, I skidded onwards into an unceremonious and violent crash with the elderly pony. Thankfully I wasn’t traveling so fast that the crash was actually dangerous, mostly sending me tumbling from my hooves onto the ground chin-first into the dust and grime of the street. A small pile of it gathering before my chin to mark how far I’d slid. Around my neck Requiem clung for safety, or perhaps just reassurance.

Behind me I could hear some unhappy words being spoken. Well, for certain values of ‘unhappy’ anyway. “My dear lady, you should watch where you’re going. You might seriously hurt a pony with those long legs of yours.” The voice was old, broken, sad. The kind of voice which came from loss and self-blame. My body slumped as a mare with a mint-green coat and faded pink mane stepped before me. She wasn’t as old as Violet Strings, but was obviously elderly. Her mane had started to go grey in streaks. An odd set of diamond-shaped checkers of black and white marked her flanks, something I’d never seen before.

The best I could do from my position face down in the dust was mutter a less-than-useful apology. “I’m sorry. I was... Running away.” The look I got back was perhaps the most skeptical expression I had ever seen. Even her gaze said what was obviously on her mind. “I... I mean... I was...” For a moment I stumbled for words as she looked up from me towards something in the sky.

The mare spoke up to interrupt me a moment later. “You’ve been crying is what you’ve been doing.” She gave a sad kind of chuckle. “That’s okay. That’s what I was planning to do today too.” She reached out and gently helped me back to my hooves, which turned out to be more help than I’d expect from an old mare. “I know a place not far from here. Serve the best whiskey and beer this side of Paint Town. Trust me, I know.” At the mention of alcohol her expression lightened significantly.

I nodded numbly. I had nowhere else to go. She had to have realized the smoke pillar in the distance was my fault by now. This pony wasn’t stupid. Old, but not stupid. She turned without another word and began to move off down the roads. I followed after in hopes of finding some solace for my mistakes. If nothing else, maybe I could find out more about this pony and this town.



***        ***        ***



The bar was old, like most of the buildings in town. Built before the bombs fell. The old walls encrusted with dirt and grit blown in off dry plains before the rains had started. A small part of it had been cleaned enough for somepony to mount a plaque on the wall. ‘Ironhide Bar and Grill. We serve meat.’ It made me wonder briefly why they’d need to specify that. Up until the doors swung open and the three of us stepped inside, at least.

The interior was large; this place had been an eatery before the war as well and had plenty of space for seating customers. Dozens of scavenged tables, some of them obviously patched together from multiple pieces of different tables, were set up in the room. Around them were gathered a menagerie of creatures the likes of which I had never laid eyes on before.

Ponies were common enough, a usual sight in the wastes. What was rarer was the nearly dozen griffons sharing drinks and stories spread across the room. But odder still were creatures I couldn’t place. Massive things, standing on short stubby rear legs with massive hulking arms and claws as long as my muzzle. Their broad, flat faces gave them an odd kind of accent I could pick out of the crowd as we moved towards an unoccupied table. Some parts of me threw up warnings about danger from them, but the lot of them seemed more preoccupied in consuming their lunches and drinks than starting any trouble, so I tried to smother that voice.

But, by far, what shocked me the most was to spy another Alicorn. A dark green pony, sitting alone in a corner. She obviously saw me enter, then promptly turned her attention to her drink. For a moment I considered heading over there to talk to her, but I could practically feel the shame coming off her. Whatever had happened to her in the past wasn’t for me to pick at. Instead, I just sat and looked to my companion.

For her part, the mare I had been walking with just gave a surprisingly enthusiastic smile. “Isn’t it grand? Seeing all these ponies and griffins and hellhounds managing to get on together? Even if it’s not over anything but business and caps, it’s still amazing. No place like Trotonto anywhere else in the wastes, I can tell you that.” She lowered her voice almost conspiratorially. “Trust me, I know, I’ve been from here to Grevyi City and back again. Long walk that one, but worth it, when you’re a hero.” A moment after she slumped forwards just slightly and muttered something I didn’t catch.

As I opened my mouth to ask a question, one of the serving ponies arrived at our table. “Ah, Miss Stockings, the usual I assume?” My companion smiled and gave a nod. She came here often enough to have a ‘usual’, which, given what she’d said before, didn’t bode well for what she was running away from. “And what about your friend?” She looked up to me curiously. It was an odd kind of experience in this town. Everywhere else I had gone ponies were suspicious, angry, fearful or abusive. Admittedly my experience with the wastelands was hardly wide and far, but it seemed a strong trend. Here, nopony seemed to even notice what I was, or care.

This time it was my new companion who cut me off. “She’ll have a whiskey. Extra large. Dry.” All I could do was frown a little as the serving pony headed off to get what was ordered. “Trust me. Little whiskey in you will do you good. Especially with all the stuff you’ve been running away from.” Requiem was doing her best to go unnoticed it seemed, and as usual succeeding surprisingly well. Not that I could blame her in a place like this, so full of ponies and other things. “Now... I suppose I should introduce myself, my dear lady.” She offered me a hoof. “Argyle Stockings, Gentlemare Adventurer and Wasteland Hero!” Pride puffed her up briefly and made her look ten years younger before she sagged again. “At least I used to be.”

With some nervousness I shook that hoof, thinking back to the recordings I had heard on the radio before. “Aurora Borealis. Are you really Argyle Stockings? Like the one from the radio..?” It seemed like a stupid question, in hindsight. After all, anypony could have heard those recordings and claimed credit for them. But this one seemed sincere somehow. The way she lit up when she talked about being a hero was familiar somehow, and painful in its own way to see.

Argyle just laughed a sad, lonely sort of laugh. The one which only comes when you’re laughing about your own pain. “Yeah, that’s me alright.” She cleared her throat and spoke again. “You’re listening to the adventures of me, the amazing Argyle Stockings and my stalwart ghoul mareservant Xyra!” Her voice was an almost perfect match to the one on the radio. Which was surprising to say the least, given that I would have guessed those stories were years old. She just heaved a sigh. “Some days I wish I had never sold the stories to the studio. But they paid me enough to make life easy for a long, long time. And at least now the wasteland gets to hear the good times.” She shook her head. “My apologies, my dear, I shouldn’t focus on things like that.”

Parts of me protested the idea that she should bury her past like that. Equestria was truly a dark and weary place if even its heroes ended up broken and alone. “It’s... Uh... It’s good to meet you?” My voice wasn’t exactly reassuring. How did you greet a pony you knew would have killed you not so long ago? “What... What happened to you?” Of course sometimes my mouth had plans it didn’t bother to communicate to the rest of me until it was too late. “Um... I mean... That is... If you’re okay with sharing..?”

Argyle just gave me a sad kind of look and then frowned. “You ever seen a dragon? Like a real one, up close and personal?” I shook my head, I hadn’t even seen a fake one! “Long, long time ago, feels like a lifetime now, Xyra and I were out dealing with slavers, scum of Equestria they are, down around Pleasant Acres. Bastards were tougher than we expected.” Her voice took a dark turn, from the polite and upstanding mare towards something much darker. “We couldn’t beat them all, so we had to run. There’s some mountains not far from there. Fled into the cliffs with them chasing after us. Down into the caverns.”

As she explained, the drinks finally arrived. She had a single large glass with some kind of green drink inside which seemed to match her coat color almost exactly. Even from where I was sitting I could smell the spices in it. Before me was a much larger wooden stein of brown liquid, big enough to serve four normal ponies. Like the sort on the label of the Sweet Apple Acres Apple Cider bottle I had found, except massive.

Without hesitation Argyle downed a mouthful of her drink. “Keep them coming.” Her instructions to the serving mare who just gave me an apologetic look and headed back away from us. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The caves. Long, winding, dark caverns full of bloodwings and radhogs. Just your basic wasteland vermin most of the time. No big deal. It was the slavers we were worried about.” She stared into her drink quietly a few moments. “Up until it happened. Never even saw the damned thing. Just those awful points of light in the darkness and the acidic smell in the air. Then suddenly everything was on fire.” She shuddered a little and shook her head. “White flames ate everything. Scorched the walls, burned the bats, roasted the radhogs. I was lucky enough to be close to a side tunnel, managed to get out of the path of the flames. But Xyra...” She downed another mouthful, tears welling up in her eyes. “Xyra didn’t... I’ve seen her survive some impossible things. But being burned to death by a dragon? I don’t think even a ghoul could survive that.” She slumped again, staring at her drink as tears began to run down her cheeks. “Now look at me. I’m a useless old wreck without her. Don’t deserve to be called a hero any more.”

All I could do was offer a hoof and a reassuring smile. Not that I felt much like I could reassure anypony. Not after the way I had acted. “It... It could be worse..?” Argyle just sort of looked up at me with an angry glare which made it clear she didn’t think it could. For a moment I levitated the whiskey and took a long mouthful. The taste wasn’t bad at all, and the warm tingle it left in my guts as I swallowed was nice. “You’re still alive. That’s got to count for something, right?” Part of me knew what was coming next even before she said it. It still hurt.

“Be better if I were dead. Then at least it’d be over. Can’t die now, though. Not after what happened to Merry. Cross would never forgive me. Can’t do that to her. She’s the only grand daughter I’ve got. Even if she doesn’t believe my stories.” Argyle finished her drink just in time for another to be delivered. It seemed that she had set her own kind of rhythm with the locals.

Slowly I downed another mouthful of my drink, bits of warm spacious feeling creeping into my mind. “... Don’t say that. Dead is dead. It’s never better.” Parts of me protested, fueled by that feeling of disorganization the alcohol was creating. Claimed that sometimes things were worse than death. I could see the body of a foal broken beneath my hooves. Another with a slit throat hurling through the air. I closed my eyes and willed it to stop, doing my best to clamp down on those feelings as I downed the rest of the drink in a single pull. Trying to drown my memories in that warm comforting feeling. It wasn’t hard to see how Argyle had chosen this path.

The warmth and disorientation grew stronger with each mouthful. Making the world swim slightly around me, disoriented and disorganized thoughts rambled through my mind as Argyle and I shared stories and consolation for one another. The details lost to the foggy haze of being drunk. For hours the two of us sat together, until Argyle had to leave. Then I stumbled from the bar, confused and broken, tears staining my cheeks and pain heavy in my heart. What had I said? What had I done?

In a haze I stumbled through the streets, aimless again.



***        ***        ***



Darkness consumed the sky, the last distant rays of hope from a dieing sun giving the faintest vestiges of belief in a better tomorrow before sinking completely. The shadows loomed in dark alleys as my alcohol-fueled haze carried me through twisting and confused streets. Motion swam at the corners of my vision as I struggled to remain standing. The twisted shapes of almost-ponies and mumbled nonsensical words flowed from areas beyond the illumination of ancient, flickering street lights. Deals with purpose and reason which eluded my drunken mind. Slowly I shambled through darkened streets with no direction.

*WHUMP*

Sudden contact with something hard brought my attention back from contemplating the deep philosophical significance of the cracks in ancient pavement. Before me stood another Alicorn, grand and imposing. She seemed to tower over me, eyes alight with inner power, her body poised with deliberate power as she stared down at me with disdain. In a moment of weakness I collapsed to sit. Her voice rumbled like thunder as she spoke, “Aurora Borealis. You disgrace. You coward. You who would forgive those who visit the crimes against others which pained and broke you. Terrified child.” How did this Alicorn know me? Her angry red eyes bored into me like the lance of a magical beam weapon, searing my heart and turning my blood cold.

“I-I’m n-not-” I stammered a response as best I could, only to be cut off by a snort from the other Alicorn.

“Do not lie to me, child. You fear what you are. You hate the gift which was given to you. Terrified of being a ‘monster’. Laughable. Pathetic.” My head pounded and tears welled up in my eyes once more. No. No! That wasn’t... I wasn’t... I fought and saved ponies. I had... I had made a difference. Arsenal. The Applejack’s Rangers. Requiem. Requiem!

In a moment of frustration I lept to my hooves to respond. “I... I’ve saved ponies! Helped them! I’m not a monster! Just... Just look like one! Requiem is safe because of me. Arsenal is still alive because of me!” The gaze of this other alicorn did little to change or even recognize my response.

The flaming snort which followed filled the air with thick, caustic smoke. It burned my lungs and seared the eyes, making my tears of sadness mix with those of pain. “You? You did nothing! You pathetic, ungrateful child! You stood in fear and confusion as We did what was necessary! We slew your enemies. We held you aloft when monstrous ponies would have slain you and hurt others. As We always have.” No... No that wasn’t true. I had done those things alone! Hadn’t I? My head was spinning and pounding from the choking thickness of smoke around me.

The voice of the alicorn before me echoed with each word as she spoke, like a thousand voices speaking together, each only subtly different from the others. “We are Great and Powerful! We would command the wasteland to Our whims! We would make the world whole again! We would prove that we are the chosen, not monsters. You? You would cry. You lack the will to save anyone!” No, no that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true! I wasn’t a monster! I wasn’t... I wasn’t this -thing-!

Anger and sorrow roared inside me in equal measure. The distant voices of my past were silent, though I couldn’t fathom why. “I’m not... I’m not a monster... Not a monster... Never a monster...” I stared at the ground near the hooves of the mighty alicorn before me. “Not... Not a monster... Not like you... Never like that... Weak, worthless, selfish, but not a monster.” My heart was ice in my chest with each word. It felt like I was trying to deny the very weight of the world upon my withers.

That great angry voice roared around me, the heat of her gaze carving along my body as she stood without motion. “Not a monster? Look at yourself! You who were blessed by the Goddess! Who knew the True Unity! Who believed in the future of all ponykind enough to throw away your past! Now a crying child. Who, with fear, crushes and, with anger, destroys! There is no reason to believe yourself a monster. Yet you do. Because you fear Us and what We could be.” It wasn’t true. I wasn’t... I wasn’t like that. I wouldn’t have agreed with what she was saying, never. Never, never, never! Somewhere from the recesses of my mind the sight of a dieing foal sailing across open air cut through my thoughts. Never. Never again. Never like that.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood before the one who judged me, whose voice spoke with the weight and fury of my past. Who was she? How could she even know me. “... I... I...” My voice was lost, words burned away by the rage and indignation of this horrible thing before me. All I could do was sit and listen. But there was something wrong with what she said.

“You wretch who cannot even muster the courage to stand to Us! You who should be the Great and Powerful. Who should stand astride the world and shape it to your whims! Who should be strong and never forgive nor forget in your endless crusade for what is right! That was what you promised, wasn’t it? What you promised to-”

Something beneath her voice reached my ears, even in all the fury and anger and rage and volume which she spoke with, a quieter, sadder voice reached me, which seemed to drown out her anger with depth and loneliness. “-forgive me of my sins and let the darkness swallow them up to be forgotten. Those choices made in haste and sorrow which mark me forever, let them be carried far and away and hidden from all; that only I need carry their burden. Please forgive me-” A quiet prayer, distant and sad and lonely, born of some past mistake and horror. Somehow that voice felt worse, sending ice along my spine and making my whole body feel frozen as I endured the angry tirade of the great behemoth before me.

“-beneath your attention! To think one such as you would even deign to speak to such lowly peasants is a travesty! The Goddess knew the truth, and she shared it with Her children. Now you choose to deny it!” With each word she grew larger, the flames in her eyes hotter. “You who fear to be a monster will never be savior or hero. Who would die a thousand tiny deaths of fear and sorrow and loss rather than save a single life! Who has forgotten their oath and purpose in the world!” Her mane was ablaze, tail flaming and filling the world with destructive rage. I felt like a foal by her side, barely large enough to reach her knees as she towered above me. “You do not deserve this life given to you by the Goddess and Her chosen! Surrender to Us! Let Us free! We will do what you cannot! Make this world whole and healthy again in a way you cannot even imagine!”

“No... No! I couldn’t! I wouldn’t! I... I...” I stared upwards, silent and unmoving, frozen with fear and regret and sorrow and loneliness. Some great horror had conjured this monster from the beyond and now it threatened to swallow me whole. What had happened here and why? My thoughts could not proceed, as though my entire mind were consumed by the rant of a single, angry pony.

“Aurora? Who’re you talking to?” A familiar voice cut through the rage and anger of the great behemoth before me. In an instant the flames consumed her and she vanished into smoke. The world throbbed in pain as my mind crashed back to reality. A cold wetness ran down my spine from rain falling far above as the dim illumination of a street light cast reflections on the surface of an ancient store window.

For a long moment I sat in confusion and pain. My head was still thundering with her words, the chorus of discordant voices in my head confusing and garbling my thoughts. “No one. Just me.” The words spilled from my mouth even before thinking, without even realizing what they meant. Exhaustion and alcohol mixed to make my thoughts muddier than they should have been.

Arsenal just let out a quiet chuckle and trotted up beside me. “Come along, darling. Let’s get you out of this rain and into a nice warm building. I met somepony I think you’ll like. And she’s agreed to let us spend the night. Well, in exchange for my purchasing something a tad more extravagant than I expected. But now that’s nothing to complain about, is it?” She let off another giggle and began to lead me away from the mirrored surface. “Requiem was quite worried about you! I was surprised when she came bursting into the shop and practically dragged me out by my tail to find you. Still don’t know how she managed to find me, come to think of it.” She tapped her chin a few moments in thought.

With head low and eyes still burning from tears, I let Arsenal lead me through the empty streets. The horror of having worried Requiem so much was too big for my aching mind to grasp. Enough sorrow for one day.



***        ***        ***



Exhaustion had overtaken drunken stupor by the time Arsenal led me back across town. My legs ached and weighed me down like iron chains despite my freedom. Arsenal, by comparison, seemed to be filled with life and color even more than usual. “... was a hard choice, but that’s alright. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want.” She’d been going on about the dresses and the day’s purchases ever since we started walking together. The soft weight of Requiem on my back slowly filtered into my mind as the alcohol-induced hallucinations faded. I hadn’t the heart to look back and see if she was crying or hurt.

The small door of the shop swung open with the slightest screech of protest from ancient, rusted hinges. It was some small miracle that this town even held together. A testament - and epitaph - for the builders of the years before balefire scoured the lands. Warm orange light filled my vision, blinding me to the world for a brief moment as we moved through a door-frame which felt two sizes too small to be comfortable. Its rounded construction barely high enough that I didn’t have to duck, and frame not even large enough for me to unfurl my wings. Exhaustion prevented any sadness at the way the world constantly reminded me I didn’t belong.

An unfamiliar voice cut through the diffused fog of my thoughts. “Ah, so you found your friend then? She’s bigger than I imagined. You should have mentioned she was one of those winged unicorns.” The voice wasn’t filled with anger or disdain or hate, just curiosity. “I don’t get many requests for dresses by your kind.” the mare walked up until she was standing beside me. A soft mint-green coat and darker forest-green mane gave the unicorn a distinguished and well-maintained appearance. “But that shouldn’t be a problem for me. So don’t you worry, I’ll take care-”

“Oh, nonono. We didn’t come to buy her a dress! Though I suppose she might look nice in something with some frills and maybe a nice set of ribbons in her mane...” Arsenal interrupted the other mare, which got her a mildly annoyed stare. I was, at this point, too tired and sad to even bother protesting that I didn’t deserve a dress. “Or maybe with one of those tiaras you had on display in the front window?”

The unicorn turned and waved a hoof to Arsenal. “Please, I am an artiste! Cloth is my passion and color my preference. Do not concern yourself with trying to second guess my designs. But if not for a dress then why -did- you bring her here? She smells of whi- alcohol and tears.” She gave me the briefest of condescending looks, but I couldn’t blame her. I probably looked a mess as well.

Arsenal frowned at that and stared at me. My eyes traced back up that stare and only just then noticed she wasn’t wearing her armor. She’d been out and about with her wings on display. That was odd, and dangerous. “Well, I was hoping you could teach her your spell for mending dresses and cleaning things. The level of filth when traveling with her has been just unacceptable. And I’d so hate the lovely things you’ve made me to get damaged and have no way to fix them.”

The unicorn stood and contemplated that, tapping her chin. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again there was a resounding slam from the back door and a much more familiar voice calling out, slurred and surprisingly happy. “Cross Stitch! Ah’m home! Ah mehd ah new friend!” Argyle Stockings’ drunken slur was notable; evidently she’d been drinking just as much as me and with far less body mass to absorb it all. The Earth pony stumbled through a rear door with a loopy grin on her face. “She was reheheheally nice! Shared lotsa stories, listened to th’ ones about Xyra an’ me and didn’t give me no lip about them not being true!” She was drenched with rain water and looking at us through a matted mane which must have obscured most of her vision.

The unicorn, Cross Stitch I’d assume, responded with frustration and a snort. “Granny Argyle! What’s wrong with you, bursting into my shop drunk and all wet? I’ve got customers!” She stormed across the room towards the drunken old mare. “And you’ve been spreading those crazy stories of yours around again? I know the wasteland is dangerous, but the fact that that mare from Grevyi City was willing to pay you for those crazy old stories wasn’t enough? Now you’ve got to go spreading them around Trotonto too? Are you trying to make me a laughingstock?” It was obvious this was a conversation they’d had many times before, as Argyle didn’t even seem to notice her grand daughter’s words.

The elderly mare just straightened up a little and peered through wet mane. “She was really nice. One o’ them ahl-i-corns. Like th’ one you got over there!” She waved a hoof in my direction. I fought the urge to cover my face in my own hooves. She didn’t even recognize me. No surprise, really. But I’d have hoped the collar or PipBuck would give it away. “Really, really nice. We got t’ drinkin’. She sounded really sad. Said she’d come a long, long way to help her friends. Ah remember when Ah left home, just t’ help whomever Ah could. Was a-”

The unicorn cut her off with a snort. “A sad and cold day in the midst of winter beneath the thick grey clouds, on the third day of a freezing blizzard as food was running short. I know granny, you’ve told me that story since I was two years old.” She gave a defeated sigh and raised her head to look to us. “I can’t really spare the time for proper magical training right now. But I have a book I could sell you with the dresses. It’s got plenty of useful information in it about everyday spells. I can’t do most of them, but it might be useful for her.” Argyle was rambling on about something which her granddaughter silenced with a hoof in the mouth. “Why don’t the three of you head upstairs? There’s a spare bedroom where you can spend the night while I work on your order. First, though, I’ve got to see my ‘dear, sweet’, old grandmother to getting cleaned up and into bed.” The sarcasm in her voice was palpable.

Arsenal just gave an excited grin and nodded her head. I didn’t even have the energy to protest knowing Argyle. My pegasus companion lead us up ancient, creaking stairs towards a large room on the second floor. Not the largest, perhaps, but large enough. My head was throbbing by now, the sounds of yelling making what would have been a soft thump into a splitting agony. Argyle and Cross Stitch were arguing. Well, it was more like Argyle rambling on with a story and Cross Stitch responding with annoyance. Part of me ached inside to see a pair who should be so close fighting so much. But I didn’t have the energy for any kind of emotions right now.

Without ceremony I dropped to the floor beside the single bed in the room, which Arsenal had already promptly claimed for herself. On my back Requiem stirred. At first I thought she might go for the book, ask me for a bedtime story which I lacked the enthusiasm to give her. Instead she crawled beneath my wing and just cuddled to my side. The almost-silent sound of her breathing a soft percussion as I closed my eyes and fell into darkness.

A silent, dreamless sleep was a mercy after the madness of being awake.



***        ***        ***



The morning passed in a hung over blur, as my mind throbbed with regret over yesterday’s outbursts. Anger, rage and sorrow all became regret through the lens of hindsight. I had destroyed, raged and hated for the mere symbol of that which had once been. The voice in my mind which kept reminding me that I was grander and superior to others was more insistent than normal. What I had done was right, justified, appropriate. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt hollow and meaningless.

Arsenal exchanged words with Cross Stitch early in the morning, though in my post-alcohol haze I barely caught more than a few moments of conversation. It seemed that Cross Stitch had worked through the night on a special order for the pegasus, to have it ready for our likely departure today. I didn’t want to spend more time than necessary here in Trotonto, especially not after yesterday.

The whirlwind of events soon found us back at the Pasture Passage compound, its main yard a bustling excess of activity entirely too early in the morning. Tumbleweed found us first, “Howdy! Glad to see you all made it back alright. Hope your first night in the big city didn’t set you too far back.” He lowered his voice in hushed tones. “Heard someone burned down one of the old barns in the abandoned part of town.” An icy chill ran down my spine. “No one seems to have any idea why, though. That place had always been bad business, though. Slavers used to own it, till the sheriff ran them out maybe fifty years ago.”

Fifty years. The barn had been abandoned for at least half a century. The cold along my spine seemed to melt and slide along my ribs to settle as a frozen block in my heart. Fifty years. Everypony in my memories was probably long dead by now. Even longer than I had thought. Somehow having a number to put on it made it so much worse than before.

Arsenal spoke up, finally drawing my attention closer to her. “Slavers? I can’t imagine -why- they’d choose to set up in such an upstanding and wonderful place as this. Why, it has the only dress shop I’ve seen anywhere in the wasteland!” A dress shop she had apparently taken good use of, judging by the odd changes to her armored robes. Cross Stitch must have been every bit deserving of her name, having managed to cover over most of the metal plating with finer red cloth. It looked like the interior of the outfit had been redesigned as well. Though it was still hardly flattering, it was at least probably more comfortable.

My head was pounding lightly from emotional exhaustion and the left over daze of excessive alcohol consumption. Even my voice sounded foreign to my ears for the first moments of speech. “Did you manage to get us in to talk with your boss?”

A moment of silence followed, as my heart skipped a beat. It felt like the entire yard went silent, though I don’t think it did. After a few beats of my skull's hangover-metronome, Tumbleweed finally answered. “Well... Sortof. See, the boss wouldn’t sign on to see you directly... But... Well, I did get something almost as good. See, I told you the reason everyone says he’s been holding caravans here, right? Well, found out the truth. Nothing we’re sending’s getting through to Baltimare.”

All I could do was give him a confused look. What did Baltimare have to do with the Junkyard? “Baltimare’s just about the biggest settlement you’ll find anywhere around these parts. Well, except Trotonto, anyway. And Pasture Passage has been trading with ‘em longer than anyone. The boss goes way back with the settlement’s founders. Anyway, without the resources we get trading with Baltimare, the company’s coming really close to being unable to actually pay for anything. No Baltimare, no Pasture Passage.”

I let out an involuntary groan. I could already see where this was going, and I didn’t like it at all. “But I got the boss to agree to send one of the caravans up towards the Junkyard. It was weird, to be honest, never really talked about that place much with him before. After I told him about Scraps, though? Almost seemed like he was chomping at the bit just to get a chance to send someone out there!”

I breathed a sigh of relief and Arsenal broke into the conversation. “Well, that’s excellent news! Then we should depart with them, shouldn’t we? After all, we don’t want to be late getting home to the celebrations!” Somehow I just knew there was an unspoken ‘and away from all this unwashed rabble’ on the end of Arsenal’s words. At least she had the tact not to say it out loud.

Tumbleweed gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Um. About that... See, the boss may have been excited, but we’re still really short on ponies to do the jobs we need done. So to get him to agree to it, I kind of promised you lot would come with us to Baltimare and figure out what’s going on out there.”

Well it wasn’t the worst outcome possible, and meshed pretty well with what I was planning anyway. Still would have been nice to be warned ahead of time. A quiet, involuntary sigh passed my lips. “Okay. One more rescue mission, and then we can go home.” Really, all I wanted to do was crawl under a blanket and sleep for a week. But today was not my lucky day.

A grin migrated to the earth pony’s face. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. It’s probably just some new group of raiders or some gang which thinks they’re hot stuff setting up on the roads. Usually they’re pretty safe, not many ponies crazy enough to try and hit any of the well defended trade routes after all. But every once in a while someone causes some trouble.” He paused briefly. “Still, awful lot of ponies gone missing. Glad to have someone like you on our side!”

Someone like me. I wondered whether he meant someone who would try to help others, or whether he meant an alicorn, but the truth was I really didn’t want to know the answer. “Let’s just go...” Requiem shifted on my back slightly, steadying herself as we moved towards the nearest wagon.

“Think you can haul a wagon? Makes things easier for the rest of us.” I gave a silent nod, and was soon strapped into one of the half-dozen chariots which had been patched together from bits and pieces of other, broken, chariots.

Arsenal wasted no time at all taking position on the back of the laden vehicle along with Requiem. She didn’t even bother asking whether it was okay to ride rather than pull and I was in no mood to argue. Around me other ponies were getting strapped in, weapons were loaded and readied and supplies checked, and carts filled with goods and supplies.

By noon the long walk to Baltimare had begun. Vast, empty wasteland stretching towards infinity before us.


Notes:

Aurora Borealis (Level Up! - Level 11)
New Spell: Flames of Wrath (Rank 1) - Hatred, rage and destruction have their place in a world as twisted and pained as the wasteland, and you have learned the secrets of harnessing their power. You can now summon flames which manifest your emotional state to assault your enemies or show off for your friends. Be careful, you wouldn’t want to set the world on fire!

Silent Requiem (Level Up! - Level 10)

Arsenal (Level Up! - Level 10)
Quest Perk: Dressed for Success - The miracles of a dressmaker’s shop are amazing even in a fallen era. The expert care and attention garnered to your clothing has granted you +1 to your Charisma while interacting with others in a peaceful manner. You also occasionally gain new special conversation options reflecting your particularly high class style.