//------------------------------// // Chapter 78 // Story: Unshaken // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// Go back to the Gang: 10 Votes After a few minutes to think things over, and after a few minutes of waiting in vain for any more Pinks to show up to confirm her suspicions, Kestrel shook her head and slid back from the roof. Waiting any longer was a risky proposition, she knew. The rooftop she was perched on was only a few stories up; anypony looking out of the higher windows of the hotel could look down and see her. The more she dallied around Hoofston, she realized, the worse off things could be for her. It was time to cash out with what information she’d gathered and return to the Gang. Knowing that the Pinks were in town and, more importantly, that the Apple Family had hired them on to provide security for the Conference was information that they critically needed to hear. Stretching her wings out, Kestrel quickly scanned the sky above to make sure it was clear of other pegasi, then launched herself into the air. She took some time to circle higher and higher, figuring her best bet at slipping out without being noticed (or at least, without affording any tails the chance to easily follow her) was to get up high. After all, earth ponies and unicorns weren’t pegasi; they hardly ever looked up, their minds only thinking in two dimensions instead of three. It’d be trivially easy to slip by anypony on the ground if she was high enough in the air. Still, she didn’t make a beeline for the camp; that would be too risky. Instead, she flew southeast, not quite in the opposite direction of the camp, but putting some distance between herself and it to make sure that she wouldn’t accidentally lead any Pinks back. All the while, she made sure to climb higher and higher, making herself even more difficult to track from the ground. Eventually, Hoofston was miles behind her, and the dry and hot air of the Southwest had given way to a cooler chill with altitude and the setting sun. Kestrel held her wings straight out to simply glide in the high altitude silence, watching the world drift by below her, and flying high enough to watch the sun set for a second time beyond the curvature of the horizon. As day turned to night, Kestrel wheeled about once and began to loop back to the east, checking her surroundings for any followers. With a high vantage point and sharp eyes, she’d easily be able to see any pegasi in pink suits flying after her, no matter where they were. Is Kestrel able to tell if she’s being followed? Yes Is Kestrel being followed? No But there wasn’t another pegasus in the sky for miles around, apart from a few dark dots on the distant horizons that slowly melted into the encroaching night. Confident that she wasn’t being followed, Kestrel finally turned herself toward the lake, flying back to the Gang while maintaining her altitude. After all, just because she wasn’t being followed now, didn’t mean she couldn’t pick up a tail later if she got careless. But there was no further incident as she made her way back to camp. The roads were sparsely populated far below her, with barely any travelers on the trail as night encroached. Still, Kestrel waited until she was practically directly over the camp before she started her descent. Tilting her nose down, the outlaw banked to the left and bled away her altitude in a tight downwards spiral until a couple of backstrokes from her wings slowed her down and let her alight in the middle of the camp with a soft thud of hooves on the ground. Her entrance immediately caught the eye of Silvie, who happened to be sitting on the back of Trixie’s wagon nearby. The younger mare had changed her bandages again, Kestrel noticed, and Silver winced as she waved a wing. “Hey, Kessie,” she said, managing a smile despite it. “You’re back late.” “Got caught up in a little somethin’,” Kestrel said, walking closer. She gave Silver’s wound a closer look and raised an eyebrow. “Still not feelin’ any better?” Silver rolls Healthiness (5-2) to heal while the Gang has some downtime: Fail The silver pegasus shook her head. “Musta broke somethin’ when I got shot,” she said, frowning down the length of her muzzle. “Still hurts to twist and turn and the like. Still haven’t been able to go flyin’ much at all since Rock Ridge.” Kestrel pursed her lips in concern. “We might need to find a doctor for you or somethin’,” she said. “Easier said than done now.” Silver frowned and rolled her eyes. “Not like I’d wanna see a doctor anyhow. Wanderer’s feelin’ better, for Celestia’s sake, and he’s ancient! Imagine if I needed to see a doctor to feel like my old self!” Wanderer rolls Healthiness (3-1) to heal while the Gang has some downtime: Critical Success Wanderer is no longer Injured and has gained a bonus roll to the next time he takes damage before applying wounds. The older of the pair of outlaws snickered at that. “You tryin’ to compare feathers with a stallion more than double your age?” She shook her head and laughed while Silver crossed her legs and pouted. “Silvie, you got shot a lot more than him. Don’t be so hard on yourself for takin’ some time to heal. I don’t want you to push yourself and gettin’ more hurt tryin’ to get back to a hundred percent before you’re ready. Understand?” Reluctantly, Silver sighed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I understand.” “Good.” Kestrel looked around the camp and furrowed her brow. “Where’s Tumbleweed?” “He and Rough should be down by the lake,” Silver answered. “I think they was goin’ to try fishin’ or somethin’.” Kestrel’s mouth watered at that thought. “Fresh fish? That’s somethin’ I could get behind. Been a while, too. We been so busy since we set up shop here we ain’t had the time.” She turned toward the lake and touched the brim of her hat as she did so. “Thanks, Silvie.” Leaving the younger mare behind, Kestrel crossed the camp and made it down to the lake. It wasn’t too hard to follow the sounds of Tumbleweed’s and Roughshod’s voices carrying across the water, and Kestrel spread her wings to hop across the waters and track them down. She eventually found them behind a bush of reeds, the two stallions casting lines into the water, a bucket between them. “Catch anythin’ yet?” Kestrel asked, stepping closer once she was sure they weren’t about to cast their lines. She stepped closer and peered into the bucket, noting something swimming inside. “Pair of catfish,” Tumbleweed said, and his magic began reeling in his line. “Probably gonna be it for the night, though. Sun’s goin’ down and it’s too dark to see.” “Just enough for everypony to have a nibble,” Roughshod said, shrugging as he did the same. “Might have to go at it again tomorrow. Tumbleweed and me only started a few hours ago.” Kestrel nodded. “Fish fry’d sure be nice. Might soothe some nerves over, ‘specially after tonight.” Tumbleweed paused for a second, then turned to Kestrel with one eyebrow cocked. “What happened?” “Pinks,” Kestrel said, frowning. “They’re here in Hoofston.” “You sure?” Roughshod asked her. “You ain’t just gettin’ spooked?” “Two of them talked to me,” Kestrel said. “I’m pretty sure.” Tumbleweed set his fishing rod aside and pulled a cigar out of his vest. He didn’t light it, but he stuck the end in his lips nevertheless and began to chew on the end. It was a tick of his that Kestrel had become all too familiar with over the years they’d broken the law together, and she knew the gears in his mind were whirring along at a dizzying pace. “Did they recognize you?” Tumbleweed asked her. After a moment, Kestrel nodded. “Trixie’s illusions ain’t all that good when it comes to hidin’ from the Pinks. They sniffed it out almost as soon as they entered the saloon I was in.” “Then what in Tartarus are you doin’ back here!” Roughshod exclaimed. He froze, and then his eyes narrowed at Kestrel. “Unless they let you go—” “I ain’t turnin’ turncoat on us,” Kestrel growled back, cutting him off before Roughshod followed his thought to its obvious conclusion. Her feathers bristled outwards from her wings at even the hint of the accusation, and she took a breath to flatten them back down. “They sure tried to, though. They wanted me to know where our camp was. That means we’re safe for now.” “Safe?” Roughshod asked, incredulous. “The damn Pinks are in town and know we’re here, and you think we’re safe?” “They don’t know where our camp is,” Tumbleweed said, shifting his focus to Roughshod. “If they did, they would’ve arrested Kessie when they ran into her and then come for the rest of us. They wanted her to sell us out because they need to find where we are first. And I know Kestrel would never do such a thing.” His gaze fell back on Kestrel. “We’ve been ridin’ together too long to stab each other in the back now.” “Grrr… fine.” Roughshod spat at the ground and almost kicked over the bucket with the catfish inside when he tried to stomp on the spittle. “You weren’t followed, Kestrel?” “You got two functionin’ brain cells you can rub together?” Kestrel asked him, raising an eyebrow. “No. I ain’t dumb enough to get tailed. We’re in the clear. I did, however, find where the Pinks might be stayin’. There’s a hotel in town, The Royal Stables. I saw two Pinks goin’ into there, but I ain’t sure if that was where they were all stayin’, or if they were just visitin’ somepony. Some zebras were haulin’ cargo of some kind in through the front door, so I don’t know what to make of that.” Tumbleweed’s cigar shrunk an inch as he chewed through it. “They’re connected, that much seems obvious,” he said. “Anythin’ else?” “Only that the Pinks are in Hoofston because the Apple Family hired them on to be their security at the Conference,” Kestrel said. “We musta made enough noise in Rock Ridge to spook ‘em to the point they wanted some top bit professionals.” “Great,” Roughshod groaned. “There goes that upcomin’ job.” “Hold on, Rough, it ain’t like we ruled the thing out yet,” Tumbleweed said. “As of the moment, everythin’ is still a go. We just need to figure out what we’re doin’ next. Right, Kessie?” “Right.” Kestrel hooked a wing under the handle of the bucket, hefting it off the ground and nodding toward the camp so the three could start the walk back. “We got the advantage so long as the Pinks don’t know where we’re stayin’. It’s Monday; we meet with Starlight on Wednesday. The job’s on Friday. Plenty of time to work with.” “Then what are we gonna do in the meanwhile?” Roughshod asked, impatient as ever. “The Pinks here change everythin’. Shouldn’t we course correct?” Kestrel worked her jaw from side to side in thought, while Tumbleweed’s cigar continued to shorten along the walk back. 1.     Stay the course. No need to change how we’re doin’ things. We meet with Starlight on Wednesday, stay active in Hoofston keepin’ an eye on things despite the Pinks, and get ready for the job on Friday. 2.     Scale things back. Keepin’ an eye on the situation in Hoofston is too dangerous with the Pinks in town. We’ll lie low until Wednesday and speak with Starlight before we figure out what our next move is. 3.     Take the fight to the Pinks. We know where the Pinks are hangin’ out, roughly. A surprise attack on where they’re all stayin’ in the middle of the night could flush ‘em out and give us some breathin’ room to work with, ‘specially if we thin their numbers out a bunch. [EXTREMELY DANGEROUS] 4.     Abandon Hoofston. If the Pinks are here, that means we need to move someplace else. Hoofston is too dangerous now to stick to our plans; we’ll be better served movin’ elsewhere, even if it means turnin’ a promisin’ job down. [GANG MORALE -2]