//------------------------------// // Chapter 142 // Story: Unshaken // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// Voice concerns with Miss Irons: 11 Votes As the Gang set about gathering up what they needed to make dinner, Kestrel got up and made her way over to the prep station where Miss Irons had started washing vegetables for the stew. Kestrel picked up a knife and joined her, and as the older unicorn washed and dried the vegetables in her magic, Kestrel went to work cutting them up into smaller chunks to toss in the pot. It was simple work, and though it left ample room for idle conversation, both mares were largely muted as they worked. For Kestrel, though, it was less by choice and more by necessity. She had decided that she wanted to discuss the Gang’s situation with its heart and soul, but so long as other ponies of the Gang were in the building and moving around, she didn’t feel comfortable voicing her concerns. It wasn’t until the two mares had filled the kettle with all the ingredients and set it over a fire to cook did Kestrel finally find an opportunity to steal a few words with the elderly mare when everypony else went outside to sit around the campfire in another humid bayou night. “Am I the only one who’s gettin’ a little worried ‘bout our family?” Kestrel asked, abruptly stopping Miss Irons with the sudden question before the unicorn could go outside and join everypony else. When Miss Irons turned to face her with a puzzled look, Kestrel sighed and shook her head. “You heard ‘em earlier. Tumbleweed and Rough and Snapshot was lookin’ to go and beat what they wanna hear outta some ponies who ain’t done nothin’ wrong by us. You said it yourself; Wanderer wouldn’t want to see us turn to that sorta ways of doin’ business.” Miss Irons stood in silence by the door for a few moments, but ultimately, she turned back to Kestrel and made her way closer to the younger mare. “He wouldn’t want to see us blaming each other for everything that’s happened so far. All the misfortune we’ve had. And we’re all guilty of it. Tumbleweed, me, you…” She sat down at the table and shook her head. “Ponies are scared, Kestrel. We don’t think clearly when we are.” After a moment, Kestrel joined her at the table. “I guess,” she admitted, hunching over her place at the table and staring down at the grimy grain of the wood under her forehooves. “I’m scared we’re gonna lose more ponies. And even if we don’t, what if we lose ourselves along the way? There’s only one endin’ Tumbleweed’s bringin’ us to, and I ain’t likin’ it one bit. I just wanna keep the Gang together.” “Is that why you’re bringing this up with ponies one by one?” Miss Irons asked her, a shrewd look in her eyes. When Kestrel didn’t immediately answer, the elderly unicorn quietly snorted and frowned. “You want to keep the Gang together, and to do that you’re sizing everypony else up, seeing which side they’re going to fall on: yours, or Tumbleweed’s. You keep asking around, and you’re going to make everypony pick a side, whether they realize it or not. Whether you realize it or not.” “Then what am I supposed to do?” Kestrel asked her. “I already tried voicin’ my concerns to Tumbleweed. This is our gang, mine and his, and I been tryin’ to get things sorted out with him ‘fore I went ‘round bringin’ this up with anypony else. But it’s like beatin’ my head against a wall.” Even just talking about her arguments with Tumbleweed left Kestrel feeling frustrated, and she dug out a cigarette from within her duster and lit it to try and keep herself from getting too worked up. “Tumbleweed and I ain’t goin’ in the same direction no more. Only thing he’s focused on is gettin’ outta Equestria alive. He don’t care none ‘bout how he tries to do it. Feels like I’m the only pony concerned with makin’ sure we get out the right way.” She immediately took a drag from her cigarette when she finished talking, and Miss Irons gave her a thoughtful look in silence for several seconds. “And what right way is there for a gang of criminals and outlaws?” she finally asked Kestrel. “What do you mean?” Kestrel blinked. “I thought you was on my side.” “I am. But what about Tumbleweed’s side?” Miss Irons laid her forehooves atop each other on the table and looked toward the door, where the faint murmur of conversation made its way through the rotting wood. “For all our honor, Kestrel, we’re criminals. We’re wanted outlaws. And the Law will happily shoot us dead if we won’t go quietly. It doesn’t matter what we do or how we try to carry ourselves; it won’t make a difference to them. Our past sins have made us irredeemable. We’re making the game harder for ourselves, if only to sleep easier at night when we get out of this country. If we get out of this country.” “It ain’t like I’m sleepin’ no better already,” Kestrel said. She sighed and let her wings droop. “I just want it to be all over,” she murmured. “The fightin’, the killin’, the runnin’. Things was good for a time. Things was excitin’. We were free in a way few ponies in this big ol’ country can even imagine. And then somewhere along the line, the game changed. Now we got junk in our hoof, and the Law upped the ante. All in. And we ain’t got enough chips to stay at the table if we lose.” Miss Irons nodded, following the metaphor. “That’s where we’re at then. We’ve already been dealt our hoof; we can’t cash out until it’s played out. Do we fold or do we play our hoof?” “We can’t fold,” Kestrel said. “We can’t leave New Oatleans empty-hoofed. We have to get somethin’. We fold now, we ain’t ever gonna win the pot. We won’t have enough chips left to bet. We have to go all in and pray that we get somethin’ from the dealer.” At that, the iron unicorn hummed and stood up, her chair sliding against the dirty wood floor. “Then I suppose there’s only one way to look at it,” she said to the gunslinger. “When we finally play that final hoof, are we going to be happy we played the game fair? Or are we going to be kicking ourselves because we had a chance to play an ace from our sleeve and didn’t take it?” Kestrel shook her head. “Cheatin’ at cards ain’t the same as becomin’ common thugs.” “You’re the one who chose the metaphor, Kestrel; I just did my best to fit Tumbleweed’s point of view into it.” Miss Irons offered her a curt nod. “I think you’re doing the right thing. I agree with you on that. Beating and murdering innocent ponies isn’t our way. I’m only wondering whether the ace hidden up our sleeve is the only way to win the pot. But we won’t know that until the last card is played.” She turned around and made her way to the door, opening and closing it as she joined the rest of the Gang outside. That left Kestrel to sit alone inside, her cigarette slowly smoldering between two feathers. The pegasus sat there for several minutes, almost as still as a statue, the roll of tobacco burning away until it was but ash that she finally squashed against the table. 1.     Try to enjoy the night with the rest of the Gang 2.     Focus on the scouting mission tomorrow.