Bear, Scribe and Paladin

by Speven Dillberg


22: TITLE NOT FOUND

Thomas opened one of the doors of the Lucky 38’s presidential suite, what was technically his home. While he may have had three bedrooms, he really only used two of them. The third had been converted into a personal armoury that would put even the NCR to shame with the sheer diversity in arms and armour it contained.
Pistols and rifles, both energy-based and gunpowder, covered one wall. Along another a large number of explosives and launchers were stored. A third wall was dedicated to all forms of close-quarters weaponry, ranging from boxing gloves to Legate Lanius’ own Sword of The East.
He had also moved a large number of closets and chests into the room to make storing his daunting amount of armour easy. Legion centurion armour, Republic trooper uniforms, pre-War combat armour, power armour, radiation suits, even a high-tech stealth suit.
However, he had one particular set of armour in mind. Last time he was in Equestria, he had been known as the red-eyed demon by those who stood against him. This time, he felt that a slightly different name would be better. He looked at the wall of explosive hardware and smiled, his eyes resting on one weapon in particular.


“So, we’re fine now?”
“Oh of course dear,” Rarity answered with a warm smile, not looking away from her sewing machine. “I had no idea it was like that.”
“Well, you don’t ever see much new clothing in Vegas,” Veronica explained. “Even when you do, it’s not exactly good clothing, either.”
“I can’t imagine how you stand it, though,” Rarity muttered.
The Scribe shrugged. “Neither do I, sometimes. Try picking up a date wearing a set of dusty robes. Doesn’t happen.”
“I can imagine that,” Rarity replied. “Would you like some more tea?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Veronica held out her teacup and let the mare fill it before reclining again on the small couch. “This is really relaxing.”
Rarity hadn’t wanted her to wear her armour all the time, so she had put very quickly put together a simple sky blue dress. Veronica had to stop herself from repeating the morning’s reaction, something which had required all her willpower. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving Sweetie Belle another hug. Neither unicorn had minded too much, though, especially the filly who nuzzled into the Scribe’s chin. That had set her off into another series of happy squeals.
Rarity was still sitting at a sewing machine, working on a gown. It was unlike anything she had ever made before, a biped with a strangely slim body. She had seen clothing for a minotaur cow before, but they had upper bodies comparable in size to the bulls. In comparison, Veronica was frighteningly slim, though her breasts (Rarity couldn’t understand why the word ‘udders’ upset her) were strangely soft, like pillows. The Scribe had said that this was perfectly normal, but the unicorn had seen the scars on her stomach shortly before she had been smothered. That certainly wasn’t normal.
Their attention shifted when a small yelp came from the other side of the room. “Help!” They turned to see a set of small white legs flail around comically under a large bolt of silk cloth. “Get it off!”
“Sweetie, what have I told you about being careful?” Rarity asked, moving the bolt with ease.
“But I’m so bored!” the filly exclaimed as she picked herself up. “Why can’t I see Apple Bloom or Scootaloo?”
“Because they are being punished. Like you.” Rarity sighed as she returned to her work. “I still can’t believe you three would do something so... foolish.”


Trixie turned around and sighed. What was meant to be a relaxing jog around the training fields had turned into anything but. “Aren’t you bored of following Trixie yet?” she asked irritably.
In response, Rainbow Dash glared at her. “I know you’re up to something. And I’m going to prove it.”
Trixie rolled her eyes and stopped. “Do you really want to waste your entire day tailing me? Surely you have something better to do.”
“Normally, yeah, but this stupid war kinda ruined that for me,” the pegasus admitted unhappily. “I’m not even allowed to fly above a certain height! Do you have any idea how much that sucks?”
“Seeing as I happen to lack wings, no. But Trixie can understand your frustration.” She made to walk away, but the pegasus just flew over her and planted herself in the unicorn’s path.
“Oh no, I’m not done - ” Trixie walked into Rainbow Dash and exploded in a cloud of smoke. “What?!” she spluttered, looking around in vain. “How did - when - but - ARGH!”
On the other side of the training field, thankfully concealed by a group of sparring griffons, Private Lulamoon continued walking. Unfortunately for her, this reprieve didn’t last long.
“Hey! Just what do you think that was about!?”
Trixie gritted her teeth and turned around, fixing a glare of her own at the troublesome speedster. “Well, Trixie was trying to avoid the crazy mare who decided that following me into an area off-limits to civilians was a good idea,” she growled. “So unless you want to spend a few hours in the cells, you should leave now.”
“Cells?” Rainbow asked, thinking the unicorn was bluffing. “Pfft, yeah, right.”
“I have the authority to physically restrain you if you don’t leave,” Trixie added.
“I’d like to see you try!”
“Hey, what’s the civvie doing here?” a golden-armoured pegasus asked as she walked by.
“How should I know?” her friend asked, a unicorn in the murky purple armour of the Night Guard.
Rainbow and Trixie watched the pair walk past. “Private,” another voice said unhappily. “Being a Knight does not give you the privilege to bring civilians into restricted areas.”
“Sir, I did not bring her,” Trixie replied, turning to face her superior, who was wearing the plates of a set of Knight armour. “She followed me, even after I warned her.”
The dark-coated stallion raised an eyebrow. “Is this true?” he asked Rainbow.
“Wait, she was telling the truth? But - ”
“You have ten seconds to leave before you are detained.” The stallion cut her off, his tone making it clear that there was no argument that would sway him.
“Fine,” Rainbow replied, knowing when she was beat.
As she hovered off back towards the castle, Trixie turned to the stallion. “Thanks for that, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it, Trix,” he replied, the hardness in his voice replaced with kind-hearted joviality. “And I keep telling you, just call me Blink. None of that ‘sir’ stuff. Makes me feel old.”