//------------------------------//
// (Interlude ll) For Something Like Karma, See Chapter 28 Of The Original Story. 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Taking Life By The Horns 
// by Pokonic 
//------------------------------//

The true horror of the situation dawned on me when Blueberry stood up on her twisted legs and cracked her neck back in place, ignoring the distinct fact that she had lost what was probably most of her blood and was leaking from a new few holes.

And then her legs buckled, and she made a little squishing noise when she landed on the ground.

“Ow!” 

I would have laughed, if it were not for the fact she was supposed to be dead and she landed in a puddle of her own blood.

I blinked. That was not the sound of a pony filled with murderous glee. That was the sound of a pony that had too many drinks.

Or, in this case, lost more blood than she could have possibly stored in her body.

I stared at the pathetic sight of a slightly disoriented Blueberry and had to suppress laughing, which was easy to do considering my brain also picked up she was in a puddle of her own blood, covered in nasty cuts and wounds, wearing a strange possibly dead-reviving artifact of doom, and that, for whatever reason, she had red eyes.

I wondered for a moment what happened to my sense of humor. 

Leaning down, I help the woozy pony to her hind legs, wincing slightly when I realized her wounds were wet with new blood. I was glad there were a giant pool of water literally a few steps away from me.

Blueberry, on the other hand, looked like she was on several sorts of mind altering substances. I hoped it was from the lost of blood as opposed to brain damage, because I had no idea if Sea Salt chewed on her head or if the magical tiara would fix that sort of thing.

Then again, seeing that Blueberry was alive, somehow, I supposed that I did not have to worry about the magical tiara making her worse. Then again, on my increasing list of issues with the situation at hand, there was the actual issue of Sea Salt existing. And the fact Blueberry was somehow breathing.

Well, first things first.

I carefully prodded the grey gem set on her face. It did, to my mild surprise, nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?”

I ignored the mentally compromised pony, and to my interest discovered that her wounds, which should be grey and bloodless, were bleeding.

“Heeey, Watchfff…”

Blueberry looks up and me, contorts her face into a miserable frown, as if she was trying to remember something.

“Watchful.” She said it like it held an entire conversation’s worth of information.

I ignored it and continued my crude little investigation on how the tiny blue pony was alive. So far, it seemed like she was connected to some unlimited supply of blood, and was intent on leaking every pint of it. Unsettlingly, her wounds were visibly closing, like she drank a diluted healing potion. It was all very strange, and it stunk of of weird magic. 

“Why?”

I stopped prodding around a loose piece of scalp and backed off. I didn’t think I was hurting her, she seemed numb enough.

“Why what?” I said, drawing out my words.

“You’re…helping me. Why?”

That’s a stupid question, Blueberry. I am helping you because the alternative would be to be alone in a horrible place covered in your blood that smells like dead fish and copper.

But I did not say that.

“You are hurt.”

She frowned. What right did she have to frown? She was the one who was supposed to be dead and was still alive, somehow.

Really, I was surprised at myself for taking her little revival in stride.

“But….why? Other….other ponies would leave. I haven’t…given you much of a reason to help.” she nearly whined when I tried to wipe a smear of blood off her cheek.

I sighed at the shear helplessness in those words, and tried my best to make her feel better.

“You’re my friend, Blueberry.” 

She blinked slowly, and her mouth formed a thin line of disapproval. 

“What does that…matter? To you?”

I had no idea, really. A burden, possibly.

“It doesn’t matter, Blueberry, just-“

Her horn began to shimmer with red light, and she looked at me with unnatural orbs that resembled inverted suns. 

“I don’t want to owe you any favors.”

It was my turn to blink. 

“Blueberry, if I was counting favors, you would be serving me for a year.”

She stared at me blankly for a moment but eventually began to chuckle, despite the distinct lack of a joke. It sounded forced, like it was a sound not meant to be made in a ponies mouth.

“Blueberry, what is your problem?”

A half-hearted grin stretched across her face, and she just looked at me like she and I were in on the funniest joke in the world.

“Watchful, really…we are in the wasteland. I expect what’s coming for me. You have probably been waiting for this moment for days now. If you want, I can wait for you to grab that, what did she call it, a meche-something....that blade thing you have and you can just-” 

She did not finish what she was going to say, because she was interrupted by my right hand slapping her across the face.

Sputtering in mild shock, she raised a hoof to the spot where I hit her. Despite all the cuts and marks on her body, even I could see the ugly bruise that was starting to form. Dark purple began to show under light blue coat.

“You…hit…”

I realize only then that I probably looked horrifying to her. Hunched over, matted over with blood and water, and the horns probably didn’t help. And I just hit her.

I was beginning to form an apology that would probably be inadequate, but to my mild surprise and somewhat disbelief, she closed her eyes and hanged her head low.

Staring for a few brief moments, I realized what she was doing.

I was furious, naturally.

“What are you doing?” I said, perhaps a little too forcefully at the possible suicidal mare with mental problems possibly induced by her little death-reversing tiara thing.

“I deserve it.” she mumbled.

“What was that?” I growled. 

“Go ahead.”

I stood up and quickly stomped away from the suicidal mare who I was not sure if I hated or not and made my way to a less bloody corner of the room; so I was certain I would not go ahead with what Blueberry apparently wanted me to do.

It was increasingly tempting. First my sense of humor, next my morals.

After a few quiet moments, Blueberry carefully opened her eyes and looked at me with something akin to surprise.

“But…I thought you hated me?”

I clenched my fists, and tried not grinding my teeth to nubs. 

“I loath you, Blueberry, but that does not mean I am going to beat you!”

She hung her head low enough to the ground it looked like she could have fallen over.

“But…”

I raised a hand.

“Blueberry, do you want to help me?”

A wave of conflicting emotions bubbled up under all the shame and self loathing, but she eventually nodded.

“Come over here.”

It was a simple statement, and for once, I was the one calling the shots on what she did. She trotted over on legs that were only slightly shaky, and eventually she was at arms length away from me.

I considered making her go over to the water and make her look at herself, but I quickly thought against it. It was a bad idea. 

But then I had another that was probably just as bad, but did not have a chance of Blueberry freaking out.

“Blueberry, hold out your head.”

She showed a sickeningly small amount of hesitance in doing so. 

“Do you feel anything?”

She shook her head, and closed her eyes. I noticed that, besides her wounds being practically non-existent, her tiara’s central gem was now a light pinkish color. Odd, but not the most important issue at the time.

With some amount of grace, I snatched the thing off her head.

Startled slightly, she fluttered her eyes open. Eyes that, to my surprise, were a perfectly normal bluish color. 

I quickly put it back on.

Her eyes quickly returned to there unsettling white-on-red color scheme.

I took it off.

Back to normal.

Blueberry looked like she was torn between being annoyed or confused, but she settled for pure horror after she batted my hands away from her face and saw the blood covering the floor behind me,

"But..how..when...I knew that...I just left for a few minutes...Watchful..what did I..."

She didn't get much more out before she nearly flung herself at me and buried her head in my chest and sobbed.

In general.

I was unsure about what was the worst part, the emotions going through my head or the smell.

I settled for the smell. Fish-stink, blood, and pony tears was quite unpleasant, nearly as foul as a pony using oneself as a big tissue as it unelegantly blubbered into one's mostly clean fur.

I looked at her magical life-restoring tiara thing, having been tossed a few feet away from me by a flying pony, and gave it a glare.

I swear I saw the cursed pony princess on the thing wink at me it it's single ruby eye.

I hate ponies, unicorns in particular.