Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues
Chapter 4: Heart of Gold
--
----------------------
“Nomad”
“Rusty Caps”
“Frolick”
“Ardent Lights”
“Tipsy Turvy”
----------------------
Third and final day. Same as the two before. Hot, dry, rocks, shrubs, and a whole mess of sand. Woke up late mornin’ and have been trottin’ seven hours straight, the promise of Goldroot keepin’ their hooves eager. Thought he might have to hold the caravan up a bit from the impact he took during the dunestalker’s storm, but a night’s rest provided more recovery than anticipated. His one reminder is the jolts of fire shootin’ up his legs, makin’ him wince with every step he takes. Only respite is Prickly beside him. She prattles on loudly, her whimsical tone stealin’ a bit of the pain from his thoughts.
“Reason we buried the carts like that was so they wouldn’t hurt nopony,” she says. “Ya see, dunestalkers only go after the livin’, leavin’ most everything else above ground. That’s all well and good, but the problems start when ya realize that the sand the dunestalker’s take up is always on the move, either suckin’ somepony under or pushin’ somethin’ aside, even somethin’ as big as a cart. Now ah’m sure ya can imagine tryin’ to get in position for a good dynamite toss and all of a sudden havin’ one of those big ol’ hunks of metal and wood sweep along and fall over right on top of ya. Ain’t pretty.”
He nods along with Prickly’s answer as they trot. Makes sense and also eliminates another factor of chance from the fight, somethin’ he can always appreciate. “And ah suppose they have a thing against dynamite, the way they scampered off after ya chucked a few?”
“Ha!” Prickly chuckles a little, lookin’ over at him as if he’d just told her there’s sand in the desert. “They’ve ‘got a thing against dynamite’ the same way anything else does! Don’t know about you stranger, but ah tend to get a might spooked if somepony’s chuckin’ explosives at me.”
“Is that so?” Surprises him to hear Snake Eyes say from his other side, havin’ been dead silent most of the day. “Would it be safe to assume then that this universal fear slipped your mind as you tossed live dynamite at me yesterday? Or is blowing each other up a favored pastime of your... ‘society’?”
“Ha ha!” Prickly laughs again, makin’ Snake drop into a scowl as she waves her hoof at him. “Nice one slicker! Good on ya to have a sense of humor after ya’ve cooled off. But, if yer still curious...” Her head disappears from view as she leans back and rummages around in her right saddlebags. When she comes back up it’s with a long stick of red-orange dynamite stickin’ out from her mouth like a cigar. “Ya see this little fella? Homemade for fendin’ off dunestalkers. They’re made up of only one part nitroglycerin and ah have most of the thing packed with sand. Keeps the fireworks show but takes out the dangerous blast for the most part. Also keeps costs down to boot! Bein’ a caravan pony doesn’t mean yer necessarily rollin’ in the caps, ya know.”
“Mah sister's also the three time horseshoe tossin’ champion over in Goldroot.” Pokey mentions lightly from Prickly's other side. “Happens to have made her quite a dynamite tosser as well, so if she hits ya, chances are it’s ‘cus ya wound up on her bad side.”
Snake Eyes doesn’t seem convinced as he frowns and looks forward, fallin’ back into his cold shoulder routine.
Good enough answer for him. Been askin’ questions all day about the dunestalkers, findin’ out their weaknesses and how they move. Hunt in packs, nocturnal, easy to tell ‘em apart from regular coyotes by their ghostly howls, suck their prey under the sand, afraid of dynamite. Ain’t a curious stallion, but also don’t consider himself a foolish one. Doesn’t matter if yer a lone ranger or a suave talker, if ya got a chance to get info on your enemies, ya take it,
He grimaces, blinkin’ away what must be the hundredth drop of sweat to soak into his eyes today. Just so happens that questions also help to distract him as well. Keeps his mind off the same damn heat he’s been trottin’ through the past two days. Only respite from it all is that the sun’s been on its way down for awhile now, droppin’ the temperature along with it. One less discomfort to worry about.
He wipes the sweat from his face with a swipe of his forehoof, huffin’ in thought. Asked plenty already, but of course there’s always that rascal question ya missed which pops up in yer head a few hours later. Still don’t hurt to try and sniff around for it.
“Wooooweeeeee!” Prickly suddenly kicks up her front legs beside him, pickin’ up her pace as she lands back down. “We’re on the homestretch here ponies! Full steam ahead!”
Homestretch? Bit of deja vu as he and Snake Eyes look around the desert. Nope. Same old same old. Lookin’ over to Snake tells him the city slicker has come up empty as well.
“And which landmark would happen to be the one that tipped you off?” Snake Eyes asks as he gives a judgin’ glare over to Prickly. “For the sake of any remaining respect I have harbored for you, tell me it isn’t one of these rocks or cacti.”
Prickly shakes her head. excitement leakin’ through the big smile that’s grown her face. “Nope! Though I could probably tell ya the distance by the cacti. Even got names for the ones right outside town! That said, easiest way to know yer about an hour’s trot from Goldroot is that big fella riiiiiiiiiight up ahead.” She finishes by pointin’ a hoof straight down the trail.
Him and Snake both look back forward, scannin’ the horizon. No idea what he’s searchin’ for. As Snake Eyes mentioned, rocks and cacti abound but none of ‘em appearin’ of any note. The trail itself ain’t a speck of sand different and stays as such until it runs from sight.
Hold a moment. He freezes his search, squintin’ his eyes. There, right in between the settin’ sun and where the trail meets the sky. Nothin’ more than a faint mirage when he spots it, yet as they close another few minute’s distance it strengthens into a dark blotch against a dyin’ afternoon’s backdrop.
A cloud? Nope. Not a cloud in the sky as of now, and of course it’d be violet in the birthin’ sunset. Not to mention the shape itself. The blotch starts at a sharp peak then trickles off downward until it disappears behind the earth’s border. The longer they trot, the longer the lines become as they rise up into view, holdin’ their slope as their edges turn crinkled and sharp.
“Mountains,” hear himself say. A meaningless guess at this point, but there ain’t any harm in it.
Also seems to give Prickly a brief amusement. She whistles and stamps one of her hooves against the ground in her best attempt to pull off a trottin’ applause. “Ding ding stacker! Although if ah might make a small correction there, not mountains, mountain. Mount Macintosh, or ‘Big Red’ as most fellas like to call it, is a lonely chunk of rock plunked down right in the middle of the Palomino. Closest relatives its got is the Dragonback Ridge a half day’s trot to the northwest.”
“Fascinating, but what does this mean?” Snake Eyes asks, appearin’ to have caught sight the of the mountain as well. “How far away are we from Goldroot?”
Prickly shrugs. “Depends on how much dust has been kicked up by the wind. We’ve been enjoyin’ a nice little breeze throughout the day, so ah’d guess only about fourty five to a full hour before we hit the edge of town. Maybe even sooner if we keep up this nice pace we have goin’ along right—”
She’s interrupted by the sound of crashin’ from behind. The whole caravan screeches to a halt, pullin’ an about face just as the noise of wood slammin’ to the ground silences the ruckus.
Big Iron’s cart. The top wooden crate portion lies diagonally to the ground, havin’ buried into the sand on its fall down. Source of the problem lies at the machine’s base where the axle has gotten loose, sendin’ its right wheel and all its bolts flyin’ off the trail and into the desert. Big Iron himself stands at its front unscathed, frownin’ sheepishly back at the wreckage.
There’s a long bout of silence before Prickly scowls, swingin’ her hoof in frustration. “Shoot! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me! Of all the places!”
"Calm down Prickly." Pokey sighs as she looks to the wreckage. "Ain't too big a deal."
“Ah told him,” Anvil says, frownin’ over at Big Iron. “Told him to let me have a look at it before we headed it out. But he said ‘nope, all’s fine, swear it’.” The big stallion exhales and shakes his head. Grumblin’ from the rest of the caravan starts up as well, a few ‘damnit’s catchin’ in his ear.
“Wonderful...” Snake Eyes hisses between clenched teeth, glarin’ daggers at ‘em all. “Two hours from sunset and then... this...”
Prickly curses as well yet puffs her chest out, steppin’ in between ‘em all. “Grumblin’ like spoiled foals ain’t gonna get us back on the trail. Anvil!” She shoots a green hoof to the stallion, jerkin’ her head to the cart. “Gimme the low-down on the damage we’re lookin’ at here.”
Anvil gives an affirming nod before trottin’ past Bursage to the other side of the cart. The stallion leans down and inspects the cart’s underside, tappin’ and proddin’ the axle a few times before comin’ back up and frownin’ at Prickly. “Loose axle, even looser wheel. Thing popped right off and scattered its bolts and screws with it.” The stallion takes his own saddlebags from his back, droppin’ ‘em at his hooves and motionin’ down to ‘em. “It’s an easy fix and Ah got the tools, but we’re still gonna have to do a bit of diggin’ around in the desert to gather up all the bits and pieces back."
“Right then.” Prickly waves her hoof towards the stallions while starin’ down the Dust siblings. “Ya’ll heard the stallion! Ya both quit yer fussin’ and help Big Iron and Bursage gather up these here cart parts. Don’t wanna be stuck here when night time hits. Pokey, keep an eye on 'em will ya? Make sure they're doin' more workin' than squawkin'.”
The Dust siblings grumble under their breath as they trot off and join the other two stallions, Pokey hot on their hooves. Anvil himself sifts through his saddlebags, pullin’ out assorted tools and puttin’ ‘em by for later use.
Whelp. Only one way to speed this up. His bones crack and pop as he rises from his haunches.
“Wait!” Snake Eyes stops him with a hoof to the side, peerin’ at him with his muzzle turned up into a sneer. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He stops and peers back with a raised brow. “Helpin’ find these wagon parts. Don’t like sittin’ around when ah could be gettin’ back on the road.”
Snake Eyes nods slowly as he takes his hoof away. “Good. Then we’re agreed.” He jerks his head towards the trail, risin’ to his own hooves. “Let’s go.”
Takes him a moment to realize what Snake is implyin’. Can feel his entire expression drop as he gives the city stallion a tired stare. “Ya really can’t wait just a while longer?” he asks with a sigh.
“No, I really can’t,” Snake snaps back, eyes flarin’. “I wouldn’t dare guess how long it will take these bumbling oafs to gather their toys back up and I can assure you I don’t have the mind to wait and find out!” Snake stops a moment, takin’ a quick glance at the sun, scowlin’ when he turns back to him. “And, also, there’s not a chance I’m going to spend another dunestalker attack at these idiot’s sides. We leave now, we’ll be safe inside Goldroot by nightfall. Now go! Trot!”
Hm. Part of him that wants to tell Snake to shut his trap and sit down. Other part that tells him the slicker is actually speakin’ a bit of sense, all the poisonous fluff aside. He lets out a long breath, adjustin’ his stetson. checkin’ his rifle, nehmoa... He looks to Snake Eyes, tips his head toward Prickly. “Wait here. Ah’m not gonna run off without givin’ a partin’ thanks.”
Snake rolls his eye’s but doesn’t argue, fallin’ back to his haunches.
Prickly hasn’t moved far from where she’d broke up the Dusts. Her brows are folded and her muzzle pursed as she paws her hoof through the sand, movin’ along with small sweepin’ hoofsteps. When he approaches she looks up in surprise, quickly puttin’ on an embarrassed smile. “Howdy stacker. Mah apologies for the holdup. Can blame Bursage all we want, but in the end it was mah responsibility to keep everything in check.”
“Ain’t a thing,” he says, wavin’ it off with a shake of his head. “That said, Ah’m afraid this might be where we have to part ways. Mah acquaintance here is gettin’ a bit restless, wants to head off and reach Goldroot by sundown.”
Her ears shoot up, pink eyes widenin’. “Oh! Well darn.” She turns her attention over to Snake Eyes, wavin’ him over with her hoof. “Get on over here slicker! Ain’t lettin’ ya run off on me without so much as a word goodbye!”
To his credit Snake doesn’t pout. Even gets up without so much as a flinch, as if he expected it would come to this in the first place. Approachin’ Prickly he scrunches his face, reluctantly puttin’ his hoof forward. “Fine, a hoof shake. I suppose you did earn a little something by fending off those dunestalkers.”
“Fendin’ off??” Prickly chuckles as she takes Snake’s hoof and roughly shakes it. “Ah never got to thank you for actin’ as the bait!”
A glint runs across Snake’s eyes. “‘Bait...?”
“Yep! Bait!” Prickly nods, still shakin’ his hoof. “What? Do ya think we would be able to climb our way out after gettin’ dragged six feet under? Dunno what it was, but they were right on top of us yet skipped by and went after you instead!” She shrugs, still shakin’ his hoof. “Guess they wanted a taste of that rare city stallion!”
For a brief moment Snake goes blank, eyes glazin’ over as if sucked into a deep thought. He stays there for a good few seconds until, slowly, it’s replaced by the same dark shade of fear that had possessed him the night before.
Like bein’ snapped from a dream Snake Eyes tears his hoof away from Prickly, sinkin’ back into his usual sneer. “That’s enough,” Snake looks over to him and shoots a hoof to the trail. “Hoof shake and done. We’ve already wasted enough time.”
Snake goes stompin’ off down the road, leavin’ him and Prickly alone. Ain’t too worried about it. Doubt he’ll get far, ‘specially with that little scare inside of him. He puts his attention over to Prickly, offerin’ his hoof. “Mah apologies for all the hell he’s given ya’ll these past few days. Hopefully can teach him some manners along the road.”
Prickly gladly accepts the shake, brushin’ his apology aside with a grin and a sweep of her head. “Don’t matter a thing stacker, he’s just a homesick city slicker is all. Hopefully some rest and relaxation over in Goldroot will cool him off for the rest of the trip.” She breaks the shake herself, shooin’ him off down the trail. “Get on now. Ah won’t tell ya goodbye ‘cus chances are we’ll wind up hittin’ each other sometime back in the city.”
Sounds about right. He turns, tips his hat to her as he trots off. “Till then.”
She tips her head back. “‘Till then.”
There’s a cry of elation over a found bolt as he heads off. By the time they start to babble about it, he’s already a good ways down the path, gainin’ quick time on Snake Eyes. The city stallion trots at a purposefully leisure pace, only givin’ him the slightest bit of recognition as he closes the distance between ‘em, comin’ up to his side. Once there, Snake starts up a normal trot with a slight hint of a canter in it, the eagerness to reach town clear in his steps.
For a good twenty minutes there ain’t a word between ‘em. Big Red off in the distance continues to fade into view, takin’ on a deeper hue of it’s namesake, its edges and texture gainin’ detail with every second that passes. The winds shift as well, each gentle whiff of breeze bringin’ along a colder kiss than the last.
A new shade creeps into view below Big Red just as the sun begins to brush the mountain’s peak. It’s a single line along the horizon, yet jumps and jags at set intervals, laid out like some foal’s poor attempt at a graph. No doubt his first glimpse of Goldroot.
Snake Eyes seems to take notice as well, kickin’ his trot up another notch in anticipation. The fear melts away from his face as he sucks in a breath of relief. “Aaah. Finally. Civlization. And we’ll reach it long before night comes while the caravan is eaten by dunestalkers. Perfect.”
Twenty minutes of silence and Snake breaks it for a bout of braggin’. Suppose he shouldn’t be surprised by now. He keeps quiet and lets the silence sink back in as they trot on. Just like Big Red, the details fade in with every hoof fall. The trail they travel shoots straight towards the base of the mountain, which also happens to be where their cluster of buildings has settled, all of which are made up of an old, black, aged wood.
Another ten minutes and they’re nearin’ the town’s entrance. About a quarter mile from the edge of town they pass a small road sign painted with the words ‘Welcome to Goldroot! Town of fertile roots and hearts of gold!'. Most likely from the old world if he guesses an age. A mockery to the likes of Canterlot and Hoofington, them in ruins, it still standin’.
Goldroot itself has no real entrance, no gate, not even an arch. The trail they trot passes through two buildings with some space to spare between ‘em, but otherwise it’d be just the same if they entered through one of the alleyways.
Still don’t want to come off as suspicious, especially with talk of bandits Prickly told him of. They pass the two buildings, windin’ up in Goldroot’s main street. A worn yet cared for track of dirt, it runs off to the north and south between an inner and outer line of buildings, curvin’ both ways toward the west. No doubt it loops back around the mountain, formin’ a complete circle of the town. Not a bad layout.
Somethin’ wrong with it all though.
No townsponies.
It’s him, Snake Eyes, and a few lone tumbleweeds that skip along the streets. Besides them, the streets are dead empty, not a single soul in sight. Even stranger is the evidence of recent activity. The two storey homely building before them, first one they saw entering the town, has the words ‘GOLD ‘N SILVER SALOON’ painted in black along the top, its entrance decorated with a porch much like Tab’s back in Buckham. Hoof shaped dirt stains are tracked up onto its floor. Give an hour and the breeze would blow ‘em off.
One sign in a sea of others. There’s hoofprints in the dirt around ‘em, the wood of the structures, though old is well maintained, and even a slight hint of musk pervades the air, speakin’ of a large crowd that had been in the area not long ago.
Snake Eyes leans in and hisses into his ear. “I believe this is the part where we leave.”
Instinct screams at him to agree. This is abnormal. This is wrong. Somethin’s up. Either turn back around and find Prickly or skirt the town and continue westward. Or... poke around a bit. If whatever the hell happened here has already swept through the town, there could be some vital information left behind that could keep him from sufferin’ the same fate.
He starts forward, advancin’ on the saloon. “Reign it in, stay close. Gonna check around a bit,” he says. Snake Eyes drips razor sharp curses yet follows close behind, glancin’ nervously up and down the streets. He slows down his hoofsteps as he approaches the porch, happy to find that the boards are cared for as well, not makin’ so much as a squeak when he prods ‘em with his boot. Now, the door itself. Solid oak, unscreened, blocks any view into the inside.
Guess the best way to do this is the old SWAT style. He glances back over his shoulder and raises his hoof up to signal. Hoof across the chest, wave hoof down, finishin’ with a tap of his back. Instead of movin’, Snake Eyes stares back, his brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
Of course. Only signal this slicker probably knows is bedroom eyes. He jerks his head over his shoulder, whisperin’, “Get behind me."
Snake Eyes scoffs, movin’ in next to the saloon’s wall. “Next time just point behind you. Much more simple to understand than cave-pony speak, yes?”
He waits for Snake Eyes to settle into position before puttin’ his hoof to the door. Drawin’ in a focused breath, he puts his mouth to his nehmoa. Soon as he pushes he snaps back, bracin’ for gunfire, listenin’ for any shouts or screams, ready to leap from any sudden grenades.
Nothin’. Door swings along without so much as a creak, glidin’ on oiled hinges. He inches forward a bit, just to where he can see around the openin’ and into the saloon.
Dead empty. Once again, signs of life everywhere. Tables with their chairs pushed out, bar with its drinks unattended to, a still smolderin’ cigar smokin’ in its tray. Pool table sits across the room, the eight and three ball still on the playin’ field. Abandoned mid game. A number of photographs and assorted objects line the wall, as if somepony tacked ‘em up there at random There’s some stairs in the back, heads up to a balcony area with more tables. Same thing up there. Empty.
He pulls the door back, closin’ it with a soft click. Snake Eyes scans him, rubbin’ his hooves together. “Well?” Snake whispers apprehensively.
“Nopony in there,” he whispers back, slowly trottin’ from the porch. “Stick close. Work our way through the back alleys to the other side of the town. If we don’t find anything by then, we head out. Don’t wanna be in a ghost town at night fall.”
“As opposed to the day...” Snake Eyes hisses as they slip into the alleyway behind the bar. Good to see that there’s some trottin’ space in between Big Red’s base and the buildings. From back here it ain’t much different from the main street. Circle that loops around Big Red, only smaller and a might thinner.
From here its easy slippin’ from buildin’ to buildin’, duckin’ under some windows, peekin’ into others. Get somethin’ different every time. Window of a single-story has a room he can look into, complete with a tucked-in bed and a drawer with a clean silk vest laid atop it. A cottage, somepony’s home of course. Window of a large three-story, has a desk inside, quill and ink, stacks of papers, most likely a hotel were he to guess. Small towns like these they’re usually the tallest buildin’ bar the town hall.
Ah. Don’t even need a window for this one. Single story, has a whole pen out back filled up with the same carts as Prickly’s caravan. Heck, probably belongs to the same company she works for. They start weavin’ their way through the maze of carts. Travelin’ the north curve of this loop, estimate about a little over half a mile covered. Still nothin’. If somepony or somethin’ came through and got these folk, they sure did it awfully clean.
His ears flick up as they reach the edge of the pen. A surge of noise gallops through the alley, bouncin’ from buildin’ to buildin’, off the side of Big Red. Snake darts his eyes about, duckin’ his head. “Did you hear that?”
“Yep.” He continues on, crossin’ out of the pen. “Screamin’ if ah’m to guess. Stay low.”
Snake groans behind him while he picks up the pace. Not botherin’ searchin’ around anymore. They cut straight through the alleyway, keepin’ fast, keepin’ silent. Sun’s only just over the rooftops now, turnin’ the wood and sand a burnt orange.
Screamin’. Goddess knows what it could be. Might have arrived just in time to witness an invasion of raiders. After all the hell that the NER brought down on ‘em back down east, ain’t a doubt they’d flock west. Might be native to the desert too, although raidin’ stray caravans ain’t gonna keep ya sustained for too long in the desert.
A second roar of sound, no doubt a scream this time, not from one pony, but many. Dozens, maybe hundreds. “Was galloping head on into somepony else’s conflict a part of your mission as well?” Snake Eyes mocks as he sneaks alongside him.
“Ain’t here to save anypony,” he rasps back, duckin’ past a smith’s workshop. “Ah’m here for information. Might be raiders or worse, Steel Dawn attackin’ the town. Havin’ information of either two in the area can mean life or death down the road. Now stop talkin’ and get back down.”
Snake Eyes scowls but begrudgingly dips his head. Can’t be long before they finish this half circle, bein’ the town’s about a mile across. Gonna keep his word to Snake Eyes: reach the other end of town, have one last look around, sneak back out if there’s trouble.
His ears flick again, yet not to a scream. It’s a sound more precise, sharp, steady, like the beat to a song, and doesn’t die out like the screams from before, but buzzes on. A sound he’s heard a hundred times throughout life, right before flyin’ off into battle or tryin’ to keep awake through political ramblin’. Beside him Snake Eyes takes notice as well, gazin’ warily down the alley. “What is that sound? You hear it, yes?”
He nods, slowin’ his trot and sidlin’ up along the building walls. “Yep. It’s somepony givin’ a speech, not three hundred yards out. Stick to the side of the buildings, stay low.”
A few more alleys crossed and the voice takes shape. A female speaker, too soft to be boastin’, too rythmic and light for gettin’ a mob riled up. Along with her voice rides another pulse of sound, stoppin’ em both dead in their tracks.
He looks to Snake to find the city stallion just as confused. Not screamin’. Cheerin’. “This is close enough,” he rasps to Snake Eyes, jerkin’ his head to the alleyway next to ‘em. “Right behind me, not a single word or sound soon as we head down this alley, ya hear?”
Snake narrows his eyes at him but falls in line. He’s already started down the alley, sneakin’ through in a half crouch in spite of his screechin’ legs. Cheerin’s died out by now. Female that’s been speakin’ starts up again, bringin’ along her familiar tempo. Just a might closer and he can make out the words.
Reached the end of the alley. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Snake Eyes is still followin’. Check. Rifle’s on the saddle, armed and ready. Check. Nehmoa holstered but ready. Check.
He takes a deep breath, focuses, turn his head around the buildin’.
A large crowd of ponies stands a ways off, all of which are cheerin’ towards a sizable hall with a spire protruding from it’s top. At the forefront of this hall juts a stage upon which two mares and a stallion standin’ aside a massive metal scale, both its sides propped up by thick slabs of wood.
Pony that commands the most attention is the mare in front of the scale, facin’ out towards the audience with drooped, relaxed eyes. She wears a thick brown duster much like his own, but a button up brown suit underneath, complete with a faded light yellow coat with an even paler white-yellow mane that spills from her stetson down to her back and into her face.
She lifts her hoof on cue, sendin’ forth two stallions from the backstage, both with large bulbous growths anchored to their backs, black silhouettes against the failiing sun. “Reckon it’s about time to wrap up this years competition,” the mare at the scale says, has a voice like a soft spring rain. “And of course we’ll finish it with ya’lls favorite category: pumpkins.”
Pumpkins. Sure enough, the crowd cheers again as the stallions trot up onto the stage, ferryin’ their load to the scale’s platforms. The silhouettes roll away to reveal two plump round pumpkins, picked straight at their prime. “Damascus, Wootz, if ya both will do the pleasure?” the mare asks, causin’ the stallions to deposit their crop upon the suppressed scales.
Pumpkins. All of that for pumpkins. Nothin’ to be disappointed over in the least, just kicked the heart rate up for a moment. Been awhile since these old ears have heard any notion of jubilance. He sighs and tucks his head back into the alleyway, pullin’ his duster tight. Snake Eyes looks to him with his brow raised curiously, “Did I hear... ‘pumpkins’...?” he asks.
“Yep.” He slings his rifle across his back, checks his nehmoa, and pulls his stetson down. “Don’t think we have much to fear from these folks, but it’s best if we head out now with all the commotion givin’ us some cover.”
“Fair enough.” Snake Eyes rises along with him, brushin’ the dirt from his suit and adjusting his fedora. “Age before beauty of course, so I’ll let you have the honors of leading.”
Another surge of cheerin’ roars as he leads them from the alleyways. The crowd of ponies stomp their hooves furiously against the dirt while whoopin’ at the stage, as if tryin’ to make the earth itself their drum. Atop the stage the mare has her hoof risen to the air, both stallions placed in front of the wooden blocks, both in a buckin’ position.
As they join the edge of the crowd the mare drops her hoof. At the signal, the two stallions buck against the wooden holds, knockin’ ‘em free from the scales, an act which sends the crowd into a roarin’ cheer as the two pumpkins tip against one another in a combat of weights. Were the mass of ponies shrunk about ten fold, he and Snake would most likely appear a might strange here, standin’ awkward as everypony else around seems to be havin’ the hootenanny of their lives.
“OH BOY PUMPKINS!!”
The holler is only a volume level above the cheers, yet the voice rings a few bells in his head. He does a half turn and looks past his shoulder, his sight fillin’ up with a familiar mix of cactus green, sunlight yellow, and desert flower pink.
Prickly. She throws her hooves up as the crowd behind him erupts into a thunderous roar, smilin’ at him as she drops back down. “Well howdy stacker! Told ya we’d meet back up in town, though ah must admit ah didn’t plan on it bein’ so soon! Turns out the Dusts recalled they have a handy little metal detectin’ spell a few minutes after ya left. Gotta love them unicorns!”
He tips his head in greetin’, respondin’ loudly with the crowd still thunderin’ from behind. “Good to have ya back. Where’s the others?”
“Puttin’ the carts up,” she says, jerkin’ her head back down the main street. “Pokey gave me a break, lucky enough. Said she wouldn’t mind pullin' a bit more work for me to run off and catch the end of the festival.”
“...Of which, if I may remind, you had never informed us about,” Snake Eyes glares. “Imagine our surprise when we trot in to find an abandoned town. It left... much to the imagination, to say the least.”
Prickly knocks her hoof against her head and guffaws. “Ya mean that whole time we traveled we never told ya a word about the fair? Dang we can be a forgetful bunch sometimes.” She starts to bow her head in an apology only for her eyes to widen, shootin’ right back up and explodin’ along with the crowd behind him. “Wooooo! Mr. Juniper! Wasn’t rootin’ for anyone in particular, but hell yeah anyway!”
He leaves her be, returnin’ his attention forward. The mare on the stage shakes hooves with an elderly stallion, smilin’ as he breaks away and trots down the steps. “A big congratulations to Mr. Juniper for winnin’ this year’s Pumpkin Patch award,” she announces, again in that voice so gentle it nearly closes his eyes, has him dream up a lonely river tricklin’ down a shaded mountainside. “Ah’d also like to thank everypony who participated in the competitions as well. We cherish every contribution and look forward to what our bright minds this year can think up for the next. And of course, as is custom every year, ah’d like to thank all of you for attendin’.” The crowd lets out another quick bout of whooping. She finishes her speech with a small, thankful bow. “Ah hope to see all of ya next year, with even more competition’ risin’ up to challenge our veterans. Once again, good night to ya all. ‘Till tomorrow.”
One last roarin’ cheer as she departs from the stage. The crowd begins to break up soon after, most ponies shufflin’ past ‘em, some castin’ curious glances. A select few stop to stare, clearly findin’ a rarity in a pegasus and a city stallion stumblin’ into town.
“Alright, move along now ya’ll,” Prickly scolds two young stallions that have been gazin’ for a while, shooin’ ‘em off with a flick of her hoof. “Only thing different about ‘em is one has wings and the other wears a prissy suit. Still just ponies.”
He looks about as most of the crowd begins to die out. Hopin’ to find an inn. Bein’ a tight knit community usually makes most businesses a bit lazy with the signs though. “Prickly, might ah ask where Snake and ah can find a place to rest for the night?”
She’s just finished runnin’ the stallions off, pointin’ back the way they had snuck in from. “Yep! Travelin’ down Goldroot’s main street, you’ll find a buildin’ with the sign ‘Drinky’s Hospitality’ out front on your right.” She shrugs and crinkles her muzzle. “Ain’t got an idea who ‘Drinky’ is, but the inn is run by an old stallion, Bootstop. He’s cranky these days, but he’ll treat ya right. As for me? Ah’m afraid ah’m gonna have to leave ya both again to head off for hearth and home. Don’t matter how long ah trot, soon as ah get back to Goldroot from a trip, ah’m pooped.”
“Admit ah’m tired mahself,” he says, offerin’ his hoof to Prickly. “Wanted to thank ya again for yer help these past few days before we both ran off. Goddess knows the difference ya’lls absence would’ve made.”
She gladly accepts it with a firm shake. “And once again, mah pleasure.” She turns her attention over to Snake Eyes and winks, grinnin’. “Ah’ll spare ya this time slicker, but watch out! Next time we cross ya won’t be so lucky!” As she turns and trots off, she waves back to ‘em and calls out, “And if ya wanna find me, just drop by the saloon tomorrow night. Mah sister and ah are always there!”
Snake Eyes has kept dead silent. Only when Prickly is clear out of earshot does he scoff pompously, watchin’ her fade into the distance. “Well. That’s one location we can mark off our visitor’s list. Good riddance.”
“Ya don’t like her?” He asks. A dumb question, but he can’t help but be a might curious.
Snake gives him an amused look. “‘Hate’?” he says. “That is such a... dramatic word. I’ve never hated anypony. Frustrated with? Yes. Disgusted with? Yes. Annoyed by...?” His eyes drift back to where Prickly had disappeared. “She has a simple mind and a big mouth. An irritable combination, to say the least.”
Snake answers without a hint of hesitance, and the answer itself ain’t as farfetched as he’d believed it would be. His description of Prickly ain’t too far off the mark either. “And ah suppose ya don’t get too many of her type around New Pegasus?”
Snake almost laughs. “Oooh but we do, Tumbleweed, we do. But that’s a talk for another time. You understand? A time when we’re not loitering about in the twilight hours of a town foreign to both of us?”
More truth. The sun has dipped beneath the town hall and the horizon past it. The only evidence of its presence is a lingering blanket of violet and dark orange sky, a pitch dark azure encroachin’ on the two from the east. Below, Goldroot’s wood has turned a golden orange and its shadows stretch long and gangly. Darkness has already started phasin’ ‘em from vision. Give or take another half hour and the town will be underneath a silver sheet.
“Back the way we came then,” he says in agreement. “Remember, keep yer eyes peeled for a sign with the name ‘Drinky’ on it. That’s our inn.” He turns back east and starts to trot down the main road.
Then stops. Snake hisses in aggravation from behind, but quickly halts and falls silent as well. A mare’s standin’ in their way. Duster. Stetson. Button up suit. Drooped brown eyes, white-yellow mane, faded light yellow coat. The mare from up on the stage. She waits there, watchin’ ‘em at perfect ease, as if greetin’ two old friends on a cool summer day.
Her eyes drift coolly between both him and Snake as she speaks, “Wouldn’t mind if ah accompanied ya’ll there?” she asks with the same soft voice. “Goldroot isn’t dangerous in the night any more than it is in the day, but ah like to acquaint mahself to any newcomers that happen to drop by.”
He’s been stumblin’, searchin’ for words. Can pull his nehmoa in a split second. Talk, on the other hoof, is a whole different battle.
Snake Eyes of course beats him to it, rubbin’ his chin as he looks her over. “‘Acquaint’? Hmmmm... Nnnooooooot quite what I had in mind, considering the age...” he puts his hoof to himself, shruggin’. “For me of course. Can’t speak for my guard here.”
“Ignore him,” he finds himself growlin’, kicked into gear, by Snake no less. “Apparently they don’t teach manners over in New Pegasus.”
Mare doesn’t seem offended one bit. Even still has that same warm smile across her face as she looks between the both of ‘em. “Don’t mind at all,” she says, tippin’ her head to Snake Eyes. “We cherish all peaceful visitors that grace Goldroot, whether they bring a bit of their own flair with ‘em or not.”
“Ooooooooooooh,” Snake Eyes purrs excitedly as he leans over, murmurs into his ear loud enough for all to hear. “She’s good. For a small town mare, at least.”
Busy lookin’ her over. Blame it on the failin’ light, but it’s only now he’s realized the six shooter tucked behind her duster. Off-settin’ in the sense that barely anypony else in the town seems to be carryin’ one or, heck, any weapon at all really. What he’s findin’ most disturbing is just how at ease she is. Not a single muscle in her body is tensed. Compare her next to anypony else back east and the easterner would look like a scared rabbit cornered by wolves.
“Now don’t take me for suspicious,” he starts, choosin’ his words carefully. “But ya got a particular reason for wantin’ to show us over to the inn? Reckon ah have a pretty good idea of where it might be, escort or no.”
She pauses a moment in thought before raisin’ her hoof, motionin’ to anypony left in the area. “Ah believe ah can safely say the large majority of us here in town will gladly give help to any newcomers, asked for or not.” She brings her hoof down and places it upon her own chest. “That said, the reason ah’m offerin’ is on account of spottin’ ya both from upstage, and ah make it a personal goal of mine to greet any new visitors that happen to wander by.” Her smile drops a little. “Don’t catch as many as ah used to, bein’ so busy as of late, so ah thought ah’d take advantage of fate’s gift for this occasion.”
His mind starts to churn again. Listenin’ to her whisper of a voice, seein’ her carin’ eyes, gentle smile, yet she carries herself with a certain hidden power... ‘Up ahead in Goldroot is a mare by the name of Shady Sands. The town mayor, in fact. Soft mare on the outside, but can get real hard on the inside if she wants....’ A bulb clicks in his head as he looks her over in a new light. “Name wouldn’t happen to be Shady Sands?” he asks. “Goldroot’s mayor?”
Her smile drops in surprise only to spring up a moment later, warmer than before. “Why yes, ah am,” Shady Sands cocks her head a tad. “Excuse mah curiosity, but you’re either quite the guesser, or...?”
“We traveled here to Goldroot in the company of a caravan headin’ out from Buckham,” he says. “Know a mare by the name of ‘Prickly’?”
“Prickly...” Shady lets out a light chuckle, shakin’ her head. “Bless her heart, ah hope she didn’t tire either of ya’ll out too much. Only one who seems to be able to keep up with her is her sister Pokey. Known plenty a soul who’s lost ‘emselves a few night’s sleep in her campfire parties and tall tales.”
He purses his muzzle, shakes his head as well. “Can’t say she did. Gave us both our sleep and her entertainment. Also gave us our lives when a pack of what ya’ll call ‘dunestalkers’ attacked us out of the blue last night. She’s a good mare and we’ve given our thanks several times since.”
For the first time Shady frowns. She wears it as a confounded gesture, as if lost in a deep thought. “Dunestalkers...” she says in a near whisper, her hoof over her muzzle. “Out on the Bukcham road...? That’s... quite strange.”
“Yes, yes, strange, and so on and so forth.” Snake Eyes trots off to the side between him and Shady, eyein’ ‘em both. “Since it’s clear by now she has no intention of leading us into a back alley mugging, it would be smart to quit wasting time pondering anomalies and get a move on to the inn, yes?”
He takes his eyes from Shady and Snake, searchin’ the streets. Last rays of sunlight have tuckered off behind the desert horizon, leavin’ everything from the sand to the buildings a deep shade of blue. Won’t be long now ‘til it’s pitch black.
He lets out a breath, holds his hoof up to Shady. “Would be our pleasure for ya to lead us to the inn, if yer still offerin’.”
“Never took it away,” she assures, surprisin’ him with how firm she shakes hooves. “And have no worries ‘bout the dark. Only thing different about Goldroot in the night is it’s a might prettier under the moonlight.”
They follow Shady Sands as she turns and begins east. Find his eyes driftin’ off to the side. Streets are dead by now. Only ponies left in the area are a hoofful of unicorn stallions and mares wanderin’ the alleys. The tips of their horns glow like bulbs, castin’ long shadows across the sands and wood. Can sometimes catch one of ‘em trottin’ up to one of the many street lamps, openin’ the glass and slidin’ their horn in there. Close it back up, leavin’ the light there inside, trottin’ off to find their next lamp.
“Those unicorns are our ‘Night Lights’,” Shady remarks, glancin’ over her shoulder at ‘em as they trot. “They’ll have every lamp lit within the town by the end of the hour. More for beauty than anything else, really, but it helps if a pony happens to be runnin’ a midnight errand or stumblin’ home from the saloon.”
He sees Snake Eyes beside him, turnin’ up his nose. “Quite a name you have there. Almost... ‘foalish’, yes?”
Shady chuckles softly at that, lookin’ forward again. “That’s what our more stern citizens have been known to say, yet the town overall happens to adore it, so it’s stayed.”
“Seems a simple case of callin’ what ya see,” he says, peelin’ his eyes away from the lamp’s glow. “What’s got me curious is the relationship between here and Buckham. They’re minin’ coal over there, yet ah don’t see any of it bein’ put to use in the settlement itself. Not here in Goldroot either.”
Shady peers back, brow turned up. “Must admit ah’m surprised Prickly didn’t yell ya, but every month we send a caravan of twenty to Buckham to bring over a shipment of coal. But what yer wonderin’ is what we use it for. Answer’s electricity.”
Electricity? He looks to the street lamps, looks to the windows soakin’ with dim candle light. “Pardon mah ignorance, but ah haven’t seen a lick of electricity anywhere in town.”
“‘Course ya haven’t” Shady says, bankin’ in her trot. She leads ‘em to a street lamp that sits before a large buildin’, turns when she enters the lamp light, smilin’ softly to ‘em both. “We use it all for the stable.”
Stable. He blinks, havin’ to take Shady Sands in for a third time. Duster. Stetson. Button up suit. But there it is. Couldn’t see it before on account of her duster and the fadin’ light, but from this angle it’s clear as day. Pipbuck latched onto her right foreleg, has a green glow so faint ya have to squint to see it. Shady’s smile turns into an innocent grin. “Lookin’ in yer eyes, can tell yer a bit surprised.”
“I haven’t a clue why he would be,” Snake Eyes yawns at him. “Stables are like candy out in the north and east. It would be naive to assume they never spread west as well.”
He purses his muzzle, regroupin’. “Ain’t too shocked, say the truth. Just a bit tired, bit surprised ah didn’t catch the pipbuck til’ now..”
“Ah suppose ah can help ya out with that,” she says, her pipbuck disappearin' again as she turns, headin’ towards the nearby buildin’. “Follow me. Ah’ll help ya both get set up in Drinky’s, get ya both a good night’s rest.”
Snake Eyes smacks his lips, leanin’ in as they trot after her. “Take it from an expert, this is the part where you ask ‘does the mayor come included?’. See, it works as a double meaning. Mare, mayor?”
“Don’t even think of sayin’ anything of the sort,” he growls.
Snake Eyes scoffs, appearin’ offended. “I never said anything about me.”
He grimaces. Were he a smarter stallion, could probably conjure up a witty response. ‘Spose ignorin’ him will have to do.
Buildin’ they’re trottin’ up to is the same three story one they had snuck behind an hour before. No porch, yet a large set of double doors serves as an eye catchin’ entrance. Above ‘em, the decorated words ‘Drinky’s Hospitality’ are set in faded black paint against a chipped white wooden slab. Shady opens one of the double doors, motionin’ to ‘em as she steps aside.
He thanks her, passin’ through. Snake Eyes follows wordlessly. He sniffs in reaction as he enters, takin’ in a long whiff of musky, dank air. The floor is made up of old scarred lumber with rugs draped along the floor almost at random, most likely to hide what’s beneath. Walls are quite the same, replacin’ rugs with broodin’ art pieces. Space is actually a might cramped, the front desk only a few paces from the entrance. Even the desk itself is cluttered with stacks of papers and assorted office supplies.
A stallion with a dark brown coat and a pitch black mane sits in a chair behind the desk. Has his face buried in a book, doesn’t so much as lift his eyes up as the door rattles close behind ‘em. “Same as always, ten caps a night for two,” he says in a biting, yet bored rasp. “Put the caps up, ah’ll give ya the keys. And of course, stuff the bottom gap of your door with the sheets. Goddess knows ah need ta hear yer wailin’.”
He stands there, shufflin’ his hooves. Ain’t quite sure how to respond to that one. Beside him Snake Eyes rises into a grin, glancin’ over at Shady with a pleasant curiosity. “I said you were good. There’s no need to be an overachiever now.”
Shady Sands trots up to the counter, reaches down with her muzzle and pulls forth a pouch from her suit’s pocket. She dumps ten caps onto the counter before tuckin’ it back in and takin’ a step back. As the stallion reaches out for the caps, he lowers his book, uncoverin’ an aged visage sunken with wrinkles and a permanent scowl. His entire face lifts along with his eyes as he sees them. “Hmm? Ya’ll aren’t a burnin’ young couple. And mayor Shady...?”
“They’re first time visitors, Mr. Bootstrap.” Shady responds kindly. “They’ve traveled to Goldroot along with a Palomino Pathways caravan and are searchin’ for a good night’s sleep.”
Bootstrap straightens up in his seat, appearin’ a might more professional from his slouch. He brings his hooves together on the table behind the counter, studyin’ ‘em carefully. Seconds later and he nods slowly, pursin’ his muzzle. “Interestin’. A city stallion and a fellow old timer, a stacker no less. Mah apologies for the introduction, if ya can call it that, but the large number of mah customers are young mares and stallions lookin’ for a night of escape from their parents.” He gathers up the bits with a swipe of his foreleg. “Rare we get actual newcomers to the town. They come, but still rare.”
Snake Eyes frowns and shrugs. “I admit I would be demanding a refund after you dispelled such an... interesting setup, but as long as mayor Sands is paying...”
“Trust me, she is,” Bootstrap grunts as he pulls the bits into a large pouch of his own. “And don’t try and fight her. She does it for every passerby in town she happens to catch, good mayor she is.”
Shady Sands nods lightly. “I try, and often succeed, but it’s fascinatin’ how fast some ponies can cut through Goldroot without mah noticin’.” Her voice turns melancholic.. “Its the promise of New Pegasus just over the horizon. Lost a plenty of good citizens to that same reason.”
Snake Eyes puts on a smug look hearin’ her words but sayin’ nothin’. Across the counter Bootstrap holds up both his hooves, one with a single ring and a single key upon it, the other with two rings, both with a single key upon ‘em. “One room or two rooms? We got plenty of open space so don’t be shy.”
“Two,” he says bluntly. Snake’s only reaction is a small glint in the eye, as if he’d already predicted the outcome. Bootstrap tucks his single ringed hoof back under the table while liftin’ his other and slidin’ the rings down to the counter.
“You’ll find yer rooms close by, first corridor down this left hall,” Bootstrap says, jerkin’ his head to the hallway behind him. “Ah’ve put ya’ll on the far opposite side of the inn to the few couples that have already checked in, so enjoy the peace and quiet.”
He thanks him, takin’ the keys with grateful hooves and slippin’ one to Snake Eyes. Before leavin’ for their rooms, he turns to Shady Sands, bowin’ his head. “Want to thank ya for bein’ such a gracious host. Not very often ah get introduced to a town with such hospitality.” If ever even, were he given time to think.
Shady bows her head in return, surprisin’ him by takin’ her hat along with it. And another surprise. She’s a unicorn. Her horn stands out from the gentle river that is her mane, yet doesn’t glow, her hat havin’ been humbly removed by hoof. “It’s the least ah can do as the mayor. Welcomin’ new ponies into town is just a part of the hospitality ya should expect when comin’ into Goldroot.” She returns her hat, risin’ back to her full height. “Sadly, there are also many other tasks I must attend to that eat at the time I have for such opportunities. I trust you’re both suited for the night...?”
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” he says, almost biddin’ her farewell, but another thought swells up and has him continue, “Though ah was wonderin’ if we could talk some tomorrow. Pokey referred me to ya for some questions ah had regardin’ the road to New Pegasus. Was hopin’ ya might be able to answer ‘em.”
A flash of disappointment falls over Shady’s face. He has only a moment to catch it and none to wonder before its gone, replaced by her usual glow of kindness and a small nod. “Although ah have a busy schedule, ah’m sure ah can squeeze in some time to assist ya’ll. Don’t have fear of bein’ unable to find me. Simply ask any ponies wanderin’ about town. Ah’m all over, and like to keep mah status updated with anypony ah happen to stop and chat a bit with.”
“Then, in truth this time, there ain’t anything more ah can ask of ya.” He dips his head a final time. “Again, thank ya kindly.”
“Mah pleasure,” Shady accepts, lookin’ between him and Snake Eyes. “If ya’ll are comfortable for the evenin’, ah’ll be headin’ off then. Farewell to ya both, and don’t be afraid to holler if an emergency comes over ya.”
“But not to me,” Bootstrap grumbles, already tucked back behind his book.
He gives Shady his final farewells before she leaves through the front door. Followin’ Bootstraps directions, he trots past the front counter and into a long lamplit hallway which splits into several smaller corridors, ending with a passage of stairs that junctions with another set leadin’ up to the second floor. He takes the first corridor on the left, which ends in a small window and has a convenient two oak doors against its right wall.
Snake Eyes steps past him, jinglin’ the keys on his hoof while he looks between the two doors. “A fifty-fifty chance. Let’s see...” Snake stops in front of the first door and slides the key into the lock. A soft click follows soon after and the key turns snugly in the lock, the door openin’ with a creak at the twist of its handle. Snake Eyes grins back at him as he slips into the room. “Guess that makes yours the next one over. Enjoy.”
He trots to other door as Snake’s shuts close. Sure enough, his key does the same and the door opens with the same un-oiled creak. Instead of entering he sidles up along the door, carefully peekin’ inside.
A simple setup. Against the center of the left wall is a plain wooden bed layered with two white sheets and a white pillow, neither of which give any illusion of youth. On either side of the bed sit small cupboards useful enough for perhaps holdin’ a small batch of belongings. Useless to him. The only other thing of note in the room are the rugs along the floor, put to use just like their counterparts outside to hide the weathered wood underneath. All of this is lit by a lone burnin’ lamp that hangs from the same wall the entrance is placed, castin’ a ghostly glow over the entire room.
He trots in slowly, shuts the door behind him, and inspects the set pieces. Cupboards are empty. Damp wood under the rugs. Nothin’ under the bed.
With a tired sigh he drops his haunches to the side of the bed, lettin’ his saddlebags fall with ‘em. The mattress ain’t soft, but the sheets have a nice feathery texture only gifted to material that’s weathered long years of use. A moment of weakness with ‘em at his back and he’s a goner for the night.
He keeps his back up and unslings his rifle. Hm. Sand wasn’t too kind to it. Pullin’ his combat knife reveals speckles of sand clingin’ against the blade as well, hitchin’ a ride since goddess knows how long. Same runs for his nehmoa. Suppose he has some work to do before headin’ off to bed.
He unloads both weapons, double checkin’ that they're empty. Rummagin’ through his saddlebags he brings up his cleanin’ supplies which he sets out on the nearby cupboard: a bore brush, a small container of oil, and a stained old rag. With careful use of his hooves and muzzle he removes the container’s stop and soaks a small pool of oil into the rag, beginnin’ to slowly work it along his combat knife. As it sweeps across the blade, it leaves the metal shimmerin’, reflectin’ the lamp’s fire.
A knock sounds from the door. Light. Patterned. Comin’ from a tender hoof, assumedly. But assumin’ gets ponies killed. He slips his hoof into his combat knife’s strap and rises from the bed, silently settlin’ to the ground and creepin’ to the door. Another set of knocks come as he stops and places his hoof to the knob, drawin’ in a deep breath. Then he waits.
A third set of knocks. The moment they sound he opens the door, movin’ his knife behind his duster, hidden, yet ready for a strike.
Snake Eyes. The city stallion hisses as he retreats from the swingin’ door, glarin’ at him with burnin’ gold eyes. “Of course, I forgot to call out a warning,” he sneers. “I must admit the hard fact that you are a paranoid senile sack of delusions skipped my mind for a beat there. I’ll be sure to follow with a sounding of trumpets any time I wish to have so much as a small chat with you.”
He stares back from behind the door, unmovin’. “What do ya need?”
“Your suspicion is astounding,” Snake Eyes groans, rollin’ his eyes. “If you must know, I’ve come for an outline of our plans for tomorrow. Being ‘out of the loop’, so to say, is such an easily avoided mistake, one which I don’t intend to let slip by. So...” Snake glances back down the hallway before peerin’ back at him with a raised brow. “Are we going to talk here or inside your room? The latter would be wiser of course, unless you’ve suddenly grown a fondness for eavesdroppers over the past minute, yes?”
He looks Snake Eyes over carefully. Nothin’ out of the ordinary. With a sigh he moves aside, closin’ and lockin’ the door as soon as Snake enters the room. Snake himself looks about the room, curls his muzzle up in disgust, and follows him to the side of the bed. He settles back onto the side of the mattress, returnin’ to cleanin’ his knife.
“Tomorrow we wake up early,” he rasps. “Good chance the mayor will be up along with us. We ask around for her, find her, then accompany her until she has some free time.” He finishes cleanin’ the knife with one last swipe along the blade. “Remains to be seen how much she can help. Hopefully give us a clear shot to New Pegasus.”
Snake Eyes watches him as he sheathes his knife and brings up his rifle. “Sounds rather straightforward.” Snake pauses a moment before continuing. “Although I do not know the details, I can tell you that the path to New Pegasus is split down two ways, divided by a large ridge. I’m certain Prickly called it out earlier, ‘Dragonback’, was it?” He waves his hoof in dismissal. “In the end, as we both know, it’s the details that matter, and it’s the details I lack. All I can say is that I traveled through from the northern pass. Shady will most likely direct us straight west.”
His eyes raise as he finishes dippin’ the bore brush tip into the oil. “Anything else ya’ve been holdin’ back from me?”
Snake crinkles his muzzle. “No...” he says firmly, but then reels his voice back in. “but... dunestalkers do remind me. There is a creature we may encounter along the way to New Pegasus. An ‘acosador’, as ponies who wander into New Pegasus from the Palomino like to call them. While I didn’t have the pleasure of encountering any along my flight from the city, we may not have the same luck.” Snake shrugs. “Once again, no details. I can tell you they fly and are poisonous, nothing more.”
“Could have told me this and about the dunestalkers the night we met,” he growls as he strings the bore brush through the rifle’s barrel.
“I could,” Snake admits in a bored tone. “But the mind is a fickle thing. Something I’m sure you’ve learned throughout your years, yes?”
He grunts and focuses back to his rifle. With the bore brush fully inside the barrel, the grip end sticks out the front. He takes it in his mouth and pulls. There’s a slimy sliding sound as it shoots through the barrel, carryin’ along with it a black sludge that spurts to the floor as the brush escapes. He frowns down at the small black puddle as he puts it aside. Wasn’t expectin’ that much of a mess. Suppose it won’t do this already scarred wood much harm though.
Snake looks down at the puddle in disgust, but turns his attention back to him as he works the barrel back into the rifle. “An... interesting weapon choice.” Snake muses while starin’ at the rifle. “And yet, assuming you are of a military origin, I find it hard to believe that such a rifle would be popular among the troops. Not that I know much of weapons, mind you.”
“Ya’d be right,” he says, shiftin’ the rifle about in his hooves. “It’s a lever action repeater. Usual barrels are thirty inches. This one has an extra four. Fires a standard 45-70 caliber bullet but has shot its fair amount of armor piercin’ and hoof loaded rounds as well. Effective in both mid and long range firefights.” He sets the rifle across the other side of the bed. “All that said, the troops are supplied with standard service rifles and most elite rangers tend to settle for anti-materiel rifles or a markspony carbines these days.”
“And yet judging from the kill markings and bandages that swarm the rifle's stock, I’ll assume it’s a favored weapon of yours.” Snake Eyes raises a brow. “Dare I say your whole life?”
He hesitates. Slowly, he begins to shakes his head. “No. Ah’m... ah’m more accustomed to a gauss rifle. If ya have any clue what that is. They aren’t too fit for long missions though and spark batteries are scarce, so ah settled with the lever action instead.”
“Ah.” Snake Eyes nods appreciatively. “It makes sense. Shoot reload, shoot with a gauss rifle. Shoot, cock, shoot with a lever action. Quite similar in execution, I would imagine.”
He does a double take of the city stallion as he pulls out his nehmoa. “Thought you didn’t know much of weapons?”
“‘Much’,” Snake responds quickly. “That doesn’t mean I know nothing. I’m an educated stallion, after all.” His eyes drop and search the floor for a moment only to shoot back up, lockin’ onto his nehmoa. He nods towards it. “Now what’s this? A hoof cannon?”
“It’s named a ‘nehmoa’,” he says, holdin’ it up, the black and gold-engraved metal soakin’ in the lamplight. “Hoof cannon’s about right. Six shots, uses the same ammo as mah rifle. Handy only havin’ to carry around one caliber.” He rolls it in his hooves, revealin’ the engraved words on its sides. “It’s awarded to rangers who’ve been ten years in service. Some put it up on their wall or in a glass case. Ah found it useful for quick kills and close combat.”
“And it’s called a ‘nehmoa’ why...?”
Dippin’ the bore brush in oil once more, he brings it over to the nehmoa’s barrel, unlatchin’ its cylinder. “It takes its name from an old epic. A long story, but the short of it is that it’s about a goddess who crashes down to the earth, takin’ the mortal form of a mare. She sets out and travels the world in search of a black-barked golden-leafed tree named ‘Nehmoa’ which legend has it grants anyone who finds it one wish."
“...And she wants to find it to wish to return to godhood,” Snake continues.
He looks up as he works the brush into the barrel, lettin’ the oil soak. “Ya’ve heard it before?”
“No,” Snake says bluntly. “It’s just presumed, yes?” Snake shoos him on with a wave of his hoof. “Continue.”
He settles the nehmoa down into his lap before pickin’ back up. “Well, she starts travelin’ the land, meetin’ ponies, griffons, buffaloes, dragons, all strugglin’ to survive everyday life in the same world she’d shaped. She asks ‘em about the tree, but also helps ‘em along the way, gainin’ friends, discoverin’ new places she’d never even realized the mortals had made, and experiencin’ the same hopes and dreams and despairs they clinged to.”
He picks up his nehmoa. Oil’s finishin’ its work. “It ends with her stumblin’ through the Everfree Forest, battered and beaten. After years and years of searchin’, of struggle, of sacrificin’ parts of herself for the friend she’d made, she finds the tree at the heart of the forest. Black bark, gold leaves. Relieved, she trots up to it, drops to her haunches.”
Snake leans forward with a gleam in his eyes.
“And she opens her mouth... but nothin’ comes out. She sits there for days, tryin’ to remember, tryin’ to come up with the wish she wanted. Whole journey’s she’s takin’ swells up in her mind. Ain’t until the seventh day she finally speaks, stumblin’ out her wish.”
“Well?” Snake Eyes hisses in excitement. “What was it??”
He pulls the brush from the nehmoa. Another wave of black sludge falls to the floor.
“‘Happiness. For everyone. For free. And let none be left without.’”
Silence. Snake Eyes leans back, his eyes droppin’ to the floor for a second time. For a long while that’s where Snake stays, his face scrunched up in concentration, as if lookin’ for somethin’ that ain’t there. Yet when he returns back up, it’s with dead, unamused eyes. “That’s it? A lifetime of searching, a chance at reclaiming her godhood, and her wish was that?”
He narrows his eyes at Snake as he puts the bore brush and nehmoa aside. “Ah think ya missed the point of the story. Also might want to read the whole thing before judgin’ it.”
“Ah?” Snake scoffs and gives him a condescending look. “Don’t tell me you hold this story in any high regard? Frankly it comes off as if it were written by a nine year old foal. I’d thought you better than that, believe it or not.”
The question sits for a bit, pickin’ at his mind. “Ah wouldn’t say ‘high regard’,” he begins thoughtfully. “But ah like it. Read it long ago on leave, heard of it from a stallion even older than me. It was just a story, yep, maybe a bit foalish, yep, but... it was old. It had a history behind it, separate from the story itself. Ah liked that too.” He shifts a bit, suddenly feelin’ revealed, unguarded. “It... it was somethin’ strange, somethin’ nice, that after all the hell we’ve taken from the old world, the guns, the explosives...” his voice drops a tone. “...the megaspells... after all of that, we also carried over this long, epic, but simple little story.”
He pauses, just now realizin’ how damn long he’s been ramblin’. With a short sigh he shakes his head. “Ah know it ain’t much, but it lets ya know that there was somethin’ else back then other than war and weapons. Let’s ya know that, some time way back, ponies were dreamin’ up foalish little stories and fantasies instead of implements of death and warfare.”
Snake Eyes has been watchin’ him the whole time, his muzzle curlin’ up into a sly grin as he finishes. The city stallion waits there for a long moment before finally purrin’ “Mmmm. I didn’t know you were so much of a thinker, Tumbleweed.”
“Ah ain’t,” he says, straightenin’ his back so that he rises above Snake. “Just a rambler.”
“So you say. Although, that would go along well with your mark...” Snake rises slowly from his haunches. “But rambler or not, you’ve still robbed me of a precious half hour’s sleep, and I don’t envy losing a half hour more.” He turns, trots several hoofsteps to the door, then stops and peers back, still grinnin’. “That said, I will admit that I did slightly enjoy your story, dreadful ending aside. For reciting it, a small word of my thanks.” His grin falters a bit before resurgin’, comin’ back twice as strong. “And believe me, that’s something to be treasured.”
And with that, Snake leaves the room, shuttin’ the door softly behind.
A fresh wave of exhaustion nearly collapses him into the sheets below. He fights it off with a brief struggle, wipin’ the blur from his eyes. Still have work to do. Have to gather up the cleanin’ supplies, place ‘em back in the saddlebags, sheathe his combat knife, reload the guns, holster and saddle ‘em both...
His stomach rumbles when he catches sight of the rations, six of ‘em still nestled into his saddlebags. Haven’t eaten since last night. Figure it’s been adrenaline that’s kept his mind off the empty stomach so far. He opens himself a can, slurpin’ it down.
Hm. Snake Eyes never got anything to eat. Then again, if the past two nights were somethin’ to judge on, he’s most likely holdin’ out to avoid a third go at the rations, pick somethin’ tasty up from around town.
He finishes the can, puttin’ it alongside his saddlebags and rifle. What is it, day three? Night four? Not bad. At this pace he can reach back to Tenpony Tower by the time the two weeks is up. Three or four more days to take Snake to New Pegasus, get his message delivered, get an answer, and five days to fly back. With time to spare, even.
All this assumin’ Snake Eyes is even tellin’ the truth. And if he ain’t...
He grimaces, mind swirlin’. Have to get a bit more aggressive with those questions. It’s a delicate thing, though, diggin’ around in a stallion’s past. Have to do it with respect, caution, subtlety. Otherwise ya might dig up somethin’ ya never wanted to find. Somethin’ that was kept under wraps for a reason.
His eyes begin to droop. He slowly lowers himself into the welcomin’ sheets, lettin’ out a long breath along the way. When he’s fully at rest, his eyes shut close, body followin’ soon after.
But his thoughts still roar.
----------------------
“Damn... I can see why the N.E.R. doesn’t want this city falling into the Steel Dawn’s hooves...”
The gawkin’ praise comes from the young female griffon at his side. They both stare out from their position on the cliff, joined by the thirteen others assigned with ‘em. Despite bein’ seasoned veterans themselves, they all nod, equally impressed with what they see.
And he along with ‘em. The city truly is somethin’ else. From where they stand in the west, it glimmers in the east, a red-orange assortment of towers and buildings and homes shootin’ up along the horizon, the ocean shimmerin’ within its bay and beyond. The balefire damage is still clear, and large chunks of buildings lay open to the rapidly closing night air, yet it still puts the likes of Hoofington and the ruins of Fillydelphia to shame. New Manehattan, maybe even.
“Attention rangers,” one of the others calls, stirrin’ ‘em from their gaze. A lean, tall, yet muscled mare, she steps out from the group to the edge of the cliff, turnin’ so that she has all of ‘em within her sight. As she starts to talk, she sweeps her eyes from ranger to ranger, “We wait here until nightfall. I want everyone with their combat helmets on by then. On my signal, we’ll move at a five hoof spread to our targeted entry point, traversing another thirty yards to the location of objective ‘A’. Remember that this is all executed in stealth. Our contacts assure us the way will be clear of civvies or militia, but be on alert for any strays. Any questions?”
None of ‘em so much as fidget. The mare nods approvingly, stepping down. “Then we wait. Keep low, speak softly, and watch for my signal.”
The fifteen of ‘em break up. Most of ‘em find someplace to settle down out of sight, a few rummage around for some last grub. He drops down a few hoofsteps back, next to a large patch of grass.
The griffon’s followed him. He gets a good look at her as she settles a few hooves away. Young. Lithe. Smaller than most griffons, a bit bigger than most ponies. Her feathers are snow white, save those of the feathers around her eyes, her crest, and speckles along her chest, all of which are a light, shimmering silver. What he can see of the feline portion of her body under her duster is dark brown-yellow fur which hovers somewhere between a rich gold and a chestnut brown. Most glarin’ of all are her eyes. Emerald. They seem to blaze with their own light, puttin’ the muddy green foliage that surrounds them to an easy shame.
Can tell she’s a bit nervous by the way she shakily lowers to the ground. A bit of fear, a bit of excitement, a whole lot of concentration. She wears a pumped yet focused expression, one that bursts with youth yet stirs with maturity, saddlin’ well with the way her crest rolls back along her head, like a fire strugglin’ to shoot up from her body.
“You ever been in something like this?” She asks suddenly after some time has already passed, gazin’ back out at the city in the distance.
He shakes his head in truth. “Nope. You?”
“No.”
“Then I suppose it’s a first for both of us. how ya feelin’?”
“Nervous,” surprises him to hear her admit. She puts on a friendly smirk as she looks over at him. “You look as if this is just another average mission for you.”
He coughs out a short laugh at that one. “Ya get better at hidin’ it as ya get along in years. In truth, ah’m just as nervous as you, trust me.”
Her beak turns up into a full grin. “Really? Well in that case, we can make a deal.” She holds up one of her bird-like front legs. Under the last rays of sunlight, they glint silver, a coat of fine metal protectin’ ‘em. As they reach to her claws, they curve around into a fine edge, transformin’ her already deadly talons into razor sharp knives. In a humorous gesture, she points one at him, givin’ a friendly wink. “You got my back, I got your front. There. No reason for either of us to be nervous anymore.”
He almost coughs out another laugh. Almost, yet the way she talks, the determination across her face, seems to make it all real.
“Ah’ll take that deal,” he humors her, smirkin’ back. “Name’s Tumbleweed if ya didn’t catch it back in Tenpony. Medium to long range combat.”
Surprises him again by holdin’ out her armored razor claw. Cautiously, he lets his hoof drift forward, allowin’ her to take him into a hoof-claw shake, bracin’ for the worst. Yet when she grabs him, the metal is surprisingly warm, leavin’ not even a scratch under her grip.
“Morah.” she says, givin’ him a firm shake and a determined smile. “Close quarters combat.”
He makes to respond, but a soft call comes out from the cliff. The mare is up again, donnin’ her own combat helmet as she begins to the make the rounds of the squad. Instinctively his hooves are already rummagin’ through his own saddlebags, removin’ his stetson, tradin’ it out for his helmet. Beside him, Morah already has hers on, watchin’ him through the helmet’s filter.
“Ready?” She asks, her voice muffled and distant through the gas mask.
He dons his own helmet. Instantly what he can see left of the world is shrouded under a sheet of crimson. He flicks on the night vision. Clear as day now, albeit in red. Around the cliffside, the other rangers are risin’ to their hooves, preparin’ to assemble to formation. Off in the distance, the city’s towers have turned an ominous black, as if throwin’ off the night vision in warning.
Ain’t nothin’ to stop it now.
He looks back over to Morah and nods.
“Ready.”
----------------------
Footnote: Maximum level reached
Status: Well rested