Second Thoughts
Deep within the heart of the Manehatten ghetto—in its arteries, if one probed far enough—Boone waited in an alleyway for his King. He tapped his hooves against the cobblestone, squinting up into the sky. Dark gray clouds signaled that the rain would soon come and cleanse the city once more. He snickered. What a ruse. The sin within the concrete jungle would never be washed away, no matter how much holy water the skies and their pegasi mustered.
His King enjoyed the spoils of his privileged position a few houses down the street. A plain, white house with a red door housed some of those mares unfortunate enough to owe King's Ransom. A company of armed guards ensured they would live out their ransom until the end of their days.
Boone wanted nothing to do with such foalishness. Mares. What a waste of time. Slinger, on the other hoof, visited the house frequently, to Boone's annoyance and—on rare occasions when honesty became a policy of his at all—slight jealousy.
He pressed his back into the building behind him, sliding down onto his haunches. Graffiti, thick and ugly, dominated the walls around the stallion, spelling out Manehatten's truth in a way the newspapers never would. Boone smirked. In spite of his utter hatred of Bernie Madhoof, he had to concede one point: monster or not, Madhoof had the entire city on lock.
Most did not know the full extent of his or the city's corruption, from media, to police force, to industry, to communications. Those who caught a rare glimpse into the madness, often dismayed that nopony seemed to care or notice their suffering, fled, or gave in to despair. Or were swallowed by the streets themselves.
As long as King Orange continued to set his sights elsewhere, oblivious to the brewing thunder within his own territory, the true crown would soon be his King's. Madhoof would come to regret his annexation, his baffling fixation with small-town bars and dealings in the desert. Boone remembered an old saying from his colthood: "Do not let your right forehoof know what your left is doing."
While Madhoof appeared to be obeying this ancient command, Boone knew that it would soon be his downfall. He couldn't juggle more than one operation without something plummeting to the ground in the process.
The stallion closed his eyes and sighed, waiting, waiting, waiting...
"'Ey."
He opened his eyes, turning towards the familiar voice. Card Slinger stood near the alleyway, his jet-black mane wild and tangled, his crimson fur dripping with a combination of slow-falling rain and sweat.
Boone nodded and immediately rose to his hooves. "'Ey."
"Youze sure youze don't wanna drop in fo' a lil'... fun?" Card Slinger grinned, shaking sweat from his mane with a quick flick of his muzzle. "Madhoof's got all kinds o' mares on his payroll there. Take youze pick. We're Kings, ma stallion. Kings. We deserve a lil'... release... now an' then."
"No thanks," Boone spat, trotting up to meet him. He pupils darted from one side of the street to the other, then back towards the alleyway. Peering through the rain, he saw that they were alone, but knew it would not be for long. The walls in Manehatten had eyes and ears of their own. "C'mon, Slinga. Let's go befo' anypony sees us."
Pricking his ears, Slinger grunted in affirmation and followed his right-hoof stallion through a twisting, turning maze of alleyways and ramshackle buildings. He glanced up at the occasional edifice, taking note of the graffiti. Mafia marks dotted the gray landscape. Of course those bastards had dared to invade his territory. Once Madhoof was removed from his throne, Slinger vowed, they would stamp out the Manehatten Mafia next. They would make their pathetic Don rue the day he'd abandoned his own Kinghood.
The journey back to their hideout was a silent one, interrupted only by the rhythm of their hooves and the rain. The heavens wept for Manehatten on this spring day, thunderheads a suitable backdrop for the concrete and cobblestone. Gray. It was always gray. Card Slinger neither loved nor hated it—he was neutral, as was the color.
Truth be told, emotions beyond wrath, lust, and greed had mostly vacated King Crazy's consciousness. His soul was black as his mane, black but for one tiny, whispering, urgent corner, a corner that tugged at his mind on this return towards the hideout.
Halfway through the journey, Card Slinger suddenly halted, leaning against an alleyway wall.
Spinning around, Boone asked, "Youze alright? Summat wrong?" He trotted over to his best and only friend, glancing worriedly at the stallion. "Did youze catch summat from one o' dem mares?"
Card Slinger snorted and shook his muzzle. "When did youze become such a pussy? I'm fine."
Glaring at his leader, Boone pivoted on his hooves and began to trot away.
"Boone, wait," Slinger ordered, holding up a forehoof.
"What?" Boone barked, snapping his head towards the stallion.
"Come heeya."
Groaning, Boone strode over to Card Slinger and leaned up against an opposite trash can. "What? Slinga, youze know I ain't one ta question things, but we'd betta get movin' soon. These walls have ears, youze know."
Slinger snapped, "Don't youze think I know dat?! Buck, Boone, I know dis city like the back o' ma forehoof! I know where all his lil' messengers go an' play. No, come heeya befo' I change ma mind."
"'Bout what?"
Turning towards him, Slinger sighed and let his shoulders droop. When visiting the Ransom house, any weapons he concealed or carried would be confiscated. He never holstered up when he sought to ravish the spoils of his victory—not even his trusty dagger found a home on his shoulder or in his mane then. Thus, he was left vulnerable, and from the looks of it, Boone had left their sanctuary unarmed as well.
Time of the essence, Card Slinger hoped this would go quickly, and well.
"Look," he whispered, lowering his voice so that the rain would drown him, "I've jus' been thinkin'. I'm 'bout ready ta—ta pull the trigga on our whole lil' scheme, youze get what I mean?"
Understanding instantly, follower nodded and silently encouraged leader to continue.
Leaning close into the alleyway, gesturing for the stallion to do the same, Slinger said, "I've jus' 'bout had enough o' dis madness. I'm tired o' bein' a pawn. I'm tired o' bein' a Knight. An' I've decided... One mo' mission, Boone. One mo' lil' game, an' then I'm not playin' anymo'. The bars an' restaurants heeya ain't bitin'; ol' fool's got nothin' ta worry 'bout."
"Slinga," Boone said firmly, "can't we save dis fo' when we're back? Where it's safe?"
Dismissing him with a stomp of a forehoof, Slinger cursed, "Dammit, Boone, jus' listen! Buck him! Buck his bloody blue bastard hide! I don't care anymo'! We've got him outnumbered, an' I'm tired o' his shit. I'm so damn tired o' it."
"Alright!" Boone relented backing up slightly. He knew the fire of his leader's rage burned steadily, igniting at the mention of his worst and greatest enemy. "Alright! I get it, Slinga. I get it. An' I know youze know, but I'll say it 'gain: I will follow youze inta battle, inta the dark, no matta what happens."
An odd look graced Slinger's muzzle. Boone squinted through the rain. Was Slinger... frowning? Why was he frowning at Boone's declaration of loyalty and brotherhood—the closest he'd ever get to expressing something remotely resembling respect or, hay, love for another pony?
"What's wrong, boss?"
Slinger snorted. "Sit down, Boone."
"But—"
"Sit down!"
Kicking a beer bottle with a hindhoof, Boone complied, plopping down on his haunches and narrowing his eyes at the stallion. "Slinga, I really don't think—"
"Jus' shut up, Boone! Shut the buck up o' jus'—jus' forget it!" Gritting his teeth, Card Slinger flirted with the thought of changing his mind. Aggravated, he hissed through his jaws, "Jus' sit down an' listen! It'll only take a second, an' then we'll gallop away befo' the Masta starts pullin' his lil' strings, alright? Alright?!"
Calmly, Boone replied, "Alright, Slinga. Spill it."
Taking a deep breath, Card Slinger suppressed his rage the best he could, though his words were interspersed with venom. "It's comin' high time, Boone. I've decided dat enough is enough. I'll do ONE mo' mission, jus' one mo', an' afta dat, I'm layin' siege. I've waited long enough," he deadpanned, bucking the lid off a trash can and sending it flying.
"Alright, Slinga, I—"
"Don't youze buckin' interrupt me!" Lurching forward, Slinger grabbed Boone by his chin, forcing him to stare into his empty eyes. "I'll beat youze, Boone! I'll beat youze inta a bloody pulp iffa youze don't shut youze muzzle right now! Don't make me regret dis!"
Mindful of his leader's raised forehoof, Boone stayed silent.
Card Slinger jerked the stallion closer, close enough that he could smell the liquor on his lips. "I've thought long an' hard 'bout dis, an' I've decided—I'm gonna do summat fo' youze I won't do fo' anypony else. I'm givin' youze a chance nopony gave ta me."
Boone opened his mouth briefly, but thought better of it, and nodded instead.
"Boone... iffa youze don't wanna follow me inta the dark, iffa youze don't want dis madness anymo'... youze can leave."
"L-leave?" Blinking, Boone chuckled and shook his head. "Slinga, youze feelin' alright?"
Surely, this was a cruel joke, a satirical interlude. Nopony, once welcomed into the ranks of the Manehatten Kings, could leave without paying the ultimate price. Only two places awaited a gang-pony: prison, or the grave. And Boone was keen on avoiding both.
Placing both forehooves in his right-hoof-stallion's mane, Card Slinger raised his best and only friend to meet his gaze. Trembling from a combination of rage and some strange, gut-wrenching sensation, he said, "Dis is the only time I'll eva say it ta youze, so listen up, bastard! Listen up! Iffa youze want ta run, then run. I won't follow youze, I won't hunt youze, I will let youze go.
"Because," Slinger explained, holding him high, "dis is ma battle. Dis is ma prey, ma target. An' youze... youze built dis empire wit' me, youze made me what I am. An' I want youze ta build it back up when I'm gone."
His stone heart sank into the depths of his stomach, settling there. He was King Crazy: insane, inane, and irrational, but no fool.
The Mansion on the hilltop would be the fight of his life. Perhaps, the final one.
Resisting the temptation to struggle, Boone swallowed and nodded. When would he be gone? How? Why? Card Slinger was the ultimate gang-pony—strong, fast, clever, with enough bits and hooves to topple the most powerful stallion in Manehatten. What was this talk of being "gone"?
Card Slinger threw his friend to the ground, his muzzle blank, emotionless. Boone groaned and picked himself off the cobblestone, his hooves shaking as he stood. "Do youze understand, Boone?"
"Y-yes, Slinga. An'," Boone said, shaking off his pain, "I ain't goin' anywhere."
There it was: that gut-wrenching feeling again. Unfamiliar, strange. Liquor would chase it away, as it did everything else. Scanning the alleyway one more time, Card Slinger motioned for Boone to follow him.
They quickly took to their hooves, pounding them against the dusty streets in pursuit of refuge.
~
Two more days passed by the Appleloosian clan. In the aftermath of the Reaper's tango and an equally disturbing revelation, everypony busied themselves with their own coping mechanisms. Braeburn found sleep fleeting, awake long after Turner's snores began to mock his insomnia. Every creaking floorboard underhoof, every passing shadow over the moon, and every coyote's howl spurred his adrenaline and brought him to his hooves. The Deputy (soon to be Sheriff) paced and paced, turning his revolver over in his forehooves and worrying if, and when, Appleloosa would be safe ever again.
Citrus Blossom distracted herself with idle chat and poorly timed wisecracks, mostly directed towards her sister. In her mind's eye, she saw that pink mare again, and the attacker's pure and utter hatred towards herself and Braeburn. The constant question of why taunted her. She feared she may never know. Nevertheless, in light of her mother's happiness and her own—fledgling, but happiness still—she carried on, as true Apples do.
Libra Scales wrestled with a swarm of emotions, holding them close beneath her coat as best she could. Regretting her outbursts, she apologized to everypony the morning after Turner's revelation. This was accepted sincerely, and understandably so. The mare of the house, Libra lost herself in ensuring everypony's needs were met. She only visibly allowed her worry to resurface at night, when her nephew's pacing and her eldest's snores failed to soothe her into slumber.
Babs Seed and Apple Bloom, although reluctant to do so, decided to return to their bar on their fourth evening back in Appleloosa. Given recent events, they agreed that they couldn't afford to risk leaving their establishment unguarded for too much longer. They still remembered the days when Appleloosa itself had no need for locks—before the assaults, before the tattooed ones. Locks were now only a deterrence, not a guarantee of safety.
Turner, too, couldn't prolong his visit forever. Soapy and his crew would soon be moving to better veins, and the vagabond's empty bit-jars negated the possibility of passing up steady work. He decided to follow his daughter and her mare back to the badlands, vowing to Libra that he would visit as often as possible, and seek work in Appleloosa once he'd saved sufficiently.
The departing trio's announcement, made over their final dinner, was met with understanding and poorly concealed disappointment.
That night, Libra pulled Apple Bloom aside to speak in private. She led her into her room and closed the door.
"I know I've told you this before, Apple Bloom but... Take care of Babs out there, alright? And her father, too. Things are getting pretty wild out there. And that daughter of mine, while I love her to death, isn't exactly the most rational pony around." Libra shook her muzzle in frustration. "I still can't believe she was about to jump at the posse a few nights ago."
"Don't worry. Ah will take good care o' 'em, Auntie," Apple Bloom said, offering a nod and a smile.
"Good. You are the stronger of you two," Libra observed, grinning slightly. "And, as much as I have... mixed feelings... about Turner, I want to make sure he's alright, too. That mining work is grueling. Old fool, breaking his back out there." She snorted and rolled her eyes.
Apple Bloom assured, "Aw, Auntie, if Babs an' Ah could do it, he could do it. Don't worry. Things will calm down. Everypony will be fine."
Libra hugged her niece and sighed. "I hope so."
~
After dinner, Braeburn presented Babs Seed and Apple Bloom with the two spare revolvers and holsters. "Ah'm sorry we didn't get much time ta practice," he admitted sheepishly. He rubbed his injured shoulder. "Guess Ah won't be doin' too much shootin' fer a few more days. Aggravated somethin' when Ah fired that warnin' shot few nights 'go."
Chuckling awkwardly and digging a forehoof into the sand, Babs muttered, "Heh, sorry 'bout dat, Brae..." 'Course youze is hurt now afta youze had ta go save us... Great, jus' great. Hope nopony comes out heeya until youze is healed. Dat posse looks like dey couldn't shoot a flea.
"S'alright. But, y'all better practice when ya get back out there. Even if y'all can hit a cactus pretty decent, ain't nothin' like shootin' a movin' coyote o' pony."
"Don't worry, Brae, we will. Ah'm sure we can find a cactus o' two ta punish. O' maybe some tumbleweeds," answered Apple Bloom, giggling.
Braeburn laughed and tied their holsters carefully to their shoulders, reiterating a quick demonstration. Once they were secure, he enveloped them in a bone-crushing hug. Through their laughter, he said, "Y'all be careful! An' you too, Turner. Been mighty nice meetin' ya." The Deputy released his cousins and held out a forehoof to the stallion.
Turner shook it. "An' very nice meetin' youze too, Braeburn."
"Come back soon, ya hear?" Braeburn grinned and tipped his Stetson to the three.
Citrus Blossom and Libra Scales said their goodbyes next, drawing Babs and Bloom into tender hugs and extracting promises from the younger mares. Scoffing at her mother's repetition, Babs mumbled, "Yes, Ma, we'll be careful, we'll be sure ta write, we'll be—"
"Oh, hush." Libra leaned up and nuzzled her daughter. "You may be a young mare instead of a foal, but I'm still your mother. And will always be. So, keep your promises and watch yourself," she added, winking towards Apple Bloom.
Apple Bloom hugged Citrus tightly and winked back, determined to keep her promise.
On the fourth night following their return, three sets of hooves made their way back to the badlands. Three other sets of hooves watched them become shadows in the dark, praying that their next meeting would be soon, and under happier circumstances.
~
Dawn peeked over the horizon by the time Babs Seed, Apple Bloom, and Turner saw the boomtown in the distance, muzzles drenched in sweat and hooves aching. Her mane frazzled, Apple Bloom stumbled over to a cactus and bucked it wide open. Precious water spewed from the plant all over the sands and into her forehooves. She slurped greedily, forgoing a canteen, while her companions did the same with two unfortunate cacti.
Splashing fresh water onto his muzzle, Turner said, relieved, “Iffa we were too much fartha… I fear ta say it, but I probably woulda jus’ gone ta sleep right heeya an’ now.” Once replenished, he tumbled down onto his back and placed his forehooves behind his neck, staring up at the sky.
Babs Seed drank her fill and flopped down on her belly, removing her saddlebag with a sigh. “I hear youze, Turner. Feels 'bout time fo' a nap. ‘Ey, Bloom, youze alright?”
Apple Bloom trotted over and laid down in between them, closing her eyes and stretching her hooves. “Mmm… Maybe we should forget the inn an’ jus’ go ta sleep right here.”
Chuckling, Turner shielded his face from the rapidly rising sun, rolling over onto his side. “Heh, youze betta not. Can’t tell youze how many times I did dat an’ woke up dizzy an’ sick, o’ worse.” He grumbled under his breath, “I still miss dat ol’ pocket watch…”
I bet youze have the best stories. “Sometime, youze should tell us some o’ youze stories, Turner.” Yawning, Babs snuggled into the cool sands, leaning against her mare. It’s so nice out heeya… an’ I’m… so… tired…
They laid there quietly, catching their breath beneath the desert dawn for several minutes. The steady rhythm of hooves hitting the sand and heading their way roused Apple Bloom—THUD! THUD! THUD!
“What the—?”
Rising to her hooves, a figure emerged from the wavering light and galloped towards her. Fumbling for her revolver, Apple Bloom braced her hooves into the sand and called out to the others. “Babs! Turner! We’ve got company!”
“Huh?!” Snapping from her haze, Babs scrambled up and reached for her weapon as well. With noticeable effort, Turner joined the mares, unarmed but poised nonetheless.
Holding a forehoof above his eyes, he muttered, “Who the hay is dat?”
“Ah think it’s…”
Apple Bloom squeezed her forehooves around the grip of her weapon and leaned into the light, peering through a growing haze of dust. She discerned the figure of a stallion first, then saw a large, heavy cart behind him. Stepping closer and closer—closing the gap between them—her muzzle lit up with recognition. “It’s Caramel! That’s Caramel, y’all!”
Both mares holstered their weapons, no threat to confront.
“Caramel?” Turner asked, confused. He nudged Babs Seed. “Who the hay is Caramel?”
“One o’ ma cousin Applejack’s friends,” Babs explained. “He does deliveries fo’ the bar fo’ us sometimes. ‘Ey, Caramel!” she called, cupping her forehooves around her muzzle. “’Ey! ‘Ey! Ova heeya! It’s me an’ Bloom!”
Caramel grunted and waved a forehoof weakly, pulling the cart as fast as he could over the barren plains. He skidded to a halt in front of them, digging his hooves into the ground and panting. Thick, circular bags marred his eyes. His eyes themselves seemed lifeless, bloodshot, testifying to insomnia or worse.
“H-hey everypony,” he greeted weakly, coughing at the dust. Once it settled, he tried again, his tongue thick and dry against the roof of his mouth. “’Bout… 'bout time you two showed up.”
Apple Bloom quickly bucked a hole into a fresh cactus and filled her canteen. Offering it to the stallion, she ordered, “Drink this befo’ ya say anythin’ else! Ya look like yer ‘bout ready ta pass out, Caramel! What happened?”
Caramel slurped hungrily, soothing his parched throat. He dumped the rest over his mane and muzzle, rubbing his dried eyes and sighing with relief. Breathing deep, he passed the canteen back and unyoked himself from the cart. “Th-thank you. Just… just give me a sec, okay, please?”
Babs Seed raised an eyebrow and trotted around the cart, taking careful stock of its contents. Several barrels full of fifths of Applejack Daniel’s, apple juice, and both varieties of apple cider filled the cart, stacked upon each other and held taut with strong rope. Nothing seemed in disarray—she found no signs of damage from coyotes, rustlers, or thieves. The wheels of the cart, although dusty, seemed in perfect working condition. “Everythin’ heeya looks good. Anypony give youze trouble?”
Turner glanced curiously at Caramel. Feeling the stallion’s stare, Caramel glanced up and flared his nostrils. “What?”
“Youze look a lil’ sun-sick. Youze sure youze alright?” Babs asked.
“I’m fine,” Caramel dismissed, sitting down and leaning against the cart. “Luckily, I’m fine. It took me almost two days to get out here! I got to Appleloosa early, didn't even have time to talk to anypony. Got lost through the wilderness, barely slept on the way. I was too worried about somepony stealing the liquor! Mac was supposed to help me take this big delivery out here, but—“
“But what?” Apple Bloom asked, worried. “Is everythin’ alright at the farm?”
“It’s fine. He and AJ were just busy with the cider and all. He didn’t have time to escort me out here. Annnnnnyway,” he said, visibly annoyed, “once I got here, I waited all night for you two to show up!”
Caramel smacked the ground in annoyance, his brow furrowing at the bar-ponies. “Applejack said you two were staying at the inn, so when the bar wasn’t open, I checked there! They said you checked out two nights ago! I was about ready to turn tail and head back, but I got tired and fell asleep outside the inn!”
“Right, right. So, everythin's intact? All good?” Babs climbed up into the cart and checked the barrels. None appeared to have been tampered with or otherwise disturbed. Sure looks like it. Don't look too heavy, neitha. Why were youze so slow, then? Two whole days?
“Yeah it is, Babs. Thanks for being so concerned!” Shaking sand from his coat, Caramel jabbed, “Where the hay were you two anyway? And who’s he?” He gestured towards Turner, taking note of his grizzled, weathered appearance and heavy saddlebag upon his back. He found his own question absurd when the stranger stood beside Babs Seed.
“We were in Appleloosa. An’ he’s…” Babs shook her muzzle. “Nevamind.” Buck, what the hay is wrong wit’ me? C’mon! “Not dat youze care, but there was a shootin’ in Appleloosa, Caramel.”
Caramel awakened instantly. “A shooting?! Is Braeburn alright?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and wild. He jumped towards Babs and Apple Bloom, shaking them both on the shoulders. “What happened?!”
“Everythin’s fine, Caramel,” Apple Bloom stated calmly, brushing his forehoof away. “Well… fine might be pushin’ it. But Brae, Auntie, an’ Citrus are all doin’ okay. Can’t say the same ‘bout—“ she looked away—“Silverstar, o’ the other deputy there, though.”
Ice rushed through Babs Seed’s veins. Horseapples, don’t even get me started. Caramel fumbled his lips speechlessly, stuttering nonsense. “Yea, now youze see where ma concern is, Caramel? Yeah, I thought so. Now, let’s jus’ get dis cart back ta the bar, everypony. A thousand thanks, Caramel," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and yoking herself into the cart.
Caramel objected, “But—but—“
“Tell Applejack we’re fine. I’m sure she’s worried, an’ the damn mail-pony ain’t nowhere ta be seen lately. Damn Derpy.” Checking the yoke one more time, Babs began to pull the cart towards the boomtown, leaving Caramel to his confusion and fear. "Oh, an' I'll make sure dey get the cart back. I'll get one o' the fasta stallions ta deliver it back ta town."
Caramel furrowed his brow and flattened his ears. He snapped his muzzle shut, deciding an argument wasn't worth the insult.
Turner shrugged and started after his daughter. Pleasantries did not outweigh his fatigue, and the vagabond reasoned he could be forgiven for his lack of manners later. “Nice ta meet youze,” he muttered to the other stallion. He tightened the straps of his saddlebags and followed after Babs towards the settlement in the distance.
Apple Bloom sighed and gave Caramel a quick hug. “Ah’m mighty sorry ‘bout that, Caramel. She’s jus’… she’s jus’ stressed. Heh.” Rubbing her neck with a forehoof, she added, “Things are gettin’ pretty crazy ‘round here.”
“That explains the guns.” Caramel pointed to the holstered weapon tied to her shoulder. “Wish I had one of those out here. Can’t tell you how many times I thought I heard somepony sneaking up on me, only to find a tumbleweed trailing along.”
Caramel broke the embrace and snorted. “You’d better watch that mare of yours. Your family might be alright with it, but not everypony is. And her acting like a brute doesn’t help things.”
Apple Bloom stared at her hooves. “Ah… Ah know. S-sorry, Caramel.”
“It’s fine.” He mustered a weak smile. “I’ve got a train to catch. I’ll see you around, alright? Come visit Ponyville when you get a chance.”
She chuckled slightly, forcing her humor. “Come visit… right… Ah’ll be sure ta get on that.”
The stallion nodded and set his hooves towards Appleloosa. “Goodbye, Apple Bloom.”
“Goodbye, Caramel.”
Merging with the dawn, Caramel disappeared over the horizon. His words were not as expedient, lingering in Apple Bloom’s mind through her return journey. Her mare and Turner were far ahead, but she made no effort to match their pace.
~
The leader of the Manehatten Kings and his masculine queen were only a few blocks away from sanctuary when a rustling of wings caught their attention. Boone and Slinger peered into the sky, searching for a brash pegasus with a death wish. Black storm clouds greeted them instead.
Boone began, “Youze hear—“
Card Slinger silenced him with a forehoof. They searched the skies silently, tucking into a dimly lit alleyway. The light-tenders had just begun their evening rounds, lighting candles in the dark of Manehatten.
A series of hearty chuckles spun them both around again.
“Looking for somepony? Or, perhaps, some Griffon?”
Standing right in front of them, a Griffon Knight adjusted the collar of his suit with one talon and smacked his belly heartily with the other. “Ha! You need to sharpen your senses, little Knights. A pity if somepony were to attack from above.”
“What do youze want?!” Card Slinger sneered, advancing towards the Griffon. “What, did the Masta let his lil’ pet out fo’ a walk?”
The Griffon upturned his beak into a semblance of a smile. “Oh, Card Slinger and Boone. The Master has a special place on his payroll for you both. Which is why I’ve come to meet you two lovebirds.”
Boone and Slinger snorted their collective disgust. Boone spat, “Spill it, bird-brain! The walls have eyes an’ ears—“
“And I am some of those,” the Griffon said calmly. Unfazed, he continued, “Now, let’s get this over with, and quickly. Unlike you two, I do not have much time for idle chat.” He dug through an inside pocket of his suit and withdrew two train tickets, passing one to each stallion.
Card Slinger held the ticket close to his eyes and read the inscription. “Appleloosa? Again? Why the buck did youze jus’ give us tickets ta Appleloosa, youze feathered bas—“
WHUMP!
Card Slinger groaned and doubled over, clutching his stomach in agony. The Griffon brandished the offending weapon—a collapsible baton—tauntingly. “Ahh, that’s much better. Forgive me, but I tire of your voice.
"Anyway,” the Griffon continued, swinging the baton back and forth between his talons, “the Master has prepared a company to head out into the badlands. There is evidence to suggest that there is another establishment out there. An establishment that will make fine kindling for the fires of annexation.”
Boone assisted Card Slinger to his hooves, his leader leaning against him for stability. “There? Where the buck is there?”
“You shall see. You both will meet the rest of your company in the wasteland, beyond the Appleloosian city limit. There, one of the Knights will have the coordinates and intel necessary for the company to locate the establishment and execute the mission.” Collapsing his baton and tucking it back inside his suit, the Griffon smirked. “The Master will be most pleased if you succeed. He is offering ten thousand bits to each of you if the mission is completed.”
Slinger blinked through his pain, sure his ears betrayed him. “Ten thousand? Each?”
The messenger nodded. “Of course, if you don’t want to… you know what your debt shall be.” There was that twisted sort-of-smile again, toothless and wicked, piercing through them to their blackened hearts.
The Griffon spread his wings, his pristine feathers glistening in the darkness. “Tomorrow evening, you shall catch the train. Within twenty-four hours of arriving in Appleloosa, you are to find your target, and do what thugs like you do best. Understand?”
At their slow, unenthusiastic nods, the Griffon pushed off his paws and shot straight into the growing night, chuckling to himself.
Card Slinger slung himself off Boone and put all four hooves on the ground. He tucked the ticket into his mane and smiled impishly. “Guess dis is the sign, ain’t it, Boone? Last mission?"
Through his skepticism, Boone mustered, “Yes.”
~
A busy night at the bar behind her, Babs Seed crawled into bed. Thankfully, the inn owner had saved a room for the mares, patiently awaiting their return. The first night back in the wasteland was mostly uneventful. The West and its alcoholics rejoiced the return of the bar-mares, hammering out joyful saloon tunes and emptying their bit jars for the finest whiskey and cider in Equestria.
Turner stumbled out of the bar early, making his way back towards camp and Soapy. As he’d promised Libra, the vagabond would be working only as long as necessary on the prospector’s latest mining venture before returning to Appleloosa. There, father and daughter hoped, he would find replacement work—and, perhaps, something far more valuable.
Apple Bloom hunched over writing desk in the corner of the room, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Although it was late and she was exhausted, she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. Words circled and galloped and rushed through her mind, and her forehooves ached to spell them out and extract sense from within.
“What youze writin’ ova there?” Babs called, smiling, her voice lighter than usual. She rolled over onto her side and brushed the sheets with a forehoof. “Ain’t youze tired?”
“Ah’m jus’ finishin’ somethin’ up real quick, sugarcube,” Apple Bloom mumbled, glued to her task.
“Youze know we can’t send any lettas until Derpy o’ anotha mail-pony comes out heeya, right?” Well, I suppose iffa it was urgent, I might be able ta hire one o’ the tramps out heeya ta do it, but dem bastards drive a hard bargain fo’ messenga-work.
Apple Bloom paused, clutching her quill tightly. She sighed. “Ah know, Babs. Ah’ll… Ah’ll be there in a minute, alright?”
Babs Seed raised an eyebrow and hopped from the bed. “Summat wrong? Youze seem tense…”
“Ah’m fine…”
Reaching the desk, Babs leaned over and squinted through the dark. “C’mon, show me—“
“Babs!” Apple Bloom grabbed the parchment and concealed it under the desk. “Don’t—don’t peek at what Ah’m writin’!” She blushed furiously, shaking her muzzle. “Ah’m almost done! Jus’ wait over there, alright? Please!”
“S-sorry,” Babs muttered, staring at the floorboards. Curiosity probed at the corners of her mind, but she reckoned it wasn’t worth further upsetting her mare. “I’m sorry. Dat was rude o' me.” She turned towards the bed and began to trot away.
Frowning, Apple Bloom rolled up the parchment and stashed it in her nearby saddlebag. She met her mare and whispered sadly, “No, Ah’m sorry, Babsy. Ah jus’ flew off the handle there. Ah didn’t mean it.”
“It’s alright.” Babs nuzzled her cheek. “We’re both not exactly ourselves ‘gain yet, are we?”
“Ah guess not.” Apple Bloom brushed her cheek against Babs’s neck and sighed, closing her eyes. “Let’s jus’ relax an’ go ta sleep. Tomorrowa will be a betta day.”
Babs nodded. She lowered her voice, making it sultry, and teased, “When youze say ‘relax,’ do youze mean…?”
Apple Bloom kissed her deeply and answered with her eyes.
~
Holding Apple Bloom in her forehooves, Babs Seed stared blankly towards the ceiling. The moon beckoned twilight to return in the heavens, dawn’s light fast approaching. Her mare lay fast asleep in her grasp, snoring softly on her chest.
Sleep eluded her, curiosity taking hold of her once more. She glanced several times over to Apple Bloom’s saddlebag. However, she respected her privacy, brushing aside all thoughts of invading it and discovering what had been written there. Nevertheless, she was worried. Bloom’s neva held anythin’ from me. She’s an open book. But… not me. I’ve held things from her. So... what could dis be 'bout?
Heh...
... I guess it’s only fair…
The wind howled outside their window, cold, biting. Cold. Dark. Babs Seed's mind drifted to a desert's revelation: dark, cold flame, tongues of strange fire reaching towards the heavens amongst a tribe of buffalo.
Somehow, I think there’ll be mo’ important things ta worry ‘bout then the note in dat saddlebag…
“I love youze, Bloom,” she murmured, kissing her forehead gently. Apple Bloom stirred and smiled in her sleep but did not wake. Babs yawned and closed her eyes, soon beside her in dreams.
But, I hope I’m wrong.