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// The Root of the Problem 
// Story: Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues 
// by Lumpfish 
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	Fallout: Equestria: New World Blues
Chapter 5: The Root of the Problem

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“Dimlit”

“Stargazer”

“Butter Blossom”

“Mudboots”

“Trigger Happy”

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He lies in bed unmoving as he stares up at the ceiling, a pleasant warmth keepin’ him rooted in place.

It was a nice sleep. Best he’s had in a good while. Course the air is still damp, the old wood gives a musky but not unpleasant smell, and the mattress is actively tryin’ to suck him in for a meal, but damn if that ain’t a paradise dream for a soldier stationed in the Haysead Swamp. No window so the room’s still covered in the same dark-orange glow from the night. Even so, his mind’s too clear and too aware for it to have been anything other than a deep six to nine hour sleep.

Old bones tell him to take another one or two. He fights it and rises anyway, though the sheet’s soft touch risin’ along with him nearly tangles him back down. With a strained groan he manages to pull himself free and slowly roll off the side, makin’ certain his two right hooves are touchin’ the ground before groggily departin’ the bed with his left.

A bit of fumblin’ and he’s slung both his saddlebags and rifle across his back. He trots through the door with keys in hoof, shakin’ the blood flow in his legs into action along the way. The hallway is almost a whole other buildin’, the window at its end lightin’ its walls with the fresh rays of the mornin’ sun.

He blinks, eyes locked on the sunlight pourin’ in. Solid. Golden. Strikin’. Not the soft white rays of the dawn. He locks the door behind him and slips to the window. A steady flow of ponies move and chat about in the streets, while overhead...

The sun’s already at its apex. He retreats from the window, cursin’ under his breath. Not a six or nine hour sleep. Try twelve. Most likely more. Been so long since he’s had a soft bed to rest on and a quiet room to sleep, guess his body took advantage of the occasion. With any luck their parley with Shady hasn’t expired.

He quickens his pace as he trots down the hallways to Snake Eyes’ door. Three sharp raps with his hoof, then he waits. Three seconds. Six seconds. Nine seconds

The door creaks open before he can knock again. Snake Eyes stands there, greetin’ him with sunken eyes, his mane a tangled bedheaded mess under his fedora. Snake gives him a once over before huffin’, scowlin’ at him. “Is it time already? It feels as if I had only just fallen asleep.”

“Past time,” he grunts. “Already midday, maybe later. Five minutes and we need to be out of here.”

Snake’s brows lift in surprise. “Oh. Hasty, though I won’t need five minutes. Here, let me just...” He disappears back into the room for a brief moment before returnin’ with his key in hoof, hair fixed into a presentable status. Lockin’ the door behind him, Snake waves a hoof to the inn’s entrance. “Right then. Lead the way.”

Bootstrap is in the same place they’d left him the night before, still buried in his book, not even givin’ ‘em a second glance as they deposit their keys. He only finally peers up at ‘em once he’s noticed they haven’t darted for the front door. “What is it?” He asks with a huff, glancin’ between ‘em. “Ya wouldn’t be standin’ there with them upturned eyes without a question, so go on and spit it out.”

“Wouldn’t happen to have a clue of where the mayor might be?” he asks, straight to the point.

Bootstrap sets down his book and brings his hoof up to his chin. “Shady eh? She dropped by here not too long ago, say... an hour? Told me where she was headed off to next as well. Just have to cook up mah thoughts a bit. Let’s see...” He drums his other hoof against the counter a while before stoppin’, noddin’ in remembrance. “Hm. Ah remember now. She said she was headed off to Yasimi’s. It’s a flower shop,” he continues, noticin’ their confusion. “You’ll find it not too far from here actually. Soon as ya head out the door, head to your right down the main street. Trot ‘til ya find a small yellow buildin’ with a nice front porch. Can’t miss it.”

Before he can respond Bootstrap swipes up his book again and buries his face in the pages. He mutters out a soft thanks anyway before leavin’ through the front door, blockin’ a flare of sunlight as they pass through.

The streets of Goldroot are awash with life. All along the town’s main road ponies trade, trot, and simply chat amongst one another, livin’ out their daily lives under the watchful gaze of Big Red. Want to say it reminds him of New Manehattan, but it’s... different. The aura of it all, if such a thing even exists. The ponies here move with energy to their motions, talk lightly and laugh, and possess a certain innocent whimsicalness in their eyes. New Manehattan, on the other hoof...

“How fascinating,” Snake Eyes yawns from his side, rousing him from his daydream. When he looks over, Snake stares back with dim eyes. “You were so keen on leaving the inn only a minute before, yet as soon as we hit the streets you freeze up and go into a daze. Shall I call the town doctors, or is memory loss a known condition of yours these days?”

He shakes his head, blinks his vision clear. “Got distracted,” he says, startin’ to trot. “Stay close, keep yer eyes peeled for that yellow building.”

They take the main street eastward as Bootstrap had told ‘em. The wide nature of the road itself gives ‘em a wide berth, allowin’ ‘em to weave through the crowds. Just as yesterday, a few towns ponies stop to stare and a good number interrupt their talks to watch ‘em pass, but none raise any hell.

A hundred yard’s trot and the flower shop already comes into view. A small homely building, it’s dwarfed by the two larger businesses that surround it, yet its yellow paint makes it stand out like a beacon against its competitor’s dull brown. They scale the few steps of the porch and enter, the flimsy screen door that serves as the entrance bangin’ shut behind ‘em.

Musky scent of soil soaks his nostrils. Light shines through windows on the walls and ceiling, illuminating a sea of flowers. Flowers on desks, flowers on shelves that line the walls, flowers in bins sittin’ around in the center of the room. Simply trottin’ to the other side of the store would require a pony to solve a small maze. At the end of said maze is a counter and register, behind which hums a bright pink unicorn mare with a lily-white mane. Once she catches sight of them she perks up, her sunshine eyes brightening.

“What’s this? Customers?” she asks, both questions throwin’ him off guard with the rich Canterlot-like accent they carry. She continues, tappin’ her chin and noddin’ between ‘em. “Or mayhaps not? A gambling stallion and a pegasus? Ms. Sands told me there was a good chance of you two arriving. Is that why you have come? Or am I being rude and you have actually come for the flora?”

‘Customahs’. ‘Gahmbling’. ‘Flor-ah’. Don’t hear speech like that in most places anymore. Tenpony Tower and that’s about it. He keeps the curiosity in check though and answers, “The former. Any idea of where she headed off to?”

“I do,” she affirms, a bit of her attention now lost to one of the potted roses she levitates over to her counter. “You both will find Ms. Sands in Goldroot’s school house which lies on the other side of town. She left here not long ago and on average spends quite some time there, so you should be able to catch her before she leaves.”

‘Othah’. He tips his hat to her, backin; out of the shop. “All ah needed. Thank ya kindly ma’am.”

“My pleasure. And remember, if there’s a mare in town you fancy, give me a stop. Proper lady or a hard worker, we all adore a fashionable bouquet of roses.”

The screen door bangs a second time as they leave. Beside him Snake Eyes sighs, unamused. “What a goose chase. Does this mare truly need to check every single facet of the town?” He loosens in defeat, castin’ his hoof lazily back toward the streets. “Onward to the next clue then.”

Accent is still burnin’ at the back of his mind, though Snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. Don’t know quite what to make of that. Best to drop it for now and stay on target.

Continuin’ along the main street, they eventually come across both the entrance to the town and the same saloon he’d peeked in the day before. Unlike then, the door is flung wide open, leakin’ music and talk and other such merriments into the world as ponies enter and leave. Snake Eyes watches it with interest as they pass by, but ultimately shrugs it off and returns forward as it fades behind ‘em.

Goldroot changes the further south they trot. Buildings become smaller, yet more decorated and unique. Ponies move at a slower pace, trottin’ about at their own leisure. Front porches are commonplace, complete with rockin' chairs and the rare swing. Must be the residential side of town.

What stands out from ‘em all is the bulky two story building nestled against Big Red. Its wood is a deep shade of crimson mirrorin’ the mountain above it, with its window and door borders unpainted to keep their dark brown textures. Atop the structure sits a polished golden bell under a small pavilion.

“How quaint,” Snake Eyes scoffs while they approach the school’s light oak door. “I have complete sympathy for anypony who is educated within this atrocity of construction. I myself would be too fearful of an imminent collapse to focus on lectures or assignments.”

And yet passin’ into the greetin’ room, he has to disagree. Seems more structurally sound than the inn or the flower shop at the very least. The front doors glide on oiled hinges, the air’s a crisp pine clean, and the lack of any rugs or paintings gives room to reveal fine, well kept lumber. The room itself is fit with plenty of bright oak chairs and numerous windows which illuminate its poster boards of foal’s arts and crafts. Across the way, the room funnels into a large door laden hallway, which in turn branches off to other corridors that run out of sight.

Snake Eyes peers down the hall, frownin’. “No greeter. Wonderful. I suppose our best bet is to simply wander the halls until we stumble upon somepony...?”

A simple plan, yet he can’t think up any other option. He nods to Snake and trots on, “Suppose so. Don’t stray into any of the closed rooms.”

“You couldn’t pay me to try.”

Entering the hallway brings to ear the sound of faint echoes from the many doors. Some leak with the same single boundin’ buzz he’d heard from Shady’s speech the day before, others burst with the excited yelps of young foals. Others are silent. The halls themselves are empty of ponies yet lined with wooden cubby holes stuffed with bags and packs.

Hm. A door down one of the right side corridors stands open against the others. His ears perk as they start towards it, acknowledging the delighted screams and yelps of foals. Closer now, and another voice adds along. Soft. Gentle. Powerful.

He stops just outside the room. Shady Sands is a few paces inside, her eyes closed and her muzzle turned up into a joyous grin. At her hooves swarm a dozen fillies and colts, each one almost clambering atop each other to get in a nuzzle or two before bein’ pushed back out of the group, startin’ the struggle anew.

Beyond the cluster stand two other ponies, a mare of tan coat and light pink mane and a stallion of grey coat and chalk-white mane. They watch the chaos with wide grins which falter when they look up, noticin’ him and Snake politely waitin’ outside.

Shady follows their gaze and takes notice as well, smilin’ to ‘em before turnin’ back to the foals. “Ya’ll go on and get yer things ready before we send ya home,” she says, risin’ back to her hooves and shooin’ the foals along. As the foals go scamperin’ off she turns back to them, motionin’ for the mare and the stallion behind her to step forward. “Ah knew ya’ll would catch up to me eventually,” she says as the other two join her. “Wanna apologize for the little goose chase ya must have partaken in to reach me. Ah tend to move around a bit too much, wind up in places ah’m not really needed.”

“Ain’t a thing,” he pardons. Snake Eyes spits hot air between his teeth but keeps quiet.

“Empathy’s appreciated,” she bows her head, takes two steps back to bring the mare and stallion to the forefront and nods to ‘em both. “But I’ve been foregoin’ mah manners. Friends, this here is our young foal’s teacher Mrs. Scribbles, and this here is the principal as well as mah brother, Mr. Chalk Dust.”

Brother. Her junior, were he to guess by the bright eyes and high chest. He greets Chalk with a firm hoofshake and a tips his hat to Scribbles. “Mighty fine to meet ya both. Quite a place ya have here. Ain’t ever seen a thing like it.”

His last words slip without his meanin’. Chalk takes a quick interest in ‘em, givin’ him an amused reaction. “Oh? Quite a thing to say, that you’ve never seen something that’s nothing more than a two week’s humble construction. Are schools a rarity from where you come?”

Construction ain’t what he meant. It’s the environment, the aura, the heart. Belongings bein’ left out without fear of theft. The foals are washed, cleaned, readying themselves for home with a spring in their hooves, with little fear of where growing up could take ‘em. Could stand here for hours ringin’ off reasons, but in the end the only thing he settles for is a small grimace and an “ain’t too common ah suppose.”

Chalk hides his discontent with a half shrug. “A shame, though you seem like a well mannered and worldly stallion yourself. That said, if you’re impressed with our current school house, you’ll be amazed by the new one I have planned to be up within the year.” The principal’s eyes glaze over and his voice turns distant as if within a dream. “Twice the space, built from reinforced stone...” He lets out a pleasant sigh, half closin’ his eyes.

“Have to excuse mah brother,” Shady apologizes, givin’ Chalk a slight nudge. “Can sit here talkin’ for hours about ways he’s plannin’ on improvin’ the school or the town itself. He’s a big daydreamer, but that’s why we all love him.”

Chalk exhales in defeat, noddin’ and flattenin’ his muzzle as he looks between him and Snake. “Yes yes, you’re both more interested in the way to New Pegasus, I believe.” He quickly throws up a hoof in defense. “Not that I can blame either of you. It’s the most common question my sister receives from newcomers, and for good reason. New Pegasus is a wondrous place, a city unlike any other in the Palomino, and if strangers that wander in are to be believed anypony in the east as well, has witnessed.”

Thought that accent sounded familiar. A less pompous Snake Eyes. “Ya’ve been to New Pegasus?”

“‘Been’?” Chalk snorts lightly. “My friend, I lived in New Pegasus for twelve long years. While its casinos and shows and other such entertainment are unlike any other, its education system was what stunned me the most. You know the city has an entire twenty story hotel set up as a school? And that’s for adult teaching only. It has another, a refurbished embassy, that it uses as education for foals as well. Sociology, biology, history, math, ponies of any age can learn anything they choose. And for free, no less.” Chalk looks down the halls, scannin’ the walls with a glint in his eye. “When I left New Pegasus to return home, it was the schools, not the casinos, that I remembered. I seek to match, maybe one day surpass, that same experience within Goldroot itself.”

A goal he can respect, somethin’ that’s rare these days. Still, twelve years in New Pegasus. If there was a pony to ask, it’d be this one. “Respect yer work, but if ah may throw out an off hoof question: know anything about a ‘Mr. Spade’?”

“Ha!” Chalk has a short laugh at his expense, shakin’ his head. “Mr. Spade? I guess I can say I know just as much about him as anypony else in New Pegasus does: absolutely nothing. In my stay of New Pegasus, the most I heard about him were urban legends, no doubt gathered up from a prolonged game of ‘telephone’ amongst the strip’s gossipers. The one piece of information I can give you is that he rules the strip through a small army of armed machines everypony calls ‘Roboclops’. Robotic guards built like ponies, named for the ‘clip-clop’ sound their metal hooves make upon the pavement. Anything else and I’d simply be spreading more absurd rumors.”

Beside him Snake Eyes turns up his nose in a victorious grin. Notch him up another point.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more,” Chalk continues. “Twelve years and you’d think I’d have learned something of Mr. Spade other than street rumors, but I had my thoughts elsewhere.”

He waves his hoof in dismissal. “Ain’t a thing. Ya told me what ah needed to hear and more, and ah thank ya for it.”

Chalk does a half bow. “The pleasure was all mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” Chalk steps aside, leavin’ trottin’ room for Shady. “I believe I’ve spent more than enough of everypony’s time. Please, enjoy the rest of your stay in Goldroot, and be careful on the road to New Pegasus. It’s taken many an unprepared pony’s lives.”

“Something ah do mah best to prevent,” Shady adds as she joins him and Snake. She fixes her gaze upon ‘em both before noddin’ back down the main hallway they’d traveled. “Follow me. School’s about to let out, and ah got someplace more quiet for ya’ll to focus on any info ah have to give.”

Sayin’ their final farewells to Chalk, they follow Shady’s lead and return to the school’s entrance, passin’ through the front doors just as the bell begins to ring overhead. The building shudders and rumbles behind ‘em, as if a small earthquake were rackin’ the school’s foundations. By the time they’re a hundred yards out the front doors fly open and let loose a steady stream of ponies, young, old, thin, fat, clean, rugged, and everything in between.

Shady doesn’t so much as take a peek back over her shoulder to witness the chaos. Her attention goes to the trail, occasionally driftin’ her eyes to one of the town’s porch dwellin’ citizens who gives her a friendly wave. To each one she responds with her signature gentle smile and a light wave, like a beloved goddess returnin’ the affection of her adoring subjects.

It’s at a hollow spot, just where the residential side of town begins to merge with its business and the crowds are at their thinnest, that Shady sighs, lettin’ her chest sink and her smile droop. “They’re all good ponies, always showerin’ me with praise,” she begins with a hint of sorrow. “but sometimes ah get this belief stuck in mah head that ah ain’t doin’ everything ah can for ‘em.”

Her heart to heart catches him by surprise. The way she speaks, trots, moves about the town as if she were a part of it... would have never guessed there was even a speck of doubt in her mind only minutes before. “Pardon mah thoughts as ah have no clue on how to run a town, but ya seem to be doin’ quite a job from what ah’ve witnessed.” Better than most leaders in the east, for certain.

His answer doesn’t seem to help her one bit as she continues on, shakin’ her head. “But that ain’t enough. Ah try to open up a new business every other month, help mah brother expand our school systems and education, promise a second saloon by the time winter comes ‘round... and yet still it seems we have a pony a week takin’ up root and skirtin’ for New Pegasus. Makes me think ah’m doin’ somethin’ wrong, missin’ somethin’ ah shouldn’t be.”

“It’s the burden of struggling against the inevitable.” Snake Eyes grins smugly, his words thick with pride. “New Pegasus has been hundreds upon hundreds of years in the making, constructed and expanded upon by the greatest minds the old world... and this one... have to offer. Nopony can ever hope to contest such raw power, no matter their determination.”

Not helpin’ Snake. Shady takes his hard truth with a deep frown as she continues starin’ ahead. “Ah’ve had to accept that for years now. Before ah became mayor, even. Mah brother would always talk with me, tell me his dreams about headin’ west to New Pegasus. It worried me for sure, but ah never thought he’d actually do it. Then one mornin’ ah woke up and he was packin’ his things. Only eighteen years of age and he was kissin’ me on the cheek, promisin’ he’d write back. Took the caravan out of town that same day and ah didn’t see him ‘til twelve years later.” A gloom of gray creeps over her eyes. “Ah’m grateful he made the trip there and back, heck, even came back at all, but there’s still so many other ponies that never do, old friends that ah never hear from again and worry about each day.”

No snappy response from Snake. Instead he pauses, his eyes turnin’ distant and his muzzle shiftin’. A good while later and he finally speaks again, “Yet your brother returned, did he not?” he asks, to which Shady nods in half-hearted response. “Then you must be doing something right. Believe me when I say that I’ve spoken with ponies who have abandoned foals, parents, and brothers and sisters alike the moment they were able to gain entrance to the strip. And yet, your brother, who spent twelve years there, clearly found something in your letters and self to come home.”

Can hardly believe what he’s hearin’. Snake Eyes bein’ positive, his words slippin’ out smooth and oiled. Shady’s even noddin’ along with him, like prey drawn in by a serpent’s trance.

Snake continues, “And what do you think happened when he left New Pegasus, hm? Twelve years. No doubt he abandoned friends, titles, reputation... all to assist and grow another town which caught his heart. And who is the mayor of New Pegasus? The reclusive Mr. Spade, I suppose, locked away in that tower of his with nothing to do but watch. Ooooh the shock he must have received, learning that this educated, bright young stallion was leaving his empire, the ‘jewel of the desert’, for...Goldroot...” he hisses out the name, lettin’ it run its course.

Unbelievable. He eyes Snake with heavy suspicion. “Didn’t realize ya’d gained such a love for the town overnight.”

“I didn’t,” Snake admits. “I simply find the similarities rather amusing, that an ancient, estranged, decaying relic of a super genius can share the same fears and aspirations as a simple town mayor not a hundred miles away.”

Well that makes a lick more of sense. Despite Snake’s typical condescending sendoff, Shady’s brightened a hue or two. Her chest has risen back up to the same determined posture she’d greeted the townsponies with, her head lifted along with it. When she looks back to ‘em both, there’s the smallest twinkle in her eye. “Appreciate yer mind stranger. Whether we’ve convinced ya of Goldroot or not, ah admit it helped to warm me up a bit.”

Snake shrugs casually. “I’m only speaking my mind for some amusement. Make no mistake, if I were to choose between Goldroot and New Pegasus, it would be the latter without a moment’s hesitation.” Snake Eyes pauses, then slowly pushes out, “Although... I do admit, it does feel a little... ‘safer’ here. A bit more friendly.”

“Somethin’ New Pegasus can steal from Goldroot,” he says with dry sarcasm, to which Shady smirks and Snake Eyes crinkles his muzzle.

“Don’t count on it.”

Shady’s lead has looped them back around to the west side of Goldroot, the same location they had witnessed the bestowing of the Pumpkin Patch award. The town hall sits proudly on their left and towers over the buildings that surround it.

But Shady drifts right. There, directly across from the town hall sittin’ at the base of Big Red, is a large overhang which digs into the side of the mountain. Almost like the entrance to a mine shaft. Shady curves into it, sure enough revealin’ a cave-like opening tucked underneath that leads into the mountain itself. Shady leads them in without hesitation.

For the first time electricity is bein’ put to use, powerin’ the bulbs that hang loosely overhead, lightin’ the five pony wide passageway they trot through. Their heat fights against the natural damp of the cave, diluting each other out to leave the air crisp and clean, the only thing left behind the faint smell of cave rock and... metal?

The passageway opens into a spacious cavern. The right and far walls are a barren grey, but against the left is a second tube-like passageway. Not made up of rock, however. Made of steel. Attached to the passageway towers a tall cog door upon which is printed the large numbers ‘163’ in faded, chipped yellow paint.

“Stable one sixty three...” he breathes.

“...Yes. Which means there are at the very least one hundred and sixty two others.” Snake sighs and rolls his eyes. “It astounds me how you don’t blink twice at mutant sand coyotes yet the moment you’re presented with an all too common glorified fallout shelter you go breathless.” He shrugs. “Perhaps I’d understand were I a pegasus as well?”

Maybe fifteen years ago. But he’s too distracted to respond. They continue into the steel passageway and the world transforms around them, shifting from rock and lichen to metal and gears and gauges and pipes and goddess knows what else. It’s been a damn long while since he’s set hoof in a stable, but this is supposedly the air lock. Seals one door behind ya before openin’ the other as to avoid contamination. Seems Goldroot doesn’t have much use for it anymore as they pass through without so much as a whisp of notice.

The stable takes on a more subdued nature now, droppin’ its gizmos for a simple well lit steel hallway. Shady takes them to its end where it opens up into a sizable square room. Its only defining features are two openings, one on the right wall and another, larger opening on the far wall, both of which are obscured by sickly yellow tarps which dangle from the archway down to the floor.

“Tarp to yer right is the old medical quarters,” Shady says, but makes towards the far opening. “It was our go-to location for injuries when ah first became mayor, but a patient nearly dyin’ from blood loss on the long trip to the stable was more than enough to convince me to build up a hospital in town and transfer all the supplies with it. Ain’t been much more than another crop grounds since then.”

“Crop grounds?” he asks.

Shady brushes the tarp aside and ushers them through. He enters and a damp, musky scent, much like the flower shop’s not an hour before, buffets his senses. “Crop grounds are exactly what ya’d imagine ‘em to be, but probably not where ya’d imagine ‘em to be,” Shady explains as she follows ‘em in. “Course, the process still remains the same, air, light, water, soil, and all.”

And they’ve kept that in mind. The room is large and spacious, with an open top wooden box which expands across the entirety of the floor, filled to its brim with a soil so rich that he can suspect each individual speck was hoof plucked. The light shines down from long, bright, tubes encased beneath wooden overhangs suspeded from the ceiling. For the water, pipes runnin' along the high ceiling curve down into a simple sprinkler system spread out over the soil.

The system’s reward sprouts to fruition in rows upon rows of corn stalks growin’ up from the soil. Amongst the harvest trot a good five or six ponies who gingerly pick the corn free, gently placin’ ‘em down in the basket saddles strapped along their stomachs. They wave nonchalantly to Shady as she leads ‘em by but pull double takes when they spot him and Snake. Give or take a few seconds though and they’re back to their corn.

“This was once the stable’s dining hall.” Shady points out a back kitchen area just visible over the corn stalks. “Had tables and counters and the like. Ah had it all torn up, most of ‘em shipped to the Gold ‘N Silver saloon, then had the lightin’ and sprinkler system installed along with the soil box.”

“It seems you did a lot of that,” Snake notes, inspectin’ the corn as they trot along the side of the dining hall. “Tearing up the stable, I mean. Met quite a lot of resistance, I presume?”

Shady nods. “Right ya are. From the older folks especially, not that ah could blame ‘em. They’d spent the majority of their lives within these walls only for some up and comin’ young mayor to tell ‘em that it all needed to be moved out. But it had to be done, somethin’ they came to understand as well.”

She says it more as for the town’s survival then a simple renovation. He asks, “and what was it that forced yer hoof?”

“Space,” she says bluntly as they reach another tarp covered pathway at the dining hall’s end. Once again she ushers them through before followin’ behind. And just as before, wooden containers, soil, lights, sprinklers... only thing different now is that its all lined up along a snakin’ hallway and the crops are now cucumbers instead of corn. “Understand that durin’ the stable’s sealed days, our folks had a single, massive room dedicated to the crops. ‘The greenhouse’, we still call it to this day. We won’t be passin’ through it as its on the other far side of the stable, but that’s where ya’d find the large number of our crops today and where the stable folks had harvested all of their food back in their day.

Shady continues as she leads ‘em down the hall. “Now while the greenhouse could supply enough crops to sustain the thousand ponies when the stable began, the hard truth is that, by the time mah generation had come around and began settlin’ into the Goldroot our parents and grandparents had built, the population had grown to be quite a number higher than that. Simple fact was that we needed more food. Simple solution was to make more space. Ah had two options in such circumstances: either ah have everypony go through the hell of creatin’ a new farmstead and an irrigation system for it usin’ the stables water supply, or ah sacrifice the history and nostalgia of the stable to convert more rooms into greenhouses. In all frankness the latter seemed the most convenient and cost efficient, so ah put mah hoof down and we got to work.”

Makes perfect sense. Why chance the desert when ya have a contained, controllable environment right in yer hooves? Though there is one problem. “Still reckon yer gonna have to build up some farmsteads eventually once yer stable capacity hits its limit.”

“It’s not the stable capacity nor buildin’ the farmstead that ah’m worried about.” Shady stops at a particular tarp against the hall’s left wall. Instead of continuing through, she turns to face them, glancin’ between both him and Snake before settlin’ her eyes upon him. “It’s the water talisman.”

Snake’s face quickly sags into a look of disgust. "Is this the part where you make a desperate, heartfelt plea to appeal to the softer side of some travelers? Count on two passer-bys to bravely forge for a new water talisman which just so happens to be at the heart of a nearby abandoned military base infested with irradiated monsters?”

Shady laughs, apparently not as shocked by Snake’s tirade as he is. She shakes her head as she quickly fades into a polite chuckle. “Nothin’ quite so dramatic ah’m afraid.” Her voice sinks, returnin’ to its usual soft self, accompanied by a hint of solemness. “Nope, the water talisman works just fine. Been at full capacity for over two hundred years without so much as a hiccup. But that’s the problem. Full capacity.”

“...The town is outgrowing the bare necessities of the stable,” Snake notes.

Shady nods. “Exactly. Ya see, we import coal from Buckham for the stable’s systems. The ventilation, sprinklers, water talisman and growing lights all require constant power. We have all the coal we want, and all the power we need, but the talisman can’t keep up with our growth. Was designed to provide for 1,000 ponies on the dot, we’re at nearly 1800 now, with more foals comin’ every week. Every mare, stallion and foal in town needs food, drinking water and some to wash in now and then.”

Thank the goddess he ain’t in charge of any towns. Coal, water, food, power, crops... all makes his head spin. “How much longer ya think the town has?” he asks in sympathy.

Shady gives a tired shrug. “Wouldn’t say we’re in dire straits as of now. We’ve rerouted the town sewers to flow through a purifier, then into the greenhouses and we have a stray caravan from New Pegasus that occasionally trades fresh water, but they’re only buyin’ time. Five years, give or take, and the town will no doubt be hittin’ a critical point. Warnings, inventory, rationing...” Again, Shady rests her eyes upon him. This close, he can see a small glimmer of hope sparkle behind their dark brown surface. “Won’t stop the inevitable in the end. What we need is a steady water source. What we need is rain.”

For a good few seconds he nods along with her. Yep. Sounds right. Would be a blessin’ in this desert, especially comin’ in scheduled, regular intervals. Course for that ya need a pegasus, preferably a full team of ‘em to—

Oh.

“Ah understand yer eager to reach New Pegasus...” Shady continues in her soft voice, selectin’ her words with care. “And ah can’t say for certain how ya’d fare in the city... but ah can promise you ya’d be treated as nothin’ less than a hero and saviour in Goldroot. Good pay, a quality home, and a couple thousand ponies who will love ya to no end for the rest of yer life, all for nothin’ more than a few hours of easy labor each day.” Shady removes her hat, holdin’ it tight against her chest. “Please, if ya need some time to consider it, just let me know and we’ll be back on our way.”

He’s frozen there, shocked into silence. Snake Eyes gazes over at him expectantly. Answer’s obvious. No. Got a mission. Ain’t thousands of ponies that can sway that, no matter the plea.

But a shadow that’s been creepin’ up from the back of his mind finally springs itself. The personal greetings, payin’ for their rooms, introducin’ the school, offerin’ ‘em free tour and travel information... has Shady been butterin’ him up? She doesn’t seem the type, yet time has told ‘em they come in all shapes and sizes.

He grimaces and grinds his teeth. No. Simple. But a darker side of him proposes that he leads her on, plays along until he has the information he needs, then let her down gently. For the mission of course. Take no chances. Even if she’s been sincere, only askin’ as a small fleetin’ hope, she can weather one lie. For the mission.

A long, tired sigh escapes his muzzle, accompanied by a poundin’ headache and a deep sense of guilt. He looks back up to Shady, his own sincere apology reflected in her eyes. “Ya have mah sympathy Shady, but there ain’t nothin’ to consider. Ah’m already on business from some folks out in the far east and won’t be stayin’ in the Palomino for long. Just a quick trip to New Pegasus then back. Ah’m sorry.”

She neither protests nor begs, only growin’ a small, sad smile. “Ah understand. Was nothin’ more than a hopeful offer, and ah appreciate ya listenin’ to mah prattlin’ and not takin’ any offense to it.”

“...And we’re still getting your assistance, I hope?” Snake speaks his fears.

Shady’s eyes break their usual calm posture, shootin’ up in surprise. “Oh? Please, don’t think of me as coddlin’ ya for some hopes at personal gain. Yer guests in Goldroot, and we treat our guests as any host should.”

He sighs silently in relief. Still, they’ve breached Shady’s kindness, staining the hours she’s sacrificed for ‘em. “Have to pardon us both,” he pleads. “We ain’t accustomed to friendly greetings back in New Pegasus or the east.” Don’t mention Buckham, Snake. Don’t mention Buckham.

Snake only casts him a raised brow, but keeps quiet. Shady brushes the whole thing off with a small shrug and the return of her signature soft smile. “Don’t worry yerselves. Only one here at fault is me for holdin’ ya’ll up for so long with mah personal woes.” She spreads open the tarp, noddin’ deeper into the stable. “If yer ready. We’ve still got a bit to go before the office.”

He bows his head in gratitude. “At yer lead.”

Shady passes through the tarp, holdin’ it aside to allow him and Snake through. First thing he notices as they enter is the room’s rectangular shape. Narrow, yet plenty of space to move about. Of course most of that movin’ space is taken up by boxes of crops. Tomatoes this time. There’s a balcony holdin’ more overhead that runs along the left wall, with a small passageway complete with stairs beneath that leads up to it. The right wall has a mirrored passage, yet opens up back top to thin air, the balcony clearly havin’ been removed sometime awhile back. Other tarp covered openings dot the left and right walls, with a single opening across the other side of the room.

She chooses the latter as her target, explainin’ as she starts up her trot, “This used to be a lounge and recreation room for ponies to relax in. As ya’ve probably guessed, there once was a second balcony to the right, but it ended up failin’ and collapsin’ a long while ago. A few ponies got injured by the damage and they tore it down soon after.”

“Interesting. Was this the only case of faulty construction in the stable’s history?” Snake asks.

Shady shakes her head sternly. “Not even close. Ah’ve read through the reports of past overmares countless times and that balcony collapse is only a footnote within pages of others. Busted pipes, faulty wirin’, patchwork craftsponyship...”

Snake’s face is molded into a slight frown, the only part of it that moves is his mouth. “Anything else...?”

Shady purses her muzzle in thought for a moment then brings up her left foreleg. There it is again. The pipbuck, strapped on just above her hoof. Its knobs are worn and its lights faint from use, but the screen still shines bright as ever, displayin’ a crude image of a mare in a thick neon green outline. The words ‘Status: Normal’ buzz in the same bright green just below. “Readin’ through the stable guidebooks we’ve had tucked away, there’s an astoundin’ amount of equipment in there we never ended up receivin’ in the first place. Off the top of mah head, a medical machine called an ‘Auto-Doc’, a camera system, stable numbered jumpsuits, and apparently at the very least a thousand more pipbucks. The stable only ever got this one here, passin’ it from overmare to overmare, now from mayor to mayor.”

“Hmph.” Snake’s flashes a scowl as they reach the other end of the room. “Seems quality and effort were the last thing on the creator’s list. Stable-tec, no doubt. Laughable that they had gone so far as to have stables their namesake and sole purpose only to fail spectacularly in execution.”

Shady brushes the tarp aside to allow ‘em through. Another steel hallway, but no crops linin’ its sides. At its end it opens into another room, missin’ the usual tarp that’s separated the rooms so far.

“A few more rooms and we’re there,” Shady says with a hint of embarrassment. “Been meanin’ to move the map into the town hall for some time now, but it always slips mah mind as ah move about town. Also been a long while since ah’ve been in the overmare’s office mahself. Ain’t much reason to go back there anymore.” She takes lead, guidin’ ‘em down the short hall. “Good news is that neither the meeting hall nor the office have been converted to crop grounds yet. Plenty of room to move around in.”

Passin’ through the hall lands them in a room that gives him a strong vibe of the chapels set up back east. Two sets of several rows of pews are aligned to face a small stage atop which looms a large podium, perfect for holdin’ large books or important documents for readin’. Lettin’ his mind drift a bit, can almost imagine a cloaked priest at its head, preachin’ out the goddesses love, singin’ a hymn in their name.

“The meetin’ hall,” Shady informs ‘em. “The Harvest Festival ya spotted the day before used to be judged here mah mother told me, with ponies spillin’ all the way back into the recreation hall listenin’ for a winner. Nowadays the only ponies who step through here are me and the occasional stallion droppin’ by to meet Ms. New Pegasus.”

His ears twitch. Nope. Came in loud and clear. He scans the room again, but ends with the same pews and stage and three ponies he’d gathered the first time through. He glances sideways to Shady in defeat. “Ms. New Pegasus? Did ah hear ya right?”

“That ya did.” A breath of playfulness edges into her voice. She points to the center of the room between the pews, just before the stand. “If ya wanna meet her, step right over there. Bit of a warnin’ though: she’s quite the talker.”

Cryptic. He looks back to Snake eyes for any affirmation, but the city stallion only rolls his eyes and motions for him to get on with it. He hesitates, then trots forward, travelin’ between the two sets of pews. The further he trots, the taller the podium atop the stage grows, almost appearin’ a miniature monolith as he comes underneath its—

His eyes suddenly darken, the stable’s lights droppin’ into nothin’ more than a faint glow. He staggers back and darts his eyes across the room, his mouth instinctively shootin’ for his nehmoa.

An earth mare appears not ten steps away at the base of the stage. No flash of magic, no smoke or tricks, just outright pops into existence.

He staggers back again, this time nearly trippin’ over himself in shock. As he comes to a stuttered stop and struggles to gather his bearings, a sympathetic light chuckle hums from behind. “Ya took it stronger than most newcomers who’ve ventured this far, ah assure ya,” he hears Shady call. “As for her, no  need to worry. She couldn’t harm a fly.”

Her assurance eases him a notch. Still, he keeps on hairs as he looks over their unexpected guest.

She’s tall, but not awkwardly so. Perfect. Like a mare ya might find posin’ in one of them fashion magazines dug up from the old word. Her legs curve into a lean but wholesome body, spotlighted by her rich white coat which runs in perfect harmony with the arch of her back. The single eye he can see is a deep violet, the other hidden behind a single thick coil of a seductive maroon mane. When it rises to the space between her ears, it snakes back down the other side, wrappin’ around the back of her neck like a tamed serpent.

And everything about her is real. There’s life and a sovereign emotion behind her eyes, her breaths rise and fall in a relaxed pace, and the subtle movements she makes with her head are practiced and real, belongin’ to a mare more than experienced in the art of high class etiquette. The only thing that tells him the pony before him ain’t flesh and blood are the constant ripples that flicker across her body, fizzin’ in and out of existence like the grainy texture of an old worn television.

‘Ms. New Pegasus’ takes a single sweepin’ gaze of the room before a secret, inviting smile creeps up from her muzzle. “Greetings, ponies of stable one sixty three. My name is Ms. New Pegasus, and I’m here to personally extend you... each and every one of you... an invitation to paradise.”

Her voice is that of a singer’s. Full, dense. Each word is sung with exaggerated emotion, dippin' and divin’, dancin’ from syllable to syllable. Already clear why she was chosen for this role: she speaks, heads turn.

The image raises its hoof to point out the stable around her. “You live in walls of gray. They surround you, hold you, ensnare you. Protect you, yes. But the world above heals each moment. A day is fast approaching in which your overmare will be notified that the stable is safe to open. As you stepped out, questions would arise. Questions which would lead to worries. Worries which would lead to confusion and fear.”

She lowers her hoof as to make it into a welcomin’ gesture. “‘Would’. Now, there are no questions. When you step from this stable in search of freedom and a new home, look west to New Pegasus. There you will find an open sky, sheltering walls, endless entertainment, and the warm lights of a city that shames even the greatest wonders of the world, both old and new. Casinos stand tall for the ponies of chance. Preserved libraries and esteemed professors await ponies of enlightenment. A lifetime of discovery in even the most quaint of the city’s landmarks spread as far as the eye can see for ponies of adventure. And there’s so much more that can simply not be put into words.”

“West. To new dreams. To new friends. To new ambitions. To a new life in New Pegasus. We hope to see you there.” She sneaks in a quick wink. “‘I’ hope to see you there.” In a final farewell, she locks her front legs together for a majestic curtsy. “With love to you, Ms. New Pegasus.”

And just as quick as she had appeared, she’s gone. The lights rumble back to life as Shady trots up from behind. “She’s caught a good number of pony’s hearts. Some that still venture down here to this day to get another glimpse of her.”

“Reckon ah know one,” he says, his thoughts wanderin’ back to Bursage breakin’ down into a fawnin’ schoolcolt at the mention of her name. Almost has him smile. Blinkin’ it aside, he peers back over his shoulder to ask for Shady’s lead but catches sight of Snake Eyes beyond her instead. The city stallion’s eyes are locked to where Ms. New Pegasus had once stood, his face sunk into a blank, lifeless stare. “Ya doin’ alright back there?”

Snake flinches at his voice. A quick fit of recovery later and he falls back into his familiar scowl as he joins them, castin’ a bored eye towards him and where the mare had been. “I’m fine. Just thinking back to the hundreds of times I’ve seen this mare before.”

“‘Before’...?”

Snake huffs. “Yes. Before. This hologram is no different from the one they have projected in the New Pegasus stable, save of course a few changed lines. The stable has been transformed into a casino and I’ve heard her on numerous occasions during my gambling there. It was... amusing the first time, irritating the second and beyond. Haven’t the slightest clue why Spade hasn’t shut it off.”

He nods as Snake finishes. More information of New Pegasus. Always good.

“If ya’ll will follow me, we’re only a hall and a flight of stairs away from the overmare’s office,” Shady says as she takes lead again. He and Snake fall in behind while she guides them from the pews, makin’ her way to the right corner of the room. An opening sits against the wall just past the stage, again with no tarp.

They pass through and find themselves in a thick hallway that runs behind the meetin’ hall. It ends with the first doors he’s seen in the entire vault, one which sits at the top of a set of stairs, the other below it against the hall’s right wall. Both are metal and bulky with seemingly no way to open ‘em at first glance.

Shady takes ‘em down the hall and up the stairs, comin’ to a stop when she reaches the door at the top. Instead of movin’ for a panel or handle, she simply lifts her left foreleg, bringin’ the pipbuck strapped upon it into clear view. A few seconds of connection between the door and device and it lifts open in greeting.

“It’s a bit crowded in here with all the papers and artifacts of past overmares so watch yer step and do yer best to make yerselves comfortable.”

Crowded seems about right. First impression he has trottin’ into the office is that it ain’t much an office at all. More a storage room in truth. Wooden desks and cupboards run along the walls at random, every one of ‘em so stuffed that the papers bulge from their drawers. Atop them sit assorted trinkets and relics that seem to have been brought in over time then left behind like discarded toys. At the center of the office itself is the standard overmare’s seat, a half circle control panel desk with a power-demanding chair centered in its crux. Behind the overmare’s seat are two tall shelves and an orange mare with a bright blonde mane, three red apples makin’ up her mark. She wears a light brown stetson and a homey—

Wait what.

Either his eyes have finally caught up with his age or... he blinks. Nope. Still there. “The hell am ah lookin’ at here? That’s Applejack ain’t it? Pre-war ministry mare?”

Neither Snake nor Shady pay the anomaly any mind. “Keep your hat on,” Snake yawns. “It’s only a toy.”

He looks to it again. Has him fooled. The deep emerald eyes, the ponytailed mane. Both the mane and coat’s texture are frighteningly life-like, as if every hair had been attached to whatever is underneath with intensive care. The eyes glimmer and shine just like any real pony’s. A little disturbing. Get this thing movin’ and ya could have it trottin’ around a crowd without so much as a head turned.

Shady stops by the... Applejack he supposes... and taps it on the withers. “Yer friend’s right. This here is a ‘Giddyup Applejack’. A toy from the old world. They were apparently a big hit in the west back in the day and got dragged along into the stable by our ancestors. They’re awfully real on the outside, yet nothin’ but simple bits and bolts on the inside.” She lifts up the Giddyup Applejack’s stetson and reaches her hoof to the back of its head. “That said, if yer frightened now...”

Shady flicks her hoof up then takes a step back. Snake sighs and shakes his head beside him. For a long moment its just them three starin’ at the toy, as if waitin’ for it to spring to life.

Then it blinks.

Goddesses he spoke too soon. It swivels its head, scans with its eyes, opens and closes its mouth... If it was unnerving shut off, its near horror novel material turned on. The only redeeming factor in all of this is the Applejack’s movement itself. Each motion it pulls is clearly robotic in nature, jerkin’ to a stop, jerkin’ as it starts to move again, all accompanied by the faint clicks and whirs of machinery underneath. Still highly disturbin’. At least it doesn’t talk.

“Howdy sugarcube! Ah’m Giddyup Applejack!”

He grunts as he retreats several steps. The Giddyup Applejack continues to rotate its head and swivel its eyes, flappin’ its mouth open and closed.

“Rise and shine Big Macintosh! Got a big day of buckin’ ahead!”

And now it really moves. A single staggered step forward. Its a slow and clumsy process, yet it looks as if the damn thing might lunge forward at any moment. Ain’t a draw first pony, always been cautious with the trigger, but this thing’s the first in a long while to test his patience.

“Come on Winona! We’ve gotta stop the cattle’s stampede!”

Another step forward. “Turn it off.”

“Land sake! This year’s cider season is our biggest yet!”

Snake Eyes peers over at him in amusement with a smirk nippin’ at his muzzle. “What’s the matter ‘friend’? Finally met your match?”

Another step. He growls but holds his ground. “Turn it off.”

“Don’t you use your fancy mathematics to muddy the issue!”

Shady makes her way up behind the toy and reaches her hoof to the back of its head again, this time flippin’ her hoof down.

♪ Raise this barn! Raise this barn! 1, 2, 3, 4! Together we can raise this baaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr...

Applejack’s singin’ fizzles out in a deep bass, her toy look alike droppin’ its head as its power shuts off. He lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been keepin’ in, relaxin’ his jaw. “Thank ya kindly. The thing’s a little too real for me to sit comfortable around.”

“‘Uncanny Valley’, as it’s called.” Snake drops his smirk and stares at the toy. “I agree. While I’m not as... troubled by the toy as much as you seem to be, I question the imagination of any foal who wished for one. Certainly the integrity of any parent who bought one in the first place.” He shrugs. “But the market gets what the market wants. Who am I to question the desires of ponies from over two hundred years ago?”

Shady pushes the Giddyup Applejack back into its original position. She gives him an apologetic look as she starts to make her way behind the overmare’s desk. “Sorry about that. Slipped mah mind that the thing was still tucked away in here and ah should've left it off. Must be drainin’ comin’ from one old world mare made up of lights to another not a minute later made up of metal and artificial hair.”

“Just threw me for a loop is all. Come into a stable that’s been shorthoofed on its tech only to find holograms and this thing here.”

Shady nods in understanding. “Was both mah ma and pa who taught me that ya take advantage of what yer given. Ms. New Pegasus hasn’t found any use besides her troublin’ ability to send ponies off on a wild chase west. The Giddyup toys though all came with a couple of precious resources: their metal which we’ve melted down and used for constructin’ tools, and their spark batteries which we salvaged and have used ever since our meager startin’ supply ran dry. They worked surprisingly well comin’ from a toy. Three days of power on average per spark battery. Of course we eventually ran out and had to find a separate power source, which is where Buckham’s coal came into play. Been usin’ that to keep the stable runnin’ ever since. The Giddyup Applejack ya see here is one of two toys still left standin’, the other, a Giddyup Macintosh, is on display in the Gold ‘N Silver Saloon.”

Aw hell. Of course they’d have made a line for her brother as well. He frowns at the Giddyup Applejack. ‘They’. Now he’s curious who even made these things in the first place. Suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. The war wiped the slate clean, big businesses are no exception.

“You said something about a map...?” Snake Eyes prompts, clearly bored of the Applejack talk.

Shady’s lowered herself into the overmare’s seat and is currently siftin’ around underneath the desk. A while of carefully brushin’ papers aside and she rises back up with her horn glowin’, a large roll of paper floatin’ alongside her. “That ah did. This particular map is hoof drawn, based off of another from an old world atlas we pulled from the stable’s archives. It details most locations and cities of the Palomino, but ah’ll only be focusin’ on yer route to New Pegasus. Figured ah’ve spent enough of yer time as is.”

He and Snake settle themselves around the desk as Shady unfurls the parchment. A cascade of colors greet them when it settles upon the metal, the map havin’ not only been sketched but painted as well. From the eastern side of the map headin’ west it fades into a sea of gold, with the title ‘Palomino Expanse’ inked across it in bold cursive letters. The same expanse in which he’d fought the Rhinos and crossed to reach Buckham, which sits just a hair right of the center of the map, right in between the Palomino’s center and the line of mountains which border the map’s southern edge. There’s some noticable landmarks that spring up off the beaten path leadin’ out of the minin’ settlement, but he passes over ‘em to land right on the lonely red mountain, complete with small brown buildings dottin’ its base. Just as the Expanse had, the words ‘Mt. Macintosh’ and ‘Goldroot’ are inked in the same fancy font.

“We’re right here of course.” Shady points her hoof from above to Mt. Macintosh. “From Goldroot there are two ways to get to New Pegasus: the road north and the road west. A jagged mountain range that goes by the name of ‘Dragonback Ridge’ divides both of ‘em right down the middle, so when ya choose one, ya can’t jump to the other until they meet back up later.”

He follows her hoof which traces along a solid dark orange bundle of spiked mountains. Startin’ a ways northwest of Goldroot, They stretch westward in a long, thick line, as if serving as all the Palomino’s backbone.

“The western path heads out straight west from Goldroot, joinin’ up with the southern edge of Dragonback Ridge. The northern loops around the ridge and through a smaller sister trade town, ‘Neighpton’, before turnin’ west as well.”

He nods and rubs his chin in thought. Already takin’ up enough time as is travelin’ this mission by hoof. Most important questions right now are “Which is the quickest? The safest?”

Shady brushes a lock of her mane aside as she looks up from the map. Her eyes are distant in deep thought. “West is the quickest.” She begins simply. “Both have their dangers. But... if ya’d hear me out, ah suggest ya take the west route.”

“The quickest. Perfect,” Snake exclaims, though a hint of doubt and curiosity line his speech. “You do have me intrigued however. Humor me. Why not the northern path?”

Shady hesitates, nippin’ at her bottom lip. When she lets herself go and speaks again, she drops into a whisper, her already soft voice turnin’ into a sea of down. “The details are a bit hazy on this, and try not to spread the word too much, but... ah’ve caught wind from visitin’ caravans and from stray members of Baux’s Brigade that there’s a bandit problem farther up north. Ah’m doin’ mah best to take precautions, but ah don’t want the town frettin’ in case it turns out to be just a riled up band of misfits.”

Bless her heart, she says 'bandit' in a low hush, like a foal sayin’ a curse word. Folks back east wouldn’t bat an eye catchin’ sight of a lawbreaker sneakin’ through town. “We’ll keep quiet. We’ll also take yer advice and head down the western path.”

“Thank ya kindly,” Shady bows her head and returns to the map. She places her hoof back on Goldroot before slowly tracin’ along a line of ink that travels from the town westward. “As before, the trail joins up with the southern edge of Dragonback Ridge after about a half day’s trot.”

Her hoof stops momentarily on where the thin black line of ink parallels the orange of Dragonback Ridge. She then continues on only to stop once again, this time upon a large clump of black buildings surrounding a single dark red building. The word ‘Echo’  is inscribed beneath. “This here is an old world city turned ghost town. Echo, we call it. Stands about a day and a half's trot from Goldroot. It might spook ya a bit if yer faint of heart, but there shouldn’t be anything around to give ya trouble. Maybe dunestalkers but they’re still rare. Just pass on through takin’ Echo’s main road and you’ll pop back out on the other side.”

Hmph. Simple so far. Though he finds himself askin’, “An old town like that nearby and yer in need of water. It doesn’t have a water source of its own?”

“Sadly, no. We’ve had ponies diggin’ through Echo ever since ah was a little filly, back when the stable opened. Not a drop in sight. Don’t mean it hasn’t served its purpose though. Its given’ us plenty of scavenged resources, from food, to history, to entertainment. Every building ya see in Goldroot is constructed from the very same wood we’ve harvested from Echo’s structures.”

That explains the aged wood he’s been seein’ around. He traces further west on the map, haltin’ on the word ‘Winoan’. It shares the same art that Buckham had been inked in, shacks and all, yet has a deep indentation bordered by cliffs drawn beside it. He taps it with his hoof. “Seems the next big landmark is here. ‘Winoan’.”

Shady nods. “Ya’d be correct. Winoan is our second minin’ settlement and Buckham’s sister. Main difference is that while Buckham mine’s coal, Winoan is a quarry and mines stone. It’s a day and a half’s trot from Echo and should be a good restin’ spot to get you ready for the glow.”

He looks to her with a raised brow. “‘The Glow’?”

Shady slides her hoof west of Winoan, and the map shifts. The dark oranges of Dragonback Ridge die along with its mountain’s, the gold of the Palomino’s sands fizzle out, the lively chestnut brown of towns go absent. In their place creeps a dark, bloody red which seeps into the parchment like a still wet stain. It spreads west, north, and south like a malignant plague, encompassin’ a good quarter of the entire map. At the center of it all is drawn in pitch black ink two towers, the words ‘The Glow’ loomin’ above ‘em as if in some desperate warning.

“What is this?” he grunts, scannin’ over the blot of red in confusion. “Where’s New Pegasus?”

Snake Eyes motions with a nod. “Further west. To the far edge of the map.”

He follows Snake’s gaze. There, across the crimson blot, situated upon Equestria’s west coastline, is a city painted and inked in bright yellow, complete with an assortment of other colors that highlight casinos and shops. A large tower protrudes from its back, like a lighthouse for the ocean beyond. Above the city, in the same bold cursive font, are the words ‘New Pegasus’.

His mission. His goal. His objective. Reach there, deliver Operation Fold ‘Em, receive a response, get back to the NER. His whole purpose for being here. But time has taught him that it’s the journey there that matters most. His eyes linger back over The Glow. Its texture appears toxic, as if a single touch might take his hoof off. “Somethin’ tells me whatever this is ain’t too friendly.”

“Correct.” Snake stares down on the map, his eyes locked and his frown bitter. “‘The Glow’, as most ponies seem to have labeled it, is the ruins of outer Los Pegasus. Whether Mr. Spade failed spectacularly in protecting it from the bombs or simply had no love for the place, it’s now nothing more than a radioactive basin that splits New Pegasus from the rest of the world.”

“Impossible,” he rasps. Radiation. Was a whole damn search that went underway gettin’ that problem erased. Haven’t heard of a speck of it for nearly twelve, thirteen years now.

But Snake shrugs the accusation away with a scoff. “Okay? Trust me, don’t trust me. Seeing is believing after all, yes?”

Right now he isn’t so sure of which to pick if the past three days are anything to go by. And yet across the desk Shady is starin’ to him as if he’s the one in the wrong. “Yer friend ain’t lyin’. The Glow is the biggest reason not everypony has abandoned their towns for New Pegasus. Wildlife within The Glow attack ponies on sight, the air is thick and unhealthy, and radiation constantly floods the area from deep craters in the earth.”

“Then how are all these ponies that pass through Goldroot reachin’ New Pegasus? The way yer describin’ all this has it sound suicidal.” His thoughts toss and turn, disbelief ragin’ at the forefront of it all. A place like this shouldn’t even technically exist anymore. And of course, the biggest question of all, how the hell did Snake Eyes get across this death trap? And if he did, would a grudge really drive a group of city slickers to cross it as well?

Another, greater question. Why the hell didn’t Snake tell him any of this?

He keeps a suspicious eye on Snake as Shady continues, “Yer right, it probably would be near impossible tryin’ to cross The Glow on yer lonesome. Thankfully Baux’s Brigade has set themselves up within the ruins of the city itself and are always sendin’ standby caravans to New Pegasus, Winoan, and Estin for anypony lookin’ for help to pass through. Ah can’t account for everypony they assist, but ah assure ya they’ll do everything they can to make certain ya leave The Glow without a scratch on ya. They’re good folk like that.”

“Tell me if ah heard wrong, but this Brigade’s settled down in an irradiated city?” Doesn’t make one lick of sense, unless...

“The whole of the brigade is made up of ghouls. If yer unsure of what a ghoul is, they’re survivors from the old world whose bodies were cooked by the bombs that fell. Ah don’t quite understand how it works mahself, but they’re ageless and actually feed off radiation, need it to survive.” Shady pauses, lookin’ to him with sympathy. “Ah know its a bit much to take in, but trust me when ah say that, despite their looks and voices, you’ll find they’re decent folks when ya run across ‘em, if a bit fanatic.”

He knows what a ghoul is. It’s the hundred of other questions which spring up that has his head spinnin’. Radiation? A militia of ghouls? Fanatic? He closes his eyes, allowin’ a few seconds for his mind to settle. He opens ‘em again. “And yer sure this Brigade will help us through The Glow?”

Shady nods. “Not a doubt in mah mind.”

He exhales, lookin’ over the map one last time. Goldroot. Echo. Winoan. The Glow. New Pegasus. Done. He looks to Snake Eyes. Lyin’ bastard. Stares back at him as if he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. He looks to Shady. Polite mare that she is, she stands patiently behind the desk, waitin’ for him to finish.

Best leave her out of this. He retreats from the desk and bows his head. “That’ll be all then. Want to thank ya for everything ya’ve done for us, from the warm greetings to the free rooms to puttin’ us on the right path. If there’s anything ah can ever do for ya...” He shuts his mouth. She already had, and he’d declined. Got a mission to do.

“There is,” Shady speaks to his dismay, but continues, “Ya can stay another night. Mah pipbuck tells me that the sun’s already tuckin’ itself in for the day. If ya leave now, ya’ll will be an hour or two out of Goldroot when night falls. Much more safe to stay another night and leave when yer refreshed and have a full twelve hours of light to travel on.”

He eases down in relief, mullin’ over her words. “Yer right,” he says. “But ah’m not certain ah want another night in a comfortable bed. Afraid ah have a hard time wakin’ mahself up from ‘em these days.” And apparently Snake Eyes as well, if they’re still even travelin’ together by the night’s end.

“Ah’ll wake ya both mahself at the first light of dawn,” Shady offers.

A kind offer. He considers it for a moment before bargainin’ back, “If ya allow me to pay for the rooms, it’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

Shady has a satisfied expression as she levitates the map away and begins to roll it up.with her magic. “Appreciate it. As ah said, ya still got a couple hours before nightfall, so if yer lookin’ for somethin’ to speed the time along, ah’d suggest headin’ over to the Gold N’ Silver Saloon over on the east side of town. It’s good company and there’s always a game of billiards ya can slip in to. Caravan as well.”

Snake Eyes brightens beside him. “Ooooh. Caravan? You play caravan here? Commonly? I admit, my interest in this saloon has suddenly... ‘piqued’.”

“Not just commonly,” Shady says. “Got ponies in there that nearly live their life by those cards. Watch yer caps in there if ya do end up playin’, though ah’m certain yer accustomed to the term, considerin’ yer heritage.”

Snake only allows a smug, serpentine smile in response.

Shady finishes wrappin’ up the map, tuckin’ it under her duster. She looks back at ‘em with a slight frown. “Ah’m afraid ah’ve still got a few checkups to run around down here in the stable. If yer feelin’ inclined, ya can come along and see the rest of how this all works. If not, ah can guide ya back to the stable’s entrance.”

“We’ll be taking the saloon,” Snake Eyes says bluntly with a faint hint of distaste.

He wouldn’t mind either. But he needs him and Snake alone. “We’ll head off to the saloon. And if yer comfortable leavin’ us unattended, ah’m certain we can leave ya free and show ourselves out.”

Shady smiles to ‘em appreciatively. “Don’t mind it at all. Remember, the saloons on the opposite side of town. Ah usually drop by there at a day’s end, so we might see more of each other then. If not, it’ll be tomorrow mornin’.”

He tips his hat to her. “Either one, ah’ll be lookin’ forward to it. ‘Til then.”

She tips hers back. “‘Til then.”

He leaves the overmare’s office behind with Snake Eyes in tow, tracin’ their steps back to the stable’s entrance. Need to find a quiet place to settle this matter. Stable’s steel walls echo a bit too much though. A back alleyway or quiet corner outside will do better.

As they exit the cave into the burnt orange of sundown’s light, he notes the same back passageway they’d snuck through an exact day before.

“You do know that we don’t have to sneak around like dogs anymore, don’t you?” Snake asks as he leads them into the alley. “Or are you dragging me back here for a scolding?”

He turns on Snake, the old burners lightin’ behind his eyes. “Yer feelin’ mighty lucky today if ya think ah’m here to argue with ya. Better have one hell of a reason to not have me fly off tomorrow mornin’ and leave ya behind.”

But Snake only comes off as entertained, lettin’ out a short laugh. “I’m right! And look, behind those old, dead eyes... are you trying to be... angry?” His muzzle curls up into a poisonous grin. “How adorable.”

A bastard, still talkin’ to him like this. “You ain’t doin’ yerself any favors by—”

“You’re right I’m not,” Snake cuts him off. “Because I don’t need to. But enough fooling about. You dragged me back here about The Glow did you not?” Snake prods him along with a small wave of his hoof. “Go on then. Speak your mind.”

He narrows his eyes. “You left New Pegasus through The Glow.”

Snake nods. “No other way but through sea, and believe me, that is more than rare.”

He leans in closer and bristles. “Then why the hell didn’t ya tell me of it when we first met? Instead, ya outright lied to me when ah as was gonna end up findin’ out anyway. From my mind it seems yer fibbin’ for no other reasons than for kicks, which could wind up gettin’ us both killed.”

Snake listens intently, noddin’ again as he finishes. “Understandable, especially coming from one of your particular age and position,” Snake says to his surprise. “But, if you will, settle down and try to look at this situation from my perspective: you’re forced into fleeing and hiding from a few... ‘questionable actions’, so to say... and find yourself in the run down bar of some shanty settlement. Everypony there is interested in nothing but their drinks, playing their cards, and it’s clear that they all carry their guns as substitute for their cocks in lieu of actual use.”

“And then, in trots... you.” Snake gestures to him dramatically. “You, the lone stallion ranger who seemed to have trot straight from a romanticized western novel. You drew like like lightning, spoke with experience, and turned those ruffians away as if they were cattle. Beautiful.” Snake turns his hoof into himself. “And then there was me. The victim who’s shot nothing more than a few bullets throughout their life, stranded with a simple hope to return home.” Snake scoffs. “Why, this nearly writes itself! It was a match preordained, yes?”

Not quite sure how to respond to that one. Thankfully Snake Eyes goes on, “So I catch you outside. I’ve overheard your mission back in the bar and have connections to Mr. Spade, thus I’m able to offer you something in exchange for your assistance. The only thing left to do is convince you the deal is beneficial to you as well as me.”

“...So you softened it all up.” He grunts in realization. “Made it sound easier than it really was so ah’d accept.”

“Exactly. I was already asking you to hoof it the rest of the journey and had no intention of lying that I could defend myself, so other than your reward in New Pegasus, I had very little offer. Ergo, if I can’t give you anything more, the best I could do was make the entire ordeal seem as simple as possible.”

He feels himself deflatin’. “Why didn’t ya tell me last night then? We haven’t made an inch of progress since.”

Snake shrugs. “It was another day you had spent locked down with me. The more time spent, the greater the investment.”

Still slimy, but in desperation at least. Makes sense. Damnit.

He lets out a defeated breath as he drops back onto his haunches. All seemed so easy at first. Five days there, five days back. Then come to find out Mr. Spade is near legend. Then come to find out he’ll be on hoof the whole trip to New Pegasus. Then Snake Eyes, known liar. For good reasons, but what if he’s lyin’ about his connections too? No friend, no Spade. They step into New Pegasus and the son of a bitch shrugs and trots off.

He clenches his teeth, lookin’ back up to Snake, hopin’ to find an answer behind those shaded gold eyes of his. Snake stares back patiently. As always, nothin’. Two opaque lenses with not a drop of transparency in either. “Ah’m not set on travelin’ with a pony who lies to me.”

“Of course you aren’t. I’m certain you weren’t set on ever following vague scouting information and braving uncharted territory either. Certainly not coming face to face with mutant sand coyotes, I hope.” Snake’s tone falls sympathetic and his eyes soften. “I understand your doubt for me. You’re a soldier after all, no? You’re used to ponies who can shoot a weapon, ponies who have your back, ponies who are completely honest. I won’t hide it, nor have I truly attempted to: I’m none of those. But I am the pony who is indebted to audience you with Spade, and I am the pony who pays his debts, have no doubt of that.”

He doubts it. “And if we get to New Pegasus and ya’ve lied to me about that too?”

Snake coughs out a chuckle. “Ha! Tell me I have a silver tongue all you desire, but I can’t build a story to entertain even the most imaginative of foals.” Snake turns serious, straightenin’ back up. “Consider this: the way to New Pegasus is clear now. You know everything I do in that regard due to the mayor’s good graces. The only thing left now is New Pegasus itself and you’ll be able to call my bluff right at its gates. The defenses allow me in? We trot straight to my friend’s casino ‘The Heights’ and you meet Mr. Spade. The defenses deny me? You can drag me into one of the run down back alleys and strangle me right then and there.”

He sits there, gazin’ past Snake Eyes, starin’ into empty space. Can take off right now. New Pegasus would be about a two days flight away. No Echo, no Winoan, most of all no Glow. Fly right over it all, touch down at New Pegasus’ front gate. And the city lets him right in. And he gets an audience with Spade the same day. And he flies back to Tenpony Tower. Done.

All fine and dandy. Were he an assumin’ pony. No tellin’ in this situation whether it’s to his benefit that he ain’t or a damn shame. He rises back to his hooves in defeat, stiflin’ a tired sigh. “Let’s head to that saloon then. Need a drink.”

“Aaaaaaaaand just like that, we’re on the same page again.”

Snake rises and trots along with him as he leaves the alley. The sun’s not an inch off from where they’d found the town hall the day before, with the shadows leanin’ tall and the wooden buildings a fadin’ amber. Ponies everywhere are dashin’ for home, givin’ their final farewells to their friends before abandonin’ the streets.

Snake speaks up again as they hit the main street, a hint of disbelief edged into his voice, “Honestly though, what kind of scouts do your superiors enforce that they don’t pinpoint the miles of ruins outside of your targeted delivery? You like to put the blame on me, yet your own comrades were the first instigators.”

“They did report ‘em.” He grimaces, shakin’ his head. “Was the detail that was lackin’. ‘Ruins’ was the most descriptive they got. Guess they never touched down to give it any further detail. Not that ah can blame ‘em. Radiation isn’t much of a common thing these days.”

“Yes yes, because of that machine cleansing it all. Hear of it all the time from wanderers from out east. That still doesn’t excuse their faults. A scout bringing back reports based off of assumptions seems almost an... ‘oxymoron’? A contradiction?”

He shrugs. “Can’t blame ‘em much. This entire New Pegasus operation has been rushed to hell and back.”

Snake leans in closer, turnin’ his ear down. He speaks and his words drip with hunger. “I know we just got off thin ice together, but I am curious... what is in your message to Spade? I’ve heard your ‘New Equestrian Republic’ is quite large, and Spade is a powerful stallion himself, so what exactly is the game here? And who is this ‘Steel Dawn’ you mentioned back in Buckham? An enemy of yours? You never did tell me.”

He growls, glarin’ back. “Yer skatin’ in a circle if ya keep that up.”

Snake Eyes retreats as if bitten, huffin’ as he adjusts his fedora. “A few questions and he bites back like an old dog...” he hisses under his breath. “The price of curiosity these days...”

The saloon is of course a might busier than the night before without a festival goin’ on. Ponies funnel into its entrance, many of ‘em passin’ a friendly greetin’ or mentioning their unfamiliar faces. Nothin’ more hostile than a few curious glances, much to his relief. Would be a damn shame to have another Buckham scene after all Shady’s done for ‘em.

Squeezin’ themselves inside grants ‘em the same homely interior he’d poked his head into the day before, ‘cept filled with ponies of course. Tables lay thick along a hard oak floor, all but a few along the far wall occupied with ponies playin’ card games or in the midst of a friendly casual chatter. Over the far wall is the balcony, the tables overhead also filled to their brim. The bar is off to their right, the pool tables in their own little area in the back right corner.

What catches his eye sits on a shelf below the balcony, hanging on the far wall. A radio. It’s large, worn, and bulky, yet sweeps an upbeat guitar instrumental through over the crowd’s rumble without a single crack or skip of interruption. A high pitched mare’s voice soon springs up along with the jig, fallin’ and risin’ to the beat of the—

Nevermind. Just Prickly.

“Ah knew it! Ah knew ya’ll would show up in here sooner or later!” the caravan mare cheers from a table a few paces out from the radio. She gives ‘em a big hearty wave, joined by a casual tip of the hoof from Pokey a seat beside her. Nopony seems to take interest in her commotion as she springs from her seat, stumblin’ towards ‘em with a wide grin.

“Ugh... and I was just getting excited too.”

Snake Eyes of course. He looks over to see the city stallion with a sunken, dried expression of dread. “Don’t have to sit by her if ya don’t want to. She has her sister and ah’m sure plenty of friends. Doubt she’d be too hurt by it.”

“And what are your thoughts of her?”

“She’s a friendly, kind mare, if a bit overexcited.”

“Then I can endure. It would have been strange leaving the town without some sort of scar anyway.”

And with that Prickly comes to a screechin’ halt at their hooves. She throws up both her front hooves and lays ‘em upon their shoulders, pattin’ their backs. “Boy ah’d of just assumed ah missed ya both had neither of ya actually shown up. A ranger and a city slicker? Yer kind make their homes in drink houses such as this!”

“I definitely would not call this ‘home’.” Snake Eyes peers about the saloon before settlin’ on Prickly in resignation. “But I suppose it is the closest thing in a while I’ve had to a casino. In the end beggars cannot be choosers, yes?”

To Snake’s chagrin Prickly leans in closer. “Ah but they can slicker! They can if they’re friends with me! What kinda entertainment are ya fancyin’ tonight? Billiards? Take a gamble with the slots? Enjoy a nice slow dance with a pretty mare or two?” Snake shudders at that. “Maybe try your hoof at a game of caravan?”

Snake’s disdain drops from his face, replaced with an excitement he wouldn’t have believed the city stallion to ever show. “That. Caravan. Point me in the direction of the player’s tables and I won’t need another hoof of help the rest of the night.”

“Haw! Ain’t no need for pointin’ slicker! Every table’s fit enough for contest around these parts. That said, ain’t too uncommon for some of our more experienced players to scope out our newer ones to win a few easy caps. Ah’ll make sure to keep ‘em off ya while herdin’ in the younger players for an even match.”

Snake Eyes reacts as expected, brandished hairs and a twisted scowl nursin’ his pride back to health. To his credit he keeps calm, correctin’ Prickly as a mother might a questionin’ foal. “No. I want you to do the complete opposite. Bring me any caravan player here whose name is worth notice and I’ll have it wiped from the books by the night’s end. Keep the novices away.”

“Ooooh! Mighty darin’ of ya. Ah like it!” Prickly releases them, motioning for them to follow as she heads back to her table. “Come on over and join mah sis and ah. We’ll get ya both seated and let ya get yer deck all set up before ah start puttin’ yer name out.”

But Snake doesn’t budge. He pats at his suit with a curious expression, which quickly fades into realized despair. “Wait. I... I don’t have a deck. I must have left it back in New Pegasus.”

“Damn shame!” Prickly doesn’t skip a beat, doublin’ back and takin’ Snake by the shoulder and leadin’ him to the bar. “Don’t matter though, ah can get ya hooked up with a brand new set of cards from the tender. Won’t have too much of a variety ah can guarantee, but ah can help ya out makin’ a new deck if ya stumble any.”

“Eh... I’ll take the cards. Pass on the help.”

Prickly and Snake are swallowed up by the crowd on their way to the bar. No sense in followin’ ‘em and addin’ another body to the masses. He instead carefully works his way through the sea of tables, crossin’ the room to where Pokey is seated. She’s leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed as he approaches, the only thing tellin’ him she’s awake a casual wave of her hoof.

“Missed you and Suits the night before,” she drawls, openin’ her eye to peek at him when he takes his seat. “Road wore ya’ll out or did the mayor catch ya?”

“Both.” He sighs in relief as his haunches hit the wood. “The former mostly. More accustomed to exercisin’ mah wings than ah am mah legs.” And his age. No use statin’ the obvious though.

“Figured as much.” Pokey nods. She opens her other eye and stares up to the ceiling for a long while, tappin’ one of her hooves against the table in beat to the radio’s music. It’s a slower tune than the jingle he’d entered on, with graceful violins and flutes replacin’ the guitar and trumpets. As it winds down to its end, Pokey stops her taps, lettin’ her head drop so that she’s facin’ him eye to eye while still droopin’ from the back of the chair. “Saw ya’ll wanderin’ about with the mayor earlier today.”

He dips his head. “That we were. Got that.”

“Goin’ into the stable must have meant a good while gettin’ to know one another. What’d ya think of her?”

Curious question to ask. Doubt Pokey would pull a Snake Eyes on him, but he chooses his words with care. “She’s a fine mayor, with all her heart set on betterin’ the town and its ponies. Goldroot would be a darker place without her.”

Pokey leans in closer. “Does that mean she dropped the question on ya?”

Ah. That. He shakes his head. “She did. Had to decline her though. Mah time here in the Palomino ain’t gonna last but a week more before ah head back east again.”

Pokey frowns but gives him a look of understanding before turning her head back to the ceiling. “A shame, though don’t think ah hold it against ya. A pony’s life is their own. And to take any guilt off yer back, yer only one of what must be hundreds that have turned the offer down.”

“Ah don’t get how ya’ll haven’t nabbed a single pegasus over all these years. If New Pegasus is swimmin’ with casinos as Snake has mentioned, ya’d think there’d be at least one unlucky flier who struck out and comes runnin’ back here to Goldroot.”

Pokey shrugs, still starin’ up at the ceilin’. “Wouldn’t have a clue. Any pegasus who stops by skips town to the big city the next day and never comes back, almost as if there’s a big flynet right over Dragonback Ridge.”

He sinks into his chair in thought. Too many questions, not enough answers. Still. One pegasus. “And ya’ve never caught one flyin’ out from the west?”

“Nope.” Pokey shakes her head, but freezes halfway into the motion. She blinks and taps the table. “Wait. No. Ah’m wrong. Sort of. What was it... six? Seven days ago? Whichever one it was, ah caught a whole flock of ‘em flyin’ in from the west just as the sun was headin’ down.”

A ‘flock’? “Got a rough estimate on the hard number?”

Prickly and Snake’s return cut ‘em short. The former has a round of drinks lined up along her foreleg, the latter with a fresh deck of cards in his hooves which he casts down onto the table’s surface as he takes his seat. “Out of my way, both of you.” Snake shoos them off to the table’s shorter edge as Prickly drops down the drinks. “Scootch. I need plenty of space for this and will be using this portion of the table for caravan anyway. Consider it reserved for the rest of the night.”

Surprises him to see Snake allow Prickly to sit in beside him as he spills the cards from the box. Like two foragin’ animals they begin to sift through the cards together, an undercurrent of excitement leakin’ into even Snake’s voice as they start to discuss their loot.

His drink looks promisin’. But hearing about those pegasi makes him curious... He shifts his chair in beside Pokey, perkin’ his ears as she takes a swig then starts again. “There were four. All of ‘em well built and holsterin’ weapons ah’ve only ever heard of ‘til then. They wore these gray suits that covered up everything but their heads, gave ‘em a real nice military look.”

His Rhinos, four in the town, four outside guardin’ the package. The same he’d killed back on the lonely hill. And they had flown in from the west. Doubt the Steel Dawn would have much interest in a ghost town or a quarry. Maybe The Glow for its radiation, but that’s pushin’ it.

Which leaves New Pegasus.

“How long were they around? What were they in town for?”

“Only stuck around from sundown to nightfall.” Pokey’s sat up in her chair now, rubbin’ her temple for memories. “Didn’t do nothin’ but head straight for the Saloon. Ah followed ‘em in, half on curiosity, half ‘cus it was gettin’ about that time anyway. They took up their own table, ordered a few drinks, and kept mostly to themselves. Stayed that way ‘til Shady Sands finally caught up with ‘em.”

“They cause trouble?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Even with all that hell they were packin’ they never so much as hollered. Was close enough to hear some of their talkin’ mahself and they came off about as respectful as ya’d imagine any good passer-through to be.”

A faint light triggers in the dark of his mind. “Ya caught some of their wind. Heard anything that stuck?”

He’d tried his best at indifference, but Pokey’s reaction tells him he’d failed. “Awfully interested in these folks ain’t ya? Friends of yers?” She lazily raises her hoof before he can respond. “Don’t answer that. Just givin’ ya a bit of hell. As for what ah heard? Nothin’ too excitin’ if ya’d believe it. Most ah can remember is that they were a part of some group called the ‘Steel Dawn’. Declined Shady’s offer just as you had.”

She taps the table a few beats more before shruggin’. “Really, as ah said, nothin’ special. They up and left not an hour or two after they’d come in and skipped town like ghosts soon after. Haven’t heard a word from or about ‘em since.”

And ya won’t again.

He eases away from Pokey, lowerin’ back into his chair, starin’ out forward into space. One task force. Eight fliers, one packaage, all headin’ out from the west. Troublin’ already that they’ve snuck their way past the N.E.R. and into the Palomino, more troublin’ that they’ve apparently already beat ‘em to New Pegasus.

Now the hook question: just what the hell was their objective? Had to do with that package no doubt. Had they delivered their own goods for an exchange? Or just received whatever was inside outright from some benefactor in New Pegasus? On both accounts: who?

Spade.

It’s the first thing the mind wanders to, and the first thing a stallion like him shuts down. He doesn’t assume. He won’t assume. Somethin’ like that, with New Pegasus and the Steel Dawn already havin’ allied beneath their noses... The war would add the west. The Palomino would burn. The cities would burn. Everything would burn. Everything would burn. Everything would—

“Ya alright there stranger?”

Sundown.

But he doesn’t assume. He won’t assume.

He blinks. Beads of sweat flick from his eyes. Through the mist of salt and muck Pokey stares back, half casual, half ready to spring forward and save him from a harsh fall. Snake Eyes and Prickly are oblivious beside him, beginnin’ to sweep up the cards, speakin’ to each other in short, positive bursts.

He lowers into his chair again, takin’ a long hard draw from his mug. Sour, burnin’. Not the muck of Buckham, but still with a dark brown grit. Good. He holds his hoof up in a weak pardon. “Ah’m fine. Small lapse is all. Old pony stuff.”

“Right.” Pokey smirks yet keeps a careful eye on him.

Prickly’s darted off from the table leavin’ Snake Eyes sittin’ by his lonesome. The city stallion shuffles his newly forged deck a good several times before noticin’ him and Pokey watchin’. His muzzle turns up into a malicious grin and he holds the deck up for them to see.

“You see this, ranger? Caravan mare?” He drags the bridge of his muzzle across the deck, takin’ a long, drawn out whiff of the cards. He stops to let out a pleasured sigh. “Aaah. Caps. Prestige. Pride. That’s what you see. That’s what you will witness me steal and take for my own before I leave this table tonight.”

He narrows his eyes at Snake. “Did ya get yer hooves on a canister of dash or do you just get that way around playin’ cards?”

Snake scoffs, settin’ the deck down. “What? Am I not allowed to have any fun?”

“Never said that. Suppose ah just didn’t expect it in ya.”

Snake almost sneers, but settles for a roll of the eyes in his good mood. “And you would also expect bitterness from a clipped bird. That doesn’t mean they never enjoyed their flight.” Snake looks back out to the other tables then grins. “Ah. Here. My first victim.”

And Prickly shows back up, towin’ along a middle-aged stallion with a black vest. Snake inspects the newcomer over, noddin’ in satisfaction. “Welcome. You have some experience in caravan, I hope?”

“Been playin’ since ah was eight. Twenty-six years,” the stallion brags, slappin’ his own deck of cards on to the table. “You?”

“Now I don’t want to spoil that,” Snake pushes his own deck forward and motions to the chair across the table. “It would ruin the experience for you.”

The stallion crinkles his nose but obliges, droppin’ down into his seat. “How much are we bettin’?”

Snake looks nonchalantly from the challenger to him. “How much do you trust me with?”

Wasn’t his plan to start fundin’ gamblin’ habits. Still, got a good fifty or so left in the bags. Five will be worth it just to keep Snake Eyes from whinin’. He begrudgingly fishes out five caps from his saddlebags, tossin’ ‘em out onto the table. The challenger tosses out five of his own.

And like the starting of a machine they begin. Both Snake and the stallion draw eight cards from the tops of their deck, holdin’ ‘em close so that neither sees the other’s hoof of cards. From his point he gets the perfect view of Snake’s hoof. 4 of clubs, Jack of hearts, Joker, 7 of clubs, 2 of spades, Jack of diamonds, King of hearts, 7 of clubs.

“Interested in a master’s play?” Snake catches him watchin’, nudgin’ the cards closer to his view. “Or does the east even have the slightest clue of what caravan is?”

His punishment for showin’ any interest. He humors Snake anyway. “Ah’ve heard of it, caught a few of its rules, then forgot ‘em not long after. Only place it’s played back east is in the prisons.”

Snake sputters, doin’ a double take on him while he places one of his cards. “The prisons?? I’ve heard it was a mess over there, but I would never believe it was that horrid.” He scowls as he places down another card. “Forget everything you’ve picked up from those scum dwellers. Tonight you begin anew. Come here.”

Hell no. He looks to Pokey for any hope of escapin’ with a side talk. She shrugs with her hooves behind her head. He looks to Prickly for a quick distraction. She nods her head excitedly, promptin’ him to go along with the offer.

Damn. Snake always seems to get his way. He gives a reluctant sigh.. “Alright then. Teach me.”

“Excellent. Come closer, and listen.”

Six cards are laid out onto the table, three from Snake’s hoof, three from the challenger’s. All of ‘em face each other in sets of two with a single contribution from both sides. On the first set, Snake’s 7 faces the challenger’s 8. The second, Snake’s 2, the challenger’s 10. The final set, Snake’s 4, the challenger’s 4.

What catches his eye is the artwork on the cards themselves. All depictions of infamous old world figures. Every card is labeled with an accompanying name, yet he can call them all without a second glance.

The unicorn mare Twilight Sparkle, head of the Ministry of Magic on the 7 card. She’s drawn with a tired, thousand yard stare clear in her lavender eyes. Her night-sky mane with lighter hues of violet is combed down into brittle, straight sheets, as if she had just finished preparing for the most stressful business meeting of her life. The same can be said for her violet coat.

The earth stallion Big Macintosh, war hero and sister to Applejack on the 8 card. He’s drawn from a side angle, lookin’ off to the right with his chin up and a serious, honorable gleam in his green eyes. His mangled orange mane and dirtied apple-red coat give him a homely, propaganda feel, as if he’d just trudged home straight from the battlefield.

The earth mare Pinkie Pie, head of the Ministry of Morale on the 2 card. A smile ten miles wide stretches her face. And yet her somber blue eyes tell a different story as they stare straight back at him, exhaustion eatin’ at their edges. Even her bright cotton-candy-pink mane and brighter pink coat seem to sag a little, a cry for help.

The unicorn mare Rarity, head of the Ministry of Image on the 4 card. Not one bit of her is left unpampered, from her perfectly curled indigo mane to her lashed and made up eyes to her sheened white coat. And yet all the makeup, combined with the faint smile the art has given her, gives her a weathered appearance, the kind gained through stress instead of age.

The alicorn Princess Celestia, one of the two supreme rulers of the old world’s Equestria, one of several in the New Equestrian Republic. She’s inked in gracefully upon the 10 card, her mane of blues and pinks wavin’ like a sheet of soft velvet across the surface. Her soft white coat gives power to her already deep violet eyes. The smile she wears is gentle, caring. Almost an exact replica of Shady’s, he realizes.

“What you see on the table now is the foundations of our caravan,” Snake says, sweepin’ his hoof across the display. “Six sets, three from each player. You have played Blackjack before, I assume?”

He tears himself away from the artwork and nods. Snake continues, “Then you know that twenty-one is the sweet spot in that realm. For us in caravan, our goal is on or between the numbers twenty-one and twenty-six. Unlike in Blackjack, however, we build up to that number using our hooves instead of taking a hit from the deck. Like this.”

Snake removes the second 7 card from his hand and places it atop his 2 card so that both are visible. The challenger follows suit, placin’ a 7 atop his own 4.

“Now you see, my caravan here has 2 and 7, making 9, and my opponents has 7 and 4, making 11. We’ll both be building up two 21 while also attempting to stop each other through direct means through the use of face cards and... our own number cards atop each others which will increase the number past 26 thus making the pile obsolete until... Now know that the first card you lay down sets the path of the caravan... so if I start with an 8 and lay a 6 upon it, I must choose a number below... but I can also use the same suit... The jack removes... The king... Queen... we...”

They say age helps yer focus. Liars. It all comes in as a blur to him. Apologies, Snake, but the interest just ain’t there. Mind’s on the mission, not the cards. He keeps polite and nods along though, mutterin’ acknowledgement along the way.

He passes the time lookin’ at more of the card’s artwork, small details which have caught his mind. The earth mare Applejack, head of the Ministry of Wartime Technology on the 3 card. Blonde mane, orange coat, green eyes, homey smile that goes along nice with her brother. The pegasus mare Fluttershy, head of the Ministry of Peace on the 5 card. Pink mane, yellow coat, blue eyes, has an expression of deep sorrow.  And of course the pegasus mare Rainbow Dash. Very familiar to him. Rainbow colored mane, light blue coat, magenta eyes, has a cocky ‘give me yer best shot’ grin on her face.

And on the 9 card Celestia’s sister, Princess Luna. Her mane is stars and her coat a night sky, her face straightened into a serious warrior’s grimace which kills any life her light blue eyes would have.

All of these are two hundred year old figures that even a modern day foal could put a name to. Such infamy never quite dies out. Also helps that most posters with their faces plastered onto ‘em survived the bombs. A perfect symbol to put all the blame of the war onto, deserved or not.

“...And now I’ll place down this Ace, just enough to bump my second caravan up to 21, thus winning me the game!” Snake Eyes slaps down an Ace of spades he’d just drawn, grinning to the challenger in victory. “Which means you lose. Twenty-six years, it was? A shame it all payed off for nothing.”

Prickly bounces up and down in her chair as she lets out a woopin’ cheer. Snake’s challenger bristles as he looks down at the table in disbelief, shootin’ his eyes back up to his subjugator. “Beginner’s luck it is! Rematch!”

“Beginner, hah...” Snake Eyes exhales, sendin’ a small laugh out with it. “As amusing as it is parting a fool with his caps, I’m here for a challenge, not pay. Prickly?” He holds his hoof out to the mare then signals to the rest of the bar. “Bring me my next victim, would you kindly.”

Prickly jumps up from her chair and dashes off. The challenger shrivel’s his face, gatherin’ up his cards. He watches the stallion stomp off before lookin’ back to Snake. “First time ah heard ya ask politely for anything. Prickly finally winnin’ ya over?”

“Ain’t givin’ her an evil eye every time she moves too,” Pokey sighs from behind. “Ah think its safe to guess the venom’s passed through his system.”

Snake frowns at them, shrugging. “What can I say? While the opponent was simple, he put up more of a fight than I expected. Prickly selected well. She’s doing good service. I reward good service.” Snake turns his eyes onto him. “Take it as a small precursor should you complete my escort to New Pegasus, if it quells any of your absurd paranoia.”

It doesn’t. Still nice to see the slicker aint a one track minded hate machine.  

Snake gathers up his own cards into his hooves as he peers to him. “I’m going to assume you glazed over the majority of my tutorial, yes?”

He knows. “How’d ya guess?”

“Well for one, you just told me. An old trick the old dog needs to learn. Don’t fall for it. Second, you’ve been staring at the cards like some brain-dead ghoul since a mere minute into the game.” From the set in his hoof Snake pulls a single card. He passes it along, offerin’ it with an outstretched hoof. “Here. You seemed to be ogling at the pre-war mares and their oversized oaf. I’m certain you’ll find the stallion on this card much more... ‘suitable’ to your interests. Especially taking into consideration the nearly feral mindset you’ve taken up in dedication to your mission.”

Curious, he accepts the card, takin’ it into his own hooves.

It’s the Ace of Spades which had given Snake Eyes his winnin’ move. Unlike the other ten cards he’d made out durin’ the game’s chaos, the pony inked in here sparks no familiarity. A stallion. His form is in complete opposition to Big Macintosh, with a thin, gaunt frame which rises into dough-like, almost pudgy cheeks and forehead. The stallion’s sunken brown eyes and rigid squared muzzle actively fight against the former features, making his face a battleground between the overly taut and the overly loose. Doesn’t matter the victor. Whichever side eventually wins, this poor fella loses.

The entire thing’s wrapped up in a coat of yellow and a combed-back mane of violet. By all means two colors that should work out together just fine, yet in the end slide and grate against one another in an awkward dance. Maybe the yellow’s too bright, the violet too dull. In the end they never quite end up comin’ together.

Overall a pretty sore sight. Not through any lack of effort or laziness either. Just an unlucky draw at the moment of birth. His posture and expression are most tellin’ of all. The downturned mouth, the drooped shoulders the loose, flimsy brows... the stallion knows, yet struggles to hide it all behind a puffed up chest and a distant, sovereign glare. Neither work. All too transparent, even for an old socially challenged stallion like himself.

Then he looks down to the name.

Royal Spade

“Such an unsightly thing isn’t he?” Snake muses from behind the card. “Dead brown eyes, colors that clearly don’t match, and a face that seems to have weathered both a mallet and a swarm of raging bees. Even has a bit of a belly to rob him of the sleekness such a toothpick build would grant.”

He flips the card in his hooves. On the back is a painting of a large stone and metal building lined from top to bottom in scathing neon orange lights. At its front a large sign ‘TARTARUS PARADISE’ burns in frozen, unmoving flames.

He flips the card back around. “This is Mr. Spade?”

“Is it?” Snake shrugs. “I can’t tell you for certain, but it does give credence to isolating himself within that tower of his, looking like that. If it is him, I’ve just given you a valuable piece of knowledge. Complement his looks and there’s a likely chance he’ll bestow you with the keys to the city!”

Serious or not, it’s somethin’ to tuck into the meager mind bank he’s built up for New Pegasus. He passes the card back over to Snake Eyes, noddin’ in thanks. “Not quite sure what to make of it, but it’s somethin’.”

Snake finishes shufflin’ the cards back into his deck Prickly returns, a younger brown-coat white-maned stallion accompanying her. She waves both hooves in front of him in an exaggerated introduction. “Another duelist for ya slicker! This here’s Wagon Wheel! Ya’ll greet each other!”

Snake scans the newcomer just as he’d done the stallion before. He turns his muzzle up into a mockin’ smile. “Hi.”

“Uh... howdy!” Wagon Wheel shuffles his hooves for a nervous moment before doublin’ back with a burst of energy. “Heard ya was up for a game of caravan? Have to warn ya, ah was a champion of our annual competition a few years back, barely losin’ out these past couple. Bet yer caps careful!”

“Cocky. I like it.” Snake motions to the other chair. “Take a seat.”

Snake doesn’t ask for caps this time, instead choosin’ to ante with the same ten he’d just won from the challenger before. Wagon Wheel puts up an equal amount and the caravan starts up once again.

He takes another swig of his drink in his newfound search to kill time. Not bad whiskey at all. A bit light and sweet and lacks the richness of age, but not bad. The radio is still playin’ overhead, havin’ shifted from its instrumentals into a slow, mournful tune carried along by the baritone voice of a stallion.

♪...What if you go, what if you stay, I love yooooooou
But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I knoooooooow
There was never a mare like my Windshiiiiiiiine
Like the one they call Windshine Steel Haaaaaaaaaaarp...♪

Relaxing. Pleasant. But he ain’t lookin’ to fall asleep here. Prickly’s all caught up in the game along with Snake Eyes, sharin’ a word with him on the state of the game or throwin’ in an occasional humorous quip. Two other ponies have joined her, a mare and a stallion. They watch the game with interest, lookin’ over Snake’s attire and attitude with wide eyes, gaspin’ at every other play he makes.

Pokey’s sittin’ back as always. She observes the game as an adult might watch two foals rough house, with her brow cocked and a small smirk bitin’ at her muzzle.

He catches her attention with a small jerk of his head, noddin’ over to the current game. “Ya play?”

She moves the same expression over to him without changin’ a muscle. “‘Course ah do. One of the first things ah learned about New Pegasus, before ah ever even got the cravin’ to head on over there, was that ya don’t go anywhere near it if ya don’t know caravan. Ah’m not an expert by any means, but ah suppose ah can hold mah own in any given bar or saloon.”

“About you and New Pegasus....” he begins, cockin’ her brow even further. “Back on the trail, ya caught me and told me Shady offered to give ya the same help she did Snake and I if ya asked. If that’s true, and ya’ve always wanted to travel to New Pegasus, why haven’t ya taken up the offer?”

The question throws Pokey off. She falters a moment, then smirks again, draggin’ her gaze so that she’s starin’ right down the table’s length. Right at Prickly, he realizes.

“Ya’ve heard our problems. Water shortage, town growin’ pains, and most recently bandits.” Her smile grows softer as Prickly cheers out at one of Snake’s moves. Her voice drops a tone. “Ah’m not leavin’ her ‘til it’s all passed. Ah’ve even had offers durin’ mah caravan trips to Winoan from the Brigade ghouls there. But ah’m not leavin’ Prickly. Not to say she can’t handle herself, but she’s a lighthearted mare and mah lil sis. Ain’t mah place to put any more on her mind when there’s already all this other hell to worry about.”

“Noble of ya,” he commends.

But Pokey only shakes her head, sinkin’ back into her chair. “Nothin’ noble about it. Neither kind or thoughtful either. When it comes to family and the ones ya love, it just is.”

The radio’s solemn song fades just as she finishes. In its place surges a blarin’ jazz, complete with heavy sax and trumpet. It’s a fast tempo and a head bobber, with a screechin’ mare’s voice to carry the lyrics.

Snake’s expression lights up like a stage show as his ears catch the tune. “Ha! Such a happy coincidence that this song should come on just as I’ve finished setting up this gambit.” He slaps down another card and throws a hoof towards a sweatin’, nervous Wagon Wheel. “Hit it!”

♪Wellllllllllllll it’s a bright hot dark-and-steamy Pal-o-mino niiiight!
I’m out slinkin’ - sneakin’ - seekin’ for a stallion that’ll do me riiiight!♪

Wagon Wheel hesitates, then lays down his card. Snake tosses out his own quick after, most of his attention now spent swayin’ and bobbin’ to the radio’s music.

♪Strut into my favorite casino and what do-I-seeeeee?
Not one but two shockin’-rockin’-hunkies just-a gawkin’ at meeee!♪

Wagon Wheel lays down another, a bit of excitement actually climbin’ into his expression. Snake drops his own without missin’ a beat.

♪Now when I trot from the game floor it ain’t no disguiiiiiiise!
My hooves are wrapped - lapped - snapped to a hot-and-steamy double supriiiiiiiiiise!♪

Wagon’s on the edge of his seat as he goes again.

Only to recoil and collapse back when Snake plays his final move.

♪Got a stallion on my left!
A stallion on my riiiiight!
Trust me now babies I ain’t tellin’ you no lies!
Luck’s been a lady
I’ve rolled snake eeeeeeeeeeeeyes!♪

“The king doubles my 6. You lose.” Snake Eyes sweeps the twenty caps to his side of the table with his foreleg, shooin’ off Wagon with the other. “Run along now back to your friends. I’m sure you’re more acquainted to their levels of... ‘skill’, I suppose I can call it. Prickly? Another!”

	♪Luck’s been a lady
I’ve rolled snake eeeeeeeeeeeeyes!♪

Snake Eyes kicks back in his seat, throwin’ the radio a nostalgic sigh. “Aaah. This song. Like a good lover: it never seems to age a day.”

“Wouldn’t think a pony would enjoy a song that shares their name,” he grunts. “Must have givin’ ya a fair share of hell growin’ up.”

Snake drops his eyes from the radio, lookin’ to him with a distant stare. “You... could say it did perhaps. But you do eventually grow into a group of friends who learn to avoid such barbaric low-brow humor, yes? Either that or no, the song has never lost my love.”

“And mine neither,” Pokey speaks up from his side, raisin’ her mug. “Always been a favorite ah admit. Would get up and dance to it right now if ah wasn’t already feelin’ a bit tipsy.”

“A toast then!” Snake lifts up his own mug for the first time, holdin’ it up into the air. “To Snake Eyes! The song, and of course, me!”

Pokey smirks at the nihilism but drinks anyway. Snake Eyes takes a healthy sip from his cup, smackin’ his lips and frownin’ as he lowers it from his muzzle. “Whiskey. Not my taste, but I’ve drank my fair share of two cap bathtub gin. I can appreciate what this isn’t, at the very least.”

“Better than the rations?” He asks.

Snake shrivels up his muzzle and scowls. “The gin can at least be credited to experimentation. There was effort there. Your rations are more equitable to canning a scoop from the local waste dump and slapping a ‘food’ label on its front.”

♪No if buts or maybe’s
Babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
I’ve rolled!
ROLLED!
Snake!
SNAKE!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyesssssssssss!♪

It ends with a last burst from its instruments before cuttin’ off. Snake sets his whiskey down and motions for his attention, pointin’ up to the radio. “Oh. If you liked the card picture, you’ll love this. Listen.”

He tips his ear to the radio. White noise. Then, without any need for a cue or introduction, a mare’s voice graces the air, her words flowin’ out as if she were singin’ ‘em. Full, dense.

“Another beautiful Palomino night, isn’t it loves?” She hums as if cradled in the mists of a warm sauna. “I fear our news is a tad on the short side this evening, however.”

He’s heard this voice before. Down in the stable. Ms. New Pegasus.

“First, as always, our weekly big winner: Cut Rug! This stallion, in between his dances and music, has been leaving behind a bottle-paved road of caps through his visits of multiple casinos, most notably Tartarus Paradise, the Fleur-De-Lux, and, unsurprisingly, Swinger’s Shack. Both I and Mr. Spade award him with our commendations and support, and hope he continues to enjoy the luxuries of New Pegasus.”

“Next, some good news for our listeners seeking entertainment of the more humorous kind, a pre-war ghoul comedian, Smack Talk, has recently crossed into the city after a long travel from the far east. Our reporters were able to catch him on the streets for a quick word and his first impressions of his new life in New Pegasus.”

“Wowee!” A snide, gravely, yet chirpy stallion’s voice butts in. “That’s the first thing I said trotting in from Dusk Row. The way New Pegasus lights up the sky like that? Thought the Steel Dawn and N.E.R. had gotten their hooves on another batch of Balefire Bombs there for a moment heyoooooo!”

Ms. New Pegasus returns with a dainty chuckle. “Make sure to visit our new guest during his standup comedy show residing in The Heights, every week night starting at eight on the dot.”

“On the subject of visitors from out east, word of a large party of bandits moving into the Palomino has recently reached our ears. Should you be venturing past The Glow, make certain to keep your big irons close and your friends closer.”

“And, truly, that’s all our news for the night.” A solemn, wistful sigh drifts from the radio. “They’ve always said that no news is good news, yet is it not the bond which brings us together?” There’s a pause, and her voice drops into soft whisper. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. With love to you, Ms. New Pegasus.”

A steady tempo, light swinger’s song starts after she finishes.

It’s her. The exact same voice from the stable. Not a tone nor accent was out of place. But if this is the exact same mare recorded for the hologram down in one-sixty three, how can she still be alive to cast the news? The stables are pre-war, built over two hundred years ago. She’d be sixed, worm food, and dustin’ for centuries now, be it balefire bombs or simple age.

Maybe that hologram was only sent in by signal some years back? Maybe Spade had kept her alive along with him? Would she still have such a voice after all those years? Does Spade’s technology stop aging?

“Ah, my third opponent.” Snake Eyes hisses from his side, an evil smile on his muzzle. “Sit down. Let’s play.”

Too many questions, much less questions he should be dwellin’ on. Only here for the mission, the delivery. Anything else is an obstacle.

“Twenty caps!?”

The mare that Prickly’s brought in is a chufty one who has to roll her belly up as to not fall right out of the chair. Her coat is a rich pink and her mane a bread-dough white, the former beginnin’ to grow a shade redder as she gawks down at Snake’s pile of caps.

Snake stares back with a sneer, scoffin’ and rollin’ his eyes. “Yes. Twenty caps. I’m accustomed to playing with more... ‘confident’ opponents you might say, but if you want to drop down to a lower number I suppose I might—”

“Hell no! Ah’ll do it!” The mare fires back, puffin’ her already marshmallow chest up and throwin’ down her own twenty. The crowd around Snake has grown to an impressive mass, all of who cheer as the two players begin to draw their cards. Snake’s smile creeps back to his face.

He sits at a distance as he watches, tryin’ to keep clear of the large followin’ the games have seem to pulled in. Snake acts his complete opposite, stealin’ everypony’s attention with large motions of his hooves and slick words, pointin’ out impressive moves and engagin’ in small one on one chit chats with random nearby strangers. The audience loves him. They glue their eyes to him, laugh in earnest at his jokes, and follow his every move with bated breath. Not a single pony leaves after their curiosity has reeled ‘em in.

“She’s playing a 4, 6, 8, 10 deck,” Snake sighs to his audience as if witnessing the mistakes of a foal. “Very prevalent amongst New Pegasus newcomers. Very easy to dismantle. Everypony observe, please, I really don’t find the idea of playing against any more of these appealing.”

Complete opposite to the seethin’, near silent stallion he had been on the road here.

“You. Yes, you. Nice attire. Could fit into a New Pegasus crowd with ease. Well done. Oh, by the way everypony, game ends in three turns.”

Hm. Can’t decide yet which one he prefers more.

"Anypony care to count down for me? Yes? No? Three?”

The crowd hesitates. After a shaky start, they join in. “Three!”

Snake places a card upon one of the mare’s piles, much to her surprise. She growls and shuffles the spoiled pile back into her deck, placin’ a 10 of diamonds where it had once been.

“Two!” Everypony’s synchronized now. Perfect harmony, cheerin’ for this snap talkin’ stranger they’d only met a half hour before.

For Snake, a 9 upon a 7 he’s placed. The mare, a 6 upon her 10. She plays with confidence, as if finishin’ the final lap of a race.

“One!”

“Well done everypony!” Snake shouts, the conductor of his own personal choir. “And now, I win!”

Snake raises up his card in dramatic fashion before slammin’ it down. A 10 upon his 9. 7, 9, 10. 26. “And that, if any of you can count past three, is twenty six! Victory!” Snake laughs softly, wavin’ his hoof at the slumped mare across the table. “One more turn for you, was it not? Yet you’re upset? You should be happy I at least spared you some semblance of hope, yes?”

The crowd bursts into whoops and cheers. The mare doesn’t respond, gatherin’ up her cards and heftin’ herself from the table. As she stomps off, Snake laughs again, leanin’ in towards him and hissin’, “I wonder if I can convince the next pony to part with forty caps. Though maybe I’m thinking too low? They snap like twigs under a few choice words after all, ha!”

Before he can grunt out a response a high pitched, youthful voice soars from the crowd.  “Look at this one Dosey Do. Tall, lean, handsome, and dressed up like a king.”

“Got the smarts to back it up too,” another, lighter voice giggles. “Can’t say he’s perfect yet though. Haven’t seen him in bed!”

Both him and Snake turn in their seats. The voices comes from a couple of mares who have shoved themselves to the front of the crowd. Young ones, one highlighted in a dress of blue, the other in a dress of yellow. Both are prettied in excessive makeup and pampered manes.

Snake glances over the shoulder at him, bouncin’ his brows and grinnin’ before twistin’ back to the mares. He looks between them both before widenin’ his smile. “Now what have we reeled in here? A couple of mares enjoying their night out at the saloon, might I guess?”

“Placed the cherry on the cake,” the mare in yellow giggles again.

“That he did,” the mare in blue agrees, leanin’ in closer to Snake. “Only thing we need now is somepony else to share it with.”

Snake takes a sip of his whiskey, cockin’ one of his brows as he lowers the mug back down. “Problem solved, yes? Or are you not skilled enough to satisfy one another?”

The mare in blue recoils a slight, offense clear in her eyes. But she recovers, wrappin’ a hoof around her friend. Clearly done this a good many times before. “Sure are. Problem is, only so much ya can do with two ponies.”

Snake suddenly twists for his mug, hidin’ a laugh under the murk of whiskey. Can see his eyes at this angle. ‘I beg to differ’, they say. Still, Snake finishes a gulp before returnin’ to the mares, his demeanor havin’ undergone a complete reset. “You make a good point,” he lies. “So onto the topic at hoof then. You’re a couple of young mares searching for a third. I’m a New Pegasus stallion searching for a bit of... ‘business’.”

“Heard ya’ll were good at that over there in the city,” The mare in blue purrs, fallin’ back into her usual seductive voice. “Business and the like.”

“Oh, we are,” Snake drags over his stack of caps, wavin’ a hoof to ‘em. “But truly, would I need to have any business sense for something so translucent? Plenty of caps to waste, two mares, a cheap hotel room... all adds up so perfectly.”

The mare in yellow squeals at Snake’s voice and hugs herself closer to her friend. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a customer don’t it Bluebonnet?”

“That it does. Question is: when’s he wanna start?”

Snake gives both of ‘em a devilish smile. “Right now.”

He’s suddenly in the limelight after Snake pushes back from the table. There’s a long, awkward moment where he and the two mares stare at one another before Snake finally intervenes, wavin’ his hoof to him in presentation. “Mares, meet your client.”

What the? Ah shit.

“An old ranger from out east, his love and sex life crashed and burned so long ago his last lay was no doubt pre-war. That changes tonight with you, however. I give you thirty five caps, you buy out a hotel room for three, show him a good time, keep the rest for yourself. Do we have a deal?”

Silence. The two mares, so attentive to Snake Eyes seconds before, now lock onto him, their eyes wide as saucers.

Get up. Get up right now and trot straight for the door. Can even fly the moment he steps out. Land at the hotel, buy a room, leave Snake Eyes to fend for himself the rest of the night as a lesson. Can say the goodbyes to Pokey and Prickly and Shady tomorrow mornin’. Perfect.

But he’s pinned. Stuck in limbo, his eyes hoverin’ somewhere between the mares and his mug. His body seems more interested in sinkin’ into the floor than it does steppin’ from the chair.

Even worse, the crowd seems to have joined in with it all, listenin’ in with eager ears and eyes.

Thank the goddesses it’s the mares that act first. Particularly the one in blue, who drops her look of disgust and turned up lip as she whirls back to Snake. When she speaks, its with a slight stutter and a beggin’ gleam in her eye. “A-Ah think there’s been a bit of a misunderstandin’.”

Snake raises a brow. “Oh?”

The mare in yellow still stares at him. Not in the eyes though. Stares at the wrinkles and mangled combat armor and gray hairs. ‘Old’, she’s tellin’ herself. Don’t blame her one bit nor take any offense to it. He’s right there alongside with her in tryin’ to slip out of this mess.

The mare in blue continues on, strugglin’ to regain her seductive guise. “Ah’m certain yer friend is just fine and dandy, but Dosey Do and I were lookin’ for somethin’ a little more...”

Younger? Not decayin’? Either one’s agreeable.

“...Exotic. Of the city type, if ya begin to understand me.”

Works too.

The mare in blue tugs at her friend, who finally jumps her eyes away from him, lightenin’ up with her usual big fake smile. “Uh, yeah... exotic?”

Snake stares at ‘em with narrowed eyes. As he sits up from the position he’s been loungin’ in, he points a hoof to himself, “Some clarification, if you will, but are you implying that it’s me you want to bed?”

The mare in blue sighs with relief, now fully tucked into her temptress’ voice. “Yes. Yes that’s exactly what we want.”

“I’m not quite sure you’re up to the job, I AM a New Pegasus stallion after all. Though you may not be familiar with exactly what that means. Sex is so abundant, so pervasive, that after a few years ‘vanilla’ sex gets outright dull. We’ll need some supplies if this is to work. A ball gag, 4 sets of nipple clamps, a pair of antlers, a waffle iron and a half gallon of lube should be a nice starting point...”

The mare’s expressions slowly melt as Snake rambles.

Snake rubs his chin with his hoof, tiltin’ his head so that he’s gazin’ right at their flanks. “Yes yes, this could work! Good flanks, body is meaty but not fat, healthy legs, curved shoulders, and— oh!” Snake rises back up with an apologetic expression as he clicks his tongue. “Shame about the faces. Add a few bags to the list, would you?”

He nearly coughs up the sip of whiskey he had buried himself in. Pokey and Prickly both erupt into a simultaneous bout of chucklin’. Some of the crowd gasps, others burst out laughin’. The two mares stand there with their mouths hangin’ open, the mare in blue with her brows furrowed, her friend sniffin’ back tears.

“Well ah never!” Blue snaps in an angry tremble. “You... ya should've felt lucky any mare would have given ya the time of day! Rude! Come on Dosey Do! Leave this city rat to his cards!”

The laughter doubles over as the mares stomp from the saloon. Snake Eyes falls back to his chair in a sigh of victory, with Prickly slappin’ the table while chokin’ on tears. “Ho boy! Slicker, ah knew ya was good but ah still undersold ya! Ho ho!”

“Those two have built themselves up a bit of a reputation.” Even Pokey is chucklin’ through her words. “Glad to see you send ‘em runnin’ while still keepin’ class.”

“Could have done it with much more had my partner here played along.” Snake peers over at him. He’s still stuck, mug grasped hard and his eyes turned down. “Though I admit I was at fault. I did try to hook him up with street raff. Low of me.”

Snake pauses, then leans in closer, droppin’ his voice to a whisper. “You’re not angry with me, are you Tumble?”

He takes a long draught of his mug before settin’ it back down, shakin’ his head. “No, ah ain’t. Though ah would prefer if ya kept me out of yer games. Ain’t the age to still be playin’ like that.”

“Ooooh.” Snake tucks a hoof to his own chest and gives a pitiful look. “It hurts me to hear you say that, truly it does. Is there no room for love in a decrepit gunslinger’s aging heart? Surely somepony in the bar has caught your eyes?”

'No.' That’s what he wants to say, along with a hard stare and a flattened muzzle. But his eyes betray him. They miss Snake completely, instead settlin’ just at the nook between the city stallion’s shoulder and head. Right where the entrance to the saloon is.

It’s Shady Sands. She trots in with a tired but satisfied expression, immediately bein’ greeted by a few eager ponies. While she gladly shakes hooves with ‘em, her attention seems elsewhere, as if searchin’ the saloon for some thing or somepony.

He tries to act fast, shootin’ his eyes back to Snake’s. Too late. Snake notices the sleight and turns, lookin’ over his own shoulder. When he rotates and returns to his seat a wide, malicious grin comes back with him.

“Ya got hell in yer eyes.” He growls quickly at Snake. “But ah can have a bit of mah own. Got no interest in her. Leave us be.”

Snake Eyes merely scoffs, raisin’ both brows in an innocent gesture. “There you go accusing me again! So paranoid!” Snake sinks his hooves back down and folds ‘em, appearin’ much the same ‘business’ stallion he’d been the minute before. “A deal then, as we seem to be so accustomed to making. You leave this table and go to greet Ms. Sands. She seems fascinated by you and will no doubt still be instinctively and unintentionally trying to coax you to stay in Goldroot, so take her off somewhere and have a nice chat. The bar, a table in the corner, whatever you fancy. Do that, and I promise, I will bother neither you while amidst each other’s company for the rest of the night.”

He narrows his eyes. Too good a deal. “And suddenly yer sendin’ me off when ya’ve been hemmin’ and hawin’ for me to stick by ya all day. What’s yer motivation?”

“My ‘motivation’,” Snake sneers, “is getting you out of my way and preventing another, albeit slightly younger, aged corpse from taking up space on my table.” He motions to all the ponies that still surround him. “This show has only just begun. Since you’ve shown you clearly have little to no interest in watching nor partaking in it, I’d rather send you off someplace else. Sweep the dust from the stage, so to speak.”

Snake brushes him off with a wave of his hoof. “And I appreciate your concern, but if I were completely defenseless I would have never survived New Pegasus. Should I need your help, I’ll let you know. Now shoo. Go.”

Can sit here all night mullin’ over it, but in the end it separates him from Snake’s antics. Good enough deal for him. He rises from his chair, excuses himself to Prickly and Pokey, and leaves for the front of the saloon. As he trots away, Snake throws up both his hooves, shoutin’, “Come one, come all! Undefeated New Pegasus caravan player looking for a challenge! Ah! You? Come, sit...”

Shady’s right where he’d last seen her, speakin’ her farewells to her greeters. As soon as they leave she puts on those same searchin’ eyes she’d had whens he entered, lookin’ to the far corners of the bar, sweepin’ her eyes from wall to wall.

He stops a good three paces away and waits politely for her to finish. Her gaze passes over him and she blinks, the natural droop of her eyes liftin’ a slight in surprise as she looks back at him. A moment’s recuperation and she settles, tippin’ her head to him. “Apologies. Can tell ah ain’t the most perceptive of ponies.”

He waves it off with shake of his head. “Always the things right in front of ya that get ya.”

“Hm. Ain’t it.” She smiles, gesturin’ over to her right to where the saloon’s bar stands. “A drink? Been on mah hooves all day, come here every night for some sarsaparilla whiskey and rest.”

“Afraid ah’ve had mah fill. Won’t pass up the seat or talk though. Took the boot from mah own table to make way for gamblin’ space.”

Shady chuckles at that, startin’ up a trot. She motions for him to follow. “The bar then.”

The bar takes up the entirety of the saloon’s entrance-right corner, made up of two counters which run from the east and north wall, stoppin’ when they eventually meet.  Shady leads him to two of the bar’s empty seats along the east counter and gestures for him to sit, orderin’ herself a whiskey with heavy Sunset Sarsaparilla after they’ve settled.

She gives a long take from her drink and sets it aside. Doesn’t immediately turn to him though, instead takin’ another sweepin’ search of the bar. He tries to follow her line of sight but she’s already finished, sinkin’ her gaze back to him.

“Have to ask how the saloon’s been treatin’ ya’ll” Shady says. “Most of the time it's a friendly place, but every now and then we get a bit of ruckus, be it over caps or drinks or partners.”

Easy answer. “It’s a gentlecolt’s club compared to most ah’ve been through. As ya can probably tell, the slicker’s havin’ the time of his life.”

A large cheer rings from Snake Eyes’ table, with yet another defeated pony slinkin’ away with their caravan cards tuckered away in their packs. Snake himself is gone, disappeared behind the mass, but his challengin’ voice still rings above it all as he calls out for another contender.

He grunts and turns back to Shady. “What surprises me the most is the lack of iron. Ponies with weapons seem to be in the minority.”

“Guns are a responsibility here,” she says with a certain sternness, the whitewood magnum holstered behind her duster collar flashin’. “Both mine and the citizen’s. Ah do mah best to keep distance between a pony and their weapon, but if the town thinks there’s a trouble case, ah ain’t afraid to take ‘em away either.”

“The same goes for Buckham?”

She nods. “Winoan too. Ah’ve let both settlements vote in their own sheriffs, both who are upholdin’ the same mindset as Goldroot. Ah haven’t been able to check in with either of ‘em for some time now, but Palomino Pathway’s caravans have all told me good things. They’re a tight-knit group, them settlement folk, so ah’m not too surprised the most the violence gets to is a few punches and kicks.”

He grimaces. “Tight-knit. Not too good with outsiders though.”

Shady moves faster than he’d ever thought her possible, twistin’ her head and lookin’ him dead in the eye. “They didn’t give ya any trouble now did they?”

“Young stallion fresh off the drinks tried wavin’ his iron around to scare me off,” he says in truth. “And don’t bother gettin’ upset by it. Already put him in his place, embarrassin’ him in front of his friends. Somethin’ like that is what a colt like him will remember. Will make him think twice about drawin’.”

Shady scowls, but sinks back into her seat, havin’ another swig of her whiskey. By the time she swallows she’s risen back into a sour frown. “Doesn’t change what happened. Ah need to schedule mahself a visit over there and whoop sheriff Goldshield back into shape. Buckham may be days away and a rougher home, but they’re still our brothers and sisters, still our family. Won’t tolerate anypony pullin’ iron on innocent strangers.”

Innocent. Nowhere near it. Nothin’ he can do now though to stop the rain of hell on the poor sheriff back in Buckham. That leaves him with nothin’ to say, awkwardly scrapin’ his hoof along the bar counter as he sifts his mind for a new topic. Maybe ask her about the Rhinos she had chat with. Might be a bit too intrusive though...

But Shady’s starin’ again. Lookin’ past him, blazin’ two holes into the back corner of the bar. He follows her eyes, this time quick and matchin’ her in near perfect unison. It lands his gaze on a small table backed up against the wall. Three ponies occupy its three seats, two stallions and one mare, all of ‘em with a dark, hooded shade in their eyes.

All armed as well. Standard semi-automatic Service Rifles it looks. Durable, easy to use, ammo is plentiful. Exact same that the NER mass produces for the troops, he might even say. Also favored among mercs, militia, raiders... and bandits.

“See ‘em?” Shady whispers from behind.

“Yep. Are rifles of that build common in the area?”

“Ah’ve seen ‘em in Baux’s Brigade, but theirs ain’t nowhere near as clean lookin’.”

He sets his muzzle, double checkin’ his nehmoa. “Maybe a few of your bandits...?”

Shady crinkles her muzzle and shakes her head. “The Brigade told me the large majority of ‘em had been decked in bullet-proof armor, the rest bare. These folks have on standard Palomino vests. Might just be visitors from Neighpton spooked south by all the noise up north.”

“Could be.” He loosens his muscles but keeps his jaw tensed. “Best to just keep an eye on ‘em for now.”

Another loud roar from Snake’s table. Another pony leavin’ a bag of caps lighter. A large number of tables have been made empty by the antics, the audience now strugglin’ to peek over one another’s shoulder. Can almost swear he sees caps flyin’ up from the table as well. Goddess knows what Snake is up to.

He settles and looks back to Shady who’s just now finished off her drink. No doubt wantin’ to avoid gettin’ tipsy with strangers about, she pushes the mug away and rests her hooves upon the counter. There’s a tired, nearly dead look in her eyes as she coughs, endin’ the fit with a long sigh.

“Some trouble in the stable after we left?” he guesses.

She nods grimly. “We’re sendin’ a shipment of supplies up to Winoan in a couple of days. That includes water as well, bein’ their reservoir blew a valve. Dumped three weeks worth right into the sand... They need somethin' to drink, but we won't have enough water carts until the day after tomorrow. An extra week's supply suddenly cut from the system right after a delivery to Buckham means the crops are feedin’ off of vapors for the next day or tw—” She stops suddenly as if in realization, pullin’ her duster closer, shakin’ her head. “Apologies. Already gave ya enough hell about that business.”

“Was me who asked,” he admits. Have to at least try to lift some of the blame from her, as much as she’d deny it.

And she does, shakin’ her head again. “Doesn’t mean ah had to bring it to light. And don’t you worry about it any more. The number of ponies slippin’ in from the east is risin’ every month, a good number of ‘em pegasi. One of ‘em has to settle. One of ‘em will accept.”

She sounds so hopeful, appears so hopeless. Even he can sympathize. How is a small developin’ town like Goldroot supposed to deal with the metropolis next door? A full blown city that, for a pegasus, is probably only a day’s flight away. You can offer a good home and love, but not the shootin’-star lifestyle that everypony in the wasteland seems to be chasin’ these days. What can she do?

And a shudder runs up from his spine, the source a small pale envelope nestled at the bottom of his saddlebags. That’s the answer, ain’t it? They’ll come. Yes or no, don’t matter, they’ll come. Plenty of pegasi then. Loyal, obedient pegasi who will bring the water with no matter to pay or the big city. Like well trained dogs.

“You’ll get yer pegasus.” He’s distraught to hear his own voice betray him with a hint of sadness. He continues anyway, “If not by the time ah’m done with all this, then not long after. Plenty of us back east.”

But Shady doesn’t take it as a reassurance. Her brow furrows deeper into worry, her eyes searchin’ him as if he were a stranger all over again. “In the Republic.”

In the Republic. He sucks in a breath, slowin’ himself down from thinkin’ anything irrational. It’s Shady. She’s proven herself a calm, peaceful mare. Still, the last time that word came up, he had to pull iron. Natural to feel a bit cautious. “Ya’ve heard of the Republic?”

She nods only a slight. “Heard of a ‘New Canterlot Republic’ way back when. Suppose that faded off and the name ah’ve been hearin’ now for the past six or seven years is ‘New Equestrian Republic’, if the radio and passerby ponies are to be believed. Haven’t had much time for details on account of bein’ busy runnin’ the town, but from what ah understand they’re a big power out to the north and east bent on recreatin’ the old world.”

“Ya’ve caught the basics,” he admits. “The change of names was only a formality. Still the same beliefs, motives, and leaders.”

“Figured as much.” She purses her muzzle in a small pause, searchin’ him again. “And you... if ah might be curious for a moment, you’re here in their name?”

Has to remind himself, again, that she’s a calm mare. He answers with his own calm, “Ah am.”

Shady studies him for a long moment before noddin’, hidin’ her face by peerin’ back down to the counter. “Assumed it when ah first spotted ya, based on the outfit. ‘Republic Elite Rangers’ ponies passin’ through from the east call ya, clad in black armor and dark brown dusters, iron of black and gold strapped into your holsters.” She looks back up to him with respect in her eyes. “Finally gettin’ to meet one, much less havin’ a chat... suppose ah should be honored.”

No, ya shouldn’t. The image will be plastered all over your walls come a few months or more. And that’s if yer lucky.

Have to steer this conversation the other direction. Thankfully Shady drops a little, starin’ from the edge of her eye to the back corner again. “Heads up,” she whispers. “Visitors are up to somethin’.”

He focuses his peripherals on the corner. All three ponies twist in their seats at the sound of another round of hoofstomps, each with an agitated grit for expressions, each starin’ daggers in Snake’s direction. When they finally twist back around, its clear they’re talkin’, arguin’ amongst one another.

“They don’t seem to be takin’ too kindly to your friend over there.”

“Seems so.” He feels his muscles tensin’ again. “Think ah’ll be draggin’ the slicker out of here soon enough. No need to start up a conflict when it’s easy to trot out before it begins. Before ah leave for the night though, ah had a last question for ya.”

She raises her brow, lookin’ to him expectantly.

Have to choose his words carefully here. “Ah’ve heard that there was a small band of pegasi that flew into Goldroot from the west not too long ago. Heard they came in here and ya got the chance to chat with ‘em.”

The change in posture tells a small story, her hooves tuckin’ themselves closer to her chest and her duster pullin’ a bit tighter. “That ah did.”

“If ah might have a turn of bein’ curious then, what was the talk about?”

She does a half hearted shrug. “Same one we had. Ah offered ‘em up a high class home here in Goldroot, they turned me down. Answer was much the same as yers as well. ‘Only here on business’, and that’s all ah ever digged into that.”

He nods. Sounds about right. Whatever ‘business’ the Steel Dawn had in the west must have been culminated into that package. No doubt it’s already back in Steel Dawn hooves by now if their courier finished the rest of the trip safely. He curses silently to himself. Shouldn’t have let ‘em slip away like that.

“Bein’ honest, there were... other things.”

More. He tips his ear to her. “If yer willin’ to talk, ah’m willin’ to listen.”

“That’s the root of it. Not sure if ah am.” She grimaces but continues with reluctance. “They said they were a part of the Steel Dawn. Carried enough firepower to make our friends over there look like pacifists, yet were still as friendly as ah could hope a stranger to be. Even when ah put up mah offer they laid me down gently.” She stops, shakin’ her head and the counter. “Then they started talkin’ more on the grim side.”

“About what?”

“About you.” Her voice gets weaker with every word. “The Republic, more specifically.”

The same thing that happened back in Buckham. Bein’ honest himself, it doesn’t bother him much. Two opposin’ factions spreadin’ slander of each other dates back to sticks and stones. Still, humor him anyways, "What’d they say?”

Shady looks withdrawn now. Afraid, even, if only for a moment. “Some things ah’d rather not believe, comin’ off how kindly the past couple of days has made ya. Of course, though the name ‘Steel Dawn’ only started showin’ up a a few years or more back, it ain’t no secret them and yer Republic are in the middle of a war somewhere off east.”

“So the propaganda comes with its followers.” He finishes for her.

“Yep. Exactly. Good chance much of it weren’t true, just some made up slander.” She loosens up at her own comfortin’ words. Still has a bit of a frown on her face as she finally looks to him again. “Though ah don’t fancy the word ‘propaganda’. Makes it seem us over here in the west have anything to do with the war out east. No disrespectin’ you or yer folk, but ah believe it’s for the best that us in the Palomino distance ourselves far as we can from both the Republic and Dawn. Keeps us neutral.”

Neutral. His head nods on its own. “Smart of ya.”

She's satisfied with the agreement, sinkin’ back into her chair.

He’s left dumbfounded. 'Smart of ya.'. Maybe on paper. Maybe from the mind of a small foal who covers their eyes with their hooves, believin’ themselves safe in their own little world. Shady Sands, Prickly, Pokey, the citizens of Goldroot, Buckham... all of ‘em under the same mindset, goin’ about their daily lives with the Republic and Steel Dawn nothin’ more than a story out to the far east.

Not much different from the citizens of the Enclave fifteen years ago. Death, war, but not here. Only far below, amongst the savages.

And the same for Vanhoover seven years ago. A small seaside city, quietly tucked away from the chaos of expansion. Just tell ‘em no. They’ll leave.

And the same for Baltimare. The sunrise city towerin’ over the ocean, an entire—

“They’re movin’.”

With a small pop and a blink he’s back to reality, turnin’ his attention to where Shady stares. The crowd is in the sounds and motions of another eruption. Another pony defeated. Nothin’ new there. The three ponies from the corner, on the other hoof, have risen from their table and are now makin’ a straight stompin’ beeline towards Snake Eyes.

Ah shit. Should have left when he had the chance.

“Is there ANYPONY in this shack who actually plays caravan?” He can hear Snake mock over the audience’s rumble. “Anypony?”

	“I’ll play as long as you shut the fuck up after I’ve left you capless.”

The crowd reacts instantly, nervously backin’ away from the table to leave Snake, Prickly, and Pokey exposed. Across the table are the three ponies, their rifles strapped to their backs and an agitated scowl takin’ up their faces. At their head is the instigator of the whole ordeal, a black coat stallion with a bright orange mane which rides in single line down his neck. A hoofheld flip up lighter on his flank serves as his mark. He stares down at Snake with a certain kind of hell lightin’ up his eyes.

Were Snake smart, he’d say he’s done for the night and trot out feelin’ happy with himself. And givin’ it to him, Snake is smart. Can see even from here at the bar that the slicker knows the easy way out of this situation.

But Snake is also a cocky bastard. So it ain’t no surprise when he sees the city stallion throw both his hooves up into the air and gesture to the seat across the table. “A deal I gladly accept. You win, you take the earnings and I leave.”

“And if you win?” the black stallion asks in the same husky voice he’d shouted with.

Snake grins. “Only the simplest of things: your caps. Perhaps your pride will come along with it, being you’re so brazen in offering it for everypony to see.” He points to the chair again. “Now sit. And you two, behind him, pull up some chairs as well. There’s plenty of room now.”

The three ponies begin to begrudgingly take their seats. Not a second after they start to move does Snake twist his head, lockin’ both eyes on him from across the room. No cockiness. No mystery. Just a short, clean, simple message conveyed through pure expression.

Get the hell over here and do your job!

He swivels in his stool, sighin’ as he steps down to the floor. Before he trots off he looks over his shoulder, back at Shady. “Apologies if this ends up in a bit of a ruckus.”

Shady simply tips her head to him. “Don’t. Good chance ah’ll be right there with ya in the middle of it.”

Honest, it leaves him feelin’ a hair better as he makes his way to the table. Haven’t really had much of anypony watchin’ his back ever since Phantom Strike and Halfwing were laid to rest.

Sadly Shady seems to be where his luck ends. The scene at the table is grizzly, with three armed ponies on one side, an unnarmed Prickly, Pokey, and Snake on the other. The audience around it all is carryin’ nothin’ more than a few holstered pistols and magnums. Can’t count on ‘em to help if things go south either.

“Ah, yes!” Snake Eyes acts surprised when he approaches, pointin’ him out to the other ponies. “A good friend of mine, this ranger! He’s come to spectate while we play. Horrible at caravan, but as they say, you learn by being in the company of greatness.”

All three stare from across the table while he pulls himself up a chair. But their eyes, he discovers as he comes to a rest, aren’t meetin’ his own. They’re down on his chest. Locked to his black armor. Locked to his duster.

They know he’s an elite ranger. Wouldn’t say too much, if it weren’t for the fear that rides along with their stares. Combined with the accent and the reaction, there’s a good change these three are from out east. Maybe even bandits.

He tightens his jaw.

Maybe it’s the alcohol he can smell in their breath. Maybe it’s because he has his nehmoa tucked out of sight behind his duster collar. Maybe they’ve just wrote him off for a dodderin’ old stallion with the way he struggles to ease down into his chair. Whichever one it is they lose interest, the lead stallion givin’ him a hard glare and a snort before duckin’ back down into his own deck of cards.

“So!” Snake Eyes pushes a stack of caps forward. “I put up twenty caps, a good portion of my earnings so far. Fair, yes? The higher the stakes, the greater the entertainment, and I do love to put on a show.”

The stallion across the table grunts, pullin’ out a small pouch from the pocket in his vest. When he tips it down to the table, a good six or seven caps fall from its mouth, all accompanied by an assortment of dust, lint, and trinkets.

The stallion glances to his left and right. Both his partners dig around a bit in their own pockets before comin’ up shruggin’, empty hooved. The stallion looks back to Snake with furrowed brows. “Ah’ve got six.”

“Ha!” Snake Eyes looks from the stallion to him, his face contorted in amusement. “Appears you won’t be learning anything after all, dear ranger. Upsetting. I should have known better than to call you over for a rabble of streetlife.”

The table rattles with the slammin’ of the lead stallion’s hoof. When he lifts his foreleg back up, a stick of bright orange dynamite lie out beside his pile of caps. “Here! Dyanmite’s worth more than twenty caps so no reason to pussy out.”

Prickly guffaws from his side. “What? No it ain’t! Hell, give me a good hour and ah’ll have a whole batch of ‘em to sell ya for fif—”

“We weren’t asking you, bitch!” the stallion spits.

“Hey!” Prickly’s ears droop. “That ain’t nice...”

On his other side Pokey rises up straight in her chair for the first time he’s witnessed. She gives her sister a glance of concern before turnin’ on the three ponies across the table. “Snake, let’s give this brute an ass whoopin’! In caravan.”

Snake sighs with a smile, dealin’ himself out the typical hoof of eight cards. “Well, I guess that means I don’t have a choice any longer, does it? Let’s play.” He nods to his challenger. “Me first or you?”

“Me.” The stallion slaps down a card, and the game begins.

He checks back up on Prickly. She wears a sad frown that comes off as near alien to him, her darkened eyes and wilted ears the complete opposite of the bumblin’ joyful caravan mare he’d traveled with the days before.

“Doin’ alright over there?” He murmurs.

Her eyes and ears lift at the sound of his voice, as if bein’ woke from a trance. She nods while in a bit of a daze. “Yep. Fine. Ain’t nothin’ but words. Just was a bit... unexpected ah guess.” She’s stunned, but is slowly sinkin’ down with a grim resolve. A soft heart but a strong will.

Like a flock of pigeons regroupin’ after bein' scattered, the bar crowd eases back into spectatin’ the table, with not much more than a stray mutter or cough soundin’ up from ‘em. Even the radio, a source of nonstop music and talk ever since he entered, has been turned down so that its sound is little more than white noise. Only thing left now are the soft pitters and patters of slapped down caravan cards.

Not quite certain how the game itself works, but he’d guess they’re hittin’ the midway point judgin’ by the number of cards in play. Across the table the lead stallion shows all the signs of an aggravation and nervousness, playing every move with a deepening scowl and obvious hesitation.

One of the stallion’s buddies, the mare, leans in and inspects his hand, whisperin’ into his ear. His other buddy joins in soon after.

“Since when did caravan rules allow for two helpers?” Pokey growls at the other three ponies.

“Since now I presume, as our competition is so eager to display.” Snake Eyes beckons Pokey in closer. “Care to help even the playing field? Prickly, you too. Switch chairs with this useless old bag so you can speak to me without them hearing. He can spectate just as well from your point.”

Prickly perks up, lookin’ over to him with renewed, expectant eyes.

Hm. Just when he’d gotten settled too. Ah well. He huffs and puffs, risin’ from his chair. Good side of it all is that now, easin’ down into Prickly’s old seat, he’s taken straight out of the center of attention. Gives him a bit of extra time to work with in case hell rises.

And it’s sure headin’  that way. Snake’s little move seems to have stirred up the other three even further. They glower at ‘em from behind their cards, gratin’ their teeth, mumblin’ curses. The speed at which they point and argue picks up in beat.

Meanwhile Pokey and Prickly group up around Snake, whisperin’ to one another.  Nowhere near the growin’ desperation of the other team, but there’s still an aggressive fume behind their breath and Pokey still looks like a coyote ready to leap across the table to rip a few necks.

“Bullshit!” The stallion roars as Snake drops a queen on one of the opposin’ caravan piles. “How the fuck do you know I don’t have a 10 of diamonds to fuck this over?”

Snake rolls his eyes. “Because you wouldn’t be bawling like an enraged foal if you did. Also the fact that you’re one of the most expressive caravan players I’ve ever had the pleasure of being matched against. Trust me, by now, I’ve read your book, critiqued it, and have written my own thesis detailing what a complete idiot you are.” He lifts his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “You can forfeit now and save us the next four turns, if you’re feeling charitable.”

The stallion and his partners growl as they duck back down into their cards. Pokey’s sinkin’ back into her seat a bit and even Prickly lets out a small giggle.

The game slows down as the stallion spends long pauses dancin’ his hoof along his cards, arguin’ with his companions. When Snake’s turn finally comes, he gets a quick single nod from both sisters and slaps down a card.

Another pause from the stallion. But this time a fire lights up behind his eyes. He scans over the cards in his hoof one last time before puttin’ one down, a sharp smile poppin’ up on his muzzle. Must have found a path to victory. Snake doesn’t seem too worried. Neither Prickly nor Pokey. They lay down another in much the same fashion as the one before.

The stallion drops another right after, proppin’ himself up onto the edge of his seat. Clearly on the warpath.

Snake lays down another. The sisters don’t even put the effort in passin' it off.

“Ha! I win!” The stallion shouts, throwin’ down a 7 on to one of his piles before layin’ his cards down and crossin’ his hooves.

Snake lowers his hoof of cards, unamused. “Do you know how to count? Or how this game even works? You need to outbid me on two caravans. We’re still tied on one.”

The stallion’s face drops. Unfoldin’ his hooves, he bends forward to look down at the playin’ field, his friends followin’ cautiously along with him.

“Shit...”

“Yes, ‘shit’.” Snake puts up an assurin’ hoof. “But don’t worry. After my turn, you’ve sealed yourself a guaranteed victory.”

“Unless I do this.”

Snake throws down a king onto one of his piles. He spreads his hooves open in a sittin’ bow. “Coup De Grace. Your turn never comes, for I just won.”

The audience bursts into cheers and hoofstomps behind him. A lot of ‘This slicker’s on fire!’, several ‘has he lost a game at all? Anypony know?’, and a few brave ‘Them roughnecks just got their flanks handed to ‘em!’ drift around the saloon. He’s even able to catch sight of Shady through the crowd, watchin’ ‘em from the bar with a warm smile.

“Rematch.”

Prickly and Pokey share a high-hoof over the top of Snake’s fedora.

“Rematch!”

Snake basks in his victory with his hooves tucked behind his head, grinnin’ triumphantly while lost in the crowd’s glamor.

“REMAAAAAATCH!!!”

Almost mistake the roar itself for rattlin’ the whole damn table. But nope. Just the black and orange stallion still glued to his chair, huffin’ and puffin’ with his whole foreleg slammed down like a hammer. The crowd is shocked into silence once again

Snake Eyes ain’t fazed a bit, leanin’ back in his chair even further. “A rematch? Now why would I want that? I now possess everything ranging from your caps to your dynamite and dignity.” Snake’s smug grin grows with every word. “The wealthy dawdle not with the poor. Thus, our business is done here.” He starts to rise from his seat.

The anger comin’ off the stallion is almost palpable, he swears he can see a coat of rage draped around him, little wavy lines risin’ up like a desert mirage. ”Sit down.”

“Did you not hear what I just told you? I have no interest in re-treading a road so quickly, especially considering the last journey was lackluster at best. Besides, you’re broke. Go home.” Snake Eyes turns to him, motionin’ to rise as well. “Up, ranger. Escort me back to the—”

“I wasn’t asking!” A powerful hoof reaches across the table and pushes Snake Eyes back down into his chair. The stallion is up on his own two hooves now, swipin’ up Snake’s pouch and turnin’ it upside down, dumpin’ a large mound of caps onto the table’s surface. He throws the emptied pouch down and nods to his two partners. “Everything.”

They open their vests to reveal all sorts of items strapped inside: more dynamite, ammo, food. Can even spot what looks to be a few flares stickin’ out amongst the salvage. All three vests along with their goods are tossed forward into the pile, creatin’ a mountainous offerin’ of caps and assorted goods as if in appeasement to some gamblin’ gods.

The lead stallion turns back to Snake. “All or nothin’. Ya take the deal or ya pussy out.”

“Oh! Oh!” Prickly hops up and down in her seat as she drools at the pile. “Lookie there at all that! Do it slicker! Ah’ve got yer back!”

Snake connects both his hooves up in front of his muzzle as if in deep thought. Behind ‘em his eyes jump back and forth between the pile and the three opposin’ ponies. A wicked smile grows soon after. “If we’re doing all or nothing, I want it all or nothing. That means your guns.”

All three ponies reel back, pullin’ their gun straps tighter. The lead stallion spits, “The fuck are you thinking? There’s ‘all-in’ and then there’s fucking highway robbery. You don’t got near enough caps for that kind of shit. If you want the guns, you’d better offer up a damn good reason for us to put them down.”

For once Snake appears to be at a loss. He goes over his own suit for a good while before dancin’ his eyes along the bar, like a scavenger sniffin’ out potential goods. When Snake’s circled the room he returns to himself, glancin’ from Prickly to Pokey, stoppin’ at him.

The slicker’s muzzle curls back up into his signature wicked smile.

He stares back hard. Nope. Ain’t givin’ nothin’ over to this devil’s gambit. If ya want anything Snake, ya can take Lucky and offer it up. Anything else on him ain’t gonna happen.

But Snake isn’t focused on him, can realize now. He’s starin’ to Prickly. After a good few seconds of sizin’ her up Snake shifts his head to the other side, to Pokey. He turns back and looks across the table, grinnin’ at the lead stallion. “Tell me, what value do you and your friends place upon a little... ‘Rest and Relaxation’?”

As he asks, Snake lifts and spreads both his forehooves, placin’ ‘em against the back of both sister’s necks. He squeezes ‘em both a little in emphasis, raisin’ a brow in question.

Goddess damnit Snake. Pokey has about the same reaction, her usual cool demeanor tossed off along with Snake’s hoof from her back. Could light a fire with the two hot coals she casts the slicker’s direction. “The hay makes ya think we’d ever agree to that?!” she seethes. “Ya think we’re yer gamblin’ tools or somethin’? And to think ah had some bit of respect for ya!”

“Aw come on Pokes,” Prickly chirps in with a shrug and a smile. “Ah’ve always joked ya should open up a massage service the way ya do backrubs! Sparin’ a few minutes of talent for the slicker to gamble with ain’t no sin, and even if he does lose, ah can pick up a few tricks from ya! Ah mean gosh, it ain’t like he’s puttin’ us up for... he ain’t... for a...”

Prickly stutters to a stop as she notices everypony starin’. It’s the exact moment that she looks over to the three ponies, notin’ the lead lickin’ his chops, the other stallion gazin’ with hungry eyes, and the mare givin’ a curious smile. Pokey looks over at her, watching the cheer slowly drain from her face as realization finally overtakes her youthful innocence.

Her muzzle crinkles. “Eww.”

“Exactly. Come on Prickly. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait.” Snake pulls Prickly closer, keepin’ her rooted to her chair. “Prickly. Darling. You’ve just had a front row witness of me pulling a clean sweep of this entire town’s caravan population. Now look to these brutes. Armed. Dangerous. You’d be doing the world a great service, depriving them of their weapons.”

Prickly slowly begins to nod, much to Pokey’s apparent dismay.

“And with my spree in thought, also take into consideration that I... no... we have already defeated these three quite convincingly. Come now. What’s one more game? One more game to seal it all, to send these three scampering off weaponless, neutralized, and a hearty lesson drilled into their minds.” He tugs at Prickly, smiling. “What do you say? Shall we?”

Prickly brings her hoof up to her muzzle in thought, shiftin’ her eyes between a noddin’ Snake and a scowlin’ Pokey. Only a moment’s consideration and she slams her hoof down. “Ah’ll do it!”

Pokey sighs and shakes her head. Snake turns back to the three bandits with a smile. “Well? Does one suffice?”

All three nod without even lookin’ to one another. The lead smacks his lips. “It’ll do.”

“No, wait...” Pokey hesitates, lookin’ to Prickly with concern. She slumps back down into her chair in defeat. “Put me in.”

“Woohoo! Trust the slicker sis! Ten minutes and these three will be runnin’ off with their tails between their legs and we’ll be laughin’ it off with a good ol’ drink of whiskey!”

‘Trust the slicker’. Pokey takes those words about how he does, shakin’ her head and starin’ forward. Snake opens his hooves to the bandits, motioning towards their chairs. “Well then! It appears our arrangements are in order. You take first turn, so the game begins on your move.”

They swap decks. Notice it just as they’re on their way down, a quick flash of hooves between the mare and lead stallion, a bit hidden under the table. Snake either doesn’t notice or ain’t bothered by it, shufflin’ his own deck and dealin’ himself out eight cards. The lead stallion shuffles his new deck once before dealin’ himself as well. He slaps a card down and they’re off again.

He looks to Pokey and Prickly, suckin’ in a breath. Don’t like this one bit. Knew Snake was a slimy bastard, but puttin’ two mares up for gamblin’ whores is a whole new low. Ain’t denyin’ a large part of the blame goes to Prickly as well, but it’s one thing to follow along with an act, somethin’ else entirely to be able to dream somethin’ low like that else up in the first place.

But the thing that gets him in the end is himself. If Snake loses? He won’t do a damn thing to stop any of it. Even after all the sisters have done for both of ‘em, wouldn’t even raise a hoof as they’re hauled off for the long night.

Because there’s somethin’ greater than them at stake here. It burns in the bottom of his saddlebags, reminds him every second of what he’s here for.

Get Snake to New Pegasus. Get the message to Spade. Return with an answer. Done.

“Aaaaaaaaw! Not so lucky this time are you fucker?” The mare bandit crows as the lead stallion places a king beside his 10. “Gonna be taking that suit and hat off you too! Maybe burn them right outside the saloon so you can watch!”

10s and Kings. Sure are a good number of ‘em laid down on the bandit’s side. There’s a set of both for each of the three separate piles, givin’ the stallion an even 20 across his entire caravan. What was it, 21 to 26 to get ya a good caravan? Just on its cusp.

Doesn’t look to bother Snake much. The slicker mulls over his cards for a moment before droppin’ a 10 of his own. The bandit answers back right quick with a 6, placin’ it down upon the middle of their sets. 26. The bunch of ‘em start to cackle to one another.

“The hell are ya doin’ slicker?” Pokey whispers fiercely, eyes dartin’ nervously between Snake and the cards. “Yer gettin’ yer flank kicked!”

Snake doesn’t respond, hummin’ as he places a Jack upon the bandit’s 6 they had just played. The bandits laugh again, discardin’ the 6 only to replace it with another the second after. Snake frowns and returns to inspectin’ his own cards.

Prickly’s hangin’ on the edge of her seat. Her teeth chatter as she watches Snake lazily gaze over the playing field. “They’re only a move or two away from winnin’,” she pushes out. “ah hope ya have a trick or two up your suit...”

Snake pulls out another Jack and mirrors the same move he’d done the turn before. The bandits once again discard the 6, only this time replacin’ it with a 4 instead. 24. Snake smiles.

“You can forfeit now if you’re feeling charitable!!” The other male bandit mocks, doin’ his best to match his typical shrill screech to Snake’s smooth hissin’ voice. He pounds the table with his hoof soon after. “Fuck you! You think you’re better than us, dontcha? Dontcha? What’s that? Ain’t got nothing to say now you little shit?”

Snake says nothin’, playin’ a 10 atop his pile composed of a 7 and 9. 26.

The bandits draw their card, look to it, laugh, and throw it down. Another 6. Their three piles are 26, 20, and 24. Only reason Snake is still in is on account of his own 26 pile. His other two aren’t lookin’ anywhere near as fortuitous.

“Aw... m-maybe we can shake this deal up a bit...?” Prickly stutters as she ducks down in her seat. “We ah... we do really good backrubs if ya can recall...”.

Pokey has her hooves crossed, starin’ between Snake and the bandits with cold eyes. “Quit yer worryin’ Prickly. It ain’t happenin’. Ah’ll knock ‘em senseless if they even try touchin’ ya.” She turns her eyes back to Snake. “Will put this slicker in his place right after.”

“‘Knock us senseless, huh?” The lead stallion laughs, tappin’ the rifle across his back. “You’re forgetting who has the firepower here, bitch. But don’t worry. We’ll drag your friend here along with you. Can have him sit in the corner and watch it all. Maybe even have him join in. You did say all or nothing, didn’t you fucker?”

The entire saloon shifts to Snake for an answer. But the slicker’s silent, his face hidden behind a fan of cards. One leg is propped up atop the other without a single muscle givin’ a twitch, almost as if the stallion at the table were nothin’ more than a statue or figure. The only thing that betrays him is his other front hoof risin’ and fallin’ so slightly, givin’ the faintest of taps against the table’s soft-wood surface.

The lead bandit growls and leans into the table. “What’s the matter? Don’t have anything smart to say? No funny comeback? Just going to hide behind your cards like a fucking pussy?”

Snake’s hoof suddenly freezes in its tapping. Slowly, like a curtain liftin’ for a show, he lowers his cards, revealin’ the very same serpent’s smile he’d trademarked. Snake holds the grin as he stares across the table, causin’ all three bandits to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“The fuck is so funny?” The lead stallion spits, grittin’ his teeth.

Snake pulls out a single card and holds it so that the face is visible only to him. He looks back to the stallion much the same way he’d done the two flirtin’ mares before, scannin’ him from flank to head. His smile shifts to a snide smirk.

“I have standards.”

Snake throws down his card, landin’ it perfectly upon the 10 he had played some turns before. A Joker. Not quite sure what it means, but it’s flipped the entire mood of the table. Pokey gasps in relief, Prickly hollers and pats Snake on the back, and the bandits all lean into the table with dropped expressions.

Snake himself is leaned back in his chair, appearin’ quite smug with himself. “Quite the unused card, the Joker. Thrown out for Blackjack, tossed for Poker, glossed over in Caravan... such a shame. It’s won me so, so many games. Especially against decks built such as yours.”

The bandits rise back, their faces like stone. The lead stallion’s jaw slacks a little. “Fuck...”

“Yes, ‘fuck’. And I’m going to assume this deck you switched your old one out for has a distinct lack of both Jokers and Jacks, being stuffed to the brim with 10s, 6s, 4s, and Kings.”

Now it’s the bandit’s turn for silence. His jaw closes up, his muzzle pursin’ tight.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I was the moment I saw you play those three 10s in tandem. So predictable. So boring. I’ve been playing you all like a puppet the moment since.”

The bandit’s muzzle begins to tremble. His whole body follows soon after, shudderin’ as if on ice. A hellish fire lights up behind both his eyes.

Jaws been set the whole time. Can feel his whole body tense up.

“With that all in mind, you lose in a maximum of four turns. So, if you’re feeling charitable, you can forf—”

“FUCK YOU!” The bandits push their chairs to the ground, leapin’ to their hooves as they reach back for their rifles. Screams and shouts sound from behind as the crowd whips up in fright.

Can give ‘em all one thing: they start their move perfectly on time with one another. On the other hoof, they’re a tad too slow. By the time their hooves have reached their rifles, he’s already drawn out his nehmoa, the sights aimed right down to the lead bandit’s head.

The sight of black and gold causes all three of ‘em to freeze. Their hooves are itchin’ and wrapped about their rifles. But their eyes are wide with a swirl of fear and hate, sendin’ their heads mixed messages.

“Rush him,” the mare cuts through the silence with a hiss.

The other stallion darts his eyes nervously between ‘em both. “Are you crazy? He’s an elite ranger!”

“Looks like an old sack of shit with a duster on to me. I say rush him!”

“May I remind you that looks can be deceiving?” Snake slips in, appearin’ rather unnaturally calm considerin’ the situation he’s in. The slicker motions a hoof towards him and nods towards his nehmoa. “This range? That gun? He’ll make a fine canoe out of your head. Don’t trust he’ll hesitate. Or miss.”

The mare bandit spits and looks to the lead stallion. “Fucker’s lyin’! Rush! Come on Hazard!”

There’s hesitation in the bandit’s eyes. Seen it countless times before. It’s the brain tryin’ to measure the odds. Problem with this fella’s is the same as most others: too young, too inexperienced. Doesn’t know when its time to take the opportunity and trot off alive. Youth drownin’ out the whispers of common sense with screams of grandeur.

The stallion’s hoof twitches. His mouth tightens on the trigger, begins to squeeze...

Unicorn magic. The familiar tingle is accompanied by the sound of a shotgun cockin’. “Hooves up.”

The bandits freeze up again. They start to turn, only to be greeted by the noise of a six shooter blastin’ right into their ears. A small hole pops in the bar’s ceilin’. “Ah didn’t say twist about, ah said ‘hooves up’!”

Their hooves shoot up to reveal a pissed off Shady Sands behind ‘em. Her horn glows a soft gold, levitatin’ along both the standard six shooter magnum he’d seen her holstered with before and a newly acquired sawn-off pump-action shotgun. To his pleasant surprise she has each of ‘em pointed to the other two bandits, leavin’ each one under a barrel and accounted for. Also has the shotgun pointed away from the crowd. Can always respect a pony who knows basic gun handlin’.

“Now hold still,” She bites in a voice more lethal than he ever thought possible from her. “Ah’ll be disarmin’ ya mahself. Keep the hooves up. If ah see so much as one headin’ down there’ll be blood.”

The crowd starts to murmur again as Shady moves forward and begins freein’ the rifles from their straps. Prickly and Pokey sag in their chairs out of relief. Snake Eyes is busy draggin’ the entire pile of goods over to his side of the table, hummin’ a short, smug tune all the while.

The slicker forages through the mound, pickin; out any trinkets or baubles he deems worthless. He plucks both a stick of dynamite and a flare from the selection, eyein’ both curiously before turnin’ to him, danglin’ ‘em up for him to see. “Interested? Keep the dunestalkers in consideration, mind you.”

Not one to favor lit explosives, but suppose the occasion calls for it. He acknowledges Snake by tappin’ the table space before him, still keepin’ his eyes and gun trained on the bandit. “Lay ‘em all out here,” he grunts through his nehmoa. “Will sort ‘em out mahself.”

Snake nods, settin’ the dynamite, flare, and a silver red-trimmed lighter in front of him before returnin’ to his pile of goods.

“Done.” Shady deposits all three rifles on a table far from the bandit’s reach. She catches his attention with a tip of her head. “See anything ah might’ve missed ranger?”

“Nope.” Did a favor, disarmin’ themselves for the sake of the gamble.

Shady backs off a few steps, still with her guns aimed. “Right then, listen up you three. I’m trottin’ ya’ll straight out the door and sendin’ ya out of town with two day’s rations and a couple sticks of dynamite. Plenty of options for ya then: head north to Neighpton, head east to Buckham, or head west past Echo to Winoan. Guarantee they’ll be happy to put ya to work for good pay at whichever ya choose.”

The mare bandit growls in agitation. “Fuck that! Only chance you’ll see us in any of those places is if we’re burning them to the ground!”

“But ya can’t say ah didn’t give ya options. Now trot.” Shady nudges them along with her hoof. The bandits grumble and curse but start their amble toward the front door.

Already has his nehmoa drawn and trained on ‘em. Might as well help her out in case they try anything fishy. He rises from his seat and falls in beside Shady, keepin’ his nehmoa aimed all the while. Can see from the corner of his eye that she flashes him a quick smile before returnin’ to glarin’ at the back of the bandit’s heads.

“Wait here.” Shady stops the march and taps her hoof against the bar counter. The bartender who’s been watchin’ the whole spectacle waddles his way over to her, noddin’ to continue. Shady points to the back wall, “Mind loadin’ me up enough grub from the storage to feed a few ponies for a couple of days? Some jugs of water too, if ya got ‘em”

The bartender dabs the sweat his head with a neckerchief, bobbin’ his head as he looks between Shady and the enraged bandits. “Ah yes, mayor. Renewed the stock just earlier today so I’m ah... quite certain I can accommodate both.”

The tender leaves and starts rummagin’ beneath the counters and cabinets. A few admittedly tense minutes later and a small set of goods line the counter’s top, just enough to get a group of ponies a next town over.

“You’re fucking kidding yourself if you think we’ll be able to carry all that shit with our bare hooves,” The lead bandit sneers.

Shady ignores him, tippin’ her hat to the tender. “Kind as always, Mug. Got a package or sack ah can wrap this all up in?”

The tender peers about a bit before turnin’ back to Shady and shakin’ his head. “I’m ah... afraid not mayor. Closest I believe you would find such a thing would be Gosack’s shop.”

“And he’s long closed for the night,” she huffs. She frowns and looks around the saloon, gazin’ at the now dissipatin’ crowd, then back to the stash. After a long pause she reaches her front hoof up and tugs at the collar of her duster. Confuses him somethin’ fierce when she slips it from her shoulders, liftin’ it from her back. Only thing left on her now is her stetson and button up suit, revealin’ her mark to him for the first time: a scrap of golden ore wrapped in snow-white parchment. Don’t have much time to dwell on it as Shady’s already makin’ her move. She lays her duster out over the bar counter, beginnin’ to set the water, food, and a couple sticks of dynamite within its fabric.

And realization hits him like a brick. Goddess knows she’s already bein’ too charitable, supplyin’ bandits with the means to live. But now... yep, there she goes, tyin’ it all up... now she’s givin’ away her own clothes for their luxury. Celestia’s sake...

“Alright now.” Shady slings the sack over her shoulder, jerkin’ her head towards the bar entrance. “Out the door, single file.”

They fall in behind the bandits and hustle ‘em out onto the saloon’s front porch. It’s long time turned night, the street lamps already lit up and a cold, shiverin’ breeze blowin’ out of the desert. The town itself is dead with most of the night life still back in the bar and the day life tucked cozy inside their homes.

“Here.” Shady Sands lifts her duster sack and offers it up to the bandits. The lead begrudgingly accepts, grumblin’ as he slings it across his back. Can hear the door open and close behind him again. Three sets of hoofsteps. All three bandit’s faces crinkle up in pure hatred.

Snake, Prickly, and Pokey. The former wears an expression the complete opposite of the bandits, his muzzle done up in a smile of satisfaction. “Ah! I’m on time. Good. Would have been rude of me to not see my new friends off, yes?”

It’s clear from the bandit’s reactions that the fire of rage has already blown over. Doesn’t make the simmerin’ stare the lead stallion gives Snake any less contemptuous. “Still think you’re hot shit? Well guess what?” The bandit spits, barely missin’ Snake’s hoof. “You take a step out of this town and you’re fucking dead. Stay in this town and you’re fucking dead. Either one, I’m going to be the one to blow a fucking hole in your head.”

Snake shrugs, unshaken. “You’re at the end of a very long line. But I’ll hold you to it. Until then, tah tah.”

The bandit snorts, pullin’ an about face and signalin’ to his partners. As they trot out towards the town exit, the bandit shouts back, “And that’s for all of you too! Fucking dead!”

Whelp. Nothin’ new there. Soon as they disappear under the night’s shade Shady lowers her weapons, saddlin’ her shotgun to her back and her magnum to her holster. Short pants escape her muzzle as she works, with beads of sweat shinin’ against the town’s lights. Can’t tell how much magic takes a toll on a pony, but experience says it ain’t too different from the price of manual labor.

“Well!” Snake Eyes steps out in front of him and Shady with Prickly and Pokey in tow. Looks a bit funny admittedly, with sticks of dynamite, flares, and a pouch burstin’ with caps all tucked into his suit. The two sisters are carryin’ much a same load, sans caps. “It’s been an eventful night, don’t you think? Well done, ranger, for such... ‘excellent’ service! And well done, Mayor Shady Sands, for such exceptional back up!”

Shady wipes the sweat from her forehead before tippin’ her hat. “Yer welcome, but it’s just mah job. Plus ah wouldn’t of been able to get the drop on ‘em anywho if it wasn’t for the help here.” She smiles and nods to him.

He returns her gesture in kind, blinkin’ his own sweat from his eyes. “Wouldn’t of found any help from me. Only a shootout. Yer quick thinkin’ kept the peace.”

“Yes, quick thinking on both your parts. Say...” Snake leans in a bit closer, dartin’ his eyes between the two of ‘em. “How about traveling with my friend and I to New Pegasus? I mean, I’m certain running an entire town has to be so stress inducing, and you work so well with each other. It would be such a shame to part now, breaking up such a wonderful pair...”

Snake must still be on a high from his winnin’ streak. Doesn’t take a mind-reader to call Shady’s denial, turnin’ down the offer with a slow shake of her head. “Ya’ve both been as good a visitors a mayor could ask for, but that’s where mah duties lie: as Goldroot’s mayor. As enjoyable as the company would be, ah need to stay here and keep the place runnin’.”

Snake acts suspiciously disappointed at this, sinkin’ his head while hummin’ with sadness. “Hmph. A fair reasoning. I suppose, then, that this is the very last time you two shall be seeing each other. Perhaps a quick farewell in the morning, but what is that? Minutes?” Snake cranes his head up to the sky, smilin’ when he peers back down at ‘em. “Ah, but the night’s only just begun! There’s plenty of time to spend in one another’s company, plenty more stories to tell and secrets to share.”

The slicker suddenly lets out a long, fake yawn. “But not for me. I fear I’ve already grown a bit tired. Not to mention I still have all these caps and goods to sort out.” He turns to Prickly and Pokey, wavin’ a hoof dramatically down the town’s main road. “Ladies? Since my friend is occupied, thirty caps each for an escort to the Drinky inn.”

“And the catch...?” Pokey looks at him suspiciously.

“Catch?” Snake scoffs. “It’s already passed. Your collaboration and assistance in my caravan games already warrants a cut of the prize. This is just sealing the deal, so to speak.”

Pokey purses her muzzle, but trots in by Snake’s side. “Alright then. To the inn.” She narrows her eyes. “And nothin’ fishy, understand?”

“Aw come on, sis, give him a break.” Prickly jumps in alongside ‘em, chirpin’ as they trot off down the road. “He won just like he said he would! Ain’t no reason to be mad.”

“Thank you, Prickly. Honestly I don’t quite understand what’s gotten into your sister. I asked that you both take advantage of the situation provided, you both did, and voila! Three bandits are now wandering the desert unnarmed, hopefully dunestalker prey by the night’s end!”

Can hear Pokey grumble just as their voices fade, "It's what MIGHT have gotten into me that I have a problem with, slicker...”

And they’re gone, disappeared behind the curve of buildings. The white noise of their voices fizzles off soon after, leavin’ him and Shady out on the saloon’s porch, alone. She’s dropped down to her haunches by now and has her eyes closed. He follows suit, muscles and joints achin’ as they unravel from their long bout of tension. A familiar fire lights up his spine as he settles his haunches to the wood, only for that same chilly night breeze to blow through once again, coolin’ the embers of old age.

Beside him, Shady shivers.

“Some cover?”

She looks to him, and he realizes it was him who’d asked. His left wing is already half-unfurled, tentatively outstretched in her direction.

She doesn’t even hesitate. Simply looks at the wing, smiles to him, and nods. “Gladly, if yer offerin’.”

He allows his wing the rest of the distance, wrappin’ it about her shoulders. Takes but a few seconds before her shiverin’ comes to a stop, She looks back to his wing, this time impressed. “Actually quite warm.” Her smile shrivels in embarrassment. “Pardon. Reckon ya can understand how foreign pegasi still are to me.”

“No harm in it,” he accepts. “It’s almost like a blanket anyway, 'cept made up of feathers.”

Internally, he slaps his hoof to his face. Sixty-one years of experience and that is what comes out his mouth?

Dear goddess what is he doin’? Should be plannin’ the next day. Should already be in New Pegasus by now. Should not be out here, in this small little town, in front of this small little saloon, wastin’ everypony’s time spoutin’ complete nonsense.

But Shady, in spite of it all, laughs. Nothin’ much, only a short chuckle. But it’s enough to take his mind out of his saddlebags, bringin’ it back into the moment. The tension leaves his body a second time.

“A blanket...” Shady lets the rest of her soft laughter die out, sinkin’ an inch into her own relaxed state. She hums while lookin’ out to the desert. “Might be onto somethin’ there.”

Him? Not a chance. But he doesn’t find the need to correct her.

A peaceful silence settles over them. While she stares to the stars and rollin’ dunes, he finds himself drawn to her, soakin’ in the detail through the edge of his eyes. She’s... different. New. Moves and acts with a purpose. Guess that could be said of all the ponies he’s met so far in the Palomino, but Shady’s the core of it all. Even now, after just fightin’ off bandits, no duster, ducked into a tired slouch, she comes off... different. Somethin’s different about her, how she carries herself, and he can’t quite narrow it down. Somethin’ he hasn’t seen in a long time

She’s strong? Of course. But he’s seen dozens of strong mares and stallions in his days. It’s not a rare sight, it can’t be with so many around tryin’ to prey on the weak. She’s smart? No.. Well, yes. She strikes him as smart, but he doesn’t find that unusual. Crossed paths with plenty of smart folk through the years. Blinking he gets another look at her in the corner of his eye, spottin’ the mare relaxing against the warm embrace of his wing. Her withers start to relax despite all the stresses of managing a troubled town weighin’ down on her, her eyes glimmer with a bit of hope, and her smile is simple and carefree in this moment. She’s happy.

Hits him like a hammer. Happy. They all are. Even Snake, tucked into his little table, playin’ away at his card games. No wars. Hate is a drunken bar brawl. Death is a peaceful parting of ways. Colts and fillies are dreamers instead of soldiers in training.

His head starts to feel light.

“Feelin’ alright?” Shady asks, lookin’ at him with concern.

He spreads his legs for stability, takin’ a few long breaths. When he straightens back up his spine cracks and he grimaces. “Fine. Was just thinkin’...” He pauses. Questions been eatin’ him. Just need the best way to ask it. “Ya sent those three off with supplies and the clothes from your own back, after all the hell they’d rose. Why?”

To his relief she ain’t shaken by it. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She looks out back to the desert, deep thought in her eyes. “If ya’d let me do a roundabout on ya? Ask mah own question first?”

He nods to continue.

“Say this whole conflict happened out east, in one of yer own bars. In yer Republic. How would yer folks have handled it?”

“Likely dead, lucky and they’d end up in one of the Republic’s Correctional Facilities.”

Shady gives a grim nod. “About what ah’d guess, given’ all the info ah’ve gotten over the years.” She finally looks to him, a bit of a frown on her face. “Ah won’t judge as ah don’t have a clue how the gears turn in the Republic’s society, but here in the Palomino, ya don’t last long in small numbers. Ya throw out insults, ya build grudges, ya find ya won’t be survivin’ for too much longer.”

She shrugs. “Maybe it means ah’m just lucky, havin’ been born into a world with its own strong sense of justice. Got the desert heat. Got the dunestalkers. Got acosadors. Got a lack of food and water. Even have the ghouls of Baux’s Brigade, bless ‘em all. But even with all that in mind, ya still get those ponies every once in awhile who will steal or vandalize or pull a gun on somepony.” She sighs. “What do ya do? Shoot ‘em dead? Kick ‘em out into the desert with nothin’ but their bare backs? Lock ‘em up in a lone cell to rot?”

Her head tilts a little, just enough so that she can peer back at the saloon. She glances to him, lookin’ him hard in the eyes. “Judgement’s weakest in its charge, strongest in its precedence. If ah’d ordered ‘em executed or killed ‘em then and there, what would that of told everypony else in the bar? Killin’s the solution? Or if ah’d locked ‘em up? Isolatin’ three strangers from the community will win ‘em over?”

“That’s why ah sent ‘em off packed up,” She concludes. “There’s two nearby settlements and a town farther north that bare a might stronger tolerance to hardflanks than we do here in Goldroot.

Ah've seen worse ponies than them turn right around with a little encouragement, but If they don't end up re-thinkin’ their lives, Baux'll see to it they don't have much of one. Meanwhile, here in Goldroot, nopony dies, nopony gets locked up, and they get their second chance someplace else. In the end Goldroot comes out of it a little more innocent, little more happy than such a time should allow.”

She stops, takin’ in a deep breath. A chuckle starts up again after a good minute’s rest. “Awful sorry for all that preachin’. Got a bit carried away. Probably bored ya a bit.”

Not a bit. The preachin’ speaks loudest to the sinners after all, don’t it? He looks to her, his muzzle pursed in a grimace. “If there’s one thing ah’m good at, it’s listenin’. Helps too that ya speak with a clear passion.”

Her face turns the smallest hint of red as she looks away, smilin’ down at her hooves. “Don’t have nearly the drive ah should, servin’ the friends and family ah have. Still, mighty kind of ya. Thank ya.” She looks back up as she finishes, gazin’ off to the east.

A comfortable silence comes between’ ‘em again. Shady, however, is different. Never been good with emotions, but never pass over the small details. Her shoulders are back up, her chest is out, and her smile has a bit of teeth showin’ through it now. She’s active, shufflin’ about a bit under his wing.

Restless. Might be that he’s overstayin’ his welcome. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But just as he begins to fold back his wing Shady shifts, turnin’ her whole body so that she’s half-facin’ him. She looks up eye to eye, pausin’ a little before she speaks. “Was wonderin’ if ya wanted to head back into the bar with me.” She asks tentatively and holds up her pipbuck, its green light glowin’ bright against the night dark. “Yer friend wasn’t lyin’. Pipbuck says the night’s still young. Even if yer holdin’ off on the drinks, there’s still plenty left to have a good time. Billiards, cards, music... not to mention ya never got to see the Giddyup Macintosh in the back.” She gives a short laugh, “Promise he’s a lot less scary than his sister.”

He shudders. Eugh. Those robots... still, it’s an honest request and, to his own shock, one which he nearly blurts out approval to.

But its her eyes that stop him. Like her posture and smile before, they’ve changed. Still her own brand of soft, yet strangely bright. Deep. They search his own with a certain expectancy, swayin’ every which way as if in a ritual dance.

Takes him only a moment of starin’ back to realize... remember... that he’s seen ‘em before.

“Me and the slicker are headin’ out early tomorrow.” His voice comes out brittle and stale. Every muscle in his body turns rigid. “It’s for the best that ah head in early. Get ready for the road to Winoan.”

She sinks, the energy fadin’ off her as fast as it had come. She makes to hide it with a nod and a quick wave of her hoof. “Right. It’s smart thinkin’ and plannin’ on your part. The type of mindset ah need to be takin’ more for mahself, really.”

They shy away from one another, both risin’ to their hooves. He tucks his wing back in and Shady dusts herself off, givin’ him a respectful once over with her eyes before glancin’ down the main road down the direction of Drinky’s. She looks back to him, “Need help makin’ it to the inn?”

He shakes his head firmly. “No need. Ah remember the way.”

“Then ah suppose we’re splittin’ here. No use sayin’ farewells as ah’ll be seein’ ya both off in the mornin’.” She moves, circlin’ around him before stoppin’ a few paces south. She looks over her shoulder, smilin’ back at him. “Ah’ll give ya final words and tips for the road tomorrow. For now, thanks for the help with the hardflanks and for the chat. G’night.”

“The same to you.”

She starts south. Can barely catch it, but swear, just before she curves out of sight, he catches her shiver.

His body unwinds, saggin’ into a useless lump. For the best, he tells himself. Last thing he wants to do is leave town with sleep still on the mind. Especially with those three bandits still about, unarmed or not. Besides, spent enough time as is messin’ around. Operation Fold ‘Em is still burnin’ away at the bottom of his saddlebags. It’s the reason he’s here. His purpose. With the Steel Dawn apparently already makin’ progress in the area, that purpose slips away every moment he wastes.

Reassured, he pulls an about face, startin’ down the main road north. The streets are dead empty, with only the Night Light’s lamp light givin’ any life to the scenery. Each of his hoofsteps echo from building to building, bouncin’ up the alleys and skippin’ along the rooftops, joined only by the occasional wail of wind. Wood and the rare stone have turned dull under the moonlight. Up ahead in the distance, can see Yasimi’s, the flower shop he and Snake had dropped by earlier in the day, has turned from a bright yellow to a pale white.

But those eyes...

Damnit. He grunts and picks up his pace. Yes, the eyes. Didn’t mean a damn thing then, don’t mean a damn thing now. Stay or go. Fight or flee. Yes or no. Apples or oranges. Choices. That’s all it is. Already sorted all of ‘em out the moment he accepted this mission. Sooner than that, even. The moment he enlisted in the NCR.

Sooner than that...

He scowls, blinkin’ away the images burned in his mind. Thank the goddess they’re replaced with the lights of Drinky’s Hospitality, the lone buildin’ with its lights still on. He breaks near a full canter before reachin’ the front door and slippin’ inside.

Bootstrap is at the desk, buried behind a book. No surprise there. He steps up to the counter and reaches for his caps.

“Rooms already paid for.”

He stops, lookin’ back over the counter. “By the slicker?”

“By the slicker.” Bootstrap lowers his book and leans back in his chair, reachin’ for the board of keys. The ring he lifts from the selection holds a key different from the one he’d pulled the night before, its length a speck longer and its edges a bit sharper in comparison. Bootstrap raises it to him, but pauses instead of passin’ it on. “This room’s different from yer first. Down the same left corridor, down the farthest hallway. Only room there so ya can’t miss it.”

Suspicious, but he takes the ring anyway. Bootstrap looks past him to the door, peers about the room, then frowns at him before duckin’ back behind his book.

Down the left corridor, down the left hallway. He follows the steps with caution, checkin’ his corners all the way. Just as Bootstrap had said the final hallway itself has a single door along its right wall. He scans the hallway, checks the doorknob and keyhole before finally pullin’ out his key, slowly slidin’ it into place.

Click. Unlocks like any other. He eases the door open and peeks inside.

The difference is apparent at first glance. Everything is bigger. The bed, the cabinet, the space, all bigger. Makin’ his way in and scannin’ the room over, it’s near impossible imaginin’ all of this for a single pony. With the cabinet’s extra drawers and the beds longer length, he’d guess it’d hold at the very least two ponies while still easily keepin’  a sense of comfort room.

Maybe it’s Snake’s idea of a reward?

Three knocks sound from the door. By the time he whirls about, the door itself is already creakin’ open. Nearly have his nehmoa out before Snake Eyes himself slides his head in, givin’ him a wicked smile.

“Hi.”

He grunts and eases off the holster. “What are ya here for this time?”

Snake scoffs. “Ha! How rude. Is it really such an inconvenience for you when I drop by for a little chat? I know you don’t trust me, but I’m beginning to think you also... ‘dislike’ me...? That’s truly heartbreaking Tumble, I hope you know.”

“Ah don’t 'dislike' ya,” he sighs, wavin’ his hoof in greetin’. “Ya can come on in.”

Snake’s pout shifts to his familiar sly grin. “Good! Because the main reason I’m actually here is to drop off a good five or so pounds of explosives on your floor.”

Snake trots the rest of the way in, revealin’ the dynamite and flares still tucked within his suit. He nonchalantly begins pullin’ ‘em out, tossin’ ‘em down the floor, hummin’ a small tune all the while.

“There!” Snake dumps the last flare from his suit, wavin’ at the pile majestically as he takes a step back. “Flares and dynamite! Oh! And...” Snake pulls out one last item: the silver red-trimmed lighter. “Can’t forget this. I’ll just set it over here. On the cabinet. Away from the explosives, understand?”

He scans over the pile with an appraiser’s eye. Yep. Several sticks of dynamite and a few flares. Both useful, yet both incredibly situational. Never really had an appreciation for flares as they attract the enemy to ya as much as they do yer allies. That thought in mind, they’ll be headin’ through a dangerous low-light radiation area here in a few days. Would be a fool’s error not to bring ‘em along.

Dynamite. Oh boy. ‘Poor pony’s grenade’, as they’re called out on the field. Most hoof-made, most confiscated by superiors the moment they’re found. Seen both NER and Rhinos shred like paper by ‘em. Would probably end up bringin’ ‘em along anyway, but the addition of dunestalkers and whatever the hell these ‘acosadors’ are make explosives a might more temptin’.

“Well?” Snake Eyes asks, lookin’ between him and the pile with a gleam in his eye.

“Hm. Good. Can put ‘em to use if the situation calls for it.”

Snake groans, throwin’ his hoof up to his head. “No. Nooo. Who cares about that junk. I’m talking about the symbolism of it all! This pile of explosive scrap, three guns, and a pouch so bursting with caps I can barely fit it in my suit. Don’t you see? It’s all just a picture story that tells the tale of the destruction I weaved tonight. My version of your rifle tally marks, so to say.”

“The guns.” He eyes Snake suspiciously. “What did ya do with ‘em?”

Snake rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told you before I have no use with a projectile weapon. Being that you already seemed quite well stocked, I thought it best to give them off to the two ladies. The reward is well deserved after they participated in my little gambit, don’t you agree?”

“Yer little gambit which almost put ‘em on the wrong side of a three bandit caravan...”

“Ugh! You too?” Snake throws his hooves up into the air. “How many times must I say it? Everything was under my complete control. It was a deal I couldn’t lose. Not to mention both Prickly and Pokey accepted in the first place.” Snake looks him over from hoof to head and curls up his muzzle. “Why do you care anyway?”

The way Snake asks makes him uncomfortable. He grimaces. “Don’t fancy mahself a completely emotionless bastard ah guess. Throwin’ up two friends for gamblin’ ain’t right in mah eyes.”

“Friends...?” Snake narrows his eyes at him before suddenly startin’ up a light, airy chuckle. “‘Friends’. My dear Tumbleweed, those two are perhaps ‘friends’ under your mindset, but in mine, they are what I like to call... ‘commodities’. Simple goods to be sold off towards a greater goal.”

“And am ah one of yer ‘commodities?’”

“Would it anger you if I said yes?”

Have to pause a moment to think over that one. He slowly begins to shake his head. “No. Don’t think it would.”

“Good. Because it shouldn’t. And besides,” Snake points a hoof to himself “am I not a commodity of yours as well? Our only difference is that my payment comes now during the journey, yours comes at its end.” He drops his hoof and smiles. “Tumble, in times like these and a situation such as this, I believe you’ll find that my stance is by far the most beneficial. And there’s only one rule you must remember: never grow into a friendship with your own goods. It always leads to such a.... tragic ending.”

Hm. Can start to see where he’s comin’ from. Would much sooner expect the slicker to slip him poison than share a drink and talk. He eyes Snake warily. “Point taken. Is that all ya came for?”

Snake taps his chin with his hoof, sweepin’ his eyes around the room. “There was one other thing. This room. Do you notice anything special about it?”

He takes it all in again. The bed, cabinet, space. All larger that usual. He looks back at Snake and shrugs. “A might bigger than the room ah had last. Would assume it’s more fit for two ponies than one.”

“Exactly.” Snake sets his eyes on him, cockin’ his brow. “And yet here I only see one. Where is the other?”

Now he’s confused. The other? Why in the goddess’ name would Snake expect him to—

“I never said anything about me.”

Ah hell no. He grits his teeth and glares at Snake. “Ya didn’t seriously expect...”

“Oh, I expected.” Snake gives a sad sigh, rubbin’ his hooves together as he stares solemnly to the ceilin’. “And, oh, how you shattered them. I can’t even begin to put into words the crushing disappointment I was forced to hide when I barged in, so expectant, so certain to catch you and the good mayor lost in a sea of hot passion, wrapped in each other’s hooves, she arched on her back, you straddled atop her, naked, finally relieved of that garish armor...”

“Alright that’s enough.”

“You’d start at the base of her stomach, just above the hips, kissing her belly tenderly as you worked your way up, teasing her at each of her suit’s buttons, her gasping and moaning in relief as the last one finally tugged loose, freeing her of the last scrap of clothing upon that tender silky yellow-white coat...”

“Ah said cut it out...”

“At last you come muzzle to muzzle, neither of you daring to even blink as you kiss, both realizing their future in one another’s eyes, both reveling in the revelation, beginning to shift and grind against one another’s—”

“Snake!!”

Damn that was louder than he’d of liked. Even Snake flashes an impressed look, frozen mid animation in a lewd posture, both his brows turned up.

Doesn’t take long for the slicker to sink back down into his usual snarky expression, this time accompanied by a sunken, judgin’ frown. “And yet instead I entered to find you standing there. Alone.” Snake stares to him with wide eyes. “Well?? What happened?”

“Nothin’ happened,” he growls. “We had a small chat outside the bar and then went our separate ways for the night. Nothin’ else.”

“Ugh!” Snake groans in dismay, throwin’ a hoof up to his head. “You didn’t ask her for a romantic stroll around the town? Didn’t invite her back into the bar for another drink?”

“Nope.”

Snake’s eyes bug out. “Grah! And what about her?? She didn’t suggest anything either?”

Ah shit. Ain’t a lyin’ stallion. He paws his hoof at the ground, droopin’ his head. “...She did. Wanted to spend some time back in the bar.”

The slicker’s reduced to moans and hisses as he grinds his teeth, swayin’ side to side.

“Don’t understand why yer so surprised. Ya know ah’m in the middle of a mission. Ain’t gonna be wastin’ precious time that could be spent preppin’ for the road.”

Snake breaks his fit and snaps at him. “Is that it?? Your ‘mission’? Are you so simple that you can’t shave an extra hour or two to woo and fuck this beautiful mare?! And I don’t exaggerate. Two hours! Tops! The three stooges waving their guns about had already done most of the work for you!”

“Look, yer frettin’ over nothin’,” he sighs, startin’ to grow tired of it all. “Even if ah’d of said yes and the evenin’ had culminated to yer fantasies, ah’d of still turned her down softly.”

“You would? Even if she presented herself cunt first and begged you to rut her right then and there?”

He frowns at the word choice but nods. “Even then.”

“Why??”

“Might not have noticed, but ah’m gettin’ up there in age. And Shady herself probably ain’t too far from half mah age. She can do better.”

“Ha!” Snake scoffs and looks to him as if he were a liar. “I’ve seen stallions twenty years your senior hunting for action across the strip. As for Shady, take it from experience, mares like her have age and looks at the bottom of their lists.”

Goddess’ sake Snake just drop it. “Look, forget yer notions, forget yer experience. Point is that ah’m done walkin’ that road. It’s behind me now. Let it go.”

For a tired moment it seems as if Snake ain’t done, his jaw unhingin’ for another round of scoldin’.

But the tirade never comes. The slicker stays frozen like that for a short pause before he eases back down at last, his jaw returnin’ to a closed yet loose position. His eyes dull into their usual cold state, sinkin’ into that familiar serpent’s stare. He crinkles his muzzle. “I was coming on a bit strong there, wasn’t I?”

“Ya were,” he exhales with relief.

Snake scans him over again just as he’d done earlier, confusion creepin’ into his expression. “It’s just so... strange to me. Growing up, living in New Pegasus my entire life, love is everywhere. Unavoidable. A stench that permeates every inch of the city. One night stands? Yes. Epic romances that span several years and countless break ups? Of course. And everything else in between.”

Snake huffs and glares at him. “Then there’s you. Stale. Dried up. More bent towards your orders than the call of a sweet, succulent mare.” He pauses, looks away in thought, then returns to him with narrowed eyes. “Humor me this, Tumbleweed, as that I may leave you tonight thinking you more than a neutered old mutt: have you ever loved anypony? Anyone at all?”

He hesitates. His mind starts racin’ backwards, leapin’ hurdles through time.

Don’t have to answer it...

Right. He doesn’t. But that’s not the point of it now. Every thought sorted, every memory sifted strengthens his curiosity, growin’ it exponentially alongside his frenzied search.

Not for Snake, he realizes. For himself.

They’re both young. He an early enlister bein’ shipped off to basic trainin’, she a civilian mare startin’ up work in the cloud fields. He confesses his love for her before leavin’. She the same, tellin’ him she’ll wait.

Months later he returns on leave. She’s with another stallion. Apologizes to him, beggin’ for forgiveness. He accepts, returns to service with a heavy heart. A week later and he’s brushed it off. Just young lust. Wasn’t love in the first place.

He never takes another leave after.

…

Neither are young. Neither are old. A month in the same squad and she’s whisperin’ their future through his ears. He’s hesitant of course, always a military stallion, but finally gives in after a particular night of intense passion. Soon as all of this blows over, they take their pension and leave to start a family.

The peace never comes. Talk starts to spread around the troops. Somethin’ big is happenin’. Doesn’t take long for the truth to come out. ‘Operation Cauterize’. The first and last big trip to the surface. Their target is a large cathedral set in the middle of a forest. They promise to cover one another, watch each other’s backs, but the gunfire is thick, the space cramped and lackin’. She takes a corner a little too soon. Turns to ashes right before his eyes. Never even got sight of the killer.

He survives, stumblin’ back to the rendevous point with the objective complete. Don’t even have time to cry. They send him off to the next without a moment’s hesitation.

And at that moment, for some strange, sadistic reason, it feels good to forget the foals, forget the family, forget the mare, to have every single thought and action bent towards one purpose: the mission. Whatever that mission may be.

…

She’s young. He’s old. It’s been a trip through hell to get to this moment, but it’s her eyes that have him stopped, frozen, piercing him, challenging everything he’s ever known, challenging him with the one thing he’s always feared. Stay or go. Fight or flee. Yes or no. Live or let—

“Tumble...?”

He blinks. Back in the inn. Back in Goldroot. Back in reality.

He sinks down onto his haunches, the feelin’ of a massive weight suddenly puttin’ him near full on exhaustion. Lookin’ up, can see Snake Eyes starin’ back at him, the spectacle leavin’ the slicker’s expression somewhere between shocked, curious, and expectant.

He shakes his head, his voice comin’ out monotone, dead. “Ah don’t know.”

It all drops to disappointment. Snake sighs as he looks away to the door, then back to him with a condescending, even pitied expression. “You’re a strange stallion, Tumbleweed.” The slicker rises up, turns, and begins to leave. Before he exits, Snake glances back over his shoulder. “We leave tomorrow at sunrise?”

He nods. “At sunrise.”

“Very well. If you’re not up by then, I’ll wake you.” Snake starts to move again, but freezes. “Oh, and Tumble?”

“Yep?”

“Well done with those bandits. I was beginning to have my doubts back with those dunestalkers, but tonight’s proven I hired the right pony. Keep it up.”

And Snake’s gone, closin’ the door behind him.

He locks it soon after. His movements are slow and sluggish as he finishes up the night’s chores, stuffin’ the dynamite and flares and lighter into his saddlebags, checkin’ up on Fold ‘Em, downin’ a can of rations. Notice that, for the second day, Snake has skipped out. Must have gotten a bite at the saloon.

Removin’ his saddlebags and rifle, he collapses onto the bed. Sleep. Gonna be a long day tomorrow. And a long day after that. Then at Winoan. Find the ghouls. Through The Glow. To New Pegasus. To Mr. Spade. Deliver Fold ‘Em. Back to New Appleoosa. Done.

He recites it all silently while starin’ up at the ceilin’. Still so much more to do. Sleep.

But the mind’s not quelled so easily.

----------------------

The first target finds ‘em in the confines of an old warehouse at the edge of the city. No alarms raised yet, so can assume they made it here without bein’ discovered.

The tall muscled mare steps forward again, this time speakin’ with a whisper that hisses through her mask. “Stay low, spread out. Don’t leave the warehouse. Keep it to a whisper. Our contact should be here within the hour, so check your fire if you suspect hostiles. Now move.”

Like a grown-up’s game of hide and seek the squad breaks, shufflin’ off to find their own little nook or cranny. He ends up decidin’ on a spot against the wall, behind a particularly large metal cargo crate. It ain’t until he rounds the crate itself that he finds his spot already taken, another ranger sittin’ propped up against the wall. Two large red lenses stare back through his own.

“Mind if ah join ya?” He rasps.

“Of course not. I did say I’d be watching your front after all, didn’t I?”

The ranger’s lithe voice hits him like a bucket of cold water. “Morah...?”

She nods. “Yep. Unless you’ve been going around making the same deal with the rest of the squad, in which case I’ll get incredibly jealous and have to give you the cold shoulder for the rest of the mission.”

Her threat is spoken in a playful, sarcastic tone. Can imagine her grinning under the mask as she says it. He shakes his head, crackin’ a smile under his own. “Only you so far. Ain’t the type to go around loose with the promises.”

“Good!” She pats the concrete beside her with her claw. “Now sit. All of that sneaking killed my legs. Can’t imagine it was any better for you either.”

Read his mind. He trots to her side then turns, droppin’ down to his haunches with an audible grunt of pain. Takes a bit before the fire finally runs its course, leavin’ his legs achin’ with the dulled embers. He leans his head back against the wall and sighs with relief.

“So, how’d you get to becoming a ranger?”

Hm? He looks over to Morah to find her lookin’ back. She shrugs innocently. “Just picking up on our talk from earlier. Won’t get upset if you don’t want to answer. I know ‘fucked up past that would rather be forgotten’ isn’t exactly an uncommon thing among us rangers.”

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ like that. Just...” he taps his hoof agains the concrete in thought. “Well. Ya want the long version or the short version?”

“The short version, for your sake, just in case. Don’t want hostiles showing up and offing ya just because I ran you out of breath asking for your life’s story.”

They both chuckle at that. He nods and starts searchin’ for a place to begin. “Ain’t much to it in truth, long or short. Can skip a good twenty plus years of simple time in the Enclave’s force...”

Instinct has him pause to check her reaction. She only motions for him to continue.

“Combat was on and off, always sparse and random. Griffon raiders, ground born pegasi, the occasional monster slippin’ through the cloud cover. First big battle was Operation Cauterize. Sure ya’ve heard of that one. Was luck and a bit of mah own wits that kept me alive there. Next was Sunshine and Rainbows. Fought for the Enclave against the civvies. The experience from Cauterize and a familiarity of the terrain meant ah survived, but ah found mahself a bit lost afterwards. Ended up wanderin’ right into the NCR’s hooves. Bein’ that ah wasn’t much more than a soldier they passed me off, stuck a gun in mah hooves, and assigned me to a squad.”

“About four or five years chasin’ raider groups and ah’m asked to join the rangers. Just formed, lookin’ to take in the best to train an elite division to combat the recent comeuppance of the Steel Dawn. Took up the offer, served long enough to be an elite. Took a part in Operation Vanhoover. Guess the command was pretty pleased with me there as they dialed me in again for this mess. Now ah’m here.”

“Ooh! You were in Vanhoover?” she asks with excitement. “I’ve heard crazy things about what went down up there. Now I really AM jealous.”

He grimaces, starin’ down at his hooves. “Ah... ya shouldn’t be. Wasn’t anything excitin’ really.” Technically not a lie, ain’t it? He quickly drops his hooves back down and nods over to her. “How about you? Safe for me to ask about yer road here?”

Her laugh comes out distorted through her mask. “Heh, wouldn’t of asked yours if I would’ve hidden mine. Don’t set yourself up for a punch you can’t take, yeah?” She sinks back, bringin’ up her metal claws. She flexes them in tandem while mutterin’ in thought. “Eugh. Where to begin? Maybe... oh!”

She pulls back her duster, movin’ her weaponized talons with grace as to not tear the cloth. Underneath is not the typical black kevlar, but a dark grey reinforced cloth armor which fits snugly against her form. Weapons dot every inch of her body: a bandolier of throwin’ knives across her chest, two hoof (claw?) knives strapped to her legs, a number of smoke grenades tucked farther back along her sides, and lastly a white-gold machine pistol holstered upon her shoulder.

Impressive. Just enough that he can’t declare overkill.

But her claws dance across the entire selection, movin’ up to her nape instead, fiddlin’ with a silver chain that wraps about her neck before tuckin’ behind her armor. She frees it with a small tug, pinchin’ her claws carefully along its bottom. Her posture and expression radiate pride as she holds her claw up to him in display.

It’s a trinket. An emblem. Two snow-white wings backset by a tall golden mountain. The figure itself is no more than five inches in diameter, glowin’ faintly even in near pitch darkness.

“This...” Morah chimes, lettin’ the emblem sink back to her chest, “is the insignia of my clan. ‘Mercenary griffons’ as most ponies seem to call us, but eh, fuck that.” If he could see her face, would imagine she’s stickin’ her tongue out in disgust right about now. She excitedly returns to her insignia. “Anyways, my clan are the Whitewings, based out in the north, up in the ranges of the Frozen Mountains. I was born into and grew up with them, learning how to fight and defend myself. And others.”

Can almost swear he can see the light in her eyes through the lenses as she looks up to him. “You see, we would travel around the northern villages and towns accepting small payments and food to fight off raiders that would come charging up from the south. Yeah, most would say that meant we were mercenaries, but like I said, we didn’t ask for much, and every job we accepted we did under our own personal clan code.”

“Code...?” he asks.

She nods in excitement. “Yes! Look.” Taking her claw, she places it upon her breast, puffin’ her chest out in pride.

“In the wastes of the wicked
In times of rue
We hold our mark’s commandments true

To answer to light
Turn those of spite
Seek pride in all the tasks we do

Against those of hate
As day fades late
We speak our vows again as new

To always remember
to never forget
‘Honor only the pact which honors you’

She lets out a long breath as she finishes, her chest deflatin’ back to its natural pose. He finds himself lightly tappin’ the ground with his hoof for applause.

“It’s kind of cheesy, I know,” she sounds a bit embarrassed as she turns back to face him. “But it’s what I’ve fought by my entire life. My motto, I guess you can say.”

Hah, cheesy. Not in contrast to this day and age, Morah.

He settles with a simple shake of his head. “We’ve all fought the types who had sold their souls for nothin’ more than a bag of caps. Yer clan’s code fights that. Quells it from consideration, even. The wasteland would be a might more dignified if everyone followed in yer clan’s ‘cheesiness’.”

That... actually came out pretty good. Huh. That don’t happen often.

Morah appears to think so as well, puffed up a bit again as she rejoins his side. “Right. Exactly. It worked for us in the north, its worked for me all throughout my time with the Republic. I’m sticking by it.”

“And yer story...?” he prompts her to continue, genuinely curious.

“Oh, shit. Never finished it did I?” She perks up, shakin’ herself. “Uh, what else can I say? Like I mentioned, we fought off raiders in the north. Grew up doing that my entire life. I had an affinity for knives and my claws so the close quarters combat specialty ended up happening naturally.”

“It carried on like that until one day we found ourselves out of raiders to fight. We made contact with the New Equestrian Republic not long after, discovering that they’d done a lot of cleaning up as most raiders fled south. After some talks we were pretty much hired by the Republic permanently. I mean, fighting raiders, rebuilding cities, re-establishing Equestria? Pretty much the perfect fit for us, right?”

He shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Honor, dignity, the NER... in his head, they don’t add up.

Morah continues, “joining the Republic, my story doesn’t turn out too much different from yours. Do odd assignments with some of my clan, the NER takes an interest into turning a few of us into rangers, we accept. A year as a ranger and a few secret raids on the Steel Dawn later and I’m being trained to be an elite. Not long after and I’m snuck into Tenpony and assigned to this. Now here I am.”

“What about yer clan?”

There’s a pause. Whether from hesitation or somethin’ else entirely he can’t say, her face still hidden behind the mask. “My clan?” she finally answers with a quick, sad chuckle. “Damn, we haven’t all been together for years now. I know a few that are still out and about in the NER forces, but truthfully... truthfully...”

She pauses again, glancin’ about as if checkin’ for eavesdroppers. Satisfied, she leans in closer. “Truthfully, most of the clan’s always been a big bunch of softies. As soon as most of them saw the opportunity to settle down in an NER city and start a family with one another, they took it.” She leans back and laughs a little. “Guess it comes with the code? Or maybe it was just the mountain isolation, heh.”

The image she details causes him to crack a small smile. Two brutal griffon fighters maulin’ through a pack of raiders one day, settlin’ down in a nest and cuddlin’ with each other the next. Almost as if out of an old world fairy tale novel.

“But really, while we are split up now, what matters are the things I learned and took during our time together. My combat technique, morals, our code...” She looks over at him, jerikin’ her head off towards the rest of the rangers. “They’ve gotten me this far haven’t they? Paired up with fourteen of the Republic’s best. Not bad I’d say.”

“Not bad at all,” he repeats softly.

But behind his mask his smile drops. Yep, they’ve gotten ya this far. But the question is, Morah, just how far are ya willin’ to go? How far can that code of yers stretch before it breaks?

And, if it does, what will you do? Hold tight, clingin’ to dignity and honor? Or throw it away, realizin’ it would all come to this in the end, realizin’ that yer already too far down the rabbit hold to crawl back out?

“Tumbleweed!”

He’s shaken from his dark reverie by a cuttin’ whisper. Morah’s grabbed him by the foreleg (again, surprisingly leavin’ him uncut) and shakes him, pointin’ up to the warehouse’s rafters where one of the many hatches lie open. A shadowy figure slips in through the openin’, met soon after by their own tall and muscled mare. The two stay there up on the walkway as they begin to talk.

Beside him, Morah sits upright, thrown from her relaxed state. She’s shakin’ a little again as before, but still keeps that focused and calm aura. “I guess this is it huh? This is pretty much where it actually starts.” She looks over to him, again with the light behind her lenses. A small chuckle leaks through her mask. “Better watch out. I can get clingy. When I say I have you covered, you probably won’t be getting much more alone time from here on out.”

“And don’t get too upset if ya find yer kills stolen right out from over yer shoulder.”

Said somethin’ clever again. Morah seems to think so as well, lettin’ out another light laugh and calmin’ her shakes. She settles, lettin’ the nerves leave her with a drawn out sigh. “I told you I was nervous, coming in. Still kinda am, but...” She stops herself, exhalin’ again as she looks over to him. “I’m just glad we’re on the same page.”

He barely hears the signal from the lead mare as Morah finishes. As the warehouse begins to stir with the sound of movin’ rangers, he finds himself in that rare spot, his thoughts trapped between both the mission and somethin’ else entirely.

Risin’ up like a machine, he finds his smile has disappeared again.

No, Morah. Maybe soon. Maybe when all of this comes to a close. But now, while yer code still stands, they’ll never be on the same page. Never in the same novel, even.

A small, isolated spark in the back of his mind prays that they never are.









----------------------

Footnote: Maximum level reached

Status: Well rested

Party:
Native’s Knowledge trait lost.

New trait added:
Traveling plans
“Ya may not be in the company of a well traveled caravan anymore, but ya at least have a sense of what yer runnin’ into. Better than nothin’ suppose.”
Party travel time decreased by 10%

Snake Eyes:
Trait realized:
Never Fold ‘Em
“Turns out the stallion from New Pegasus is also damn good at card games! Go figure.”
No effect.