//------------------------------//
// Don't Worry, We Will Get To His Daddy Issues Soon Enough 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Taking Life By The Horns 
// by Pokonic 
//------------------------------//

As Blueberry left, I realized that we were probably going to have a very long, very painful conversation about seaponies and amulets, but going by the profoundly hungry look on her face such talk had to wait.

As the small mare passed me by, I stepped to the side slightly, and then once more, backwards that time. I didn't think I was too close to the desk for Nightcore's comfort, but I figured it was best to play it safe. Even if the room was a little cramped for me to move around in, it wasn't the only reason I was slightly uncomfortable being in it. The smoke was another factor, yes.

But the main reason, really, was the mare sitting on the other side of the desk.

"You lied." she said suddenly as she twirled the strange black cigarette holder around in her left hoof, "Really easily."

I nodded, giving a look at the small tube laying on the desk. "Of course. I doubted she wanted to hear that she killed a pony a second time."

Nightcore gave me a smart look, lips curled upward and her eyes wide, yet lacking anything resembling humor in her expression.

"I doubt that's the best way to handle it; lying to the pony with memory issues. It will harm her more than help her, anyway."

Before I could respond, she batted the message tube with a hoof.

"You found this in the base of a cyberpony's neck, huh? Neat."

I gave her a withering glare, one she returned.

"Hey, you still have the legs around, right? Don't tell me I can't admire good engineering."

"She was a pony." I said slowly, trying to keep the anger I was starting to feel out of my voice, "And Blueberry is the one who has them."

Nightcore didn't look fazed at all. "And she isn't around, and by the way you described her, she was already dead. She had a small fortune of robotic parts strapped onto her, so what would be the point of not taking them?"

She paused, giving me a mildly apologetic look. "We are getting off topic here. Yes, I can get this to the Watchers."

I breathed out slowly, trying to ignore the fact I didn't like any part of this. I didn't like the pony in front of me. I didn't like the building I was in. I didn't like the smell. I didn't like the fact I heard a animal get eaten alive a few moments ago. I didn't like the strange bat pony that looked like it was a day-old corpse that was flying around outside. I didn't like Blueberry right now, either.

"Thank you." I forced out. "For doing that."

Nightcore sucked on the end of the holder for a few moments before turning away to let out a small puff of smoke.

"No, thank you. It's a mare's last words; how could I refuse?" 

Turning around to me, she looked at the holder for a few moments before giving me a nervous smile.

"Don't tell Dawn you saw me smoking. It's a bad habit, and she doesn't like me doing it."

I stared at her, unsure of how I was supposed to feel about this. Admittedly, this was my problem, but I wasn't sure what to think of her flippant way of dealing with it. 

"Fair enough. I wouldn't think it would be a nice habit to keep. They must be expensive."

She smiled. "Hardly. But she doesn't like me doing it anyway. She says the smell sticks to me, and that it's bad for my lungs. I know it isn't right," she laminated, "but I only do it when I am stressed."

"That reminds me of something I think I need to know a bit more about." I said hesitantly, "Do you know a pony named Charnel?"

Nightcore stiffened. "Chanel? I don't think I know of her." she said, half whispering. 

"Charnel. The former colonel. Not Chanel." I said a bit firmer, to make sure she knew that I wasn't playing around. "I think you know who I am talking about."

Nightcore stared at me for quite some time. 

"Yeah." she mumbled out, barely audible. "She's family. By adoption."

I crossed my arms, nodding. "Sister?"

Nightcore seemed to notice I wasn't entirely surprised by her admittance, so she simply continued to explain herself. "Cousin. I barely know her, but...she didn't try to like, kill you, did she? I'm sorry if she did."

"She didn't. But thank you anyway."

"Ah." Nightcore said slowly as she put down the black holder in her hooves, "That's nice, I guess. I don't know her really well, but she's bad news in general. The worst commanding officer in the entire NCR."

I leaned back slightly and let my arms drop closer to my sides. "Really? She seemed to have her troops in check."

She gave me a odd, inquisitive look. "Barely. I heard she once tried to outfit fifty ponies with flamethrowers out on the front lines; she lost them all in a week. She's a killer, not a leader. She only got in the position in the leading ranks because she got wounded."

I motioned for her to continue, and she did so.

"She's a nut. She didn't just quit, you know. Somepony found proof that she managed to fail the initial ethics test all the officers need to pass. Nopony really liked her, but they really couldn't get rid of a technical war hero without reason."

"I have heard that before." I said, mostly to reaffirm what she was saying, "Well, not the part of the ethics, but the part about her being fired. How do you know that, anyway?"

Nightcore motioned over to the hallway to my right. "Lot's of reasons. I have a machine back there that writes down transcripts of most of the stuff on the NCR radio. Half of it's in code, but a lot of it is easy to make out."

I shifted my position a little, as I felt my legs starting to fall asleep. There were a few chairs around the room, but none of them looked big enough for me.

"Well, that's interesting." I said, trying to sound as interested as I could be, "I guess that doesn't get you many favors from them."

She gave me a unamused look. "If they knew, they would kill me, probably."

Leaning back on the big poster behind her, she gave a sudden shrug. "They don't know where I am, so I don't care. You made your way through the hills, but most ponies wouldn't bother with it."

I swayed back and forth on my hooves, mostly to keep myself alert. The creaking of the wooden floor under me was worth feeling comfortable. "I understand the appeal, I suppose. Keeping yourself away from other ponies."

"Oh, really? Where are you from?" she said, looking up at me as she started to fiddle with the black cigarette holder once more.

"A small settlement on the side of a road ten days from here." I said reluctantly. "Perhaps you have heard of it?"

She bit her lip and adverted her gaze, apparently deep in thought. I noticed some of the strings on the poster behind her started to shake and quiver from the blunt force the back of her head was applying to it. Black strings, grey strings, even a lone pink string leading all the way to the upper corner of the map, all-

"Route fifty-three?" Nightcore said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts, "Minotaur tribe operating out of a old paleo-pony ruin?"

It was strange to hear someone talk about my home in such broad terms, but I nodded. "Yes, that one."

Nightcore nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Huh, I thought those stories about minotaurs there were just rumors, but I guess they were true. Huh. That's good to know."

Again with the marginalizing of things that were important to me. Sighing, I decided to steer the topic away from myself and to things far more important.

"Would you mind telling me about the Purebreds? It's been bugging me. I have been hearing some conflicting reports about them, and I want to know if they are worth looking into."

Nightcore grinned at me, putting both her hooves behind her head and placing her hind legs on the table. It looked rather uncomfortable for a four-legged creature and vaguely lewd, but I wasn't one to judge.

"Well, that I can do." she said, somehow speaking around the holder in the side of her mouth. "I'm a member myself, you know. The first thing you should know is that the Purebred is not a real organization. It's about a half-dozen smaller one's that operate under one name because it makes everypony feel better."

"I suppose that's better then all of them being unicorn extremist slavers." I said, trying to sound upbeat to disguise my confusion. 

Nightcore nickered. "Heh, yeah." 

She adjusted her mane with her free hoof, apparently to get her short bangs out of her eyes, and started to respond in earnest. 

"Well, the most important group is, well, the Purebred." 

Pausing at my confused look, she snorted. "They are the 'unicorns who think's they are the best' sort. They're not speciest, though, they just think they are nobleponies. Think of them as the main body of the group. They have lots of caps and basically run the entire thing and the places it owns. Most of them arn't nice, but their not all stupid. Otherwise, they couldn't run it."

"Oh. I suppose that's nice." I replied.

She raised a eyebrow.

"I guess; actually, there's a old-world name for the system of government the Purebred use."

I took the bait. "What is it?"

"They called them 'protection rackets'." she said bitterly. 

I was going to ask what exactly what she meant by that as I heard a set of hooves behind me meet wood.

Turning around, I saw the tiny shape of Candy Cane coming through the doorway and over to the desk, resembling, on most pivotal points, a soggy kitten. Her short mane was down to her shoulders and she looked like she could have been on one of those pre-war posters for charity donations. 

"Miss Nightcore, can I have a Rad-Away please?" the little filly sniffled out, voice low and tired-sounding. 

Nightcore bit her lip when she saw Candy Cane, probably because she looked utterly adorable and rather sad with her hair matted down. Either that or the wet trail she was leaving on the carpet.

"Of course, of course..." she said a little louder then I expected. It took me a few moments to realize that was her attempt at a motherly voice. It wasn't a very convincing one.

Nightcore pulled out one of the yellow-orange packets at the side of the desk quickly, but took her time to rip off the plastic seal near the top of the container. Gingerly, she levitated it over to the filly, who was starting to give her a tired, slightly pouty look.

"Now, dear, even if it tastes bad, make sure to...oh." 

Nightcore's voice faltered when she saw that her admittedly kindly advice fell on knowing ears, with Candy Cane sucking on the Rad-Away like it wasn't anything unusual. I never had to consume one myself, but I have heard that they tasted horrid, which made me surprised at the filly's willingness to drink the nasty brew.

"Thank you miss Nightcore. Can I have a blanket or something warm? I'm a little cold."

As if on command, she let out a small sneeze that sounded more like a squeak. Being ridiculously helpless must be a survival trait for ponies, because it's worked on me. I spotted a fuzzy-looking grey blanket that was draped over a pile on a nearby chair (it might have merely been a fluffy towel, but what's the point of making distinctions?) and took it without a word.

"Thank you mister Watchful." she replied mildly, wrapping the blanket around her like a cocoon as she sat down on the floor, "And thank you miss Nightcore."

At that, the mare looked utterly unnerved, like the filly's words were those of impending doom.

"Hey, Watchful, I have to check on some equipment, we can talk about Tauronto later...yeah." she said, sounding far-off and insincere. Strange.

I turned a bit to let her leave, and as she made her way down the right hall Candy Cane gave me a strangely distant look.

"Are you and miss Nightcore fighting?" 

I looked at the filly, completely concealed except for her head, and decided that if I was on foal-watching duty, there wasn't a point in standing up. I mean, I was as tall as a pony sitting down, so there wasn't a real reason to strain my legs, now was there?

Leaning on one of the larger piles of junk, I decided to answer honestly. 

"No, Candy Cane. We were just talking about Tauronto."

"Oh. Okay." she replied slowly, like she was expecting that. "What's Tauronto like, mister Watchful?"

I chuckled. How could I have not?

"That's what I have been trying to figure out, Candy Cane."

She gasped. It sounded like a squeak. "You mean you don't know? Miss Batsy knows, you could ask her!"

I repressed a frown. 

"I don't think she likes me very much, Candy Cane." I said, this time with forced cheer. "Do you know what she is, by any chance?"

The filly blinked.

"Miss Batsy's a rev-ah-nant," she said slowly, before shaking her head. "I mean, a revenant!"

I couldn't help but tilt my head to the side, the image of a little filly knowing something that I didn't being to much for me. "What is that?"

She coughed lightly. "It's a ghost in a dead thing, I think. That's what she said."

"So she's not a ghoul?" I said questioningly, raising a eyebrow. A ghost in a dead thing. That's a way to put it.

"Nope! Ghouls are icky, but miss Batsy has lots of ghoul friends. Sometimes they come over, they're really funny."

I nodded. "Ah. Did you always live in that shipping dock?"

"No, miss Batsy helps me move some times." she said quietly. "She doesn't like it when other ponies come close to where I am. Sometimes they just...."

She suddenly looked far less comfortable then before, then she really should have. "Miss Batsy doesn't like it when ponies she doesn't know comes near me."

I looked at the filly, and I, with some reluctance, understood where Umbra was coming from.

"Candy Cane, you haven't been outside much, have you?" I said slowly, trying to sound light-hearted and friendly.

"No, but outside is cold and nasty. But there are fun things outside, like miss Sea Salt!"

Ah, that reminded me of something I really shouldn't have forgotten; the local cannibal.

"Do you like miss Sea Salt?"

She nodded with enough energy to make me weary. "Uh-huh! She's really fun! She gave me rides on her head, like you did!"

I sighed in relief. "Candy Cane, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

The little filly gave me a confused look, and blew a red strand of hair off her face before responding.

"No, mister Watchful, go ahead, but if you do, can I ask you one?"

She sounded curious, endearingly so. Could I blame her? I was probably the second biggest thing she had ever seen, besides Sea Salt.

"Of course." 

I leaned back a little, hoping the little filly would not see the concerned look on my face. 

"Do you know who your parents are, Candy Cane?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I don't remember them really well, but I know them."

"Could you tell me about them?" I said cautiously. "If you want to, anyway."

"Sure."

It was a strange experience, talking to a tiny pony with no one else in the general area, I mused.

"My mommy helped ponies get from place to place. She had a big caravan that held thirteen ponies, and we always went from Tauronto to...some southern place." she said, sounding embarrassed that she stumbled on her words, "Mommy had five helpers with her, and she was the boss! They always did what she told them to do, and they even did what I told them to do! They were really nice. I got, like, a bunch of toys and snacks from them."

I smiled. She was a caravaner's kid. A trader's foal. Fair enough.

"That sounds nice. What about your father?"

Candy Cane lowered her head slightly. "My mom said he was one of the ponies who she helped move around."

It took me a moment to realize the gravity of what she was saying, and when I did I felt awful.

"Hey, it's okay." I said, trying to sound positive even with the filly's ears drooping and her eyes downcast. She looked embarrassed and humiliated, a look that made her look far older then she should look at her age.

She didn't say anything, and even though she was almost completely covered with the blanket, she looked like she was trying to huddle herself into a ball. 

I gestured over to her, dearly hoping that she wasn't going to cry, and didn't make a sound when the filly scooted over closer to me. 

Feeling a wave of mild nervousness, I thought about what I could possibly do. Picking her up was probably a no-no, and she was too big to treat her as anything but a young adult...

I, extremely slowly as to watch Candy Cane's reaction, stretched my left arm out before settling roughly around the ball of blanket and fluff that managed to worm it's way over to my side. It was a odd feeling, hearing something breath and shift right next to you.

It was a very uncomfortable one, too.

"Thank you, mister Watchful. You are really warm." she said quietly. "Thank you."

She made a soft weepy noise in the back of her throat, one made for a parent that wasn't going to answer. I knew that, because it wasn't the first time I had heard it before. I'v done it myself.

Ponies threw my reflexes off. Even the few kids that were running around in my home were at least up to my waist. It was rather unfortunate that ponies barely grew up to that. 

Then again, it made things like this easier. And weirder, but, most importantly, easier.

"No, please don't. You shouldn't have to thank me." I said, trying to keep a brave face at the filly who was starting to look at me like I was a big fluffy puppy that existed for cuddling.

She didn't respond to that, and after a few moments she covered herself with the blanket entirely. I was worried that she was crying, but I didn't hear her make any sounds besides the occasional hiccup. She was trying to keep herself from crying, I realized. She was too young for that.

I wasn't sure how long I sat like that, hand on a knee and arm and body separated by a slowly drying ball of fluff that shifted and squirmed every so often to get a better position on my side. It was long enough, though, for me to decide to rest my eyes a bit and lean back, some time after realizing that Candy Cane probably wasn't awake.

It wasn't a bad feeling, merely a strange one, to comfort a filly. I'v calmed down children in the past, and ponies the size of children. Blueberry was a odd case, though. Sleeping in the same room with her wasn't a issue, not nearly as much as it might have been if she was a minotaur. A double standered? Possibly, but did it matter?

I was in the middle of a old radio control building. There was a strange mare who was probably tinkering on something to the right of me and another who was undeniably broken and insane, and just outside there were two mutants and a bat pony. And they were all the closest things I had to friends at the moment. Or at least allies.

Two weeks ago, I never even thought of what a radio tower would look like, or what the true meaning of utter craziness meant. But here I was, half-asleep and ready to pass out entirely, in a small building under a radio tower, with craziness around me.

....

It's funny, things like that. It could be the reason they call it hindsight; when you look back, you want to kick yourself in the ass and try and do things differently.

...

But, I half-thought, would I have done anything differently?

....

I had no idea why I fell asleep smiling.