Moving at a brisk canter, Tarnished Teapot headed home for Dodge City Junction. Nothing messed with him; the crackle jackals all turned tail and rain away. There were no signs of vampiric jackalopes. The midday sun was scorching. Tarnish figured that between the triple digit heat and his powerful stench, he would get home in safety.
As he walked, he thought of Buttons. She was just a lonesome soul, harmless, she wanted what everypony else wanted. Acceptance. She was sad to see him go, but Tarnish promised that he would deliver her future packages and return if he got the chance. He had stayed a while, had avoided eating frog stew, but had endured the butt sniffing.
It was just how diamond dogs started conversations, very much like a hoof bump. Most diamond dogs felt that ponies were rather rude and far too snobby because they refused to exchange pleasantries.
Tarnished Teapot didn’t know if he had learned a valuable lesson, but he had learned a lesson, and it was one he took to heart. As he headed homewards, he thought about his life. Ponies didn’t understand him. His magic made him suspicious. Previous to his banishment, he had always been defensive, guarded, even angry when confronted about his magic, he had been rude, even outright hostile. He thought about how he had wanted to zap Twilight Sparkle as he had left town.
Perhaps if he had been kinder, perhaps if he had been more polite, the residents of Ponyville might have been more tolerant. Tarnish realised he had been a real jerk for the past four years, and he felt somewhat bothered by the fact.
He had been following Longhaul’s advice about being polite and so far, things had been going rather well. But then again, his magic hadn’t done anything spectacularly bad just yet, like turning a stallion into a mare or wrecking half of the town.
At least Big Mac had recovered after the magic wore off, even if the shame had lived on.
Overhead, a rather good sized dragon circled a few times, and Tarnish tilted his head to look at it. He felt a moment of panic upon seeing it, and wondered what would happen if he zapped it. Dragons were required by treaty to not eat ponies if they wanted to stay on good terms with the Royal Pony Sisters, but not all dragons followed the rules if they thought they could get away with it. In the badlands, there was a lot that the Royal Pony Sisters did not see.
The dragon sneezed, shook its head in disgust, and then with its wings flapping, it took off as fast as possible to be away from Tarnish. As Tarnish was discovering, stink was a wonderful way to keep yourself safe. Tarnish was far too stinky to be eaten by anything, or so Tarnish hoped.
“Twenty five bits.” The dispatcher waved Tarnish away. “You STINK!”
“Don’t care, got paid,” Tarnish replied. The dispatch office was empty, every other pony had fled when Tarnish had entered. Tarnish dumped his bits into his saddlebags, grinned at the dispatcher, and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m going to take a second job today. While I’m good and stinky, I plan to make the most of it.”
“Oh for the love of tomatoes, you’re a madpony,” the dispatcher said as he fanned his nose. “Go pay for a bath or something!”
“And take away this wonderful natural defense?” Tarnish shook his head. “Nothing out there in the badlands wants anything to do with me. If I keep my wits and use my head, I can stay safe out there. I think I’ll take me a dangerous job and see how it goes.”
Turning, Tarnished Teapot headed for the job thermometer. There was no sense in being stupid, Tarnish was just clever enough to understand a good risk and reward system though. He avoided the jobs at the top of the thermometer and focused upon the jobs in the middle. If this worked, Tarnish figured that he might have to go out to the Mellow Marsh for regular visits to his new friend, Buttons.
“What in tarnation!” Buff Gaskins cried as he stepped into the dispatch office. The stallion gagged, shook his head, and then departed as fast as his legs would allow. “Somepony needs A BATH!”
Tarnish saw a seventy five bit ticket, medium risk. He tugged the ticket down and took it over to the dispatcher, who looked very unhappy about his job at the current moment. He set the ticket down upon the counter and looked the dispatcher in the eye.
“That one is a few days old. Another package run, but this package is smaller. Much smaller. Should fit in your saddlebag. You’ll have to cross the Putrid Plains. Alkali flats. There is a salt mine out there. Take some extra water, it’s hot, and all the water out that way is poisonous. Watch your hooves and keep a quick step, your hooves will start to dissolve after a while. The trail is marked by wooden stakes with red paint every hundred yards or so once you get out onto the Putrid Plains proper. The sun will kill you, so cover yourself as much as possible. I know it seems counterintuitive to wear a long coat or a duster, but I’m telling ya, the sun will kill you. So buy a hat and a duster before you go. Buy a few extra canteens. On the way out to the Putrid Plains, you might run into crackle jackals, but you should be able to avoid them. Because YOU STINK!”
“Thank you. I shall return later for my pay,” Tarnish said.
When Tarnish entered the dry goods store, the mare by the counter screamed bloody murder. She backed away, her eyes watering, and she covered her nose with her folded fetlock, trying to shield her nostrils from the stench wafting off of Tarnish.
“Sorry… I know I smell bad, but I have bits to spend. I need a duster and a good hat,” Tarnish said in an apologetic voice as he stood in the doorway of the store. “Also a need a canteen or three.”
“GO AWAY! YOU SMELL!”
“I’m sorry ma’am, hazard of the job, but I really need those items… please?” Tarnish tried to make himself look as pathetic as possible, which wasn’t hard. His sunburn showed through his chocolate brown pelt, he was covered in dust, and his legs were still covered in marsh muck.
“If I give you what you want, do you promise that you will go away as soon as possible?” the mare asked.
“I give you my word,” Tarnish replied.
“You stay right there. Don’t you take another step or I’ll call the sheriff.” The mare looked Tarnish over. “I’d say you’re a medium… I have a hat on sale, nopony wants it, it isn’t stylish, but it is good in hot weather.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Tarnish tilted his head and stayed put.
“It is a genuine pith helmet from Trottingham. If you soak it in water, it acts like a sponge. While you are wearing it, the water will evaporate and it will keep your brain from cooking. Nopony wants it, the western hats are in fashion right now.” The mare scowled. “It is a steal at five bits. I paid twenty five bits for it from the hat supplier, and it’s been in my shop for over a year now.”
“I’m not picky about looks.” Tarnish nodded his head and grinned. “If it is as practical as you say, I’ll take it.”
The mare pulled a box off of a shelf, set it down upon the ground, turned around, and with her hind hoof, she kicked the box over to Tarnished Teapot. It slid over the rough wooden planks of the floor, and the box skidded to a halt in front of Tarnish.
Curious, he bent his head down, tugged the box open, and looked inside. There was a broad brimmed pith helmet. Tarnish had never seen one in pony before, but he had seen them in books and movies. His horn sparked a bit as he lifted it in his telekinesis. It was off white on the top and bright green felt adorned the underside. There was a series of adjustable straps that went around the head that held the pith helmet away from the head and allowed for airflow.
In the bottom of the box there was a pair of goggles, trimmed in brass with oilcloth canvas straps. Tarnish looked up. “There are goggles in here.”
“They come with the helmet I guess… I won’t change the price I quoted,” the mare replied as she moved around a rack covered in dusters and long coats.
Grinning, Tarnish slipped the broad brimmed pith helmet onto his head. It slipped into place and his ears had plenty of room under the hat. He gave his ears a wiggle. The straps were comfortable, covered in some kind of thick, durable feeling absorbent material, and it seemed to fit okay. Tarnish figured he might fiddle with them later, perhaps. It was nice when a hat just fit you, perhaps as a subtle indicator that the hat was just meant to be yours.
“I have a somewhat used duster in your size. Cheap. Ten bits,” the mare said.
“Used?” Tarnished looked over at the mare as he slid the goggles around his neck. “The previous owner didn’t like it?”
“The previous owner is dead,” the mare replied. “Don’t worry, he didn’t die in his coat, from what I understand it was wadded up at the foot of the bed when he was kicked to death.”
“Oh… I see.” Tarnish’s head jerked back.
“He only owned it for a few hours, so it is like new. Still has the tags. He had himself a big payday and splurged a bit.” The mare shook her head. “I remember him. Courier. Was real proud of the dangerous job he took.”
“If it fits, I’ll take it,” Tarnish said. “I gotta go before the stink wears off. I have a job to do.”
“Oh trust me, the stink is still plenty strong,” the mare said as she leveled an icy stare at Tarnish. “I have one jumbo canteen in stock. It’s in the back, the one on display just got sold. It’s nice, well made, and it is cheaper than buying multiple canteens.”
“Ma’am, I have exactly twenty five bits and I was hoping to get a little lunch before I headed out again. I do have a seventy five bit job that I am about to do, but I don’t have that money yet.” Tarnish offered the mare a kind smile.
“I’ll let you have the pith helmet, the duster, and the canteen for twenty one bits. Normally, the canteen is ten bits. That’ll leave you a few bits for lunch. But only if you promise to TAKE A BATH BEFORE YOU EVER EVEN THINK OF COMING BACK INTO MY STORE!”
“I’ll try to be more considerate in the future, but this stink will keep me safe on my job. I only came here because I needed gear to survive, and I am really, very sorry.” Tarnish bowed his head a little and tried to express how sorry he was with his facial expression.
“Good. Leave twenty one bits on the table by the door. I’ll bring your canteen and your duster over in just a moment. Thank you for your business!”
His belly full, the strap of his canteen heavy against his neck, his pith helmet soaked with water to keep his head cool, and a long duster that for some reason kept him feeling cooler covering his body to protect it from the sun, Tarnish stared at the trail leading out of town. He slid his goggles up his neck and over his eyes.
He looked odd, but Tarnish didn’t care. The pith helmet had a wonderful cooling effect, almost like air conditioning, and the faded brown oilskin duster kept his tender skin out of the sun. Tarnish was most surprised by how much cooler he felt under his long coat and could not figure out why it worked out this way.
The midday sun was a blazing, burning fury that hung overhead. The temperature on the thermometer outside of the dry goods store had said one hundred and eleven degrees.
Feeling good about life, Tarnish took off to finish his job.