//------------------------------// // Gin I // Story: Fallout: Equestria - Wanderer's Woes // by Dev Conz //------------------------------// Gin I Autumn Neighville Early Morning “ If you're listening to this,” Gin spoke with a nervous demeanor, “To those traveling south on the Life’s Blood, divert to the south east once you reach Steelton. A distressed caravan is…” Gin looked to his right, finding a carmel unicorn, Kernal, fixing him a cold stare. One of sympathy, but stern and subtly demanding nonetheless. Situated by the tavern entrance, the large pony seemed to dwarf the very frame, the swivel-doors barely covering his chest. Despite this, little deterred the younger, smaller unicorn to resume, clearing his throat, sputtering, “...A d-distressed caravan is speculated to be located somewhere in the Deep Woods. Last known broadcasted coordinates are, forty l-” Suddenly, the hulking mass was towering over him, causing Gin to jerk away in shock. No word was uttered, the walkie talkie in Gin’s veil dropping to the worn, wood floor. Before Kernal’s charcoal magic could envelop the device, a defiant silver hoof slammed it down. “ Don’t you fucking dare.” Gin growled, half surprising himself with the anger in his voice. He hated that impassive look of the giant, whether caused by time or trauma, he would never know what this tribal thought. He wasn’t going to budge, Gin knew this full well, leaving them in a futile stare down. Armed with childish malice and persistence, his opposition with unnerving, and seemingly unending indifference. A full minute of this battle pasted, ended with a small utterance from the tribal, “You send brave stallions to their death everyday. Stop.” “ FUCK OFF!” Gin spat, on the edge of tears. Kernal maintained a steady stare. “ I-I can’t do this,” the silver stallion stammered, wiping salty sadness from his cheeks. He tugged talkie toward him, only to have Kernal tug right back. In a sudden surge, Gin whipped from his position, hoof flying toward the towering figure. Exerting little energy, Kernal pushed to impact away, sending the youngster tumbling behind him. Covered in dust, the silver unicorn rose to find himself in the still, indifferent gaze of Kernal, walkie tucked in his working saddle bag. Before Gin could muster some strength for another strike, the tribal barked, “ Know your enemies, Mr. Flask!” Took aback, the pony in question found himself rather exposed, still in stance for combat. “ Patience is all you can afford!” the caramel unicorn roared, pulling the fought for device from his bag, waving it in the air, “Speed will not be found here. You must-” “ S-someone will find him! He’s not…” Dead. He is not dead, repeated the distressed Gin repeated, with growing disbelief. “ I am not one to doubt you, “ Kernal spoke, in a more somber tone, “I merely ask you stop this, this torture.” Gin, in the mists of his rage, regret filled him. What was he doing? Trying to get his father home in the only way he knew how, yes, but it had been so long. Was he even... “He will return to us,” the monstrous pony softly but sternly spoke, aligning himself with Gin, “ Even if the worst were to have come, the spirits speak kind words of your father's achievements.” Utterly emotionally numbed, Gin’s burning eyes looked up to meet the tribals. Working at the Wagon merely to pay off his debt to his father, Kernal never left once he never returned. He stayed because he respected his father, at least that's what Gin told himself as the tribal never spoke his motives. Usually spouting off about the spirits, the silver stallion saw little in the gentle giant. As of late, Kernal served more as a guide than anything else. For better or for worse. “You are a capable leader, Gin,” the carmel pony stated, making way for the door, “ The Dreamland’s speak nothing of his demise.” Soon, the young stallion found himself alone with the orange dawn light warming him slightly. Kernal was an odd fellow, but he spoke the truth. It didn't make his position any less stressful, or manageable. Serving as the Wagons proprietor came with so much weight, including sway with the locals. Something Gin felt he lacked the influence, or the aptitude. Leaving him vulnerable to these breakdowns every now and again. He was alone. For the first time in his life, he was alone. In the mists of emotion and registration fog, it took a moment to recognize the large leather bag set in front of him. With a tired head, he turned his head to see the pegasus he hired the yesterday day. A better time obviously too good for the torn Gin. *** “ Gone? Are you sure?” Gin questioned, working the buttons on his silk vest while sifting through the backroom. Pax stood just outside, adorned in worn combat armor, trench coat folded neatly over his back. He seemed remarkable alive for this time, even well groomed with his mane and coat clean, showing no signs of battle. “ Bugged out before I got there,” Pax replied, adjusting the holster at his side, “Likely headed back to whatever camp or band they came from.” Fishing out a small tin box, Gin levitated it onto the bar, unlocking it to reveal the Sparkle-Cola bottle caps within. He took half a minute to count out the promised sum, tossing them into a small pouch from his vest, and setting it between them. Pax reached for the pouch, but Gin placed a hoof over it, “Any sign of where they went? Where their camp might be?” “Kid,” the mercenary sighed, “ I did what you wanted, just pony up the caps.” Reaching a bit more, Gin compensated by dragging it toward himself, “ It’s just a simple question.” Pax could sense a strange bit of concern in the young stallion's voice. The pegasus merely smiled, “Fifty an-” Before any other word can be uttered, the additional funds spilled onto the countertop. “Speak.” With a notable distaste, Pax said, “ Did a bit of recon of the area at midnight. Seven had taken the place, a disorganized band with little on them. So, likely divergent or scouting party. How many days ago did they take over? Exactly?” “ Two days ago,” Gin supplied. “ So, it was a scouting party,” Pax corrected, “ They might not be the last, but I wouldn’t count on it. Chem reliant raiders tend to be the more savage of ‘em. Disorganized. Weak.” Gin looked at him questionably, “What makes you so knowledgeable?” Pax smirked, “I just am.” In a bad spot previously and the threat of raider attack unnerving, Gin had little tolerance for a merc’s audience let alone his attitude. Still Gin dug a bit more, saying, “That’s it?” The pegasus’ smug demeanor soured to a more subtle, serious one, “Hostage. They have a filly hostage.” Gin took a moment to process, before asking, “White coat? Black mane? Blank?” “Nope,” Pax replied, before becoming stern at the questions implications. A full minute of chilling silence filled the Weathered Wagon, Gin taking a noticeably worrisome look. Not of sadness, grief or indifference, but more akin to that of annoyance. The implication stood without response, Gin pushing forward the mercenaries payment, “You have the room if you want it.” Pax hoped to respond, but thought better of it as the silver unicorn stormed out of the bar.