Fallout Equestria: Cloud Cover

by Sir Brony

2: Dirt-dwellers (rewritten 10/29)

Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to try to communicate with the muck-suckers that inhabited this barren wasteland, but what else could I do? I looked up. Even the vultures circling me cried for water. My hooves stumbled over the fractured avenue; my ears drooped as I cursed my luck.

I longingly looked at the wine bottle in my saddlebags. The precious liquid sat there, mocking my thirst. I was tired of waiting and trying to save it; I needed it. I glanced around at my surroundings. Just one sip couldn’t hurt, right?

Was I tired, or was I drunk? I looked at the bottle as its contents sloshed around. Meh, probably both. I took one last gulp, and threw the bottle as far as I could. I took a deep sigh and started walking as I heard it shatter behind me.

Recalling the day’s “experiences”, I cursed my luck. Why the buck was I, Sir Rough Sketch, stranded in the land of peasants and mouth-breathers?

"Take the job", my boss had said. "It's a great honor", she had said.

Ever since I had been blessed with the opportunity to see Enclave heavy troopers slaughter the unwashed barbarians threatening our safety, I had been running for my bucking life. I swear, when I get back up there, I am quitting my health hazard of a job! Nowhere in my bucking job description had it said, "By accepting this job as an artist, you agree to possibly die in the wasteland for the greater good"!

Lost in thought, I kept on stumbling down the road.

CRASH

My peaceful trot came to a swift end as the shopping cart slammed into my chest. I yelped as my face met the ground rather quickly.

“Shit. I killed it! Ah’m gonna need to bury another body” The pony behind the assault said.

“If you want to do that, you’ll have to try harder” I responded, struggling to get up. “I could use a hoof”.

“Oh, mah apologies”, the unicorn blurted as he helped me to my hooves, “Ah really didn’t mean to do that; it’s just ah’m in a hurry. Can’t let those delinquents get me cap”.

While listening to him rant, I opened my wings and started inspecting them. A stallion can only lose so many primaries. “Sir, as much as I am worried about ponies stealing your hat, I really must-”

The scream shattered my eardrums. He started trotting backwards, eyes fixed on my wings. “No, No! Is this how ah die, stopped by my kindness?” he asked, fear overcoming his eyes.

“Sir, are you okay?” I asked as I tried to help him up.

“No! You get away from me, demon. Take my booty and leave” he cried.

“What? Why would I want your booty?” I asked. As I saw him lift the metal, I finally understood.

I grabbed the piece, the smile on my face turning into a frown. Nothing but a stupid soda cap with a star on the front lay in my hooves.

“Sir, what is this?” I asked. I turned around, realizing he had disappeared. Looking farther ahead, I saw him running faster than a Raptor on turbo. I will never understand Wastelanders.

I looked again at the soda cap. Again, nothing but the blue star showed up. Is this what the ponies of the Wasteland do in their free time, run around giving soda caps to people with wings?

Facing the road once again, I decided to return to my epic journey.

Judging by the shadows that the predatory birds made when following me, it was about noon. Nothing had come and nothing had gone on this forsaken path. I was breathing heavily from both my walking and ranting, and my wings throbbed at me when I tried to open them.

Walking down the path, a speck on the horizon appeared. I couldn't quite make out what it was, although it appeared to be growing larger.

Wondering if this thing handed out soda caps too, I approached the figure.

"Hey! Hey, you!" I waved my hoof at what appeared to be a pony. "Where's the nearest Single Pegasus Project tower?"

After no reply came, I yelled out again, "Answer me damnit! I will kick your flank!" I started sprinting out towards the figure. As the figure came into view, I noticed others in a line following behind the pony.

I rapidly ran out of breath and had to walk towards the ponies.

I reached a rather interesting scene. The aged shackles unified each of the ponies, save for one at the very front. Noting my confusion, he swiftly approached.

"Hello mate, may I interest you in some quality wares?" the pony asked. Looking closer, I could tell he was a buff stallion with a charcoal coat. At his side was some sort of zebra-alien gun. "I'll tell ya what; you look like a weak pony, buy these two strong ponies over here, and I'll throw this mare in for free" he proposed, pointing to the ponies in the chains.
Glancing at the ponies in the shackles, I could see the fear in their eyes. But why were they scared?

"Wait, you sell ponies?" I asked.

"Yep", the stallion said, a cocky grin spread across his face.

"PONIES? You sell other living talking ponies?" I asked again, my voice barely below a shout. I was a bigot, but not low enough to buy another pony!

"That's the definition of slavery. Now do you want to buy or not? I have too many ponies on my hooves right now; I've had to resort to chaining some together with iron chains. In fact, I’ll give you a discount on all the ones in iron chains." He said, the alien-ray-thingy suddenly in his mouth.

Well, buck. On my left, a miniature alicorn with an ivory coat stood. On my right, a Frankenstein of monsters sat drinking chocolate milk. Wow, what kind of hallucinogenic wine did I drink? Shuddering at whatever was on my right shoulder, I focused on the more important event.

Looks like I had to buy a slave. The freak on my left smiled. "Yes, I would be interested in purchasing one of your fine ponies, how much shall I compensate you for your two finest work breeds?" I asked, putting my pegasus charm on.

"300 caps for the two and the mare, no more, no less." An apathetic voice responded.

Caps? Like hats? Pen caps? Why the hay did they use caps for currency? Did all dirt-dwellers have a soda cap fetish?

As these many excellent questions floated around in my head another one popped up. How would I pay the large stallion glaring at me? "I'll tell you what, good sir. You look like an extremely strong stallion, Am I correct in saying that?" I said.

The large stallion nodded, his massive head bobbing up and down.

"You said it yourself, I'm a weak guy. So I'm going to make you a deal. We hoof wrestle, for double or nothing. It's an easy way for you to make an extra 300 caps, so what do you say, deal?" I stuck my hoof out. After some time he reached out and shook it.

"You got yourself a deal, shortstuff. We'll use this stallion", he pointed to one of the muscle ponies, the red one, "as a table", He declared.

That was easy. Now I just had to pickpocket his gun while we were wrestling and I would be in the clear. They call me Sticky Hooves Sketch for a reason.

"Ya ready?" he asked.

Nodding, I sat down at one end of our "table". The firearm was clipped onto his belt. Discreetly, I picked up a rock in my other hoof.

"Heh, this'll be easy" He placed his hoof on this pony's back.

Slowly extending my hoof out, I glanced at the slaves. He had tied them to the husk of what vaguely resembled a tree. Giving a fake smile, I lifted my hoof with the rock behind my back, preparing to throw it. "Let's do this," I yelled.

"Bring it" He started pushing against my hoof.

Sweet Luna he was strong! Little droplets of sweat made a journey down my face. This was a terrible plan.

Barely containing his laughter, the slaver said, "Are you kidding me mate? I haven't even started." I couldn’t keep this up much longer. He was crushing my hoof.

I wound my left hoof back, the rock feeling much heavier than before. Summoning my inner strength, I hurled the stone through the air with all my might towards the slaves. It bounced ten feet away, but the slaver still turned around, momentarily distracted.

"The slaves are escaping", I yelled, pointing to where the stone had landed.

"What the buck?" The slaver asked, confusion dawning on his face.

Seizing the moment, I lunged for the zapper. I ripped it off his belt, yelling, "Freeze, motherbucker!"

He turned around, only to find the weapon pointed at his face. "The hell is this?" He started walking towards me
.
"Not another step, don't you even take another step or I swear to Celestia I will turn your face into a puddle," I threatened, "Now here's what you're going to do. First off, you’re going to give me the keys to the chains. Next, you will start freeing the ponies with the collared time-bombs. Finally, turn around and walk 1000 meters that way."

"I highly doubt that mate, you're not even holding the gun the right way" He casually started trotting towards me.
I turned the gun around and pulled the trigger. A beam of pure awesomeness seared the dirt in front of the slaver, sending him diving into cover.

"What the buck? Stop, okay I'll do it!" He threw me the keys. “I need to go get the defuser for the explosive collars, okay?” The slaver asked.

"Good", I said coolly. I turned towards the iron-chained slaves. A little bit confused, they stared back, waiting to see what I would do. I walked up to an old unicorn and used the key on his shackles, setting him free. His frown softened for a second, only to morph back into a scowl.
"Thank you. I can't believe I was helped by one of the pigeons; thought you were all hiding up in your nest." The stallion grumbled.

Ignoring him, I moved to the next pony. A timid, skinny-looking stallion raised his eyes and met mine only to lower to the ground once again. The lock made a sharp click as it opened.

Even after I set him free, he simply stayed in place. "Hello? You do know you're free now, right?” I asked. Still, no response came from the pathetic stallion. I left him there, staring at his hooves.

I turned to the last pony in chains. To my disgust, a foal, no older than me when I first learned to fly, sat there, looking ahead. The colt’s ribcage was his main feature; it clearly showed itself in place of what should have been a chest. I slowly unlocked the chain. "It's okay now, you're okay." He cringed as I reached to pat his head. A look of relief spread across his face before turning to a whimper. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

*Click*

Did I just here a click? I turned around to see where the sound had come from. Before I could finish my searching, a sharp pain engulfed my fetlock.

What the buck? I fell down. I felt something heavy smash against my head. Was that blood, my blood? A rushing sound was all around me, and the world got very dark very quick.

LEVEL UP!

New Perk: Child at Heart- Unlocks many unique dialogue options with children.

Comments

[Deathpony]

Ohh I like where this is going hopefully though he is saved by the freed slaves

[Sir Brony]

3137248 Possibly

[Professor Plum]

Salutations! I'm going to be your reviewer from WRITE (I've kinda become the unofficial FO:E specialist in the group), so you can hopefully expect that to pop up within the next couple days

If you don't mind me asking, how did you come across our little group? Don't worry, it's nothing too serious. Just personal curiosity, is all. I'd like to know more about how people are finding us

[Sir Brony]

3185800 I read about it in a forum here. Thanks!

[Professor Plum]

Well. I found this review a lot harder than its word-count would've suggested. And honestly, I have no idea why
Still, better late than never, I suppose. Hope it'll be worth your while

IT'S REVIEWIN' TIME

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The Bit with the Story and Stuff

Now, not an awful lot's happened in the story so far, but I have a feeling that your readers would be extremely lost if they hadn't read the description. Hell, I know I would've been. You're two chapters in, and you haven't actually explained why he was in the wasteland outside of the description. It's supposed to be there to entice the reader, encouraging them to read your fic, not give them the backstory. This is something that desperately needs addressing.

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Otherwise, as I said, not much has actually occurred. He's escaped raiders, slept the night, and been knocked out by a slaver. I can't really say much about this unless I see more, really.

---

Characters and Other Thingamabobs

Rough Sketch, as an idea, is really quite an excellent one. The idea of a civilian pegasus being dragged down into the Wasteland isn't entirely unique (though no less interesting for it), but he's the first character I've seen who's something so unrelated to surviving in the Wasteland (the only other civilian I can think of is Morning Glory, from Project Horizons, and even she was a medic who had a course on combat training).
However, he's not perfect. Probably my biggest gripe with him is how his character seems to flip rather rapidly. The story opens with him shooting a raider in the face, kicking his friend off a building (while being threatened with a revolver), then soaring away, screaming the pony equivalent of "Eat my dust!"
A few paragraphs later, he's running from a radroach, screaming at the top of his lungs. To say his character is inconsistent would be putting it mildly

A general tip when writing a story is to ask yourself: What would X do in this situation?
If the answer's not what you're writing, you should probably see about changing that.

One thing I do like about Sketch is his disdain for the "mucksuckers" of the wasteland actual. Makes sense that someone who grew up with two hundred-year-old prejudice would be at least slightly prejudiced himself. Nice touch.

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General Doohickeys

Right. I suppose I'd better talk about the opening paragraph. I know what you were going for there, I just don't think you quite pulled it off properly. You wanted to plunge the reader into the middle of a conflict right off the bat, hooking them in with a mix of action and unanswered questions, such as "Who are these guys?" and "What did they do to deserve that? Did they even deserve it at all?"

Unfortunately, the wording was really rather clunky, and what you chose to focus on wasn't all that remarkable. Explaining that pulling a trigger makes some lead go really fast is hardly rip-roaring action, after all.

Another problem is that while you did say a bit about what happened as a result of the shooting, you didn't paint much of a mental image. I couldn't tell if this was indoors, outdoors, in the clouds, on the ground, if the guy was alone, big, small, hairy, whatever.

I'd recommend you rewrite this little bit, focussing instead more on what happened because the gun was fired. You know, blood spurting, a body hitting the floor, etc. Should give you the chance to expand on the scene, too.

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Glancing over, my inner kleptomaniac took hold, and his old radio suddenly turned into my new radio.

Okay, I'll admit, I chuckled at that bit

I feel some congratulations are in order, as this is the only FO:E story that's been able to make me crack a smile. There's no denying that other examples of the genre have the occasional bit of humour, or the odd slapstick gag, but your first chapter did tickle my funny bone on more than one occasion.
That leads onto one of my big criticism, however, and it's that you do go overboard with the comedy. The occasional joke's fine—even in a story like this one, which most would expect to be dark, grim and depressing—but when pretty much every line contains either a reference (like his code spelling out HELP ME), or the whole incident with the Radroach (as I mentioned earlier), then it really starts to drag.
Edit from future Plum: It occurred to me while writing this review that the over-use of comedy might be intentional, seeing as the main character is a cartoonist. Not sure how I feel about that, assuming it's true.

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Answer me buckdamnit!

Now, this I can't approve of. I know it's a big thing in a lot of ponyfics to swap out swear-words for similar-sounding pony words, but unless your character meant to shout fuckdamnit, then that seems a bit daft. And if he was shouting fuckdamnit, then he's a bit daft.
Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the original FO:E features rather explicit swearing. Often involving Luna's horn and Celestia's flanks, if I remember rightly. Maybe it's his more civilised upbringing that leads him to swear less, but you'd think a propaganda cartoonist might pick up the occasional dirty curse from those he spends time with. Meh.

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On my left, a miniature alicorn with an ivory coat stood. On my left a Frankenstein of monsters sat drinking chocolate milk.

Sketch seems completely unfazed by the presence of (what he'd consider) a living goddess and what I assume is a horrifying smorgasbord of various pony parts stuck together with glue.

To my disgust, a foal, no older than a baby, sat there

Uh, foal's the word for a baby pony. I think you may have meant "a filly, no older than a foal" or something similar

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---

Technical Stuff and Things

First thing's first, you seem to have a great love-affair with really short, abrupt sentences. Shot sentences certainly have their place in stories, particularly in action sequences where you want to emphasise the proceedings, but using them all the time can cause problems. Periods aren't always good. They can hurt flow. Each indicates a pause. Makes dialogue robotic. Makes actions chunky. Makes the story sluggish. Slows it down. Just like this. Not great.

I'd do some jiggery-pokery, and try to merge some of them together to break up the monotony a bit. An awful lot of them could be swapped out for commas, and you could leave it at that (sorting out capitalisations, of course).

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I sighed as I ejected the empty shell, looking down at my now empty clip.

Ouch. Just be glad, I took this story, and it wasn't handed over to someone like Kalash. He'd probably burn you at the stake for saying such things.
You need to work on your weapon/military terminology a bit. Might seem like a little thing, but it can make-or-break a story for someone who knows what they're talking about. First thing's first, only shotguns and artillery pieces fire shells. You probably mean casing, if you mean the bit that gets ejected from pistols, rifles, etc. Also,
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The projectile rockets into the raider’s hoof

This bit's a problem, as rockets is present tense while the rest of the story's in the past. If you want to use that word, shifting it to rocketed should be simple enough.

One thing I'd recommend is the use of a thesaurus. While you do certainly have interesting things going on in your story, you do use rather bland or boring words to describe them when not careful. "He looked around and spotted a guard" will forever be less interesting than "He peeked around the corner, stealing a furtive glance at the guard patrolling down the length of the hall".

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Uh, you do know you can do page-breaks, right? Just type [ hr ] (without spaces). It's what I do

On a more positive note, your spelling seems to be spot-on. I don't think I found a single error of that kind through either chapter. Well done.

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---

Overall Hoojamaflips

You've certainly got some damn good ideas in your head, I'm just not sure you know how to express them. Now, where to go from here depends on whether or not you have editors, and whether or not you want to keep on with this story. If so, I'd go through the story, focussing on keeping Sketch's character more consistent and merging those abrupt sentences together. If you don't have any, you could probably grab a handful from the various Fallout-related ones (here and here), Looking for Editors, Authors Helping Authors, Struggling Authors or countless others around the site.

That's assuming you want to continue this thing, of course. I have a feeling the mistakes you've made in this story are more due to inexperience with writing, more than anything else, so as long as you're putting pen to paper (so to speak) then you'll be good to go. Just try to keep what I said in mind, and you should be fine.

Best of luck to ya

~Professor Plum, WRITE’s Drunk Demoman
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[kalash93]

3212113

Ouch. Just be glad, I took this story, and it wasn't handed over to someone like Kalash. He'd probably burn you at the stake for saying such things.

Given what you've pointed out, I'd probably find many other and better reasons to burn him at the stake. If it weren't for the facts that it's almost 2AM and I have class at 830AM, I'd give this thing a skim and some feedback. Oh well, such things can wait.

[kalash93]

I'm back, and with the promised mauling over mistakes made concerning firearms.

Oh dear, author, it's your first paragraph and I already see some epic fail.

I pulled the trigger of the rifle. A spark ignited the gunpowder, and a wad of lead was hurled out of the barrel. The projectile rockets into the raider’s hoof, tearing a giant hole in the flesh before smoothly exiting. I sighed as I ejected the empty shell, looking down at my now empty clip. Perhaps declaring a one-pony war on a raider compound with thirty soldiers was a bad idea.

Now to be more precise.

I pulled the trigger of the rifle. A spark ignited the gunpowder, and a wad of lead was hurled out of the barrel ... I sighed as I ejected the empty shell, looking down at my now empty clip.

Your initial sentence leads one to believe that the character is using a muzzle loader with an external, black powder, ignition system. The end of the paragraph reveals this to not be the case, mentioning an empty shell and ejection. Metallic cartridges do NOT work by means of a 'spark' as you're envisioning it. The firing pin strikes the primer, which sets off the main powder charge. Now, unless the character is using an old weapon chambered for an old cartridge that was originally a black powder round, and using such extremely old and scarce black powder ammunition, which was often supplanted in the same caliber by smokeless powder loadings, then saying that gunpowder is ignited is incorrect. You should say smokeless powder (just powder for short), or propellant, or charge.

rockets

Change to rocketed in order to fix tense confusion; the rest is in past tense, but this is in present tense.

a wad of lead

All modern rifles and pistol cartridges, as well as shotgun slug cartridges, are typically shaped aerodynamically. Also, due to the problems with raw lead projectiles being destroyed by the greater power and higher velocities afforded by smokeless powder, they typically have a copper jacket, except in the case of most shotgun slugs. All traditional shotgun ammunition types can be raw lead.

tearing a giant hole in the flesh before smoothly exiting

That is not how bullets work. Bullet wounds are often like puncture wounds and tend to collapse once the bullet passes through. Also, exit wounds are always bigger than entry wounds and have marks reminiscent of tearing.

I sighed as I ejected the empty shell, looking down at my now empty clip

It's called a magazine -- not a clip! The two are NOT interchangeable. Clips are always used to load other ammunition storage devices, from which the ammunition is fed to the action to be fired. Clips cannot be used to directly feed ammunition into the action of a weapon for firing. Magazines are the things either integral to the gun, or that can be attached to a gun, that hold ammunition and feed it into the action. Clips, in the case of rifles, shotguns, and pistols, ALWAYS feed into a magazine. In the case of revolvers, clip feed into the chambers of the wheel, which is practically the magazine of a revolver. Also, you might want to decided whether or not the rifle ejects automatically, or is dependent upon manual action for ejection and loading the next cartridge

The nine millimeter round that went spiraling into the gun on my back

What? This makes no sense. Also, what kind of nine millimeter? Nah, I won't be that harsh.

Hulu

The correct NATO phonetic for H is Hotel.

Well, I would have fired. Looking down at my hunting rifle, the piercing scream of a bullet went unheard. Instead, one soft click rose to take its place.

Piercing scream? Bullets and gunshots do not sound like that whatsoever. What caused the 'click'? Was it a malfunction, not having any ammuniton? What?

I assaulted it, my rifle becoming the world's bulkiest club...In the seven seconds I took to swing my rifle,,,

Seven seconds? For a "hunting rifle" What, is it six feet long and primarily made of Osmium?

[Sir Brony]

3212113
3212227
3214357
Well, back to the drawing board. The reviews, criticism, and corrections about firearms are very helpful. Nothing quite like having two reviews for one, so thanks!