The Wayfarers

by TheFictionAddiction

Chapter One: Wanderlust

The life of a wanderer is never easy. The very landscape itself becomes an obstacle. And while Alabaster and Little Whisper have been through the thick-and-thin of most of them, the dry badlands outside Dodge Junction offered a unique kind of punishment for their trip from the east coast.

The cloudless sky displayed a white knuckle sun in all its furious glory. Dehydration was more than a risk at this point of their journey, but a near certainty. Their canteens, those long time friends, had been left by mistake on the ship they sailed in on.

“How much farther can this place be?” Alabaster groaned. He was drenched in enough sweat to turn his white coat grey.

His companion smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Al, it can't be more than an hour or so away. Heck, you can already see the town from here!”

Sure enough, off on the horizon was the heat blurred, unfocused, and blotchy silhouette of a small western town. Sadly though, Little Whisper's estimation would be off by two hours. Well, isn’t dehydration great, Alabaster thought with bitter amusement. All the joy of a hangover without the booze.

He glanced at his earthpony companion. It came as no surprise to see that her dark blue coat and white braided mane were completely free of perspiration.

It wasn’t Whisper's unrelenting optimism that bugged Alabaster in these trying times, but the fact that nothing seemed to faze her. Not the humid jungles with flesh eating flies, not the tropical storm that almost sank their boat, and not even the miles of wear and tear they were putting on their hooves. Instead, she hummed through the heavy humidity, made friends with the flies, and practically had a ball on the swaying ship as if it were a rollercoaster. But he figured that was just Little Whisper.

“I can see it just fine,” Alabaster said, “But the damn place is further than it looks, I just know it…” Feeling that old twinge of temper rising up, he hung his head and gritted his teeth.

“You say it’s an hour away, but we both now you’re just being optimistic.... Sheesh! At this rate, I’m gonna have some fierce arthritis. The pony body was only meant to take so much, damn it!” Little Whisper couldn't help but to chuckle.

“You’re too young to be talking like that,” she said, nuzzling his shoulder. “Besides, aren't you built like a tank? Better not be wussing out on me now.”

Alabaster grinned. It was the closest thing to a smile that he had shown since they started their journey. It might have been a bit sly and competitive, but Little Whisper was happy to see it all the same.

“Oh, you know I am. No doubt about it! Still... even a tank needs a bit of maintence from time to time.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

Little Whisper’s smile lingered for a moment longer before it disappeared. She glanced into the flat, drylands around them. Chewing her lower lip, she contemplated a way of bringing up an idea to Alabaster. Then, like a hollow log floating to the surface of a lake, her kind smile returned.

“You know, the rest of this trip doesn’t have to take hours, Al. If you would let me-”

Alabaster stopped dead in his tracks. "No." He had been anticipating this subject for quite awhile, but had hoped it wouldn't rear it's ugly head.

Little Whisper felt her stomach lurch when she saw that his gaze had darkened. She never liked making anyone upset. Especially if that someone was Alabaster. Before Whisper could even open her mouth, she was quickly cut off again.

“I said no, Whisper! I know it looks pretty barren out here, but what if some cowpoke on a long drive was to see you… change? It's not out of the realm of possibility, you know? We are in cattle country. Then you'll have to change back when we get closer to town. And with the stories going around... just, no. We can’t take the risk.”

Whisper would have been fine dropping the subject, but she saw how the beads of sweat poured from Alabaster’s brow in a steady stream. The stout pegasis could handle pretty much anything life had to throw at him. Even in the Dragonlands Alabaster had handled the scorching summer with far better grace. But here, in the southern reaches of Equestria, the heat seemed different than in their homeland. It seemed... almost alive. Whisper thought the idea was silly, but she could see the demanding toll it was taking on her friend. It was as if the desert had a stranglehold on him.

“Al, just think about it a moment, okay? I… I can change and we can fly high enough to-”

“Damn it, Wisp, I said no!”

It was only when his voice cracked that Alabaster realized he was yelling. Although Little Whisper looked at him in an amiable manner, he could not help but see a slight sliver of hurt in her violet eyes. Way to play it cool, idiot.

“Believe me when I say that it’s for the best, Wisp,” Alabaster said, looking anywhere except at Whisper. “I know you’re worried. I can see it in the way you look at me... but I promise you that if the stupid shit I’ve pulled before hasn’t killed me, than this little flash won’t either.”

It was the closest thing to an apology he could muster without revealing the cold stab of guilt in his gut. Little Whisper simply gave a short nod, her smile appearing weak and strained.

As they resumed their push west, Alabaster felt his emotions weigh upon him a bit heavier than usual. Although Little Whisper carried on by his side with an almost sulky pluckiness, it wasn't long before the shadow over her face lifted and she was looking out at the world with wide-eyed fascination again. She would even begin to hum a little tune. It was one he knew well, though had never heard it from anyone else but her. Soon the tension dissipated like a wisp of smoke on cool, autumn breeze, and everything felt just about the way it was before his outburst.

And Alabaster was completely fine with that.

***

As the sun made its final plunge towards the horizon, the ponies clogging the arteries of Dodge Junction moved with all the enthusiasm and haste of slugs. Their jagged breaths, weak legs, and mopping wet brows were clear signs of a hard day’s labor. Most of these ponies would either flee to the cool comforts of their homes, or, if they were feeling a bit parched, to the local saloon.

By the City Hall, a flustered mare with a lemon colored mane and peach coat came strolling up to the side of a grey stallion who was eyeballing the batwing doors of said saloon lustfully. She pushed back the brim of her hat and waited for the buck to acknowledge her. When he failed to do so, she cleared her throat. The stallion awoke from his daze with a start. His glazed eyes twitching one way and then the other. It was as if he had gotten drunk from just staring at the saloon.

“Didn’t ya tell that pretty wife of yer’s that you’d steer clear of that place,” the mare asked, smiling deviously. “Because I hope that habit isn’t calling ya back now. You wouldn’t want it to make a liar out of ya, riiight?” Her drawl extended the last word, turning it into juicy morsel.

The stallion's eyes seemed to sober as they focused on the mare. After a moment’s consideration, he returned her smile timidly.

“Oh, hehe… Hey, Dusty. Yeah, guess I just got to thinkin’ about how nice and cool it must be in there. Thought maybe I’d pop in for a second, just to… you know, sit and say ‘hello’ to the fellas.”

Dusty gave him a sharp poke with her hoof, making him wince.

“Well, if ya’ wanta’ get cool then just go home! There’s no need to tempt yourself.”

The stallion pondered this for a moment before nodding. “I guess you’re right. I mean, the way ponies gab in this town, somepony would probably start runnin’ their mouth, talkin’ as if I went in there to get hammered. Thanks, Dusty.”

Dusty smiled and was about to say something else when a scream rolled over the town like a thunderclap, ripping the dead air from her mouth.

“Thank the motherly stars, I’m going to live!”

Everyone in the street froze, petrified with fear and confusion. A couple of pony heads peeked cautiously from the windows above the main street, their large eyes silently speaking the fears that no one else dared to mutter. After a few moments, the grey stallion standing next to Dusty managed to be the first to work back his courage.

“Um… Did that sound like it come from your farm, Dusty?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Dusty’s ears immediately fell flat against her skull. She glanced tentatively about. Some part of her was almost afraid that she would see a deranged pony stumbling down the street, glaring at them with a rage reserved for only raving lunatics.

“I reckon it d-did, didn’t it? G-guess I need to g-go check on that... make everythings ok."

Dusty dashed off, leaving a trail of swirling dust in her wake. The stallion could only stare after her.

***

Little Whisper raised an eyebrow as she watched her friend delight himself. Alabaster stood on his hind legs and was neck deep in the cool waters of a metal trough. It would be some time before he reemerged.

“Don’t you think this is a little unethical?” Whisper asked, voice raised.

The thickheaded stallion was already hard of hearing without having his head submerging beneath gallons of water. Without warning, Alabaster’s came rearing up and out of the water with a dramatic sploosh. Whisper recoiled a few paces back, avoiding the light shower flung her way. Afterwards, the only response she received from Alabaster was a deafening belch.

“Holy hell!” Alabaster exclaimed, brushing back his ashy mane, “That was exactly what the doctor ordered!”

When Whisper was confident that the threat of getting wet had passed, she saddled up next to him. “Hey, Al, can we please leave now?”

“What, are you crazy?” Alabaster beamed at her with manic joy. “I think I could drink another gallon, maybe two!”

A hint of color started to burn on Whisper’s cheeks. “That’s nice and all, but you do realize that we are trespassing, right?”

Alabaster just shrugged and readied himself for another dive into the trough.

“Alright…” Whisper sighed. “Do you also know you’re drinking water from a cow trough?”

Alabaster froze, brow furrowed.

“What the hell?” Alabaster exclaimed, finally noticing the two dozen cows gathered around him. They glared daggers at the two miscreants. How could I have missed that?

“Welp, guess that explains the smell.”

“Excuse me...” A particularly sassy speckled cow strolled up to the two, her wide rear end practically swaying with each stride. “...But that there water is reserved for us working gals. We would very much appreciate it if you two deviants would go elsewhere for refreshments and stop soiling our only source of water!”

Alabaster grimaced. The bovine’s shrill voice drove a nail into his skull, making his tail twitch and his eardrums ache. The cow reminded Alabaster of an old mare he knew from his old tribe. Although, this cow seemed far less foul mouthed and brash than that crotchety old bitch. What a wonderful day it was when that old crone took her little dirt nap.

“Go bugger off, heifer,” Alabaster growled. “I’m as dehydrated as a strip of jerky, and as ill as a caged naga. So don’t think for a second that I won’t string you all up by your udders and buck your faces in like piñatas.”

As if Alabaster had lit a match, the cow’s eyes flashed with hostility. Her nostrils flared and one of her front hooves pawed at the ground. For a moment, it seemed as if she was about to charge Alabaster. Alabaster dropped back to all fours, hunkered down, and unfurled his wings.

“Come give me a try then, ya old Besse. It’ll be the biggest mistake of your life!”

The scene was close to escalating even further when Little Whisper intervened.

“Wait, Madame!” Whisper inserted herself between the two combatants. “You must excuse my friend. He is clearly not in his right mind! I mean, he was drinking from your trough. A trough! The sun's done made him delusional. Why don't we just let bygones be bygones, and go our separate ways? I can take my friend and get him back in his right mind.”

A warm smile and kind words had defused many situations like this back in their homeland. Whisper just hoped the same would be true for Equestria.

The bovine stared sourly at Little Whisper, considering the mare for a moment or two.

"Fine!" The cow said with a final shake of her head. "But I suggest keeping that brute on a shorter leash from now on, Missy, for he’s liable to get the both of you in a heap of trouble around these parts!"

With that, she spun around and tromped back to her herd. They had watched the scene unfold with mounting terror. Whisper waited for the herd to begin moving off before allowing herself to feel relief.

For a second there, I thought Al might turn this little prairie into a slaughter house!

Turning back around, Little Whisper realized that Alabaster was no longer with her. She found him staring off at the stocky buildings standing a quarter of a mile away from where they were. It was hard for her to believe that just a few hours ago the town had been nothing more than a blurry speck on the horizon.

Brushing a few stray braids of mane aside from her face, Whisper hurried to Alabaster’s side. There were quiet for a time. Alabaster awkwardly adjusted the worn saddlebag on his back. It had been pinching him something fierce ever since he stood up to drink from the trough. Yeah, never doing that again, he thought.

As the basked in the glow of the waning day, Alabaster thought he felt Little Whisper’s gaze upon him. Not just her gaze, but ‘the look.' Little Whisper gave Alabaster 'the look' whenever he needed her to bail him out of trouble.

He always wished ‘the look’ was a simple expression of anger or exasperation. Alabaster could live with a little resentment thrown his way. Hell, hadn’t he spent most of his childhood awash with the anger and ire of his fellow tribe mates? But no, it could not be that easy. Little Whisper was too good of a friend to do that. Therefore, ‘the look’ would contain a soft frown and teary concern in those round eyes of her’s. Those big, big eyes….

Why am I such a numbskull?

Alabaster studied the purple brush strokes against the evening sky as he waited for Whisper to say something. Anything. When the words never came, Alabaster gave her a furtive glance. Turns out she wasn't even paying attention at him. Feeling a little relieved, Alabaster watched the rays from the sun’s dying light paint the blue pony’s coat an odd shade of gold. A small smile was just visible on the corner of her lips.

Whisper thought the town looked quite cozy with its sleepy, country charm. She then caught site of the railroad. Those train tracks were almost a heavenly sight, cutting through the land before and reaching out towards an entire kingdom. That strip of steel meant that hoofing it would be a thing of the past. As happy as she was at the sight of them, Whisper figured that Alabaster was probably even happier.

“We're one step closer, aren’t we?” The joy welling up in Whisper voice brought a lump to Alabaster's throat.

“I sure hope so,” he replied, trying to answer as levelly as he could. “Won’t be too long till we find a job and maybe start putting some more bits back on the table. Heaven knows it's about time for our luck to change.”

Whisper nodded slowly.

“I know it will, Al. Soon it’ll be nothing but feather beds, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing.”

He couldn’t help but agree. Much to his dismay, Alabaster found Whisper’s glee infectious. Soon they were both grinning like a couple of stoned buffoons as they watched the dying rays of light bath the countryside in its warm glow. To them, it seemed like a good omen for their new lives in Equestria. And though it may not have anything to do with the town, Alabaster felt hopeful that they might finally have a better life ahead for them.

***

As Alabaster and Little Whisper strolled down the main street of Dodge Junction, they were given something of a wide berth from the ponies out and about. A group of mares with manes done up in tight buns whispered eagerly to one another behind their hooves as the two past by. One proper looking fellow with a large top hat fondled his slick, greasy handlebar mustache as he studied the duo with hawkish eyes. Alabaster did his best to ignore all these dirty looks, but they seemed to gnaw at his fur like gnats. Among the many things he already hated, being stared at was one. This is not the place to cause a scene though, you stupid pony. Gotta keep that temper of yours under control, the stallion thought to himself, almost chanting it. He was all but certain that a fight with one of these country bumpkins would surely mean a brawl with their siblings and cousins too. You have to love small communities. The word ‘stranger’ has probably never even touched most of these ponies’ lips before.

The town only had about four major businesses, the two biggest being a trading outpost (also the train station) and a cherry farm, but it was the battered saloon that drew the interest of the thirsty Alabaster. After they passed what looked to be a tailor’s shop, Alabaster came to a screeching halt, almost skidding on his hooves. Little Whisper was about to ask if something was wrong when she followed his gaze. Her stomach dropped a bit at the sight of the weathered wooden cutout of a crazed pony reared up on its hind legs with a pint in its extended right hoof. Alabaster always seemed to gravitate towards the drink.

“Want me to get ya something cool to drink, Wisp?” Alabaster asked with a sly smile. Whisper only glared back.

“Oh wow, Al, that’s just hysterical. I even forgot to laugh.”

His smile turned into a snarky grin.

“I thought you’d like that,” he said before heading up the steps to the saloon with Whisper in tow. Before he even pushed through the batwing doors to enter, Little Whisper felt a spark of excitement that tingled from the crown of her head to the tips of her hooves. She had heard stories about southern Equestria and that a few of the towns in the region almost seemed to be living decades within the past. Though what she craved to see most was the hustle and bustle of the large cities like Manehatten or Fillydelphia, Whisper could not help but to jitter at the portrait already painted in her head of the old cliché saloon scene that had frequented many of the cowpony romance novels she had read many of late nights. Nights when Alabaster was drunk and not easily disturbed by low, guttural noises.

Much to Whisper’s relief, the novels had not led her wrong.

It was every bit what she was expecting it to be: a parlor like area that smelt of aging wood, musky cologne, and strong drinks. A few tables were seemingly scattered about, unused and unwanted. To the far wall in the back lay an abandoned pool table with a freshly raked set of billiard balls waiting for the next players to step up. Most importantly, to the right of the entrance was a polished bar that stretched the length of seven barstools. Just like a I've read, Whisper thought with glee.

As Little Whisper took in her surroundings with wide eyed curiosity, Alabaster’s attention was elsewhere. Shelves upon shelves of glistening bottles seemed to be beckoning to him from behind the bar. ‘High spirits for a low soul’, as Alabaster always said. Taking the first stool he came to, he noticed someone else sitting at the other end of the bar. Ironically, he probably would not have noticed the fellow if it were not for his odd appearance. The lean stallion had sharp, feline like features and a coat as black as a manticore's heart. The stranger’s mane hung down in long dark strands as his pale blue eyes stared at the bottled between his hooves.

Alabaster gave Little Whisper a prod and motioned towards the other fellow. “See that guy over there?” He asked in a low whisper. Whisper, having taken up the seat to Alabaster’s right, leaned forward against the bar for a better view. She grinned widely as her eyes went straight to the worn and dusty saddle bag he wore.

“He’s a traveler like us!”

“Quiet!” Alabaster hissed. Whisper’s gaze quickly averted to the shelves in front of her. The pegasus sighed and turned to face the stranger, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. Strange how suddenly the roles of the couple can be reversed.

“Look, don’t mind-” That was as far as he got before the words died out. The stranger was still staring at his drink. Alabaster gave shrug before looking forward once more. Whatever…

After a minute or two, a broad stallion wearing a faded bowtie and a bowler hat approached Little Whisper and Alabaster from the opposite side of the bar top. His dull eyes met them with the same trepidation that they had received earlier in the street.

“Can I get ya’ll something?” He asked, giving his fuzzy handlebar mustache a quick stroke. You mean besides some service? Alabaster was doing his best not to scowl. He had made a promise to behave and he aimed to keep it. Little Whisper, however, almost seemed to beam at the barman. He was the finishing touch to complete the rustic portrait.

“Yeah, how about a shot of rum?” Alabaster answered. “That seems like a good place as any to start.” The pale stallion had had his mouth set for that stiff Eastern Import since they first got to Equestria.

He complains all day about the scorching heat, then he wants to drink that crap? Whisper mused, shaking her head. There’s just some things I’ll never get.

“Sorry, lad, but we don’t sell the hard stuff here.” Little Whisper felt her breath catch. Oh dear, she thought. This can’t end well!

Alabaster chuckled lightly and scratched his chin with the tip of his hoof. “I’m sorry, pal, but I think I misheard you. Cause for a minute, it sounded like you said that you don’t sell liquor.”

“Ya heard me right, lad. We don’t sell that hard stuff here.” A heavy hoof slammed down onto the bar top, josseling the bottles behind the barpony. Alabaster’s muzzle was mere inches from his now. From farther down the bar, the stranger stirred from the seclusion of his thoughts. He spared the two stallions a warily glance before returning his gaze to the bottle before him.

“Are you kidding me!” He growling, his pupils became flaming pinpricks. “What kind of lousy bar doesn't sell liquor!” The stallion acknowledged Alabaster with a contemptuous scowl.

“Ya’ll can still buy a bottle of cider for a bit if yer looking for a buzz, but no saloon in Equestria sells liquor. It was banned almost five years ago, something to do with a wild night at the Gala in Canterlot. Apparently them nobles can’t hold their liquor. Nearly burnt the whole darn city down, or so I heard.” Little Whisper could have sworn that she felt the temperature rise a few degrees when Alabaster slunk back in his seat.

“Fine,” Alabaster hissed, left eye twitching slightly. “Give me a bottle of cider then, or whatever it is. Just something with alcohol in!” He reaching into the saddle and pulled out a shiny bit before smacking it down on the bar.

“And stop calling me lad!” The bartender took the bit without another word, completely unperturbed by his newest patron’s outburst. Alabaster rested his head on the bar and stared tearfully at the glorious shelves of bottle before him. What’s the point of even having that shit on display if you’re not going to sell it? A complete and utter tease, that’s what it is! With another hearty sigh, Alabaster decided that living in Equestria was going to suck.

***

The sun had finally fallen below the horizon when Alabaster, now on his third bottle of cider, began to reconsider his decision that living in Equestria would suck. The sweet beverage nowhere near quenched his thirst for the burn, but the taste was fantastic and his head was already beginning to swim.

“Yeeep,” He sighed, lowering the bottle from his lips and following it with a low belch. “I think I could get use to this.” But Little Whisper’s attention was elsewhere.

Across the room, a cute young mare pushed a few strands of her fiery red mane from her eyes as she snuggled close to a smiling stallion. Occasionally the stallion would whisper something to the mare, nuzzling her gently. The mare would giggle in response and then whisper something back. Little Whisper watched the two with a mixed feeling of hunger and envy. Alabaster gave her a sideways glance when she never made to reply. It didn’t take him long to figure out what, or who, held her attention.

“It’s impolite to stare, Wisp,” he said, quickly turning back to his drink. “Someone may get the wrong impression about you.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice was a hollow reflection of her usually happy demeanor. “It’s so beautiful to see such affection, and out in the open too. I don’t think anyone in the Dragon Lands was so public about their feelings for another. If the rest of Equestria is like this, then I might not have to scrounge off of you for food anymore.” Alabaster peered at the bartender, his nerves twitching with fright. The lovable lunk seemed to be busying himself with the stock, and thus wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the two travelers.

“I know I’m not one to be saying this kinda thing, but you really shouldn't be talking like that, not here anyways. If anyone was to hear you-.”

For the first time in a long while, Little Whisper looked at him crossly.

“Believe me, Al, I understand the consequences of being discovered, but I can’t survive off of scraps forever.” This time, Alabaster was able to combat the guilt with a long hard swallow from the bottle. As awful as it made him feel when she referred to it as ‘scraps’, he knew there was no better word to call it. Scraps of a love long last...

The silence between them stretched into minutes, and soon half an hour had rolled by. The third bottle of cider had been replaced with a fourth which was now half gone. Little Whisper had given up studying the couple and instead residing to brooding. Her verdian eyes flicked across the shelved bottles. It was not long after that when two chairs slide noisily across the wooden floor. Whisper’s ears twitched restlessly as she listened to the couple make their across the saloon. The exited through the swinging doors with one last fit of giggles. With a huff, she slid down from the stool and made her way to the entrance as well. Alabaster felt a flicker of anxiety.

Swallowing the mouthful of cider, Alabaster quickly asked, “Where are you off to?” To the pegasus’s credit, he did his best to conceal the tinge of worry in his voice. His best was not enough, however.

Little Whisper only paused for moment, one hoof raised to the doors, to answer with, “I’m not going to sit in here like a lump and watch you drink away your share of the bits... again.” With that, she left.

Alabaster tried, but could not find the words to keep Whisper from leaving. He did not know if he had been mentally disarmed by the unfamiliar coldness in her voice or by all the alcohol he had consumed (It was more than likely the later). She does seem to get pretty testy whenever I drink, doesn't she. Maybe there’s a correlation between the two, Alabaster pondered. Maybe I should think about qui- Alabaster shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t about to put down one of the few things that helped him bear the burdens of vagabond just because Whisper thought it was a wasteful habit. Besides, that is why they started dividing their bits in the first place. Ten percent for Alabaster, ten percent for Whisper, and eighty percent for travel expenses. Everyone is happy.

She isn’t.

Alabaster found the silence uncomfortably heavy without Whisper at his side. For a moment, he even entertained the thought of leaving and trying to catch up with Little Whisper. However, his pride kept him anchored to the barstool. How could Alabaster still be the fearless leader of their shotty duet if he went running and groveling to Whisper every time he made her unhappy? The answer is he couldn't. They wouldn’t be able to get anywhere.

Instead, Alabaster took a long pull from his bottle and just about drained it dry. It suddenly dawned on him that he wasn't actually alone in the saloon. A quick sideways glance showed him that the dark stranger and his untouched drink had not moved an inch. Well pal, I guess it’s just you, me, and the bartender. The bartender suddenly disappeared behind a door beside the long shelves. More than likely that was the stockroom. Well then... It’s you and me. Hope you’re ready to make a new friend, ‘cause ready or not, here he comes.

Alabaster had always savored barroom talk --especially when he had managed to put a few drinks back-- and he desperately wished to rid this painful silence (he wasn’t the kind of guy to be a brooding drinker). Drinkers who brooded were the kinds of ponies with problems, and he didn’t have any problems. So he thinks, anyway.

Alabaster willed up his words and managed to put them together in coherent sentences. “Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

***

Midnight Dreary had been staring at the same drink for what felt like hours. Occasionally he would prod it, as if expecting it to do something besides look back at him. Instead, he only felt the drink gradually grow warmer. By the time Little Whisper had departed, the cider had become an unpleasant lukewarm. Completely undrinkable by most ponies’s standards.

This was completely fine by him. The drink didn’t much appealed to Midnight. However, he was pondering the conundrum of why he even purchased the drink at all. It seemed like a good idea at first; doing as the locals do by having a drink at the local saloon and acting as if he belonged. The problem with this plan, however, is that he could not bring himself to even take a sip from the sweet smelling bottle. So now, would I not be drawing attention for just sitting here and staring at the blasted thing? He massaged his temples, a migraine beginning to throb beneath the tips of his hooves.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

Startled from his thoughts, Midnight had to give a brief glance around to make sure the question was directed towards him. Shifting to the voice, he found a pale stallion looking him inquisitively. Isn’t that the guy who punch the bar? Midnight Dreary studied him warily. A bottle was sitting between the pegasus’s hooves. However, Midnight noted that the fellow definitely was not just staring at it.

“Um…I am fine,” Midnight began rather awkwardly, his words feeling like rocks rolling around his mouth. “And you?”

Alabaster raised an eyebrow.

“Doing good, I guess,” He answered with shrug. “Got a drink and some shade, what more could I ask for, right?”

Midnight gave him a practiced smile which seemed to convey some amount of interest, because the tipsy patron began to ramble.

“You know,” Alabaster started again. “That drink of yours looks pretty lonely, pal. Don’t think I've ever known a traveling fella who’d ignore a perfectly good drink that he’s paid for. And you are a traveling kind of fella, aren't you?”

Midnight looked back down to the bottle before him and thought for moment. He had made a note to avoid as many unnecessary conversations as possible. Yet, he could not help but feel drawn to this stranger. There was something about him that seemed to contrast perfectly the colorful and cheery ponies he has encountered thus far. It was enough to urge Midnight to keep the conversation alive long enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“You could say that,” Midnight said. There was a bleak shadow cast across his sad, blue eyes. Alabaster’s ears twitched with interest.

“I've been drifting for as long as I can remember. ‘From one road to the next’, as I always say.” The drinking stallion took a long swallow. “Anyway, you been roaming around here any, stranger? Around Equestria I mean?”

Midnight shook his head. “No…. I haven't been here too long actually. I probably couldn't even show you up from down in this odd country.” Alabaster gave a quite ‘hear hear’ to that.

“Fancy that, though!” Alabaster exclaimed. “Who would've thunk that we’d come across another wanderer?” Midnight’s expression turned timid and his voice grew low.

“We?”

Alabaster seemed to beam in drunken pride.

“Yeah, me and Little Whisper! We've been hitting the trails together since….” His eyes lazily drifted to the left before snapping back on Midnight. “A couple of years now!” No response was met from Midnight, and the silence that followed unsettled the pale stallion. So instead of bearing it, he did his best to keep the ball rolling between the two.

“So if you’re not from Equestria, then where did you come from? I know you didn't drift in over from the Dragon Lands. I'm more than sure I'd have remembered your face on that tiny ass boat!”

Midnight felt his heart flutter at the sound of that word. From. The truth is that besides some horrid nightmares, he really had no clue where he was ‘from’. His short life had been nothing but an obscene blur until just a few days ago. I think that farmer called it amnesia. No matter how long Midnight brooded on the subject, he never gained anything but a massive headache and a dry mouth.

“Well,” Midnight began carefully. “I’m-”

Just as the conversation between Midnight Dreary and Alabaster was reaching its climax, the swinging doors slammed inward with a thunderous bang! Standing in the threshold of the saloon was the peach colored mare named Dusty. Her Stetson hat cast a shadow over her face like an ominous vial with only her eyes visible. Eyes that practically glowed with venomous rage. The bartender’s head poked out of the backroom.

“Dusty!” he yelled. “What in tarnation’s got you slammin my doors?”

With wide eyed wonder, Alabaster and Midnight watched as she marched up to the bar in long strides. She jumped up on a stool between the two of them.

“I just don’t believe it, Tap!” she exclaimed, slamming her hat down on the counter. “Some jackass went butting heads with my head cow and scared the rest of the herd half to death! Know she’s madder than a hornet and the rest are near ‘bout inconsolable! Might take days before I get them settled down enough to give me some milk.”

“What kind of idiot butts heads with a cow?” Tap asked on his way to the bar.

“I don’t know!” She screamed.

To say that Alabaster was beginning to feel a bit anxious would be an understatement. The temperature within the room had risen until it felt like the midday sun had decided to peek in on them. Me and my damnable temper,Alabaster thought. He could already hear Whisper’s sigh of disbelief. The time to leave had come and Alabaster knew it. That stupid cow had probably described him to the enraged mare, but she was too blinded by fury to notice him. For now at least.

Leaning back a little, he gave a small wave to Midnight Dreary. Apparently he must have been looking for some kind of signal, because it did not even take a second to grab the dark stallion’s attention. Alabaster pointed over to the door and then back to the fuming mare between them. Midnight gave a quick nod and, within the moment, understood completely. And even though they had just became acquainted, Midnight would sooner risk the company of the friendly drunk than the raging mare.

Without raising alarm from the mare, the two fellows carefully climbed down from the stools to exit. What little noise they made fell on deaf ears. Alabaster, feeling as if he were trying to trot on eggshells, tiptoed to the exit as quickly as he could. Midnight Dreary on the other hand could have probable galloped around the saloon with a grin on his face, and neither Dusty nor Tap would have ever taken any notice of him.

“Did yer girl tell you what the varmint looked like?” Tap inquired while pulling out a complimentary bottle of cider.

“Yeah, some whitish looking fellow. Had a pink rose on his flank.”

“You mean like that guy over there?”

Dusty’s head spun like top just as Alabaster had pushed open the doors, Midnight just ahead of him.

“You!” Her roar was almost deafening. The bottles on Tap’s shelves tinkled and shivered, as if frightened. With his heart tap-dancing like a lunatic across his ribcage, Alabaster slowly turned to face the crazed mare. An apologetic smile was scrawled across his lips like a poorly written letter.

“L-look,” he stuttered, “Maybe w-we discuss this over l-like civil ponies?”

There were very few times Alabaster had ever been caught off guard. A life of adventuring and wandering requires lightning fast reflexes. Sometimes those reflexes were even the deciding factor of whether you lived or died. But Alabaster’s ladened catlike reflexes, lethargic from the bottles of cider, would never have predicted that the mare would rocket towards him at pegasus like speed with a heavy hoof aimed right at his kisser.

Alabaster would only remember a blur before his brain was sent rocking back into the wall of his skull. A moment later, his eyes opened up to find that himself sprawled out on the dusty road in which he entered town on. Wait a minute.. He felt something lumpy underneath him.

“Ooowwww,” Midnight’s moaned, face down in the dirt, “I think I pulled something…” Alabaster only gurgled stupidly in response.

Dusty stood atop the saloon steps with her head held high and a champion’s smile stretched across her lips. Her hat still lay on the bar, long forgotten. Instead her mane now fell down to her shoulders in cute little ringlets. The mare’s malicious eyes surveyed the tangled heap of the stallions with vindictive glee. But it seemed it might be short lived.

“What the hay is going on here?”

Like moths drawn to a flame, a small number of nosy onlookers had begun to form a semicircle around the two. The speaker, who pushed his way through this tiny crowd, was a tall, tan earth pony with a thick beard and steely eyes that sunk deep into their sockets. He wore a thick vest and adorned upon it chest like a trophy was a star shaped badge that read “Sheriff”.

“Sheriff Rhinestone!” Dusty cleared the steps in a bound and trotted up to him, smiling fiercely.

“Arrest these two!” she yelled, pointing an accusing hoof at the stallions. He looked at her with utter disbelief.

“For what, girl!?”

Suddenly, Alabaster slowly slid to the ground in a rag doll fashion as Midnight Dreary forced himself to his hooves. Quietly dusting himself off, the dark stallion looked up to find all eyes staring carefully at him. That was when Midnight realized he hated crowds.

“Well,” Dusty began, biting her lower lip, “I don’t really know what that dark fella done... but he was sneaking out with that other one, so he can’t be up to any good!”

“And what makes you say that?” The sheriff asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because that winged fella there trespassed on my farm and fooled with my cattle!”
All eyes then shifted to Alabaster who was still laying in the dust, twitching like a dying insect. The last time he received such a blow was when he had spat in a diamond dogs beer, though, he might not remember that little fight after this particular incident.

“H-he did what?”

Dusty nodded vigorously. “You heard me, sheriff. He came onto my land, threatened my head bessie, and then scared the rest of the herd out of their wits. You should see them! They’re all afraid that some deranged pony is going to come at night and beat ‘em up! It’s going to be a week before any of them let me get any milk!”

Hushed whispers were exchanged between the watching townponies. The one thing that Dodge Junction prided itself on was self reliance. With many of the necessities the average pony would need being produced by intown businesses, there was little need for any imports from cities like Detrot or Manehatten. The three major establishments being the Jubilee’s cherry farm, Horace’s forge, and Dusty’s dairy farm.

“Well,” Rhinestone said thoughtfully, “Did you think to ask him why he was there in the first place?” Dusty scrunched her nose at the thought.

“Because he was drinking from the cow trough.”

The ‘EWW’ that sang forth from the crowd was almost harmonious. Whoever did not have a look of complete disgust were instead snickering.

“Oh, screw you, guys!” Everyone in the half circle of bodies started at the sound of Alabaster’s voice. He was pushing himself up on wobbly knees with a scowl painted across his face. It was not a moment later that Midnight offered a helping hoof, which Alabaster graciously accepted.

“You’d all be surprised how thirsty one could get from walking for a day and a half in this sweltering place you call home, especially if you left your damn canteens on the boat you sailed in on. Yeah, I’d like to see you make the trek from the coast with water. Do that, then come and bitch at me!”

The sheriff’s mouth dropped and his eyes went wide.

“Wait a minute. Are you fellas-”

“And you!!” Alabaster’s left leg was wrapped around Midnight’s neck, but the other pointed accusingly at Dusty. “I wouldn’t have said all that crap if that one heifer hadn’t acted like such a biddy. She’s lucky that I didn’t skin her and make some nice booties out of her hide.”

Dusty snorted like an angry bull ready to charge. She probably would have too if the sheriff had not stuck out a leg to restrain her. Dusty looked up at him as if she was ready to claw his eyes out. However, her expression quickly melted when she saw the grim look on his face.. Even Alabaster felt his own fury die down when he met the sheriff’s icy glare.

The sheriff then spoke in a low voice, “Are you sayin’ that you fellas are outlanders?”

The silence was deadly, almost as deadly as the glares from every pony around the two. Midnight felt his heart flutter when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Within seconds, the semicircle had become a whole circle. Alabaster heaved a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. Whisper’s not going to be happy.

***

Little Whisper had always adored the night. It made her feel safe and unseen, much like a child snuggled up beneath the covers of a blanket.

As she drifted from one dimly lit streetlamp to another, she could not help but feel like she was in some elaborate game of peek-a-boo. The same eyes that had followed her and Alabaster earlier were now seemed to harmlessly glance off her, never truly registering the mares presence. The country ponies either lingered around the doorways of buildings or sat in their rocking chairs, all of them cradling their full bellies and talking about how pleasant supper had been. Occasionally a fit of laughter would ring through the sweet night air as a few farm ponies remembered an old joke.

Whisper, still incognito, studied each pony she came across with hungry and needful eyes. Her gaze only remained for a second or two before moving on to the next. Alabaster had often called this habit ‘creeping’, and had scorned her many times for doing it. But such a thing was part of her nature. How could she resist it?

Within those moments, she drank in more information about these country folks than they would have ever shared with an outsider. Whisper singled out a burgundy colored stallion with a short, cropped mane and a dusty tail who stood laughing with a group dirty, haggard looking ponies. She watched as he would occasionally give a quick lick of his chapped lips, followed with a rub from his fore hoof. It immediately became clear to her that he was a drinker. The stallion shared a few of the same tell-tale signs of the habit as Alabaster.

Whisper frowned at the thought of her closest friend’s vice. It wasn't always a problem, not from Alabaster’s perspective anyway. She didn’t mind that he spent his share of the money on something so wasteful, but it bothered her that he often teetered on the line of moderation. Whisper couldn’t count all the times she had to drag his mangy carcass away from an inn or a tavern, always reeking as if someone had tried to drown him in a rum bottle.

Little Whisper had lost herself to those worrying thoughts when a small colt came bounding up to the group of ponies she had been spying on.

“Papa!” the colt called out, panting like a dog. He must have ran the entire way there.

“There’s a fight goin’ on at the saloon! It’s Miss Dusty and some odd lookin’ fella!”
That tore Whisper from her thoughts real quickly. The farm ponies were suddenly at attention and flocking around the colt. The burgundy pony was front and center, towering over the foal. The taller stallion was almost looking down at a tiny replica of himself.

“The sheriff’s there too, Papa,” the colt continued, shrinking under the gaze of his father. “And he seems to be really mad! He was shouting something at them when I ran off.”

The father simply nodded, regarding everything his son had said with a stoic expression.

“Run on home, son,” the father said, “And be sure to stay there.”

The colt squeaked a small ‘yes sir’ before rocketing off down the street. In his absence, the farm ponies began to chatter restlessly to one another. They almost seemed to be gauging each other's reactions.

“Oak, you don’t think that could be the same jimmy who scared the hay out of our stock earlier, do ya?” It was a mare who spoke. Her coat was a dirty brown and her auburn mane was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

The red stallion only gave her a glance before turning towards the direction of the saloon.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said before heading off, the rest of the farm ponies quickly following in tow.

It felt as if Little Whisper’s stomach had been sent into a somersault. The duo had only been in Dodge Junction for a few short hours and there was already a lynch mob in the making. Still hidden under the cover of the growing shadows, Whisper began to retrace her steps back to the saloon; praying in silence that this won’t turn into another one of Alabaster’s frenzied fiascos.

Please, whoever it may be watching over us, just don’t let him kill anyone!

***

“I asked you a question, boy. Are you an outlander!” Sheriff Rhinestone’s change of demeanor was drastic. What was once a passive peacekeeper had transformed into a vindictive inquisitor. Alabaster even felt the onlookers become more than simple spectators. All of their eyes reflected the sparks of hostility rising like loaves of bread in the Sheriff’s eyes.

Alabaster met Sheriff Rhinestone’s glare with as much composure as he could muster. He was trotting on thin ice, and he knew it. I can smell a lynch mob in the making.

“What if I am?” Alabaster began, trying his best not to speak for Midnight either. He figured the poor guy was in enough trouble just by association.

“Unless something drastic has changed with your society, I don’t believe being an outlander infringes on any laws or anything.”

Rhinestone’s hooves dug into the ground, as if to ready himself for a charge at the pale stallion.

“I reckon it doesn’t, but you’d have to be dumb if you think I’ll just let your kind parade around in my town.” The sheriff spoke barely above a low growl. Alabaster’s brow furrowed, there was obviously something he had missed on this rapid spiral downward.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

Rhinestone flinched, as if the word ‘hell’ physically lashed out at him. Great, Alabaster thought, now I have to worry about being politically correct.

“I’m talking about all the damage you outlanders have done to this country!” Rhinestone roared. “It’s because of you that Equestria was nearly destroyed!”

It took a moment for Alabaster’s mind to catch with what the sheriff was saying. Sure, he had screwed up a few ponies lives before, but he couldn’t recollect anything that would have been so astronomical that it would have earned him hate from across seas.

Then it hit him.

He remembered hearing about some crazy things happening in Equestria a few months back. Some demon had stolen all the magic in the country and threatened to take over the world. Well, that’s how the drunk ponies in taverns would tell it. Alabaster had simply thought it was a tale those homeless drunks were spreading just so that they had something to gab about over drinks.

Living in the planes of the Dragons Lands is a very isolated and lonesome existence, so it came as no surprise to Alabaster that his homelands could be completely oblivious of such a crisis. With the constant warring between dragon clans and the parties of headhunters pouring out of the Free Pony Cities, pony settlements have loads more to worry about than the troubles of the motherland.

“Look pal, I just got to Equestria. Whatever happened to you guys has nothing to do with me or my own. We passed through here to rest up and maybe look for work. However, it looks like you guys don’t much care for our company. So I promise you, we will be on the next train out of here.” To assure the lawpony, Alabaster even crossed his heart on it.

Alabaster couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He was never good at the whole negotiation tactic, especially when he had done nothing wrong. Eat your heart out, Wisp.

“Well, you and your own can keep on moving right outta Dodge. I want you lot out of my town now!”

“You can’t be serious,” Alabaster scoffed indignantly. “We don’t even have the supplies we-”

“I don’t care!” Sheriff Rhinestone advanced upon Alabaster like a stalking predator until finally their faces were inches apart.

The pale stallion quickly averted his gaze. Not because he was intimidated by the aging lawpony, which is what Rhinestone took the gesture as, but because Alabaster was afraid that he might just beat the stallion to death if their eyes should meet. His teeth ground together like sandpaper as he worked to stuff his brewing rage back into the mental lockbox he kept it in. He created this metaphoric device at Whisper’s command, both of them hoping it would help tame his erratic temper.

Just think about Wisp. Think about how disappointed she would be if you killed another lawpony.

Rhinestone’s breath was uncomfortably warm against Alabaster’s muzzle. It smelled of cigars and apple cider.

“You’re going to put Dodge Junction to yer rear, boy, and never look back, ya hear?” Rhinestone barely spoke above a whisper. “Because if you tarry a moment longer, there’ll be heck to pay. Everypony here already wants a piece of yer hide, and I have half a mind to let them have at ya.”

Alabaster gave no rise to Rhinestone’s threat. He continued to stare at the ground apathetically, his eyes hidden by strands of mane that had dropped down.

“Are we clear, boy!” Rhinestone would not have satisfaction easily. Why should he? He lost something very valuable during the chaotic reign of Lord Tirek. Something he considered more valuable than life itself. Something he considered worth every bit of hate he felt for this young stallion.

Alabaster’s head slowly, his eyes level with Rhinestone’s once more. However, the pale stallion did not wear the defeated expression that the sheriff had been hoping for. The pale stranger’s lips had curled upward into a snarling smile that revealed a row of dagger like teeth --how easy would it be for those sharp looking chompers to tear out Rhinestone’s throat? Eyes that were once a beautiful shade of yellow had transformed into the menacing gaze of a heartless predator with slits for pupils and crimson fire for irises.

The change was almost deathly. Every ounce of rage-fueled courage Rhinestone held began to slip from his grasp like a fleeting breeze. For the first time since the great tragedies of Tirek’s bout for power, he felt true and utter fear. The creature before him was not a pony. How could he be? He was monster straight from a child’s storybook

Alabaster turned away from the now petrified Sheriff and trotted over to Midnight’s side. He quickly whispered in Midnight’s ear, “Sorry about this, mate, but we need to make tracks before these bastards bring out their pitchforks.” Midnight nodded.

“This small town atmosphere isn’t really my taste anyway.” It made Alabaster feel a little better hearing him say that. Just a little though.

And so, like two exiles fresh from the stockade, they began to walk. The ring of angered ponies parted for them, their eyes still flashing with animosity as they watched the two carefully. Only the Sheriff remained unmoving. The horror in his eyes followed the stallion’s as they departed. Alabaster could almost taste the townsfolk’s desire for violence. And it tastes horribly like ignorance and prejudicism. However, if the things that happened were really as bad as the sheriff let on, then he couldn’t really blame them for being overly cautious. But still….

Alabaster and Midnight had only walked a few feet before they both looked back to find the whole congregation almost on top of their heels.

“What the hell!” Alabaster yelled back. “Mind giving us some freaking room?”

“Ya’ll will find plenty of room outside of town!” Yelled a mare wearing a white and black checkered bonnet.

Alabaster had to bite down on his tongue to keep from retorting. His cheeks flushed as he looked forward again and did his best to ignore the parade of angry ponies tailing them.
Hell of a way to send a guy off.

The thought had just crossed Alabaster’s mind when a new party emerged. A dozen or so farm ponies, lead by a tall red stallion, stood dead center in the road. There would be no other way but to go through them.

“You guys are kind of blocking the road,” Alabaster said to the lead pony, his annoyance only seconds from blooming into violence. “And I don’t think this parade has any breaks. Best move before we make you move.”

The lead pony eyes flickered scrutinously over the mouthy pegasus. “You the fella fighting with Miss Dusty?” Alabaster’s mouth opened to say something, but was cut off by the sudden reemergence of that damned mare herself.

“Don’t you worry about that varmint, Oaky,” She said with a saucy flip of her mane. “The sheriff has done put him straight and sent him on his way.”

Oak gave her a polite nod before turning back to Alabaster. He now held the same hateful expression as everyone else around them.

“You better not come back stranger,” he growled. “Or you’ll have more to deal with than the law. We country folk stick by our own.” Unaffected by threats, Alabaster stood his ground.

“If you and your pals will move, then you won’t ever have to worry about seeing me in this chicken-shit town again.”

They stared each other down for a few seconds longer, both searching for any signs of give. Midnight watched the two stallions in trembling trepidation, waiting for something to happen. He was very much afraid that things were only a breath’s length away from escalating into an all out brawl. However, Oak seemed to have ignored Alabaster words entirely.

Seemingly satisfied with his mental assessment of the outsider, Oak walked over and stood with his boss, Dusty. The rest of his posse followed suit, although rather reluctantly. Even though their hearts had been dead set on a fight, they wouldn’t do anything to make Dusty or Oak look bad.

With the path cleared once more, the parade continued.

They marched onward for about a minute or so before another face appeared, this time emerging from the shadows like a bad dream. It was Little Whisper, much to Alabaster’s dismay. She came trotting to Alabaster’s left side, her ivory braids flailing all over.

“What the heck is going on?” Like she has to even ask, Alabaster thought.

“Just fall in line, Wisp,” he answered without breaking stride. “I’ll explain everything once we are clear of this damn town.”

Whisper, walking backwards to keep pace, looked from Alabaster to the herd of angry ponies that flocked behind them. Sighing, she turned and joined the trudge as well.

“I can’t believe you,” she murmured crossly. “We were only here for a few hours. I mean, this has to be new record or somethi-” She lost her words as she finally noticed the dark stallion on the other side of Alabaster. Whisper sighed again and resigned herself to silence.

Alabaster spared her a quick, pain filled glance. That age-old stab to his heart returned. Here they were, in a new country and in a new life, still getting run out of towns. All he wanted to do was provide the two of them with some kind of security, something neither of them have ever really had. However, it seemed like life had its own agenda for the battered wayfarers.

Yep, living in Equestria is definitely going to suck.

Author's Note:

This is the revised version. Please notify me of any typos (because I'm positive they're still some around in there).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and decide to stick around for some more.

~Ending theme, I guess...

Comments

[kildeez]

This story is far too well-written for the lack of views it is suffering.

[Celestial Petrichor]

This story is really great so far!
Spotted a typo.

So how are we going to fairfare if Al bullies and battles his way through every single problem?

I'm glad I found this story :P