Fallout Equestria: Taking Life By The Horns

by Pokonic

Being Poni Is Suffering

As I moved around in the outskirts of the town, quite a bit away from the area where it was occupied just a few hours ago by a few score ponies, I wondered to myself what I was even doing here. Was it to get away from Blueberry, or even Candy Cane? Was it to be alone to gather my thoughts? That ghoul shook me up a bit more than I let on, far more than I wanted Blueberry to know. I still didn't know why both Blueberry and Bright Day reacted like that, undoubtedly it was just another weird pony thing I would have to deal with, but it still shook me a little.

Watershed, besides the conflict going on near the river, was surprisingly quiet. I spotted no griffons flying west (or was it south? east?) of the river, and I do not believe any noticed me. As it was, I noticed that the town was really quite a bit bigger than my original impression of it a few day's earlier, with only the far end of it closest to the river having any meaningful damage from last night's assault and today's fighting. Seeing that I didn't want to die, I took temporary cover in one of the nearly identical husks that probably used to be a house a very long time ago.

The interior was wooden and smelled of rotten carpet and mold, but that might have just been because of the fact it was still wet from the storm the day before. A single staircase on the far corner of the main room was rotten enough for me to reconsider climbing it and the roof itself was patchy and of dubious use. Luckily, I found a dry spot in the room that had what looked like the aged remains of a couch, and after a few moments of debate I lazed down on it to relax a little bit.

I wasn't sure why I was there, really. I didn't enjoy being in a moldy room that was probably not safe for life, let alone one that smelled stale and ever so slightly of decay. I guess I simply overreacted at the hill.

Was that a good thing, leaving Blueberry alone with Candy Cane? There would certainty be repercussions for it later, either by Blueberry grilling me about what she had forgotten or by a tearful little filly asking why Blueberry acted oddly. I also wondered what to think about the bat creature that attacked me. Was it just protective of Candy Cane? Did it actively want to kill me? That seemed unlikely, as if it did, it would have done that when it had the chance. It certainly could have, with its hoof-claw gauntlets and its teeth. At the very least, it could talk, if Candy Cane's statement was anything to go by.

Speaking of strange things, Sea Salt was certainly waiting for me near the bridge by now, possibly frightened. I truly regretted not telling her more about the wasteland in general when I got the chance, as she presumably had enough questions to fill a book. A pity there wasn't a guide about the wasteland around somewhere. I was less worried that she would get hurt from the ongoing fighting then about what might happen if she get's too hungry for her own good and tries to get herself something to eat. Really, the entire concept that I was enabling a giant pony eating shark pony thing was odd in itself, but I suppose it had a refreshing bluntness to it compared to Blueberry's memory problems and past, Tauronto's three or so factions of unknown hostility, being shot at by ponies, and never being able to go home again.

Home. There was a word I had been trying to avoid thinking about for a while. Home was barred to me forever. I would never see the minotaur's I grew up with, even if I didn't know them that well. I would not see the few friends I had made, and would probably not see another minotaur that wouldn't try and kill me at that. Even if, in hindsight, my vague attraction to Brass was just a mental construct to make me feel even worse, I would still miss her and Copper. I also missed the Elder, the few times I had spoken to him. I didn't even like the man, but I would miss Bulls Strength as well.

Speaking of thing's that confused me and made me want to scream, I noticed that the purple mark on my hand had returned, if it had ever left. At first I had thought I was seeing things, but indeed, there was a thin light line discoloring the dark skin on my palm, and it was in the same general pattern as before. I thought about the dream I had in the hotel room, and it made me wonder. It wasn't possible that there was other Draconequui, was there? I mean, yes, there was others besides Discord, but it was highly improbable that any would simply wander around Equestria, or Caledonia, or whatever else they wished too and mess around.

I mean, yes, of course they would do that, as a general rule, being spirits of chaos and disharmony, if they all were real. I wasn't entirely sure Discord was real, either, and neither did many of the minotaurs I had the unusual talk about religion. It really was never a topic that was brought up in casual conversation, or private conversation. Everyone generally nodded and swore on the name of Discord, and tended to be satisfied at that. No one actively prayed, even the elders, and few actually seemed to care if he was dead in Canterlot or was alive in some form or another.

The only reason I was even thinking about our supposed god was because of the thing I had saw at the Seahorse, and the mark on my hand. I wasn't happy about it, not entirely anyway. It was more like I didn't know what to feel about it.

A manticore talked to me, licked my hand, and left. Then I had a dream about it turning into a Draconequui. It almost sounded like the start of a joke, but it was, to dismay, an accurate summery of the most pressing dilemma in my life at the moment.

"Is this how I am going to live for the rest of my life?" I said to the ceiling after a long bout of silence, lying on my back and trying to block out the ambient noise outside.

Naturally, no one answered.

---

I wasn't aware that I had dozed off when the griffon fell through the roof.

Yelling in surprise and getting myself upright, I found myself staring at a very odd sight: a griffon lying directly on top of what used to be a large cabinet, clad in now-damaged combat armor and bearing a set of guns attached to its battle saddle, one of which was quite visibly crushed.

A few second's later after the first griffon fell, another flew in through the newly-made hole in the ceiling, landing a bit less than gracefully on the ground. Unlike the first one, this one was groaning, or, perhaps more accurately, screaming bloody murder at the sky, floor, walls, and, when his eyes scanned the room in paranoia and locked with mine, at me.

"Oh fuck me!" he screamed as he noticed me at the far end of the room, slightly hidden behind a bit of shade.

I stared at the griffon, who was attempting trying to get his sidearm to fire. More worryingly, he was trying to get it to fire at me."Er, are you okay?"

The griffon stopped struggling with his gun for a few moments, glared at me, and looked back down and started fumbling with it again with increased fury.

"I don't have any reason to hurt you unless you try to kill me." I said as reasonably as possible, folding my arms up in a defensive position.

The griffon blinked, and after a few moments of deliberation lowered his gun and stashed it on a holster on his side. "...You’re not in with the Purebreds?"

I tapped the wall with a knuckle in the general direction of the fighting. "I'm not in with anyone. Here," I stepped forward away from the couch, and motioned the griffon to it. "-take my spot. You need it more than I do."

The griffon looked like I was out of my mind, but half-limped over to the couch and got up on it easily enough that I could tell that he somehow avoided major injury during his fall.

Leaning on the wall connected to the staircase, I looked at the griffon that I just let take my spot. I was even less certain about the particularities of griffons than I was about ponies, but something about his voice told me he was male. His feathers were white and his fur was brown, but he had a blue crest of slightly fluffy feathers and something told me that the blue teardrop tattoos under his eyes were not natural. He didn't seem too old, but he looked like every other griffon I had met up till this point: born in the Equestrian wasteland and with a slightly predatory gaze no matter his actual expression.

As it was, that last bit was barely noticeable when he started to calm down and take in deep breaths. "So, dude, what's your name?"

My idea that all griffons were soulless predators was quickly being replaced with one that made them be mostly like ponies, except with wings and more annoying slang.

"My name is Ever Watchful. What's yours?"

The griffon took a deep breath. "The name’s Gabriel."

We stared at each other for a few moments.

"What, exactly, is going on outside?" I asked slowly, if only to solve a mystery that has been plaguing me for little more than an hour now.

Gabriel stretched himself out on the couch, digging his talons into the fabric. "Hell. There's a half dozen Purebreds who have defected who think they are revenging this town by shooting at the rest of the Purebreds who were passing through, and they are the 'messiah of the wastes' types that pop up every so often with heavy fire power and optimism. They have a hold of the bridge, and the rest of them are trying to get out of here. Thing is, whatever happened last night attracted crows, and the Blacktalons are in town. But there's a crazy mare on the bridge that’s making them scatter, she’s probably the leader."

Wordlessly, I pointed at the dead griffon in the middle of the room, and the griffon almost smirked. "She tried to kill me when she spotted me when she was fleeing, I think. I got her anyway."

I shook my head. "I would think the table did. And you wouldn't be here if she didn't 'get' you too."

Gabriel's carefree grin shrank into something that could have been a frown if it was not for his beak's natural shape.

"Bah, fine. You know, you are awfully talky for a minotaur."

I shook my head. "And what is that supposed to mean? And if you’re not a Blacktalon, what are you?"

"Talky and full of questions!" he chirped back.

"Please, I literally just gave you my bed. Can't you just tell me?"

Gabriel didn't look pleased, but waved a claw dismissively over to the cooling corpse. "You’re the second minotaur I have ever met, and he barely talks. And I," he suddenly takes his other claw and runs it through his hair, "am I private contractor under a party who would wish to remain anonymous under even the most excruciating circumstances."

I wasn't amused by the griffon's sarcasm. "So, you’re not a Blacktalon or a Talon. Tell me, who's your boss?"

The griffon looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Look, I am not giving up something like that, even if you would kill me over it."

I decided to take a risk and prodded the griffon's beak with a thumb, at which he did nothing but whimper and dig his talons a little bit further into the couch.

"Look, if I was going to kill you, I would have done so anyway. Just tell me who you are working for." I said, voice low and head down so I was just a few inch's from touching the griffon's face. A feather or too brushed my nose, but I did nothing in fear of sneezing.

"Okay, okay! Fine, have it your way..." Gabriel said, trying to sound as brave as possible and failing badly.” His name's Dive Bomb, alright! He has my contract!"

I wasn't sure how that would help me, or what he meant by "contract", but Gabriel was clearly rattled by my ignoring of personal space, to I took my thumb off his beak and took a few steps back.

"Can I trust you to not try and kill me if I turn my back to you?"

The griffon snorted. "Doubt I could if I wanted too."

"Are you sure? Your beak could take my arm off." I said, letting a little bit of my own unease leak into my voice. Even if he was little less than half my size, he was still agitated from the pain, and he was built like the proverbial cornered animal.

Gabriel scoffed. "Really? Hell no. I'm not like...are we really having this conversation!" he said, sounding slightly upset.

I was surprised at just how flustered he looked. "I guess?"

"Pfft, you're a riot. You have any friends around here, anyone I could meet?"

I must have looked surprised, because he said so.

"Look, as far as I can tell, my job here is done and I need to leave. A safe place would be helpful."

Slightly confused at how much trust he was willing to put into me, I never less answered quickly.

"Yes, I do. There's a small blue pony and a little filly on a hill a few minutes away."

He nodded as best as he could with his head laying flat on what might have either been a stuffed animal or a deformed pillow. "Okay, that's good. I can't risk flying out there, even as far away from the battlefield. If I say I know you, will she let me take cover with them?"

I thought for a moment, and realized something foul. "She...might. She's...look, you seem like you trust me."

Gabriel shifted his weight and experimentally flapped his wings. "Yeah. You don't seem like the sort who has a agenda. Even with those scratches on your chest, you don't look like a thug." He gave a quick glance to my face, and recanted.” I mean, no offense, you look scary and stuff, with your horns and your voice, and, just to be clear, I really doubt my beak could fit around your hand, but you look calm."

I wasn't sure if I was offended or not. "Okay, there's a thing about this mare, her name's Blueberry, by the way. She's a Steel Ranger, a former one from Fillydelphia. She's not a fan of griffons."

His beak opened and closed a few times, and his eyes were wide and panicked. "Oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah." I agreed. "It's pretty bad. But if you don't wave your claws in the air, I doubt she'll shoot you. But if she does, run."

"I will keep that in mind." he said sarcastically. "Running away from Steel Ranger's is a art form from where I come from."

I scoffed, and, after getting out of my leaning position, headed for the door. But before I did, I knelled down to the dead griffon in the room.

She wasn't a pretty sight, especially with her beak cracked and a bit of wood in her face, but attached to her was something I didn't especially want but knew that I needed: a gun.

It was rather square in shape, but the barrel was wide and tubular. It could probably pass as a rather overcomplicated club if it wasn't for the fact it smelled like oil. I could comfortably lift it with one hand, but I placed my left on it for leverage, and pointed it to the door and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Gabriel snickered.

I threw the gun.

The door broke.

Gabriel made a little anguished noise in the back of his throat.

---

Figuring that a gun would be a bit much, considering I wasn't intending on actually shooting anything and that, more importantly, one would have been dead weight in my grip, I quickly found my way out into the streets and to the battlefield. It seemed to actually have quieted down, with little sign of either griffons or ponies. The streets were not quiet, of course; I saw a few ponies in armor soon after I left the house I was resting in huddling around the entrance of a storefront and there were signs of life father down the road, but otherwise Watershed's greater area seemed abandoned. Eventually, after little more than a half-hour of brisk walking, I got close enough to the bridge to see every pony that was on it.

The bridge itself was wooden but sturdy looking, swaying slightly with the wind. It was clear that it had undergone damage recently, the biggest signs of which were the two tire tracks seemingly imprinted into it. I was marveled by the idiocy of driving a tank over a wooden bridge, but apparently it worked.

Now, on the topic of ponies, there was just a handful around the bridge, as Gabriel said. Two mares were on opposite sides of the railing, seemingly bored out of there minds but still having guns at there side, and there was a lone stallion that was walking around on the other side, gun raised high in the air and looking high and mighty in his combat armor. The mare who seemed to be in charge, if only going by the look of pride she had on her face, seemed to be wearing what looked like a white frilly dress with yellow trim that matched her curly hair and eyes, which would have been amusing if it were not for what looked like large silver-grey rifles attached to a battle saddle on her sides.

The three cooling griffon corpses on the ground, heads splattered messes, also killed the mood.

"You there!"

I suddenly realized that, if I could see those ponies, they could see me. The two female subordinates said nothing, but they seemed to visibly shake a little when they spotted me, while the stallion in the back actually had the nerve to take a few steps back and ready himself to shoot. The lead mare, however, just stared at me, eye's filled with distain.

Quickly discovering that even if you have two oversized guns that shoot bullets the size of thumbs it doesn't make up for the ability to aim properly, I quickly retreated into the ally I was in and started backtracking through the streets. I heard at least one pair of hooves following me, and as such I kept moving. Watershed, bless the ponies who built it, had wide alleyways, so I had little trouble moving quickly through it, and it had enough twists and turns to throw anyone off track. I was sure that I spotted one or two ponies yelling, and even the occasional gunshot. However, I avoided directly meeting any one of them.

Eventually, I found myself exactly where I was a few minutes before, with even clearer view of the bridge. None of the white-clad mare's allies were around, and she herself had a rather calm look on her face. Hesitating only a little bit, I stepped out and started walking down the center of the street, arms folded and head raised high.

The mare gave me one of the most horrified looks I have see in my entire life and began to try and shoot me.

The key word being try.

I wasn't sure how, exactly, she had managed to take down the three griffons laying nearby, if she even did, because she missed every shot she made at me. In fact, I could only wonder if she was shooting at the ground on purpose, or if the last twenty or so attempts at killing me were just warning shots. I would have felt a little bad at just how much the mare in front of me was out of her league, at least until I remembered that she was trying to murder me in cold blood.

"I don't want to hurt you." I said to the mare as she was in the middle of reloading.

"Why won't you die!" she screamed back. Frankly, I had to admit that her voice sounded light and almost sweet. It wasn't made for making death threats, anyway, perhaps polite requests.

"Aim better." I replied. I felt almost too happy seeing the frustration on the mares face as she unloaded a few more rounds into the area around me. I could swear that if there was a wall behind me, a perfect outline of me made out of bullets would be there.

"This isn't happening! I am the best markspony in Tauronto!" she cried out as she saw her probably expensive ammo hit everywhere in the general area but me. Bullet's hit roofs, walls, and dirt. I think I saw one splash into the river, which was impressive in it’s impossibility.

"Well, I must be lucky then, hmm?" I said, somewhat surprised at what I just said. I didn't know I could 'hmm'. ‘Hmm’ wasn’t in my vocabulary.

"Sh-shut up! I am Princess Cheesecake, and I command you to stop where you are so I can put you down like the monster you are!"

That was the moment where I broke.

This was it.

That was when this entire farce made me crack.

I felt my lungs fill with air, cool and refreshing, and I stopped moving entirely after a few moments and had to bend over.

"Bwahahahahahaahaahahahaha!"

I have never laughed so hard. Ever.

"That's the stupidest name I have ever heard of in my entire life!" I wheezed between the spare breaths I was able to take, "I have heard of ponies named Snowflake Special and Appletart and Troubadour and Boffenspark, but that is by far the stupidest name I have ever heard of! What are you princess of, sweetie? Eating? Is there some sort of candy land you rule over? Whatcha doing in a little frilly dress? This isn't the best place to play dress up, little filly."

I didn't really know where that sprang from in my mind, but the little pony princess started alternatively bawling and looking at me in disbelief.

"You...know Sir Boffenspark and Sir Troubadour?" she said, sounding like a little girl who just found out that school started early.

"Know them? I'm on their payroll!"

I wasn't a good liar. I also didn’t come up with that on the spot. It just came out my mouth.

Luckily, Princess Cheesecake didn't know that.

She did start trying to shoot me again, though.

She failed to hit me.

For ten minutes.

When I was standing still.

I actually bothered to count down around the second minute.

For the first five minutes or so, I thought I was dreaming some sort of surreal dream in which a manifestation of everything I found to be obnoxious about ponykind attempted to kill me with her gigantically oversized guns and failing, but I was afraid to move in fear of waking up. I didn't consider myself a sadist, but I did consider that there might have been something wrong with me when I started to crack up when she finally stopped shooting at me and fell forward on her front legs.

Walking towards her, I actually, to my own horror, repress the urge to knock her down. She was a pony, and an incredibly deluded one at that! What was happening to me!

"Look, please leave this town; I won't hurt you if you do." I said, trying to lighten up my voice.

At that, the mare sprung up, skidded a few feet backwards until her hooves touched the bridge, and opened fire.

It didn't hit me, but considering Cheesecake gasped in shock and something screamed behind me, she hit something.

I turned my head around, and quickly regretted it. The stallion with the armor and the helmet had gotten rather close behind me, but now he was sans helmet and armor, and by extent, brain matter and chest cavity.

Wordlessly screaming, she charged at me. Blinking, I did nothing but stand there as the slim, dress-wearing mare with the voice fitting somepony half her probable age head butted me in the chest. It felt like a hard punch, and I counted myself foolish for letting her even get close enough to do that, even if she didn't have a horn.

However, if her head butt felt like a hard punch to me, it seemed like Cheesecake was a hairs width away from a concussion. She fell flat on her back, leg's sprawled inelegantly, and slowly and painfully, presumably to both her body and pride, unhooked whatever contraption that kept the battle saddle attached and started crawling to the bridge.

I took a few steps away, not seeing any need to be closer to the mare than I needed too. I was also a little worked up, as I wasn't sure what went over me. The unnaturally bad aim she had was odd as well, as I plainly remembered Gabriel talking about a mare who drove away the Blacktalons. And there were those three corpses…

Spotting the mare's two companions come rushing in from the side and over to her, I did nothing as they rushed past me to get to there leader, broken in spirit and bruised in form. At the very least, I could feel good that I didn't kill the mare.

I did, however, make a serious miscalculation when it came to letting her go, and I realized this when the mare was being half-dragged across the bridge by her friends.

Said miscalculation was twelve feet long, was probably directly under the bridge the entire time, had a mouthful of sharp teeth, and a hunger for ponyflesh.

As such, I wasn't entirely surprised when Sea Salt simply burst her way through the middle of the bridge and, after a few moments’ of looking at Cheesecake's presumably shocked face, popped her head into her mouth and bit down.

I also wasn't surprised when she jerked her head up, letting the body hang in the air for a few moments before eventually falling down because of its new lack of head.

I was surprised that she managed to eat the rest of the body, dress and all, in a rather messy display of gluttony that consisted of trying to get it all into her mouth at one time and then fumbling with the legs a bit until she just swallowed the whole mess.

Then again, her claws were being used to gain leverage on the bridge, well, the other ponies on the bridge anyway. One just kept screaming, even when her lower body was promptly severed from her upper one when Sea Salt decided to bite the legs off her one at a time like some might do with a roasted bird’s limbs, while the other couldn't scream at all because of a claw finding it's way through her throat and up into the general area of her brain, which was made a mute point when her head was simply crushed like a grape in Sea Salt’s left claw and her torso mutilated and gut’s exposed with her right.

Eventually, seemingly getting bored, she took the still living mare and pulped her head against the wood, and started carving into the corpse with her claws instead of simply gorging on it like she did with the other two.

I didn't want to look, really. I really wanted to scream, or yell, or do something, but Sea Salt was looking at me with those big "the lights are all on but the lampshades are made of something’s skin" eyes and that fucking gore covered smile when she licked at her bloody meat-covered claws like it was perfectly A.O.K to do so and oh Discord I was never as disgusted as I was then.

"Hey, Ever Watchful!" she gargled happily around a mouthful of nearly liquid pastel pony, "That was really cool! How did you do that?"

I was going to say something, but then I heard something laugh at me, found my vision becoming blurry, and quickly discovered that my legs didn't work and the ground was dark.

The last thing I felt before I passed out was the odd sensation of confidence and invulnerability that I felt before, followed by the maddening thought of 'Say, wasn't that nice of her?'

---

Level Up?

No! This isn't a game anymore!

Author's Note:

So. Yeah. That got written.

Comments

[Balmas]

I believe the appropriate response is *SQUEEEE*.

[Pokonic]

2817383 Everything up to charecter, as it is?

Also, for a moment, I thought you were talking about the ending of the chapter.

[Balmas]

For Gabe, just think biting, cynical, and sarcastic.Doesn't really care who knows who he works for, unless he's been instructed to hide it. "Bite me," is an appropriate response.

And just a note: his signature weapon is a custom hunting rifle that he's named Maria.

Can't wait for more.

[Prince_Staghorn]

Sea Salt is officially my favorite character. She's just so cute!

[Oubliette]

So potential new party member and I share a name( my middle name, can't tell first or last)
I believe he has a personal draconequus curse making him near unhittable.

Or the dark one's own luck(to reference a DnD ability)