1. Welcome To The Wastes

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I pursued him across the sky, dodging between the blinding bolts of lightning, the ground nothing but a distant blur far beneath us. I followed him into the clouds and through, already drenched by pouring rain, now turning to rivulets of ice and patterns of burning frost. I hunted him over the boundless heavens above, coursing, hounding. The sun was massive and impossibly bright, the vivid star of high summer. I trailed my quarry, closer, gaining. As we had done so many times before, but this, this was the last time. He couldn’t flee forever. There was no escaping me. His pleading yells were lost, any justifications, reasons, intentions, all counted for nothing after the hell I’d been through. Even had I been able to hear him I wouldn’t have listened. The only sounds carried upon the thinning air were the great roars of thunder below and the howling of the wind. Higher and higher we flew and I was right on his tail. This was it. He was mine. It was over…

Chapter 1. Welcome To The Wastes

“… put a bullet in her head, but her heart just kept on beatin’…”

I was falling from a great height, the twinkling lights of a million distant stars receding, growing dimmer as I plummeted downward through the cold night sky. The ground was rushing up to meet me. The air was whistling around my ears as I fell. It was going to end. What had at first been miles between me and the earth below diminished with such rapidity that any time I might have had left to consider what had gotten me into this mess, the paths I’d taken, choices I’d made, were rendered moot. But, I had done it, accomplished what I had to do, what needed to be done. My fall was almost at an end, the details of the ground coming into sharper focus, the long savannah grasses swaying in the breeze, the shivering leaves on the few scattered trees with their black bark and wicked thorns. I closed my eyes and smiled. This was it. It was over…

*Knock, knock* the sound of a hoof tapping on glass. *Knock, knock*

“Wake up, dummy.” The voice was loud in my ears, reverberating through my head. Pain, sweet solar goddess… the pain in my skull, it was burning through me. I tried to scream but couldn’t. My eyes were shut so tight I didn’t think they’d ever be able to open again. “Wake up you fool.” The voice hissed. “This isn’t the end, this is only the beginning.” I tried to move, tried to make the voice go away but it continued. “WAKE UP! NOW!” The voice screamed, commanding me, then grew softer. “The trail ahead is long... and you have so very much left to do.”

My eyes opened… I tried to open my eyes but only one responded. The other, the stubborn one, my left eye, felt… stuck. My right eye roved about on its own, taking in what little could be seen. I was lying on my back on what felt like every rock and stone for ten miles around. Above, thick banks of night gray clouds filtered the reflected light of a sliver thin moon. It was pretty but why did I feel so strange? There was something on my face, a mixture of some kind of congealing gunk and I couldn’t tell what else, but it was dried and unpleasant, like paint left in the sun... and now it was cracking and peeling.

Lifting a fore hoof to rub at my left eye brought swift and brutally sharp protests from the limb itself, stabbing pain shooting through my withers, down my spine and up my neck as I cried out (pitifully) in response. My hoof flopped back to the ground uselessly. I took a few moments to recollect myself after the sudden pain and tried to stand or at least roll onto my stomach, but none of my muscles seemed to want to work right. Well… this wasn’t good. I lifted my right front leg and when it didn’t instantly fail on me, let out a breath of relief which turned into a horrible shuddering sensation, like being prodded in a nerve ending… with a hot iron. I started breathing more shallowly, hoping to avoid repeating whatever that feeling had been.

My leg moved slowly toward my face, like I was in water. Part of it was from not wanting to put further stress on whatever had happened to me, the rest of it was me feeling sluggish, discon… discus… combine… bob… consulated… what was wrong with me? I knew this word. I had known it. The syllables were on the tip of my tongue but would go no further. I blew a raspberry in frustration and was rewarded with another spasm, worse than the first. When it subsided and I could breathe again I made my hoof continue its agonizingly slow journey to my muzzle. Very carefully I rubbed at my nose and mouth. Little bits of the dried substance were flaking away. Good. I could breathe better through my nose now, though it felt funny, like somepony’d made me shoot milk out of my nostrils… only most of the milk was still in there. I moved on to my left eye and gently circled it with my hoof, rubbing to try and get rid of whatever was keeping it from opening. I could feel dried stuff… pieces of something… in my eye lashes. I hated that sensation and yet I couldn’t remember ever feeling it before. This was… strange, definitely very, very strange… and possibly bad.

I had no idea where I was, not that I could see much of what was around me, it being night time, and cloudy, and me having only one working eye (for the moment, I hoped, oh please let it only be for the moment) and every little movement of my head was an agony I didn’t understand. It didn’t quite feel like pain but it really didn’t feel like anything else either. Whatever the sensation was, I didn’t like it one bit. I tried telling it to stop and, unsurprisingly, got no response. My own body was refusing to listen to me. Fantastic.

Enough of the… whatever the hay it was that had been keeping my eye shut was now gone that I could attempt to open it again. The lids fluttered and there was a twitch in my cheek that almost… pulsed behind the back of my eye. It opened at last and began watering, stinging, forcing me to shut it... damn it. This was going nowhere fast. I brought my hoof away from my misbehaving eye and stopped. My front leg was over my face, my good eye, illuminated by the cloud wreathed moon. And my hoof was covered in blood.

I may have screamed (quite a bit actually, and rather loudly too, not that I would like to admit it), not realizing just how painful it would be to do so. I might have gotten a tiny bit queasy (just a little vomit, honestly, and most of it was bile). Oh… oh no, this is going to get worse isn’t it? I thought to myself. ‘Much, much worse’ a little voice told my aching head. I put my hoof to my face and began lightly prodding, moving it up to my mane (covered in blood and something else, hard little bits of I didn’t know what) and over. I threw up again. Above my left ear, where mane, coat, skin and skull ought to be, there... wasn’t. It felt like I’d lost a good sized chunk off the side of my head. Yup, this was worse, a lot worse. Which probably meant that the little hard things in my mane were… pieces of my own skull. Wonderful. I lost consciousness.

Now I want to be clear, with myself, with anypony… that I did not faint (don’t argue with me on this one, brain, what’s left of brain, which isn’t left because left is gone but right’s still there… what?). I must have passed out from shock or something. When I woke again the darkness was fading, retreating at the horizon’s edge. Oh good, daylight… very cloudy daylight, but still. At least now I could better see where I was and figure out what happened to me. Without further ado... I glanced around. my surroundings consisted of the following: rocks, dirt, gnarled shrubs, rocks and more rocks. Beautiful...

While I was out I dreamed of cities in the clouds, a rather unusual thing to dream about I guess but then who knows with those kinds of things and I did have the excuse that part of my head was missing… if only I could find it and just slap it back on… not that doing that would ever work in real life. Unle-ess... no, no it definitely wouldn’t work.

Further attempts to get up and onto my hooves all ended in failure. Why? After closer inspection it appeared that several of my ribs were broken along with my right rear leg (and my left fore leg as I’d already discovered with painful certainty when I tried to use it however long ago). How was that for inconvenient? I knew that I should be in more pain than I actually was, in fact, I should have been in such a terrifying amount of pain that I wasn’t sure how I was even awake… maybe it had to do with me being short a bit of brain. All I did know was that I was awake, (for now) I couldn’t move, (please don’t be paralyzed) still didn’t know where I was (what little I could see looked depressingly like buckfuck nowhere) and that if I was going to live I would need help. Great, all I had to do was stick out a hoof and wave down the closest pony… except there were no ponies, it was just me… on what I figured to be a rocky (really, seriously, ridiculously rocky) hillside, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Could you even be somewhere if you were nowhere? That thought made my head hurt worse so I stopped considering it.

Alright, time to take stock of my situation. I was alone, badly injured, unable to move and in need of not just medical assistance but a trauma surgeon (a whole trauma ward would probably be necessary for this). And, to make it worse (how was that even possible?), I had no idea of how I got here or why a slice of my skull the size of a tea saucer was conspicuously absent (sans the pieces stuck in my mane) from where it should be. Stupid skull, it should know better than to run off without the rest of me. Apparently I was crazy and talking to myself now too. Okay, if I didn’t do something I was going to die. Well, that was simple. What could I do? I could wish for the world’s biggest bottle of whiskey but that probably wouldn’t help the way I wanted it to. I could… call for help. Yeah, that was a great idea, call for help and wait for some irradiated beast to eat me. Wait… no… ouch, but thinking hurt.

If I called out there were three potential endings. One, nothing happened. There was no one there, no friends or foes to hear me. I called for help, nothing came and I died… which was pretty much where I was already right now. Two, a monster or raider showed up. Some nasty denizen of the wastes heard me and closed in to finish me off. Okay that would certainly end my predator… predicate… peppermint? Predicament! Why were words so hard? If a critter ate me or a bad pony shot me then this would be over, sooner than otherwise, which I weighed as being a better solution if it came down to that. Three, I called for help and some charitable pony showed up and helped me. That was the least likely of the outcomes (I gave it about as much chance as me suddenly realizing I wasn’t a pony at all but some kind of robotic zebra ninja assassin from the future). I laughed at the image that ran through the part of my brain that was still there and regretted it about half a second later. Oh buck me with a thermic lance but that hurt. And I didn’t even know what a thermic lance was. It sounded impressive though. So, back to that third option, somepony is nearby, hears me and gives me aid. It sounded like a plan. Nothing happens and I die a slow painful death, something happens and I die a quick painful death or something happens and I live. Why not? I inhaled long and slow, filling my lungs and ignoring as best I could the horrendous sensation of my broken ribs moving. What would I shout? What should I shout? ‘Help’ seemed an appropriate thing to scream.

“HELP!” I yelled as loudly as I could, which, it turned out, was loud given my condition, only not as loud as I’d hoped. Also, I fainted again.

This time the dreams were of baking hot plains stretching out as far as I could see; sun scorched grasses halfway to my withers. Clouds were roiling above in a building storm, almost ready to release a fearful wrath. And a buck was there, coat the sable color of a lightless midnight, dark as the depths of the sea. He looked at me sadly; his mane the white of freshly fallen snow, there was something about his eyes… something…

The dream ended. I was awake again and I wasn’t alone. I could hear the sounds of something moving around me on the hillside, rooting through the few half dead plants and turning over stones. I couldn’t see it what the creature was but it hadn’t tried to eat me yet (in so far as I knew, I hadn’t even received a cursory nibble). That was always a good sign... right?

“Help.” I called out, but my mouth was dry, caked with more blood and who knew how long it had been since I’d drank anything. “Please, help me.” I begged, my voice nothing more than a whisper. The sound of scrounging and scavenging stopped. I tried to move, to put the newcomer into sight but my body just wouldn’t listen. The sound of hoof-falls reached my ears, coming closer, hesitant. “I… need… help.” I panted and lay there quietly, still as death, waiting. The day must have grown old while I was out the second time, for it seemed to be drawing on evening, though it was hard to tell exactly with all the clouds blocking out the sun.

A shadow fell across my face and I looked up, expecting to see... I don’t know what. I’ll admit this easily enough, I was not expecting a zombie, which is what made me try to scream, fail, then cough blood and dust everywhere. There, standing over me was an earth pony buck that somehow looked even worse than I felt (no mean feat). His skin appeared rotten, eaten away in places, exposing muscle and tissue beneath and in a few places a hint of bone. Hooray, the two of us could start a missing pieces club. We just needed a few more members… few less pieces. Had I been hit by lightning that my thoughts were this weird? Would that explain it?

“Please, take me… to a doc-” I began to say but the creature was having none of it.
“Hush.” It… he… growled at me with a voice that suggested he had gravel in his mouth. “Hush, little mare.” He shushed me, putting a hoof to my mouth.

“You’re not… a… zom… not going to eat me?” I mumbled around his hoof, taking a breath that I wished I hadn’t. He smelled like death, like meat left out in the sun for a month. The buck chuckled and it sounded like paper ripping.
“No, no. Not going to eat you, silly.” He answered, shaking his head, strands of brittle green hair, all that was left of his mane, coming down and getting in his eyes.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” I told him, tears in my eyes, maybe from relief, maybe from his stench. It had worked. I was going to be saved… or at least was being given a chance to survive.

“Of course,” he said with a smile that stretched taught the skin on his face and showed chipped, yellowing teeth protruding from receding gray gums, “not going to save you either.” He tilted his head to the side to gauge my reaction.

“Not… going to…” I could barely get any words out. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed, no trouble saying that, and hey, I didn’t faint from the effort (though I came close). Of all the rotten fucking luck, of all the things that could have happened. I struggled to try and hurt the bastard above me but I was too weak, I couldn’t even stomp a radroach larvae if my life depended on it right now. Even though my display of resistance was more than a little on the pathetic side the buck seemed taken aback by it, skittish.

“No, no. No.” He approached me again. “Just going to take… take things. You won’t be needing them much longer.” He put his forehooves against my broken ribs and despite my wordless screams of pain he rolled me onto my side. I was on fire, everything was on fire. Every breath was a gasp, a whimper, it hurt so much. “Ah, yes, yes. Good things here. Trying to hide them, but I see, I know, I look, I find.” He dragged something out from under where I’d lain and let me go. My left side hit the dirt with a staggering amount of force. I thought I’d been in pain before. I was wrong. My eyes were rolling in their sockets (my right eye was rolling; the left one was kind of just… twitching). I was barely holding onto consciousness.

“Please?” I asked him. “Please help.” I was crying now, it wasn’t just from his stink. My plan had failed. I’d called for help and gotten a fourth ending, one I hadn’t planned on; somepony coming, hurting me more and then leaving me to die alone in even greater agony. No swift release, no salvation, not even the calm solitude of the wind alone to carry me to whatever awaited beyond.

“Silly little pony.” He said to me with the barest shade of regret. Little? That was the second time he’d said that about me. I wasn’t little. I was pretty sure I was noticeably larger than the average mare, not monstrous, but good sized. And who was he to talk? I was just as big as he was… and why was I even bothering to think about something like this? That was what I chose to focus on now? Size comparisons and word use? “Can’t help you.” He continued, leaning closer, (good, keep coming, I was getting an idea) the smell wafting from his breath made me want to throw up… again (wouldn’t that be a hoot, throwing up in his ugly face, not a bad idea). “Wouldn’t, probably, even if I could.” The buck shook his head a second time and leaned in just a little bit closer (excellent, I’ll get you now, you bastard) that he could whisper; face inches away from my own. “Why help you? Wasteland gets us all in the end.”

“Well, here goes… nothing.” I said to him and used every remaining ounce of strength I had to head butt the buck right in his (hilariously surprised) dead ugly face. Note to self, for future reference, when suffering from massive head trauma that causes significant pain, do not thereafter use said head as a weapon. Results… unpleasant. My eyes rolled back in their sockets and my whole body convulsed from what I’d just done. When I regained the ability to see about a minute later, I found the zombie… buck… pony… thing… ghoul. Ghoul! That was the word, though I had no idea where I’d heard it before. He was holding a hoof up to his nose, which looked broken. Score one for me, I thought. He looked surprised, (still) and angry… very angry. Good, then not only had I gotten a blow in but…

“Not going to kill you before. Going to kill you now. CUT THROAT, STOMP HEAD!” He screeched at me. Yup, Plan B was working splendidly, dead in a minute instead of another day. The ghoul moved up to me again, somewhat more warily this time, worried that I’d be able to hit him again. It wasn’t going to happen but he didn’t know that. The buck drew a small knife, rusty, blade etched and bent, from a sheath on his right foreleg and held it between his teeth. Now why hadn’t I seen that earlier? Bad positioning I guess. No luck for me. I could have stabbed the prick in the neck with it… maybe if only I’d known the knife was there. “Going to hurt you. GOING TO STAB YOU IN EYE!” The ghoul threatened as he drew near, circling me. Come on you idiot, do it, finish it, end it, just let it be over.

“Do it… coward!” I shouted back at him, not caring about the pain I was causing because, hell, it would be over soon anyways. He got closer and I was able to offer one last gesture of defiance. I spit blood on his face when he drew in to make the first stab. I laughed as he staggered away trying to wipe the blood from his eyes, and as previously, I was forced to regret laughing. Everything hurts again, wonderful horrible hurting everywhere. I really wasn’t learning was I? The pain was shooting through me again, each rib a glorious symphony of utter agony.

The ghoul came back, face speckled with my blood and I didn’t make any effort this time, couldn’t. This was it. I’d survived… come to think of it I had no idea what I’d survived for some zombie bastard to gut me with a little poking knife. I barely heard the sound of pebbles rolling down the hill toward us, but I did hear it. Maybe a boulder had been loosened and was going to tumble down and crush us, or a manticore had been drawn in by our yelling and would eat us both. It was a strangely comforting thought to have right before dying (was it at all unusual that the thought comforted me?). The buck noticed the pebbles too and from what little perfy… perfume… reef… real… ah fuck it, from what little I could see out the side of my bad eye, he stopped and started shaking like a lone goat in minotaur territory. The ghoul dropped the knife, looking from side to side as if he’d find some way out of whatever situation we were now in. Heck, as the pebbles continued to come down the hill the poor bastard pissed himself, dropped whatever goods he’d found around my soon to be corpse, turned tail and ran away faster than any earth pony had a right too.

I watched and waited, eager almost… ready for some terribly tainted beast to come roaring over my crippled form, to pounce on the ghoul, tear it apart, eat what few juicy bits the zombie had left and then come back to finish me off. Only it didn’t happen. I heard a few familiar sounding clicks, slow steady breathing and a couple seconds later a teeth rattling, head shaking, skull splitting, pain inducing boom from way too close. There was a bright flash from somewhere close behind me and in the distance, at the bottom of the hill, a squeal of pain that made me quite happy... serves you right, I thought. Well, this was certainly an interesting development I remarked to myself as I began to lose consciousness (I wasn’t… not fainting… not fainting).

“You’re not… going to… eat me… are you?” I asked pleasantly of the blurry form above me before letting go of my tenuous grasp on the waking world.

Dreams again, lectures this time, boring, so why was I listening so intently and taking notes. That seemed pointless. Who cared about lectures? I was about to get eaten here, or goddesses knew what. I looked around but there weren’t any details to the room, it was shifting shapes and shadows, colors running along the walls, the other ponies around me were ghosts. A book slammed closed on my desk and the lecturer, a small hunched over shadow put an unusually solid hoof to my forehead, drew it back and sent it forward into my face. Ow!

My eyes opened slowly. It was dark out again. The moon was back… still disappointingly shrouded by the veil of clouds. It looked like I hadn’t gone anywhere. How long had I been on this stupid uncomfortable hill? My whole body was still stuck somewhere between numbness and mind shattering pain while my head felt heavy, uncomfortable and tight… compressed sort of, but it was better than the previous sensation where I was worried that if I turned wrong my brain would spill out onto the rocks.

I’d fain- passed out again, reawakened and now it was time to play the really boring but important game of ‘what do I do next?’ Something was different this time, I noticed, while offering a brief prayer to Luna, whose realm was night; that I stop fainting. It was getting plain old ridiculous. Luna… Luna… something about the goddess, praying to her, not praying to her. We knew that she was… hurts to think, got it, not pressing the issue for an answer. Something was different? What was different? Could it perhaps be the flickering glow of the little campfire near me? I was going with answer A on this question. A for answer, the obvious answer anyways.

“Hello?” I spoke, surprised that my throat no longer felt like someone had poured hot dirt and shattered glass down it. I licked my lips. “Hello?” I heard movement, and something blocked the light of the fire. My guess was that this was the blurry shape from before, only now it wasn’t so blurry. It was… an earth pony stallion… yippee, not another one. My first visitor of the day hadn’t been a favorable one. Except, this pony wasn’t a ghoul as far as I could tell. He was just, a buck, below average size, beige coat, from what little I could see of it, dark brown mane, a weathered duster and… sunglasses? Really? Sunglasses at night? What was he trying to prove? Clutch… click… che… goddesses damn it… cliché! Cliché alert. There. I figured it out. I’m a smart pony.

The buck stood over me with an odd expression on his face, one eyebrow rising above the top rim of his sunglasses. It was only now that I realized what I thought was inner monologue hadn’t been. I’d said all the stuff about sunglasses and clichés out loud and there was a blanket on me and saddlebags for a pillow beneath my swollen head. ‘Don’t buck the hoof that feeds you.’ The little voice said.

“No.” The buck said disinterestedly in a deeper voice than I expected. It was the voice of a three pack a day habit pony that spent his nights inhaling smoke from campfires.

“No… What?” I asked, confused.

“I’m not going to eat you.” The buck clarified with a frown. Why were his words so clear and precise?

“That’s what the last guy said.” I shot back at him, sounding a lot more impressive than I actually felt at the moment.

“Yes, well, I’m not hungry at the moment, having eaten earlier.” He said dryly and cleared his throat. “And your previous… company is now crawling on his remaining rotting limbs toward an abandoned homestead a few miles yonder, expecting safe haven.” He lifted a hoof and pointed down the hill.

“You… shot him?” I asked the mysterious stallion.

“I did, enjoyed it too.” He answered jovially. “Been waiting a long time for this one and I only need his head for the caps on his bounty. Besides, the thought of him suffering toward supposed safety brings some small joy to my evening.” The buck gave a horrible smile. Oh… kay… I’d been rescued by a crazy pony, but wasn’t I also crazy? Time to form another club? Pegasi of a feather and all that nonsense.

“You’re going to help me?” I asked, hopeful.

“Already have.” He answered, pulling a cigarette from out of his duster with his teeth and disappearing for a few moments, probably to light it off of the fire. His head appeared again. “I figure, unintentional as it may have been, you held him here long enough for me to catch up.” He blew smoke from his nostrils. “Might have taken me another two or three days to get him otherwise. Now, I’ll have his decrepit hide by morning… tired, weak and wounded, easy prey. And, time is money after all.” He tilted his head to me in appreciation.

He said he’d helped me but other than my throat feeling less like I’d gargled with sand paper after breakfast I really didn’t feel any better. I mean there was the blanket and the saddlebag pillow but I’m not sure if that really counted as help. This was a strange buck indeed but on the bright side he hadn’t killed me, so I guess I was still winning, even if I was dying. Winning because I wasn’t dead yet.

“Not that I’m not thankful, I really am.” I told the buck. “But, I think I really need a doctor.” I was trying to say things as politely as possible, not push him toward anger, don’t be mad at the pretty mare, help her get medical attention.

“You do.” He admitted freely and said nothing else. He just kept looking at me, or somewhere near me, for all I could tell with those damn sunglasses of his. Great, this was just great.

“But, you’re not going to take me to one.” I finished for him, not letting his unspoken words remain unspoken. I still couldn’t move but maybe, if I lived long enough, I could convince him to help me further, or talk him to death, take him with me.

“Welcome to the wastes!” The mysterious stallion projected in a theatre worthy voice, throwing out his front legs to indicate the shitty environment that, in my position, I couldn’t really see. Wastelands… right… check, horrible shit, in the past, balefire, mega spells, war, taxes, distilleries leveled, brothels destroyed, yarn and kittens burning indiscriminately. Not sure where all this was coming from but it made a jumble of… seemingly correct memories in my head, that then threatened to spill out with my lost brain matter. He sighed as he went back down to all fours, using his tail to pull his cigarette from his mouth and offer it to me. After a moment of hesitation I accepted, lifting my head the tiniest bit necessary to clasp his offering between my teeth. That little effort took most of the strength I had left, so I just continued to lay there, staring at the clouds, (was there ever anything but clouds here?) huffing in frustration… until I heard a bottle uncorking. Frustration gone, please let it be whiskey, please let it be whiskey. Come on useless partially missing head, turn, turn damn you! And… yes!

“Whiskey.” I said to the other pony, seeing the cork in his teeth and the bottle of amber liquid resting between his fore hooves. “Whiskey!” He looked at me and laughed, letting go of the cork.

“I’d waste my time taking you to a doctor and delaying my capture of the ghoul before I’d surrender any of this to you.” The buck said mirthfully, grabbing the bottle with his mouth and upending it to take a swig.

“I. Hate. You.” I told him in no uncertain terms, spitting out the cigarette butt in his general direction. Sadly it didn’t reach his selfish ass. He shrugged, took another swig and carefully put the cork back in. The buck seemed to ponder me for a few seconds and despite the pain I tried to think ‘give the whiskey to the nice mare, give the whiskey to the nice mare, then take her to a doctor… and find her more whiskey’ at him for all I was worth.

“Tell you what.” He said, impolitely breathing fumes of the delicious alcohol I could and indeed should be drinking right now into my face. He looked back out over the campfire and the darkness of the cloudy night around us. “I do feel it’s unbefitting for me to leave you here like this so-”

“You will take me to a doctor.” I cried ecstatically, trying to suck whiskey particles out of the air before they could get away.

“Alicorns above, no.” He replied with a dismissive snort. “I’ll set aside some few of my things, a little Stampede, a few doses of Med-X, a couple Dash inhalers, a few tablets of Buck, let’s see, some... Mint-als,” he looked sad when he pulled out the tin, as though they brought back bad memories, “...least they’re not Party Time... and one Megaspell Mixer, should j-”

“Is there alcohol in the Megaspell thing?” I asked imploringly. He looked over at me and patted his hoof on the ground three times.

“Amongst other things but I wouldn’t worry about what proof it is if I were you. Now, combined cost… about one third of my bounty on the inarticulate zombie crawling toward a deviously booby trapped old house.” The buck said, giving me another weird look. In arty que late? What the hell did that mean? Why were words so hard today? Multiple choice question, this time the answer was B for brains, not where they should be, decorating outside instead of thinking inside.

“And this stuff will keep me alive?” I asked, desperate. “If I take it all together?”

“Hellhounds below, no!” The mysterious stallion answered with a look of horror on his face. “All this shit together will kill you… eventually.” He rolled something on the ground in front of him with an idle hoof.

“Then what am I supposed to do with it?” I asked him, on the verge of crying again. Fantastic, show some more weakness, just what the infuriatingly absent doctor ordered.

“Take it all… obviously.” He told me as if I was a slow pony. I thought he was joking for a second, but, nope, it didn’t look like it. “You’re one tough mare from what I can tell, and you head butting and spitting blood on that foal fondling shit stain of what used to be a pony tickled me something fierce. Still does point of fact. I also like your style of clothing, can’t go wrong with the classics. I’ve always been a fan of Stable-Tec barding, even if yours is fake.” He looked critically at me then up to the clouds. I was wearing Stable-Tec barding? That was news to me. Also, what in the hay was Stable-Tec? “Now, I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, try and catch him shortly after dawn, sun will be behind me… not that it matters much these days an-”

“You’re going to leave me?” My voice was on the edge of a wail, I wasn’t going to survive on my own.

“Interrupt me again and I may just roll your fine looking almost carcass into the fire there.” The buck threatened darkly. I swallowed back what I had been about to say. Also, I was fine looking? Yes! Ego boost and rising self esteem here I come. “Now, about four miles due south of here, there’s a little town, decent ponies… after their own fashion. The place is called New Appleloosa.” What in Luna’s mooning moon convinced anypony to name a town Appleloosa... twice? I just had to ask myself, though I was wise enough not to interrupt the speaker again. “They have a doctor. He’ll fix you up… if you can make it there, and that, my little pony, is why you get the drugs.” Who was he calling little? He didn’t look like much more than a colt. I was fairly certain I was bigger than he was by a good margin. I held back my anger at him though, barely.

“You may or may not have noticed, you do seem a bit slow on the uptake, might have something to do with that head wound you’re sporting.” Wait, was he calling me stupid? That wasn’t… right. I’m not… not smart. Damn it! “I bandaged you up a little. That and the drugs should, and I say should get you back on your hooves long enough for you to carry yourself into the town.” He took another cigarette from his duster and lit it off the fire. I was kind of hoping he’d singe his mane doing it but alas it was not to be. “And believe me, with all those party favors you probably could literally carry yourself there, or at least be running like a stud who’s caught scent of an in season mare.” Well that was an unusual and very specific analogy. Look at my big words… that nopony heard.

“So, I’m going to leave.” He said through his cigarette, smoke drifting through his teeth. “All you have to do is make it to the other side of the fire on your own to where the drugs are. They’ll take you the rest of the way.” He was going to make me crawl for something he could hoof over to me instead? What… an… asshole. I was starting to really dislike this pony. “If you’ve got the will to make it to the drugs then you’ve got the will to live and get yourself to the doctor. Otherwise I’ll swing back this way later today and very sadly, very apologetically, loot your pretty corpse.” I was pretty? Yay! I was going to be a corpse? My elation deserted me like a deflating balloon. “Almost sunrise, I’d get a move on if I were you, and watch out, caravans have been… disappearing near here of late, could be trouble around.” He said with a smile that made me want to buck him upside the head. With that, the mysterious stallion abandoned me to the failing fire on my little patch of hill. If I met him again I promised, as I very slowly rolled onto my stomach, every part of me protesting to the clouds above, he and I were going to have words, words with not friends, words with hooves and bullets.

Each movement I made was a new sensory experience in pure hell. But now, I could see the gleaming pile of life and death not ten feet from me. Okay, I could do this, one hoof in front of the other. I pulled myself past the fire and it felt like centuries, more time passed between when that smug bastard left and my reaching the drugs a few feet away than had passed since the bombs went off and this past year. It took every fiber of my being not to just give up and go to sleep once I’d reached the stash. Of course, after the first hit of Dash… I tore through the rest of the supplies like a dragon in a gem mine. Another note to self, figure out where these strange sayings come from, then fire a BEL at it. What was a BEL? Hell if I know but I associated it with destruction so…

The sun peeked its way above the earth as I finished off the stash by chugging the bottle of Megaspell whatever. It wasn’t half bad, some decent quality Stalliongrad vodka in it... not as strong as I’d like but not bad. I was feeling… good, strange but good. It was like I could gallop fifty miles, fight off a griffin invasion single handedly, solve old Equestria’s energy crisis and buck a fine stallion all night long. At the same time all the colors had gone funky and I was pretty intrigued by the fact that I’d somehow gained the ability to see sounds and hear smells. I don’t think licensed physicians would recommend taking all the crap I’d just put into my body but I felt so good that I just didn’t care. Putting the sun to my left I decided to race my own ghost to the town of New Appleloosa (still a stupid name). I’m not sure if my hooves ever touched ground.

I could say that I made half a dozen genius breakthroughs while I ran; that I fought off prowling radscorpions, tangled with a mess of raiders and mapped out several notable places to investigate, now, when the clock isn’t ticking on my life and I wasn’t running like a demon of speed. The truth is I remember very little of what happened between leaving the fire and arriving outside the railroad gates of New Appleloosa. I could have done any of those things (or all of them, I was now some kind of steam powered super badass pony), but judging by the fact that I made it to the town… intact, I’d have to guess my flight was fairly boring and uneventful, which only bothered me slightly, the mood I was in. Oh, and it turned out that the mysterious stallion was right, (smug bastard was probably smiling as he chased down the ghoul) I was wearing some kind of blue barding with yellow edging and piping on it and the numbers 0349 in various locations. For whatever reason, the ensemble screamed ‘Stable-Tec’ to me, and I couldn’t figure out why.

It also turned out the stupid buck was wrong (that’ll show him). I made it to just before the gates, in a lather, foaming at the mouth, tweaking and twitching, feeling something I was dreadfully certain could only be described as heart palpitations. I was walking sideways, stumbling drunkenly, sweating profusely and shivering while talking to myself when they raised the gate and came out to see what was wrong with me (not one of my proudest moments, though far from my worst it would turn out, sadly). It seemed to take them forever to make their way over to me. I jumped up and down a few times and was disappointed each time I returned to the ground. Why? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’d totally forgotten, or didn’t fully realize it until now, there were wings under my barding, my wings. Happy, happy fun wings! Apparently I was a Pegasus and really, really high even if I was still on the ground. That didn’t make any sense. I giggled and collapsed, going muzzle first into the dirt.

“What’s goin’ on here stranger?” A young buck with a gray coat, a big hat and a shiny star on his brand spanking new duster asked. Who was he talking to? Pretty star was shiny. Why was everyone wearing long coats? I had to wonder. I stood back up and hiccupped, tottering toward him. “What the…” The shiny buck… buck, buck, buck… sort of stopped talking.

“Whiskey.” I said cheerfully, boy was I parched. I could sure go for a drink, I could go for just about… I collapsed again and my face hurt, not sure if I said the last few words out loud or not. Okay, sleepy, nap time now. I fainted again.

*Experience gained: 10% to level 2*

The Mare With No Name
Strength: 6
Perception: 3
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 3
Agility: 5
Luck: 7

Traits:
Wild Wasteland - get ready for some weirdness everypony, this journey through the Equestrian Wastes doesn’t know the meaning of the word normal
Large Frame - you were born (your poor mother) or grew into a big, strapping, five meal a day, healthy pony. You may carry 25 additional weight, attempts to intimidate others using the strength stat have a greater chance of succeeding and you do an additional 10% damage with melee weapons and unarmed attacks. However, you lose an additional 1 agility when crippled, because it’s hard to move that bulk around, you must eat more often than a normal pony to stave off starvation and you lose 5 points from your stealth score.

Chapter 2. A Cure For Some Of What Ails You... coming soon...

2. A Cure For Some Of What Ails You

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You will be a part of the illustrious order. Bearers’ of the swords of Old Equestria’s Justice, shields against the chaos of the wastes, defenders of our glorious ideals, a light firing through the skies, burning away all darkness. You are the spear of our might and you will serve your kind, the citizens of our grand nation. You will live for your brothers and sisters, fight for them, kill for them, and, when you’ve nothing left to give, you will die for them… until there are no enemies, only peace.

2. A Cure For Some Of What Ails You

“… most importantly, stay happy.”

That… was a really fucking weird dream. Echoes of the voice faded from my mind as the soft comforting layers of sleep I’d been blanketed in deserted me one by traitorous, treacherous one. Damn it. Why did I have to wake up? I was just fine listening to the strangely hypnotic, highly patriotic, wonderfully, I almost wanted to say… quixotic… (That’s a word right? Right? Am I using it correctly, oh well, who cares.) spiel that accompanied my slumber. Accompanied… accompanied. I chuckled as I opened my eyes. Boy did they want to stay closed though, and even with them open I couldn’t see shit anyways. Accompanied looked like accordions. Tiny ponies playing silly musical instruments danced around in my head, amusing… and further proof that I was one horseshoe short of a set. At least it was better than the whole (wait, the whole thing wasn’t there, only part of it was, that was the problem… huh?) ‘why is part of my head missing’ and the only slightly less important (not sure if my priorities were straight on this one) question of ‘where did the rest of my head go?’ Stupid head, running off, getting into trouble without me… probably drinking my whiskey too. That bitch… when I found her I was gonna… start making more sense and less crazy? Eh, probably not.

Indistinct (did that mean they were all dead or was I confusing my words again?) shapes and colors resolved themselves into slightly less extinct (one of those words was right, I just couldn’t be certain which) shapes and colors. I tried to move and found that I couldn’t. Fantastic. Something was holding me down, binding me, and I didn’t even have a safe word to use. What? If the thoughts in my poor partially present head confused me then I didn’t even want to know what other ponies would think should they become privy to them. Heheh… privy. And, was it me or was it really dark wherever I was? Thinking of which, where in the hay was I? Searching for an answer, searching… I’d take D for ‘don’t know’ and… wait a second, what had happened to answer C?

Well, I could explain the darkness at any rate (so long as this multiple choice option went better than the last one, what with the jerk ass ghoul). One, it was nighttime, a really eerily dark night. Two, I was in a room with the lights off, probably about to be surprised by a big buck in a leather and rubber gimp suit. Three, I’d been eaten by something very large, a dragon or maybe a hydra… a hydragon, horrible amalgam of reptilian beasts, master of the wastes, horror, devourer of zebra and pony alike.

Did ponies get awards for imagining weird shit? Cause if they did, I’m guessing I’d take first prize every year. I’d give option three the slimmest chances… again. It didn’t feel like I was being digested, but then, I couldn’t remember ever being eaten by a monster before and finding out for sure. Option one could probably be crossed off the list as well, seeing as how I couldn’t see clouds (a staple of the wastelands because… there were clouds all over because… my head started hurting and I gave up on remembering), stars or the moon. Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner and his name is option 2, a room. Well, here goes nothing.

“Hello?” I asked. There was no response but my voice sounded better than it had before, on the hillside, so somepony must have been taking care of me, or maybe it was a wartime medical robot whose programming had gone bonkers and was going to take my skin as soon as I got better because it thought it should be a real pony. Okay, that one was weird, even for me. Still nothing back, an empty room then? “He-ell-oo-oo.” I tried a second time and heard, after delay of a few seconds, movement, the shuffling of hooves. So, a pony then… or one of those time traveling ninja assassin zebras. Great, just what I needed: an over active imagination, the inability to move and zebra robots trying to eliminate me before I could start a future resistance movement against them. “Who’s there?” I hoped whoever it was would identify themselves… and not end up being that creepy (and now hopefully dead) zombie… or the annoying (and now hopefully bereft of alcohol) stallion with the sunglasses.

“Mistle.” Came the gruff, bordering on grumpy reply, a door opened somewhere nearby but most of the darkness remained, lightening only enough to throw up the shadowy outline of an equine form. Oh, what the hell? Was I in some kind of Nightmare Moon dream world? “Now what’s all this fuss about?” The voice was that of an elderly buck, which I would totally have known (no creepy dream killers to be found here, no sir) even if he hadn’t just then illuminated the room by turning on two centuries old lamps with a gentle bit of unicorn magic.

“You’re a missile?” I asked, per… purple… flexed… dum de dum… still can’t get my words right. Perplexed, there we go. Now why hadn’t I just thought of confused instead, or befuddled. Befuddled makes me think of delicious fudge based desserts (not that I could remember eating anything fitting that description) and it made me think of rain puddles in spring, jumping up and down in them, a happy filly. Where the hell did that come from? Something was seriously wrong with my memory… memories. A mare and her memories. ‘Don’t make me go in there and sort you out.’ I told my brain… and noticed the not a type of explosive munitions pony staring at me in concern and… befuddlement. Goddesses, I hope I hadn’t just said any of that out loud.

“It’s… uh… Mistle, as in ‘Mistletoe’ yeh know, the plant.” The old buck corrected me, clearing his throat. With my eyes rapidly adjusting to the comparative brightness of my surroundings I could see what he looked like more clearly. He was wearing a white shirt (I think, the thing was so faded and stained it was hard to tell) and had green, military issue fatigues with a multitude of pockets over his flanks, under that the pony had a yellow coat, what looked to have been a vibrant lemon in his youth but was now faded to the color of… yeah, not thinking about that, having no idea how long it had been since I’d gone to the bathroom I had no desire to awaken the urge to relieve myself… too late… damn it. His mane, what little was left of it (and there was very little left of it) was gray with a few strands of orange and curled around his horn. The fellow must have been a big buck in his youth, but now he was stooped, thinning at the limbs but paunchy at the gut and wrinkled, though his pale, watery blue eyes were giving me one heck of a stern look before he added with a dash of vinegar, “quit yer’ starin’ little filly, I ain’t a ghoul and I ain’t senile, just old.”

“Okay.” I answered him at last, slightly embarrassed over staring and not sure why he was planted here or what it had to do with toes. Ponies didn’t even have toes, silly old coot. I looked around the room syrup… petition… ishously… serend… just forget it. I looked around the room. It was small, metal and woefully under decorated. Rust crept along the corners and had eaten into the walls in a few places. There was a single stool (that had seen better days and was probably quite uncomfortable by the look of things) and a cot, which I was on… and tied down to. Somepony was kinky… or had taken me prisoner. Please let it be the first one. I looked at the buck again. Please let it be the second one. There was more in there but I either couldn’t see it from where I was or I hadn’t yet gained back the ability to focus hard enough to identify it. And now for the obligatory questions that may have seemed odd but were definitely important.

“You’re not going to eat me are you?” I asked the strange old buck, looking about the room again, my eyes finally fully adjusted to the lamp light, taking in the cot I’d been laid on (old, heavily used, definitely repaired more than once and eye rollingly, horrendously olive green, military issue then, pre-war) the (scratchy but warm, even if it had a few holes in it) blanket over my flanks, a heap of boxes, a small metal table covered with heavily used medical accoo… trees… a cute… mints… la, la, la, you’re really asking for it brain… medical tools (there, good enough) that I could only see after turning my head as far as possible to the left, a few random knick knacks in the corners and one makeshift door leading out to what must have been the rest of the… was I in a train? Did this mean I had to pay the conductor? Not sure why anypony would give money to a piece of electronics but oh well.

“Sorry.” He answered. I could almost feel the dust in his voice and finally noticed he had something of an accent and it made me think of apples. “Yer not my type.” Mistletoe finished with a one sided grin that stretched the wrinkles out of his muzzle. So he ate other ponies but not me, well that was creepy, if a relief and oh… I get it. The wheels turn slowly. I made sure not to blush (I did, just the tiniest, teensiest bit, kind of hard to stop it from being noticeable when your coat’s as white as fresh snow. Now there was something straight out of the histories. Where did I know about snow from? Not important, he didn’t like me, well, that was a bit rude. I reached for whiskey that wasn’t there and, disappointed, decided I would pout. After all it was kind of insulting to think that an old codger wouldn’t find a fit young mare to be his type. I wasn’t ugly, was I? Quick, somepony find me a mirror and… again, focus on the important things.

“And, you’re not a zebra robot, sent from the future to assassinate me?” I asked further, delighted by him going half cross eyed at the suggestion. “And you’re not going to don leathers, tie me up (I was already tied up, come to remember, in medical restraints it seemed) and bring out torture devices are you?” My words tumbled out one after another and the old buck just looked at me long and hard then burst out in grandfatherly laughs.

“Nope.” He said. “Not a zebra come to kill yeh, and I’m on shift right now, so no time for hoofcuffs and chains.” The buck’s horn flared faintly. A cigarette and lighter floated out of one of his many pockets, bobbing up and down a little in his levitation field. He lit the cigarette and looked at me intently. “So, what’s yer name?” Oh boy. Good question. The answer was…

“I… don’t know.” I told him and it was Celestia’s honest truth. I had no idea of what my name was, where I was born, who my parents were or how in the hay I’d ended up on a rocky little hill above a town named Appleloosa.

“Well, nothin’ to identify yeh from the bardin’ yeh were wearin’ Stable-Tec knock offs if ever I-”

“How does everypony know that my barding wasn’t really made by Stable-Tec? I don’t know that it wasn’t made by them, heck, I can barely even remember what a Stable is.” I interrupted him and was immediately glad there wasn’t a fire at hoof for him to roll me into… as I eyed the lamps warily.

“There’s a few small thin’s if yeh look close enough. The stitchin’ and the design, number’s too high as well, far as these old bones know there never was a Stable 0349. That and it says Fable-Tec inside the collar.” He answered dryly, leaving me with more questions. What was Fable-Tec, why did I have their barding, hell, why would anypony even waste the time making Stable-Tec knock offs for that matter? The buck coughed and spat a glob of phlegm into one of the corners. How… charming? I thought acidly.

“Anyway, welcome back to the world of the livin’, dumplin’ glad to see yeh ain’t brain dead.” Gee thanks, mister. I guess bedside manner wasn’t high on his priorities. And the brain dead part was yet to be determined, I figured, pending the outcome of the sold out prizefight between me and my mind.

“Yeah, me too.” I told him with a forced smile. “Now don’t be offended but where the fuck am I and what the fuck’s going on?” I was forcing myself to smile still, though it was more of a grimace now. Mistletoe gave a chuckle that dissolved into a sigh.

“Yer in my train car… clinic… doctor’s office, which I share with a lovely but inattentive youn’ filly who calls herself a nurse. Candi, get yer tiny shiny white plot in here! Patient’s awake ‘n I’m too tired and ornery to do all this shit by myself!” His voice rose to a yell and I did a double take. For a geezer he still had quite a set of pipes on him. “Sleep through balefire that one and dreamin’ of strappin’ young stallions all the while.” Mistletoe shook his head, cigarette smoke swirling in its bald wrinkled wake. “Now, anyway, where was I?” He asked, sounding a little confused. Also, was he yelling for a pony or a sugary snack? And lastly, was he so sure about the whole not senile part?

“You were telling me where I am and what’s going on.” I said helpfully, testing my restraints, no, still not budging. “And why you’ve got me tied down.” I added as an afterthought. I strained against the straps but they wouldn’t give. What happened to me being a steam powered badass pony?

“No, now I believe I was tellin’ yeh where the ‘fuck’ yeh are and what the ‘fuck’ is goin’ that about right?” The old buck asked. I could hear the sound of a very groggy pony moving about somewhere else in the train car. “Quite a mouth on yeh, that’s fer sure. My train car… said that already… in New Appleloosa, awful name fer a town (I quite agreed with him, nodding my head enthusiastically even if he didn’t seem to notice) in the good old land of Equestria… or what’s left of it at any rate.” He stopped speaking; taking a drag from the cigarette his magic was still holding and bringing up a forehoof to rub the underside of his chin. “Yer in them restraints cause yeh were causing one hell of a ruckus when we tried to get yer bardin’ off, quite a surprise seein’ them win’s a yers fer the first time. Also, took three stron’ bucks as otherwise work the train to keep yeh down. I was afraid yeh’d do even more hurt to yerself, so, restraints.”

“Oh.” I said, thinking over his answer. Maybe I still was a steam powered badass pony but my bindings were made of some sort of super strong metal from beyond the stars that kept me from using my full powers. Yep, that’s what I was going with.

“Before yeh ask, the answer’s no, I ain’t lettin’ yeh out of them straps until I know I can trust yeh not to go griffin shit crazy again.” The old buck rubbed at heavy eyelids, puffy from age. “Yeh showed up outside the gates about three days back now, havin’ taken almost every drug known to ponykind. I’ve been flushing yer system ever since, not sure if yeh got addicted or not, but if yeh feel strange cravin’s fer any of that junk just let me know and I’ll keep yeh away from it.” He coughed lightly. “Candi, when I die, which’ll be soon with the way yeh look after things, the only help yeh’ll get in running this place’ll be from my disapprovin’ ghost!” The old buck sucked in a breath before continuing. “Tellin’ yeh yer not doin’ right by yer patients and jumpin’ out yellin’ boo every time yeh try to take a bath, or get all cozy with one of them caravan guards!” Mistletoe yelled again and I was quite certain I heard a pony squeal and jump so high their head hit the ceiling. Speaking of heads…

“My head?” I asked him, wishing I could reach out a wing (they were folded up under me) and take the doctor’s cigarette from him.

“And the rest of yeh.” He said seriously as an adolescent mare entered my room, precariously balancing a doctor’s bag and a tray of food. I hoped it was for me, I was feeling hungry enough to chew the ass off a week dead Brahmin. I also had to pee, really badly, not yet oops the mare had an accident but getting there. I tried to cross my back legs to keep the feeling away but I was strapped down. Great. I decided to keep my mind on other things and looked at the filly. And, as it turned out, she was a sugary looking snack as well as a pony, compact but for legs that didn’t seem to end, with a bright white coat, a soft pink mane and eyes the color of ocean waves in summer, set in an adorable little face. If I was a few seasons younger, and still a filly fooler like in my school days I’d… ahem, let’s not go there, though the notion that I had schooling was a strange contrast with my inability to arty-que-late myself while talking… or thinking.

“Half yer ribs were broken, multiple compound fractures to yer left fore leg.” The doctor said as he pulled various (a little bit scary) medical instruments (a few of which looked like sexual torture devices… no matter what he said) and began examining me. “Fracture to yer right hind leg, so bad yeh could see the bone through yer coat, made a few ponies round about lose their breakfast.” He gave Candi, who was standing quietly in the corner watching him, a playful grin before poking and prodding me anew. “Burns, deep muscle bruising, contusions, shallow lacerations, gunshot and stab wounds just about everywhere.” He wacked my stomach with a hoof, and, satisfied by the ‘oomph’ sound I made went back to his grocery list of what I’d somehow gone through. “To tell the truth, yer body was barely holdin’ together. Them drugs might of just kept yeh alive lon’ enough to fall head over ass outside our rusty gates.” Head over ass, not the way I liked to present myself… most of the time.

“My head?” I asked again, grunting, trying to focus on the pretty little pony in the corner and not on the ancient buck pressing on my ribs.

“Ah, the most intriguin’ of yer many various injuries.” Mistletoe replied as Candi crept forward to better hear what was being said. “It took me a while to figure out just what in the blue buck happened there.” He held my muzzle in his hooves, looking back and forth, between my eyes. I stared back at him, unblinking, a teeny bit concerned he might be trying to hypnotize me. “Somepony must’ve taken a great dislikin’ to yeh.”

“Why would anypony not like me?” I questioned, giving another winning smile, showing my teeth, hoping they sparkled… and were still there.

“Yeh were shot in the head, dumplin’ by something fearfully powerful.” Mistletoe said nonchalantly, putting a hoof under my chin and pushing up, closing my mouth and ending my smile.

“Why would somepony want to shoot me in the head?” I asked the doctor, and I mean, I really wanted to know what I had done to deserve that kind of treatment, since I couldn’t actually remember.

“You don’t know?” The filly, Candi, asked me right back, in a voice sweet as honey and sultry as whiskey with a bar of sunlight shining through its bottle. Reconsidering sexual orientation in three… two… one…

“No.” I told her quietly, wondering if the story of the strange Pegasus mare with the hole in her head had been keeping the town gossips abuzz since my (very timely it seems) arrival. “I can’t remember.” The doctor made a sound that was part throat and part nose but it sounded halfway between an annoyed harrumph and a drawn out fart.

“I figured that might be the case.” Mistletoe stepped away from me and dropped down onto his haunches. “Yer missing a few pieces up there, even with the best I could do to stitch yeh back together, yer probably sufferin’ from retrograde amnesia.

“There’s an old school style amoeba in my brain?” I asked, terrified that it was worming its way through my head as we spoke, turning me into a living dead pony with a taste for the flesh of my own kind. “I’m gonna become a zombie?” The buck looked at me like I was crazy, drew out a flashlight and checked my pupils.

“Hmmm… maybe yeh’ve got more brain damage than I originally believed.” He said as though considering whether to have apples or carrots for lunch. Any amount was too much I thought back. “No, there’s no microscopic critters floatin’ around in there turnin’ yeh into a zombie… might explain the stupid comments and questions were it true.” What stupid comments and questions? Everything I’d said was valid and of leggy… intimate… ledge it… legitimate (goddesses damn it) importance to my situation. Nopony wants assassins on their tail, cannibals or the whole bondage torture thing… unless it was with the right buck… or mare.

“You have memory damage.” Candi said with a frightening amount of earnest enthusiasm, almost bouncing up and down. This must be a real treat for her to see and learn about first hoof. Attraction to her… dropping… slightly.

“Yep.” The doc said casually. “Course, whatever caused it, the shot that nudged that poor noggin of yers, came from somethin’ I’ve never seen before.”

“Was it aliens?” I asked. Candi gasped, put her front hooves over her eyes and promptly fell right over. Awww… attraction rising again.

“No it was not aliens!” The old buck dismissed my theory with no small amount of obvious irritation. “Some kind of firearm, zebra make maybe, highly advanced, not a true energy or disintegration weapon but not a regular, good old fashioned bullet throwin’ kinetic piece either, probably pre-war tech.” Zebras huh? I was right; they’d sent assassins after me from the future, that’d collected weapons from the past, to kill me in the present. Now that I’d thought it out, the idea seemed just a tad bit ridiculous.

“I do know one thin’ fer sure now. It’s a damn miracle that yer talkin’ to me and not droolin’ or rollin’ the eyes like our resident ghoul.” He chuckled for what must have been the fiftieth time in the past ten minutes, starting to get on my nerves. “Wonder what she’ll make of yeh? And hell, it’s a damn miracle that yer alive at all. Now, Candi, go yonder and grab our illustrious mayor.” Illustrious, that word was familiar. “I know he wants to talk to our remarkable mare… and no dawdlin’ yeh cotton headed fancy dreamin’ little filly!” Candi jumped again, though she didn’t strike the ceiling this time, and scurried out as if a hellhound had gotten her scent. I heard the door to what must have been the outside of the train car thrown open.

“Now that the little talker is gone, probably tellin’ half the town about what’s goin’ on before she even looks for Railright, there was somethin’ else I wanted to talk to yeh about.” The doc said quietly and by the look on his face I knew it wasn’t good news. Awesome, everyday and in every way things were getting better and better.

“I know yeh don’t remember… or least, yeh say yeh don’t remember,” he began… wait was he calling me a liar? “A pony’s business is their own, and if yeh don’t want to tell me anythin’ that’s yer right.” Mistletoe used magic to put out his cigarette on an exceptionally full ashtray resting on the metal floor near the side of cot. Wow, he must have been in here a lot, smoking like a chimney from one of old Equestria’s wartime factories… or I’d been smoking in my sleep. Was I a sleep smoker? The doc lit up another cigarette before speaking again and I used the delay to get a few words in.

“Do you mind?” I asked, looking from him to his cigarette.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The buck answered, scowling at me. “Tryin’ to tell me not to smoke in my own clinic.” He muttered in disbelief.

“No, do you mind if I get one?” I completed. The doctor eyed me for a few seconds, maybe trying to figure out if I was working some kind of angle. Because, yes, it would be so effective to burn down his metal train car home while I was tied to a cot and couldn’t escape. Maybe I could use the cigarette to burn through the straps, or, more likely, I’d just smoke it instead.

“Alright, so lon’ as yeh give me yer word yer not gonna go all shit fit on me and try to fly outta here or buck me upside the head.” Mistletoe stated without an ounce of humor. I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind once or twice (a minute) since waking up. This place made me nervous, and being tied up when anything could happen was making it even worse. And I really, really had to pee.

“Cross my wings and hope to fly.” I told him as innocently as possible. The doctor squinted at me, trying to divine any falsehood in my words. He gave up, shrugged and magically unlocked the restraints on my right foreleg, allowing me to pull free a wing. It felt… weak, but good, like I hadn’t used it in forever and was just now discovering it again.

“Thanks.” I said as he lit another cigarette and floated it to me. Boy, I wish I had magic. It seemed to make things so much easier, but then I wouldn’t have wings, couldn’t fly… unless I was an Alicorn… but that would make me almost two hundred years dead and since I wasn’t dead (hooves crossed, if more than one of them had been free), I guess I would be bereft of the ability to be lazy by magic. Wait a Goddess damned minute, the Alicorns were dead? That was an unpleasant thought. I just hoped it wasn’t true. I shook my head to clear the thoughts of Luna and Celestia as nothing more than heaps of anonymous bones, lying somewhere, unknown and unmourned in the vast Equestrian wastes. Damn horn heads I cursed silently, picking up the previous train of thought, curling the end of my wing around the cigarette and bringing it to my muzzle. It took a lot of effort to take hold, just how long had it been since I’d flown or used my wings?

“As I was sayin’ afore,” the buck continued. “Whether yeh remember or not, yeh need to be careful, more careful I should say.” He looked me over again. “It weren’t only the injuries I mentioned already; those were just the recent ones. You’ve got half healed wounds all over the damn place, datin’ back months I’d guess. Where ever yeh’ve been, whatever yeh’ve been doin’ it’s been puttin’ one hell of a strain on yer body.” He blew out some smoke. “Yer too youn’ to go off killin’ yerself, and if yeh keep at whatever it was that landed yeh in all this trouble… yeh’ll die.” His eyes looked sad. And there was a wake up call if I’d ever gotten one. Now paging… whatever my name was… listen to your medical health professional. “And I hate wastin’ my supplies almost as much as I hate wastin’ my cigarettes. So do yerself a favor and take it easy fer a while.”

Don’t go running… flying off and get myself killed. Don’t tangle with beasties you can’t handle. Don’t waste the sour old doctor’s smokes. Got it. It seemed like reasonable advice, if boring. I was more just wondering about what in the hay had happened over the last few months that I couldn’t remember. Why was I covered in injuries? Why had I fallen when I could fly? Why was the doctor staring at me like that again? Why would somepony build a town called Appleloosa… twice? What had happened to the mysterious stallion chasing that ghoul? Why did I have to pee so badly?

“That it?” I asked the doctor, not knowing exactly what else he could tell me was wrong. Maybe that I had taint or was irradiated to the point of glowing, wouldn’t be a stretch from all the crap I’d somehow gone through and couldn’t even recall. Dumb brain, making my head hurt when I tried to remember things.

“Pretty much.” Mistletoe answered. “Except, well, yer Cutie Mark and…” Oh long dead goddesses (wait… long dead? Arrgh, not going through this again) of ponykind. What was wrong with my Cutie Mark? Had it been burned off, shot off, bitten off?

“What’s wrong with it? What happened to it? Where did it go? I swear if that no good hussy Cutie Mark of mine ran off with my brain I’ll…” I twisted in my restraints, free wing fluttering uselessly, cot rocking under me and… my Cutie Mark was still there it just… well… it just… I had no idea what in the hell it was. It looked like some kind of balancing measuring scale thingy.

“Calm down. Calm down!” The doctor ordered as I looked in breathless confusion at the mark on my flanks. I stopped moving and tried taking deep breaths. What kind of game was he pulling here; telling me something was wrong with my Cutie Mark, getting me all worked up and… seriously, what the hell was that thing on my flank?

“What is it?” I asked. Was I supposed to be some kind of magical bean counter, a weigh-er and purveyor of trading goods, an anal retentive supply clerk?

“Scales, Dumplin’, they’re scales.” The buck answered. I heard the train car’s door open again as I tried to figure out what the weird ass shape on my… ass had to do with reptiles and fish, or musical notes.

“So I’m supposed to be a sea pony?” I questioned, “or some sort of musician?” The look he gave me left no doubt as to what he thought my problem was: brain damage. There were voices from somewhere else in the train car. I looked as closely as possible at my flank. One hanging part held bullets and what looked like a sword, the other had some kind of branch or wreath and a pigeon I guess, taking wing.

“They’re the scales of Justice.” He clarified dourly. Why did he sound like he was talking to a child? Was I being insulted here, again? There were definitely ponies outside of my little sick room but they weren’t coming in. Maybe they knew better than to interrupt the doctor… or were afraid of his sour lemony oldness.

“Sooooo… justice is a lizard that looks like a device to weigh drugs.” I finished, even more lost than when we’d began.

“No! Yeh apple buckin’ idiot.” The buck clarified. “Justice, weighin’ the merits of a case, right and wron’, truth and fairness, impartiality and all that. It’s old Equestrian stuff.” He carried on. “Only reason I know is cause I was born in a Stable out west, had a good education on the institutions of a bygone era, not that important anymore, really, except fer learnin’ how to take care of folks that’ve been hurt.”

So my Cutie Mark was some kind of archaic (look at my fancy words) idea about right and wrong, a representation of justice. Huh, well, I didn’t feel particularly just at the moment, laying in my cot, smoking a cigarette. I felt, weak, thirsty, hungry and I needed to find the little filly’s room with a vengeance. Hopefully, the doctor was a rare buck (being Stable bred) that he’d know the meaning of the mark. Cause if it was common knowledge it would be bad (might explain why I was in such poor condition coming in though). Any pony walking around the wastes with a dumbass symbol of justice on their flank was in for a whole heaping helping of hurting. That kind of picture was nothing more than a target in my opinion. I just wish I’d found I had a really cool Cutie Mark… like a bullet going through a skull, lightning bolts from a cloud, a grim reaper pony with a scythe or crossed swords with blood splatters. Any of those would be acceptable. This scale was boring… and potentially hazardous to my health.

“Just unusual fer a pony to have that as their Cutie Mark, in my opinion.” He cleared his throat and floated away my nub of a cigarette to join his in the overstuffed ashtray. “Course, that tattoo yeh’ve got on yer left shoulder is mighty interestin’ as well.” Tattoo on my left shoulder? What tattoo on my left shoulder. I twisted my head around, straining my neck and he was right. There was a tattoo on my left shoulder, above my foreleg. That was… unexpected? New? Strange? In a time when everything that was happening to me was strange this really didn’t stand out as the weirdest thing. Had I gotten drunk in Dise and decided to get inked or been part of a gang running out of The Hoof? Upon closer inspection, the tattoo was a winged sword, point downward, with a banner draped over the cross bars and hilt. See, now this was cool. Why couldn’t the tattoo be my Cutie Mark? Stupid rotten lousy luck. There was some kind of writing on the banner. Sin equan on? Si nequ anon? I definitely wasn’t reading it right because it just looked like it was one step up from griffin scratch gibberish to me.

“What does the weird writing mean?” I asked the doctor, worried that it might say shoot me or kill this pony in strange-fucking-ese. “I wasn’t abducted by aliens, was I?” The thought ran rampant in my head. Evil aliens with shiny skin and big eyes probing me… “You don’t think they strapped me to a big table and put a big metal probe up my-”

“No.” Mistletoe cut me off with his answer… right about the same time he slapped me across the muzzle with one of his hooves. Ow. “There’s no such thin’s as aliens. The only probe that went up yer backside, far as I know, was the thermometer that Candi used to take yer temperature.” Candi stuck something up my butt? Well, that was… strange. Did she at least buy me some sugar apple bombs and a six pack of Buckweiser first? “I got no idea what it means and yeh can come in now Railright, our guest’s awake and ready to chew yer ear off, sadly most of what she says is nonsense.” Nonsense?

“Hey!” I said loudly, offended. Just because the likelihood of alien abduction was slim didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, and I indeed was probed… by a hot little filly (maybe we could go to a bar later) so… I decided to stop being crazy, for the moment at least, that I could hear this Railright buck talk.

“Howdy.” The stallion in question said, entering the room and doffing his cowpony hat to show off a thick dark mane that was rather fetching. Well hello tall dark (gray) and handsome, I thankfully didn’t say the words out loud, fidgeting over the fact that I was meeting (for the second time I guessed) this nice looking fellow and really had to pee. He still had the duster and shiny star he’d been wearing when I’d shown up at his gates. Well, maybe now we could introduce ourselves better.

“Don’t take too long mayor.” The doctor cautioned. “Candi’s gotta feed her and she needs rest, probably be in that bed all week an-”

“All week?” I whined. “But doc I don’t th-”

“And then some.” He finished with a wrinkle stretching grin. “Oh and Candi, when these two youn’ins are done gabbin’ but before yeh feed her, get a bed pan for our patient. I think she needs to urinate.” By all the oaths of ponykind I was gonna kill that bald old son of a mule. I don’t think I’d ever been so embarrassed. And so, with all thoughts of bucking to help my recuperation gone, I spent the next fifteen minutes or so telling Railright (who blushed more than I did at the doctor’s words) what I knew about myself (nothing), what I knew about how I came to his town (very little) and explaining what my intentions were once they took the restraints off and let me out of my cot (none except to find a big bottle of alcohol and get drunk). Then Doc Mistletoe kicked the mayor out of the room so that Candi could put me on a bed pan. Yeah, that last bit of embarrassment I talked about, nothing compared to me peeing into what amounted to little more than a bucket while a fine looking filly stood there and waited for me to finish. It took a long time. Like I said, I really needed to go.

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The next week was spent (primarily) in that little room, the next very, very, very boring long week. There was no booze to be had (excepting small amounts of some kind of sweet apple something that Candi was able to sneak me, which probably kept me alive more than the bland mushy meals they were giving as susta… nancy… tenants… sustenance, there we are). The doctor’s charity when it came to cigarettes quickly ran out (after I’d gone through two of his packs in as many days) and Candi, it seemed, was interested in bucks, not other mares, my occasional (many) suggestions of a threesome with the stallion of her choice elicited nothing more than giggles from her. So, with pretty much nothing to drink, nopony to do and nowhere to go I rested (which did feel kind of good) and got prodded several times a day by the doctor (not so good) or Candi (better). Railright came back for the first four days to ask additional questions, but soon grew tired of it as I had no answers to give, not even my own name. How pathetic was that? I couldn’t give him a simple name, my name… not because I didn’t want to but because I couldn’t fucking remember it. The ones I came up with (Steam Power, Badass, The Lone Gunmare, Whiskey Rose, War Sword and Sinequanon) did not meet with the Doc’s approval (he refused to call me by any of them) and Candi ended up rolling on the floor laughing every time I tried to get her to say one. It frustrated me, but I did enjoy watching my nurse roll around on her back. Mentally stimulating… yes… very… mentally stimulating.

Those three ponies (and after the mayor stopped coming the number was down to two) were my only visitors (grumpy old Mistletoe insisting that I needed rest more than I did company or conjugal visits, usually while sticking a thermometer where Celestia never shined. He wouldn’t let me leave the train car either, worried that I would run away (very unlikely), wander off because I’d seen something shiny in the distance (slightly less unlikely), get into a fight with another pony (meh, I’d give fifty-fifty odds on that one), set back my recovery by knocking horseshoes with some strong buck or cute mare (rather more likely) or drown myself (not literally) in whiskey (yeah, not asking for odds on that one, let’s just say very, very likely) after realizing that I’d gotten a hold of half a bottle of his bourbon (hooray for wings) that he’d carelessly left near me.

It wasn’t until day five that I was allowed out of my restraints. The doctor was still worried I’d flip out and start kicking ponies or something. I didn’t, except I may have misbehaved a little when he took away the bourbon (though I was still partially tied up at the time), and again when I found out that all the alcohol he had in the train car was kept in a locked cabinet. Sledgehammers I found are stupid heavy and not a good thing to use when your muscles are supposed to be healing. At least now I could use the bucket on my own (yay), even if there were a few… accidents, especially soon after the bourbon incident. Once every hour (that I was awake) either the doc or his nurse would take me around the train car, helping to support me as I walked and pointing various things out in the hopes that it would improve or maybe even miraculously jog my memory. It didn’t work. My attempts to convince Candi to let me play doctor with her were fun though, if regrettably fruitless. Other things happened, of varying importance. Me finding out what color my mane was (black) and that the doc had partially shorn it for my surgery (horror). Seeing what color my eyes were (dark blue), chasing Candi around (not what you think) and getting caught by Mistletoe with my hooves… well… uhm… ahem… (exactly what you think). But, those are things for another time.

On the eighth day since my first reawakening, Doc Mistletoe, the cantankerous old sawbones who called himself a pony, reluctantly agreed that I could go outside of the train car, so long as Candi remained with me. You’d be surprised but I didn’t find the arrangements objectionable in the slightest. I was eager to see the sky, even if I knew it was cloudy and I wanted to stretch my wings and get them working again. Mistletoe had taken a look at them and told me they’d begun to atrophy from lack of use. How a Pegasus could go long enough without using their wings that the muscles in them would start to go, I had no idea. It was just another mystery that I had no way to solve.

“Ready?” Candi asked me as we stood before the door that led outside. I was excited, which might explain why I’d gone to the bucket so many times in the half hour leading up to our excursion.

“Ready.” I answered, giving her a giddy grin with a hint of lechery. Hey, a girl can dream can’t she?

“Now, we’re gonna take it easy and go slow. I’ll show you around the town, introduce you to some folks, like Miss Ditzy, and then, since Doc’s takin’ one of his naps (I was very familiar with them by now, the buck liked them often and snored like thunder), we can go over to the bar, best place in town, and get some drinks.” Candi said happily, beaming, all enthusiasm and long legs. Well gee, how could I say no to that?

*Experience gained: 25% to level 2*

Chapter 3. No Caps, No Colts, No Custom… coming soon…

3. No Caps, No Colts, No Custom

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Fallout Equestria: Justice

Volume I. The Mare With No Name

Chapter 3. No Caps, No Colts, No Custom

“We’re all on this road, with miles to go
Braving new pathways into the unknown
But who do you ask, when no one really knows
Where are we going from here…”

The world beyond the train car, (my prison… I suppose, of over a week) as it turned out, was quite bright… at least in comparison to the inside of Doc Mistle’s dark and dreary abode. The sky was cloudy, as was usual from what I gathered. The last day. The Last Day. One hundred and ninety three years ago a terrible decades long war between the great nation of Old Equestria and the fanatical Zebra Empire came to a sudden end, with slaughter and death. Balefire bombs, weapons of mass destruction engineered through an unholy union of alchemical magic, technology and reverse engineered mega spell frameworks (supposedly stolen from Equestria itself) were smuggled into the country and detonated in a coordinated strike on what the few survivors said was a sunny, beautiful morning. It would turn out to have been the very last sunny morning Equestria had seen for almost two centuries.

The pony nation retaliated swiftly and without mercy, launching hundreds of their own weapons against the zebra. But, missiles were fired by both sides, crisscrossing the skies. Had any of them collided? Had zebra rocket struck pony missile far above the earth? No one knew for sure. We only knew that the world ended when those weapons landed. Fillydelphia, Manehattan, Maripony… Cloudsdayle, city of the Pegasi, Equestria’s greatest fighting force, equalizers against the zebra menace… heroes of the Great War. My head was beginning to hurt. They’d sounded the order to retreat… pain pushed at my temples. Pegasi sealed… a dull throbbing behind my eyes… sealed… sealed… off the sky. I stumbled, trying to clutch at my head, falling down the short set of steps from train car to the ground, taking a surprised Candi with me.

“Ow.” I deadpanned, on my back in a rain puddle, Candi landing on top of me. I really hoped it was a rain puddle. Hello! “Oh.” I said as my vision came back into focus, imagined little Unicorn doctors with horrible invasive sex torture medical devices disappearing from their lazy circles round my head. Candi had fallen onto her stomach… on my stomach… with her rear end right in front of my face. Smile, wings now considering the possibility of pomphing. I had only just begun to enjoy the view when she rolled off me. Sadness, wings returning to normal.

“You okay there Darlin’?” Somepony asked in the cutest of voices. Were they talking to me? “Darlin’? You there? Irradiated earth to Miss Pegasus.” So they were talking to me. This would just take a second. Trying to concentrate… on memorizing… I mean on not memorizing my previous view like one of those old wartime camera pictures you’d occasionally find in ruins. When had I been in any ruins? That was a brain twister.

“Candy.” I said with a vague grin. The mare looked down at me curiously, raising an eyebrow. I coughed. “I mean, I’m good, sorry, just got a little dizzy.” I didn’t think it was the brightest idea to mention that splitting headaches occurred when certain memories surfaced in my mind. If there were any mental hospitals left in the wastes… I had no desire to visit and or become a full time guest.

“Oh Honey. Ah know you’ve got a sweet tooth but let’s try and focus on getting you better and showing you round the town first.” Candi said warmly. So, there was still hope then? Okay. I could walk around the little burg, feigning (good word, wonder where I’d learned it) interest in the train cars. I forced myself to my hooves, shaking out my mane and gave her a smile.

“I’d love to see the town.” I told her, not entirely truthfully. She smiled back at me. I’d pretty soon regret saying those six words, like really, really regret saying them.

New Appleloosa ( I was starting to get used to the name, it made me think of a quaint little western town out on the Equestrian frontier, which New Appleloosa… technically… was not) couldn’t be called a metropolis (for some reason that thought made me miss flying and flap my useless wings in annoyance). It wasn’t a city or an urban center. Heck, it wasn’t even what I’d call a town. Pretty much, it was just a little village… hamlet… thing. There were train cars, train cars and more train cars. Lastly, there were even fucking more train cars. I could have fallen asleep as we walked, (I might have even managed it for a second or two) primarily though, I fantasized about drinking… and other things.

Candi introduced me to the citizens and most of them were boring but good folk and depressingly sober, if interested in me, though sadly not in the way I wanted them to be. Pretty much the only standout was a young Unicorn buck with a coat like Mistletoe’s and a mane and tail that alternated between orange and beige. It reminded me of old fashioned sugar candy twists. The stallion worked as a heavy lifter and boy could he ever telekinesis the hell out things. I almost asked him if he could lift me up with his magic so that I could get the sensation of flying. Flying. It felt like a dream at the edge of waking, something I knew I enjoyed, loved, craved, even if I really couldn’t remember ever doing it. There was a hole within me that I didn’t think had anything to do with a strange bullet to the head or with a nasty case of metro rate ambrosia (that was what the doc called it, right?) but was instead the result of me being grounded, wings too weak to lift me, unable to fly.

Asking the buck to give me a quick and poor substitute for the ability to fly was the first thing I could think of as a use for his magic. I’m pretty sure that by now you can guess what the second thing I thought of was. Candi, party pooper that she was, hurried me away before I could ask Crane, that was his name, I think, about more creative uses for Unicorn magic. That darn delicious looking filly knew my mind far too well. Now, if she could only get to know the rest of me.

Disappointingly, after Candi spirited me away from the talented Unicorn, we went right past the saloon (my hooves wanted to stop, turn around and walk in) to a little corrugated metal shack. It was a refreshing change from the train cars but hosted nothing more interesting than a bounty office run by some sort of caravan group that had dealings all over Equestria that was. They offered contracts on everything from bloatsprites and radhogs to raiders, hellhounds and radscorpions. Apparently there were standing bounties on any denizen of the waste that could interrupt trade (which was just about all of them), paid out upon proof of death. The big one currently was a 1,200 cap reward for the pony that ended the problem of the attacks on caravans that were seriously impacting trade in the area and leaving no survivors. There were also contracts for patrolling the roads that were heavily used, clearing infestations that opened up new salvage opportunities, and, just like the mysterious stallion (with his stupid sunglasses) told me, bounties on alleged criminals.

There was even a worn and faded wanted poster for the no good ghoul piece of shit that wanted to mug my wounded flank and leave me for the vultures. There was a little drawing of him, along with information that included what his Cutie Mark was (a hay sandwich… really didn’t see that one coming), his name and aliases (the prick liked to call himself Licorice apparently, though wasn’t averse to using the names Dandy, Hay Bale, Hay Seed and Papa Lick… gross), whether he was wanted dead or alive (dead preferred, as a lesson, the warrant specified very clearly), the reward amount (900 bottle caps, enough to keep me hock deep in booze and bucks for quite a spell) and his crimes.

That was the part that really got me. Licorice the ass hole ghoul was wanted not for the rape, torture and eventual murder of five foals, but for breaking a slaving contract in having done so and thieving from the slavers. According to the document his transgressions involved: loss of revenue due to failure on delivery of pony youths for the purpose of sale, reneging on a binding legal document, misappropriation of resources. I didn’t even want to know if the resources were items he stole or baby ponies he fucked, cut up and killed. This… creature… this less than a pony, his very existence churned the medicine (and lack of alcohol) in my gut. The bounty was down though, sitting on a stack of other completed assignments. So, that crazy buck had brought back the evil fucker’s head after all. Good. But why hadn’t he visited me? Oh well, I was probably unconscious still when he came back with his bounty. May the stupid stallion in the sunglasses drink that whiskey he neglected to share, and may the son of a bitch who tried to steal and stab an injured mare (notably a lesser sin compared to his earlier ones) rot in Tartarus, fucked by fiery three cocked Minotaurs for all eternity.

Candi took me away from the shack when she noticed how worked up I was getting. Either it was turning her on and she wanted some one on one (or more, make it a party) time with me in one of those damn train cars or she was worried I would do something stupid and set my recovery back. I hoped for the first one and of course it seemed to be the second. Rotten luck, just plain rotten. The most interesting part of her tour, (so far) much more so than her near constant gossiping and chatting about this buck or that mare was the ‘Absolutely Everything’ store… interesting, nauseating (really sorry about that one), painful and hella’ confusing. I was also worried that the sign above the triple train car store was on the verge of falling on some unlucky pony below. It had seen better days and tilted dangerously but Candi paid it no mind so I tried to ignore it as well.

Discounting the bar, which we’d still yet to enter, (damn, but I was getting thirsty) Absolutely Everything was about the most exciting thing about New Appleloosa outside of the occasional raider attack or the large rumor mill (with bets and wagers ongoing in bits, booze and caps) circulating over the cause of the disappearing ponies in the nearby wastes. After my waking and unusual ideas about what had happened to me, Candi suggested to the townsfolk that aliens, things from another world, were responsible for those missing, abducting poor bewildered ponies back to their space ships for probing and experimentation. It hadn’t caught on as a serious contender in the gambling. Of course, Candi’d also made a new wager that the Enclave… there was a buzzing in my ears… the Grand Pegasi Enclave… I was grinding my teeth, pins and needles all over my head. Candi wagered that the Enclave was taking ponies up to the sky, above the clouds. I thought it out real quick, releasing a labored breath. As I turned my mind to other things the strange and unpleasant sensations left me. Hmmm… not quite sure what that meant but it was probably important… very important. I kind of tried to side think, like at the edge of my mind about the subject… until entering the store drove those thoughts from me.

It was a store, a real live store. Were stores ever really alive? Somepony once told me… couldn’t remember who… pain building in my sinuses… that the really good stores could come alive. Or maybe it was stories. Anyway, here I was, in a store, with goods, items, wonderful terrific purchasable things. I could go shopping! A huge smile drew itself across my muzzle (slightly crooked) at the idea of being able to buy things… guns and incendiary ammo, dresses and hats, fancy buck cakes and sugar apple bombs, Wingboner magazines and beer. Beer. Beer! Beer and whiskey. Whiskey and beer. I wanted to hug the shelves. I practically danced around the shop, to the amusement of a giggling Candi, the commotion drawing the propeller… rioter… piety… proprietor! Hell yeah, I was a smart mare.

It was about then I realized I didn’t actually have any money on me. I’d come into town with nothing but the Fable-Tec barding on my back. And, while it possessed many pockets of various sizes, some secured with buttons, others with zippers (I’d had quite a bit of fun playing with the zippers on the barding… until doc got pissed and made me stop), there was very little in any of those pockets. There was lint, some scraps of paper, a couple random shiny things that turned out to be rocks or pieces of pre-war techno-voodoo whatever and a few strands of mane. Not my color… if black was my real color. I don’t know, maybe my mane was dyed and I was going white, early, way too early. I was pretty sure I was in my mid twenties. The idea that my mane might be going gray… or in my case, white, spurred me to make a mad dash for the closest mirror, moving like a freight train (hehehe) through Mistletoe’s train car, upsetting all his medical science stuff. Doc had thrown that mirror at me with his magic once he figured out what I was tearing the place up over. It certainly turned out to be an interesting morning.

I found out, upon glancing in the mirror, that no, my mane did not appear to be losing its color or luster. It was however shaved over the left half of my head. I looked like some kind of bad attitude raider punk… which I liked in other mares but not on me. Candi laughed hard and long at the look of horror on my face in response to the sight of my poor mane. I spent the next fifteen minutes chasing her around the train car with a hoof knife threatening to do the same to her. Doc had separated the two of us, making Candi sit in a corner while I was forced to return to my cot… without any supper, stupid time outs. Didn’t he realize I was a big girl, possibly still growing? I need my calories. And I was beginning to notice that my mind has the terrible habit off wandering off at random. I needed a lasso.

“Miss Pegasus Patient, this is Ditzy Doo, she runs the Everything.” Candi made the introductions. The other pony was right in front of me but I was staring at the floor because I had no money to buy anything. “Ditzy, this here’s our ‘lucky to be alive mare,’ shot through the head out in the wastes… probably by aliens.” The other pony, with the unusual name, hadn’t said anything. She was bouncing around excitedly though, like a colt in a candy store… mmm… candy… Candi… mmm.

“Hi.” I said in unenthusiastic greeting. Lifting a hoof and looking up to meet the store owner. “It’s nice to me- GAH, WHAT THE FUCK? DON’T EAT ME!” I may have said a bit too loud (screamed). And, I may have overreacted a little bit (toppling over Candi, knocking into a shelf, scattering a few supplies and heading right for the door, which I only noticed too late was actually a pre-war poster and not the real door. Head, meet wall.

It was a few minutes before I was sensible again. And my wishes of seeing Candi, multiple miniatures of her, in nurse’s uniforms, dancing provocatively round my aching head, were dashed… by imaginings of a dozen tiny headless ghouls dressed as her and doing the same thing. I shuddered.

“You really gotta take it easy on your head hun.” Candi told me as she helped me back to my hooves. Ditzy Doo was standing nearby, halfway behind a shelf of soup cans, rusty wrenches and scarves that had gone out of style almost two hundred years ago, giving me a concerned look. At least, I think it was a concerned look. The owner of the Absolutely Everything was a mare… and a ghoul… and a Pegasus. She had a gray coat, falling away in patches to reveal skin and in a few places, tissue and muscle underneath. Her mane was the color of straw… what was left of her mane. It was cut short and had fallen out in places. Oh, she’d look so much prettier in a wig, with wavy blond hair, styled… and why in the hay was I thinking about playing dress up with a ghoul? I couldn’t see her Cutie Mark or her tail (hopefully it was more fully there than her mane) but I could see her eyes. They were golden hued, with a hint of orange, very attractive if only they weren’t staring in two different directions. One was looking kind of at me, while the other seemed to be studying the ceiling.

“And don’t worry darling, Ditzy’s gentle as a fly and twice as quiet. She won’t do you no harm.” Candi added, possibly uncomfortable that I was sort of… staring at the ghoul. “She’s been round forever, since before the bombs fell and a kinder mare you’ll never meet.” Candi nudged me a little toward the other Pegasus mare. I swallowed hard and held my hoof out again.

“Sorry about that.” I said as Ditzy gave a cautious, lazy eyed squint at my hoof. “The last zo… ghoul I ran into tried to stab me.” I waited a few seconds, worried that my first impression had soured the second and that she wouldn’t accept the apology. Then the mare beamed at me, giving one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen on anypony, leapt out from behind her shelf and wrapped me in a big squishy hug. I returned her gesture a bit awkwardly; afraid that if I hugged back too hard the poor girl might burst. She smelled like old leather and musty hay with a faint hint of decay. Alright, breathing through my mouth now.

Ditzy released me and started jumping around the room, bouncing, gliding, smiling, waving her near featherless wings and making occasional clucking sounds. It was very unusual, yet festive. I was no expert, but I think she was trying to communicate with me. The problem was that I had absolutely no idea what she wanted to say. I scratched my head where the doctor had removed my mane. The darn spot was beginning to itch.

“Um, what’s she doing?” I asked Candi out of the corner of my mouth. Was it some sort of strange ghoul mating display? Because, I don’t know if even I’d hit that… and I’d hit just about anything… with a pulse. “And why won’t she talk?”

“Ditzy lost her tongue a ways back, courtesy of some not so nice folk.” Candi answered; for once her voice lost its bubbly quality. “Ah think she’s just excited to see another Pegasus, not often we get one here, in fact, ah can’t remember the last time ah saw one other than you or Ditzy.” Well duh. That was because the Enclave… yeow! Ouch, ouch, ouch. Brain hurting. What was wrong with me? Other than the obvious I mean. The ghoul made a mad scramble for the counter, hooves sliding across the floor hilariously in her haste to get something. She leaned over the counter, head moving strangely before turning around and holding up a small chalk board.

‘See sun?’ Was written on the board and Ditzy looked (as much as she was able) at me expectantly. No, no I couldn’t see the sun in here. We were in a train car; the ghoul must be losing her mind. Oooooh… wait, I get it. She wanted to know if I’d seen the sun before. That was a good question. Had I? The soft white blanket of cloud surrounded me like the thickest of fogs, I was chasing him… or was he chasing me? Upward we went, bursting into the blue, the mighty orb shinin-arrgghh. Sharp shocks of pain trilled through my head, forcing me to grit my teeth as my left eye twitched.

“Um, I don’t… know. Maybe… I think so.” I told Ditzy. Her eyes brightened at the information and then grew sad, watering as though she might cry. Could ghouls cry? Why was she sad anyway? Oh, this one I got quicker, sensitivity training kicking in. If what Candi had said was true, and Ditzy was a remnant of the wartime Pegasi… she remembered a time when the sky wasn’t a veil of clouds. She knew the summer sun and winter snows, autumn storms and spring showers. Before me was a living (undead?) relic of a time long gone, a pony of Equestria, not of the wastes. Here was a mare that had seen the height of civilization, the greatness of all that ponies could be and accomplish… and here was a mare that had seen it all turn to ash. Who would never be accepted in the Enclave, killed or forced out if ever she attempted to return to her kin. It had been 193 years since the world ended and Ditzy Doo, a Pegasus who still retained her wings (if not most of her feathers) may not have risen above the clouds to feel the true wonder of the sun in all that time.

And I understood loss. It was a loss different than a hole in the head or a missing past. This was memory, knowing things that no longer were; carrying on… continuing when everypony you’d ever known from your youth and adulthood was almost two hundred years dead. Did she still conjure images of the noonday sun in her mind? Could she still remember blue skies or the million stars, walking and playing in the clouds with other Pegasi? I didn’t know, all I did know was that she looked… lost… in the past, in what had been destroyed and would never come again… I just knew she looked lost and gave the startled ghoul the biggest hug she’d probably ever received, lifting her off her hooves and swinging her round and round till I fell over, dizzy, laughing, breathing hard. Candi was giggling and though Ditzy wasn’t making much noise she seemed to have enjoyed it, giving me a nuzzle that deposited a few strands of hair from her mane onto my nose.

I got back to my hooves after Ditzy, and then sneezed from the hair tickling my muzzle, catching the wayward yellow lengths with a wing and offering them back to the ghoul. She took a few steps back, grabbed something from one of the shelves and then preceded to wonderglue the hairs to the top of her head. Well, that was one way to keep from going bald… I guess. The other Pegasus looked at my flank curiously. Was she checking me out? I mean, I’d probably need a lot of super high proof moonshine to reciprocate… which worried me because I wasn’t immediately ruling out the possibility of doing it with a ghoul. Just as I was about to say something Ditzy spun around, found her chalk board and began furiously writing something. She wasn’t going to ask me out for drinks was she? I think I would find it hard to turn down anypony, even a ghoul, if there was alcohol involved.

‘Still have Mark. Not Dashite?’ The words on the board confused me for a second. The ‘m’ was capitalized… so she meant my Cutie Mark? Of course I still had it, too bad it was so boring and stupid though. Dashite? What did… hurrrrrr… agony. I clutched at my head with my wings, eyes shut tight, tears managing to leak out from the corners. I stumbled to the right only for Candi to catch me just before I hit what I knew was the shelf containing lawn and gardening equipment. Shears, rakes, hoes, shovels… not a good thing to run into.

“She’ll be fine Miss Ditzy, just fine.” Candi’s voice emanated from near my head, making my ears twitch. “Poor girl had Doc rooting around in her noggin and she can’t seem to remember much of anything from before she got here.” I opened my eyes again. The filly had stopped me just before I could engage in a close encounter with a stack of pitchforks. Good on her. The last thing I needed now was to take a rusty tine to the plot and get some kind of nasty infection. I turned my head around to the ghoul, who was holding the board in her mouth, looking at me with great worry (half looking anyway). One eye was on me; the other was rolling but focused mostly on the floor.

‘Okay? What wrong? Need doctor?’ Ditzy must have scribbled the words out while my eyes were closed and my body was moving toward hazardous metal pointy things.

“I’m fine. Sorry, just… headaches. I think the doc might have left half a sandwich, some mint-als and a few baby radroaches scrambling around in my brain when he stitched me back up.” I told the two. “And thanks.” I said to Candi. The ghoul meanwhile smacked herself in the head and started jumping up and down again, excitedly. She used a hoof to erase what was on the chalk board and began writing again.

‘Want to buy anything?’ Yes, yes I really did. But I didn’t have any money. Hey, maybe I could work as a greeter and guard for her, if she needed one. That would make me some spending caps wouldn’t it? And get me a discount?

“She don’t have any money Miss Ditzy.” Candi said to my great embarrassment. Gee thanks, tell everypony why don’t you? “Mare came here with nothing more than the barding on her back.” The ghoul gave a sad inquisitive look then another impossibly big smile came over her muzzle. She leapt over the store’s counter and began digging around for something, jumping back over and depositing a small sack tied off with a rubber band (and a very small amount of drool) at my hooves.

“What is it?” I asked, confused. It sounded jangly when it hit the floor. Ditzy started writing on her chalkboard again. Boy, it was a good thing she knew how to write… else she’d be down to drawing pictures and pointing with wings and hooves to communicate.

‘Loan. 80 caps. Interest free. Just spend some here.’ The Pegasus held up her board and fluttered her bedraggled wings happily. Wait? She was giving me money? Money that I would eventually have to pay back but money all the same… which meant I could go shopping! And drinking! I would like to make it clear that I kept my composure (jumped up and down happily hollering) and perused the store’s wares in a respectful, publicly acceptable manner (ran between the shelves, coming to skidding halts whenever I found anything interesting, blabbering away about everything I wanted). Candi stood there politely while I embarrassed myself through my lack of compost… closure… posies… composure… whatever.

And, while I couldn’t get some of the things that I really wanted, (an old machete on top of a shelf behind the counter, a beautiful flowery dress that might actually fit me, incendiary rounds and an old .44 caliber Ironshod Firearms revolver) seeing as how 80 caps wasn’t a huge amount… and I wanted to save some for the bar. I did get a few things that I wanted. The first was a large straw sun hat with a dark blue ribbon on it that matched my eyes (according to Candi’s comments and Ditzy’s nods) and also fit my fat head nicely, covering up the places where my mane was missing and hiding any visible signs of my recent beating to the brain pan. My second purchase was a box of sugar apple bombs that the three of us shared (And. It. Was. Delicious).

After that I got a shiny strangely shaped piece of metal that apparently came from an old pre-war sky carriage, (shiny things are fun) a pack of Marlbuck Reds with free matches thrown in, (I’d probably give a few to Mistletoe, seeing as how he let me bum and had been generous enough to defer payment on my treatment) a cute little woven cloth bag with a loop to put around my neck (for carrying things obviously), a small knife with a folding blade (only slightly used, blood stain removal was free) for stabbing things that tried to eat me and a big pink lollipop (because hey, at least it was one piece of candy I could lick). Total cost; 42 caps and I think Ditzy was giving me a discount, she must have really appreciated the sugar apple bombs (weird to see a ghoul eat them, even weirder to consider what must come out when she was… ahem… done with them) or liked helping a fellow fly girl out.

As I doled out Ditzy’s own caps, giving them back to her after they’d been in my possession for a scant few minutes, I took the time to put the hat on (at a jaunty angle that favored the maneless side of my head) and put my other purchases, lollipop not included, into the bag around my neck. Yup, the lollipop I kept out to lick lasciviously (watch out wasteland, I’ve got the fancy words now) while giving Candi flirty looks. It made her blush, and the ghoul, not in on the joke, got… ready… wait for it… befuddled! I love that word. And, now, I was getting really excited (no not that way) because, according to Candi, our next stop was the town’s saloon. This time I really couldn’t wait.

My head. Was. Killing me. And I had no idea why… which, sadly, was getting less strange as circumstances go. My eyes were closed and did not want to open. I was lying somewhere… somewhere I didn’t know, but it was cold and wet and I guessed dark, considering very little light was shining through my eyelids. My throat was sore, hurting, burning and my mouth was dry. Otherwise I felt numb but for the pain in my head. I gave a cursory sniff. Ah, the familiar smell of vomit as a result of overindulgence in alcohol. Well, at least I now knew why my head hurt so much, that or somepony’d shot me again. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Shot through the head but who was to blame? The thoughts made a sing song tune through my brain.

I remembered… I remembered going to the saloon with Candi, grabbing a few drinks, and then, nothing. Very slowly and carefully I opened my eyes. I was… on my back, legs splayed out (boy, was it me or was this getting to be routine?) and I think I was… behind the saloon, half covered in mud. Not the way I’d planned on spending the night but I’d found myself in worse situations… I think. No, so long as the hillside was worse than this (and I was pretty sure it was… I was hoping it was anyway) then I was right and this wasn’t as bad. Let’s see. It was dark (and cloudy) so night time probably. There weren’t any loud sounds coming from the bar, so it was probably after closing, making it sometime early in the morning. I was about to call out for help when what felt like a torrent of cold water landed on me.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” I yelled (and more than a little sputtered), shivering, spitting out water I’d in advertise… verdantly… inadvertently… gotten in my mouth. And, since I hadn’t learned from my previous experiences, I clapped my hooves over my face. Lord a Luna loo, goddesses that hurt. There was a soft chuckle from somewhere nearby and I moved my hooves, squinting and looked around to find its source.

“They said yeh wasn’t too bright. Yer antics in mah saloon proved that right quick. Didn’t think yeh were that dumb though. Yellin’ like a pony’s found she’s got an in at the Tower out in Manehattan.” I tilted my head back, putting my mane and the tips of my ears into the puddle. Not for the first time I really hoped it was a puddle of water. There was mud in it at least. Well, I hoped it was mud. Upside down, sitting on a barrel against the back wall of the bar was a middle aged unicorn mare, smoking a cigarette. The darkness hid her features but it looked as though she’d been quite fetching in her younger days, definitely worth a roll (or ten) in the hay but now it might be that a life of hard living had taken its toll on her. It was only conjuring…jester… gestures… conjecture. I’s got them fancy words, yup, yup, yup.

“Who in the flying Fillydelphia fuck foal are you?” I asked, belching and shuddering when the taste of vomit rose up and into my mouth.

“Owner of the saloon… bitch… owner of the saloon.” The mare answered as though it should be common knowledge. I groaned and with much trial (and a few tears) rolled onto my stomach, which just meant that I was now about totally covered in mud and what I had the sneaking suspicion was my own high proof barf. Barf, barf, barf. It made me think of dogs and puppies, but not kittens.

“What. Is. Going. On?” I asked, afraid to speak too quickly but less than pleased that some horn head slut witch that called herself a tavern owner was watching me lie in a drunken pool of various… fluids.

“Threw yeh out, bout an hour back. Caused one helluva mess yeh did.” The mare answered. “Yeah, could say yeh wrote a check that yer flank couldn’t cash.” She laughed at her own (lack of) wit. What, had I been hookin’ on the corner or something again? Oh goddesses… again? I hadn’t done it before had I? Not that I could remember. Oh thank you sweet merciful Celestia. ‘Then again,’ a voice in my head offered, ‘would you remember if you had?’ Oh no, not good. Shut up brain, shut up brain! I thought back. ‘No, you shut up!’ My mind fired back, surprising me. “You’re smarter than this.’ I am not! I shot back, realizing a second later how stupid I was for saying that as my brain laughed at me. Ugh, what I needed was whiskey, lots and lots of whiskey.

“What did I do?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer but trying to ready myself for it. There was that chuckle again.

“Yeh downed two bottles of whiskey, alon’ with a whole bunch of other things. Drank three of them railroad bucks under the table, a sight that was, fer sure.” The mare answered as I tried to get back on my hooves, but my legs wobbled dangerously and I let myself back down (collapsed) into the puddle.

“That… doesn’t sound too bad.” I told her truthfully. I’m sure I’ve done worse and would probably do it again.

“Yeh got up on mah bar and did a son’ and dance number. Yer decent on yer hooves but… let’s just say t’was a good thin’ mah patrons were too drunk t’notice how bad yer voice was.” She replied. I wanted to slap this bitch around for her poor grammar skill. I could barely understand the so called words coming out of her mouth. And, if she thought I was decent on my hooves she should see me off them.

“My voice isn’t bad.” I croaked then vomited into the puddle and backed out of it in disgust. The mare shook her head.

“Yeh made out with Crane, twice, after havin’ him fly yeh around the ceilin’ and Railright, yeh made out with him once. Almost came to blows between the two of em until yeh got them to agree to share.” Who the hell were Crane and Railright? Thinking… thinking… oh yeah, yellow buck, good with telekinesis and gray buck, dashing, calls himself mayor. Well, good on me, I thought, solving problems without violence, make love not war and all that jazz. “Made out with poor little Candi three times.” Oh I knew it, I just knew it. She was such a filly fooler. “Yeh broke one of my tables and three chairs, polished off a case worth of Buckweiser, Colt’s, and Mare’ner Genuine Draft.” Sounded impressive. “Challenged half a dozen ponies t’duels, some kinda nonsense about swords at dawn.” That was weird. “Started a brawl.” That… didn’t sound so weird. “And blasted chunks of ah don’t even know what all over mah prize juke box.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” I said, getting to my hooves at last and swaying back and forth, coming close to falling right back over.

“Don’t need yer sorries.” The mare informed me. “Or yer long ass speeches about grand and glorious goals, slurred like a first time filly drinkin’ a beer. Somethin’ about zebras and pride and unitin’ the wastes under law and order. Justice this, justice that.” Really? I had done all that? “Scared off mah customers yeh did, the ones as hadn’t left already after yer previous displays.”

“So,” I said, trying to follow her line of reasoning, finding it hard with my head sloshing around like a half full bottle of cheap gin. “What do you need?” I wasn’t going to like her answer was I? Unless she wanted sex… that I could do… probably… even in my condition… let me just… wash out my mouth first and get the mud off. Unless (again) she liked mud and wanted to wrestle.

“Money yeh turkey, money.” She replied, using her magic to flick her cigarette butt into the puddle. The thing sizzled as it went out, making me think of bacon… mmm… bacon. And hey, I was not a turkey. I was a pony.

“I had 50 caps on me wh-” I tried to tell her.

“Yeh had 38 caps t’yer name when yeh walked into mah bar.” The mare corrected. Damn it. I was no good at math. “Spent it all.” Gree-aaat.

“Where does that leave us?” I asked, leaning against an old crate to keep myself standing. I was going to wince when she gave me the answer, wasn’t I? I could just feel a wince coming on.

“342 caps, turkey.” The mare said. Damn that wasn’t good. Maybe I could argue my bill down. “And Ah’m bein’ generous here. Took out what yeh had on yeh, yer winnin’s from them bucks, the dancin’ and flyin’ givin’ the customers a show, gettin’ ponies to drink more after seein’ yeh and Candi all hot and heavy.” Oh Candi, why had you forsaken me?

“Uh, yeah, I don’t… have that.” I said with a shrug and almost pitched forward right back into the puddle.

“Ah know.” The mare said, taking a sip from a flask. Ooo… alcohol, gimme, gimme, gimme. “Ah’ve already confiscated all the stuff yeh had on yeh inside and mah associate’s over at the Doc’s, grabbin’ whatever yeh had there as well.” She took my hat? Well shit then.

“So, I take it I’m going to need some way of paying you back?” I asked. She nodded. “And what do I call you by the way?” Nopony knew my name but I might as well know hers.

“Brandy.” She said proudly. Brandy, where? I’ll drink it so fast. “Apple Brandy.” The mare finished. NOOOOOO! Her name was Apple Brandy? She didn’t have any Apple Brandy? Son. Of. A. Bitch. But what was in that flask? “Yer the dumb pegasus what was shot of course. No one knows yer name.”

“I see I don’t need any introductions.” I said, spitting out some leftover vomit that hadn’t gotten stuck in my mouth.

“Just cash.” Apple Brandy replied.

“Now, not saying I can’t pay you, but… I can’t pay you all that. Where does that leave us?” Straight and to the point. So, half like me… hehehe.

Ah figure we got two ways a doin’ this.” Brandy replied pleasantly. “First, I take all yer stuff as collateral and then yeh find a way to pay me back. Ah’ll give yeh, say, three days to get me mah money.” She licked her lips. “Second, ah take all yer stuff and sell yeh to slavers.” Sell me to what? What me to slavers? From worse to shit again.

“You’re joking.” I told her flatly as her horn flared.

“Ah’m not.” She replied just as evenly, looking at me hard as something clicked around my neck. I looked down at it. What the hell? It was some kind of silvery metal something or other.

“Why are you giving me a necklace?” I asked her, not sure what exactly was going on.

“It’s not a necklace, yeh daft turkey, it’s slave collar, t’make sure yeh pay me.” Brandy scoffed. What was with this turkey business? A slave collar? But I wasn’t a slave. She wanted me to be a slave? Outside the bedroom? I don’t think so.

“That’s not gonna stop me from beating the shit out of you?” I growled, getting angry, advancing on the Unicorn. We’d see who the slave was.

“It will. Because yeh’ll explode all over this alley if yeh try it.” She said, lifting a small device in her magic. My necklace started beeping. Crap. I sat down hard, right in the puddle. Fucking Damn it.

“Would it take you with me if I hit you anyway and exploded?” I asked, holding on to a small shred of hope.

“Nope.” She said, turning to watch a Unicorn buck, just out of his colt years (he looked familiar) amble up to us… with my barding slung over his back. “Blows yer head up, and ah’d just keep yeh back with magic if yeh got t’close.” Damn it, hope fading. “That it?” Brandy asked the buck.

“That’s it, momma.” The buck answered. Momma?

“Ah told yeh, Whiskey, don’t call me that when we’re on business.”

“Right, sorry mom- Miss Brandy.” The buck corrected himself, clearing his throat. Whiskey, wait, what, where? Crap spackle. Whiskey was his name wasn’t it? Goddesses I hate these ponies, named after alcohol. It was too confusing; making me think there was booze when there wasn’t. Frustration!

“Any problems with the old codger?” Brandy asked, taking the barding from her son and looking it over.

“Doc handed over the barding just fine mo- Miss Brandy.” Whiskey answered and looked at me then away, abashed. “He was in a temper though when he heard about what Miss Pegasus did though.” A temper, huh? Would he still be willing to help me out? “Said he didn’t want to see her around until she’d settled this, since she hadn’t listened to his advice and got herself into this mess.” Fuck. There goes my first option.

“Good. We don’t want him gettin’ involved.” Brandy said, putting a hoof down in satisfaction. “No interference if we can help it, goddesses but I don’t like having to do it this way.”

“So don’t.” I interjected, staring at the muddy ground. How was I going to get out of this?

“Shut it yeh dumb turkey. Money is money and yeh owe it t’me.” Brandy ordered and explained, giving me a dismissing wave of her hoof. “Yeh left me with no choice.” Great, a sass mouthed slaver slut. Okay, think… your name here… think. How to get out of this problem, or fix it?

“Aren’t the rest of the ponies in town going to do something about you making me your slave?” I asked. Maybe they’d string up this dynamic duo and give me my freedom back.

“They know better’n to interfere, turkey.” Brandy replied, lighting another cigarette. Who was she calling a turkey? At least I didn’t have a great honking dildo on my forehead to make me special. Though come to think of it, it would be interesting to have that for the bedroom. “Now get yerself t’bed Whiskey, yeh’ve got openin’ shift come sunrise.”

“Yes momma.” The young stallion answered and trotted to the nearby back door, opening it and disappearing inside the bar. Brandy sighed.

“He’s a good boy, bit daft, but good.” She said as she smoked. What in the unholy zebra fuck? Was she really talking to me about motherhood, while holding some kind of key that would blow me up, and did I look like a mother to her? “Now, git yer flank outta mah alley and find a way to pay me, lest yeh wanna end up headin’ to the Ridge or makin’ the trek to Fillydelphia. Big new boss over that aways, needs lots of slaves and yer a healthy youn’ one.” She offered me a cigarette. Well, thank goodness she was being civil about this, though I’d prefer alcohol. I accepted and she lit it for me. “Now go. Find me some money so yeh don’t end up wearin’ that collar for any longer then yeh have to.” I (barely) resisted the urge to slam into her back. Brandy turned around and headed into the saloon, looking tired and old and a little regretful. Funnily enough it wasn’t that comforting to know that she didn’t like doing what she had done to me… cause the bitch did it anyway. But, I guess I could kind of see why, even if I was pissed off, and feeling like shit, and not too sure whether or not I would throw up again.

I sighed and looked around the dark alleyway, smoke drifting up from my cigarette. I wondered what had happened to my Marlbucks. The cold air was doing a good job of sobering me up but I was feeling cold, really cold. And I was covered in mud… and other things. So, I had some kind of exploding jewelry of death around my neck. It better look good on me to offset the whole deadly part. The clouds were thick above, promising rain maybe. Just my fucking luck. I took another drag from the cigarette and cupped my chin with my free wing. I’d gotten myself into trouble… again. Now it was time to dig myself out… again. And I was forming a plan about how to do it. But first, I needed to go see a ghoul.

*Experience Gained: 50% to level 2*

Be careful. You are developing an addiction to whiskey.

Perk Added: Wild Pegasus - Rank 1 – While drunk on any type of whiskey your Damage Threshold increases by 1, your Strength increases by 2, your Melee, Speech and Unarmed skills increase by 5 and your Luck increases by 1. However, your Endurance, Intelligence and Perception decrease by 1, your Barter, Science and Medicine skills decrease by 5 and your chances of becoming addicted increase by 25%. Your likelihood of waking up in strange places, possibly with strange ponies, remains the same.

4. Hellhounds Hath No Fury

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4. Hellhounds Hath No Fury

“There’s a mare goin’ ’round takin’ names.
An’ she decides who to free and who to blame.
Everypony won’t be treated all the same.
There’ll be a reckonin’ bearin’ down.
When the mare comes around.”

Actually, before I rang… or called upon Ditzy Doo, I needed to make another stop (not counting the one I made between two train cars to throw up and get rid of other excess fluids, hey, I drank a lot and what goes in must come out… one way or another). Delicious Candi had shown me the bounty shack earlier in the day, during the tour she’d given me of New Appleloosa. And now, with the cool air of night (or very early morning as it were) and a steadying cigarette, I had come up with an idea (admittedly not a very good one, but if you’re looking for Star Swirl the Bearded, best find a pony that hadn’t been shot in the face).

Almost… what was it? Something like ten days ago now? When I’d lain out on the hillside, next to the nameless Stallion’s fire (heh, nameless, there was a joke, talk about the bourbon calling the rye amber) he’d mentioned caravans (which always sounded like some kind of yummy snack to me) that had disappeared in the area, been attacked, torn to pieces, something to that effect. And, in the little metal building just a short way ahead of me, was a bounty offered to the pony that ended the threat and it was more than a large enough reward to cover my debts with Apple Bitch, and pay back Ditzy… and pick up a couple bucks, maybe a mare (and who knows, I’d always found griffins… intriguing) and get hammered for a week straight. It wasn’t until after I’d formed the thought in regards to ‘getting hammered’ that I saw the double meaning in it. I giggled appreciatively at my unheard wit and cursed myself for what those giggles did to my aching head. Damn you whiskey. Damn you! Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at you. I love you whiskey, no matter what you do to me.

Ahem… yes… well… let’s just… carry on, shall we?

So, my plan, in a nutshell, was to knock on the door to the shack, get any information I needed on where the attacks were happening, let the bounty office know I’d accepted the contract, borrow some gear from Ditzy and head out into the wastes (after dawn and a few hours of blessed sleep) to hunt down some caps. Come to think of it… why in the hell did ponies use caps for money anyway? Aw, who cares? I needed money to get this magical boom collar off my neck and I needed to kill something bad (which would probably make me feel better too and it feels like there’s a double meaning in the statement) in order to get the money to give to that beer swilling, word butchering dildo head. Because, if I didn’t, my head would explode (which was probably much worse than getting shot, though I lacked any desire to put the notion to a test). Luck, yeah, mine fucking sucks.

I rapped gently on the door to the metal shack with a wing. I was using my wings every chance I got, trying to exercise them and speed along their recovery as much as possible. I wanted to fly again, wanted it badly. I could still almost remember it, like a smell from foalhood that rests somewhere between true memory and a young child’s vivid imagination. And, I should waste less time thinking about these things. There was no answer so I knocked again… still nothing. In annoyance I switched to my right forehoof (I remained leery of using the left one since the whole ‘ouch, holy shit, what happened to me I’m covered in blood incident’). There was an unintelligible grunt from inside.

“What?” I asked, not quite clear on what the pony on the other side had said.

“Fuck! Off!” Came the less than delightful reply from inside the shack. Well that was certainly rude, and clearly not my preferred action that involved ‘fucks.’

“Fuck on!” I yelled at the door, my head bitch slapping me for my idiocy. One of these days I would learn not to yell when my head was threatening to split open like a rotten fruit… one of these days.

“Fuck you!” Was the equally eloquent response. Boy, this conversation was quickly devolving to a cluster of ‘fucks’ bridged by other, one syllable words. What the hell is a syllable anyway? Somepony had wasted a lot of time and effort on teaching me things that I now could make neither mane nor tails out of.

“If you buy me dinner… and after I’ve cleaned up, maybe.” I told the shack, hoping that the voice inside, a buck, would be interested enough to open the door and hear me out.

“Hold on.” The other pony’s voice reached me, decidedly less hostile than a few moments before. Yes! Success; and the mare without a name has what it takes to bring the stallions to the train yard.

“I thought females were supposed to keep males waiting, not the other way around.” I said jokingly (read petulantly) after half a minute went by without any updates from the inside. There was grumbling and it sounded like somepony smacked into something hard, then the door was thrown up, forcing me to hastily jump aside. Hey, my reflexes were still good. Despite the alcohol… or… maybe… because of it. That’s the line I would go with anyway, if anypony ever told me I drank too much.

“You.” The dark red earth pony buck with a dirty gold mane in the doorway said, his eyes most of the way closed, body teetering on the verge of falling over.

“Me?” I asked, not sure what he was on about.

“You’re the reason my head hurts so fuckin’ bad.” He said vindictively, trying to close the door. I managed to get a wing in and hold the door open but it was taxing the hell out of me. I really needed to get my strength up. Also, was he blaming me for something I didn’t remember? Awesome, just what I needed right now.

“Why? Did I hit you? Buck too rough for your liking?” I questioned innocently, curious as to what I had done to make this pony so annoyed that he would try to slam a door in my face.

“You get everypony to drinkin’ and dancin’ and singin’ and I ended up hittin’ the gin real bad. I hate gin.” He told me unequivocally. Unequivocally? Whoa now, where in Celestia’s sour sister’s sinful sex stories did that word come from. I don’t even think I could pronounce it right… let alone spell it.

“Yeah, so here’s the thing.” I told him guiltily before changing my tone to one that could only be called badass (with a side of steam power). “I don’t remember any of that stuff.” I pointed to the high tech S & M gear I was sporting on my neck. “All I know is that I now owe some bitch ass bitch a pile of caps for doing shit that’s a total blank to me. And I don’t have the time, patience or interest to stand here and chew my own mane while you talk about how pissed off you are.” He looked at my collar suspiciously and backed away a few steps. “So, what you’re going to do is give me any information I’ll need on the bounty to get rid of whatever’s fucking with the caravans (getting hungry) round here. Then, I’m going to go out and deal with it, finally you’ll pay me the reward, that way, my head doesn’t explode… and you don’t get gelded.” He stared at me for a few seconds, jaw hanging open. The buck stammered, shook his head, and seemed to regret it almost as much as I did those ‘hammer’ giggles.

“Just a second.” He said, turning around and disappearing into the dark of the shack. I crossed my wings that he wasn’t getting a shotgun to chase me off and give my backside a peppering. I liked my backside. Bucks and mares alike appreciated it as a fine work of pony genetics (I thought so at least). There was no need to go putting scars on it when a moderate spanking was more than enough. I whistled as I waited and wondered what the tune was. Isn’t that weird? It was a song I must have known or heard and I still knew it, I just couldn’t remember it. Yup, definitely falls under the ‘weird’ category.

“Okay.” The buck said through a mouth full of paper. He extended his neck forward and, using my wings, I took the copy of the warrant he brought with him from inside the shack. It was pretty hard to see in the dark (not because I was drunk and couldn’t see straight) but he ran through the gist of it in a bored tone that let me know he’d done this before. Hell, he probably wasn’t used to bounty hunters that knew how to read. But, I could read, even if I tended to mouth the words as I read them and liked to draw dirty pictures in the margins.

“Most of the trouble is taking place to the west, between New Appleloosa and the Everfucked… Everfree Forest, around the Republic and the ruins of Ponyville.” He began. “Five small caravans have gone missin’ in the past two months, alon’ with four couriers, two patrols and nopony knows how many scavengers, bounty hunters and random folk besides. Some we find, torn or ripped apart, others just vanish, not a trace, never seen again, like they never existed at all.” The buck took a breath and rubbed at puffy eyes with a hoof. Clearly he, just like me, was not doing so well with the whole ‘too much drinking thing.’

“All the attacks take place near roads, no one is ever seen doin’ the deed and nopony ever survives the killin’ to bear witness. The perpetrators may be taken dead or alive, preferred dead on this one (big surprise) as a lesson as to what happens to those as disrupt trade.” He cleared his throat. “Bounty is 1,200 caps, payable upon proof of death or capture of the asshole or assholes that are doin’ this. The buy in fee is 100 caps payable upon acceptance of the job. Bounties may be tur-”

“What the hay is a buy in fee?” I asked him, confu… nope… befuddled. I may have smiled and quickly hidden it. He sighed and looked at me as though I were stupid. That wasn’t very nice. I wasn’t… not... stupid. Wait? Did that come out right? I don’t think that was the way I was supposed to think it.

“Buy in fees.” The buck said as if explaining something to a foal that’d been dropped on her head one too many times. “When a pony wants to accept a commission they must buy in to that contract, paying a fee to be licensed per se, or contracted out to the company until completion of the job.”

“Why?” I asked. His words weren’t making any sense to me, or maybe I was just drunk, but so far, pretty much everything else that I could remember made sense even if it irritated the living hay out of me.

“It keeps riffraff who can’t pay or would just as soon try and scam to make a quick cap, out of the running. It also helps pay for the contract, the makin’ of the bounty papers, wages for caravan employees and bounties on other thin’s as needed.” He told me. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to go through this routine and it sounded like he didn’t expect it to be the last time either. And, I could kind of see some sense in it, even if the idea annoyed me like crazy.

“Well, as you can see from the deadly jewelry I’ve donned, I don’t have 100 caps on me right now.” I said to the buck. “Can you take it out of my winnings?”

“Listen, I’ve heard every story in the wastes as to why a pony doesn’t want to pay the fee. It never works, and to be honest, I just don’t care anymore. The fee is needed beforehand to make sure the bounty is paid for and future bounties will continue to be paid for and honored by the caravans. You pay now or you go away so I can sleep off what that terrible gin did to my head.” He said nastily and reached forward to grab the paper with his teeth. I drew it back, holding the warrant above my head with my wings, suddenly tempted to taunt him over not being able to reach, complete with nyah-nyahs and sticking my tongue out… and deciding against it after remembering my earlier thoughts on shotguns.

“How about this? I don’t pay the fee now, seeing as how I can’t. However, I get the bounty, you pull 200 caps from my earnings, 100 as a belated fee and the other hundred, well, I won’t ask what happens to it.” I could see him working it over in his mind, greed in his drunken gray eyes. “If I don’t complete the bounty, you don’t lose anything. If I do complete the bounty… listen, you really don’t lose on this either way.” I added, hoping it would slide him over to my way of thinking.

“Two fifty.” He said, trying to barter, drive the amount up as high possible to see what he could get away with.

“Two twenty five.” I countered. He really had me over a hay bale on this one, but he also really wanted to get back to sleep so he didn’t have to suffer through his unfortunate gin binge any longer than was necessary. Thank the Goddesses I hadn’t consumed any gin, though if I had, maybe my puke would have smelled like pine cones instead of… whatever the hell it had ended up smelling like, something foul, that was all I could recall… and still vaguely taste.

“Two forty.” The buck offered. If this continued too much longer I’d be blind stinking sober, hung over and too sane to consider this whole bounty hunting gig.

“Done.” I said, holding out a wing, but still keeping the bounty paper where he couldn’t reach.

“And a hoofjob.” He added. I frowned. Really? As much as I was given to flights of sexual fantasy he was trying to force party time favors into a business deal that involved killing things? It was perverted… or brilliant. I’m not sure which, heck, maybe it was both.

“Buy me drinks when I get back and we’ll see what happens, but no promises.” I told him flatly.

“Done.” He replied, shaking my wing with a hoof. “Now please go the hell away so I can sleep.” He said it with a great sense of fatigue though more geniality then he’d displayed when I first showed up. Of course, he did then slam the door behind him, almost in my face. I just didn’t get other ponies.

I shook my head and folded the paper up under a wing, turning about to look for the distinctive triple railroad car shape of the Absolutely Everything. I could see its outline, near one of the town’s walls and trotted toward it sedately, making a mental game of avoiding puddles, since I was wet and muddy enough as it was.

Okay, I’d gotten in on the bounty, knew where I needed to go (if the direction west but not so far west that you enter the Everfree Forest could be considered a destination) and had that wonderfully annoying time frame of how long I had to do it before my head ass-ploded. Now I needed armor, weapons, some supplies… cigarettes… whiskey. Mmm… whiskey. Which meant I needed to see Ditzy Doo and convince her to assist me, if I could convince her.

The walk to her door was shorter than I expected or wanted, seeing as how I was still trying to come up with a proper way of asking to borrow several hundred credits worth of goods from the Pegasus Ghoul. I knocked with a hoof, giving my wings a few sad pumps to see how they were working. I’d like to say the answer was badly, or poorly. The truth of the matter was that they weren’t working much at all. I could control them, yes, which was good, but I couldn’t fly, couldn’t even get off the ground, no matter how much I liked to imagine that jumping up and down counted.

Ditzy Doo answered on the seventh knock, opening the door just wide enough for me to see her looking out suspiciously. She saw who it was though and her eyes lit up, despite the fact that they were rolling about conspicuously, and never really focused on any one thing. The mare let the door open wide for me to come in and I entered, giving her a nod and a smile, very much aware that looking into her eyes was making me nauseas again. I also saw that she had a magical energy pistol clamped between her teeth. She may have been kooky but the old gal wasn’t stupid. And, she had a flower patterned shower cap on her head… ooooooh-kaaa-aaay. Maybe it was to keep her hair from falling out at night.

The ghoul dropped the pistol on the counter and turned to face me, giving a lopsided smile. I looked down (to avoid the whole eye thing) and noticed she was wearing fuzzy slippers on her hooves. They were green and looked like stylized radigator heads. The things you found out about ponies when you came calling in the middle of the night…

“Okay, I’m real sorry to bother you bu-” I began, feathers crossed that this would go as planned (but, let’s be fair, my plans hadn’t been going too well so far). She stopped me with a slippered hoof and leaned in close to my neck, squinting. What the hay was going on now? Ditzy’s face darkened and lost its smile. Before, I’d always imagined her as full of laughter (even with the whole no tongue situation), now she just looked pissed. The ghoul jabbed at my collar with a barely feathered wing and gave me what was clearly a questioning glare.

“Yeah, uh, about that (was I using the same words as I had with that apple bitch a while earlier?) I got into trouble with the dil… bitc… barkeep at the tavern.” The ghoul frowned at me. “She put this on me to ensure I had incense… no, wait, sensitive… or, uh, what was it, seneschal… incentive, there we are. The cu… mare wanted to make sure I had the proper incentive to pay her back.” I finished and the grim dark look on Ditzy’s muzzle remained. She held up a wing, broken feathers making it look like she’d flown into a building, and retreated behind the counter. I stood and waited, nervously rubbing my neck with a hoof, just below where the collar sat. Ditzy emerged from behind the counter with her chalk board.

‘BITCH!!!’ Was written on it, capital letters, exclamation points and all. Was she calling me a bitch?

“Well, I know I made some bad decisions… actually I don’t know because I don’t remember any of it, but supposedly I made some bad decisions, but I don’t really see how calling me a bitch is fair.” I said in concern, worried that I‘d worn out my welcome and the ghoul’s generosity. She shook her head at me and wrote some more.

‘Not you, silly. Apple Brandy is Apple Bitch.’ She wrote. Oh, okay. I’m getting it now. Slow to the uptake as usual. And Ditzy was right, that Brahmin faced dildo head was a bitch, a really bitchy bitch, not as bad as that ghoul on the hill, I guess, but still a raging bitch.

“You took the words out of mouth.” I told the other mare and she smiled at me. “Now, as much as I’d like to get this thing off immediately and put it on Apple Bitch,” I pointed to the collar with a forehoof. “I’m not confident, given my luck, with the whole removal thing, for fear my head will get removed with it.” Ditzy nodded, her shower cap slipping down over her eyes. “But, if you can, if you’re willing to, I’d like to borrow some gear, a rifle, armor, a new hat, supplies I might need.” The ghoul pushed her shower cap back and raised a somewhat intact eyebrow at me. She bent over her chalk board to write more.

‘Why?’ Huh, well that was short and to the point. She was probably worried that I would return to the saloon and demand at gun point to have the collar taken off. Which had crossed my mind, maybe with the gun accidentally going off in Brandy’s face.

“I took the bounty on whoever’s been messing up the caravans of late. I’m gonna head west and do some shithead hunting.” I answered with a shrug. “I’ll put a bullet in their brain or brains (hmmm, irony? Violence begetting violence? Or just coincidence?) if there’s more than one and use the money to pay Brandy the money I owe her. And, I figure that’ll be my good deed for the year, maybe get some ponies interested in hiring me on for other stuff as well, find a job, get some work, find a nice buck, settle down, pop out some foals, you know, the Equestrian dream.” I realized too late that I might not have phrased things in the best possible manner. My words could have been misconstrued as a blatant reminder of the old Equestria that now lay buried under ruin and ash… and the sadness that accompanied the sudden droop to Ditzy’s face only confirmed my suspicion. But, after a few seconds and me putting a wing around her withers, she perked up and began a hectic and ridiculously energetic rummaging through her goods.

In the end, Ditzy outfitted me in leather armor (made for a buck) that was old and battered but reinforced with metal plates woven into it for added protection. I also got the machete I’d been eyeing up earlier in the day and an old war issue service rifle that had probably seen consistent action (judging by how battered and worn it looked and the abundance of replacement parts on it) for two hundred years with 90 rounds of somewhat new looking, mesmerizingly shiny ammunition. Where she got it I had no idea but shiny things are pretty. The friendly ghoul also gave me a set of saddle bags made from moth eaten cloth and cracked leather, (I wasn’t going to ask what kind of leather) a pair of binoculars, a canteen full of water, food for two days, a small bar of soap (because I apparently didn’t smell too good) some basic medical supplies, a pack of cigarettes (thank the goddesses) a couple flares, a blanket and a hat. But, it wasn’t just any hat. It was a sunhat with a dark blue ribbon on it. Ditzy had given me my hat back. As it turned out, she’d been at the bar early on and retired back to her shop around the time I started making out with Candi (not sure which time) which was thankfully after I’d told her to hold onto my hat while Crane flew me around the room. I didn’t care that the hat matched neither my armor nor my weapons. It was mine and it was pretty and it made me happy, so on it went (after another big hug for the generous ghoul who’d kept it safe for me.

Ditzy wrote out on her chalk board that I could keep all the stuff and didn’t even have to pay her back for any of it so long as I gave the bad ponies that had destroyed the caravans a good (though quite long distance) kicking from her. She’d apparently lost not only money but several friends in the two months since the attacks began, and it was clear from her demeanor (and let’s face it, from her actions) that she valued the lost ponies more than the lost revenue. My attempts to offer to pay her back or return the items were met with staunch refusals and much shaking of funky green slippers and shower cap slipping. Regardless, when I got back I was going to find something I could do to help that poor, happy, 200 and something year old mare with her sad wings and big goofy smile. I just had to figure out what.

After I had been fully kitted out there were still a few hours remaining until dawn, which meant I could get some shut eye and hope that the horrendous headache that was building at my temples would go away before sunrise. Ditzy was more than willing to give me a bag of clothing (bright, garishly colored prison garb from a nearby correctional facility that had operated under the auspices of the Ministry of Morale during the war) for a pillow and a nice dry spot on her floor. She wasn’t even that mad when I threw up a few more times before passing out (because, with her direction and encouragement, I missed most of the expensive items on display). Though she did seem eager to get me out the door when she woke me as the sun crested the eastern horizon what felt like only minutes after I’d quite literally fallen asleep.

I was wrong about the headache by the way. It was even worse when Ditzy shook me awake, a tooth brush sticking out of her mouth and foam from the paste at the corners of her lips. I’ll admit I was a bit confused about what was going on as well, having deemed what little I could remember of the previous night to be nothing more than a particularly elaborate alcohol induced dream. Ditzy had to spend a short (long) time explaining things to me. Though, she did give me a hug (ignoring my smell as I ignored hers) before sending me out the door so that she could get a start on mopping my throw up off her floor. I totally would have cleaned it but I needed to get out and on the road (what was left of it) and I started gagging when I got near the stale vomit puddles.

It was still cold outside, perhaps even more so than it had been during the night, though the sun, visible in its ascent, (at least before it hit the perpetual cloud cover) was comforting and felt warm, inviting. I wanted to leap into the air and fly toward it, revel in the star’s glory. But my wings didn’t work… yet. I made my way to the closest gate and signaled a surprised, sleepy and somewhat drunk looking guard to open the heavy metal doors for me. I wondered if the mare that let me out had been at the tavern too. Knowing this town… probably, heck, I’d probably made out with her too.

I spent a few minutes standing outside, watching the sun rise, checking my armor, weapons and ammunition. Also, I checked my food. As I’ve said, I’m a big girl. I need my delicious calories. Everything seemed to be in order. I did take a few additional moments to enjoy the thought of what must have been going through the guard’s mind when she saw a Pegasus just out of a hospital bed after getting shot in the head… covered in mud and wearing armor… and a slave collar. I’m easily amused, but that’s probably a good thing. After two quick stomps of my right forehoof and one last desperate flutter of my wings (still useless for flying) I awkwardly lit a cigarette and skirted the edge of New Appleloosa, heading west toward adventure… and caps… and freedom.

Okay, in case you didn’t know this already… the wastes suck. They suck hard, harder than a… I wasn’t even going to make a joke (in really poor taste) about what the Equestrian Wasteland sucked harder than. It was dry and gray and dull and brown and dangerous though the only things I ran across that morning, on my way west, were a few bloatsprites. I wasted 5 or 10 (17) rounds shooting the little buggers. Why? Because it was funny to see them pop… and I’m easily amused… and even more easily bored. Eventually I realized that it wasn’t the smartest thing to both use up my precious ammo and announce my presence to anybody nearby for the modest entertainment value the dying sprites provided.

So, I was bored. Bored, bored, BORED! And when I get bored I get hungry. So by morning’s end (judging by the position of the sun behind the clouds), I’d eaten an entire day’s worth of rations. Clearly, Ditzy hadn’t packed enough for me. Being a war era ghoul must have bamboozled her brain enough that she didn’t realize just how much a healthy mare was supposed to eat. Don’t you laugh at me. If anypony asked, that would be my story and I was sticking to it, just as a can of carrots and green beans got stuck to my muzzle for a short time (15 embarrassing minutes) before I could get the damn thing off.

I stayed near the roads but didn’t walk on them, wandering a bit between a few yards distance and just close enough that I could still see and follow the crumbling remnant of war time transportation without it disappearing from view. I tried singing to keep myself busy but soon grew tired of my voice. I tried playing a game but it ended with me tossing rocks at other rocks and giving unenthusiastic ‘yays’ when my wing’s aim was true. For a few minutes I pretended I was an assassin from the Ministry of Awesome, on my way across the grasslands to put a bullet in the Caesar’s head and end the war. Would that have worked? Would the war have ended with the death of the Zebra’s leader? Or, would it have escalated the madness, made things worse? I had no idea but my guess was leaning toward the second probability.

The day was windy and dusty though at least it wasn’t hot. I hated the heat. Maybe, if ponies still lived in the far north (and I lived long enough) I’d go that way and build a homestead, nothing fancy, just clear out the ruins of a three star hotel and settle in the penthouse suite, spend my time drinking and sniping random critters from my ivory tower of awesomeness. What would I call the place? Eh, I was bad with names, according to Doc Mistletoe’s supposedly expert opinion. I would have to think about it, maybe ask some other ponies. And yup, bored again. I was so bored I almost cried, which might have been an improvement over the non crying boredom simply because it would shake things up a bit, be something new and different. This was going to be a long damn day.

It was late afternoon or early evening when I found the remnants of a caravan. And when I say remnants I mean blood spatters, scraps of skin and trashed goods strewn about the corpse of a Brahmin. The site wasn’t marked on my map (thankfully included with the bounty papers) as one of the five destroyed caravan locations… which meant either somepony screwed up the map or this was a sixth set of victims. Victims? I looked around. I guess it could have been two or three ponies before the attack, but, I couldn’t tell for sure. And, while many flies and a few vultures were attracted to the scene of carnage I found it hard not to throw up the food I’d eaten and ended up having to sit a ways away and smoke a few cigarettes to clear my head… and sinuses. I marked the location on my map (as close as I could approximate it) in case the bounty office wanted the information.

After those bracing cigarettes and the wise decision to not eat anymore, I returned to the wreckage. It was definitely three ponies, one blue, one green and one that wasn’t either color but didn’t have enough hide left for me to positively identify the color. Whatever attacked them had torn the three apart… and then… carried off… or ate most of the bodies. Oh boy, that was not a comforting thought. Bad brain. Bad! Let’s see. Evidence of a fire and cookware, looks like they got surprised while eating dinner. Some of the flesh was burnt, fried, as though something irradiated or heated it to the point of melting. So, magical energy weapons, but, there were multiple small caliber bullet wounds on two of the (less than) corpses as well. Okay, more than one attacker maybe? Lastly, a bladed weapon, similar in size to my machete, only sharper, had carved the ponies and the poor pack animal. The blade was hellishly sharp, whatever it was, as it appeared to have gone clean through bone… and muscle… and flesh… and hide… and, on the ponies, armor (crappy armor, but armor none the less).

The goods from the caravan had been scattered, what wasn’t missing was torn asunder and irrespons… irregular… invocation… irrevocably damaged. No salvage to be found here. Damn it. The ground was heavily disturbed, torn up. Cases and shells were everywhere as were almost artful splashes of blood. The caravaneer and his guards had certainly put up a fight before they fell. I started walking in larger concentric circles (see, I’m not as stupid as I think I am), looking for additional evidence, a fallen enemy, gem cartridges, hoof prints, distinctive cigarette butts, anything. There was of course, nothing. Whoever had ambushed this caravan, they were professionals, to clean up after themselves and not leave any traces behind. They were good… and they didn’t want anypony to know who they were. Which meant… the culprits were… cyborg ninja zebra assassins from the future! I jumped and turned around, ready to charge, but there was nothing, just a tiny lizard sitting on a rock, looking at me curiously. The thing ran away before I could interrogate it… or eat it. I don’t think the creature could talk but it would have been worth a try.

Hmmm… no hoof prints. I looked up toward the sky, squinting, scanning the clouds. Nope, no Pegasi watching from above. Still, it could easily answer the question of who attacked the caravan. Nopony expects a Pegasus… or a griffin. Just like with butterflies… damn butterflies. Well, I couldn’t think of anything else that I could do at the moment… except (after going to the little mare’s room, which was just a big dead tree that had fallen long ago) lure the bad guys out into the open.

The attackers had been targeting caravans moving on the road, and had fallen upon this one while the ponies were eating dinner. All the attacks were in this area, west of Appleloosa but east of the Everfree. And, the site of this wreck would draw scavengers, salvagers, raiders, ponies honest and not so honest trying their damnedest just to stay alive. The place might be a trap, to bring in more victims, or there was the whole killer returning to the scene of the crime thing. I didn’t have anything else to go on, what I did have was a limited amount of time before I ker-sploded. So, it was time to see if I could draw these (obviously dangerous) killers into a trap.

I circled the site again, finding the best vantage point that could also provide me with cover and concealment and an egress route should I be forced to make a tactical withdrawal. Look at me with all the military jargon, General Mare With No Name reporting for duty. Line up your bucks and mares, light the stogies and pour the whiskey. Heh heh heh. I totally didn’t salute myself (more than once). I set up my rifle, ammo, machete and one of the flares, with a rock for me to lean against while I aimed. Below, almost in the shadow of the carnage, I’d built a small fire and pulled my blanket over pieces of the fallen tree, rocks, my saddlebags and what was left of my other goods. The remaining flares were placed strategically around the dummy pony (no, not me, the fake sleeping pony), mostly hidden under dirt and rock. I seemed to be a pretty good shot considering the short work I’d made of the bloatsprites earlier in the day, maybe I could shoot the flares and give the bad guys some fireworks. Oh, and, the food wasn’t down in my saddlebags, I’d eaten the last of it by nightfall. Don’t judge me, setting traps was hard work, time consuming and made a pony build up an appetite.

If everything went as planned (wings crossed) the bad guys would come back, drawn in by the fire. They would see the pony under the blanket, close in for the kill and then get their asses shot off by me when I opened up on them from a superior position. If necessary, I’d target the flares and bring some flaming vengeance down on these jerks. Now, it was time for the waiting game, which meant, as you can guess… bored.

I laid in wait, hooves on my service rifle, eye looking down the sights for what felt like days, though judging by the fire burning low; it was probably only an hour. I was uncomfortable and hungry again, and my belly itched something fierce from a bit of the withered weeds that I was on top of. I sighed, scratched my stomach and kicked idly at a few pebbles, making sure that none of them went down the slope to alert anybody that might be approaching the campsite. I was in luck (or really unlucky). There was no one there to alert.

Humming quietly kept my mind busy on a base level for a few extra minutes while I checked the sights on the rifle. I’d zeroed them during the bloatsprite shooting spree and was fairly certain I could land rounds on a target so long as it wasn’t too far away or moving too fast or erratically. I sighed again and adjusted my position, trying to get rid of some rocks that were digging into my hind legs. My hind hooves went up and down idly. I was eager to shoot something, receive some caps and my freedom, then get drunk (not that it had worked out well for me last night, but the next night, I swore to myself, I would take it easy and try not to black out and do really stupid things, mildly stupid ones were more than enough). For what must have been the tenth time since leaving Ditzy and the Absolutely Everything at dawn I wished my canteen had vodka in it instead of water. But, alas, such wonderful thoughts remained mere wishes and were not to be.

Okay, this was not good. The bad guys hadn’t shown up and I’d used all my food and water and a good margin of my remaining time. Looks like I might have to start hookin’ after all. I was just about to consider trotting home empty hooved when the pebbles I was rolling around started vibrating. What the hay? I stopped moving and watched them continue to bounce and shiver. That was weird, but possibly good. Something was coming and hopefully it was my bounty, all ready to be trussed up and deposited at New Appleloosa. The ground started shaking. This was… no longer good. Anything big enough to make the ground shake was definitely too big for the service rifle (chambered in .223) to bring down. At least I wasn’t down by the campfire. I peered over the lip of rock and looked down toward the set up. I still couldn’t see anything approaching. Was it some kind of invisible dragon? I swept the rifle from one side to the other, searching for a target… nothing. Seriously, what in the bloody hell was going… Oh boy I had a really bad feeling, a sinking suspicion if you will. I put my ear to the ground and heard a scraping sound, shoveling, tunneling, snarling, heavy breathing… right below me. Shit.

You know how you have an epiphany, a really great idea or notion, but you get it like five seconds too late? Yeah, that’s what I had. There were no tracks, no evidence and every ambush was perfect because the attackers were striking from under ground. I pointed the service rifle down, standing and moving back as I did so. No one suspects a Pegasus, yeah, well, no one suspects this either. I opened fire as the creature beneath me burst from the ground, sending soil and rock everywhere, lifting me flank over mane into the air. It’s some kind of big gray dog I remarked to myself as I flipped end over end, tumbling over the side of the hill, rolling toward the low burning fire of my now utterly useless trap.

“Fuuuuuu-uuuuuck!” That was the only thing I could get out before coming to a stop against a jutting piece of rock near the campfire. Ouch. Ribs meet pain, pain, ribs. Yup, definitely ouch. The rifle clattered down next to me and I grabbed for it as the creature leapt from the hill and landed on all fours right beside me, maintaining its feet and cracking the dry ground on impact, sending shards of rock everywhere. It was huge, covered in coarse, matted fur with large yellowing teeth and massive claws on the ends of its legs. Great, now I knew how those ponies had been sliced apart. Shit. I brought up the rifle and opened fire on the beast, five rounds at almost point blank range and they seemed to do little more than dimple its hide, like a Minotaur twitching when it gets bitten by a fly. Only two of the rounds penetrated and it didn’t look like they accomplished very much. Again, I’m left with the word shit. I lifted the rifle higher, aiming at the dog’s head, hoping to bring it down by hitting it in the eyes. Only the creature brought down one of its claws and shore right through my service rifle, cutting it cleanly in half.

“Fuck.” I said rolling my eyes in anticipation of what was to follow. I wasn’t disappointed. The beast reversed his swing, catching me in the side with a backhand blow forceful enough to throw my way outclassed ass fifteen feet clear over the fire. “Bad idea.” I mused out loud as I hit ground, sliding across rocks, jagged edges scraping at my armor. I really should not have done this. But I was stupid and thought I could handle this situation, only this wasn’t what I was planning on getting myself into. Oh sure, no problem, just head out, shoot a couple raiders or a big radscorpion, get the caps, come back a hero. Well it sure as shit wasn’t working out so good right now.

The creature loped forward, right over the fire, and pounced. I had enough time to spin and buck. There was a resounding crack as I connected with my attacker but the force of his charge sent me sprawling muzzle forward into the dirt. I rolled to the side, taking a grazing slash that rent right through my reinforced armor and sent spasms of pain along my spine. Weapon gone, armor useless. I hate my life. I came back up to my hooves, groaning as the movement pulled at the tears along my back. The wolf… dog… thing was clutching one long, overdeveloped arm to its chest, clawed hand hanging limply. Hah! I’d broken one of its wrists. The thing snarled at me and dashed forward, lashing out with its good arm. I threw myself forward at the beast (who was probably expecting me to try and run) and slid under it, putting a few quick jabs with my forehooves into its stomach… which the bastard duly ignored.

“Why can’t anything go right for me?!” I roared as the dog kicked me in the withers and sent me to the ground, right next to one of the flares. The flares! I grabbed the pyrotechnic tool between my teeth just as I got caught with another kick that lifted me high into the air, but this jerk hadn’t fought Pegasi before. Even with my wings incapable of flight, the action of extending them delayed my fall enough that the next swipe only bit into my shoulder and into part of my slave collar, not through my neck to sever my head. Maybe the collar would go off and take this freak with me if worst came to worst. I lashed out with my backhooves as I landed, hitting the dog in the back and unbalancing it. The creature was top heavy and teetered forward, extending an arm (the one with a broken wrist) to catch its fall, realizing too late and howling loud enough to wake the dead of old Equestria when its damaged limb hit ground.

“That’s what you get asshole!” I shouted as it regained its feet, turning a slavering mouth full of sharp teeth toward me with a snarl. “Shit!” I galloped to the fire, taking the flare in a wing and slamming it into the dying flames as the dog pounded toward me, baying and mouth agape. The flare burst into life and light and I managed to send the device into an uppercut that hit the beast in the chest. The creature screamed and leapt backward, looking at the blackened hide and flesh where the flare had burnt it. I made a few quick motions with the flare, trying to keep the bastard at bay, only for the thing to circle me warily. What was it doing? “Come on puppy.” I told it, hoping the dog would make a mistake so I could shove the flare up its ass. “Come on. Somebody’s been a naughty dog.” I limped as we circled each other round the fire. My shoulder was aching, stiffening, seizing up. my back was awash with pain, making me take deep ragged breaths with each movement. Why wasn’t the fucker attacking me? I waved the flare and the beast dodged back, weaving on its feet. “Come on! You know you want some prime grade A Pegasus mare. I taste good.” I enticed my opponent, slapping my flanks with my free wing.

“Waiting for flare to die.” The freak growled as my weapon sputtered and dimmed. Oh fuck doodle shit stamp. “No more playing with food.” It continued with a grin, drool hanging down from the corners of its mouth. The flare went out and the dog bounded forward, smashing me to the ground, the dead flare hurtling off into the distance. The dog stood above me, holding me down (awkwardly with its injured arm) and raised its good arm to give me one last clawing that would end this. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about paying apple bitch back. “Supper time.” The creature said, throat rumbling. Then just as the blow was about to fall the beast stopped. It sniffed the air, turning its head to the left and then to the right. What? What now? It continued to sniff as though trying to catch some new scent that it couldn’t place.

BOOM!

A horrendously familiar sound filled my ears and tore through the beast’s cheek. It staggered and a second shot hit it in the left eye, blowing out the socket. The dog went down to all fours, almost crushing me. Two more booms went off as it tried to rise and broke the creature’s jaw, shattering teeth and bone. The dog whimpered and gave one last look in the direction the shots were coming from before a fifth took it between snout and intact eye. The round hit at the perfect angle and blew out the back of the bastard’s skull, splattering me with brains, blood, bones and something that had to be cerebral fluid (ew, gross).

“Thank the goddesses.” I said in relief, just before the corpse collapsed onto me. “Fuck.” I said breathlessly as all the air was forced from my lungs. Losing consciousness, awesome, fainting, not again. Back in a flash, wake me when you need me for something…

Hiding in the clouds, being very quiet, sneaking up on him. He had no idea I was there, just above him on the higher bank. He was waiting for me to come through below, that’s when he’d make his move, but he wasn’t expecting this. I got in position, wings unfurled, ready for the wind to pull in the right direction… and… I jumped forward, curling my wings inward, diving toward him…

I woke feeling like a building had fallen on me but no; it was just my dead attacker, some kind of very large offshoot of the old Diamond Dogs of pre war Equestria if my guess was correct. Not that it helped when several hundred pounds of the thing were sitting on top of me. I hadn’t been out long, seeing as how one of my attacker’s hind hooves… no dogs didn’t have them… feet… paws was smoldering in the embers of the fire. And the thing smelled, goddesses, it smelled awful. I mean, I know I was in no position to judge considering the state I’d been in since my black out drinking barf fest mud bath, but holy crap did this thing stink. In part, I think, because it shat itself when it died. Great, because things didn’t suck enough already? I was just glad that somepony showed up when they did and sniped the damn dog’s head like a skull fucking from an enraged dragon. I also wished however that the stupid mutt hadn’t landed on top of me.

Attempts to dislodge the creature or wiggle my way out from under it met with oven mitt… mini gate… negated… unmitigated failure. Damn it. I huffed and coughed when I breathed in again, getting fur in my nose and mouth, leading to two epic sneezes. With nothing else to do, I looked up at the sky, seeing the faintest hint of stars behind the cloud curtain, and waited for my rescuer to appear. I waited for a long time.

I’d become uncomfortably aware of how badly I needed to go to the bathroom. I tried keeping my mind off the subject by trying to reconstruct the fate of the last caravan. They’d stopped for the night and built a fire. The dog had been underground, following the vibrations of their movements, waiting for them to stop. When they did, the creature tunneled upward, digging out of the ground and coming up right in the middle of the camp. He grabbed one pony first, firing an energy weapon (which I hadn’t seen, so maybe it had been lost at the top of the hill when I first opened fire on it) and ripping its prey apart. The other ponies opened fire, striking the hound and their comrade, but the bullets were ineffective. The attacker moved to the next victim, hitting them with the energy weapon and ripping them apart as the last caravaneer continued to fire. Then the dog turned its attention on the third pony, killed him (or her) and went to the confused and agitated Brahmin. That’s what I figured must have happened. It was a clever ambush though it had to rely on the natural toughness of the dog’s hide to prevent reciprocal (look out, this mare’s got some words indeed) injuries. And, the prick had found me the same way as it had been tracking and hunting the other groups. It waited underground, listening. That was how it knew where I was and didn’t walk into my trap.

The sound of hoofsteps reached me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! It was about damn time. Now I just needed this pony to help roll the big dead dog off of me. I waited patiently (as patiently as was possible for me), considering I had hundreds of pounds of dog on top of me and an insanely pressing urge to go back to the dead tree that earlier served as the little mare’s room.

BOOM!

Arrrgh! It was even louder up close. The shot struck one of the dead dog’s hind legs and triggered no response. What the…?

“Yes, it’s dead. Can you please get it off me?” I asked the darkness shrouded shooter who seemed to not trust to the fact that they’d blown half the dog’s head off as a good enough indication that it was well and truly dead.

“That better not be who I think it is.” The gruff reply drifted back to me across the night. No. It couldn’t be. But, those booms had sounded quite familiar.

“Sunglasses?” I asked as the shape of a pony ambled into view, hefting a sniper rifle.

“Crazy mare?” The questioning reply came. Yup it sure sounded like his voice and as my rescuer neared, the shadows resolved themselves into the unimpressive duster wearing buck that had shot the ghoul on the hill side what felt like ages ago. And hey, I wasn’t crazy… I wasn’t crazy enough to be called crazy at any rate, not by somepony that didn’t even know me. Oh, who was I kidding I didn’t even know me. The stallion approached and sat down next to me and the dead dog, slumping.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. His voice sounded worried. Awww… was he worried about me? That was sweet. “And why do have a lethal force prisoner control device on?” Hubuzah wha?

“Hubuzah wha? “ I asked. What the hell was he talking about?

“The explosive collar you’re wearing. Please tell me you didn’t buy it or put it on thinking it was jewelry.” He added, apparently on the verge of a facehoof. Of course I hadn’t. The collar totally didn’t match my hat (and yes, I know the hat didn’t match the tattered shreds of armor I was wearing).

“No, I just… well… it’s a long story.” I offered in apology. “And I’m kind of on borrowed time.” I told him. He glared at me (at least, I think he glared at me) from behind his sunglasses. “The bitch that put this on me will set it off if I don’t get her the money I owe her… and soon.” The buck sat there silently for a few seconds then gripped the left sleeve of his long coat between his teeth and pulled back on it, revealing some kind of high speed low drag super shiny technological witchcrafty thing. What the hell? It was attached to his foreleg and was he? Could it be? Was he a cyborg from the future? My own personal guardian against the ninja assassin zebras? He fiddled with the device for some time, gently moving a dial and pressing buttons with his right forehoof.

“It looks like it was never taken off factory settings from the war, though there’s some corruption to coding of the frequency and…” he jabbed a button and the collar made a pleasant beep, tiny lights winking once, from it’s position around my throat.

“What did you do?” I asked, ready for things to start exploding. I survived some kind of demonic radiation dog only to be blown up by the pony that saved me. Hello irony. Was that irony? Or was it just tragedy?

“I disarmed it.” He told me in utter deadpan.

“Than why is it still on me?” I asked. Shouldn’t the thing fall off when it gets turned off? Or, at least unclasp so that I can remove it?

“Malfunction maybe.” He said with a shrug and a grin that made me want to plant a hoof right in his teeth. “It does look like it’s damaged, probably from your little tussle here.” Tussle? He called my epic fight with the now dead beast a tussle? And don’t think I’d forgotten my promise of what I would do to him the next time we met. I hadn’t no sir, no sir indeed. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Now that you are no longer in any immediate danger of sudden and violent detonation, would you mind telling me what in the fuck you’re doing out here, fighting a Hellhound?”

“Oh, you know, girl has nothing to do, gets bored, decides to wander the wastes and go hoof to claw with a giant evil dog.” I snarked back. He didn’t respond. “Can you get this thing off of me?”

“Sure.” He said happily. “After you explain.” Goddesses damn it. I sighed and tried to get comfortable under the… Hellhound’s bulk. This was just great.

So, over the course of about half an hour (that felt like a week) I told him about reaching the town of New Appleloosa, my time with Doc Mistletoe, Candi, Ditzy, the saloon, waking up in the alley, apple bitch, the collar, my plan and the brilliant ambush I set up that just didn’t work out the way I’d intended it to. He spent the entire time sitting next to me, looking off into the distance, frowning and smoking cigarettes (at least he offered me one while I spoke). I finished by describing my run in with the Hellhound as he called it. The buck’s response was not one that I expected.

“Can’t believe… why would you… back in the wastes… what in the… wild… fuck?” He shook his head and muttered. “Not supposed to be… she was wrong… how can that be… but she was right before… the enlightenment seeker… the hoof… how did this… loco in the fucking coco… I need a drink.” His voice changed with each comment, going through an impressive range and various accents. Okay, I stand by my initial assessment. This was a crazy pony.

“Hello.” I said but he didn’t answer. “Equestria to Mister Sunglasses.” I tried, and sighed when that didn’t work either. “Earth to the Mysterious Stallion!” I shouted and he finally came free of his reverie and looked at me as though noticing I was there for the first time.

“What?” He asked impatiently.

“You were going all crazy.” I replied. His frown deepened. “What? Sorry, but I call it as I see it.” I told him truthfully. “Now, can you please get this stinking heavy thing off me so I can pee… and breath properly again?”

“No.” He said forcefully, voice deep as the rumble of a boulder rolling down a mountain.

“Why the heck not?” I asked, getting frustrated and angry at him all over again. “Last time you left me on the middle of a goddess forsaken hill side to die!” I fumed. “What now! Why now! What the fuck is your problem?” I roared at him. He looked back at me… sadly.

“If I hadn’t been scouting the area looking into taking on a bounty on some raiders running out of Ponyville, you’d be dead and the Hellhound would be alive and a little less hungry. I gave you a chance to get to safety, to live… and you squandered it by coming back out here to die. Maybe this time, you’ll learn and think on things a bit.” The buck said quietly, shaking his head. ‘But thinking about things hurts,’ I wanted to tell him. Instead I gulped when he pulled a large knife from inside of his coat and then thankfully allayed my fears that he was going to use it on me when he began sawing at one of the Hellhound’s arms, beginning his cut at the creature’s wrist. “Though I doubt you’ll listen or lean.” He added, spitting the knife out of his mouth and taking a momentary break from his work. “Now,” he said, genial and happy go lucky of a sudden. “I’m taking the claws, might come in handy, and I’m going to show them as proof to the New Appleloosa bounty office that I took a Hellhound.” He finished up on the first wrist and walked around to the other side, me still helpless beneath the vast hairy stinking bulk. “You should take back the creature’s hide. You’ll collect partial bounty on the hound and full bounty on solving the caravan problem.” He started working on the other arm.

“Just how in the hay am I supposed to take this thing’s hide?” I asked as rudely as possible, waiting for him to come into view again. He trotted back around and dropped the knife from his mouth, the blade sinking into the dirt right near my head. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. No. He couldn’t expect me to…

“With this.” The Mysterious Stallion answered, jutting his head to indicate the knife he’d dropped. “I’m leaving, going to collect on my half of the dog and accept the bounty on the raiders.”

“You’re leaving me again?” I wailed, refusing to contemplate the thought of skinning anything, let alone a giant evil hound from hell. How could my luck be this bad? How?

“Again.” He confirmed.

“Why you rotten lousy son of a bitch.” I spat.

“You wasted the opportunity, last time I gave it to you. Why should I feel bad, knowing you’ll only waste it again?” He asked me and I wasn’t honestly certain what he meant. My angered befuddlement must have been showing. “Tell you what, if you make it back alive… and if I see you in New Appleloosa I’ll buy you a drink, but saving your life shouldn’t be my responsibility, not again.” He said calmly. A little pony in my head waved away most of the words he’d said like they were angry buzzing bloatsprites. Oh, did he say drink?

“Make it ten.” I told him in no uncertain terms. I imagined he rolled his eyes under those stupid sunglasses of his.

“Done.” He said with a smile. “Now I really must be off. Things to do, caps to make, ponies to kill.” The buck turned to leave.

“Wait, aren’t you going to help me out from under this thing?” I asked.

“Nope.” He answered blithely. “You’ll manage it eventually I’m sure.” He kept walking, shrugging to get the sniper rifle slung over his back to sit easier. Oh great, just great. He was pulling this shit… again.

“Can you at least leave me with a weapon? My gun broke.” I called out to him desperately. The buck looked back at me.

“I left you the knife.” He replied and then gave a dispirited grunt when I whimpered and made sad eyes at him. “Fine.” He said in disgust, putting his muzzle to his coat and pulling out a revolver. “You only have six rounds, so don’t do anything stupid with it.” He told me as he set the gun down near the remnants of my service rifle. He turned his head in interest and gave a slightly appreciative look. “Oh, and be careful, there’s a flare right next to your ass.” There was? Oh, right, one of the ones I’d set for the trap. He turned back to the black shroud of night and resumed his infuriating departure.

“I knew that!” I shouted as he disappeared into the darkness. “I was going to use it on this jerk but you shot him first!” Laughter’s echoes were the only sounds given in reply. I looked up at the cloudy sky. This… hadn’t gone as bad as it could have. I started trying to roll the dead body back and forth to get it off of me… and finally lost control of my bladder. Damn it. And, when I was out from under the beast, if I wanted the extra reward money I was going to need to skin the thing. I sighed and continued my efforts. This was going to be a long damn night.

LEVEL 2 (congratulations… and finally, jeez, took you long enough)

New Perk Added: Intense Training – You survived being shot in the head and left for dead. You made it to New Appleloosa without dying, stayed alive through surgeries and are back on your hooves. Now you’ve survived a fight with a Hellhound. You must be one tough cookie… or just crazy and stupid for not taking it easy. You’ve gained +1 to your Endurance.

Coming Soon: Chapter 5. Bullets, Booze… Bucks

5. Booze... Bullets... Bucks...

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5. Booze… Bullets… Bucks…

She works hard for the money
So hard for it, honey
She works hard for the money
So you better treat her right

The pale rising light of the morning sun, soon to disappear above the perpetual cloud ceiling, threw a bleak wan glow across the land, casting the fallen, petrified trees beyond the Everfree Forest’s eastern edge in shades and hues of purple and gray. It had taken me the entire night to skin the beast… Hellhound… thing. I’d heard of skinning cats before (not that I was sure why anypony in their right mind would want to skin a cat… unless they were good eating… were cats good eating? I don’t know… I’m not sure if I want to know… I’m babbling to myself again aren’t I?) but this was just ridiculous.

Fortunately, I was able to get out from under the very large, very heavy, very bad smelling corpse in less than an hour, and I was just finishing up on the creature as dawn struck the Equestrian Wasteland. The trick, as it turned out, was to squirm back and forth and try to roll… the trick with getting out from under the body, I mean, not with skinning it. I’ll spare the details though… of both my concerted efforts to get free and the horrendously unpleasant realities of taking the hide off a monstrous dead dog.

By the light of day, not very bright, admittedly, (and please, no comments on ‘like pony like Equestria’) but still much better than the blackness of night that seemed to swallow the world whole and every pony in it, I could finally get a real, true good look at the Everfree Forest. It was… big. No, that wasn’t quite the right word, not the right word at all in fact. The forest was huge, immense, vast, gargantuan (I almost squealed in delight with that last word, brain damage my hoof, I was a smart pony).

The forest stood tall, towering over the dry rocky wastes around it. Its grim shaded depths ran north to south (in long slow curves that followed the layout of the land) as far as the eye could see and ran back and westward to the horizon. It was tangled vines and moss covered old pines, brooding dark green shrubs with long strands of choking thorns woven through them and long bladed grasses along the forest’s edge, grasses twice the height of a pony that looked like they could conceal any number of treasures and riches… or terrors.

When the wind picked up it seemed to make the leaves and branches whisper as the pine needles sighed and shivered. The noises of strange, unseen animals called within the forest, echoing, several trees set to shaking and a dozen birds were forced to take flight from a mile or so inside the boundaries of the endless sea of midnight green. Yup, really glad that I’m not going in there. And, why did the long grasses remind me of something else, something that felt far away and long ago? Storms above the plains, the heat of summer, a mission, some kind of mission, a task that needed to be accomplished… I shook my head and gave a whicker.

There was a village of sorts on the eastern border of the forest, a few miles to the south of me, something out of an Old Equestrian history book. It screamed ‘looke at ye olde fashioned timey place of yore’ to me, for whatever reason. It was probably the architecture, what remained of it anyway. The place was a ruin. Many of the buildings looked moderately intact on the outside (for what must have been almost two hundred years of neglect) but I was not going to test their structural soundness, not without a hard hat… and my wings back. They fluttered impatiently, eager to return me to the sky, but not yet strong enough to do so.

I used the binoculars that Ditzy had given me (and which had tumbled down the hillside in the attack) to get a better look at the town. The place looked like shit. And there was a big old tree made into a building… no… it couldn’t be. I continued to glass the area with the binoculars and yes, some kind of baked goods store and classy looking boutique that still retained the barest element of class and sophistication even after nineteen plus decades. This was… it was… I dropped the binoculars. It was Ponyville. I scratched my surgery scar. This wasn’t… that was… odd. Maps of Equestria that was (from vague flashes and what little I could remember) showed the town of Ponyville to be on the western edge of the Everfree forest, yet here it was on the east side of it. That was right, couldn’t be right. This was the east side wasn’t it? I looked to the sky, yup, definitely the east side of the forest. Weird, and… unusual. Very unusual. I remarked to myself that when I got back to New Appleloosa I would ask one of the residents, Ditzy, Railright, Doc Mistle maybe… Candi… about this not sense making head hurting thing.

For a few moments I considered descending the ridge, following the road south and investigating the town, but I wasn’t sure whether or not the collar would still explode. I didn’t trust the Mysterious Stallion’s word on it being safely deactivated. And I was tired and hungry and thirsty and hungry and all I had was one little pistol and a few melee weapons. Yeah, I think I could skip the tour of Ponyville, for now at least. But it would be interesting, educational maybe, to go down there... eventually... to see the quaint little village where the bearers of the Elements of Harmony were brought together, where first the six met that would, under Princess Luna, guide the world to its fate, to its destruction. No, maybe I wouldn’t go there. It would be… depressing, too depressing, and I wasn’t in a good enough mindset for that, and probably wouldn’t be for quite some time… unless I got to drinking again. Okay, enough pondering, back to things at hoof.

With the Hellhound’s hide finally fully separated from its body and me thankfully having found my remaining cigarettes, I was able to light up a smoke, and walk back up the hill to look for the rest of my gear and supplies. I sat down at the top, covered in drying blood (most of it not mine) on the remnants of the ridge that had exploded beneath me the night before and originally revealed the beast that had been stalking the caravans.

Some great distance away, in all directions it seemed, the vague outlines of towers, spiraling upward into the clouds, stood still and mighty, like the teeth of a long dead dragon, a devourer the size of the world, white knives jutting upward from the dust and bones of the earth. The towers were familiar to me and I had no idea why, but every time I tried to think on them and remember why I recognized them… the pain thundered through my skull and threatened to knock me unconscious (not faint). It was ominous… foreboding. And northward, in the far and away grayness of the new morning, there rose a mountain, THE mountain, if I was any judge.

Canterlot… the great ruined capitol of Equestria, city of the Unicorns… where Celestia and Luna held court and ruled. Where they sat, enthroned, removed from everyday life in their ivory tower, the self righteous Alicorns whose alleged manifest destiny was to reign over and hold dominion upon all others of ponykind. They, with their smiles and kindness and wise words, so called immortals, whose arrogance let them lay claim to the rights and mandates of eternal rule and even godhood itself.

They were stupid dumb cunts that ruined the world, who didn’t stop the war, who let Equestria burn. And where were they now? Dead? Trapped in some Stable or long sealed tomb? Half forgotten, falling into myth, they were nothing more than legends now. They’d disappeared almost two hundred years ago and as much as I had a strange inkling that the two of them must be dead and gone, one more pile of nameless bones amidst the millions of others that littered the land, I didn’t know why I felt that way, or why I seemed to know that that was their fate. They were long gone though; all the great ponies of yore who helped lead our nation to its doom were nothing more than mist, gone of a morning, never to be seen again.

I gazed a little longer on what once was the center of a great nation, a bastion of learning and culture, the seat of influence and aristocracy. Strangely enough, in the weak morning light, the city had a… pleasant pink glow or sheen to it, like a haze of heat. I couldn’t decide whether the color reminded me more of bubble gum or cotton candy, nor did I want to think long on it for it only made me hungry for sweets, for… hehehe… candy. Okay, come on nameless steam powered… me. Mind out of the sky sewers (wait what was a sky sewer?). It would be quite an adventure, to go to Canterlot, investigate its towers and terraces, gardens and monuments. But, it was a great distance away, just an old unhappy far off thing, a relic of battles long ago, mighty works whose makers, in the end, wrought naught but despair, a wreck, colossal, both boundless and bare. Sorrow, loss and pain that would hopefully never come again. Far away. Wow, listen to me wax all poetical. Thank the sky I didn’t have a cutie mark in that. Could you imagine? I shuddered. All lambic… or was it iambic? Pentagrams… pentagonals… pentameters… wameters. Nonsense. Enough of this crap.

I finished my cigarette, tossing the butt down the Hellhound’s hole… hellhole? There was something dirty and maybe a little bit naughty about those two words together. And I decided to reflect on things less, especially since it made my head hurt and was more than a little confusing. Also, seeing as how I was out in the wastes… not paying attention to the situation around me was probably a very bad thing (bad brain, bad… no cookies for you). I picked up the rest of my gear and (joy of joys) found the Hellhound’s energy weapon, damaged from my own gunfire, resting on the hilltop near the hole he’d burrowed out of. I don’t know why but the gun just… felt… right. Of course, being damaged, it didn’t work. Son. Of. A. Bitch. But it was still a sight to see, too long to be a short gun and too short to be a long gun. It was shiny (made me smile) and sturdy for what it was and there was a really pretty blue gem set into it that would go perfectly with my eyes. What? I figured the gun would fetch a nice price from Ditzy, hopefully enough to counterbalance the loss of the service rifle and leather armor that she’d lent me. Well, no time like the present to get moving (and, eventually, get drinking).

I made my way back down the hill to the road and slung the dead Hellhound’s skin over my back, unfathomably heavy thing that it was, hopefully it wouldn’t get blood all over my saddle bags. Yeah, not like there wasn’t any on them already. I stopped for a second and looked at the dead (and now skinless) abomination. It was the one thing so far that had actually threatened to eat me and I not only hadn’t asked any worried questions of it to that effect but I had even enticed it to try and eat me while we were circling each other round the fire. What started as a snort became a chuckle, then a laugh and eventually turned into outright guffaws as I adjusted the revolver that the Mysterious Stallion had given me, now tied around my neck by the canteen rope. I walked onto the old ruined road and headed east, toward New Appleloosa and a hell of pay day. Booze, bullets and bucks (and maybe mares) here I come.

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I thought that I’d have gotten into New Appleloosa in a short amount of time what with me being excited and eager to get my money, grab back my things and take a fucking shower. But, I was weighed down by the Hellhound’s hide (which was, as previously remarked, not insubstantial… whoa, where the hell did that word come from?). Also, I had worked through the night, walked most of the previous day, gotten very little sleep the night before that and… well, hay, isn’t that enough to tire a girl out? I defy anypony to not feel at least some weariness after going through what I’d experienced. And, I digress, now back to the original subject. It was at least two or three hours past noon when I finally sighted the little town made of stacked up railroad cars. I was tired, and thirsty and really hungry and covered in unpleasant things and did I mention really hungry? On the bright side, from a long distance away, New Appleloosa looked like one big toy set that a foal had gotten overly enthusiastic about and smashed together to make a single giant super toy. Play time is fun time. I imagined myself as a pony the size of a small mountain, picking up and playing with the comparatively tiny trains and the ponies that made them home.

Anyway… ahem… not important. But what happened next was… interesting at least.

I approached the main gate, the one I’d exited out of… a day and a half ago now, (holy crap had it really been that long or was I just loopy from sobriety and lack of sleep?) circling wide around the town for my heroic entrance, sticking to cover so that when I reached the gate it would seem like I’d just suddenly appeared out of nowhere, triumphant, covered in the blood (and… other things, less pleasant, lets not go there) of my enemy and bearing his skin as proof of my great victory. I leapt out into the open after waiting five minutes for the gate guard to look the other way as she decided to take a smoke break. I would have done the same on my trip, take smoke breaks that is, but my mouth was drier than a… well, lets not go there either. I expected surprise, shock, awe, fawning adulation, breeding requests even. Hello gentlestallions, this mare is open for business. What I did not expect was gunfire. The asshole on gate duty shot at me! Seriously, the guard mare opened fire with her assault rifle and shot at me.

A few dazzlingly bright tracer rounds began the near continuous fusillade from an old and thankfully inaccurate Equestrian made assault rifle, though the volume of fire alone would be enough to get me and send me to the big saloon in the sky even if the guard couldn’t shoot for shit. This was not going well, not going well at all. I blamed my luck. Stupid luck. I decided not to return fire but to instead try and talk with the jumpy and stupid guard. I said… a few things… I don’t remember exactly what but they probably went to the tune of something like what you see below.

“Holy fucking fuck a doodle doo! Stop fucking shooting at me! What the fuck is wrong with you!” I roared, bucking, dodging and weaving. “You stupid fucking fuck!” I ducked down but still took two rounds to the Hellhound pelt… which… actually stopped them… mostly. The rounds didn’t penetrate the hide but the force of their impacts was still enough to almost make me fai… lose consciousness. I screamed in pain and rolled onto my side, coming free of the skin in the process. Oh, my ribs hurt, oh yes they did. No they hadn’t really recovered from the beating I had taken last night. “OW! You stupid fucking bitch!” To my surprise (and great delight) the sound of gunfire died down and the bullets stopped coming my way. Oh, thank you. Thank you dead Celestia and Luna… again with the dead thing? I had to clear that issue up sometime. Anyway, thank whatever or whoever stopped the shooting. Now, to get to the bottom of this. And kick the ass of whoever’s fault it was.

As it turned out, after a nice long discussion with Railright and half of his guard ponies… with no small number of worried, concerned or just plain interested town ponies watching in attendance, it was my fault. Seeing as how I’d been covered in Hellhound fur and had jumped up out of nowhere… and was… bigger than the average mare… ugh. Let’s just say it combined to make the poor (stupid) guard pony (idiot) think that the town was under attack by Hellhounds (dumbass). Considering how thoroughly beaten my otherwise wonderful backside already happened to be I decided that things as they stood were even and that it would be unnecessary for me to kick my own ass (for now, but if my brain kept doing weird things then all bets would be off and there’d be no mercy).

After fifteen minutes of discourse across the wall (with more than a little yelling from both sides, and a few choice curses from my side) I was let in, despite many of the ponies’ misgivings over my appearance. They should try walking a mile in my horse shoes before they judged. I was a hero… of sorts. The gates were opened (reluctantly) and with exacting reassurances that I wouldn’t try to wear the hide again (i.e. drape it over me) I was able to walk (limp) past the ponies on the wall, head held high (because if it wasn’t I’d probably have collapsed right then and there…) ah déjà vu and nostalgia for the last time I’d dropped muzzle over flanks into the dirt at the entrance to this town. I was beginning to sense a pattern here.

I got a lot of strange looks from ponies about town, a lot, even from some of the ones that had come out to see what the commotion or, as the New Appleloosians called it “ruckus” was all about. And, more than a few of them seemed to be actively trying to avoid me, whether from how I looked or how I smelled I couldn’t tell. I looked at myself and gave a whiff. Hmmm… it was probably a combination of both. Regardless, my first stop was the bounty office. Everything else, Ditzy, a shower, apple bitch, and even whiskey could wait. I’m sorry whiskey. I still love you. Please don’t leave me.

I banged on the door of the metal shack with my least damaged hoof, not in the mood to care about trying out my wing strength. The buck from two nights ago answered more quickly this time, opening the door in shock. He probably hadn’t expected to see me again so soon… or ever. But little did he know that I was a steam powered badass pony whose sheer awesomeness had earned her the enmity of the future time Caesar lord zebra whatchamacallit, forcing him to send cyborg zebra ninja assassins back in time to try and stop me from assuming my destiny… or something like that. I don’t know. I’m tired. Nap time yet? Don’t judge me!

“Okay.” I told the buck, stopping any comments he might have made by putting a hoof to his muzzle. “Listen up. I’m tired, I’m horny, I’m injured, I need a shower, I have a lot of debts to settle and there isn’t enough alcohol in this Podunk little ville for me to put up with your shenanigans or go through a whole ‘nother session of ‘fuck thises’ and ‘fuck that’s’. So, why don’t I just tell you what happened then we settle up?” I looked at him pleadingly, worried that I might fall over on top of him… of all the times to fall on a buck this was one of the worst… though still much better than that monster dog falling on me. He moved my hoof away from his face.

“Yeh look like shit.” The crimson buck answered. He sniffed the air. “Smell like it too.” Oh for the love of Dash.

“Yeah, I know.” I told him dryly. “Thanks.” I added for good measure.

“Yeh know I’m startin’ to rethink this whole hoof job idea.” He said, giving me a further appraising look. I sighed in expiration…sass… perspiration… exasperation. Stupid words, stupid bullets, stupid town, stupid Hellhounds, stupid judgmental ponies… I was starting to get really sick and tired of this shit.

“So are we gonna do this or not?” I asked impatiently. The buck raised an eyebrow and gave me a… quizzical look.

“The… hoofjob?” He asked, befuddled, seemingly torn between the desire to get off and the desire to get away.

“Of course, because right now the thing I’m most concerned with is satisfying what’s inside your sheath.” I said, as flatly as he had first spoken. “No, you idiot!” I yelled, losing any semblance of composure that I might have possessed, and greatly displeased at noticing that my beautiful hat… only slightly worn, had a bullet hole in it. “Caravans, bounty, deaths, Hellhounds, money, no survivors, things, importance.” I tried to articulate myself and failed. He rolled his eyes at me and I wanted to slap him with the Hellhound hide, I’d been forced to drag along behind me.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go inside an’ settle this.” He said, halfway between relief and disappointment at the dearth of immediate hoofjobs to be found. “One thin’ though.” He told me, holding up a hoof.

“What?” I asked as he held the door open for me to enter. The buck tried to cover up (poorly) that he was holding his breath against the stench I was bringing with me… bearing with me. How does one describe the accompaniment of stench?

“No gin.” He said darkly, his eyes closing to suspicious slits. He couldn’t be serious. I glared at him for a few seconds. He was serious. I sighed, too tired and sober to deal with this or make a fuss over it. What, did he believe that the sky was about to rain gin down upon us? Now, there’s a great idea… if it were beer or scotch instead.

“Whatever.” I told him, walking in and turning around to face him as he shut the door behind us. It was past time to get some caps that I’d sure as hay earned.

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“Alright,” he said, all business, though barely able to stop himself from scrunching up his nose at the reek that was probably darn near wafting off of me by now. “Mr. C has already been through and collected on his half of the standin’ offer on Hellhounds…” the buck shuddered. “nasty fuckin’ thin’ ughh.” Was he talking about the giant evil mutant dog or the excursion…. crucial… shitting… excruciatingly annoying stallion that’d somehow (my suspicions were beginning to raise… rise… do whatever it is that suspicions do) found and saved me… (I’d have been fine without him the second time, I swear, I’d have used the flare next to my butt and jammed it down the Hellhound’s throat) twice? Or was this some other strange new pony I knew nothing of? With luck it was just the Mysterious Stallion and not something or somepony else to worry about but, then, my luck was pretty bad so far, at least since I’d come to on the hillside, so I kept no illusions as to how much good luck might remain to me after my near miraculous resc… escapes.

“Who in the radioactive fuck is Mister C?” I asked, running out of patience when the buck seemed to stop to ponder huge irradiated dogs… or small pompous stallions that wore sunglasses even at night or the annoyingly puzzling third option that didn’t involve the first two. Also, he wasn’t trying to make some kind of obble… leak… oblique reference to my mare parts was he? The buck sighed melodramatically and gave me a look that indicated he thought I was profoundly stupid. Urge to beat ass rising.

“Earth pony, stallion, unsavory type, on the small side.” The crimson buck said as though it were obvious enough that it should have hit me over the head. Got it, Mysterious Stallion, question solved. He made an exaggerated gesture with a hoof indicating how small this Mister C was, putting his size rather inaccurately somewhere between an old foal and a young colt. “He comes round these parts every once in awhile, collects on bounties, buys crap offa Derp… Ditzy, gets drunk as a skunk at ole Brandy’s saloon and walks around starin’ creepily at good honest pony folks.” He turned his head, glancing over a whither as if worried that this Mister C character would appear behind him having heard the less than stellar opinion the stallion offered. “Ah’m not much of a fan of his, but Mister C does good work and he’s generous with his caps at the saloon… if not with his whiskey.” Oh, did you just say whiskey? “Now, down to business.”

“Finally.” I said with a sigh, trying to put a twang of his accent into my response. “I was beginnin’ to think yeh liked the smell o’ dead dog.” He scowled at me. “Also,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, and dropping the accent, “I never did get your name.”

“Name’s Red Rock.” He said proudly and with an almost worrisome amount of enthusiasm. Red Rock? I sniggered. Seriously? Oh, how I really hoped my name wasn’t that stupid, if I ever figured out what my name was. He glared at me. “Never caught yer name neither.” He added. Well that shut me up… for a moment.

“Don’t have one.” I told him honestly as I decided to add finding a name for myself to my mental checklist… after I created a mental checklist. Note to self, if have not done so already, make a mental checklist. “At least, if I do, I don’t remember it. But, I like to think that whatever my name is… it’s gotta be something awesome.” He snorted.

“Anyways show yer proof.” He said with a swagger that turned into a stagger when I hefted the really heavy (and smelly) hide and tossed it to him with both wings. I could feel a strain in the left one. Damn, what had happened to me that my wings, the very things that made me a pegasus were so weak? Befuddlement, that’s for damn sure. Red Rock almost fell over under the weight or maybe just the awkwardness (or possibly the ickiness and stench) of the Hellhound’s skin. He looked at it askance and made a retching sound when flakes of dried blood fell like little red snowflakes from my prize. “Okay,” he said, gingerly setting the hide down on the counter, trying not to look at it, but his eyes kept wandering back. “Tell me everythin’ that happened.” He would quite soon come to regret saying those words.

“It all started like this.” I began excitedly.

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I’m not entirely sure if Red Rock really believed the story that I told him, but, then again… I was pretty awesome. Surviving getting shot, surviving the mad dash (heh) to New Appleloosa, coming through the surgery, not dying of alcohol poisoning and going hoof to paw against a Hellhound (yes, I know I had help on that last one, but I could have taken the big dog on my own, I double pony swear). Also, I didn’t care if he believed the specifics of the event only that I had succeeded in my mission. And, of course, I showed him the location of the most recent caravan that had been hit, a few choice pieces of scrap that could help identify the traders, descriptions of what little was left of the caravaneers and the great big honking hound hide.

“Okay.” He said, holding up a hoof before I could tell him the whole thing over again. What? Didn’t he like my storytelling? “The bounty on the trader trouble was twelve hundred, minus the 300 for the buy in and my fee ma-”

“What?” I asked. I thought… I was pretty sure… that we had agreed on something less than that. He looked at me, waiting for further comment. I absently scratched my surgery scar with a wing. Trying to remember, trying, trying, not doing so well, avoiding thoughts that make my head hurt. “That’s. Not. Right.” I continued haltingly and somewhat lamely. I must be losing my steam power. “I thought we agreed on 200 caps.”

“No.” He replied conde… condom… condominium… descent… condescendingly. Whew. “200 was yer initial offer. We haggled.” Red Rock looked at me expectantly. Had we haggled? We had, hadn’t we? I indistinctly remembered something like that going on.

“Yeah, okay,” I conceded. “But I thought we got it to somewhere in the mid 200’s, not 300.” I continued, not wanting to budge on this. He was trying to cut into my profits wasn’t he? Or had I really been that drunk? Yes. What? Both… probably? There we go. The buck exhaled forcefully and stomped.

“Listen, I’ll drop it to 275 but not a cap less.” Red Rock held out a hoof. Well, I guess a loss of 275 was better than 300. I reached out and shook his hoof vigorously… a little too much so maybe, as a small way of getting back at him… or of holding onto my pride. Either one was fine and, indeed, both were likely.

“Now, the Hellhound…” I said and let my words drift away.

“Now the Hellhound.” He confirmed. “Alright. The payout on the standing bounty for bringing in a Hellhound is fifteen hundred caps.” Red Rock told me as he pushed four cloth bags of varying sizes to me across the very small counter. The first and largest bag had ‘500’ written on it. The next one ‘250’ and the last two said ‘100’ and ‘75’ respectively. I hefted the large one and felt the reassuring weight and comforting jingle of many, many bottles of whiskey… I mean bottle caps. Yes. Not whiskey… yet. The buck cleared his throat.

“That’s the bounty for the caravans.” He clarified, as if I didn’t know that already. Well, the clarification was mostly unnecessary since I kind of figured that’s what the money was for. “And yer skin’s goin’ up on the wall next to the main gate.” My skin? What was he trying to pull? Oh, yeah, that’s right, the Hellhound’s skin. Duh. “As I said, 1500 for the Hellhound but Mister C says it was a split kill and he did bring back the claws as proof of his partakin’ in that kill. As such, the payout’s half, so 750 caps.” Red Rock grabbed two more of the larger size bags (one 500 and one 250) in his mouth and tossed them onto the counter.

“Thank you.” I told him, grabbing the bags with my wings and shoving them into the still (mostly) intact saddlebags that I bore, and that needed Hellhound blood and Pegasus blood and maybe a little Bloatsprite gunk washed off of them.

“So, what’re yeh gonna do now with all them caps.” The buck asked, leaning over the counter. I didn’t have to think long on the answer. One of the ways I’d tried to stave off boredom on the long trot back to New Appleloosa was to think of what I’d do as soon as I got my money.

“First,” I told him. “I’m going to see Apple Bitc… Apple Brandy and pay off my debts. Second, I’m going to take a bath. Third, I’m going to see Doc Mistle. Fourth I need to drop by Ditzy’s, and fifth, lastly, most importantly... I’m going to get a drink.”

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“Brandy!” I roared as I slammed down a 250 cap bag and the 100 cap bag onto the wood in front of me. I stood at the bar, wings leaning over it, trying to look menacing but probably just looking like I’d been hit by one of those trains the Appleloosians loved so much, then dragged through the mud, and a balefire crater, and a dragon’s gullet, shat out and then eaten again. “Brandy!” I yelled again, looking along the bar, glancing at the other patrons (not a lot of them considering the time of day, just a few caravaneers in from the road and one or two hardcore alcoholics that probably never left).

The other ponies were starting to give me weird looks from behind their booze… mmm… delicious booze. To be honest, they’d been giving me weird looks since first I’d staggered in, kicking the doors open with (what I imagined to be) a glint of badass in my eye. That’s right, I’d just killed a Hellhound (half, sorta, kinda, just don’t pay attention to this part, I killed it sure as my name is… damn it, I really need a name, don’t I?). Anyway, you’d think I’d be used to weird looks by now but they still grated on me… bothered me, not sure why, but they did.

The young buck, Whiskey (now there was a good name), Brandy’s son entered from the back room behind the bar, probably the same doorway he’d used the other night when I was in that alley. Okay, here we go. It was high time to settle accounts.

“One brandy, comin’ right up.” He said with a slightly vacant smile. Boy, that looked familiar, oh wait, I had the same smile whenever I drank, or hit my head really hard. He grabbed a bottle from under the bar, blew the dust off and floated over an old, chipped and basically clean snifter. Wait, what was he doing? Oh good goddesses.

“No.” I said, holding a wing over the bottle before he could break the seal. And Pegasi in the sky was it ever hard to say that little word, cause I was thirsty as all get out and had a hankering for some drankering. What? Drankering is a word right? Right? “The proprietor, not the drink.”

“Pro-pry-a-tor?” Whiskey asked me confusedly. Hmmm… confusedly… still not as a cool a word as befuddled, no matter what it may tell you. I put my head down onto the bar, a little too hard. Ouch! Regret. Regret. Regret. Why do I keep doing that?

“Your mother.” I said through gritted teeth, not moving my head from the bar. “Apple Brandy.”

“Oh, momma. Okay.” Whiskey said jovially. I don’t think he even noticed the big old sacks of caps sitting in front of him, next to my poor head. He walked over to the steps leading to the second floor. “Momma?” He called up. Nothing. “Momma!?” He tried louder.

“Don’t call me that!” Was the yell that drifted down from upstairs. “And what?”

“The nice pegasus lady is back.” Whiskey said happily. “And she’s callin’ for yeh. And she’s banged her head down on the bar.” Wow, I know I’m not that smart, brain damage and all (allegedly) but there was something wrong with this poor fellow.

“Give me a minute.” Brandy said wearily from the floor above.

“She’ll be right down.” Whiskey told me with a smile. “Sure yeh don’t want that brandy?”

“I’m sure.” I answered. I really, really did want it, but if I started drinking now, I’m not sure what would happen. The buck nodded pleasantly and began to walk down to the other end of the bar. “Hold on.” I said, lifting a wing, and reluctantly, my head as well. Whiskey came back.

“Would yeh like some brandy?” He asked, as though our previous conversation had never happened.

“Uh… no.” I said, squinting one eye at him as the opposite eyebrow lifted. “Question actually.”

“Well, momma says I’m not very good with questions.” The young buck said worriedly. Clearly, I said to myself. “But okay.” He finished with a giant grin on his muzzle.

“Did your mother… drop you… on your head… like… a lot, when you were a foal?” I asked him. “Or did she, I don’t know, maybe… drink… heavily… when she was pregnant with you?”

“Nope.” Whiskey replied with the same smile still on his face. “Not as ah can recall.”

“Did she… roll around in radioactive waste or… do a whole bunch of drugs… hardcore drugs?” I tried again, hoping to get an answer to my inquiry.

“Nope.” Whiskey said brightly… and hay if that didn’t feel like an oxe… more… moron. Something like that.

“How about taint? Did she… drink a nice tall glass of taint? Get caught in some Killing Joke?” I took the questioning further, despite not being entirely sure what taint was (but it sounded dirty) or Killing Joke either (though I was on the fence over whether or not that one sounded murderously funny).

“Nope.” He stood there staring at me.

“Huh, well, okay… I guess.” I said, not bothering to ask anything else.

“Why’d you ask?” He inquired, oblivious. And ponies think I’m dumb.

“Oh, no reason.” I replied, giving him the same smile that he was giving me, but watching out of the corner of my eye as Apple Brandy descended the stairs, a revolver strapped to her flank. Gee, she expecting trouble or something?

“Yer back.” Brandy said noncommittally with a nod of her head. She used her magic to open the brandy bottle that Whiskey had left in front of me and pour herself a drink, neglecting to do the same for me. Bitch. The unicorn floated the snifter in front of her (so tarantula… tyrant… tantalizing) and took a swig.

“I am.” I affirmed and slid the two bags closer to her. “Your caps.” She looked at them, seeing the intact seals on the cloth. She poked at one with her hoof.

“Not enough.” Brandy said bluntly. What?

“What?” I sputtered, steam power returning, desire to knock heads growing larger and harder to ignore. “You said it was like 320 caps or 330 caps that I owed you.”

“Nay. I said 367 caps.” Brandy replied cooly.

“Okay, well then let me just get out a few more caps.” I told her.

“367 was how much you owed me a day and a half ago.” The bitch said unequivocally. There’s that shocking word again. “Now it’s 420.”

“420!?” I growled, my voice rising, almost shaking in rage. Ow! Blood pounding in recently put back together head, not good, bad, very bad. “Why?” I was gritting my teeth again.

“Interest.” She said slimily.

“Interest? In what?” I asked, befudd- nah, I’m starting to get tired of that word, I guess I’ll go with the crazy one instead, perplexed. Because it sounds like purple and purple is pretty.

“Ah swear, Yeh make mah son look smart, yeh know that?” Brandy said as if she were talking to the dumbest pony ever.

“Hey!” I yelled at her, offended.

“One order o’ hay, comin’ up.” Whiskey said from the other end of the bar before walking toward where I assumed the kitchen must be. Brandy face hoofed.

“Let me explain real simple like.” The older mare began. “The longer a pony takes to bring me the money back, the larger the sum grows, because the longer ah have to go without money that’s mine. Meanin’ I have to fall back on other funds in the meanwhile.” She finished.

“Oooohh-kaaay.” I said and annoyedly flung the bag of 75 caps from my saddlebags onto the table with the flick of a wing. “I think there should be some change with th-”

“This’ll be fine.” Brandy said, quickly scooping up the three bags and hiding them behind the bar. “Now, yeh wanna drink?” She asked, as if the whole thing never happened.

“No!” I shouted back at her, then quieted before resuming, not wanting to scare everypony into a stampede. “I want this thing off my neck so I don’t explode. I don’t want to explode.” I growled at her. She looked at me and there was something strange in her eyes.

“Fine.” Brandy said, making the word sound as hard as possible. She floated the revolver out of its holster and as I readied myself for her to attack she set it down on the bar. What the hay? Then, the little device… key… thingy came out of the holster as well. She must have been storing, or hiding the thing under the gun. Know there’s an interesting name. Under The Gun. Could I call myself that? Brandy held my ticket to freedom, to not head popping burning booming death, in her magic. There was a soft click and a beeping sound. My fancy deadly neckwear did nothing. Uh?

“Was that supposed to happen?” I asked, feeling most unwell.

“No.” Brandy said, looking confused for the first time. She scratched her horn with a hoof and I could hear the device clicking and beeping some more but there was nothing going on at my end except for a rapidly dwindling amount of patience being replaced by anger. The unicorn’s magic flared up and encompassed the collar. I could feel it being tugged at, jerked at and then… nothing.

“Is that it?” I asked, my voice not changing from a low, emotionless buzz.

“Ah guess so.” Brandy replied. “Damn thin’s damaged. Ah can’t get it off. Yeh musta busted it.” Great, just… fucking… great.

“I want my money back.” I told her flatly.

“And ah want the money for that collar, it’s expensive.” She countered.

“No.” I said just as bluntly as she had spoken earlier. She glared at me, one eye kind of twitching (just like mine).

“Yeh gonna buy a drink?” Brandy asked, looking like she wanted to pick up the revolver and shoot me with it.

“No.” I said again.

“Then get outta mah bar.” She ordered and pointed her hoof toward the door. Oh, this definitely wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Fine.” I said in my best imitation of her. I turned around and headed for the main entrance and exit, all eyes in the joint focused on me. I tossed my mane (which was still growing back in) and held my head up high (again), though I really wanted to just turn around and pound that stupid unicorn’s face into the bar like fifty or sixty times until Whiskey seemed like a genius by comparison to her. Next time.

“One order of hay.” I heard in Whiskey’s voice, followed by the sound of a platter being set down on the bar. “Hey, momma, where’s she going?” He asked as stalked out of the bar. “She didn’t get her hay.” The buck added sadly. I couldn’t hear the bitch’s answer. I looked at the explosive jewelry I was still donning then toward Doc Mistle’s place. I sighed and kept walking.

“Fuck.”

I could say that Doc Mistletoe was happy to see, but would just be a lie. I could say that he was unhappy to see me but that would be underselling the reception I got. I could say that he was really fucking pissed off at me, but that wouldn’t be quite accurate. Oh, don’t be mistaken, he was really fucking pissed… and crotchety… and old… and smoking like a campfire that was burning pony pies. Okay, the last part, metaphor aside, I didn’t particularly mind, despite the fact that I wasn’t a huge fan of smoking indoors. The lingering odor that remained afterwards was not pleasant to my nose, regardless of the fact that I smoked… though, the scent was no doubt an improvement over what I currently smelled like. Arrgh! Another tangent. What was I saying? Oh, yes. To be as accurate as possible, or, I guess, to be technically correct, which somepony (and I don’t remember who) once told me was the best kind of correct, the doc was really fucking pissed and he was bitterly disappointed. And, strangely enough, it was the disappointed part that got to me the most. It was like having your father or grandfather find out you lied or cheated on a test. Not that I could imagine what kind of tests ponies would take after the whole megaspell apocalypse thing.

Mistle yelled at me, for a short time, then he just spoke, for a long time and it made me wish we were back to yelling because that was easier to take. The old buck was disappointed in me for getting into trouble so quickly, for coming close to throwing away what he’d given me; a second chance. In less than one day from the time I fell out of his rail car home office I’d drank a tremendous amount of alcohol (I was actually kind of proud of that part, no matter what he said), become indebted (yeah, that part irked me pretty bad), accepted a dangerous bounty and run off into the wastes with very little (no) idea of what I was doing. Gee, it had seemed like some sort of thrilling romantic adventure out of the old tales at first, but now, listening to the grumpy old buck’s words, it made me feel like an idiot and a filly all over again. Thankfully, he did not try to spank me as punishment. The look on his wrinkled old face and in his wise but rheumy eyes was sharper than a knife and more painful than any paddling.

I’d like to say that I took the haranguing… lecturing… tongue lashing… chewing out, whatever it was that he gave me, with aplomb and in stride, like a big grown up mare, buuuu-uuut… I didn’t. Though I did not cry… much. It was only after he rejected the payment that I offered (something about not wanting to encourage bad behavior and me just being lucky… seriously? Me? Lucky? Had he met me before?) and admitted that he didn’t have the know-how with explosives to remove the damn collar without risking blowing me to Celestia’s queendom come (should that be princedom… princessdom?) that I started bawling. And, to make matters worse, he tried to comfort me, which set off more water works and wallowing in despair. After about thirty seconds I couldn’t take any more and stormed out of his rail car and yes, before you ask, I fell this time too, only I didn’t have Candi land on top of me. Thinking of which, where was Candi? Not important at the moment. What is important is that anypony and everypony forgets that whole crying bit and me getting shown my place by a stallion three times my age. It never happened. IGNORE IT!

The day was passing away before me as I sat in the mud in front of the doc’s place. Why was there mud here anyway? I hadn’t seen it rain since… I don’t even know when. Maybe it rained while I was unconscious. Or the old coot just threw buckets of water onto the ground in front of his train cars so poor ponies like me would fall in them and get dirty. Yeah, probably not. So, where was I? Time to take out that mental checklist. First, I’d gotten back to New Appleloosa. Second, I’d gotten my caps for the bounties. Third, I paid Apple Cun… Brandy… back and forgotten to take my things back from her. My possessions, the few things I had, confiscated by her idiot son. SHIT! FUCK! Time for that later. So I couldn’t get the collar off. Well then screw it. I was going to find a trash bag, keep it over the collar and take a damn shower because not only did I want one, but I really needed one. And I had no idea where I could get a shower. I scratched my mane. Ditzy Doo. She had been around forever and was like 200 years old, if anypony knew where a shower was, it would be her. So, to combine what had originally been two steps into one I’d go to the Absolutely Everything (look at me all organized and time saving, working smarter and not harder…). ‘Must be a first.’ The voice in my head said snidely. ‘Shut up stupid brain!’ I replied. And, do not think to pity me. I realized very quickly (five minutes later, as I was about to knock on Ditzy’s door) how weird it was to be asking questions of a pony that couldn’t speak. Fuck my life.

“Hello? Ditzy? Ditzy Doo? Are you in there?” I asked sweetly from the main floor of her store. But, as my luck would have it, the Pegasus ghoul was nowhere to be found. I waited a few minutes, being very careful not to break anything, or stand in the spots where I’d spewed up my guts what felt like a year ago. To be fair, Ditzy had done a most admirable job of cleaning up and there was even faint smell of cleanliness, something bright and zesty, fruit like but artificial. I couldn’t place it though. Come to think of it, I really didn’t know very much about fruit. I wonder why? Thinking… thinking… head hurting… not thinking. Ah, that’s better.

I was just about to leave, wing on the door and everything when it burst open from the other side to reveal a beaming mare with googly eyes and a smattering of feathers on her wings.

“Ditzy.” I said in surprise, having just barely been able to stop my self from jumping in fright at the sudden door opening. “I-” couldn’t finish my next sentence because she immediately grabbed me in a rib crushing hug. She didn’t even seem to mind my musk, but when you’re dead… sort of… undead? Does it really matter to you what somepony else smells like? I wasn’t going to ask. I was just glad at how clear it was that this poor old gal was obviously really, truly happy that I’d come back alive. At least one pony in this town cared that I wasn’t dead out in the wastes. She pulled away from me at last with an expectant look on her face, searching. Maybe the ghoul was trying to divine whether or not I’d been successful in my hunt.

“I got them… him… it.” I told her reassuringly and she hugged me again, twirling me around the room with surprising strength, not giving a single hoot that we were knocking things over left and right, and boy would I pay good money (just not mine) to see the look on a pony’s face at the sight of my and Ditzy dancing round the store, sending goods tumbling from their shelves. We stopped at last and I caught my breath while she scrounged around behind the counter, looking for chalk to use in her communications with me. I wondered what had happened to the last bit of chalk. Had she used it all up?

‘Who was it?’ The only three words she’d written, large and easy to read on her little chalk board, held up in an aged hoof.

“Not a who.” I answered. “A what.” Ditzy turned her head to the side and her eyes started roving faster and faster. Getting dizzy now, must stop staring but so hard to look away. “Hellhound.” She gasped and almost dropped the chalk board, catching it with a wing before it could hit the ground and break. Did she have more of the things? If I were her I would keep a good supply, a stockpile even, of chalk and boards, just in case. I couldn’t imagine the shittiness of not being able to talk (in the manner that she could) with anypony solely because she’d dropped, stepped on or misplaced a piece of black slate.

I spent the next ten minutes regaling my companion with a very truncated version of what had happened since I left her home at dawn the day before. Ditzy Doo was a perfect and captivated audience. She gasped and her eyes widened at all the right places. She hid her head under a blanket and squeaked (or as close of a semblance to a squeak as she could make) when I got to the Hellhound emerging from under me and she stamped her hooves and fluttered her wings when I told her about the beast’s fatal end. The mare had lost, as it turned out, two friends, three acquaintances and half a dozen trading partners to the monster. And, in a world like the one where we lived (was a ghoul technically qualified as living?), any loss was big, especially when you considered how few ponies remained in a country that had once hosted a population of millions.

Ditzy received her broken goods (the armor and service rifle) with grace and only a hint of dissatisfaction that vanished as soon as she remembered the whole dead Hellhound situation. I suggested that she use me in her advertising and the mare mused on it thoughtfully. But if anypony could successfully capitalize on it would be Ditzy Doo. I was starting to develop the opinion that behind the smile and rotting gums she was one smart cookie… mmm… cookies. She even let me keep the rest of the gear, no charge, for taking out the abominable irradiated super dog and refused to accept any caps for them either. She was a swell girl, a swell old girl I guess, with the whole war time thing going but, whatever.

“So,” I finally asked her, my anticipation at a fever pitch. “Do you know where a mare can get a shower?” She smiled.

GLORIOUS! Simply glorious. Ditzy had rigged up her own little shower (which helped in part to explain the shower cap she’d been wearing the other night, though the unusual slippers remained a mystery still). Water, steaming hot, cleansed, radiationless water. And soap. She had an abundance of soap, an embarrassment of varieties. I ended up choosing two. One, for my mane and tail, a mixture of lavender and honey, which smelled familiar but distant, like my foalhood which I couldn’t remember, like late spring turning to summer and the buzzing and humming of insects and birds as they flew between blooming flowers. Could that even be related to a smell? Hay if I know but I’m going with it. And for my coat, I used the most delicious yummy smelling gel, the label listed it as cucumber melon and it took all of my (little) self control not to try and consume the stuff. I couldn’t recall cucumbers or melons in waking life, just brief flashes of pictures in books but it smelled crisp and clean and juicy, like a cool morning after a refreshing rain with plants growing green and strong and healthy. Not that I’d actually seen anything remotely like that in the primarily brown and gray expanse of the land surrounding New Appleloosa, but I could imagine it, even without whiskey, which felt odd to me for some reason.

I spent longer than I should have in the shower, singing, gurgling, getting all the filth of the wastes off of me and tenderly touching my bruises and cuts. It wasn’t that bad, considering I’d gotten into a brawl with a giant evil pony eating demon dog, not enough to warrant using a healing potion at any rate. I think I would just bandage myself up a little after drying off. And oh the towels, the soft, fluffy towels with some kind of stamp or mark from a spa that I’m sure no longer existed. Too bad. I could use a good hoof rub. And, speaking of hooves and rubbing, my limbs seemed to have a naughty mind of their own as the hot water rushed down onto and cascaded over me. I had to keep batting my hooves away with my wings but holy moly did I ever need a buck (or a mare) right about now. My mind raced between fantasy conjurings of Candi, Railright, Crane, Whiskey, Candi, Red Rock, Crane and Railright together and Candi again. And, it was indeed only the thought of Ditzy walking in on me in the act that stopped me from doing what I really wanted to do. Damn you sexual frustration! Damn you sir! Damn you I say!

I left the shower reluctantly, not that I didn’t enjoy the super awesome towels. And I descended the stairs to find Ditzy finishing up with a customer making a purchase. And I was definitely going to do some purchasing of my own here, later though, there were other things that needed doing first. Ditzy mimed singing to me and did her best impression of laughing, slapping her flanks with her wings as she did so.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I suck at singing. Laugh it up, but think on this, if ground pounding ponies ‘round here call me a turkey then that makes you a buzzard.” The ghoul stopped for a second, considered my words, gobbled at me as best she could and then went right back to her unique laughing. Everything is at my expense isn’t it? I just can’t win. “Alright, that’s enough for now.” Her laughter subsided and Ditzy wiped at her eyes, though I hadn’t seen any tears. Can ghouls cry? Do they dream of zombie sheep? Who knows? Maybe I would ask her someday, but, just… not right now. “It’s time to close up shop and follow me. Ditzy looked at me quizzically and wrote on her chalk board.

‘Where?’ Straight and to the point, very well, not going to make another bisexual joke, despite urges to do so. I smiled back at her.

“We’re going to get hammered my friend, and the drinks are on me.” I replied. And put a wing around her withers. She gave the biggest grin when I called her friend. “We just have a few quick stops to make first.” Ditzy closed up the Absolutely Everything in under a minute, leaving only a sign on the door that said something about drinking, saloons, back in a flash and not to worry about dropping pianos. Yeah, weird, I really didn’t get the last part at all but hey, it’s all good. I was about to get drunk, and I couldn’t be mad when I was drunk, not that I remember at least, bah, who cares? Drinking time!

In five minutes and with the promise of entertainment and free drinks Ditzy and I had gathered Crane, Railright, some off duty guards, Candi, Red Rock, a dozen or so town ponies, some caravaneers and their guards, one three legged dog with a light case of mange, several cheering foals and a very reluctant old doctor. And, with me at the head of the herd we ambled toward Apple Brandy’s saloon, smoking, talking, joking and some few even singing (better than I could, even if they weren’t great). And you’d be amazed at how little the ponies of New Appleloosa cared about the collar around my neck, especially after I explained to them that it was no longer functional and let some of the guard ponies whack it (lightly, as I was still wearing it) with a sledgehammer.

I busted into the bar leading a group of ponies two dozen strong and boy did Brandy’s jaw drop like she’d just seen a gryphon fucking a mule underwater. I sat down at the bar and smiled at her, the others with me taking tables or spots alongside me. The horn head just stared at me for a minute, absent mindedly using her magic to clean a frosted glass stein with a rag.

“I would like my stuff back.” I told her pleasantly, but there was danger hidden in my voice and daggers in my eyes.

“What stuff?” Brandy asked, playing dumb… or, playing Whiskey.

“Why, my worldly possessions, you know, the ones you took from me the other night.” I answered, keeping my smile but letting the warmth out of it. The unicorn mare glared at me while her dim witted son took drink orders for my companions.

“You didn’t collect when we settled accounts earlier.” She told me icily. “Fifty caps.”

“Free.” I said to her. “And now.”

“No.” She hissed. “100 caps.”

“What’s the hold up?” Railright asked, taking the bar stool to my right and putting a hoof on my hind leg.

“Oh, nothing.” I told him sweetly with a wink. “Miss Brandy here was just going to get my things. Silly me, I left some of my stuff here earlier and forgot it.” Brandy gritted her teeth.

“Mighty kind a’ yeh, Miss Brandy.” Railright said, moving his hoof to give my flank a light pat. “Takin’ care o’ our new pegasus friend here and holdin’ on to her stuff like that.” He smiled and I batted my eyelashes at him. “Well, don’t let me keep yeh.” Brandy looked between me and the mayor, there was a tick in her face that looked like she was about to have an aneurism and if she did… it couldn’t happen to a nicer bit… mare. The unicorn dumped a bag onto the counter that held my measly goods. I thanked her with a smile.

“Oh, hey, is that Candi dancing?” I asked, distracting Railright, who got up to see. Bucks, honestly folks. As soon as he left I grabbed Brandy with a wing and pulled her in close, muzzle to muzzle. “Pays to have friends, huh bitch?” I asked with enough venom to outdo a radscorpion.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.” Brandy replied, still gritting her teeth. I rubbed her mane with my other wing and gave her a huge smile.

“Wouldn’t want these fine folks to hear you saying that now would you? Might hurt your business, might make me leave and take my caps with me.” I replied. She looked at me, breathing heavily, face still ticking, but in the end I think she either saw reason or just realized that she’d lost this round.

“Welcome to Brandy’s, what can ah get yeh?” She asked with enough forced pleasantness for a greeter at a Grand Galloping Gala.

“First, my friends, their drinks are on me.” I told her, releasing the mare from my wing. I dropped the 250 cap bag from the Hellhound bounty on the bar.

“And second?” Brandy asked.

“Whiskey.” I told her with the enthusiasm of a filly let out of chores to go play. “Whiskey.”

Experience gained. 25% to level 3.

6. Whiskey Blues

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The prisoners were lined up, bound and gagged, many wailing incoherently past the cloths or rags shoved roughly into their mouths. Some struggled against their bonds. Others seemed resigned to their fate, as though they not only expected it to happen, but demanded that it did, that it must be so… almost as if they would be gravely affronted and tremendously disappointed had it not ended like this. Or, maybe I was only trying to justify what I was seeing, trying to put it into some sort of context that would force it to make sense, that would keep me from going insane… trying, desperately, miserably to remove the blame from myself for what I knew I was supposed to do. What I HAD to do. There was a pounding in my ears, in my skull, that had nothing to do with the thunder accompanying the driving rain of the dark kissed evening. I couldn’t refuse, it had to be done. It was the only way, the entire plan was put at risk, the magnum opus, the last true legacy of… him. This was the most important thing I would ever do, ever accomplish, the most important thing in the world. I put the gun to the prisoner’s head, wing trembling. NO! I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t. I refused… I… was falling, hurtling downward from the sky. Darkness, another dream, a bad one… damn you whiskey. Half the reason I drink you is to keep the nightmares away.

6. Whiskey Blues

‘To alcohol, the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems…’

You know, over the course of the last few days, or had it been weeks now? I’ll say days since I only count periods of consciousness… (please insert joke about sobriety here) ever since waking up on that wretched hillside, scared, near death and utterly alone, I’d come to figure or maybe realize something. And, of course I had no idea if I’d ever realized it before with the whole brain damage no memory issue, but it seemed important. So what had I learned you might ask? I’m sure you want to know… and even if you don’t I’m going to tell you anyway. I’d come to understand this: ponies just don’t seem to learn, (is that hypocritical or oxymoronical?) don’t really change. And I know it’s not just me either. I’m only a fairly obvious example. Perhaps, it would be appropriate to say that we never learn… never change. Maybe we just can’t.

I don’t know if it’s insanity, sheer stupidity or something else altogether. But it must affect the other species in similar ways to us. I didn’t know much about Buffaloes, Goats or Donkeys but the gryphons, who fought as mercenaries, not truly taking a side, loyal to contracts and cash only… were just as dead when the end came, what did all their money and martial skills do for them when the heavens were rent apart and the sky consumed in fire? Then there were the Minotaurs, calling themselves children of Discord and fighting a proxy war of brush ups, skirmishes and conflicts along the far southern Caledonian border. The Zebras had shared their megaspell technology with them and the big cows killed themselves and so many others along with them. They got their discord alright, in the mega-tonnage range. And there were our great enemies, the zebras… the zebras who sent hundreds of thousands to their death during the war and initiated the apocalypse, the species whose final death toll could only be listed as countless. And, lastly, not to be forgotten… us. Ponies. We’d developed the megaspells had we not? We began the rapid industrialization that brought technology, magic and arcane synthesis to the point where it could kill us all, with no regard for the consequences. The zebras hit the button that began the ending of the world, a button that we ourselves had built. And we finished it with our own arsenal, but it was we who first started it too, gave the Zebras the keys to our own destruction, to the death of Equestria and all the earth along with it. Be all our sins remembered.

Why am I thinking about all this? What is the point of this intro… duction… inspection… introspection and self reflection? Why is it coming up right now? Well, that would be because I did it again. Didn’t I just say that we never learn? My head… is killing me right now and I have absolutely no idea where I am. Damn you, whiskey! Damn you to… oh, who am I kidding; this is probably going to keep happening, again and again, isn’t it? This has happened before and I was pretty… nay… absolutely sure it would happen again. Buck my luck, huh?

Okay, first thing’s first, where in Dash’s deadly dick hating daring do was I? I opened my eyes and the world spun. Oh, great, feel like throwing up, not this again. Eyes closed. Some nice slow, steady breathing, deep breaths… trying to think about where I am and… extremely painful headache, yup, must have been the demon liquor, or I’d smacked my face into the bar again, really hard… like a lot of times. Uggh… right now, I kind of almost wished that the damn explosive collar that Brandy had put on me like the world’s most dangerous necklace would just go off and end the misery and pain, but, again… my luck. Speaking of explosive collars I felt tentatively at my neck with a wing and goddess damned mother bucking son of a zebra whore stick a unicorn’s horn up my ass. I was still wearing the thing. Desire to cry from being in the depths of despair now rising to wailing levels.

What had I done last night? Other than the obvious of course, which was drink myself into oblivion… and probably make an ass of myself to boot. But, if I didn’t do it, somepony else would. So this way, I was beating them to it and making myself look the foal on my own terms… which was hopefully better than looking the foal on someone else’s terms. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just trying to delay the need to open my eyes and prolong the time before I had to get up. At least I was moderately comfortable. Go back to sleep maybe? No. I needed to pee… and eat, preferably in that order. Oh wow, did I need to use the mare’s room. Holy cud chewing cows how much had I drank last night?

Okay, you can do this. Time to open an eye… whatever your name is. Where was my mental checklist? Did I need to add ‘get a damn name’ to it or had I already tacked that on? Who knows? Alright, trying real hard… and… my right eye opened (to a slit like the eye of a cat just barely awoken from a nap, who peers around for a few seconds before deciding that returning to sleep is the best option). And I still wasn’t even entirely sure what a cat was. My eye closed. Damn it! I opened it again and the blurry world around me slowly came into focus. It was dark, so dark that all I could make out was, well, nothing much really. But I was sure as hay thankful that it wasn’t bright and loud, had it been… shots would be fired.

Vision blurry, hangover raging, I opened my other eye, feeling a twitch to it. Oh, not this again. I thought that had stopped with the whole ‘let’s put your head back together while you’re unconscious’ phase. I rubbed at it with a wing and the twitch went away. Okay, darkness, a single line of light at ground level and one at barrel… torso… body… height. So, a door and a window. What was it that the Mysterious Stallion had said? Okily dokily? No. Something along those lines though. And I was on a bed. Yay! Happy, happy fun times. I was starting to think my sleep life would be medical cots, hillsides, alleyways and the floors of businesses forever. I desperately fought the urge to bounce up and down on the bed. Because maybe, just maybe, I was starting to figure out how bad that would be for me, considering the state I was in.

Very carefully and (just as importantly) very slowly, I raised myself up and planted my hooves on the floor. From the sound they made I would guess I was not on the ground level of wherever I was… and from the wobble of them I figured I was also in need of water and some kind of hangover or drunkenness curing spell. Where’s the damn unicorns when you need them? One hoof in front of the other. One hoof in front of the other. Using my wings to support me by leaning them against objects I couldn’t see, I made my way to what was probably a window. I may have tripped en route… a few times, and wobbled a bit more, but that’s not necessary to go into now (or ever) is it?

I reached the window and pressed myself against it, feeling the cool solid surety of a mostly sturdy wall. Good wall, good. I was a bit wary of anything resembling a ground or floor after the whole burrowing situation so I tried to take comfort in things other than what I was walking on. Opening the window wasn’t working though, probably because I was trying to use my wings. Damn wings, why won’t you hurry up and start working properly? Don’t make me… do what? What could I do against them? I guess I could replace them with tech, be a steam powered pony for real, maybe even install lasers, and really sharp blades and rockets and … no. No, not happening. I gave up on using my wings and with the utmost of care set my able forehooves to the task. Thinking back, I could have just opened the blackout cover instead of the window itself. However, it was a good thing, in this case, that I was stupid, or… er… not thinking right. The window shot upwards, bathing me in horrible blinding bright light and with great aplomb my head lurched forward into air as I spewed up enough awful, burning tasting vomit from my stomach to paint a quaint little cottage. I will never drink again. Ugh, here comes more.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” There was a startled yell from down below, coinciding rather unsettlingly with the sound of the impact splashes. Uh oh. I burped and wretched a little but nothing more came out or up or down.

“Sorry.” I apologized miserably and collapsed against the window frame. The disgruntled shouting continued below but I paid it no heed. It was kind of funny, so long as I wasn’t puking on me. And, come to think, I’d been covered in some pretty nasty stuff as of late. So whoever this pony was, they shouldn’t complain, but try walking a mile in my horse shoes instead. The yelling faded and I glanced at the room around me. It looked like a room. Sorry, I know I’m really bad at this, descripting… descriptions… of things. It was small but not too cramped, and old, with some obviously futile attempts having been made to dress the place up with wooden accents and badly knitted doilies. Also, there were empty liquor bottles… and drugs… and cigarette butts everywhere. What little gear I possessed was flung about the place haphazardly, no, not exactly. It looked as if I’d discarded it with great hurry and enthusiasm between the door and the bed. Speaking of which… thinking of which? The bed was a tangled mess of low quality sheets, blankets and pillows, patched, ragged and worn. And oh… hmmm, stains, fresh looking, could only be one thing and definitely from a stallion. Well, no wonder I felt sore but in a good way… and content, satisfied. Yush! Somepony, (me, obviously) had gotten lucky last night. Now to notch my belt… and I didn’t even have a belt. Notch my battle-saddle? Didn’t have one of those either. If only I could remember the previous night. It’s not nearly as much fun to know that you’ve had sex if you can’t recall anything about it. Still somewhat fun though. I started humming. Happily, if still not too sure hoofedly, I made my way about the room, trying not to move my head too much as I packed my stuff away and gave an appreciative nod to the bed. Apparently, I knew what the stallions liked… and it was me. Self esteem in the clouds and the humming continues.

Within a few minutes I’d gathered all my things, put them on, opened the door, and warily made my way down an unfamiliar hallway toward a set of stairs leading downward. Wouldn’t you know it? I was in the bar still. They had upstairs rooms for rent... I guess, and one miss ‘name unknown’ mare, thinking ahead, had reserved one for the night. At least, this was what my minimal and not very effective reasoning abilities told me. Cause I was just a beacon of logic and rational thought in the wasteland… Hey, why are you laughing, damn it!?

The place was empty but for Whiskey, who, if I remembered correctly, had the early shift so that Apple Cu… Brandy could sleep in. The buck seemed different. He looked… less… ‘I’m too dumb to not be happy’ and more sure hoofed, alert. I considered trying to sneak past him. While packing I noticed that my bags of bottle caps (that was so getting added to the checklist by the way, ‘why in Celestia’s molestin’ mane did everypony use caps for currency?’) were quite a bit lighter than they had been the day before and, not wanting them to get lighter still by way of me having to pay for damages incurred I thought of - CREAK - … mother fuck… I stepped on something that had to be groaning with the passage of years and poor care, not with the weight of a slightly heavy mare.

“Good morning.” I said, trying to sound brisk, but coming out more as disappointed and guilty. The buck was cleaning off the tops of beaten up and scratched old tables.

“Afternoon.” Whiskey replied, turning to me with a nod and a smile. Boy, did he get less stupid of a sudden or had I fell from the idiot tree and hit a few branches on the way down? And… wait… afternoon? How long had I- “Yeh been sleeping for ten hours or so.” Well, that answers that question before it was asked. “Took off upstairs with some young caravan guard ‘bout three in the mornin’ or so.” And there’s another one. Caravan guard… caravan guard, not too big of a buck but with an attitude large enough for a buffalo… drugs… something about tapping… double tapping… being a miss gnome… missed no more… misnomer? Because we went more than twice, wasn’t that it? Wow, I really need to quit drinking… no, screw that, drink less… eh, we’ll see about that. I know what to do, alternate alcohol with water and get somepony to record what I’d been doing for future viewing. Crap. That would probably violate half a dozen obscenity laws. No, what was I thinking? This was after Armageddon, no pony cared, and there was probably no way left to record anything anyway. Uh, where was I? “Finally stopped makin’ an awful racket ‘bout two hours after that.” Blushing… was I blushing? And… proud at the same time? Speaking of which, it was probably time for me to just come clean about the bed and settle up for any debts.

“Yeah, on that subject, payment... reimbursement... to you.” I said, not quite wanting to look the young stallion in the eye. “You should probably… change the sheets… blankets… pillows… the whole bedding thing. Room clean… flamethrower and Abronco… tactical megaspell stike.” Whiskey gave me a flat look that I previously would not have thought him capable of. “What?” I asked. The stare continued. “Cum stains.” And there we go. The staring ends. The buck sighed and shook his head. “What? They’re the caravan guard’s fault, not mine… mostly.”

“I ain’t gonna charge yeh fer that… or fer stayin’ late. Mother would have d-” What? Did he just call that bitch mother instead of momma? And I totally didn’t pay attention to the last part of what he was saying. Was there a bathroom around here? Or a quiet out of the way alley, conveniently on the other side of a door hereabouts?

“Are you… okay?” I asked, wondering if I’d gone to some weird bizarro alternate post apocalyptic Equestria.

“Ah’m fine, thank yeh.” Whiskey answered then stopped, letting the rag he’d been using to wipe a table slip from his magic. “No, yeh know what? Ah’m better than fine.” There was vindictiveness and strength to his voice that was actually quite… cough, ahem, was going to say attractive but I think two idiots probably shouldn’t mix, foals would be dumb as rocks and all that. “Mother left last night.” Left what?

“What did she leave?” I inquired, still counting my feathers that I had the luck to not get billed beyond what I must have already paid. Trying not to cross my hooves, have to pee, have to pee, really badly.

“Town.” Whiskey replied quietly, eyes focused on some point beyond the doors. “Just up and left in the middle of the night, not a word… disappeared.”

“I was in my room the whole time.” I gave as an alibi, hoping that the caravan buck from the previous night could verify that for me. And… crap. I wasn’t supposed to say that was I? It just made me sound guilty. And I had to pee, that wasn’t a guilty sign was it?

“Ah know yeh were.” Whiskey conceded, not looking my way but giving a hard glare at his rag. “Noises, remember? By the sound o’ the voice, pretty obvious yeh were there… and what yeh were up to.” Blushing again, and smiling, fighting the urge to hum. “Just…” He trailed off. “Ah don’t know. Wanna drink?” The buck asked, as if trying to take refuge in the familiarity of being a bartender.

“Uh…” Yes please. Yes. “No.” YES! YES! YES, DAMN IT! “Thanks.” Arrggh, what was wrong with me? All the beautiful bottles glared at me accusingly. “I kind of have to pee, like, really bad right now.” I told him, edging my way toward the door. I didn’t think I’d be able to hold it in much longer. “Is there a place to-”

“Out and to yer left, three cars down, can’t miss it, smells like an outhouse.” Whiskey answered, taking the rag in his hoof and scrubbing so hard I thought he might wear right through the table. Oh thank you sweet merciful mare’s room. And of course I would probably have to pinch my muzzle with a wing when I went in there.

“Okay, thanks, bye.” I said, turning back around and rushing for the exit.

“There’s a stallion as wants to talk to yeh.” The bar tender… I guess bar owner now, said.

“Was it the buck I was with last night?” I asked; one hoof on the door, ready to swing it open.

“Nope it wa-”

“Then it can wait.” I told him and threw myself outside, right into a disheveled, disgruntled looking pony that looked like he’d just gotten caught in a rain storm. The two of us tumbled over onto the ground. Oh, thanks be to the Goddesses that I hadn’t landed in mud again. I disentangled myself from the other pony, a Unicorn buck, and dusted myself off, reorienting toward where Whiskey said the restrooms were.

“Sorry.” I said, skirting around the other pony as he tried to get himself off the ground. And what the fuck was that smell? It smelled like… like vomit. Oh shit.

“Hey!” The buck roared as he got back on his hooves. “Are you the bitch that threw up o-”

“Oh shit. Gotta go.” I ran off as fast as I possibly could; doing my best to ignore the horrible dizzying sensation that accompanied a hung over gallop as I left the poor unfortunate puke reeking soul behind. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. I had to get to the bathroom, I chanted in my head. His shouts followed me, fading as I reached the crudely painted sign depicting a mare on the side of a train car. Whew, just in time.

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I spent the later part of the afternoon sitting on a ramshackle corrugated metal roof, part of a shack that had been bolted onto one of the train cars, a double decker. It was high enough up that I could see past the walls, to the absorbing sights of the absolutely boring wastes outside of New Appleloosa. Nopony had bothered me in quite some time, though a few gave some really weird looks after I first emerged from the bathroom. Some of the sounds of relief I made while in there must have bordered on orgasmic, cause I was given a wide berth. I had gone to Ditzy’s place at first but the mare wasn’t in, ‘out for the moment’ according to a sign on her door, ‘delivering supplies to some weird Unicorn a ways north’ by Railright’s reckoning.

Ah yes, the wasteland. There seemed to be nothing going on. A couple ponies straggled into town individually, looking much the worse for wear. There was a burst or two of gunfire in the far distance and heavy cloud cover. Yup, just your typical average day in the post apocalypse. With Ditzy gone, I’d bought a pack of cigarettes off of Mistletoe, who still didn’t seem too happy with me, and climbed up here to think on things for a while (and avoid confronting the vomit buck, which meant going hungry since I couldn’t return to the bar to get something to eat). And you better not be laughing at the thought of me thinking. Thought of thinking. Thought of thinking. Boy was that an odd thing to think about. Stop that!

Urghh. I shook my head, feeling the lack of mane over my surgery scar. Had it been luck that the shot hadn’t pulped my head like a deliciously ripe melon? Was it me fighting back? Had my assailant hesitated? Fat chance of that last one happening in this day and age. Should I follow whoever it was that put a bullet in my brain? I felt like I should, like it was the thing to do, vengeance and all that. But, honestly, I almost regretted the whole using of town’s ponies to force Brandy to give me back my stuff. So, I had no idea how well I’d do at killing someone. Had I done it before? That dream, that horrible nightmare. If it was real I’d refused to murder other ponies with something big... terribly important at stake. Then again, it was probably just a stupid dream, a combination of too much alcohol and all the crap I’d been through recently. I sincerely hoped my brain wasn’t making up memories, that would be bad… right?

Oh well. I stood and stretched atop my perch, extending my wings and giving them a short workout, by which I mean a lot of fluttering and very little else. Soon the sun would descend to the point that I could see it without being obstructed by cloud. But, it wasn’t really the sight of it that fascinated me. It was the feeling. That warm heat that radiated outward and remained bright against closed eyelids, there was something about it. It was tantalizingly familiar. It felt like… home. A home I didn’t remember. Great, just great. So, I could charge off into the wild blue yonder (which did sound quite like me) and pursue some bad pony across the breadth of Equestria (which didn’t particularly sound like me as I get bored very easily and distracte… oh, shiny reflections on the metal roof).

The problem with this tracking and chasing and shenanigans was that I had absolutely no idea who had shot me… or why. Heck, I didn’t even know who I was. I didn’t have any clues except a white hair (that I was oh so glad wasn’t mine), a fake Stable suit and a hole in the head where my memories should be. Where me should be. There was nothing. I wanted answers but there was nowhere to look, except at the bottom of a glass… or ten. I had money. I had a few ponies whose company I enjoyed. What was I supposed to do now? What could I do now? I smoked what must have been the tenth cigarette since ascending to my spot on high and remained standing as the sun finally began to set. I looked out across the wastes, the abyss of my future, pondering a while as darkness crept over the land. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who I was. But I did know one thing. I knew what I could do.

I could drink. And with that, I left my lofty abode and descended back into the dusk lit town, wandering inexplicably in the direction of the bar.

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Whiskey’s place, as I might as well now call it, had its share of patrons, though nothing like the night before when I’d dragged seemingly half the Goddess damned town in with me. If only I could find out what happened to the buck I’d spent the night with. I could indistinctly recall him saying something about his caravan heading out and him being head over flank at the thought of having a Pegasus mare flank over head. Hehehehe.

Luckily, the buck of really bad timing, who’d caught what must have been a bucketful of my booze riddled regrets, was not present in the bar. That certainly made things easier. I sat at my own table, alone, brewing in my thoughts. Any pony with aspirations toward a ride kept their distance, which I was half glad and half sad about. Apparently I looked like I did not want to be fucked with, which didn’t mean that I also didn’t want to be fucked, but, there you have it folks. I nursed my fifth scotch, second rate if ever I knew what I was talking about (which, to be fair, was seldom), but I knew what I was drinking about, and the stuff was overpriced but the peaty aroma and pretty golden hue suited me just fine. It made me think of times long ago, days gone by that I couldn’t remember. I snorted, pawing the ground with a hoof and knocked back the remainder of my drink. My second tall order of water sat untouched on the table. It was going to be a long night, a very long drunken night. I hissed from the heat of the alcohol and slammed the depressingly empty glass down in front of me.

“Careful, you’ll damage the table.” A deep voice said from somewhere nearby, sardonic and weary, and maybe a little mischievous.

“If I wanted your opinion, I’d give it to you.” I growled, not even bothering to look for the speaker. There was a brief chuckle in reply.

“I believe I owe you this.” A beige hoof set a carefully balanced glass of what looked deliciously… I mean suspiciously, like whiskey. I turned around and saw the Mysterious Stallion, still in his long coat, and those stupid sunglasses, dark brown mane in much better condition than mine. “Nine more after this, correct?” He asked with a smile.

“You!” I rasped, upending my chair and bumping into the table. The smile on his muzzle slowly disappeared. “You.” I pointed a wing at him accusingly, eyes wavering between asshole and alcohol. “I…”

“Yes?” He asked, tilting his head.

“You.” I couldn’t find words to describe what I wanted to say. I diverted a wing to the whiskey, downed it all in one gulp, grimaced, sputtered, threw the glass aside and collapsed against him in a teary hug. Now, I’d like to say that I kept my composure, or kicked his ass, but in fact, I sobbed and shook and cried, right there in the middle of the bar, not giving one damn or two hasty morning shits about what other ponies saw. The buck sighed and put a hoof on my crest, patting gently. I don’t… I don’t even know… what… why? Who the fuck was I? Who was I supposed to be? Now, don’t think that I blubbered, or wailed, or whined, or asked all these deep philosophical questions as to the nature of being as I cried, shivering and shaking, nope, did not do that, and if you think different… then you’d be right and I would have to hate you… or hurt you, till you remembered things my way.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you settled down.” He said quietly, somehow oblivious to the tears soaking his duster. He called out to the bartender come owner. “Whiskey, we’re going to need drinks, a lot of drinks.” And he helped me back to my spot at the table, using his teeth to pull a kerchief from one of his pockets and giving it to me.

We sat there for a while, him being all understanding and whatnot while I vented and eventually calmed down, and oh yes, we were drinking, a lot. I kept hoping that the further in we got, and the more sloshed I became that he would be more appealing, more attractive, but, sadly, it was not to be. He remained the same, undersized but otherwise average looking buck with sunglasses. My urges to kiss him, or get him to kiss me died down as I regained control of myself and muddied up my mind, pushing away all the questions and holes and gaps that otherwise bothered me with those wonderfully helpful intoxicants.

“So,” I said, slurring just a little (maybe more than a little), cutting to the chase now that the burning courage of numerous tasty alcohols was flooding my system. This wasn’t going to be bad for my recovery was it? Meh, it was too late to worry about that now. “Why did you leave me on that hill and under that dog… to die?” I squinted at him and tried to clear the two overlapping glasses of bourbon from my vision. I shook my head. Okay, good, only one again, for now.

“What makes you think that?” He asked, taking a break from what was probably his sixth beer, four empty shot glasses and a half empty bottle of cognac on the table in front of him. He was doing well, but not as well as me. Lurrhp. Oops, threw up in my mouth a little bit, better wash it down with some more, you guessed it, bourbon. Also, what the flying feathered fuck?

“You… left me… to die. I saw you do it. You know you did it.” I pointed one wing at him again and jabbed the other at the table for emphasis.

“No, I understand that I left you, but what makes you think that I left you to die?” He asked back, innocently. Arrgh, how could a pony sound so… so… not guilty but still make me want to put a hoof through his face at the same time?

“You could have saved me, could have… helped me. Instead you walked off like a dumb ass foal, leaving me, in sit… situ… uh…”

“Situations?” The stallion offered helpfully.

“Exactly, situmocations where I could have died. You left me. To. Die.” I spat and almost lost my glass of bourbon. Oh no, I could feel more crying coming on, hopefully I could hold it in.

“No, my silly drunken little pony.” He told me warmly, with a smile so sincere and earnest I almost started believing him. “I didn’t leave you to die. I left so that you could live.” What?

“You… what… that don’t make no… sense.” I coughed and lit a cigarette, deciding to take a nice long five minute break from my drink.

“Both times, I helped you out of the most dire of circumstances, yes, but then, I gave you the tools you needed to get out alive.” He leaned back and stretched, belching. “All you had to do was use them, and you did. You proved that you had the will to survive, the desire to live, you fought, refused to surrender or give in.” He took a swig from the bottle and lit a cigarette of his own, not as easily as I had though, it pays to have wings… sucker. “I gave you the chance, I wanted to see if you could live, and you did.” That made some kind of weird stupid fucked up crazy pony sense that felt like he just said whatever came out of his ass and got lodged in his tail hairs but I wasn’t going to argue since there were three of him now. I was outnumbered.

“And now here I am.” I finished, exhaling smoke. His smile stayed.

“And here you are.” The buck affirmed pleasantly.

“So, what’s next?” I asked, a little woozy, the cigarette was not helping very much. Maybe I should’ve drank less, or consumed more water.

“I’d think that would be entirely up to you, would it not?” He replied, motioning to Whiskey for another beer. Slow… poke… he needed to… ketchup… nice warm and cozy blanket with a big fluffy pillow on the side… where was I hungry? “There’s always caravans moving through, you could sign up as a guard or start one yourself with the capitol from your recent little adventure.” Yeah, I could be a whiskey caravaneer and drink all my product while on the road, great thinking. I stared at him obliquely, head tilting involuntarily, rolling a wing to encourage him to continue. “Gangs out in the Hoof, constantly fighting, always looking for new talent. Small little frontier towns, like this one, only further out, more isolated, struggling everyday to survive. You could head to one of those and plant crops, live, better the place… help it grow, thrive.”

“Somehow, I jus’ can’t pitcher myself as a gardner.” I said, looking at my glass of bourbon. It was empty. How did that happen? I… whoops, I think I was supposed to be drinking water, wrong glass. Totally accidental, that was… was… was… where was I?

“That’s too bad.” The stallion said, melon… collies… melancholy in his words, in the timber of his voice. TIMBER! Trees fall down. “I think you might like having a garden, an orchard even, growing crops, tilling the soil, raising animals… making moonshine.” Well, that last bit was more than a bit appealing, but, regardless, I blew a raspberry at him for the suggestion in its entirety. Could you imagine me growing stuff? All plants would die. And it would be sooooo boring.

“There’s Tenpony Tower in Manehattan, a bastion of fine social etiquette and pretentiousness in the otherwise uncivilized wasteland.” He took on a mocking, haughty tone that for some reason I equated to upper class snobs. “There’s plenty to do in the city as well, scavenge, explore, fight manticores.” Fight what? “Or you could head south from Manehattan, to Baltimare, treasures and untold riches await there, allegedly, some nonsense about a war era casino on a pony made island.” That all sounded really complicated to me. I wasn’t going to remember half of this shit in the morning… or any of it really. “They’re always looking for security at Ten Pony though.” He mused, perhaps thinking aloud, talking to himself. “You could go freelance, be a P.I. for the hoity toity and all that.”

“What in blazes is a pee eye?” I questioned, fearing the worst. What the hay? Somehow I had a new glass of something… alcohol. Water still untouched.

“A private investigator, silly.” He gave a laugh. “Though I guess you’d be a Pegasus investigator.” I would? Were there other Pegasi living in this tower? “But that might be a little boring for you. Maybe you could set up a ranch out west, near New Pegas, hunt in the mountains, herd Brahmin. Or you could travel south, to Caledonia, join one of the gangs that runs Dise, do some gambling, some ponies, fight minotaurs.” What the fuck… fuck… fuck… funny words… was a Brom min and did I even know how to gamble? “Slavers out Fillydelphia way, major operation gearing up, strange sights in the skies some folks say, you could help or hinder. Lots of caps in that, either way.”

“Caps.” I snorted and alcohol went up and out of my nose. Ouch, oh that hurts, not good. The stallion was laughing at me, finishing off his cognac with a flourish. “What,” I breathed hoarsely, “is the deal… with caps?”

“Well, they’re these round metal objects, come off the top of bottles an-”

“Thanks… a lot… asshole.” I replied, gulping water and rubbing my wings on my muzzle. Never again allow alcohol in your sinuses stupid mare, never again.

“War time thing, ponies started collecting them, something about a grand prize for rare caps or ones with a special mark on them, a star I think it was. It’s probably all minotaur shit, just a rumor some pony started that got out of hand and grew and grew. Though, there was, I believe, some kind of initiative, save caps, save Equestria, a bit of nonsense about recycling the metal from the caps for use in supporting the war effort.” The stallion finally paused for breath. He sounded… enthusiastic. And I had an answer, of sorts, kind of, as good as I would get and enough to sate me for now. But, how did he know all that?

“Wow, how… now… do you know all that… stuff… what are you…” I tried to look at him more closely and at least one of the other stallions that was him disappeared. From a distance he seemed of indie… determine… termites… terminate… indeterminate age. From close up, he seemed old, late thirties maybe, but from really close up, with me leaning across the table, one eye now closed, he definitely looked like he was in his early thirties or maybe even his late twenties. “What are you, like, five years older than me?”

“Something like that.” He answered cagily. Awww… he was embarrassed to tell me his age. I thought only mares got that way. Speaking of which, I’m 19 and don’t you dare forget it. “And, while I could tell you that ‘with age comes wisdom’ I don’t think you’d believe me, or care.” The buck added with a shrug.

“And you’d be right.” I told him with a grin. How come other ponies weren’t paying attention to me? Why wasn’t the bar filled with suitors? Nice pretty ponies in pretty suits dressed up and dancing. Where’s my drink? Oh, there it is… and empty again, funny how that happens. Maybe I should stop or slow down or… Whiskey plunked four shots of whiskey that he’d been levitating with his magic… or I could keep drinkin’ right? Right. Sounds like a… why can’t my eyes focus on anything… plan… thing. Whiskey and whiskey. I started giggling and the mysterious stallion gave me a weird look, probably, because he was wearing shades, couldn’t tell. Could. Not. Tell. Shades in the shade, shady shade. I want sunglasses, damn it!

“Back to our previous subject,” the stallion interjected into my awesome thoughts… thoughts of awesome. “You could hunt for who you are, unravel the mysteries of your past. Travel the plains and savannahs of the zebra lands or head north, to the ruins of the Crystal Empire.” His voice changed to a slur that I didn’t think matched being drunk, almost as if it were an accent. “Trudge through the cold and snow, but I hear it’s a hell of a sunset up there.” Yeah, really worth it to travel to the freezing ass north just for a sunset, sure, that would happen.

“I’ll think of past… um… I’ll... pass?” I told him, not sure why my words weren’t coming out right.

“Maybe you want the kind of adventure where you throw together a massive gambit, playing the sides of a war, Celestia knows there’s enough fighting still going on… and cause empires to rise and fall based off of your decisions. Or, I guess, in the end, you might as well just chase after whoever shot you upside the head, you know. And justice for all. Whatever you want to do.” Whatever I want to do? Whoever I want to do… hehehe. What were we talking about? Screw it, I had a question that I wanted answered.

“So… you know…” I started to talk but my muzzle felt numb, like my tongue was way too big for my mouth and I had to work really hard not to chomp on it. “So…” I tried again, only to teeter precious… patio furniture… carry ussssssss… ah fuck it, I was teetering dangerously. Cause I’m dangerous, a steam powered bad ass po knee? I think I might have had too much to drink, just a little too much. But, I had two shots of whiskey in front of me, how could I not drink them, it would be rude, and I pride myself on my etiquette… okay, even I don’t believe that excuse.

“So… what?” My drinking companion asked, belching again and starting to sway where he sat.

“So, you know you’re swayin’ right?” I asked, trying to remember what I had been going to say.

“Uh… one of us, pretty sure it isn’t me.” He replied with a hint of a smile.

“Huh… what?” Man, I need to speech… make talk better. Words. Where did my words go? If that jerk brain of mine stole them I… the buck reached out a hoof and put it against my shoulder. “Heh, you stopped sway wobbling!” I exclaimed happily.

“Yes, imagine my surprise at how that works.” He replied flatly and took his hoof away, only for me to fall right over.

“Sorry, sorry, jus’ not payin’ tension.” I said with a wave of my wings as I unsteadily got myself off the floor. Oh, was that a peanut… no, on closer inspection it was a peanut shaped rock. Darn. Stupid… luck… stuff. “So, you know… history and junk and junk and yeah?

“Some.” The stallion answered, trying hard to hide a smile. What did he have to smile about?

“This town, and… and Ponyville, wrong… shouldn’t it be… on… the other side of the bridge… no, mountain… no, forest, Everfree forest, shouldn’t Ponyville be on spinning lights… west of the forest?”

“More tales of long ago.” The beige trench coat sitting across from me said quiet-shush-ly but bittenly… bitterly. “Maybe you should ask the ghoul for those answers.” Goal? What goal? Ghoul? Did he mean Ditzy?

“If you’re talkin’ about Ditzy Doo, she’s the nicest and most niciest of nice ponies that I’ve run over since I fell into this town.” I told the sunglasses with no uncertainty. And she’s my friend and she doesn’t leave me in dangerous places to... live.” I added for good measure. The brownish blur across the low darker brownish table blur gave a mirthless laugh.

“Your friend.” The voice was ice and stone. “And, what do you really know about her? Did you know that ghouls eventually, whether after a short time or a long time, go feral, and that she’s been one for one hundred and ninety three years? How about who her friends were, before the war?” The blur resolved itself into the image of the Mysterious Stallion as he leaned forward to look me in the eyes. “Hmm? Have you asked yourself, since waking up, if you can trust these ponies around you, if you should trust them?”

“But, you told me on the hillside that I should trust them.” I replied. Look at me all logic through drunkenness.

“And whoever said… that you could trust me?” The buck asked with a smile. Okay, really creepy, and I kind of feel like throwing up again.

“Uh…” I really didn’t have an answer for him. I could still make out that smile, despite the rest of his face spinning, like the room around me.

“I…” forced down some vomit that was trying to take the express elevator up from my gullet, “don’t even know who I am, I don’t even know if I can trust me, don’t have anything of who I was.”

“You don’t? Does that mean you left your personal belongings on that hill?” The spinning smile asked coyly. Wait, what?

“I half stuff on the heel?” I asked, moving slightly, from side to side, and rapidly blinking my eyes.

“In a manner of speaking.” He answered. “I suppose the massive amount of drugs I gave you might have interfered with your ability to reason… or see. I’d go back there, if I were you, who knows what you might find?” My companion chuckled. I think if I ever slept with him I’d keep one eye open, and a gun at hoof. I made to stand up. “I wouldn’t go now, you’re a bit… hammered.” He added. “Best wait until morning, or a cheerily post hangover afternoon.”

“I’m having… trouble understanding…” I told him, taking deep breaths, which seemed to help a little with the nausea.

“Ditzy Doo, is more than she appears to be, many ponies are. Don’t trust too easily, it could get you killed.” He lit up a cigarette that looked like a dancing lightning bug to me. “How much did you get for the pelt by the way?”

“What belt?” I asked back. What was he talking about.

“Pelt, the Hellhound pelt. I saw it nailed up on the wall near the main gate. How much did you sell it for? You can usually pull at least eight hundred caps for one that size.” How much did I? I… didn’t sell it.

“I didn’t… Red Rock just… that gin hatin’ zebra fuckin’ cockless bloatsprite shittin’ radscorpion humpin’ son of a bitch!” I tried to stand again, ready to vent my righteous anger, only I keeled over onto the floor. Oh hey, a peanut. Chow time. No, it’s just a stupid rock, shaped like a peanut, damn it. I struggled back up to my spot at the table.

“Exactly, silly. This is the wasteland. Ponies will fuck you over any chance they get if it lets them come out ahead.” He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled. “Did they, for instance, tell you that I visited while you were unconscious?”

“I’m unconscious a lot, which time?” I retorted to the sound of his laughter. I was really drunk, but this conversation was somehow sobering me up slightly with its seriousness. I still felt like puking though.

“After your surgery.” The buck answered.

“No.” I replied, worriedly.

“Of course. And they probably didn’t tell you what I overheard the good doctor telling his delectable little nurse about you either.” Candi? Mmm… Candi. Back on track, back on track.

“Wh-” I began before being rudely interrupted by some random stallion bursting into the bar.

“Fire, raiders out east, between here and Old Appleloosa, attacking homesteaders!” The buck dropped to the floor in a heap, breathing heavily. This was getting way too serious for me. I was supposed to be happy when I drank, not depressed, fearful and paranoid. But worse than how I felt was how the town’s ponies around me reacted. They stared at the intruder and did nothing.

“Are they comin’ this way?” I heard Railright’s voice ask from the crowd of ponies at the bar. “Is the town in danger?”

“No.” The newcomer wheezed.

“Then it’s not our problem. Their trouble’s their own. Nothin’ we could do anyway.” The mayor said loudly to all in the place. What? Seriously, what? What the fuck? If they weren’t going to do something than I w- fell over again. Damn it.

“Leave this to me.” The Mysterious Stallion said quietly, giving what must have been a disgusted look at the other ponies around us.

“You’re going to help them?” I asked, thankful and happy and dizzy.

“If I get there in time. If not, salvage. Caps either way.” He said, knocking back the last of his current bottle of alcohol, when did that get there? That… that wasn’t very reassuring. Alcohol, that’s what I needed right now. “You really should ask Mistletoe though, about what he told Candi. You might find that knowledge interesting. Might find out more about yourself. The buck cracked his neck and headed for the doors. “Show me the way.” He told the recovering stallion who’d come bearing the warning. The other stallion nodded to him, regaining his breath and leading my… guardian… watcher… infuriating acquaintance outside. And you know what, I’d never asked his name.

“Red Rock called you Mister C. What is your name?” I asked, my volume high enough to reach the two bucks at the door.

“Let’s just say it’s a… Mister E, for now.” The mysterious stallion answered smarmily. He couldn’t even tell me a simple thing, not even his damned name.

“I. Hate. You.” I threw back at him.

“Now… perhaps.” He said as he exited, “but I think you’ll change your opinion… ere the end.” And with that he was gone, and I was finished with booze for the night. Which meant I needed a pony to buck, a place to bed and… to talk to Mistletoe. Maybe I could get him to not be such a dick to me anymore. Also, the thought of knowing more about myself was a pretty big draw, enough to fight through the cloudy haze of my drunken stupor and motivate me toward the door. I was tired of the minotaur shit, as the stallion had called it, tired of being treated like a dumb ass, brainless filly.

“Time for some answers ole doc.” I said to nopony in particular as I stumbled and weaved toward the dark of night.

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I banged a few times on the door to Mistletoe’s train car office home, then slumped against it, singing, very softly (loudly) and rather well (incoherently and poorly). It was a few minutes before the grouch made an appearance, opening the door and scowling at me. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was knocking my now defunct boom collar against his house.

“I aint sellin’ yeh no more smokes. Yeh’ll have to wait for Ditzy to get back.” He told me coldly. Ouch, I think he gave me frostbite.

“Not here about cig-a-rettes.” I replied in a sing song voice.

“Well what then?” He asked impatiently.

“Sorry, did I come a callin’ past your bed time, oldy sour puss?” I shot back, not sorry in the least. He glared at me, accusatory, clearly annoyed that I was drunk, judging me… prick. “A little burrr...duh... pony told me that you were keepin’ a secret, a big old secret, about me.” I pointed to myself with my wings, still unsure about trying to stand up again. There was no Candi to cushion my fall and give me a great view this time. Speaking of Candi, there she was, in the doorway, half hidden behind the old Unicorn.

“Yer drunk, don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” My suspected truth withholder told me. And I could smell an object… frustration… obfuscation a mile away. He was hiding something.

“Uh oh.” I said, lurching up and wrapping a hoof around his shoulders, time for some steam powered interrogation. Boy did he look uncomfortable at that. “Somepony’s fibbing. Fibbing, fibbing, fibbing. I can tell that you are hiding something.” I jabbed him with a wing. I think he may have been so surprised that he didn’t even consider using his magic against me.

“Yer crazy.” I don’t like it when other ponies call me that. If I’m crazy then it’s my job to say it, not theirs. “There’s no secr-”

“Come on doc.” I breathed some very high proof breath into his face and drew him in tighter. “You can tell me.” I put my ear to his muzzle. “Shhhh… I won’t tell anypony the secret, I swear.” I was dying to know what this was all about.

“Ah… uh.” He began but stopped when Candi made an adorable squeak. I wondered what else made her squeak. The longer he delayed and tried to lie his way out of this, the more I felt that whatever this secret was, it was important, really fucking important.

“Tell me doc.” I said nicely. “Please.” I was starting to move around, like a dance, that my partner clearly wanted nothing to do with. “Tell me.” We spun around and almost fell down the steps.

“No.” Was the answer Mistle gave as Candi backed further into the darkness of the train car. Oh no, no, no and no. He wasn’t getting away that easily, slippery old goat. He couldn’t escape me.

“Tell me!” I yelled, spinning us faster, pumping my wings, bringing us dangerously close to diving off the steps.

“No!” He yelled right back. There was some strength yet in those old, tar riddled lungs it seemed. “Yer crazy!” Oh, very poor choice of words there doc.

“TELL ME!” I screamed and took us too far, losing my balance. We fell out over the steps, landing in the still present mud that had greeted Candi and I a few days past. The breath was knocked out of me, Mistle groaned and Candi gasped, moving out from the shadows of the car to see if we were hurt. “Tell me. Tell me, tell me, TELL ME!” I shouted, spit flying, lungs burning as I jumped on top of the doctor, shaking him with my forehooves.

“Your hips, pelvis, when I examined you!” The doctor shouted back and I stopped trying to use him as a cocktail shaker.

“Yes, I know I have great hips, but my pelvis? What the hell are you talking about, jack ass?” I yelled, right before he pushed me off of him and sat up, breathing heavily and rubbing his ribs. Candi now at his side.

“Clear signs of trauma, adult adjustment in coordination wit-” He spoke but I cut him off.

“What are you saying? That somepony raped me?” Well, thank heavens that I didn’t remember it and I hoped the bastard was dead, by my hoof but I don’t… I mean h-

“No you idiot, you’ve given birth!” He practically screamed as Candi helped him back onto his hooves. He was shaking, covered in mud and… I’d what?

“I’ve given birth?” I asked him. “But, I don’t…” I was a mother?

“Don’t remember?” He huffed and sat back down, going for a cigarette. “Probably twice.” Oh, the world was spinning, head hurting, not just from the all the alcohol I’d drank.

“But… I… what… the hillside… when… where, my foals, where are they!?” I took him by the shoulders and started shaking the buck again, knocking Candi aside, then releasing the doctor after a few seconds, turning around, looking for the nearest gate. I had foals, I had to go out, I had to find them, had to make sure they were safe. I was stumbling, worse than ever, sweating, foam on my flanks. Babies. I had babies, and I’d just left them. I kept turning, not sure where to go, my vision spiraling. Why hadn’t he told me, why hadn’t anyone told me? I needed to-

I dropped to the ground, throwing up, screaming. Ponies were coming from all directions at last, trying to figure out what the commotion was. Bastards, ass holes, mother fuckers. They knew. They knew didn’t they… and they hadn’t told me? I was going to-

I threw up more, half blind, dragging myself along, in the direction I thought the closest gate might be, but bodies were piling on top of me, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move! Struggling, kicking, crying, yelling, everything around me. I had to find… something hit me in the head… darkness.

Level progress: 25% to level 3.

New Perk Added: Noire Nacht Mare – Level 1 – Horn Charmer - In combat you do an additional 10% damage to male Unicorns. Outside of combat you’ll sometimes have access to unique dialogue options with male Unicorns.

Coming soon: Chapter 7. Motion

7. Motion

View Online

Shapes in the darkness, refusing to become less blurry and resolve themselves into definitive, distinctive beings. Mist and fog and haze… visions moving just beyond the surety of sight… a hoof’s space out of reach. Voices… a chorus of heavenly music, a cacophonous hive of buzzing wasps. A mare and a buck, two foals… talking… making food? Doing something, together, a… family?

“Wake up.” The words weren’t loud but they reverberated through my skull, vibrating and pulsing. “Wake up.” No. If I woke up then I wouldn’t know who these ponies were, wouldn’t figure it out… solve the mystery. I wanted to know. I needed to know! “Wake up.” No!

7. Motion

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

I woke up… damn it. The voices of two foals along with a mare and a buck tumbled about in my mind before growing fainter, fading away. I was losing them, couldn’t hold on, slipping away. Son of a bitch. I sighed with frustration and opened my eyes (with nary a twitch) to a familiar sight. I was looking up at what I definitely recognized to be the ceiling of my old room in Doc Mistletoe’s train car. Great… not this again. I felt tired, worn. The almost inevitable hangover from hell that I was expecting (and dreading) was nowhere to be felt. That was a strange (and unexpected) but certainly pleasant surprise. There was something I was supposed to remember, something important. It had to do with… foals. Foals. FOALS! My foals. I had children. I shot upward and came to a jarring and abrupt halt. Some jackass had chained me down, rather thoroughly.

“Mornin’ child.” A weary rasping voice said from my left. I turned, still struggling against my bonds, ignoring the chafing. I was a mother. I had children, and they were out in the wasteland, with ghouls and Hellhounds and radiation. I needed to find them, keep them safe. Mistletoe was sitting near me, a blanket draped over his piss yellow shoulders. The old buck was unkempt; the few remaining strands of gray and orange that made up his mane were in disarray, frazzled. He seemed weighed down by years (even more so than before) and looked more than a little bit… beaten up. “Yeh were thrashin’ in yer sleep somethin’ fierce… more so than before.” The elderly stallion continued as I strained against my chains. If that bastard thought that bands of metal could hold me down, stop me from finding my children, he was in for a hell of a surprise.

“Foals!” I blared, twisting, trying to gain leverage against my chains and failing miserably in the attempt. “I need to go. I need to find them. I need to…” What did I need to do? What could I do? What was I supposed to do? They were familiar questions to me, reminders of a conversation, now strained to the edge of memory (and possibly slipping toward being forgotten completely) by a fugue of alcohol.

“There’s thin’s yeh need to hear. Explanations.” Mistletoe spoke calmly, quietly. How could he be in such a state? How could he not be screaming with the knowledge of what was going on? There was a rushing roar within my head, demanding that I find my children. I was seething, burning, focused beyond anything I’d before experienced since wakening to my so called life upon the rocky hill.

“No!” I yelled at him, spittle flying. In my exertions my cot was being shaken, my cot… which had (very smartly, apparently) been secured to the floor. “I need to find my foals.”

“Yeh need teh listen.” He said grumpily, turning his muzzle in my direction. The old buck had a hell of a shiner on his right eye. It only served to emphasize the color, the blue of waves flowing beneath sheets of ice in a far northern ocean. Wonder how that knock to the face happened… oh, wait, right. I probably had something to do with that didn’t I?

“Fuck your listening!” I roared back at him. “Let me go right now or I swear to whatever gods or powers you hold in reverence in this shithole wreck of a world, I’ll get free. And when I do, you, or any pony, griffin, zebra, hellhound or dragon that gets in my way is dead.” I finished in a wrathful hiss, it was a bluff, since I clearly was not able to free myself, but I meant it all the same.

“ENOUGH!” The old buck thundered back at me, his voice magically amplified so that it reverberated off the walls in a deafening timber, rattling loose tiny little baby ponies crawling and crying in my head. My struggles ceased instantly. It felt like I was wrapped in the tightest of blankets, unable to move. Mistletoe must have thrown up a magical field around me, holding me down, preventing me from moving. “Candi! Brandy!” Oh no, not her again. I thought she’d left town. I heard a squeak from the doorway and the sound of hoof falls echoing down the hall. Wait did he mean the horn head or the liquor? Probably the liquor… I really hoped it was the liquor. I could hear glass knocking into other glass in the distance. Yush! Okay, so, maybe the good kind of brandy then, after all.

The aged stallion started coughing, a wheeze in his throat. He was gasping for breath, holding a hoof to his chest, muzzle drawn in a grimace of pain. The doc slowly took a cigarette in his magic, (impressing me that he could hold down a pissed off hell-mare and use an additional telekinesis field at the same time) bringing it to his mouth before lighting it.

“Let me go.” I whispered. “Please?” I asked, on the verge of begging. “My children are out there somewhere.” How long had I been out? How much time had passed? The longer it had been, the more difficult it would probably be to find my foals.

“If I unchain yeh, will yeh sit still and listen or will yeh jump up and cause a ruckus?” He questioned, inhaling as if his life depended on it.

“I’ll listen.” I lied. Mistletoe gave me a withering glare.

“No yeh won’t. So, the chains stay on, as a precaution. Now just lie down, cause there’s thin’s yeh need the know.” Why did those words sound like the beginning of a story sent in to Wingboner? I have to tell yeh a few thin’s and yeh’ve got to hear me.” He replied. Damn. The old coot wasn’t falling for the bait. He somehow knew that I wasn’t telling the truth.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, testing my restraints with as much subtlety as possible. They were good quality iron apparently, too strong for me to break, too tight for escape. I suppose that maybe, with a few years time I might be able to chew through the metal but that thought was absurd, even for me.

“Nope.” The buck answered, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. I didn’t have a choice, did I? Well, we’d just see about that. That old geezer didn’t know this young mare as well as he thought he did.

“Now, whe-” He began, clearly not expecting what I was about to do.

“La la la la! Doc is a mean old doody head with his head up his butt and his butt stinks! La la la la… and he smells like mothballs, osteoperosis, dentures and complaining!” I interrupted rudely and loudly, saying the first things that came into my mind. Mistletoe did a double take as if not entirely sure of what was happening.

“Are yeh done?” The buck asked when I ran out of steam and stopped to catch my breath. He tilted his head to better hear the sound of another pony approaching, accompanied by the rattling of a tray.

“I’m done.” I replied cheerfully with as much politeness as I could muster. “But I always have a choice. Just now for instance, I was choosing to not listen to you.” A bewildered and somewhat frightened looking Candi entered the room as I finished speaking, bearing a bottle of (what appeared to be decent quality) brandy and three dusty glasses on an old metal platter. The filly, sexy as ever in her nurse’s outfit, opened the bottle and carefully poured a measure into each glass. “You and me… were not going to… you weren’t ever going to buck… you knew... about my foals.” She stopped in her tracks, poised to deliver the first glass to the doctor. “That’s why you were so nice, leading me on, letting me think that we might…” I trailed off as Candi gave a little tremble before offering Mistletoe some of the brandy. She looked like she wanted to cry and avoided my gaze. It was true then. She had given me hope, been a… friend… because she pitied me. And that made it all the worse. Doc Mistletoe released his magical hold of me but I didn’t feel as if I had the strength or will to lash out at him… or Candi… for now. Just give it time and I’m sure the urge and ability would return.

“When yeh came in,” the buck started speaking, pausing as if to search for words, then taking a drink before continuing. “When they carried yeh in here, drugged up, unconscious, barely alive… I thought I was seein’ a ghost.” He stopped speaking as Candi used a hoof to expertly place my glass of brandy on my barrel where I could just barely reach it with my muzzle. Hopefully, if I tried to take a drink I wouldn’t spill the precious, precious booze all over myself. Urgh… frustration. Being tied up sucked, unless it was for sexy times. And this was not a sexy time. Candi retreated to a corner, holding the last glass between her hooves as though it was her only link to life and sanity. The stallion cleared his throat and carried on.

“I thought yeh were my daughter, and everythin’ seemed the stop… but, I lost her long ago. Then I saw yer wings and… Daisy… her name was. A foundlin’ not much more than a foal when my mate and I saw her… abandoned, starvin’ and layin’ next to the side of some dusty forgotten road near New Pegas.” The old codger stopped speaking to grab the bottle in his magic and refill his now empty glass. “Lasso and me… he… he was an earth pony too, said we couldn’t leave her. We hadn’t been… hadn’t gotten used to… we were raised in a stable yeh see, valued ponies’ lives.” The buck stopped for a few seconds, ruminating on what to say next… or lost in memories of the cloudy days of his youth.

“We kept her and raised her and she became a fine young mare… long ago. Then yeh came into my clinic, lookin’ so much like my little Daisy, and it was thirty years ago all over again. That’s why I’ve been so concerned fer yeh… and so disappointed when yeh started doin’ the thin’s yeh’ve been doin’ since wakin’ up.” He sighed and shook his head while I took a gulp of my brandy, only just remembering that it was there. I’d been paying attention to the old buck’s story, and neglecting my alcohol. There’s a first for everything, I guess. Neglecting alcohol was not something you’d often hear me say or see me do… ever.

“But, that’s all past, and not important anymore.” Doc set down his glass and stared at the wall in front of him, past the wall in front of him, to something far beyond and years before I was born. “Railright was here, with us,” he nodded his head toward the nurse, “when I realized yeh’d given birth before.” He was? Well that was kind of creepy… and maybe just a little bit hot. “And that buck, always in the sunglasses (stupid sunglasses, I thought), had come in as well, talkin’ with the mayor.” Mistletoe took another gulp and didn’t even wince. In his youth the stallion must have been a champ. “Seems yeh’ve got a guardian angel in that one… or a guardian devil, as the case may be. It was just us four… that knew, figured it was better to keep thin’s that way.” Mistletoe spit out his cigarette and ground it into the floor with a hoof as I finished my brandy. It tasted like something, something fruity and delicious. It wasn’t apples but a tangy and summery flavor. So, it hadn’t been the whole town. I hadn’t been a laughing stock… for that reason anyway. The nameless Pegasus mare was not some sad carnival attraction to be pitied, with the occasional peanut tossed her way… my way. It was… good to know that they weren’t all keeping this secret behind my flank. And Ditzy, I was glad that she didn’t know… unless the doctor was lying to me now… fifteen seconds after he’d stopped talking. He was probably waiting for me to say something, but not counting on me being lost in my own mind… as usual.

“You stopped speaking.” I said through the burn of the liquor, wishing really hard that the glass would suddenly and perhaps magically fill itself to the brim. “Is that it?”

“No, yeh daft impatient foal.” The stallion shot back. “The buck that found yeh, like Lasso and I found Daisy, he didn’t know anythin’ about foals. Railright asked, and I asked… and Candi asked.” The buck looked at his pack, considering taking another smoke no doubt, but shook his head and ignored the urge. “He told us everythin’ from when he first heard yeh hollerin’ to when he set yeh off on yer way here. All he saw was evidence of two struggles, the first that probably ended in yer head wound and the second with the ghoul bounty he was trackin’ down. No sign of foals, nothin’ at all… nothin’ but yer gear and blood. And that stallion may not be a good pony, but he is pretty damn good at what he does.”

“My foals weren’t there?” I asked. Where were they? Had I left them somewhere? Had I lost them? Were they still alive? I wanted to cry. I wanted to get the fuck off this cot and go tearing off into the wastes to find them.

“They weren’t. And I don’t trust yer rescuer much, but I don’t think he would lie, not about this, not when he could profit in someway, have you indebted to him by bringin’ yer foals here.” The doctor answered. Candi coughed from her corner as she finished off her glass and the unicorn used his magic to refill all three vessels. So where were they, then? “There’s some in this town, like Brandy… folks are suspicious of yeh ‘bout her disappearance by the way. There’s some in this town as deal in slaves, as yeh well discovered when yeh got that collar round yer neck.” Collar? Crap, I’d entirely forgotten that I had a… mother fucker… I shook my neck and yep… the damn malfunctioning explodey thing was still there.

“That waste roamin’ buck might do so as well, since there’s good money to be made slavin’ but from what I’ve seen and heard… he hates it when somethin’ bad happens to children. If yer foals were near he would have found them, and brought them here, and made sure yeh knew yeh owed him a favor.” Mistletoe’s eyes seemed a little vacant from the liquor or just from being attached to a wandering old mind. “Now, yeh can go out… yeh know, and get yerself killed lookin’ for ‘em, but Celestia only knows where they are and how lon’ it’s been since last yeh were with them.” Fuck. This was going to make things a lot more difficult… wasn’t it? If they weren’t nearby I would have to search far and wide… and I would search far and wide. I’d search to the ends of the goddess damned earth.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I need to find them, take care of them, make sure they’re safe.” I told him with a sureness of purpose and intent that belied the newfound realization of how hopeless and fruitless my search might be, but search I would, until I found them, no matter how long it took. It was a very large wasteland after all and I was just one pony, a steam powered badass pony, but only one pony nonetheless.

“I know how yeh feel.” Mistletoe responded hoarsely and quietly. “But yeh need a plan, yeh need equipment, yeh need friends and information… and yeh need to stay sober for more than two goddess damned minutes so yeh can put all that other stuff together.” He kind of had a point, except for the whole sobriety thing. I sure as hell was not going to go through life sober. That would be too boring and routine and mundane and… non… alcoholy.

“You didn’t tell me, when I first woke up…” I started to say, noticing that Candi was holding her mane in a hoof, using it to dab at her eyes. Was she crying? I was trying really hard not to, and succeeding, mostly. Though, my eyes felt moist.

“Because Railright and I thought yeh’d go harin’ off into danger, lookin’ fer yer kids without any other thought in yer pretty little surgically reconstructed head.” The doctor finished with a harrumph. I… could understand… I think. It didn’t make me any less angry. They had made the wrong choice (despite being right about what I would have tried to do) because it wasn’t their decision to make, it wasn’t their family out there. It wasn’t their children. I had… a responsibility… a duty. They felt like very familiar words now that I thought on them.

“So, now that yeh know more about what’s goin’ on, what would yeh do if I untied yeh?” My surgeon turned captor inquired. ‘Buck you upside the head’ was the first thought that came to mind, not that I would admit that to him.

“Go to the bathroom.” I answered honestly. He frowned and gave a look that said he wanted to slap me in the surgery scar. What? He wanted the truth, and that was pretty darn truthful. “And then…”

“And then.” The doctor reiterated, repeating my words back to me. Damn it this stuff was hard. I didn’t want to think… I wanted to search for my foals and drink. Thinking hurts me, as I’d discovered and several times tested (just to be sure). It was why I’d thereafter tried to avoid doing any thinking at all. Did I just hear the faint echo of somepony laughing at me?

“And then, I’m going to find someplace to sit, in what passes for sunshine around here, and think about what I’m going to do next… how I’m going to find my foals… figure out a plan.” I completed the thought, only straining a little at the effort. I was still exceedingly happy that I was sans hangover today, thanks to the doctor and his delicious… I mean able, or was it capable… nurse.

“Good girl.” He replied with a nod. “Candi, take her glass.” Our quiet (and quietly sobbing if I was any judge) companion removed the empty glass, that still smelled wonderfully of brandy, from me before the doctor used his magic to remove my shackles… manicles… ponicles (no, sounded too sexual), my chains. Let’s just go with the simplest description on this one. Gently, Candi helped me to my hooves, still unwilling to look at me, and sniffling a little bit. At least she had the decency and good grace to feel bad about how she’d acted before the revelation.

I was steady on my hooves, steadier than I’d been since first awakening to the pain and mystery of this, my life. The brandy I’d imbibed (that word made me think of bibs and flicking my lips with my wings for whatever weird ass reason) was probably only tangentially related to my newfound ability to stand without tipping over. I tried to shake proverbial cobwebs from my head, feeling around with a mostly useless wing.

“What did I get hit with last night, that knocked me out?” I asked, stretching my legs and getting the kinks out. My head, on closer inspection, felt rather sore and bruised, with a big lump over my right eye.

“A buildin’ child.” Mistletoe answered. Oh… okay. Really? Ouch? Yup, that would definitely qualify as ouch. “Well, it’s more like I used my magic and hit the buildin’ with yer head.” He clarified. That made slightly more sense despite diminishing the badassness of my role in the first answer.

“Thank you.” I told him, regardless of the fact that I really wanted to beat the living magical unicorn crap out of him. I think I was being pretty smart in not mentioning that violent ideation to him, out loud, you know.

“Fer smackin’ the skull of a pony with a head wound?” He asked, confused. Hehehe… the shoe was on the other hoof. Now some other pony was sure of what was going on.

“No,” I replied, “for caring enough to do what you’ve done for me… and for telling me the truth… in the end.” I started to walk toward the door, Candi close by in case I needed support. I stopped, turning my head to look back at him. He’d given some answers but also left me with questions. “What happened, by the way… to your daughter and your buckfriend?” He hadn’t really said when he’d been telling his story. Mistletoe stared at me for a long time, lighting another cigarette and turning away.

“They died.” The old buck said in a voice far too small for a pony of his size. I didn’t know what to say. Some ponies would want sympathy, a mane to cry into. I think he just wanted to be left alone. All I could do, after a few seconds of nothing, was put one hoof in front of the other, Candi by my side, and leave the room. The doctor remained behind, not saying anything. He just sat there by himself, slumped and frayed and worn, black and blue and old, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a half full bottle of brandy in front of him.

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“Ah’m sorry, really… ah didn’t… ah mean…Didn’t want to… ah’m… real… just… sorry.” Candi gave a heartfelt if stuttering apology as she gave me my possessions (many of which had somehow gotten scattered and mud splattered the night before) back. They’d been stored here in the Doc’s train car last night, just far away from me.

“I know.” I said by rote, checking the pistol and blade that the Mysterious Stallion had given to me and setting the blade (with a few hellhound hairs still on it) aside in favor of Ditzy’s machete that I’d recovered from my hilltop ambush failure. I sighed internally. It had been such a great plan, only I’d fallen into the Hellhound’s claws instead of it falling into my hooves. One of these days it might work… one of these days.

“Yer not… angry with me?” My cute companion asked, worried and doubtful and maybe expecting me to hit her. Now if ever there was a time for whips and gags and bondage… hehehe.

“I… am.” I admitted, looking into Candi’s eyes. She wavered, wanting to turn away. “There was a time, I think… well now, isn’t that weird.” Strange things were happening in my head, nothing unusual with that. Move along ponies, move along, nothing to see here. “I feel a certain way, and want to say that I’ve gotten over acting on that feeling but I have no proof that I’ve been this way before or done things in this manner…” I trailed off, scratching my chin and pondering on the strangeness inherent in not remembering anything before about two weeks ago.

“What?’ Candi asked, confused by my words. She wasn’t the only one, either.

“There was a time, at least, I think and feel there was a time when I would have beaten the unholy hell out of your adorable hide, but I’m just not feeling it right now.” I told her simply, one eyebrow raised, focused on trying to figure out what I was saying and if I could place a memory to it. “It would be a shame to bruise that fine flank of yours, but, more so than that, I need to find my foals.” Flashes in my brain… memories at the dusk lit edge of comprehension… or just too little alcohol in my blood. I couldn’t be sure. “And, I think I was… trying to do better… trying to be better.” My head hurt at the words, straining to remember and getting nowhere in a hurry… or at all. “So, I’m not going to kick your pretty little plot.” Candi sighed with relief and smiled. “Wanna buck instead?” I asked, feathers crossed, hopeful but considering it to be a hell of a long shot that she’d agree.

“No.” Candi said with a frown that was less than sincere. I could totally tell that she admired my enthusiasm and relentlessness on the subject. “Yeh’ve got the win’s but ah’m into bucks, not mares, ah’m afraid.” Damn. Well, there goes that opportunity. At least I tried, though.

“Ah, you silly little filly.” I said, throwing my wings and forehooves around her. “That’s too bad, just… too bad.” I held her in a very awkward hug and let my hooves linger a bit on certain areas. I was trying real hard not to burst out laughing. Candi gave me a few tentative pats and tried to disengage herself, to no avail. “Yup, just too bad.” I continued with a snigger.

“Okay, yeh can stop huggin’ me now.” Candi said breathlessly as I squeezed. All good things, huh?

“Alright, alright.” I replied, drawing away from her and cracking a huge smile. Candi seemed to appreciate my humor. She giggled and blushed, putting up a limp hoof in faux displeasure. I swear she was just so damn adorable. Sometimes I didn’t know whether I wanted to mother her and keep her safe or peel away the nurse’s uniform, toss her down onto my cot and… my mind was wandering to places it shouldn’t, especially with the object of my hard… arbor… harbor… arduous… ardor. Yes, with the object of my ardor so close at hoof.

“Where are yeh goin’ from here?” Candi asked as we headed to the train car’s door. Good question.

“Somewhere high, and dry, and warm… and sober.” I told her, opening the door to the outside, bright by comparison despite being another miserably monotonous day full of clouds. “I need to-” I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and tripped as I tried to go down the short flight of steps, tumbling crest over plot and landing in a nostalgic heap on the ground. Owie. Son of a bitch. You didn’t see that. No one saw that. Trying not let eyes water too much from the pain of smacking my chin really hard. Not crying, definitely not crying.

“Are yeh okay?” Candi asked, descending a few steps from the top of the stairs. I wanted to say no, that I need a hot little filly to provide ministrations and tend to me during a long period of convalescence and a steamy hot recovery. Stop that! Bad mare. She’s just not into you. Focus on the pain, not the pretty face beneath the soft pink mane. Find some other pony and buck them instead, or just go somewhere private and give those wings and hooves some usage.

“I’m… fine.” I lied in a breathless wheeze, trying not to squeak and very thankful that I hadn’t bitten my tongue.

“Yeh’ve gotta be more careful, darlin’ those steps are killers.” Candi admonished. The steps were killers. Yes, it appeared I was beginning to find that out. “Are yeh sure yer okay?” She inquired further as a gentle patter of rain began to fall, sounding louder than it should because of all the metal used in the town’s construction.

“Oh yeah, good, perfectly fine.” I responded, shaking the little stars, moons and suns from their circles round my head. “I’m just… going to lie here for a little while… catch my breath.” Yeah, catch my breath and wait for my body to stop hurting and begin functioning again. Oh boy did everything hurt.

“Alright, yeh take care of yerself, now.” Candi warned as a way of farewell.

“I will.” Not. Ugh. She went back inside and closed the door, no doubt glad to be out of the rain. As soon as I heard the door shut I coughed and sobbed once or twice (for three or four minutes). I really had to not trip on those steps. Okay, time to get up, time to get moving, time to find a place to think things through… time to not cry at the ouchies, scrapes and booboos I’d just accumulated and added to the mess that was me post shot in the face.

One hoof at a time and I stood, rising up and shaking out my wings, temporarily glad for the gentle rain but sure that it would get on my nerves as soon as the temperature dropped. I hadn’t taken too much damage from the fall and my saddle bags and accompanying sack of crap hadn’t come open (small victories), that was good. I snorted and was both amused and worried by the fact that dust left my nostrils when I did so. Whatever. I quietly trotted away from Mistletoe’s train car, looking for a place to sit down and drink… I mean think. I had a long day ahead me. If only I had headache pills that I could take.

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I whiled away the remainder of the morning (there wasn’t a lot of it left anyway) and spent a small portion of the afternoon thinking, just thinking. Goddesses it was boring. After getting up and shaking out the pain from my tumble, I made my way through the town, rather aimlessly, wandering as it were. I was looking for a place to sit down and be by myself, a place that would fulfill the majority of my prerequisites as previously described to Candi. I ignored the rain and the suspicious stares of many town folk. I was sorely tempted to shout ‘Boo!’ at them and throw up my hooves, making ghost noises and chasing ponies around. I must have proved my previous assertion wrong and totally learned something. If I was able to resist the temptation of creating my own Nightmare Night, than we ponies… or at least me… had the capacity to learn and grow. That or I had more important things to do, like figure out how I was going to find my foals.

At the edge of the work yard, where Crane was using his impressive telekinesis to lift exceptionally heavy objects (and no, one of them was not me), I found a three story building with an overhang on the second story, perfect for protecting me from the rain. The first floor was a train car; the second was corrugated metal and scrap. The third and last floor was made from wood and random debris. I was moderately worried that the whole place would collapse but I wanted somewhere that was dry… away from alcohol. And there was some feeling of reassurance gained in watching Crane work, as though the monotony and surety of his tasks would put me at ease. It also didn’t hurt that the proud young buck was easy on the eyes.

I climbed stacks of old oil drums and coal barrels, empty crates and piles of wood and metal to reach my perch. The view was decent. I could see a good part of the town and some of the wastes beyond. Not that there was much to see, mind you. It was a gloomy day, fine sheets of mist descending, interspersed with big fat droplets of rain. Mists had settled in and the clouds were thick, heavy and low. I couldn’t imagine the guards being able to give a good advance warning should some threat approach New Appleloosa. Visibility was just too low. At least the shitty weather was probably a fair deterrent for mutants, raiders, slavers, bandits, mercenaries, gypsies, tramps, thieves and all other ne’er do wells.

For the first time since getting here and fain… falling unconscious, I truly took in my view of the town, really looked at the place. Oh yes, I’d imagined it as a tiny miniature city and me as a giant earth shattering pony, stomping and crushing the inhabitants when I was on my way back with the hellhound hide but I’d never really considered New Appleloosa from up close and in detail. I’d determinedly and perhaps blatantly not paid attention when Candi had shown me around the first time. At least I had an excuse for that though, seeing as I had been distracted at the time. What? Candi’s flank was a wonderful distraction after all. Speaking of distractions, whoever was inside the building I was using as a lofty throne had music on, a record or radio was playing. I could just make out the noises over the fall of rain and the sounds of the town around me, but they were broken up by static.

“This is…ar Saras…om the moun…border with the Cr…ying hello on th…ay. Nex…ve Days Gone By an…ewar Equestrian artis…it back, enj…sic and st…t there.” Wow, these ponies needed a better quality receiver… or was it a transmitter, or an antenna. Ugh, stupid techno things confusing me. At least the song was a good one, and the voice was kind of sexy (some buck with an exotic accent) even if the radio was really fucked up. It seemed it was a romance song… aw… how sweet… then why did it make me feel sad and lonely? Days Gone By… hadn’t the Mysterious Stallion said those words last night? And, as I now thought about it, hadn’t he known that I was a mother… even back during the hellhound incident? Isn’t that what the Doc admitted this past morning? That piece of shit (the younger buck, not Mistletoe… although…). How could he tell me not to trust these ponies when he clearly wasn’t trustworthy? Wait, wasn’t that something he said as well… that I shouldn’t trust him? Infuriating. The next time I saw him I was going to put my hoof up his ass or force him to buy me a bathtub full of whiskey to drown myself in… not literally, really, but he owed me (by my reckoning) a lot of alcohol for this whole situation. Of course the bastard was nowhere to be found, he probably knew I wanted a violent word with him… and was right now in hiding, collaborating with the cyborg zebra ninjas… or not. Oh well, I could deal with him later. Now I just settled for looking out over the town and listening to the music.

New Appleloosa was a small village I wanted to say, but one that could easily be expanded for a greater population and I wondered if there was a seasonal element to the town. Did ponies come here in winter to escape the cold? Or did they retreat here in the summer to avoid the depredations of the more active predators? The Pegasi hadn’t controlled the weather in almost two centuries. I couldn’t remember experiencing wild weather, a season without guidance… thanks to my stylish head wound, but that didn’t mean that the thought wasn’t frightening to contemplate. I shivered and wrapped myself in the (now slightly more) tattered blanket I’d gotten from Ditzy before my bounty hunting excursion. Yay… I was slightly warmer. Small victories.

The town was the color of rust and iron and steel. The forces of weather and time had worn and beaten their way through the structures in many places and if you looked closely enough you could make out bullet holes and energy weapon blast marks across various locations. The town had seen its fair share of violence, it seemed. Unless of course, they’d just been hoofed vultures and scavenged and picked the surrounding wastes clean of any usable material. It wasn’t a bad idea, and it would explain the preponderance of gunfire damage. New Appleloosa was short, rarely higher than four stories and most of the time not rising above two or three. The walls were sturdy and in good repair, despite being constructed of detritus, scrap and old abandoned rail cars. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. The place had a well worn, perhaps too well worn feel to it and some of the buildings leaned or would be leaning if not for added support in the form of railroad ties and various other forms of added ‘sturdy not fall over’ for the buildings. The pitter and patter of rain drops, falling on the many kinds of metal made not altogether unpleasant pinging sounds that made me imagine I was shooting nightmare hellhounds with a magical energy weapon.

Voices sounded below me, ponies going about their day, saying hello to friends and neighbors, making plans, bartering for goods and services. They were safe in here, reasonably safe at least, from the terrors that dwelt outside. That’s what this town was to me, the idea of safety. I couldn’t say as to whether or not it was an illusion or a reality, and I honestly cared little either way. This whole filly… file… sophie… Sapphic… sizing… philosophizing thing just wasn’t my nosebag (apples and oats, thank you very much). That, and it made my head hurt. At least it wasn’t hurting too badly right now. Small victories… they kept me going… and alcohol, alcohol made sure I stayed on my hooves, or off them as the situation demanded… but what burned brightly, what invested me most of all right now was the knowledge… the need… that I had to find my children.

I sat back, leaning against the cold metal and pulled a very crumpled pack of cigarettes from my sack of crap. I must have purchased the smokes when drunk, or stole them. Who knew on these matters? I lit one with some pretty matches that had big red heads to them (not sure where I picked those up) and puffed, my cigarette held securely in my left wing. I sighed. A different song was playing somewhere inside the building now. Its opening strains reached me through the thin (mostly) metal walls. Hmm… the song didn’t sound so bad. It was something about moving… motion… getting up and doing things. Odd. Was the music trying to tell me something? Yeah, that I should stop fazing out and get back to the task at hand. So… I had children. I needed to find them? Motion… moving… how?

Well, the first thing to do would be to look for them… duh. In order to look for them I would need food, supplies, alcohol, gear, cigarettes, weapons, food, ammunition and more food and alcohol. But that was just what I needed in my search, what I needed for my search was a lead… evidence… something to point me in the right direction.

There was a problem with that though. I had no leads, no evidence. There wasn’t anything amongst my possessions that would help me and apparently there was nothing to indicate my children had been on the hillside where I’d woken up. The hillside? A hazy memory of the night before intruded in on my mind… whispering, truths and knowledge. The hillside! Mother fucking eureka! What was it that the Mysterious Stallion had said? Something about me leaving all of my stuff when I ran to town. If it was still there… was it still there? Would somepony have found and run off with it? It didn’t matter. My best bet for finding my foals was to return to where this whole thing began. If my possessions were still on the hill then there was a chance that something among them, a photograph, a letter a souvenir, might lead me in the right direction. I stood quickly, losing my blanket and smacking my head on the overhang that had been keeping the rain off of me.

“Arrgh… fuck!” I yelled, kicking the wall with a hoof as I rubbed my head with my wings. I had to be more careful, or less stupid, and at least it seemed as if sobriety didn’t improve my chances of avoiding these kinds of injuries… so… that meant I could keep drinking… right? Whatever, enough time for that later.

“Yeh okay up there?” Crane asked from the yard, pausing in the lifting of what appeared to be an old cartoony anvil.

“Fine, just hurt my head, nothing important.” I answered, rolling up the blanket and shoving it into my heavily damaged saddle bags.

“Yeh seem teh do that more than is healthy.” Crane replied and the anvil, still aglow in his magic, continued moving in its original direction. I grumbled mirthlessly but didn’t reply. ‘Yeah, you’re telling me,’ I thought back at him acidly. I made sure that everything was packed properly and strapped to my back. I had a mission, a goal, a place to go. It was time to head out to that hillside and find some answers. I was in motion and…

“Fuck…” Forgot I wasn’t on the ground and walked off the edge of the roof. Also, I found out that my wings still weren’t worth shit when it came to flying. Ouch. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long way down… and those oil barrels and crates and other stuff broke my fall (and me). Crane soon came by to investigate what had happened and found me sprawled out with my saddlebags on top of my head, grumbling and giving everything in sight the evil eye. He offered to help. I declined. This was something I had to do on my own.

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As it turned out, walking through the wastes, the former heartland of old Equestria, was incredibly boring. There didn’t really seem to be that many interesting things going on. When most of the world has been dead for almost two hundred years… it turns out there’s a lot of empty nothingness. Oh, there were a few notable… things, to be sure, but for the vastness and the enormity of the countryside around me, it was disturbingly silent and vacant… void.

I was walking along the remnants of an old road, heading almost due north as best as I could reckon. Reckon? Great… I was beginning to sound like the idiots in New Appleloosa inside my own head. I better nip that in the bud as soon as possible. About a dozen (in truth only five) bloatsprites had buzzed up from an old water gate of some kind that ran underneath the road and attacked me. I’d killed most of them, ten at least (more like three) and the others had broken off their pursuit of me to cannibalize the fallen. It made me wonder what bloatsprites tasted like. Then it made me feel like throwing up.

There were scattered buildings easily visible in the gray distance of the cloudy afternoon, towering monolithic ruins of a time now gone. They would have been interesting to explore, possibly profitable and certainly dangerous, but they were not a part of what I needed to do right now. The only other event worth mentioning was when I found evidence of raiders in a blasted out shell of an old brick station house near the road. Well, I assumed it to be raiders of some kind, judging by the décor, all blood and guts and smears of shit next to four heavily stained mattresses and the torn up barding of a few victims. Of the beasts themselves… there was no sign, for which I was most grateful. They were probably out raping or lying in wait for some poor unfortunate caravan. I wasn’t so hopeful as to believe that they were dead, but I marked the location on the map Red Rock had given to me and planned on telling him and maybe Railright about the situation when I got back. If I got back…

The rain had stopped sometime ago… mostly stopped anyways, becoming nothing more than a fine mist shortly after I set out. And guess what? I was bored, which would explain why, after carefully and quietly passing the raider den and putting it some distance behind me, I started singing. My intention was to not die or kill myself of sheer mind eating boredom but also to, by demonstrating a lack of fear, possibly convince any enemies nearby to not tangle with me, since I was confident enough to be loud out here. Or, I suppose, my poor singing voice might have been enough to frighten anything nearby, causing them to clap hooves or claws to ears and run away screaming. Regardless… I sang.

“Trotting through the wasteland I’m a horse with no name, why did the clouds stop the rain? In the wasteland, I can’t remember my name. And I have some pain in my brain.” I belted out and made a modest effort to swagger as I walked. Ahead of me, a ways, probably a mile or so was a hillside that despite my previous injuries and drug induced stupor, looked very familiar indeed.

“After an hour below the sunless cloud, my mind began to go numb, I was singing really damn loud, this idea now seems kind of dumb. And the headache you’ll get from hearing me fret, will make you wish for a gun.” I left the road behind, only now noticing that there were dozens of old carriages, both ground and sky, littering the ditches to either side of me. Some still had skeletons accompanying them, attached to harnesses or huddled up inside, dry piles of dust and bone from the horrors of the Last Day. There was a twinge of pain in my skull that made my left eye twitch when I thought of that… or looked too closely at the sky carriages. So, I just shook out my head with a soft whinny and carried on, making my way toward the hill.

“Trotting north from Appleloosa I need to come up with a name, there’s bits of bloatsprite in my mane, If I find no evidence this journey will be a shame, the town’s folk all think I’m insane.” I wove my way through the detritus, trying not to disturb the dead with anything other than my voice. I climbed the hill slowly, making sure each hoof was planted firmly before continuing higher. I didn’t want to dislodge any scree, trip and fall, or cause a rockslide. I left the debris behind and tried not to imagine the bones of the past coming back to life and following me. Creepy… and awkward.

“After two hours I let my mind run free, cause there was nothing good to see. There were rocks and bones and shotgun shells, there were hills and dirt and megaspells. The wasteland is a graveyard with its dead all around, with clouds in the sky up above. Ash and dust cover the bones on the ground, why can’t I get any love?” I stopped singing… and moving. I’d reached the place where I’d woken up. Welcome home…

The Mysterious Stallion must have collected the brass from the round he fired to hit the ghoul piece of shit but everything else was still here. There were drippings of blood on the rocks from me head butting the zombie, and a small dried up pool of it where I’d lain. The empty packaging from the drugs lay scattered near the remains of the small fire. And there was stuff… my stuff, apparently. Wasn’t that weird? It was mine, belonged to me and yet I didn’t remember any of it, anything about it. My life was strange and far too sober right now for my liking.

Somepony… I was guessing the ghoul, had gone through a lot of my possessions, displacing them at random across the area where a few short weeks ago I had awakened to a hole in the head. ‘Yay for nostalgia’ I thought to myself with a frown. I collected and gathered everything together into one big pile to sort through, giving my wings some exercise. Then, I sat down, cigarette in my muzzle, and began to look through the remnants of my old life.

There were two blankets. One was a ratty old beige thing that had seen better days. The other was a reversible blanket, well cared for, thick and warm. One side was jet black and the other was some kind of strange pattern of yellows, browns and greens. Camouflage maybe? But for what? On the black side, in a corner, an unadorned fabric shield was sewn on. I had no idea why but it reminded me of my Cutie Mark… and my tattoo. Thinking about it too hard only put me into a loop of confused pain though so I set the thing aside with the other blanket.

Half a dozen empty cans of various types of war era food and two empty canteens were the only victuals. I tossed the cans and, after smelling the interior of the canteens (water had been in one, whiskey in the other), I set them on top of the blankets. There were a few small knives, sharp but beginning to rust that got added to the keep pile (along with a Wingboner magazine that was more than a bit tattered and extensively leafed through. I was saving that for later and seeing it brought thoughts to my head, memories. I was in a bed, with a buck, head down and flank up, being mounted and… the memory faded. I smiled. Maybe I would be able to remember my drunken escapades… eventually.

Next I found some lightly armored barding, in a dull matte gray color and random accessories, including bows, ties and ribbons for manes and tails. Hmm… those might make me feel pretty (and every once in a while I think I deserved to feel pretty). I decided to keep the accoo… tree… mints… cooties… remains… accoutrements… mother fuck, stupid words. I’d keep the barding too, folding it nice and neatly (poorly and haphazardly) before adding it to the pile as well. There was a set of broken binoculars, a threadbare negligee that came apart in my hoofs, a coffee cup and two war era books on etiquette that I tossed in the discard pile.

I took a short break to go pee, away from my work, and to take a quick glance around the hill to make sure nopony… or creature was about, trying to sneak up on me with their time traveling zebra stealth cloaks. Returning, I pulled to me the item I had been most invested in investigating. Ah… what are those words doing? Anyway… saddle bags. They were oiled leather, tan in color, with little in the way of ornamentation but appeared very well made. The stitching was ex… qui… cute… squeeze… exquisite. I’m a smart pony, remember? The bags bore monogrammed (is it still a monogram when there are two letters?) patches, hastily stitched… or re-stitched… on to them, and falling off anyway. ‘WS’ were the two letters. WS… where did it come from? What did it mean? Were these saddlebags mine originally? Did WS stand for something… like a name? ‘Whiskey Something’ immediately came to mind. But I was probably just projecting as my mentor would say… what the fuck? Mentor? Projecting? I shook my head out and smacked it a few times (regret, regret, regret). Weird. Now if only I could figure more of this shit out.

The saddlebags were mostly empty. There was a half smoked pack of Newpony cigarettes (I smoked menthol… really?), a completely empty pack of Zebra Silvers (where the hell did I find that?), spent shells of a type that I didn’t recognize, makeup (which I was totally going to try on later), a can opener, some lint, a few stray bottlecaps and a blank book. The book seemed old, very old and it was blank inside but when I flipped through it with a wing I found two things hidden in the pages. The first was a photograph, black and white, creased and faded and half burned, the sides flaking away. But in the center, still visible were two foals… a boy and a girl. One light with a dark mane and the other dark with a light mane (a white mane perhaps? The source of the hair I’d found back at Mistletoe’s?). And they were… they were mine. I knew it, couldn’t explain why or how, but I knew they were mine. They were… perfect. Adorable, little angels, innocent godhood given form and flesh. I was breathing rapidly and tried to slow down, calm myself. They weren’t here but I knew what they looked like, and in the picture they seemed… happy. Any writing on the back that might have given me more information was burned away. Fuck. I gently set the photograph down on top of my keep pile and looked at the other thing that had fallen out of the book.

It was a crude pencil and crayon drawing, done by a child no doubt. I couldn’t exactly figure out what the drawing was. It looked a little like two octopuses… octopi… octopodes. Wait a minute. What the hell was an octopodes? When octo-ponies attack! Ugh… strange shit in my head. I looked at the drawing more closely. In one corner, with very poor writing… there was a single word, and it made me cry. Shakily written, with what looked like hearts, stars and little suns around it, was the word ‘mommy.’

I sat there for a few minutes, not caring that I was crying, rocking back and forth, the drawing clutched to my heart. This was more than any photograph, more than a book or monogrammed saddlebags or anything else. This was love. I kissed the drawing, placed it back in the book and set it down in pride of place on my keep pile. Somewhere, out in the blasted desert that had once been Equestria of yore, there was a filly or colt that loved their mother… drew a picture for her. And I would find them… find them both, no matter how long it took.

I wiped the tears away with a wing and opened the second (and last) saddlebag. There was a note in it. Most of the words had been smeared away to illegibility but I could make out most of the opening line; ‘Mi…ight, we have… reful about how we… proceed with the pla…’ and part of the last line ‘ow what to d… my heart is y… now and forev… love you alwa… Winter.’ Was this… a love letter, something sent to me or that I’d never sent to somepony else? Was it just something utterly random that I picked up in my travels? I’m sure I must have traveled extensively before this situation. I didn’t know for sure and most of the note was gone. It was a mystery, one (more) that I couldn’t solve. I liked to think it was part of some epic romance… a forbidden love, or a plot of intrigue and spies with danger and martinis and espionage. But… then… I have a rather vivid imagination, don’t I? There was just the note, nothing else (a few empty bottles of Wild Pegasus, but you don’t really need to know that, now do you?) except… wait… i used a wing to dig deeper, into the bottom of the bag and came up with… a music box? What the fuckity fuck fuck? Was I living a cliche? Weren’t music boxes supposed to be vital clues to some kind of revelation? Didn’t they always mean something in the end? It was small, about the size of an apple and losing its silver gilt. But there were still really pretty flower patterns on it (made me think of spring for whatever reason), and a tiny model pegasus that I think was meant to spin or swoop or something around the top but it was dirty, grimy and needed to be cleaned. I tried turning the thing but nothing happened, no music, just a few clinks and clanks from the interior. Well shit then, maybe it was just some broken music box and not some all important object of power. Whatever. Maybe I could sell it to Ditzy for a few caps… or clonk Red Rock over the head with it for duping and cheating me on the Hellhound hide. I looked at it more closely just as I was about to shove it back into the bag. Was it my music box? Or, did it belong to my foals? Son of buck toothed prostitute mule. On the chance that it belonged to one of my children I couldn’t throw it away or sell it, not now. Damn. I was just going to be a walking repository of strange useless crap from now on… wasn’t I?

I began putting my score of goods… which really wasn’t a score when you consider they were mine to begin with… into the new saddlebags. Boy, I was going to start looking like a pack mule pretty soon with all the shit I was carrying. It was only then that I saw something under where I’d left the saddlebags (right near where my old blood pool was). The object, whatever it was, had been partially buried under loose rocks and dirt, and it was shiny.

I scraped the covering silt and soil and stone away and uncovered… a pistol. It was unlike anything that I’d seen before, bronze colored metal, blue lacquered wood, sleek lines, with a grip that I could use in my mouth, or with my wings. The barrel was long, with a smaller, thinner barrel underneath and the action gleamed as though the firearm was cared for every single day. The grip was some kind of dark reddish black wood with white detailing on it. There was a place for a magazine but it looked like it was a break action weapon at the same time (I was getting confused). This thing was some kind of advanced, well crafted hybrid of energy weapon and firearm. It was beautiful. I thought back on something that Doc Mistletoe had told me. Yes it was beautiful and unique and… this thing had shot me in the head. I had never seen its like before and it matched what the doctor had told me of the weapon used against me. I brought it up to my face and squinted, there were many designs, all tiny, hoof etched into the grip. They were unfamiliar to me… all except for the first one and the last one. The first was my Cutie Mark and the last was my tattoo. Was this? Could it be? This weapon was mine. Somepony had shot me with my own gun… and left me to die on this hillside. Somepony would pay.

The mist began to form into rain again, picking up in intensity, soaking my mane, forcing it to cling to my head and neck. I stowed the pistol after one last look at it and made sure that I had everything else packed (and the photo and drawing safe from the burgeoning deluge). I hadn’t found all that I wanted, but I had something, a way to move forward, to stay in motion. I was definitely overburdened by all the gear but I turned from the spot where I’d lain, watching some of the caked blood on the stones pulled into the earth by rain and started walking.

I had a lead, something to go on in what would become my search for my foals, and just as importantly, I had a plan. I began the long slow walk back to New Appleloosa, only this time, I wasn’t walking. Just like that first day, I was galloping, ignoring the extra weight I was bearing. The Mare With No Name was heading south, toward the future. I shivered and then ignored the weather, disregarding the storm fomenting around me. There were things I had to do… things that I now knew that I could do, needed to do, must do. I sped southward, toward my future… and finding two foals.

Progress: 75% to Level 3

Coming Soon: Chapter 8. Wild Skies

Author's Notes:

My apologies for the long wait, I would have had this out about two weeks ago but circumstances (including getting the damn flu) delayed me. One more chapter and this volume is done. I would very much like to thank my editor; Demichev, the originator of FOE; Kkat and of course anyone who takes the time to actually read this story.

Since my competence isn't spectacularly high in this regard (my hyperlinks seem to fail in the transition), the first song is 'Days Gone By' as sung by Kathy Phillips. I can't find it on the internet (I have it on a promotional DVD from a small music festival in New Jersey, and I suppose I could try and put it up on youtube or something) and the second song is 'Welcome to the Motion' by Adam Sams which you can find on youtube should you be interested in listening to it. The song that the Mare sings is, obviously, based off of 'Horse With No Name' by America (and have I ever been waiting to use it in this story).

Three more things before I go. First , I plan on going back through the chapters and shoring up any inconsistencies (there are a few) after I finish chapter 8. I don't plan on making any major changes, just a few small tweaks here and there. Second, my editor will be very busy in a month and a half (fair winds and following seas to him) and would anyone be interested in helping out while he's otherwise engaged? Lastly, preparatory work has begun on the second volume (and no, you don't get to know what it's called or what it's about... yet. There will be room for a lot of new and interesting characters in the story. Would anyone like to include their OC in volume II? I love reader/writer interaction and would very much like to make this more of a communal/cooperative effort, especially for those who have their own characters but haven't written them into anything yet. If you would like to participate, please let me know and shoot me a message with the details of your character (as much information as you can provide) and whether or not you have an issue with them dying... since this is an FOE story after all. Happy holidays, stay safe and stay happy.

8. Wild Skies

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8. Wild Skies

There are ways but the Way is uncharted;
There are names but not nature in words:
Nameless indeed is the mother of creation
But things have a mother and she has a name.

I had traveled northwards very slowly this afternoon, but now, with the exception of a cautious skirting of where I knew the raiders’ nest to be, I moved quite fast. I had promises to keep and miles to go before I could sleep. South beckoned to me, New Appleloosa, my idea, a journey, a search… the road ahead. My future.

And, as it turned out, I was fast. I may not have been able to fly but I sure as hell could run (with minimal coughing from those delicious… I mean damned cigarettes). No cyborg ninja zebras were catching me, no sir, not this mare. The one problem with my plan (and believe me, it really was a brilliant plan) was that I was running a little lower on funds than I would have liked. Oh I retained a decent amount of caps (still a silly thing to use as money, in my opinion), to be sure, just not nearly so many as I’d had coming out of the whole Hellhound situation. As luck would have it, buying a shit load of drinks, for me and many of the New Appleloosa townsfolk, had been rather costly. Curse my idiotic generosity (i.e. drunkenness).

The sky was beginning to darken (which was saying something considering it never got really bright in these parts) with the onset of evening and I wanted to be in town by sun down. Town… sun down. Hehe… I was a rhyming pony. I am smart. I am smart. My foals were probably geniuses. And there was, again, a weird thought. I had foals… that I remembered literally nothing about. With a tremendous amount of effort I resisted the urge to stop and pull out the picture and the photograph. It really was a nice picture, even if I had no idea what it was of… and the photograph, good looking kids (they must take after me). But, enough of this weird lovey dovey stuff. It was making me feel all maternal and shit with the desire to knit and cook and tuck blankets in and kiss booboos away. I’m a mean mare… and a mother. As I said (or maybe it was thought), weird. Whoever had shot me upside the head with the badass gun I was now carrying (...again… weird) could wait. Foals first, alcohol, cigarettes and sex second and revenge came in a not very distant third.

The winds picked up as I passed (What I estimated to be) the two thirds mark of my journey… where I had stopped for a cigarette and to go pee on my way out of town. I could tell because I’d tried to wri… never mind. It hadn’t worked, being a mare, and you don’t need (or want) to know. Somehow, from somewhere, dust was blowing. I know, I know, it didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense to me with the all the ‘rain earlier in the day thing’ but there never seemed to be a shortage of dust, rocks or skeletons out here. I was just glad that the skeletons didn’t come to life and attack… or torture me with horrible up-tempo singing and poorly done ventriloquism.

I was dashing along a short ridge, where a long time ago a stream must have run, when my trip back took an unusual turn. I slowed down to light up a cigarette, not realizing that I must have left the remainder of my pack on the hillside (buck my luck). Now, let it be known, I only slowed down to light a cigarette, not because I was out of breath (from smoking) or out of shape (from eating too much and all that binge drinking) and that I didn’t need a cigarette, I just wanted one. Thankfully, some small smidgen of luck remained to me in that I’d put a single cigarette in the purple ribbon of my sun hat. Why? Not for the whole ‘oh, it’s my next cigarette’ thing, it was (kind of embarrassingly) because I thought it looked cool… and. It. Did. No matter what you say.

Where was I? Remembering a unicorn buck going down on me in a small room above the bar? No? Really? Well, damn. It’s just. I seriously want to remember more of that night, and I was extremely pleased with myself (enough to have a smile on most of the time but not pleased enough to admire myself in front of a mirror… at least, not for long anyway). Ahem. Moving on, forgetting what I was just thinking. Oh yes, interesting things. And what were these interesting things? I’m sure you’re asking. And, even if you weren’t asking, I’d tell you anyway.

It could have been the wind, or a fall, loose stones, one of a hundred different things, all equally as plausible or equally as implausible, dependent upon your outlook. But, whatever the case may be, I followed the ridge and found the first life I’d come across since leaving New Appleloosa. It was… drum roll please… a turtle. Insert disappointed music here. I mean, I guess it was a turtle… tortoise… reptile… thing. It had a shell and it wasn’t a crusty… station… ocean… crustashee… crustacean. Hello, where be my words? And it was on its back, legs uselessly kicking at the air, pathetically cute tail swinging back and forth. Two heads looking around upside down, suspiciously (at what put it into this predicament) and desperately (how could it find a way out). Oh yeah, you heard right. It had two fucking heads. Creee-eeepy. It was about the size of my head, primarily a rusty reddish brown with yellow stripes and some mottled green and gray in there as well (just for the hell of it I suppose). Ain’t no tortoise like a party tortoise and all that jazz.

The creature was making the occasional oddly cute sounds of distress as it (incredibly unsuccessfully) attempted to regain its footing. I sat there for a few minutes, smoking my last cigarette (note to self, after deciding on name, buy more cigarettes) and watching the creature struggle. Without a hot sun the thing’s belly wouldn’t bake, but still, some predator (the tortoise was beginning to look a little tasty, even to me) would come by and eat it, or nothing would come by and the dumb animal would die of thirst or hunger from its dumb inability to roll over and right itself. Dumb animal. My occasional disinterested prodding of the creature seemed to neither help nor hinder it. It gave me something to do though, alleviating my mind crushing boredom. A little time went by as I debated whether to help it, leave it or eat it.

I sighed, exhaling smoke. I was too nice of a pony (knowing that I was a mommy must be making me soft). With that, I flipped the stupid turtle… tortoise onto its stomach, wary of it potentially snapping at me with one of its beaky little mouths. The tortoise sat there for a few seconds, looking in different directions with its two heads. Then, it made something that I could only equate to a squeaking sound and withdrew into its shell. I stared at it briefly, one mostly intact eyebrow raised before rolling my eyes and continuing southward. Whatever. Strange stupid turtle. At least it gave me two minutes of less than absolute boredom. I could have (maybe should have) just left the darn thing to its fate but I guess I was just a softy, and that my bleeding do good heart would probably get me in all sorts of trouble down the road.

About two hundred yards from my tortoise encounter I came to a stop. The ridge that I was on had risen slightly further, sitting maybe twenty feet above the ground below and to the west, but there was a slope, no doubt for runoff from rain that would allow me to descend or reascend. Hmm… I wondered. The tortoise couldn’t get off its back and save itself. I couldn’t fly, not yet anyway. But, maybe, just maybe… I could glide. I’d done it before hadn’t I? When I’d fought the Hellhound I distinctly remembered (through the haze of alcohol that followed the next day) extending my wings and remaining aloft just long enough to stay live. Well, if I could do it once... I could do it again.

I backed away from the ridge, setting my stuff down near the stump of a long dead tree. I stopped, stamped the ground with my hooves and snorted. Deep easy breaths, deep easy breaths. Even if you fall it’s not a big enough drop to kill you. I angled myself directly toward the ridge’s edge, crouched, and sprang forward. I broke into a canter that rose to a gallop. Just as I reached the drop I leapt upward, wings outstretched (oh please don’t let me fall, oh please don’t let me fall)… and I fell... very, very slowly. I was… not flying, but I was in the air. It. Was. GLORIOUS! I angled my left wing up and felt the wind change as I banked right. I forced the backs of my wings down and the air beneath me lifted me upward. YUSH! I turned and circled slowly, the ground not exactly rushing up to meet me but getting close faster than I wanted. Let’s be honest here, I wanted to stay in the air… forever.

With the softest (not really) of thuds. I landed on my hooves (mostly) and stumbled forward a little bit (a lot and all over the place). I could glide. I could glide! I could mother fucking glide! Yee-haw as those Appleloosians would probably say. Slowly, still a little dejected at being returned to earth, I climbed the slope back up to the ridge… and then did the whole thing over again. It was just so much fun and felt so damn good that I couldn’t help myself. After a few more times (about a dozen), I decided that enough was enough. I was late, the sun had dropped below the clouds far away to the west, ready to disappear into night. It was time to go back into town, and, perhaps, regale the town’s folk with my little adventure.

I grabbed my things from where I’d left them, sitting beside two stumps. I turned to leave and stopped. Wait a minute. Two stumps? Hadn’t there only been one before. I looked back. The one stump seemed pretty rounded and… unstumplike. It looked more like an upside down bowl or bucket. I gave it an exploratory kick and was rewarded with a squeak which totally didn’t surprise me or anything (I jumped and screamed and fell splayed legged onto the ground). From my vantage point in the dirt I squinted at the object and it was… a turtle…. Tortoise. Was it the same tortoise? Was it the one I’d helped a short time before?
A light kick with my forehoof and the shell squeaked again, a single beady orange eye peering out at me followed by a green eye. Creee-eeepy. This was so the tortoise from before. Was it following me? Was it going to try and eat me?

After a few moments of trying to glean some intent from the creature’s actions I got back on my hooves, checked my possessions and headed south. There was another squeak. What the fuck? I turned around and the tortoise, straining, was moving forward… behind me, after me. It was following me. Okay. Maybe I was paranoid and it was just going the same way. Heck, maybe the animal was going to walk (in agonizing, perilous slowness) into New Appleloosa and grab a seat at the bar. No, no way. Turtles weren’t that cool.

I turned back toward my destination and kept walking. SQUEAK! Okay, what the fuck?! The animal was definitely following me. I stood in place for a minute, letting it catch up. It looked far too pleased with itself for how long it took the damn thing to reach me. I shook my head and started walking again. There was no squeak but I spun around in time to see my pursuer take a hesitant step and then stop, staring at me with its heads.

“What do you want?” I asked it. The tortoise turned its heads in unison as if trying to decipher what I was saying. SQUEAK! “Oh for the love of the goddesses.” I nickered, put the creature out of my sight and continued my walk. Only, now, I felt slightly heavier and it was as if something was tugging on my tail. Oh no, it better not have, my mane was already a tangled coiffure of hopelessness, this thing better not have screwed up my tail. I stopped with a harrumph and looked back. Yup. The lousy, no good, shell backed shenanigan starting soup mix had bitten down on my tail with its mouths. “I am not dragging you along.” I told it fiercely. My shelled shadow released my tail and opened its beaks wide. SQUEAK! Seriously? “Listen here slow poke, if you want to tag along, you need to keep up. It made a happy squeak and started walking… really, really slowly.

Fuck. This wasn’t going to work, was it? By the time it got to New Appleloosa I would be dead and unburied. Don’t get explosively angry, don’t get explosively angry… think of the children. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut, then opened them. I latched onto the tortoise’s shell with my teeth and tossed the thing up onto my back amongst the bulging sacks of collected possessions already there and weighing me down.

“Don’t think this means I like you, or that I’m a sky cab you little…” Sky cab? Hmm… weird. “Ugh, whatever.” I told the creature and headed toward the just now visible lights of the town. “You better not poop on me.” I warned. SQUEAK! Great… just… fucking great.

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I reached the gates of New Appleloosa at sunset, and wouldn’t you just know it… the stupid brainless mare that had opened fire on me was the guard on duty. Hehe… duty sounds like… never mind, more important things at hoof.

“Who goes there?” The mare shouted down. Hey, on the upside, she wasn’t shooting at me. My luck was improving, it would seem.

“I have no idea.” I answered honestly. “I think my name might be Winter… something or other, at least, there’s a W and an S on something that belongs to me, but I don’t know for sure.” I answered, listening to the tortoise shift in its sleep and give a tiny whistling squeak.

“That the Pegasus mare with the head wound and the Hellhound hide?” The guard asked back, shining a flashlight down at me.

“You know it.” I replied, squinting against the light. The darkness breaking beam swept over me.

“What are yeh carryin’ there?” She asked, leaning over the rail of her post, looking at all the stuff I had hauled out and the even larger amount of crap I’d brought back. I… may have… picked up a few more shiny rocks on both sides of the trip. What? They were shiny. Don’t judge me!

“Saddlebags, a sack of crap and a turtle of war… or war tortoise, as you prefer.” I told her, growing bored of our exchange. Was the dumbass going to let me in?

“What’s a war tortoise?” She questioned, sounding about as confused as I felt most days. The creature perked up, clacked its beaks and turned its heads about, trying to figure out where it now was.

“It’s a magical beast powered by radiation with the heads of a hydra that destroys things with its sonic roar.” I told her, doing my best to amuse myself with making random shit up on the spot.

“It looks more like a two headed turtle.” The guard shot back, clearly not amused by my jokes. Why did nopony get my humor?

“Don’t be fooled.” I warned her. “It’s deceptive, dangerous, demonic, destructive…” I looked at its eyes, all four of them, roving about in four different directions. “It’s derrrrrr-py? Also, possibly delicious.” I added in the last bit because I was getting really hungry.

“Are yeh drunk?” The guard asked, disbelieving.

“Surprisingly… no.” I answered. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Fine, fine. Open the gates!” The guard yelled down and two earth ponies pushed open one of the gates, shouldering it forward just wide enough that I could get inside. I entered the town, looking around at the ground level entry post with its few lanterns and single flickering spark battery powered light around me. “Close the gates!” The guard mare bellowed. The two earth ponies stopped shouldering the gate open and instead gripped thick, heavy and knotted ropes between their teeth. They started walking backward, pulling the gate back into place.

“Thanks!” I shouted up to the guard. She stared down at me and shrugged. “Hey,” I said, as I was about to turn around. “How many merchants in town right now?”

“Three.” She answered. “One in today, two in from a couple of nights ago.”

“Where are they?” I asked, feeling it was safer to ask shooty mcshooterton than to go to Red Rock and probably end up punching him in the dick for the hide thieving incident instead of asking questions.

“Where else?” She replied lazily, sounding as though she thought I was stupid. Which certainly wasn’t nice, nope not nice at all, I was a smart pony. I’m going to stick to that story, regardless of the mounting evidence to the contrary. Also, don’t believe otherwise on the account of me being smart, even if you hear differently. Hmmm… I think I just confused myself. “The saloon.” Oh really? Were they now?

“Thanks again.” I told her with a nod. ‘Perfect’ I thought with a smile. I adjusted my multi headed laser turtle of death (much better to think of it that way than as a slow poke squeak machine). “Come on.” I whispered to one of the heads as I walked toward the bar (I knew the way very well by now). “You owe me a drink, little terror-pin.” Squeak. The tortoise replied in happy agreement. “Yeah, sure… you say that now. Just wait until the tab comes due.”

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I entered the saloon with a flourish. I had a lead on my foals, a whole bunch of stuff, I’d gotten laid, gotten drunk, still possessed some caps, found a companion… of sorts and I could if not fly at least glide. Oh yeah, and I was closer than ever before, since first waking, to having a name, real name.

Brand… Whiskey’s bar was poorly lit… sort of. Let me clarify on that actually. There were many lights inside, large globes suspended from the rafters and holiday lights strung from the ceiling but it was at that time of day (or was it night?) where things always looked dim, no matter if you had no lights on or a hundred. I hated when that happened. It always screwed with my head.

“Whiskey.” I said with a gruff huff, sitting down at the bar.

“What do yeh need?” The young buck asked, trotting down along behind the wood and brass from his original spot across from another patron. Oh, so many answers to that question. So many.

“Whiskey.” I replied, using my wings to search through Ditzy’s saddlebags for my caps.

“Yes’m?” He said without surety. Maybe he thought I was off my cloud. I thought he was annoying… and attractive. Did that make him annoyingly attractive or attractively annoying?

“The drink, friend, the drink.” I told him, mimicking the action of knocking back shots and doing my absolute sincerest best not to roll my eyes, face hoof, shake my head or put my muzzle down on the bar in despair (because the last time I’d done that it had hurt my head something fierce.

“Got it.” He said with a nod. “What kind?” Wait, what? There was more than one kind? Had I been so out of it or drunk before that I hadn’t realized this great truth? Little Alicorns in my head started to sing a hymn of praise to the heavens.

“What do you got?” I asked, setting the tortoise down on the bar with my wings and rubbing my forehooves together with glee. Whiskey looked at my newest friend with some apprehension.

“We’ve…ah’ve got the house special; apple, homemade. That’s our… mah most popular.” And it was popular for good reason if I recalled correctly. “Let’s see, there’s Flim Flam’s, Pony Drum, Canterlot Castle, Buffalo Race, Wild Pegasus, Nightmare Moonshine and Tack Bridle’s.” Whiskey cleared his throat. That’s all ah have right now. Should be gettin’ a shipment in from Manehattan in two or three days and one from New Pegas next week.” He waited for my answer, but he didn’t have to wait long.

“Wild Pegasus?” I asked. It sounded like my kind of drink.

“Got two bottles left. Eight caps a shot, fifteen fer a dram, twenty five per a glass, seventy five fer the whole damn bottle.” He answered. Expensive, this stuff. But then, it was pre-war in all likelihood.

“Dram.” I told him, tossing what looked like fifteen caps down on the counter. “Let’s see if this whiskey lives up to its name.”

“Yeh got it.” Whiskey answered, reaching behind him with his magic and setting a dusty looking bottle on the bar in front of me. “Anythin’ for him?” The buck asked, gesturing his head toward the tortoise which was now ambling incredibly slowly down the bar toward two wasted earth ponies.

“Not unless he’s buying.” I responded and inspected the bottle more closely while Whiskey got a glass and held it in his magic so that he could wipe it with a somewhat clean rag. The liquid inside was pure amber gold with a hint of maple red. The label was white with black and red lettering and the image of a prancing Pegasus that may or may not have been Rainb- ow, why was my head hurting so much? Anyway, let’s see; ‘Wild Pegasus 101 Equintucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey.’ Well, it was time to put this name to the test. “Can you get him back here?” I asked, nodding toward the reptile, now chewing on the mane of one of the drunkenly oblivious earth ponies.

“Sure.” Whiskey answered, setting the glass and rag down then using his telekinesis to pull the creature (and a little bit of the pony’s mane) along the bar and back to me. The buck opened the bottle and poured out a measure for me while I half heartedly scolded the turtle, bopping its heads with my wings. Its sole response was to look around in dismay at having been returned to its point of origin and utter an indignant squeak.

“Thanks.” I said as Whiskey pushed the drink across the bar to me. The unicorn waited with baited breath as I swirled my glass and stopped the tortoise from embarking on another journey. I sniffed at the liquid. It smelled like burning. Whiskey stared expectantly as I lifted the glass with my wings and knocked it back. GAH! Holy fucking Hellhounds did that burn. Good goddesses. My eyes watered a little bit (a lot) and I had to open my mouth wide to try and release some of the heat and prevent myself from coughing.

“How is it?” The bartender asked, grabbing the turtle and stopping it from walking off the edge of the bar. I spread my wings and pumped them, hoping that an infusion of air would stop the brimstone and hellfire raging from my mouth down to my gut.

“This shit is terrible.” I told him in all honesty, making a grimace of disgust.

“Another?” He inquired, setting the turtle down next to me.

“Yes, please.” I replied, pushing the glass back toward him so that he could refill it. I dug more caps from the sack I’d pulled out of my saddlebags and stopped. “On second thought, just leave the bottle.” I changed my mind and set the sack down on the bar. Whiskey took my money with a nod and two respectfully impressed raised eyebrows.

“Enjoy.” He said happily. “Let me know if yeh need anything else.” I nodded back and poured myself some more. The bartender left me, walking down toward other customers. I offered the glass to the tortoise but it was more interested in attacking my deactivated bomb collar, its beaks clicking and clacking when they connected with the collar’s metal.

Okay, it was time to scope out the three merchants, or merchant groups, that were in New Appleloosa, all conveniently in the bar… because there was nowhere else to go and definitely nothing else to do. Except sink money into Ditzy’s store, which was almost as equally noble of a goal as was getting hammered at the bar. Hmmm… the bar. Yeah, I really couldn’t see the other ponies from here, not unless I turned partway or all of the way around, which would result in a crinked neck and me being totally obvious in what I was doing. Now, don’t think I intended to go bandit, follow some ponies out of town, take their shit and make a run for it… nope. Never thought of it, not at all, not once. Don’t put evil ideas in my head, there are enough there already.

Getting sidetracked… gee that never happens to me. I frowned. I would need a good spot, a dim one, in the corner, where I could look out on and study my options. And, I would walk close by the three different groups which I quickly glanced at and figured to be caravans or traveling merchant bands. I hefted my shit onto my back and threw the turtle on top with my wings, ending its attempt to chew straight through my collar… which probably would have taken a thousand years… of eternal night? Oh, to know what went on in my brain.

“Whiskey,” I called down the bar. The unicorn looked up. “An order of hay and apples, a pitcher of water and…” what did turtles eat? I had absolutely no idea. “Some of that war time packaged food.”

“What kind?” He asked from his spot next to an elderly earth pony buck who’d apparently passed out. Poor fellow must not have been able to hold his liquor… or he’d started really early in the day.

“Any kind.” I answered. “I’ll be at a table.” The unicorn nodded, gave a desultory push with his hoof that failed to do anything to his unconscious customer and walked back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes and a shrug. I interrupted a triumphant squeak from the turtle, happy on its throne, by putting my glass on one of its heads. Then I took the bottle between my teeth and wound a very circuitous route to an unclaimed table in the corner farthest from the door.

First I passed by the largest of the groups, getting close, making indistinct noises that may have resembled failed attempts at saying ‘excuse me’ through a bottle of liquor whose rising bouquet was burning my mouth and nose in addition to making my eyes water again. Their reactions were rather telling. Five of the seven ponies there rose, looking at me suspiciously, forming a wall in front of the two who remained seated. Interesting. Hooves and teeth moved smoothly toward weapons and two horns lit up with the glow of magic. I kept walking. Next was the smallest group, if group it could so be called. There were just two ponies there. One of them put a large hoof down onto the table and snorted at me. The other squinted his eyes in grimmest suspicion. I continued on my way but there was more promise there than could be found at that first table. The last stop on my route was a group of four ponies sitting at a booth… and one griffin. Well, hello there lean fierce and fuckable… I mean handsome. Excuse me. Was I coming into season or had that shot to the head just made me indecent? Honestly, I didn’t really care that much. I heard a few clicks and a hiss of inhaled breath from the griffin when I passed by. Well, still a better reception than from the first table. The turtle hissed back at the griffin and I quickened my pace before an incident started.

The corner was dimmer than the rest of the bar, the globe light above me giving out a faint, sickly yellow light. It was kind of creepy (though not as creepy as watching the tortoise’s two heads move independent of each other) but it kept me ensco… scone… scones… cones… ensconced (was that the word?) in gloom. It took only a few moments for me to set down all of my possessions, living one included, before rubbing my hooves together. I could stare out at my prospects with impunity… and drink.

“Now sit down, stay still and be quiet.” I told the turtle in my best no nonsense tone, leaning in close and peering into one of its four eyes with my sternest possible look. It stared back at me uncomprehendingly and nipped my nose with one of its beaks. Ouch, that smarted a little. I knocked its heads with my wings and rubbed my muzzle with a hoof. Pain fading, fading… and… gone. It was time to sit and watch and wait… and if my food ever arrived, eat.

Whiskey brought out my food (thanks be to the goddesses… wherever their bones may be) and water rather slowly (quickly) but I didn’t eat too much, just nibbled on occasion, very daintily, and pushed it around my plate. Hey, I could be dainty if I wanted to be. Who said I couldn’t? I definitely didn’t eat two helpings or finish off what was left of the packaged food after the turtle had its fill. No, no I did not. And don’t you dare think else wise. Yes, well, after that wonderful tangent I should probably return to the important stuff… things… what have you.

I studied the first group rather intently and for some time, swirling my horrible whisky and occasionally taking a drink that was quickly followed by several gulps of water. Seven ponies. Four earthers and three unicorns, definitely one of the groups who’d come in a few days ago. All of them were bucks, well fed, powerful looking, muscular, alert. All five of the ones who’d stood appeared impeccably clean, no dirt or grime or dust to be seen, two were pale yellow (brothers maybe), one was a vibrant purple, and the last two were cobalt blue and lime green respectively and all had their manes shaved. They were drinking vodka or maybe water. Their equipment was well maintained, oiled and in excellent condition. They cared for their gear very well it seemed.

The five all wore black barding, heavily armored and reinforced. It looked almost like strange memories that I had of riot gear. No idea why though. I spotted fully integrated top of the line battle saddles, high quality firearms (two carbines, a sniper rifle, a combat shotgun and a magical energy rifle), side arms, melee weapons and a few grenades. Damn, these fellows sure didn’t know how to pack light, did they? The five had tattoos, or brands, that I couldn’t make out and on their armor’s pauldrons, painted white with red edging over the matte black, some kind of small symbol, a claw… or a trio of unicorn horns or three upright dildos or something. I didn’t see any actual supplies or goods for trade with them but according to Whiskey, who’d seen me sizing them up (looking really confused) when he brought over my order, the wealthier merchants locked up their goods in the town’s storage sheds when they weren’t actively selling.

Now the last two of the seven, an earth pony and a unicorn (the only one of the three hornheads whose horn hadn’t glowed), they were the most interesting. The unicorn was in light gray armor, an older style but of exceptionally high quality, the silver of his coat coming near to matching his barding. His mane was cropped short, the color of rust. There were no adornments to his armor that identified him, no sigil or markings like the first five. In front of him was a tall glass of what looked like a porter or stout and the only visible weapons he bore were a sheathed short bladed weapon of some kind and a powerful looking pistol in a holster across his barrel. He was talking to the last pony, the earther buck. This one was unarmed as far as I could see, an unremarkable brown stallion with darker mane in a muted green long coat and hat, stylish reflective glasses hiding his eyes. He had some kind of colorful tooty fruity drink with a tiny cute little umbrella in it. I fought hard to resist the urge to order one for myself. Also, for whatever reason, I got the almost certain feeling that he too was very dangerous. Regardless, I wouldn’t be approaching them again. Five guards and a captain (or maybe he was a sergeant) for a single merchant. The earther certainly didn’t need and probably didn’t want anymore protection. Besides, his dildos… erm… his associates with what looked like dildos on their armor weren’t regular caravan guards, no sir. They mere military or paramilitary of some kind, mercenaries, hardened, well equipped and trained, highly expensive no doubt and in all likelihood utterly ruthless. They did not need a sort of crazy Pegasus mare with a turtle who was looking for her foals and easily distracted by flights of fancy (darn did that make me feel inadequate, flights) and pretty rocks. Okay, one down, two to go. Next!

On to the second group then, shall we? One unicorn and one earth pony, both bucks, was it just me or was I surrounded by them tonight? The unicorn, obviously the merchant, was clean, fresh, almost as if he’d been recently laundered. He was small, probably even smaller than Mister C. He was a pale lilac color with a rose mane grown out long, down to his withers, sipping at a glass of wine the color of fresh blood. He wore a wide brimmed hat, heavily used but in good condition and white barding with light armor plates added and leather squares sewn into it. I also noticed a multitude of voluminous pockets in the sand colored duster he wore over the armor and two weathered but functional looking pistols in cross draw holsters.

His only companion, the earther, seemed a bit… dirty. Unlike the mercenary guards from the first group, this stallion wasn’t a professional, but he was big and scarred, intimidating, an obvious choice for the trader on the go looking to hire cheap and avoid confrontations before they began. The large buck kept looking angrily at the mercs from the first group. He obviously didn’t like them very much. Maybe he thought they’d start something, or maybe he wanted to start something with them. Who knew? Either way, he seemed more of a brawler than a soldier, but he could undoubtedly fight. And he was armed. He carried a huge sword that looked like it was made from scrap and would have seemed proportionately ridiculous on a smaller pony and, resting next to him, leaning up against the table, a mini gun. Ah, now that was my kind of firepower… suppression, saturation and no survivors. I shook my head to stop fantasizing about getting my hooves on that beautiful gun and took in its owner. He was a ruddy orange with a few burn spots amidst the scars. The buck had a few freckles on his muzzle and a green mane so dark it was almost black. His armor was a patchwork and looked closer to what I’d expect a slave pit gladiator to wear than a guard. Wait a minute… slave pit gladiator? Where had that image popped up from? Mysterious weird mind, it needed a good ass kicking to show it who was boss.

The most noticeable thing though, about these two, was that their gear (some of it at least) was with them. And the guard, who was drinking massive quantities of piss yellow pilsner, would get up every five minutes or so and check what looked like a Brahmin, outside of the saloon in the broken light that strove valiantly but vainly with the darkness of the night. The two headed cow (maybe it was related to the turtle, who was sound asleep in its shell, out cold since it wasn’t at all angry that I was spinning it around on the table) looked like it had all of their goods on it. Very interesting. Either they didn’t have the money to rent storage (unlikely since they were both drinking, the hornhead expensive and the earther in large amounts), they were about to head out real soon or they had something valuable, items they didn’t trust to leave alone. I had no idea which, through the second and third seemed to be the obvious choices. Of course, the most promising thing about what was behind door number two… or… sitting at table number two, was that there was only one guard. Either the earth pony got paid a lot to take watch for most of the night or the two split it roughly evenly, which meant they’d be tired, looking for a third. The trader could sleep most or all of the night if I joined them and the guard would have an extra gun watching his back and a more even division of duties. This was promising, very promising indeed, despite the fact that the unicorn would occasionally look back in my direction and glare. You would think I fucked his wife or something. It was a question for another time, though. I needed to evaluate the third group, with that sexy, sexy griffin.

So, without getting distracted too much by the fiercely handsome feathery fiend, I turned my attention at last to the third and final group, a rag tag bunch if ever I saw one. There were four ponies, all earthers, and that delicious looking bird. It seemed that the disposition was three guards (including the griffin) and two traders. The first trader was a one eyed mare with a dark brown coat and a pale golden mane with a severe cut to it. It reminded me a little of my own mane post surgery and the golden hue was rather pretty, even if the mare herself was most definitely not. I may have unconsciously tugged my hat down a little further to hide the ruin of what had once no doubt been a glorious coiffure of style and elegance… and was now no doubt a horrid, faint mess. I may also have sighed a bit and bemoaned my terrible misfortunes with a little help from some of the whisky. Sorry, distracted again.

The one eyed mare sat with a bit of a slouch, occasionally putting a hoof to a sawed off double barreled shotgun holstered at her left flank and she was constantly leaning over her side of the table and spitting. I wondered why. She had on a battered set of armored barding that looked like a mix of combat equipment from the Great War and metal scrap scrounged from who knows where. She was drinking what looked like cheap whiskey and occasionally sneering at her companions, joining in on their jokes.

The second trader was a buck, young and jittery looking with a hot pink coat and a purple and blue mane. He was almost… pretty. Which was thoroughly confusing me. Anyway, this trader was thin and lanky and he was chain smoking cigarettes, constantly fidgeting and looking at his hooves. He didn’t have a drink, which really super confused me. Who goes to a bar and doesn’t order a drink? He did have a little box of Sugar Apple Bombs though and would, on occasion, munch on a few of the sweet treats as if he was trying to chew rocks, then he’d go back to fidgeting or spinning a slightly rusted machete he’d set down on the table in front of him. As I said… er… thought, weird. He was decked out in layers, something that looked like a thin jacket that was almost obscenely brightly colored, over a patterned vest with drab leather barding beneath (mostly hidden by the eclectic ensemble he had on over it). He also had a hat or cap of some kind that looked rather sporty and reminded me of whistles for some unfathomable reason. I took a sip of the Wild Pegasus, grimaced and reached for the water.

Amongst this caravan’s guards there was another buck and another mare. They might have been related since they both had the same buttery colored coats. One, the buck, had a pale blue mane with a white streak in it and the mare had a white mane with two pale blue streaks in it. Oh, maybe they were twins, jackpot. I was pretty sure I’d always wanted to… never mind. I’ll save that perversion for another time. Darn but the drink was making me lustful… more lustful. And it really made me think that I had to be coming into season. Why all the bucks in the joint weren’t throwing themselves at me was a mystery and almost a disappointment, but, then, I was hiding in a corner and the stink of the wasteland and tang of alcohol and tobacco might have been covering up those pheromones.

Back to the topic at hoof, the twins were drinking something thick and red in tall glasses with what appeared to be withered celery stalks sticking out of the liquid. They each had hunting rifles, one semi automatic, the other bolt action with a mid range scope, notched wooden butt stocks and a few charms, talismans or trophies tied to each. Heck, the two even seemed to speak and drink in unison. Twins were creepy, but hot. And last, but goddesses by far not the least, was the griffin, who despite his ridiculous good looks, was also the biggest problem in me joining up with this outfit.

He looked half slinking sauntering panther and half majestic imperious bird of prey, with a sable cat half and a front half in white gray and several shades of brown. The griffin was eating a plate of what might have been fried rats with some onion and root vegetables and he was drinking a massive glass of dark brown beer, probably the type you could live off of if in dire straits and the kind most suited for consumption after returning home at the end of a long cold and hard day. I almost ordered a beer. His long tail, dark but for a white tuft at the end, was lashing against the floor of the bar and had a few silver cuffs on it and some feathers in different colors tied to it as well. He wore flexible armor, some kind of composite material, high end, developed for flyers during the war and now a pretty bit (or bottle cap) to buy. It was a burnished red with silver edging and no identifying marks but for a factory stamp of some kind that I couldn’t make out. His beak was yellow, thin and mostly straight, but ended in a severe downward curve. He was armed with a sub-machinegun that was strapped to his right haunch and a machine pistol on his left, across his back was a heavy double bladed axe held in place by a baldric.

All five in the last group looked dirty and tired, as if they were relieved to be behind high metal walls. They had to be the caravan that just came in today, which meant they probably wouldn’t be leaving soon. Also, they had the griffin, which meant me selling my attributes as a flyer (and a liar) wouldn’t do as well in a sales pitch as they would for either of the other groups. There were three guards too, which was a good amount, the more there were the more divided the shares, spoils and caps became. The guards wouldn’t like that and the traders themselves worried me a little, particularly the second one.

In case you haven’t figured it out already (goodness knows I was barely keeping things straight… hehe… insert filly fooler joke here), I was going to latch on to a caravan as a guard. It would give me a job and a source of income. More importantly, it would allow me to travel the wastes and look for my foals. Every town, every village, every scavenger hut or Dashite den (ouch, a sharp pain rushed through my head), every outpost or trading hub, every scrap heap, bar, fortress and bastion against the wastes… I would search and show the photograph and ask about my children until I found them. And maybe, just maybe, there was somepony out there, that I would run into, that knew who I was... knew my name.

The longer I waited though, the lesser my chances of success became, which meant I needed to leave town, and soon, to get a start on the searching. That left me with one obvious choice of folks to associate myself with, trader number two and his big hulk of a guard. Okay, time for me to work some silver tongued magic. I collected my possessions, loaded myself up with them and headed over to the table where the two bucks, unicorn and earth pony, were sitting.

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“This seat taken?” I asked, setting my mountain of crap down on the floor and consciously using a wing to point at the empty chair that faced the trader.
“Got a seat for you right here.” The earther stallion interjected, using a hoof to indicate his crotch. I didn’t look his way, but kept my eyes on the unicorn trader.

“Wasn’t talking to you. Besides, when I ride I prefer convex to concave.” I set my whisky down on the center of the table and whistled for Whiskey, who was trotting hurriedly between the tables, taking drink orders for customers. The earther buck squinted his left eye in confusion and mouthed my words, trying to figure out what they meant, if they were indeed an insult. I’m pretty sure they were, though I have no idea where they came from. Heck, I didn’t even know what convex and concave meant, they just sounded right.

“It would appear to be filled now, though before it was empty.” The unicorn answered precisely but with a lot of words. He had the slightest of smiles on his muzzle, hopefully it was appreciation for my comeback against his guard. Whiskey drew up to the table, looking harried.

“Two more glasses.” I told him with a nod. He nodded in return and left to continue his tour of the floor before heading back behind the bar as I turned around to face the unicorn again. “I have a proposition for you.” I announced.

“I am afraid that I am uninterested.” The unicorn replied with a tone of dismissal that I didn’t particularly care for.

“Conclave and complex?” The guard asked, messing up the words, trying to get the trader (or myself) to reveal their meaning.

“You haven’t even heard what the proposition is.” I told him with exasp... spur… rations… damn it, not this again. Exasperation, maybe I should ask him if he had a dictionary that I could buy to help me with my words.

“I do not hire prostitutes, especially escaped slaves.” The unicorn told me flatly. Hay! He thought I was a prostitute? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? A little of both?

“What does complex and conclave mean?” The earther interjected, asking again.

“Convex and concave not complex and conclave.” The unicorn told his companion.

“I’m not a prostitute.” I informed the trader, a little huffiness and insult in my voice. “And I’m not a slave either.” His eyes dropped to my collar and rose, giving me a ‘know it all’ look. Whiskey swept by, depositing the two glasses I requested. I poured a measure into one of them and hoofed it across to the table while trying to think of an explanation for the malfunctioning explosive device I was wearing.

“What does convex and concave mean?” The earth pony buck, no less befuddled after the unicorn’s clarification, asked. We ignored him. And the Unicorn gave a pleasant nod to show his thanks for the drink.

“I wasn’t a slave, at least not really. I drank too much and owed Apple Cu… Brandy a lot of bits… caps. She put the collar on me as incense… cent… ivy…” the unicorn raised an eyebrow as I tried to express myself (poorly), “incentive to pay her back. I got her the money but the collar was damaged, by the Hellhound I fought or by the jackass that deactivated it. Either way, not a slave, not escaped and definitely not a prostitute… as far as I know.” I was… pretty sure I wasn’t now, nor had I ever been, a whore. Easy, yes. Whore, no.

“What do the words mean?” The guard asked, frustrated, looking like he had a burgeoning headache.

“You fought a Hellhound?” The unicorn asked in disbelief, taking a sip of his whiskey and frowning at it as though he’d just accidentally tried to drink lamp oil or goat piss.

“What do they mean?!” The earth pony buck thundered, slamming a hoof down on the table.

“I did.” I answered with no small amount of pride, trying to pretend that I was utterly oblivious to the intruder in our conversation. The earther snorted and was about to ask again when his employer spoke up.

“In so far as I am aware, she is insinuating, my dear Limerick, that you have a very small or nonexistent penis, or, possess a vagina, and therefore, you are, potentially, a mare.” The unicorn answered finally. He was obviously as sick as I was at the interruptions but less capable of tuning them out. Okay, good. I was glad of the explanation, now I too knew what I had said… wait, what?

“A… wait… what? You…” The earth pony stallion began then trailed off, his obtuse mind trying to comprehend, color rising in his cheeks. “Listen bitch, how would you like sixteen inches of cock up your ass?” He hissed. I scratched my surgery scar with a wing and contemplated his question.

“I don’t know; I’m game for pretty much anything.” I told him as though after great and deep reflection. “Though, where are you going to get the other thirteen inches from?” The earther sputtered, shaking his head before grinding his teeth and snorting. He rose from the table, looking like he was spoiling for a fight. This could be bad. But somepony was laughing. It was the unicorn trader. He raised a hoof.

“Outside, Limerick.” He told his guard. The other buck looked at him, utter rage in his eyes. “Now.” The unicorn said coldly. “Check on the Brahmin. Do not force me to give you that order again.” The bar had gone quiet around us. Everypony and one very attractive griffin watching to see what would happen. Limerick, the earther guard buck, drained his beer in barely contained wrath, stamped his hoof and trotted slowly and stiffly toward the door to New Appleloosa. “My apologies.” The unicorn continued. “He is a valuable companion but wholly uncivilized and rather quick to anger.” He sipped a little more of the whisky. “They are… most useful traits while traversing the wasteland, much less so when around other ponies.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” I told him, making sure the turtle was still asleep. “So, my proposal, are you interested in hearing it?”

“I am indeed, after seeing you best poor Limerick so expertly.” The trader replied. “Pendulum.” He held out a hoof. Pendulum… what was a pendulum? Wait, was he saying that his name was pendulum? I reached out my own hoof.

“The mare with no name.” I introduced myself and he raised an eyebrow. “Apologies of my own. Somepony shot me in the head a few weeks back and I’m a few memories short… well… a whole bunch of memories short of an identity.”

“Fascinating.” Pendulum responded. “You survived being shot in the head. Remarkable, extraordinary and exceptionally unusual.”

“Just unlucky, I guess. I answered with as much modesty and as little concern as possible. He smiled.

“I believe you were set to enumerate upon this proposal of yours?” He asked, sniffing the whisky and making a strange face. My what now? Oh, right the proposal. Amazing how easy it was to get sidetracked.

“Are you hiring?” I asked pleasantly. Pendulum looked taken aback.

“Hiring for what position, may I inquire?” He asked me in return.

“Guard.” I answered simply, knocking back some of my whisky. Mare oh mare was this stuff bad… but I couldn’t stop drinking it. The buck looked me over. Was he checking out my flank? Bonus!

“And what, pray tell, are your qualifications?” Pendulum asked, suddenly all businesslike.

“Other than fighting a Hellhound?” I asked incredulously. Jeez, I thought opening with that would get me hired on the spot.

“Yes.” Pendulum answered, offering a hoof to encourage me to speak. “I already have a guard, a very good one. As such, I would need several excellent reasons for which to hire you in his place… or hire you on in addition, as it would negatively impact my financial gains.

“You can’t make any gains if you’re dead because you didn’t have enough protection.” I told him flatly.

“Touche.” He replied and toasted me with the whisky I had given him. Alright, where to begin?

“I’m fast, I’m big, I’m tough and I’m good with boomsticks and blades. I don’t want or need to replace anypony, but you could always use a third set of eyes and another gun.” This was going to be interesting, trying to sell myself (and no, not in that way) but as a valuable addition to a trading venture. “I survived being shot in the head and am up and about and physically capable after a very short amount of time with no ill effects besides memory loss.” And a little brain damage, but, of course, he really didn’t need to know that, now did he? “I can travel long distances with a heavy load and not tire.” I pointed at my possessions with a wing. “I’m funny, generally provide excellent company and have a bright and cheerful disposition that other ponies enjoy.” Where was I coming up with this shit? “I can scout, fight and best of all, I’ve got these.” I stretched my wings out to their fullest, careful not to hit the table or the lamp hanging above us. Doing so would have totally ruined the image of badassness that I was trying to foster.

“I cannot lie. Those are all worthy qualifications, if true.” Pendulum said, hoof to his chin, thinking. What did he mean by ‘if they were true?’ “However, your greatest strength also stands the chance of being my greatest danger.” He added.

“My drinking ability, exceptional good looks and unparalleled fashion sense?” I questioned, not exactly sure what he was getting at. Though, I was at the very least glad that he was no longer glaring at me.

“Your wings.” He told me. My wings? How were they a weakness? “You are a Pegasus. You are on the ground. You still have your Cutie Mark. That is… very odd, perhaps even more so than your surviving being shot in the head or returning alive after a fight with a Hellhound.” It was? “You are not a Dashite, at least, if you are, you were able to escape without receiving the brand. I do not hire Dashites, I generally tend to refrain from taking any actions that might get the Enclave’s attention.” Why was my head starting to hurt? Was it the complexity of all this or the terms he was mentioning? Also, and more importantly… was he just looking at my Cutie Mark and not checking me out?

“I’m not a Dashite.” Whatever that was… something to do with Rainbow Dash, dissension… lightning bolts. “Also, were you checking out my flank or looking at my Cutie Mark?”

“The latter.” Pendulum answered.

“What ladder?” I asked. He facehoofed.

“Perhaps you are the perfect complement to Lim. The latter, l-a-t-t-e-r,” he spelled it out, “with the letter t not the letter d, as in the second choice.” Pendulum clarified and… was he insulting me? Also, damn, so much for love.

“I mean, I can’t prove that I’m not one, but there’s no proof that I am one, a Dashite I mean.” I explained. “But, you can ask Red Rock or any of the other townsfolk. I did fight a Hellhound.” I pointed to the claw grooves in my collar. “Its skin was up on the walls… or gates.”

“I saw.” Pendulum remarked. He leaned forward and studied me intently. “You do not know my route, where I am heading, what I will be trading.”

“I don’t care.” I told in him all honesty. He gave me a strange glance. “I’m looking for something… somepony.”

“Your attempted assassin, no doubt?” He asked, drinking a little more of the whisky and grimacing afterwards.

“No.” I admitted, drinking the remainder of the whisky in my glass and pouring myself another.

“And why, I have to ask, are you not interested in hunting down whoever tried to kill you?” Pendulum inquired. I thought about it for a few moments, watching the drunks at the bar, Whiskey talking with a customer. I looked back to pendulum and swirled my glass.

“I don’t know. I don’t know who it was, what they want, where they are, why they shot me…” I trailed off and contemplated the alcohol, light from above refracting through its sun colored depths. “Even if I could find them… would I be able to kill them, could I… should I?” I looked my potential employer in the eyes. “Where would vengeance take me? What would it get me? Where would it leave me?” I took another drink and blinked away tears. Goddesses, but this stuff burned.

“You are a singular mare.” The trader said to me, leaning back and studying some far away thing, looking through me or past me. “I pay ten caps a day, fifty cap bonuses every time we safely reach a trading post, five percent of my profits and two hundred caps at the end of the run.” He tapped his right forehoof on the table. “You will carry your own gear, supply your own equipment, follow my orders, and, if necessary, Lim’s orders.” Pendulum leaned forward again. “You will stand watch during the night, scout directions during the day, keep safe my goods while I barter and sell and perform any other tasks I require of you.” Pendulum stopped for breath, waiting for my reaction.

“Done.” I affirmed, holding out a hoof. Pendulum hesitated for a second, looking a little surprised, then took my hoof in a brief but firm shake.

“What’s she still doing here?” Limerick asked from behind me, having just now returned from the task his boss had set for him.

“How are the goods?” Pendulum asked back, ignoring his guard’s question.

“Bess is fine, wagon’s fine, goods are fine.” Limerick answered, taking his seat and squinting angrily at me, adjusting his minigun. “Why’s she still sitting here?”

“I have retained her services for our journey.” Pendulum replied. “She is your new comrade in arms.” The look on the earth pony’s face soured instantly and hilariously. I didn’t like him, but if we were going to be on the road together, then we would need to play nice and get along… on the surface at least.

“Here.” I said, pouring him the last empty glass, which he hadn’t earned before, and still didn’t seem to deserve now. Limerick was just about to say the word why, but his face lit up at the alcohol in front of him. “Shall we drink on our new arrangement?” I asked, lifting my glass. Pendulum tried to hide a smile behind his own whisky, but emotions warred on his guard’s face. Limerick looked like he’d rather stab me than drink with me but slowly, very slowly, as if battling internally, he raised his glass. “Does anyone have a toast?”

“To our venture.” Pendulum said quickly. “Profits and safe returns.” Limerick and I repeated the last part and the three of us drained our glasses. Whew, a mare could get used to this Wild Pegasus stuff if it didn’t kill her first.

“When do we head out?” I inquired, realizing I probably should have asked that question somewhere earlier in the conversation.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn.” Pendulum answered. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dawn was so damn early. Fuck me. Oh, well.

“Okay then, gentlecolts,” I said, rising and pouring the last of the whisky into our glasses, making sure to give the smallest portion to Limerick. “I will see you tomorrow at dawn. I need to gear up and take care of a few things.” I belched and tried too late to cover my mouth with a wing. “Where do I need to be?”

“Main gates.” Pendulum answered.

“Don’t be late.” Limerick added, still unsure as to whether or not he hated me for making fun of him or liked me for sharing my booze.

“I’ll be there.” I told them with a nod that looked much more sure than I felt. “Come on, Slow Poke.” I told the sleeping tortoise as I loaded my saddlebags and sacks of crap onto my back. “Whiskey!” I shouted. “I need a bottle of cheap gin, there’s somepony I need to see.” I drank the last of my whisky, tipped my hat to my new companions and readied my thoughts for what I had to do next.

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It had been a long day, and I was admittedly rather tired. But, again, I had miles to go, so to speak, before I could sleep. I’d successfully signed on with Pendulum and Limerick but I needed to go through all of my crap again, pick out what I wanted and needed and find something to do with the rest of it… get rid of it maybe. First though, I owed somepony a visit.

I meandered my way through the town, overburdened by all of my belongings. Fatigue was leeching my strength. I really, really wanted to just lie down and take a nap but I knew that I couldn’t, and that if I did, it would end up not being a nap but one of those good old collapse and pass out sleeps where I wouldn’t wake for hours. I came to a stop in front of the metal shack where Red Rock worked and apparently lived as well. I think the only times I hadn’t seen him here were when he’d been at the bar. And you know what? I really didn’t have anything against that.

“Red Rock, open up. It’s the mare with no name.” I called out and knocked on the door with my wings. The turtle gave an idle squeak at the noise and then went back to sleep. “Reee-ed Rock! I know you’re in there.” I stopped knocking and waited, listening to the sounds of night and trying to discern from the background, anything that might be the brick red buck coming to answer the door. After about two minutes, my luck turned up in a good way.

“What do yeh want?” The stallion asked, irritation lacing his voice as he opened the door. I smiled. It looked as if I’d interrupted him while he was in the middle of something. Or maybe he just didn’t like me, no, not conceivable. Everypony liked me… excepting the one who had shot me in the head.

“There are a few things we need to talk about,” was my chipper answer.

“Like what?” He retorted, but, from his eyes, I could tell he still wasn’t above giving me lecherous looks.

“Life, the universe, everything… sex and survival situations… different types of whisky… that Hellhound hide.” I answered, going from happy and conversational to dark and serious, raising the bottle of gin to muzzle level before him. He looked at it with some trepidation that seemed to mingle with excitement. I pushed him inside, followed, and closed the door behind me. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

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Twenty five minutes later I walked back out of Red Rock’s shack… or… more… stumbled. I’d had some of the gin and the large amount of alcohol I’d imbibed since returning from the wastes was affecting me rather noticeably. I’d gotten two hundred caps for the hide, which I was pretty sure was a rip off, but at least it was something, money to spend at Ditzy’s on the goods I would need for the trip, and forty for the information on the raider nest. I wiped my hooves off on the outside of his shack. He hadn’t thought to ask for a wing job, which I in all honesty hadn’t previously considered either, but I was thankful. In all likelihood it would be really hard to clean my feathers after that. Still, I probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near as much as I did for the hide if I hadn’t relented on the hoof job. It… irked me. I didn’t like the idea of it, in part because he hadn’t in anyway reciprocated. Sexual favors were a two way street in my opinion. It would just be one more thing for me to not be proud of, like getting myself into the collar mess, or being stupid and getting yelled at by Mistletoe. But, I kept telling myself that this wasn’t about me, it was about my foals. I had to find them, protect them, take care of them. And nothing was too low if done for their sake. I sighed and tottered drunkenly toward the ‘Absolutely Everything’ store. This had been a long fucking day and it was turning out to be a pretty long fucking night as well.

The door was open when I arrived. The Pegasus ghoul was bringing stock in large burlap sacks through the front of the store and carrying it behind the counter to sort, organize and price. Since I would be waiting on her anyway, I decided to help my friend and shorten the time it would take her to get everything inside. I dropped my crap near where I’d first knocked into a whole bunch of shit the first time we’d met and carried a good portion of her new supplies inside for her. When we finished, me, panting lightly, her, eyeballs askew, I looked to Ditzy… or near her, trying to not let my gaze settle on her ghoulishness.

“Hey Ditzy, I’m about to head out of town to do some caravan stuff, you looking to do some business?” She smiled, eyes rolling in their sockets. Then, without warning, she shot a wing up into the air and waved it as if to signify that she had just remembered something. The ghoul jumped over the counter and ducked down behind it. I was… confused, and maybe a little concerned. Walking forward, I looked over the counter. All I could see was what once must have been a very fine flank with bubbles on it now reduced to a sad state of undeath. If I was still a filly fooler and she was two hundred years younger and alive… bad alcohol… bad thoughts… but anyway. She was rummaging through things, pulling bits and pieces, odds and ends from old cardboard boxes and empty milk crates stamped with a Trottingham logo. Suddenly she sprang up, eyes all googly, mane in disarray and plopped down a very old looking book on the counter in front of me.

“It’s a book.” I said tonelessly, unimpressed with what she had found. She scowled back at me and tapped the cover with a hoof. She wanted me to open it? “Okay, okay, I’ll look inside. It better be a really good book though, with adventure and lots of pictures… or porn.” I opened the front cover. It wasn’t porn (damn it) or a good book (slightly less emphatic damn it). It was a journal. The inside was empty but for the first page. There, written very neatly, was a message for me.

‘To the mare with no name, Pegasus, Justice Cutie Mark, head turning backside’ aww… how nice, I looked to the bottom, it was signed simply ‘C.’ Hmm… maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought he was. Whoops, sorry, distracted. ‘To the mare with no name… etcetera… I thought you might be a little low on funds by the time you finally decided to pull up stakes and leave New Appleloosa. So, I put the other share of the bounty money, plus some extra, on my account here. The ghoul will let you know how much, she’s fairly honest for a pony in these parts. Try not to get yourself killed, hard as I’m sure that will be. If you drop by Tenpony Tower in Manehattan during your travels, ask for Oak Leaf’s safety deposit box. There’s something inside you might find useful. The code is 16-4-16. Stay safe, try and keep out of trouble. Be wary of Fillydelphia, there’s trouble out that way. If you see a buck with a book on his flank, don’t be afraid to introduce yourself, and tell him I said hello. Also, a riddle for you, try to find the answer, but ask it as a question if you come across a pony and they claim to be me. “What happens when a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends?” Also, keep this journal, write in it. It may help you remember. We’ll meet again.

p.s. When the sun is in the thorn trees, the fire’s on the horizon and the dirty rhyme would indicate that there’s nothing there, duck, you’ll thank me.’

Well… that was… weird? Strange, odd, creepy even. Tenpony Tower, huh? That could be neat. But, safety deposit boxes? Trouble in Fillydelphia? A book on a flank? A big weird ass riddle? And I had absolutely no idea what to make of the last part about sunshine and thorn trees and shit. Like I said, weird. That mysterious Stallion must be consistently drunker than I am for this shit to make sense.

I looked up to find Ditzy smiling through a small piece of chalk that she was chewing on. Okay, totally surrounded by crazy ponies. Her eyes seemed interested in the words on the page. I wondered…

“Say, Ditzy, do you know what happens when…” I looked down at the paper, “a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends? Do you?” He smile faded and dropped. She shook her head vigorously, a little too vigorously if I was any judge. “Sure?” The ghoul looked distressed. “Okay, okay, moving on.” The ancient Pegasus definitely knew something about it, but whatever it was, she didn’t seem to be in a telling mood. “So, anyway, ready to trade?” I asked, changing the subject and grinning. Her smile returned.

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We stood in formation, rank upon rank, gleaming in the sun. The wind whipped by, carrying ice crystals like motes of dust and light, rainbow prisms reflecting off the life giving star. Banners and ensigns snapped in response to the breeze, straining to fly free. We stood… and waited. We were waiting for something… someone… a day that would never come. The sun set, the ponies around me disappeared, one by one, fading into shadows, melting away until only I remained… in darkness.

I was in a kitchen, making pancakes, trying to make pancakes, at least, just a mother watching over them in a vain effort to prevent the breakfast food from burning. My foals were at the table, doing homework, arguing with one another about great figures in Equestrian history. A scuffle broke out and I had to separate them. The pancakes burned. Damn it. I tried so hard this time, but it happened again. Distantly I could hear my husband, entering the house, returning from mid-shift. I grabbed a spatula to try and salvage the pancakes but there was ash in the pan… and blood.

The team had set up in the ruins of an old war era city, in a tower at the center of an office park, sending out scouts and patrol parties to reconnoiter the area around our makeshift headquarters. It was the height of summer, near unbearable heat boiling up in waves around us. How I wished for winter. His patrol was supposed to get back soon. I was nervous, worried for him but refused to let it show. I had to be strong… be seen as strong, for the others. I looked down at the burnt out husk of what had once been a desk, bits of paper darkened by age and flame, incomprehensible. When I looked under the desk there was a skeleton. I gave a closer examination. Two skeletons, the larger surrounding the smaller as though trying to protect it, but now it looked only as if the lesser bones had been consumed by the greater. I backed away from the desk and scanned the nearby wall. There was a poster on it, words in zebra and pony; ‘Bring Your Foal to Work Day’ blazoned across the top. Bring your foal to work day… the bones took on new meaning.

I was in front of them, in what shelter we had from the rain and thunder. My exquisitely crafted firearm was out, clutched in a wing, ready to fire. Lightning strikes reflected off of it, off of the fear in the captives’ eyes. Was it in mine as well? My wing was shaking. It shouldn’t be. I had years of practice with the weapon, it wasn’t light as weapons went but I shouldn’t be wearied so easily and quickly by it. I steadied myself, ready to fire. But… these were children, fillies and colts. I couldn’t. I had to. I wouldn’t. I must. They were crying. I was crying. I was running away, through the blinding storm, gunshots sounded behind me.

It was dark underground, damp, moist. Roots of trees dead for two hundred years hung down in the unfinished tunnel. I was close, getting so close. The music was playing. It was time. Everything was ready, set, but he was somewhere behind me. He would stop me, or I would stop him. I descended the steps, hooves clanging on grated metal. I needed to make it to the control center, to command. The lights were flickering. This is where it all started. This is where it would all end.

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I woke with a gasp. Somepony was shaking me and the first thing I did was reach for a weapon, readying myself to fight. But, even in the dimness of the faint pre-dawn light that managed to penetrate the interior of the ‘Absolutely Everything’ I could tell it was only Ditzy Doo. She was waking me, as I’d asked her to. I had wanted to rise and be ready before dawn, before having to leave with Pendulum and Limerick. I was breathing heavily. Sweat and foam on my body, haunches twitching. The ghoul brought a lantern out from behind one of the shelves and looked me over, clearly dismayed by my condition and obviously anxious for me. Strange, halfway formed ideas, denizens of the haze between unconsciousness and the waking world ran wild in my head, tormenting me. Racing thoughts and intents followed fears and desires.

“It’s nothing, Ditzy.” I lied, calming down, slowing my breaths. “Just… bad dreams.” She maintained a worried frown despite my assurances. Maybe I would have to get better at this whole lying thing. I only needed to whip my brain into shape, keep it in line, give it a good chewing out and… eww… did I just now use the phrase chewing out in relation to my own brain? Boy, were those connotations unpleasant. I smacked my muzzle a few times with my hooves and used my wings to wipe the sleep from my eyes. How long had I slept? Fifteen minutes? An hour? No time at all was what it felt like. Lousy rotten having to get up early… stuff and… things. Didn’t Pendulum know that mares needed their beauty sleep, especially after a night of drinking that followed a day of walking and thinking. Damn thinking, why did it have to be so hard?

Despite my fatigue I rose quickly and easily (tried to go back to bed half a dozen times, got grouchy and grumpy, Ditzy had to throw water on me to convince me to move, oh I really hoped it was water), not giving my friend, who was again kind enough to let me crash on her floor, a hard time. Nope, no sir. I was gentle as an un-irradiated lamb, white fleece, one head and everything. Yup, I was a good girl.

I lit a cigarette and tried to flatten my sleep tousled mane, eyes half shut at the suffered injustices that accompanied being awake this early. Dear Princess Celestia, I am thankful for not being woken up at zero dark thirty in the fucking morning… ugh. Though, by some grace out of time and place, my host was brewing coffee. A hymn of praise was offered to the clouded heavens, not as rapturous as the one I’d given upon finding out there was more than one type of whisky, but it was close.

We sat together in back, in Ditzy’s modest but well stocked and very well cared for kitchen. Everything in it except for me was centuries old. It was nice to feel young… er… uh… younger. I may be twenty five (for some strange surety of belief) but to you, I’m a sprightly, youthful eighteen… early eighteen, just turned it, closer to seventeen really. Don’t even dare to say or think otherwise. And if I hear laughter at my expense so help me I’ll… get back on track and stop wandering off in my own mind.

Ditzy and I had coffee and water to wash down oatcakes and some kind of cereal, both of which had seen better decades. The coffee wasn’t bad though and it did perk me up a bit. It could do, in retrospect, with being a little stronger. Just a little, just a tad bit, but it would have been nice. Oh well, nothing to do about it now, just one more regret that I would probably forget. Sometimes there was a bright side to not having crap for memory. Yes, bright side indeed.

The two of us left Ditzy’s home and business, locking up behind us. I was much lighter now (no heavy jokes please). I’d traded away many things and all that I still possessed (short of the photograph, drawing and letter which I kept in the left side chest pocket of my barding) was in the saddlebags I kept or in the nice sea bag that I’d gotten from the store. I was no longer overburdened, though I was well stocked. I had cigarettes, excesses of water and non perishable food, a nice amount of ammo. The list went on. For melee weapons I’d gone with a little electric prodding device that I could flip on with a wing and a simple wooden bat… studded with nails and barbed wire. The shocky thing would apparently zap anypony that I touched it to. I… resisted the urge to try it out on myself. The bat, meanwhile, would help me get my wing strength back. If I had to swing something heavy it darn well better build up my flight muscles.

For distance, I’d purchased a sturdy twenty gauge shotgun, an old break action over under that looked like it had seen centuries of combat and would see centuries more. I had forty shells for it in standard buck shot, twenty slugs, ten magnum shells… which I was itching to try out… and five special blue sparkly shells that Ditzy apparently hadn’t been able to find a buyer for over the last twenty years or so. They were pretty and I felt like I owed the Pegasus ghoul… so I bought them. For longer range I’d chosen a battered hunting rifle, thirty two caliber, which I thought was a little unusual, but considering how weird I was, I shouldn’t be judging. Anyway, it was bolt action and could hold five rounds in an internal magazine. I had purchased sixty to be safe. Lastly, for armament, I’d purchased a nine millimeter pistol, three thirteen round magazines, forty five bullets, nine of which happened to be hollow points… which I was also eager to try out.

Ditzy and I approached the main gate, where several ponies had already congregated. I adjusted my barding and we kept walking. I decided to keep the armor that I found on the hillside, but not to wear it, since it would probably make me recognizable to whoever it was that wanted me dead. As such, it was packed away in my sea bag and I was wearing a set of early wartime combat armor in a woodland camouflage pattern. It was pretty darn neat looking, seemed to offer more than adequate protection, didn’t hamper my agility and Ditzy helped me pull out the inserts so that I could shove my wings through the thing.

The turtle… who I’d yet to name, and which Ditzy found greatly amusing, was asleep on my dorsal armor plating. In my infinite wisdom and thanks to Ditzy’s bottomless supply of just about everything under the cloud hidden sun, we decided that the creature needed armor and we found it. The ghoul had recently acquired an old Kevlar helmet, with the logo of the Equestrian Sea Guard on it that had a hole drilled in it for unicorn to put their horn through. It was big enough, thankfully, that the animal could put both of its heads through the hole. So now, it was a heavily armored war tortoise of death, though, sadly, the color of his helmet armor didn’t really match my own. I would do something about that later. For now, it was time to meet up with my magnanimous employer and disgruntled co-worker. Um, that sounded right. Was I using the words correctly? Anypony?

We arrived at the gates to join the throng already present. New Appleloosa was a small town, several dozen citizens, maybe up to a couple hundred. There was very little to do other than drink, stare out at the wastelands and, apparently, see off the caravans. Some got in a little last minute bartering while others paid the traders to carry messages and letters. Some came just because they had nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. I did have somewhere else to be… in a bed, with a buck, or mare… or both, sleeping off the toxins I’d accrued from the night before. My passenger squeaked in his sleep. Lucky bastard, I wished I was still asleep.

There were twenty five ponies or so milling about, trading, gossiping or admiring Limerick’s mini-gun. I know I admired it. Maybe I could trick him into giving it to me. Somehow, someday. The earth pony looked about how I felt, tired and worn out but ready to get the hell out of dodge. He was leaning against the wall, spitting tobacco, watching his… our employer’s goods and occasionally answering questions rather tersely in a gruff and unpleasant voice.

Pendulum was doing a brisk business, selling knick knacks, buying cheap, accepting letters for transit and keeping all of his goods sorted but visible for potential customers. He had one of those strange cow like creatures that I’d learned was called a Brahmin. Like my turtle, it also had two heads… and no brains. Stop me if I’ve said this before, my memory (or lack thereof) gets the better of me sometimes. The beast was heavily laden and pulling a small canvas topped wagon that had additional supplies and stocks of goods in it. If only I could just lay down on the canvas and fall asleep… just let the big old cow pull me along to wherever we were going.

“I am glad you could make it.” Pendulum said through a mouthful of pencils that he was trying to get Crane to buy.

“Glad to be here.” I answered, setting my gear down. “What do you need me to do?”

“Watch the wagon, do what I tell you, be ready to leave.” He replied, disappointed that he was only able to offload three of his twelve pencils on the rail working unicorn. I made my way, over a mercifully short distance, to his wagon and leaned up against it, glaring at anypony that got too close or looked like they were going to try anything suspicious. It was only mildly entertaining, but diverting enough to keep me from destructive boredom.

“So, what should I call you?” Pendulum asked, finishing up a sale with two colts and giving each one a very small piece of candy.

“What do you mean?” I asked back, stamping a hoof and snorting in warning when a shady looking earther mare surreptitiously approached the back of the wagon.

“By what moniker would you prefer I address you for the time being?” He queried. Hubbuza-wah? What the hell did all that just mean? Wait, I think I was getting it… got it… whatever.

“You mean I should choose a name?” I replied, watching the mare back away slowly and fade into the crowd. The sun was rising above the horizon now. It was quite easy to tell. That would mean that we would be leaving soon.

“It would be beneficial. Everypony should have a name. Even this old girl has one.” He conceded while packing up his remaining supplies and securing their pouches and pockets on the brahmin’s sides. I didn’t have a name and I wasn’t old… oh he meant the cow he was patting. “Bessy.” He introduced us. “She has been with me longer than Limerick and is of a much more cordial temperament.” The creature looked back at me with one head, while the other pulled at a clump of half dead grass on the ground near its hooves. The gaze it gave me was mournful and one of an animal whose intelligence could easily be rated alongside that of igneous rocks and certain lesser varieties of root vegetables.

“Charmed.” I said unenthusiastically and tipped my hat to the Brahmin. It continued to regard me with about as little disinterest as it could muster, and this thing seemed like it had a very disinterested personality… or outlook on the world around it… her. I lowered my head to catch sight of bulging udders. Gross. “What do you think I should choose?” I asked.

“Bitch, Cunt, Whore, Slut…” came Limerick’s reply from the wall on the other side of the wagon. Great, this again.

“No, my name, not your mother’s.” I responded back.

“First chance I get, I’m dropping you down a well.” The buck promised.

“Brilliant plan, genius.” I scoffed. “I’m a Pegasus. I have wings. Besides, I doubt that you possess the fortitude, capability or aim to drop a turd down a toilet. I really don’t think you’ll be able to put me down a well.”

“If the two of you continue to argue in my presence, you are both fired.” Pendulum interjected as he accepted some water for the trip from Ditzy Doo. She also gave some to the Brahmin but the animal just looked at her as if trying to determine whether she was an edible species of grass or an oversized gopher. Alright, I needed a name. A name… a name… I… couldn’t think of one. Damn. No, I had an idea. I pushed off of the wagon and filled my lungs with air.

“Hey, everypony, who wants to think up a name for me?” I asked in a good showpony voice. There was little response or enthusiasm. “Twenty caps to the winner.” I added. Wow, that certainly got their attention. I thought back on my gear from the hillside and the initials they bore. “It has to be two words, the first starts with a ‘w’ and the second with the letter ‘s,’ so, what can you come up with?”

“Whisky Shooter?” Red Rock, who had just arrived looking more than a little drunk, offered. That… wasn’t bad. The knowing smile he offered did make me want to buck his teeth in though.

“Winged Slut.” Limerick muttered. No.

“Water Shed?” Somepony suggested. What the hell?

“Winter Song!” Railright shouted, joining in on the fun. Hmm… that was a pretty good one.

“Wasted Shit.” Limerick suggested from the wall. Again, no.

“Wither Shine?” Crane asked, sticking a pencil into his hard hat. That was… I don’t know, not as good as some of the other ones.

“Wiggle Sloth!” A filly called out gleefully. I don’t even know what… I just… don’t even know.

“War Sword!” Candi called out. Oh, that was a good one. Trust that hot little piece of… ahem, hmm… never mind… to come up with a heck of a good name.

“Witless Slug.” Limerick coughed. That was occasionally true, painful as it was to admit, but not exactly the kind of name I wanted. Also, insulting.

“Wandering Storm.” Mistletoe, next to Candi, voiced dryly. That was also a pretty good name. The old buck gave me a small smile, apparently proud that I was doing something productive with my life and time. I returned his smile with interest (as Brandy would have put it) and gave a big old grin.

“Wishing Star?” Pendulum, not wanting to be left out, or just incapable of not offering his own idea, said. That wasn’t bad either. Ugh… now I have like five really good names to choose from.

“Wallowing Sow.” Limerick spoke, irritated and I think serious about the name. Somepony was in a hurry to get out of here.

“White Snow!” Somepony offered. Meh. I looked over to Ditzy, who was rubbing a slightly feathered wing against a mostly skinned chin. The old ghoul turned her head to the sky, to me, to the sky then started hopping up and down in excitement. What was she on about now? The only other Pegasus around besides me zipped over to Crane, grabbed the pencil from his hard hat and dashed over to Railright. She took the pencil in her teeth and, despite the mayor’s protests, began writing words on his duster. She finished and pointed to them.

‘Wild Skies.’ Perfect. I gave a genuine but lopsided smile.

“Wild Skies. We have a winner.” I announced. There were more than a few disappointed mutters and groans.

“I still like Winged Slut.” Limerick opined.

“You will like what I tell you to like, Lim.” Pendulum drowned out his guard’s voice. “Now, let us depart, we are wasting daylight.” He was right. The sun would soon hit the clouds and disappear behind them, as it always did. Darn clouds why did… head hurting, never mind. Railright nodded to the gate guards, none of whom, I was pleased to see, was the dumb bitch who’d shot me when I was…

“Hey Red Rock!” He looked my way just in time to get the sack of two hundred caps right between the eyes. “Keep it. I’m taking the hide with me.” The gate opened and I very quickly tossed my sea bag onto the wagon then approached Mistletoe. He offered a hoof but I hugged him instead.

“Stay safe out there kid.” He advised, awkwardly hugging me back. “And good luck.”

“I’ll try.” I answered. “And thanks.” We drew apart. Candi opened her forehooves wide to hug me but I gave her a big wet kiss right on the nose and lick on the cheek instead. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.” I told her. She blushed, giggled and tried to wipe away the salivary leavings of my tongue. Limerick had already hoisted his mini-gun and moved to the front of Pendulum and Bessy. I was almost out of time. I waved to the townsfolk and ran over to Ditzy Doo.

“Thank you.” I said sincerely, and gave her a big squishy hug which she wholeheartedly returned. “Did you want those twenty caps?” I asked. She shook her head, smiled and pulled a remarkably pristine straw colored hair from her mane. The ghoul offered it to me. “Um, thanks Ditzy.” I responded to her gesture and decided, hay, why the heck not. I pulled (ouch) a hair from my own mane and offered it back to her. She accepted with glee. “I’ll see you around.” She smiled wider and clopped her hooves.

“Hurry, miss Skies. We do not have all day to vegetate and waste lackadaisical.” Pendulum called out as he left the gate.

“Right, sorry.” I waved once more to the ponies of New Appleloosa and ran out to meet my companions. Turning back once I had galloped past the gate, I set the armored turtle down on the ground, readied myself and with as much energy as I could spare, leapt upwards, grabbed the Hellhound hide and pulled. It tore from its nails and came down with me. I wrapped the thing around my withers and over my barrel, then picked the indignant turtle back up and set him down on my head. “Remember not to poop on me.” I warned the little beast as we caught up to Pendulum, Bessy and Limerick. It squeaked down at its conveyance (me) and looked ahead eagerly, happy to be moving faster than it could on its own. Oh, yeah, almost forgot. I reached into my saddlebags with my wings and pulled out my new journal, because, I guess, why not? I took a pencil that I’d shoved inside it and, with my wings, and thoughts of my foals foremost in my often misbehaving mind, started to write. I paid some attention to the centuries’ old road under my hooves and some to the book into which I was supposed to pour my thoughts. Wild Skies… I beamed, grinning from ear to slightly damaged ear. I had a name. I was no longer the mare with no name. I set my pace similar to Bessy’s and left New Appleloosa behind as our caravan ventured out into the wastelands.

Fallout Equestria: Justice - Volume I. The Mare With No Name

by Marlow

1. Welcome To The Wastes

2. A Cure For Some Of What Ails You

3. No Caps, No Colts, No Custom

4. Hellhounds Hath No Fury

5. Booze... Bullets... Bucks...

6. Whiskey Blues

7. Motion

8. Wild Skies