Anon continues to unravel the mysteries of Fortuna, his arcane automaton of a friend...
Fortuna is a mystery - literally. Anon has no idea how old she is, who made her, or how she ended up in a scrapyard - still, despite all that, he continues to discover things about her. It feels like every day he's finding something new she can do, oftentimes with disastrous results, and the list of her abilities keeps growing. Fortunately for him, even if he never uncovers all her secrets, he's happy to have made a friend...
“Is this really necessary, Traveler?” Fortuna inquired, twisting around to peer at the sweating, wheezing man.
Having tilted the fortune-telling automaton’s housing to one side, barely able to hold the weight of the infernal thing, he frantically kicked a rolling dolly under one corner of her boxy frame. “Since the jackass who designed you didn’t think to include wheels, this is the best solution I could come up with.”
Moving her was not an easy task, mostly because whoever made her neglected to give her any reasonable means of mobility, but he wasn’t going to throw in the towel - not by a long shot. The past few weeks with her around had been more amusing than he cared to admit, even if he still didn’t fully comprehend everything she was capable of, and he wanted to thank her - as such, having earned a few extra bits from hawking refurbished furniture, he’d planned something special for her; but first he’d have to get her rolling. Easing her onto the portable platform, he straightened up and wiped his brow.
Watching the man walk around her front to her opposite side, she cocked her head. “My powers of prediction wane. Tell me, what are you doing exactly?”
“Considering you’re either fucking with me or have a faulty memory, since you’ve already asked five times, I may as well spill the beans. I’m taking you to the movies,” he grunted, bracing his legs and heaving her fully onto the cart.
“Movies?” she parroted, her right eye flickering.
“Yeah,” he replied, kneeling down to adjust her positioning, “like a film. Come on, you’re not that old ~ are you?”
“A moving picture show!” she exclaimed, finally putting the pieces together. “I have never been to one myself, although I have heard tales that they’re quite the spectacle!”
Strolling around behind her, he grasped the push bar of the dolly, leaned in, and shoved her forward. “Well they’re running a special tonight, so I thought it would be a fun - Mmmph - way to kill the afternoon.”
Having finally gotten her moving, he drove her past his office and towards the main gate. He’d already gotten the go-ahead to close an hour early, even though his boss had given him an exceptionally incredulous look, yet that was the easy part - the hard part would be wheeling her across six city blocks and to the theater. Though a good bit of the trek would be downhill, making the trip there an interesting mix of easy and terrifying, he was already dreading lugging her back to the scrapyard at the end of the evening.
Briefly stopping just outside the exit, taking care that she wouldn’t roll off without him, he chained the entrance and flipped the Open sign to Closed. He knew it would be a trial to haul her around, and he wasn’t really sure if she’d even enjoy going to see a movie, but it was the least he could do for her - well, besides trying to fix her up a bit. Leaning to the side, peering past her, he glowered.
“Just tell me if I’m going to run anything over,” he remarked. “It’s not like I can see that -”
“Fire hydrant!” she blared, bringing him to a screeching halt.
Nearly losing his footing and faceplanting into her back panel, he recovered and tensed his legs. “What side?”
“Two blocks ahead, on our right,” she coolly responded.
Holding her steady, lest she trundle down the street uncontrolled, he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I meant if I’m about to run anything over - like if it’s right ahead of us.”
“You should really be more specific with your instructions,” she quipped.
“Yeah, sure, says the one who farts out crackerjack fortunes to foals with spare bits,” he countered.
Though he couldn’t see her, he heard what he could only assume was the mechanical equivalent to a peevish huff. “Traveler, they are hardly nebulous. Did you know I foresaw the rise and fall of Discord, Lord of Chaos?”
“Uh huh -” he murmured, “I sure do…”
He honestly couldn’t say if she’d mentioned that supposed detail, after all the wild stories she’d told him. According to her, she’d done everything from meet the Princesses and travel the globe to foretell a division of the pony tribes and some sinister, inexplicable nightmare called Pony Life; it really wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t keep all her tall tales straight. Focusing on simply getting them to their destination without crashing, he issued the periodic, noncommittal ‘Mmmhmm’ and halfheartedly listened to her blather on.
Five blocks and what felt like a pint of sweat later, he finally spotted the illuminated marquee of the cinema. While he was glad that they’d made it in one piece, there was one final hurdle he’d have to overcome - one which would hinge heavily on his companion. Bringing them to a stop on a level piece of sidewalk, he strolled around and leaned through the open pane of Fortuna’s booth.
One of the few successes he’d managed to address the broken glass surrounding her compartment. With a bit of innovation, a busted carriage that had been in the yard for nearly a year, and copious amounts of elbow grease, he’d installed retractable windows for her. The motorized panes protected her from the elements, allowed her some modicum of freedom, and kept any of her visitors from potentially cutting themselves.
“I have two very important questions,” he began, conspiratorially looking around. “First of all, would you rather see a horror or a comedy?”
Knitting her motorized brow, she rubbed her chin. “A comedy would be nice.”
He nodded and anxiously licked his lips, hoping she wasn’t about to short circuit from what he was about to ask. “Alright. Second big one ~ can you pretend to be my date?”
The mechanized mare reared back, sparks flying from one ear, and held a forehoof to her chest. “Pretend? Traveler, we don’t have to pretend.”
Without saying another word, she lurched forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. He hadn’t been sure how she’d react, but the little kiss was the last thing he could have expected. Dumbstruck, seeing the light in her good eye wink, he scrunched his nose. Dismissing his curiosity about how one would court an automaton, he pulled back and waved his hand.
“It’s for the movie; they’re letting couples see a feature for half off,” he explained. “If we act like we’re an item, we’ll get -”
The sound of servos and a dull hum cut him off, as her housing began to shudder violently. Stepping back and away, fearing that he may have activated some unholy and more than likely dangerous feature of hers, he glanced around for something - anything to take cover behind. After a number of particularly devastating parlor tricks of hers, including one which had nearly burned down the scrapyard, he wasn’t about to take his chances with her.
Instead of an explosion or some arcane maelstrom, something even more surprising transpired. Four small hatches opened on lower portions of her housing, before a quartet of long, thick, serpentine appendages crept from her booth. The doorways were so perfectly fitted that he’d never noticed them, nor had he seen any traces of the appendages inside her undercarriage, leaving him amazed by the development. As the limbs fully extended and pressed to the ground, supporting themselves on claw-like hands, she pushed herself from the dolly and stepped forward.
“To answer your question, I can pretend,” she giggled, issuing a pair of air quotes with her hooves, “to be your date.”
“You have legs?!” he croaked, disregarding her acknowledgement.
Striding past him, like some robotic-pony version of a comic book super villain, she smugly grinned over at the gobsmacked man. “You never asked if I did.”
Too stunned to be upset with her, turning and watching her ponderously move to the ticket counter, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Celestia help him - he would figure out all the tricks she had up her nonexistent sleeves, even if it took him years to do it. As he spun around and marched after her, having kicked the dolly into an alleyway, he fished into his pocket and retrieved his careworn wallet.
“Two for Team Equestria, Friendship Police,” he intoned, slapping a number of bits onto the counter.
The clerk, a little pony wearing an usher’s hat, stared blankly between him and the then-towering, fortune-telling android. The shocked reaction was one he’d become all too accustomed to, being the only human in Equestria, so he politely cleared his throat and slid the coins over to the stricken stallion. Be damned if he was going to let a dismayed employee stop him from seeing a movie, not after he’d busted his ass to bring Fortuna all the way to the theater.
“Two for Team Equestria, Friendship Police,” he repeated, “please.”
Numbly nodding, keeping his eyes on the automaton, the clerk rang up the register, deposited the bits, and printed off two tickets. “H…here you are, Sir, enjoy the show.”
As if to emphasize the point, or possibly just to devil her companion, Fortuna tilted her booth forward, leaned out the front window, and pecked the man’s cheek. “Thank you, fine plebeian. My coltfriend and I are going to watch a talkie at your fine establishment! Traveler, come, let us procure refreshments in the lobby!”
“I - uh - sure, Honey,” Anon faltered, affectionately taking her proffered forehoof in his hand.
Though it may have been laying it on a little thick, their trick worked flawlessly - that or the employee was so nonplussed by seeing a literal alien and a robot to question the discount. As he opened and held the door for his date, she lowered herself and awkwardly entered the building. As impressive as it was to see her maneuver around, a potential issue came to mind - seating.
“Hey, can you go and see if you can find us somewhere to sit? They should have a handicapped seating area in the cinema,” he noted, strolling over to the concession stand.
Whatever magical engine powering her sputtered and backfired, as she issued a crisp salute, wheeled around and ominously stomped away. Silently praying that she wouldn’t spontaneously combust or suffer from some catastrophic malfunction, he nervously watched her disappear down a side hallway. While he did consider himself lucky that he wouldn’t have to push her back to the yard, once they were finished with the movie, he wondered what other secrets she’d been hiding from him.
“Can I take your order?” a cheerful mare chirped.
“Um -” he hummed, studying the menu, “I’ll take a large popcorn and two bottles of pop.”
Absentmindedly strumming his fingers on the countertop, his mind wandered. Thus far, Fortuna had shown the ability to unintentionally cast devastating magic, could sprout legs seemingly from nowhere, held dubious powers of divination, and owned an assortment of brick-a-brac. He’d assumed he’d seen or at least heard of everything she could do, but the development with her tentacle-like appendages completely upended that notion. Since tomorrow was a Saturday, meaning he’d only half a half-day’s shift ahead, he made a mental note to bring his tool kit and have a second foray into her interior, if only to have a second look for damaged components or joints needing lubrication.
“Sir,” the mare called, snapping him from his stupor, “here’s your order!”
Grabbing up the tub of popcorn and the two bottles of soda, he nodded his thanks and made for the theater. Had his hands been free, he would have kept his fingers crossed that Fortuna would have found somewhere ideal for them to sit. At worst, she may have to occupy the aisle or situate herself at the very front of the theater, forward of the rows of chairs, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that; given that it was her first time seeing a movie, he’d like her to enjoy the experience.
As he turned a corner and walked into a cavernous corridor, with theater doors lining either side of the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks. Lingering not a dozen feet ahead of him, resting one flexible leg against a Pac Mare arcade cabinet, stood Fortuna. Snickering to herself, softly caressing the game machine with her clawed appendages, she fanned herself with a forehoof. Fuck if he knew what he was looking at, but he the sight was both baffling and inexplicably frustrating.
“I thought you were my date,” he quietly demanded, trotting up to her side.
Twisting around, somehow blushing, she peered down at him with a spooked expression. “W…well I - Tzt - thought we were pretending! It’s not my fault that this fine contraption is so colorful and chatty!”
Looking past her and to the illuminated screen, seeing little more than the Insert Bit To Play flashing, he pursed his lips and squinted up at her. “Come on, we gotta find somewhere to sit.”
Seeing his way into their auditorium, hearing his automated associate following along behind him, he surveyed the interior of the spacious chamber. There weren’t all that many ponies present, leaving plenty of empty seating available, but that wasn’t what drew his eye. Much to his relief, there was a vacant row of chairs near the front of the theater hall with empty spaces for those in wheelchairs; while the area wasn’t exactly designed to be used by a lumbering, sapient machine, they’d fit the bill nicely.
As he made his way down the central aisle, he smiled and tried to ignore the flabbergasted looks from the spectators. Silly though it was, he couldn’t help but take a bit of amusement from the spectacle he and his friend were unintentionally making. Reaching his destination and easing himself into an empty seat, he looked over while Fortuna parked herself beside him.
Her limbs retracted, concealing themselves from whence they came, as her eyes drifted over to the obscene tub of popcorn in his lap. “You know I could have made some fresh for you,” she whispered, the lights dimming from above.
“Shush -” he hissed, pointing up to the screen, “it’s about to start.”
The room went dark, the overhead speakers barked to life, and the trailers began to roll, as a hush fell over the audience. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to an honest to goodness theater to watch a show, spending most of his free time tinkering or reading, so he was a bit excited to see the film. From everything he’d heard, the movie was pretty damn funny, being a satire of how the Elements of Harmony used the power of friendship to solve everything, and it had gotten rave reviews. While the opening credits played, filling the air with a crescendo of overly dramatic music, he munched away on his popped corn.
To his amusement, the critics didn’t disappoint; it only took a handful of minutes until he was slapping his knee and nearly aspirating his cola. “Do they seriously think you can hug a bugbear like that?” he chuckled, elbowing his companion’s housing.
Her lack of response was a bit odd, prompting him to shift his focus from the show and over to her. Tranquil within her booth, holding her forehooves together before herself, she rested completely inert and inactive. His mood immediately soured, realizing what had happened.
“Hey,” he softly grouched, knocking on her casing, “you’re missing the movie.”
Though it was rare, he’d caught her sleeping a handful of times before. As near as he could figure, going off what he’d seen, she’d typically power down when she wasn’t busying herself with something or chattering away, which was exceptionally rare. Rapping on her window, drawing a vehement Sssssssh from somebody behind him, he rolled his eyes, dug into his pocket, and produced a single bit.
Feeding the coin into her slot evoked an immediate response, causing her eyes to go alight. “Welcome, Traveler, I am Mistress Fortuna! What mysteries does your -”
“Shut up down there!” someone shouted, flinging a hooffull of popcorn at the pair.
“Quiet!” Anon seethed, vainly attempting to juggle watching the movie and silencing his friend.
“My apologies, Traveler, I must have dozed off,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the screen.
Only mildly annoyed with the distraction, Anon folded his arms over his chest. “It’s fine…”
Unfortunately for him, things were far from fine. Not only did she fall asleep three more times, but two of which resulted in her same bombastic awakening. By the end of the film, with several of the moviegoers shooting them dirty looks or grumbling beneath their breath, he was left feeling defeated. Getting to his feet and putting the drained pop bottles into his nearly emptied tub of popcorn, he trudged past his companion.
The familiar whir of servos and motors, followed by the dull Thud Thud Thud of metal on concrete, let him know Fortuna wasn’t far behind - still, he felt as though his money and afternoon had been wasted. Slowing at the exit near the screen, opting not to leave through the lobby, he glanced up at her.
“I m-m-m-m-must apologize, Traveler,” she sighed, her vaguely electronic voice skipping slightly, “several of my parts may be beyond their warranty.”
His expression softened, as he closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. He really didn’t have any right to be upset - not knowing how old she was. Left to speculate on exactly when she was made, he assumed she was at least several decades old. Peering up at her, observing the light in her cracked eye blink on and off, he set his jaw.
“Don’t worry about it,” he stated, stepping out and into the alleyway. “I’m gonna see about getting you polished up a little tomorrow. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to do much, but I’ll see if I find any components I know are on the fritz.”
“Only because you asked nicely,” she hummed, loping along beside him.
“Yeah, I’ll come by early and - Fuck,” he blurted, tripping and falling over the dolly he’d kicked down the backstreet earlier.
Drawing to a halt, balancing herself on three of the opposable appendages, she wrapped one leg around him, pulled him upright, and dusted him off. “Am I still supposed to tell you if you’re about to run into anything?”
Shooting her a dirty look, fighting through his wounded pride and stinging shin, he did his damnedest not to smirk. “Yeah…Yeah, that’d be nice…”
“And you’re sure this isn’t going to kill you?” Anon asked, shuffling to the side and peering up at Fortuna.
Twisting over and peeking down at the man, she shrugged. “It shouldn’t. Considering I was deactivated for as long as I was, prior to your intervention, I doubt going without power will d-d-d…”
Her limbs and head went slack, while the light faded from her eyes. Wrinkling his nose, Anon reached around and applied a bit of percussive maintenance to the small internal combustion engine that kept her up and running. The motor coughed and sputtered, briefly recovering and bringing her back to life. Unfortunately for the both of them, the critical component was on its last legs.
“My thanks, Traveler,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But no, I don’t believe disconnecting the engine will do any harm.”
Glancing over his shoulder at his solution for her problem, Anon swallowed hard. Equestrian technology was a bit different from what he was used to on Earth - sure, there were some commonalities, such as coal-fired or gasoline engines, but some of the shit in horse-land bordered on mystical. Having never encountered a motor like hers, yet realizing he had to find something to keep her operational, he’d relied on what little mechanical know-how he had to cobble together a replacement.
“Alright,” he grumbled, repositioning himself behind her, “I’ll try to make this as quick and painless as I can.”
“Take your time,” she announced, “I’m i-i-in no hurry.”
Keeping his fingers crossed, Anon issued a silent prayer to whatever deity would lend him an ear, extended his arm, and disabled the engine. Though he couldn’t see her, being squatted down behind her booth, he listened to her clockworks grind to a halt. If he was lucky, the crystal matrix power supply he’d salvaged from a washing machine would dramatically reduce her little hiccups, but there was no guarantee it’d work as he intended.
Even though he knew it wasn’t the same as open heart surgery, he moved with a purpose. He’d already removed the mounting screws to her engine, after trying to fiddle with the damn thing to get it running smoothly, so sliding it out and unplugging it was easy enough - nevertheless, that did little to quell his unease. For all he knew, the substitute power supply may blow up in his face, possibly literally, which is why he’d had the forethought to keep a fire extinguisher nearby.
With a heave and a grunt, he lifted the motor from its compartment and sat it to the side. If his plan worked, he had every intention of dismantling and rebuilding the engine from the ground up, installing new gaskets and restoring it to its original state, but that hinged on if the generator he’d procured actually worked. Slotting the significantly newer power supply into position, he studiously plugged the unit in, closed his eyes, and shakily flicked the switch.
Seconds of silence passed, before he worked up the nerve to peek into her housing. Though the matrix seemed to be working, glowing and softly humming, Fortuna herself seemed devoid of life. Scowling to himself, he rose to his full height and stepped around to fully face her. If nothing else, he could take solace that his little experiment hadn’t ended with a catastrophic bang - that said, he’d be less than pleased if it hadn’t worked.
“Hey,” he announced, reaching into her case to softly pat her cool cheek, “you’re not dead, are you?”
Nothing, not a peep. Glancing up at her marquis, seeing that it was backlit, he scratched his chin. The generator was clearly working at some capacity, at the very least partially powering her systems, but it seemed as though something had gone awry. Turning his attention to her coin slot, he dug around in his pocket for a bit. Feeding the coin into her failed to produce any result other than a cold pit forming in his stomach.
Reaching into her booth, lifting and setting her turban to the side, he gazed at the crystal ball resting atop her head. He still wasn’t sure exactly how the sphere worked, or if it had any bearing on her functionality, but giving it a closer look certainly couldn’t hurt anything. As he wiped a bit of dust off the orb, leaning closer to her statuesque figure, the glint of something behind her caught his eye.
He’d always assumed that the curtain to her rear simply covered a wooden back panel, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Brushing aside the cloth, he stiffened slightly. An dizzying array of vacuum tubes, electronic components, and what sure as shit appeared to be some sort of rudimentary chips sat to her rear. While he couldn’t be totally certain, he couldn’t help but feel like he was looking at her brain - that or something equally important.
“Welcome, Traveler, I am Mistress Fortuna! What mysteries does…” she cut herself off, as she twisted her head to look at him. “I presume your endeavor was a success?”
“You tell me,” he countered, withdrawing to stand before her. “How are you feeling?”
Without saying a word, she launched into the most absurd display he’d ever seen. The lights in and about her person flashed and strobed, she waggled her arms to her sides, and a deluge of fortunes sailed from the slit beneath her coin slot, nearly forcing him to step back in surprise. Having half expected his makeshift solution to her problem to fail, the resounding success instantly brought a smile to his face.
“It appears as everything is operating properly,” she chirped, beaming over at him. “Once again, you prove yourself to be an invaluable friend.”
“Just don’t go doing anything too crazy. Until you get used to it, I’d hate for you to accidentally overload something somewhere,” he added, noticing her right eye flicker.
Though it seemed relatively inconsequential, given that she could apparently see perfectly fine out of it, he really wanted to either replace or repair her optic. The glass lens had been cracked ever since he’d found her, the backlight was either dying or had a short, and the aperture would occasionally stutter open or closed - the only problem was that he wasn’t sure how to fix the issue. With her manufacturer being an utter mystery, the chances of procuring a new eye for her seemed slim to none.
“It really doesn’t bother me,” she remarked, batting a hoof and giving him what may have been an unintentional wink. “It’s been cracked for longer than I remember, to the point where I consider it iconic.”
“Well if it starts being an issue, I’ll do what I can to get it up and running,” he chuckled, pleased that the damage was a nonissue.
Turning in place, he bent over and gathered up the papers she’d all but vomited out. Scrapyard or not, he did his best to avoid making a mess of things. He wasn’t sure if it was funny, sad, or some combination of the two, but finding her had been one of the best things to happen to him since getting to Equestria. Though her eccentricities could and on occasion would result in mild calamities, she’d made his time at work exponentially more enjoyable.
“That one,” she intoned, as he grabbed one of the innumerable cards littering the ground.
Staying his hand, he peeked up and over at her. “What?”
Seeing her grinning broadly, he turned and lifted the cardstock to his face. Being a soothsaying automaton, it was all too common for her to dispense fortunes to ponies - heck, a bunch of the local school colts and fillies had taken to paying her regular visits after classes, but the overwhelming majority of her clairvoyant hijinks were novel at best. More often than not, her sage wisdom consisted of vague, overgeneralized proverbs, although she would occasionally dispense something a bit more prophetic.
Squinting down at the card, he cocked his head.
The Standing Stall 5pm Haystacks and Horseshoes
“And this is…?” he let the question hang, looking to her smug face.
“Do as it says and find out,” she tutted, straightening her turban.
Shifting his focus back to his fortune, he was left perplexed. The Standing Stall was a convenience store just down the road from his house, but he hadn’t a clue about what a Haystacks and Horseshoes was. Glancing down at his watch, seeing that it was only fifteen minutes 'till five, he quirked a brow and looked over at her.
“So I’m supposed to go to the store and ask for this Haystacks thing?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Placidly holding her hooves together, she nodded. “Just so.”
With a small shrug, he stood and brushed himself off. The yard had closed several hours earlier, only being open until noon on Saturdays, and he’d successfully replaced her generator, so he didn’t have a reason not to see what his fortune was about - that and it would probably be a good idea to get home and scrounge up something to eat. More than a little curious about his mystical errand, he turned and trotted to the entrance.
“Just put yourself back in place,” he called, waving a hand back at her, “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Take care, fair Traveler, and thank you once again,” she shouted.
It took him next to no time to lock up behind himself, turning off all but a single light pole above his friend. Silently musing on what he should make for dinner, he numbly fished the small divination from his pocket and gave it a second inspection. There was a good chance that the prophecy meant nothing at all, but he saw no harm in checking just to be sure.
As he made his way into the Standing Stall, holding the door open for a customer on their way out, he moved to the counter and cleared his throat. “Hey, this might sound weird, but do you have any idea what a Haystacks and Horseshoes is?”
The clerk, a young stallion with braces, gave him an incredulous look and pointed to a display of scratch-off lottery tickets. “You mean those?”
Anon followed the pony’s hoof, spotting a roll of Haystacks and Horseshoes tickets. He wasn’t normally one to waste money on gambling, much preferring to spend his hard-earned cash on something that wasn’t a scam, but his gut told him this should be an exception. Retrieving his wallet, silently promising himself that Fortuna would pay if he was about to waste his money, he slapped five bits on the counter.
“I’ll take one right,” he paused, peering up at the clock on the wall, “now.”
It was probably dumb to wait until exactly five pm, yet his instructions had been precise - as such, he didn’t want to risk bungling anything. The attendant rang up his purchase, tore the end ticket free, and slid his purchase over to him. While he could have waited until he got home to see if he’d won anything, his nerves weren’t having it.
If he’d just spent his dough for nothing, he was close enough to the yard to head back and give Fortuna a piece of his mind - if not, he’d be able to cash in and save himself a trip for later. Using his thumbnail to scratch at the ticket’s playing area, revealing a series of numbers to be matched, he shook his head. With all but one field unveiled, without having found a winning pair, he cursed under his breath, dug at the last section, and froze.
“Wait,” he blurted, reading and rereading the ticket, “I won?!?”
Rolling his eyes, the clerk plucked the ticket from his grasp, looked it over, and handed it back. “Looks like it, but I can’t cash that here.”
Anon balked, glowering down at the stunningly apathetic pony. “Why not?”
“Sir,” the stallion sighed, “we can’t cash prizes over two-hundred bits. You’ll have to go to the lottery’s main office to claim your winnings - that or mail it in.”
“I…ok,” the man numbly stated, turning and proceeding out the door.
His shuffle turned into a slow walk, then a jog, as he ran back to the scrapyard. Throughout his life, he’d been through some wild shit, both good and bad, but this was easily a high point - well, aside from winding up in Equestria. Fumbling for and subsequently dropping his keys, doing his damnedest to open the employee entrance of the lot, he only eventually managed to let himself back inside.
“Fortuna!” he yelled, sprinting over to the oddly serene oracle.
“Did you forget something?” she inquired, watching him approach.
Stopping just before her, he triumphantly held the ticket out. “Look!”
“I see,” she smoothly remarked, smirking over at him. “I presume you’re pleased with your good tidings?”
“Good tidings?!” he guffawed. “I just won a million bits! I…I don’t know what to do!”
“Well,” she continued, leaning in and patting his arm, “it may be a good start to secure your windfall, but be mindful not to -”
Mwah
He cut her off with a kiss to her cool, bakelite cheek. What felt like minutes before, he’d been apathetic to return home - now he moved with a purpose. Dashing to the exit, he ran out of the lot, down the sidewalk, and to his apartment complex. Fuck if he wasn’t going to fill out and mail his ticket in first thing in the morning, as soon as the post office opened, but there was one small issue. Now that he was loaded, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself…
Staring at the pair of cards in his grasp, seated on a tall stool directly in front of Fortuna, Anon scrunched his nose. A ten and a Queen was a damn good hand, but he was feeling ballsy - not simply because he’d won a fucking fortune two days before, but because he’d lost every game of blackjack he’d played that afternoon. Even when he’d managed to score a twenty-one, she’d somehow managed to get a 5-Card Charlie.
“Hit,” he darkly murmured, tapping her window frame.
Smiling fondly over at him, without so much as moving a mechanical muscle, she produced a card from the slot by her knee. “I believe that puts you over…”
He glowered and reached down to grab his draw. There was no well she’d been able to see his hand, and it would be impossible for her to know what he’d just been dealt - still, a lump formed in his throat. Without so much as looking down, something told him that he’d just lost once again. Lifting and turning the card in his grip, seeing a second Queen of Hearts, he slammed his fist against the small countertop within her enclosure.
“God damn -” his outburst ended as suddenly as it began, as he felt the wood shift under his hand. Squinting downward, with his shitty luck falling by the wayside, he cautiously pressed against the panel and felt it give ever so slightly. “Is this supposed to be loose?”
“It’s supposed to fit snugly, yes - if it didn’t, the controls on my dashboard may get damaged,” she casually remarked, as if the subject was as obvious as the brightness of the sun.
Abandoning his cards, Anon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wait a second - so you’re telling me that you’ve got a set of controls under here?”
“See for yourself,” she replied, leaning back and giving him access to the area.
Passing his losing hand over to her, he turned his full attention to the unobtrusive slab of velvet-lined wood. He’d looked at the spot more times than he could dare to count, yet he’d never realized that there was something hidden in that area - then again, considering he seemed to discover some new feature or function of hers every few weeks, he wasn’t terribly surprised. Sipping his fingers between her body and the surface, he carefully wriggled and lifted the false panel up and away.
Swiftly propping the wood against her frame, he straightened up and peered down at the uncovered area. Unlike the rest of her, which almost entirely lacked any sort of obvious controls or inputs, the dashboard had a whole host of dials, switches, buttons, knobs, and even a few tiny levers. Twisting his head and looking over his find, reading the faded writing over each mechanism, tried to make sense of what he was looking at.
Most of the inputs seemed to be mundane enough, with labeling about lighting, power, or the accuracy of divinations on display, but one particular dial caught his eye. The bakelite disk had five legible options printed around it, with a sixth that seemed to have been worn away over the years. He’d always assumed that soothsaying was her only specified use, yet the possible selections of Salesmare, Announcer, Carnival Clown, Strongmare, and the seemingly standard Fortuneteller indicated that was far from the truth.
“I know you said you’re not entirely sure who made you,” he began, turning his attention to her face, “but do you remember anything about working in a circus or an amusement park?”
Scratching at one temple, her bad eye flickering and sputtering, she pursed her lips. “I do have a memory of being under the big top, though that may have been for a visit. Honestly, Traveler, I can’t really say.”
“Huh,” he grunted, lowering his gaze and pointing at the particular dial. “You think this thing does anything?”
Heaving her shoulders up and lifting her hooves, Fortuna shrugged. “What do I look like, a fortuneteller?”
Anon went still, genuinely wondering if she’d lost her marbles, but then he noticed it - a faint tautness in her jaw. Though she was fully mechanical, lacking any sort of squishy, biological reactions, she had a number of motorized tells he’d picked up on over the months. Rolling his eyes and chuckling to himself, he brought a hand to the control, turned the knob, and stepped back.
Before he could fully withdraw his arm, a trio of curtains sailed down from the top of her frame, covering her from view in an instant. Be damned if he could tell how the fabric had deployed, where it had been stored, or how he’d never noticed the small slits resting just beneath the upper trim of her frame, yet they’d appeared all the same. Shying away, hearing all manner of mechanical noises emanating from behind her cloth covering, he briefly considered running for a fire extinguisher.
“Fortuna,” he called, lifting an arm to shield his face, “you’re not getting Frankenstein’d in there, are -”
“Ssssssssssssssssssssssstep right up, sucker - I mean, gentlecolt,” a familiar yet distinctly unique voice blared, moments before the curtains withdrew, “because do I have a deal for you!”
Anon’s jaw went slack, as he dumbfoundedly looked over at the automaton. While Fortuna herself was still the same, bearing the same yellowed bakelite, cracked ocular, and charming smile she always had, her demeanor, clothing, and everything within her booth was different. Her signature robe and turban had been replaced by a top-hat, button up shirt, and black vest, giving her the spitting image of an old-timey salesman.
“Well well well,” she jauntily intoned, leaning forward and looking him over, “aren’t you a tall drink of water! I’m not normally one to give discounts but…” Conspiratorially looking around herself, twisting in place and making a show of surveying her surroundings, she reclined and waved him closer. As the man drew nearer, she shot forward and brought her muzzle to his ear. “I might just have to cut you a deal.”
“A…a deal?” Anon parroted, still reeling from the theatrical and wholly unexpected transformation.
“Now a dapper gentlecolt like yourself surely doesn’t struggle with getting a marefriend - in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the missus is off doing the laundry or vacuuming your living room, but,” she continued, tipping her hat and apparently activating some hidden mechanism, “I might just have a few things to help you sweep her off her hooves.”
In the blink of an eye, appearing from god knows where, a sextet shelves sprang from behind her. The revelation that she’d been hiding more secrets and possibly possessing some sort of pocket dimension would have been stunning enough, but the wooden racks she’d produced were far from empty. Bottles of differing sizes were instantly put on display, as the salesmare waved to each with a cane she’d seemingly pulled from the ether.
“I’m the last mare that needs to tell you how to look your best, but I’ve got something you’ll be interested in,” she noted, plucking a dusty vial from beside herself. “This tonic will do wonders for that receding hairline of yours!”
Delicately taking the bottle from her hoof, Anon inspected the aged label. Though the text appeared to be sun-bleached, the little glass container was in pristine condition; from its cork stopper to the impossible claims of its effectiveness, the damn thing looked like it was at least a hundred years old - unfortunately for him, he didn’t get long to study it. Snatching the phial back, she popped the top, dabbed some of the oily contents onto her free hoof, and reached up to slather the stuff into his hair.
“Would you believe this liniment contains over two dozen botanicals gathered from the depths of the Griffish Isles?” she glibly remarked.
Rearing back, mere seconds from commenting on just how putrid the tincture smelled, he felt the concoction begin to work. A tingling sensation spread across his scalp, sending a shiver down his spine, yet it didn’t stay pleasant for long. In no time at all, the exposed area started to itch, then burn, prompting him to scratch his cranium. Whatever the hell she’d just doused his head had either expired ages ago or hadn’t been properly tested before sale.
“Is - fuck - is this stuff supposed to make me feel like my head’s on fire?” he groused. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, none too pleased with the development, he tried to mop the slick substance out of his hair and off his skin.
Smiling broadly at him, undisturbed by his plight, Fortuna nodded. “Only if you have a weak constitution! My nephew, Ironhide, is one of those feeble sorts. Last I knew, he was sent off to a Celestian monastery and became a unic!”
More confused than ever, with his scalp reaching a homeostatic state of uncomfortableness, he glowered. “You don’t have anything that’ll fix this, do you?”
“Fix what, Sunny Jim? I’ve got ointments, salves, balms and creams to treat any exterior affliction affecting your aesthetic, not to mention the cure-alls, remedies, and elixirs that I guarantee will heal you from the inside out. Take this little number,” she chirped, shelving the hair tonic and grabbing a small jar filled with pinkish-hued pills. “My friend, I have traveled the world from top to bottom and all the way ‘round, I’ve been to bazaars and emporiums that’s make your head spin,” she paused, rotating her head three-hundred and sixty degrees, “but this stuff is one of a kind - nothing in Equestria like it anywhere else.”
Once she’d carefully placed the container in his hand, he lifted the jar up to his face. Unlike the hair treatment, which had boasted all sorts of beneficial effects upon its label, the second item was remarkably spartan. Only a single word, Panacea, was embossed into the blue-tinged glass, along with the numerals 500 on the bottom, but it was enough to simultaneously pique his interest and set off a number of alarm bells.
Lifting his head, with the shock of her metamorphosis finally starting to subside, he examined her a bit more closely - that was until a distant memory struck him. Her outfit, her over the top demeanor, the insistence that her wares would fix all his life’s problems, they reminded him of something he’d seen on television before. Without a doubt, though he was too young to have ever interacted with one in person, he knew he was facing any sort of reputable salesmare - no, he was dealing with a snake oil salesmare.
Raising a finger, fully intent on seeing what other bullshit she was peddling, the smell of something burning drifted to his nostrils. The singular aroma of singed hair, paired with the persistent fiery sensation atop his head, brought with them a sudden panic. As his hand flew to his scalp, feeling the singular heat of flame on his skin, he gulped.
“Is my head on fire?!?” he shouted, beating and patting at the top of his dome.
Fortuna stopped and calmly picked up the bottle of hair tonic. “It is, but that’s exactly the point, my fine fellow! You see, this liniment -”
Anon had no way to know what she’d been about to say, nor did he particularly care, as he rushed off to a spigot by the entrance of the scrap yard. Whatever the hell he’d just had massaged on his melon had spontaneously combusted, so he had more pressing matters to deal with than the augur automaton turned mechanized merchant. Booking it to the gate, he flung himself under the faucet, desperately fumbled for the knob, and drenched his head in water.
Coughing and sputtering, nearly drowning on the tepid flow from the tap, he did his best to extinguish the flames - alas, try as he might, it was all for not. No matter how much water he doused himself with, the conflagration refused to go out. Strangely enough, realizing all too late that the tiny inferno wasn’t nearly as painful as it should have been, his alarm slowly subsided - still, he was more than a little annoyed with the bizarre situation. Straightening up, completely drenched above the waist, he marched back to his friend for some answers.
“Hey,” he shouted, pointing to his flaming head, “what the hell is in that stuff.”
“Well you see - hey,” she bleated, as he grabbed the bottle from beside her.
Carefully reading over the label, he swiftly found the answer to his problem. “This shit is for kirin!”
“That may be true, but you look absolutely snappy with that spruce little fire you’ve got - if anything, you should give me a tip!” she insisted, crossing her forelegs over her chest.
“A tip?!” he spat.
“Just think of all the bits I saved you! No more buying candles, away with needing a torch at night, and you and the missus could enjoy s’mores at any hour of the morning, noon, or night without lighting a pesky campfire!” she cheerfully intoned.
Her reassurance did nothing to calm his nerves - nevertheless, his scalp didn’t feel nearly as bad as it had initially. He still had no idea what was going on exactly, but the burning sensation had died down to a persistent tingle. He wasn’t sure what the exact damage was, without having a mirror on hand, but the scent of singed hair told him he’d lost a little off the top.
Extraordinarily displeased with the turn of events, he reached into her window, turned the dial back to the Fortuneteller setting, then quickly withdrew and stooped over to grab the wooden panel he’d removed. There was no way in hell he was going to see what her other modes were, not with his head alight - maybe if she’d had a nurse option, sure, but that wasn’t the case. As he lifted the velvet-lined cover, listening to soft ruckus of clicking gears and actuators within her curtained booth, he impatiently tapped his foot.
The cloth retracted nearly as quickly as it had been deployed, revealing her tranquil, familiarly smiling face. “Welcome, Traveler, I am Mistress…” she fell silent, her eyes wandering up to the top of his softly blazing head. “Your head is on fire.”
“Thank you,” he sarcastically responded, “so kind of you to notice.”
“You may want to consult a physician about that - that or possibly a fire department,” she flatly stated. Inspecting him from top to bottom, apparently ignorant to exactly what had transpired, she pointed towards his feet. “I believe you dropped something.”
Lowering his head, peeking down to where she was looking, he only then noticed the small bottle he must have dropped minutes before. Seeing as how they were in a junkyard, he could have left the likely expired and possibly cursed tablets where they lie, but something told him that would be a bad idea. With ponies coming and going throughout the week, including a fair number of colts and fillies who came to visit Fortuna, having a container of old medicine sitting in the dirt was just asking for trouble.
“Hey,” he grunted, squatting down and picking up the small container, “you don’t happen to know what this is, do you?”
As he straightened up and brought the bottle closer to her face, Fortuna hummed thoughtfully to herself. “It appears to be a Panacea - a rare medication that can cure all ailments and mend wounds.”
While he did trust her, the usual her, as or more than nearly anyone, he didn’t quite buy that the handful of little pills were some sort of magical, legendary remedy - having said that, he did have a bit of a headache from the excitement. If he had to take an educated guess, the little pellets were probably aspirin or, in all likelihood, just sugar pills. Twisting the top and shaking one of the tiny pink spheres onto the palm of his hand, he glanced over at her.
“Fuck it,” he huffed, lifting his arm and tossing the tablet into his maw. “Alright, I’m gonna lock up for the afternoon and try to figure out how to take care of this,” he added, pointing to his blazing dome while thrusting the bottle into his pocket.
“Traveler, wait,” she hastily interjected, waving a foreleg at him. Having caught his attention, moments before he turned to leave, she lifted the turban from off her crown and handed the headdress over to him. “Here, this may be of use.”
Taking the neatly wound cloth from her forehooves, he cocked his head to the side. “What am I supposed to with -”
“It’s Ninety-five percent asbestos,” she interrupted with a smirk. “If nothing else, it may help spare your furniture.”
Slipping her hat under one arm, praying he wouldn’t end up getting mesothelioma, he marched to the exit. The first order of business for the remainder of his afternoon would be hopefully get his combustion issue dealt with. If nothing else, should the miniature pyre stick around for a few hours, he could pick up some hot dogs and marshmallows for an at-home cookout.
Once he’d finished locking up, he hung a right out of the yard and strolled down the sidewalk. As wild as his afternoon had been, it would take something downright catastrophic to fully dampen his spirits. Having mailed off his winning lottery ticket two days before, he fully expected to hear something from the agency within a week or so. One definite strength about the Equestrian postal system was that, between pegasi and the use of magic, it never took long for letters to reach their destination.
Wondering how many bits he’d get to keep, after the Princesses had lined their coffers in his taxes, he smiled. Unexpected pyrotechnics or not, he’d just had his lucky break - well, that is if he didn’t count his one-way trip to magical horse-land. Lifting his head and checking the nearby intersection, trying to remember if the clinic was to the east or west, he reflexively lifted his hand and scratched his head.
Cool, singed hair graced his fingers, giving him a moment for pause. Looking to the side, seeing his reflection in a storefront mirror, he noticed that his dubiously stylish inferno had simply vanished - not only that, but the itching, unpleasant sensation on his scalp had disappeared entirely. Either the liniment had quit working extremely quickly or…
Pulling the little container out of his pocket, he stared down at the mysterious medication. There was no possible way the medication had actually cured his predicament, yet the circumstances and timing did leave him wondering just what the pills had done - if they’d done anything at all. For all intents and purposes, he felt as fit as a fiddle - on the other hand, he’d hadn’t been feeling off before the calamitous debacle. Turning in place, failing to notice the minor burns had vanished from his hand, he strolled in the direction of his apartment and silently mused on what he would end up making for dinner.
With a spring in his step, grinning like an absolute idiot, Anon strolled down the sidewalk. The morning had been off to a very atypical, albeit productive start. Though he absolutely abhorred dealing with attorneys, and equally loathed the bureaucratic hellscape of legal processes, recent developments had forced his hand.
Caressing a neatly folded piece of paper in his pocket, his smile grew broader. Ordinarily speaking, he would have been at work hours ago - that said, employment wasn’t as much of a priority as it had once been. With his recent windfall of hitting the lottery, he had enough cash to live a cushy, very relaxed life for the rest of his days, but he had grander aspirations than just being a loaf.
While the prospect of becoming some bachelor playboy did have some appeal, he felt reasonably certain that engrossing himself with hedonistic affairs would burn through his newly acquired riches with lightning speed - as such, he’d decided to make a small investment. He’d always led a relatively modest life, taking joy from the smaller things, and he wouldn’t mind keeping it that way.
Rounding a corner and lifting his gaze, he spotted the scrapyard. He didn’t have to go to his job - hell, there wasn’t much he had to do at all, yet it was a routine he’d become quite fond of over the years. Steadily approaching the chain-link fence, he stopped at an intersection and squinted. The largest structure, if it could be called that, on the expansive slot was a monumental mound of broken appliances and wagons, although there was something peeking above the fence.
Spinning in place, turning on a quartet of long, pliable legs, Fortuna surveyed the surroundings like a bizarre lighthouse. The sight gave him a moment for pause, as he wondered what in the hell she was looking for. More often than not, barring the occasional visit from local colts and fillies, she was content to stay beneath the office’s overhang.
Looking both ways and crossing the street, he hastened his pace. So long as she wasn’t suffering from some sort of major malfunction, she was probably fine - probably, but seeing her acting so peculiarly set his nerves on edge. As she spun in his direction, squinting down at him, she hastily and disquietingly lumbered toward the gate.
Waving with one hand, while digging his keys out of his pocket, he reached the entrance and attempted to unlock the padlocked chain securing the dump - unfortunately for him, his friend wasn’t willing to wait. Striding over the wheeled gate, she leaned in and nearly tackled him - well, as close to tackling as an animatronic housed in a booth could manage. He stumbled back and flung his arms towards her, praying he wasn’t about to be crushed.
“Traveler, I was so worried,” she began, reaching through the front window of her confines to hug him.
Reluctantly returning her embrace, he patted her back. “I’m only a little bit late - seriously, it’s nothing to be worried about.”
“It’s not the fact that you’re two hours and thirty-eight minutes late that has me concerned, it’s that the winds of change are heavy,” she counted, pulling away. “While I may not be able to put my hoof on exactly what is awry, I can say with certainty that something big has happened.”
“Well as long as it doesn’t involve a catastrophe, I think we’ll be alright,” he chuckled, offering her a reassuring smile.
Dipping to his right, he weaved between two of her tentacle-like appendages, shoved the gate open, and strolled inside. The view from the entryway was nothing particularly interesting, having looked at it more times than he dared count. Heaps of scrap, the little office building, and the machinery used to sort detritus sat at the back of the yard were all right where he’d left them, but looking at them felt different this time - not because anything about them had changed, but because of a completely new element at play.
“Hey,” he grunted, peering up at his friend, “come over here, I got something important I want to talk to you about.”
Without waiting for her reply, he marched over to a clearing near the center of the yard. While he could have spoken with her anywhere, giving her plenty of room to maneuver was a prudent and much safer option than conversing near anything that could get damaged by her tetrad of sinuous limbs. It wasn’t like she tried to break stuff, but there was a very real chance that his news could cause her to have a fit.
Stopping at the dead center of the open area, he wheeled around, placed his hands on his hips, and watched her lope nearer. It was only when she was a dozen paces away did she withdraw her limbs and ease herself back to the ground. He was still a bit annoyed that she’d concealed her mobility for so long, considering it could have spared his back and legs on a number of occasions, yet he saw no reason to dwell on it.
As he cleared his throat and stepped over to her, he sank one hand into his pocket. “So I need to ask you a small favor.”
Instantly crossing her forelegs over her chest, she turned her nose up and looked away. “Traveler, how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t give free fortunes.”
“Not that,” he groused, doing his level best not to smile. “I just need you not to freak out.”
Staring over at him, she blinked. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe: oceans of slime caused by the Smooze, I watched goddesses duel by the Canterlot gates. All those…moments will be lost in time - like tears in the-”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” he cut her off, waving his free hand, “I get it, you’ve seen some shit. What I’m asking is for you to just relax, take a deep breath, and keep your cool.”
“But I don’t breathe,” she matter-of-factly stated, cocking a brow.
Rolling his eyes, he pulled the piece of paper from his pants and handed it over to her. “Check this out.”
Delicately plucking the slip from his hand, her eyes played over the stationery. He’d been waiting weeks for this day to come, and the moment did not disappoint. A jitter crept into her forelimbs, a dull groan emanated from her framework, and her jaw hit the ground - literally detached from her head and bounced off her housing to land on the dirt. Stepping closer, he stooped over, retrieved the mechanical mandible, brushed it off, and offered it back to her.
“That bad, huh?” he snickered, knowing good and god damned well that the news was anything but bad.
Snatching and reequipping her jaw, experimentally opening and closing her mouth a few times, she turned her full attention back to the man. “W-w-w-w-when did you…”
“This morning,” he replied, reaching out and tapping at the notarized stamp at the bottom of the paper. “Took longer to go through all the red tape than it did to negotiate the damn thing, but it just went through this morning - that’s why I was late.”
It was true. While actually striking the deal had only taken a few minutes, given the obscene offer he’d given to his boss, all the administrative bullshit had been a nightmare. Being a non-native Equestian had never really bothered him, until he’d discovered how much of a pain in the ass it made legal matters - still, the headaches had been well worth the trouble. With a proud smirk, he carefully took the letter, refolded it, and tucked it back into his pocket.
“You bought the scrapyard?!” she bleated, apparently shocked by his purchase. “Anon - I mean Traveler, you could have left this place for a brighter future!”
“Yeah, true,” he smoothly hummed, “but where’s the fun in that? As crazy as it sounds, this place feels like a second home to me - for fuck’s sake, if I’d never walked through that gate and applied for my job, I never would have met you! Seeing as how I need something to do with myself, I figured I’d just promote myself to owner and keep doing what I’ve been doing, but there are two big changes that I’m gonna make.”
Leaning back, shooting a fretful glance over at the Crushinator-9000, she wrung her forehooves together. “You’re not going to get rid of anything ~ are you?”
“Pfffft - nah,” he laughed, waving a hand to dismiss her concerns. “The first thing is that I’m the boss of this place; don’t worry though, I don’t plan on doing anything differently - well, other than maybe sorting things more efficiently. Secondly, and this is the important part, congratulations, you’re hired.”
As he thrust his open hand toward her, her eyes widened. “I’m…I’m hired?”
“Considering you keep me company, help me keep an eye on things, and sometimes lend a hand - er - hoof, I thought it only right to give you a cut of the profits,” he smugly proclaimed.
“I…I…” she whispered, her faintly electronic voice so faint that he could barely hear it, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well,” he mused, leaning in and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “maybe you could start with, ‘Thank you so much, I accept’?”
“Of course I accept!” she merrily declared, snaring him in a hug.
Holding her close, he ran his fingers through her mane. “Just don’t get too excited and explode or anything.”
“Oh!” she quipped, rearing back and pushing him away. “Traveler, here,” she continued, reaching down and pulling a fortune from her slot, “'tis the least I can do!”
As he took the proffered card, turning the slip over in his hands, his smile wavered ever so slightly. “This better not…” he trailed off, looking over four simple, somewhat ominous words.
Prepare for unforeseen consequences…
“Well that’s just peachy,” he huffed, balling up and discarding what he sure as shit hoped wasn’t a menacing prophecy. “Anyways, yeah, you ready to help me open for the day?”
Snapping a crisp salute, instantaneously producing and propping herself up on her legs, she loped over to the entrance and flipped the sign from Closed to Open. He’d spent nearly half of his fortune to buy the dump, after the royal taxes had taken a considerable chunk out of his winnings, but it had been worth every penny. If there was one thing that life had taught him, it was that money wasn’t everything and that friends were worth more than their weight in gold…
