Fallout Equestria: Medicine & Mail

Chapter 5

“Can’t always leave it up to your freaky luck when going all-in,

You need learn when to fold ’em sometimes, sweetie.”

Everything in the Wasteland comes with a price, but not all value can be measured in caps.

I chose to trade the life of many for that of one, and if I were to look back at it objectively it would be the better deal. Silver certainly had more inherent value to me than a train load of slaves, but there’s the rub. Slaves they may have been, and likely none of them deserving of it, but all the same they were still ponies.

We saved Silver Sheen, but at what cost?

I justified it back then with pretty words and an incredibly naïve sentiment, but looking back on it, even after all this time, I’m at a loss. Was I right in doing so?

I’m not so sure these days.

Vitia nodded to me as the wall of ponies behind us swelled in number, each of the slaves frantic for release. The herd mentality had taken over and everypony was trying to flee. It didn’t seem to matter where or even at what odds.

Vitia held Silver Sheen’s face sandwiched between her hooves and was yelling something at the poor mare. With all the commotion, I couldn’t make about it out, but it hardly mattered. Between the growing mob and the slavers firing indiscriminately into it, we didn’t have long before either was upon us. I had to trust that Vitia would make it out safely behind me.

“Swear on all the stars in the sky, y’ damn foal.” I wrapped my arms around the frightened Silver’s neck, “Gonna drag you outta here if I have to.”

Vitia’s short protests were quickly lost in the chaos as I pushed off a nearby crate with Silver in tow. Her hooves scraped along, catching periodically on the gapped flooring as she struggled against every beat of my wings. Each contested step towards the mouth of the carriage was one more towards our ticket out of that nightmare and I paid little mind to her objections as we hop-marched towards that goal.

Silver quaked in front of the opening, inches away from her salvation. She had the look of a wild animal, her eyes wide, terrified of some unseen horror as she grudgingly backpedaled away. I’ll pull her out with me if I have to. Wings outstretched, I backed up against the makeshift wall and made ready to jump through the side opening into the ravine.

The floor buckled beneath my hooves just as I ran forward, pitching me sidelong into the spooked mare. I heard a brief cry as we crashed against the opening of the car and tumbled out into the open desert air.

Our bodies had entwined during the fall, and searing pain tore its way through me. I felt like the train itself had crushed me as I cushioned her during our fall onto the track platform below the cart. The wind whipped at us as we fell towards the river and I tried to extend my wings, but twisted barding and leather flaps worked against me as I tugged at them, pinning my wings at an awkward angle.

I could finally appreciate the old saying Hazy would repeat as she tossed me from the cloud banks. The first flying lesson I ever received as a filly was about the drop. That it wasn’t the fall that kills you, just the abrupt stop. The single moment of impact stretched into an eternity as the river took us, and I focused on the panicking mare in my grasp, struggling to keep hold of her.

Lungs robbed of air and chest wreathed in burning pain, I struggled in vain against the cold embrace of the river that pulled us deeper into it. Survival instincts asserted themselves. My body yearned for precious oxygen and I fought my way to the surface.

Brief thoughts of saving myself and abandoning Silver crossed my mind. I pushed them away as the memory of Vitia’s sacrifice spurred me onward into the depths I so recently escaped. Silver had to be down there somewhere and I wouldn’t let it all go to waste.

A glint of argent light caught my eye beneath the waves and I dove down, frantic in my efforts, to save the drowning mare. Adrenaline worked its magic better than any chem in the Wasteland as I slipped an arm around her and kicked our way back to the surface. Silver flailed when we crested the surface.

A brisk rush of air passed over my wet coat and rattled through my feathers before we plunged back down into the cascade. My world flashed white. Silver was flung against me, and amidst her kicks to stay above water, her lips moved as if to speak. The roar of the raging canyon rapids smothered my senses and her words were washed away, unheard.

A trickle of warmth mixed in with the biting cold as we crested the waves. I jerked my hoof away and stared in bewilderment. Red streaked across it momentarily before being washed away into the river.

We were at the mercy of the rapids as rocky outcroppings flew past. My grip on Silver broke long enough for her to slip under the whitewater. I panned around in a panic once more for the silver-maned mare but she was nowhere to be seen.

I cried out in pain, slammed into the rough, uneven surface of a rock. A throbbing ache formed at my side and I looked down. Silver coughed and sputtered against me as the river pushed us over the cascade.

Exhaustion wore heavily at me, leaving my eyelids ready to drop at any moment. A small wheezing cough caught my attention and I glanced off to my side. Silver was similarly sprawled out, floating along the newly-calm waters with her eyes closed.

Good, she made it. Little bit worse for wear, but she’ll be fine. I wiped my brow and winced. Translucent drops of pink ran in small rivulets off the tip of my hoof as I held it up, my evergreen coat muddied with shades of red.

A muffled sound echoed through the fog. It sounded as if my name was in there somewhere but everything felt distorted and half-muted. The continued lure of sleep wrapped about me and pulled me back into the fog. A lingering consideration to the echo lazed its way across my mind but was snuffed out by waves of cold.

I begrudgingly opened my eyes, ever so slowly lifting that weighty veil, and tried to focus on the blurry shapes before me. Her mouth moved and she seemed to have a sense of urgency about her, but everything she said sounded so far away. Waves lapped at my side and face as I lay there, rocking me back and forth, threatening to dislodge me from the shoreline I had lucked upon.

The muddy beach made wet squelching noises as my hooves dug into it and I struggled to find solid purchase with my submerged hind legs. I wanted for nothing more than to just lie down again, face in the mud and close my eyes, but orange and white legs hooked their way around mine as I began to slip.

Warmth trickled and wormed its way down my head as my gaze followed the legs up. I could just make out the pained expression across her face. “Hey Vish—” I started. When’d you get here, I meant to finish, but the words felt thick in my mouth and tasted faintly of copper as they slurred from my lips. She leaned in close to steady my wobbly frame as I stood there in a daze trying to speak.

I heard the quiet snick of a blade passing through leather and a short tugging sensation from my back. Sharp burning sensations arced along frayed nerves and a panic rose from within my breast. I turned to look at my fallen wing. It twisted and fell slack against my side in the passing breeze.

“I’m so sorry, Bit,” she said, reaching out to hold the wing steady against my body. “But we need to set and splint this before we continue.”

With a flash of orange, the former slave pinned me into the mud, unable to jerk away from Vitia’s probing touches. Waves of nauseous pain nearly caused me to collapse. My mind went blank but for the sensation of bone scraping against bone as she peeled the wing from my coat.

I panicked as a folded piece of leather was placed between my teeth, struggling under the colossal pony’s strength. I was instructed to bite down. Hard as I could, the distant voice said. The leather tasted of the desert and had a familiar musty smell. It soothed my shaken nerves and I tried to steel myself, but a wetness formed at the corner of my eyes in anticipation of what was to come. A strangled cry escaped my throat and the thick stench of ammonia permeated the air as every muscle tensed when she slid and bound the first thin bone back into place.

I tried to blink away the haze of sleep and, with a hiss, screwed my eyes tight against the harsh overhead glare. Vague memories of a nightmare lingered at the edge of consciousness, flickering around in the fog, dancing, daring to come back when an unfamiliar sound pushed them away.

“Welcome back to the waking world, daughter of the skies,” a melodic voice began. “I pray that your trip through the stars was uneventful?”

I shuffled to my side and glanced at the strange speaker. She sat on a rusted chair opposite me rolling a mortar and pestle between her hooves as she spoke. Stripes of black and white peeked through wisp-thin cloth wrapped around her.

The fragrant smell of mint leaf permeated the air and I scrambled out of bed in a panic. Need to move, leave this place, anything! One wing unfurled while the other caught on strap and metal. I landed on my hooves, unbound wing flapping on instinct.

I ain’t about to get eaten by a bloater! My view teetered as I hop-skipped forward trying to regain my faltering balance.

A niggling pain radiated from my side when I finally came to a stop in front of the zebra. I glanced about me: shadows played along the wall, and the only lights were from lamps above cots.

“Sweet mother of murder, cloudfarer, be at ease. No harm shall come to you here.” Her voice was warm but carried the full weight of warning along with an authority and experience that I couldn’t easily place. “What you smell is ground Lamia’s Leaf, the byproduct of a withered desert mimic.”

She tilted the small bowl forward; dried snakelike tendrils, brown and lifeless, curled amongst the powdered remains. I dipped my head low to peer closer at the mixture and the aroma of mint wafted to me. An immense calm settled over me like a heavy blanket, snuffing out any remaining flickers of worry within me.

I heard a familiar voice call out from behind, pulling from me the cloak of herb-induced tranquility. A pair of velveteen arms wrapped around my neck in a comforting embrace. “Bit! You had me worried there for a while when you wouldn’t wake up. I thought that, perhaps, Xanti had given you too much…Oh, shoot, what was it called? Thystic?”

The zebra nodded briefly before returning to her grinding as Vitia continued, “You were so restless in bed that we thought further damage to your wing was being done while the bone brew was knitting them back together.”

“Glad to see you made it out alright, too.” I briefly nuzzled one of Vitia’s arms and leaned back into her embrace. “Did Silver make it out okay?”

“She did. A little shaken up, but she’ll be okay.” Vitia rested her head on my shoulder, breath playing gently along my neck as she sighed. I could almost feel the tension easing from her as she spoke. “I…Thanks, Bit. For taking care of her.”

Wanting to change the subject, I pulled away from her as I glanced at my bound wing and, much to Vitia’s voiced displeasure, tried to move it, only to be rewarded with a sore radiating ache. Between the brace and swelling, it wouldn’t budge. “How long was I out?”

Vitia recounted the missing day and hoof or two of hours before being brought to this small town hidden between the divide’s rocky coves. Thieves’ Bend they called it, in remembrance of some long sordid history between miners and bandits. Silver had taken to helping out in the town’s bar to earn some quick caps. The orange stallion managed to make the trek with only minor injury, and many others from upriver were carried in and helped by Vitia and Xanti.

Wait, Realization slowly dawned, Healing potions alone take days, weeks even sometimes to knit bone like that. The little pieces of chaos slowly strung themselves together as I listened to her. I stared at the swollen wing and winced again as I prodded it gently with a hoof, all of the bones felt whole and right if a touch flexible. “Earlier, you said…brew, not potion?” I grumped and flopped back down. “Ah, hell. I got freaky zebra magic runnin’ through me now.”

“Worry not, walker of clouds, zebra are wholly unmagical.” Xanti noted with a grin, her sapphire eyes shining with a catlike gleam in the dim overhead light. “Though, this does not preclude us from warping the very nature of things around us through wholly natural means. Unlike sons and daughters of the arcane, such as Vitia there, we do so through the usage of mixtures of earthen materials.”

“Basically, Bit, you’re not going to be using that wing for some time.” Vitia moved to my side and inspected the strap. “You shouldn’t even be ambulatory with how out of it you were,” she sighed. “If anything’s freaky, it’s the ridiculous fortitude you’ve got. Suffered a nasty head wound and somehow managed to snap or outright shatter nearly every major bone in that wing. You were even conscious for a good while as I set and splint those bones.”

“I s’pose you never actually got to meet Copper, did you?” I shrugged. “Earth halfie. All that silly endurance with none of the strength, but hey at least I can fly, right?” I gave a light chuckle, “Too bad I’m clumsy as hell.”

Vitia gave me a death glare as I reached to relieve the terrible itch that had formed under my bound wing. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop fiddlin’ with it. When’s this damn thing come off anyway?”

Xanti gave me the shorthoof explanation on how bone knitters brew worked, that my bones were essentially rubber. It made me queasy. It would take another day before the bones hardened and set, allowing me to remove the brace, but a full month before they’d harden enough to allow for flight.

She offered the bowl of powdered herbs as I stood and stretched, but I waved a hoof and politely declined. “Well, thank you for taking me into your care, and I’m sorry to say this,” I hesitated for a brief moment, dreading the next words, “But I don’t have a cap to my name.”

Again. I wanted to smack the little pony in my head with a hose. Could almost hear her cackling at our impoverished state.

“Oh, no, Vitia has more than taken care of it.” Her airy laughter echoed through the empty room as she lead us to the door. “Aside from an interest in what most unicorns pass off as charlatanry, she has helped relieve me of a few troublesome patients and been a pleasure to talk to.” Xanti stood and walked us to the door, “I wish only that she would lengthen her stay, but I realize you and yours are travelers.”

The orange mammoth of a stallion blocked most of the overhang shade outside and we had to sidestep around his resting form. He blinked once before fixing his beady eyes on Vitia and stood, his meaty hooves thundered along the dusty trail as he followed behind us.

Maybe it’s just the herbs. I shivered despite the heat. “What was up with that zebra? Made my mane itch every time she’d stare at me. Like she was tryin’ to size me up or somethin’.” Damn freaky zebra magic.

“Don’t be silly, Bit,” Vitia giggled and nudged me. “She meant well enough, besides if it weren’t for her brew you’d have probably lost that wing, you know.” She cantered a short ways ahead of our little group before turning to face us, with a bounce in her step and a grin on her face. “Well, everything worked out in the end, right?” She gave short nod and without missing a beat, “Right. Now then, let’s go take a break for once, we’ve earned it.”

The commotion was infectious and I found myself falling into the rhythm and flow of the bar with each step despite my injured wing. Music drifted from an open window to the bar, and a piano tune filled air with highs and lows. Ponies in dusters and decked out in side arms sat out front by the doors in dark glasses that hid their view from me. I was sure they saw every little move we made and a small shiver played along my spine as the breeze slipped between my feathers. Going to have to get a new jacket soon as this damn brace is off.

We picked our way through the gathering crowd and pushed on through the doors. A cheerful voice greeted us, asking us to come in and make ourselves at home. I stared at the transformed mare, a little dumbstruck. No longer did she look the part of a pitiful slave, washed up, dolled in makeups and a sleek dark uniform.

A bitter touch pulled at the corner of my mind and my wing ached at seeing Silver whole and well, but at the same time a conflicted happiness welled up as Vitia trotted over and greeted her old friend with a smile.

No sense feeling upset at where fate places the chips, Bit.

I shook my head and took in the view of the bar. Staggered steps, two by two, separated by a winding hand rail lead down into the gambling pit below. Patrons milled about the tables, where a myriad of colors decorated each for the different games. The sounds of cards and dice shook through the air above the music and countless other ponies spectated off to the side cheering as people tried their luck.

I took a step towards the wonderland before me, instinctively trying to reach into my barding for my cap pouch and pawed at the air. With a sigh, I slinked my way back to the bar proper and sat near Vitia. She sat there with a full glass of a whiskey and new bottle of Red Rivulet, her face flush and content. I batted at the sealing tape and cork, briefly wondering where she had gotten the caps to afford it when a glass clinked against the marred counter. Nostalgic dark amber spirits swirled around within.

“Go on, some black pony will do you good right about now.” Vitia nudged the glass with her hoof.

She smiled as I lifted the glass to my face. My stomach knotted itself and I felt a wave of nausea roll over me when the smell of liquor hit my nose. “Thanks, Vitia,” I said. It took all that I had to not drop the glass. “But after last time, I don’t think I’ll be drinking for a long while.”

I wanted to drink it, to return to old times, to wind down with Vitia and try to put that whole mess behind me, but my body wouldn’t allow it. I pushed the glass away with a sigh and forced a smile, determined not to ruin the mood. The sounds of gamblers tempting the fates down on the floor below carried to my ears over the music and I felt the lure of chance again. “Think I’ll go watch some of the games for a little while.”

The air was electric. Whoops and hollers shouted from every table followed by sharp jeers as patrons pushed their luck too far. The sound of dice rattling between cupped hooves drew my attention and I craned my neck over, leaning against the railing. A few patrons milled about a lonely table tucked away in the corner. I watched as each pony would walk up and place a few caps down, and sometimes the dealer would talk for a moment before they rolled and walked off with a shrug.

“They have some interesting games here, don’t they?” I couldn’t immediately place the mare’s voice behind me.

I turned from the railing to take a look: her silver mane stood out against the dark waitress uniform they had her serving in. “Some of these games I’ve never seen before, but the dice ones look simple and entertaining enough.”

Another cheer from the crowds caught my attention and I turned to watch the games again.

“Bit Flip, I wanted to thank you.” She said, putting a hoof on my shoulder. “Not just for getting me out that train, but what happened on the river and Vitia too.” Silver gave me a short squeeze before placing a small pouch on the railing and heading back to the bar.

I studied the pouch for a moment; it sagged in a way that only caps could cause. Much as I appreciate the gesture, I sighed, opening the pouch to count the many caps she parted with, I’m going to have to return this. She earned these. The shrill calls of dealers drifted along with the music once more, new betting rounds had begun.

…Maybe after I play a few rounds. Just have to make sure I return all of them, right?

Dealers called out to me as I drifted by each table, watching the rounds play out. As with most gambling dens, even the Church, there were always those looking to bilk the other side. Didn’t matter if they were the dealer or not. The trick, if you were so inclined, was to spot them and cash out before they ran their game.

Pegasi and griffins hid cards in the folds of their wings, unicorns used magical sleight of hoof, earth ponies had strange contraptions that would discretely slide cards out, often failing spectacularly. Every table I observed seemed to have at least one or more cheats at it. Sometimes even the dealers themselves were cardsharps.

I sighed and wandered off towards the other tables. That explains why this side isn’t so popular. Harder to cheat when all you have are dice. I briefly considered playing a game of Hustle, but the few tables I passed by were quiet as an abbey and I didn’t know the crowd well enough to call someone’s bluff on their set.

I glanced at the dealer standing behind a small rectangular table. He was an unimpressive pale yellow unicorn sporting a dirty brown mop of a mane, with a crooked smile and a mismatched black and white dice cutie mark to go with it. The empty seat called to me as he shouted off dice rolls to the few patrons playing.

“Hi, boys. Mind if I sit in?” I smiled at the other patrons as they briefly turned to look.

Welcome to the finest game in all the Marejave, the dealer boasted as I sat down. Odds ’n’ Ends is where it’s at, best returns in the house, he would say at practiced intervals during his routine. I watched one participant receive their dice. He dropped a few caps on the table and rolled. The dice skittered down the green felt-lined table and bounced off the backboard. A four and two. The dealer said some empty words of encouragement while sliding the dice back. This continued on for a few more rolls until the stallion dropped a three and four and the dealer reached over to pick his newly won caps.

“Care to try yer luck, missy?” He extended the dice to me with a toothy grin and spoke in a singsong manner, “Easy as pie, odds ’n’ ends, land on an even and ya get t’ go again, hits sixes an’ ones t’ come out a win!”

I nodded once and fished around the pouch for a few caps. The dealer’s eyes lit up as I lined my bet against the back board. Twenty five in all, worn caps shining in the flickering overhead light. “Can’t win big without something to win big on, right?”

“Oho, we got ourselves a little gambler here, folks. Well said, well said!” He cheered, placing the dice in my hooves. “Just hoof ’em on back off the board ’ere and we can start.”

I smiled to myself and settled into the stool, feeling every edge and face of the dice as I rolled them between my hooves. Vitia was right, a little fun never hurt.

They didn’t seem loaded with their straight cut edges and pips that fell flush against each face. Can’t see inside, but they don’t feel uneven. Only way to find out is to shoot. I settled on a sliding toss and thrust my hooves forward with a practiced throw. The dice carried through the air in a lazy arc before landing on a smooth spot in the matting. One spun as it bounced lightly from the board, the other wobbled on a flat axis in staggered, uneven hops before tapping against the backboard and coming to a rest.

Double sixes. I hummed a note of approval at the results and looked at the dealer.

“Startin’ the day off right it seems,” The dealer leveled a cockeyed stare at me and slid the dice back in an exaggerated manner. “But, y’gotta bounce ’em both off the backer board, sweetheart.”

Forcing the dice to roll by bouncing them off the wall. Clever. I clicked my tongue in frustration and scooped up the dice once more. Well, sometimes chance is more fun than skill anyway. They flew across the board, straight as a bullet, and bounced cleanly off the back before coming to a rest in front of me again.

Double sixes. The small gallery of bettors was beginning to grow as more crowded along the sides, their shouts overtaking the bar room piano as they collected their winnings.

“Well, I’ll be.” The dealer said with a whistle, pulling the dice back and raising a hoof. “Don’t see that too often ’round these parts.”

A colt came trotting over, and stood up against the table. Despite being a unicorn, he rolled a fresh set of dice from the pouch to his hooves and placed them flush against the table. He flashed empty hooves to each player to signify an open switch had been made before picking up the old set and leaving.

I held my hooves up in mock prayer and, with a grin, recited a litany from the Church, “Blessed are those who shape their fate from risk itself.”

“Is…that so?” The dealer shook his head and scooted the dice towards me again, “Bets up then, yer holiness.”

I laughed and dropped seventy five caps on the table. The gallery erupted in hollers as bettors scrambled to get in on the action, and bookies drifted between the crowds taking markers as they went. The dice made a racket between my hooves as I shook them. Caught up in the flow of things, I launched them across the board. They skipped across the green mat, low and steady, before bouncing off the backer board. My heart sank as the end of the line came.

Six and a one. The wall of bettors roared at me. Harsh jeers flung from the side as players lost their money to chance alongside a few cheers from the opposite side. My ears burned with embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide. What were you thinking? Tryin’ to show off like that.

“So much for that shapin’ yer fate business, aye? Oh, don’t give me that face, y’sad lookin’ sop. That’s just how luck is.” He taunted from across the way, chuckling as he raked in Silver’s caps. “Tell y’what, missy. I’ll match and double whatever yer next bet is on one condition. You bet the bag.”

I stared at the pouch, its weight considerably lighter. I shouldn’t, but I can’t cut my losses and run now. All or nothing. It would be insulting to return it to her half empty.

“Alright, yer on,” I said, emptying the pouch onto the table. The remaining hundred caps clattered about on the soft mat.

I found myself reaching for a new litany as I cupped my hooves around the dice and shook, their knocking about drowned out everything as I focused on that single moment. Blessed are those who give unto chance, for their salvation is at hand.

They tumbled from my hooves across the brushed felt. Patrons placed their side bets and craned their necks to watch as the dice clattered against the backer board. They bounced once, twice, and the world all but crawled as I watched them roll their way back towards me in an uneven manner.

A familiar tension coiled up inside, the excitement within building slowly until it was ready to burst. Everything save those dice stood still and not a sound was heard except the soft pattering of chance across the emerald felt. One of them skewed off at an odd angle. It slowed early and came to a stop, a one. I could barely manage to contain myself as I leaned back in the stool. My pulse raced along in rhythm with the remaining die as it danced softly across the board. It thumped against the final rest.

I couldn’t watch.

The crowd erupted in equal parts cheers and jeers once more and I forced myself to look back down into the field.

Snake eyes.

I exhaled sharply and felt the tense hold on my body ease. That troublesome itch—the dire need for excitement—it was all gone in a rush. A sense of release and contentment washed over me and I relaxed into my seat.

The dealer glared at me and reluctantly pushed forward two hundred caps. “Deal’s a deal then, missy. ’Ere’s yer winnings.” He shouted for new bets before speaking in a low voice, “You may want to take off ’ere, miss. You’ve upset the regulars and they’re a right superstitious folk.”

I looked around the table. Players shifted uncomfortably in their seats and the dealer slid the dice to the next in line. Never did understand gamblers and their superstitions.I pushed all of the caps into the drawstring pouch and cinched it closed before slipping it around my neck. “Know when I’m not wanted at a table anymore. Good luck with the rolls, fellas.”

I crested the stairs and glanced around the bar. A dark blur bowled into me as I rounded the corner. He yelped and fell to his haunches, the wooden box he carried clattering to the floor, spilling out decks around us.

“Ah, so sorry, miss!” The colt panicked as he scrambled to pick up the decks, levitating them into place. “Stubs always wants decks rotated out.”

A couple ponies knelt down with me to help clean up the mess. “No, no, it’s fine. I should have been looking where I was going.” I reached out with the few decks I managed to scoop up. “Here.”

With the decks returned and the colt gone into the crowd downstairs, I headed off towards the main bar room. The massive orange stallion sat alone on the floor near a stool bent at odd angles and Vitia was off at a corner table having a conversation with Silver. Don’t want to interrupt those two. I’ll have to return these later.

The large earth pony glanced up at me with his beady eyes and I nudged my head towards the door. “Feel like comin’ with? Goin’ to find a roof to sleep under tonight and I could use the company.” Even in a resting position his bulky frame sat as tall as I stood.

He grunted out a response and nodded his head. The floor beneath his hooves creaked as he stood. He nudged ahead of me and the crowd parted like a river around stone as we headed towards the door. The early evening sun cast long shadows across the bar’s threshold and a cool breeze from the river riffled through my feathers. I raised a hoof to my eyes and stepped out into the desert heat.

“Hey!” A nasal voice from behind me called out, “Miss, with the wings, hold up.”

I turned to look at the source of the voice. An overly thin stone grey stallion with a dark tan mane slick and matted against his coat stood there levitating a sagging pouch by the draw string. I patted my chest where the pouch should have been hanging.

His gaunt features stretched as he spoke, “You dropped this in the crowd back there, Miss…”

“Bit Flip, and thanks. Didn’t realize it had gone missing.” I took the bag knotted the cut string back together, then glanced through it before draping it around my neck. Everything looked to still be there and the bag felt heavy enough.

“Judging by that fancy fashion accessory you got goin’ on there, I’d wager you’re that pretty little filly brought in from the Wastes all banged up and broken, yeah?” He stepped forward with a grin. “The name’s Betty, I run the general store around these parts.” He lifted a hoof and pointed down the street, “Betty’s Bits, just on over there.”

“Is that so?” I took a step backwards out of habit. “So…Betty, maybe you’d know, where’s a decent place to stay around here? We don’t aim to stay long, just overnight and be about our way.”

The aged unicorn turned towards the east side of town and pointed at a building out by the river that, by all rights, looked older than he. Unassuming in its height, ancient layered stucco and dull paint forming the exterior. Vague shapes moved about near the door to the building. “Safest place Thieves’ Bend’s got right there. Some old pre-war facility we converted a good hoofful of years back. Odd bunch inside, but they warm up quickly.”

“I see. Well, thanks for the tip. Maybe we’ll see about stoppin’ by to see yer bits before we leave.”

“Going to hold you to that.” He turned to leave before stopping and turning back, “Oh, miss, when you do head that way, would you be so inclined as to do Ol’ Betty a kindness?” He dug around in a pouch and pressed a small object into my hoof. “Give this to that old hoot by the counter for me, would you?”

I stared at the flattened cap in my hoof as Betty walked off before giving me a chance to respond. It had an illegible half-worn slogan across the top and an equally faded purple three star pattern beneath it. “Well, I guess that means we’re going down there, big guy.”

I cocked my head and looked at him as he grunted another response. “Yer not much for talkin’, are ya?”

He shook his head and sounded another throaty noise as he opened wide. Jagged scars ran down the interior of his mouth, half his teeth were missing, and pocked burn marks splayed across the inside of his cheek. The split nub at the back of his mouth, flayed open and scarred over, twitched. He closed his maw again and slowly shook his head.

I cringed at the sight, I knew slavers could be cruel, but that’s just too far. “I, well, hm.” I didn’t know what to say. We walked along the path in silence as dust kicked up around us with the river wind rolling in.

“So,” I tried to break the awkward silence, “What do we call you? Bruiser?”

A deep note of dissatisfaction came back.

“Crusher?”

He cocked his head and stared at me before grunting.

“Yeah, well, I’m not terribly creative with names. Oh! Bubbles.”

He snorted in reply. I nearly fell over as he nudged into me.

“Fine, okay, not that. Well, what’s yer cutie mark?” I shuffled around him and stared at his flank momentarily before looking at his cutie mark. “Okay, a pile of rubble. Great, no help there. How ’bout we just call you Big O’?”

He shrugged and opened his mouth again. “Aah.”

Guess that’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get. I laughed and continued walking. “Big O’ it is then.”

The building didn’t look so rundown from afar, but I immediately regretted my decision this close to it. Chunks of walls were missing revealing the steel supports beneath, and ponies milled about inside near bunk beds visible through the holes. The laughter and cheering we heard briefly as we neared the building ceased, replaced by harsh whispers. Two griffins twins, one armed with a heavy assault rifle and the other lugging an unmarked gatling laser, stood at the door.

I glanced up at the sun arcing across the horizon. Should tell Vitia where we’re stayin’ tonight.

One of the twins propped open the door and stepped aside. Furtive glances were cast my way as I stepped up to the counter. Bunks lined the halls leading from the commons room, a squawk caught me by surprise and I turned sharply to meet it.

“Lovely, ’nother mooch outta the Wastes. Whadd’ya want?” An aged griffin asked, his arms thrown into the air. Claws clicked along the smooth metal floors and loose snowy plumage molted as he stalked over to me.

“Lookin’ for a place to stay the night. Four of us, preferably behind doors. With locks.” I tried to put on a straight face, but each little tik-tak of his razor talons across the floor made me inch back until my hind pressed against the counter.

“That right? Think we’re some kinda Wasteland charity?” His beak snapped inches from my face as he spoke. “Ain’t gotta lot of room as is.”

“A-Also,” I stammered out. “Betty said to bring this to you when I came down.” I fell to my haunches after pulling out the flattened cap and took a sidelong glance at the front door. “Please don’t eat me.”

He took the cap from my outstretched hoof and let loose a crowing guffaw before extending an upturned claw toward me. The palpable hostility in the room vanished and ponies went back about their business as I took the offer and stood.

Crookshank showed us to the rooms we’d be using that night. Two double bunk rooms, no locks. He assured me that locks only served to keep honest people honest and nobody would be bothering us. Having seen the twins guarding the place, I didn’t mind taking his word for it.

“Welcome to the Safe House.”

Heat shimmered off rooftops in the distance as the late evening sun cast a queer red hue across Thieves’ Bend. A comfortable breeze from the river mixed with the desert air. It wasn’t cold, but it was better than baking in this heat. I had sent Big O’with a note to Vitia just after inspecting our rooms. I trudged along the winding trail towards town following the drifting notes of commotion from the main roads of town.

Vendors had taken to hawking their wares from mats and more yet called out from behind carts turning the main street into an impromptu night bazaar. Shadows danced across the buildings as lamps and fires illuminated the path. Clusters of ponies and griffins traveled between traders, and I stood there marveling at the crowds as they flowed around me.

I trotted to the nearest vendor that didn’t have a drift of griffins ogling myriad selections of heavy weaponry. She was a gangly minotaur, all sinewy muscle corded around bone with little of the signature heft they usually sport. Her rug held a considerable amount of Wasteland miscellanea from scrap metal to rutted suits of armor.

“See anything you like, sugar?”

“Maybe. Tryin’ to get to Betty’s Bits.” I flipped a med kit between my hooves while looking at a worn multi-pocket utility jacket.

“Betty’s bits, eh? I hear it helps if you buy something from him first. He’s pretty easy after that.” She wiped her eyes as roaring laughter turned into short giggle fits between gasps of breath. “Sorry, it’s just that damn name. He tried to change it once before, but people stopped going. Anyway, the general store is a little west of here; just follow the road a ways.”

“Huh, guess I wasn’t too far off. Thanks.” My hooves marked each spot along the inside of the barding as I inspected it. Interior pockets and a bullet hole. Brahmin lined with a scaly hide, probably a gecko or three. “How much for the jacket and med kit?”

She glanced at the items I held in my hooves before looking skyward with her hands clasped together. “Mm…Let’s call it seventy-five caps. That sound about right?”

“Yer kiddin’ me? These ain’t even worth a fourth of that.”

“How do you figure? That’s a genuine Ministry med kit right there and the jacket’s worked brahmin with enough pockets to store a whole Stable.”

“How do I figure?” I laughed and ran my hoof along it again. “Look at you tryin’ t’ bilk an honest pony. Is this a blood stain right here, what, did you pull this off some poor pony’s corpse?” Heads from nearby stalls turned to look as I raised my voice. “The ends are frayin’, the stitchin’s subpar. Hell, I’m going to have to repair these bullet holes to even make it worthwhile.” The kit lid flopped open as I fiddled with the broken clasp. “And don’t even get me started on this busted thing.”

“Hey, c-calm down.” She said wish a hushed voice, her palms raised outward. “Look, forty caps, low as I can go for the two.”

I shrugged the price and placed the kit inside the large attached saddle bags. “Tell y’what, help y’cut losses and I’ll take ’em off yer hands for twenty five caps and that bit of scrap there so I can fix the kit.”

“You’re crazy. There’s no way I’m going to let you rob me like that.”

“Probably got a long time comin’ before y’move it. Most pony-folk want for armor, not pockets.” I looked over her wares and set the barding back down. “But, suit yerself, guess I’ll go see if Betty can source me somethin’ that ain’t broke.”

“You’re bleeding me dry here, pony. Thirty caps or you can walk.” She tossed a piece of scrap metal on to the pile. “And yes, you can have the damn scrap metal.”

“Good doin’ business with you.” Caps fell neatly into her large palm as I shook them from the bag. The barding was unfit for wearing—I hadn’t lied about that. Far too many holes and it needed some slight alterations. I glanced at the front of it again before draping it across my back. Wing slits at the very least and the blood stains have to go.

A single spark battery lamp lit the exterior of Betty’s shop, casting its wide glow across the sun bleached cinderblock storefront. Above it, a foal-like painting of a mare’s smiling face and some caps hung swaying softly in the evening breeze. I pushed against the door fully expecting it to be locked at this late hour but it swung wide against my hoof.

Lockers, safes, and chests of varying sizes and types lined the shop walls. Wooden shelves sat behind a counter filled with canned goods, pack supplies, and salvage trade. I stared at the old-fashioned bit register that took up most of the weathered countertop, its copper trim and polished metal finish sparkled in the bright overhead lights.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” The nasal voice said. “Just your basic pre-war model, but they clean up nicely. I trust everything went fine at the Safe House? That old bird likes to hassle the newbies sometimes.”

Betty leaned against a shelf in the back of the store and waved. He shuffled toward the front of the office in an uneven gait, silent and sure in his movements, despite the gnarled hind leg.

“Glad you could make it, Bit Flip. Never seen anypony throw a hoof like that and give Mismatch a run for his caps at the dice. It’s rather impressive feat given the circumstances.” He punched a few buttons in succession on the register and his horn lit up. The room was bathed in a plum tinged magical aura, then hidden mechanisms clicked into place and wall panels slid into recessed cubbies revealing a plethora of merchandise secured behind wire cages. “Slick, right? So, what can I do ya for?”

The broken med kit clattered down on the weathered countertop. “Enough basic medical supplies to fill this kit. Bandages, pre-made salves if y’got ’em, things like that.” I wandered across the room and gaped at the varied volumes of stock Betty kept hidden behind his walls. “A week’s worth of rations for four and some canteens. Just the basic supplies.”

“You traveling types tend to get around quite a bit. So, where are you headed with all this stuff?”

“Lookin’ to head out east past the divide, but the route up north is pretty botched right now on account of slavers. Best alternative is the ferries down south, but I haven’t a clue where I landed.”

“Closest ferry I know of that still makes the trip is down in Desert’s Edge, ’bout a half-day walk from here.”

I picked up a tightly knitted mesh bag and rattled it. “Oh, and these. Definitely need these.”

Betty perked up when I jingled the bag and added it to his tally sheet. “You seem awfully straight to be interested in bobby pins? Not just going to keep that unruly mane of yours held back with ’em, are ya?”

“Girl’s gotta have her hobbies, yeah?” I glanced around the cages once more and spotted a tea colored corset with straps hidden amongst frilly trim and matching stockings. “Is this what I think it is? It has riot armor inserts woven into the fabric.”

“Huh, you didn’t strike me as the fanciful type.” He said from beside me. It was unnerving how silently he got around with that leg. “I guess this sort of thing was popular back before everything went to hell. Civilian grade body armor that was both functional and fashionable.”

“Oh, no. It’s for Vitia, ah, the unicorn that brought me into town.” I nodded to the pocketed barding bundled and draped lengthwise across my back. “This sort of thing is much more my style. Enough pockets and hidden areas to store an entire Stable.”

Betty slid the checkout sheet towards me, “Alright, I threw in some leather scrap I had in the back so you can get that jacket repaired and then there’s the ‘I like you’ discount. So you’re looking at around a hundred and seventy five caps total for all this.”

I sighed and placed the corset back on the rack. “Vitia’ll have to do without this, I guess. How much without it?”

“Mm…Looking at sixty five caps for medical supplies, rations, canteens, pins are on the house.” He cast a purple tinted illumination over the paper as he scribbled across it. “Tell ya what though. You seem to be the gambling sort, so let’s make a little wager. You get one bobby pin. No prep time, no extra tools. If you can pop any of those standing lockboxes with just that single pin, I’ll cut the price for the corset in half.”

“What’s in it for you?” I walked over a small safe recessed into the wall and peered at him.

“Nothing, really.” He shrugged and joined me at the safe. “But, humor an old stallion, would you?”

“Whatever y’say, It’s yer store.”

I rooted around the mesh pouch and slipped a bobby pin from it. It snapped neatly in two as I split it against the face of the safe. Biting the end of one piece, I slid it a short way into the bottom of the lock and bent to the side creating a square corner tension wrench. It hung from the lock as I inserted the remaining half into the top and pulled sharply to the side making a hook angle.

The tension bar bounced against the plug as I tapped gently against it, my lips working the hook against the lower half of the pins. I strained my ears, listening to the pins shift around in their slots. A click, barely a whisper, sounded from inside the lock and the plug moved ever so slightly to the right.

First pin set.

The nostalgic smell of oily steel calmed my nerves. I inhaled deeply as I set about the task of setting the next pin. The hook moved deeper into the lock, each ridge bumping against my tongue as I pressed firmly against the shaft of the pick. Another light push, another gentle press of my hoof and the second pin set. The third and fourth yielded just as easily.

The plug spun a hair’s width to the left as I relaxed my touch on the wrench allowing the fifth and final pin to unbind itself from the sheer line and rest against its partner. I bit down ever so slightly and pressed my tongue against the underside of the pick, feeling out the fifth’s weight and resistance. With one last caress, the plug inched forward and gave way as the fifth pin slid past the sheer line.

Snap.

The tension wrench tumbled from the lock in two pieces and bounced against the floor. I jerked away as the spring loaded lock spun itself back into place. The jagged edge of the makeshift hook pick sliced roughly across my lower lip as it was yanked from the plug. Each pin inside the safe’s lock made an audible clink as it reset against their resting partner.

“That was close. Impressively close, even,” Betty whistled, levitating the broken pins to eye level. “Splitting the bobby pin like that was clever of you.”

“Clever or not, I still didn’t open the safe.” My brow furrowed in frustration, and I licked at the thin bead of crimson that formed on my lip. “I had that though, that last pin. Never mind the crazy spring loaded plug, that last pin was set and it still snapped.”

“Very true, but no harm no foul. I appreciate you humoring me, at least. Now then, where were we? Oh, yes, payment.”

I counted out the caps as they fell from bag to counter top. “Sixty five in all. Shame about that corset though. Maybe I’ll have enough next time I’m ’round these parts for it.”

“Been up there some time now. Was one of Betty’s, ah, the old Betty’s pieces that she wore on the job.” He grabbed the caps in a magic field and dropped them into a drawer. “If you want, leave that jacket and kit here and I’ll have one of the town porters get it repaired before delivering all this stuff.”

“I’d appreciate that.” I carefully slid the jacket off my back, minding my wing, and placed it with the kit on the counter. “So I guess it’s safe to say yer name’s not actually Betty then?”

“Oh goodness, no.” He shook his head, “Betty’s just the name I inherited from the old proprietor. She was a real looker back when I was younger, ’bout your age, I’d say. Apparently people coming into town would mistake the general store for a brothel on account of the name.”

“The store does have an unfortunately innocent sort of name, doesn’t it?”

Betty pointed his horn towards the wall, and purple light washed across the room once more. Mechanisms clicked behind hidden compartments as the walls closed back up. “I tried changing the name once, but couldn’t get people to stop by anymore.” He laughed and shook his head again. “I’d imagine sex sold just as well back before the end as it does now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if that were the case.” I nodded and smiled at the stallion. “Thanks, by the way, for pointin’ me in the direction of proper lodging. It was a little surprising, but the place seems nice.”

He simply nodded and thanked me for the business while holding the door open. The sun had long fallen behind the mountain backdrop of the valley and Luna’s old charge hung in the night sky, casting a glow across the landscape. Most of the street vendors from the night bazaar had packed up, their stalls empty save for the odd mat or bit of rubbish left behind. The old road had a lonely feel to it as I walked towards the Safe House with only the few lamps and pits of glowing embers for company.

Vitia was waiting in the lobby of the hostel when I returned. With a smile and wave, she greeted me from the griffin-sized chair she had situated herself into. Light snoring could be heard from the hall to our side as itinerants, much like ourselves, took shelter from the Wasteland. I crawled into the chair Vitia had chosen, its seat spacious enough to accommodate the both of us, and leaned my weight against her. The night chirping of desert grasshoppers carried on the wind as we sat there in silence.

“Hey.”

Vitia hummed a quizzical note in response as she snuggled deeper into the cushion and leaned her weight back onto me. I felt her arms wrap around me and a short nuzzle on my collar.

“So what are going to do about Silver?” I leaned into the embrace, taking in her warmth to ward against the cool night air. “I don’t mind if she travels with us, much the same with Big O, but I doubt either of them are looking for the wanderer’s life after what they’ve been through.”

“Big O? That’s what you’re calling him?” She giggled, looking at me with half-lidded eyes. I could smell the light fragrance of whiskey coming from her as she spoke. “For someone with a way with words, you’re terrible at nicknames.”

“Hey now, none of that or I’m going to start calling you Vishy.”

“Mhmm.” She curled back in, and spoke slowly against my collar, her hot breath playing over my neck, “You do that an’ you better get used to being called Bitty.”

“Oi!” A gruff sound came from the hall. “You two lovebirds take that shite outside, some o’ us tryin’ t’ sleep here!”

I slid away from Vitia’s clumsy grasp, ignoring her hum of disappointment, and hopped from the oversized chair, propping the entry door open. Two unfamiliar, black beaked griffins clad in thick body armor stood watch at the door. They cocked their head sideways to stare at the two of us before turning back to the moonlit road.

“Been a long day, but I’m not really tired.” I shivered, my wings puffing out from the brisk riverside wind. “C’mon, let’s go for a stroll. It’s pretty nice out tonight and I think the cold might do us both some good.”

We followed along the path, the surrounding area awash in the moon’s lambent glow, when I heard the splashing of flowing water and steered our direction towards it. Small lights danced across the river in the distance and just as quickly snuffed out as we neared the shore. Small ripples formed at the surface as fish rose to catch night bugs.

“Silver wants to go back to Desert’s Edge.” Her voice had a hint of disappointment to it. “She’s under the impression that that’s what’s best for her. Maybe it is, I…don’t know anymore.”

“Doesn’t really surprise me.” I kicked a pebble into the river. “After what she’s been through, it doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“No less than us, really. Just in a different way.”

I shrugged at Vitia and sighed, small wisps of vapor rising on the air. “Maybe we’re broken?”

“Maybe we’re just used to it now. I’m not sure which is worse.” She turned to face me. “How’re you holding up, Bit?”

I looked at her, my head cocked to the side.

“The train and slaves. That can’t have sat well with you. I saw the look you had when it happened. So many innocent ponies were injured or died because of that riot you caused back there.” She sighed, her voice weary. “I don’t like it. Surely there had to be a better way?”

“You had a hoof in that as well, whether you see it or not.” I sat down and looked up at the stars dotting the horizon. “There’s no such thing as innocence in the world anymore, Vitia. It wasn’t my finest moment, but getting us off that train meant getting Silver off that train by any means.”

“I…I know why you did it, and I’m happy that Silver made it out in one piece, but there had to be a better way…” She trailed off and stared off into the distance.

“It was the only option I could think of that let us leave that train alive.” I pawed at the ground and sighed. “I’ve made some pretty horrible choices lately, haven’t I?”

She leaned over and gave me a squeeze. “You’re not the only one. But they say time heals all, so let’s just keep moving. Any ideas on how you want to head east yet?”

“Only option left is the ferry down in Desert’s Edge it seems. We’re about a half day’s walk away and we can drop Silver off there.”

“I’m…” Hesitation crept back into her voice, “Really not looking forward to going back to my old home.”

The brisk air had taken a turn for the cold and a wind swept down through the cove. I shivered as it passed over.

“C’mon, weather’s turnin’ bad. We should probably head back and get some sleep if we want to head out in the mornin’.”

The sounds of the early morning bustle outside mixed in with the shuffle of workers in the hostel. I groaned at the forceful intrusion of noise and sat up, rubbing away the sleep from my eyes. Vitia stood there tapping at the bunk. I could see the cross look on her face even through the haze of bleary eyed half-consciousness.

I glanced at her momentarily, and then at the wrapped bundle she held between her hooves before lying back down and pulling the blanket over my head. “No.”

“No? What. Bit, you need to get up.” She nudged me. “Well, no, you don’t need to, but I can’t remove the wing brace with you sleeping like that.”

“Don’t you ever sleep?” My heart skipped a beat when the floor I expected slipped under my hooves. I half-fell off the bed and flailed my arms, nose crunching against the cool metal flooring. My unbound wing flapped uselessly in its endeavors to defy gravity. I could hear her trying to stifle a snorting giggle as I lay there.

“Right. I’m awake now. Let’s do this,” I said from the floor.

She instructed me to sit in a nearby chair, placing damp rags on the table before setting about unbuckling the metal and leather straps. “Alright, lift your wing for me.”

“Just like that?” I feigned a shocked tone. “We’re not even gonna have a bit of fun first?”

Vitia sputtered out a half-response, her face flushing as she hurriedly reached behind her for a rag.

A small shiver ran down my spine when she reached out to me. It had been so long since anypony else had handled my wings. I gasped and tried to jerk away as she ran a damp cloth under it along the hard ridges of the spine, lightly raking it across the small down feathers, eliciting a tingling sensation. “H-Hey,” I tried to pull my wing in closer, “A little warnin’ would have been nice.”

“Y’know, folk usually do their bondage sessions behind closed doors.” A flush of heat ran through my body as I looked up at the door, where a chestnut and white plumed griffin laden with bags hanging from her chest leaned heavily against a crate. “You’ve got mail, newbie.”

She looked at me expectantly, her claw outstretched. A few caps shook from the pouch around my neck into her waiting grasp and she stalked off, the cumbersome looking bags she wore jostling about precariously.

“I thought couriers delivered mail, not received it.” Vitia laughed and moved around to my other side. She bit down on the final strap and with a yank the harness came off in one smooth motion. A sore, throbbing ache radiated from my side as I spread my wings to their full span.

“Stopped by the general store last night and picked up some supplies.” I hopped off the chair with a wobble and lifted the lid. “Let’s see what we got here.”

Four saddle bags lined the top of the crate. Each contained two full canteens, selections of dried and preserved desert trail food, as well as a couple scavenged pre-war MREs still in sealed condition. I hefted them from the crate and set them near the bottom bunk.

“No flying. I mean it, Bit. Your wing may look healed, but the bones aren’t completely hardened yet and can’t handle the stress.”

“Yes, mom.” I rolled my eyes and stuck my head back in the box.

“Just a few things though, huh?” Vitia gaped at the box and shook her head. “I’ve never seen a pony stretch caps so far.”

I looked up from the box and aimed a shot in the dark, “So it was yer idea, huh?”

Vitia stepped back and brought a hoof to her lips, a light blush crossed her features. “Silver wanted to do something, and, well, there was gambling…” She trailed off and laughed nervously.

“I appreciate it an’ all, but I can’t take her earnings. The profits made from using it, on the other hoof.” I laughed and pulled the folded barding to inspect it. The worked leather had been cleaned of blood stains and bullet wounds. The inner scale and cloth lining shone with a new finish and two slits for wings stitched and reinforced along the side.

It felt like I had been made whole again when I slipped into the jacket. I let out a content sigh. Form and function. I glanced at myself in the small standing mirror on the table and gave a small twirl. Never shall the two meet, they say. Bah.

The woven cloth underbarding shifted into place comfortably, densely layered scales sandwiched between the fabric and leather hugging my body. The heft of it on my back felt comforting despite the added weight. Supple leather gave way under wing as I slid them between the newly stitched slits.

I smiled and watched from the mirror as Vitia pulled out two bundles wrapped in parcel paper. “Bit, there were some other things in the crate still. One of them is addressed to you.”

“Ah, I had some caps left over after buyin’ supplies, so I got you something as a way of sayin’ thanks.” I placed the package on the table and tore at the side. A small cord bound leather roll fell out along with a written note. The sounds of crumpled and shredded paper echoed loudly behind me as I unfolded the note.

——

Bit Flip,

If rumors are to be believed, you put up one hell of a fight with that cheat of a cow out in the Bazaar.

That alone is commendable, but it is not the reason for this letter.

You showed an impressive level of ingenuity with that single bobby pin, and while you may not have been successful, I would still like to take a gamble on you.

The contents of the leather roll are yours to keep. Come back when you’ve figured out how to use them.

Also, think of this as a sign-on bonus, not a bribe.

— Passepar Tout

——

Vitia let out a jubilant squeal. “Oh, Bit. It’s wonderful, maybe a little practical and very you, but wonderful.”

“The med kit has your basic supplies in it. Bandages, salves, and the like.” I turned to look at the mare; bodice-armor hung loosely from her. She had already slipped into the paired stockings and was tugging at the strap-cinches around her waist.

She pawed at it and giggled as she ran her hooves across the silken, thinly padded fabrics that covered the light armor inserts. The stockings were formfitting and accentuated her petite frame. The tightly cinched bodice led the eyes across the delicate curves of her body. “Really, this is fantastic, Bit, and not that I’m not appreciative, but why all of a sudden?”

I stared at her, unable to speak. Her soft voice slipped me from my short reverie. “I don’t have Willow’s sensibilities,” I began, taking a deep breath. “And I know how much that dress she bought meant to you.”

Vitia wrapped her arms around my neck, cutting off anything further I might say, her lips brushed lightly against my brow as she held me in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Bit.” She sniffled softly and I felt a warmth trickle down on to my face. “It’s lovely.”

——