Fallout Equestria: Medicine & Mail

Author’s Notes:

This is a companion chapter to Chapter Two-point-Eight in Medicine & Mail. If you have not read at least through chapter two-point-eight in the main storyline, then this perspective will not make any sense.

Chapter Two-point-Nine

One Pony’s Actions

Let us say our prayers to Laitis, his sister,

And to the Matron Mother, so that we may

Enjoy ourselves in the safety of our bliss.

Musical notes echoed off the plaster walls, holding a deep, somber tone waiting for the melody to commence. The movements of the entire lounge held as each group waited for the distinctive tone to signal the start of the evening services.

Then, with a sudden, instantaneous grinding beat, the melody shook to life. The segment rose in volume, in tempo, and in intensity until it hit an apex and shook the church. The floor rattled with the deep tone, and the walls reverberated. Dust from the rafters above rained down, bobbing about in the thick air.

For several moments the rhythm held, and the late night passer-bys would have felt it stir in their bones and rattle the ground beneath their hooves. The whole town shook.

Church service began, and the crowd within the walls of lounge and game room burst into life. Where the music quieted, the roar of the patrons made up for it in jubilation and excitement.

Stepping down from the small stage at the front of the church’s lower floor, I made my way slowly through the crowd, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with the new and old faces alike. I continued from the gaming tables across to the downstairs lounge area, taking time to whisper prayers of enjoyment and protection for Ghost Ant, many of his Monks, Prickly Pine and his Sons, and then once more to each of my Daughters.

At the edge of the bar on the crescent-shaped balcony overlooking the gaming area below, after a whisper of a prayer to Bush Whacker and the other bar workers, I sat at my favorite seat, and floated a glass of a delicious, rose-tinted chilled brandy toward me. One sip of the drink brought a tart sensation to my tongue, but was replaced by a warmth that slowly spread from my lips out.

This night, with the brothel services in full swing, I had a duty to my Daughters. But I was finding it difficult to keep my thoughts on those responsibilities. I kept thinking back to Bit Flip.

She had taken to an empty room in the private quarters downstairs the night before, and emerged only to pilfer more alcohol and return as quietly and sulkily as she could. Second-hoof accounts spoke of the declining appearance of my favorite evergreen pegasus, but I had not witnessed it myself. In a way, I was glad that was the case, since the mental image I had conjured of her in that terrible alcohol-driven state already hurt enough.

With another sip of the drink, I drowned out the ruckus of the church and recalled memories of the day before. A Company representative arrived at the Rusted Crags and in his wake took everything from Bit Flip.

My daze broke as I finished reliving the memory of Vitia sobbing the story out to me. My glass was empty, and in the sour mood I now found myself, I was in dire need of some liquid company. I lifted the lacquered bottle to my table and filled the glass, then again as I emptied it.

The time passed, music changed, conversations drifted in every direction all around. Games were won and cheers and shouts erupted. Admirers approached and regaled me of their exaggeratingly heroic and excessive deeds, then left in disappointment when I told them I wasn’t available.

My friend hurt, and for her, so did I.

“Your little one is asleep, in the hall. I gave her a blanket. Bit’s door is locked, and she isn’t answering.”

“Thank you, Sugar Cane,” I smiled. The older mare was tasked with giving me hourly updates, but from the last three, nothing had changed.

It pained me to see Bit this way, and I truly wanted nothing more than to rush down, break all the conventions of my position, and comfort her, but it wasn’t fair to my Daughters to see their Mother indulge in personal emotions over that of their protection.

I sighed into the empty glass and filled it once more.

“Pardon,” a smooth masculine voice spoke from beside me.

In a slow haze, I smiled at the young stallion standing at the edge of my booth. “Yes, dear?”

Ghost crossed his arms, standing over the scrawling earth pony at his hooves.

“And you won’t be coming back here, you understand?” I watched the stallion scramble to his hooves, spit curses, then stumble off. He was the first of the night to be tossed, and I hoped the last. Everyone here wanted to enjoy the evening’s activity, find solace in another, or games and drink, but even one that lashed out and made a scene left a lasting, uncomfortable impression on all under Laitis’ care.

“Thanks, Ghost Ant,” I patted the minotaur’s steel-tight leg.

“I didn’t do anything. You already trounced him.”

The drunkard had been lewd and very hooves-on from the moment he stalked up to Spice, which itself is fine, but it turned abusive quickly. I would not tolerate anyone who made any of my Daughters uncomfortable, let alone assaulted. So after a few quick strikes, one choice buck, and a twist with a hoof that saw him collapsed and compliant, I left it up to Ghost Ant to do the heavy throwing.

Inside, the bustle of activity continued all around, but for a lone white unicorn at the far edge of the balcony, fidgeting with a glass of some amber drink. Her posture was horrible.

I stepped up to Vitia and gasped—her face, behind the tears and mess of her mane, was bloodied. She sniffled, unaware of my presence, and sunk further into the glass.

“Oh, sweetie,” I wrapped around her, “What happened?”

“I think…She hates me,” she whimpered.

“No, dear. That’s not it.” I tried to comfort her, stroking her mane and pressing her face against my chest. “Surely that’s not true.”

“She blames me…” Her voice was cracking, and she was shaking.

“Shh, quiet now,” I rocked her. “Just take a deep breath and drink up.” I floated a bottle of a fine whiskey and a glass to the table. I sat on the bench, pressing myself up to her gently.

Pouring myself a full glass, I leaned my head against Vitia’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, dear?”

She was silent, and just twirled her glass in her hooves. As I took a sip of my smooth drink, she broke our table’s silence, “Said if she never met me, she’d still have her life.”

The words hit like the church around us collapsed on me. Bit’s life was the caravan, and in the span of just a few hours for the sake of Vitia, a unicorn she barely knew, she traded away everything. Just to keep Vitia from being a personal slave. It was her choice, and if I knew her, she did it out of a sense of responsibility, but at the end of the deal she was still left with nothing.

“She doesn’t mean that,” I broke the silence.

“She cursed her luck, cursed me for being the worst roll of her life, and—” She was cracking again.

“You’re nothing of the sort,” I comforted her, nuzzling her cheek lightly. “She’s just had a bad couple of days, and she’s lashing out. That’s just the alcohol talking. It’s not really her.” I felt like I was grasping at straws. Even if I knew the words sounded right, they felt hollow.

“But—”

I kissed her, stopping her words. Her eyes teared up and drops rolled down her cheeks when I pulled away. “None of that, now. You’ve had a long day, too. Why don’t you finish your drink and go lay down in my room? Clean your face, and rest for a while.”

She nodded, and gulped the rest of the glass. She gave a weak smile, and made to stand. “Will you—” but she stopped, and shook her head.

I wanted to comfort her, nearly as much as she did for me, but I had my duties as Matron, and so with a pain in my chest, I smiled. “Just rest for now. I’ll be there as soon as I can, dear.”

Moving to the bar, I pulled Bush Whacker aside, and whispered, “Bit Flip is cut off. Have someone up here at all times until she’s cooled off.”

I floated my glass to me and downed it. Off to console Spice.

“You seem unusually depressed, Matron.”

“Mmm.” The half-empty glass swirled about in my magic, swishing the amber liquid around carelessly.

My thoughts were on Bit Flip. She had only left her room or opened it a few times in the last several days, and each time she seemed worse than before. She reeked of booze, piss, and worse. Her appearance looked equal the part, and in a fit, crushed Vitia’s spirit and struck her.

She had only ever been this hurt when her mother passed. And even then, in her younger years, it took days of work to console her out of it and bring her back to a functional state.

“You won’t get it to wash your worries away simply by staring at it.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, Bush Whacker. You always have new things to teach me.” I sipped at the glass. “Sorry, I’ve got…a lot of my mind.”

“Must be a hell of a lot. You turned away two stallions and one delightful little mare tonight. Oh, and Gravel Horn.”

The momentary distraction brought a light smile to my lips. “He asks for me every week.”

“I think maybe the poor ’taur thinks you’ll bed him out of pity now.”

I sipped at the glass again. The colors of the drink reflected out from the dark turquoise of my magic field and cascaded across the smooth bar in golds and oranges.

The last two days came back to me, pressing into my mind and forcing me down in my seat. Since Bit’s outburst against Vitia yesterday, the unicorn had been avoiding me. She fled into the town for most of the day, and barely spoke a few words to me.

And as for Bit, she…I shook my head, and pushed the depressing thoughts aside.

The lounge below had become particularly rowdy in the last few moments, so I downed the rest of my glass as I made my way down to the ruckus. That kind of noise usually came about from someone making a scene, and regardless of my emotional state, I was responsible for making sure none of my Daughters were hurt.

A crowd had gathered amidst a scuffle of movement and hollers. I tried peering beyond into the commotion, but the throng was increasing rapidly and my sight was obscured.

One of Ghost’s Monks, the notably quiet Waking Horn, stepped in front of me and began shuffling smaller minotaurs and much smaller ponies out of the way, nearly tossing some in his rush toward the center.

Several other Monks had stepped in and pretty soon most of the crowd had been tossed aside and broken up.

At the center of the attention was Bit Flip, kicking and squirming in Ghost Ant’s decisive grip. Several of the younger Monks around the two were making to their hooves, one holding his swollen ribs and another standing dazily, staring in astonishment and shock at the broken horn in his hand.

“Let m’go, Shorty!” she cried out, flailing her wings and arms around.

Ghost’s brows were furrowed and a rage glinted from his eyes. He stood, lifting the comparatively miniscule evergreen pegasi effortlessly.

She twisted in his grasp, flicking her wings and kicking her free backleg. “Ah’m just tryin’ t’ have me a drink ’ere, y’stub-legged mini-taur!” Her leg connected with another nearby initiate’s face, resulting in a sickening crunch and a spray of blood as the minotaur sprawled back and cried out.

Ghost’s expression saddened when he looked up and met my astonished gaze. “We have a bit of a problem here, Matron.”

“I see that.” I walked through the dissipating crowd up to Bit, who glared at me. She was a mess, tears staining her face and matting her coat, and she absolutely reeked of alcohol and days of horrific mess.

“Oh Bit,” I whinnied. The image of her state I had in my mind paled in comparison to her appearance now, and I pushed and shoved the rushing sadness as far away as I could.

“Oh Bit-nothing!” she yelled back. “Tell your height-impaired mass of brutish muscle to unhoof me!”

The anger in her voice, the sharpness in her eyes, and the sense of undiluted emotion that emanated from her made my stomach twist, and my throat clench. My eyes burned and it felt like I was watching the world through another’s eyes.

Sighing, I nodded to Ghost.

He whispered an apology before striking her in the side with a strained force. She gasped and her eyes rolled back. Ghost Ant cradled her in his arms and turned to the hall, disappearing into the private quarters.

Spotting Spice, I called out to her, “Fetch me Sugar Cane, please, dear.”

As my tan-and-olive Daughter walked up to me, I sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Sugar Cane. I have something to attend.”

“It’s no problem, Matron. If that was the most exciting thing to happen tonight, I think your Daughters are fine.” She smiled. “We’re almost at closing time, besides.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, pressing my cheek to hers. “Be a good Elder Sister to everyone tonight.”

In the hall, Ghost stood at my doorway, cradling the unconscious Bit. “What now, Matron?” Had it been nearly any other pegasus, the minotaur wouldn’t have asked, and simply tossed the scene-maker out with a few warnings and promises of threats.

I shook my head. “Drop her in the tank for now.” I rubbed my brow and continued, “I’ll be there in just a second. Just let me…Give me a moment, please.”

Ghost Ant made his way down the hall, and I fell to my haunches against the door. All the emotions I had pushed away in the last minutes fought their way back and my eyes watered.

Ghost stood at the barred door and we looked in at Bit as she came back to.

“Wh—What did you—”

“I’m sorry we had to do this. Bit, sweetie, what’s gotten into you?”

She glared at me. Her gold eye glimmered against the dim lighting in the small room, but her newly-gray eye looked dead. She sent shivers down my spine and I felt genuinely uncomfortable. This wasn’t Bit Flip. This wasn’t my friend.

This was a raging beast, a creature of pure emotion that saw all the world around it as the enemy.

We sat in long silence.

Bit twisted her vision, looking at me, beyond me, as if she didn’t see me. Her stare went blank, then confused, then contorted into anger once more.

I cringed, watching her. She shot to her hooves, screamed something unintelligible, and reared up. Her face was twisted with rage, and she smashed her head against a steel wall of the cell. In the echoing clang of the impact came a second sound, a crunch and a crack. A smatter of blood dripped from the spot she just lunged against.

“Bit!” I screamed. I rushed myself against the bars, reaching out for her, calling to her.

But she ignored me, just as she seemed to ignore the pain. She opened her mouth and from her came the most horrific sound a pony could make. It roiled and twisted over my cries, echoing down the hall in an agonizing howl. She screamed, a wounded animal, living only because of adrenaline and blood fervor. She rose on her hind legs and struck the floor.

Crack. Then red poured from her shattered hooves, quickly splashing against the ground as she stepped around in a daze.

My face ran wet and my throat burned. I screamed to Bit, to my friend, who stumbled back from the smear of her blood across the cell floor.

Ghost Ant thrashed against the bars of the cage, calling out to Bit himself, but our cries and her mind were in different worlds. He fumbled for the ring of keys.

“Yer not real,” Bit growled.

I reached for her, calling out, trying to tell her, I’m right here! I’m real! Bit, look at me!, but she wasn’t looking at me. She hissed at open air.

The door flung open into her cell and I lunged through it, just as Bit opened her wings and dashed herself against the wall. She took to her hooves and slid in the pooling blood she fell into.

I moved in closer, calling out to her, reaching for her, but she dashed against the wall with another fervid scream. I yelled out for Ghost Ant—“Get a doctor, now!”—but there was only the murmurs of the crazed pegasus as a response.

“Bit Flip! Please, Bit, sweetie?” I stepped into a streak of her blood and reached out for her.

Her ear twitched. She spun, blood and rage. Her hoof rushed at me. She lunged, and I twisted.

I crushed my friend against the wall. Her head craned and her limbs fell lax to her side.

She slumped to the ground, teetering in disorientation. Her blood streaked over my coat and into the white fabric of my dress as I cradled her head on my lap.

“Bit, please, Bit, hang on.” I pressed my hoof against the seeping gash across her head, and held her shattered hooves to my chest. “Just hang on!”

Ghost Ant rounded the corner, Stitch rushing behind him, a medical kit hanging from his mouth and wraps trailing behind.

Everything was muddled. I saw Stitch kneeling next to me, ripping cloth strips from a roll. I heard the rumble of Ghost Ant’s voice somewhere in the distance. I saw a white unicorn forcing a flask into Bit’s mouth and sobbing.

Bit’s eyes rolled listlessly around, and her lips moved to speak, but she was silent.

“What do I do?”

“The best thing for you right now is to relax.”

“But, Bit—how can I relax?”

“Vitia, dear,” I pressed my hoof against hers, “Bit will be fine. You and Stitch did a fine job.”

“I didn’t—”

I cut her off with a squeeze, pressing her tear-stained face against my chest. “You did fine. She’s fine. Everything will be fine.”

She didn’t. She meant well, and she wanted to help. She tried to, but her emotions were a mess, and Ghost Ant had to pull her away while Stitch finished patching Bit’s external wounds. Vitia cried out and struggled, but Ghost held her tight, silent.

She blamed herself for everything over the last three days, and seeing Bit in such a frenzied state with those wounds, her mind collapsed. She panicked, and ended up making it worse.

But I couldn’t tell her that, now.

“If I might, Sisters,” Ghost Ant said, standing at the open doorway to my room, amidst the throng of my Daughters. “I need to speak to the Matron privately.”

The door closed, and he stepped toward the bed, holding a saddlebag. He looked at Vitia in my arms.

“It’s alright,” I told him, “She’ll stay.”

He pulled the bag open and dumped its contents across my floor. Bottles of glass and plastic crashed against each other and rolled around, followed by a tin with a familiar label.

“And this was all in her room?”

“Not counting everything covered in…Yes.” The minotaur’s voice was flat, but low. His face was strained and a bulging vein pulsed across his taught brow.

I floated some of the containers up before tossing them aside. Buck, something with Needles’ logo stamped on it, a Mint-al sampler pack, and one small bottle with no logo, just some thick brown slime coating the inside.

“Inform Stitch. If she took all of this over three days, she’ll have some issues.”

“She bruised up three Monks,” Ghost Ant growled, “And you saw what she did to herself in the tank.”

Vitia broke into sobs and hid herself away in my chest, pulling at me with the strength of a foal. Pressing her, I addressed the Head Monk, “If she took even half of that…”

Ghost Ant snorted, and left the room.

Vitia sobbed, mumbling curses and regrets at herself. If I never left Desert’s Edge. If I never Dashed-out. If I wasn’t so useless, so selfish.

I cradled the unicorn and rocked her gently.

The glow of morning light crested the horizon, and a few rays sifted in through the scratched windows into my room.

“Are you sure?” I asked her again.

Vitia nodded, her eyes set in determination.

I nodded to Stitch, and he sighed.

“What yer little pegasus got ’erself into, ah’m rightly amazed she’s still breathin’.” Stitch dropped his magic hold on the clipboard and it clattered to the desk’s surface. “She was so amped up on Buck, she wouldn’t have felt much o’ anythin’ even if y’had crushed ’er ’ead in.”

He looked us over closely, then continued, “Which also explains some o’ th’ rage y’said she was havin’. More’n that, though, she was tweaked on probably most o’ th’ pack o’ Mint-als you found.”

“At once?” Vitia’s voice was shaky.

Stitch nodded. “Th’ brown sludge, tha’ was somethin’ heavy, almost pure alcohol, but it did have some healin’ potion in it, from what ah can see, which may well be th’ only thin’ that kept ’er together ’fore ah got there. Coupl’o’ minutes more…”

Vitia whispered, “Lance’s Special.” She lowered her head. “Start with moonshine, then add some other stuff,” she told the floor.

I thought over the list of containers Ghost Ant dumped in my room. There was one that Stitch hadn’t accounted for: Needles’.

Ghost Ant seemed to share the same thoughts as me, and spoke out. “There was one more.”

“The one with that dealer’s stamp? Yeah, we’re runnin’ some tests on it. Never seen it ’fore. Can tell y’ right now it smells much like Dash tastes: brahmin shit. But with some carrot. Ah’m guessin’ that’s prob’ly what it’s derived from.”

Stitch took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She is right fucked.”

Vitia whimpered and Ghost Ant snorted.

Most of what the doctor said Ghost Ant and I had discerned from the wreckage of the room Bit locked herself into. Between the piles of empty booze bottles, the thrashed state of the furnishings, and the rancid stains, we figured she went on a three-day binge, culminating in some disastrous cocktail of chems and whatever else she got her hooves on.

“Doc!” came a yell from down the hall. The voice was Steel Braid’s, and it was from Bit’s room.

In her new room, the pegasus was strapped to a bed, leather bindings restraining her legs, head, and wings. After she lashed out while unconscious, battering one of the assistants here, Stitch took to more severe measures to keep her down.

“Willow!” She cried out, tugging against the restraints wildly. “What’s going on here, why am I—”

I’m so sorry, Bit Flip.

Stitch plunged a thick syringe into her leg. After a few moments Bit Flip stopped struggling and fell back into unconsciousness.

“Right now she’s on ’eavy doses of Med-X and a ridiculously ’xpensive amount o’ ’ealing potion. That mix o’ ’ers, if we didn’t, it’d shut ’er organs down ’mmediately, and that’d be th’ end o’ that.”

Vitia stepped up to Stitch, quavering, “How much?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tried telling her, but for that moment, it seemed those large ears of hers were useful only for decoration.

“Piecing her hooves together, patching her skull…Couple ten-thousand caps at least, prob’ly. We still gotta cleanse ’er body o’ all tha’ shit, too.”

Vitia stammered, “Wh-what do you mean? Can’t you—”

Stitch waved her off. “This ain’t no fancy, high-flyin’, hoity-toity kind o’ place, ah’m sorry t’say. She’s gonna have to get clean th’ hard way. No magic shortcuts. She’ll sweat. She’ll hurt. She’ll suffer. But she’ll live.”

Vitia sank.

Stitch shook his head. “Maybe after this she’ll realize ’ow stupid she was.” He walked out the door, his assistant in tow.

It was pitiful watching her. My heart ached, but the tears had stopped days ago.

The afternoon light glinted off the sweat on Bit’s brow. Vitia pressed a damp cloth to it, gently wiping away some of the sweat that the pegasus had built up in her unconscious struggles.

But she was calm now compared to the last three days.

The first day was the worst. When she was conscious, she raged and screamed, cursing her luck, cursing everyone she saw. Blamed us, hated us. Ghost Ant. Lance. Copper Shard. Vitia.

Me.

She pulled and strained against the restraints. She cried out. She spoke unintelligible gibberish to no one in particular. Her few waking moments were punctuated by confusion and lasted only seconds. Most involved heaving and haggard coughing, then an unceremonious crash back into unconsciousness.

Luckily those painful waking moments were rare. She spent most of the time in a Med-X induced stupor.

In that, she struggled against her restraints, twisting and squirming in some delusional mental drive, aching for the overdose of chems she just assaulted her body with. She shivered, she shook, and she heaved.

She was kept hydrated and supplied nutrients through IVs, with continual doses of Med-X and healing potion for the first two days. And with the abundance of healing liquid coursing through her and experienced medical care, her hooves had healed, showing minimal signs of their shattered state three days before. Physically, she had been fixed, but her struggle now was just as much in her mind.

I opened my eyes slowly, returning from a light nap. Vitia had taken her usual spot at the side of Bit’s bed, and snoozed softly.

I moved around the room and looked through the small window out across the metal mess that made up the Crags, watching the minotaurs and ponies make their way through their constant daily activities in the waning light of the evening. Some carried bushels of fresh greens and bags of oats from the outlying gardens and small farms, and some were just coming back from their daily construction, maintenance…

I heard a moan from my side, and turned to see Bit shifting. Her restraints were removed the day before, and although restless, she had not lashed out in her unconscious state since.

She lifted a hoof over her face, scratching the bandages wrapped it against the strip around her head. She stretched her wings slowly, and groaned.

I looked over her. It was the first time in three days she was awake and not screaming or in pain. My eyes burned and my cheeks became wet.

“Oh Bit,” I whispered, resting my head against hers.

“Willow,” she croaked. Her voice cracked, and she struggled with the words. “What happened—why am I here?”

I told her of the last week, since the day she lost her life in the caravan. Told her of the worries of everyone around her, told her of the pain she caused everyone, and told her what she did to Vitia, and to me. Told her of the last four days since her chem-cocktail.

I was sad, and I was angry. I wanted to slap her, and I wanted to hug her.

Mostly I just sobbed, and kept talking.

Her face contorted in pain, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Finally she spoke, “I’m so sorry…”