Fallout Equestria: Seaddle

Terran sat at the bar of Molty Malts, at the edge of downtown Seaddle. He was perfectly alone, with only his leather armor, Old' Reliable, and a bottle of whiskey to comfort his sorrows.

He was a dark brown color, with an interchanging red and black mane. His eyes were a sparkling blue. His leather armor had been an old military suit, but it's green had worn to grey.

His only compainion was Old' Reliable. It was an old zebra assault carbine. He had found it on some dead raiders outside of his Stable. It had been his companion for three months, and it had saved him on numerous occasions.

The Molty Malt was your average bar. It ws based on an old pre-war diner, and was run by a French griffon by the name of Gustavo. At the moment, it had about a dozen other ponies in various costumes were drinking away their fears.

Just as Terran took a sip of his whiskey, a figure walked in. It was definitely pony, but had a bit of an odd form, but not like a ghoul.

Terran's hoof went to his gun. The figure was approaching him!

The figure slowly sat down, and raised his gloved hoof for a wine. When it came to him, he pulled down his hood, revealing a normal, gray coat, with green eyes and a blue mane.

"Hello?" asked Terran cautiously.

The unknown pony smiled. "Hello Terran. Yes, I know your name. I need your help. The ponies I work for need someone with that Pipbuck on your arm. They are willing to pay a good number of caps."

Terran raised an eyebrow. "How many are we talking?"

The pony shrugged. "Depends upon your performance. However, if I'd wager a guess... 1000 caps."

Terrans brain blew. 1000 caps. He wouldn't go hungry for several years to come, and ammunition would no longer be a problem. However, he retained a cool he was known for, and, like any good merc, tried to raise the price. "1500, or nothing."

The pony shrugged. "You'll have to take that up with my employers. I'll meet you here in the morning two days from now. Be ready to have a three day trip, possibly more. Oh, and the names Fedora." With that, he sat up and left without another word.

Terran sighed, and looked down at his whiskey. Shaking his head, he downed the rest of the bottle, and set out.

He was going to bring some friends on this one.

...

Terrans home, an old building at the edge of the city, looked like another wreck from outside. It was on the inside that it was truly beautiful.

However, before we get to the inside, we must get to what was outside, waiting to greet him.

Terran smiled. Dragoon was an orphaned unicorn. While still possessing the mind of a child, the colt knew how to separate a uranium isotope in fission just as well as he knew how to build a Deutrium hyrdrogen molecule up in fusion. I.e.: The kid was a genius.

As Terran embraced the young colt in a rare heartwarming hug, he thought to when he first discovered the colt. His family had, like so many other tragic stories, been murdered by raiders, himself being the only survivor. Terran had discovered him, half dead, only after a week in the wastes.

Dragoon finally let go of the hug. "Hey Uncle Terran, your back!" he said happily.

Terran nodded. "So, what did you manage to do in the eight hours I was gone?"

Dragoon chuckled. "I managed to reverse engineer microfusion cells so, with the right tools, I can build our own!"

Terrance's smile remained the same, but his eyes widened in surprise. He would never get used to how smart this colt was.

"Oh, and I managed to make you two presents!"

At this, Terran did act surprised. "What for?"

Dragoon shrugged. "Too give you something back for saving me. Follow me!"

Terran was then dragged inside, where a single gift-rapped box awaited him. In case your wondering, the main room was small, big enough for a sofa and a small, make-do kitchen.

Smiling, Terran opened it, only to laugh loudly at its contents.

Dragoon, meanwhile, explained. "I was scrounging around a bit, and I found a whole carton of assault rifle rounds. 300 rounds in all. And, I got you another present. Follow me!"

Terran was dragged by the blue coated black maned blank flank into his own room, to which a surprise awaited him.

Inside, on a table he had always left empty for some reason, was covered in a massive cutaway, well, dollhouse.

However, this was no ordinary dollhouse. It was fashioned after a Stable, complete with working lights and Stable door.

Most impressive of all however, was the three numbers stamped on that Stable's door.

412

Terrans Stable. It was a perfect replica, all the way down to which tables went where in the cafeteria.

A single tear filled Terrans eye. "How did you...?"

Dragoon shrugged. "I moved a few maps off your Pip-buck from your stable to my computer. I used them to build a replica. It took weeks, but today I finally got the chance to move it to your room."

Terran smiled. "Thank you Dragoon. This is fantastic."

Dragoon nodded. "Thanks."

Terran marveled at the replica for several more minutes, when he decided to announce the news.

"I'm leaving on an extended trip. I've got a job. Tommorrow I'm leaving to talk with White about it, then the day after I leave."

Dragoon raised an eyebrow. "Not without me you're not."

Terran opened his mouth for the expected argument, when he realized he wouldn't win the arguement. He never does. And, hey, Dragoon was mean with a laser pistol and grenades.

Terran simply shrugged. "Fine, but I'd I tell you to run, run. Promise."

Dragoon nodded. "I promise."

Terran smiled. "Good. Well, it's getting late, and we need to go to bed. Come on."

...

Terran waved Dragoon goodbye, and walked off into the wastes.

As he walked, he looked around to make sure he wasn't being followed, and trotted off quickly to a chunk of ground. With a fast kick, he knocked the tarp off, revealing one of the last pools of pure water, a small spring that he latched to for water.

Quickly, he slide off his clothes, placed Old Reliable with her ammo to the side, and slipped into the cool waters. He felt sorry he wasn't letting Dragoon come with him this time.

Then, he blinked. Well, if he didn't have Dragoon to pester him, he looked down at his inert sheath, and smiled.

However, just before he could start, he felt the all familiar click of a gun at the back of his head.

"Son of a bitch."