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

1. Booze… Bullets… Bucks…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.” He stood there staring at me.

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

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

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

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

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

“Not enough.” Brandy said bluntly. What?

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

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

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

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

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

“Interest.” She said slimily.

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

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

“Hey!” I yelled at her, offended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” I said again.

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Free.” I said to her. “And now.”

“No.” She hissed. “100 caps.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And second?” Brandy asked.

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

Experience gained. 25% to level 3.

Author's Note

Sorry for the long delay, I've been very busy recently. Rest assured Chapter 6 will be out much sooner than 5, especially considering I've already started work on it. Can anyone guess, without looking it up, which two poems the Mare With No Name is quoting/paraphrasing from in the paragraph about far away things?