6. Whiskey Blues

The prisoners were lined up, bound and gagged, many wailing incoherently past the cloths or rags shoved roughly into their mouths. Some struggled against their bonds. Others seemed resigned to their fate, as though they not only expected it to happen, but demanded that it did, that it must be so… almost as if they would be gravely affronted and tremendously disappointed had it not ended like this. Or, maybe I was only trying to justify what I was seeing, trying to put it into some sort of context that would force it to make sense, that would keep me from going insane… trying, desperately, miserably to remove the blame from myself for what I knew I was supposed to do. What I HAD to do. There was a pounding in my ears, in my skull, that had nothing to do with the thunder accompanying the driving rain of the dark kissed evening. I couldn’t refuse, it had to be done. It was the only way, the entire plan was put at risk, the magnum opus, the last true legacy of… him. This was the most important thing I would ever do, ever accomplish, the most important thing in the world. I put the gun to the prisoner’s head, wing trembling. NO! I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t. I refused… I… was falling, hurtling downward from the sky. Darkness, another dream, a bad one… damn you whiskey. Half the reason I drink you is to keep the nightmares away.

1. Whiskey Blues

‘To alcohol, the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems…’

You know, over the course of the last few days, or had it been weeks now? I’ll say days since I only count periods of consciousness… (please insert joke about sobriety here) ever since waking up on that wretched hillside, scared, near death and utterly alone, I’d come to figure or maybe realize something. And, of course I had no idea if I’d ever realized it before with the whole brain damage no memory issue, but it seemed important. So what had I learned you might ask? I’m sure you want to know… and even if you don’t I’m going to tell you anyway. I’d come to understand this: ponies just don’t seem to learn, (is that hypocritical or oxymoronical?) don’t really change. And I know it’s not just me either. I’m only a fairly obvious example. Perhaps, it would be appropriate to say that we never learn… never change. Maybe we just can’t.

I don’t know if it’s insanity, sheer stupidity or something else altogether. But it must affect the other species in similar ways to us. I didn’t know much about Buffaloes, Goats or Donkeys but the gryphons, who fought as mercenaries, not truly taking a side, loyal to contracts and cash only… were just as dead when the end came, what did all their money and martial skills do for them when the heavens were rent apart and the sky consumed in fire? Then there were the Minotaurs, calling themselves children of Discord and fighting a proxy war of brush ups, skirmishes and conflicts along the far southern Caledonian border. The Zebras had shared their megaspell technology with them and the big cows killed themselves and so many others along with them. They got their discord alright, in the mega-tonnage range. And there were our great enemies, the zebras… the zebras who sent hundreds of thousands to their death during the war and initiated the apocalypse, the species whose final death toll could only be listed as countless. And, lastly, not to be forgotten… us. Ponies. We’d developed the megaspells had we not? We began the rapid industrialization that brought technology, magic and arcane synthesis to the point where it could kill us all, with no regard for the consequences. The zebras hit the button that began the ending of the world, a button that we ourselves had built. And we finished it with our own arsenal, but it was we who first started it too, gave the Zebras the keys to our own destruction, to the death of Equestria and all the earth along with it. Be all our sins remembered.

Why am I thinking about all this? What is the point of this intro… duction… inspection… introspection and self reflection? Why is it coming up right now? Well, that would be because I did it again. Didn’t I just say that we never learn? My head… is killing me right now and I have absolutely no idea where I am. Damn you, whiskey! Damn you to… oh, who am I kidding; this is probably going to keep happening, again and again, isn’t it? This has happened before and I was pretty… nay… absolutely sure it would happen again. Buck my luck, huh?

Okay, first thing’s first, where in Dash’s deadly dick hating daring do was I? I opened my eyes and the world spun. Oh, great, feel like throwing up, not this again. Eyes closed. Some nice slow, steady breathing, deep breaths… trying to think about where I am and… extremely painful headache, yup, must have been the demon liquor, or I’d smacked my face into the bar again, really hard… like a lot of times. Uggh… right now, I kind of almost wished that the damn explosive collar that Brandy had put on me like the world’s most dangerous necklace would just go off and end the misery and pain, but, again… my luck. Speaking of explosive collars I felt tentatively at my neck with a wing and goddess damned mother bucking son of a zebra whore stick a unicorn’s horn up my ass. I was still wearing the thing. Desire to cry from being in the depths of despair now rising to wailing levels.

What had I done last night? Other than the obvious of course, which was drink myself into oblivion… and probably make an ass of myself to boot. But, if I didn’t do it, somepony else would. So this way, I was beating them to it and making myself look the foal on my own terms… which was hopefully better than looking the foal on someone else’s terms. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just trying to delay the need to open my eyes and prolong the time before I had to get up. At least I was moderately comfortable. Go back to sleep maybe? No. I needed to pee… and eat, preferably in that order. Oh wow, did I need to use the mare’s room. Holy cud chewing cows how much had I drank last night?

Okay, you can do this. Time to open an eye… whatever your name is. Where was my mental checklist? Did I need to add ‘get a damn name’ to it or had I already tacked that on? Who knows? Alright, trying real hard… and… my right eye opened (to a slit like the eye of a cat just barely awoken from a nap, who peers around for a few seconds before deciding that returning to sleep is the best option). And I still wasn’t even entirely sure what a cat was. My eye closed. Damn it! I opened it again and the blurry world around me slowly came into focus. It was dark, so dark that all I could make out was, well, nothing much really. But I was sure as hay thankful that it wasn’t bright and loud, had it been… shots would be fired.

Vision blurry, hangover raging, I opened my other eye, feeling a twitch to it. Oh, not this again. I thought that had stopped with the whole ‘let’s put your head back together while you’re unconscious’ phase. I rubbed at it with a wing and the twitch went away. Okay, darkness, a single line of light at ground level and one at barrel… torso… body… height. So, a door and a window. What was it that the Mysterious Stallion had said? Okily dokily? No. Something along those lines though. And I was on a bed. Yay! Happy, happy fun times. I was starting to think my sleep life would be medical cots, hillsides, alleyways and the floors of businesses forever. I desperately fought the urge to bounce up and down on the bed. Because maybe, just maybe, I was starting to figure out how bad that would be for me, considering the state I was in.

Very carefully and (just as importantly) very slowly, I raised myself up and planted my hooves on the floor. From the sound they made I would guess I was not on the ground level of wherever I was… and from the wobble of them I figured I was also in need of water and some kind of hangover or drunkenness curing spell. Where’s the damn unicorns when you need them? One hoof in front of the other. One hoof in front of the other. Using my wings to support me by leaning them against objects I couldn’t see, I made my way to what was probably a window. I may have tripped en route… a few times, and wobbled a bit more, but that’s not necessary to go into now (or ever) is it?

I reached the window and pressed myself against it, feeling the cool solid surety of a mostly sturdy wall. Good wall, good. I was a bit wary of anything resembling a ground or floor after the whole burrowing situation so I tried to take comfort in things other than what I was walking on. Opening the window wasn’t working though, probably because I was trying to use my wings. Damn wings, why won’t you hurry up and start working properly? Don’t make me… do what? What could I do against them? I guess I could replace them with tech, be a steam powered pony for real, maybe even install lasers, and really sharp blades and rockets and … no. No, not happening. I gave up on using my wings and with the utmost of care set my able forehooves to the task. Thinking back, I could have just opened the blackout cover instead of the window itself. However, it was a good thing, in this case, that I was stupid, or… er… not thinking right. The window shot upwards, bathing me in horrible blinding bright light and with great aplomb my head lurched forward into air as I spewed up enough awful, burning tasting vomit from my stomach to paint a quaint little cottage. I will never drink again. Ugh, here comes more.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” There was a startled yell from down below, coinciding rather unsettlingly with the sound of the impact splashes. Uh oh. I burped and wretched a little but nothing more came out or up or down.

“Sorry.” I apologized miserably and collapsed against the window frame. The disgruntled shouting continued below but I paid it no heed. It was kind of funny, so long as I wasn’t puking on me. And, come to think, I’d been covered in some pretty nasty stuff as of late. So whoever this pony was, they shouldn’t complain, but try walking a mile in my horse shoes instead. The yelling faded and I glanced at the room around me. It looked like a room. Sorry, I know I’m really bad at this, descripting… descriptions… of things. It was small but not too cramped, and old, with some obviously futile attempts having been made to dress the place up with wooden accents and badly knitted doilies. Also, there were empty liquor bottles… and drugs… and cigarette butts everywhere. What little gear I possessed was flung about the place haphazardly, no, not exactly. It looked as if I’d discarded it with great hurry and enthusiasm between the door and the bed. Speaking of which… thinking of which? The bed was a tangled mess of low quality sheets, blankets and pillows, patched, ragged and worn. And oh… hmmm, stains, fresh looking, could only be one thing and definitely from a stallion. Well, no wonder I felt sore but in a good way… and content, satisfied. Yush! Somepony, (me, obviously) had gotten lucky last night. Now to notch my belt… and I didn’t even have a belt. Notch my battle-saddle? Didn’t have one of those either. If only I could remember the previous night. It’s not nearly as much fun to know that you’ve had sex if you can’t recall anything about it. Still somewhat fun though. I started humming. Happily, if still not too sure hoofedly, I made my way about the room, trying not to move my head too much as I packed my stuff away and gave an appreciative nod to the bed. Apparently, I knew what the stallions liked… and it was me. Self esteem in the clouds and the humming continues.

Within a few minutes I’d gathered all my things, put them on, opened the door, and warily made my way down an unfamiliar hallway toward a set of stairs leading downward. Wouldn’t you know it? I was in the bar still. They had upstairs rooms for rent... I guess, and one miss ‘name unknown’ mare, thinking ahead, had reserved one for the night. At least, this was what my minimal and not very effective reasoning abilities told me. Cause I was just a beacon of logic and rational thought in the wasteland… Hey, why are you laughing, damn it!?

The place was empty but for Whiskey, who, if I remembered correctly, had the early shift so that Apple Cu… Brandy could sleep in. The buck seemed different. He looked… less… ‘I’m too dumb to not be happy’ and more sure hoofed, alert. I considered trying to sneak past him. While packing I noticed that my bags of bottle caps (that was so getting added to the checklist by the way, ‘why in Celestia’s molestin’ mane did everypony use caps for currency?’) were quite a bit lighter than they had been the day before and, not wanting them to get lighter still by way of me having to pay for damages incurred I thought of - CREAK - … mother fuck… I stepped on something that had to be groaning with the passage of years and poor care, not with the weight of a slightly heavy mare.

“Good morning.” I said, trying to sound brisk, but coming out more as disappointed and guilty. The buck was cleaning off the tops of beaten up and scratched old tables.

“Afternoon.” Whiskey replied, turning to me with a nod and a smile. Boy, did he get less stupid of a sudden or had I fell from the idiot tree and hit a few branches on the way down? And… wait… afternoon? How long had I- “Yeh been sleeping for ten hours or so.” Well, that answers that question before it was asked. “Took off upstairs with some young caravan guard ‘bout three in the mornin’ or so.” And there’s another one. Caravan guard… caravan guard, not too big of a buck but with an attitude large enough for a buffalo… drugs… something about tapping… double tapping… being a miss gnome… missed no more… misnomer? Because we went more than twice, wasn’t that it? Wow, I really need to quit drinking… no, screw that, drink less… eh, we’ll see about that. I know what to do, alternate alcohol with water and get somepony to record what I’d been doing for future viewing. Crap. That would probably violate half a dozen obscenity laws. No, what was I thinking? This was after Armageddon, no pony cared, and there was probably no way left to record anything anyway. Uh, where was I? “Finally stopped makin’ an awful racket ‘bout two hours after that.” Blushing… was I blushing? And… proud at the same time? Speaking of which, it was probably time for me to just come clean about the bed and settle up for any debts.

“Yeah, on that subject, payment... reimbursement... to you.” I said, not quite wanting to look the young stallion in the eye. “You should probably… change the sheets… blankets… pillows… the whole bedding thing. Room clean… flamethrower and Abronco… tactical megaspell stike.” Whiskey gave me a flat look that I previously would not have thought him capable of. “What?” I asked. The stare continued. “Cum stains.” And there we go. The staring ends. The buck sighed and shook his head. “What? They’re the caravan guard’s fault, not mine… mostly.”

“I ain’t gonna charge yeh fer that… or fer stayin’ late. Mother would have d-” What? Did he just call that bitch mother instead of momma? And I totally didn’t pay attention to the last part of what he was saying. Was there a bathroom around here? Or a quiet out of the way alley, conveniently on the other side of a door hereabouts?

“Are you… okay?” I asked, wondering if I’d gone to some weird bizarro alternate post apocalyptic Equestria.

“Ah’m fine, thank yeh.” Whiskey answered then stopped, letting the rag he’d been using to wipe a table slip from his magic. “No, yeh know what? Ah’m better than fine.” There was vindictiveness and strength to his voice that was actually quite… cough, ahem, was going to say attractive but I think two idiots probably shouldn’t mix, foals would be dumb as rocks and all that. “Mother left last night.” Left what?

“What did she leave?” I inquired, still counting my feathers that I had the luck to not get billed beyond what I must have already paid. Trying not to cross my hooves, have to pee, have to pee, really badly.

“Town.” Whiskey replied quietly, eyes focused on some point beyond the doors. “Just up and left in the middle of the night, not a word… disappeared.”

“I was in my room the whole time.” I gave as an alibi, hoping that the caravan buck from the previous night could verify that for me. And… crap. I wasn’t supposed to say that was I? It just made me sound guilty. And I had to pee, that wasn’t a guilty sign was it?

“Ah know yeh were.” Whiskey conceded, not looking my way but giving a hard glare at his rag. “Noises, remember? By the sound o’ the voice, pretty obvious yeh were there… and what yeh were up to.” Blushing again, and smiling, fighting the urge to hum. “Just…” He trailed off. “Ah don’t know. Wanna drink?” The buck asked, as if trying to take refuge in the familiarity of being a bartender.

“Uh…” Yes please. Yes. “No.” YES! YES! YES, DAMN IT! “Thanks.” Arrggh, what was wrong with me? All the beautiful bottles glared at me accusingly. “I kind of have to pee, like, really bad right now.” I told him, edging my way toward the door. I didn’t think I’d be able to hold it in much longer. “Is there a place to-”

“Out and to yer left, three cars down, can’t miss it, smells like an outhouse.” Whiskey answered, taking the rag in his hoof and scrubbing so hard I thought he might wear right through the table. Oh thank you sweet merciful mare’s room. And of course I would probably have to pinch my muzzle with a wing when I went in there.

“Okay, thanks, bye.” I said, turning back around and rushing for the exit.

“There’s a stallion as wants to talk to yeh.” The bar tender… I guess bar owner now, said.

“Was it the buck I was with last night?” I asked; one hoof on the door, ready to swing it open.

“Nope it wa-”

“Then it can wait.” I told him and threw myself outside, right into a disheveled, disgruntled looking pony that looked like he’d just gotten caught in a rain storm. The two of us tumbled over onto the ground. Oh, thanks be to the Goddesses that I hadn’t landed in mud again. I disentangled myself from the other pony, a Unicorn buck, and dusted myself off, reorienting toward where Whiskey said the restrooms were.

“Sorry.” I said, skirting around the other pony as he tried to get himself off the ground. And what the fuck was that smell? It smelled like… like vomit. Oh shit.

“Hey!” The buck roared as he got back on his hooves. “Are you the bitch that threw up o-”

“Oh shit. Gotta go.” I ran off as fast as I possibly could; doing my best to ignore the horrible dizzying sensation that accompanied a hung over gallop as I left the poor unfortunate puke reeking soul behind. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. I had to get to the bathroom, I chanted in my head. His shouts followed me, fading as I reached the crudely painted sign depicting a mare on the side of a train car. Whew, just in time.

I spent the later part of the afternoon sitting on a ramshackle corrugated metal roof, part of a shack that had been bolted onto one of the train cars, a double decker. It was high enough up that I could see past the walls, to the absorbing sights of the absolutely boring wastes outside of New Appleloosa. Nopony had bothered me in quite some time, though a few gave some really weird looks after I first emerged from the bathroom. Some of the sounds of relief I made while in there must have bordered on orgasmic, cause I was given a wide berth. I had gone to Ditzy’s place at first but the mare wasn’t in, ‘out for the moment’ according to a sign on her door, ‘delivering supplies to some weird Unicorn a ways north’ by Railright’s reckoning.

Ah yes, the wasteland. There seemed to be nothing going on. A couple ponies straggled into town individually, looking much the worse for wear. There was a burst or two of gunfire in the far distance and heavy cloud cover. Yup, just your typical average day in the post apocalypse. With Ditzy gone, I’d bought a pack of cigarettes off of Mistletoe, who still didn’t seem too happy with me, and climbed up here to think on things for a while (and avoid confronting the vomit buck, which meant going hungry since I couldn’t return to the bar to get something to eat). And you better not be laughing at the thought of me thinking. Thought of thinking. Thought of thinking. Boy was that an odd thing to think about. Stop that!

Urghh. I shook my head, feeling the lack of mane over my surgery scar. Had it been luck that the shot hadn’t pulped my head like a deliciously ripe melon? Was it me fighting back? Had my assailant hesitated? Fat chance of that last one happening in this day and age. Should I follow whoever it was that put a bullet in my brain? I felt like I should, like it was the thing to do, vengeance and all that. But, honestly, I almost regretted the whole using of town’s ponies to force Brandy to give me back my stuff. So, I had no idea how well I’d do at killing someone. Had I done it before? That dream, that horrible nightmare. If it was real I’d refused to murder other ponies with something big... terribly important at stake. Then again, it was probably just a stupid dream, a combination of too much alcohol and all the crap I’d been through recently. I sincerely hoped my brain wasn’t making up memories, that would be bad… right?

Oh well. I stood and stretched atop my perch, extending my wings and giving them a short workout, by which I mean a lot of fluttering and very little else. Soon the sun would descend to the point that I could see it without being obstructed by cloud. But, it wasn’t really the sight of it that fascinated me. It was the feeling. That warm heat that radiated outward and remained bright against closed eyelids, there was something about it. It was tantalizingly familiar. It felt like… home. A home I didn’t remember. Great, just great. So, I could charge off into the wild blue yonder (which did sound quite like me) and pursue some bad pony across the breadth of Equestria (which didn’t particularly sound like me as I get bored very easily and distracte… oh, shiny reflections on the metal roof).

The problem with this tracking and chasing and shenanigans was that I had absolutely no idea who had shot me… or why. Heck, I didn’t even know who I was. I didn’t have any clues except a white hair (that I was oh so glad wasn’t mine), a fake Stable suit and a hole in the head where my memories should be. Where me should be. There was nothing. I wanted answers but there was nowhere to look, except at the bottom of a glass… or ten. I had money. I had a few ponies whose company I enjoyed. What was I supposed to do now? What could I do now? I smoked what must have been the tenth cigarette since ascending to my spot on high and remained standing as the sun finally began to set. I looked out across the wastes, the abyss of my future, pondering a while as darkness crept over the land. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who I was. But I did know one thing. I knew what I could do.

I could drink. And with that, I left my lofty abode and descended back into the dusk lit town, wandering inexplicably in the direction of the bar.

Whiskey’s place, as I might as well now call it, had its share of patrons, though nothing like the night before when I’d dragged seemingly half the Goddess damned town in with me. If only I could find out what happened to the buck I’d spent the night with. I could indistinctly recall him saying something about his caravan heading out and him being head over flank at the thought of having a Pegasus mare flank over head. Hehehehe.

Luckily, the buck of really bad timing, who’d caught what must have been a bucketful of my booze riddled regrets, was not present in the bar. That certainly made things easier. I sat at my own table, alone, brewing in my thoughts. Any pony with aspirations toward a ride kept their distance, which I was half glad and half sad about. Apparently I looked like I did not want to be fucked with, which didn’t mean that I also didn’t want to be fucked, but, there you have it folks. I nursed my fifth scotch, second rate if ever I knew what I was talking about (which, to be fair, was seldom), but I knew what I was drinking about, and the stuff was overpriced but the peaty aroma and pretty golden hue suited me just fine. It made me think of times long ago, days gone by that I couldn’t remember. I snorted, pawing the ground with a hoof and knocked back the remainder of my drink. My second tall order of water sat untouched on the table. It was going to be a long night, a very long drunken night. I hissed from the heat of the alcohol and slammed the depressingly empty glass down in front of me.

“Careful, you’ll damage the table.” A deep voice said from somewhere nearby, sardonic and weary, and maybe a little mischievous.

“If I wanted your opinion, I’d give it to you.” I growled, not even bothering to look for the speaker. There was a brief chuckle in reply.

“I believe I owe you this.” A beige hoof set a carefully balanced glass of what looked deliciously… I mean suspiciously, like whiskey. I turned around and saw the Mysterious Stallion, still in his long coat, and those stupid sunglasses, dark brown mane in much better condition than mine. “Nine more after this, correct?” He asked with a smile.

“You!” I rasped, upending my chair and bumping into the table. The smile on his muzzle slowly disappeared. “You.” I pointed a wing at him accusingly, eyes wavering between asshole and alcohol. “I…”

“Yes?” He asked, tilting his head.

“You.” I couldn’t find words to describe what I wanted to say. I diverted a wing to the whiskey, downed it all in one gulp, grimaced, sputtered, threw the glass aside and collapsed against him in a teary hug. Now, I’d like to say that I kept my composure, or kicked his ass, but in fact, I sobbed and shook and cried, right there in the middle of the bar, not giving one damn or two hasty morning shits about what other ponies saw. The buck sighed and put a hoof on my crest, patting gently. I don’t… I don’t even know… what… why? Who the fuck was I? Who was I supposed to be? Now, don’t think that I blubbered, or wailed, or whined, or asked all these deep philosophical questions as to the nature of being as I cried, shivering and shaking, nope, did not do that, and if you think different… then you’d be right and I would have to hate you… or hurt you, till you remembered things my way.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you settled down.” He said quietly, somehow oblivious to the tears soaking his duster. He called out to the bartender come owner. “Whiskey, we’re going to need drinks, a lot of drinks.” And he helped me back to my spot at the table, using his teeth to pull a kerchief from one of his pockets and giving it to me.

We sat there for a while, him being all understanding and whatnot while I vented and eventually calmed down, and oh yes, we were drinking, a lot. I kept hoping that the further in we got, and the more sloshed I became that he would be more appealing, more attractive, but, sadly, it was not to be. He remained the same, undersized but otherwise average looking buck with sunglasses. My urges to kiss him, or get him to kiss me died down as I regained control of myself and muddied up my mind, pushing away all the questions and holes and gaps that otherwise bothered me with those wonderfully helpful intoxicants.

“So,” I said, slurring just a little (maybe more than a little), cutting to the chase now that the burning courage of numerous tasty alcohols was flooding my system. This wasn’t going to be bad for my recovery was it? Meh, it was too late to worry about that now. “Why did you leave me on that hill and under that dog… to die?” I squinted at him and tried to clear the two overlapping glasses of bourbon from my vision. I shook my head. Okay, good, only one again, for now.

“What makes you think that?” He asked, taking a break from what was probably his sixth beer, four empty shot glasses and a half empty bottle of cognac on the table in front of him. He was doing well, but not as well as me. Lurrhp. Oops, threw up in my mouth a little bit, better wash it down with some more, you guessed it, bourbon. Also, what the flying feathered fuck?

“You… left me… to die. I saw you do it. You know you did it.” I pointed one wing at him again and jabbed the other at the table for emphasis.

“No, I understand that I left you, but what makes you think that I left you to die?” He asked back, innocently. Arrgh, how could a pony sound so… so… not guilty but still make me want to put a hoof through his face at the same time?

“You could have saved me, could have… helped me. Instead you walked off like a dumb ass foal, leaving me, in sit… situ… uh…”

“Situations?” The stallion offered helpfully.

“Exactly, situmocations where I could have died. You left me. To. Die.” I spat and almost lost my glass of bourbon. Oh no, I could feel more crying coming on, hopefully I could hold it in.

“No, my silly drunken little pony.” He told me warmly, with a smile so sincere and earnest I almost started believing him. “I didn’t leave you to die. I left so that you could live.” What?

“You… what… that don’t make no… sense.” I coughed and lit a cigarette, deciding to take a nice long five minute break from my drink.

“Both times, I helped you out of the most dire of circumstances, yes, but then, I gave you the tools you needed to get out alive.” He leaned back and stretched, belching. “All you had to do was use them, and you did. You proved that you had the will to survive, the desire to live, you fought, refused to surrender or give in.” He took a swig from the bottle and lit a cigarette of his own, not as easily as I had though, it pays to have wings… sucker. “I gave you the chance, I wanted to see if you could live, and you did.” That made some kind of weird stupid fucked up crazy pony sense that felt like he just said whatever came out of his ass and got lodged in his tail hairs but I wasn’t going to argue since there were three of him now. I was outnumbered.

“And now here I am.” I finished, exhaling smoke. His smile stayed.

“And here you are.” The buck affirmed pleasantly.

“So, what’s next?” I asked, a little woozy, the cigarette was not helping very much. Maybe I should’ve drank less, or consumed more water.

“I’d think that would be entirely up to you, would it not?” He replied, motioning to Whiskey for another beer. Slow… poke… he needed to… ketchup… nice warm and cozy blanket with a big fluffy pillow on the side… where was I hungry? “There’s always caravans moving through, you could sign up as a guard or start one yourself with the capitol from your recent little adventure.” Yeah, I could be a whiskey caravaneer and drink all my product while on the road, great thinking. I stared at him obliquely, head tilting involuntarily, rolling a wing to encourage him to continue. “Gangs out in the Hoof, constantly fighting, always looking for new talent. Small little frontier towns, like this one, only further out, more isolated, struggling everyday to survive. You could head to one of those and plant crops, live, better the place… help it grow, thrive.”

“Somehow, I jus’ can’t pitcher myself as a gardner.” I said, looking at my glass of bourbon. It was empty. How did that happen? I… whoops, I think I was supposed to be drinking water, wrong glass. Totally accidental, that was… was… was… where was I?

“That’s too bad.” The stallion said, melon… collies… melancholy in his words, in the timber of his voice. TIMBER! Trees fall down. “I think you might like having a garden, an orchard even, growing crops, tilling the soil, raising animals… making moonshine.” Well, that last bit was more than a bit appealing, but, regardless, I blew a raspberry at him for the suggestion in its entirety. Could you imagine me growing stuff? All plants would die. And it would be sooooo boring.

“There’s Tenpony Tower in Manehattan, a bastion of fine social etiquette and pretentiousness in the otherwise uncivilized wasteland.” He took on a mocking, haughty tone that for some reason I equated to upper class snobs. “There’s plenty to do in the city as well, scavenge, explore, fight manticores.” Fight what? “Or you could head south from Manehattan, to Baltimare, treasures and untold riches await there, allegedly, some nonsense about a war era casino on a pony made island.” That all sounded really complicated to me. I wasn’t going to remember half of this shit in the morning… or any of it really. “They’re always looking for security at Ten Pony though.” He mused, perhaps thinking aloud, talking to himself. “You could go freelance, be a P.I. for the hoity toity and all that.”

“What in blazes is a pee eye?” I questioned, fearing the worst. What the hay? Somehow I had a new glass of something… alcohol. Water still untouched.

“A private investigator, silly.” He gave a laugh. “Though I guess you’d be a Pegasus investigator.” I would? Were there other Pegasi living in this tower? “But that might be a little boring for you. Maybe you could set up a ranch out west, near New Pegas, hunt in the mountains, herd Brahmin. Or you could travel south, to Caledonia, join one of the gangs that runs Dise, do some gambling, some ponies, fight minotaurs.” What the fuck… fuck… fuck… funny words… was a Brom min and did I even know how to gamble? “Slavers out Fillydelphia way, major operation gearing up, strange sights in the skies some folks say, you could help or hinder. Lots of caps in that, either way.”

“Caps.” I snorted and alcohol went up and out of my nose. Ouch, oh that hurts, not good. The stallion was laughing at me, finishing off his cognac with a flourish. “What,” I breathed hoarsely, “is the deal… with caps?”

“Well, they’re these round metal objects, come off the top of bottles an-”

“Thanks… a lot… asshole.” I replied, gulping water and rubbing my wings on my muzzle. Never again allow alcohol in your sinuses stupid mare, never again.

“War time thing, ponies started collecting them, something about a grand prize for rare caps or ones with a special mark on them, a star I think it was. It’s probably all minotaur shit, just a rumor some pony started that got out of hand and grew and grew. Though, there was, I believe, some kind of initiative, save caps, save Equestria, a bit of nonsense about recycling the metal from the caps for use in supporting the war effort.” The stallion finally paused for breath. He sounded… enthusiastic. And I had an answer, of sorts, kind of, as good as I would get and enough to sate me for now. But, how did he know all that?

“Wow, how… now… do you know all that… stuff… what are you…” I tried to look at him more closely and at least one of the other stallions that was him disappeared. From a distance he seemed of indie… determine… termites… terminate… indeterminate age. From close up, he seemed old, late thirties maybe, but from really close up, with me leaning across the table, one eye now closed, he definitely looked like he was in his early thirties or maybe even his late twenties. “What are you, like, five years older than me?”

“Something like that.” He answered cagily. Awww… he was embarrassed to tell me his age. I thought only mares got that way. Speaking of which, I’m 19 and don’t you dare forget it. “And, while I could tell you that ‘with age comes wisdom’ I don’t think you’d believe me, or care.” The buck added with a shrug.

“And you’d be right.” I told him with a grin. How come other ponies weren’t paying attention to me? Why wasn’t the bar filled with suitors? Nice pretty ponies in pretty suits dressed up and dancing. Where’s my drink? Oh, there it is… and empty again, funny how that happens. Maybe I should stop or slow down or… Whiskey plunked four shots of whiskey that he’d been levitating with his magic… or I could keep drinkin’ right? Right. Sounds like a… why can’t my eyes focus on anything… plan… thing. Whiskey and whiskey. I started giggling and the mysterious stallion gave me a weird look, probably, because he was wearing shades, couldn’t tell. Could. Not. Tell. Shades in the shade, shady shade. I want sunglasses, damn it!

“Back to our previous subject,” the stallion interjected into my awesome thoughts… thoughts of awesome. “You could hunt for who you are, unravel the mysteries of your past. Travel the plains and savannahs of the zebra lands or head north, to the ruins of the Crystal Empire.” His voice changed to a slur that I didn’t think matched being drunk, almost as if it were an accent. “Trudge through the cold and snow, but I hear it’s a hell of a sunset up there.” Yeah, really worth it to travel to the freezing ass north just for a sunset, sure, that would happen.

“I’ll think of past… um… I’ll... pass?” I told him, not sure why my words weren’t coming out right.

“Maybe you want the kind of adventure where you throw together a massive gambit, playing the sides of a war, Celestia knows there’s enough fighting still going on… and cause empires to rise and fall based off of your decisions. Or, I guess, in the end, you might as well just chase after whoever shot you upside the head, you know. And justice for all. Whatever you want to do.” Whatever I want to do? Whoever I want to do… hehehe. What were we talking about? Screw it, I had a question that I wanted answered.

“So… you know…” I started to talk but my muzzle felt numb, like my tongue was way too big for my mouth and I had to work really hard not to chomp on it. “So…” I tried again, only to teeter precious… patio furniture… carry ussssssss… ah fuck it, I was teetering dangerously. Cause I’m dangerous, a steam powered bad ass po knee? I think I might have had too much to drink, just a little too much. But, I had two shots of whiskey in front of me, how could I not drink them, it would be rude, and I pride myself on my etiquette… okay, even I don’t believe that excuse.

“So… what?” My drinking companion asked, belching again and starting to sway where he sat.

“So, you know you’re swayin’ right?” I asked, trying to remember what I had been going to say.

“Uh… one of us, pretty sure it isn’t me.” He replied with a hint of a smile.

“Huh… what?” Man, I need to speech… make talk better. Words. Where did my words go? If that jerk brain of mine stole them I… the buck reached out a hoof and put it against my shoulder. “Heh, you stopped sway wobbling!” I exclaimed happily.

“Yes, imagine my surprise at how that works.” He replied flatly and took his hoof away, only for me to fall right over.

“Sorry, sorry, jus’ not payin’ tension.” I said with a wave of my wings as I unsteadily got myself off the floor. Oh, was that a peanut… no, on closer inspection it was a peanut shaped rock. Darn. Stupid… luck… stuff. “So, you know… history and junk and junk and yeah?

“Some.” The stallion answered, trying hard to hide a smile. What did he have to smile about?

“This town, and… and Ponyville, wrong… shouldn’t it be… on… the other side of the bridge… no, mountain… no, forest, Everfree forest, shouldn’t Ponyville be on spinning lights… west of the forest?”

“More tales of long ago.” The beige trench coat sitting across from me said quiet-shush-ly but bittenly… bitterly. “Maybe you should ask the ghoul for those answers.” Goal? What goal? Ghoul? Did he mean Ditzy?

“If you’re talkin’ about Ditzy Doo, she’s the nicest and most niciest of nice ponies that I’ve run over since I fell into this town.” I told the sunglasses with no uncertainty. And she’s my friend and she doesn’t leave me in dangerous places to... live.” I added for good measure. The brownish blur across the low darker brownish table blur gave a mirthless laugh.

“Your friend.” The voice was ice and stone. “And, what do you really know about her? Did you know that ghouls eventually, whether after a short time or a long time, go feral, and that she’s been one for one hundred and ninety three years? How about who her friends were, before the war?” The blur resolved itself into the image of the Mysterious Stallion as he leaned forward to look me in the eyes. “Hmm? Have you asked yourself, since waking up, if you can trust these ponies around you, if you should trust them?”

“But, you told me on the hillside that I should trust them.” I replied. Look at me all logic through drunkenness.

“And whoever said… that you could trust me?” The buck asked with a smile. Okay, really creepy, and I kind of feel like throwing up again.

“Uh…” I really didn’t have an answer for him. I could still make out that smile, despite the rest of his face spinning, like the room around me.

“I…” forced down some vomit that was trying to take the express elevator up from my gullet, “don’t even know who I am, I don’t even know if I can trust me, don’t have anything of who I was.”

“You don’t? Does that mean you left your personal belongings on that hill?” The spinning smile asked coyly. Wait, what?

“I half stuff on the heel?” I asked, moving slightly, from side to side, and rapidly blinking my eyes.

“In a manner of speaking.” He answered. “I suppose the massive amount of drugs I gave you might have interfered with your ability to reason… or see. I’d go back there, if I were you, who knows what you might find?” My companion chuckled. I think if I ever slept with him I’d keep one eye open, and a gun at hoof. I made to stand up. “I wouldn’t go now, you’re a bit… hammered.” He added. “Best wait until morning, or a cheerily post hangover afternoon.”

“I’m having… trouble understanding…” I told him, taking deep breaths, which seemed to help a little with the nausea.

“Ditzy Doo, is more than she appears to be, many ponies are. Don’t trust too easily, it could get you killed.” He lit up a cigarette that looked like a dancing lightning bug to me. “How much did you get for the pelt by the way?”

“What belt?” I asked back. What was he talking about.

“Pelt, the Hellhound pelt. I saw it nailed up on the wall near the main gate. How much did you sell it for? You can usually pull at least eight hundred caps for one that size.” How much did I? I… didn’t sell it.

“I didn’t… Red Rock just… that gin hatin’ zebra fuckin’ cockless bloatsprite shittin’ radscorpion humpin’ son of a bitch!” I tried to stand again, ready to vent my righteous anger, only I keeled over onto the floor. Oh hey, a peanut. Chow time. No, it’s just a stupid rock, shaped like a peanut, damn it. I struggled back up to my spot at the table.

“Exactly, silly. This is the wasteland. Ponies will fuck you over any chance they get if it lets them come out ahead.” He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled. “Did they, for instance, tell you that I visited while you were unconscious?”

“I’m unconscious a lot, which time?” I retorted to the sound of his laughter. I was really drunk, but this conversation was somehow sobering me up slightly with its seriousness. I still felt like puking though.

“After your surgery.” The buck answered.

“No.” I replied, worriedly.

“Of course. And they probably didn’t tell you what I overheard the good doctor telling his delectable little nurse about you either.” Candi? Mmm… Candi. Back on track, back on track.

“Wh-” I began before being rudely interrupted by some random stallion bursting into the bar.

“Fire, raiders out east, between here and Old Appleloosa, attacking homesteaders!” The buck dropped to the floor in a heap, breathing heavily. This was getting way too serious for me. I was supposed to be happy when I drank, not depressed, fearful and paranoid. But worse than how I felt was how the town’s ponies around me reacted. They stared at the intruder and did nothing.

“Are they comin’ this way?” I heard Railright’s voice ask from the crowd of ponies at the bar. “Is the town in danger?”

“No.” The newcomer wheezed.

“Then it’s not our problem. Their trouble’s their own. Nothin’ we could do anyway.” The mayor said loudly to all in the place. What? Seriously, what? What the fuck? If they weren’t going to do something than I w- fell over again. Damn it.

“Leave this to me.” The Mysterious Stallion said quietly, giving what must have been a disgusted look at the other ponies around us.

“You’re going to help them?” I asked, thankful and happy and dizzy.

“If I get there in time. If not, salvage. Caps either way.” He said, knocking back the last of his current bottle of alcohol, when did that get there? That… that wasn’t very reassuring. Alcohol, that’s what I needed right now. “You really should ask Mistletoe though, about what he told Candi. You might find that knowledge interesting. Might find out more about yourself. The buck cracked his neck and headed for the doors. “Show me the way.” He told the recovering stallion who’d come bearing the warning. The other stallion nodded to him, regaining his breath and leading my… guardian… watcher… infuriating acquaintance outside. And you know what, I’d never asked his name.

“Red Rock called you Mister C. What is your name?” I asked, my volume high enough to reach the two bucks at the door.

“Let’s just say it’s a… Mister E, for now.” The mysterious stallion answered smarmily. He couldn’t even tell me a simple thing, not even his damned name.

“I. Hate. You.” I threw back at him.

“Now… perhaps.” He said as he exited, “but I think you’ll change your opinion… ere the end.” And with that he was gone, and I was finished with booze for the night. Which meant I needed a pony to buck, a place to bed and… to talk to Mistletoe. Maybe I could get him to not be such a dick to me anymore. Also, the thought of knowing more about myself was a pretty big draw, enough to fight through the cloudy haze of my drunken stupor and motivate me toward the door. I was tired of the minotaur shit, as the stallion had called it, tired of being treated like a dumb ass, brainless filly.

“Time for some answers ole doc.” I said to nopony in particular as I stumbled and weaved toward the dark of night.

I banged a few times on the door to Mistletoe’s train car office home, then slumped against it, singing, very softly (loudly) and rather well (incoherently and poorly). It was a few minutes before the grouch made an appearance, opening the door and scowling at me. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was knocking my now defunct boom collar against his house.

“I aint sellin’ yeh no more smokes. Yeh’ll have to wait for Ditzy to get back.” He told me coldly. Ouch, I think he gave me frostbite.

“Not here about cig-a-rettes.” I replied in a sing song voice.

“Well what then?” He asked impatiently.

“Sorry, did I come a callin’ past your bed time, oldy sour puss?” I shot back, not sorry in the least. He glared at me, accusatory, clearly annoyed that I was drunk, judging me… prick. “A little burrr...duh... pony told me that you were keepin’ a secret, a big old secret, about me.” I pointed to myself with my wings, still unsure about trying to stand up again. There was no Candi to cushion my fall and give me a great view this time. Speaking of Candi, there she was, in the doorway, half hidden behind the old Unicorn.

“Yer drunk, don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” My suspected truth withholder told me. And I could smell an object… frustration… obfuscation a mile away. He was hiding something.

“Uh oh.” I said, lurching up and wrapping a hoof around his shoulders, time for some steam powered interrogation. Boy did he look uncomfortable at that. “Somepony’s fibbing. Fibbing, fibbing, fibbing. I can tell that you are hiding something.” I jabbed him with a wing. I think he may have been so surprised that he didn’t even consider using his magic against me.

“Yer crazy.” I don’t like it when other ponies call me that. If I’m crazy then it’s my job to say it, not theirs. “There’s no secr-”

“Come on doc.” I breathed some very high proof breath into his face and drew him in tighter. “You can tell me.” I put my ear to his muzzle. “Shhhh… I won’t tell anypony the secret, I swear.” I was dying to know what this was all about.

“Ah… uh.” He began but stopped when Candi made an adorable squeak. I wondered what else made her squeak. The longer he delayed and tried to lie his way out of this, the more I felt that whatever this secret was, it was important, really fucking important.

“Tell me doc.” I said nicely. “Please.” I was starting to move around, like a dance, that my partner clearly wanted nothing to do with. “Tell me.” We spun around and almost fell down the steps.

“No.” Was the answer Mistle gave as Candi backed further into the darkness of the train car. Oh no, no, no and no. He wasn’t getting away that easily, slippery old goat. He couldn’t escape me.

“Tell me!” I yelled, spinning us faster, pumping my wings, bringing us dangerously close to diving off the steps.

“No!” He yelled right back. There was some strength yet in those old, tar riddled lungs it seemed. “Yer crazy!” Oh, very poor choice of words there doc.

“TELL ME!” I screamed and took us too far, losing my balance. We fell out over the steps, landing in the still present mud that had greeted Candi and I a few days past. The breath was knocked out of me, Mistle groaned and Candi gasped, moving out from the shadows of the car to see if we were hurt. “Tell me. Tell me, tell me, TELL ME!” I shouted, spit flying, lungs burning as I jumped on top of the doctor, shaking him with my forehooves.

“Your hips, pelvis, when I examined you!” The doctor shouted back and I stopped trying to use him as a cocktail shaker.

“Yes, I know I have great hips, but my pelvis? What the hell are you talking about, jack ass?” I yelled, right before he pushed me off of him and sat up, breathing heavily and rubbing his ribs. Candi now at his side.

“Clear signs of trauma, adult adjustment in coordination wit-” He spoke but I cut him off.

“What are you saying? That somepony raped me?” Well, thank heavens that I didn’t remember it and I hoped the bastard was dead, by my hoof but I don’t… I mean h-

“No you idiot, you’ve given birth!” He practically screamed as Candi helped him back onto his hooves. He was shaking, covered in mud and… I’d what?

“I’ve given birth?” I asked him. “But, I don’t…” I was a mother?

“Don’t remember?” He huffed and sat back down, going for a cigarette. “Probably twice.” Oh, the world was spinning, head hurting, not just from the all the alcohol I’d drank.

“But… I… what… the hillside… when… where, my foals, where are they!?” I took him by the shoulders and started shaking the buck again, knocking Candi aside, then releasing the doctor after a few seconds, turning around, looking for the nearest gate. I had foals, I had to go out, I had to find them, had to make sure they were safe. I was stumbling, worse than ever, sweating, foam on my flanks. Babies. I had babies, and I’d just left them. I kept turning, not sure where to go, my vision spiraling. Why hadn’t he told me, why hadn’t anyone told me? I needed to-

I dropped to the ground, throwing up, screaming. Ponies were coming from all directions at last, trying to figure out what the commotion was. Bastards, ass holes, mother fuckers. They knew. They knew didn’t they… and they hadn’t told me? I was going to-

I threw up more, half blind, dragging myself along, in the direction I thought the closest gate might be, but bodies were piling on top of me, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move! Struggling, kicking, crying, yelling, everything around me. I had to find… something hit me in the head… darkness.

Level progress: 25% to level 3.

New Perk Added: Noire Nacht Mare – Level 1 – Horn Charmer - In combat you do an additional 10% damage to male Unicorns. Outside of combat you’ll sometimes have access to unique dialogue options with male Unicorns.

Coming soon: Chapter 7. Motion

Author's Note

Many thanks to my fantastic editor, who turned this chapter around and got it back to me in less than a day. We're 75% of the way through Volume I (the shortest of the series), which I hope to have finished by mid December. Once Chapter 8 is up I'm going to go on a brief hiatus to flesh out Volume II, but, with a nice long winter vacation coming up, I might get a chapter or two done. Since no one responded on the Chapter 5 hidden references, they were to Shelley's Ozymandias and Wordsworth's Solitary Reaper. Can anyone find the references/nods in this chapter to The Dark Knight, O Brother Where Art Thou and Paradise Lost? My thanks go out to Kkat for writing FOE, the folks who made/make the Fallout games and to anyone who is still reading this.