8. Wild Skies

1. Wild Skies

There are ways but the Way is uncharted;
There are names but not nature in words:
Nameless indeed is the mother of creation
But things have a mother and she has a name.

I had traveled northwards very slowly this afternoon, but now, with the exception of a cautious skirting of where I knew the raiders’ nest to be, I moved quite fast. I had promises to keep and miles to go before I could sleep. South beckoned to me, New Appleloosa, my idea, a journey, a search… the road ahead. My future.

And, as it turned out, I was fast. I may not have been able to fly but I sure as hell could run (with minimal coughing from those delicious… I mean damned cigarettes). No cyborg ninja zebras were catching me, no sir, not this mare. The one problem with my plan (and believe me, it really was a brilliant plan) was that I was running a little lower on funds than I would have liked. Oh I retained a decent amount of caps (still a silly thing to use as money, in my opinion), to be sure, just not nearly so many as I’d had coming out of the whole Hellhound situation. As luck would have it, buying a shit load of drinks, for me and many of the New Appleloosa townsfolk, had been rather costly. Curse my idiotic generosity (i.e. drunkenness).

The sky was beginning to darken (which was saying something considering it never got really bright in these parts) with the onset of evening and I wanted to be in town by sun down. Town… sun down. Hehe… I was a rhyming pony. I am smart. I am smart. My foals were probably geniuses. And there was, again, a weird thought. I had foals… that I remembered literally nothing about. With a tremendous amount of effort I resisted the urge to stop and pull out the picture and the photograph. It really was a nice picture, even if I had no idea what it was of… and the photograph, good looking kids (they must take after me). But, enough of this weird lovey dovey stuff. It was making me feel all maternal and shit with the desire to knit and cook and tuck blankets in and kiss booboos away. I’m a mean mare… and a mother. As I said (or maybe it was thought), weird. Whoever had shot me upside the head with the badass gun I was now carrying (...again… weird) could wait. Foals first, alcohol, cigarettes and sex second and revenge came in a not very distant third.

The winds picked up as I passed (What I estimated to be) the two thirds mark of my journey… where I had stopped for a cigarette and to go pee on my way out of town. I could tell because I’d tried to wri… never mind. It hadn’t worked, being a mare, and you don’t need (or want) to know. Somehow, from somewhere, dust was blowing. I know, I know, it didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense to me with the all the ‘rain earlier in the day thing’ but there never seemed to be a shortage of dust, rocks or skeletons out here. I was just glad that the skeletons didn’t come to life and attack… or torture me with horrible up-tempo singing and poorly done ventriloquism.

I was dashing along a short ridge, where a long time ago a stream must have run, when my trip back took an unusual turn. I slowed down to light up a cigarette, not realizing that I must have left the remainder of my pack on the hillside (buck my luck). Now, let it be known, I only slowed down to light a cigarette, not because I was out of breath (from smoking) or out of shape (from eating too much and all that binge drinking) and that I didn’t need a cigarette, I just wanted one. Thankfully, some small smidgen of luck remained to me in that I’d put a single cigarette in the purple ribbon of my sun hat. Why? Not for the whole ‘oh, it’s my next cigarette’ thing, it was (kind of embarrassingly) because I thought it looked cool… and. It. Did. No matter what you say.

Where was I? Remembering a unicorn buck going down on me in a small room above the bar? No? Really? Well, damn. It’s just. I seriously want to remember more of that night, and I was extremely pleased with myself (enough to have a smile on most of the time but not pleased enough to admire myself in front of a mirror… at least, not for long anyway). Ahem. Moving on, forgetting what I was just thinking. Oh yes, interesting things. And what were these interesting things? I’m sure you’re asking. And, even if you weren’t asking, I’d tell you anyway.

It could have been the wind, or a fall, loose stones, one of a hundred different things, all equally as plausible or equally as implausible, dependent upon your outlook. But, whatever the case may be, I followed the ridge and found the first life I’d come across since leaving New Appleloosa. It was… drum roll please… a turtle. Insert disappointed music here. I mean, I guess it was a turtle… tortoise… reptile… thing. It had a shell and it wasn’t a crusty… station… ocean… crustashee… crustacean. Hello, where be my words? And it was on its back, legs uselessly kicking at the air, pathetically cute tail swinging back and forth. Two heads looking around upside down, suspiciously (at what put it into this predicament) and desperately (how could it find a way out). Oh yeah, you heard right. It had two fucking heads. Creee-eeepy. It was about the size of my head, primarily a rusty reddish brown with yellow stripes and some mottled green and gray in there as well (just for the hell of it I suppose). Ain’t no tortoise like a party tortoise and all that jazz.

The creature was making the occasional oddly cute sounds of distress as it (incredibly unsuccessfully) attempted to regain its footing. I sat there for a few minutes, smoking my last cigarette (note to self, after deciding on name, buy more cigarettes) and watching the creature struggle. Without a hot sun the thing’s belly wouldn’t bake, but still, some predator (the tortoise was beginning to look a little tasty, even to me) would come by and eat it, or nothing would come by and the dumb animal would die of thirst or hunger from its dumb inability to roll over and right itself. Dumb animal. My occasional disinterested prodding of the creature seemed to neither help nor hinder it. It gave me something to do though, alleviating my mind crushing boredom. A little time went by as I debated whether to help it, leave it or eat it.

I sighed, exhaling smoke. I was too nice of a pony (knowing that I was a mommy must be making me soft). With that, I flipped the stupid turtle… tortoise onto its stomach, wary of it potentially snapping at me with one of its beaky little mouths. The tortoise sat there for a few seconds, looking in different directions with its two heads. Then, it made something that I could only equate to a squeaking sound and withdrew into its shell. I stared at it briefly, one mostly intact eyebrow raised before rolling my eyes and continuing southward. Whatever. Strange stupid turtle. At least it gave me two minutes of less than absolute boredom. I could have (maybe should have) just left the darn thing to its fate but I guess I was just a softy, and that my bleeding do good heart would probably get me in all sorts of trouble down the road.

About two hundred yards from my tortoise encounter I came to a stop. The ridge that I was on had risen slightly further, sitting maybe twenty feet above the ground below and to the west, but there was a slope, no doubt for runoff from rain that would allow me to descend or reascend. Hmm… I wondered. The tortoise couldn’t get off its back and save itself. I couldn’t fly, not yet anyway. But, maybe, just maybe… I could glide. I’d done it before hadn’t I? When I’d fought the Hellhound I distinctly remembered (through the haze of alcohol that followed the next day) extending my wings and remaining aloft just long enough to stay live. Well, if I could do it once... I could do it again.

I backed away from the ridge, setting my stuff down near the stump of a long dead tree. I stopped, stamped the ground with my hooves and snorted. Deep easy breaths, deep easy breaths. Even if you fall it’s not a big enough drop to kill you. I angled myself directly toward the ridge’s edge, crouched, and sprang forward. I broke into a canter that rose to a gallop. Just as I reached the drop I leapt upward, wings outstretched (oh please don’t let me fall, oh please don’t let me fall)… and I fell... very, very slowly. I was… not flying, but I was in the air. It. Was. GLORIOUS! I angled my left wing up and felt the wind change as I banked right. I forced the backs of my wings down and the air beneath me lifted me upward. YUSH! I turned and circled slowly, the ground not exactly rushing up to meet me but getting close faster than I wanted. Let’s be honest here, I wanted to stay in the air… forever.

With the softest (not really) of thuds. I landed on my hooves (mostly) and stumbled forward a little bit (a lot and all over the place). I could glide. I could glide! I could mother fucking glide! Yee-haw as those Appleloosians would probably say. Slowly, still a little dejected at being returned to earth, I climbed the slope back up to the ridge… and then did the whole thing over again. It was just so much fun and felt so damn good that I couldn’t help myself. After a few more times (about a dozen), I decided that enough was enough. I was late, the sun had dropped below the clouds far away to the west, ready to disappear into night. It was time to go back into town, and, perhaps, regale the town’s folk with my little adventure.

I grabbed my things from where I’d left them, sitting beside two stumps. I turned to leave and stopped. Wait a minute. Two stumps? Hadn’t there only been one before. I looked back. The one stump seemed pretty rounded and… unstumplike. It looked more like an upside down bowl or bucket. I gave it an exploratory kick and was rewarded with a squeak which totally didn’t surprise me or anything (I jumped and screamed and fell splayed legged onto the ground). From my vantage point in the dirt I squinted at the object and it was… a turtle…. Tortoise. Was it the same tortoise? Was it the one I’d helped a short time before?
A light kick with my forehoof and the shell squeaked again, a single beady orange eye peering out at me followed by a green eye. Creee-eeepy. This was so the tortoise from before. Was it following me? Was it going to try and eat me?

After a few moments of trying to glean some intent from the creature’s actions I got back on my hooves, checked my possessions and headed south. There was another squeak. What the fuck? I turned around and the tortoise, straining, was moving forward… behind me, after me. It was following me. Okay. Maybe I was paranoid and it was just going the same way. Heck, maybe the animal was going to walk (in agonizing, perilous slowness) into New Appleloosa and grab a seat at the bar. No, no way. Turtles weren’t that cool.

I turned back toward my destination and kept walking. SQUEAK! Okay, what the fuck?! The animal was definitely following me. I stood in place for a minute, letting it catch up. It looked far too pleased with itself for how long it took the damn thing to reach me. I shook my head and started walking again. There was no squeak but I spun around in time to see my pursuer take a hesitant step and then stop, staring at me with its heads.

“What do you want?” I asked it. The tortoise turned its heads in unison as if trying to decipher what I was saying. SQUEAK! “Oh for the love of the goddesses.” I nickered, put the creature out of my sight and continued my walk. Only, now, I felt slightly heavier and it was as if something was tugging on my tail. Oh no, it better not have, my mane was already a tangled coiffure of hopelessness, this thing better not have screwed up my tail. I stopped with a harrumph and looked back. Yup. The lousy, no good, shell backed shenanigan starting soup mix had bitten down on my tail with its mouths. “I am not dragging you along.” I told it fiercely. My shelled shadow released my tail and opened its beaks wide. SQUEAK! Seriously? “Listen here slow poke, if you want to tag along, you need to keep up. It made a happy squeak and started walking… really, really slowly.

Fuck. This wasn’t going to work, was it? By the time it got to New Appleloosa I would be dead and unburied. Don’t get explosively angry, don’t get explosively angry… think of the children. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut, then opened them. I latched onto the tortoise’s shell with my teeth and tossed the thing up onto my back amongst the bulging sacks of collected possessions already there and weighing me down.

“Don’t think this means I like you, or that I’m a sky cab you little…” Sky cab? Hmm… weird. “Ugh, whatever.” I told the creature and headed toward the just now visible lights of the town. “You better not poop on me.” I warned. SQUEAK! Great… just… fucking great.

I reached the gates of New Appleloosa at sunset, and wouldn’t you just know it… the stupid brainless mare that had opened fire on me was the guard on duty. Hehe… duty sounds like… never mind, more important things at hoof.

“Who goes there?” The mare shouted down. Hey, on the upside, she wasn’t shooting at me. My luck was improving, it would seem.

“I have no idea.” I answered honestly. “I think my name might be Winter… something or other, at least, there’s a W and an S on something that belongs to me, but I don’t know for sure.” I answered, listening to the tortoise shift in its sleep and give a tiny whistling squeak.

“That the Pegasus mare with the head wound and the Hellhound hide?” The guard asked back, shining a flashlight down at me.

“You know it.” I replied, squinting against the light. The darkness breaking beam swept over me.

“What are yeh carryin’ there?” She asked, leaning over the rail of her post, looking at all the stuff I had hauled out and the even larger amount of crap I’d brought back. I… may have… picked up a few more shiny rocks on both sides of the trip. What? They were shiny. Don’t judge me!

“Saddlebags, a sack of crap and a turtle of war… or war tortoise, as you prefer.” I told her, growing bored of our exchange. Was the dumbass going to let me in?

“What’s a war tortoise?” She questioned, sounding about as confused as I felt most days. The creature perked up, clacked its beaks and turned its heads about, trying to figure out where it now was.

“It’s a magical beast powered by radiation with the heads of a hydra that destroys things with its sonic roar.” I told her, doing my best to amuse myself with making random shit up on the spot.

“It looks more like a two headed turtle.” The guard shot back, clearly not amused by my jokes. Why did nopony get my humor?

“Don’t be fooled.” I warned her. “It’s deceptive, dangerous, demonic, destructive…” I looked at its eyes, all four of them, roving about in four different directions. “It’s derrrrrr-py? Also, possibly delicious.” I added in the last bit because I was getting really hungry.

“Are yeh drunk?” The guard asked, disbelieving.

“Surprisingly… no.” I answered. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Fine, fine. Open the gates!” The guard yelled down and two earth ponies pushed open one of the gates, shouldering it forward just wide enough that I could get inside. I entered the town, looking around at the ground level entry post with its few lanterns and single flickering spark battery powered light around me. “Close the gates!” The guard mare bellowed. The two earth ponies stopped shouldering the gate open and instead gripped thick, heavy and knotted ropes between their teeth. They started walking backward, pulling the gate back into place.

“Thanks!” I shouted up to the guard. She stared down at me and shrugged. “Hey,” I said, as I was about to turn around. “How many merchants in town right now?”

“Three.” She answered. “One in today, two in from a couple of nights ago.”

“Where are they?” I asked, feeling it was safer to ask shooty mcshooterton than to go to Red Rock and probably end up punching him in the dick for the hide thieving incident instead of asking questions.

“Where else?” She replied lazily, sounding as though she thought I was stupid. Which certainly wasn’t nice, nope not nice at all, I was a smart pony. I’m going to stick to that story, regardless of the mounting evidence to the contrary. Also, don’t believe otherwise on the account of me being smart, even if you hear differently. Hmmm… I think I just confused myself. “The saloon.” Oh really? Were they now?

“Thanks again.” I told her with a nod. ‘Perfect’ I thought with a smile. I adjusted my multi headed laser turtle of death (much better to think of it that way than as a slow poke squeak machine). “Come on.” I whispered to one of the heads as I walked toward the bar (I knew the way very well by now). “You owe me a drink, little terror-pin.” Squeak. The tortoise replied in happy agreement. “Yeah, sure… you say that now. Just wait until the tab comes due.”

I entered the saloon with a flourish. I had a lead on my foals, a whole bunch of stuff, I’d gotten laid, gotten drunk, still possessed some caps, found a companion… of sorts and I could if not fly at least glide. Oh yeah, and I was closer than ever before, since first waking, to having a name, real name.

Brand… Whiskey’s bar was poorly lit… sort of. Let me clarify on that actually. There were many lights inside, large globes suspended from the rafters and holiday lights strung from the ceiling but it was at that time of day (or was it night?) where things always looked dim, no matter if you had no lights on or a hundred. I hated when that happened. It always screwed with my head.

“Whiskey.” I said with a gruff huff, sitting down at the bar.

“What do yeh need?” The young buck asked, trotting down along behind the wood and brass from his original spot across from another patron. Oh, so many answers to that question. So many.

“Whiskey.” I replied, using my wings to search through Ditzy’s saddlebags for my caps.

“Yes’m?” He said without surety. Maybe he thought I was off my cloud. I thought he was annoying… and attractive. Did that make him annoyingly attractive or attractively annoying?

“The drink, friend, the drink.” I told him, mimicking the action of knocking back shots and doing my absolute sincerest best not to roll my eyes, face hoof, shake my head or put my muzzle down on the bar in despair (because the last time I’d done that it had hurt my head something fierce.

“Got it.” He said with a nod. “What kind?” Wait, what? There was more than one kind? Had I been so out of it or drunk before that I hadn’t realized this great truth? Little Alicorns in my head started to sing a hymn of praise to the heavens.

“What do you got?” I asked, setting the tortoise down on the bar with my wings and rubbing my forehooves together with glee. Whiskey looked at my newest friend with some apprehension.

“We’ve…ah’ve got the house special; apple, homemade. That’s our… mah most popular.” And it was popular for good reason if I recalled correctly. “Let’s see, there’s Flim Flam’s, Pony Drum, Canterlot Castle, Buffalo Race, Wild Pegasus, Nightmare Moonshine and Tack Bridle’s.” Whiskey cleared his throat. That’s all ah have right now. Should be gettin’ a shipment in from Manehattan in two or three days and one from New Pegas next week.” He waited for my answer, but he didn’t have to wait long.

“Wild Pegasus?” I asked. It sounded like my kind of drink.

“Got two bottles left. Eight caps a shot, fifteen fer a dram, twenty five per a glass, seventy five fer the whole damn bottle.” He answered. Expensive, this stuff. But then, it was pre-war in all likelihood.

“Dram.” I told him, tossing what looked like fifteen caps down on the counter. “Let’s see if this whiskey lives up to its name.”

“Yeh got it.” Whiskey answered, reaching behind him with his magic and setting a dusty looking bottle on the bar in front of me. “Anythin’ for him?” The buck asked, gesturing his head toward the tortoise which was now ambling incredibly slowly down the bar toward two wasted earth ponies.

“Not unless he’s buying.” I responded and inspected the bottle more closely while Whiskey got a glass and held it in his magic so that he could wipe it with a somewhat clean rag. The liquid inside was pure amber gold with a hint of maple red. The label was white with black and red lettering and the image of a prancing Pegasus that may or may not have been Rainb- ow, why was my head hurting so much? Anyway, let’s see; ‘Wild Pegasus 101 Equintucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey.’ Well, it was time to put this name to the test. “Can you get him back here?” I asked, nodding toward the reptile, now chewing on the mane of one of the drunkenly oblivious earth ponies.

“Sure.” Whiskey answered, setting the glass and rag down then using his telekinesis to pull the creature (and a little bit of the pony’s mane) along the bar and back to me. The buck opened the bottle and poured out a measure for me while I half heartedly scolded the turtle, bopping its heads with my wings. Its sole response was to look around in dismay at having been returned to its point of origin and utter an indignant squeak.

“Thanks.” I said as Whiskey pushed the drink across the bar to me. The unicorn waited with baited breath as I swirled my glass and stopped the tortoise from embarking on another journey. I sniffed at the liquid. It smelled like burning. Whiskey stared expectantly as I lifted the glass with my wings and knocked it back. GAH! Holy fucking Hellhounds did that burn. Good goddesses. My eyes watered a little bit (a lot) and I had to open my mouth wide to try and release some of the heat and prevent myself from coughing.

“How is it?” The bartender asked, grabbing the turtle and stopping it from walking off the edge of the bar. I spread my wings and pumped them, hoping that an infusion of air would stop the brimstone and hellfire raging from my mouth down to my gut.

“This shit is terrible.” I told him in all honesty, making a grimace of disgust.

“Another?” He inquired, setting the turtle down next to me.

“Yes, please.” I replied, pushing the glass back toward him so that he could refill it. I dug more caps from the sack I’d pulled out of my saddlebags and stopped. “On second thought, just leave the bottle.” I changed my mind and set the sack down on the bar. Whiskey took my money with a nod and two respectfully impressed raised eyebrows.

“Enjoy.” He said happily. “Let me know if yeh need anything else.” I nodded back and poured myself some more. The bartender left me, walking down toward other customers. I offered the glass to the tortoise but it was more interested in attacking my deactivated bomb collar, its beaks clicking and clacking when they connected with the collar’s metal.

Okay, it was time to scope out the three merchants, or merchant groups, that were in New Appleloosa, all conveniently in the bar… because there was nowhere else to go and definitely nothing else to do. Except sink money into Ditzy’s store, which was almost as equally noble of a goal as was getting hammered at the bar. Hmmm… the bar. Yeah, I really couldn’t see the other ponies from here, not unless I turned partway or all of the way around, which would result in a crinked neck and me being totally obvious in what I was doing. Now, don’t think I intended to go bandit, follow some ponies out of town, take their shit and make a run for it… nope. Never thought of it, not at all, not once. Don’t put evil ideas in my head, there are enough there already.

Getting sidetracked… gee that never happens to me. I frowned. I would need a good spot, a dim one, in the corner, where I could look out on and study my options. And, I would walk close by the three different groups which I quickly glanced at and figured to be caravans or traveling merchant bands. I hefted my shit onto my back and threw the turtle on top with my wings, ending its attempt to chew straight through my collar… which probably would have taken a thousand years… of eternal night? Oh, to know what went on in my brain.

“Whiskey,” I called down the bar. The unicorn looked up. “An order of hay and apples, a pitcher of water and…” what did turtles eat? I had absolutely no idea. “Some of that war time packaged food.”

“What kind?” He asked from his spot next to an elderly earth pony buck who’d apparently passed out. Poor fellow must not have been able to hold his liquor… or he’d started really early in the day.

“Any kind.” I answered. “I’ll be at a table.” The unicorn nodded, gave a desultory push with his hoof that failed to do anything to his unconscious customer and walked back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes and a shrug. I interrupted a triumphant squeak from the turtle, happy on its throne, by putting my glass on one of its heads. Then I took the bottle between my teeth and wound a very circuitous route to an unclaimed table in the corner farthest from the door.

First I passed by the largest of the groups, getting close, making indistinct noises that may have resembled failed attempts at saying ‘excuse me’ through a bottle of liquor whose rising bouquet was burning my mouth and nose in addition to making my eyes water again. Their reactions were rather telling. Five of the seven ponies there rose, looking at me suspiciously, forming a wall in front of the two who remained seated. Interesting. Hooves and teeth moved smoothly toward weapons and two horns lit up with the glow of magic. I kept walking. Next was the smallest group, if group it could so be called. There were just two ponies there. One of them put a large hoof down onto the table and snorted at me. The other squinted his eyes in grimmest suspicion. I continued on my way but there was more promise there than could be found at that first table. The last stop on my route was a group of four ponies sitting at a booth… and one griffin. Well, hello there lean fierce and fuckable… I mean handsome. Excuse me. Was I coming into season or had that shot to the head just made me indecent? Honestly, I didn’t really care that much. I heard a few clicks and a hiss of inhaled breath from the griffin when I passed by. Well, still a better reception than from the first table. The turtle hissed back at the griffin and I quickened my pace before an incident started.

The corner was dimmer than the rest of the bar, the globe light above me giving out a faint, sickly yellow light. It was kind of creepy (though not as creepy as watching the tortoise’s two heads move independent of each other) but it kept me ensco… scone… scones… cones… ensconced (was that the word?) in gloom. It took only a few moments for me to set down all of my possessions, living one included, before rubbing my hooves together. I could stare out at my prospects with impunity… and drink.

“Now sit down, stay still and be quiet.” I told the turtle in my best no nonsense tone, leaning in close and peering into one of its four eyes with my sternest possible look. It stared back at me uncomprehendingly and nipped my nose with one of its beaks. Ouch, that smarted a little. I knocked its heads with my wings and rubbed my muzzle with a hoof. Pain fading, fading… and… gone. It was time to sit and watch and wait… and if my food ever arrived, eat.

Whiskey brought out my food (thanks be to the goddesses… wherever their bones may be) and water rather slowly (quickly) but I didn’t eat too much, just nibbled on occasion, very daintily, and pushed it around my plate. Hey, I could be dainty if I wanted to be. Who said I couldn’t? I definitely didn’t eat two helpings or finish off what was left of the packaged food after the turtle had its fill. No, no I did not. And don’t you dare think else wise. Yes, well, after that wonderful tangent I should probably return to the important stuff… things… what have you.

I studied the first group rather intently and for some time, swirling my horrible whisky and occasionally taking a drink that was quickly followed by several gulps of water. Seven ponies. Four earthers and three unicorns, definitely one of the groups who’d come in a few days ago. All of them were bucks, well fed, powerful looking, muscular, alert. All five of the ones who’d stood appeared impeccably clean, no dirt or grime or dust to be seen, two were pale yellow (brothers maybe), one was a vibrant purple, and the last two were cobalt blue and lime green respectively and all had their manes shaved. They were drinking vodka or maybe water. Their equipment was well maintained, oiled and in excellent condition. They cared for their gear very well it seemed.

The five all wore black barding, heavily armored and reinforced. It looked almost like strange memories that I had of riot gear. No idea why though. I spotted fully integrated top of the line battle saddles, high quality firearms (two carbines, a sniper rifle, a combat shotgun and a magical energy rifle), side arms, melee weapons and a few grenades. Damn, these fellows sure didn’t know how to pack light, did they? The five had tattoos, or brands, that I couldn’t make out and on their armor’s pauldrons, painted white with red edging over the matte black, some kind of small symbol, a claw… or a trio of unicorn horns or three upright dildos or something. I didn’t see any actual supplies or goods for trade with them but according to Whiskey, who’d seen me sizing them up (looking really confused) when he brought over my order, the wealthier merchants locked up their goods in the town’s storage sheds when they weren’t actively selling.

Now the last two of the seven, an earth pony and a unicorn (the only one of the three hornheads whose horn hadn’t glowed), they were the most interesting. The unicorn was in light gray armor, an older style but of exceptionally high quality, the silver of his coat coming near to matching his barding. His mane was cropped short, the color of rust. There were no adornments to his armor that identified him, no sigil or markings like the first five. In front of him was a tall glass of what looked like a porter or stout and the only visible weapons he bore were a sheathed short bladed weapon of some kind and a powerful looking pistol in a holster across his barrel. He was talking to the last pony, the earther buck. This one was unarmed as far as I could see, an unremarkable brown stallion with darker mane in a muted green long coat and hat, stylish reflective glasses hiding his eyes. He had some kind of colorful tooty fruity drink with a tiny cute little umbrella in it. I fought hard to resist the urge to order one for myself. Also, for whatever reason, I got the almost certain feeling that he too was very dangerous. Regardless, I wouldn’t be approaching them again. Five guards and a captain (or maybe he was a sergeant) for a single merchant. The earther certainly didn’t need and probably didn’t want anymore protection. Besides, his dildos… erm… his associates with what looked like dildos on their armor weren’t regular caravan guards, no sir. They mere military or paramilitary of some kind, mercenaries, hardened, well equipped and trained, highly expensive no doubt and in all likelihood utterly ruthless. They did not need a sort of crazy Pegasus mare with a turtle who was looking for her foals and easily distracted by flights of fancy (darn did that make me feel inadequate, flights) and pretty rocks. Okay, one down, two to go. Next!

On to the second group then, shall we? One unicorn and one earth pony, both bucks, was it just me or was I surrounded by them tonight? The unicorn, obviously the merchant, was clean, fresh, almost as if he’d been recently laundered. He was small, probably even smaller than Mister C. He was a pale lilac color with a rose mane grown out long, down to his withers, sipping at a glass of wine the color of fresh blood. He wore a wide brimmed hat, heavily used but in good condition and white barding with light armor plates added and leather squares sewn into it. I also noticed a multitude of voluminous pockets in the sand colored duster he wore over the armor and two weathered but functional looking pistols in cross draw holsters.

His only companion, the earther, seemed a bit… dirty. Unlike the mercenary guards from the first group, this stallion wasn’t a professional, but he was big and scarred, intimidating, an obvious choice for the trader on the go looking to hire cheap and avoid confrontations before they began. The large buck kept looking angrily at the mercs from the first group. He obviously didn’t like them very much. Maybe he thought they’d start something, or maybe he wanted to start something with them. Who knew? Either way, he seemed more of a brawler than a soldier, but he could undoubtedly fight. And he was armed. He carried a huge sword that looked like it was made from scrap and would have seemed proportionately ridiculous on a smaller pony and, resting next to him, leaning up against the table, a mini gun. Ah, now that was my kind of firepower… suppression, saturation and no survivors. I shook my head to stop fantasizing about getting my hooves on that beautiful gun and took in its owner. He was a ruddy orange with a few burn spots amidst the scars. The buck had a few freckles on his muzzle and a green mane so dark it was almost black. His armor was a patchwork and looked closer to what I’d expect a slave pit gladiator to wear than a guard. Wait a minute… slave pit gladiator? Where had that image popped up from? Mysterious weird mind, it needed a good ass kicking to show it who was boss.

The most noticeable thing though, about these two, was that their gear (some of it at least) was with them. And the guard, who was drinking massive quantities of piss yellow pilsner, would get up every five minutes or so and check what looked like a Brahmin, outside of the saloon in the broken light that strove valiantly but vainly with the darkness of the night. The two headed cow (maybe it was related to the turtle, who was sound asleep in its shell, out cold since it wasn’t at all angry that I was spinning it around on the table) looked like it had all of their goods on it. Very interesting. Either they didn’t have the money to rent storage (unlikely since they were both drinking, the hornhead expensive and the earther in large amounts), they were about to head out real soon or they had something valuable, items they didn’t trust to leave alone. I had no idea which, through the second and third seemed to be the obvious choices. Of course, the most promising thing about what was behind door number two… or… sitting at table number two, was that there was only one guard. Either the earth pony got paid a lot to take watch for most of the night or the two split it roughly evenly, which meant they’d be tired, looking for a third. The trader could sleep most or all of the night if I joined them and the guard would have an extra gun watching his back and a more even division of duties. This was promising, very promising indeed, despite the fact that the unicorn would occasionally look back in my direction and glare. You would think I fucked his wife or something. It was a question for another time, though. I needed to evaluate the third group, with that sexy, sexy griffin.

So, without getting distracted too much by the fiercely handsome feathery fiend, I turned my attention at last to the third and final group, a rag tag bunch if ever I saw one. There were four ponies, all earthers, and that delicious looking bird. It seemed that the disposition was three guards (including the griffin) and two traders. The first trader was a one eyed mare with a dark brown coat and a pale golden mane with a severe cut to it. It reminded me a little of my own mane post surgery and the golden hue was rather pretty, even if the mare herself was most definitely not. I may have unconsciously tugged my hat down a little further to hide the ruin of what had once no doubt been a glorious coiffure of style and elegance… and was now no doubt a horrid, faint mess. I may also have sighed a bit and bemoaned my terrible misfortunes with a little help from some of the whisky. Sorry, distracted again.

The one eyed mare sat with a bit of a slouch, occasionally putting a hoof to a sawed off double barreled shotgun holstered at her left flank and she was constantly leaning over her side of the table and spitting. I wondered why. She had on a battered set of armored barding that looked like a mix of combat equipment from the Great War and metal scrap scrounged from who knows where. She was drinking what looked like cheap whiskey and occasionally sneering at her companions, joining in on their jokes.

The second trader was a buck, young and jittery looking with a hot pink coat and a purple and blue mane. He was almost… pretty. Which was thoroughly confusing me. Anyway, this trader was thin and lanky and he was chain smoking cigarettes, constantly fidgeting and looking at his hooves. He didn’t have a drink, which really super confused me. Who goes to a bar and doesn’t order a drink? He did have a little box of Sugar Apple Bombs though and would, on occasion, munch on a few of the sweet treats as if he was trying to chew rocks, then he’d go back to fidgeting or spinning a slightly rusted machete he’d set down on the table in front of him. As I said… er… thought, weird. He was decked out in layers, something that looked like a thin jacket that was almost obscenely brightly colored, over a patterned vest with drab leather barding beneath (mostly hidden by the eclectic ensemble he had on over it). He also had a hat or cap of some kind that looked rather sporty and reminded me of whistles for some unfathomable reason. I took a sip of the Wild Pegasus, grimaced and reached for the water.

Amongst this caravan’s guards there was another buck and another mare. They might have been related since they both had the same buttery colored coats. One, the buck, had a pale blue mane with a white streak in it and the mare had a white mane with two pale blue streaks in it. Oh, maybe they were twins, jackpot. I was pretty sure I’d always wanted to… never mind. I’ll save that perversion for another time. Darn but the drink was making me lustful… more lustful. And it really made me think that I had to be coming into season. Why all the bucks in the joint weren’t throwing themselves at me was a mystery and almost a disappointment, but, then, I was hiding in a corner and the stink of the wasteland and tang of alcohol and tobacco might have been covering up those pheromones.

Back to the topic at hoof, the twins were drinking something thick and red in tall glasses with what appeared to be withered celery stalks sticking out of the liquid. They each had hunting rifles, one semi automatic, the other bolt action with a mid range scope, notched wooden butt stocks and a few charms, talismans or trophies tied to each. Heck, the two even seemed to speak and drink in unison. Twins were creepy, but hot. And last, but goddesses by far not the least, was the griffin, who despite his ridiculous good looks, was also the biggest problem in me joining up with this outfit.

He looked half slinking sauntering panther and half majestic imperious bird of prey, with a sable cat half and a front half in white gray and several shades of brown. The griffin was eating a plate of what might have been fried rats with some onion and root vegetables and he was drinking a massive glass of dark brown beer, probably the type you could live off of if in dire straits and the kind most suited for consumption after returning home at the end of a long cold and hard day. I almost ordered a beer. His long tail, dark but for a white tuft at the end, was lashing against the floor of the bar and had a few silver cuffs on it and some feathers in different colors tied to it as well. He wore flexible armor, some kind of composite material, high end, developed for flyers during the war and now a pretty bit (or bottle cap) to buy. It was a burnished red with silver edging and no identifying marks but for a factory stamp of some kind that I couldn’t make out. His beak was yellow, thin and mostly straight, but ended in a severe downward curve. He was armed with a sub-machinegun that was strapped to his right haunch and a machine pistol on his left, across his back was a heavy double bladed axe held in place by a baldric.

All five in the last group looked dirty and tired, as if they were relieved to be behind high metal walls. They had to be the caravan that just came in today, which meant they probably wouldn’t be leaving soon. Also, they had the griffin, which meant me selling my attributes as a flyer (and a liar) wouldn’t do as well in a sales pitch as they would for either of the other groups. There were three guards too, which was a good amount, the more there were the more divided the shares, spoils and caps became. The guards wouldn’t like that and the traders themselves worried me a little, particularly the second one.

In case you haven’t figured it out already (goodness knows I was barely keeping things straight… hehe… insert filly fooler joke here), I was going to latch on to a caravan as a guard. It would give me a job and a source of income. More importantly, it would allow me to travel the wastes and look for my foals. Every town, every village, every scavenger hut or Dashite den (ouch, a sharp pain rushed through my head), every outpost or trading hub, every scrap heap, bar, fortress and bastion against the wastes… I would search and show the photograph and ask about my children until I found them. And maybe, just maybe, there was somepony out there, that I would run into, that knew who I was... knew my name.

The longer I waited though, the lesser my chances of success became, which meant I needed to leave town, and soon, to get a start on the searching. That left me with one obvious choice of folks to associate myself with, trader number two and his big hulk of a guard. Okay, time for me to work some silver tongued magic. I collected my possessions, loaded myself up with them and headed over to the table where the two bucks, unicorn and earth pony, were sitting.

“This seat taken?” I asked, setting my mountain of crap down on the floor and consciously using a wing to point at the empty chair that faced the trader.
“Got a seat for you right here.” The earther stallion interjected, using a hoof to indicate his crotch. I didn’t look his way, but kept my eyes on the unicorn trader.

“Wasn’t talking to you. Besides, when I ride I prefer convex to concave.” I set my whisky down on the center of the table and whistled for Whiskey, who was trotting hurriedly between the tables, taking drink orders for customers. The earther buck squinted his left eye in confusion and mouthed my words, trying to figure out what they meant, if they were indeed an insult. I’m pretty sure they were, though I have no idea where they came from. Heck, I didn’t even know what convex and concave meant, they just sounded right.

“It would appear to be filled now, though before it was empty.” The unicorn answered precisely but with a lot of words. He had the slightest of smiles on his muzzle, hopefully it was appreciation for my comeback against his guard. Whiskey drew up to the table, looking harried.

“Two more glasses.” I told him with a nod. He nodded in return and left to continue his tour of the floor before heading back behind the bar as I turned around to face the unicorn again. “I have a proposition for you.” I announced.

“I am afraid that I am uninterested.” The unicorn replied with a tone of dismissal that I didn’t particularly care for.

“Conclave and complex?” The guard asked, messing up the words, trying to get the trader (or myself) to reveal their meaning.

“You haven’t even heard what the proposition is.” I told him with exasp... spur… rations… damn it, not this again. Exasperation, maybe I should ask him if he had a dictionary that I could buy to help me with my words.

“I do not hire prostitutes, especially escaped slaves.” The unicorn told me flatly. Hay! He thought I was a prostitute? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? A little of both?

“What does complex and conclave mean?” The earther interjected, asking again.

“Convex and concave not complex and conclave.” The unicorn told his companion.

“I’m not a prostitute.” I informed the trader, a little huffiness and insult in my voice. “And I’m not a slave either.” His eyes dropped to my collar and rose, giving me a ‘know it all’ look. Whiskey swept by, depositing the two glasses I requested. I poured a measure into one of them and hoofed it across to the table while trying to think of an explanation for the malfunctioning explosive device I was wearing.

“What does convex and concave mean?” The earth pony buck, no less befuddled after the unicorn’s clarification, asked. We ignored him. And the Unicorn gave a pleasant nod to show his thanks for the drink.

“I wasn’t a slave, at least not really. I drank too much and owed Apple Cu… Brandy a lot of bits… caps. She put the collar on me as incense… cent… ivy…” the unicorn raised an eyebrow as I tried to express myself (poorly), “incentive to pay her back. I got her the money but the collar was damaged, by the Hellhound I fought or by the jackass that deactivated it. Either way, not a slave, not escaped and definitely not a prostitute… as far as I know.” I was… pretty sure I wasn’t now, nor had I ever been, a whore. Easy, yes. Whore, no.

“What do the words mean?” The guard asked, frustrated, looking like he had a burgeoning headache.

“You fought a Hellhound?” The unicorn asked in disbelief, taking a sip of his whiskey and frowning at it as though he’d just accidentally tried to drink lamp oil or goat piss.

“What do they mean?!” The earth pony buck thundered, slamming a hoof down on the table.

“I did.” I answered with no small amount of pride, trying to pretend that I was utterly oblivious to the intruder in our conversation. The earther snorted and was about to ask again when his employer spoke up.

“In so far as I am aware, she is insinuating, my dear Limerick, that you have a very small or nonexistent penis, or, possess a vagina, and therefore, you are, potentially, a mare.” The unicorn answered finally. He was obviously as sick as I was at the interruptions but less capable of tuning them out. Okay, good. I was glad of the explanation, now I too knew what I had said… wait, what?

“A… wait… what? You…” The earth pony stallion began then trailed off, his obtuse mind trying to comprehend, color rising in his cheeks. “Listen bitch, how would you like sixteen inches of cock up your ass?” He hissed. I scratched my surgery scar with a wing and contemplated his question.

“I don’t know; I’m game for pretty much anything.” I told him as though after great and deep reflection. “Though, where are you going to get the other thirteen inches from?” The earther sputtered, shaking his head before grinding his teeth and snorting. He rose from the table, looking like he was spoiling for a fight. This could be bad. But somepony was laughing. It was the unicorn trader. He raised a hoof.

“Outside, Limerick.” He told his guard. The other buck looked at him, utter rage in his eyes. “Now.” The unicorn said coldly. “Check on the Brahmin. Do not force me to give you that order again.” The bar had gone quiet around us. Everypony and one very attractive griffin watching to see what would happen. Limerick, the earther guard buck, drained his beer in barely contained wrath, stamped his hoof and trotted slowly and stiffly toward the door to New Appleloosa. “My apologies.” The unicorn continued. “He is a valuable companion but wholly uncivilized and rather quick to anger.” He sipped a little more of the whisky. “They are… most useful traits while traversing the wasteland, much less so when around other ponies.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” I told him, making sure the turtle was still asleep. “So, my proposal, are you interested in hearing it?”

“I am indeed, after seeing you best poor Limerick so expertly.” The trader replied. “Pendulum.” He held out a hoof. Pendulum… what was a pendulum? Wait, was he saying that his name was pendulum? I reached out my own hoof.

“The mare with no name.” I introduced myself and he raised an eyebrow. “Apologies of my own. Somepony shot me in the head a few weeks back and I’m a few memories short… well… a whole bunch of memories short of an identity.”

“Fascinating.” Pendulum responded. “You survived being shot in the head. Remarkable, extraordinary and exceptionally unusual.”

“Just unlucky, I guess. I answered with as much modesty and as little concern as possible. He smiled.

“I believe you were set to enumerate upon this proposal of yours?” He asked, sniffing the whisky and making a strange face. My what now? Oh, right the proposal. Amazing how easy it was to get sidetracked.

“Are you hiring?” I asked pleasantly. Pendulum looked taken aback.

“Hiring for what position, may I inquire?” He asked me in return.

“Guard.” I answered simply, knocking back some of my whisky. Mare oh mare was this stuff bad… but I couldn’t stop drinking it. The buck looked me over. Was he checking out my flank? Bonus!

“And what, pray tell, are your qualifications?” Pendulum asked, suddenly all businesslike.

“Other than fighting a Hellhound?” I asked incredulously. Jeez, I thought opening with that would get me hired on the spot.

“Yes.” Pendulum answered, offering a hoof to encourage me to speak. “I already have a guard, a very good one. As such, I would need several excellent reasons for which to hire you in his place… or hire you on in addition, as it would negatively impact my financial gains.

“You can’t make any gains if you’re dead because you didn’t have enough protection.” I told him flatly.

“Touche.” He replied and toasted me with the whisky I had given him. Alright, where to begin?

“I’m fast, I’m big, I’m tough and I’m good with boomsticks and blades. I don’t want or need to replace anypony, but you could always use a third set of eyes and another gun.” This was going to be interesting, trying to sell myself (and no, not in that way) but as a valuable addition to a trading venture. “I survived being shot in the head and am up and about and physically capable after a very short amount of time with no ill effects besides memory loss.” And a little brain damage, but, of course, he really didn’t need to know that, now did he? “I can travel long distances with a heavy load and not tire.” I pointed at my possessions with a wing. “I’m funny, generally provide excellent company and have a bright and cheerful disposition that other ponies enjoy.” Where was I coming up with this shit? “I can scout, fight and best of all, I’ve got these.” I stretched my wings out to their fullest, careful not to hit the table or the lamp hanging above us. Doing so would have totally ruined the image of badassness that I was trying to foster.

“I cannot lie. Those are all worthy qualifications, if true.” Pendulum said, hoof to his chin, thinking. What did he mean by ‘if they were true?’ “However, your greatest strength also stands the chance of being my greatest danger.” He added.

“My drinking ability, exceptional good looks and unparalleled fashion sense?” I questioned, not exactly sure what he was getting at. Though, I was at the very least glad that he was no longer glaring at me.

“Your wings.” He told me. My wings? How were they a weakness? “You are a Pegasus. You are on the ground. You still have your Cutie Mark. That is… very odd, perhaps even more so than your surviving being shot in the head or returning alive after a fight with a Hellhound.” It was? “You are not a Dashite, at least, if you are, you were able to escape without receiving the brand. I do not hire Dashites, I generally tend to refrain from taking any actions that might get the Enclave’s attention.” Why was my head starting to hurt? Was it the complexity of all this or the terms he was mentioning? Also, and more importantly… was he just looking at my Cutie Mark and not checking me out?

“I’m not a Dashite.” Whatever that was… something to do with Rainbow Dash, dissension… lightning bolts. “Also, were you checking out my flank or looking at my Cutie Mark?”

“The latter.” Pendulum answered.

“What ladder?” I asked. He facehoofed.

“Perhaps you are the perfect complement to Lim. The latter, l-a-t-t-e-r,” he spelled it out, “with the letter t not the letter d, as in the second choice.” Pendulum clarified and… was he insulting me? Also, damn, so much for love.

“I mean, I can’t prove that I’m not one, but there’s no proof that I am one, a Dashite I mean.” I explained. “But, you can ask Red Rock or any of the other townsfolk. I did fight a Hellhound.” I pointed to the claw grooves in my collar. “Its skin was up on the walls… or gates.”

“I saw.” Pendulum remarked. He leaned forward and studied me intently. “You do not know my route, where I am heading, what I will be trading.”

“I don’t care.” I told in him all honesty. He gave me a strange glance. “I’m looking for something… somepony.”

“Your attempted assassin, no doubt?” He asked, drinking a little more of the whisky and grimacing afterwards.

“No.” I admitted, drinking the remainder of the whisky in my glass and pouring myself another.

“And why, I have to ask, are you not interested in hunting down whoever tried to kill you?” Pendulum inquired. I thought about it for a few moments, watching the drunks at the bar, Whiskey talking with a customer. I looked back to pendulum and swirled my glass.

“I don’t know. I don’t know who it was, what they want, where they are, why they shot me…” I trailed off and contemplated the alcohol, light from above refracting through its sun colored depths. “Even if I could find them… would I be able to kill them, could I… should I?” I looked my potential employer in the eyes. “Where would vengeance take me? What would it get me? Where would it leave me?” I took another drink and blinked away tears. Goddesses, but this stuff burned.

“You are a singular mare.” The trader said to me, leaning back and studying some far away thing, looking through me or past me. “I pay ten caps a day, fifty cap bonuses every time we safely reach a trading post, five percent of my profits and two hundred caps at the end of the run.” He tapped his right forehoof on the table. “You will carry your own gear, supply your own equipment, follow my orders, and, if necessary, Lim’s orders.” Pendulum leaned forward again. “You will stand watch during the night, scout directions during the day, keep safe my goods while I barter and sell and perform any other tasks I require of you.” Pendulum stopped for breath, waiting for my reaction.

“Done.” I affirmed, holding out a hoof. Pendulum hesitated for a second, looking a little surprised, then took my hoof in a brief but firm shake.

“What’s she still doing here?” Limerick asked from behind me, having just now returned from the task his boss had set for him.

“How are the goods?” Pendulum asked back, ignoring his guard’s question.

“Bess is fine, wagon’s fine, goods are fine.” Limerick answered, taking his seat and squinting angrily at me, adjusting his minigun. “Why’s she still sitting here?”

“I have retained her services for our journey.” Pendulum replied. “She is your new comrade in arms.” The look on the earth pony’s face soured instantly and hilariously. I didn’t like him, but if we were going to be on the road together, then we would need to play nice and get along… on the surface at least.

“Here.” I said, pouring him the last empty glass, which he hadn’t earned before, and still didn’t seem to deserve now. Limerick was just about to say the word why, but his face lit up at the alcohol in front of him. “Shall we drink on our new arrangement?” I asked, lifting my glass. Pendulum tried to hide a smile behind his own whisky, but emotions warred on his guard’s face. Limerick looked like he’d rather stab me than drink with me but slowly, very slowly, as if battling internally, he raised his glass. “Does anyone have a toast?”

“To our venture.” Pendulum said quickly. “Profits and safe returns.” Limerick and I repeated the last part and the three of us drained our glasses. Whew, a mare could get used to this Wild Pegasus stuff if it didn’t kill her first.

“When do we head out?” I inquired, realizing I probably should have asked that question somewhere earlier in the conversation.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn.” Pendulum answered. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dawn was so damn early. Fuck me. Oh, well.

“Okay then, gentlecolts,” I said, rising and pouring the last of the whisky into our glasses, making sure to give the smallest portion to Limerick. “I will see you tomorrow at dawn. I need to gear up and take care of a few things.” I belched and tried too late to cover my mouth with a wing. “Where do I need to be?”

“Main gates.” Pendulum answered.

“Don’t be late.” Limerick added, still unsure as to whether or not he hated me for making fun of him or liked me for sharing my booze.

“I’ll be there.” I told them with a nod that looked much more sure than I felt. “Come on, Slow Poke.” I told the sleeping tortoise as I loaded my saddlebags and sacks of crap onto my back. “Whiskey!” I shouted. “I need a bottle of cheap gin, there’s somepony I need to see.” I drank the last of my whisky, tipped my hat to my new companions and readied my thoughts for what I had to do next.

It had been a long day, and I was admittedly rather tired. But, again, I had miles to go, so to speak, before I could sleep. I’d successfully signed on with Pendulum and Limerick but I needed to go through all of my crap again, pick out what I wanted and needed and find something to do with the rest of it… get rid of it maybe. First though, I owed somepony a visit.

I meandered my way through the town, overburdened by all of my belongings. Fatigue was leeching my strength. I really, really wanted to just lie down and take a nap but I knew that I couldn’t, and that if I did, it would end up not being a nap but one of those good old collapse and pass out sleeps where I wouldn’t wake for hours. I came to a stop in front of the metal shack where Red Rock worked and apparently lived as well. I think the only times I hadn’t seen him here were when he’d been at the bar. And you know what? I really didn’t have anything against that.

“Red Rock, open up. It’s the mare with no name.” I called out and knocked on the door with my wings. The turtle gave an idle squeak at the noise and then went back to sleep. “Reee-ed Rock! I know you’re in there.” I stopped knocking and waited, listening to the sounds of night and trying to discern from the background, anything that might be the brick red buck coming to answer the door. After about two minutes, my luck turned up in a good way.

“What do yeh want?” The stallion asked, irritation lacing his voice as he opened the door. I smiled. It looked as if I’d interrupted him while he was in the middle of something. Or maybe he just didn’t like me, no, not conceivable. Everypony liked me… excepting the one who had shot me in the head.

“There are a few things we need to talk about,” was my chipper answer.

“Like what?” He retorted, but, from his eyes, I could tell he still wasn’t above giving me lecherous looks.

“Life, the universe, everything… sex and survival situations… different types of whisky… that Hellhound hide.” I answered, going from happy and conversational to dark and serious, raising the bottle of gin to muzzle level before him. He looked at it with some trepidation that seemed to mingle with excitement. I pushed him inside, followed, and closed the door behind me. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

Twenty five minutes later I walked back out of Red Rock’s shack… or… more… stumbled. I’d had some of the gin and the large amount of alcohol I’d imbibed since returning from the wastes was affecting me rather noticeably. I’d gotten two hundred caps for the hide, which I was pretty sure was a rip off, but at least it was something, money to spend at Ditzy’s on the goods I would need for the trip, and forty for the information on the raider nest. I wiped my hooves off on the outside of his shack. He hadn’t thought to ask for a wing job, which I in all honesty hadn’t previously considered either, but I was thankful. In all likelihood it would be really hard to clean my feathers after that. Still, I probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near as much as I did for the hide if I hadn’t relented on the hoof job. It… irked me. I didn’t like the idea of it, in part because he hadn’t in anyway reciprocated. Sexual favors were a two way street in my opinion. It would just be one more thing for me to not be proud of, like getting myself into the collar mess, or being stupid and getting yelled at by Mistletoe. But, I kept telling myself that this wasn’t about me, it was about my foals. I had to find them, protect them, take care of them. And nothing was too low if done for their sake. I sighed and tottered drunkenly toward the ‘Absolutely Everything’ store. This had been a long fucking day and it was turning out to be a pretty long fucking night as well.

The door was open when I arrived. The Pegasus ghoul was bringing stock in large burlap sacks through the front of the store and carrying it behind the counter to sort, organize and price. Since I would be waiting on her anyway, I decided to help my friend and shorten the time it would take her to get everything inside. I dropped my crap near where I’d first knocked into a whole bunch of shit the first time we’d met and carried a good portion of her new supplies inside for her. When we finished, me, panting lightly, her, eyeballs askew, I looked to Ditzy… or near her, trying to not let my gaze settle on her ghoulishness.

“Hey Ditzy, I’m about to head out of town to do some caravan stuff, you looking to do some business?” She smiled, eyes rolling in their sockets. Then, without warning, she shot a wing up into the air and waved it as if to signify that she had just remembered something. The ghoul jumped over the counter and ducked down behind it. I was… confused, and maybe a little concerned. Walking forward, I looked over the counter. All I could see was what once must have been a very fine flank with bubbles on it now reduced to a sad state of undeath. If I was still a filly fooler and she was two hundred years younger and alive… bad alcohol… bad thoughts… but anyway. She was rummaging through things, pulling bits and pieces, odds and ends from old cardboard boxes and empty milk crates stamped with a Trottingham logo. Suddenly she sprang up, eyes all googly, mane in disarray and plopped down a very old looking book on the counter in front of me.

“It’s a book.” I said tonelessly, unimpressed with what she had found. She scowled back at me and tapped the cover with a hoof. She wanted me to open it? “Okay, okay, I’ll look inside. It better be a really good book though, with adventure and lots of pictures… or porn.” I opened the front cover. It wasn’t porn (damn it) or a good book (slightly less emphatic damn it). It was a journal. The inside was empty but for the first page. There, written very neatly, was a message for me.

‘To the mare with no name, Pegasus, Justice Cutie Mark, head turning backside’ aww… how nice, I looked to the bottom, it was signed simply ‘C.’ Hmm… maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought he was. Whoops, sorry, distracted. ‘To the mare with no name… etcetera… I thought you might be a little low on funds by the time you finally decided to pull up stakes and leave New Appleloosa. So, I put the other share of the bounty money, plus some extra, on my account here. The ghoul will let you know how much, she’s fairly honest for a pony in these parts. Try not to get yourself killed, hard as I’m sure that will be. If you drop by Tenpony Tower in Manehattan during your travels, ask for Oak Leaf’s safety deposit box. There’s something inside you might find useful. The code is 16-4-16. Stay safe, try and keep out of trouble. Be wary of Fillydelphia, there’s trouble out that way. If you see a buck with a book on his flank, don’t be afraid to introduce yourself, and tell him I said hello. Also, a riddle for you, try to find the answer, but ask it as a question if you come across a pony and they claim to be me. “What happens when a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends?” Also, keep this journal, write in it. It may help you remember. We’ll meet again.

C.

p.s. When the sun is in the thorn trees, the fire’s on the horizon and the dirty rhyme would indicate that there’s nothing there, duck, you’ll thank me.’

Well… that was… weird? Strange, odd, creepy even. Tenpony Tower, huh? That could be neat. But, safety deposit boxes? Trouble in Fillydelphia? A book on a flank? A big weird ass riddle? And I had absolutely no idea what to make of the last part about sunshine and thorn trees and shit. Like I said, weird. That mysterious Stallion must be consistently drunker than I am for this shit to make sense.

I looked up to find Ditzy smiling through a small piece of chalk that she was chewing on. Okay, totally surrounded by crazy ponies. Her eyes seemed interested in the words on the page. I wondered…

“Say, Ditzy, do you know what happens when…” I looked down at the paper, “a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends? Do you?” He smile faded and dropped. She shook her head vigorously, a little too vigorously if I was any judge. “Sure?” The ghoul looked distressed. “Okay, okay, moving on.” The ancient Pegasus definitely knew something about it, but whatever it was, she didn’t seem to be in a telling mood. “So, anyway, ready to trade?” I asked, changing the subject and grinning. Her smile returned.

We stood in formation, rank upon rank, gleaming in the sun. The wind whipped by, carrying ice crystals like motes of dust and light, rainbow prisms reflecting off the life giving star. Banners and ensigns snapped in response to the breeze, straining to fly free. We stood… and waited. We were waiting for something… someone… a day that would never come. The sun set, the ponies around me disappeared, one by one, fading into shadows, melting away until only I remained… in darkness.

I was in a kitchen, making pancakes, trying to make pancakes, at least, just a mother watching over them in a vain effort to prevent the breakfast food from burning. My foals were at the table, doing homework, arguing with one another about great figures in Equestrian history. A scuffle broke out and I had to separate them. The pancakes burned. Damn it. I tried so hard this time, but it happened again. Distantly I could hear my husband, entering the house, returning from mid-shift. I grabbed a spatula to try and salvage the pancakes but there was ash in the pan… and blood.

The team had set up in the ruins of an old war era city, in a tower at the center of an office park, sending out scouts and patrol parties to reconnoiter the area around our makeshift headquarters. It was the height of summer, near unbearable heat boiling up in waves around us. How I wished for winter. His patrol was supposed to get back soon. I was nervous, worried for him but refused to let it show. I had to be strong… be seen as strong, for the others. I looked down at the burnt out husk of what had once been a desk, bits of paper darkened by age and flame, incomprehensible. When I looked under the desk there was a skeleton. I gave a closer examination. Two skeletons, the larger surrounding the smaller as though trying to protect it, but now it looked only as if the lesser bones had been consumed by the greater. I backed away from the desk and scanned the nearby wall. There was a poster on it, words in zebra and pony; ‘Bring Your Foal to Work Day’ blazoned across the top. Bring your foal to work day… the bones took on new meaning.

I was in front of them, in what shelter we had from the rain and thunder. My exquisitely crafted firearm was out, clutched in a wing, ready to fire. Lightning strikes reflected off of it, off of the fear in the captives’ eyes. Was it in mine as well? My wing was shaking. It shouldn’t be. I had years of practice with the weapon, it wasn’t light as weapons went but I shouldn’t be wearied so easily and quickly by it. I steadied myself, ready to fire. But… these were children, fillies and colts. I couldn’t. I had to. I wouldn’t. I must. They were crying. I was crying. I was running away, through the blinding storm, gunshots sounded behind me.

It was dark underground, damp, moist. Roots of trees dead for two hundred years hung down in the unfinished tunnel. I was close, getting so close. The music was playing. It was time. Everything was ready, set, but he was somewhere behind me. He would stop me, or I would stop him. I descended the steps, hooves clanging on grated metal. I needed to make it to the control center, to command. The lights were flickering. This is where it all started. This is where it would all end.

I woke with a gasp. Somepony was shaking me and the first thing I did was reach for a weapon, readying myself to fight. But, even in the dimness of the faint pre-dawn light that managed to penetrate the interior of the ‘Absolutely Everything’ I could tell it was only Ditzy Doo. She was waking me, as I’d asked her to. I had wanted to rise and be ready before dawn, before having to leave with Pendulum and Limerick. I was breathing heavily. Sweat and foam on my body, haunches twitching. The ghoul brought a lantern out from behind one of the shelves and looked me over, clearly dismayed by my condition and obviously anxious for me. Strange, halfway formed ideas, denizens of the haze between unconsciousness and the waking world ran wild in my head, tormenting me. Racing thoughts and intents followed fears and desires.

“It’s nothing, Ditzy.” I lied, calming down, slowing my breaths. “Just… bad dreams.” She maintained a worried frown despite my assurances. Maybe I would have to get better at this whole lying thing. I only needed to whip my brain into shape, keep it in line, give it a good chewing out and… eww… did I just now use the phrase chewing out in relation to my own brain? Boy, were those connotations unpleasant. I smacked my muzzle a few times with my hooves and used my wings to wipe the sleep from my eyes. How long had I slept? Fifteen minutes? An hour? No time at all was what it felt like. Lousy rotten having to get up early… stuff and… things. Didn’t Pendulum know that mares needed their beauty sleep, especially after a night of drinking that followed a day of walking and thinking. Damn thinking, why did it have to be so hard?

Despite my fatigue I rose quickly and easily (tried to go back to bed half a dozen times, got grouchy and grumpy, Ditzy had to throw water on me to convince me to move, oh I really hoped it was water), not giving my friend, who was again kind enough to let me crash on her floor, a hard time. Nope, no sir. I was gentle as an un-irradiated lamb, white fleece, one head and everything. Yup, I was a good girl.

I lit a cigarette and tried to flatten my sleep tousled mane, eyes half shut at the suffered injustices that accompanied being awake this early. Dear Princess Celestia, I am thankful for not being woken up at zero dark thirty in the fucking morning… ugh. Though, by some grace out of time and place, my host was brewing coffee. A hymn of praise was offered to the clouded heavens, not as rapturous as the one I’d given upon finding out there was more than one type of whisky, but it was close.

We sat together in back, in Ditzy’s modest but well stocked and very well cared for kitchen. Everything in it except for me was centuries old. It was nice to feel young… er… uh… younger. I may be twenty five (for some strange surety of belief) but to you, I’m a sprightly, youthful eighteen… early eighteen, just turned it, closer to seventeen really. Don’t even dare to say or think otherwise. And if I hear laughter at my expense so help me I’ll… get back on track and stop wandering off in my own mind.

Ditzy and I had coffee and water to wash down oatcakes and some kind of cereal, both of which had seen better decades. The coffee wasn’t bad though and it did perk me up a bit. It could do, in retrospect, with being a little stronger. Just a little, just a tad bit, but it would have been nice. Oh well, nothing to do about it now, just one more regret that I would probably forget. Sometimes there was a bright side to not having crap for memory. Yes, bright side indeed.

The two of us left Ditzy’s home and business, locking up behind us. I was much lighter now (no heavy jokes please). I’d traded away many things and all that I still possessed (short of the photograph, drawing and letter which I kept in the left side chest pocket of my barding) was in the saddlebags I kept or in the nice sea bag that I’d gotten from the store. I was no longer overburdened, though I was well stocked. I had cigarettes, excesses of water and non perishable food, a nice amount of ammo. The list went on. For melee weapons I’d gone with a little electric prodding device that I could flip on with a wing and a simple wooden bat… studded with nails and barbed wire. The shocky thing would apparently zap anypony that I touched it to. I… resisted the urge to try it out on myself. The bat, meanwhile, would help me get my wing strength back. If I had to swing something heavy it darn well better build up my flight muscles.

For distance, I’d purchased a sturdy twenty gauge shotgun, an old break action over under that looked like it had seen centuries of combat and would see centuries more. I had forty shells for it in standard buck shot, twenty slugs, ten magnum shells… which I was itching to try out… and five special blue sparkly shells that Ditzy apparently hadn’t been able to find a buyer for over the last twenty years or so. They were pretty and I felt like I owed the Pegasus ghoul… so I bought them. For longer range I’d chosen a battered hunting rifle, thirty two caliber, which I thought was a little unusual, but considering how weird I was, I shouldn’t be judging. Anyway, it was bolt action and could hold five rounds in an internal magazine. I had purchased sixty to be safe. Lastly, for armament, I’d purchased a nine millimeter pistol, three thirteen round magazines, forty five bullets, nine of which happened to be hollow points… which I was also eager to try out.

Ditzy and I approached the main gate, where several ponies had already congregated. I adjusted my barding and we kept walking. I decided to keep the armor that I found on the hillside, but not to wear it, since it would probably make me recognizable to whoever it was that wanted me dead. As such, it was packed away in my sea bag and I was wearing a set of early wartime combat armor in a woodland camouflage pattern. It was pretty darn neat looking, seemed to offer more than adequate protection, didn’t hamper my agility and Ditzy helped me pull out the inserts so that I could shove my wings through the thing.

The turtle… who I’d yet to name, and which Ditzy found greatly amusing, was asleep on my dorsal armor plating. In my infinite wisdom and thanks to Ditzy’s bottomless supply of just about everything under the cloud hidden sun, we decided that the creature needed armor and we found it. The ghoul had recently acquired an old Kevlar helmet, with the logo of the Equestrian Sea Guard on it that had a hole drilled in it for unicorn to put their horn through. It was big enough, thankfully, that the animal could put both of its heads through the hole. So now, it was a heavily armored war tortoise of death, though, sadly, the color of his helmet armor didn’t really match my own. I would do something about that later. For now, it was time to meet up with my magnanimous employer and disgruntled co-worker. Um, that sounded right. Was I using the words correctly? Anypony?

We arrived at the gates to join the throng already present. New Appleloosa was a small town, several dozen citizens, maybe up to a couple hundred. There was very little to do other than drink, stare out at the wastelands and, apparently, see off the caravans. Some got in a little last minute bartering while others paid the traders to carry messages and letters. Some came just because they had nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. I did have somewhere else to be… in a bed, with a buck, or mare… or both, sleeping off the toxins I’d accrued from the night before. My passenger squeaked in his sleep. Lucky bastard, I wished I was still asleep.

There were twenty five ponies or so milling about, trading, gossiping or admiring Limerick’s mini-gun. I know I admired it. Maybe I could trick him into giving it to me. Somehow, someday. The earth pony looked about how I felt, tired and worn out but ready to get the hell out of dodge. He was leaning against the wall, spitting tobacco, watching his… our employer’s goods and occasionally answering questions rather tersely in a gruff and unpleasant voice.

Pendulum was doing a brisk business, selling knick knacks, buying cheap, accepting letters for transit and keeping all of his goods sorted but visible for potential customers. He had one of those strange cow like creatures that I’d learned was called a Brahmin. Like my turtle, it also had two heads… and no brains. Stop me if I’ve said this before, my memory (or lack thereof) gets the better of me sometimes. The beast was heavily laden and pulling a small canvas topped wagon that had additional supplies and stocks of goods in it. If only I could just lay down on the canvas and fall asleep… just let the big old cow pull me along to wherever we were going.

“I am glad you could make it.” Pendulum said through a mouthful of pencils that he was trying to get Crane to buy.

“Glad to be here.” I answered, setting my gear down. “What do you need me to do?”

“Watch the wagon, do what I tell you, be ready to leave.” He replied, disappointed that he was only able to offload three of his twelve pencils on the rail working unicorn. I made my way, over a mercifully short distance, to his wagon and leaned up against it, glaring at anypony that got too close or looked like they were going to try anything suspicious. It was only mildly entertaining, but diverting enough to keep me from destructive boredom.

“So, what should I call you?” Pendulum asked, finishing up a sale with two colts and giving each one a very small piece of candy.

“What do you mean?” I asked back, stamping a hoof and snorting in warning when a shady looking earther mare surreptitiously approached the back of the wagon.

“By what moniker would you prefer I address you for the time being?” He queried. Hubbuza-wah? What the hell did all that just mean? Wait, I think I was getting it… got it… whatever.

“You mean I should choose a name?” I replied, watching the mare back away slowly and fade into the crowd. The sun was rising above the horizon now. It was quite easy to tell. That would mean that we would be leaving soon.

“It would be beneficial. Everypony should have a name. Even this old girl has one.” He conceded while packing up his remaining supplies and securing their pouches and pockets on the brahmin’s sides. I didn’t have a name and I wasn’t old… oh he meant the cow he was patting. “Bessy.” He introduced us. “She has been with me longer than Limerick and is of a much more cordial temperament.” The creature looked back at me with one head, while the other pulled at a clump of half dead grass on the ground near its hooves. The gaze it gave me was mournful and one of an animal whose intelligence could easily be rated alongside that of igneous rocks and certain lesser varieties of root vegetables.

“Charmed.” I said unenthusiastically and tipped my hat to the Brahmin. It continued to regard me with about as little disinterest as it could muster, and this thing seemed like it had a very disinterested personality… or outlook on the world around it… her. I lowered my head to catch sight of bulging udders. Gross. “What do you think I should choose?” I asked.

“Bitch, Cunt, Whore, Slut…” came Limerick’s reply from the wall on the other side of the wagon. Great, this again.

“No, my name, not your mother’s.” I responded back.

“First chance I get, I’m dropping you down a well.” The buck promised.

“Brilliant plan, genius.” I scoffed. “I’m a Pegasus. I have wings. Besides, I doubt that you possess the fortitude, capability or aim to drop a turd down a toilet. I really don’t think you’ll be able to put me down a well.”

“If the two of you continue to argue in my presence, you are both fired.” Pendulum interjected as he accepted some water for the trip from Ditzy Doo. She also gave some to the Brahmin but the animal just looked at her as if trying to determine whether she was an edible species of grass or an oversized gopher. Alright, I needed a name. A name… a name… I… couldn’t think of one. Damn. No, I had an idea. I pushed off of the wagon and filled my lungs with air.

“Hey, everypony, who wants to think up a name for me?” I asked in a good showpony voice. There was little response or enthusiasm. “Twenty caps to the winner.” I added. Wow, that certainly got their attention. I thought back on my gear from the hillside and the initials they bore. “It has to be two words, the first starts with a ‘w’ and the second with the letter ‘s,’ so, what can you come up with?”

“Whisky Shooter?” Red Rock, who had just arrived looking more than a little drunk, offered. That… wasn’t bad. The knowing smile he offered did make me want to buck his teeth in though.

“Winged Slut.” Limerick muttered. No.

“Water Shed?” Somepony suggested. What the hell?

“Winter Song!” Railright shouted, joining in on the fun. Hmm… that was a pretty good one.

“Wasted Shit.” Limerick suggested from the wall. Again, no.

“Wither Shine?” Crane asked, sticking a pencil into his hard hat. That was… I don’t know, not as good as some of the other ones.

“Wiggle Sloth!” A filly called out gleefully. I don’t even know what… I just… don’t even know.

“War Sword!” Candi called out. Oh, that was a good one. Trust that hot little piece of… ahem, hmm… never mind… to come up with a heck of a good name.

“Witless Slug.” Limerick coughed. That was occasionally true, painful as it was to admit, but not exactly the kind of name I wanted. Also, insulting.

“Wandering Storm.” Mistletoe, next to Candi, voiced dryly. That was also a pretty good name. The old buck gave me a small smile, apparently proud that I was doing something productive with my life and time. I returned his smile with interest (as Brandy would have put it) and gave a big old grin.

“Wishing Star?” Pendulum, not wanting to be left out, or just incapable of not offering his own idea, said. That wasn’t bad either. Ugh… now I have like five really good names to choose from.

“Wallowing Sow.” Limerick spoke, irritated and I think serious about the name. Somepony was in a hurry to get out of here.

“White Snow!” Somepony offered. Meh. I looked over to Ditzy, who was rubbing a slightly feathered wing against a mostly skinned chin. The old ghoul turned her head to the sky, to me, to the sky then started hopping up and down in excitement. What was she on about now? The only other Pegasus around besides me zipped over to Crane, grabbed the pencil from his hard hat and dashed over to Railright. She took the pencil in her teeth and, despite the mayor’s protests, began writing words on his duster. She finished and pointed to them.

‘Wild Skies.’ Perfect. I gave a genuine but lopsided smile.

“Wild Skies. We have a winner.” I announced. There were more than a few disappointed mutters and groans.

“I still like Winged Slut.” Limerick opined.

“You will like what I tell you to like, Lim.” Pendulum drowned out his guard’s voice. “Now, let us depart, we are wasting daylight.” He was right. The sun would soon hit the clouds and disappear behind them, as it always did. Darn clouds why did… head hurting, never mind. Railright nodded to the gate guards, none of whom, I was pleased to see, was the dumb bitch who’d shot me when I was…

“Hey Red Rock!” He looked my way just in time to get the sack of two hundred caps right between the eyes. “Keep it. I’m taking the hide with me.” The gate opened and I very quickly tossed my sea bag onto the wagon then approached Mistletoe. He offered a hoof but I hugged him instead.

“Stay safe out there kid.” He advised, awkwardly hugging me back. “And good luck.”

“I’ll try.” I answered. “And thanks.” We drew apart. Candi opened her forehooves wide to hug me but I gave her a big wet kiss right on the nose and lick on the cheek instead. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.” I told her. She blushed, giggled and tried to wipe away the salivary leavings of my tongue. Limerick had already hoisted his mini-gun and moved to the front of Pendulum and Bessy. I was almost out of time. I waved to the townsfolk and ran over to Ditzy Doo.

“Thank you.” I said sincerely, and gave her a big squishy hug which she wholeheartedly returned. “Did you want those twenty caps?” I asked. She shook her head, smiled and pulled a remarkably pristine straw colored hair from her mane. The ghoul offered it to me. “Um, thanks Ditzy.” I responded to her gesture and decided, hay, why the heck not. I pulled (ouch) a hair from my own mane and offered it back to her. She accepted with glee. “I’ll see you around.” She smiled wider and clopped her hooves.

“Hurry, miss Skies. We do not have all day to vegetate and waste lackadaisical.” Pendulum called out as he left the gate.

“Right, sorry.” I waved once more to the ponies of New Appleloosa and ran out to meet my companions. Turning back once I had galloped past the gate, I set the armored turtle down on the ground, readied myself and with as much energy as I could spare, leapt upwards, grabbed the Hellhound hide and pulled. It tore from its nails and came down with me. I wrapped the thing around my withers and over my barrel, then picked the indignant turtle back up and set him down on my head. “Remember not to poop on me.” I warned the little beast as we caught up to Pendulum, Bessy and Limerick. It squeaked down at its conveyance (me) and looked ahead eagerly, happy to be moving faster than it could on its own. Oh, yeah, almost forgot. I reached into my saddlebags with my wings and pulled out my new journal, because, I guess, why not? I took a pencil that I’d shoved inside it and, with my wings, and thoughts of my foals foremost in my often misbehaving mind, started to write. I paid some attention to the centuries’ old road under my hooves and some to the book into which I was supposed to pour my thoughts. Wild Skies… I beamed, grinning from ear to slightly damaged ear. I had a name. I was no longer the mare with no name. I set my pace similar to Bessy’s and left New Appleloosa behind as our caravan ventured out into the wastelands.

Author's Note

Whew, okay. Volume I is done. As I said in the blog, this was a long one, one and a half times the size of any previous chapter. Thanks to everyone who has continued to read, Kkat for creating this wonderful sandbox to play in and most of all, thanks and dedications (of this volume) to my former editor, Demichev. Long may he reign... in the Navy where he is now. I will begin work on the first chapter of the next volume soon and send it to my new editor. Also, in case you're wondering, she's 75% of the way to the next level and the opening words are from the Tao Te Ching. Again, anyone interested in adding their OCs to Volume II, please let me know, I'd love to include them. Have a great week everybody.