Chapter 1 - Tail Over Tea Kettle
Chapter 1 - Tail Over Tea Kettle
“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”
I scratched my right hind leg with the left and watched like any good commander who has no idea what’s going on. Socket Wrench lay underneath the large copper tank with her trusty, rusted wrench clenched tightly in teeth. She proceeded to tighten several bolts while my eyes shifted nervously to the pressure gauge on the side. "Sock, you'd warn me if this was gonna explode, right?"
Blowing a strand of dirty blonde hair that had pulled free of the purple bandanna wrapped around her head, the cream colored unicorn looked around a pipe up at me, "Ain't nothing to it, Cap'n. She'll be humming along again in just a tick." She looked back at the needle bouncing around in the orange area of the gauge, "Or she’s gonna explode."
I sighed in resignation and turned to make my way back out through the kitchen and into the dining area. I spotted Word and Val outside through the propped open main entrance loading up the last of the crates, the bottles chiming against one another, into the back of an old wagon we had found not far out of town. It had taken Sock an afternoon to get some new axles in place and make the wagon actually serviceable, but I had tried to make sure she hadn’t spent too much time on it. Val’s fluffed bat pony ears swiveled to my approach and her vertically-slitted yellow eyes followed them after a few seconds. Her left eyebrow arched to give me a curious look and I responded with a shrug, “We’ll either come back to a fresh batch or a smoking crater in the ground.”
Val gave a dismissive shrug while hovering in the air and pulled on a strap with her teeth, securing the cargo. The storm cloud gray pony beside her looked a little alarmed. “Maybe Oi shuld go see if she needs ‘elp?” His smooth, quiet voice inquired to no pony in particular in that odd accent.
“Suit yourself.” I shrugged and moved around to the front of the wagon. I got into the harness hanging between the shils and looked back as Val landed atop the crates in the wagon. She gave a nod that everything was secure.
Word trotted back into the sturdy brick building where a shingle hanging above the door with a crude painting of an elderly mare upside down in mid-fall carrying a cast iron kettle announced it as the Tail and Tea Kettle. Had it been only a year since we found the hotel still standing with a Vertirail car slammed into the side of the western wall? It was hard to believe it only took us a few months to get it cleaned out and habitable. That it was only habitable by Wasteland standards was besides the point. Does it keep most of the rain off ya? Aight, but does it stop the most common types of bullets? Aight, then it’s habitable.
I took in a crisp lungful of air through my nostrils and gave a couple of hard pulls to get me started, then we were on our way out of town. The threat of snow hung in the stale air and that meant we’d have to be sure we could get the heat working properly in the pub and smash up some more furniture for firewood. Without the pegasi to control the weather, the seasons had been allowed to return to their unstructured behavior. You never knew when the snows would start to fall in Equestria anymore.
Des Poulains was just beginning to look like a real village again. Before the war it had been a rundown suburb sitting northeast of Chicacolt full of those species; griffins, donkeys and the like. They lived inside Equestria’s borders, but weren’t ponies. They toiled in the mines, herded great beasts and farmed to feed the rest of Equestria. It was a decent life, but then the war came, and if you weren’t a pony or willing to help, you were the enemy.
I stole another glance back over my shoulder at the ruddy brick building covered in brown-tinged vines we had made home. Again glad we had decided not to try and remove the large silver Vertirail car from the front of the building. Instead we got the back off of it, extended the dining room floor to include booths built into the remaining side of the passenger car, then closed up the holes left from the wreckage. The car looked almost naturally assimilated into the brick and woodwork of the five story hotel. Though natural had a very different set of standards these days.
We passed the recently re-opened post office that was now more of a general store. The ponies running the place had begun trading through a ghoul pegasus who seemed to make it to every corner of the Wasteland.
Moving past, I caught sight of an earth pony with a holster on his forearm coming out of the makeshift sheriff’s office next door. The ashen coated Chalk Talker trotted a bit to catch up to me as we started pass a pile of scrap and salvage that waited to be picked through, “Mornin’, Fel.” Even knowing his mouth was empty, it sounded like he had been sucking on a salt block all day and what was left was shoved somewhere in his worn cheeks.
I didn’t turn my head but fixed him with a glare out of the corner of my eye knowing what was coming next, “Mornin’, Sheriff.”
“Running out another delivery? Why, that’s your second one in as many weeks. Business is treating you good.” He flicked a hoof against the wide brim of his once white flat-top hat.
“It’s been fair.” We were now close to the barricade of rubble that surrounded Des Poulains and he knew he was running out of time.
“Guess you still ain’t lookin’ to branch out into law enforcement?”
And there it was. I stopped pulling and heard Val make a ‘ptsch’ sound from the wagon. I looked down at Chalk as my soft shadow fell across his face and considered how I should respond this time. “Look Chalk,” I bought myself a few more seconds to think under the guise of staring him down, “I know you keep askin’ cause of how we cleaned this place up back when we found it, but I’m more than happy to be running a pub and brewin’ beer. I mean, 170 year old Buckweiser gets old pretty fast and there’s only so much of it left out there in the Wasteland.”
He snickered a little as he looked away from me, “I ain’t ever going to be able to thank you enough for getting me away from those other bandits. Especially before I did something I couldn't forgive myself for.”
“Like every other time you brought it up; you keep drinking in my pub and we’re square as far as I see.” Giving a few tugs against the harness, I got the wagon rolling again and looked back at him, “You wouldn’t want me anyways. Val’s always saying how I’m too damn bossy.”
We made our way well out of town, cresting the rough rocks that had been forced out of the ground by some combination of bombs and megaspells. As we came around the side of the crater I stared down the long cracked road that ran southeast and right into the heart of what used to be Chicacolt. The city was the most vibrant manufacturing complex built by the pegasi, completely integrated with their land-based brethren by the Vertirail system; long tracks that carried train cars throughout Equestria and even up above the clouds to the Shoe, which was the heart of Chicacolt. These rails made the city the main hub for goods going in, out and through Equestria. Hoofington may have invented all the wonderful new gadgets and Fillydelphia may have mined the rocks for magical gems, but Chicacolt made them in mass and got them all where they needed to go. Now it was all just so much ruin.
The great flat plain was pockmarked by blackened spires of the remains of tall buildings that came into view far in the distance as we moved onto an old highway. It reminded me of a graveyard to all that had been, those decayed blocks of steel and glass reaching so high into the ever-gray sky. The ripped and broken Vertirail lines traced through the city like veins until they converged under the Shoe and reached upwards towards the clouds that hung thick and gray in every direction. They were like charred and bent hooves reaching up for salvation, a rescue the pegasi could care less to deliver. Lightning bloomed deep within the clouds that shielded where the Shoe should be above them from sight, but there was no accompanying thunder. I’d heard stories told of ponies trying to get up there and being fried by that lightning.
Val and I moved away from the barren city and headed off towards the southeast in familiar and comfortable silence. The Frozen Mountains just peaked out over the horizon to the north like jagged, dirty teeth looming out of the ground. The asphalt broken and crumbling beneath my hooves gave me the notion I was walkin’ on the dried, cracked tongue of some great beast. Well past those frozen teeth was the kingdom of crystals. At least that’s what used to be there; it’s assumed utterly obliterated in one of the waves of balefire bombs from the Zebra attack that blighted the world. I couldn’t help but wonder if they somehow survived in those frozen wastes.
We made our way across the recently repaired bridge that spanned the small creek gurgling with brown-green water that had once been a river. The suburb beyond had not fared well from the war. No bomb had hit this far from downtown, but time and petty skirmishes between Luna knows how many tribes had left the rows of cookie-cutter buildings as stumps of concrete and steel. Making our way down broken roads, we finally came to an old library that remained standing. Modeled after some famous ones, it had been a tree magically grown to nearly five stories and then hollowed out to mold it into a repository of knowledge. Even with all those books and smarts, we still ended up in a land that can barely support life and full of dangers that would happily take that life from you. All that was left of their precious knowledge was a giant, gnarled and blackened tangle of wood.
I stopped pulling on the wagon as we got to the other side and undid the harness with my teeth. I felt the soft woosh as Val took to the sky in the cover of the broken library. Wearing my usual khaki work shirt and brown, ceramic armor-plated trousers, I moved to the back of the wagon and clamped my teeth on the long, reddish-brown canvas coat. I maneuvered my front hooves through the sleeves in a well practiced movement. The coat was several shades darker than the color of my own hide, but nearly as worn and dirty. I felt the weight of the twin revolvers hidden in the tails settle comfortably across my haunches. I double checked the cargo to make sure no bottles had broken when a soft thud behind me announced Val’s return. There was a gentle hum before the collar around her neck changed the pitch of her voice so I could hear it.
“Looks clear.” she said. “They are just coming around the edge of the old schoolhouse.”
I knew it wasn’t just the collar that always made her sound so steady and nearly monotone, but I often wondered if it wasn’t a convenient excuse. Nodding once, I leaned my shoulder against the wagon and pushed it into one of the hollowed out section of the old tree. It wasn’t a natural hollow as the wall had fallen in on itself, but it made a perfectly good hiding place for a big wagon. I finished my work and turned to Val, “Well, let’s go say howdy.”
As we walked towards the north edge of the hamlet, Val’s bright yellow eyes scanned the area without anxiety, “You know this is a trap.”
“E’yup.”
“You’re probably going to get shot.”
“E’yup.”
“I ain’t taking a bullet for you.”
“E’yup.”
We came around the corner and saw the knot of soldiers down the road from the opposite direction. They were nearly two hours early and I was glad Val had done a quick surveilance to see if they had time to set up snipers in any good positions. The mule at the head of the column was creamy white and wore a thick coat made of red fur. For a moment I wondered what kind of mutated beast had been skinned for that fluffy tuft and how it managed to get fur that brightly colored red. Didn’t seem to do much good as camouflage in a landscape mostly made of brown and gray. On his head was a ridiculous hat that looked like he was wearing a black, furry bucket on his head. He was overweight, not excessively, but being even a little overweight meant a great deal in the Wasteland. He was flanked by a dozen of his donkeys with a few ponies mixed in. He called them soldiers, but almost every gang in the Wasteland considered themselves an army. Though to his credit, they looked a well provisioned gang. The end of his cigar flared bright cherry red as he came to a stop, looking at Val and I standing in the road. “Vell, vell, vell. Feld Tree, thought we were to meet up at 1500. I can’t see da sun, but I’m pretty sure it ain’t that late yet, comrade.”
“Funny, Mos, I was just thinking the exact same thing. But since we’re both here, why don’t we just make the trade.”
His soldiers fanned out behind him, trying to make it look all nonchalant. They all wore basic armor and camouflaged barding. I made note of the semi-automatic rifles they carried except for one mare I spotted to the back who was carrying a sniper rifle. The more noticeable problem was a donkey larger than anything I’d ever seen, excepting a Manticore. A good hoof and a half taller than me and built like an oak barrel, he had two huge crates slung across his back along with an equally impressive warhammer. It looked like it was spark charged which moved him to the top of my list of ‘ponies not to get into a hooffight with’. Moscow Mule chewed the end of his cigar and switched it to the other side of his mouth as his lips broke into a smile around the brown, smoking stump, “Ov course, friend Fel! But I notice you haf no vagon with joo.”
I shot a horrified look over to Val, “You mean to tell me I walked all the way out here without the wagon? Weren’t you supposed to check it was on my back?!”
Val rolled her eyes at me.
I looked back to Mos. “Duncha worry none. Wagon is safe and sound and we’ll let you know where as soon as we’re sure the trade is good.”
Mos’s smile seemed to grow a bit around his cigar, “Ov course, ov course.” He motioned with a hoof and the oversized donkey moved forward looking like this was the last place he wanted to be this morning. Trailing him was one of the few ponies in the group. He looked snide and pissy as he used his horn to levitate one of those rifles to aim at us. As the donkey set the crates down, Rifle Pony stepped around him and planted his hooves in the space between us. I slowly leaned my head to look past the angsty dark green unicorn and the damn pony ‘tchkd’ at me. I pulled my head back and looked down at him with a single eyebrow raised. Rifle Pony and Goliath, as I was now referring to them in my head, walked away from us and folded into the ranks of the gang. Rifle Pony doing so while never showing his backside to us.
The dust hadn’t yet settled around the crates before I trotted out with the biggest, dumbest grin on my face. I didn’t have a care in the world. It didn’t matter if he was about to double cross us, as long as he brought what we needed.
Mos looked amused as Goliath snorted behind him. I knocked the lid off both crates with a single motion of my left hoof and inspected the goods. “Eht’s all dere. Now you tell us where we find dat vagon.”
Sure enough one crate was completely full of charged, undamaged spark batteries. The second contained marginally healthy potatoes. Some already had decent eyes on them and were ready for planting. I put the lids back into place on the crates, spun so my backside was facing the armed mob and bent down to get the strap between them across my back. I heard the echoing click of several slides being pulled. “Don’t get your rifle straps twisted ‘round your nethers.”
Mos forced an exaggerated sigh to be sure I could hear it, “It is not dat I do not trust you, comrade. Vut mah boys be very thirsty and hungry.”
Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I smiled back at him as big as I could, “I have no doubts. What do you feed that one?” My head motioned slightly towards Goliath, “Ponies? Ghouls? Or do you just let him dig into full grown manticores?” The look on Mos’s face told me he was in no way amused by this. I shrugged and moved out from under the strap. Turning again to face them, putting a hoof up on the nearest crate, “You make a right at this corner here and walk about four blocks to the huge burned out tree that used to be a library. Walk around to the south end and you’ll see a space where the wall collapsed. The wagon’s in there, and you can keep the wagon, if you like.”
We stood there, Mos smoking his cigar as I motioned to the road directly to my right with an elaborate flourish of my hoof. I could see the tree from where we stood. “I’d feel a mite more comfortable if you all made your way down there and we quietly made our way out of here,” I said, repeating my flourish.
“Ah am sure zat you vould. But alas, Ah do not tink we can accommodate joo,” Mos said, releasing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. The soldiers aimed their weapons at us and I could feel Val’s stare boring into my tail end.
“Mos,” I said levelling a look at the mule. “This ain’t how you want this to go down.”
His smiled. “Ah am pretty sure dat it is, comrade.” He cradled the cigar in his fetlock and pulled it free from his mouth as he spit onto the ground. I held my breath as each of his boys took aim. “Kill zem.”
Every soldier fired.
Or, they tried to.
Every weapon was silent, not even a click from a misfired round. They all pulled out their clips and checked the ammo. Being no fool, I balanced on my hind legs and thrust my front hooves into the hidden holsters of my duster. I felt the click of each brace locking around my forearms. On reflex my hooves slid through the guards and onto the triggers. Pulling the twin, gleaming .45 caliber revolvers out into the open, I leveled them at the line of soldiers. With one round I knocked the sling of the warhammer off Goliath and with one from the other gun the fluffy hat off of Moscow’s head. The cigar he had put back in his mouth dangled from his slack, quivering lower lip. “Now, care to try that again?” I asked as Val came up beside me with her modified repeater she had hidden in her own short, dirty coat held in her hooves.
A roar sounded as I was focused on Mos, and Goliath came charging straight towards me with his warhammer in mouth. I sensed Val shift her weight as my gaze remained locked with the mule’s. Goliath’s mass shook the pavement beneath our hooves and Mos broke our stare. No longer needing his attention, I shifted my gaze as well to take in the show. The huge beast brought his hammer around quicker than I thought possible for his size. With two strong flaps of her leathery wings, Val leapt with the grace of her kind into the air. The wings folded back against her side and her body succumbed to gravity. She used the momentum to drive her back hoof down onto the huge donkey’s snout. Goliath lost balance and spun away from the impact. As he did so I suddenly realized he was using the momentum to bring his hammer around behind him. The place of impact looked awfully like the place where Val had just touched down from the rebound of her dive. A breath I didn’t know I was holding blew past my lips as I saw her weight shift. As the hammer came down towards her head, she swiftly ducked inside his reach. Val didn’t waste a single movement and locked a hoof around his neck and the other under his shoulder. Taking advantage of the warhammer’s weight pulling him to one side, she was able to throw the donkey. Sadly there was a hip high stack of bricks that had once been a wall in the direction she had tossed the massive beast. He slammed through the rubble and bounced once off the ground, finally landing embedded in a solid slab of roof tiles.
It was over as quickly as I had expected, but I was shocked none of the other troops had made a move yet. They all seemed confused and looking towards Moscow for direction who was still speechless from what he had just witnessed. Val adjusted the strap of the repeater across her back and trotted towards me with a slow, deliberate pace that made her look bored. I took my time closing the gap between Mos and myself, staring right into his constricted pupils. Instead of a pithy line, I simply bent down and scooped up his fallen cigar in my own mouth.
I smiled at the horrified expression on his face and puffed the tobacco to get a nice hot cherry on the end. I think he was about to object when there was a scream from his confused group of soldiers. I watched the young Rifle Pony come tearing out of the line up towards Val with murder in his eyes and his rifle held magically like a club.
Retracting one revolver, the weapon sliding up along my forearm, I moved to intercept him. I slipped the unencumbered hoof around the unicorn’s neck as he tried to trot pass me. Pivoting on my left hind leg, I used his own speed to spin us both in a circle. We came to a rest facing Mos and me holding the revolver on my other hoof against the unicorn’s skull. The smoke from the cigar mixed with the kicked up dust and hung around us as I relaxed my jaw and shifted the cigar to the other side of my mouth, away from my captive’s horn. I kept my other foreleg firmly across his neck to make sure he didn’t try anything else incredibly moronic. His scrawny form squirmed in my grasp and I smacked the butt of the revolver off his horn as it began to glow. He smelled like rubbing alcohol, grease and desperation. I looked up at Mos, blowing twin jets of white smoke from my nostrils, “I think this farce is at its end. I’m taking the goods. You asses get your beer and carrots. I’m taking this one with me for insurance. If he wants to go back to your little gang later, he’ll be free to rejoin you.” My grip shifted as Rifle Pony tried to shove the back of his against my muzzle, “I want you to remember this. I could’ve killed every single one of you and taken everything. But I’m a fair pony. I make a deal, I make good on it.”
Mos gave me a look that should have cause spontaneous combustion. Then it softened almost imperceptibly as his bushy black eyebrows created deep canyons across his forehead. He made a sharp movement of his head and the mob started walking down the lane to the library looking back to watch us every few lazy steps.
Val slipped under the ropes still connecting the heavy crates and lifted them with a shallow grunt, “We’re gonna have to pay for that in the future.”
I shifted the unruly unicorn’s head in my grip so I could start shuffling along with him. Pulling him along as we followed Val as she made her way north, “We always do.”
As soon as the gang were out of ear and eye shot, I released my prisoner. The unicorn gave me a cool and calculating look without turning his head to me. “You bastard.”
I looked back him, unimpressed. “Oh, knock it off, jakey. They are well and gone now. Drop the act.”
“Hey!” he said indignant as now unencumbered, I trotted to keep up with Val. He picked up his own pace, trotting alongside me and shook furiously. I watched from the corner of my eye as he glowed white and motes of light fell from his entire body as if he had been covered in luminescent ash. A few seconds later and Thing One in his more natural appearance was trotting alongside me. His thin, pure white coat showed a bit of his milky pink hide and tracery of blue-green veins beneath. Along all four of his legs were pockmarks the size of grenades which made it look as if someone had scooped out flesh, muscle and bone all in one go. The pocks made me uncomfortable, but were smooth and never seemed to hinder his movements. Though One’s mane was shaved close and his tail cropped as well, both were distinguishable as pure white. Always sharp and clever, his eyes were a light, muted pink, and I was glad to see the pupils remained round and cheerful. As the disguise washed away he flexed his small gossamer wings and the pink glow around his kinked horn faded. “I think I deserve a little credit. You know how hard it is to remove over a dozen firing pins without anypony noticing? Pretty. Damn. Hard.”
“Language.” I said absently.
“Language?!” He cried out at the injustice of life. His underdeveloped wings buzzed quickly lifting his hooves a few inches from the ground. Wavering, he flew in front of my snout. “I have spent the last three days playing cards, drinking vodka, and discussing parts of a mare’s anatomy that I am not yet supposed to have any kind of interest in. I want a box of Sugar Apple Bombs, a Sparkle-cola, a comic book and a nice long bath. WITH HOT WATER!” Thing One announced in my face, then turned with mock disgust and buzzed off ahead.
Adolescence hadn’t been quite that difficult for me, but Thing One’s was a bit unnatural, like most things in the Wasteland. I trotted up alongside Val. “Damn, that sounds like a vacation to me.”
“Which?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
I thought about it for a second. “Either, really.”
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As we came down the cracked asphalt that led us back to the Tail and Tea Kettle, the darkness was already closing in around us. With the sky perpetually covered in clouds, dark always felt like it oozed from the shadows, whether from the corner of rooms or collapsed overpasses. Val visibly relaxed not only from the sight of home, but with the arrival of the viscous, encroaching darkness. She was a pony made specifically for the night. Her race had pledged their lives to protecting Luna’s beautiful night. I didn’t mind the darkness much myself; it meant business would be starting in earnest at the pub.
Thing One was trotting at a good pace ahead of us, but picked up speed as he saw the pub come into view. He was practically galloping towards the door of the Vertirail car when with a pneumatic hiss it clanged open. The smooth white-enamled chassis of a Securipony stepped out of the doorway. “Good evening, brother! I am very excited to see you after your absence,” the electronic voice shouted into the colt’s face. Like the voice itself, the emotional weight behind the words was horribly synthesized. The high-pitched nature and volume of the filly’s voice made crackling noises through the speakers in her throat.
The colt paused only for a second and then buzzing his wings, zoomed in through the door. “Not now, sis, THE SUGAR IS CALLING ME!” his voice echoed as he disappeared inside.
Thing Two’s electronic green eyes shut off a row at a time starting from the top of the green doughnuts and then relit in the opposite direction in imitation of blinking. She didn’t have eyebrows, but the electronic diodes did a decent imitation of expressing her displeasure by illuminating only the bottom half of green lights on the black eye screens. She was still scowling as we came up to the door. Her expression softened the moment she knew we could see her. Often her appearance reminded me of some strange pony-shaped bug, what with the segmented, white-enameled plates covering dark metal and machinery underneath. Adding to the creepiness, she raised her front legs and small segmented fingers unfolded from the rounded imitation of hooves. “I do not understand, did I not show proper excitement at his return?” she inquired, lifting the two crates from Val’s back as if they were filled with clouds.
“I believe he was more focused on other things. Your excitement was well shown.” Val said rubbing at her sensitive ears.
Thing Two turned her back on me and they both made their way through the door. “What? I don’t even rate a hello?” I flicked the butt of Mos’s cigar into the trash barrel by the door.
Val and Two stopped, shooting me looks that conveyed that sympathy was not a currency I should be expecting to receive. They both turned away in unison and I heard Two’s foalish electronic voice state, “I believe Fel is exercising his ability to overreact. Is this correct?”
Val snorted, “That ability needs no exercising. It’s more a default.”
I gave a hurt look as I moved through doorway into the dim pub. A quick survey of the tables and bar revealed Dippy and Vox were already starting a card game. Healing Word was behind the bar and no one had sidled up yet tonight, so he busied himself polishing mugs. It was still early, so I figured I had a few minutes to clean up before the real crowd started coming in. As I moved back behind the bar, Word nodded lazily to me and I nodded back. Beyond the doorway behind the bar was the kitchen and a set of steps heading up to the second floor.
Before I made it to the stairs I was attacked by a khaki-colored blur in dirty navy coveralls. “Oh, cap’n,” Socket Wrench murmured as she kissed my cheek, “Spark batteries and potatoes, y’know how to spoil us fillies.” And just as fast as she came, she was gone with Thing Two following her at a sedate pace, looking very perplexed by Sock’s enthusiasm.
I saw the crate of potatoes still sitting on the counter and deftly maneuvered them, balancing the crate on my back. I sighed looking towards the garage where the two had disappeared, shook my head and trotted up the stairs. I had made the decision the second floor of the hotel would be kept for me and mine. We all had our own rooms and had managed to get working bathrooms in each. In these times, you know you’re living the high life when you have real indoor plumbing. We had stripped the moldy carpet from the hall and rooms and the solid wood underneath had taken to polish and stain like a radroach to shit. The long hallway looked like it had been transported from before the war, unless you looked closely that is. Well, maybe as long as you were squinting and drunk. But we were proud of it.
The third and fourth floors were opened to travellers. I was surprised how many people started staying once the word got out we had ourselves a respectable place to stay for the night. Especially one you were a lot less likely to get shot staying in. We hadn’t got around to fixing each of the rooms on these floors with plumbing, but there was a communal bathroom at the opposite end of the hall to the stairs on each. We hadn’t received any complaints about that yet, though making them unisex had caused some embarrassing moments for several guests.
Finally, up to the fifth floor, which at one time had been a huge penthouse that I’m sure some swanky stallion or mare made their home away from the hustle and bustle of downtown Chicacolt, complete with room service and maids. Now there were four long wooden boxes laid out the length of the open room, with space between them to move around. The boxes were packed with as much nutrient rich soil as we’d been able to gather through hard work, fertilizing and a little magic. I walked down the first row and saw that some more carrots were ready to be picked. Sock had rigged a sprinkler system that hung above each long row to make sure we could control the irrigation and cleanliness of the water. The ceiling was covered in sky lights, most of which we had repaired, but a few just got boarded over until we found suitable glass to cut and place in the metal frames. This is what really kept us afloat. Fresh food. Untampered, un-irradiated and un-tainted. I moved past the end of the first row and down to the last row. At the back of the penthouse we had originally stacked all the broken and rotted furniture, most had been used up as firewood, but a decent pile still remained for the coming winter. Through the grime streaked floor-to-ceiling windows behind the broken wood you could see an awesome view of Des Poulains. The handful of buildings surrounding the hotel that had been brought back to life were quiet in the last moments of twilight. In the further distance was the permanent black clouds glowing randomly with contained lightning hanging over downtown. I turned away and moved to the middle two boxes in the last row. Idly flipping some fresh soil with a hoof, I eased the burden on my back down beside the empty boxes and sorted through the crate pulling out healthy looking potatoes that had good solid eyes.
After near half an hour, I had a good pile of spuds which already showed promising shoots. I broke the potatoes apart carefully with my hooves and the edge of the box, making sure each piece had at least two solid eyes on it. Moving aside soil, I planted each piece in three even rows across the two boxes. Satisfied with my work and feeling a glow an earth pony gets from tending to that which grows, I hefted the rest of the crate onto my back and headed back down to the second floor.
My room was first on the left, across from the room Thing One and Thing Two shared. I could hear Thing One already splashing in the water, screaming some old song at the top of his lungs. I was pulled up short in front of the door when I heard a lyric about vodka and slapping mare’s on the tails. I considered pounding on the door, but just shook my head and caught a small smile on my lips. Ah, to be young again.
Pushing open the door to my room, I sat the crate by the door and pulled the coat off. I relieved myself in the head and came back out to clean and store the revolvers. Sock had made me the braces so I wouldn’t have to fire them with my mouth. If you’ve ever held a gun stock in your mouth through a firefight while flicking your tongue as fast as possible over the trigger, I’m sure you’ll understand my interest in such a mechanism. It was also mighty handy to be an earth pony capable of wielding two revolvers at once. I had inherited the revolvers, along with several other destructive traits, from my father. If he could be believed, the grips were wood from a real Zapapple tree. Simple, yet well done scroll-like carving was laid into the wood at a minimal depth on each grip. A single word was worked into the carving on each grip. On one it said “Honor’ and on the other was printed “Truth”.
The coat got hung up on a nail by the door. I considered changing my shirt, but after a sniff I decided it wasn’t that dirty and tonight wasn’t anything special. I walked back into head and splashed some water on my face, catching my reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. A dozen fractured versions of my face stared back at me. The blue eyes set in my red-brown hide almost covered by my mahogany flip of mane looked better than they had in years. I realized in that moment that this was happiness. Friends. Family. A place to call home. This was harmony.
I dried off and snapped my suspenders back into place around my shoulders. I hefted the potatoes again and moved out shutting the door behind me with a hind leg. I didn’t bother to lock it. Worse that would happen is I’d find Thing One in there trying to mimic me or he’d leave a loaded mouse trap in my blanket again. He was still belting out what I thought was the same song, but it was muffled by what I imagined were Sugar Apple Bombs. I couldn’t resist as I moved past the door, “Swallow before you start singing. Last thing I need is you choking and me having to give you mouth-to-mouth.” I was pleased to hear him coughing as I made my way down the steps.
The Tail and Tea Kettle, my pub, my home. There’s a way people move once they know a place, and not just know it like you’re aware of a loose piece of tile or the rhythmic sounds a generator will make in the dead of the night. Even blindfolded and in pitch darkness they’re aware of where everything is and how to move around, but it’s more than simple memorization. They’ve become a part of the place. A gear in how the mechanism moves. A smaller organism travelling within a larger and more complex living thing. I could feel it as I moved through the kitchen and saw Val finishing the stew and whatever the succulent smelling thing in the oven was. I put the rest of the potatoes on the counter, maneuvering behind her so I could breath in deeply over the stew. She whipped her hoof out and smacked me on the tip of my muzzle without looking. I moved back raising my hooves in surrender. It never ceased to amaze me how she made such simple ingredients into mouth watering goodness. I moved with quickness into the workshop where Sock was calibrating a freshly installed spark battery into the generator and Thing Two had four mechanical tendrils sprouting from her back, sorting the rest of the spark batteries into a secure metal closet. I noticed the copper kettle was purring away contently and not near exploding as I had seen it last. I motioned to it with a hoof and a look towards Sock.
“Right as rain, Cap’n.” she said with a huge grin, “We’ll have another run ready to pour by end of the week.”
“What’s this one again?” I asked. Sock was our brewmaster and I never doubted her abilities, though I was often surprised by the different ways she knew to make beer.
“It’s gonna be another stout. Ah’m thinkin’ of calling it Dinner since there’s enough mash in there to make bread.”
“Stout. Means its gonna be dark and thick right?”
“Lookit you learnin’ new things, ya old buck.” Sock said bringing her hooves up to her mouth with eyes stretched as wide open as she could make them.
“This is incorrect.” Thing Two stated her electronic voice flat as she lifted the last spark battery in the segmented tentacle. “Memorizing is not the same thing as learning.”
“True.” Sock said leaning her head to the side and poking her chin with a hoof. “But ah’ll take what Ah can get.”
“Miss Wrench, I now require additional assistance” Two said raising up on her hind legs as the plates covering her chest slowly slid away to reveal a dim spark battery where a pony’s heart would normally be. Instead of messy organs, her ‘heart’ was cradled within bundles of wires and other dark metal casings. Sock was there taking the spark battery from Two’s tendril with her magic and simultaneously wrapping the one in her chest with the same blue-green glow. The battery in her chest came loose with a soft hiss and Two’s eyes faded until they could barely be seen in the blackness of the eye screens. Sock was moving the new battery into place and I chose to make my exit before Two came back online to try and learn me more new things.
Convincing Moscow Mule to part with an entire crate of the small technomagical batteries had been worth the long bargaining. Even though Two had figured out a way to replenish some of them, and though they lasted years even with the amount of power she needed to stay operational, we were all aware of needing to have a stack on hand. I didn’t want to know what would happen to Thing Two if we ever ran out, but I planned to be long gone before having to face that day. It wasn’t only for her sake, almost everything in the pub ran on magical energy of some kind and we needed to keep the power to keep things running. Ever considered how much of what we consider civilization runs on batteries?
I went back through the kitchen as Val carried out four steaming bowls of something balanced effortlessly on her wings. I followed her out the swinging door to the dining area. With well practiced motions she slid a bowl from her wing in front of me on the bar as she moved towards the table with Vox and Dippy. Knowing she’d be joining the game now that the food was done, I sat at the bar blowing the steam over the rich smelling stew. It was hot and smelled like carrots and turnips in a broth made from meat that I most likely did not want identified. I knew it’d be delicious, so it didn't’ seem to matter much. I looked up at Word, “Take a break, preacher. Take some of this wonderful food back to Sock and tell Two to inform her brother he has a bowl waiting for him. But he’s gotta get out of the bath and come down here to eat it before he makes himself sick on sugar again.” Word began to trot into the kitchen when it hit me, “WITHOUT singing any more vulgar songs.”
“Roi, boss.” Word’s grin was comfortable on his muzzle as the door swung back out behind him.
Yeah. Home. Happiness. Harmony. This place. These ponies. I didn’t need anything else but this.
Footnote: Level Up! Maximum Level Reached.
Quest perk added: Superior Defender: +5 Points of damage and +10 DR when standing still.
