Fallout Equestria - The Big Easy

Chapters

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

Chapter 1

“The Equestrian National Weather Service is issuing a severe thunderstorm warning for the Martingale area, including the cities of Steedport and Neigh Orleans... heavy rainfall brings a high chance of flooding in all coastal areas...”

A pre-war weather report

~~~~

“Let's ged'dis on de go! Errypony grab an axe!”

Like bloatsprites swarming a garbage pile, a half dozen ponies fell upon the fallen sycamore tree, brandishing axes. They attacked the tree, chipping away at some of the larger branches to cut it into something more manageable.

I wasn't one of them. I'd arrived a little late. So I just stood there, soaking wet in the driving rain as the tree was hacked up. It was likely easier these days. Before the war this tree would have been a sizeable example of a beautiful Equestrian buttonwood, but radiation from megaspells had long since killed it off. The scorched, dead-looking wood splintered easily under the concentrated axe strikes.

“Stripes!” a voice barked, clear through the howling of the storm. It took me a long time to parse who it was, even though I should have known right away. It was the Overstallion of the plantation, a broad-shouldered brute of an earth pony with a chip on his shoulder, based on his constant expression of disgust. “Get movin' here!”

I trotted over as quick as I could with how muddy the ground was. My name wasn't Stripes, but good luck telling the Overstallion that. I'd tried many times over the ten years I'd lived on the grounds of Wise Apple plantation and he just refused to use my real name. My name wasn't even all that hard to pronounce, even if it was in Zwahili. Kaskazini Nyota. Kas for short. I'd even tried to teach the Overstallion the Equestrian translation, North Star, but the pig-headed bastard wasn't taking it. I had stripes, and so I was forever “Stripes” to him, like every other zebra or zony on the plantation. He just didn't like anypony with zebra blood, as he'd once admitted. Zonies and zebras tended to get the worst, most dangerous, or least liked jobs.

“Yeah, boss?” I called back over the wind. There was nothing to be gained from brooding about the Overstallion. Right now there was work to do.

“Get some rope an' get dat tree out!” The Overstallion pointed a muddy hoof in the direction of the fallen sycamore. The base of the tree was still there, with jagged and broken pieces of wood jutting out like spikes. The rest of the tree, still being worked over by the ponies, had crashed straight through a wooden cabin, bisecting it in a crash of splintered wood and broken glass. A body had already been removed from inside and there were likely more to come. “Y'all gunna haul it out!”

It seemed an impossible task, given the size of the tree and the fact that the Overstallion had told just me to do it. I couldn't exactly complain though, not if I wanted to keep my job. There was a shed behind the cabins where I went to retrieve some rope, only to find a number of other workers in there already gathering tools. One such worker was a unicorn stallion with a mangy red mane. He looked up at me, rope hanging in a loose coil around his neck.

“Where y'at, Kas?” he asked.

“Ova by here, Spade,” I replied. “Busy?”

The unicorn snorted in laughter. “Naw, gots all de time Ah need.”

I grinned and nodded over my shoulder. “Good. Let's go.”

Out into the storm we went once more. I hoped it would let up soon. The plantation, like the rest of Martingale territory, was directly at sea level. Too much rain and we'd have some flooding problems on our hooves... more than usual, anyway. If the flooding got too bad it would destroy the orchards, and then we'd be in for some real trouble.

The world lit up for a brief moment, throwing the whole scene into stark contrast. I could see the stately plantation home and the orchards, the trees surrounding the property, and the five remaining worker's cabins. Darkness returned, and moments later there was a crack of thunder from out over the ocean. The storm was finally moving away, but we still had rain to deal with.

Spade and I made our way into the remains of what had once been Cabin 6. It was slow going and precarious, given that the second floor looked about ready to go at any time. Spade tossed me an end of the rope, and we quickly worked to get it underneath the tree and around the trunk. Spade was better at knots thanks to his magic, so he was the one to tie it while I waved the axe-wielding ponies off. The tree had most of its troublesome limbs removed. We just had to lift it out.

“T'ink ya magic can do it?” I teased to Spade. I knew how I was going to get it out, it would just take a lot of work.

“Sho 'nuff. Spade Head, best TK dis side'a Can'erlot!” It was one hell of a boast, from such a mangy looking stallion.

I snorted in laughter and grabbed the long end of the rope between my teeth. I motioned for Spade to follow and headed back out. Behind the cabin was another tree, this one a willow with huge limbs sticking out. I tossed the rope over one of the limbs.

“Ready?” I asked Spade. The stallion nodded and grabbed the rope as well. “On t'ree. One, two, t’ree!”

The tree barely moved at first. Spade and I found that our hooves were just sinking deeper as we tried to move. Then it happened; subtly at first, but it happened. My hoof found purchase in the mud and I felt myself moving forward. Over the sound of the storm came the soft creak of wood. Somepony cheered and egged us on. Slowly but surely the fallen sycamore was lifted free of the cabin. I grunted with the effort of trying to haul the tree up. Sure, physics were on our side, but it was still an extremely heavy slab of wood, and just two ponies were hauling it in our teeth. I could feel my muscles screaming in pain as I took step after step in the mud, my whole body rebelling and trying to tell me to just drop the tree.

I couldn't just drop it. I had to get it clear. And so I kept going until the tree was finally standing near straight. It was then a new problem occurred to me...

What the fuck do we do now?

The tree was up in the air, but if Spade and I let go it would just crash down into the cabin. It was taking all my effort to keep it up, and I had a feeling Spade was straining just as hard as I was. If one or the other left the tree was going to fall again.

“Hold it!” somepony shouted. My back was to the action, which covered up the fact I rolled my eyes. No shit, hold it. Eventually the voice shouted again. “Okay, lower it slow!”

Backwards I went, slowly and gingerly, lowering the tree once more. I felt a change in the slack, and chanced a glance over my shoulder. The tree was being lowered sideways, perpendicular to the cabin, aided by an earth pony that was pushing it slowly into position. It hit the mud with a soft slap. The moment it did I let the rope go. My muscles all screamed at the same time, contracting spasmodically.

I don't remember falling, but I do remember the mud hitting my face. I lay there for a long time as my muscles relaxed from the strain of hauling the heavy sycamore out of the way, just letting the cool rain spatter across my crimson stripes. Spade was lying not far away on his back, panting from the effort.

“Best TK... dis side'a Can'erlot?” I asked, echoing his earlier boast. Spade burst out laughing.

The rain let up early in the morning. Between the time we'd hauled the tree out, sometime around four in the morning, and when the rain let up around six, work had continued in the cabin. Two more bodies were found. I had only seen one of them being taken out, a pegasus mare who'd been impaled by a piece of the roof, but I'd also caught a glimpse of the other body wrapped in a sheet. It was far too small of a bundle. I tried not to think on it too much.

The dark clouds had parted in a few areas, showing off a dreary, pale grey morning. Diffused light filtered in that finally showed the destruction in all its devastating glory. The sycamore had a jagged scar down the back end where the lightning had struck. The wind had done the rest, pushing it straight through the two-storey wooden cabin. The falling trunk had effortlessly cleaved through the rotting shingles and the old wood, smashing through a stallion's room on the second floor and killing him instantly before continuing down to the bottom floor, obliterating the kitchen below. The impact had weakened the rest of the structure, and with the heavy winds of the thunderstorm the cabin hadn't been able to take it. The roof had collapsed in multiple areas, windows were smashed. The cabin was done for the time being.

The rest of the Wise Apple plantation's workers stood around the cabin. Faces held different expressions. Some were neutral, so used to the devastation of the Wasteland that an obliterated cabin was passé to them. Others were sympathetic, comforting the parents of the young one who'd been killed and those who'd lost what meagre possessions they'd had in the destruction. Still more, mostly those who'd once called the cabin home, had a frozen expression as they picked through the rubble. They moved their entire heads instead of their eyes, and didn't seem to blink, as the shock of it all still coursed through their system.

I knew nopony from the cabin, and lived in another one, which put me in an odd spot. I was sympathetic, but I felt as if my sympathies would be hollow due to how little I knew of those who lived there. Instead I hung at the fringes, waiting. Ponies and zebras alike were splitting off to return to their cabins and prepare for the day. I didn't know what the hell else to do, so I just took one last look at the devastated Cabin 6 and turned to go home.

I spotted a figure moving across the grass toward the cabins. There were a few hundred metres from the plantation home to the cabins, and it felt like an eternity for the figure to cross it. It did give me plenty of time to identify the stallion though. Despite being soaking wet, sore, tired, and miserable, I felt a little bit happier seeing the slim, pink (though he would always insist it's a light red) pegasus approaching. I felt awkward as could be standing there, just waiting for him to arrive, and I think he felt it too, as he picked up the pace a little, cantering up to me.

“Kas, you're okay!” he said brightly. He threw his hooves, muddy from the trek over, around my neck. He seemed to have realized at the last possible moment that his hooves were muddy and quickly pulled away from the hug but not before depositing some more mud on the back of my neck. He blushed brightly. “Sorry! Forgot about the mud.”

I snorted in laughter. The stallion was cute, what could I say? He must have missed the mud caking most of my hooves and part of my neck already. “S'alrigh', Core. Ah'm fine.”

“I heard a cabin had gotten hit, but I couldn't... couldn't get out last night, I was worried that it might have been yours, and-” Apple Core had a tendency to babble when he got nervous. I held up a hoof to quiet him before he could trip over his own tongue and work himself up too bad. Poor stallion had anxiety issues, and I could just imagine that last night wasn't the most pleasant of experiences for him.

“Ah'm safe.”

Apple Core snorted softly in derision. “Well I see that now. You could have sent word or something!”

“Ah was a bit busy. C'mon. Let's walk.”

We started walking past the cabins, leaving the group of workers behind. I didn't mind disappearing for a bit like this... it was going to be a slow work day anyway. We had a lot of work to do to get the cabin back in order but first we'd have to deal with the dead and help the injured, which would take most of the morning to do. That wasn't my job and not something I wanted to be involved with. Death was different for zebras than for ponies, and being a zony, a half-breed, I didn't feel like I'd be welcomed at the funeral of either, particularly a pony. After that was all done I could work to rebuild the cabin, but that would be much later in the day.

For now, I chose to be with Core. Apple Core and I went past the cabins toward the treeline and the river. Wise Apple plantation was alongside a distributary for the Muddy River that ran through Martingale territory and dumped out into the Lunar Ocean. The plantation maintained a boathouse alongside the distributary that made transporting the apples easier. With harvest season done, and with the recent storm, the boathouse would be empty. Sure enough, it was silent as we approached.

“You weren't hurt at all?” Apple Core asked.

I shook my head. “Jus' a few sore muscles. Not'in' a massage can't fix,” I assured the stallion. It hurt more than just “sore”, but I wasn’t going to let him know that.

He let out a soft breath and nodded. “Good. I was worried. What about... everypony else?”

“T'ree dead. One real young.” I shrugged a little bit. “Hard, but dis shit happens in de Wasteland,” I pointed out.

“Yeah. Just not usually here.” Apple Core pushed the door to the boathouse open and ushered me inside. I immediately went for a metal locker in the corner. There was a simple combination lock on it that I quickly had open.

“It's gunna be hard on 'em but Ah t'ink we all gunna get t'rough.” I said, reaching a hoof into the locker. There was a small metal lockbox at the back that I slipped out and unlocked with another quick combination. Resting comfortably on a pillow (to keep it safe) was a bottle of whiskey that had been ancient even before the Great War. I pulled it out and set the box aside just as Apple Core finished closing and locking the door to the boathouse.

“Always do.” The stallion trotted over to the edge of the dock near the water and sat down. I joined him, sitting between Core and the wall. He leaned against me almost immediately, draping a wing across my back while I twisted the cap off the whiskey. “We ponies are surprisingly resilient.”

“What about me?”

Apple Core snorted softly. “You're a zony. Part pony, that still counts.”

I chuckled softly and sipped straight from the bottle. The amber liquid burned a little on the way down but it was still an excellent drink. I didn't tend to drink heavy, though I did like whiskey. “Sho 'nuff.”

We were silent for a long while, just watching the little waves formed in the river from the wind. It was still extremely windy out, even if the storm had long since passed. I was okay with that. The weather was often hot and humid. A breeze was a gift on a morning like this.

“Suppose ya need to help with the cabin?” Core asked, taking a sip from the whiskey bottle and passing it back to me.

“Today, sho. Afta dat...” I let it hang for a moment. I don't know how much Core knew about his father's operation of the plantation. Everypony had a six month contract, and mine was about to end. I hadn't told him yet that I wasn't planning on staying very long. While I liked helping ponies, and I liked being helpful when working, there were things that just didn't sit right with me about working at Wise Apple plantation.

Apple Core was a fairly perceptive stallion, if nothing else. Not that I had made it particularly hard for him. He immediately turned his head to look up at me. “After that...?”

I sighed softly and sipped from the bottle of whiskey. I'd have to tell him sometime, might as well be now. “Ah'm leavin'.”

“You're what?”

I probably should have seen the reaction coming. Apple Core sat up so quickly he nearly knocked the bottle of whiskey out of my hooves, and stared at me through wide eyes. “But... you're leaving? Why? What could you possibly want to leave for?”

“Ah-”

“The Wasteland is shit, Kas! That's why they call it the Wasteland!”

“Loo-”

“There's raiders, and and and slavers, and mutants and radiation and-”

“Core!” The stallion's ears folded back and he looked down sheepishly. I sighed softly and kissed his snout. “Sorry. Ah didn' mean t'snap.”

“I know.” He looked up at me and gave my cheek a quick nuzzle.

“Ah gots to leave, Core,” I explained. I had wrestled with the idea for a long time. Wise Apple plantation was relatively safe, by Wasteland standards. We had guards, and we were far enough removed from Neigh Orleans that the slavers and raiders tended to leave us alone. Mutants tended to keep away, despite the occasional radigator or skeeter attack here and there. Despite that, there was just... something. I couldn't even properly explain it, to myself or to Core. “Gotta explore.”

“But why? You're safe here, and we pay you.”

I snorted in derision. “Pay? Ain't much, for what we do. Ah jus' haul a tree outta a cabin. Overstallion ain't even gunna give me t'anks. Ah won’ even get a bonus.” I didn't mean it to come off as being selfish, but for that kind of work I expected… a little something. “Y'all ain't seen de work we do. Apple buckin', plantin', fixin'. Fo' a dozen caps a week, an' dat's if d'Overstallion like us dat week.” We weren't technically slaves, because we were paid, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Apple Core was quiet for a moment, then looked at me oddly. “You're leaving because you're not getting paid enough? I could see if my Dad would give you a raise... maybe take you on as a full-time worker, instead of contract work, or maybe-”

I shook my head and sipped from the bottle of whiskey. “Naw, it's... it's a whole lotta everyt'in'. Jus' pilin’ up on itself. Overstallion doesn' like zebras an' he 'specially don' like us zonies.” I didn't know why, but he did. My best guess was that he disliked the idea of “mixed races” or something of the sort. All I know is he treated myself and some of the other zonies like shit. “Ah don' even mind de work, it jus' dat we don' get paid right for it. An'...” I trailed off, searching for the right way to continue.

“And?” Apple Core asked, quite insistently.

I'd reached the point where I had to mention the Something. That undefined Something that had been bugging me the last few weeks. I was quiet as I tried to find a way to put it into words. How do I explain something that I couldn't even understand myself? “It's... y'all know dem books ya like? De adventure kind?”

“Yeah?”

“Know how dem heroes neva seem to jus' wanna stay in one spot? Dey always movin', lookin' fo' more adventures?”

“Yeah. Usually they get dragged out on one though.”

“But dey neva question,” I pointed out. “De opportunity come up an' dey always take it. Fo' me...” I struggled for a moment to explain it. “Somet'in' called. Ah dunno what. Ah jus'... feel like Ah gotta get out an' see Equestria.” Core started to speak and I held up a hoof. “Ah know it got blown up. Ah can't stay here no mo'. Ah been here ten years, Core. Ten. 'Fore dat Ah don' even know where Ah'm from.” I'd come to the plantation when I was young, and couldn't remember a whole lot. I had vague memories of a gorgeous stained glass window and a zony in a black outfit, but aside from that my life had been entirely on the plantation since I'd been a young colt. “Ah feel like seein' de world.”

Apple Core took a long time to respond. He took the bottle of whiskey from me and took a long sip. I looked at the river outside, unable to look at Apple Core for the time being. The banks were higher than usual, flooded from last night's heavy rainfall. The wind blew a few reeds around and caused the murky, tepid water to lap against the wooden dock of the boathouse.

“I think I understand,” he said at long last in a quiet voice.

“Glad you do, 'cause Ah don',” I joked. Core laughed softly and gave me a hug with his wing.

“Just be safe out there.”

“Ah'm a grown stallion. Ah can take care a myself.”

Apple Core nodded. “I know.” Another small stretch of silence, during which time Core stretched out a little bit himself, resting his head on my belly. “What about us?”

It was a good question. I looked down at the stallion for a moment. I did like him, I just don't know if it was in the same way that he liked me. He was nice to be around, and sure was cute, but I just couldn't bring myself to stay for him. Apple Core just simply wasn't the kind of stallion I'd want to spend the rest of my life with. “...Ah dunno.” It was as honest an answer I could give. I didn't know. I'd be leaving for who knows how long, and he sure as shit wasn't the kind of stallion that could survive the Wasteland. He'd been brought up in relative comfort here on the plantation.

“Will you come back?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe. Ah dunno when, dough.” I sipped the bottle of whiskey, then set it down. I didn't quite feel like getting hammered at the moment. “Migh’ be a long time. Ah'd not wait.”

Apple Core said nothing to that. He looked back at me a little, then out over the water. I sighed softly. “Ah ain't happy 'bout it neider, but dere's plenty'a stallions out dere, jus' like us.” While it did seem more common, in my experience, for mares to be the one in same-sex relationships, I’d see a number of stallions come and go on the plantation that were like Core and I. I just never found myself interested in any.

“I know.” The pegasus reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a long sip from it. “Still hurts a bit. You could have told me earlier.”

“Ah shoulda.”

Core snorted softly, but said nothing. I nudged him gently after letting him brood for a few minutes. I knew better than to let him think too long about it. His anxiety troubles would kick in and I'd have an even worse mess on my hooves. “Y'know, dey ain't gunna come lookin' fo' me fo' a little while,” I pointed out. The Overstallion had a lot to deal with, and while I knew I was going to get in shit for disappearing like this, there wasn't much he could do. He could fire me, but I was already on the way out anyway. Besides, I wanted to piss him off after he tried to get me to haul that tree out on my own.

To his credit, Core tried to seem disinterested. He was trying to guilt-trip me into staying by being silent. He tried. But I noticed that his wings fluttered a little, the way they did when something he liked caught his attention. He did try though. Tried his very best, and it was cute.

I leaned down a bit. I aimed right for his left ear. I could see him try to hold a straight face, then it broke out into a smirk.

“Don't do it.”

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

“You now Goddesses-damn well what. Don't do it, Kas.” I kept leaning forward, slowly. “Don't do it! I'm warning you!” he said, the smirk turning into an all-out smile.

“Whattya gunna do? Tie me up?”

“Don't tempt me. I swear I will.” I closed the gap and nipped playfully at his ear. The reaction was almost immediate. He let out a little squeak and batted playfully at my snout. “You fucker!”

“C'mon, hotshot! Ah heard dem t'reats!” I challenged, leaning back a bit. Apple Core pushed the bottle of whiskey far enough out of the way, then twisted around and tackled me to the floor of the boathouse. Our lips locked, and I was suddenly thankful for the fact that the boathouse was far removed from the rest of the plantation.

I also decided I'd miss Apple Core, even if I didn't love him.

Chapter 2

“Be sure to take a trot along the famous Crescent Road! This beautiful historic road contains many of Martingale's famous plantations, and a gorgeous view of the Lunar Ocean and Crescent Harbour!

- The Hitchhiker's Guide to Equestria, Martingale chapter

~~~~

“So, dis it, huh?”

“Yep.” I did one last sweep of the room to ensure my meagre possessions were in order. Given how little I was paid, my possessions didn't account for much. I had a small pouch that contained only a couple dozen caps, a small set of canvas saddle bags, and a canteen. I wasn't exactly stocked up for a long adventure but I figured I could gather what I needed once I left.

“Ya know, we gunna miss y'all here. Sho y'all can't stay?” Spade asked. “Ya do good work.”

“Ah know. But it ain't my place.”

Spade snorted in amusement. “Can't even stay ovanight? Bourré night t'night.”

“Nah. If Ah stay tonight, Ah'd have t'stay anotha six months.”

“Fair 'nuff.” Spade extended a hoof toward me. “Ah'll miss ya. But hey, y'all do whatcha gotta do. If dat big ol' world's callin', go for it.”

I ignored Spade's hoof and went for a friendly hug instead. “T'anks. Ya been a good friend, Spade.”

He laughed softly and patted my back. “Ya too. Now get goin'. An' brin' somet'in' nice back,” he said with a grin.

I laughed and left the cabin. It was a gorgeous morning, compared to the last few days. The sky was clearer than yesterday, the thick grey clouds broken up in some areas as if some giant shotgun had been fired into the air. The sun was shining, causing a number of Celestia's rays to poke through the holes in the clouds. This early in the morning, it wasn't too hot, but it was as humid as ever.

I trotted across the yard to the plantation home. The stately manor had survived since long before the war. Overall it seemed no worse for wear. The white paint was dirty and chipped in some areas, and a few roof tiles were missing from the squat black roof, but otherwise the two-storey mansion was in great shape. I hadn't been inside in a while, but I knew it looked even better inside. I hoped the owner was up this early in the morning... I didn't feel like waiting too long to get going on my trip.

Excitement flooded through me as I neared the house. Just a few more steps, a few more minutes, and I could secure my freedom. All I had to do was get there, and-

The back door to the mansion opened and out walked the fuckin' Overstallion. He spotted me and stopped at the top of the stoop, looking down at me as I approached.

“De fuck you want, Stripes?”

Of all the fucking things, the Overstallion had to stand in my way. Any cheer I had vanished in an instant.

“Ah need t'speak wit de boss.”

“Ya know workers ain't allowed in de house. Not wit'out de boss' say-so,” he said simply.

I snorted in annoyance. Workers weren't allowed to just saunter in and stay. For situations like this, it was allowed. “Ah need t'speak wit him 'bout my contract.”

The Overstallion seemed to mull it over for a moment. I stood my ground, looking right into his eyes. For a moment there came a look in his eyes that I didn't like. A hint of pure malice, gone in an instant.

“No.”

The answer took me completely by surprise. He really had to right to be stopping me in the first place. “Excuse me?”

“No. Y'ain't allowed in.”

“Ah've got t'get in dere.” I needed to speak with the plantation owner about the contract. Sure, it didn't have to be right this instant, but the Overstallion was ticking me off now.

“An' AH said ya don't. Lemme tell ya somet'in'.” He looked down at me, and a slight grin crossed his face. “Fuck dat contract. Y'all might t'ink ya just workers, but Ah know better. It ain't a workin' contract. We own you. Look at ya. Not'in' more'n a poor, striped piece a shit.” He took a step toward me but stayed put on the stoop. He seemed to enjoy being taller than me, lording over me. “Ya wouldn't last ten fuckin' minutes out dere. Ya'd come grovellin' back here, beggin' me for work. Ah almost can't wait t'see dat, actually. Ya know what? Ah might even give ya your job back.”

I glared at the Overstallion. He wore the most shit-eating grin I'd ever seen, like he'd finally figured it all out. Like somehow he'd been handed the answers. He knew just how to control us. The worst part? He had a point. The plantation owner, well, owned us. By extension, so did the Overstallion. He was the go-between for the owner and us workers. If the Overstallion put in a bad word about me, and it came down to my word versus the Overstallions, I'd be fucked.

No work, no caps. No caps, no food and no shelter.

Had I not been so pissed off at the Overstallion's arrogance, I may have planned my next move a little better. I let the anger get the best of me. I was too ticked and simply retaliated blindly. What I should have done was remained calm and not burn any bridges.

I didn't just burn the bridge, I dropped a balefire bomb on it.

“Ya know,” I began,” Ah been tryin' for years t'figure out just why y'all hate us striped folk.” I took a step toward the stoop, as if daring him to stop me from trying to get into the house. “Can't quite tell if it's jus' dat ya wife gettin' plowed by a zeeb, or dat she lik-”

I went down. Hard.

It was an off-the-cuff, spur of the moment insult. It wasn't sophisticated or smart, just crude. Meant to get a rise out of the Overstallion. It was completely stupid. In hindsight I should never have said it. Then again, I never expected his reaction.

The Overstallion leaped at me. Clean off the top off the stoop, using his hind legs to spring off the porch. The hoof connected with my cheek and we both went tumbling to the ground. I was left dazed and unable to react to the Overstallion's follow-up attack. He was on top of me, snarling like some savage beast.
I hadn't meant to set him off like this. Whatever I'd said had touched more than a nerve, because there was murder in his eyes. It scared the shit out of me. I was no fighter. I had no way to defend myself. The stallion just kept swinging wildly. I guess I should be thankful he was too angry to actually aim punches and was just going for pain. I somehow managed to get my hooves in front of my face. I knew my mouth was open at one point, but I couldn't tell if I was screaming, calling for help, calling for mercy, or anything of that sort.

It didn't last more than a few seconds, but those few seconds felt like an eternity. Each blow stung worse than the last. For a brief moment I worried for my life. Whatever had set the Overstallion off had just driven him berserk. All I could remember was when the blows finally stopped, when I was able to lower my forelegs safely.

A pair of the plantation owner's guards were forcibly pulling the Overstallion off of me. He struggled against them but they held firm, pulling him away. The Overstallion glared at me, fire still in his eyes, and he spit in my direction as he was led away. It fell far short. He was dragged away, leaving me in the dirt and mud.

“Are you hurt?”

I turned my head and saw the plantation's owner, standing on the stoop. If I had one word to describe the pegasus stallion, it would be “immaculate”. Despite the fact we lived in a post-war Wasteland, the owner's green-apple coat was clean, and his brown mane and tail were both groomed perfectly. The owner was even chubby, for crying out loud. It made me wonder just what the fuck they got to eat in the house that made him chubby.

“Naw.” I was in pain but there were no broken bones or anything like that. A few bruises at worst. No worse for wear, really. “Ah'm okay, Sir.”

“Good,” the owner said, rather relieved. I wasn't entirely sure if he was sincerely relieved that I was uninjured, or if he was just relieved that one of his workers was uninjured. In an effort to feel better about the situation, I convinced myself it was the former. “I've never quite seen the Overstallion like that before.” Like his son, Apple Core, Appleseed had a very soft accent that was barely even there, compared to somepony like me or Spade. “Something you said must have really ticked him off. You shouldn't piss him off like that.” Despite all his concern, I couldn't help but notice that Appleseed never offered to help me up, nor stepped down from the stoop.

“Ah know.” I got up on my hooves and dusted myself off. I'd missed a big patch of mud by a bare inch, for what it was worth. For that matter, Appleseed could have helped me up. Of course though, that would mean getting his hooves dirty. Couldn't have that, could we?

Appleseed nodded. “Well then. Get on back to work... the Overstallion will be taking the rest of the day off, but the rest of you still need to work.” He turned to leave and I called out to stop him. He turned back to look at me. “What is it?”

“Ah needed t'talk to ya, Sir,” I told him.

“About?”

“My contract.”

Appleseed looked at me oddly for a moment. It dawned on him after a moment and he nodded. “Ah! Of course. My wife told me that somepony would be by today.”

That made me hate the Overstallion even more. The owner knew. He knew, and the Overstallion still tried to prevent me from going in to get the contract signed. “Yup, dat's me,” I said, trying to conceal my anger. All I had to do was hold out just a little longer and I'd be free.

“Well then. Come on in, let's get this paperwork sorted out!”

I followed Appleseed up the stoop to the porch, and eventually into the house. Though I'd been in many times it continued to impress me. It had a gorgeous design, but I had no idea what the style was called. All I knew was that it was a beautiful place to live, and Apple Core was a lucky stallion.

The back door opened to a wide hallway that ran the length of the house, front to back, giving the whole house an open feeling. The hardwood floors were covered here and there with once-richly coloured (now faded and threadbare) carpeting, and the stark white walls were meticulously cleaned every other day - by us workers, no less. Thanks to the somewhat clear day out, sunlight filtered through the windows and gave the house a warm feeling. I loved it.

Maybe one day I'd own a place like this. Fix one up on my adventures or something.

I had barely taken a step through the door when Appleseed stopped me. “Shoes, please.”

Right. Spirits forbid I get the inside of their house just a little dirtied. Much as I liked Core, and the house, I disliked the clear divide of the walls. An “Us and Them” deal. Inside the house: sheltered, clean. Safe. Outside the house: dangerous, dirty. I couldn't exactly argue the point though, and didn't feel like it.

Next to the door was a small rack of wooden horseshoes. A fancy little sign was hooked to the rack: Guest Shoes. I grabbed a set and hooked them on my dirty, muddied hooves. They clip-clopped loudly against the wooden portions of the floor while I followed Appleseed.

The walls were covered in old items from the past. A scratched yet still functioning mirror here, hoof-carved cabinets there. And on many of the walls were paintings from long before the Great War. I was compelled, driven to stop and take a look at one. It was faded with time and lack of care, but like the old house it hung it, in still had it's charm. I stared for a long moment, lost in the details of the painting.

It was the plantation, seen from a high angle. According to the brass plaque on the bottom edge, the painting depicted it nearly a century before the Great War even began. Nevertheless the house looked like it had barely changed in all that time. I took in the meticulously painted details of the house and fields, where workers toiled. I leaned in a little closer, close enough to see that the workers were as detailed as the rest of the painting.

Close enough to see that many of them had black and white stripes.

“Are you coming?” Appleseed was standing further up the hallway.

I was drawn out of my reverie before I had a chance to even formulate a proper opinion on the figures. Instead I simply nodded and hurried up the hallway.

Appleseed led me into a small study. It was a warm, pleasant room. At one end of the room was a large window that looked out over the fields. The rest of it was taken up by dark wood bookshelves. Near the window sat a pair of overstuffed chairs, facing a dark desk. A unicorn mare was sitting at that desk, writing in a rather large book. I immediately saw where Apple Core got his coat from: the mare had a very similar shade of pink (or, I suppose, light red) for her coat.

“Ah, hello there!” I liked her. Core's mother, Cotton Candy, was a pleasant mare who rarely left the plantation home. She was, as far as I could gather (and from what Core told me), good with management. Appleseed might have been the face of Wise Apple plantation, but Cotton Candy was the brain. “Can I help you?”

“This zebra is here...” Appleseed began.

“Zony,” I corrected.

“...zony is here to talk about his contract.” He shot me a little look of annoyance when I interrupted him. I took my heritage seriously.

“Alright! Name?” Cotton Candy asked.

“Kaskazini. Kaskazini Nyota.”

There was a soft squeaking as Cotton Candy left the desk. Her hindquarters were strapped into a wooden chair, with a pair of wooden wheels attached on either side. They squeaked and rattled gently as she moved. Using her forelegs she rolled herself to a nearby filing cabinet. She opened the cabinet and started hunting for a file, mumbling to herself. “K, K... aha! Kaskazini.” She floated out a file and wheeled herself back to the desk.

I waited patiently. I had no idea why she'd lost the ability to walk and Core never spoke of it. All I knew is that, for as far back as I could remember, she'd been in that wheelchair. She set the file on the desk and started flipping through it.

“Let's see here...” she started to read the file. “Ah, you've been here almost twelve years now! Quite the loyal worker, Kas.”

Huh. I'd always thought it was only ten. I must have lost track in all that time. It certainly explained why the file looked bigger than I thought. “S'pose so, Ma'am.”

“Alrighty, then. What were you thinking? Going to add another year to this rather lengthy career with us?”

“Actually, Ah was hopin' t'sign my walkin' papahs,” I told the mare. It had taken a long while to be able to say it, as both Cotton Candy and Appleseed assumed I was just there to sign another contract. It felt great to finally say it, after... well, I guess 12 years.

Cotton Candy blinked. “Your... walking papers?” She seemed rather confused. In fact, both she and Appleseed looked confused. They must not have had anypony ever ask them something like this. After twelve years of work they must have just assumed I was going to be in it for life.

“After all this loyal work?” Appleseed asked, looking a little shocked. “I... well, I suppose. Are you sure? Is it something with the Overstallion? I can talk to him-”

“It ain-”

“-ake sure you aren't targeted in any way. I-”

“It AIN'T about de Overstallion!” I knew where Core got it from now. Where Core backed down though, his father seemed to bristle at being interrupted that rudely. I looked at him and shrugged. “Personal reasons.”

“I understand,” Cotton Candy said, giving her husband a look that seemed to placate him for now. “You're a good worker, Kaskazini. It'll be a pity to see you go. Let me just get your papers.” She wheeled away. Appleseed took another look at me, this time much more neutral than before. What was going through his head, I wondered. “If I remember right, you can read?”

“Ah can.”

“Rare gift in the Wasteland,” she said as she wheeled her way back.

Cotton Candy passed me the yellowed, ancient sheaf of paper. I took a long few minutes to read through it. Simple enough stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary, my soul wasn't up for trade or anything of the sort. Anything that I didn't personally own had to be left behind, but that didn't amount to much either way. Most of my personal effects were already packed, and I wasn't planning on stealing any tools or something like that. Of note, I got no bonus for anything like long service or something of the sort.

I wasn't expecting I would, but shit, it would have been a nice gesture.

“In fact, your mother was a good worker, too,” Cotton Candy said as I read over the release papers and signed them. “I know it's been said, but I am sorry for your loss.”

“T'anks, ma'am.” It was a long time ago, but I still disliked talking about it. For now, anyway.

“Sure I can't convince you otherwise?” Appleseed asked. “You've done a lot for us here. A lot of good work. I heard you're the one to thank for getting that tree out of the cabin the other day. We can work something out.”

“Naw. Ah appreciate it, dough.” I did, in a way. For just a moment, I believed they were sincere. I believed that they wanted me to stay, that they actually cared for me. I wasn't quite sure whether they actually wanted me to stay on out of the sincerity of their hearts, or if they just didn't want to be short a worker with the damage that still plagued the plantation. I figured Cotton Candy would be sincere, but Appleseed... not so much.

It was a question that nagged me all the way back to my cabin. By the time I'd put on my saddlebags and left the cabin I still hadn't come up with a good answer. In the end I just came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. They'd seemed to sincerely care about me.

That was good enough for me.

There was nopony in the cabin when I stopped to grab my saddlebags. I took one last look around the little place. It was as spartan as could be; just a few rickety pieces of wooden furniture and an uncomfortable bed. As uncomfortable as it was, I got the feeling I was going to be missing it soon.

I'd miss it all, really. If nothing else the plantation was reasonably clean. I got the distinct feeling the rest of the Wasteland would not be.

Despite how excited I was to leave, I felt like I was being drawn back. It made every step across the field feel like I was walking against a heavy wind. For as much as I hated it, the plantation was safe. It was secure, isolated, and I didn't have to worry about much more than sore muscles and shitty food.

But I knew I couldn't come back. If I came back I'd have to face the Overstallion, and after seeing that deadly look in his eyes I knew better than to show my face around here again. Besides, even if he didn't try to kill me, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right about me not lasting ten minutes.

That left just one possibility. I had to just keep walking.

I can't remember having ever been to the front of the plantation before. Of course, I'd seen it just recently in the painting, but I hadn't actually been up here. The back was fairly boring: the house, a half dozen wooden cabins, and a large orchard of sad looking, barely-fruitful apple trees. The front was something else. Once upon a time it may have been beautiful, and I had to admit it still kind of was. A white gravel path led from the front stoop all the way to the road. It curved around a chipped fountain which had long since fallen into disrepair. The only thing in the fountain now was a thin layer of dirty water and rotting leaves.

Lining either side of the gravel path were evenly spaced trees with hedges in between. Both had the same look all greenery in Martingale territory had. The trees were dark and deadened and missing the grand majority of their leaves. Those that still clung to the limbs were brown and brittle. The whole tree was frozen in time. It wouldn't grow but likely wouldn't rot either. The hedges looked even worse. Once vibrant and decorative they were now brown and shrivelled. The only thing to survive intact was the grass, if only because of how wet it always was, but even then the grass had a brown look to it.

It gave me an overall spooky feeling, like if I happened to turn and look back at Wise Apple plantation the once stately home would look like a decrepit, broken-down mansion out of some foal's book. Even though I'd lived my whole life in the Martingale area, I never got used to seeing the forests of these dead-looking trees. Every time I looked out in the bayou that surrounded the plantation I got a little freaked out.

It didn't help that the bayou was dangerous. Nopony that went in alone made it out.

I stepped onto the gravel path and continued to walk. My hooves crunched with each step down the long path to the road. It felt like it took an eternity just to reach the road when in reality it took no more than a few minutes. I truly hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come.

An hour.

I'd been walking for a whole fucking hour, and the city seemed no closer than when I'd left.

I could see it the whole time, taunting me. Martingale territory was incredibly flat. No hills to speak of anywhere. That meant that the whole time I could see Neigh Orleans in the distance, and it just never seemed to get any closer.

I was steadily going fucking insane.

Not literally, but the walk was brutal. It was just dead quiet, not even a rustle of leaves or anything from the wind. The only sound, other than the steady clip-clop of my hooves on the cracked blacktop road, was the sound of the tide to my left.

The road I was on led along the coast. One would think it meant there'd be a great view, but there wasn't. Instead, the only thing I could see to my left was a pony-high concrete wall that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. The walls were engraved with arcane symbols every few yards. They didn't make for interesting scenery.

They were, however, impossibly vital.

Martingale sat at sea level. A good storm could easily turn the already swampy territory into one massive lake. The concrete wall was part of a levee system that was designed to prevent such a thing from happening. Of course, after the war, there was nopony left to maintain the levees.

That meant that everypony in Martingale territory: myself, Apple Core, even Spade, all of us put our faith in the arcane symbols that were etched into the wall. From what I'd heard, they were there to give the wall strength.

They'd held for now, but they were two hundred years old at this point. The wall keeping me and everything here from dying was older than most ghouls. And yet everypony put their faith in the ancient symbols.

I felt compelled to go check it out. I was on an adventure, wasn't I? This was part of the adventure: seeing things you knew were out there but hadn't seen. I knew what a levee was, I knew what it was there for (every Martingale resident did), but I'd never seen it.

The ground crunched softly underhoof as I transitioned from cracked blacktop to dead grass. The concrete part of the levee was sharply angled and worn smooth from age, but it was still not that high. I ran my hoof along one of the engraved arcane symbols. Pony magic was completely alien to me. Neither of my parents had been a unicorn, and the only unicorn I knew well, Spade, tended toward the dimmer side of magic theory. He knew he had spells but didn't particularly care how they worked. It made for a rather limited magical education.

That said though, the symbols were beautiful, even if I had no idea how to read them. I looked to the top edge of the levee wall and jumped up. I couldn't jump high enough to clear it, so I kicked a hoof off the wall to help boost myself up.

I wish I could say I'd climbed over effortlessly. I was just happy nopony was there to see me scrambling to get my hindlegs up and around while I held tight with my forelegs. Eventually I'd gotten to the top of the levee, and got to see my first up-close view of the ocean.

The top of the levee was covered in grass and dirt that gently sloped down to the water's edge. The dark water was lapping gently at the grass, brown from mud. On such a still day, it looked like a massive mirror. As the clouds rolled past, bands of light rippled across the water. It was just incredible. No other words for it. Maybe I just lacked the eloquence, but incredible worked. I felt even smaller beside the vast ocean. If I squinted I could see, over there in the distance, the hint of land to the south. What was there, I couldn't guess.

I sat there for a moment, mostly to rest my hooves, but to just enjoy the view too. I wished, for just a moment, that Core was here to see this. He'd probably like it.

I lost track of time, sitting there. I don't know whether I'd been staring for five minutes or five hours. There was no deep contemplation or anything like that, I was just taking in the sights and planning my next move. There wasn't much to plan just yet though. I didn't know anything about the city. I'd have to get there first before I could plan anything out.

So I climbed down from the levee and turned toward the city. It seemed, maybe, that it was just a little bit closer.

Chapter 3

Neigh Orleans? It's alright. Better than Steedport anyway. The folks are normal here, and the crime rate is lower, too.

- Pre-war interview with a Martingale citizen

~~~~

“Oh come on. We ain't gotta do dis.”

I hadn't been in the city more than half an hour when it all went down. I had just passed the street sign into Neigh Orleans and was getting a look at the city for the first time when a trio of ponies had stepped out from behind an overturned carriage. I had gotten the feeling they weren't going to be very friendly just by the way they were dressed. Not many friendly ponies wore light barding covered in spikes. My suspicions had proven to be right when the stallion leader, a unicorn, had drawn a pistol which was currently floating with the barrel pointed to my chest.

His two companions looked much more intimidating. The stallion on his left looked to be made entirely of spikes (and one large shoulderpad), his hooves covered in metal horseshoes. The mare to the leader's right had a knife clutched in her mouth, a wild look in her eyes, and a bandolier full of more knives strapped to her chest. The implication was clear.

I was being robbed.

“Shut de fuck up. Yer caps, now,” the leader spat out.

My odds weren't very good. Three to one, one of them had a gun, and I had nothing. Fighting was not going to work. I had to find another way out. Problem was there wasn't anywhere to go. There were houses to my left, but they were too far away. To my right was a tall building that was much closer, but there was no way for me to get there with them looking at me. I had to get creative somehow.

Now granted I could have just given them my caps. It would have made it a lot easier. I wasn't exactly wealthy and I could easily make them back once I found work. But it was the principal of the thing. I wasn't just going to give up my money! I'd actually worked, and worked hard, to earn it, and they just expected me to toss it over?

Fuck that.

I had to stop stalling though. I'd been at it too long, and I could see the stallion's companions were getting antsy. The mare to his left kept looking between me and the gun-toting stallion, her mouth pulled back in a vicious grin as she clenched the handle of the knife. I noted some rather dark stains on the blade. The spiked stallion, bigger than either of his companions, was casually shifting his weight from left hooves to right. Each movement brought my eyes to the metal horseshoes he wore. With his size those were going to hurt if they hit me.

I had to give them some credit. They were being relatively polite. Three on one, they could have easily taken my caps. Instead they asked. How courteous.

My silence had ticked the leader off. He'd had enough. With a snort of derision he turned to the mare. “Ya know what, fuck dis. Ra-”

“Hold on!” I held up a hoof. “Alright. Fine. Just gimme a moment.”

Time's up. I had to think quickly.

I stuck my head into the saddlebag and took a look around. There had to be something I could give them to distract them. The plan that came to mind wasn't the greatest, but I didn't exactly have time to come up with anything else.

I straightened up. I gripped my canteen's strap between my teeth. “Here,” I told them. “Ah keep 'em here. Keeps 'em safe.”

With a quick flick of my head I sent the canteen flying. The reaction was exactly what I'd been expecting. All their eyes turned to the canteen to watch it arc through the air and none of the bandits looked at me. I quickly turned to the nearby building and ran. There was not a whole lot of time before they figured out my canteen was filled with nothing but water. I had to get away before they realized that.

Alright, so it wasn't the smartest of plans. But if need be I could buy more water, or find more, and I was more than willing to sacrifice a simple canteen for my life.

I made for the building to my right, the closest one. It used to be an old hotel, the Carriage House Inn, according to the sign out front. Now it was a sad looking old building. I had just started climbing through a broken front window when I heard the shout from behind me.

Fuck.

I clambered through the window just as the stallion fired. The crack of the gun wasn't as terrifying as the snapping sound that came shortly after, when the bullet zipped past my ear. It surprised me so much I slipped and fell through the window instead of gracefully climbing through. I was on my hooves in a flash, adrenaline egging me on.

The lobby was too exposed, too empty to be an effective hiding place. I ran for a staircase at the back of the room. It was a panic decision. I didn't have the time to think about escape routes or outsmarting the bandits. I just had to get away from the one with the gun.

I took the stairs two at a time, all the while setting what must have been a land speed record. A hallway stretched out on either side of me. I chose left, then the first open door I found. It led into a bar of some kind. Like the lobby, it was nearly empty and far too exposed. A couple broken tables strewn about, some pool tables to my right, and a bar to my left. I turned to leave and look for a better hiding spot.

“Spread out! Razor, watch dat door, make sure dat fucker don' leave. Tin, wit me.” The stairs in the lobby creaked.

Shit. I couldn't step back out into the hallway. I'd be spotted instantly. There was only one option left: the bar. Quickly as I could, and quietly as I could, I ducked behind it.

I huddled behind the bar, adrenaline surging through me. It was causing me to shake a little bit. Or maybe that was the fear. I hadn't quite figured it out. I don't know how long it would take for the bandits to give up, but I planned to stay until they did.

I heard a creak. Then a hoofstep. Then another. Somepony was in the room.

I had to see what was out there. It's surprisingly terrifying to hear hoofsteps from somepony you can't see. I looked around until I saw a shaft of light to my right. I shifted toward it and found a small hole in the bar where wood had rotted a little. The field of view through it was limited but at least it helped me see what was going on.

The stallion with the gun was in the room. The pistol was still floating in front of him. He checked the area behind one of the pool tables, then turned to look at the bar. Our eyes met. For the second time in my life, I was looking into the eyes of somepony that wanted to kill me.

My heart stopped. He tilted his head and started for the bar. I didn't think he spotted me. I think he was just smarter than I gave him credit for.

There was only about three metres of distance between him and the bar. Three metres for me to find something to save my life with. It was hard to think when death was coming at you. I looked around in a panic. Every story I'd read talked about a weapon behind the bar. There had to be one!

And there it was. I pulled it from the shelf under the bar. It was little more than two metal barrels and a trigger attached to a splitting piece of wood. I had never fired a gun in my life. I knew the basics though: point the open end of the barrel at the bad guy, pull the trigger. Simple, right?

I clamped my teeth around the bit and checked the hole in the bar. The raider was close. When he had just about reached the bar I jumped up and pulled the trigger with my tongue.

We both went flying.

I was stunned for a moment. When reality hit I was staring down the smoking twin barrels of the gun with my ears ringing. There were fallen bottles of alcohol everywhere. My neck was sore and I realized I'd fallen sideways. That fucking gun had a kick to it. I had never expected anything like it. I shook my head to try and get rid of the ringing and picked the gun back up. Just in time, too. The mare had heard the blast and had come running in. My fight or flight mechanism had kicked in. I didn't think. I just turned my head on the charging mare and pulled the trigger.

This time I was ready. I set my hindlegs to try and absorb the recoil. The force of the recoil jerked my neck a bit and sent a shockwave rattling through my body. I watched as the mare's chest and lower neck exploded in a splash of blood and flesh. The force of the blast knocked her off her hooves and she hit the ground next to the stallion.

The last stallion made his appearance. He hesitated in the doorway, looking first at his fallen companions, then at me. I pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

Click.

In the silence of the hotel that click was almost as loud as a gunshot. I heard it clearly over my ringing ears. The stallion heard it too. He smirked and started to advance on me, slowly, deliberately.

I tried again. Click. A third time. Click. By then the stallion was practically on me.

Fuck.

Well, at least he wasn't trying to kill me straight out. I think he wanted revenge for the murder of his comrades. The bandit picked me up and threw me across the room. The impact knocked the wind clear out of my lungs. Before I could get back up he was on me again. It felt like I'd been hit by a sledgehammer. He threw a second, then third punch, then tossed me again. My vision swam and I saw stars. Every inch of me hurt.

I smashed into the pool table with enough force to buckle the age-worn leg I hit. I couldn't move. My body felt numb and heavy. The stallion was approaching again with that fucking slow walk. Just end it! I was already terrified enough!

The pool table creaked and buckled further. A number of pool balls rattled to the floor near me. I gathered the strength to grab one of the pool balls in a curled fetlock. With my head thumping and my vision about to go, I threw the pool ball in one last, desperate attempt to save me.

I must have been the luckiest stallion in the world. There was no other explanation. The stallion had turned his head when he raised his right hoof to go for the killing blow. The pool ball struck him in his exposed temple. He lost his balance with a roar of pain and cracked his head off the other pool table. The stallion slumped to the ground, out cold.

I didn't have time to sit and be surprised. He wasn't quite dead yet. Adrenaline and an instinct of self-preservation kicked me into high gear. I would never have done what I did otherwise. The leader of the group was nearby with his gun on the ground. Somehow it ended up in my mouth, pointed at the unconscious raider.

I fired and just kept firing until the slide locked back and it wouldn't fire any more.

Coming down from an adrenaline high is not fun. Particularly when reality comes crashing back in and you see what happened. When reality did return I was sitting between two of the large windows in the bar. The Celestia rays that came through the dirty glass bathed the whole room and its grisly scene in warm light. I didn't feel warm though. I was staring at the dead mare, her eyes open and glazed over. There was no peace there. No understanding.

Just anger. Confusion. Pain. Shock. Hatred.

I turned my head and puked.

It wasn't very badass, but I wasn't a badass. I was a plantation worker. I knew I would have had to go up against ponies like this eventually. Dangerous ponies who were out to kill me and steal my stuff. I just never expected it would be like this. I'd never expected to feel this fucking ill afterwards. The heroes were always supposed to be triumphant after fights.

Right now I certainly didn't feel very heroic. I felt dirty. Sure, they were criminals. Sure, they'd tried to rob me and kill me. But in a flash, a simple trigger pull, I'd completely ended three lives. The realization crashed in that they'd experienced as much as I had. They all had parents, friends, lovers. Ambitions. Goals. Hopes and dreams.

Gone. Just like that. And I'd been the one to do it. Accompanying it came a sickening sense of both power and disgust. My stomach heaved but I managed to keep it all down this time.

I brushed my foreleg across my lips and got to my hooves. Sitting here wasn't going to change anything. What was done was done and there was no going back now. All I had to do was to just keep moving. I could deal with this some other time, when I wasn't surrounded by bodies and puke.

I went over to where the last bandit had been killed. If this was the kind of city I would be exploring, I would need the pistol. I forced myself to look away from the bodies as I tossed the gun into my saddlebags.

The lobby stairs creaked as I made my way down. Without equines shooting at me it was easier to take a look around. I decided that, once upon a time, the hotel had been beautiful. There were still signs of it. The dusty floor had a gorgeous pattern on its faded tiles. The reservation desk had beautifully carved wood along the edge. On either side of the room were murals, long faded and depicting scenes of rolling hills and blue skies. Yet despite the signs of beauty it just felt hollow to me.

Neigh Orleans was supposed to have been so much more. It was all supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to have been a city full of life. It was the Big Easy, for fuck's sake! The city of art and food and jazz music. I knew we lived in the Wasteland but for some reason I expected more.

Maybe I was just naive. Maybe it was unrealistic to expect more than getting robbed within the first twenty minutes in the city. But fuck, would it be too much to ask for a little jazz music? Or a few friendly ponies? Maybe a little bit of the beauty I'd wanted to see.

I waited for an answer. The stuffy silence of the Carriage House Inn was my only reply. “Fuck you, too,” I grunted at the reservation desk.

Moping about it wasn't going to change anything. Whether I liked it or not, Neigh Orleans wasn't the city I had hoped it would be. I was here now, though, which meant I had to make it into the city I wanted it to be. Well, in my own mind anyway. I had to find some silver lining, some pleasant side to all of it.

I thought back to the fight with the raiders and my stomach lurched again. The silver lining would have to come later.

In a last-ditch effort to get my mind off of things I decided to take a look around the hotel. It would keep me distracted as long as I didn't go to the second floor and hopefully would eventually get my mind completely off the dead upstairs. I might even find something that would make the trip worthwhile.

My first stop ended up being the hotel's dining room. A half-dozen ceiling-high windows lined the wall opposite me. Though stained with grime they still showed what may have been a nice courtyard once upon a time. Now it looked like the rest of the greenery: dead and shrivelled. The rest of the room was frozen in time. Tables were still set with dirty dishes and empty glasses. A threadbare suit jacket hung from a chair back. Set against one wall was a short little stage with a piano resting on it.

I trotted up onto the stage. I brushed my hoof across the dusty, off-white keys of the piano. Without anypony to take care of it for nearly two hundred years, the notes were dissonant and sent a shiver running up my spine. I didn't even know how to play anyway. I set my sights on a kitchen door across the room from me and headed that way. I had no qualms about raiding the place. I knew it was empty and abandoned. Besides, I had a feeling my canteen outside was emptied by the raiders. I would need some food and water if I wanted to keep going.

The kitchen made me retch as soon as I entered. Two hundred years of decay in the hot, humid environment had filled it with a stench that I could barely even put into words. It smelled like death, pure and simple. Like rot and decay. It conjured up images of the dead ponies upstairs. My stomach lurched again and I nearly lost my stomach again. Fuck it.

I didn't need to look for food that badly.

I rushed out of the kitchen and back into the lobby. Time to move on. Exploring the hotel hadn't stopped my mind from wandering back to the fight. To the look in the mare's eyes. That empty, hollow look, judging my actions.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Fuck that look. I didn't want to kill another pony if that's the kind of thing I had to deal with.

As I stepped back out into the humid Martingale heat, I had a feeling these three bandits wouldn't be the last equines I would have to kill. To live in such a dangerous post-apocalyptic world I would have to get used to it. I pushed the thoughts aside, thoroughly annoyed that every time I thought I was done thinking about the killing it came back. In an effort to distract myself once more I began the search for my canteen.

The clouds parted overhead, illuminating a small patch of road. I caught a glint of metal and found my canteen in a pool of rapidly drying water. I grunted and tossed it back into my pack. Thirst was starting to nag at me but I felt I had to get out of the area quickly. It was entirely possible these bandits had friends who were going to look for them. When these friends found them dead I wanted to be nowhere near. If the dead bandits were anything to go by any of their friends would show me no mercy for the murders.

I adjusted my saddlebags and struck out further into town. The clip-clop of my hooves echoed oddly off the empty houses lining the road. I really hoped I could find civilization somewhere soon. I was hungry and tired from walking for the last three or four hours and I needed ponies to talk to. The silence was making the guilt from killing those raiders worse. There was nothing out here to keep my mind off of the incident, no distractions whatsoever. My mind kept flashing images of the dead mare's flayed open chest and the horseshoed bandit's blood splattering over the floor with each panicked gunshot.

Once upon a time I thought Neigh Orleans would be a perfect place to start exploring Equestria. Now I felt otherwise. I felt like it was going to drive me crazy at some point. The silence, the sheer loneliness, the violence of the bandits, the guilt of killing. My mind turned to Apple Core and the plantation for a moment. I could go back. It would wound my pride but I could go back. I wasn't that far away just yet. I just...

The clouds above me parted just as realization hit. I just hadn't found the good in Neigh Orleans. The silver lining was still there. Neigh Orleans and the Wasteland wasn't all bad. There were some good parts to it. Core and his family traded with some normal, not-raider ponies and zebras out in Neigh Orleans. I just had to find them.

And I knew exactly where to find it. It was a name I'd heard Core and the Overstallion mention a few times.

The Temple.

I didn't know what it was or where it was, just that it was apparently safe enough for Wise Apple plantation to trade with. It would at least be a place to start. I just had to find a way to get there. It only took a few more minutes of walking before I figured out how.

So I hadn't found the silver lining just yet. But the renewed sense of purpose gave me some more energy. I felt stronger. I felt driven. I even found it easier to ignore the recurring image of the dead mare's eyes now that my brain had something else to focus on. It wasn't much but it was enough to keep the dark thoughts away from my mind.

That was good enough for me.

Chapter 4

“I'm here today as a proud citizen and Mayor to declare the Temple of the Celestial Sisters an official Neigh Orleans cultural landmark!”

Neigh Orleans' Mayor on the Temple

~~~~

Pain.

That's what I felt as I stumbled down the street to my next destination.

Getting tossed around like a ragdoll by a massive earth pony hurt. Sometime between my leaving the Carriage House Inn and reaching the downtown area of Neigh Orleans the bruises finally started to form. I spent most of the time stumbling and wincing in pain. On the plus side nothing seemed broken, but it sure felt like everything was. I vowed to never get into a close-in fight anymore if I could help it. It was like being attacked by the Overstallion but worse. The Overstallion had just been a surprise more than anything else. The bandit had tried to kill me, though, and had gotten damn near close.

To make matters worse the sky was getting gradually darker. It was going to start raining again - and soon.

I wanted to be inside before then.

I took a moment to stop and figure out just where I was. I'd never been into town and at this point I was totally lost. I had initially been following the main road along the waterfront to get to downtown Neigh Orleans. However one road I'd been on took a turn and now I had no clue where I was. The narrow streets were a labyrinth of tightly packed houses and alleyways. Without any hills and without the ability to climb a house there was no way to get the lay of the land.

Eventually I decided to just keep going despite the pain. Stopping to rest and moan about being lost wouldn't put me any closer to finding the Temple and getting somewhere safe. I had to keep pressing on.

The trek through the residential area was mercifully quiet. It was unsettling how quiet it was in fact. I became acutely aware of the silence of the city. I hadn't heard a sign of anypony else in the city besides myself and the bandits. For one absurd moment I wondered if I'd killed the only other residents of Neigh Orleans. It was a stupid thought and I couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. That caused a stab of pain to shoot through my side. “Ah, fuck...” I grumbled.

My left ear twitched toward a sound. I hadn't consciously registered it at first. I stayed dead quiet trying to pick up on it again. It was a soft whisper of a sound. I turned my head to see what was there. A light blue house with its front door hanging ajar. A darkened interior stretched beyond. Some odd compulsion drove me toward the door. Call it curiosity or something like that. I tilted my head as I approached and heard the whisper again. I was nearly at the door when the wind picked up in a little gust.

The cracked white door slammed shut in my face.

I scrambled to get away from the door. Panic gripped me like a cold iron vice. I didn't even scream. I just tried to get away from the door. My hindlegs caught some mud in my escape and I went sailing backwards, four hooves pinwheeling uselessly through the air. I had just enough time to think to myself 'Damn, this is going to hurt' before my back slammed into the concrete sidewalk. The pain was like a lance through my entire body. I lay there groaning for a long moment.

Another wind gust came and bounced the door in its frame a little, causing it to slowly swing back open as if daring me to try and go into the house again. I knew better than that. I just tried to roll back onto my hooves. The pain from the bruises flared up again and I decided to just lay there for a moment.

The first drops of rain hit my coat no more than ten seconds later.

Great.

I eventually did get back on my hooves. I wasn't going to let some door defeat me that easily. I still had no idea where I was of course but I just wanted to leave that neighbourhood behind. The damn door had kept rattling in its frame, almost mockingly, and I'd decided to just leave it behind.

I had hoped the rain would remain a drizzle. No dice. Martingale did get occasional periods of sun, where the blue sky and the warm light penetrated the clouds, but we paid for it with long periods of gloomy clouds and rain. On the upside the rain cut the heat a bit. See? Always a silver lining.

At every side street I made sure to look for some form of landmark to place where I was in the city. Eventually I found one. A black spire that soared above the buildings. Atop the spire was a crooked metal bar with a round disc on top. The disc looked like half a sun and half of a crescent moon. I knew very little of the pony Goddesses but I did know one had a moon for a cutie mark and the other had a sun for cutie mark. I couldn't imagine a Temple being built for anypony but a Goddess or two, so that had to be it.

I turned up the side street I'd seen the spire on. It was quite a ways into the city already. With the rain falling on my head and the dull pain aching through my body I knew I'd have to stop at one point. Determination only got you so far. In the end, eventually you'd have to stop to eat and rest your hooves.

The buildings changed subtly around me. Gone were scorched trees and separated houses each with their own little yards. Buildings were getting closer together now, a bit taller. Two storeys instead of one. I was never one to feel claustrophobic but even I was starting to feel a little off-put by how close the buildings were. Narrow streets and tightly packed buildings made it feel like the city was starting to close in around me. I felt nervous and my eyes kept moving around to doorways and windows as if expecting somepony to jump out at any time.

Nothing happened.

The city was deserted. In a way it looked as though everypony had just up and left. Carriages were still left parked alongside roads. Houses were open to show rooms with tables set and hats left on racks. Outside one carriage was a pile of luggage ready to be packed away. A cafe still had the front tables set with coffee mugs and a disgusting plate with... something on it that might once have been called a beignet.

Despite the horrid rotting mess on the plates I actually chose to stop at the cafe. I was hungry and I needed a rest. Besides the cafe looked dry inside and I was desperate to get out of the rain.

I wound my way past a few of the tables through the wide open front of the cafe. A long counter rested at the far end. An empty bottle of Sparkle-Cola sat on its side on the counter, forgotten and dusty. I spotted a big glass display case attached to the counter but whatever food was in there was either gone or long since rotted away. The smell was awful, like the kitchen back at the Carriage House Inn, and I quickly turned away from the display case. There was a fridge behind the register that happened to be a lot better than the display case. Nothing had rotted away into a disgusting blob of stink. It was nearly empty and hadn't been cleaned since the apocalypse but the bottle of Sparkle-Cola at the back and the water bottle next to it both seemed to be safe enough. I struggled to reach the back with my foreleg.

“Come on...” I mumbled. My foreleg brushed against a bit of mould. A shudder ran through my body at that. Disgusting. I eventually got the two bottles to roll out. The water was a bit dirty but a quick test sip found it drinkable. The Sparkle-Cola was, well, Sparkle-Cola. There was pretty much nothing natural about it so it never spoiled. It went straight into my saddlebags.

Before diving into the kitchen I picked a towel off a rack behind the counter. It wasn't nearly big enough to dry my whole coat off but I did get my forelegs cleaned. I mostly wanted to get rid of the mould that had clung there. No matter how much I complained in the past about cleaning at Wise Apple plantation, I never would complain again after seeing that mould. Next I dried off my mane. In hindsight I was probably just making myself dirtier using the towel but I didn't much care. I took another sip of water, transferred what was left to my canteen, and tossed the plastic bottle aside. Next stop: the kitchen.

It was definitely better than the one at the Carriage House. No rotting food. It must have been raided fairly early on. It was also nearly empty which didn't bode all that well. This trip had to be worth something.

I checked every inch of the kitchen. Most of the cupboards were empty or had inedible “food” left over. The fridges were write-offs too. All that was left were two boxes of (New Zap Apple Flavoured!) preserved apples. Out of sheer curiosity I checked the nutritional information on one of them.

“Well, dere's go mah figure.” At least it would keep me going for a little while. I tossed a box into my saddlebags and opened the other one. Slices of apple, preserved and candied with who knows how many chemicals. Barely considered food but I was too hungry to care. I popped a piece into my mouth. I had no clue what a zap apple was but unless the damn things were made of sugar they sure as shit didn't taste like this.

The kitchen had not much else of use. Whoever had been through here before me had cleared it out. I still looked around, desperate for something to pop up as a useful item. Nothing did for the longest time until my eyes found a knife on a cutting board. The blade looked a bit rusted and the handle was chipped but on close examination it seemed sharp enough. I picked it up between my teeth to test it on the box of preserved apples. It cut cardboard rather easily enough.

After a moment I just set the knife back down on the kitchen counter. What was I going to do with it? I wasn't a fighter. If I got into a close-in fight, even with a knife, I was probably going to lose. I could play-fight and wrestle well enough but I'd never learned real hoof-to-hoof fighting. If my opponent had a melee weapon of his own I'd be screwed. And if they had a gun then what was the point of the knife?

And yet between pieces of preserved apples I kept turning back to the knife. I had a pistol with me but no ammunition. A weapon would be a useful thing. Even if I didn't encounter any more raiders there were always feral ghouls and mutants.

“Grah. Fine.” I grunted and grabbed the knife. A plastic sharpening sheath sat nearby. The knife slid home with a satisfying click and the whole affair went into my saddlebags. There. A weapon. Not a very effective one to be sure but a weapon nonetheless. If push came to shove, if I had to fight a mutant or another equine, I'd at least have it. I wished I would never have to use it though.

I had eaten, I had found water, I had found a weapon, and I knew (vaguely) what direction I was going in. Despite the rain things were starting to look up.

I needed a map. The city of Neigh Orleans was a maze. Without a map or any knowledge of it I felt like I was walking in circles even if I knew the direction I needed to be going. It didn't help that most of the buildings looked the same or were unadorned houses. I didn't have many shops to use as reference points and most of the street signs meant nothing to me. What was the point of knowing that I was on Dauphin Street if I had no idea where Dauphin Street was? It was infuriating. Mixed with the dull throbbing pain from my bruises, my soaking wet coat, and the claustrophobic conditions of the city, I felt like I was going crazy.

I had to be almost there. I could smell the salt water from the harbour a little clearer now. I was running out of room. The Temple had to be somewhere close by.

That's what I kept telling myself anyway. 'Almost there, Kas. Almost there, you'll make it. Almost.' Something, anything, to stave off the frustration of being lost. At least the memories from the Carriage House Inn were being held at bay by my mounting anger. I stopped a moment in the middle of the alleyway to close my eyes and take a deep breath. I had to calm myself down. Getting frustrated over being lost would just make it harder for me to think and find my way. 'Think, Kas, think...'

I opened my eyes again. Not much had changed. The alleyway was still covered in garbage from the two buildings. Rain was still pouring on my head. I was still lost. I shrugged and kept walking. At least I was getting to see the city. I had to admit it was beautiful, or at least had been, anyway. I still knew nothing about architecture and yet I could appreciate the buildings. Most had balconies and front gates made of wrought iron and decorated with patterns of fleur-de-lys, twisting vines, and diamonds. The buildings themselves each had character, with unique materials and colours and designs. Yet it was all missing something. That spark I'd wanted to see.

It was disappointing.

I looked to my right as I passed an opening in the alley wall. It led to a courtyard between buildings. The entrance had been barricaded though at some point the barricade had been torn down. I stepped closer to look inside the courtyard. It had been converted into a living space by a Wastelander. It was hard to tell, but there were subtle differences in the trash, if you knew where to look. A metal drum with scorch marks where trash had been burned. A radigator head mounted on a wall. Even the owner was still around, in a way.

He was strung up on the tree in the middle of the courtyard. He still wore a Wastelander's leather barding though it hung a little loose on his emaciated frame. I winced and turned away. I didn't want to think about who put him up there. Himself? Was life that brutal out here beyond the edges of the plantation that somepony, who seemed to have a nice safe spot, would just hang himself? Or was it somepony else, desperate for caps and supplies, desperate enough to take a life for it? I didn't even want to think about it.

I knew I'd never get an answer anyway.

I left the alleyway, the image burned into my head. I realized I had it fairly good back on the plantation. No matter how shitty I thought things were, nothing seemed shittier than life out in the Wasteland. I just hoped I could make it better in my own way. Find some way to help out. No matter what happened I didn't want to become like those bandits earlier or that hanging Wastelander.

Life just had to be better than that. I know we were living in a post-megaspell Wasteland but it had been nearly two hundred years since the bombs had fallen. Things had to finally be looking up.

I shook my head to try and clear it. I could think on that kind of stuff some other time. I had to get out of this rain and find the Temple before nightfall. I didn't want to get caught out in this unknown city in the dark, particularly with how maze-like everything was. If I could get lost during the day then night would be even worse.

I ran through a mental map I'd made. I'd been trying to remember every turn I'd taken to keep myself on track and if I had remembered it all right, all I had to do was take a right turn and follow the street a little ways. The Temple should be right there.

The street was just another tight, claustrophobic street, but with one small difference. It had been set up like a market. Instead of rusted out carriages there were vendor stalls strewn about the road. Some were ransacked, some destroyed, others still had survived the test of time. Curiosity led me to one of them. It was a cheesy little display of plastic masks and beads. “Authentic Mardi Gras Gear,” I read aloud. The masks were faded plastic decorated with beads and filigree that had been worn off by time and weather. Most had feathers that were missing thanks to windstorms. They actually looked somewhat horrifying, with their blank open-eyed stares and the faded paint that, on some masks, looked like tear trails down from the eyes. I picked one of the masks up and set it on my snout, chuckling a little before tossing it away. While there were no celebrations for the feast anymore, everypony from Martingale knew about Mardi Gras. A celebration that stretched back to the forming of Equestria, when King Bullion famously held a feast celebrating the unification of the three original pony tribes.

Plastic beads and cheap masks seemed an odd way to commemorate such an important event. With a shrug I kept moving.

This time I didn't have to go too far. The road ahead of me widened a little, with a huge gap between the buildings as wide as a block. On the left I could see a rusty old cast-iron fence, and the monolithic rear end of a huge off-white building.

My eyes were drawn up the building and I realized just how tall it was. Unlike most of the other buildings around, which felt tall, this one was tall. It towered over the other buildings even before you took into account the massive steepled roof. I wasn't paying attention as I trotted toward it and put a hoof on the fence. I felt a sharp prick on my hoof. After yelping in pain I noticed some vicious and rather new-looking razor wire was wound through the fence. I looked up at the building again. This was it. It had to be the Temple.

I needed a way in. Time to check the front out.

On either side of the Temple was a path between it and the adjacent buildings. I took the little alleyway and stepped out into an area so totally unlike the rest of Neigh Orleans that any of the dark, miserable feelings of claustrophobia and isolation were gone. The entire block and then some, from the Temple to the levee at the water's edge, was a huge open space. A once-beautiful garden with hoofpaths and a statue in the middle. Sure, it had lost all it's sheen, but it still had a beauty of its own, maybe because it was no longer a cramped cityscape. I might have also had a pair of rose-coloured glasses on, thanks to the general hopeful feeling I had about finally reaching my destination (and finally getting out of the drizzling rain!).

I trotted out around the building to get my first look at the front of the Temple. It looked great for its age – and at two hundred plus years old, that was saying something – as if somepony painstakingly restored every inch of it. The walls were clean, the windows were intact, and even the massive oak double-doors had survived the test of time. The only thing not restored was a huge clock above the doors reading 9:21, where it had been frozen for whoever knows how long. There was even a legible sign out front that confirmed my suspicions.

The Temple of the Celestial Sisters
Celestial Square, Neigh Orleans
Services at 11 AM, 3 PM, and 11 PM
All are welcome!

I continued on in front of it, looking up at the building the whole time. I must have looked like a complete idiot, standing around in the rain, gawking up at some building like I'd never seen anything like it in my life. I just couldn't help it though. I just felt... warm. Happy. Hopeful. Like the building itself radiated those feelings, drawing me closer and closer. I started moving toward the front doors. I just wanted to get inside, to figure out my next move, and to get dried off.

What I would do next would be something to figure out later. Funny thing about single-track plans like this is once they're done, you feel a little drained afterwards. I felt great knowing I was about to enter what I thought was a sanctuary but there was a nagging at the back of my mind as if my brain was reminding me that no, I had no plans, and that I probably should figure something out instead of wasting time sitting around.

Maybe somebody inside the Temple could help point me in the right direction. I was a few meters from the front stairs when I heard the muffled sound on the other side of the door. It looked like it might have been opening.

At the very moment it did start to open I caught a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision. I looked up at to my left just as the gunshot rang out.

A searing pain hit me in the jaw. I didn't have time to shout.

The world went dark.

Chapter 5

“A historical monument if there ever was one, this gorgeous example of Zebra Colonial architecture is dedicated to the Goddesses of Equestria.”

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Equestria on the Temple of the Celestial Sisters
~~~~

The world was black.

My mind was foggy and my entire body felt heavy. It felt as if somepony had put a heavy, wet blanket over me. I tried to lift a hoof. Nothing happened. In the end I just ended up groaning at that little effort.

“Careful, son. Y'all gonna hurt yaself, ya keep that up. Jus' rest.”

“Son?” I felt my heart jump for just a moment. If I had died and I had to meet my father again... then I remembered my father never had much of an accent. I forced one of my eyes open to see just where I was.

It turned out to be a rather spartan room. Soft grey light filtered in from the uncovered windows while rain pattered against the glass. Very little decorated the off-white walls, except for a brass sun-and-moon disc hanging on the wall above me. I tried to turn my head to see who had been speaking, which took a lot more effort than I'd expected.

An orange zony with red stripes sat in a chair next to me wearing the strangest clothes I'd ever seen. Black, almost robe-like barding with a small white square on the collar. It was as long as a dress but was clearly cut for a stallion. He just grinned at me when he saw me try to move.“Y'all don't take well t'instructions, don't ya?” he asked in a joking tone.

“Who're'ya?” I mumbled. My speech was slurred and my jaw didn't quite move right. I raised a hoof and pressed it to my cheek. Something fuzzy was pressed tightly to it. I poked at it idly in confusion.

“Mah name's Sunray,” the zony replied. “Father Sunray. Y'all got somewhat lucky.” His name was apt enough. That colour combination of his coat and stripes made him look warm, like a ray of a sun.

“Wha' happen'?” I was still groggy but at least I was somewhat lucid now. I still had no idea where I was though.

“Y'all got shot.” Sunray seemed rather nonchalant about it. “We been havin' problems with raidahs recently. Pokin' around where dey shouldn't. One of my newest guards took de shot. She thought y'all mighta been lookin' t'cause trouble.”

“Y'all ma'e i' a habi' shoo'in' e'erypony?” The slur was definitely not helping anything on my end.

Sunray shook his head. “Ah tried tellin' her Ah was goin' t'say hi, but she didn' listen. Or didn' hear. Anyway, y'all survived, and that's what mattahs most.”

“Ah can' feel muh jaw,” I complained. It felt like such a petty complaint after getting shot. “An' how's ge'in shot goo'?” I added. Accident or not this mare had shot me! That wasn't exactly something that sat all that well with me.

The zony facing me sighed softly. “She realized her mistake jus' as she shot. Wasn't no intentional thin'. Don' feel like she done it on purpose. As for yer jaw, y'all should start gettin' feelin' back soon enough.”

I grunted in annoyance. Intentional or not, I'd been shot. I'd have to have a talk with this mare about that. The zony leaned forward and for the first time I noticed he had a unicorn horn sticking out of his red mane. That was the strange thing about zony genetics. You would get more than just strange coat colours. Sometimes a zony would inherit traits from their parents. I'd gotten nothing from my father, which was a bit of a pity. Wings would have been fun to have.

Sunray's horn lit up and I felt a gentle tearing on my cheek. I saw him pull a cotton pad and some tape away from my jaw. Then he leaned in a little closer and nodded to himself in what seemed to be approval. “Healin' nicely. Y'all might have a bit of a scar, but ain't gunna have any lastin' damage.”

No lasting damage. That was good to hear. A scar was slightly less so but I could manage. Some stallions even found scars attractive. And, like Sunray had said, I was starting to feel my jaw again. The grogginess was clearing up too.

Now that I was feeling a little better I decided to try and look around the room again. I tried to sit up, but Sunray just gently pushed me back onto the bed, so I settled with just looking around. The room was almost completely bare. A chair, a desk with a few books on a shelf, and that was it. “Where am Ah?” I asked at long last.

“Mah room in de Temple o' de Celestial Sistahs.” Sunray sat back in his chair a little bit. “Ah'll show ya 'round in a little bit, if y'ad like. Be best if y'actually listen t'me an' rest up first, dough. No excuses!” The stallion got up and left me alone in the room.

I sat in silence for a moment before completely ignoring the order to sit. I was starting to feel better anyway. The big thing was: I'd made it. I'd made it to the Temple. I wanted to see what it was for myself, starting with this room.

The moment I got off the bed my vision swam. It was like being on a boat in bad weather. My stomach lurched and while my vision tilted one way I was falling in the other. I tried to stand still and managed to avoid falling over. Good. I gave him head a gentle shake then trotted for the window. A grey wall and cobblestones greeted me. It took me a moment to realize it was the same alleyway I'd walked through not long ago. Wait. I'd been out a while but Sunray hadn't said how long. I also had no way of checking. Having a gap in one's memory did suck but I couldn't have been out that long. In any case I had nowhere important to be – I'd already made it to the Temple after all – so I decided to keep going.

I trotted over to the desk to check out the books that I'd seen. Most of them seemed to be about Pre-War societies. Clocks and Capitalism: The Griffon Lands Explained and All for One, One for All: Equestria's Benevolent Monarchy. I snorted in amusement. That didn't sound like propaganda at all. A few more books about Pre-War life before one practically jumped out at me. I recognized it immediately even before I read the title.

I tugged the book out of the pile and set it on the desk. Immediately a wave of nostalgia washed over me.

The cover showed a castle on a mountaintop, and high above it hung a moon with a stylized mare's head on it. I could hear my Dad's voice in my head as I read the title.

The Mare in the Moon and Other Short Stories.

I idly flipped through the pages. I had learned to read with this very book. For a moment I was back in our cabin on the plantation, sitting comfortably between a perpetually skinny zebra mare with the brightest smile ever and a perpetually tired-looking pegasus stallion who never seemed to lack energy to be with his family. My father was holding the book, my parents taking turns voicing different characters. I could still hear them both clear as day. My mother had been a Martingaler, born and raised, and her accent reflected it. My father had been from somewhere north of the Muddy River Delta, though he had never said exactly where and I had never asked. In hindsight, I should have asked. It was too late for that now though.

I closed the book and the memory was gone. I brushed a hoof across my eyes. They were pleasant memories but they were still sad. I put the book carefully back where it belonged. I couldn't dwell on the past like that. Living entirely in the past was dangerous. Sometimes you had to just move on. Yeah, I loved my parents, but they were long gone now. Crying over their memories wouldn't change that.

Just had to move on.

I left the room to check out the rest of the Temple. Like the room the hallway was plain and bare. No decorations to be found at all. It was strange given how beautiful the outside was. Then again the outside of the Temple was plain too. Somepony must have just liked plainness when they built the place. I heard a loud drone down the hall to my right and humming to the left. Accompanying the humming was the smell of something spicy. It was a scent familiar to anypony from Martingale. Somepony was making gumbo, or at least the post-apocalyptic version of it.

I turned to the left and followed the smell of food. I was a simple stallion after all. Food first. Mysterious droning later.

The smell was coming from a surprisingly clean kitchen, where Father Sunray was hard at work over a large metal pot. I watched as he chopped what looked like bell peppers, but given Martingale's rather poor growing conditions, they looked shrivelled and wilted despite being fully edible. More memories flooded in with the smell of food. Every now and again a whole cabin would pitch in their daily rations to make gumbo for their cabin. Sometimes other cabins would join in to get a bit of a feast going. It also wasn't uncommon for Apple Core to bring me something extra from his house on occasion, usually some better quality vegetables his parents managed to get from the traders. Those occasions were few and far between but they were always a treat.

A big meal among friends, a night with a cute stallion, and a bed to sleep in when it was all said and done. That's when it all hit me. I realized it was a little selfish of me to go out into the Wasteland to find my own way, my own happiness, and leave my friends and my coltfriend behind to fend for themselves. I'd even left behind some relative comforts for this. I bet the stallion I'd seen hanging from the tree would have loved to live on a plantation, living in reasonable safety, with a steady job that paid caps. Poor pay, yes, but caps were caps.

In the end I'd made my choice. I might be a little selfish, sure. But it was the Wasteland and I only had one life to live. Might as well go see what I could see, rather than spin my wheels on the plantation until I died.

“Y'all look lost.” I blinked back to reality to see that Sunray was looking at me with an amused smile. I shook my head out a little.

“Sorry. Jus' thinkin',” I replied.

“Ah could tell. Had a fun trip?” he teased.

I snorted softly. “Somethin' like dat.”

Sunray nodded. “Well, Ah ain't one for pryin'. Y'all wanna talk about it, ya do it on yer own terms.” He turned to stir the gumbo for a moment. “Ah thought Ah told y'all t'sit an' rest.”

“Ya did,” I said as I walked over to see the stew for myself. “But Ah decided t'clear mah head.”

“Alrigh'.” The zony turned to look at me. “Y'all feelin' bettah?”

I touched my jaw. It was a bit numb but it felt okay. There was a frying pan hanging to my left that was shiny enough to see my own reflection in. After all this - the apocalypse and two hundred years of disuse - the pan still shone almost as bright as if it’d just come from the store. Shiny enough to be used as a mirror. There was a faint scar across my cheek, from the centre of my cheek back to where my jaw connected to my head. It was faint but still fairly visible. “Ah guess. Why she done take de shot anyways?” I asked.

Sunray sighed softly and turned away. I got the impression he wanted me to just forget about it, which wasn't going to happen that easily. You don't get shot and just “forget about it”. It didn't work that way. I waited patiently to see how he'd reply.

“Like Ah'd said, we been havin' problems wit' gangs of raidahs recently,” he began. “An all-zebra gang from east of de Rivah. Dey come in firs' actin' like de usual folk dat come here. Den dey took advantage o' de hospitality, started t'get dangerous. Roughed up a stallion an' robbed him blind. When Ah kicked 'em out, dey came back with deir friends. Threatened t'come in an' take d'place for dey own. Lotta hot air, but some folks here got scared.” Sunray looked over at me and sighed. “Our newes' guard took offence to d'gang an' musta been triggah happy. She mighta though' y'all was snoopin' round de place t'find a way in. Ah've since taken her off de guard rotation.”

I grunted in response. An all-zebra gang of raiders and this mare thought that just because I had stripes, I must have been one of them. Not quite. The coloured stripes should have been a giveaway. Most zebras had black stripes, unlike mine, which were blue. “Ah should have a talk with her 'bout zebras not bein' all de same, and de difference ‘tween zebras an’ zonies.”

Sunray held up a hoof. “Ah already spoke to her while ya was out. Ah ain't seen a mare mo' sorry for somethin' she done. Ah won't have ya harrassin' her ovah an hones' mistake.” He spoke with a deadly calm voice that carried with it a heavy weight of authority. This was a stallion who was pleasant and gentle, but if you crossed him, he would make you pay. I did not want to mess with this stallion.

“Alright. Ah'm sorry.”

“Don' be.” Sunray put a lid on the pot of gumbo. “Things coulda been worse, but dey ain't, so don' go around makin' it worse. Revenge don' solve nothin'.”

I wanted to argue but couldn't. I remembered the Overstallion and the way I had poked and prodded, antagonizing him just to get the last word in, to try and feel like I was in the right no matter how much he wronged me. I didn't have any plans to be snippy with the mare that had shot me but it was entirely possible I would have been. Whether I wanted to or not, I might have accidentally made things worse. If she was sincerely sorry, then it was sincerely fine by me.

“Alright,” was all I said.

“Good. Now dat dat's ovah, Ah can show ya 'round while dinnah cooks,” Sunray said. He made sure the stove was on low heat, then started for the door of the kitchen. I was on his heels, eager to see the rest of the Temple.

The main hall – the sanctuary, as Sunray called it – was beautiful. Better decorated than the room I'd woken up in anyway.

The most prominent feature, dominating all other decorations in the room, were the stained glass windows. I hadn't noticed them from the outside, but now that I was inside I saw that they were everywhere. On either side of the sanctuary were images of two alicorns, one white, one blue, in various situations and locations – fighting a strange-looking dragon, standing in the throne room of castle, things of that nature. The centrepiece of it all was a massive circular window at the back of the sanctuary, the white and blue alicorns on it forming a circle. The windows were a gorgeous sight even with the dull grey light outside. I couldn't imagine what they would be like with bright sunlight streaming through.

There were other, less elaborate decorations that were just as beautiful. Twin rows of ornately carved columns along the polished wooden floor held up a pair of mezzanines. The railings of each of the mezzanines had some engravings along them, depicting twisting vines and bayou flowers. Even the ceiling was given attention. An artist had painted images of a clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds, where birds and pegasi flew in the wake of the twin alicorns. The paint had chipped and faded in places but it was no less beautiful. I caught myself staring up for the longest time, lost in the painted sky, before Sunray caught my attention.

“Impressive, ain' it?” he asked.

“Got dat right.” I turned to look at the circular stained glass window, then at the area underneath. There was a simple wooden table with a white cloth on it, plus the same sun-and-moon disc I'd seen in so many places. Behind it were engraved wooden walls that showed Canterlot castle and rolling hills. I turned to look at Sunray. “How come dis place ain't been destroyed?” There was not a chance all of it was original. It was in too good a condition to look this way after two hundred years in the Wasteland.

Sunray smiled and started walking. “Ah found it like dis,” he explained. “De doors were locked, some o' de windows were broken, but it was practically untouched.”

“Naw. Ah don't believe it.” The building was too perfect. There was almost no damage to the inside that I could see. If it was truly untouched it would have taken hours of work to get it looking this good, and that was even if half this stuff was still available. I figured it'd be pretty hard to find stained glass in the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

“Well, y'all bettah. Ah...used t'be good wit' a lockpick. Figured nopony'd think t'come t'a place like dis. Ah was right. Found it untouched. Ah knew it was fate de moment Ah came in.” He walked up toward the podium and looked out over the room, where scattered ponies mingled, sitting on the benches and going about their lives. Some read books, others talked, still more just kinda... sat around, lost in thought. I looked to Sunray. He looked like he belonged there next to the podium. He owned this place and he knew it. I had to admit that maybe he was right.

The clouds outside parted for just a moment and light washed over the Temple. The stained glass window sparkled to life and warm light passed over Sunray. As quick as it happened the clouds were back again and the light was gone.

“So what, y'all jus' decided y'all gonna open it for all?” I asked. If I'd found an untouched place like this I'd keep it to myself. It was hard to find shelter out there in Martingale – and besides, opening it up to the public invited trouble, like with the raiders.

Sunray nodded and turned to look at me. “Ah found a book here. Stories about de Goddesses, Celestia an' Luna. Somethin' dat always came up was how dey was selfless. Dey would give without askin'. An' so, Ah decided Ah'd give without askin'.” He walked down from the podium and motioned for me to follow him. I did without question. I wanted to know more about the place and see what I could find. “Ah opened de doors to whoever needed a place to stay, an' all Ah ever asked was dey help others as well.” The zony nudged open a door to a room where a long table had been set up, and a number of cushions to sit at. “So, Ah guess it were mostly without askin'.”

Mostly without asking. I snorted in amusement at that. I followed him as he moved to a nearby cabinet along the wall. “Ain't dat noble.”

“Ah thought so mahself.” Sunray motioned to a nearby cabinet with an insistent little nod of his head. It took me all of a second to realize what he wanted to me to do. For a moment I got a flashback to the plantation but it was gone as quick as it came. This was different. Not slave labour or difficult work. Like he'd said: he only expected ponies here to help others. “Some don't, s'why we have problems with raidahs. But otherwise, we do alright.”

I pulled out a number of bowls from the cabinet and went around the table. Sunray grabbed some other dishes to help set the table and we were both done within just a few moments. Once it was all said and done Sunray turned to look at me.

“Y'all can stay as long as ya want, an' as long as ya need. Y'all just gotta help out,” he said simply.

Helping out was easy enough and something I could do. “Ah can do dat.”

“Good. Now help me get dinner goin' here.”

Dinner at the Temple was one massive affair.

I counted about 15 ponies at one extremely long, extremely crowded table, which would explain the massive pot of gumbo that Sunray had been making earlier. Just that one pot was barely enough to go around too.

“Glad to see y'all are doin' alright.” A white-coated mare with a yellow mane and tail sat across from me after she'd gotten her bowl of gumbo. She smiled brightly, a smile which faltered the moment I looked up. I still had a nasty scar on my jaw where the bullet had carved its way through. I figured that was what put her off. “I'm... I'm Daisy. Daisy Petal.” She suddenly looked a little bit nervous and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why.

It took a moment for me to figure it out. It clicked just as she continued speaking. “I'm a guard here. I... uh... shot you.”

Well, if there was one way to suddenly turn a pleasant evening around, that was it. I stared at Daisy for a moment while her words bounced around my head. This was her. The mare that figured I was a threat The mare that had tried to take my life. The mare that... looked extremely apologetic about it all.

I really had no idea what to say. What do you say to somepony that shot you - even by accident? I had half a mind to tear into her, right there at the dinner table, and call her out for what she did. Tell her she was stupid for taking the shot. To ask her what the hell she was thinking shooting at somepony she didn't know. I opened my mouth to speak.

“S'alright.”

Sunray had said it best: snapping at her would just make things worse. Revenge solved nothing. Yeah it would be nice to yell at her, but in the end, it would accomplish nothing. I could tell she was sorry. She was practically shaking, right on the edge of her seat, just waiting for an opportunity to apologize and just waiting to hear me say something. The moment I'd spoken I could see her visibly relax – but that expression of guilt never left her face.

It didn't really matter to me how or why she took the shot. Maybe Sunray was right and she just got trigger happy, thought I was one of the bandits they'd been having problems with earlier. Maybe it had been a legitimate accident, a trigger pulled without meaning to. In the end I doubted she'd wanted me dead. Not the way she was looking at me.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Ah am. Ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it now. Ah'm alright, Ah can still talk, Ah ain't dead. Jus' don't do it again.”

Then both of us go to eating. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I had cleared out the bowl of spicy gumbo. Didn't help that Sunray was a damn good cook. I don't know where he managed to get all the ingredients, but somehow he'd found some relatively tasty bell peppers to cook with. It sure beat the gumbo on the plantation- or any other meal that we managed to cook up with our rations.

“Hey. Uh...” Daisy looked up at me again. “Look. I want to make it up somehow. You know, shooting you.” She shrugged a little bit. “I stepped off from guard duty for a while here but I still want to help. You got any jobs around here yet?” she asked.

“Naw.” I hadn't asked Sunray about that. What could I do to help out around a place like this with so many ponies? “Ain't got plans yet.”

Daisy nodded. “Well, I got an idea,” she offered. “I was talking to Sunray earlier and he told me we're running low on supplies. We could head out on a supply run together if you want? You can contribute to the Temple, I can help out, we both win.”

I considered it for a moment. A supply run. I had no idea what to do but if the Temple needed help, I'd help. It was rapidly becoming my new home away from home and I wasn't going to just sit on my ass. I wanted to help out. And like Sunray said: all he asked was that somepony who stayed helped out a little.

“Sure.”

“Alright. See you by the doors in the morning, then?”

I got up and stretched out. I was done with dinner and the crowd was starting to get to me. I didn't mind crowds but with fifteen ponies in one room, every one of them talking to each other, foals crying, ponies laughing... the din was just getting annoying. “Yeah. See y'all then.”

As I left Sunray told me he'd set me up with a room in the back of the Temple, past the kitchen. The room turned out to be rather spartan, even more than Sunray's. No windows, just a little desk and a small bed. I didn’t even care about the lack of windows or how small it was. There was a bed. I’d be sleeping on a bed tonight, which was more than I’d expected. It could have been the worst mattress in the world and I’d have been happy. I closed the door behind me which plunged the room into darkness.

Once I was alone the emotions of the day came flooding back in. It seemed like it had been longer than a day since I left the plantation. The fight with the bandits, wandering the streets, the hanging stallion, getting shot... it left me exhausted.

So many emotions hit me at once. I felt relieved to finally be safe and on my way to adventure. I felt sick from killing the bandits and seeing the hanging stallion. In the end the emotion that won out was exhaustion. A pure, deep set exhaustion that struck all thoughts from my mind in the end. The room went pitch black the moment I closed the door but I eventually found my bed. I didn't even register the stiff mattress under me before I passed out.