Fallout: Equestria - Choice Millionaire

The junk traders filled me in on the history and layout of Samedan and the Mason Road. All I needed to know, they said, was that once the drought hit, Samedan was one of the only agricultural towns to survive.

Its location along an estuary, rather than the Mason Road, proved crucial as smaller water sources and wells were wiped out. Samedan still had green stalks growing when most of the land had given up on vegetation; its successful crops lined the passage into its downtown area.

Our caravan arrived in the dead of night at the gate into Samedan without incident. There were guards on patrol along wooden gantries that connected the outer rim of buildings together in a secure loop. One of them kept watch over us from atop as we entered Samedan proper.

Inside the outer rim, security was lax. Most ponies in town were occupied with their bustling night lives. Within the center of town, ponies trotted, stumbled, and crawled in and out of bars, brothels, inns, and shops. Winestock and Graham took the brahmin to a pen in the eastern district, at which point I received my payment.

A rapturous jingle accompanied the pouch of caps as it landed on my hoof. The finale of a closed transaction, a successful swindle. I pocketed the 175 caps and wished the two an untroubled night.

“Wait,” Graham requested. Our trek to Samedan had dispelled the remaining mistrust he had for me. Yet the lack of hostile encounters, rather than our small talk, was mainly responsible for that. “You never told us why you were down here, Nova. What’s gotten your attention?”

I kept up a cocky grin, which felt plastered on my face by this point. “I’m just here to make a difference, Graham. To help out wherever ponies are in need.” Yup. That nailed down the Stable Dweller.

“Glad to hear that.” Graham smiled. Winestock had finished securing the brahmin, and he was watching from the distance. Graham was holding them up from the looks of it. “Say, you plan on doing anything tonight? Winestock and I are having drinks at the Golden Goat.”

“It’s been a long trip. I think I best get rested. You know a cheap inn here?”

Graham pointed a hoof to my left. “Buckner House rents out for nights at a low price. The keeper there doesn’t even ask for security deposits.”

The inn he suggested was a straight path from the pen, a two–story adobe sitting in a quieter section of town. I thanked him and bid farewell a second time to the two traders. More than a couple times, I felt the eyes of the denizens drilling into my back as I walked. Had no one ever seen a stable pony before or were they making the connection?

The inside of Buckner House had been set up to accommodate a restaurant. Oakwood tables occupied much of the floor space, and a corner of the room was the entire kitchen. The far wall had two levels, both of which hosted the doors to the inn’s guest rooms. I found the keeper resting her head on a faded poker table next to the stairs. Navy blue coat and purple mane, much like mine, except she bothered to keep it tidy.

“Room or meal,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead with a hoof.

“Room. One night.”

“25 caps.” She swept away my payment with a foreleg and dropped the key on the table with the other. As I reached down to pick it up, the keeper finally lifted her eyes to actually look at me. “The Stable Dweller?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Oh.” She and I kept looking at one another. Somewhere else in the room, a number of chairs clattered on the floor, and a drunk pony soon followed with a painful thud. The noise brought her back to reality. “Sorry, were you expecting more?”

“No,” I answered with the key in my mouth. “I just thought you would have a little more of a reaction.”

“Sorry about that. It’s just… you know, you’ve done some great thing in the north… but what does that have to do with me? My life ain’t getting easier no matter how many slavers you murder up there.” She made a shrug but no further effort to lift herself up. “Here, we don’t care much for news that doesn’t directly impact us, if you get me.”

“I understand.”

“But hey, I’m thankful that we now have someone who will actually do something about things here. Say, if I have anything I need done, I’ll ask you.”

My exodus to the south had stripped me of everything I had. I was on the run for days on end, sleeping with my eyes open. But that was all behind me now. All I wanted was some sleep. “I’d be happy to help whatever way I can,” I said. And I threw in the trademark grin of course.

The keeper said nothing more, so I started up the stairs.

“Actually, there is something I need done that I’ll ask you to do.”

By the Goddesses…

“Buckner House, founded by the predecessors of yours truly, Aurora Buckner, makes most of its caps from liquor sales. We keep our brewery at a discreet location down the river. But a group of raiders has settled in recently and started drinking themselves to death. Not quick enough, though.”

“You want me to take them out.”

“And do it first thing in the morning. That’s my product they’re drinking! I’ll make the pay quite handsome… 1000 caps.”

1000 caps! That was more than I could make in a year in my old profession. Surely, a ragtag gang of hungover raiders should be easy enough to aim at. Or smack with a shovel. Wait, wait. The Stable Dweller would not be concerned with making caps; she would be concerned with doing what is right and still getting paid.

Righteous. Just. “I’ll make sure those raiders aren’t terrorizing your alcohol stock anymore.”

Aurora smirked and tapped the table. “Once you finish the job, bring back a crate so we can celebrate with the Buckner classic!”

I did not drink. But the thought of 1000 caps in my hooves was a tantalizing prospect. My mind made hyperactive by the image, sleep did not come easily that night.

A few raiders to dispatch. Then, I would have the money I’d need to establish myself in Baltimare. Another step closer to my own place, my own living, and my own security.

It was just an easy job.

“Where did that pink mongrel go, Trip Wire!?” A big red buck of a raider, bloodshot eyes twitching and armed with a submachine gun, wandered out of the brewery shack.

“She went behind that rock!” shouted a green mare atop the roof. Said rock promptly received several new holes. “No! No! That rock!”

I felt the cover behind me vibrate from the impact of the raider’s bullets. In the process of walking through the shack with a shovel, I had knocked over a pyramid of empty bottles and alerted the whole gang to my presence. Half of them were out cold, at least, before I got here. The one sentry I did see before this whole firefight had his face taken off by a well–aimed swing of a shovel.

Pistol in my mouth, I returned fire once the shots stopped coming. The raider hardly moved a centimeter, and I was still missing close to five shots before one hit him in the knee. His partner responded with a single shot that shattered the stone under my muzzle. I slipped back into cover with plenty of dust in my eyes.

“I’ll wrap my wound with your tail, you runt!” The barrage resumed. The shots, however, were approaching closer and closer despite the buck’s injury. Shaking too much to steady myself, I did the most rational thing my mind could think up on the spot––I popped my head up and fired blindly at both raiders.

Four shots whizzed right through the closest threat, the automatic–wielding, unstoppable raider, and the last three shots I fired only made Trip Wire stumble. I was back to cowering behind a battered rock with nothing left in the chamber.

“Missed me, you fu––fu––motherfu––FU––!” Trip Wire let out a staccato of expletives until her rhythm was thrown off by the sound of trash smacking trash. That went better than it really should have.

Once I finally had the pistol loaded again, I turned toward the side I heard the raider approaching. But the crippled buck was quicker than I anticipated.

His chest was within a breath of my head. My eyes trailed up slowly and found the barrel of the SMG pointing between them. My eyes trailed up a little further and finally noticed the vacant look the raider was giving me. At that point, he tipped over and fell as a telephone pole would, rebounding as he hit the ground.

A pretty little hole had been added to the side of his head.

Two more shots rang out from the direction of the shack. I huddled close to cover at the sound. Peeking over my stone, I spotted the newest shooter in the fray––a golden brown stallion with an indigo mane in the shape of a skunk’s tail. Oh, he also had wings.

Wait. Wings? A pegasus!

The pegasus trotted into the shack, having left the corpse he made out of Trip Wire splayed atop a junk heap with two new holes in her forehead. I considered just making a run for it, because a pegasus down on the surface meant he was either a Dashite, banished from civilization in the clouds, or part of the Grand Pegasus Enclave himself.

Forget consideration. I was going to run.

“Stable Dweller, I could use a little help cleaning house with these impure scum… You owe me that much for taking care of the buck,” he called out from the shack entrance. He had his violet eyes on me, battle saddles armed with really large guns.

“Yeah, sure!” I turned and gave my best smile. “I mean, who can respect a pony who doesn’t pay back her debts.” My trot to the brewery went by at one step a second, yet this pegasus seemed to be in no hurry. He waited until I was at his side before stepping into the doorway. That was when I noticed he still had his cutie mark––a burnt black thunderbolt, recognizable to anyone familiar with the mare who headed the Ministry of Awesome.

Another stroke of luck. He was a Dashite.

Three more shots rang out as I paced the room where all the alcohol was made. The brewery was now clear, save for us two. The door was right there. If I just crept out––

The echo from two firing bolts kicked back punctuated those thoughts. The sound of two firearms reloaded. “I didn’t save you to shoot you. But as a precaution, gun on the floor please. I just want to talk.”

I obeyed.

“Turn around.” I came face to face with my savior. “I’ve encountered lots of crazy things in the wasteland. But I never imagined I would ever get to meet one of the DJ’s proclaimed heroes. I also never thought she would be such a poor shot.”

I could not argue against that. “I haven’t had much experience.”

“It shows.” He cocked his head and looked at the PipBuck on my leg. “What’s your name?”

“Nova.”

“Nice to meet you, Nova. I’m Creed Brook. You can relax now, pal.” Creed helped himself to a drink from the various wares in the brewery. He sat down and continued, “You’re probably wondering why you haven’t seen too many pegasi in the wasteland. Well, a number of us happen to have fallen from the sky after one too many disagreements with the Enclave. This cutie mark you see now is my symbol of exile––I’ve been down here doing right by the wasteland ever since.”

Creed tipped the bottle back and took numerous gulps before settling it down. “Like yourself, I’m up for fighting the good fight, as the DJ calls it. I protect the caravans on Mason Road. Locals have taken to giving me a little nickname––”

“The Angel of Mason Road.” So the guy Untold Song was praising on the air was none other than a pegasus. I really should have seen this development coming.

Creed nodded. “That’s me. Now what’s your story?”

Luckily, I planned out my own background during the trip to Samedan for this situation. Without hesitation, I jumped into it: “I was born in Stable 13, as you can tell from my jumpsuit.” No reaction to that one. The ponies here must have pretty poor memory if they could not remember that the Stable Dweller came from Stable 2. That worked in my favor regardless. “I left looking for my sister––an adventurous filly––so I could bring her back. But… she was killed by slavers.”

“In Appleloosa?”

I nodded and turned my gaze to the floor. I made my breathing heavy and gritted my teeth. “I wiped out that place and swore I would avenge her by taking down every slaver I met! Soon enough, I had a price on my head, forcing me to get out of Dodge before they sicked the Talon Mercenaries on me. That’s how I wound up so far south.”

I brought my head back up, eyes locked onto Creed’s. It was up in the air now whether he would buy my story.

The sure signs of sympathy––soft frown, soft eyes, slow breaths––were there. His ears pinned back, Creed fell silent for some time. Certainly he would feel compassion for a desperate and lost stable pony such as myself.

Giving the half–empty bottle a shake, he set it aside and stood up. “I’m sorry to hear about that. So then, if your sister’s gone, what are you going to do now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking about walking the road to Baltimare and seeing what good I could do.” The first part was the truth. I really was making things up as I went along. “But at the moment, I was clearing this brewery of raiders for Aurora Buckner in Samedan. Oh, and thanks for the help on that.”

“You’re welcome. Mind if I tag along? I’ve got to restock on ammo back in town.”

I hoisted a crate of Buckner liquor onto my back. Given how poorly my fight with the raiders went, I thought a little extra protection would be of no harm. “Sure,” I told him. As we exited out the shack, Creed picked up my shovel without prompting and secured it to my saddlebags.

My luck had been just terrific up to now. The pegasus had proven one of the easiest strangers to convince; he seemed all too trusting, taking the lead and never once looking over his shoulder. That suited me just fine. I could survive a lot longer out here with my own guardian angel.

Comet Scotia

Current reputation
Southern Wasteland: Neutral
Gawd’s Talons: Hunted

Perks
Putting on the Mask – You have taken up the identity of “The Stable Dweller.” The Southern Wasteland remains unfazed. Others are more likely to hand you errands… I mean quests.
Names to Run Away From – Creed Brook has a reputation of killing all scum on the Mason Road. Wasteland inhabitants have taken to calling him “Angel.” With him as your companion, raider encounters become much less common.