Fallout Equestria: Tale of Two Bards

Fiddle Firestorm

“If you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold, but if you lose the devil gets your soul”

After waking up at a quarter till seven, Stratocaster and I spent every minute before 11:00 practicing our performance. We had mastered The Pegasus, but realizing that there were going to be multiple rounds, we also chose a few other songs that had sea-shanty tones like The Shadow Ship and Drunken Wrath. When 11:30 finally came, nervous couldn’t begin to describe how I was feeling. We made it to the pub before the show started and were greeted by an enormous crowd Standing just in front of the double doors. Voices resonated through the crowd.

“Did you hear?” One voice said. “I think the fiddler is supposed to play tonight.”

“Oh man!” Another one replied. “She’s gonna wipe the floor with the rest of these amateurs!” Weaving our way through the congested mass of ponies, a humongous earth-pony bouncer stood at the entrance blocking anypony from slipping in preemptively. We watched as he pounded another earth buck who was trying to sneak in behind him essentially into vapor with a single massive hind-kick. The pony was rendered into a broken, twitching pile. Spotting us, the bouncer widened his stance in defence.  I gulped in fear of the enormous meat-wall before me.

“Uh,” was all I could mutter. Strat and I were visibly quivering. I almost wanted to flee. He bent down to my level to speak to me as I stood, awaiting a deep booming voice.

“You wouldn’t happen to be signing in for the musical competition would you?” He asked in a calm, mellow voice. You’ve gotta be kidding me. There’s no way that came from this walking-tank of a pony. I stopped quivering.

“Uh, yeah?” Stratocaster answered, just as confused as I was.

“Oh, then in that case, right this way.” He used one of his front-hooves to gently push open one of the saloon-doors, and gestured for us to enter. Strat and I looked at each other, stunned. Shaking off this strange encounter, we proceeded.

Entering the pub, everything looked pretty much the same except for the stage. The curtains were drawn, hiding the whole backstage area and making the elevated platform seem a lot narrower. There was also an orange earth mare holding a clipboard in her mouth. Compared to the rest of the inhabitants, this mare looked surprisingly clean. Next to her hung a sign which read “Sign-up”. We trotted over to where she sat.

“Two more for the music competition,” I said confidently.

“Great!” she replied. “Do you know how these things usually play out?” Welp, so much for confidence. All of it went right out the window as I realized that I had no idea how musical competitions work. I just assumed it was like a performance. You go up, play some songs, get your money, and piss off back to your normal life. I searched for the right words to say that could keep me from looking like a novice.

“Umm,” I started, mentally slapping myself in the face. “N-not exactly, no.” Smooth one epiphone. I wished I could hide my face, as to conceal the gradient of red my face was creating. She smiled and turned a few pages from her clip-board.

“That’s ok, it’s quite simple actually,” She said, recognizing my embarrassment. “First off, since this is only a semi-formal competition, there is only one series. A series is made up of three separate tiers.” She moved her arms to signify the bottom tier. “They’re the firsts, semi-finals, and the finals.” This was beginning to make a bit more sense. “Every team,” she continued “is put into a bowl and withdrawn at random to decide who battles who. These battles are called heats.  Whoever wins their heat is sent into the next tier to compete with another team who won their heat, and this happens until they reach the finals where the winner will be decided.” I found I was getting most of what she was saying, but I was still confused about something.

“Wait,” I said. “If the competition only goes for three rounds, then how can there be so many teams?”

“Good question.” she showed me a sectioned bracket-chart. There were three sections with titles indicating which tier they belonged to. It looked to be a standard bracket-chart except for the semi-finals section. The section itself was more shaded than the others, and the borders  separating them were dashed lines rather than solid ones. I could only imagine what that could mean, but instead of making myself look even more naive, I kept my mouth shut and listened.

“When we announce these competitions, we never know how many competitors we’ll get, so the rounds have to be able to accommodate everyone.” She pointed to the semi-finals section of the chart. “See how this tier is different from the others?” I nodded in response. “That’s because this tier can be as big or as small as we want it. More competitors means longer semi-finals.” It was beginning to make more sense. “Any questions?” She asked with a sort of sweetness.

“That’s all I need for now, thanks,” I replied with a strengthened confidence.

“Great! Now I just need the name of your team here.” She flipped back a few pages with her hoof to reveal a long list of team names. I glanced through them out of curiosity. Most of the names were plain and uninteresting, but I did get a giggle out of a particular heavy-metal band named “Horse Force”. After a second or two of skimming through about twenty names that were just twenty ways of saying “Look at me, I'm different and therefore interesting,” the last name finally caught my eye. “The Fiddler” was written coldly in the 23rd spot. The signature was unmistakably written by a unicorn. I remembered what the ponies in the crowd had said about her. From what I understood, she was a force to be reckoned with. However, I wasn't going to let it deter me. I still needed the money, and celestia dammit, I was gonna get it.

Turning my attention back to signing our own team name, I took the pen in my mouth and began scribbling on the first blank line. When I finished, Stratiphone was written proudly on the 24th spot. It was the name my brother and I had chosen when we first started our musical career. The name wasn’t very creative or unique, being simply the contraction of our names, but it stuck.

“What now?” I asked, putting the pen down. She took the clipboard and confirmed that I had filled all of the necessary information.

“Ponies are going to start flooding through those doors in about twenty minutes. You can use that time to go backstage and run through your performance.” I nodded and started for the stairs, Stratocaster following closely behind.

Pushing the curtains aside, I spotted what had to be around 30 or 40 ponies. Some were setting up equipment, others were tuning instruments, dressing into costumes, and rehearsing their parts. The entire room was a cacophony of vocal and instrumental oscillations. Among the chaos, however, was a single distinguishable tune. It was a violinist. I searched for the source of the music. It was different from the rest of the musicians. While most ponies were playing hard, loud, and low, this music was soft, and sweet; almost melancholy in tone.

After wading through a sea of musicians, I finally found the source. A young unicorn mare with a coat as blue as cobalt and a mane greener than balefire sat in the back of the crowd, levitating her violin next to her and playing a sweet-sounding melody with a smile. She was actually very pretty despite her location. She lifted her instrument to inspect the face, turning its back towards me. There, right in the middle of the instrument, something was engraved. I had to strain to look, but I could clearly see it spelled “The Fiddler” with a design that could only have been carved by a master. For the second time tonight, I have been left completely awestruck. I had a hard time believing that someone this young could be the feared champion I've heard so much about.

Returning her instrument to her chin, she changed songs. Unlike the previous song, which was slow and peaceful, this one was fast and aggressive. It was a battle song in by the tone of it. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put a hoof on it. Before I could think too hard about it, I was interrupted by an announcer.

“The heats have been announced!” Called a female voice. “You can find your opponents on the board!” Turning my head, I spotted a cork board with names pinned to it connected by strings. Strat and I trotted to it, and began searching.

After a few minutes of searching the enormous chart, I found our name connected to a group called Harmonics in heat J. I could hear the indistinct chatter of the crowd funneling into the pub. “Five minutes till showtime!” The voice called again. Strat and I looked at each other briefly before setting down our cases, and unpacking our instruments. After checking my tuning for the billionth time, I was satisfied. I moved on to attempting to remember which songs we were playing. Assuming we made it to the finals, I told stratocaster that we needed to add two more songs to our list for the extended semi-finals. After a bit of discussion, we decided on A change of scenery and Times Change. They were two rock songs we used to play for fun back home. Their speed made them perfect songs to impress a bunch of small-town hicks despite their simplicity. “The competition has begun! Quiet backstage please!” The announcer said. “Those in heat A please make your ways onstage!” I watched as two groups of ponies trotted onstage.

The first group, a quartet, was dressed in fancy suits. Their instruments, a bass cello, a piano, and two mics, were already onstage. They appeared to be a jazz band. They performed quite well. Their opponents, however were a country music trio with big, bushy beards, and overalls whos banjo and guitar playing sounded like a musical trainwreck, and who's singing made me want to shove sharp objects into my ears. I'll leave you to figure out who made the semifinals.

Heats B through I were quite varied. There were duos, trios and quartets alike playing classical, rock, metal, blues, and some unknown genre that I can only describe as “gothic”. Then it was our turn in heat J. We were the first group to go up. During the other heats, Strat and I donned some sharp, white dress clothes and hats to add contrast to our normal coat colors. We strolled onstage with smiles looking calm and collected on the outside, while underneath we were nervous wrecks. We sat down with our instruments. “Tonight, we have two new faces with us. Our first two pegasi in years.” The announcer said, addressing us. “Please welcome Stratiphone playing Times Change.” As the stomping subsided, we began playing. I started quickly strumming minor chords. Stratocaster came in with loud power chords that harmonized with my own chords. I got ready as the lyrics approached.

“When you think you’re up on top, someone’s always right above you.” Strat came in with the next line.

“If you're busy lookin’ down, someone’s likely gonna  shove you.” It was my turn to sing.

“You could be the king sittin’ up in your castle.”

“Believe me they’ll take your place without a hassle-” we both came in for the chorus.

“Because times change. Even when you’re not a-lookin’. Times change~.”

Looking around, the majority of the audience seemed uninterested. A few of them however, those who actually listen to this music, smiled and nodded to the beat. They knew what was coming next. When the chorus subsided, the hook snuck it’s way in. The hook in question was a completely instrumental part one and a half times faster than the rest of the song. Because Strat was the lead guitarist, his part was 100% tremolo, while mine was pure double stops. The sudden change in speed got the attention of the crowd, causing some of them to even lean in.

When the hook came back to the verse, the saloon doors of the bar opened, and two armored gryphons entered.

Weird. How did they get past the bouncer?

They took their place in the very back, behind the audience.

After the song ended, we received a round of applause from the audience, and made our way backstage. I kept my eye on the two newcomers. They didn’t look like they were here for the music. They seemed way too stoic for that. No, they were here for something else.

Assuming we won the heat, which mind you wasn’t a huge assumption, I wouldn’t be performing till next round, so I left my brother backstage, and took my place near the gryphons. The Fiddler pushed the curtain aside, and stepped onstage, violin levitating next to her.

“Target in sight.” I heard one of them say quietly into an ear-bloom. I couldn’t hear what the voice on the other end was saying, but it couldn’t have been good.

Did I just wander into an assassination?

I knew I shouldn’t get involved, but dammit, I couldn’t just sit here and let this happen! I watched as the closest assassin began rummaging through his bag. After some fumbling around, he retrieved a briefcase, placing it carefully on the floor. Quietly opening it, the contents were revealed. From what I could tell, it was a long-barreled rifle, broken down into two pieces, the receiver and the barrel, allowing it to be carried in a much more compact case.

I made a decision. I couldn’t just let her die. It wouldn’t be right to leave, knowing I

could’ve done something.

Unholstering The Tyrant very carefully with my teeth, I positioned the weapon behind the assassin’s head while he was busy assembling the gun. Just then, I heard the door kicked in followed by hoof-steps. The Fiddler was already performing, so the audience barely noticed. The assassins turned to look, forcing me to drop my gun to keep my cover intact.

 It was the old, yellow buck whom strat had beaten at hoof-wrestling the previous night, being followed by two middle-aged bucks. They looked pissed.

“There he is!” The old-yellow buck said, barely audible over the violin’s echo. He was pointing to where my brother, who must’ve followed me after I left, was standing, oblivious to what was happening. They approached him threateningly.

Shit. This was not good. The gryphon was nearly finished assembling the gun. It seemed I had another decision to make. Save the pony that is the only thing standing between me and 500 caps, and let my only family member die, or let an innocent civilian of the wasteland die to protect my own. What am I supposed to do? Think, think, think! after pondering it for a split second longer, I took my gun in my hooves, and made my move.

“Excuse me,” I said calmly to the gryphon, lightly tapping his shoulder. He turned to me, and was greeted with a bone-shattering blow from the back of The Tyrant to his beak. I could feel the pop of his dislocated jaw through the barrel. He went down without any further action. The gun he was holding fell next to him, fully assembled. I turned behind me to warn my brother of the menacing attackers closing in.

“Stratocaster!” I yelled as loud as I could muster. He turned, noticing the Bucks that approached, weapons now drawn. His eyes nearly popped from his skull as he scrambled for his .357. He took a wider stance, gun in mouth, and wings spread. Just then, the other gryphon, who I failed to notice retrieving her fallen companion’s rifle, bashed the butt of the weapon against the back of my head.

What did I think she was going to do? Stand there with her talons up her ass?

Dazed, I fell to the floor concussed, but not unconscious. My vision was blurry, and my head was pounding. The force of the blow had made it impossible to tell what was happening, but judging by the that there wasn’t a hole in my head the size of an apple, the gryphon was most likely taking aim for her primary target. I could vaguely make out her shape through the haze. Taking The Tyrant in my muzzle once again, I attempted to take aim, however my blurred vision made it impossible to safely take the shot. I couldn’t risk killing a member of the crowd. I slipped into SATS, time slowing down, highlighting my target. I cued a single shot to her head. I held my breath in anticipation as time resumed to normal. The Tyrant boomed, probably grabbing everypony’s attention. I wasn’t 100% sure that it hit, but the figure that I hoped with all my heart was the gryphon was now gone. There was another shot. My hearing was too fucked to make out the caliber, but from what I could tell, it came from where I saw Strat last. I hoped like hell that strat was the one who fired that shot. My vision came back to me, revealing the rest of the scene. Stratocaster was slumped over on a wall, battered and injured, but not from a bullet. His gun was also nowhere to be seen. I also noticed that there was one less red pip on my EFS. Ponies were scattering in every direction, panicked from the shots.

Who the hell fired that shot?

Darting my eyes, I finally located the source of the shot. The very same pony who’s life I just saved had jumped to my brother’s rescue, levitating both Stratocaster’s gun, and a .45 caliber handgun of an unknown design. She had a dangerous look about her. Her facial expression alone appeared to be one of anger, however her stance was defensive, not offensive. Peering to her opposers, I noticed the old, yellow buck dead on the floor, deep red blood leaking from both sides of his neck through a single wound-channel. The two that remained held a knife and a wooden board. They looked at each other for a second, presumably realizing that one unicorn with two large caliber pistols far outgunned them.

“Fuck this!” one of them yelled. They both dropped their weapons, and fled through the front door. Several moments passed before everypony figured out that they were safe, the immediate danger having been exterminated. The whole building was filled with whispers, as the crowd tried to piece together what had happened. It was only when the announcer entered the stage that the silence was broken.

“Um, sorry folks. due to unforeseen consequences, the show has to be cut short. Thanks for coming.” The announcer disappeared behind the curtain once again. I was still on my back, my head still throbbing where my skull had been bashed. I felt the damaged area with my hoof. I could feel the blood in my blue and blonde mane. Yep, definitely concussed.

“You ok?” Said a very feminine voice. Turning my head, I found “The Fiddler” standing over me with a hoof extended. Grabbing it, she helped me to my hooves.

“I think i’m ok,” I lied. My head nearly exploded as I got up. I took a good look at her. She was even more beautiful up close. Somehow, her cobalt-blue coat seemed even bluer than backstage. Her eyes, I noticed, were a deep magenta, and her mane was a very well-kempt braid with a slight fluff in the front. Her tail however, was a different story. It was small, but very fluffy. Not to say that it was a mess, quite the opposite actually, it was very clean. She had to have somehow bathed recently.

“Are you sure? You’re spacing out big-time,” I heard her say, snapping me back to reality as I realized that I was staring. I shook my head, causing pain to explode throughout my brain.

“Y-yeah,” I replied, embarrassed. “Just a bit concussed.” My flushed cheeks thankfully went unnoticed in the darkness.

“Here, this should help.” She levitated a healing potion from her bag, placing it in front of me. I thanked her before gulping it down graciously, feeling the healing magic mending my cracked skull. She smiled at me.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do for saving my life.” I gave a half-smile back to her. I saved her life, but had to end two others to do it. I still wasn’t used to killing. “So, I don’t believe I caught your name.” She stated. She actually wants to know my name? I would’ve thought she’d just thank me and be on her way, but this is downright friendly! Maybe the wasteland isn’t so hostile after all.

“The name’s Epiphone.” I searched for my brother. I spotted him looting the corpse of the old buck who assaulted him. “That there’s my brother, Stratocaster. Thanks, by the way, for jumping in when you did. I should’ve known three-to-one in close quarters would end badly.” She peered at strat with a smile.

“Your brother, huh?” She looked a bit longer. I became curious, but decided not to pry.

“Yep, my only flesh and blood.” I said matter-of-factly. after a few moments longer of her watching him, I cleared my throat, snapping her back to attention. Now who’s spacing out?

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Arpeggio.” She closed her eyes, and put a hoof to her chest. For a random stranger in the wasteland, she’s very polite. “Sorry, it’s just that, you’re the first pegasi I’ve ever seen. I’ve always dreamt of flight since I was a filly.” That struck me as strange. I had never considered the fact that very few ponies in the wasteland had ever seen a pegasus, and what effect that might have.

“Well, In the spirit of good impressions, why don’t we buy you a drink?” I said, extending the hypothetical hoof of friendship. She gave a light chuckle.

“Jackpot!” Strat yelled from behind me. He sat on his haunches next to the dead gryphon, inspecting the large rifle the assassin had been using. “Check out this kick-ass rifle!” I went in for a closer look, taking it in my own hooves.

The rifle was gorgeous. It had a 22” octagonal barrel, a polished brass receiver, a hickory stock and grip, and true repeater-style sights. The lever was a bit of an ass to open with my hooves, but it gave way, ejecting a round from the hole on the side. There was no mistaking the round, I knew it anywhere, but I had never seen one in person. It was a 45-70, a true monster of a round.

“That’s an enormous caliber for an assassination. Whoever sent them really wanted you dead.” I said to Arpeggio, who was more concerned about the bodies.

“Talons,” She said stoically. “Not good.” She looked very worried.

“Talons? You mean the assassins?” She started chuckling cynically. I was getting very concerned. “Did I say something wrong?” She ceased her chuckling.

“First of all, they’re mercs, not assassins. Second of all, if you don’t know about the talons, consider yourself lucky. They’re an organization of mercenaries, loyal not to a leader, but their contract. If you’ve got the talons on your ass, you’re already dead. They’re tough as nails, and extremely good at killing. To my knowledge, they’ve never left a contract unfinished.”

“Damn.” Strat said. “Who the hell want’s you dead that badly?”

“Long story. All I can say is, if the talon’s are in on it, I’m dead.” She hung her head in despair. I sympathized with her. After all, we were being hunted as well.

“Looks like we’re in the same boat.” I told her.

“Whoever wants you dead, is nowhere near as bad as the Talons.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She seemed intrigued.

“Try me” I put a smug look on my face.

“Ever heard of The Enclave?”

“Not that I can recall.” Wow, that was unexpected.

“Sweet horn-fucking celestia! What rock have you been living under? They’re the reason it’s never sunny. It’s because The Enclave closed the sky over 200 years ago!”

“Oh, is that what they’re called? I guess you could say I’ve been living in isolation for most of my life. Well, all of it really.” What does she mean ‘living in isolation.’?

“Anyways, they’re the biggest military power in the wasteland. They’re basically the government of the clouds where the pegasi are forced to live. They really don’t like it when pegasi escape. Any pegasus who has an opposing idea to the Enclave is branded a Dashite and executed.”

“And you two left because….”

“To put a long story short, we were lucky enough to escape before we were branded, and are now being hunted by the Enclave like dogs. It’s like hide and seek, except when we’re found, we die.”

“Shit. I guess we are in the same boat, huh?” She levitated a strange looking glass bottle labelled Sparkle Cola, popped the cap off, and took a hearty swig. Just then, an idea creeped its way into my head.

“Hey, here’s a crazy idea.” I said, gaining Arpeggio’s attention.

“I like crazy ideas. That’s why I get myself into trouble all the time.”

“How about you travel with us?” She nearly choked on her cola.

“T-travel? With you and your b-brother?” She stammered nervously.

“You heard that correctly. With my brother and I.” Arpeggio rubbed the back of her head with a hoof, stunned at the offer. “Something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s just; I’ve lived alone for so long. I don’t exactly have many friends.” There was obviously something else, but I ignored it for the time being.

“Well, you’ve made two of them today, so you’re on a roll so far.” Her cheeks became flushed. I could tell something was up, but I was just focusing on getting her on board. I could ask her everything else later. “So, how about it? You want to come along?”

“Well, seeing as how the Talon’s know where I am now, it looks like I have no choice.”

“Great! Welcome aboard! You can take that 45-70 as a welcoming present.” Arpeggio smiled brightly. That had to be the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen.

“Wait, what?” Strat asked. “This gun’s probably worth several thousand caps. Why not sell it?” While this was a good idea, it had one major flaw.

“Because earth ponies and pegasi can’t fire it. Using a lever action with hooves is near impossible, and the recoil of these enormous rounds would rip your jaw in half. Even firing it from a battle-saddle would knock you on your ass. No, this weapon was made for digits, or magic.”

“Well hell, that sucks.” I offered the weapon to our new companion, and she took it thankfully. “Still, what’re we gonna do about that debt?” He asked, bringing up a good point. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. Even from all the looting, we were still 210 caps shy of the debt. Selling all the scrap weapons, we might be able to shrink that number down to 130, but that was still 130 more than we had.

“You two are in debt?” Arpeggio chimed in.

“Yeah, to some crazy doctor. He healed me after a firefight when we first got into town.” Arpeggio’s face formed a mischievous smile.

“Dr. Styptic. How much do you owe?” Her grin was almost ominous.

“Um, 300 caps.” Strat said nervously.

“Well, as my first contribution to the group, I’ll cover the medical bill. Come on, let’s pay the good doctor a visit.” She started towards the door with a ladylike stride. Strat and I followed her, looking at each other in confusion. I found it unlikely that someone who lives in isolation happens to have a spare 300 caps. Exiting the double doors, It was bright outside. My PipBuck showed that it was a quarter till 2. Glancing to the left, I noticed a large mass in the alleyway between the pub and the adjacent building. With further inspection, I realized that it was the bouncer that had guarded the entrance of the pub during the competition. He lied dead on his side, throat cut deep. There was no evidence of a struggle. If the Talons were responsible for this, I count myself extremely lucky that I caught them by surprise. They were obviously more dangerous than I gave them credit for.

Approaching the door of the clinic, Arpeggio’s confidence seemed unwavered. What was her plan? She might have looked wealthy, but she really was just another wastelander. She opened the door magically, and we stepped inside. Instantly, I saw the doctor’s daughter who looked almost happy when she saw Arpeggio. That happiness faded when she noticed my brother and I behind her.

“Arpeggio?” She asked with a mixture of cheer and confusion.

“Splint!” Arpeggio responded excitedly. The two mares embraced each other happily. “It’s so good to see you again! It’s been way too long!” They both giggled. Wait, they know each other? I thought Arpeggio didn’t have friends. I was very confused.

“It’s great to see you too. What’re you doing with-” Splint gestured towards us and mouthed the word ‘them’. Arpeggio looked back and gave an ‘I got this’ smile.

“I’ll explain later. Is your dad around?” She scanned the room.

“Hang on. DAD! WE HAVE COMPANY!” She yelled, her voice booming through the little building. Doctor Styptic entered through a door in the back of the clinic, looking very tired, but his face lit up as he spotted Arpeggio.

“Arpeggio!” He said ecstatically, trotting forward and rustling her hair. “What a wonderful surprise! What brings you through here? Are you hurt?” He sounded very fatherly, almost reminiscent of our own.

“No, no.” Arpeggio replied, politely escaping his grasp. “I’m here for something else.” She nodded her head to where my brother and I were silently waiting.

“Oh, it’s you two again. What’re you doing wandering around with them? No offense.”

“None taken,” Strat and I said in unison.

“You see,” She continued. “I was here for the annual musicians competition, like always, when it was cut short after I was almost killed by two talons.” She said it almost matter-of-factly. The doctor’s eyes looked as if they would pop out of their sockets and roll away.

“Talons!? What did you do this time?” He seemed genuinely concerned about her.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out with the help of these two.” She once again nodded to us. The doctor glared at us confused.

“What do they have to do with this?” He placed a hoof on her shoulder.

“Well, Epiphone here is the one who stopped them. He saved my life, Styptic.” Splint was the shocked on this time.

“You were saved by this Enclave!?”

She’s still harking on about this? Celestia, she sounds like a broken record.

“For the last time, we’re not enclave. We’re Dashites!” She paid us no mind.

“Yeah,” Arpeggio continued. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.” Splint looked down, seemingly embarrassed. “Now, it’s come to my attention that you’re trying to scam them blind.” The doctor’s face went through multiple shades of red, and began looking around.

I knew 300 caps was an outrageous price for such a simple procedure.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” He asked, attempting to play it off. Arpeggio looked doubtfully at him. The doctor was visibly sweating. I was loving this.

“Really Styptic, 300 caps for a bullet extraction and blood infusion?”

“That’s reasonable!” He was acting defensively now.

“Is that so? Because I happen to know a certain NER ranger who didn’t pay half that for the exact same procedure.” Arpeggio had him cornered.

“Well, I-” He searched for the right words to bullshit his way out of this, but Arpeggio cut him off.

“Tell you what, we’re friends. Lower the price to 60 caps and call it a favor.” Everyone in the room was dumbfounded. Who knew such a loner was this good at bartering? She levitated a pouch from her bag, counted 60 caps, and placed them in front of Doctor Styptic, returning the pouch to her bag proudly.

“Anything else?” He asked dreadfully. I pondered the offer.

“We could use medical supplies.” I spoke up after an eternity of silence. He seemed hesitant, but after some bartering, I bought three healing potions, and some magical bandages at a reasonable price. Splint approached with hesitation.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving my best friend’s life.” Her gaze remained on the floor. She was very short compared to me, forcing me to look down to speak to her.

“It’s not necessary. Anypony could have done it. It just happened to be me.” She still kept her eyes locked to the tiled floor.

“You’re wrong. It may be different where you come from, but down here, nopony does anything for anypony. They would’ve let her die, but you didn’t. Thank you.” I couldn’t believe it. How could anypony be that selfish? “I guess not all enclave are so bad.”

“Lemme tell you a story. Ever wonder why we became dashites?” She nodded. “Well, far into the clouds lives the huge society of pegasus. We have food to eat, places to sleep, and a military to defend us, so why, you may ask, would anypony want to leave? Well, I’ll tell you why. When stratocaster and I were little, we lived with our dad, who raised us since our mom left. We loved dad so much. He was our world. I remember we used to fight over who loved dad more.” She giggled at that. Arpeggio stood a few feet away. I didn’t mind, she needed to hear this too. “We never got to see him much, though, since he was in the military. He always brought back cool things from the surface, though. Once, he brought back an old pair of binoculars. We used the hell out of those things to see the surface through holes in the cloud cover. One day, we were using them with him to see the ground, when we saw the most amazing thing. It was a convoy of carts filled with ponies all playing instruments. There were guitarists, and trumpets, and even banjos. We were too far to hear, but we could imagine it all. It was a perfect day. Or at least it would’ve been. A patrolling guard saw what we were doing, and reported it. Our dad was taken right from our house. With no other relatives, Strat and I were put through the enclave training school, and when we were old enough, we dropped out and began planning our escape. Our family was destroyed by the enclave, and we hate them for it.” I had her full attention now. She looked absolutely appalled at what she heard.

“I-I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She no longer resented me, I could see it.

“Don’t be. Just remember one thing. A dashite always has a reason.” I Trotted to my brother who was focused on his PipBuck. “Hey, bud.” I said, taking a seat next to him.

“Epiphone, you have to see this.” He ejected a tape from his Pipbuck, and passed it to me. It was unmarked which made me nervous. I opened my Pipbuck’s tapedeck and popped it in. A new file was placed in my Pipbuck which I found and opened after a bit of searching. It was named simply as ‘Briefing’ and contained a physical description of Arpeggio as well as the time and location of the competition we just left. The file also contained a set of coordinates that, after finding them on my map, pointed to a location 10 miles east of Neighburg.

“Strat, what is this?” I asked him, feeling chilled. I had a vague idea.

“I found it on one of the Talons. It’s a contract for an assassination.” That’s what I was afraid of. We weren’t going to find any answers here.

“We should get a move-on. Two Talons are dead, won’t be long before they send someone to find ‘em.”

“But where will we go? There’s a price on our heads now. Everywhere we go, we have meal-ticket written all over us.” He sounded as if he’d given up.

“Well, we’ve got one lead. I bet the key to getting this bounty off our backs lies at these coordinates.” I held up my forehoof to show him the map. “Right here, see?”

“We’re actually going there? You don’t even know what’s over there!”

“Well there’s only one way to find out.” I donned my saddlebags, and headed for the door. Both Stratocaster and Arpeggio followed. Arpeggio opened the door magically, and I thanked Dr. Styptic before stepping through. The sun had rose a bit since we entered the building. I started in the direction of the general store. I still had some loot to sell from the raiders and the talons. I sold the two shitty pistols from the raiders and a decent, but under-powered pistol I found on the talon’s body for a combined total of 75 caps. It was a little less than what I had hoped for, but better than nothing. With all the caps Arpeggio had saved me, I bought a box of 12-gauge shells, a box of .308, some 45-70 rounds (Which unsurprisingly, were quite expensive), and a shotgun barrel that didn’t have more grooves worn into it than Sapphire Shore’s music.

After restocking our munitions, we picked up our instruments from the bar, and began planning our next steps.

“So” I spoke first. “We can't stick around here long. The talons are bound to come looking for their boys, and it's only a matter of time before they put the pieces together.”

“Right” stratocaster replied, “and it won't be long before the enclave track us down either, so we need to get where we’re going fast.” My mind began racing to figure out how to do that.

“Guys? I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't fly, so unless you feel like carrying me for 10 miles, it's gonna be about a three hour walk.” Said arpeggio who had been sitting quietly with a short tumbler of whiskey.

Seeing as how I could barely keep airborne while laden with my brother, flying 10 miles with a non-Pegasus would be impossible. Just then, an idea came to mind.

“Guys, I've got it. Follow me.” I started out the door of the bar, strat and arpeggio following behind confused. We walked a couple of blocks till we reached the abandoned bus. “Here’s our ride.” I watched their facial expressions change from confusion to disgust and back to confusion.

“You mean, we’re going…. In that?” Arpeggio said shuddering. Granted, it still had pock-marks and blood stains everywhere.

“Hate to break it to you bro, but that thing is FUBAR.” Strat chimed in.

“Ah, see that's where you're wrong. You're forgetting, who spent an entire year in the Enclave basic training engineering program?” I said proudly.

“You did what now?” Arpeggio asked. “I thought you weren't associated with them?”

“We’re not. You see, it was a punishment for pissing off an officer. It was either that or prison, and a 14 year-old colt wouldn't last long there, so I chose the former over the latter.”

“Harsh.” Her gaze returned to the hunk of beautiful junk before her.

“Anyways, I bet I could get this puppy airborne before dark.” I checked the time, which read about a quarter past 1:00. ‘Plenty of time’ I thought to myself.

Level up! New perk: Intense Training. +1 Perception.