Fallout: Equestria’s Scoundrels

Chapters

Entry 001 - Introduction
Entry 002 - A Stable Relationship
Entry 003 - Little Birds (song)
Entry 004 - The Snips
Entry 005 - A Way In
Entry 006 - Stable T-Thirty
Entry 008 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part Two)
Entry 009 - We'll Meet Again Someday (song)
Entry 011 - The Seven Day Rule (Part Two)
Entry 012 - Jailbird Blues (Part One)
Entry 013 - Jailbird Blues (Part Two)
Entry 014 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part One)
Entry 015 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part Two)
Entry 016 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part One)
Entry 017 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part Two)
Entry 018 - Lost My Six String (Song)
Entry 019 - Sense and Stability (Part One)
Entry 020 - Sense and Stability (Part Two)
Entry 021 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part One)
Entry 022 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part Two)
Entry 023 - Griffi Vanilli (Part One)
Entry 024 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Two)
Entry 025 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Three)
Entry 026 - I Understand Love Now (song)
Entry 027 - First Ascension (Part One)
Entry 029 - First Ascension (Part Three)
Entry 030 - First Ascension (Part Four)
Entry 031 - He's Good To Me (song)
Entry 032 - First Ascension (Part Five)
Entry 033 - First Ascension (Part Six)
Entry 034 - Discord's Ball (Song)
Entry 035 - A Dark Nightmare Night (Part One)
Entry 000 - Prologue
Entry 007 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part One)
Entry 010 - The Seven Day Rule (Part One)
Entry 028 - First Ascension (Part Two)

Entry 001 - Introduction

Entry 001 – Introduction

War

War is when everything changes.

Several years ago, the ponies of the lands called Equestria decided to stop being colorful, peace-loving creatures and instead became colorful, murder-hungry warmongers. They roasted their homes, destroyed their neighbors and stuffed their survivors into gigantic rabbit holes in the ground to avoid the eventual apocalypse. This was all in the hope that one day, the doors would roll open to reveal their world unchanged, and they would come out alive, ready to restart their new and happy lives.

So far, that plan has not worked.

My name is Crow. I'm a bitch Griffoness from the Wastelands of Trotland and now I'm a bitch Griffoness living in the Wastelands of Manehattan. That's the first thing you need to know.

The second thing I need to tell you about going into this is that I am not a fancy storyteller. Sure, I’ve read the Detective Pony books and a few other things for inspiration, but I’ve never written anything more than a note before. Then again, who does write anymore? Nopony, except for Ditzy Doo as far as I know, in these lands that Tartarus pissed on before setting the whole lot on fire.

I'm writing this because somebody had to document the discovery of Stable T-Thirty and who else was going to do that? That’s right. Nobody.

If any Stable can prove that every cognisant creature would have been better off boiling to death in the blasts that wiped out most of Equestria so long ago, rather than burrowing underground in a vain attempt to preserve the Equestrian race, then Stable T-Thirty was one of the strongest candidates for the job.

For me to recall every important detail and ensure I do not miss anything vital later, I'm going to tell you everything I can remember. Some of it might seem like inconsequential horseshit and some of it probably is, but this is the only way that I am able to capture everything as accurately as I can...

Sort of.

I must admit, I am also using this as an excuse to remember one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever known. When we discovered Stable T-Thirty, Gypsy Breeze was still with us.

That's not to say that I am lying about how important it is to tell you the vile experiments we found Stable-Tec had been forcing on the ponies in Stable T-Thirty but I have to stress how important Gypsy Breeze was to me. Just by writing her name on this terminal, I feel like I am preserving her memory for eternity. I hope somepony reads this someday and turns her into a legend or a Goddess or a hero like a character from the GrogMacIntosh comics.

Regardless of that, I cannot start this with her.

Instead, I must start by telling you about the drunken night I found a stallion in my shack wearing the skull of a pony on his head…

~The Last Song~

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: R.A.S.C.A.L.S. stats added -

5+ Robustness
4+ Awareness
5+ Stamina
1+ Charisma
2+ Acumen
3+ Litheness
1+ Success

Quest Begun - Deadwood

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Fallout Theme by Inon Zur (I recommend the London Music Works version

Okay.
I am looking for advice on how to better write and edit this.

This is the opener.

... Don't worry. I mean, there's a LOT more to come.
Next bit gets a little blue...

Thanks.

Bye bye.
All good things,
Dusk

Entry 002 - A Stable Relationship

My Dearest Subjects, here and abroad.

I never wanted to be revered. That was never my goal.

I never wanted to be seen as a ruler nor a conqueror of lands. I have only ever wanted ponies, creatures of all Equestria, to live without fear and to find their purposes in these lands and across our seas.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 002 - A Stable Relationship

The strange pony I found in my shelter, wearing a worryingly well-fitting cranium upon his own head, was called Elmwood. Elm to his friends...

Friend.

Me.

I'm the only one alive to call him Elm, really. Gypsy used to nickname him Woody and everypony else called him Deadwood, if they wanted to be polite. Elm was not a well-liked stallion outside of the present company and that suited him just fine. He relished the disgust he earned from the other ponies we met on our travels. I think it gave him a sense of purpose to be the revered Deadwood, biggest dick in the wastes.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of how Elm, Gypsy and I met, that is for a different time. What I will tell you without any shame in it is that at the point of discovering Stable T-Thirty the three of us were all riding with a band of raiders. We were not ashamed of it then and I am not ashamed of confessing it now. That was the claw we were dealt with to survive, just like every other Wastelander in Equestria.

Every day you get a choice whether to live life as one of the wicked or die with a clean conscience. The highest and mightiest ponies have lived by eating something that once belonged to their dead neighbor. If you didn't get a chance to eat it before expiring to the humongous, glittering Canterlot in the sky, then it didn't belong to you anymore.

Everybody has a fair choice. You can be a Wasteland scavenger and do your best to survive without corrupting yourself further, although the lands and situations this world leaves you with do not allow for many feel-good options. Then again, you might have a few illusions of grandeur, in which case mercenary work is right up your alley. Shoot at the big bads, get fawned over and blown by your adoring damsels and dams in distress, be a big, damn hero. Just note that your life expectancy is in minus figures.

You can be a Raider, roll with a team and although your morals are despicable and a rad hog wadding through its own shit could have a healthier hygiene than you, you’re more likely to get the good shit. Food, drugs, drink, guns. It wasn’t a good life but it was a helluva lot of fun. However, if you think I chose the worst of the worst to swing with, you’re sorely mistaken. That accolade went to Slavers.

Slavers don’t show remorse or pity for you or your family. They’ll happily fuck you with a spikey club then use the same club to finish you off if you’re lucky. If you’re not, they’ll send you off to let other ponies and critters do the same, over and over, until you dream of death. You either join their ranks then hope you don’t buck up, or you accept that Celestia always hated you and now she’s going to teabag you into oblivion.

Gypsy, Elmwood and I chose to join a gang of raiders together. Someday, the next Sun Goddess may show up on our doorstep to bring a new day to Equestria and we may all be dealt the true vengeful justice for our crimes. I would not blame them for doing so, but we all wanted to live, and we did not have a reason back then to worry about the survival of anypony else.

On the night in question, Elm had been missing for some considerable time.

Leaving the group to travel on his own was not unlike Elmwood. Doing whatever the Tartarus he liked was one of his favorite past times, to the annoyance and fear of the posse we were moving about with. There was often angry talk about him leading an attack on us from a rival Raiders, purposefully or accidentally. But they couldn’t stop him if they tried, nor could they deny that he did not come back with useful items or Intel.

If an enemy group was approaching our camp, then he was often the first to tell us. On numerous occasions he asked me to speak to the leader of our team and arrange for us to travel in a different direction, often reaching plentiful scavenger sites. Once or twice he had even been able to reveal any traitors in our little band, which made him a valued member of the team in the leader's eyes and an even greater unpopular ass to everybody else.

What was unique about this one occasion was that he had been gone for more than a few days this time around. His previous long excursions had been up to four days before he came swanning back into the fold. This time around he had disappeared for a full two weeks, which was long enough to generate concern within myself and Gypsy and force us to arrange a search party.

The party consisted of me, Gypsy and just a few other members who were only interested in the caps we had bargained for their services. Despite the knowledge that they would receive full payment for looking for any sign of our missing friend, they were still lackluster in their attempts to locate him. They quickly grew bored and condemned him to death, to the dismay of Gypsy.

As the others trudged away, I ruefully sent her after them. She would have an easier time convincing them to come back rather than me, she had a gift when it came to talking to other ponies. I would spend a little longer looking around, in hopes I might just find my friend lazing around having lost track of time.

An hour, or what my broken pocket watch considered was an hour, passed. I figured Gypsy had been unsuccessful in her attempts to recover the search squad and I was considering making my lonely return as well when I rounded the corner and fresh hell broke loose.

“Who the buck~?” All I heard before the shooting began. I backpedaled fast with a thrust of my wings to rush me behind a wall, feeling the heat barely missing my feathers.

“Yo, A griffon!” called one.

“She got some bucking nice gear too,” yelled another.

“I’m gonna make pillows out of those feathers, bitch, and then I’m gonna buck you on those pillows until I-” BANG! The one shooting his mouth off the most had made for an easy target. I barely even had to aim.

My rifle still smoked as I ducked back into cover. Raiders are not a social collective, and even less so when they bump into one another. I’d had the misfortune to step straight into the line of fire of a small nest of them. Luckily, these ones couldn’t string a brain cell together if their lives depended on it, and I was glad of that. I just had to trust my instincts and avoid misjudging them. Speaking of which…

Clink-Clank! A silver orb bounced over broken stones and busted masonry, finding its way to me.

“Oh, Shi-!” I didn’t wait around as soon as I heard the clang of metal, kicking myself off of the ground and spreading my wings.
“Come on, junior speedster lessons, don’t let me down-“

KA-BOOM!

The rivals began to holler elatedly when I did not reappear from the smoke and dust kicked up by the apple grenade. They made orders to come forth and collect me, or my belongings, whichever had survived the explosion. Hooves clopped over the uneven surface towards the place I had been and a pair of mares, the two of them more like walking chainmail with the number of piercings they’d collected, came to check the spot I’d last been seen. Both were earth ponies, carrying pistols in their mouths, which made it nicer and easier for me to put extra holes and steel in them. It’s harder to swing a gun around in your jaws than it is in a magical grasp.

Bang! Bang! Bullets flew from the place I’d hidden, one missing but the other striking mare number two in her unprotected throat. Her eyes bulged, her head flipped back and her neck erupted in ribbons of scarlet. Metal mare one didn’t stop for futile attempts to save her dead comrade and immediately retreated, with one more shot skimming her hindquarters.

“Buck, buck, buck! Bitch griffon is still alive!” She cried, gunfire blasting but hitting nowhere near my location. Another explosive was thrown, and I hooked my wings into the triggers on my gun-saddle. When the first clatter of the grenade hit the street, I shot out of the corrugated sheet I’d covered myself with and jumped over the ball, kicking it back with a hind foot.

KA-BOOM!-Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam~!

I didn’t look back at the explosion behind me as I raced for the offenders, pulling the pair of levers with my wings to light my twin saddle rifles up. I managed to scratch two more of the angry little scabs from the wounded wastelands before I reached the wooden barricade of their den. Able the see three more ponies inside the camp and once more outside of it, I took fresh cover behind more protective iron shielding, over the body of the victim of my first headshot.

“Give it up, dickheads!” I snarled as I reloaded my handheld rifle, preparing to shoot the last stallion holding up the fort entrance. Somehow I managed to hear the scrape above me before I was too deep into shit creek. The surviving metal mare had climbed up onto the blockade on the other side and was now tugging the pin from a fresh metal apple, preparing to tip her hoof and drop it onto me.

Thinking didn’t factor into the process. Just lifting the gun, pointing it up, and shooting. I’d hoped to hit something, I just never expected my metal pellet to fly through the silver ball and set it off prematurely before it had even left the poor dumb broad’s grasp.

Clink-KA-BOOM!

I was back down to four, and then three as I took out the guy who had been gawping in shock and awe at the bloody remains of my freak shot. That left the final three inside the fort made of debris and trash.

“I’m going to kill you!” screeched a surprisingly young voice as a gun levitated over a metal bench when I stepped through the threshold. I didn’t have to duck from his fire, every shot was wild and miles away from doing me any damage. The mare that sprung out from a wall to attack me did take me by surprise, and I felt red pain in my claws as she smacked the rifle out of my claws with a bat tangled with barbed wire.

I parried sideways to avoid more whizzing metal bees racing past my head, seemingly from the pony I hadn’t seen yet as these shots proved closer, one scratching the skin on my shoulder and leaving a bloody crimson line. I screeched in pain, and my anger hit its limits.

In the blur of my next memories, I recall the bat hurtling towards my head, the mare brandishing it in a murky magical grasp screaming abuse at me. I dropped, the wood and iron thorns whistling repentantly over my head. Not giving her time to bring the implement back down on my cranium, I darted in, talons pulled back, eyes on her neck. My wings beat to propel me, my beak released a squawk, and my claws flew, impacted, dug and dragged flesh away from bone and sinew.

I skidded meters from where the body fell. The mare was convulsing, gurgling on terrified and dying whinnies, head partially parted from the rest of her body. I rose up, my left talons dripping the evidence of my hand in her fate. A sound drew my attention.

The last mare was covering the foal, her gun levitated in my direction. I took a deep breath and held it, expecting her to fire. Only five seconds later I realized she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“Kill her, Mom! Kill her, kill her!” shrieked the foal, as its mother tried to hold my gaze. We were wild animals, and she was just trying to protect her cub.

“Stay away from us! I will shoot you, bitch!”

I sighed, collecting the bastardized bat coated in old and congealed blood. Then I collected my handheld rifle and examined it. A couple of scuffs but it would work.

“With what, hen? Air? Because that’s all that you’ve got in that wee peashooter.” I flung my rifle over my good shoulder and took a moment to look around at everything they had left. It wasn’t much unless they chose to turn into cannibals, and that wasn’t as long a stretch for ponies as some might believe.

I took a cursory glance at the weapon shaking in her wavering magic and then flipped open my other bag, tugging out one of two boxes of bullets I had for the rifle she owned. I showed her the box, turned it upside down and tipped the contents onto the floor at my feet.

“Collect ‘em, keep ‘em, use ‘em, but not on me or you and your wee potty mouth brat are history,” I informed her with my hawk-eyes staring into her confused gaze. “Once you’ve done that, pack up and buck off. Don’t meet me again, aye?” I gave one last important look around, collected a Power ponies comic and a box of snack cakes, and anything else I could find of use, informing her, “these are mine now.”

The youngster still insisted that she kill me as I trawled around their battered basecamp, looting their chilling dead. She only spoke once more when I was done and had turned to leave.

“Why?” I stopped, looked back and thought quickly about my answer.

I wanted to save my bullets.

It’s no fun when your opponent cannot fight back.

I didn’t want to kill another foal.

“I don’t know,” I said lazily in the end and left the survivors confused that after everything, the three of us had been unlucky enough to survive.

*** *** ***

With Elmwood considered a goner, the Raiders had no reason to stay in the same place. The group moved on from our current camp and in the interest of safety and because all our resources from the current site were running dry. Water was scarce, and the food was nearly depleted. We had no choice but to head back into more populated areas.

Gypsy and I were forced to move with them, even though we had not completely given up hope that Elm might yet find us. We tried leaving signs of where we’d been as ‘breadcrumbs’ for him to follow, whilst the band upped sticks and moved across to the eastern side of Manehattan’s ruins.

We made camp near the Crystaller building. We had scouted beneath the tallest building in the city but with its gigantic mohawked pony head threatening to come crashing down any day from now, we decided to build our settlement on a rooftop a safe distance away from it. The building we took seemed to have once been a restaurant with enough space for all of us and shelter for our supplies, injured and pregnant.

We had kids in our group, some born into it and some enlisted. Our leader was extremely insistent that we needed young to preserve and grow. She had a few illusions of grandeur for our mucky splatter of thieves and vagabonds, I’ll give her that.

What I did like about our current base was the view. Our camp was made in an area where the most alert of our team could observe most of the Manehattan wastes easily whilst the tired, sick or injured in our team could take a break, eat, sleep, buck, do whatever they needed to do to get themselves back to full strength.

Particularly, I liked looking up at that huge bust atop the tallest building and wondering whether it would come down that day. I knew it was going to be a spectacular sight when it did, and I often wished I’d be there to see it. Somepony more adventurous than myself had been up there with a can of paint and doodled glasses and a mustache on to it, along with a speech bubble containing the words, “Im mentall 4 Party Time Mint-ats (n a gd hrd bukkin)”. Based on the rest of the sentence, I was quite impressed that they had managed to spell Mint-als correctly and included the hyphen. That was until Gypsy suggested that they had more than likely taken a tin of the drugs up there with them and used it as a reference as well as inspiration to perform the daredevil act. I confessed that I had not thought of that.

That night, I chose to hit the traveling bartender we had in our band, with the sole aim to have one drink and hit the hay early so that I could spend a few hours looking out for Elmwood the next morning.

I wish now that I had stuck to my single beverage plan as I might have had the clearer mind and wit that night.

Instead, one drink of the hard stuff became six. I bet some hard-earned caps on a game of blackjack and lost. I won them back in a leg wrestling competition, but only just.

I’m being modest, I wiped the floor with the floppy maned fool who thought she was tougher than me, several times over. Ponies, they don’t realize claws trump hooves every time. They were good natured about their defeat however and paid up their share of the bet.

Unlike Elmwood, Gypsy and I were well liked within the Raider mob. We were useful, we were able to hold our own, we genuinely wanted to get along with our fellow Raiders and we didn’t insult anypony else’s intelligence without good reason. ‘Floppy mane’ didn’t have a good reason to be offended by my sharp tongue.

Finally, I bid goodnight to my drinking buddies and really did call it a night. It was late, but I had nothing to urgently wake up for. We were living completely bohemian lives as a unit; we did what we needed to do when it needed doing and otherwise got along with our other desires just fine.

I was drunk. Rat-arsed beyond compare. I don’t recall the walk back to my tent. I found bruises the next morning that I am certain came from tripping over guide ropes and loose debris, but I cannot be sure.

What I do know is that I sobered up swiftly when I saw him sitting there in my bunk, with half of an ivory white and polished skull perched upon his head like a zebra death mask.

We stared at each other blankly for an awfully long time in silence. Then I gave the stallion a poke to satisfy that this was not a spiked drink creating illusions for my brain. Nope, it was him alright.

Between us, we heard a couple of ponies in the camp not far away yelling angrily at each other about something unrelated before interrupting themselves with the lewd and cringeworthy moans of intercourse. Further out in the wastes there was the sound of clattering and popping weapons, too far away to be concerned about tonight.

“I didn't kill this one,” he said at last, pointing to his hat.

“Hello to you too, Elm.” I replied, staring as best as I could with my booze-addled vision into the skull sockets where I could just see his cool as ice eyes.

“She was already way past expired before I found her,” he continued, ignoring my greeting, “I just polished her up a bit and put her on. She fits very nicely I think.”

“What happened? Where'd you go? Did you find food? Gypsy's been worried sick about you.” I tried.

“This mare was some real clever clogs though.” He tapped his new and ghastly mask, “I call her Clover. She was a pretty filly, too, paid attention to her looks. She never rose to violence but was a glutton for punishment, especially in the bed. Must have given amazing head, she did it a lot. She loved unconditionally, was not a massive wielder of magic, she preferred to use her head over her horn unless you are talking about her bedroom antics again, because she- “

“Stop!” I finally growled. I was livid that this idiotic stallion had me so worried for weeks and was now blasting out facts gleaned from a dead mare's skull without a Luna-damned thought to the situation he put us in.

Thankfully, he did stop this time. He stared like a foal unsure of what he had done wrong. It was my duty to tell him.

“I don’t give a crap about your new friend. You bucked off for a fortnight and left us, left Gypsy without telling her where you were going. You could have been dead for all we knew, and we paid a shit load of caps to convince the trackers to look out for you. Despite all of that you just turn up, sit in my bucking chair in my bucking tent, with a hard-on for somebody’s damn bony head and you still aren’t telling me where in Tartarus you’ve been hiding!”

I could see him studying my angry, panting expression through the bone holes as he decided his first words.

“I wasn’t hiding~“ he started.

“Carry on being smart,” I snapped, “If you want Celestia’s horn resurrecting and putting in your unhappy place ...”

“Alright alright alright alright, Crow, alright!” He grunted quickly for my benefit more than for his safety.

His hooves reached for his grisly helmet first and he tilted it up off his face. As he slipped out of the chair into the moonlight, I caught a view of the guy I’d not seen for two weeks.

Elmwood’s skinny yet tall Earth pony frame was covered in brilliant white fur, which he managed to keep cleaner than any pony I knew.

His mane was messy, shorter at the back and longer at the front. Not that mane styles differed that much in those days. Most ponies had the small choice of a long, short, spiky or non-existent mane. His was pale, light grayish arctic blue with streaks of ivory. His tail matched in disorder and pigment, cropped as short as it could possibly be whilst still existing as a tail.

One of the unusual differences that unsettled anypony meeting Elm for the first time was his eyes. He had bright and often sociable eyes with sapphire pupils, but around them were deep permanent scorch marks, the color of coal.

On my first chance to get a closer inspection of these, I’d seen that each old wound had been made by several straight and thin burn lines. I could only guess that somepony hadn’t wanted to sear out his eyeballs, but instead to cause this barbaric kind of branding. It was scary how precise each disfigurement was and how close to bucking up his eyesight the inflictor had gotten without accidentally ruining it. It made him look like a bad guy to buck with.

If that wasn’t unnerving enough for some ponies, his Cutiemark truly upset the applecart. His mark had once been a single elm tree with a big green leafy head and an orangey-brown trunk. But at some point, Somepony had scarred both marks with a hanged stick-corpse swinging from a branch with crosses for eyes. If they’d wanted to make an example of my friend here, then they certainly accomplished their mission.

I never asked Elmwood why he looked the way he did, but Gypsy chose to when he was at his most approachable. The story he told implied that his mother had hit the jet so hard she had melted her brains to mush. Before she ended her days in a vegetative state, she had harmed the pair of them grievously, an act Elm had allowed her to do out of love and grief.

Gypsy and I later decided this was unlikely to be the true story, there were too many inconsistencies and Elm liked to tell tales regardless of the facts. All the same, we accepted his story for its face value and never asked him to repeat it or back up his claims. Regardless of the lesions, he was still an attractive stallion even then, if stallions were your thing.

His hooves clacking on my wooden boards as he walked across my personal space were one of the only sounds in the settlement by now. The gunfire had ceased, the overdramatized orgasm-screams from the tent a few spaces over had been silenced minutes ago by their neighbors yelling and hurling heavy objects at them. Now all that could be heard from them was snoring, which was as loud and as obnoxious as their lustful wails had been.

Elmwood held his gaze with my tipsy and annoyed stare. My indignation was made worse by his shit-eating grin.

“I’ve found a Stable.” He announced to me with a vain flick of his head. The skull hat slipped off his mane as he did so, shattering his proud stance as he scrambled to pick it back up.

“Sorry, Clover,” I caught him whisper as he rubbed off the dust and popped it back on, “I’ve found a Stable.”

“I heard you utter that nonsense the first time. We’re not raiding open Stables anymore, remember? Not after the beefed-up radroaches nest we disturbed in Stable 105...”

“This is different,” he proclaimed, acting like a statue of absolute confidence in his own cleverness.

“How could this possibly be different?” I remember thinking that this had to be good if he thought he could erase that memory. His grin widened.

“Because, my badflank little griffon friend, this Stable hasn’t been opened yet.”

*** *** ***

“Why does he have a skull on his head?” Poxy was a gaunt mare with tanned fur and a grey mane, shaved at the sides but limp and tussled over one eye whilst teardrop tattoos decorated the other cheek. She looked exhausted, but I had woken her up from half a night’s sleep. Despite that, she’d looked pleased to see me until she saw that I had Elm by my side.

As our leader, Poxy didn’t speak directly to Elmwood. She much preferred to speak about him and to him through me. This wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for me, as I often had to get involved as a peacekeeper in the few times they had spoken to one another. She’d confided in me later that it wasn’t that she wanted him out of the group, rather that she wanted his brains without the mouth that came with it. Elmwood, for his part, stuck to the bargain and did not speak directly to her either, although he did like to find other ingenious ways to frustrate her and amuse himself.

“He found it outside the closed up Stable,” I explained.

“Why is he wearing it on his head?” She muttered, giving him a disgusted look.

“This would have gone much faster if you’d let me tell you all about Clover’s exploits, Crow!” Elm cackled behind me.

I had already explained the story to Poxy as Elm had detailed it out to me, yet I knew then that she’d missed the point whilst she had been more focused on my friend’s attire.

“Because he’s Elmwood and that’s what he does.” I grumbled, “Ignore it, let me summarize; he found a Stable that hasn’t opened its doors to the Wastes yet and it’s not too far from here, in Bridleway before you hit Fleatown. If we’re the first ones to get to it, we could talk the Stable ponies into ‘donating’ supplies to us in exchange for protection from this shitty world we live in.”

This time the explanation was sinking in.

“We don’t do Stables, remember?”

“I hadn’t forgotten.” I instinctively rubbed a pair of marks under the feathers on my neck. That was the worst wound I’d had during the scramble to escape that Stable, others hadn’t been as lucky.

Even now I could recall the disembodied head of a stallion that had rolled past me as I was in mid-run towards the exit. Even now I could still remember how it felt to have the pincers clench tightly inches from my jugular. Even now my skin itched with the droplet of venom I’d endured afterward. If it wasn’t for my friend with the dead pony on his head, I’d have died an agonizing death.

“So why are you suggesting we do this one?” She moved closer to me, whispering it as if she were asking me to reveal some great secret to her.

“Supplies, shelter, maybe some new recruits. Food, running water. We have ponies who haven’t seen a clean drop of water in nearly a year, we’re all hungry. As far as risks go, this is a necessary one.” I replied fiercely. I’d glanced around her quarters and was more than a little annoyed to see she had more treats in here than some of our members saw in a lifetime, but them the breaks of being a leader I guessed.

“And if it’s another hole filled with stinkin’ killer bugs? What then?”

“If we follow Elmwood’s plan then that won’t be our problem.”

Poxy’s eyes darted from me to him and swiftly back to me.

“We could just send him in first, couldn’t we?”

“Nah, you’d miss me, Queen Pee~”

She grunted sagely.

“Tell me his ‘wonderful’ plan one more time.”

"It's really simple," I suggested, "we send somepony else in first."

"Who?"

"The Snips."

"Ohhh...." A grin. A nod. "That would work for me."

*** *** ***

Poxy signed off on the plan and encouraged Elm out of her shack for the night since it needed a clear head and daylight and a team. She put her good leg out to stop me in her doorway.

“Stay the night.” It was no secret that Poxy had a thing for me. She had asked and accepted other mares and stallions to warm the bed with her, but she wanted me. Sometimes I’d taken her offers out of loneliness and as a survival instinct, it was wise to find a heated body to share the cold nights with.

“Not tonight,” I answered as kindly as I could. I didn’t want her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a good-looking mare, it was that we were sat on the same side of the same cap. Opposites attract but Poxy and I were too alike. Besides, I knew what I would miss if I took her up on her offer.

If it was anyone else, they’d have been out of the gates on their ass and given a ten-second head start before the guns turned on them. But like I said, she liked me.

“Fine. If you change your mind, don’t even knock. Just come straight on in.” I could see the flicker of longing in her eyes. With a respectful nod, her leg dropped to let me pass and I hurried off without another word. Better to cut the cord straight away rather than create false hope later.

Twinkle, twinkle.

As I caught up to Elm, something caught a moonbeam and reflected it into my face. Momentarily I was blinded, then I was seeing the light flashing across the end of my beak.

“Oof~“ The distraction caused my feathery breast to collide with Elm’s rear. I blinked sporadically as I regained my balance, looking about for the source of the rays in my eyes.

“Looks like the pair of you got Starlight mites. Woody musta found them out in the wastes and brought them back to the camp. Could be an infestation.” My heart skipped a beat.

The creator of these so-called Starlight Mites coolly slipped the mirror she’d found back into a scavenger’s loot and took several loitering steps towards me and Elm.

“Oh no, not Starlight Mites again,” The stallion in front of me quipped as the mare shimmered into visibility, “Curse my attractiveness to tiny things. What’s the cure this time, Miss Breeze?”

The most beautiful creature I had ever known. Loveliness didn’t even begin to describe her, sexy doesn’t come close, I am not certain I could find the right words without going through every single one I’d ever heard said to compliment another pony.

Rugged. I know that’s not the kind of word you use to admire a mare with but nonetheless, when I first saw Gypsy Breeze, I thought she had a rugged rogue-ish charm. She was like a proud rogue in the way that she posed, the way that she walked, the way that she spoke.

Most romantics gush about their muse’s eyes when they’re in polite company and whilst her rose-tinted gaze could light a spark of hope in the most villainous heart, I preferred to look lower.

Her mouth. She had pearls for teeth and the reddest tongue I had ever seen on a mare. Her throat, covered in mulberry fur, pulsed and quivered when she spoke. I could watch her talk all day and all night until the wastelands take us, turn us into dust and let our ashes become one.

Her blonde and sunflower mane was long, curled and tangled, so that when she played with it or shook it then it all moved as one. She kept it clean, which I could attest to because she’d let me bury my beak into it and sniff it once or twice.

Although I had never smelled real lavender before, I knew that was what it smelled of. It swelled over the back of her head, most of it keeping behind the ears except for one rebellious strand that she was never able to recapture. It all ended in a swirl along her shoulder, like a cat taking a nap with its tail loose and flicking. She’d taken to tying several rainbow-colored ribbons into it that she’d found in an abandoned mall, which fluttered and twisted when the wind blew them.

“Only darkness will treat Moonlight Mites, you have to expose yourself to the blackest of blacks.” Murmured the self-assured filly of my dreams to the recently-returned wanderer. Her voice was smoky, clear and precise with a tinge of thought to her words.

“I thought it was Starlight Mites,” he replied as she tiptoed nearer.

“It can be both. Don’t get pedantic about this,” she stopped inches away from him and her pale eyes darkened.

“Am I boring you, Elm? Two weeks~“ there was hurt in her voice.

“Tell me more about the Starlight Cure. Why's it got to be darkness? Why not a brighter light?” He'd always avoid a question if it wasn't in his favor.

She stared at him for a while and part of me imagined she finally might snap and slap him. The other half of me knew she’d kiss him.

It was that part of me won that round.

“To fight the light, you have to accept the dark.” She gave her answer as a matter of fact before their lips eventually met.

Jealousy was just another emotion I’d become numb to by this point. I loved Gypsy from the first moment I saw her, but she was never mine. I watched her fall in love with my friend Elm, listened to them make love, accepted her friendship and my inevitable life in the friend zone.

The unicorn mare finally noticed that I had turned my head from the damp slurps and slaps of mouths and she gave me a quick nudge.

“Tell me what he’s been up to.”

“You don’t want to hear it from me?” Elm asked with a curious blink.

“You’ll just tell me about the stupid skull on your head.” She answered with a smirk.

“She’s not stupid. She’s pretty and her name is Clover. Probably. She’s also super important. Super-probably.” The big child in the Nightmare Night mask pouted.

“Then you’ll be banging her super-important eye sockets tonight instead of me then?”

On the walk back to Gypsy’s shelter, I updated Gypsy on the Stable which Elm had found and the plan we had concocted to break into it. She listened carefully, posed a few questions I hadn’t thought of and a few that Elm had. I listened to the pair challenge each other whilst I interjected a few ideas of my own. We laughed, we fooled, and we collapsed together onto Miss Breeze’s bed of straw.

When it could not be held off any longer, Elm’s endeavor to tell us how he met ‘Clover’ was allowed.

*** *** ***

There once was a mare called Cloverleaf who lived before the Great War. She was a total Brainiac from day one, swatted up before, during and after school. She loved her books and her studies, swelling her brain nice and tightly inside her skull.

The little filly became a tall, smart and very pretty mare, with no shortage of admirers. With her suitors came the carnal interests. She wasn’t scared to give anything a try, the rough as well as the smooth. One stallion got a little thorough with her horn job and left teeth marks in the bone. Another was particularly heavy on her muzzle, chipping a front tooth partially in the process.

After “sampling the menu” she finally settled down with the love of a good stallion. She found an important job which suited her brainy brain which was all about the paperwork and not at all about the magic. She had a tiny horn, just good enough for picking stuff up and peeling oranges and maybe signing signatures. Unfortunately for our mare, the Great War struck before the family planning began.

She was awarded a place in the Stable designated T-Thirty with her colt friend and her siblings. When the Balefire bombs fell, there was a mad dash for the Stable. They may have made it if tragedy had not struck.

Her mother tripped, and she twisted her ankle. They all tried to help her get to the Stable in time.

They may still have reached the door if the passageway had not collapsed over their heads when they were in sight of their sanctuary.

Some, like the mare’s beloved and her mother, were killed instantly, but the mare was not. She scrambled through and reached the Stable door, only to find it shut. She pleaded for them to open it for her and her surviving young siblings. Unfortunately for our mare, Stable T-Thirty’s door never reopened.

With little hope left, the mare turned and tried to crawl back through the rubble of the passageway. Her siblings dropped like flies around her, yet she kept going. She barely made it through, by then her energy was all used up.

She finally fell a few steps from the spot where fate wounded her mother’s leg. She gave the resting spot of her family one last cry of remorse, and her heart gave up.

*** *** ***

“Sing, mmm… your songs, ohhh… little bird,

T-then the~AH~ s-ssssssssss-sun will r….riiise...

spread your w-wings, little birrrd~ ooohhh ohh…”

Melodies from a long-gone era jingled over the wireless. The voice singing to them quavered and rippled with the sweet whimpers of coitus.

Luna’s specter was still traveling across the night sky, crawling over snowy canyons where the pegasi used to dance. It must have only been an hour since I had dozed off and yet I did not need to open my eyes to know what my friends had gotten up to without my stimulating company.

I broke my eyelids open a crack and waited for the sleep to wash from my vision.

Two silhouettes tussled in the dark not far from where I roosted. A pair of shadows stuck in a moment, struggling half-heartedly to part.

I tried to close my eyes again, to avoid witnessing the pairs’ very public display of affection, but in the end, I had to spy and watch them from the beginnings of gentle lovemaking through to the noisy, passionate end. And throughout, Gypsy sang her song.

“Wheeeeether I-I’m w-with you... ooohwhether-I’m-not,
I will love you, no matter what.”

I could swear that her eyes darted to mine at the point that her song ended with the show. Was that last line directed to me?
I tried to hide the fact I’d been watching, but once breath was recaptured, I heard a very smug Breeze gasp a horrible line my way.

“Mornin’? Enjoying the show, Squawk?”

“ARGGHH!” I howled, pulled the prickly blanket over my head.

The two giggled, and I felt a dainty hoof nudge at me.

"Come on. We know you enjoyed it..." sang the mare's voice through the scratchy fabric. I grunted to them that they could both promptly buck themselves into a coma for all I cared and kept my cloak of invisibility over me, waiting until the pair’s pillow talk reduced to snoring.

They did talk. For a long time, they talked about nothing. They talked about songs and ponies and even about me. I say they because Gypsy did most of the talking and Elm just grunted in the affirmative.

Once her voice dropped to sleepy mumbles and finally silence, I slipped my protective cape off and looked at them. I could tell Breeze was asleep, yet I had the slight inclination to believe Wood had just closed his eyes and assumed the position. I do not think he ever truly slept.

All the same, I got up from my mat, shook out my feathers as quietly as I could muster, before I tiptoed away to freshen up and find the remainder of my slumber in a secluded spot.

I'd be glad I got even one wink of sleep, knowing what the next day would hold for me. For us.

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Completed - Deadwood
Quest Perk added - Clover the Cold - Intimidating speech checks are 20% more effective.

Level up!
New Perk: Peeping Turkey - +1 to Success

Quest begun - Snip Snips

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Little Bird, Little Bird by Elizabeth Mitchell

This is the first true chapter of a 3 or 4 part story, maybe 5... I know where it’s going but how it got here has already changed dramatically.

EDIT: So I cleaned up that ending. "I CAME, THE END" never sat right with me.
Hope this makes up for that earlier cheap ending.

Edit 2: HAAAA!!!! How optimistic was I? 4 or 5 chapters?! Opps!!!

Hope you enjoy everything to come and that you can look past my writing.

My characters and I are happy to answer any questions, no spoilers.

All good things,
Dusk

Entry 003 - Little Birds (song)

Corrupted Entry 002 - 4 5T4BL3 R3L4T10N5H1P

My Dearest Subjects, here and abroad.

I never wanted to be revered. That was never my goal.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 002 - A Stable Relationship [WARNING - CORRUPTED

ENTRY002_SECTION_DELTA_deleted <07092177>
Waiting...
Recover? Y/N?
Recover_Y_initiated
Recovery_Successful

ENTRY002_SECTION_DELTA_recovered <10162264>

*** *** ***

“Sing, mmm… your songs, ohhh… little bird,

T-then the~AH~ s-ssssssssss-sun will r….riiise...

spread your w-wings, little birrrd~ ooohhh ohh…”

Melodies from a long-gone era jingled over the wireless. The voice singing to them quavered and rippled with the sweet whimpers of coitus.

Luna’s specter was still travelling across the night sky, crawling over snowy canyons where the pegasi used to dance. It must have only been an hour since I had dozed off and yet I did not need to open my eyes to know what my friends had gotten up to without my stimulating company.

I broke my eyelids open a crack and waited for the sleep to wash from my vision.

Two silhouettes tussled in the dark not far from where I roosted. A pair of shadows stuck in a moment, struggling half-heartedly to part.

The skull had been placed on the floor and turned modestly away from the mating pair, despite the circumstantial evidence that she was a far stronger voyeur of this art. She had more right to be watching than I did, and yet I didn’t turn away.

Neither feared what I’d see. In truth I believe they knew they’d wake me and it did not stop them. This wasn’t the first time they’d made love in my company and I had been expecting it tonight as well. I’d been looking forward to it.

The musky smokeless incense that two passionate, colliding bodies created already clung to the room. The scents of the moist pair drifted across my beak and invaded my nose the same way my friend commandeered the idol of my infatuation. The group of odors collected together to paint the picture stronger in my head. Fresh, salty perspiration on muscles, horse hair and dusty sheets. His marching soldier greased with masculinity, pushing out the peppery, ribald secretions of her accepting den. Underneath it all I could smell the crumbling wall of my own switched-on pleasure.

“Oh, young pink bird,

To continue to laugh must be so tough,

Do not hide your giggles in a house of cards,

Confess that you really needed my love.”

The gentle lady on the radio did not let her song falter, her voice crisp and true against the noises of moist pats and paired vocal exertions.

“Ngg, W-Woody...~”

Nicker. Pant, pant, siiiigh~

“S-S... Sw~“ she did not need to finish the sentence. Their minds were one, as much as their bodies and their hearts were. The beast on top slowed and my heart sucked the blood out of me when I believed that they had noticed and stopped for me.

Should I say something? Sorry? Continue? Let me join in? These thoughts raced back and forth in my mind until I opened my beak...

Shlorp~

“Ngg~ahhm...” the rigid pipe that had been fueling Gypsy’s pleasure was slid slickly back until the cap popped juicely out of her, wobbling in the partial light.

In military precision, the taller of the couple hopped back. His carrier spun on her hooves, leaping instantly.

Elm’s back hit the thin mattress inches from me with the sparkling mare pinning his form down. Her lips were so near to my beak and yet so far with their present engagement to the stallion’s below her.

Close enough to hear the sweeping tongues, the subtlest groans and the flutter of tails. Locked up by the pressures of politeness and shame. This was so often my burden to bear.

The champion continued to take her next turn with the prey she’d successfully won, sipping the latest kiss from his thick lips and sitting herself up.

“Ohhhh, my blue bird,” here I could now see her, her chest rising, her leg moving to reposition his piston.

“Be l-loyal to yourself from the start,” I recall marveling at how she continued to sing during the excited energy before her next bout of love-making.

“Ch-changing your~AH!Self-is-now-AHHMM-too long a paa-ath ,” shaking notes warbled out of her orifice as she sank down into his lap. “Y-Your strength, mmmm-OH-and resilience is your-Ahhhh~“

Bump.

Her backside came to rest, and her head lifted to the shimmering white moon’s aura. Her mouth parted, a silver string clinging between teeth and lip when she gulped her next breath. I noticed strings of shining glue drizzled over her snout and cheeks, signs of the fun had before my eyes had opened.

I watched her stomach ripple with the strength of her muscles and the firm, deep pole pushed within. She rose, she fell. He clasped her hips with wet hooves, his eyes shone as he watched her the way I would watch her; in awe.

Pap, pap, pap~ slap, slurp, slorp, gulp...

A whiffle from her, a snort from him, a union of moans~

“Sing your song, little birds,

And that sun will rise~ OH, Woooooodyyyyy~” her body was truly in fluid motion now, dancing atop the scarred body of the creature that kept her sane. Devoting her soul and being to make his pleasure her priority. I could only imagine how it felt to have the tools to fill her like that, to pulse deeply within her and feel the beat of my heart get as close as it ever would to the thumping drum beneath her chest.

Bump, bump, bump, bump... THUMP~

“Stretch your~AH-ahhhhh! Littlebird!” She was thrown out of the tune by Elmwood’s force meeting her fall. She buckled, bent, and slapped her hoof against his chest to steady herself.

On his back, the stick-shaped horse still had the power of his spine behind him. He was able to take lead in the romantic duel for the shortest moment, wrestling her feminine pride as she waited for her moment and waited for her lungs to catch up with her. Like the balefire, expected but without warning, she struck.

WHAP!

“Nnng~NYAH!”

“OHHH, Sinnnng~! Mmmmm!”

Her flank hit him and swallowed his manhood to the hilt. She ground sharply within his lap without mercy, pushing and tempting his swarm evermore. Their cries, the neighs, each hasty collision was telling me that they were near to the moment the angry splendid soldiers would storm her welcoming barricades.

It was taking every inch of resilience I had within me not to moan as well. The display was appreciated by their embarrassed and hiding audience, and I had managed to move my dull-clawed toes to the drooling line between my hind legs. In the shame of watching this moment of private reverence between my friends and delighting at their potent lustful antics, I quietly looked after myself.

Clapslapblop~

“Ahhhhhh~! ‘Nd fllllly, into the skiiiiiies!” slapclapclapclap~

“OOOmf, Gyps~!” Elm surprised me. He rarely if ever spoke on the job, just the odd groan, the usual moan and the thankful sigh. This seemed to awaken Gypsy from her dream as well. Although not stopping, she looked straight down and held her gaze with his eyes.

“Inside!” She cried clandestinely, her fur and mane now shaking vigorously with her fierce riding. Her form was tightening as she grew ready to except the promise her stud was preparing. Still, she raised her voice.

“Wheeeeether I-I’m w-with you... ooohwhether-I’m-not~“ his eyes shut, his breath caught, his forelegs snatched greedily at her waist and he pulled her hard down to him, sealing the deal.

“I will love you, no matter what.” I could swear that her eyes darted to mine at the point that her song and their sex came to a head. Was that last line directed to me?

"Nggg-AHH!"

The explosions burst inside my gut, swirling deep waves of joy throughout from my stomach and stimulating every hair and feather across my spasming shell. I’m not certain whether I squawked, I believe Elm brayed far louder and drowned out anything I uttered. Somewhere outside of my psyche, I was aware of the pair gathering each other in comfort as his cloudy tsunami filled the womb of my dripping, curving darling.

The crackling shocks rattled my bones and zipped within my wings. My sex spat, and its pink balloon bumped and throbbed in the hood. My tight cavern squeezed and milked nothing, only kept going by the invention of hope that a grimy griffon like me could ever take the place that Elm was already cemented in.

My tail fanned under the flimsy sheet covering me, shaking the salty tears from my plumage. My brain mistook the spinning, freewheeling peak of my buzz for my end and attempted to reverse the effects with heavy gulps of air. The blood bubbled in my head as I let my eyes slip open.

The smug, exhausted expressions of the coupled lovers was enough to make me want the ground to crack open and drop me straight into Tartarus’ fiery anus.

“Mornin’? Enjoy the show, Squawk?”

“ARGGHH!” I howled, pulled the prickly blanket over my head.

The two giggled, and I felt a dainty hoof nudge at me.

They did talk. For a long time, they talked about nothing. They talked about songs and ponies and even about me. I say they, because Gypsy did most of the talking and Elm just grunted in the affirmative.

All the same, I got up from my mat, shook out my feathers as quietly as I could muster, before I tiptoed away to freshen up and find the remainder of my slumber in a secluded spot.

I'd be glad I got even one wink of sleep, knowing what the next day would hold for me. For us.

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Completed - Deadwood
Quest Perk added - Clover the Cold - Intimidating speech checks are 20% more effective.

Level up!
New Perk: Peeping Turkey - +1 to Success

Quest begun - Snip Snips

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Little Bird, Little Bird by Elizabeth Mitchell

This is the first true chapter of a 3 or 4 part story, maybe 5... I know where it’s going but how it got here has already changed dramatically.

EDIT: So I cleaned up that ending. "I CAME, THE END" never sat right with me.
Hope this makes up for that earlier cheap ending.

Edit 2: HAAAA!!!! How optimistic was I? 4 or 5 chapters?! Opps!!!

Hope you enjoy everything to come and that you can look past my writing.

My characters and I are happy to answer any questions, no spoilers.

All good things,
Dusk

Entry 004 - The Snips

Entry 003 - Little Birds (song)

Little Birds.

Gypsy used to sing this song to me all the time.

I think I remember the lyrics...

Once, we discussed what it meant. I figured it was about a bunch of birds who feared dying and being alone, but she said that wasn't quite right.

Gypsy seemed to think the song was about ponies who wanted to get along, but the events of the war had twisted them too far apart. They want desperately to reunite even though they know they never will.

It's a pretty song, I wish I could do it justice on here...

*** *** ***

”Oh, young town bird,
Is it the clouds or magic-castles to which you flee ?
Did the Pegasus steal your highest home?
Did the ponies burn down your favorite tree ?

Oh, young country bird,
They don’t hear your honest work,
They don’t listen to your songs of hope and peace,
Hoping it will relight the brightest spark.

Sing your songs, little birds,
Then the sun shall rise,
Spread your wings, little birds,
and return to the bluer skies.

Oh, young pale bird,
You worry you cannot share your generosity,
You don't see the stripes or blanks or polka dots,
Where others cry and fight for equality.

Oh, young pink bird,
To continue to laugh must be so tough,
Do not hide your giggles in a house of cards,
Confess that you really needed my love.

Sing your songs, little birds,
Then the sun shall rise,
Spread your wings, little birds,
and return to the bluer skies.

Oh, my blue bird,
Be loyal to yourself from the start,
Changing yourself now is too long a path ,
Your strength and resilience is an art.

Please, sweet young birds,
know that kindness and trust never burns,
I see your innocent beauty under tattered feathers,
and still feel the good in my oldest friends.

Sing your songs, little birds,
Then the sun shall rise,
Spread your wings, little birds,
and return to the bluer skies.

Whether I am yours, whether I am not,
I will love you, no matter what.”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter: ‘Sophia’ from the Walking Dead soundtrack, by Bear McCready

I wrote this at three in the morning alone, apologies if it's a little clumsy.

I did have a tune in mind when I was writing this.

If you ever fancy trying to sing it, my suggestion is to listen the Bear McCready's 'Sophia' for the soundtrack of the Walking Dead, from 1min 36secs in.

The last chorus, repeated x2 and then with the two final lines, was written to be able to be sung with that piece of beautiful music.

Um, by the way, I do not own any rights to that music. Not sure if that needs saying or not, but now it's been said. I'd love to hear it sung against a fresh tune.

All My Goodest Things,
Dusk

Entry 005 - A Way In

Entry 004 - The Snips

As I speak to you now, I am aware that for most, I am still your Princess. For others, I am your traitor, and for some sorrowful many souls, I am your enemy. I never wished to be any of these things. I only ever wished to be a teacher.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 004 - The Snips

“AGGGH! Celestia’s sparkly shits, Elm, take that damned thing off! Are you trying to kill me?”

That following morning, Ol’ Scarface had retrieved his toothy headdress and slid in beside me wordlessly at the communal area. He completed the freakish look with a slab of grease-dripping meat between his teeth. It was enough to make me leap out of my seat in shock.

“You’re offending Clover!” he teased at my gasp of horror whilst still full-mouthed.

“She’s offending me.” Once recovered, I returned half-heartedly to my breakfast, “Seriously, why do you still have that thing on?”

“Because I need a helmet.” He shrugged, crunching into a dried Yao Guai steak. Had to respect the pony for having the same tastes in delicious meats as me, even if it was a few days from being inedible. “You never answered my question last night. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Go fuck yourself.” I grunted into my breakfast.

“I've tried, but Miss Breeze does it far better than I ever could.” he was rubbing the end of the skull's horn experimentally, as if expecting to release a genie from it. For a second, I thought I caught sight of a small glimmer of light on the ridges in the bone. It was gone before I could be assured it had been there and I kept eating.

As we ate, I couldn’t help looking at my rations. I had a few bits I could stretch across a few days, maybe a week if I was savvy, but it would not be enough to keep my energy up. I took a long, unsteady gulp on my flask of water.

“We need to gather a team this morning, we gotta hit this Stable of~ “

“Leave it to Gypsy. She can handle Captain Goo-goo Eyes without fucking her or ripping her head off.”

“I wouldn't rip her head off?” I retorted.

“Exactly.” A snigger rumbled off of his lips, “But you would buck her. Honestly, you could lead this motley crew of tramps and thieves if you had an ounce of ambition, Squawk. “

“That’s your idea of ambition, Elm?” Which raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I was being generous, Birdbrain.” Once again, I suggested he might better enjoy finding out the carnal secrets of his own body, but before we could loop back to his suggestion that Gypsy did it better, I added, “If we’re not going to the Stable, where are we going?”

He held up a hoof to sign that he needed me to give him a moment, then he reached down into his canvas bag and slapped something on the table with a metallic clank. It took me a short second to realize what that thing was, but when I did I yelled out and scrambled backwards off my chair.

“Celestia’s sparkly cunt, Elm, you can’t just slam Fragmentation Mines around like that!” I scrambled back further as he picked it up, shook it and gave it a listen.

“It’s fine, Squawk, it’s not ticking,” he gave it a tap, “deactivated.” It was tossed my way and I caught it gingerly, holding it away from vital organs and my precious face.

“Shit~ alright! Stop paying me in cats, you bastard, and tell me exactly what a bag full of deactivated mines has to do with the plan to get into the Stable? You want to scare out the Dwellers or something?”

“Nah, too easy.” He grinned, “I want to scare the Snips into it.”

*** *** ***

The Snips, a small-time gang, mostly harmless.

For a while, the gang myself and Elm belonged to considered them completely harmless until they fought back and wounded a few of our Raiding Party.

Can’t say I blamed them, we were raiding them after all.

These were ponies who simply wanted to be the nice guys next door, share anything they had plenty of and in return offer a short sermon about their founding leader. The name they devoted to him was the Grand Magician Snips.

One time, as I was loading my bags with her apples, I humored a filly named Rose Bed and let her ‘teach me how to be more like GM. Snips.’ This Snips guy was a unicorn who supposedly lived before the Great War. When it came time for the next big bang he became an Overstallion of a Stable. He must have done a good job of it too because even then the minions in his hidey hole quite liked him and listened to him. So much so that when he said it should be safe to go out now after only a few years of being cooped up, they all agreed to open the door. The Balefire hadn’t quite got to their side of Equestria and he successfully led his ponies out of the warren.

For once, these ponies didn’t immediately get their flanks broken into by some big burly mutant or gobbled by a hungry hellhound. Snips found a secluded spot for them in some ancient castle-turned-fortress out in Everfree, claiming he had been shown it in a vision from Luna. They lapped this up like the gullible little cloppers they were, and they turned him into an idol.

The inevitable happened next. Another group of ponies with less scruples showed up and the Snips accepted them in, sharing their valued harvest with the newcomers. The guests liked the fortress so much, they killed old stallion GM. Snips, kicked the dwellers out and kept it for themselves.

Cheerfully accepting the mournful loss and defeat, the Stable ponies cremated their revered leader before moving on in hope that they might find newer, safer pastures. They never did. They just bounced from town to ruined town.

Each time that they lost a member to the fate of the Wastes, another fresh disciple took their place. When we finally met the Snips, they were like a pass-me-down broom that had seven new heads and five new handles, so it simply wasn’t the same broom anymore.

I left the filly who told me the story a couple of apples. I still took most of her stuff; it wasn't ‘THAT’ good a story. She was gracious enough to let me. They all were.

Naive and fuzzy creatures have a way of fooling you into believing that you can get away with anything around them. These kids didn’t launch us to stop us walking away with their gear. They didn’t blanch at our profanity or encourage the lonesome of us not to walk away with their prettier mares.

Among other things, it was eventually Elmwood relieving himself in a pot that turned their kind hearts to lead and twisted their smiles to snarls.

The pot in question had only contained the last dust and ashes of their adored founding father, GM. Snips. Elm told them that they should not have left it in a place so prime as to inspire him to urinate into it. That only made it worse.

Following that fateful evening, the Snips armed themselves and scraped their peaceful, generous ways rapidly. They laid traps for us and promised that the spirit of the minister still swimming in the juices of Elm’s waste would one day smite us for our wickedness.

This hadn’t upset or ruined our party. From this point on we saw the matter as healthy sport and a fun rivalry. The Snips accuracy with weapons was deplorable and their tactical warfare was non-existent. We could have picked them all off a long time ago, but it was much more fun letting them think they had a chance of avenging the dishonor brought by my friend’s bladder.

On his last jolly travels, Elm had caught the Snips making camp on the other side the Crystaller Building. Funnily enough, we’d been ridiculously close to bumping into them back when we were looking to settle in the Crystaller building ourselves. They’d packed themselves into a much more exposed settlement with wooden walls and canvas tents. Yet it was as though they’d found air on the moon; they were making such a ruckus that I was surprised that every hungry creature in the wastes hadn’t pounced them already.

Crouched at a gap in their flimsy walls, the pair of us observed the grimy bodies walking around their makeshift village without the slightest clue they were being watched.

I had my modified Carbine rifle under my wing, which was rearranged to fire with a backwards tug of my wings. I could easily hook and unhook my wings from it to switch between shooting and flying in a swift movement. Elm had his rucksack full of useless explosives and his ivory hat and that was it. Part of his plan was not startling these peace-loving muck swimmers any more than we had to.

“You go left, I go right, and then we make as much noise as possible like herding radhogs...” I suggested. I hopped up stealthily and started to move to my position, only to have his leg snag me before I could take more than five steps.

“No. We need to drop back first and plant these under there.” He pointed to the giant broken building topped with a decaying chess knight and gave me a rattle of his bag. Suspicion arose in my mind.

“You want to drop the building on them.”

“No no no, it’s just an incentive, they’re not strong enough to destroy anything, just to make a noise and some smoke and get them running. Like Radhogs!” He had a way of recreating the Riddle-Cat grin from the pre-war Wonderworld books that should have told me sooner that this plot was more twisted than he was making out. Unfortunately, like the blue-dressed filly of those stories, I was already too deep in the rabbit’s hole too pull back out. So, I followed my bonkers General and let him have command.

We kept low and shuffled our way back in the direction we’d come from. We didn’t need to be so covert with the racket the residents were making, heck, one of them was even singing at the top of her voice!

A dewdrop-speckled body drenched in moonlight re-entered my memory at the sound of another voice in chorus and I drowned out the caterwauling in my head with the song of my far more talented pin-up.

It might seem odd to some that Gypsy would sing during sex but to me it was as natural as moaning and squealing through an orgasmic finale. She loved to raise her voice to a song, she explained to me that it gave her no greater high, even compared to knocking old horse-shoes alone. Adding the two was like flicking the bean for that songstress.

First time I heard her lullaby lovemaking, I thought she was just having a singsong. Walking in on Elm’s face snug between her thighs as her pipes played was how I discovered the two were an item and my hopes had been dashed again.

I came out of this revere to find Elm had ushered me into the lobby of the Crystaller Building and was inspecting the foundations. His stub of a tail flicked thoughtfully as he checked out each pillar, skipping from one to the other as contentedly as a carefree foal.

Suddenly, my reflexes were forced to kick in as the dirty cream sack of bombs flew over to me. I seized the boom bag quickly before it could hit anything hard and once safe, threw him a few outraged expletives.

“Relax, potty mouth, I knew you’d catch ‘em. I need you to place the rest of those mines around the pillars on this side.” He clanged a few of the mines he’d already taken out from one hoof to the other like a card trick. “Don’t waste them on the other side, we just want our friends in Boom Town to think this place is coming down on them.”

Cli-Clank!

Each mine had some of its magical enchantment left so that every time it was introduced to a surface, it would eagerly glue itself to it. Honestly, the whole process was fairly satisfying, letting the circular objects fly from my claws without any assistance from me. You could liken it to cracking an aching joint or popping a bug. It wasn’t meant to feel good, it just did.

Cli-Clank!

“Did I ever tell you the time the Junkrats tried to catch me?”

“Nope. Is this fact or fiction?” Cli-Clank. My feathers ruffled happily under my patched and worn griffon armor.

“Everything I tell you is 100% fact, Hen! I just like making the details more exciting.” The stallion had disappeared around a post, but I could still hear the grin inside his voice.

“The Junkrats had this thing about me, they thought if they had me on their side, they’d own the Wastelands. Isn’t it funny how everypony seems to think that? Back in those days, I was an itty-bitty-bit too predictable, I had this pathway I liked to take along Cheddar-Cheese canyon, the view would go on for miles...” his voice grew misty for a moment, as if he really did remember a landscape better than the bleak lands we lived in today.

“Those pesky Junk-rodents figured this out. One evening, during one of my walks, a figure in Junkrat overalls sits in my way.

“Being the ever-polite gentlecolt that I am, I gave them a friendly greeting. No reply. I ask them how they are doing. Still nothing. Finally, I try to shake them, just to see if they got caught in some kind of spell.”

“Well, it was! Except the spell was on me. Suddenly, I realize the figure was just a mannequin put down to trick me, which it did. Soon as I touched the dummy, I was all frozen up, incarcerated in a block of ice. The Junk rats soon slipped out of their hiding spots and squeaked about having caught the witty and wild Deadwood.”

Cli-Clank.

I was almost done. I had one mine left. If I hadn't been enjoying myself with the task in paw and the quirky ramblings of my colleague, I might have been more spatially aware. As it was, I had a whole back half of me unguarded. I hadn't remembered the important rule when it comes to raiding; don't stare at one spot for too long.

“But, obviously, you escaped. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, buddy.” I peeked out from my wall, but he was still missing. His voice seemed to suggest he was upstairs now, somewhere near the escalators. What was he doing up there?

“Of course, I did! See, as they were figuring out how to carry me away, I suggested the smartest should do it. You know, the leader. Or the one who came up with the plan. Or the one who found the dummy. Or the one who cast the spell on the figurine.

“That started an argument. ‘I did this,’ ‘no I’m the leader,’ ‘well I cast the spell,’ bitch bitch moan. In all the confusion, they dropped the crystalized me into the ravine, shattering the ice and freeing me. I grabbed a branch before I fell and smashed up too, then I climbed the rest of the way down and made my escape...”

That lifted a chuckle out of me. That story didn’t deserve any praise, but I applauded him anyway.

“Oh, the cleverness of you,” I offered sarcastically, “so really, was that true or not?”

Cli-Clank, went my last mine in the resulting silence.

“Oh, Woody, I’m waiting!” I tried out my best impression of Gypsy in heat. It didn’t even get a titter.

“Elm?” I asked with more trepidation.

Cli-click.

This sound was right beside my head. I could hear the barrel rattling in uncertain hooves, but it was still a point-blank range. That, and the fact that I could hear other rifles raising in my direction, made me obey the next commands without complaint.

“Turn around, impure one.” Peeped the young and very familiar voice. Shit.

Rotating my body steadily with my talons high, I stared up the barrel of the gun into the eyes of the Snips mare holding it. I gave a long, uncomfortable sigh and sagged.

“Hello, Rose Bed.”

*** *** ***

The murmurs began as I was marched through the decrepit gates, followed by a pair of angry cries from the guards holding the gate. These increased to jeers as we passed the first huts, ten or twelve residents following alongside us. Once the center of the shanty town was in sight, the calls had become an uproar and things began to get thrown.

My sharp griffon eyes scanned everything the dump had for data on my situation. I couldn’t see Elmwood, no matter where I looked. I trusted him just enough not to leave me in the predicament but there was no sign nor skull of the horse. The scales in my mind were tipping towards niggling doubts.

“It’s been a while, Rose Bed, how have you been, eh?” The point of my small talk was to show that theses ponies didn’t frighten me. A pomato narrowly missed my beak and I glared at the thrower, who filched back to my great pride.

“Eyes ahead, whore!” the simple pastel blush mare screeched back at me.

“Whoa! Language! Where was that tongue when we were bed buddies? That would have spiced things up much more than ‘Oh, gosh, Grand Magician Snips, oh yes, send me to th~’ “

Thud!

A black U-shape spiraled across my newly blurred vision.

“That was a shoe! Who throws a shoe?! Honestly!” Griffons can make themselves look much more intimidating on their hind legs with their wings flaring. In my dark and gleaming armor, I added an extra ounce of menace.

“Maybe it knocked sense into you, heretic! Get down before I make an example of you!” The circle of cold metal that jabbed under my fur was enough to make me obey without question.

A gnarled stallion sat upon a thorny throne of derelict broken wood, artefacts and rags. It had all been thrown together by these Scavvies from the surrounding wastes. When he spoke, it was with a dull monotone to his voice that gave me the impression of a horse who was bored with his lot in life.

"Silence, silence, everypony might I please have a bit of silence here?" His skinny forelegs were now chicken wings flapping needlessly at the crowd. They dropped to a hushed scorning as he cast his raven eyes at me.

“Ms. Crow. You may be a Miscreant, but you can still leave here with a small punishment for your crimes against the ponies of the Great Magician lord. All you need to do is tell us the location of your scarred friend.”

“King Mud,” I saluted cynically. He was one of the few Snips remaining whom I recognized instantly. Muddy Waters had been chief of the group’s security when his previous leader, Feather Bed, passed away from complications caused by a knife jabbed in between his ribs. Nobody caught the culprit, which was a shame because King Feather was a much more interesting fellow.

Since our group was still in the vicinity and available to have the blame landed upon us, hooves were jabbed in our direction. Not a thought was given as to whether the knife had been seen in Mud’s care before the incident, nor did they question his instant desire to stand in and bring justice to their fallen ruler.

Nopony had to be the greatest detective. Maybe it was in protest of this event that Elm did his business on their poor forefather.

Knowing they hadn’t caught Elm made my beak curve with smug satisfaction.

“Still naming your children after the places they are born? I can’t wait to meet Shit Hole and Cat Piss~”

Thwack!

The butt of Rose’s gun let the back of my head taste a lesson on behalf of my mouth. I swore, which was deserving of seconds in her opinion.

“Oww.” My eyes wheeled on her. “Hit me with your rifle again and we’ll see if it can go further into your wee bucket than my claw went…”

The handle raised again. My clenched claw did likewise.

“Enough.” One word from her leader was enough for the filly to decline her weapon. I only lowered my paw when I was certain she was not going to strike again.

“You are going to tell us where Mr. Wood is.” He switched on a false-softness, getting up out of his seat and coming down half way to me. “None of us want to see you harmed, Ms. Crow. However, justice must be brought to those who do not see the error of their ways. If you do not tell us where Mr. Wood is, we will be forced to pry it out of you.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh if I’d been the most serious bitch alive.

“You’re talking about torturing me for information, aye? You cannot even say the word! What’s the plan, tickle me with your feather dusters?” As much as I was enjoying myself, I was starting to get concerned that I hadn’t seen Elm poking his head up from amongst this crowd.

“For that, we’d need feathers, Ms. Crow.”

Letting my eyes off of the spoiled monarch for a moment turned out to be a mistake as he must have signaled to his loyal disciples surrounding me. In an instant, the four ponies had launched themselves on top of me and wrestled me down.

With a fuller stomach I may have had the energy to put up more of a fight. As it was, my chin was impacting the dirt with a snap, my beak snipping a clumsy corner of my tongue. I could taste the cut as I growled and swore at my captors.

They struggled with my wing and tugged it out wide, my attempts to keep it in against my side failing. All it took was a stallion to kneel on it, and I was vulnerable. I was forced to glare at the glorified greasy, silver bearded stallion. He gestured lazily.

“Would you please, Rose Bed?”

As I continued struggling, I heard Rose’s gun clatter, followed by a scratch of metal. There was a tug on my wings armor, several snaps and the full piece was ripped away, exposing my cobalt and speckled feathers. With a perturbing breeze, I felt the serrated and almost certainly rusty knife pushed underneath the join of my wing and pressed hard.

“We do not want to do this, Ms. Crow. An eye for an eye after all~”

“I... I think I misheard you. You want me to tell you where Elmwood is, r-right?” I stammered. Out came a sigh in relief.

“Yes, thank you. Where is he?”

“Oh... w-well... the... the last time I saw him... the last time I saw him...” I looked swiftly around at them all.

“Yes?”

“L-last time I saw him.... he’d bent your mother over that pathetic throne of yours and was banging the Grand Magician Snips out of her.” The sneer passed over my beak before I could regret it. His second sigh was much more long suffering, he waved a signal and the knife moved.

"SQWARK!"

My brain was a screeched nest of evil gulls. My feathers were viper bites along the entirety of my wing. My voice took on a mind of its own and cursed every single one of them and their parentage twice over in pain. This was it, I believed, this was going to end with me losing my wings and maybe even my life to some prissy pansy ponies.

At some point, they stopped. I’m not sure when. The mocking cries had stopped. The knife had been dropped. The fur in my side was seeping wet tulip petals. My blurry eyes raised once more.

Nobody was watching me anymore. All eyes were staring in horror at the throne. I squinted, trying to encourage my eyes to co-operate as I gazed up as well.

Perched on the landfill, there was a figure. At first, I assumed his coat was coal and his face smoky. As my vision improved, I realized his was in fact dressed in a shadowy cloak, with his hood thrown up and only the ghoulish nose and smirk visible. A short-pointed erection was presenting itself from beneath the glooms of this being’s forehead. It did not look like a living unicorn.

“It’s one of the Four! Death!” Cried one mare.

“The Four have come for us!” Screeched another.

Across the wastes, voices whisper ghost stories about the Four. Death-thirsty horses capable of changing their shapes with agendas set to eradicate the remaining irradiated life from Equestria. Parents told their foals these tall tales in hopes that they might grow to be better than their corrupted and crooked elders. However, with such dark and blood-soaked legends to their names, even the wisest mares and stallions still quivered upon their horseshoes at the merest mention of their names.

“Silence!” Boomed Death, putting on an impression oddly similar of King Mud, even waving his hooves in the same manner. His horn twinkled, a green flicker on its curved and decayed tip.

“Sir, yes sir,” Whimpered the pathetic king of the dump, “please, we are simple folk, have pity on~”

“I demanded silence!” Snarled Death, slamming a hoof down. They all dropped into worried, trembling sobs.

“That is better. Pity shall be taken if you all obey.” His eyes fixed upon mine and a flash of blue twinkled through the eye holes. Upon his cloak was irregular, unusual markings. It was the stitching of the underside. He had it on inside out.

That’s when I had my suspicions confirmed. Even in agony, I was still smiling hard, something I should have kept in check. However, seeing these idiots trembling after what they’d done to me was worth a grin.

It didn’t go unnoticed. I saw Rose Bed stare at me, then at the figure, and squinted at the figure. Then, she bounced forth, gesturing a hoof up at the figure.

“I ask only one thing from you,” He continued to cry, “give me the bird, and I shall let you all live. Show me favor and I will show you a safe place to- “

“It’s him!” interrupted my ex abruptly.

“Stand down, Sister Rose Bed, you shall get us all killed,” whimpered Mud. She stood defiant.

“He is no Changeling of Death. That is Deadwood!” She snarled, jabbing the air in the hooded figure’s direction.

“What?! Explain this nonsense! I shall destr~”

“Take off the ceremonial cloak of the Great Mage, you disgusting swine!”

The posturing skeleton sagged in defeat and then whipped his hood back, snatching his bone head and twisting it up to reveal the panda-eyed face hidden beneath.

“Surprise! Hello there, how are you all doing?” He flopped into the garbage chair, wiggling his flank into it to get comfy as the rest of the crowd gasped, dumbfounded by the yet more brazen behavior from the wastrel. He twirled his hoof at all of them.

“Go on, point your guns at me, I’m sure it will make you all feel much better.” Every weapon available to hoof applauded his crafty appearance.

Elmwood’s expression was ominous. I knew something severely destructive was coming just from the glassy clouds over his usually sparkling pupils. His soulless windows appeared when he was at his cruelest and most unsympathetic. The lidded curtains drooped listlessly on his eyes, almost attempting to shut before he had to witness whatever vindictive deed he would inflict.

The unrest that welcomed me into town was nothing compared to the nest of horrid hornets these ponies turned into at the sight of their unfazed demon. Everything tossed seemed to deflect around and past the unmasked Elmwood. King Mud attempted to regain the control.

"Mr. Wood. You will hoof yourself over to us at once and~"

“Nice new digs!” Elm could shout louder. "I love the pointy chair! I might have one of my own, make it out of swords, you know, practical things like that…”

"Mr. Wood~"

“And what a view!” He gave a shrill whistle, spinning around. His borrowed cloak jumped off of his back momentarily to flash his Cutie Mark to them all. He marveled up, his forelegs spread in reverence. “The Crystaller building. Pretty … tall, right? You see that writing up there? Yeah, that was me. Not going to brag but it was really, really hard.”

"STOP TALKING!" Snapped the weathered horse, stamping a hoof and spraying as his spoke, "you are now our prisoner, you are at our mercy you both have nowhere else to go!"

"You're not going to win in a shouting battle with him..." I mumbled.

"You're right." the cloaked colt crumpled. A bolt of triumph flashed over the king's expression. The mask’s horn flashed jade for another odd second, enough to catch my gaze.

"Good. Now, come down from there, despoiler, so we might~"

"Not yet." Elm offer almost apologetically.

"What?"

"I have an apology to make!" He called to the audience. The king attempted to tell him they were far beyond apologies, but their new town crier wasn't stopping. "I am sorry for mistaking the ashes of your dead guy for a rest room. In my defense, you did put him a wide pot that was just the right size for my~"

"Silence him!" Ready rattles proved the crowd was ready to complete this order. I tried to push my captors off in an attempt to save my friend.

"WAIT wait wait!" he held his hooves up, attempting to wave them down, "If you kill me you'll never find out where I've hidden those ashes!"

"Wait!" agreed Mud and marched forward, thrusting his hoof to Elm accusingly. "You lie!"

"I swear on... what was his name? Grand Master Snorts? If you kill me before you check, you'll never find it. You lot, you never learn to keep the things you treasure the most under lock and key, away from busy hooves," The forelegs wiggled, then crossed confidentially, despite danger and death surrounding him. Mud was trying to hastily weigh his options and quell the rising panic in his people.

"Rocky Path! Check the chamber of our Great Magician!" He pointed to a long, blonde maned stallion bowed and dashed into a glorified shrine, even with twinkling fairies around the door. The fear-stuck scream answered Elm in the affirmative, but the fool still scrambled back out to answer his nothing-master.

"The ashes of the Great Magician, they're gone!" He threw up his gun and tugged his trigger in fury. Five or six bullets flew over Elm's ducking head before Mud bellowed at them to stop.

"He's right! If we kill him and we've lost our Great Snips forever," He stormed onto the platform and climbed up to face the grinning ghastly fiend, "Tell us! Where have you hid the Great Magician?" Smack! "TELL US!"

Regardless of the foot he'd just received to his snout and the hot tear running from one nostril, he was still giving the older stallion and sleepy-eyed sneer.

"A Stable."

"Liar! There's not a Stable close enough for you to reach in the time it took us to find your friend here!" each word was phlegm crossing the boundary from mouth to laughing face, not ceasing it in the slightest.

"Oh yes there is. I can take you all there, you just need to release my friend and not shoot either of us."

"He's a liar!" yipped Rose Bed from beside me, "We should torture them both for information!"

"Why did you stop hanging around that filly, Crow?" gawked Elm in elation, "I like her! Howevs, I'm not lying. Also, I have a plan that will stop you all from killing, maiming or seriously injuring me or my friend." I couldn't help feeling he was a little late to be offering that as my wing throbbed wrathfully.

"What plan?" snorted Muddy.

"I'm so glad you asked!" My clown-prince chum leapt onto the top of the throne and gestured to the tower. "You see that bust up there? The head, yes? Inside that is a dusty but very active Balefire bomb, and if you all of you do not follow me in, oh, three minutes and forty-three seconds, that building will be coming down to total Manehattan and you lot along with it."

He made sure he had their attention before he continued. “My friend here has placed charges all over the bottom of the building. Three minutes and then its Equestria’s Apocalypse 1.5! There’s no time to stop them all. Just enough time to get to the stable if you start running with us.” They all blinked at him in dumb suspension, the horror of his words sinking into them all.

“You lie!” Mud had never sounded less sure of his words.

“He doesn’t!” Warbled Rocky Path, “when we found her, she was putting plates on the pillars of the building. Oh, Great Magician Snips save us, they’re going to destroy us!”

Chaos fueled the crowd as they created a choir of terror. The ponies pinning me flew away to their friends and families. The town devolved into madness and my friend was at the pinnacle of it, still smiling eagerly.

I did not hear what he said to the wide-eyed Mud as he turned to him, but I did hear the wizened horse hollering to his people to follow us as Elm leaped down, galloped through the distressed obstacles and lifted me to my feet by my good wing.

I had enough time to look at the wing. Despite scarlet ribbons drizzling from the gash beneath it, my dear wing was still attached. I’d need aid soon, but for now I was going to live. That didn’t stop me snatching Rose by the skull as she faltered beside me. I caught a taste of her fear as she reached for her gun, but I was faster. I pushed her hard into the nearest wall with an angry screech and moved up my talons, ready to kill.

Elm stopped me with a strong hoof. It was one of the few times he did stop me fulfilling an execution.

“Run!” He pulled me so hard towards the opening back into Manehattan that I had no chance to argue.

Of course, as we burst out of the exit of the Snips’ homestead, I still couldn’t help applauding Elm for his plan thus far. I checked over my shoulder hurriedly.

“It’s working, they’re following!” My head twisted back to him. I was loud enough for just him. “They think the story is real, Elm!”

“Don’t stop!” He pushed ahead. His hooves fell like there really was a potential world ending bomb in the Crystaller Building. I almost questioned the fact myself.

We rounded one corner and pushed towards a theatre almost whole amongst the rubble of its brothers and sisters. As we were nearing it, Elm skidded to a stop momentarily and brought his organic hard hat off of his head.

“Unicorn horns make great antennae. Their range can reach for miles.”

For a moment, he confused me. However, when he turned the skull around, a finally saw what he had concealed inside of it. A remote.

He jabbed at the button before he dropped the skull, returning it to the rest of its separated, thin owner with her hoof still extended to the theatre. I did not have time to realize that this was the remains of Clover.

BOOM.

It wasn’t just an explosion. It was the ground being pulled from underneath by unseen claws. It was the thunder of a million hooves charging over every sense in my body. It was a beast shaking my ragdoll body.

I turned to see flames barfing from below the Crystaller Building, toxic fumes puffing from its jagged windows and filling the sky with an early, unstoppable night at a great speed. For a moment, it really had just been a smoke and light show to scare the Snips.

In the next few moments, I learned that Elmwood had lied to me.

SCREEECH. CRACK. CRUNCH.

The Crystaller Building lurched, turned its enormous vandalized head towards us. With its eyes set on the screaming ponies running from it, it toppled.

"Oh Fuck! You really ARE trying to kill me!"

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Failed - Snip Snips

Quest Begun - Gotta Knock A Little Harder...

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter: Nobody Gets Out Alive by Samuel L ‘Mofo’ Jackson (from Hitman’s Bodyguard)

I hope you enjoy this chapter! The time meeting the Snips took a lot longer than I expected it to!

Thanks for reading. Soon we'll be in Stable T-Thirty, and we'll find out why the Snips were important...

kind regards,
all good things
Duskhoof

Entry 006 - Stable T-Thirty

Entry 005 - A Way In

However, in this fateful hour, perhaps the most fateful hour of our entire history, I have decided that the time has come where I cannot be any of what you see me as. I cannot maintain a veil on my heart and soul as I have for so long. I must concede that I am not the mare to take you into this next chapter of our lives.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 005 – A Way In

In the days before the war, the Crystaller Building had already been one of the tallest in Manehattan. Then the Balefire Bombs levelled almost everything else to pebbles and dirt and it had still stood, as a towering reminder of what ponies had created in their tenacity and pride. Only the Tenpony and Horseshoe Towers were its closest surviving rivals.

When I had fantasized about seeing the colossal giant finally lose its footing and come crashing down, I had expected to be standing a long, long distance away, with a Hard Apple Whiskey in one claw, kneading a sweet supple flank in the other. Whose flank varied, on one odd occasion I even allowed Elm’s derrière into the illusion.

Regardless, I’d always expected to be in a place of comfort and safety, not sat directly beneath it like a whack-a-mole expecting the squishing hammer. I was frozen in a front row seat to my imminent demise and coated in the shadow of the gigantic dispassionate face. I was certain I was going to die.

The sting of my incapacitated wing brought me quickly back to the ground. Elm had snagged me, pulling me forward.

My legs remembered how to work. My feet slapped across the stone. My speed built, I was beside Elm. The wind was ripping the air, the light was being swallow by the merciless dark.

We were through the theatre doors. If the name had remained, I did not see it. I nearly mistook the four walls for safety.

“THIS WAY!” Elmwood butted me and kept me running. He plunged through the doors into the auditorium, where a sharp gradient revealed the stage and seating had fallen through the ground.

My footing was lost, my wings failed to stop me. I tumbled terribly swiftly into the chasm, bounced from chair to chair and flailed for something to snag to save further injury.

In my first attempt, my talons caught on carpet. However, as soon as gravity tugged at my body, the filth-red scab lifted from the crumbling boards without a hint of resistance.

Despite the putrid remains of the mat stuck to my claws, I was able to grab onto the frail ledge of the upper balcony and stop myself. I hung over a long drop, but at least I was no longer falling.

Thud!

A large bouncing ball shape flew over the banister and struck me square in the beak. My nostrils were filled with the smell of warm, filthy horse hair. I had no time to reflect on who this was, as I felt the plaster bar in my grip shatter like dust.

Acting without thought, I snatched the thrashing creature that had thrown me from my insecure grapple. I beat both wings, knowing that there was searing pain coming from the deeply injured one, but my desire for self-preservation hid it. In mid-air, we switched places. My fate was now his, and even his hoof blackening my eye did not change the fact.

Crack!

Cushioning my fall did not end well for the pony. Their body buckled, their bones became brittle twigs, and their organs were the wet, squishy leaves. I could still hear their painful neigh as I rebounded over them and came to rest between the chairs of Row E in the sunken stalls.

Facing the crooked ceiling, I had a few precious seconds for my eyes to refocus and for my head to thank Celestia, Luna, any deity listening, that I was alive. My body stung in places I didn’t even know existed, and my heart wanted to escape my body via my anus, but I was alive.

My gratitude was short-lived.

On my back, I had a horribly clear view of the moment the Crystaller Building struck the theatre from above, turning it into the inside of an accordion. The walls concertinaed. The windows puffed dust, rock, and smog. The ceiling, once a brilliant triumph of pony art and engineering, creased and caved in.

Something within me took over my motor functions, and I was a passenger for the next few moments. My world flipped, I clattered onto the headrest of a sturdy seat, and I thrust forward. With feline nimbleness I sprang over the stalls and dodged the current survivors as I headed for the only thing keeping up the grand stage above; a dark steel tunnel. Above it was stapled the words, “THIS WAY TO STABLETEC STABLE T-THIRTY.” I could see the hall inside was partially collapsed, but we were rats by this point and a hole to anywhere was better than being stamped upon by a concrete foot.

I was the third to reach it. In front of me were a pair of Snips I’d not had the pleasure of meeting yet. Behind me was Rocky Path, and I could spot Rose Bed and Mud still bobbing above the Equine tidal wave forcing towards me. No Elm, I had chance to notice before I was swept through the crack in the collapsed walls.

Behind us, the Crystaller Building finally reached the ground floor. The debris closed our path back to the outside. The screams, the crunching, and the crushing sounds all became one explosive, ceaseless thunder. The luckiest ones died, but those that had been fast enough narrowly missed the smashing wall sealing us in completely.

The intense darkness dropped instantly upon us. Sandy, gritty moths fluttered into our eyes to blind us and into our throats to choke us with every gasp of horrid breath. Terrified bodies behind me did not stop pushing into the tight, airless space to escape the storm. I was squeezed against a rock face whilst sequentially jabbed in the back by the squirming hooves. I didn’t have time to contemplate this or I would be dead. Until a boulder struck me, or a pony killed me, I was determined to live.

I knew that in this space it would not be long before idiotic panic would set in throughout the group. There needed to be a plan.

“Light?” I cried out. The anguish and horror drowned me out.

“We need light, now!” I barked. I expected to need to command this until my lungs hurt, yet miraculously, a pony illuminated the surroundings amongst the tangle of horses.

I didn’t immediately recognize Elm from the sooty, unkempt fur. The pea soup fog in the humid hole made it equally difficult to see him, but his hazy beacon created a spotlight through the fumes which he used to show the remaining ponies towards the next tight, foreboding gap in the caved in cavern.

“Follow me! Move it, this way!” He yelled, a sentiment I also encouraged to the ponies around me. In that moment, I’d forgotten what the Snips did to my wing and how Elm had created this goddess-awful situation. We were in this together and as a pack we could conquer it.

I took the rear of the group. There, I instructed the uninjured to help the sick, as well as the few unicorns in the group to use what their mothers gave them, and light the way.

As the last few struggling stragglers forced themselves to follow the rest, I luckily caught sight of a young ashen figure sat beside the still crumbling, thumping wall of rubble.

He was almost a foal, a teen for certain, one I’d not met until now. His flank was robed in crimson, and for a moment I believed that this was why he was frozen in shock. It was only when I got closer to him I saw the mangled filly crushed at his feet, half of her pinned under metal and masonry. There was nothing to be done, she was already long gone.

“Hey.” I punched him sharply in the shoulder. Some might consider me cruel for breaking into his final goodbyes with undue punishment, but this wasn’t the place to hang about.

“Spark up,” I flicked his horn as his eyes turned to me.

“N-no! My -my~”

“NOW!” I’d never seen so many emotions pass across anybody’s eyes so fast; sorrow, anger, defeat, and finally acceptance. He let me grab him by the shoulders as his horn spread a glow around the pair of us. I allowed him one last fleeting look.

“I-I love you, little sister~,”

The cave seemed to go on without end. The air was difficult to drink, even though a straw. The smoke and the acrid smell depleted the further we went, but the reminders didn’t.

Freshly deceased ponies collapsed between the bones and remains of the long dead in the cramped hole. I knew if I stopped, our fates would be the same. I kept pushing the Snip I’d taken temporary responsibility for to ensure he did not let the thought of stepping over his own kin enter his mind.

“Keep moving. Don’t stop.” Sniffles and whimpers echoed around our ears. Behind us, the rumbles and crackles still resounded as the Crystaller Building grew comfort in it’s new, final resting place.

There were stops, usually where the collapsed rocks had left the smallest of gaps. We each had to take turn climbing through these. Our feet were balls of iron, scuffing heavily over stone, across flesh, and through water. Though our bodies may all have been one color for once, our funeral procession found no harmony in the thought.

As my beak kept shut to conserve energy for movement, my brain dived into the confusing aspects of this catastrophe. Why had Elm gone to such drastic, suicidal lengths, just to get into a Stable? Why had he involved the Snips? And, above all of this, how on Tartarus did he expect to get us out of this mess?

I could see the faded light of his lamp up ahead, and as I looked, I could also see the path finally opening wider as well. Our crawl was nearing its end.

BAM!

The sound made the already petrified ponies hysterical as they ran in all directions to escape the sound. Some even wanted to risk turning back into the tomb behind us rather than face the new threat. I could hear a voice filled with screech rage over the alarmed wails.

My young casualty was forced to be a shield as I used him to part the agitated crowd, so that we could get into the wider space. Once in, I moved him aside so that he could rest, passing him an encouraging nod. No matter what we had been through in the past few minutes, I could not see anything other than hate and loss in his eyes. Some of it aimed at me.

I propelled myself into the circle of judgement that the remaining Snips had formed. They surrounded around the familiar, furiously preaching mare with a rifle in hoof and the cold, disheveled stallion, his torch dropped, facing him.

“Muddy Waters is dead!” She took in a deep gulp of air as the Snips gaped and gawped at the news.

“Our Brothers, and Sisters, and loved ones are dead! And it is all his fault!” she shook her rifle fitfully at Elmwood as she continued to goad her audience, “If he lives one more second, he will kill us all. We must smite this demon once and for all!”

“If you smite me, you’ll definitely die in here.” Elm cut a far more dangerous figure in the radiance at his hooves, which created malevolent shadows across his face.

“No! You dragged us down here for your nefarious purposes! You intend us to~hrk!” She did not have time to stop me pouncing her from behind and seizing her by the neck with strong talons. Her gun slipped out of her telekinetic grasp and clattered in the deadly silence.

“Let her go, Crow,” Elm directed, almost immediately.

“Erm, let’s think about that?” I hissed, as though these ponies could not hear me.

“Okay. We’ll think about it,” He calmly agreed, “we are outnumbered. If we kill one of them, the others will avenge her. They’re weak, they’ve got little left to live for, so they won’t fear making a few rash decisions…”

He stopped talking when I let Rose Bed drop to the floor. She released a choking cough as Elm’s hooves pattered past her.

“Why –hrk- did you?” She attempted. Elm anticipated her actual question.

“We need ponies to go into this Stable first, just in case it’s dangerous. You are going to be those ponies~”

“I think not…” The rifle was floating again, this time between my eyes. A magical maroon mist shone around Rose’s horn.

“You will enter the Stable first, and then we will execute you.”

“Don’t you mean, “or” you’ll execute us?” Elm’s question only made scorn grow across Rose’s fierce expression.

She’d been correct the first time.

*** *** ***

Downhill. it felt like we were on a constant descending path, from the moment Rose’s rifle thrust into the backs of Elm and me.

It seemed like Stabletec were not happy unless this Stable was built so far underground, that it was deeper than Tartarus itself. The path looped around several times until I was sure we had passed corners and signs before. The promising statements that “STABLETEC STABLE T-THIRTY IS THIS WAY!” in excited letters. This eventually gave me a surreal sense of déjà vu.

I was thankful for the pre-war artifacts and vehicles that remained as we ambled along. Seeing something different in the dark at least provided self-assurance that this wasn’t just a big, mind-fuck loop made to feel like it was going somewhere. One length of the channel was full of immobile diggers and other tunneling equipment that lay under a thick coat of sand-dandruff. Time had taken bites into the old machines, leaving them to leak from their rusty, bubbled welts. The looked as sad and alone as the bones scattered around them.

Marching together in absolute silence seemed like the smartest thing the pair of us had done that day. I did brave the occasional glance to my fellow convict, but his own head faced forwards and he did not grace me with any looks of comfort. Not that I expected any from Elm, it would have been extremely out of character for the stallion to be apologetic for anything. I caught a glance of the stallion I’d dragged from the remains of his dead sister. His eyes killed Elm a thousand times, yet when they saw mine they mixed with regret and dropped to the floor.

At the end of his torchlight, something far different than anything else we’d seen on the trip to the underworld finally came into view. A tall cog built into the brick wall with its tracks scarred along the top and bottom of it. Beside it sat a newly dusted console for anyone lucky enough to own a PipBuck. When I wondered just who had cleaned it, I assumed Elmwood had when he’d last been down here. That presented a new problem; without a PipBuck, we were never going to get through that door. Not one of us had the magic key.

Around it sat abandoned shacks, bollards and fences, and tucked between them were long-dead carcasses. Some lay cuddled under moth-eaten patchwork quilts, some on top of decayed clothes.

I’d been into abandoned Stables before. Bones picked clean of all fleshy remains were not uncommon in the entryways, once belonging to the unlucky souls who'd hoped to receive asylum in a rabbit warren only to find a door closed and bolted.

This hallway should have been the same. The hatch should have been stained with marks from the bodies that had been flung into it until they broke like used toys. The bare leftovers of the families not chosen to live through the end of Equestria should have been piled up on the doorstep. It had been the same for every other Stable I'd quested within.

Every other Stable except this one.

"They... made camp here?" asked a mare with a deep, ugly graze across the breast.

"They waited," Elm bowed his head to the boneyard.

Those two simple words made me understand the necropolis I was seeing here.

This Stable had been dug at such a depth that the radiation did not reach the ponies locked out of their sanctuary. Instead of watching themselves grow sick on rads and rot, they sat patiently and rationed the supplies in the security bunkers. There was no reason for them to believe their peers sheltered behind the blast-proof metal would not let them in once they realized they were not the only survivors.

These ivory shells were a graphic reminder of what happened to ponies who put misplaced hope in their insensitive cousins. The stable dwellers had avoided utter destruction, and these starved and empty remnants were the collateral damage of their survival.

"Now what? The door is still closed," my old flame with the boom stick was growing impatient with us, mostly with Elmwood, although my part in this was still recognized by her and her stricken party.

Elmwood’s head whipped left to right with such ferocity, that I expect it to snap from his shoulders and roll away. His hooves moved skittishly as he turned around twice upon the spot. His whole demeanor had sacrificed the unperturbed edge he’d had on the Snips thus far, for a trembling unease. He was looking for something, someone, who was not here.

This was not like the dangerous stallion I knew.

Something in Elmwood’s plan had gone very seriously wrong.

“Get the door open or we~”

“SHUT UP!” the startling and risky cry stopped everyone in their tracks. The strange, panicky behavior was setting every pony on edge, including me.

“Elm?”

“They’re not here! They’re not here, Crow! They were supposed to be here and they’re not here! They-they must have been too late... I’VE BUCKING KILLED GYPSY!” Boulders of dread sank to the pit of my stomach. My tongue lost all saliva, making it nothing but a lump of dust in my beak.

“No.... no they... they’re just~”

“THEY. ARE. NOT. HERE!” The ghost of a pony snatched me by the shoulders in such an animalistic way that I found myself cringing at his anguish. “They were meant to be here, hiding and waiting for us, to back us up. But… But they’re still out there…. And the balefire would… would have…”

Elm shuddered, breaking down against me. The comprehension screwed itself agonizing, slowly into my broken heart. My friend, the mare I’d devoted my life to adoring, was gone. Lost to a Balefire Bomb in a building we had dropped on top of them. All my friends were nothing but dust now, if they were lucky.

“You were going to ambush us?” There was no sympathy in Rose’s voice and in must have made the blood boil in my last comrade.

“My love is dead!” Monstrous snarls rumbled through his clenched teeth, shoulders raised, and lifeless eyes locked on her.

“SO IS MINE!” Rose retorted in miserable rage, pushing the rifle to his temple. Her sensibilities had all been devoured by the beast inside her by now.

“How do you feel, Deadwood? Knowing you paid for your crimes the moment you committed them?! You dropped a Balefire bomb into Manehattan and became no better than the Zebrican slime that put us here!

“Are you suffering now? Are you in pain?”

She leaned right in to him, righteous eyes blazing.

“I want it to hurt,” she lifted her cheeks to perform a maddened grin. Her own tribe were taking a few steps back from the irrational mare, “I want your last moments to break you. I want you to know how truly fucked your evil soul is from this moment on.”

Talons bared as I headed for her, only to have pistols, shotguns and rifles block my path. Rose might have gone fifty- five miles too far over the line between sane and psychopath, but her people still had her side in their best interests.

Rose Bed was prepared to kill us there, if Elm hadn’t succumbed himself to her hooves hopelessly. His head tucked under his legs and he wept with horrific, echoing screams. The hallway seemed to grow oppressive and blacker in that terrible moment.

“Rose…?” a younger mare moved towards her, “they’re in the same position as us now. We… we need them to help us get into this Stable. Can we just get along?”

Our newly psychotic tormenter looked from us to her. Her eyes searched for an answer to the question, and when her expression changed I knew she’d taken two plus two and made a million.

Smack!

The mare tumbled in shock from the gun handle spun across her unprepared cheek. Helplessly she lay on her side, blinking up at the immediately furious bully.

“I see you are working with them, Garden Path.”

“No! I’m not, I’m just s-saying…”

“SILENCE!” Rose’s barrel pointed at each of us. “Garden Path and you two, line up in front of the door.”

Compliance came easily to me now that my one reason for living was still smoldering somewhere above us. Elm seemed to be in the same position as me, taking his place before the gate with heavy drags from his lungs. Garden Path was not nearly as easy to convince.

“N-no! No, you can’t … Everypony, c-can’t you see? Th-this is madness! I-They~!” The cocking gun by her head stopped her pleading. Behind Rose, more ponies were stepping forward.

The whimpers did not cease even as the mare backed up beside me. I gave her a sympathetic glance and opened my beak as I looked back to at the last Snips. Seeing the expressions resigned to our fates, I shut it without a useless word for this pitiful thing.

The last thing I saw was Rose Bed signal to the ponies with weapons. My eyes shut, I sucked in my final breath, and I waited for the end.

“EMERGENCY PROTOCOL, TW-1L-16-HT! I repeat, EMERGENCY PROTOCOL, TW-1L-16-HT!”

The resounding voice jumped around the cave, seemingly wanting to fill every crevice with its strange command. I was thankful to see that the Snips were as confused as me to be hearing it, as I got myself up from the safe spot I’d leapt into on the floor.

Things did not return to normal once the voice was gone, as a siren howled to be noticed. A pair of amber lights strobed from both sides of the wheel, coinciding with loud squeals and whirring behind it.

Garden rushed beneath my wing as a series of the sudden metallic bangs shocked through us. I waited for the pain, which never came. There was double-take for a moment as we still stood with our lives still intact. Our eyes darting to the withdrawing ponies, their guns still cold and dropped.

I wanted to see what my destroyed associate thought of this revelation, only to see him whole and smiling once more. More bemused than ever, I was subconsciously turned to the newly forming hole in the wall as a new sound rang from it.

The clatters stopped, and screw sank forward, pausing after a weighty slam. It held there for an unhurried second, ceremoniously breathing steam from between its metal teeth, before it finally shrieked aside. The illumination filled the stable’s porch and stung my eyes, forcing me to throw my front leg up until my sight could adjust.

In my temporary blind state, I became aware of more bodies flooding from the gap that hadn’t creaked open in a century. I panicked, attempted to flap and find a gun as my neck’s scars recalled the troubles of my last stable. Somepony grabbed me and pushed me down. Several bellows raised at once, the most dominant commanding weapons to be laid down.

I stretched my dripping eyes open as far as they would allow, seeing identical flanks dressed in navy and yellow. Faces were covered by matching helmets, and untouched armor covered proud chests.

“Raiders! You are all under arrest!” the guard’s shout was magically enhanced for all to hear, “resistance will not end well. Drop your guns, flatten yourselves to the floor and put your hooves behind your head!”

Elm gave me a tap after I completed the request of the stable police. Raising my head, I stared at him like he was an idiot, infuriated further when he asked why I was following the demand.

The azure creatures had not seen us. I checked myself to see whether I had been slipped a Stealthbuck during the confusion and eventually shrugged for my own benefit as I found nothing.

Rose interrupted my musing with a protest of virtue for herself and her associated Snips. The cyan forces snapped their own guns towards her.

“Step back, drop to the floor, or you will be eliminated!” These ponies were not messing about.

“We are not the Raiders, they are! We hark from~”

“I said cease and descend to the floor, ma’am!” I watched her disgusted reaction with morbid fascination from behind this pony divider. Her head turned, she gave a staggered laugh and threw her stare at me.

“…Oh, buck this!” When I remember her eyes, I believe she knew her fate then and there.

She lifted her rifle before she’d finished expelling the words, and chaos exploded between them. Her rifle boomed, for once striking true and knocking the closest protector back. But she had no time to celebrate her first and only kill shot, as blasts rained on her from every firearm aimed in her direction.

Krooom!

As the strikes impacted her frame, it glowed with emerald embers and shattered. By the time the guns were silenced, she was gone, and a hill of soot was all that was left of Rose Bed.

*** *** ***

“A griffon! Well, isn’t this novel?” A stallion exclaimed in amusement as he trotted over to me. His long white coat was the cleanest garment I’d ever seen, worn over the top of his bright red fur. He’d chose to approach me as I lay on top of the stretcher that had magically floated me into the Stable entrance.

He was right, this was novel, but I doubted it was the same reasons for me. These ponies had put me on a stretcher. They did not know me, they were not my friends nor in my group, and yet, they’d sent me in to be healed once they saw how much blood my wing had lost.

They’d obliterated my enemy and arrested my foes. I held a quick talon up to the Doctor.

“Just one tad,” I waved across the foyer, “Excuse me? Mister? You in the blue! No, the other one. NO! The other, other one! LOOK WHERE I AM POINTING! Great, thank you,” a weary sigh warmed my beak.

“The two Sn- I mean, Raiders there, in your custody? Long story short, they’re part of the good guys, aye?”

In his company he had Garden Path and the colt with the dead sister. The mare deserved saving, but the young guy? I guess I just did that because I felt sorry for him.

The officer faltered and gave me a shrug. I repeated myself, which seemed worse for his damned ears somehow. By the time I was giving him an angry third rendition, Elm stepped in on my behalf.

“You’ll have to excuse her, she’s from Trotland. They talk differently up there. She said to free these two because they are innocent,” To my great annoyance, the Stable stallion understood that. He gave them both a look over and then shrugged, unshackling the pair of them. Even after he did that, the surviving sibling still showed a grudge against me in his slate-gray stare.

Buck him, I thought then. I’d returned the favor tenfold. I’d shown him a shoulder to cry on. It wasn’t like he was the only one mourning the loss of a loved one.

For that moment, Gypsy was on my mind again. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her smile… all the things I’d never see again…

“Ah-ahem,” the doc waved a hoof over my daydreaming stupor, “If we might proceed? I need to heal this wing. We do not have winged fellows down here, but I assume it is like most injured limbs?” It took me a moment to realize that the question wasn’t rhetorical.

“Err… you’re the doc, doc. You patch me up the way you know how. Just make sure I can still fly with it by the time you’re done.” My unprofessional answer still seemed to satisfy him, and he went about checking me for any other bumps and bruises. Thankfully, my other cuts were far less serious.

I craned my head to one side as he performed a bit of mumbling first aid on me and watched the other Snips jangle past. Connected by manacles, the small group were conveyed slowly past me and further into the Stable. It was odd, knowing that these ponies who had been our scapegoats to get into this Stable, that none of them were complaining about their situation. They’d lived through a collapsed skyscraper, I guessed these circumstances were better than they could have hoped for after that.

As I watched the young Snip at the back of the group limp away, my attention was distracted by a different pony. Dressed in Stabletec blue with yellow banding, his fur and mane continued to reflect these colors like a Stable Colt mascot. He wore a set of wire-frame glasses on the end of his nose and when he grinned, his teeth reflected the light of the beams above us. A silly blonde attempt at a crap beard dribbled from his chin. He was deep in conversation with Elmwood.

“… We will put you all up in the warehouse temporarily. Don’t worry, it’s a lot quieter than the Reactor, we’ll ensure you have clean bunks and blankets and access to everything you need.” The beardy dude must have felt me observing since he finally turned to look at me.

“Ah, hello madam. Miss Crow, isn’t it? I’ve heard a lot about you.” I tried not to look too judgmentally at Elm. I returned my greeting to the new stallion and took the offered hoof to shake. Whilst my sorrow burned a hole within me, I still managed a sardonic smile when he had to brush the muck from his hoof.

“I’m Overlook, the Overstallion of this Stable. I’m sure there’s many questions, many things you need, just know that you are safe and welcome here now. We were all sorry to hear about what happened to your last Stable, and we want to make you feel at home in ours.” Out came the glittering tombstones once again.

“Last Stable?”

“Oh, sorry Overbuck, my squawky friend got hit by a confusion spell from those raiders, but she should be right as rain in a few hours…” Elm patted my lame wing before I had chance to call him out on his lie. I settled for a hearty offer to stab his eyes out with Prince Armor’s prick. That comment earned a few blinks from the Overstallion.

“Overlook, not Overbuck… and of course, we understand. We have a fantastic medical team here at Stable T-Thirty. We’ve done a lot of things differently compared to your Stable, I’m certain, which has ensured our existence.”

“If you do not mind, Overstallion, I need to get this one to that fantastic medical team that you speak of so that we can fix this wound.” My physician requested. Overlook nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course, and once you are done in surgery, Miss Crow, I shall send your friends to reunite with you.” The words jumped out at me like Radgators from beneath a bridge.

“My… Friends?”

*** *** ***

She was alive!

The moment she stepped through the clinic door, I forgot my recent operation and ignored my surgeon’s orders to lie back down. I gathered her swiftly into my front legs and pulled her tightly into a constricting hug until she patted on me to release her.

“I thought you were dead!” I enlightened Gypsy as she swept the tears from my eyes with a delicate hoof. Her chuckles were respectful of my relief, as she explained that she was very much alive and steered me back towards my bed.

Resting back down, I took in the sight of the mare I thought I’d never seen again.

“You’ve had a bath,” I sniggered, squirming into the sheets, so soft they became weird and uncomfortable for my back. I’d been conditioned to feel lucky if my hard beds of the past did not contain shards of glass or splinters.

“I’ve had many things!” Gypsy beamed. She waited for the doctor to be sure I was going to lie still and heal. Once he was out of hearing range, she gushed about the hot water, about the real soaps, the hot meals, clean beverages, and the scented towels. As she spoke, something different came over her. A wistful smile and a mist in her eyes, a look I’d not even seen her use when she’d spoken about Elmwood.

“... and I’ve actually been able to trim the fur around my mare garden! You have no idea how good it feels not to have that irritation. Even these clothes, they fit so snugly and~”

“Gypsy!” I laughed gently, “the uniforms are crap. Soon as you put Stabletec gear on, you might as well be saying ‘give me a number and designate me as your bucking slave.’ Plus, they’re about as useful in the Wastes as a dried turd balaclava.”

I wasn’t sure whether the brief glimpse of antipathy in her face was directed at my crude imagination or my abhorrence for Stabletec. I moved on quickly.

“Is that a PipBuck?” I saw the weighty apparel just as I was about to ask how on Equestria she got in here before us. She blinked and lifted it with a strong confirmation.

“Elm gave it to me. It’s how we got in to the Stable. You know, I think this is his...”

“What?” My temper quickly boiled from the tips of my claws to the back of my neck.

“I think this PipBuck is his. Do you think he used to live in a Stable? He never talks about~”

“He knew you were alive?” She caught the danger in my tone that time. She sighed and raised a hoof diplomatically.

“Now, Crow. You must understand. It was part of Elm’s plan. If you believed that we had all survived then you may not have acted realistically enough for the Snips to fall for the plot,” her soothing voice did nothing to release the steaming fury built up inside me. In fact, it only provoked it.

“You both knew. You let me believe you were dead.” I dropped my head onto the pillow. Its comfort felt bittersweet now that the truth was out.

Gypsy tried to cool me down by filling me in on the part of the plan I’d not been privy to. Whilst I’d been a distraction for the Snips, our raiding party had slipped past and followed Elm’s directions all the way down to the Stable.

Clad with Wood’s PipBuck, she plugged into the console in the hall before the door and spoke to the Overstallion. Elm had laid the groundwork with this guy already in his previous visit, all Breeze had to do was confirm it.

“’We’re from Stable Fifty-Four, we’ve been dragged from our Stable by Raiders! Some of our families have been killed. Please, we need sanctuary!’ Overlook believed me, he opened up the door for us and we suggested to him that the Snips had you and Elm captive. We offered to help fend them off if they could provide us with weapons, but the chief of security here wouldn’t hear of it. He got the door shut again and waited. You know the rest!”

My deceiving acquaintance finished the recount and sat back in her chair, expecting me to weigh in. I just held my gaze with the dull tiles on the ceiling. Her guilt became intense in the air between us, but her indignance beat the race to her tongue.

“We got here safely because of Woody’s plan. We’ve done far more dangerous bullshit for far less so drop the attitude. No bucker cares that your feelings got hurt,” her voice was a whisper. Mine was not.

“If no bucker cares about my feelings, then you might as well buck, or fuck, or piss the ass off!”

“Mares, mares, please!” the doctor was back to ease the tensions, “could you please keep it down? Ma’am, it might be best that you leave for now. I believe the confusion spell is still wearing off.” I huffed at the pair of idiots and turned my head, punching the wet streak from my cheek.

Gypsy agreed this was for the best. Turned away from her, I still heard the pony get up, move to the foot of my bed and hesitate.

“Crow, I… it’s good that we’re here. Okay? You need to get over… everything that happened.” Leaving me with her coded message, she trotted away until I heard the doorway ding and click shut. My medicine stallion tutted softly.

“There. Now, rest. Sleep if you need to. Can I get you anything to eat, drink?”

I sniffed in thought.

“I’ll take a bottle of whiskey, a cigar, and whatever you’ve got for a broken heart.” He chuckled and disappeared for several minutes.

To my dismay when he returned, he brought me a glass of water, a hayburger with hayfries and a Daring Do book. My look told him of my disappointment, and he breathed deeply through his nose.

“Get through that first, and maybe – maybe- I’ll get you a glass of apple whiskey.” I kept up my end of that bargain, although the burgers had the consistency of leather armor and the taste to match.

To my respite, the doctor, calling himself Dr. Moon Ache, was as good as his word too. The whiskey was smooth. It came with a conversation, and I had the distinct impression he was trying to flirt with me, but I did not mind that.

I let him talk and I let my mind wander again, as I sipped, over the entire path of horseshit that led me to here. Maybe Gypsy had been right. Maybe I should have let it go and forgiven them, but when I remembered the colt sobbing over his mutilated sister I couldn’t help feeling that the cost to get here was too high.

I didn’t know how hard that opinion would bite me in the ass over the next few weeks.

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Completed- Gotta Knock A Little Harder…
Quest Perk - Bluffmaster - Bluff speech checks are 20% more successful

Level up!
New Perk: Birdbrain (level one) - You are a swift learner. You gain an additional +10% whenever experience points are earned.

Quest Begun - Stable T-30
Quest Begun - Bed, Bath and Befriend

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter: Requiem for a Tower by Escala (although all versions are good!)

So, we made it into Stable T-Thirty. And someponies didn't.

We've met Overlook and Dr Moon Ache, we'll be meeting several other Stable ponies too in the next chapter. I've got another character coming along that I'm particularly excited about.

And now we're going to start to find out just why Stable T-30 is on Crow's shit list. I'm excited, I don't even know myself!

Well, that's a lie. I know where this is going, but when I write I do so from my head rather than from notes. If it lasts the turmoil up there then it's worth pursuit.

I quick shout out to TomKnollRFV and MHBones23321 for the helpful suggestions on what constitutes luxuries we take for granted. Clothes and clean pubes! Of course! :D

Ask me many questions, I might lie but I'll always tell the truth. :P <3

I love you guys, thanks for reading this up to this point.

All good things,

DuskHoof.

Entry 008 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part Two)

Entry 007 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part One)

Before I abdicate my throne, I wanted to speak with you one last time to offer some sense of hope for the future of all beings, not just pony kind. In the past, we were all capable of the desire to live with and help each and every one, no matter what lay on their fur or body and no matter what they called themselves. I wish and dream that one day those ideals return to us.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 007 – Mole and the Minstrels (Part One)

Insanity found a small place in my brain to make camp and start a fire during the first hour spent with my fresh-faced companion around town.

Ponies were going about their ordinary lives, from foals to adults, flower sellers to grocers to bakers, maintenance ponies to lawyers. She acted as though she recognized everyone that passed us in the streets. It grew to the point that I wasn’t sure whether she was talking to me, them, or herself.

“Oh, golly! The Minstrels are coming back today! Hello! That’s going to be a lot of fun. Hey, it’s you! How are the kids? Do you know many songs? Hi there! If you were an onion, what kind of onion would you be? I’m a Vidalia but I think you’re more of a Walla Walla. How you doing, Mr. Piemaker! Are you always going to be naked? I don’t mind, but if ponies ask I’d like to know what to tell them because…”

Mole was chattier than a fried chem-addict in an empty chemist store. Coupled with the repetitive stares of the public at my nude feathers and fur, and an itch developing behind the light weight but irritating clamp around my leg, I was really struggling to have a good day up to this point. I was actually starting to lose my cool.

“… For a while I thought I was a nudist, but it turned out I was just forgetful.” The cheerful little fuzz ball chirped, on my decision to stand bare naked against all that was good in the name of fashion and degradation.

“It wasn’t my choice,” I said, before my mind corrected me, “I mean, it was my choice, but it’s more complicated than that.”

I stopped as my PipBuck made yet another noise, distracting me for a moment. I was being congratulated every few steps for discovering this, that, or the other. The latest was “Twilight’s Corner’.

I peeped in, seeing that it was just a library. The back of Mole’s head then blocked my view and she cheerfully greeted the librarian inside. She giggled at the hush she received whilst quietly trying to introduce me.

This ditzy little unicorn was friends with everypony, although not necessarily everypony’s friend. Many of the ponies she introduced me to either humored her or looked at her with reserved distain. I couldn’t blame them, I wasn’t immediately interested in being friends with a noisy, cuddly critter who, I assumed, had no idea what hung between a stallion’s legs.

“Are you Procrustean’s special somepony?” Oh, good Goddesses! That was not something I ever wanted to be suggested, by anypony, ever again in a million years.

“Shit! No! Why would you even think that?”

“You said you enjoyed your last date and you were looking forward to the next one,” She offered innocuously. I rolled my eyes, something that would be habitual with the kind of whimsical comments that escaped from Mole’s mouth.

“That was called banter. It is what you do when somebody, who is a prick like Procrustean, really needs winding up.”

“Winding up?”

“When they deserve to leave more annoyed than they were when they met you.”

“Oh,” She paused a moment, “I think I already do that with most people.”

“I can see that,” I confirmed.

We ascended a ramp onto the next level of the multi-layer city. The suspension of my disbelief was improving in each step, although it came with a loathing for the bumping, shuffling crowds and insistence to make as much noise as possible to make up for the extra space.

I was accepting that this was less of a Stable and more like Town Tee-Thirty with homes and streets and shops, but some parts about that were still irking me. Some more solvable than others.

I found the cobbles harder to walk on than the grass, rock and dirt of the wider world. They were slippery, irregular and partially-elliptical. It became so uncomfortable to walk on that I accepted my still aching wing and leaped up to hover over Mole, something she happily marveled at.

“Wow! Look at you up there, Captain Flappity flap flap!”

“Mole?”

“Aye Captain?”

“Zip it.”

“Aye aa~ opps! I mean~” she ran her hoof over her lips quickly, “mmmf mmm mm!” It was a comedic sight, and a I let myself chuckle shortly. It made her smile, but I didn’t let her relish on it.

An unfamiliar mare was in the path, having spotted me and flagged me down. I landed in front of her, glad to at least see somepony not gasping at my lack of attire.

“Oh, hello, I’m Semi Skimmed,” she hurried her introduction, not seeming too concerned with who I was, “you came from outside, right?”

“I…”

“Tell me, have you seen this mare out there? She ascended a year ago…” She thrust a picture into my face. On the glossy image was a blue mare with a lighter shade of aquamarine in her mane, grinning from ear to ear and a floating teapot in her magical grasp. I shook my head slowly.

“Um, no, sorry, I…”

“Are you sure?” she pressed with a little more urgency, “look again, could you?” The annoyance rose in me when the photo was shoved against my eyeballs. I wasn’t going to miraculously remember a pony I never met just because their face was shoved into mine. I ripped the portrait from my face and waved it at her.

“Listen, lady. I’m certain I’d remember somepony this clean out there, okay? The only ponies wandering through Equestria today are filthy, ugly and out of practice when it comes to teatime etiquette, aye?” I gave the picture one last look before I tossed it back to her not caring that she had to scoop it quickly off the floor.

“Why would I see a stable dweller out there anyway? None of you have stepped out of that door. I’d suggest you keep it that way, aye? Your blue friend is probably just hiding from whack jobs like you.” It was mean of me to say, but with the ache in my head and the prickling behind my PipBuck, I wasn’t in the mood to play nice.

I gave her a sharp nod and kept moving, even when she barked bitch at me from behind. She was allowed that one. I’d have made sure she didn’t get chance to say it a second time if I wasn’t anxious that Procrustean could be watching. In my mind, I already had him down as the chief culprit for arranging this mare in my path just to have an excuse to point a hoof at me when I floored her.

“Crazy mare, huh, Mole? Did she think I was born in a Balefire cloud? What made her think I’d have seen anyone from here out there?” I got a squeak and a couple of muffled sounds as the brown horse attempted to communicate through closed lips. I held up my claw to silence her and looked to my strapped-up leg.

My PipBuck had buzzed again, and not only gave me the satisfaction of relieving my itch but also offered me something instantly to my tastes.

The cartoon pony on my device was still waving next to the name of my destination as I made a beeline towards it.

“HOPSCOTCH DISTILLERY.”

Below that, in red, flashed,

”WARNING! Foals must not enter this location without an adult!

Drinking alcohol is prohibited for ponies under the age of 21!”

“Mmpf mm mmmm!” Groaned my vexing little barnacle as she scampered after me, struggling through the throng of ponies.

“What’s that? Next time try speaking with your mouth open.” I sneered down at her.

“I said, this isn’t exactly wha~”

“Ah, ah. Zip, Mole.” Frustrated whinnies followed me, but I didn’t let it stop me from arriving at my desired destination. I’d found my idea of fun, my calling in the Stable.

As I pushed through the door eagerly, the jingling bell above me was transformed into the magical twinkle of a portal to paradise. Inside, row after row after row, several shelves high, of bottles and barrels of alcoholic beverages. I had died and gone somewhere I could finally get cheerfully rat-arsed drunk.

Ahead, a stallion called my attention to him with a wave whilst the cappuccino furred filly follower wandered in behind me. I could almost feel the desperate expressions she was making behind me as she uncomfortably looked around the store.

“Oh, hey! It’s you!”

I stumbled back in alarm, bumping my hind into Mole as he vaulted the counter. Without missing a step, he hurried over to us, snatched my talon and shook it fiercely. His crimson ‘tache bounced heavily as he squeezed it and I stared at him in shock, whilst the excitement of meeting me never faded from his face.

“You’re the griffon! I’m Oaky Hopscotch, welcome to our store. Great day for a Minstrel parade, isn’t it? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he looked at me again as though he was seeing me for the first time, “I see you’ve decided to go… naked?” From the back of that dropped a nervous laugh, “Oh, ha-ha, I guess that’s a griffon thing? Come, come, take a seat, my wife is just talking to another member of your stable right here.”

My heart jumped into my throat the moment Oaky Hopscotch mentioned somepony I should know was here. As I moved around the aisle towards the back counter, it only partially dropped back to my chest when I saw who they were referring to. The limp maned mare with tear tattoos turned on a barstool between a second stallion and a curly maned lady.

“Crow!” She leaped up to hug me and my body hunched to hug her back, both of us knowing this was mostly for the show of the others here. Only one of us squeezed back regardless.

“Hey, Poxy. How you doing?”

“I’m amazing, kid,” she laughed, patting me a bit sharply on my back, “we survived, we made it. Can you believe it?” She sighed, giving me more of an affectionate nuzzle than I was interested in receiving.

“Aye... aye. We’re the lucky ones,” I mumbled, using my new-found powers of acting to perform another show of mourning. Mole gave a soft apologetic sound and rubbed my back, whilst Poxy used it as an excuse to squash me closer.

“S’okay, I’m h’okay... who’s these fine fellows you’ve been befriending?”

She quickly pranced back to the front desk to introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Hopscotch, first names Oaky and Smokey, and their business partner, Whiskey Jack. Smokey the wife of the fella who pounced me before I’d gotten a foot through the door, whilst Whiskey was Poxy’s minder, although I felt somewhat jealous of her tour guide considering the au pair fate landed me with.

“This is Molasses Candy.”

“She calls me Mole!” called out the named filly, “and I call her Captain!” Then, with a silencing look from me, she re-invisi-zipped her mouth back up and shrugged to the others.

“We do know Molasses,” I could tell Smokey was not pleased to see this pony in her shop and I waited for her to send the oddball home, but instead she added, “don’t touch any bottles this time, young lady. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“I won’t ask,” I teased, looking to Mole as she pawed at the imaginary fastenings on her mouth. However, our hosts evidently wanted me to know just what I’d let myself in for, thanks to a misjudged sense of heroism.

“There was a group of fillies, some of Molasses’ sisters, and she’d just become of age for a tasting session. The others handled their samples without any complications, but this Miss Candy wasn’t content with what we put in front of her. She kept mixing, sipping, grumbling, and retrying. Soon she was getting bottles of liquor we hadn’t even suggested to her and was adding it to her concoction. We just could not stop her if we tried.

“Eventually, she slammed the last empty glass down, yelled ‘I’ve made it,’ for the entire Stable to hear, and chucked her guts up over our nice, clean floors.”

“Ruined a real good rug,” lamented Oaky, glaring at Mole. Something unusual inside me encouraged me to stand up for the screw loose kid once more, but I was learning to ignore this strange moralistic inner-monologue I was developing. Even if the cocoa pony’s pitiful droop did bite me in the emotions.

Poxy wrapped a leg around me.

“That is hilarious! ‘Mind if I borrow my friend a moment? I’ll bring her back. Could you pour her a... which number was it? Fifty-eight! Thank you, Whiskers.”

She pulled me over to the window of the shop, which was loaded with ornaments, old bottles and paraphernalia, where the group couldn’t hear us whisper, then she threw me into another cuddle.

“This should make ‘em think we’re just having a moment,” at least, those were the words she used, but every crush told another story, “Captain, eh? Kinky.”

“She calls me that, I didn’t ask her to.” I replied coolly, trying not to catch Mole’s eye. Something gave me the feeling that if any of these ponies could lip read, she would be the one with the ability.

“Have you bucked her yet?”

“Buck, no! For starters, only met her half an hour ago. Secondly, she’s not my type and thirdly, she’s bucking mental. She’s been play-acting pirates like we’re bucking five-years-old.” Weirdly, I felt as bad about making Poxy laugh at the expense of Mole as I did about letting the Hopscotchs belittle her. I had no idea what was happening to me.

“Then she’s probably a virgin... what a treat,” the leading mare waggled her eyebrows at me. I’m certain she kept talking to stop me from arguing further.

“I feel like I need to tell you that this place is amazing, Crow,” that made me look at her with renewed confusion. She was serious.

“It’s different, aye, but~”

“Buck.” She rolled her eyes, “I knew it. You don’t accept gift horses when they stare you in the mouth. You could have me, but you drool over Breeze. You could have that baby-faced cutie over there, but you’re hung up on what she isn’t in relation to you. You -we- could live here for the rest of our lives. Safe, well-fed and together, but Breeze told me about your spat with her over how Elm got us in here. As far as I recall, you were championing the idea the other night, so you need to change your tune.”

“Change my tune?” I glared at her, “at any point, any of our ponies could spoil the secret, and get us all in the pig shitting-”

“The only one in danger of doing that is you, Crow,” she offended as well as interrupted me, and in so many words I told her as much. It didn’t stop her verbally slapping me back.

“Every other member of our team is sucking up to these stable-dwellers, even Deadwood. Everypony expect for you. Get with the crowd, Crow. I love you. I don’t want to throw you under the apple-cart.”

The last flicker of a yearning yet treacherous look in her eyes stopped me from launching a fresh bout of righteous fury upon her. I could do nothing but gawp as she skipped back, becoming the embodiment of her stable dweller persona in the time it took her to twist and face her new buddies.

"Sorry about that. We have lost so much..." sighed Poxy, spreading the grief on thick and allowing the others to feel true sorrow for our fake loss.

"Not at all," Mr. Hopscotch said, sharing out tumblers of golden swishing liquid. I took it, still in a slightly confused fume at the current events. Why was I now the liability, when there were other raiders willing to buck or kill in the public eye quite happily? Something was screwed about this game we were all playing, and it was frustrating me that I didn't understand it.

So, I did the next best thing. I looked to my spectators, and then I stepped in to play dangerously.

"I want us all to raise a drink..." I stopped with my jar above my head and glanced across the room at the youngest mare, "can we all get a drink here, please?"

"Oh, well, Molasses doesn't..." Mrs. H began, but I was not going to lose two battles of words today.

"Molasses would learn to drink sensibly with practice," I poured so much sugar into my sarcasm that it sounded more like a friendship lesson. I watched them uneasily find sense in my reasoning, the ponies floated something that looked like liquid chocolate to my new accessory. Mole took it, blinked at it, then beamed to sweetest, happiest expression I'd ever seen on anypony as she politely thanked our hosts. It was as though this was the first time she'd been spoken to or acknowledged as a living, thinking pony.

"Thank you," my glass rose, "I would like to toast our fallen comrades, our lost families, and our absent friends." I sniffed for effect, even rubbed a damp eye, and everypony joined the tribute, then drank. Some sipped, some took a mouthful. I almost swallowed mine whole, glass and all.

Oh gosh, it was good! it was really bucking good. I shared the feedback and asked if I could get a bottle, only to remember to my dismay that I wasn't going to get anywhere with no caps on me.

Clatter!

"What she said, but I’m paying for it! A bottle for my new bestie!" Mole almost yelled in Mrs. Hopscotch’s face, slamming down enough coin on the table for my request.

I'm a simple griffon. Feed me, I'll remember you. Feed me twice more, I might say hello when we pass on our journeys.

Buy me booze and I will be anything you want me to be. Best friend, Prench maid, whore, anything.

"Ahw, thanks 'bestie'! A new toast; to Mole! She might be a little screwy but yay to whiskey and drinking it!"

We tried samples and drank steadily for the next hour, whilst I learnt more than I could possibly have wanted to about my hosts.

The distillery had belonged to the Hopscotch family for five generations, ever since their first ancestor had stepped into the stable. The shop transferred to the oldest sibling each time their fathers ‘ascended’. The word tickled me at the time and I caught myself sniggering before I apologized. They didn’t get upset.

Oaky met Smokey over a bourbon seventy-six right at that very counter. A year later the pair were married. They’d been together for nearly fifteen years now with three foals together. The very idea was alien to me! I could count the number of ponies I knew who’d lived into their thirties on one foot, and they were so grizzled and broken that the kindest of creatures couldn’t love them. Seeing these two deeply besotted was disconcerting for me, I was waiting for something to ruin it.

Whiskey Jack had worked for the Hopscotchs ever since they had inherited the shop, and he’d been responsible for some of the more exotic of flavors in the store, including the chocolate liquor Mole was sipping like hot cocoa. He looked after the place when the family had to see to their foals or when they were incredibly busy. Until now, he had never met his own special somepony yet the way he looked at Poxy, I believed he might have hoped that was about to change.

The kids were nearly fully grown and would soon be due to inherit the shop. Even then that struck me as odd, with these folks still so young and in no danger as far as I could see. I saw two of their offspring bustle in to stack shelves and serve customers, but I never recollected their names. Half-grown yet so responsible.

Poxy opened herself to these ponies next, sloshing her whiskey around in her glass. Some of the things she told them belonged to her fabricated life but interwoven into it like a good jumper were strands of truth.

“I had a half-brother, we were really close. Different moms, same dad. When we were foals, we’d write each other small notes and place them around our home where we knew the other would find them with a bit of effort. It became a game trying to find them all.” When Poxy had developed more confidence in me, she had divulged into a few details about her brother to me. We’d even played the same notes game together from time to time, which turned out to be a lot of fun. It wasn’t all bumping uglies and following orders between us. There was a friendship, it just wasn’t strong enough to develop.

“…But he died, trying to protect my daughter from a hellhound.” The last gulp of my current glass of whiskey caught in my throat, burning my gullet. No pony was looking at me whilst I was choking thanks to that additional revelation to all of us.

“I lost both in barely a second, and all that-that thing left me with, was this,” she showed them the deep purple streaks along her left shoulder. Her face showed the genuine hurt buried within her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to tears anymore. Her soul had drained itself dry long ago.

This was the first time she had confessed that she had been a mother in front of me. She’d had the confidence to tell me about her abusive mother, the hit-and-miss problems on their farm, even the incestuous love her brother and her shared. It wasn’t hard to guess who her daughter’s father had been.

I’d never asked how she’d gotten the scar. I’d seen it several times, but scars were part of wasteland existence. I had several on my legs alone from a rogue grenade, currently hidden under my PipBuck, and she’d never probed or questioned them. It just wasn’t a thing we did out in Greater Equestria.

“What was her name?” Smokey’s hoof stroked her shoulder. Poxy gave her a rueful smile.

“Fragile… Fragile Heart,” Smokey raised her glass and the group followed a sentimental memorial to the lost Hearts. I might have joined them subconsciously, however I found myself staring at Poxy. She turned to take a slow glimpse of me and cut me down mortally with her next words.

“She’s gone, her daddy’s gone, my brother is gone, and all I’ve ever wanted is somepony to hold me and tell me they need me again…”

Mole’s chestnut legs wrapped around her, as the mare they belonged to sobbed. Despite having not met Poxy before, she was quickly promising she’d always need her whilst sloshing her chocolate drink perilously close. Luckily, Poxy took it in good nature and smiled, patting her tenderly with appreciation. We shared another glass to remember and forget the worst of our pains in one go, and I waited for Mole to share her stories next.

“Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Crow?” Whiskey suggested with a gentle pat at my leg. I winced, but it wasn’t at the touch.

“We haven’t heard from Mole yet. I’d be extremely interested in hearing about her life,” I attempted.

“No way, Captain! I can wait, you are one hundred percentage points more interesting than me!” I let my beak break into a smile as I imagined tying and gagging the annoying little fuzzball to a railroad track, but I relented and as a substitute tried to decide what I could tell them.

“There’s really not that much to tell you about,” I took in a long breath, not looking at any of them, “my parents were heads of security at the place where we- at the stable we grew up in. Our neighbors were speaking with different dialects and my Pa was nervous that our family would lose our Trottish accent. He played Trottish recordings and comedies to me daily to make sure I never lost my way of speaking.

“Growing up, I knew I wasn’t like everypony else-”

“Because you’re a griffon?” Mole was swaying a little as she interjected, her alcoholic drink kicking in. I touched the glass so that it returned to her lips.

“Well, yes, that’s obvious. But also, because I liked fillies a lot more than I liked colts,” I froze as I caught our guests gasping slightly at that. I had heard intakes like that before. I’d heard them all my life.

“I like fillies too!” cheered Mole, splashing her drink across the floor. She’d completely misunderstood my admission, but as Mrs. Hopscotch hurried to clean up the spillage, she recommended that maybe our youngest friend should stop drinking now. As a matter of fact, she said it was time to ‘knock it on the head’ and I only assumed she meant Mole’s drinking. I still got the hint and finished my stories with an embellished one about owning a cat who could open any door.

I thought I’d lost another room by speaking before thinking, but they seemed to warm to me again after a heartwarming lie or two, superseded by a lesson in how to speak Trottish. Hearing them all cry, “You're a wee scunner,” and “Yer bum's oot the windae!” was the funniest experience of my life up to that point.

I was starting to understand why the trip into the stable had been worth the struggles and betrayal.

Mole never got around to telling us much about herself in the store. The Hopscotchs didn’t seem too interested in including her in their meet and greet, but there was something in my head that was warming to the friendly loner, despite her spasmodic attitude to everything and unpredictable behavior.

I guess that is why I suggested we should go do what she wanted after I finished my last glass of scotch.

*** *** ***

Poxy offered herself to me again on the whiskey house’s doorstep.

I refused, again.

We were all merry from the consumption of alcohol in our systems, so it wasn’t any surprise that Poxy leaned to me and murmured coitus. The look she gave me, after I declined her seductive whisper into my ear, was what I perceived to be crushed and disappointed.

It was a heavy weight in my swimming mind and I quickly added a reason. I couldn’t go anywhere without Mole, and I didn’t want a traumatized filly running around Stable Tee-Thirty telling folk that all “Stable fifty-four” ponies did was buck each other all day.

My old raiding leader looked like she didn’t believe the lie and I could tell she wanted to say more, but she was interrupted by an offer from Mole for her and her stallion friend to join us. Poxy’s eyes turned us over in her mind, and when she sighed exasperatedly, it was aimed at me rather than my tag along.

“No, thank you, Mole. Whiskey has offered to show me something else.” If I had missed any other sign that she was threatening to replace me as her point of infatuation, this was the big flashing red light. Whiskey Jack either didn’t know or didn’t care as he responded by hugging the grey-maned mare by her shoulders and giving us a dirty wink.

Goofily, Mole gave him a wink back and cheerily told them to enjoy themselves, promising that we would be having far more fun with a one-hundred percent guarantee. I didn’t have the same high hopes as her, I was in as great a need for sexual relief as a bear was in need to shit in the woods. I just couldn’t let myself get into a place where Poxy felt roses would grow amongst weeds in this relationship.

We went our separate ways, after one last punishing gaze from my commanding Raider. I hurried to look the other way as we stumbled along the bumpy roads towards Mole’s chosen destination. My head tried to dwell on the last draining conversation, but my PipBuck had other ideas.

“I cannot stop it jingling at me!”

I shook the glorified watch with a groan of irritation as we stopped on a corner. Mole’s ears were ever so slightly bigger than ordinary ponies, enough that it was noticeable to me when she swayed her head, from left to right, to the overly cheerful plinky-plonking tune from my PipBuck. It took a few shoves to get her to look at it.

“Ohhhhh! I know this one! Twist this, turn that, boop and~” my arm sang happily to her and she joined in with it delightedly.

“You did it, you did it, you really, really did it! You’re the best, you’re great! Never, ever forget~! Yaaaaaaay! ”

I snatched my weighted appendage away from her as she clopped a hoof in applause, grinning from ear to ear.

Looking down, I could see that the jolly green avatar on my PipBuck was dancing around a flapping ticket promising me, “ONE free Ice Cream! Subject to availability, terms and conditions apply.”

“Why?” I couldn’t get my mind into gear to ask a smarter question. Luckily, the mare understood and nickered gleefully.

“It’s the ‘PipBuck Boop’ game! You gotta twist the knobs when it tells you to and boop the button, so that you can get a special prize!” Her nodding was so fierce that it was making me feel slightly seasick. I grasped her head and she see-sawed ever so slightly on the spot.

“How does everypony deal with this noisy piece of shit here?” I knocked it against the wall a couple of times, and I’m certain all it did was giggled at me. Mole mimicked it.

“Oh, no, you’re lucky! That game is not on the adult PipBucks, only on the FunBucks like yours, for foals! Most ponies grow out of their first PipBuck. Mine doesn’t have any of the cute little games that yours does anymore,” she released a sullen lament, pouting, “I miss my FunBuck.”

"Fun... Buck...." Seething, I reeled my leg back and threw it towards the wall with more force this time. The blow did nothing to the device, and as an added insult sent a painful shockwave along my arm, making me squawk in fury and glare at my tingling claws.

It should not have been a surprise. Crusty seemed to have a vendetta against me from the moment my feet stepped on stable Tee-thirty’s brushed metal doorstep.

This, however.

This was ridiculous, and petty, and offensive. It was the latest nail on a spiky bed of intimidation he was making for me, to buck me out of his house, and I knew it. I growled, pulling back to go for another whack, which was quickly grabbed and halted by Molasses.

“That’s not a PipBuck game!” She whimpered, cuddling the Foal-sized wearable terminal with her lobes flat. Maybe it was just the comprehension that my anger had spooked her, but she looked really cute with her face full of worry and innocence. It was enough to reduce my frustration to a low boil of rage.

“I have a child’s plaything strapped to my arm that is itching like mad. I have ponies gasping at me because I’m not in a stupid jumpsuit. I have the biggest dick in this stable controlling my every move and~” I took a deep breath and sighed, shaking my head. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt her hooves slip away from my leg.

“You’ve got me following you around instead of your much cooler stable buddies?” Damnit, that voice. She’d use it many times after this, and it always had the same effect. After everything else that I’d gone through so far, I really wanted this kid on my side.

“Mole…” She shook her head and turned, walking a few steps away from me. Not far enough to make me chase after her. Looking back now, I don’t think she really wanted to get away from me. I took her shoulder and spun her around, telling her what I believed she needed to hear.

“You are cool. You bought me whiskey and helped me with this heap of hellhound dung. I’ve just been outside of a stable for too long I guess. Radiation has melted a bit of my brain.”

“Mouse poop,” she retorted softly, “I know what ponies think of me. I’m dumb and loopy and a spaz.”

“Well, yes. You are,” I watched her deflate at the first words, “you’re a weird little… word that rhymes with runt, but that makes you far more interesting than any scavvy in the Wastes that I’ve ever met. I admit, I don’t know how to understand you yet, but I guess I want to try~AAGH! Hugging!”

“Not sorry!” She sang, her mood changing at the drop of a cap as she squeezed those legs around my neck. Damnit, she even smelled of chocolate. I resisted a lick.

Instead, I demanded she took me wherever her little heart was set upon before she suffocated me. She responded with a cheery “Aye-aye Captain,” before clutching me and galloping.

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; "Life's a Happy Song" from "The Muppets" soundtrack Listen to it fifteen times and you might actually get into Mole's mentality...

Big thanks to Private Joke for letting me know when to stop writing this chapter.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you leave us, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 009 - We'll Meet Again Someday (song)

Entry 008 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part Two)

Entry 008 – Mole and the Minstrels (Part Two)

There are some awful places across Equestria.

In Manehattan, no pony goes near the Four Stars Grand Terminal, unless they have a death wish. The place is crawling with the ugly striped sons and daughters of the bitches who put our world in this hell hole. They may be wasted and rotten, but it is well rumored that they are still walking about and hungry for the flesh of their victims in the darkest corners of that building.

Old Olneigh. I shouldn’t need to explain that one. The horror stories of mutated ponies and beastly hellhounds speak for themselves. One story I heard was that other ponies created them in the name of science and progress. What ponies call advancement sometimes makes the kind of crap rapists and mass murderers pull look almost like the work of a foal. Almost.

Do I need to go on? The Shadowlands. Beyond Luna Bay, lies the place every pony with a right mind fears they’ll end up. If the Badlands are not terrifying enough, the Shadowlands are where the Windigos howl in anger for the pony’s creation of a scorched planet. Worse still than that, it’s where life disappears. Some believe that the shadows are growing from there day by day, and in the coming centuries, they will devour us all.

All of this certainly scared the feathers off me, and yet the first view of Molasses’ desired location introduced me to a sharper shiver through my spine than any scary story I’d ever been told.

My PipBuck’s discovery message matched the bright and flashing multi-colored sign dead ahead. The loud chorus of trombones, booming drums and terrified screeches drowned out the musical beeps from my utensil. I froze up on the spot, looking around at the burden on at least three of my senses.

“Glad Rags Amusement Park!”

My overeager friend stopped when she realized I was no longer hurrying after her.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you see the fun? Look at the fun, Crow! Look at the FUN!” I was looking at the ‘fun’ and all I was seeing was a torture park that ponies were willingly leading themselves into. BUCK! Even foals were hurrying towards these objects of death and evilness! There were things rolling, things spinning up high and swooping down again, things zipping around, all seemed to be aiming to make these ponies sicker than they’d ever be in their lives! There were things shooting up and down a shaft like a horny stallion with nothing but a hoof, and carts hat repetitively recreated a zebra torture by constantly dunking sufferers into lanes of water.

“You… heh heh, you look like you never saw a place this exciting before…” She went to rub my shoulder, looking ever so slightly awkward. This pace was her idea of wonderful, and thus far in my eyes, it was one alien land too many.

“I… haven’t?” I offered pathetically, tearing my stare at it to look at her, “Not like this… there’s places that used to be like it, out in Equestria…”

I neglected to mention that those places were either ruinous or torture chambers now.

“Oh, yeah?” She beamed and rolled her eyes, “ours is better! I know without even asking, because it is! Come on, Captain!” She tugged.

“Is it safe?”

“Sure is! I’ve been here every day of my life and do I look dead to you?” She sniggered behind a hoof as her joke convinced me just enough to make up my mind.

“Nah. You look like the most alive pony I know.” I meant it. Mole was filled with the life and soul of a party, something I didn’t think anything would crush. Her eyes glistened with the rainbows of artificial lights, and her fur glowed with vivacity that no magical rads could ever match. Something jumped in my chest, a heart I had forgotten I had.

Tentatively, I approached the threshold and followed my prancing friend through the blinking arch into the unfamiliar and unknown dimension.

I felt my feathers shudder again as I looked around, my tail flicking at the tip. Ponies were not only throwing themselves about on these torture devices, they were queueing up for them. They looked excited to be put through bouts of pain and fear. I looked to my Candy girl and asked her, not for the first time that day, why.

“It’s fun!”

“Horseapples!”

“No really, it is! Let’s jump on one, you can only see it is when you’ve been on one! Which do you want to try first? We can go on the big wheel, it’s nice and slow.”

I argued past several different attractions that were all in action, using each to show Mole that none of these were my idea of fun. If its aim was to entertain, then why were everypony on the contraptions screaming their heads off? Why would anything fun involve being flung about until their brains rattled in their tiny heads? All these questions and more confused me.

This strange place had more than just wicked torment machines. There were ponies offering snacks, and fried foods, and sugary beverages from Sparkle Cola to Sunrise Sarsaparilla. Even a few drinks on their boards I had not heard of. Something called Pon, another called Quenchade, which seemed to promise ponies more energy for longer periods of time. I also took notice of the ice cream stand and remembered the prize Mole had won on my foal’s game for, me. I’d be sure to use that later.

What truly caught my attention was a set of stalls with parlor games, like tossing hoops and striking down towers with balls to win prizes. I took a good look at each of them, before grinning as I spied the shooting range. Better yet, it had a set of prizes I could actually use.

I asked Mole for some caps so that I could have a go, which confused her until I remembered that bits were the main currency in this Stable still. Once the misunderstanding was cleared up and my claw was weighted with coin, I stepped up to the booth and tried to bustle through the crowd so that I could go next. Being the most recognizable member of the newcomers, several ponies shifted out of my way just to let me get past them and give me a chance to have a go.

The vendor spotted me at the front, and he tapped a button near the microphone hanging from the ceiling of his shooting gallery.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, it’s our honor to welcome the griffon of Stable fifty-four to Fling Flanks Shooting Range! Here to try your luck?”

“Who, me, sir?” I pointed to myself, fluttering my lashes, “I don’t know, I had just come to see if I could possibly buy one of the dresses you have hanging up there...”

“Oh,” he chortled, “sorry, ma’am, but you gotta earn your prize fair and square by shooting all my targets.”

“All of your targets?” I repeated, swallowed a bubble of air and looked over the range of scattered mini metal bosses in front of me. “Well, if that’s what I need to do to get one of your pretty dresses...”

I put the bits down, accepted the gun he passed to me and examined it. Just a peashooter that shot rubber bullets, but it would do for the purposes of the game. I looked down along the crosshairs and my inner self smirked as my suspicion was confirmed. The sights were set at enough of an angle to throw off the shooter. Cannot con a con artist.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, forgot to mention. All ponies, er, I mean, all creatures must pull the trigger with their mouths. No magic, no claws. Fair’s fair,” I looked him with a new concern.

“With my mouth?” I looked to my claws, so used to using weapons now, that they had calluses from repetitively pulling triggers. That was how I preferred to shoot, it provided me with the best accuracy.

“I could try for you if you want me to?” Mole attempted to whisper, “I’m getting real good at it now.” The entire crowd, which seemed to grow every second, heard her. I gave her a weak smile.

“No, thanks though, Moley. I gotta do this myself...”

I gave the gun another inspection for hygiene purposes before I inserted it into my beak and wrapped my tongue around the trigger. Before he’d even announced the countdown, my eyes darted over the objectives in front of me, taking in each potential shot.

The world around me stopped. Not figuratively, literally.

Wherever I looked, the green outline of the figure from my PipBuck was now an animated in front of my eyes, repetitively firing a slingshot whilst text blipped across my vision.

“Hi! I’m Bucky, your FunBuck Friend! Welcome to your Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell (S.A.T.S.) tutorial! This is a special magical spell that helps you hit several things in one go,” a foal-like voice in my ear told me. I turned in a full circle to look around for this voice. In continued to chat telepathically to me from my mini-computer.

“You need to turn around, you need to turn around, you need to- Firstly, you need to activate your S.A.T.S by looking at your first target. Look at your target now, or, to stop this lesson at any time, look down for five seconds!” I humored Bucky the voice in my head, and looked to the first duck with a green flashing aura on the board.

“That’s great! You’re doing really well. Now, look at the next target!” Duck one stopped flashing, and duck two began, so I shifted my gazed quickly to it. Each move seemed to please Bucky more, his voice becoming chirpier than Mole on dash. Until, that is, I looked at the vendor.

“Whoa!” Bucky yelped, “Ponies do not hurt other ponies! You must never use your S.A.T.S. to hurt another pony. Do you understand?”

“Err, it’s a little late to be telling me that, Bucky,” I mumbled around the gun still in my beak, still weirded out by the current experience. Bucky was a little more intelligent than I took him for, though.

“Uh oh, that wasn’t nice. I’ve had to send a message to your parent or guardian so that they know you were naughty.” I sniggered at that, shaking my head. I remembered once coming home from the makeshift school my village had built for the foals and chicks with a note regarding my behavior. I’d throttled a colt who’d called my Pa a dirty old drunk. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but he had no right saying it. My dad had ruffled my head, chortled, and told me to pick my battles. Only strike a pony who looks willing to strike you.

Instead of reiterating this to Bucky, I looked to the fifth and last target.

“That’s right, well done! You’re almost done; once you nod, this tutorial will end, and the spell will help you shoot all of those targets. Are you ready?” I nodded, and with an excited whinny from my new electronic friend, the world was resuscitated.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” The vendor held up his hooves and flailed them, “No S.A.T.S! That’s cheating!” He jabbed his hoof towards his sign that reminded other ponies of the ‘No S.A.T.S aid when using the range and glared at me. I blinked in utter confusion.

“What? No, I… it did it automatically to me, I didn’t even… It’s not my fault! Can I try again?”

“You forfeit your turn by acting again the rules, young griffon. Buuut if you have the bits, I’ll let you take your next turn immediately.”

“Oh, will you?” Part of my dreamt about tossing a few bits down, then stepping back into the crowd, producing a missile launcher and lay waste to his little game, but I was better than that. Also, I was severely lacking a missile launcher.

Instead, I was going to get a little own back.

Mole slapped a few bits on the counter for me before I could stop her, but I quickly covered them with my claw as the vendor reached down for them.

“What’s your name, sir? Fling Flanks...?”

“No, no, that's my business partner. Together we own many of the stalls here! I'm Merrymaker, ma’am! … What is so funny?” I didn’t answer. I was too busy hooting at how ridiculously his moniker matched up to the name of a gentlecolt’s junk.

“You… really don’t… know?” I waved it off, sniggering despite all of the confused looks, “N-never mind, j-just don’t try to SHAFT me here, okay? I am trying to handle your WEAPON with care.”

“What are you-“

“If I get all the targets, I want to get my dress as my prize and my bits back, agreed?”

Merry-Member did not agree to this suggestion, but I just shrugged and looked under my claw.

“Fine. I’ll have another go since I don’t want to hold the crowd up…” I let the stallion in a striped candy-cane waistcoat and matching hand-me-down straw hat take his bits, reset the marks then step out of the way. I fiddled with my PipBuck so that it would not take over again, then put the gun back in my beak and took aim.

Believe it or not, I hit the first duck by accident. I’d forgotten about the wonky crosshair. I celebrated with a wiggle all the same.

My next shots were way off target, without upsetting Bucky and shooting the vendor. I finished the second round with a total of one point and sighed in defeat again.

“This is a lot harder than it looks,” I whimpered wetly, my feathers puffing like a blowfish. I watched the stallion’s grin widen. “Best two out of three?”

“Why stop a lady when she’s having fun? And tell you what, if you shoot half of my targets in this one, I’ll give you the bits back from one of your games.”

“Just one of them?” I asked as sweetly as I could, leaning on the desk. I could see the temptation shimmering in his eyes.

“How about this. If you get half down, you get half of your bits back. If you don’t, then you’ll give me… one kiss.”

“All my bits back if I get half. If I don’t, you get to spend the whole night to me,” My body had convinced my mind to play the dangerous attraction game. He didn’t need to know my heart only beat faster for the love of a good mare. I gave him a wink for free and enjoyed the stammering it caused.

“S-S-Sounds like a deal to me!” We shook on it; my gun was reloaded and my third chance began.

Blam! Blam blam. Blam -clank -blam blam!

No, that was worse somehow. I was wide of every single target and didn’t even hit duck number one. This time, the audience broke into stitches, fueled by the stallion’s gleeful delight that he had won an evening with my feathery hide.

“So,” He chuckled when the roar died down, “shall I pick you up at eight?”

“Oh, you could…” I glanced to Mole who seemed ecstatic and in awe that I’d pulled on my first day in her foalhood city, “or you could be meeting myself and my friend.”

“Errm…?”

“HuhwhatCAPTAIN?!” I ignored the squeak amongst the gasping crowd and placed my ultimatum on his polished wood shelves.

“Zip it, Moley. Merry- Can I call you Merry? Merry, double or nothing; if I miss this time, you get both of us. But if I get half, give me the dress, and all the bits you’ve made today.” I sat, sultry eyes and awaited his answer. He was considering it, and I was prepared to wait whilst he did.

“I’ll give you a fighting chance, lady. If you miss three, then I win. But, I’m not going to hand over all my bits to you. I have a business to run here.“

“Alright, fair. Not all off them. Just half. And I must hit all but two of the targets. That way, our fates are decided on one little itty-bitty target. Sound fair?” I tiptoed my claw along the wood, looking up absentmindedly a clock. It was nearly midday.

“C-Captain, he’s not going to-“

A hoof moved into my view.

“You got yourself a deal, lady,” we shook, and the stallion gleefully proclaimed to the crowd, “looks like my lucky day, I’m going on two dates tonight, folks!” The crowd cheered again as Mole had a major panic attack and tried to pull me away.

“Stop, I – I can’t, I-“

“Gimme some bits, Mole.”

“N-no, I… I’ve ran out of bits!” I looked to her, then the pocket of her jacket still half-full and jingling, before rising an eyebrow.

“No, no, I’ll let you have this round for free. Either way, I’m still winning,” Chuckled the cocky guy with the equally self-confident name. I politely thanked him, took up my bb gun and moved into position. Mole continued to whimper and protest, trying to grab the gun from my mouth before I pushed her back onto her haunches with a wing. With a defeated groan, she flopped and covered her eyes at what she was sure would be another embarrassing loss.

I took a deep breath, aimed…

Blam! Tink!

One down.

Blam! Tink!

I beat my current recorded, the second duck flopping down. As I aimed for the third, a sweet, melodic Trottingham voice floated into my mind.

“You have got to have an extra edge, babe. If you just use your claws for fighting, your foes will take away your claws. If you just use your legs, they will take away your legs. If you are going to fight, (and Crow, I know you are going to fight) then fight with every single bit of your being that you have. Even your beak. Especially your beak...”

Blam! Tink!

Around us, the indoor carnival continued to sing and dance as it did not notice the small spectacle on the single stall early into its flashing street of bizarre fun.

Inside our bubble, however, the crowd was in silent shock at the turn-around of the current events. I looked from the last three untouched bull’s eyes to the stunned stall keeper and then smugly smirked around my rented piece.

“Just one more, riiiight?” I flicked the weapon back up with a steely eye and sent the fateful three missiles flying towards their designated destinations.

Tink!

*** *** ***

Sullen and sulky Molasses was just as adorable as innocent and meek Molasses, with the added challenge of being a tiny bit as irritating, though not as migraine-inducing, as bright and cheery Molasses. I found myself wishing she was just a little more edgy more often, enough to make me feel I could take her hoof and see how far we could run together as a dynamic duo. Instead, I had a confused three-way, consisting of intrigue, lust and contempt.

She'd been quiet and moody ever since we'd moved on from the shooting range. Merry Maker hadn't been too difficult to deal with following my victory. He had complained at first that I had conned him and threatened to call over a guard, until I pointed out that there was an interesting fault to his gun's sights that made the game far more challenging to an untrained pony, or griffon for that matter. Once I had him wondering how the security might treat the deliberate defect, he gave me my dress and my winnings, of which I split down the middle with Mole. Still, I did not get a smile, just a dismal thank you.

The dress fit me perfectly. I'd chosen a sparkling red one not only because it reminded me of my missing bandanna, but also looked wide enough for my well-built frame. It needed holes for the wings, but I was able to create those with some scissors I found another stall holder using to cut some price labels with. I also found a strong black saddle bag on her stall that fit me perfectly, so I purchased it once my wings were free. Yes, purchased. I don’t con all the time, just when I don’t have payment or when the mark deserves knocking down a peg or five.

Once I’d dragged Mole onto something called the Overstallion’s Observation wheel and it had started moving, I addressed her grumpy attitude.

“I wouldn’t have really let him do anything with you. Or me, for that matter, Mole. I already knew I was going to beat that range.” I gave her a playful nudge, surprised that I was trying to win that hyperactive eccentric thing back. I earned a look, not of anger, of disappointment instead. Still, she would not tell me what her problem was.

“I would have given you your bits back one way or another too, I’d not have left you with nothing,” the dispirited mare remained sat by my side in a tight little booth on a big, slow moving wheel.

“Fine. I give in. You don’t like the fact that I tricked him like that, but Merrymaker was tricking ponies as well, so I was completely justified in my actions! And I didn’t-“

“They were a gift,” her first grumbled words on that ride didn’t immediately relate to anything I thought I’d talked about, so I asked her to explain. “The bits I gave you, they were a gift. A friendship gift, and you just gave them back like they were nothing at all.”

Comprehending this proved to be my downfall, and when the young unicorn saw me struggling she just sighed and asked me to forget it, which I tried to do. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at forgetting things herself.

“I mean, you gave it all back. The bits for your drink, the bits for your games, and your dress, and, and… you’re going to try and get rid of me! That’s what everypony does next.” She flopped back in her seat, making the buggy rock. I didn’t like that, grabbing onto the railings.

“Mole, how? How could I get rid of you? Procrustean told us we’d both be in hot water if we split up.”

“Not hot water, just jail,” answered lil Miss. Literal, “he’s nasty but he wouldn’t boil us to death.”

“That’s not what that means. Okay. How about this?” I stretched out a wing, showing her. Her eyes didn’t light up, but they did grow interested as I pointed to the feathers. “See those? You’ve got the alulas feathers here, then the scapulars, the tertiaries, the coverts, the secondaries and finally the primaries. Of all of these, the primary feathers are a big deal. Lose one too many of those and it’s no more flying for Crow, you understand?”

She did, which she confirmed with a nod although she may not have realised why I was giving her a biology lesson. I grinned at her, then curled my wing to my beak. With the longest feather clasped within it, I clamped my mandibles and tugged without a care of my own preservation. The sting shot threw me with imaginary beastly venom, although this pain was not everlasting. Whilst the wing didn’t complain forever, the hole between feathers was noticeable now.

I tucked my pulled quill into Mole’s mane and leaned back to admire it through squinting eyes.

“There. Whatever anypony else says and does, I am your griffon. This feather is my promise of that. Got it?” I gave a pair of light prods at her chest and watched her levitate the navy blue fluffy pen to look at it. Sure, it was a bit of a lie, but it was one of the best lies I’d ever told.

She quickly tucked the feather back behind one ear and gave me a smile. Not a crazy, foalish smile, but an appreciative and caring smile. Even a small soft giggle, at last! I didn’t realize I’d missed that sound so much.

“Thank you for the lovely gift.”

“You’re welc- Aggh, hugging!” wings fluttered in fake-protest as she wrapped her legs around me and hugged me in. Then she settled back in silence, smiling and enjoying the view.

The view. In my insistence on healing Mole’s mood, I’d forgotten that we were climbing at a snail’s pace. The cart jolted again as the wheel stopped for more passengers, and my chest jerked with it.

“Buck, buck, buck, buck, buck.” I murmured, making the mistake of glancing down. My fellow passenger took notice.

“Um, are you okay? Are you having a heart attack? Migraine? Ear ache? Gas? Gas? Is it gas? CAPTAIN!” Her hooves gripped and shook me, which in turn caused the levitated crate to shudder.

“Stop that!” I gulped in a deep breathe, “I…I not good with heights, okay?” I could feel her looking at me like I was crazy. Oh, the irony.

“You have wings.”

“I know! I’m fine with small heights, I don’t have a problem hovering, but high, high, high… “I got stuck on a loop as I looked down, my voice shaking. They really did look like ants.

Comforting warmth enveloped me.

“Why can’t you fly up nice and high like a birdie in the sky?” she enquired gently, her warm breath with a slight touch of alcohol on my neck. Among other things, it made me really want a drink. It also gave me a strong case of the confused wing boner. Thankfully, she had no idea that was a thing and assumed I was just stretching out to hug her, based on how she snuggled into it.

I tried to open my beak and explain to her the reasons why I couldn’t go more than a few extra feet before my legs turned to jelly, but the memory made me shiver further.

“C-Can we talk about something else?”

“Oh, sure, what else do you want to talk about? Do you like grapes?”

“What are grapes? N-No, tell me something about you, I-I know literally nothing about you and yet you’re snuggling me like a ten-bit hooker.”

“What’s a-“

“You don’t want to know. Just, tell me about you. Your family, growing up, th-Aggh!” The hell-born machine started up again and I swore with my eyes shut. We weren’t even at the pinnacle yet. “Just talk, please.”

“Talk. Right. Okay…“ Unhelpfully, the big eared little filly then went mute for a moment. It was bliss when she broke through the sound of the cranking contraption once again.

“First candy I ever ate was a molasses. That was my first act of cannibalism and I~ liked it,” she exclaimed with an exaggerated leg swing of pride. She paused, as though waiting for laughter from me, but I was too busy trying to stop my seat from moving.

“Anyways, my brother Hard Candy always tried to stop me eating candy, especially that candy, because it was always my Daddy’s favorite. They didn’t want the Candys to be remembered for candy, but it was my name, that’s technically a birthright! But I am sneaky! My brothers and sisters never ever appreciated how super sneaky-sneaky I am. That’s why I was born with these,” She pointed to her elongated ears, “I can hear a flea sneeze from fifty miles away!”

I managed a glance at her ears, then dropped my gaze to her Cutiemark. Three gold and black wrapped, circular sweets, leaning one atop the other.

“I’d buy loads of candies and try them and figure out how to make them even more betterer! It was so much fun, but I couldn’t share it with my brother or my sisters, so I had to hide it every time I heard them coming. Then, I found this super-secret place where I could make my treats. I’ll show you, Captain –If- If you promise not to tell nopony!”

She jabbed a hoof at my beak and I managed a nod, even a slight grin. I wasn’t okay, but her chatter was working all the same.

“I’ll show you my shop too, but I don’t know about meeting my brothers or sisters, they’re major douche rockets.”

“And your parents… they’re not around,” I surprised myself with this quick deduction. I have –had- a sister and I never talk about her as much as Mole had just talked about her siblings. Admittedly, I talk about my mom even less, but I wouldn’t even spit on her if she was on fire, she doesn’t deserve the saliva.

She gave a sunny smile, something that didn’t look quite as genuine as her other moments of joy and glee.

“They ascended just a few days after I was born. It was really nice but really sad, but my big bro and big sis were old enough to look after me…” she chirped, her ears dropping and her tail laying across my lap.

At some point, she had started stroking the tuft of feathers on top of my head. I didn’t mind, it had been so long since I’d been touched at all that this would have been bliss without several hundreds of feet between us and the floor. At least we’d reached the top, the only way to go now was down.

I was about to question her last answer, when our PipBucks gave a jolly chime in unison. Groaning, I lifted my leg, expecting another game or some announcement that I had found the mile-high club.

A countdown. Thirty seconds. Bucky was holding a hoof to his chest with musical notes floating over his snout.

“Oh, sweet merciful bollocks of Celestia, what now?” I squawked, before grabbing something as Mole began to bounce and cheer. She wasn’t alone. The crowds beneath us were stomping hooves, whooping and whistling too.

“Mole, what’s going on?” I demanded with growing concern, grabbing her to stop her bouncing the tight enclosure off of its hinges. She giggled like a lunatic and cuddled me so tightly that my lungs struggled to inflate. Twenty seconds.

“They’re coming!”

“Who?”

“The Minstrels!” She squealed. As she did so, a deep cranking shook us further. In the center of the stable, I could see the statuette of the dancing mare rising up over the fountain, a long pillar pushing her towards the ceiling. She was still spitting out her trio streams of clear water. Ten seconds.

“What are Minstrels?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see!”

As the timer blinked the last few digits away towards the event I was so unprepared for, my mind raced. Was this it? Was I about to be snuffed out in a long lost city under the remains of Manehattan?

Three. Two. One. I couldn’t shut my eyes. I had to know my destiny.

The pillar stopped, and the stone figurine moved. She closed her mouth, sealing the water away as she turned and mutely addressed the huge crowd with outstretched forelegs. She tiptoed around to share the air hug with every corner of the stable, before flinging her hooves to the ceiling.

Two things happened at once. Immediately, an invisible brass orchestra began to play an upbeat and triumphant tune, so near and so loud that it had me looking about our high seating for the players. As the sounds trumpeted, black holes appeared on the fountain’s pillar, which I soon realized were small windows. From each one that appeared, a copious pea colored smog poured out, quickly filling the air around the active effigy.

“Mole…?” I tweeted nervously, but my little friend was not afraid. Her hooves were pattering on the deck and she kept checking her PipBuck.

“I love this song,” she proclaimed joyously, showing me her leg. Her screen righted itself as I found myself looking at the lyrics of a song. I knew the song well, but I didn’t know how it fit with the sight I was beholding. Not right away.

As violins and a beat joined the phantom accompaniment, I looked back to the green smoke, to see it was blooming and creating flowery patterns around its stone idol. One gesture from her, and the emerald blossoms burst across the stable to all five points, seeming to turn the metallic ceiling to a shimmering sky of jade.

Spider strings fell from this radiated roof, feeding into the crowds who unsurprisingly moved out their way. After that sight I was less aware of the sights outside, as one string dribbled into our capsule, pooled onto the metal floor then began to grow.

“Mole!” I attempted to tug the filly back as she leaned in with a gasp of glee for the developing cloud of glowing apple-dust until I saw what it was becoming.

Within a few seconds, it had become a specter of a stallion, stood in the swinging cabin with us, attention entirely taken by the smiling, tearful filly. She rubbed her eyes and giggled.

“Hi Daddy.”

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Complete - Mole’s Hole
Quest Perk added - Whiskey Connoisseur - Alcoholic beverages are 10% less effective to Stamina.

Quest Begun - Fight At The Museum

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; "Life's a Happy Song" from "The Muppets" soundtrack Listen to it fifteen times and you might actually get into Mole's mentality...

Big thanks to Private Joke for letting me know when to stop writing this chapter. It could have gone on for longer but that cliff hanger felt like the right place to pause.

Don't worry, Deadwood'll be back for the next chapter. It can't be all fluffy bullshoes forever...

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you leave us, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 011 - The Seven Day Rule (Part Two)

Entry 010 - The Seven Day Rule (Part One)

It may seem like there is good and there is evil in our world at this time. Many will tell you it is so, my dear sister included. Believe me, that could not be further from the truth. The lines are more blurred than they first seem. A heart of darkness can still deliver a kiss to their foal, just as a shining knight might slay the same foal in fear of what they may become.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 010 – The Seven Day Rule (Part One)

Daddy?

Mole had said Daddy.

She had believed that the metamorphic green smog, which had taken the form of a middle-aged stallion with a beard and a short-brimmed fedora in our carriage, was her father.

Did that make him some kind of spirit of the parent she had lost? Had I been looking at an actual ghost who had come back to the physical realm to check in on his daughter? Was that what the Minstrels were?

Molasses Candy had greeted him like he’d come back from a short trip, not from a long sleep beneath the daisies, or at least what passed for daisies these days. She wasn’t the only one either, for when I looked over from the placid phantom to the other glittering specks across the city, I was seeing the same thing on the ground and the walkways. Ponies were greeting one or several of these apparitions and did not seem shocked or startled by their familiar shapes.

They lit up the rest of the stable with their biohazard glow filling the streets. I am certain I saw the entire city thanks to the bright light filling the lanes between the pastel ponies. It was partially reassuring to know that the stable did have ends and didn’t stretch on forever.

There were only two ponies that I could see down below screaming out and trying to scramble away from the shapeshifting creatures, something I was wishing I was able to do if I wasn’t trapped in a cage nearly scraping the ceiling of the Stable. They were members of my party, I could tell from the mane-styles, and they were as unused to seeing ponies appear from thin air in front of them as I was. One was stopped quite swiftly by the nearby ponies whilst the other instantly disappeared out of sight.

As I raised my eyes back to the supposed “Mr. Candy,” I gulped, wondering what the proper greeting was to a horse that was supposed to have popped his horseshoes years ago. I never got a chance to try any acknowledgment, as the hidden orchestra reached the song’s cue, the specter opened his mouth. His maw was colored the same shade as the rest of his body, right down to a leaf green tongue, but what came out of it was a clear, deep and warm male singing voice.

The daughter’s voice and the voices of the hundreds, maybe thousands of ponies in the Stable joined the father and his supernatural choir in melodic harmony. The song, jazzy and hopeful, filled the huge cavern with ease.

“We’ll meet again someday,
So don’t you go a’getting blue.
Don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but I know,
Every road will lead me back to you.”

The song. It was my Pa’s old song.

For a moment I completely forgot that this old tune was coming from strange, floating creatures amongst unnervingly cheerful ponies miles below the surface, and was transported back to a better place, during an easier time.

“Tell my old pals back home,
I was singing this song out loud!”

When my Pa had us singing that song, he’d always make us yell that bit as loud as we possibly could. Usually it was just me and him, occasionally my sister joined in although she was often far too grumpy and proper to sing the full song. Mom didn’t sing, even if she was there. She was rarely there. I wish she’d never been there...

The song brought memories of being perched on my Pa’s lap by the hearth in the Winter and by an outdoor campfire in the Summer. Often, I was sloshed by my Pa’s beer as he bounced to the music, yet I didn’t mind that. I got my taste for alcohol from him and I don’t mind that. Any taste of bitter ale or spicy whiskey brought back the comforting memories of my family, before things changed...

I reawakened from my trip down the lanes of my old life and realized that I had been joining in with the rest of the Stable under my breath. I stopped for a moment to look at Molasses and smiled weakly at her.

She was dancing and jiggling, causing the carriage to rock once more whilst singing at the top of her voice. She was more naïve and optimistic than I had ever been as a chick, but she still reminded me of a time when I was easily this excitable. I realized how swiftly my life had gone into full tilt not long after that and it was like a cord twanging in my chest. Thankfully, the disappointment wasn’t to last.

Something changed in the long-eared mare’s demeanor. A note of odd concern washed over her face, which was followed by her turning and jabbing at the lyrics on her PipBuck for my sake. I wasn’t immediately certain why until I saw something different out of the corner of my eye.

As I glanced back up to Mr. Candy, I found him now staring back at me with his nearly featureless face. Not only that, I could see his original shade of green was turning murkier. It was transforming entirely into a bloody red. The indented circles where his eyes would have been seemed to be reading my soul. I was fearful that he was going to tell Mole everything about me. Did he know who I really was, what I’d really done? Who I had killed to get here?

I was doomed.

Mole’s pushes became more insistent.

“Sing! Sing! You gotta sing!” She demanded urgently between verses.

Now, I am not a good singer. I appreciate good music and I listen, but I am not able to string a perfect set of notes together if my life depends on it. Unfortunately, at this moment, I was certain my life depended on it, so with a worried wail I complied. I sang loudly with my harsh set of undisciplined lungs, hoping it might drown out anything dangerous the scarlet pony would want to say next.

Yet, he did not speak. Instead, he continued to sing the same song with us whilst watching me curiously.

“And when I finally come home,
We will party from dusk ‘til dawn,
And will sing this bright song,
With all of our hearts.”

As I let my vocal chords butcher the song, Mr. Candy seemed to calm. The red shimmer that created his body slowly dimmed and switched until it was returning to its healthy grassy green. Suddenly he seemed friendly again, all because I had opened my beak to follow along, and that felt far more sinister to me than my former concerns. I now had no idea what would happen to me if I didn’t join in with the song.

My mind was overflowing with questions and I increasingly fluffed a line or twenty, even sang the wrong verse at one point. I expected this watcher to notice and get angry with me, but he, “it”, didn’t. It did not seem to mind what I sang, so long as I was singing something.

I didn’t realize that the big wheel we’d been sat on was still moving until I took another look through the colorful wire grid surrounding the cage. Briefly I realized I’d chosen a pink passenger car and wondered again what was happening to me in this stable. More importantly, however, I could see the expressions of the ponies now. I could see the love they were bestowing on the singing minstrels, and knew they were all taking forms recognized by these stable dwellers. Nopony from the stable was running or screaming or freaking out because they all believed these were the souls of their friends and family. Right now, I was having a hard time disbelieving that myself.

“So, don’t cry.
Don’t sigh.
Smile.
And make others smile too…”

I caught sight of a glowing scarlet out of the corner of my eye as the song grew close to closing and immediately spun my head to look for it. Another Minstrel was showing somepony the red light for not singing, but this time the red was flashing insistently. I could see other ponies pushing and shoving some stallion to encourage him to sing, and for a moment forgot to do so myself. Black coat, brown mane, twigs for a Cutiemark...

It was Brittle Sticks! The stallion who I had dragged from the body of his flattened sister. The stallion Crusty had said had gone missing. His cheeks were streaked, it looked like he had been crying. He turned his head as other ponies shook him from left to right, and his eyes met mine. There was still grief in his eyes and something else, something that looked like shock or even horror…

“Crow, sing! Sing, sing, sing!” Mole squeaked, and I hurriedly did so before our own Minstrel could get upset with us again. When I turned my head back around, both Sticks and his angry phantasm were gone. Not even the Dwellers who had been trying to convince him to join them appeared to be aware of where he’d gone, each looking in a different angle for him as the song was wrapping up.

“And when I finally come home,
We will party from dawn til’ dusk,
And will sing this bright song with all of our hearts,
Celestia’s road will bring me back to you, babe~”

On the harmonious ending, the stallion and all the other translucent serenading things took a graceful bow and smiled at us peacefully. Mole seized this opportunity to pounce forward and hug her Pa, although she nearly sank straight through him. Wisps of what now seemed like dust particles moved out the way for her, before reforming as the gentlecolt. She sighed contentedly, with her brown nose nuzzling into his very being. He did not move, show any extra feeling other than a passive smile nor did he embrace the filly calling him her dad. To me, it was like staring at a statue above an old and overgrown grave, they only difference was that this one had a pleasant singing voice.

“I love you, Daddy.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth, did the stallion’s physique begin to break up once more. This time it begun at the tips of his ears and erased him downwards, fixing the mistake in reality like an error on a sheet of parchment. Molasses stayed with him until the last bit trickled upwards to join the squirming cloud in the metal sky.

Watching it drift away reminded me of Rose Garden, being obliterated into a leafy cinder pile by the gun wielded by Procrustean. I wondered if the ghost of that mare was out there, most likely cursing my name over and over in a red rage rather than sing with the rest of them.

Once the glowing rain had reversed into the massive squall, it returned to its own source. Green lanes transported back with a long, quiet whoosh into the pores of the great grey obelisk, whilst the dancer mare on her perch standing to attention, facing the pretend sun hanging in the solid heavens. She stretched out a foreleg, and a voice left her mouth. The mega-amplified voice, not of a mare, but of Overlook, the Overstallion.

“Well done everypony! That was another successful Minstrel song and thanks to your efforts, our power levels have increased beyond the ordinary capacity with only nine red lights. That’s an improvement on the fifteen red lights last week, you should all give yourselves a round of applause to celebrate!”

Everypony was stomping their hooves in delight as we exited the car, or rather Mole bounced out in glee with a delighted hoof pump to the air whilst I stumbled onto the metal walkway, my legs forgetting how to walk during the hellish ride to the ceiling and back.

“It is great to see that our latest guests have integrated themselves so easily into our lives and are not afraid to raise their voices with us to help keep our Stable running smoothly. If you see a member of Stable fifty-four who you have not had chance to say hello to yet, please be sure to do so.” At this point, the Overstallion’s speech took a more serious tone.

“I know that some of you are asking how strangers came to enter through the gate that never opens, and I would like to assure you that it was not a decision taken lightly.

“As I previously advised during our last stable address, we received a distress message from a PipBuck technician who goes by the name of Elmwood. We held lengthy conversations with him and after some time, he was able to confirm that he was not only a representative of Stable-Tec, but that he knew of other Stable Dwellers who had been forced from their home by a group of foul ponies called raiders. These are ponies who do not know how to handle the beauty of Equestria’s bountiful new gardens, and therefore create mischief and mayhem for the ponies who go about their days peacefully.

“Now, I need not tell you that these raiders were very few in number, and did not spoil the beautiful, green, safe world above that we shall all one day ascend to…”

“What?” I squawked a little too loudly.

“Shh, Captain~!” Mole, who had previously been humming the tune we’d all sung, instantly waved a hoof around my beak as ponies turned to look at me.

“But that’s the biggest load of shitty rotten eggs I’ve ever heard,” I told her. She hugged a foreleg over my mouth and for the second time I saw her look frightened. This time, however, it was because of what was coming out of my mouth rather than what wasn’t. I did as I was told and kept listening to Overlook’s statuette speaker spew what I knew to be misinformed statements to the stable dwellers.

“I am reliably informed that the pathway out from the gate that never opens was destroyed by the raiders before they could be arrested by our loyal guardians. I am sorry to lose such a valuable exit, but once again we are safe in the knowledge that we will all ascend to the Gardens of Equestria when our time is right.

“Which brings me to my most important point. As most of you are aware, we are seven days from the next ascension selection. That means that everypony great and small must be making sure they enter a Music Hall within the allotted time frame and sing the song that means the most to them.

“I must ask that those ponies who have been asked to sponsor our new residents from Stable Fifty-Four ensure they are fully briefed on why it is so important to perform and want to ascend to the next great new lands of Equestria. We do not want another accident like that which befell our beloved Rara.” I noted the falling heads and closed eyes, even soft sighs that suggested this Rara was somepony the congregation had revered. Even Mole took a moment between looking alarmed at me to look forlorn on the subject. I wondered whether she had let a Minstrel turn completely red on her and reflected on what awful thing had happened next.

“Finally, I would like you all to join me in the Stable Prayer to the Princesses.”

Princesses. That was interesting, they still called them Princesses, not Goddesses. I guessed it was the difference between hiding from the balefires and barely living once the fires subsided.

My FunBuck vibrated, and this time Bucky was there to help me with the words to the prayer. I joined the hoard of mindless zombies chanting, some more patriotically than others.

“Our gracious Princesses,

Oh, how we await thee,

To open our hearts with glorious song.

Where your mighty trumpets sound,

We shall sing to you,

Where your incredible instruments play,

We shall dance for you,

Where your divine light touches,

We shall ascend to you.

We shall love, as you love.

We shall remember, as you do not forget,

That our Princesses are greater,

Than the sum of all of our troubles.

As the darkness does in the light of Equestria’s sun.”

The creed ended with the thunderous stomping of hooves, the braying of trumpets, and the last call of Overlook from the statue.

“May Celestia and Luna watch over you all.”

After that, life returned to normal. Ponies began moving, chatting, enjoying their extra-large rabbit warren. The statue creaked into it's normal stone balancing position and the pillar sank towards the floor, becoming an average fountain with normal water swirling around it once more.

My PipBuck vibrated against my leg once again and I looked down at it curiously.

“Started: The Seven Day Rule.

Sing your ascension song in Stable T30!”

Below that, a timer began. Six days, eleven hours, fifty-eight minutes and forty-seven seconds. Forty-six. Forty-five. Forty-four...

I turned to Mole, who was still looking nervous after my rant during the middle of the Overstallion’s sermon. With my leg outstretched to her, I gave her a firm nod.

“You’re up, sponsor. Tell me this isn’t a bomb that’s going to blow us all to smithereens if I don’t sing you all a pretty damn song.”

As we began to aimlessly amble around the theme park of doom, Mole gave her best attempt to explain the Seven Day rule.

Twice.

The first time was too fast to possibly comprehend and so I made her say it again, slower and calmer. The second time was a little easier to understand.

“Every pony sings at the music halls, Captain. You can choose which one and which song and when, but it must be done within the next seven days. I usually like to do mine nice and early and pick a nice, happy, smiley song that everypony can enjoy and other ponies come and watch but whether you get into the next round is decided by the judges. And if you win all the rounds then you get to ascend which means that you get to go back outside, where… where…” She faltered.

“Where it’s all rainbows and gumdrops and the grass is greener?” I enquired sarcastically at first, but then noticed the worry on the little mare’s face.

“Did you mean it, Captain? Is it really that bad outside?” Came her small, timid voice. I sighed lightly and stopped flapping, landing neatly beside her.

“It’s… hard to explain. But it’s not what Overlook was describing. Not by a long shot.” Mole’s dopey ears flopped, and she glanced at the floor.

“Well, maybe there’s a nice bit, and that’s the bit that everypony from here goes.”

“Maybe,” I said, despite knowing I did not believe it. I could not imagine any place in Equestria that any decent pony could consider a garden. There were plenty of places for the most indecent of ponies.

“And that is where my parents are.” She decided, and I felt my brow crease before I was even aware of the next question this raised.

“Hold on, if your parents are out there somewhere, then what the heck did you call ‘Daddy’ back on that big scary wheel? I thought it was some sort of… you know, ghost?” It was Mole’s turn to frown, but it was barely on her face for a millisecond before she buckled over and rolled on her back, in stitches.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, silly! Ghosts are just things dumb brothers tell their little sisters to make them think it will keep them away from candy. Pro tip, IT DOESN’T!” She laughed away, nearly insanely, whilst I shrugged at the passing ponies. Eventually giving Mole a small push when I felt she was just over doing it got her to wipe away the tears of crazy and right herself.

“So, if they’re not ghosts, what are the Minstrels? Why did you call it your Pa?” The milky-brown filly rolled onto her hooves again, head first, and rubbed her chin. She was oblivious to the ponies she was sitting in the way of, one stallion giving a deep huff at the fact he had to walk around her.

“Well, I could tell you,” Mole teased, “but you haven’t seen the museum yet, have you, Captain? Huh, huh?” She wiggled her eyebrows as I parted my beak and squinted.

“A museum? This place has a- Why am I even asking? Of course, this place has a museum. What doesn’t it have?” I gave Mole a look, imagining she had an answer for that, but she just gave a big, bright smile and a shrug. “So, if we go to this museum, will it answer the rest of my questions?”

“Oh yes!” Frantic nodding came from my energetic chaperone, “You’ll learn all about our Stable, and the best singers from our Stable, and the Minstrels and the way Equestria was, and what Princess Celestia and Princess Luna did to make it great again, and how the Stable-Tec Founders built our home here, and-“

“Whoa, steady on there, kiddo,” I placed a claw on her lips, grinning, “save something for the museum to teach me, huh?” She gave a muffled apology behind my foot, making me chuckle gently, and I insisted she showed me the way. As if it knew I was about to do something, my PipBuck jerked to alert me once again.

This time around, it was a messaging system, something I hadn’t been aware my device had. I might have chucked the infernal item in the bin if I had been able to, once I saw the name on the screen.

“Elmwood:
We need to meet.”

I blanched at the message, staring at it for long enough to lose sense of time. Eventually, I decided it was a wiser decision to regroup with my old team rather than try to solve the crate load of puzzles on my own.

I attempted to write a reply to him, with Mole and Bucky both trying to give me instructions on how to do so since the machine did not have a keypad. Instead, the task involved twiddling knobs and pressing buttons until I got the right letter. The result was a garbled mess.

“Crowina MacRural:
AGEERD Met uss Ad MEET us at Mussum.”

“Buck it, that’ll do, you worthless piece of a grey egg,” I told Bucky in particular, and after what must have been nearly half an hour of trying, I sent the message. The FunBuck gave a chime for doing something on it once age for the first time, then it was a matter of waiting for the response. It came quickly, pouring extra fuel on the fire that suggested Elm might have come from a Stable himself once. Like I said, the guy had never told me much about his past before, but the fact he could use a PipBuck was damning.

“Elmwood:
Your first name is Crowella?”

Really, I thought, was this the time? I growled as I attempted my second, simpler response.

“Crowella MacRural:
Buk U.”

“Come on, Mole,” I snapped, ignoring the next few messages mocking me for having a more feminine name than I’d previously let on to my friends, “show me to this museum before I turn this guy into a new exhibit.”

*** *** ***

“Hello, Crowella!” As luck would have it, Elmwood reached the museum steps before the hyperactive goofball and I did. He was not alone either, which probably explained why he was able to crack wise without fear of me sinking my talons into his face. I ignored the tease from Elmwood and, for the time being, only focused on who he was with.

Beside him were two other Tee-Thirty stable dwellers. I decided that, looking at them, I’d had the pick of the bunch as these looked like a pair of prudes. Curiously, my jumpsuit-wearing pony had become very nervous, particularly staring at one of the T-Thirty ponies who was giving her the stink-eye in return. Based on Mole’s track record with others here, I thought little of it.

Then, there was the unicorn beside them, the mare I’d last snapped at in virtuous infuriation. Gypsy.

“Hey,” I began, with immense awkwardness. She did not seem to desire another fraught atmosphere, and instead pulled my so sharply into a hug that I let out a high chirp.

“I don’t want to buck, or fuck, OR piss off from you. That’s what I should have said the other night. I’m sorry I didn’t…” she offered me. I took it and wrapped my legs around her to squeeze her close. After spending time with Mole, I’d almost forgotten how much I missed Gypsy. Almost. I meant to tell her I was sorry too. I meant to tell her that, despite the oddness of this stable and the countdown to a conundrum on my leg, I was curious to see whether living here was any better than out there too, so long as she had my back. Instead, I let my loins decide what I should say to her.

“You look sexy in a Stable suit.” Damn it. Damn, the buck, it. My brain grumbled as I felt it face-claw in my skull. Gypsy paused a moment, and then I heard her giggle.

“If I look sexy, you look practically ravishing, Crow.” She unlocked me from our hug and took a step back. Her eyes darted over me and, even now, I am certain she was checking me out. The way she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, the way her eyebrow raised ever so slightly. I was paying attention to all of these details.

“Scarlet is totally your color,” She finished coyly.

“Thanks,” I replied simply, trying to silently summon up a hoard of mole rats to drag me underground, “security took my stuff. They’ve got my armor, my bags, bastards even took my bandana. Then they tried to put me in one of those jumpsuits, but I told them where to stick it.” Gypsy sighed on my behalf this time around and kept one hoof relaxed on my shoulder as she spoke.

“We’ll go to them now, they don’t know the bandana means something to you. We can tell them to be a little kinder to the only bad flank griffon they got.” That made me feel a little better about the predicament, but I shook my head all the same.

“Nah, this is more important right now. Besides, there’s this other little cutie on Security going after it for me,” I gave her a firm slap on the shoulder and added my thanks, but really that she was not to sweat it.

Speaking of little cuties, Gypsy was now regarding Mole. The brown mare, without me knowing, had crept up behind me and was practically leaning over to the point she was nearly on top of me, staring at my friend from over my shoulders. As soon as she was noticed, her eyes glistened, and her jaw dropped.

“Oh, my, SQUEAKNESS! Captain, you never said you were friends with Mellow Melody!” Molasses was trying to climb over me to get to my second oldest friend, despite the amount of room we had amongst up. She bounced her off and gave the foalish girl a bemused glare.

“Who?”

“An important singer and songwriter from the Songbird Sector, and she is not her.” This came from the stallion of the yet to be introduced pair of T-Thirty ponies. He took a step forward, raising a hoof to be shook.

“Hot Shot,” He said in a rather bland tone at me. I blinked at him.

“Same to you-“

“No, it’s my name. I’m the talent scout you wish to please if you ever desire to ascend this side of your thirties,” he interrupted. By his bored tone, I was not the only one to make that mistake. I didn’t apologies for it, nor did I ignore it.

“Ah, well, in future try adding a bit more conversation to your sentences. Example, ‘Charming to meet you, my name is Crow,” The stallion looked startled, like no-pony had dared speak back to him like that before. Maybe I got away with it because I was no pony. “So, this Melody mare looks like Gypsy, huh?”

“Oh, she is, Mellow Melody is simply gorgeous!” Mole crooned happily. That earned a sardonic smile from me, but a deep clearing of the throat from the other Stable mare I’d yet to meet.

“Molasses, you do not talk that way about other mares. If you want to compliment her, suggest she is nice-looking or, if you must, beautiful. Gorgeous is simply too… incensed.” Mole shrank to the size of a pea as she nodded and apologized profusely. I turned around slowly to look at the speaker with a raised eyebrow.

“And you are?”

“Um, that’s my big sister. One of them,” mumbled Mole, swallowing hard, “Dr. Maud Candy, named after our great great gre-“

“Molasses!” warned Maud.

“-Great-great-grandmother,” finished Mole, only loud enough for me to hear. I was about to defend my little friend once again when the doctor lifted her voice once more.

“Molasses Candy, why are you not at work? You were meant to have reported to the duty warden at least…” she lifted her PipBuck to check her leg, “two hours ago! What in the Garden of Equestria are you thinking?” Mole stammered in a bag of nerves and I seized my chance.

“Mole’s been given a new job, showing me around the stable. Crust- I mean, the chief Security Officer assigned her to it.” I told her sister determinedly. My little brown mouse peeped an affirmative with a heavy nodding, but her bespectacled pale pink sibling was not amused.

“It is just like you not to read the terms of the sponsorship agreement, sister. Upon sponsoring a Stable fifty-four citizen, you must still uphold your duties to the stable. Your duties are to keep this stable clean and operational, despite your protests that you do not enjoy it. I suggest you go to Duty Warden Minion and grovel your apologies at his hooves. He may take pity and not dock your pay again.”

My young friend tried to look around for a way out of the punishment slammed down upon her by her older kin, but even I could not think of the words to make this right. Pawing the ground with a defeated sigh, she yielded.

“Yes, sister Maud,” She turned about and gave me a quick look, “I’ll message you after work, Crow, Okie Dokie?”

“Okie Dokie Smokey, Moley.” I offered, smiling reassuringly. It earned a small one back from her, and my heart fluttered to think I’d repaired a little bit of the soul that Maud Candy had just smashed to bits under fuchsia hooves. I followed the little mare’s bubble butt as she ran away and let my mind wander for a hot second. Maybe...

As I turned back, Hot Shot was up close and personal in my bubble, looking me over. His jet-black mane was swept back and that still did not discourage him from swiping his hoof over it to push it down on occasion. His fur was a pale orange, and his eyes were brown. Full of shit, my mom’s voice reminded me as I looked him, and I assumed that she was spot on with this grease ball. The only thing that did fascinate me about him was his jumpsuit. It was just a tiny bit different from the normal Stable suits, this one had a red insignia on it.

“So, a griffon, huh?” He seemed to have found something interesting in me, and I guessed it had been when I had my hind facing his way, “You’re an interesting specimen. What will you be singing in the next seven days?”

“Err, hadn’t given it much thought?”

“Well,” he moved his muzzle up to my beak, his breath sickeningly minty, “if you ever need a helping hoof in that department, come to me. Mellow Melody? I made her.” For a moment, I wondered whether he was declaring himself as her father, but then I remembered his profession.

“Lucky her,” I mumbled awkwardly, hoping he wouldn’t talk again. Although he was planning to, it was Elmwood of all ponies who came to my rescue.

“Mr. Shot, Ms. Candy, not necessarily in that order. It’s been an educational experience discovering your stable in your companies. However, Miss Breeze, Miss MacRural and I are eager to visit your magnificent museum,” he gestured exuberantly to the marble masterpiece we were stood before. Maud gave a nod and commanded us to follow her, but Elm held his ground.

“Actually, madam, we’d quite prefer to take this tour on our own. It’s not that we have not enjoyed your stimulating presences. Rather, that we want to take this step as your forefathers and foremothers did. With new and enchanted eyes!” the stitch-eyed horse waved his arms around, summoning the persona of a conjurer of cheap tricks. The illusion worked. Maud looked us over then inclined her head.

“Very well. I commend your desires to get into the real beating heart of our stable. Ensure you send us a message when you are done,” Maud the bitch mandated, turning to Hot the shit. Not a typo.

He attempted to give me a flicker of animal magnetism in his expression as he left, and even fluttered up his tail as the pair trotted away, believing I’d be watching. As chance had it I did make the mistake of looking, and it made me wretch involuntarily.

Blessedly, that left the three of us alone once more, for the first time since we’d moved into the stable. It felt like it had been a decade, rather than a day and a half. Gypsy nuzzled me via the feather-pillow wing that I had not had to have patched up.

“I’m glad we’re all back on speaking terms,” she hummed.

Were we back on speaking terms by that point? I guess we had to be. We were all in the same hole now. However, some matters of dignity still had to be addressed.

I made my way over to Elmwood, the pair of us staring each other out. Throughout the awkward interactions with the stable-dwellers and then Gypsy, his eyes had not left me. He knew what was coming next.

“Is she going to hit me? She’s going to hit me. This is going to hurt,” he reasoned in a few short seconds, straightened up and finally addressed me rather than himself, “Go on, Crowella, get it over with.”

Gratification gave me a flood of warm feelings as he flinched when I came up close, beak to snout with him, a smirk plastered across my bill. I raised my leg up, brought my talon to his spongy nose and gave it a firm flick.

“Ow,” despite his blinking eyes watering, he looked perplexed at how little I’d pummeled him, “Is that it?”

“Och, not in the slightest,” I sniggered, “that was just for calling me Crowella, which I’ll thank you not to do again. Where would be the fun in taking my revenge out on you right here, right now?” I ruffled his chilly blue mane, leaned into his pristine white ear, and whispered seductively.

“When the timing is right, you won’t know what hit you. BUT!” I cried, into the proximity of his earlobe, “right now I need your brains inside your skull rather than outside of them. Shall we?” I gestured a wing to the museum and looked to my old friends with tenacity. Elmwood grimaced in discomfiture, rubbing his ear. Gypsy applauded impishly.

“Very well done, Crow.”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Country Roads by John Denver, but covered this time around by Copilot Music + Sound for the Fallout 76 trailer

I'm starting to notice a pattern... 12.7k. Whoo!

So, that one got a bit brutal towards the end there. As I write this, I have a plan in my head. That plan changes a lot. I thought Sticks was going to be a tougher antagonist but I saw just how many antagonists this story already has and realized his was going to be an early exit.

Apologies for how long this took to reach you. In-between writing this I've had work, a holiday with family, a music festival, a friend's birthday, my BROTHER's birthday, and a lot of incidents. It's been a bumpy July, and I think that's why this chapter ended with a bloody mess.

I'll get a sort rest before seeing where our bunch of 'orrible rotters end up next. I mean, Crusty can't be that nasty to them, can he...?

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 012 - Jailbird Blues (Part One)

Entry 011 - The Seven Day Rule (Part Two)

I presented myself at the ivory steps of the museum. Even though it had been built into the stable wall at the furthest point of this sector, it had the same shape and height of the old museums of Equestria. The only difference for me was that this one was cleaner and not drenched in graffiti. Someone had taken a lot of time and effort to take the best bits of the old world and remember them all in this stable. The whole thing, not just this gallery, felt like we’d stepped into a time capsule from a hundred years ago.

The front ice-silver arch was held up by 6 robust pillars, each engraved with a symbol. A cloud with a streak of lightning, a group of butterflies, a pile of apples, a trio of balloons, a bunch of diamonds, and a sparkling star. I recognized them as the Cutiemarks of the ministry mares from the bumblefoot-damned awful decomposing posters littered all over the wastelands. Between these stood two statues in regal poise, guarding the entrance to the building, looking down on every pony who passed beneath them with as much condemnation as there was fondness.

The Goddesses were visions of beauty no matter what they adorned. Celestia and her younger sister, Luna, pointed their horns to the ceiling and their wings outstretched, frozen feather tips nearly touching despite the obvious height differences. I occasionally wondered just how young Luna could have been, since the pair of alicorn were already thousands of years old as far as ponies knew before the beginning of the war. Their legends still do the rounds at campfires and foal bedsides long after their bodies and bones became another part of the dust and decay.

That’s just my assumption, at least. Some claim they flew off to the heavens, some claim they’ll be back. Horseapples, why would they ever come back to this, and for that matter, why did they let Equestria get this bad if they were just watching from on high?

No. In my opinion, they are long dead and gone. Just like all the other heroes. Just us scoundrels left.

However, if these two statues had been all that was left of the regal siblings, I’d say they were fitting eulogies to the deceased alicorns. Although their names were emblazoned on nearly every damn thing from buildings to drinks outdoors, in here the pair could tower magnificently and importantly.

After climbing the steps, I noticed Elm pause in front of the younger of the two. He was transfixed on her expression, a small, almost lonely cast across his face. Any other day, I’d have joked whether he was going to clop himself silly in front of the stony mare, but this time it didn’t feel appropriate, although I still do not know why. He flicked his short tail slowly and brushed some of his mane out of his blackened eyes. I caught him murmur something, but before I could understand the words he was saying, they were drowned out by Gypsy in my other ear.

“What is he doing? Elm, you cannot bring her with us!”

“Aww, a little too adventurous for the bedroom?” he enquired once he was back in our company. It looked as though it hurt him to make the suggestion, and even more so when Ms. Breeze asked what he would do with it, go sit on the horn and spin until he’d gotten his thrills?

The question went ignored, however before I could shoot my own question on his well-being, his usual manic cheekiness returned to place on his face.

“Let’s go, children, history awaits us!” he clip-clopped into the foyer of the building with a mirthful march, leaving us girls to roll our eyes and follow him in. Gypsy gave me a quick pat on the back, calling after him.

“Whatever, my dude. You find what we need, me and Crow need to catch up anyway…”

*** *** ***

The debrief between Gypsy and I had been short, only because of the fresh intriguing sights that met our eyes after passing the threshold of the museum. We were immediately greeted by a metallic foyer, dressed in display cases filled with trinkets from the past. From the ceiling hovered banners of pre-war propaganda that had been preserved near-perfectly from the past one hundred years with just the odd stain and aged fade to indicate their length of life.

“Victory, just a wing’s beat away! Join the R.E.A!” requested a colorful one, with a bunch of winged horses racing across the rainbow ribbon.

“Wipe the Stripes! Join the Equestrian Forces today!” demanded another. But the pride of their collection hung in direct view of the entrance.

“Be Smart. Be Safe. Stable-Tec - Built to Last!” I was familiar with the ‘Stable-Tec eye’ logo that had been stuck behind the empowering words. If all stables had been like this one looked, then I might have not believed that Stable-Tec was the sinister corporation that Equestria later discovered it to be.

Below the banderol, with a great green arrow pointing down at it, was another Stable-Tec door. It was just like the one we’d stepped through the very moment the guards defended us from the Snips, but this one was cleaner, with far less spiderwebs and rust. Gypsy and I shared a look.

“If there’s a stable within this stable, I’m going to go as crazy as your coltfriend,” I informed her, only partially sarcastically. Gypsy agreed, our legs carrying us over to the door of their own designation. Elm took longer to reach us as he wandered about the cases as a free spirit, but when he noticed the attendant by the door begin to speak to us, he became more interested and drifted over.

“Hi! First time to museum, I’m guessing?” the mare asked us in a falsely cheerful manner. Pink and lavender mane, off-white fur, horn. With everything else I was seeing here, it took me a moment to realize who she was dressed up as.

“You’re the mare from the Stable-Tec posters!” I exclaimed. Gypsy shook her head just as the head of public relations for Stable-Tec began to confirm my belief.

“No, Sweetie Belle’s eyes were green, not purple. I’m pretty sure that’s a wig too…”

“Why would you dress up as one of those...um, ponies?” I asked, assuming she would not appreciate me suggesting she was dressed as a lunatic. This time, we let the lady speak for herself.

“Well, firstly, good eyes! I am dressed as Sweetie Belle, one of the three glorious founders who joined together to form Stable-Tec and build our wonderful stable.” I sniggered and she either did not hear it or chose to ignore it, “I’m here to transport you back in time to the day when I -Sweetie Belle- opened this stable to the lucky ponies who would come to live and grow here!”

“Oh, fantastic! We’re saved!” cheered Elmwood. That did get a curious look from “Sweetie Belle”, but only a very brief one.

“The day is attended by the ponies who would take up residence in this stable, along with a few dignitaries and the Lord Mayor of Manehattan at the time, Councilor Easy Street. The ponies, about to step into their brand new home, consist of many famous artists and performers of the day. Among them include the singers Countess Coloratura “Rara,” and Songbird Serenade, the fashion designers Velvet Westwood and Hoity Toity, and the artists Wisp Willow and Brushstroke.”

Her enlightening words on the history of the stable aroused many other ponies milling around the museum pieces. Most seemed to be from the stable itself, but I noticed a few faces I recognized. Grub and Moist, a pair of dull-witted morons who just followed orders and otherwise spent their days sniggering at whatever ignoramuses’ giggle at. A bronze colored mare called She, who had possibly the worst name I could ever think of a pony getting. Her mother must have loved her even less than mine, and that’s saying something.

Finally, I noticed a stallion just slipping in and for a second my interest in the fake-Stable-Tec speaker was evaporated. Once again, I was seeing Brittle Sticks.

Spotting my ignorance, the orator raised her voice and I tried to keep the Snip in my peripheral vision whilst paying attention to her as well.

“I - Sweetie Belle- get up onto the stage in front of this magnificent crowd and deliver the speech now famous throughout our stable.” She cleared her throat and took a step up onto a small dais beside the door, collecting the papers from the plinth. From the way she delivered her lines, I imagined she had done this act more times than I’d had hot dinners. She began her script with a mournfully sweet tone.

“Equestria. It is your home and it is my home. It’s the world we’ve lived in all our lives and now it is under attack.

“Once, this was a land we could all feel safe in. We live in empathy with our neighbors as much as we were harmonious with one another and we raised our foals to believe they could run about outside without having to fear anypony else. We grew comfortable with the knowledge that harm could not and should not befall us, and this belief blinded us many times from the truth.”

I hazarded another look around for Sticks. He’d moved over, and to my surprise was standing with the two idiots at the back. I could only guess they were talking from the movements Brittle’s mouth made, but none of their conversation reached me.

“Sadly, peace could not last. After the Zebrikaan government refused to meet our demands nor withdraw its troops from our precious resources, a state of war could only exist between us. I know how sad and painful that news was to hear for you all, as it was terrifying for my family and I also.

“However, this is not the end of our story. This is not where we lie down and let the zebra take our homes and our lives. No, my fellow ponies, this is the beginning.

“Here at Stable-Tec, we’ve already anticipated and prepared for the worst. We’d rather you not live in fear and loathing, wondering what will happen from one day to the next. That is why you are here, to change your lives and the lives of those ponies whom you love and cherish most.”

Another check on the threesome, and the mare called She had wandered over to lean against Brittle Sticks too. I didn’t know whether to be relieved that he was making friends or concerned about whom he was making friends with. They all looked at me, and with innocent casualness I turned back around to the front.

“Behind me is the door to your future; a stable door built to survive and protect you even if an army of zebra invaders detonate a Balefire Bomb directly outside of your new, safe and secure home, with only a projected seven-percent failure rate under those extremely unlikely circumstances. This door is guaranteed to protect you and your family.

“Once you get inside, you will find every luxury we have promised you. Every Stable-Tec stable has dormitories for all, clean water, fresh food, breathable oxygen, education and healthcare, everything ponies on the surface take for granted. However, your stable is one of only four that falls under our unique "Tee-Zero" class of stables, the others being stables T-Ten near Canterlot, T-Twenty below the Crystal Empire, and finally Stable T-Fourty beneath Trottingham Castle. Despite being the third in it’s class, yours is the first to be completed.

"Here, we went above and beyond to provide you with all the comforts you expect, including, but not limited to; saloons, theatres, shopping malls, entertainment centers, museums, even an amusement park (courtesy of the Ministry of Moral).

“This is your home now, until the day Equestria is a safe home for all of us once more. Welcome to the world beneath the world above. Welcome to your new town, a place of hope where all your talents can continue to be realized. Welcome to safety, security, sustainability.

“Welcome to Stable Town Thirty.”

She completed her speech then struck a button on the podium in front of her. The klaxon and the strobing lights were this time joined by bright and jovial music, as well as canned cheering from the speakers. “Sweetie Belle” gestured for us to enter as the door swung inwards with less noise than the first had, and we obediently followed her instruction.

“Not bad. Sweetie Belle had a bit more of an irritating squeak but with practice you’ll get there,” Elm informed the actress as he passed, and only I looked back to see the fume she gave him before we were fully inside the next part of the museum.

I moved to one side to wait and see if I could catch the Snip I had somewhat saved from incarceration, or at least what I assumed happened to the other members of Brittle Sticks’ crew, but when everyone had filled in I didn’t spot him. Who I did bump into was Moist.

“Hey Birdface,” he drawled in the manner a pony without a brain would.

“Birdface, that’s a good one. It’s only taken you three years to figure out you can add another word on the end of ‘Bird’.” I retorted. He crumpled his face into his nose as he attempted to understand what I had just said, but his brain rejected the notion of understanding anything.

“Pretty brown mare we’ve been seeing you walking about with,” he complimented when he finally got back to the topic on his brain, “how much would you want for her?” Ah. That’s right. These two don’t think with anything above their waists. I gave a long, deep sigh and hooked my leg around his neck, something I would not have done if I wasn’t certain he’d had a shower after entering the stable.

“Well, I was going to keep her for myself, but for you, buddy...?” I kept him in suspense until he was breathing such foul breath in range of my nostrils that I had to relieve him for my own good health, “if you jump off of the highest part of this stable without aid and survive, I’ll think about it.” I’d still say no, but I didn’t tell him that bit. He eyed me readily and was about to say something, when I was called away.

As I pushed him off me and headed towards where Gypsy and Elm were, he shouted after me, “we’ll talk about her soon, Birdface.” A long while ago, I’d figured out how to flip a bird with one wing, and I used this great art to provide him with one. He growled and huffed, trotting away to find his dunce friend in the new room through a short corridor.

This space was made to look much more like an atrium, an open space with two levels and several open corridors that I assumed led to other parts and exhibitions for the museum. I’d seen these used as a type of mess hall in other broken-down stables. Here, however, it was decorated with a lot more artefacts from the days before Equestria went to Tartarus in a handbasket, including displays and themed expositions.

I passed one stand. Beside it, a mare with utterly phony and tiny wings, a curl of purple mane and super orange fur was teaching a group about the Pegasus ponies, including the Wonderbolts and something called the E.U.P. guard. I didn’t stop to listen, however, as Gypsy was waving me across to her side of the atrium.

Elm was already speaking to both of us before I stopped. He motioned to a display case that was entitled “The First Minstrel Day”.

“This looks like it. Just watch.” He struck a white button and the display in the case began to move on its own. It was a scene that looked like a vintage theatre suite with red curtains on a wooden stage and an eager audience of miniature Stable T-Thirty residents. From the curtains pushed an automated puppet, a little mare in a spectacular dress. The soundtrack that played along with the bad marionette show didn’t sound acted, and I was ready to believe that this performance was dubbed by a crackling recording of the real event.

It began with the audience going wild; cheering, whooping, pouring love on the mare on stage. Once their voices were returning to a normal murmur, she spoke whilst the tiny puppet bounced about like a constipated ant.

“Fillies and Gentlecolts; Thank you for deciding that my friend and yours, the wonderful performer, Songbird Serenade, should be the first of us to be ascended. As you know, we received the notification one year after the big door closed that we were safe to begin the ascending process. I am happy to tell you that her ascension was a success, and she is now the first of us to join Princess Celestia and Princess Luna in the Garden of Equestria.”

The idea made me feel sick, made worse by the sound of raucous applause and the dancing matchsticks in the crimson seats. Did they truly believe they had sent the singer to a happy fate? I could only imagine her being torn about in seconds flat once her hooves touched the dusty ground and I winced at the power of my imagination. Who would have sent them such a false message?

“In a moment,” the record continued, “we will all be treated to her last song, brought to us by her Minstrel. As you will all have read from your pamphlet, as well as remember from your inductions into the stable, when we ascend, a Minstrel will be created in our likeness and with our voice. They are magical projections of us, created so that the songs we sing to power our stable do not die out.”

“But why songs?” murmured Elmwood, staring curiously at the moving re-enactment dubbed by the sweet voice, “what physical power does a song have?”

“If you don’t know that, then you don’t know why I sing during our nights together, Woody,” Gypsy replied disappointedly. The stallion lifted his head to look at her with a soft expression, but he didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t know how to, or maybe it was because the puppet was finishing her announcement.

“Now, are we ready?” They turned to a figure by the side of the stage who seemed to be fiddling with a matchbox sprayed silver and covered with tiny dials. A muffled affirmative could just be heard.

“Good! Are you all ready?” She rallied her audience, who also attested to their excitement at what they would be about to witness.

“Fabulous! Let the first Minstrel song be heard!”

In miniature, it was not as impressive as the life size experience we’d witnessed a couple of hours ago, especially when the little green figure with a mop mane covering her eyes and a bow behind her head raised up from a trap door on the stage. The song on the audio tape however was different in comparison to the jazzy song we’d previously sang with the emerald angels. It wasn’t one I recognized, but the voice was husky, pretty and sweet and I found myself happily nodding my head to the tune.

“See the city in the distance,
How she glitters, golden Canterlot.
From my bed of lilies.

Ponies flying above her,
Dancing to her, flying free,
That’s how I remember her...”

“Geez, they sent a voice like that away? Are they insane?” Gypsy asked quietly, glancing between us. I gave a sad shrug, whilst Elm started to trot away.

“They couldn’t do much else. She was the best singer in here at the time.” We both watched him with confusion, as he reached another display and leaned on it, nodding at the contents. We wandered over, my head turning to look for Sticks, Moist or any of the other guys I'd seen, before we arrived at this case.

My concern for the other ponies declined as I saw now what Elmwood had meant. Inside, this exhibit was dressed up for foals, since the Stable-dwellers had never expected to have to explain their motives to adults. I could forgive that this time for that assumption, but I could not forgive the contents.

“HOW TO ASCEND!” claimed the header of this presentation in bold colorful letters.

“So you will have heard a lot of information about ascending to the Gardens of Equestria to live with the Princesses, but just how do you do it? Let us tell you how; you sing! That’s right, it’s as easy as that! However, you do not have to sing day in, day out, unless you want to that is!”

This was broken up with a picture of Songbird Serenade, a mare with a gold and black mane, a huge pink bow in her mane. “Songbird Serenade, during her winning performance to the judges for her place to ascend,” the caption read.

“You’ll be alerted when to sing by your PipBuck, announcing that you will have seven days to visit a theater of your choice and perform to the judges in the hall. If you do really well, then the judges will consider you for the grand finale, where you may win a lucky chance to ascend!”

Another photo, another pretty singer, taken too soon. A lot of the information confirmed what Mole had told me earlier, but one bit was interesting.

"When you ascend, your Minstrel will sing in your place to keep our stable powered with the energy of loving song! Before you go, your Minstrel will be made from magical particles with you and a piece of your soul, so small that you will never, ever miss it. It will memorize your anatomy, your face, your voice, and even your favorite song! They will also help your families miss you less until they can come join you in the Garden of Equestria."

Gypsy gasped and shook her head. I raised a wing over her shoulders, only to find Elm’s leg already there. I retracted, slowly.

“I know, right? They created some sort of competition and the best pony wins a trip to oblivion, with a dust cloud for a memory? Where’s the logic in that?” I asked the pair. The purple unicorn looked at me.

“Have you read the whole thing?” I shook my head and she moved to the bottom to complete the scripture, “everypony MUST sing once during the seven-days at the theaters for a set of judges. If they do not, then terrible consequences can occur. The last pony to do so was Countess Coloratura, who refused to participate in the seven-day rule. As a result, the Minstrels came for her and took her away.”

“‘Took her away’” I repeated, glad that the mood was too somber for Elm to make a parrot joke, “you mean like she got chucked into jail?”

“Crow, this was written for foals by ponies living in a stable. They couldn’t say what actually happened so instead they make it sound like she just left…”

I thought about Gypsy’s words for a second and then realization struck me.

“Oh crap.”

I’d been right about the Minstrels all along. They WERE dangerous.

*** *** ***

We mulled about the other exhibits, trying to look interested in them as we talked quietly between each other. If somepony stopped to look at us, we'd chatted loudly about how fascinating the past was, or how the painting we were looking at made us feel or, on one occasion, how Elmwood could be mistaken for one of Celestia’s old guards if he had extra pointy things and a few less scars. We even had him stand in front of a glass case facing some old golden armor. The similarity was uncanny.

However, the main concern on our lips was what to do next.

“We’ll all have to sing, that way they won’t be suspicious of us and we won’t have murderous ghosts chasing us away,” Gypsy offered logically. Elmwood agreed but I pulled a face.

“I cannot sing, you know this. The green monsters will want to kill me for singing!”

“Maybe that Hot Shot guy can give you a few lessons?” we both glared at Elmwood, “What? I thought he was a nice chap, just a bit obsessed with his mane. Hey, if he’s the one deciding if we get spooked to death or not, I’d suck his dick.”

“Oh, really? Well, off you trot, then,” Nickered Gypsy, chuckling with me.

The mood was starting to lighten between us after the initial shock of the situation we were in, but something made me glance across the corridor from our room to the next one, just in time to catch the tail end of Brittle Sticks, flanked by Grub, Moist and She, into an area marked “The Last Great War”. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with what business those four were concerning themselves with, then I might have realized the assumption that Stable T-Thirty had made in believing that all wars were now over, and peace was forever.

“One of the Snips is hanging out with some of our shadier guys,” I said to my friends, before explaining who Brittle Sticks was, why Crusty was looking for him, and what I’d seen him doing earlier. We all agreed that it wasn’t an exciting prospect that someone as vulnerable as him was spending his days hiding from the fuzz and dealing time with the ugliest of us, so we made our way into the exhibit to look for them.

This room had been painted a dark militaristic red, whilst the story of the great war was told through uniforms, pictures, newspaper cutting, even old medals. I jumped in shock at the towering body of a Steel Ranger on a platform in the dead center of the room, until Elm reassured me with a tap on the front breastplate that it was, “just a model.”

“Don’t touch the exhibits, sir!” cried a guard from the corner who I hadn’t initially seen. Deadwood flew him a fake salute and went back to mulling around the rooms, looking for our oddballs. After recovering from several shocks, I gave the armor a dirty glare and walked past it.

Steel Rangers. I have a history with those guys, as does Elm. They were responsible for us meeting, but neither of us look back on those days fondly. The Steel Rangers are the worst kind of dicks; they’re dicks in an almost-impenetrable metal casing. The ultimate prophylactic.

I followed some of the stories partially whilst I walked through the war-glorifying halls. Condensed into a few lines, this museum’s opinion was that their side was the innocent and good party, zebras were the wicked tricksters out to hurt anything and everything, and our Princesses were leading us towards glory. If, and when, the ponies of Stable T-Thirty would see the outdoors, they’d realize that there was never a good or an evil side. There was just a lot of creatures who felt weak and desired power.

As I was passing a statue dedicated to, “The good and noble sacrifice of Apple “Big” MacIntosh, who protected the life of Princess Celestia with his own,” I spotted the four ponies straight ahead, looking up at a glass cabinet stretching for the length of the wall. The contents inside made me understand just why they were obsessed with it, and I started towards them. It was full of weapons, from the first revolvers and rifles to IF-9 shotguns and magical plasma pistols.

I knew what was coming, and I was still too slow to stop it. A nod from Sticks to his comrades started it. Moist and the pony called She turned around to face their hinds to the glass. Together, the pair reared their back legs up and bucked hard, but their first effort was only enough to crack the glass. By the third attempt, the guard was racing over to stop them, with Elm, Gypsy and I following hurriedly.

One guard between seven strangers. It was understandable when he panicked. He threw up his hoof to us first, standing in between all of us with just a baton for protection. Nopony had expected this today.

“Cease and desist! You shall all be arrested for damage to the museum,” he stammered fearfully.

“Get back!” yelled Gypsy, but the guard just called over her protests to get away from Brittle and his new gang.

Grub, Moist and She’s brains might have been permanently out to lunch, but their muscles were at home and ready to bust out at the drop of a hoof. In this case, they chose to size up the guard, each stepping around him. He gave one last demand for them to stop their advancement, before he launched in on the offensive.

The result was an awful version of pony-pinball. The mare called She ducked the flailing baton and came up with a horned headbutt into the guard’s unprotected chin. As he stumbled back, Moist swung around and bucked him in the hind with such a force that we all heard something crack. When the screaming horse fell forward again, She had spun around ready to kick him again. This time the snap was sickening, as hooves contacted with the helmet meant to protect him.

The dying pony staggered on his hooves, the three horses all came around for a combined kick. Sticks jumped clear, and the unknown Stable Security stallion flew through the glass of the weapons display. If the force or brutality didn’t kill him, I was certain the glass spearing bloodily through his flesh and clothing would.

Nothing was stopping them from snatching the weapons now. Even though I could hear alarm bell bursting through the museum warning of the attack and could catch the yells of the guards racing around the place to find us, this was bad. Very bad.

Gypsy took the first initiative whilst Elm and I dived for cover behind different exhibits, lassoing out for several weapons with her telekinesis. She managed to collect two, before the pony named She found the first weapon she could fire. The ugly bitch was wielding an egg-damned plasma cannon.

Gypsy ducked down with Elm and threw a rifle to me, along with a handful of bullets. I snatched the weapon hurriedly to return fire, then spotted more guards hurrying towards us, finally coming to solve the disturbance. None had a real weapon, all were armed with useless batons.

“No, idiots, get back!” I yelled as they charged forward, but they didn’t. The only time they had believed they’d needed a weapon was whenever they had to go beyond ‘the Big Door’. They’d never known a problem inside the Stable they’d not been able to solve with a small amount of force. They thought this was a safe space. Sweetie Belle's words echoed in my head, "safety, security, sustainability." How wrong she was.

The first blast of green splattered through the crowd like a bowling ball made of molten lava. The luckiest of them was obliterated into green goo instantly, the more unfortunate on the left and right losing limbs, sides and dying slowly as they watched their bodies melt. After that, the surviving guards tried to move to the sides and call for stronger forces.

Another pony in the core security had the bright idea to slap a button on the wall. The round doors on several sides slammed shut around us, trapping us in the room with no escape. I was having a very bad day.

“Griffon!” It was Brittle Sticks, “Dead pony! You two have the blood of my sister on your hooves. We are going to bring this stable crashing down around your ears.”

“For starters, she doesn’t have hooves,” began Elm. He started to get up, his dead gaze focusing on the group. Four weapons tried to blast him to bits, and all four missed as he immediately rolled across the room to me. A case claiming to be about, "the scum of the Zebra villains," melted instantly at the discharge of the energy weapon. “Rude!”

He looked over to me and gave a quick nod across the room with his head. I understood the motion perfectly.

“And Secondly-“ I didn’t hear what came second, as I launched myself up, took aim, and fired. Just as I did, something flashing in my eyes and distracted me. My bullet whizzed between She’s ears and struck the wall. I dropped again as more attempts to kill us hit the closed door, shaking with the awful shrieks from the other end. I just caught Elm muttering four.

“DO NOT HURT OTHER PONIES! DO NOT HURT OTHER PONIES! DO NOT HURT OTHER PONIES!”

This was streaking in livid red lettering across my eyes. I couldn’t stop or remove it despite shutting and slapping my eyes several times. In the blinded state, I felt Elm grab and interact with my PipBuck, then he grunted to me in an irritably jolly manner.

“You had the foal-lock on. Don’t worry Squawk, I’ll fix it later for you!”

“Can you not explain stuff to me,” rat-tat-tat-tat-tatBAM! “whilst ponies are trying to kill us!”

Elm muttered three, then two as Gypsy returned fire and dodged the reply. The bitch with the nasty melty gun promised she’d do some terrible things to her mother’s backside. I knew they would try to destroy me again if I jumped out of the same place, so I made a tactical decision.

There was more noise coming from the otherside of the door, we were about to be destroyed by a group of Stable security ready to turn us into green dust. A blast rocked the case Elm and I stuck behind, reminding me how flimsy our cover was. It all seemed hopeless, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“One,” said Elm.

Riiiiip! As I tore a strip of flashy red fabric from my dress, I snatched some broken display that had fallen beside it and tied it to one end. I passed my makeshift flag to Elm who understood immediately, took a deep breath, and moved.

Ratatatatata!

Bullets bit at the flag as Elm waved it, distracting the group long enough for me to make my attack. I leaped out to one side at the same time, and made sure my first bullet counted once I had settled on the floor.

BANG!

The head of the mare formally known as She snapped back with the force of the metal that drilled through it. It was a perfect shot, the bullet lodging in her brain and stopping her attack immediately. The energy weapon was silenced and clattered to the floor. I didn’t stop to congratulate myself, and I wheeled my weapon around to the next head I could blast. I didn’t catch Grub with my next shot, but Gypsy’s aim sank red holes into the burly horse’s blue jumpsuit.

I pointed my rifle muzzle towards Moist, but my element of surprise had ran out. His gun was pointed right back at me, and the lever was pulled. I moved, but not fast enough as I felt a bullet sink into my shoulder, familiar searing pain shocking my senses. I crawled hastily back to my place of minimal safety and caught my wheezing breath. As I sat, bleeding and angry that I’d been caught out so easily, the screaming behind the door stopped. That meant one thing; Crusty’s troops were seconds from storming us.

Elm took one look at me, his eyes lazy, almost bored as he examined my wound. Then he jumped out from our hiding spot.

Bullets flew. Gypsy tried to keep the fire returned as Elm galloped around the perimeter of the room. The blue maned stallion leaped, spiraled around on his fore hooves when they hit the floor and landed with a skid into the far corner. I realised he’d grabbed something in his mouth but as slugs cracked around me I had to duck away before I could figure out what it was. The rest of the action was left to my hearing and imagination.

“Deadwood! This is for my sister, Cinna-“ BAM!

Something metallic clanged on the floor, something else fizzed, and then the only other noise was the stomping behind the door.

I struggled out of my cover, Gypsy quickly coming to help aid me out into the open. I had a feeling that, inside our box at least, we were safe, and I was right. Where Moist had stood, there was only green sludge. It was a nasty contrast to the emerald dust of the Minstrels, or the grassy ash of Rose Bed.

Brittle had fared worst. The stallion lay on one side, gasping like a dying fish, long past the point of it’s futile attempt to return to water. The side of him we could see was whole and intact. The side we couldn’t was viridescent ooze. His last eye spun around at all of us with wide fear. Then it rolled into his skull, and his chest stopped moving.

“Empty,” Elm told us coolly, dropping the Plasma cannon. Our eyes drifted from the scene, to him, to the door.

The metal circle split in the center and whooshed open, half a dozen guard stomping into the bloodbath with energy guns pointed in our direction. Elm responded first, snatching and waving a smouldering piece of white newspaper like a white flag.

“Parle?” he asked hopefully. Gypsy and I dropped our weapons and surrendered as well, falling to the floor when commanded to. I did my best to avoid the red puddles and the jade gunk that had ironically been Moist once. One guard took a look at it, coughed and threw up in his visor.

“Celestia damn you, officer!” Snapped a discernible voice. I didn’t think it could get worse, but it just had. “Get out of here, clean yourself and grow a backbone whilst you’re at it.”

As the ill officer scampered away, Crusty’s elephantine front hooves came down alarmingly close to my head, and I lifted my eyes cautiously towards him. He had looked like an asshole who never knew another emotion past anger to me from day one, but now his expression was one of pure hatred.

“Two days in my Stable, griffon. Five of my men dead, two more mortally wounded. You three are going to pay for this.”

“Yep,” I agreed. The fight was falling out of me faster than the blood from my wound. I was weak and in relentless pain.

“In our defense, your guard was one running at shooty sticks with a hitty one. Everypony knows that's not a smart plan,” provided Elm. It took two steps before Procrustean was in range to give Elm’s thin gut a stiff kick.

Crack!

The white horse coughed and choked, his smart words breezed out of him and more than likely one rib broken at the very least. Silently, I decided that I no longer needed to hit Elm myself. The dominating mammoth stood back up straight, gave his men an authoritarian look and continued to take charge as though his loss of temper had never happened.

“Tell the medics there’s one gunshot wound on the griffon and one blunt trauma infliction on the stallion. The mare,” he barely glanced at Gypsy, “appears unharmed. When they have been been treated for their injuries, send them to the prison cells. Then deal with the rest of this mess.”

As he turned to leave, and his team obeyed his beck and call, he said one last thing for us all to hear.

“There’s never been a death in Stable T-Thirty since the Countess Coloratura incident. Mark my words, Stable fifty-four scum, your days here are numbered.”

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Complete - Fight At The Museum
Quest Perk added: Calamity Crow - Non-automatic rifles do more damage.

Level Up!
New Perk: Talk Tough - 1+ to Charisma

Quest Begun - Jailbird Blues
Quest Begun - Seven Day Rule

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Country Roads by John Denver, but covered this time around by Copilot Music + Sound for the Fallout 76 trailer

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 013 - Jailbird Blues (Part Two)

Entry 012 - Jailbird Blues (Part One)

I do not believe, will not believe and cannot believe that greed has poisoned the souls of pony-kind, nor that we have barricaded ourselves into a place of hatred. I believe there is still a way through this without more blood being spilled and families being broken. I believe that there is still opportunity for life to continue, as it did before these days of crisis, when we were good to one another and the lands were shared equally. We have seen and survived darkness once, and we can all do so again, but we must first find the light we have lost to it.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 012 - Jailbird Blues (Part One)

Grey.

The walls of the prison cell were all a very monotonous, dull grey. This was the color scheme I’d initially expected of the entire Stable in the beginning. After the heavy download of sights in Stable Town-Thirty, I was ready for something colorless and bland. This wasn’t the way I’d intended to get it though.

I’d been rushed through the medical procedure of getting the bullet out of my shoulder. The Security Medic moved me into a clean room in the museum, closed from the public and decked out with gurneys and medical equipment to treat the injured and salvageable ponies. They hurriedly placed me out on a bed and shortly afterwards my old friend, Dr Moon Ache, was shuffling up to aid my suffering.

I received no affable greeting, nor whiskey this time around. I’d lost my dress in the preparation for my operation, and I never saw my messy red number again. They strapped down my wings with some fabric bands they tied around me to stop me flapping out in distress. In the whirlwind repair of my blood-drenched shoulder, Dr. Ache disinfected the hole and gave me a numbing spell for the pain, only for the officer watching me to ask him to hurry it along. As a result, I screamed out far louder than I should have for such a small piece of metal being removed from my person. It had missed the bone, thank the egg, but it was still in deep enough to require a rummage.

During the stitches and bandaging stage, I made a quip that “this was nothing” and “you should see what happened to the other guy”. No pony found it funny, except me, and since I’m not a pony I guess you can still say no pony found it funny, period. After that, I was hoisted back onto my feet and forced to limp through a back entrance into the perimeter of Stable T-Thirty, outside of the big metal wall of the town.

I didn’t see the journey to the prison block. My mind was too busy running over the visions of ponies melted into green paste, and Brittle Sticks fused to the floor, drowning in his own slurified innards. I was attempting to figure out the end game plan of Sticks and his cohorts. It couldn’t have been a deliberate suicide mission, the three raiders were stupid but not to that extent. Even Brittle had shown some common sense in the short time that I’d known him. Had revenge been his only motive?

Once we arrived at the prison block, I was signed in. They forced me to hear a list of my crimes for which I was being arrested; several counts of murder, theft and destruction of property. I was asked if I understood the charges and when I agreed that I had, they moved me to another desk where they took prints of my talons. This was just in case another griffon showed up in the Stable later on, It was as dumb then as it sounds now but they made the rules. They took a picture of me for their records and finally changed the setting on my PipBuck to a ‘low power’ mode. It still displayed time and date, but outside of being a heavy watch, it was excruciatingly useless.

After their tasks were satisfied, I was shackled up around the legs and escorted to my cell. The chains, yet again, were made for ponies and not griffons. From this point I had to walk around like I was on twinkle toes-and-talons. Of the whole affair, that was the worst bit, even worse than having a nugget of metal dug out of my shoulder, because I had to take my walk of shame, naked once more, past them.

The Snips were held up in every cell that I passed in the corridor, and the prison seemed to stretch into eternity. Some pressed their faces up against the bars and watched me walk by with hangdog expressions, others saw me and immediately began yelling and pointing accusing hooves in my direction.

“It’s her!”

“She’s the raider, not us!”

“We came from Stable Fifty-Four, not her or her friend Deadwood, she stole our identity!”

“She’s a filthy liar!”

“Silence, inmates, or you’ll all be getting a blast of our stun batons!” Commanded the guard as he pushed me along my humbling path. He gave his stick a warning rap on the cages of the Snips who didn’t listen the first time and only zapped one who spat in my direction. The mare squealed like a horny hog, thrashed about for a couple of seconds, then fell away and lay on her side, panting with wide eyes. That poor museum guard could really have used one of those, I wondered again why he was only entrusted with a barely effective rod.

“She’ll be fine,” he called to his fellow officer manning the hall, and kept me moving to my cell. There, I was told that I would have to wait until my interview in a few hours as the door was slammed shut and locked. I said nothing as I pitter-pattered over to my choice of three bunks and took a seat. At least I had this colourless space to myself for now.

“If I hear a peep out of any of you,” yelled my guard as he returned along the flat aisle, “you’ll get stunned. If you want to know how it feels, ask Cell Eight.”

“A-A l-lot!” Stuttered Cell Eight, I assumed, to a few shocked gasps. To my ears, his hooves clomped all the way, the gate clanged behind him, and he faded away into the void.

“Alone at last,” I sighed sarcastically to myself. Actually, this was the first time I had been been alone since the night I’d staggered home drunk, until I’d found Elmwood with that damn skull on his head. Even then, that had only been a few solitary minutes at most, and this promised to be way longer.

Thoughts are like a river when you’re left on your own to follow them. I began my journey chuckling about how stinking hammered I’d been that night. Not that anypony would have been able to tell until I started moving. If I can prop myself up and not have to use the lower half of my body, I can maintain eye contact, have a pleasant conversation about how best to rob a bank, and nopony would guess I’m being fueled by Applejack’s favourite brew. I guess that was my father’s inheritance to me. The drawback was that walking and even flying became as tricky as trying to run through the middle of a tornado in a sewage factory. Not fun at all.

The stream of memories took a swerve into the demons of my past. They were the reasons I picked up a bottle of liquor at all. Believe it or not, my gin-soaked old Pa never ever let me touch his stash. He practically forbid it.

“Y’ ain’t gonna end up like yeh ood man, ‘Ella,” my Pa told me. Even when he had to be serious with me, the full name rarely came from his beak unless it was absolutely necessary, “you’re gonna be a smart bonny lass.” As is clear, I’m not a smart bonny lass. I had ended up in jail in the most damn friendly place in Equestria. I felt like a bigger idiot than the guys I’d sent to Celestia only hours ago.

More demons peeped out from the bushes of the creek in my mind. Old conversations. Older arguments. Woes, troubles, mistakes, and royal buck-ups. Unhealthy sprites biting at my confidence and courage every time I let them slip into my analytical view. They were a danger to my life, one hesitation could spell doom in any situation in the Wastes, but they were also my darlings. They fuelled me to take more risks without fearing the consequences, because the consequences had already happened to me.

There’s an old saying about these things, “if I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.”

The angelic demon I had to live with for the rest of my life was called Periwinkle. Most called her Peri. I called her Snowbird.

In this lifeless wall, I was starting to imagine a mural of the snow white griffon I’d once believed would be my lifetime friend. I could recall where every one of her grey and rose speckled feathers lay, could see the soft, short tuft of a fringe above her hazelnut eyes. With her image gazing out of the painted stone with a sweet, modest smile, I could hear her young, wooing voice once more comforting me.

“If you are going to fight, then fight with every single bit of your being that you have. Even your beak. Especially your beak...”

I remembered a different time. An early memory. One of the first and best that I could ever recall...

“If you call me a wee birdie one more time I’ll put your beak so far into the snow you’ll have to drink through a straw, ye scunner!” I had warned the griffon girl, who back then was just another strange kid who’d approached me. It was one of my first winters as a chick, and I was out on my own trying to learn one of the most important skills for a griffon.

“Whoa! Sorry, I wasn’t trying to cause you offense. You’re just a little cutie and I thought~”

“I’M NOT CUTE!”

“Alright! Alright, fine… goodness gracious, it looks like we got off on the wrong claw, didn’t we? I’m Periwinkle. Do you want to be friends?” The white creature almost blended into the snow covering as she took a seat and smiled at me. I’d never seen a hen smile at me like that. I didn’t know how to handle it.

“Why don’t you just buzz off, Snowbird, I don’t need friends,” I grumped, before returning to my private mission. I stretched out my wings with determination in my face and made the mistake every young winger makes when learning to fly. I beat my fluffy appendages until the energy drained from them and then collapsed, breathless and worn-out. I was too tired to even growl properly at the griffon when she giggled at me.

“That was impressive. Ten out of ten for effort, but minus ten on the lift off,” despite my angry squawks, she moved over to me and used her height advantage to lift me back onto my feet. “If you didn’t want me to help, you should have put on a more monumental display. Come.” As she turned and walked away from me, I wondered just what tactic or mind-trick she was trying to use on me to make me follow her. Deciding to prove that it was not going to work on me that way, I turned in the opposite direction with a derisive tweet.

I’d barely taken five steps when a blizzard spiral torpedoed past me. It spun impossibly fast until white sails thrust out of its sides and made one elegant motion. The ghost galleon lifted herself with ease out of her tailspin and rose up into the air, higher and higher until she was a miniature figure in my eyes, making occasional barrel rolls in the sky. When her body hit a crack of light draining out from the cloud cover, she stopped on a cap and flung both wings out, as though suddenly calcified by the sneaking sunbeam.

Her position unchanged, she tilted, twisted and fell, falling like a leaf in a windstorm tethered to a breezeblock. I yelled out in horror and began charging towards the destination she would land, certain I would see a messy corpse of the strange girl when I arrived there. Yet, when it seemed like all hope for her was lost, she suddenly regained the use of her appendages and twisted, beak pointed down for a split second. She flapped, angling her body to curve into the fall and use gravity as her guide, curling out of her free fall to narrowly miss the ground by the width of a gnat’s arse.

She rushed past me once more, her airstreams whisking me onto my back in to the fluffy cold ground, where I watched her twirl magnificently above me one last time before performing the softest landing I’d ever seen a griffon manage. She let her limbs bounce to catch the rest of her prim weight, and then gazed calmly at me.

“Very well,” she finally said with pretend curtness as she lamely examined a wing, “if you are not interested in friendship or tutorship, I shall take my leave.”

“Wait,” I cried, caught on her hook, line and sinker, stunned so hard that I didn’t think of getting to my feet, “where did you learn how to do that? Could you teach me how to do that? I wannae know how to do that! Why didnae you say you could do that in the first place?” She had a titter at my verbal garbage and rolled her eyes, wandering back over to help me up.

“Firstly, I’ll need a name.”

“Crowella! You know, like the black bird, but with a wee ‘Ella’ at the end,” I exclaimed, a little proud of my longer name back then.

“Crowella, hm?” she tapped her chin with a blunt talon then grinned, “can’t tempt you to let me call you ‘My Little Ella,’ no?”

“No way, Snowbird! Eww, sounds like a dolly or something!” I blurted out, amidst her laughter.

“Alright, fine. How about Ellie?” I pouted and considered it with a claw at the snow, finally deciding I’d allow it if it got the lessons moving faster. She gave a big, kind grin and nodded.

My sail along flashback creek was broken by hoofsteps returning to my cage. I could hear murmurs from the other inmates, but no comebacks this time around. Chains were clanking, and the guard was talking in a low voice, too quiet to make out. A different voice, somepony attempting to sound more enforcing than their voice could allow, spoke up.

“Cell ten, on the right, inmate. Remember, don’t attempt any evasive magic once I take the negating ring off of your horn or the gun turrets in the ceiling will drop. You don’t want that.”

When the face of Gypsy came into view, I stumbled off of my bed in a vain attempt to welcome her to my new abode, instead landing ridiculously on my side. My injured shoulder barked at me for my recklessness. I’d forgotten that my legs had been fettered up as well. I blinked at them as the guard unlocked the door and allowed her in, then asked that she help me to my feet. Smart, I figured, they didn’t want to come in and help me up only to risk one or both of us attempting an escape.

“Hope you two can play nicely together. Jail’s been getting awfully cozy lately since you lot joined us,” that voice sounded familiar, and not necessarily unkind. I had a look at the face inside the visor.

“Cute butt!” I exclaimed. The mare was caught off-guard by the comment and whinnied.

“That’s Officer Bones, inmate. Step back,” she closed the door in front of us and locked it. I leaned on the bars with my one good elbow and slipped into pussy-cat mode.

“No sweat, Boney. Listen, if you can find any way to let me and-,” I nodded to Gypsy, “my friend out of this cage, I can promise you the best night of your life. Better than any stallion could offer you. Isn’t that right, Ms. Breeze?” I’d have liked to have said that this was a break out attempt, but at this point she could chuck me back in here afterwards so long as I got my rocks off. I looked back, and Gypsy followed my plan like a good partner in crime. She shimmied over with all the grace a girl can muster in metal bangles joined by a short leash, and rested on the bars beside me.

“Officer, my sweet feathery friend is oh-so-right. We girls have a far better knowledge of these things. We can put the right things,” she peppered a metal bar with kisses, “in the right places.” Officer Bones stammered in shock and what I presumed at the time was deliberation, cantering nervously in place. Eventually, she snapped her head forward to whisper strongly to both of us.

“You cannot be saying those kinds of things here! Do you know what would happen if somepony heard you?”

“They’d get jealous?” I chirped.

“They’d join in?” cooed Gypsy.

“They’d put you in a lot more trouble than you’re in now! A lot more!” She stepped away quickly, her voice raised, adding, “inmates, be silent! If you cannot be silent, you will receive one correctional hit from my stun baton. Do not test the security officers of Stable T-Thirty!”

With her reputation intact, she turned to leave, but then remembered something and quickly back tracked across to me. Something levitated out of her pocket and I crowed with delight as my bandana was carefully returned to me. In return, she collected a silver ring with a gem and markings from Gypsy’s head and replaced it in the same pocket, before clipping it shut.

“I didn’t give that to you. Try not to lose it again and please, both of you, don’t upset Procrustean and don’t say any more of that… stuff,” I didn’t have time to thank her, she was already marching down the corridor again like she’d suddenly had an tumultuous bowel movement.

“That was the little cutie in security that you mentioned?” murmured Gypsy, watching her until she couldn’t see her anymore, “my butt’s cuter.” I’d be lying if I said I disagreed, or that I took a peek to confirm the comparison. The mare sighed and turned back around to hop into the bunk and sit beside me, whilst I did everything not to look at her now. Damn it, above everything else, I really needed a buck.

“How are you holding up, Crow?” Gypsy whispered when the nether-teaser was gone. I gave a deep sigh and tried to push some of the bandages aside to show her. She hissed at the sight.

“They didn’t heal you properly?”

“Didn’t want to waste valuable commodities and effort on a creature that was now a criminal, I guess,” I explained, “especially when their own guys have a few less chances to win an arse kicking contest.”

“Yeah, I can respect that,” murmured my bunkmate after a breath, “still, they could have done a better job on that for you.” I nodded glumly and then attempted to put my bandana on, as though the entire minute we had been talking had been wiped from my mind. Sharp stabs of pain ran through my leg and I cursed my own inability to think before I did anything. Gypsy Breeze hopped off of the bed and moved around to face me, sitting on the cold floor with her tail curling around her hooves like a feline.

“Here,” she said, “let me.” She wrapped my bandana in a telekinesis field and levitated it, placing it onto my forehead before tying it carefully. I might have been missing my armor and my shoulder might have had a chunk missing, but I felt whole again.

"I guess I'm more religious than I used to be now, eh?" I said, pointing to the bandages on my upper arm. Gypsy Breeze didn't look up.

“Holy,” I told her, making the classic mistake of explaining the joke I was telling, “you know, like Holy Celestia? Hole in my shoulder?”

“Oh, I got it,” Gypsy Breeze gave me a deadpan look, “it was just a shit joke.” Then, contradicting herself, she laughed. We both did.

*** *** ***

Over the next few hours, Gypsy Breeze and I used the opportunity given to us to catch up properly. I filled her in on Poxy’s secret chat with me, the extent of Procrustean’s grudge against me, and Mole.

Poxy’s warning particularly caused the mare to cringe and in return for my update, she finally told me about the conversations I’d missed in our camp after I’d escaped the amorous antics of Elm and Gypsy a few nights ago.

“We slept for about an hour after you left,” she told me over dinner. A different guard had brought us both two trays of food, which consisted of pastries, some beans and rice and a plain sponge cake for dessert. Whilst it wasn’t as exciting as the food in the Stable, was still enough to fill a healthy space in my appetite. I’d learnt on my first day that there was no meat in the whole city though and I knew that was going to get interesting for however long I was going to have to be here.

“Woody woke me up, I don’t think he’d slept, and said he needed to go speak to Poxy again. I didn’t want to get up, I was still aching from all the-“

“Please,”’I begged, “don’t remind me.”

“Bucking,” she drew the word out nice and long in a tantalizing lilt across those sweet lips for me, before tittering. She still held a power over me that I would never understand.

“Bitch,” I still mumbled as my cheeks burned.

“Eeyup,” she laughed, taking another mouth, “I wanted to keep sleeping, but he said he needed to go talk to Poxy without you this time and Poxy wouldn’t accept an audience alone. So, off we trotted to Poxy’s shack. She was the kind of pissed you expect for a mare who kept getting rudely awakened without the promise of a good lay behind it.” The last words bristled with forbearance.

“She asked me that night,” I admitted sheepishly in the middle of Breezy’s story, scooping my spoon through some rice, “I turned her down.”

“Yeah, you do that a lot, and not just with Poxy. There aren’t that many ponies or other creatures left in the Wastelands, you cannot afford to be choosy.” This telling off had been a long time coming and I’d expected it. From the very first meeting, Gypsy had decided I needed a mate and she was going to be the one to set me up with a special someone, whoever they might be. She’d been partially responsible for Poxy’s feelings for me and she’d done her best to tease others into my interests too. If she didn’t already have her Cutiemark (a ring of three birds, one blue, one red and one yellow) I’d have assumed she was trying to get it for matchmaking. It was like her brand new life mission.

“What about that mare you were with earlier?” she continued to muse, with half of her pastry rotating on her fork, held by a glow of magic. “Is she a goer?”

“She’s a spaz,” I muttered, not sure I really meant the words.

“She’s a mare. A filly who likes you and isn’t immediately ugly,” the argument was returned to my side of the court, but I was trying to win.

“She’s not my type. She likes cakes, and songs, and stupid games. If I spend any longer with her I’ll go crazy.” Feeling as though I could no longer eat with this conversation brewing, I pushed my tray away. Gypsy studied it, then her own empty tray, before swapping them around and going on to finish my dinner as well. If you’ve finished with something in this world, it instantly belonged to the next creature to find it, even if you wanted it back later. That’s how it worked, and that’s what we respected.

“So she’s too little like you, Poxy’s too much like you. What is the middle ground, Crow?”

“Oh, that’s easy, hen. It’s you,” I thought longingly, “You’re my middle ground, I’ve been crushing on you ever since I lay eyes on you and you don’t even look at me that way. I could be so good to you, even better than Elmwood, I’d look after you and make your wildest dreams come true. But you don’t see me like that.”

“I don’t know,” I lied, rather than allowing the truth in my head to spill out, “I guess I’ll know that shit when I see it.”

“Don’t take too long figuring it out,” she said in a motherly tone. You know your love life is doomed when your crush, already in a relationship with your best friend, then starts to treat you like you’re their egg-damned kid. I said earlier that I’d learnt to live with my jealousy and that hadn’t changed, but having my beak smooshed into the shitty situation like the nose of a potty-training pup was a little too much to bear.

“You went to see Poxy,” I reminded her before she forgot that she’d been telling me the story, persuading her to leave my steel-encrusted heart with its walls intact. Gypsy mouthed “oh, right” and continued from where she’d left off.

Narrated by my friend, I could easily imagine how the second meeting with Poxy had played out for Elmwood.

*** *** ***

~Two nights ago~

“He’s back?” She’d groaned, letting them in, “at least he’s no longer wearing that skull.”

“Clover!” Elmwood patted at his head then glowered at Gypsy, “you made me forget her! She’s going to feel left out now and I’ll have to dry those tears, it’s going to be a nightmare~”

“Deadwood!” Poxy snapped, “it’s late. If you’ve come here just to piss me off then I’ll gladly fetch my rifle and blast your own skull to bits, just so that you don’t need to worry about putting anything on it.” Elmwood considered a retort, but that would have been counter-intuitive to his plans. He relaxed quickly over his missing cap and spoke directly to Poxy.

“This plan? It’s crap.” He had been as blunt as that and it took Poxy aback. Not just because he was rebuffing his own scheme, but because he was speaking with her affably now. That was unheard of, but Elm wasn’t done.

“The Snips aren’t going to go into the Stable alone, they’re going to need some guiding,” he informed her. Poxy went to speak, but he tapped his own lips with his hoof to silence her.

“The Snips are still important to the plan, but not in the way you both think. I fed you both a can of horseshit because I needed Crow to believe it,” he shrugged, as though that made his decision okay.

*** *** ***

“I wasn’t okay with him shutting you out of the real plan,” Gypsy Breeze assured me, “and I told him that, but when he explained his reasons I understood why it was important to fool the Snips, and these Stable-folk.”

*** *** ***

“You expect me to follow a plan that fucks over your own alleged best friend?” Poxy had challenged. Elmwood thought about it for less than two seconds before he’d nodded.

“I do, because when this plan works, all of us can live in one of the biggest Stables ever built,” Elm knew that he’d gotten the Raider leader’s attention, even as she scoffed and argued that living in a pokey Stable was a ridiculous notion. He practically skipped across the room to the mare and sauntered arrogantly around her.

“The Stable knows we’re coming. I’ve had several talks with them and they’re very excited to meet us. They’re even willing to grant us salvation.” Before Elmwood had made his way around her, Poxy faced him in confusion. The surprise was heightened by a fresh revelation as both she and Gypsy Breeze saw him holding up a leg proudly.

“Where did you get that? Where were you hiding that?” his marefriend had asked in consternation as the pair of them stared a battered, old PipBuck above the hoof that had not been there seconds before. The questions, of course, went unanswered.

“Stable-Tec built a lot of nifty little do-dahs into these devices. All I needed to do was figure out which one got the Stable’s door open. The guards behind the door were all soiling their Stable-suits, because some stallion had just trotted up out of dead space and opened their big, impenetrable door without knocking. So they had all their guns pointed at little old me, and I realised, “opps, there’s still ponies in here,” but I bluffed that I’m a PipBuck technician from Stable-Tec just here to fix a broken toaster for the Overstallion or Overmare.”

Gypsy and Poxy had both squinted at him for the remark, and the raider leader had asked him whether that had actually worked.

“Ladies, it’s me,” he replied, and they didn’t question it further. If Elmwood had one thing, it was the charisma and ability to make any bluff believable.

“Of course, they didn’t let me just plod around the Stable on my own,” he added, “I got tossed in a jail cell and told to wait there. A few hours later, the Overstallion came along to speak to me directly. BUT!” Elm had a habit of crying out “but,” when he believed he was being a genius. He did it a lot. “They didn’t know your old friend Elmwood. They had given me the time alone to make a fresh, cunning plan for myself and for all of us. I introduce myself as Elementary Wood, technician extraordinaire from Stable Fifty-Four, coming to their aid based on a strange transmission I’d been having on my PipBuck, and tell ol’ Overlook to check if he didn’t believe me.”

“How did that not screw you over? They’d have seen your PipBuck and known you were lying,” concluded Poxy hastily, although Elm was already shaking his head.

“Nope! I’d already got the information stored in the PipBuck long before that meeting, in case of a rainy day,” he told them with that incorrigible sunny attitude, blackened eyes looking between them. He let Gypsy move over and inspect the item as he talked, the mare curious about the device. Finally, she tried again.

“Where’d you get this?” She asked. This time his answer was quick, cold and sent a chill up her back.

“I killed a Stabledweller for it.”

*** *** ***

“There was something cold about the way he said it,” Gypsy thought aloud, “not the coldness of a killer, more like he was lying and hating it, you know?”

*** *** ***

Once satisfied she had no more questions, he smiled again and continued to fill in the other gaps in his story.

“After they were convinced about me, I fed them a fresh story about our friends, the Congregation of Grand Magician Snips. I spun their own story against them to turn them into a group of Raiders, who were moving between Stables, attacking, pillaging and raping those innocent ponies inside in the name of the forefather they kept in a pisspot.

“I wept as I told the Overstallion and his council how the Snips had killed our families and friends, and enslaved the survivors of our Stable. I explained how I had heard that they were planning to break into this Stable with the PipBucks they’d stolen and I wanted to help Stable T-Thirty protect their home, but also pleaded to them that I needed to rescue my fellow Stable ponies as well. I’d barely escaped with scars and my life from the Snips just to bring them this warning.

“Fearing a battle with these crazy, blood-thirsty preachers I’d reinvented, he accepted my terms and plans and let me leave to come fetch your guys. He wanted to send a few guards out with me but I promised this was their safest option, as well as ours.” Elm finished, looking triumphant and awaiting praise for his fantastic antics.

“The Stable-mole rats are expecting Raiders,” Poxy had cut into Elm’s plan with a sharp knife to get to the gooiest problems at the heart of it, “when my boys and girls show up, even if they shed the bone armor, and bullet belts, and guns, and knives, they are still raiders through and through. I can think of at least five who have the word, “Raider,” tattooed on their person, Deadwood. Get around that one?”

The stallion had rolled his eyes and huffed at the question, stomping a hoof impatiently. He spoke slowly and demeaningly to her, giving her the answer as though she already ought to know it.

“Leave everything behind. Cover up any markings as best as possible. Tell the Stablers that the Snips scarred and tattooed any ponies you cannot cover up. You’re going to need to convince these ponies that you’re all a bunch of humble dwellers who have been through hell, and you’ll need someone clever to speak on your behalf. Unfortunately, I cannot be there, so Gypsy Breeze will have to suffice.”

The pair both broke into arguments with the cavalier cock at that point, Poxy proclaiming that she was the leader and more than capable of representing her gang for herself thank you very much, whilst Gypsy was more annoyed about Elm suggesting she was less capable than him. Elm shut them up with a forehoof pressed on each of their lips.

“Gypsy does the talking, because she can talk her way out of a Hellhound’s jaws. Sorry, Poxy, you just don’t have the gift of the gab like my girl.”

Poxy continued to protest, but from that point on it was back to Elm only answering questions or thoughts when Gypsy rose them. The horse with a swinging effigy of himself dead on his flanks reinstated the rule that Poxy could only talk to him through a representative as he unclipped the PipBuck from his own limb and placed it on his marefriend’s leg. He dispensed the directions to the Stable, and then gave her his last piece of advice when he had stepped away from her.

“When you get to the Stable, plug this port into the terminal by the door. The passway code is automated,” he pointed out the detachable socket for the PipBuck to Gypsy, “to get there with plenty of time to alert the Stablers to the Snips, you need to go now and take a good group with you. By good, I mean least likely to buck up the plan. Don’t take everyone, Crow needs to wake up thinking me and her are the welcome party,”

The lovers sealed the parting with a kiss, Elm urged them to go now, and promised with a wink that he would make sure I didn’t wake up too soon…

*** *** ***

“He drugged me.”

My attempt to sound annoyed was substituted for tired acceptance of the fact. Nonetheless, Gypsy Breeze did her best to alleviate the particle of frustration remaining.

“And I wasn’t happy about that, I told him just what a shitty friend he’d been. To give the dude some credit, he accepted he’d made a heinous dick move in the name of the greater good.”

“Sure, because the definition of the greater good is crushing some dumb but harmless ponies under a building, obliterating another into dust and having the survivors stuffed into cages. Sorry,” I added, seeing my friend’s hurt expression, “I’m grateful you had my back, even if you didn’t talk Elm out of the idea altogether.”

“You think he’d have listened to me, Feathers?” It was hard not to love her when she used such a wide array of affectionate nicknames for me. I shrugged then nodded.

“Yes.”

She went quiet for a bit after that, and not just because the guard came to collect our empty trays. Not long after they’d been around, there was the call that lights would be going out for the night. I attempted to climb into my bunk to find a way of curling up in it that didn’t feel like laying in broken glass thanks to my shoulder. Half an hour of tossing and turning yielded results, but I almost immediately ruined the relief as Gypsy finally shifted to climb into her own bunk.

Impulses come easily to me, which is why I gamble high, drink hard and love easy. I rolled enough to watch the taut legs, athletic rump and more haul onto the bed above. Even with the sting lancing through my upper body, the sight had been worth it. My lechery didn’t go unnoticed.

“Goodnight, pervert,” sang the hidden beauty.

“Pfft, w-whatever, bitch,” I grunted in vain, cheeks cosy beneath my feather covers. I rolled back over to find that comfortable position once more. It took effort, but once I regained it, sleep came mercifully quickly.

“You have got to have an extra edge, babe. If you just use your claws for fighting, your foes will take away your claws...“

*** *** ***

Snowbird was older than me by five years, and somehow that didn’t seem to matter to either of us. In those first five years at least, she’d lived in Trottingham long enough to gain a cute accent. She never told me much about the reasons she and her Ma moved to my neck of the woods, except that it was “less rape-y”. Although I never asked, I figure it was also why Peri had never had nor mentioned a father.

The words she gave me had always stuck with me. They’d been my own creed and spurred me to victory in many battles, yet the amount of nights they’d kept me awake and tearful had been in equal measure. She’d spoken them to me after one of my most vulnerable days, when the old, naive me was clipped away from me like a fledgling feather. The ashen pools of my mind swirled in my sleep and found the reflection of the moment in my teenage years that changed me for good.

“Your pa’s a dirty ood drunk!” teased a pale colt called Peely Wally from school. You never forget the names of your bullies. I was trying to ignore it, but this had been going on for months now. My tether was about to snap.

“A dirty ood drunk, and I bet if he got any drunker he’d suck off a-AGGGH!”

Gashes from the shocked colt’s cheek trickled under and over the hoof covering them, his eyes wide and surprised at me. My talons were red and I didn’t care. With livid adrenaline pulsing in my veins, I screamed into his face and pushed him to the floor.

“You dunnae know shit ‘boot me, and shit aboot my Pa, so drop it, or I swear, I will kill you!” I declared, my eyes already burning. He nodded with a fearful squeak and his friends shifted away from us as I gave a last, furious and deafening screech, then took off to fly somewhere, anywhere for a good cry. The need for emotions was not because I was upset, in fact I was overjoyed that I’d finally stood up to the ugly louse and defended my honor. The tears and the bawling on a cloud high over my little village came because I’d never fought like that before, and the shock was a lot for a little griffon in a big, dark world.

Word spread and the next day I had a new, mean reputation in the village which garnered me a fist full of respect from my peers. Of course, as all idiots do before a fall, I lavished in it. I had one colt buy me lunch, I had a filly give me a wing massage and I took regular potshots at Paley-Wally as he did his utmost to avoid me.

“Hey, Paley! Wannae say somethin’ else aboot me Pa now? My other claw needs the exercise!” A word to the wise, never insult a foal with an older sibling and especially do not do so when that older sibling is listening in.

“Hey, It’s Crow, right?”

Five ponies trotted across to me, led by a coal coloured horse with a grey mane. Dreich Day was Paley’s older, and scarier, big brother. He was the one heralding me over like the hangman at a final judgement.

“Oh, shit, listen, Dreich, I dinnae mean…”

“Psh, settle, hen, haud yer wheesht. Paley’s a wee turd, he opens his gob and shite falls out. I like ye. Do you wanna come hang out with us?” There’s a correct answer to this question. At the time, I did not know this, or maybe I was too afraid to use it, or maybe I was too high on my new found local fame to realise it.

“Hang with you? AYE! That sounds grand!”

“Tidy! Oh, but there’s one wee initiation you have to do in order to roll with us, lassie,” I should have seen, heard and tasted the warning bells, but I was not a smart griffon.

I followed the group across the village, sealing my fate further with boastful remarks about how I’d taken down bigger and dumber kids than Paley and that no pony, griffon, even dragon could best me in a fight. I had a whole lot of humble pie waiting for me, and it came in the form of a toolshed.

“What’s this?” I asked foolishly, then added, “what is it you want me to do?” The sneering looks of the gang began to fill me with dread, and the feeling of cold feet told me to buck it, but the internal warnings were far too late. Before I could fly, one had me latched in a headlock, another had my wings pressed back and the other two opened the door to the shed, everyone dragging terrified teenage me into it.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, y’wee griffon bitch. No-one beats up my wee brother, and you scarred him fer life. You’re lucky scars are very definin’ on a stallion. But, jus’ to make sure you dunnae scar no pony else, we’re gonnae cut your pointy bits off, okay? Don’t move, we dunnae wanna miss, do we?” Dreich was nothing if not thorough.

Gagged and flattened by the older ponies, I had to watch as my legs were stretched out and pinned down, and my talons were sawn off, one at a time. Each one was wretchedly slow, rough, painful, and bloody. A little known fact on griffon anatomy is that those talons have a vein running right through them and when you cut that, there is blood. A lot of blood.

Dreich and co. didn’t care, they watched my declawing with fascination, laughter and jibes. All I could see through my cries and whimpers were sneers, jeers and leers. I even got an eyeful of one colt trying to take my humiliation a step further, his foul stallionhood nearly wapping me in the face...

“ROCKO! Fuck sake, stallion, nay of us wants tay see that. Why ye alwees got tay get yer dick oot! Put the fucker away!” saved from one horror, but not another, I witnessed my last talon hacked off by the rusty saw whilst the sweating horse over me gathered his attached tool.

Finished and prepared to leave me in the state I was in, Dreich made sure he had one final word for me.

“Fuck with me family or anypony I know again, bitch griff, and the saw will start cutting higher next time. Aye?”

“A-Aye,” I sobbed, huddling into myself and shutting my eyes. I waited for something more, certain there was going to be another attack on my weak pitiful form, and I screamed out when the door slammed shut and I was left alone in a dark shack full of molding, pointy objects.

How long I stayed in there, I don’t know. A hour at least. Eventually I hobbled to the door, leaving smears along the black and unswept floor, and pushed at it. Locked, of course, but the door wasn’t in the best shape. The bottom of the way out was falling to bits and I had the tools to make it big enough for my then slim frame to fit through.

The escape took around another hour, simply because of how harrowing the experience was with bleeding feet. I threw up twice, passed out at least once to the best of my swimming recollection, and cried more than all the rain in Trotland. At last, a chunk of wood pulled off with the crowbar I was using, and I had enough space to squeeze through with a few lost feathers and a graze down one arm.

I didn’t go home. I didn’t think I could face my mother nor worry my Pa. I dragged my wasteful existence all the way through the village to the farthest home, belonging to my childhood friend, Periwinkle.

Luck had it, she was the first to answer her door as well. If it had been her Ma, she might have patched me up but then spoken to my folks and I wasn’t ready for that. Sweeping me into her arms like an orphan off of a doorstep, Snowbird carried me inside to her bed and patched me up. I might have woken the whole of Equestria with my howls when she disinfected the mutilated talons, if she had not stuffed a chunky novel into my beak to bite down on.

After my feet were bandaged, she cradled me, stroked me and gave me that one strong piece of advice.

Cradling my talons under my arms, I had silently contemplated her advice with my eyes practically begging her to make everything better again. My talons would grow back, although two never felt right afterwards, and I would learn from the experience.

*** *** ***

Author's Note

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Song for this chapter; Objects In The Rearview Mirror - Meatloaf

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 014 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part One)

Entry 013 - Jailbird Blues (Part Two)

I awoke to the sound of retching, at first assuming that one of the Snips had struggled to handle the stress of the last few days in captivity, but then I realised that the coughing was much closer than that. Rolling over with shoulder throbbing, I found Gypsy huddled over the facilities provided for us to relieve ourselves, ears splayed back.

I leapt out of bed with my concern blanking out the burn from my wound and struggled with my manacles across the room to assist her.

“Whoa, Gyps, are you okay?” I distressed, trying to catch her eye. Her cheeks were redder than the clowns you found in old foal comic books, and her mane was wet with perspiration. She was finding a reply, but the reflux was keeping her from saying it. Before I could be stopped, I was at the bars and calling down the hallway, begging a guard would hear me and take pity.

“Hey! We got a sick hen in here, no tricks! Get your flanks down here and help her!” I pounded my front feet on the metal rods and pushed my beak through, trying to see somepony. I caught the flash of blue before Gypsy wrapped me in magic and dragged me back, panting with the toil of dealing blows to last night’s dinner.

“Crow, I… I’m fine,” She croaked, but it was too late to change my reaction and the consequences. The guard reached the bars and whacked his baton twice in irritation on the cage door.

“What’s going on here? You said somepony was sick?” By the surly manner in which he spoke, I came to the conclusion I’d woken him up from a sneaky snooze on the job. I didn’t bring up his attitude, just tugged my poorly friend away from the pan.

“Gypsy’s been chucking chunks,” I informed him, “what was in last night’s dinner, eh? You tryin’ to poison us?” The guard and I held an impromptu staring match, squinting at each other, before his horn lit up and a ring floated from his pocket.

“Ms. Breeze, present your horn through the bars so I can shackle your magic. Allow me to remind you that the cell block has a fixed Trace Charm that negates your magic to low levels, do not try to do anything stupid, now.”

“W...Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gypsy groaned, pushing her forehead’s wand through the gap to let the guard clip the band to it once more. Satisfied she wouldn’t be able to rag doll him with a blast of telekinesis, he unlocked the door to guide her out. I went to follow, but was stopped by the stun baton waving dangerously at my beak.

“Oh, no. This isn’t a conga line. Back up inmate, or I’ll be forced to use this.”

“Gypsy Breeze is my best friend, I’m not letting her go alone!” I declared, pushing my chest out. He wasn’t impressed, and gave me a second warning motion of the fun stick.

“Last chance, back up now, griffon.”

“I think I-” Ker-zap!

I didn’t know I was on the ground until seconds later, I either did not feel the impact or I was feeling too much of everything to differentiate which was which. My body was swarming with electric wasps, all stinging me at once from the inside out. My limbs were a mass of struggling, biting snakes and my physical body felt out of my control. In the oddness of my mind, I panicked that I might lose control of my bowel movements, and prayed to every listening deity to save me from that humiliation at least. That was the last thing I wanted the guards to find me lying about in. My eyes rolled into their sockets for a brief second, and when sight returned with the slight hint of a headache behind it, I was on my side.

I realised, when the involuntary shaking in my system ceased and the buzzing lessened, that Gypsy had cried out, and that the guard had advised her I’d be fine as he clattered the door shut then led her away. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, or promise the guard I’d use that thing in an unsanitary place of his when the opportunity arose, but as I gradually recovered I muttered both under my breath.

“What did the griffon do to her? She’s evil, that bird-thing, you know? A foal killer!” One of the Snips aired their thoughts before the guard’s whack on their iron gate with the stunning stick silenced them.

Cumbrously, I wormed my bound frame across to the wall in an attempt to right myself, and paused briefly to ensure that my worst fears had not been realised. The only stain on the floor was crimson, where my thrashing had reopened the empty bullet hole. I could live with this, and made sure to thank the listening Beings of Absoluteness, apologising for not believing in them sooner.

Click! Scratch scratch, scratch click…

The sound behind- No, inside of the wall- caught me off-guard and I turned to look at the stone partition with a sleepy stupefaction, as though the concrete was itself to blame for the odd noises. The cells were by no means entirely quiet; there was a thrum of turbines filtering and cleansing the air, the hum of electric in the lights and the coughs, murmurs and whimpers of the other prisoners, but this was not like any of those natural noises. This was like a radroach with a StealthBuck crawling around me.

The old bite scars on my neck subconsciously began to itch and I shook the thought away, telling myself it was just a Snip on the other side playing tricks on me. I jostled my bands until I was on my feet once more, pushing my auriculars to the wall to try and hear the sound clearer.

Clickity-click click… Skrreee!

“OI!” I finally yelled through the brickwork, knocking my good leg on it for more impact, “whoever’s playing silly beggars in the next cell, pack it in, ye hear? I ain’t afraid of ghost stories, so quit while you’re ahead!” I was clearly annoyed, as more Trottish curses formed on my tongue before I finally eased off and listened to see if my threats had the effect I desired.

There was nothing for several seconds, leading me to believe I’d been successful…

Skree… Scratchscratch click clack skreeskreeskree…

“What the bloody hell is going on in there? Are you having an orgy with a bunch of-” I was interrupted by a crash, a clank, and the sound of hooves pounding along the corridor. I frowned at that sound, and tried to listen to recapture the other noises from my enclosure. Finally there was nothing, apart from the stamping of an elephant driving through the cell block. I knew this was a problem I was about the address, but I wanted and needed to know that the racket in my rampart was not my imagination.

“Hey, come on, just do it one more time, please?” I waited. I received nothing for my patience. “Just one more-” Too late.

“Crowella MacRural.” Procrustean now stared through my barrier at me, his eyes gleaming almost gleefully. It wasn’t a look I felt comfortable seeing, especially with my ear pressed to his wall like some crazy old mare listening to the voices in her head. I peeled myself off and reasserted myself.

“Crusty. I’ve missed you. How’ve you been?” Far from getting angry at my satire of our destructive relationship, he actually chuckled. I think I even shivered at the joviality of this horse. If he was happy, that meant he was winning.

“Your interview is up. I want you to follow me, griffon. Do you comply?”

“Oh, I comply alright,” I offered obligingly, “do you want to do this with the bondage or without.” Another laugh. Damn, I was a better comedian than I thought.

“Keep them on. Don’t want you to put those talons to any use.”

“Wise,” I concurred menacingly, and stepped through the doorway obediently when he let me out of his cage, “Gypsy Breeze; is she hurt? Sick? Is she going to be okay?”

He looked blankly at me and then gave a small huff, as though he just remembered I’d had a cellmate that night.

“Just an upset stomach. Based on what you’ve eaten out there, I’d have assumed you’d be used to them.” It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but at least it was an answer. It was more than I expected from the humongous ass.

Recognizant of the weird sounds I’d heard in the walls, I turned to the area where I expected to see a lonely prisoner sat in another cage.

Instead, my surprise was strangled out when I looked to see that there was nothing else after my cell, not even a door leading into another area. Just more repetitive grey walls.

“But, I… What? I heard scratching there! Behind the wall!”

“Get moving.”

“But-“

“Move!” Rather than argue further, I did as I was told, wondering just what else could have been making that scraping and screeching. It sounded too big to be rats, too small to be hounds, and too alien to be ponies. After a few steps, I decided that the problem was the Stable’s and Crusty’s now, not mine, and I just had to put my curious energy to my more pressing predicament.

Together we walked along the silver brick road, dopey eyes of the Snips staring out at me like nocturnal creatures in a wild and unrestful jungle. I could see them muttering, even heard a few choice words, but Procrustean did nothing to discourage them.

I had absently wondered why I was the object of the Snips dislikes whilst Gypsy had graciously not received the same tumultuous abhorrence. Recalling the last yell I heard made some sort of sense of their feelings towards my friends.

“What did the griffon do to her?” When their world turned dark under a falling building, I was there. When their families were crushed, I was watching. When their friends and leaders were obliterated, once by debris and next by anti-material guns, I’d been at fault. I was their feather-cursed angel of bucking death.

Ahead, another guard was collecting a different pony. Elm, I’d hoped, but I’d been wrong. Instead, one of the early yellers from my first catwalk to my haunted can at the back was being removed from his slammer and being held patiently, waiting for us.

“Two interviews? Did you double book us, Crusty? If you need to cancel, I perfectly understand.” There was no response to the jest, but the chief of security was grinning broader. Something perverse was going on here, I was trying not to let it rattle me but now the big guy had been smiling for a while and I didn’t like it. He even had a touch of mirth in his voice when he commanded the guard to guide both of us into “Interview Room Alpha”.

Both of us. A member of the Snips and I, in the same room with the bull of a security guard. I knew right then and there that the game was over for Gypsy, Elmwood and me, and Procrustean was one move away from checkmate. I took a look at the stallion who would soon be sealing my doom and tried to give him some reason to be intimidated out of confessing all. It seemed to work; the royal blue pony with a red mane and a broom for a cutiemark was shaking heavily on the spot. It was remarkable that he hadn’t wet himself in fear.

We’d been foolish to think that the Snips would hold their tongues about their true identities or ours. Of course they’d tell the guards all, they had much more proof that they were related to the residents of an opened Stable. They might have shunned their PipBucks and suits, but they’d passed the knowledge down from Big Snip to Little Snip for decades. All I had was a story about a once Great Magician who died, got cremated and then, “oh, here’s a funny story, my friend peed in the same pot his ashes were in!“ I doubted Procrustean would laugh, miracles are hard to come by these days.

On cue, the villain of the piece swept in and commanded the other guards to leave us, “Big Bad” could handle us from here. I took a quick look around the room, which was unexceptional. A table with a recording device upon it, chairs, lights, a poster that announced, “Fair and Honest Judgement - Stable-Tec Security; Protecting You Forever,” and a long black oblong on the far wall, in which I could almost see the reflection of the chamber and, by association, myself.

I clanked over it to look at the shadowed version of myself, my usual deep blue feathers now tarred by midnight, my gold eyes mucky and my bandana browned, looking more aged in this abstract view of the world. The door clicked shut and Procrustean took a seat, a clipboard and pen prepared for notes. He did not seem daunted that he’d have to take them himself until I recalled that he was documenting anything he missed with the gadget on the table. He tapped the device to begin recording, and then addressed the extra stallion in the room.

“State your name and designation for the records.”

“D-Designation, s-sir?” stammered the Snip.

“Where you came from, stallion.”

“O-Oh, r-right… Swept Floor, Child of Grand Magician Snips,” that made Procrustean stop writing for a moment and set his quill down.

“You’re a descendant of Ministry Mare Rarity’s Grand Magician himself?” he asked incredulously.

“Huh? Oh, no, not me,” Swept waved his hoof hurriedly, “that honor befell King Feather Bed, who unfortunately passed away in the ninety-third year of our resurrection from Stable Fifty-Four, due to-”

“Abridged history only, Mr. Floor. Why do you call yourself a child of Grand Magician Snips if you are not one?”

“The ponies of Stable Fifty-Four are all Children of Grand Master Snips,” I aided my judge, jury and executioner whilst also trying to play along, no matter how futile the task was, “we call ourselves Brother or Sister, and we are led by Kings and Queens because we are the master pony race and…”

“We are all Children of the Grand Magician Snips,” Swept interrupted, giving me queer looks, “it is thanks to his might and power that we survived.”

“He mightily and powerfully let a wee posse blow his brains out for our sins, and we are forever grateful for his-” A warning point and bark of silence from the head of security stopped me from overdoing it.

“Do you know the griffon beside you?” Procrustean enquired, his eyes demanding only honesty from the quivering horse. Swept Floor looked to me, and then back to the official, nodding fiercely. With this confirmation, Crusty pushed him to give an answer loudly and clearly for the recording device, making more notes.

“The g-griffon came from the W-Wastelands, she’s a part of a g-group who d-desecrated the remains of the Grand M-Magician and s-stole from us.”

“The griffon did not come from your Stable, as she claims?”

“N-No sir, she d-did not.”

“Interesting,” the pleased demon took his time looking from Swept to me, giving me time to let the confession sink into my stressed nerves like a dagger into butter. “Griffon, what is you defence against this accusation?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr Security Stallion,” I chirped, feigning innocence, “Floor has been playing these tricks on me ever since I paid him in cats over a wee gambling game. As I recall, we were playing a game of One-O and I was teaming with this stallion named … now, was it Sue? Or Zoo? Or Is-“

“Y-You are lying! Y-You know you are lying!” Swept Floor cried out, pointing a hoof at me then turning to our inquisitor, “she has never even stepped a hoof, or-or claw, or anything into Stable Fifty-Four! She is the best friend of Deadwood, the stallion who blew up a building and killed many of my Brothers and Sisters, they even killed King Muddy Waters!”

“Can I just point out, Crusty, that King Muddy Waters killed King Feather Bed to get that title, I think wee Grand Magician Snips dropped a little redemption from on high in that case…” The Snip beside me gasped in horror at my suggestion.

“Th-That’s blasphemous!”

“That’s the Celestia-beloved truth, pal!”

“That’s enough!” Roared Procrustean, clearly tired of our pointless squabble. He thrust a leg in Swept Floor’s direction, “Mr. Floor, in your opinion, is the griffon beside you a murderer?” The witness to my crimes looked towards me darkly, the same look of repugnance that Brittle Sticks once wore. I imagined the stallion had risen to cast judgement on me, with half of his side still a mass of dripping green gloop.

“No,” his sound and confident answer surprised the pair of us, “b-but she let the real murderer kill my people, and that’s j-just as bad in my o-opinion.” I blinked at the pony who was casting his dark magenta eyes at me, then shrugged to Crusty, utterly lost for smart comments.

The head of the security nodded a moment, seeming to consider the weight of Swept Floor’s statement against me. Uncomfortable with the silence, I spoke.

“This has nothing to do with what occurred in the museum. This stallion was never there, and whilst he has some pretty damning things to say about my character, I don’t think he-“

“What are you doing?” Crusty suddenly yelled, to my deep confusion. I blinked at him and was about to enquire whether he was requiring a doctor when he yelled again.

“Let go of... Mr. Floors, release my weapon!” The security stallion started to do a strange fitful dance, kicking the table, almost launching the audio recorder, and staggering like a drunken monkey. I looked to Swept Floors who was looking as bemused and terrified as I was. Something whistled past the Snip’s face, and before the item had clattered to the floor, Procrustean had spun to kick out a black hind hoof into the other pony’s jaw, sending the cuffed horse sprawling.

“You’ve lost it, pal!” I yelled, backing towards the door. Not in the interest of ceasing his crazed beating, the mad stallion suddenly shoulder-barged Swept into the wall, causing him to yelp in pain and shock. A second thump knocked the wind out of him. A third caused something to crack.

I watched in awed horror as the freshly bloodied horse slid down the wall, ruby droplets pouring from his nose and mouth, his eyes beseeching Procrustean to show pity. No pity came. Instead the equine tank turned, gave a well-aimed buck of a back leg at the side of Swept Floor’s head, and his neck gave a nauseating snap.

Dread filled me as the corpse released the rattling breath in its lungs one last time and slid over to breathe no more. My eyes lifted to Procrustean, attempting to prepare my horrified mind for an escape plan as I’d surely be his next victim. He was moving towards me, his hoofsteps unsteady as his eyes glazed over for that brief moment.

Then, he threw the door open.

“Guards! I need more guards in here, now!” In the time it took him to get out of the way of the entrance, three of his team rushed in, armed and ready, whilst two others hovered at the threshold. Crusty snarled in anger, his hooves still a wet, meaty red. One, a medic, knelt to check the vitals of the pony, only to confirm what I already suspected with a solemn shake of his head.

“Officer Twill! You didn’t put shackle his horn! The inmate nearly got a hold of my weapon!” The aggressive scolding had the armored pony stumbling back, looking in surprise at the lifeless stallion’s horn. When I looked, I could see Crust was not fooling around, there really wasn’t a ring on it, but that wasn’t how this went down. Swept had not been about to shoot me or the head of the guard, had he?

The shock left me confused, feeling as though I’d missed parts of the interrogation, that somehow I’d been hustled but I couldn’t see the whole picture right now. I could only see the guards demanding me to remain still.

I watched Procrustean pant in the wake of the fight, return to his desk and lean to his recording device.

“Swept Floor is deceased, killed in self defence during an attempt to remove my weapon via telekinesis. The Griffon, Crowella MacRural, has survived the ordeal. Tape ends at eight-oh-one am,” he gave the date, then clicked off the recording device. Lastly, he rounded on me again and forced me to flinch into the corner.

“I need a last word with this griffon, alone,” he announced, to the bewilderment of his peers.

“B-But sir, after what just happened…”

“Do you see a horn on the griffon? Blessedly you remembered to keep her wings tied. She is not a threat and I need to ascertain whether she needs further assistance after what she just witnessed. I need you to clean up the mess in here. Can you do that, officers?” Sharp salutes and affirmations later, Crusty lugged me out of the besmirched room and into another, far smaller one. When the only exit was closed, he gave a deep, long-suffering sigh and sluggishly looked back at me. I wanted to demand what the hell he’d just done, and why, but all I could manage was abject disbelief at the maniac.

“Oh, good. That’s shut you up. You might listen to me now without idiotic comments, griffon,” he grumped listlessly, as though his previous act had been a tedious task on an average day. I was silent.

For once, I studied him in his entirety out of a mere desire to remember my killer in the afterlife. The Earth stallion was built like a brick-shit house, that much I’d already realised. His fur was black, with flecks of white and grey where hairs chose not to cooperate with the rest of his color scheme. His mane was blueberry purple with prussian markings, cropped short and swept back. His tail followed the same tones, and his flanks bore his mark, a curved blade with a golden handle. This close, I could see small scars where he had taken minor battle wounds, and wondered briefly just how he’d come to recieve them.

“What I just did was send a message to those pitiful wastes of space in my prison. They still seem to think they are entitled to the same rights in here that they gave themselves out in your world, but this is my world now, griffon.” He took a few lumbering steps past me, examining me from head to toe. I tried to follow his walk with my gaze, only losing him briefly when he was tail side. “This is my jurisdiction and when any creature threatens that, they face annihilation.”

“Swept Floor wasn’t a threat,” I finally countered, “he was just a wee pony with a big gob. He was more of a threat to me than to you and even I wouldn’t have killed him just for that.” Crusty snorted, trotting back into an easier view angle. His eyes weren’t on mine, he seemed too interested in my wounded and bandaged shoulder.

“One pony can be a bigger threat than you realise. It only takes one pony to talk to another and before you know it, you have a rebellion. That is why I need you to work with me now, griffon.”

“Work for you? Are you bucking kidding me?” I backed away from him in vacillation, my mind reeling with yet another shift in my overall perception of what the buck was going on here. His nearly black coffee eyes narrowed and twitched when they looked into mine.

“I need to know what the rest of your raiding group are planning to do here, and that the ponies under my jurisdiction are safe. With you on the inside, informing me on the plans that your ponies make and what trouble they think they can create, I will have the upper-hoof in restoring peace to this Stable.”

I took a long deep breath and sat, looking thoughtful as I weighed up the options. The stallion sat too, giving me time to agree or disagree to his plan. On one claw, I could agree, with the knowledge that even Poxy just wanted to accept a peaceful remainder of life in the Stable. On the other claw, I didn’t want to give Crusty the satisfaction of having me on his roster. Finally, I let the air stored in my lungs out slowly and gazed up at him.

“Go buck you~AGGGH!”

Suddenly, I was a teenage chick once again, in a toolshed making very poor life decisions. But this time, it was Procrustean putting the pressure on me, his hoof jabbed and pinning me via the bullet lesion in my shoulder. Hot lava was seeping through my leg and fresh blood soaking into the bandages.

“Wrong answer, griffon,” he hissed into my ear as I cried out, “you think you have a choice? You will report to me about every little thing your band of rebels do, if they so much as spit I want to hear about it, and if I discover you are lying, you’ll wish I do to you what I did to Mr. Floor. Do you understand?” He pushed on the contusion harder, blackness beginning to appear at the edges of my vision, the undersides of my eyes stinging with tears. The parts of my body not filled with pain were numb.

“U-Under… Stood…” I croaked. I waited. He wasn’t releasing me. Why wasn’t he releasing me from this torment?

After several more seconds, however, he pushed the epicentre of my pain and I toppled over, shaking and swallowing all the oxygen I could muster. He trotted across me, my body too weak and restrained to stop him, only one eye able to see him as he leaned down to me.

“I know what lies beyond the doorway, griffon. I know that it is not a place of ascension, it is a place of our own destruction. We’re already in the Garden of Equestria. I intend to keep it that way.” He ruffled my head of blue feathers with a noxious exult, Swept’s gore still clung and claggy on the hoof which pushed my bandana nearly into my eyes. He left me there as he walked out and through the door, calling the guards to deal with me as he kept walking.

I was still too hazy from the last attack to recall the journey back to my cell. I had to be dragged most of the way, I knew that much, with Procrustean convincing his lackies that I was just suffering from shock and was on the road to recovery. I was sent unceremoniously into my cell, where I crawled across to lay my back against the wall and catch my breath. There were sobs and angry, unforgivable tears on my cheeks as I dwelled furiously at how easily I had been subdued. I’d once promised myself I’d never be so easy to dominate again, and I had just broken that promise to myself.

“H-Hey…” I whimpered when it was just me and the wall, the gates clanking shut at the far end of the hall, “hey… if you’re there… if somepony is there, listening… Watching… Please. Help?” I didn’t know who I was talking to. I didn’t know if I was talking to anyone, or if the scratching had all been in my imagination. I turned my face into the bland solid wall and pressed my forehead against it, eyes closing.

“Please. Help...” I stopped, and I listened, but nothing came.

*** *** ***

“I don’t care. I am me.”

Periwinkle had stood with me in the rain, her claw holding mine for as long as I needed to build up my courage. I was nearly out of my teenage years and I was about to make the most important decision of my life. It was a decision that would change the path I was on forever.

We stayed together outside of my parent’s cottage for hours in that heavy downpour, and with radiation in the rain we had to drink a pair of RadAway potions before we could finally make a move.

“We could do this another day,” my Snowbird had offered, several times. I refused every time because I knew that if it wasn’t today, then it wasn’t going to happen. I could be quite easily trapped in the bubble of a meaningless existence just knowing I was safe from bullets and gunfire in my sleepy little village.

Lochgoilhoot was a quiet place in the Trottish Highlands. Small villages and settlements were mostly kept out of harm’s way when the Balefire Bombs hit, as the attacks had been focused on the major cities such as Trottingham first and foremost, and only really suffered the fallout as the winds and rain spread the megaspells effects out far and wide.

That had been a nearly a century ago before I was even born, and what remained now was a tribe of survivors trying to live normal lives and fend off raiding attacks. If anypony or any griffon sought sanctuary, our village would provide so long as they could prove themselves useful once moved in. For my family, that role was filled by my mother taking the role of commanding officer of the guards in the village, which had earned her a pink scar over one eye during one attack. It was the only part of her body not black or white.

My father was a mason and builder. Despite being a drunk, he was well liked for having had a claw in fixing something on every house in the village, and in some cases even rebuilding them from scratch. If Daw MacRural built it, then it was built to last. My sister, Mag, was training under my mother for the village forces, and it was clear she was her favourite of us two.

Periwinkle’s mother became useful as a merchant, as well as a delivery griffon. She’d brought a wealth of trade to the village and helped put our home on the caravaneer's map, making the place a little busier and more interesting once business really got going. Sadly, she became caught between a feud of two raiding parties during her last trip and was found cut up, defiled and defeathered by the time the scouting party located her body. Snowbird picked up the business from where her mother left off and when I was old enough, I helped her maintain it.

I don’t think we truly realised how much we actually loved each other until we had to depend on each other in that way. I’d always fallen back on that griffon, ever since the days she first taught me how to fly, but it was when she had to rely on me that our relationship blossomed. The first time we kissed was after a long day restocking the store with salvaged materials and items, and the first time we made love was during an argument about who had lost a particular pony’s parcel. We only discovered after the event that I’d been sat on it the whole time. Luckily, the grey ghoul with bubbles on her flank never questioned the stains on the brown parcel paper when she came to collect it.

We’d been a couple for half a year before we reached the night when I knew I would have to confess to my parents that their little Crow was not bringing them any eggs in this lifetime. I’d grown sick of living my life and love in secret, being unable to share a simple embrace outside the back room of Peri’s store, fearing that somepony might take the gossip back to my mother and Pa. If I wanted to be a free bird, I had to come out to them both and that night was one of the few times they would be together in the same room.

Reinforced by my Snowbird’s love, the moment of courage came and pushed me through the front door of my childhood cottage. My Pa was sat in his usual chair, a whiskey bottle in his claw of which he’d drank half. My Mother was pacing by the hearth. That wasn’t usual for her, I can never recall a time she just sat still for a second unless it was to prepare to shoot something or someone. My sister was sat at the table, reading from an old magazine about warfare. That chick was bound to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Upon our entry, all three looked up at me. Their eyes followed the join where my claw connected to Periwinkle’s, then followed it up her leg to her. Finally, as though they’d both previously choreographed their movements, they turned to me again and awaited my explanation.

“Ma, Pa? I … I have something to tell you,” my tongue went dry on the first few words, my gazed hurriedly turning to the unoccupied corner of the room.

“I’m-“

“We already ken, Crowella,” my mother sliced open my confession like she was cutting into ham with her voice. She took a stride across the room and within a heartbeat she was in Periwinkle’s face, snatching my girl out of my hand and pinning her against the wall by her shoulders.

“MA!”

“You cannae jus’ confuse my daughter,” she said, her actions betraying her attempt to calmly bulldoze our relationship. Peri struggled in the grasp, claws trying to push my mother off.

“I’m not confused!” I protested, trying to tug my mother away from my beloved as well. “I’m a lesbian, Ma!”

“No.” The matriarch almost hurled the weight of Periwinkle across the room just so that she could twist and confront me, her rebelling child. “How dare you suggest I created a mistake? You’ve been misled and this is your cry for help, you want to be a normal, strong member of this family and not a spineless accident wasting life with this clarty chancer,” I reeled back from her words and her vile aura of prejudices, unable to get more than a few steps out of her reach. Peri was back on her claws and trying to come to my rescue, whilst my sister and even my Pa were motionless.

“You cannae mean that, Ma. You’ve ken for a while that I’m a lesbian! I-“ the words were squeezed out of my vocal chords by tight claws.

Nightingale MacRural was not a griffon you could argue with. She’d silenced my father several times in front of my young eyes with raised fists. She’d come close to teaching my sister a few lessons on how to take a punch. However, out of everyone in my family, I’d been the biggest disappointment. In mother’s eyes, the only way I could start behaving like a true griffon was if I was beaten like one.

Between the both of us, Snowbird was trying to fight to keep me from choking to death in the clutches of my own mother’s talons.

“Stop it! Stop! You’re killing her!”

“Say it,” mother strived to reverse the truth of my sexual orientation, “say you want to be fixed. Apologise for havering about this drivel and tell me you’re willin’ to change or I’ll make you change, Crowella.”

“Let her go!” Snowbird was trying her best to pull the griffon who brought me into this world away from me, as I grew close to being snuffed out of it.

“I… cannae…” I managed, my breast sucking for air out of its reach.

Plunging from the crushing claws around my neck to the floor felt like jumping from a roof several stories high. When I hit the flagstones, I rolled on to my side and coughed on the oxygen I greedily consumed. Snowbird fell beside me to tend to my raw gullet, whilst I heard the griffoness’ claws click when she crossed the room. The sound of the gun cabinet being opened was unmistakable, a weapon retrieved from it before it was closed again.

I attempted to get to my feet to stop her, but I wasn’t strong enough. Although my feet kicked the wall, floor and Periwinkle, I was just a floundering wounded animal on the ground. Nightingale’s rifle rose, prepared to shoot and kill my dearest friend.

Pa reacted quickly. He was out of his chair with speed I’d never known the old, alcohol-dependant griffon to have, snatching the gun as it fired. The fire pellet swirled past the feathers of Periwinkle’s head and hit the wall behind us. It would have been a kill shot if it had not missed.

Mother was in shock, unable to think of how to be angry with my dear old dad for making her miss such a close-range shot. She was still trying to tug the gun from my father’s grip, but he held it fast. Snowbird was horrified, screaming out at how mother had tried to kill her. I was angry.

“I don’t care about this family!” I announced with my hoarse and hurt voice, rising unceremoniously to shield Periwinkle.

“Crowella.”

“I don’t care about this village!”

“Crowella!”

“I don’t care about death,” I howled as my heart gave up on all but one of us, “I don’t care, I am me!”

“CROWELLA!” my father finally bellowed over me. I had more to say, but of the other four in the room only he and Periwinkle had any control over me at this point. Wavering, I dropped my sight over to him.

The effects of my Pa’s drinking were not as prominent the last time I set eyes on the sage, mature griffon. He was alert, aware and, in my opinion, subjugated. My mother still tugged at the gun in his grip, but either she wasn’t trying or my father had found some super-strength that none of us had known he was capable of. In Nightingale’s expression, I could see she was fighting a turmoil in her mind. Knowing the events that followed, I believe she was mentally collecting the power to do the unthinkable.

“I think you should leave now, Ella.”

The bereft words made my fragile heart shatter entirely. My father was shunning me, the daughter he’d given griffon-back rides to, encouraged to sing with him, taught to grow up with love and respect for her elders.

I opened my mouth to argue, only for Peri to pull me urgently. It was as though she knew what was coming next, although I believed then it was in fact because she was scared of being a target again.

“Pa?”

“No, Ella. Go.”

“Pa!”

“Go!”

Grief and loathing had welded my feet to the floor. I would not have moved if it wasn’t for my Snowbird. In my head, I argued with Peri that I was no longer afraid, that I could defeat my mother once and for all now, but my mouth refused to open and the rest of my body was not willing to try.

The last thing I remember seeing in that dark and rain-battered cottage was my mother’s eyes, still fixed on my father with a glassy, loveless gaze as she finally yanked her weapon clean from his talons. She may have turned the gun towards Periwinkle again as she slammed the door shut behind us, however everything happened so quickly that I was never sure.

We ran. Our lives depended on it, we were certain of that. We weren’t safe in the village anymore. We weren’t safe in the Highlands either, mother had a conglomeration of friends and allies. We’d have to leave what we couldn’t carry and go that night.

Bam!

Time dropped to a crawling pace. I skidded in the mud, swivelling around to look to the shadow of my family home. It looked ordinary; candles flickering in the windows, smoke lifting from the chimney into the black tar rain, door still shut and walls that had sheltered me for years unchanged, unable to show me what had happened within.

But I knew, before the weather-muffled cry of Mag shouting for my Pa in the bleak house across the streets, I knew my father was gone.

I wanted to run back, to do something, anything to fight for my dad and bring him back, keep him alive, save him. As I screamed myself raw and tried to dash back, Periwinkle threw herself on me. It was all she could do to stop me sending myself into the waiting sights of my mother’s rifle.

Over my wails in the midst of that muddy bed, Snowbird held me. We couldn’t be there long, we had to move, but for a second she did enough to tell me she was there with me in my pain. She wasn’t going to desert me, but staying in that puddle of rain, dirt and tears was not an option.

“Crow! Come on! There’s nothing we can do, get up! CROW!” Wrenched to my feet, I somehow found the strength to run with Peri, almost unable to see through hot and streaming eyes. I saw her stained-cloud form lift into the air and followed her, the wings she’d trained taking me up and away from the place I could never call home again.

As we flew, I pictured his face again and again like some demented slideshow determined to destroy me, his eyes resolute and his voice remorseful.

“I think you should leave now, Ella.”

I have no idea how long we were airborne after that. I only remember tumbling upon touchdown, unable to be courageous any longer. Snowbird landed with me, her body and wings folding around me like a bandage. We did enough to seek cover from the weather and Peri had the wisdom to build a fire, but I was inconsolable.

Once the flames were crackling on the least-wet sticks my love could find, she moved in to hold me. The tears from both of us would not dry that night.

*** *** ***

“Come on, get the chains off of her, for Celestia’s sake. She’s a hero, not a criminal,” Overstallion Overlook was at my door with two guards, one fumbling with keys whilst the other looked adorably lost.

Hero? That wasn’t a word I had ever associated myself with. The idea that any of my actions could be considered heroic was utterly laughable to me and I couldn’t resist a snort.

“Hello, Overstallion. I have some complaints about my current abode,” I mustered some cheerfulness into my voice with a clang of my chains for effect.

“I expect you do, Miss. Crow,” his head bowed graciously to me, “please, accept my apologies for incarcerating you after all you and your friends did to put down a menace to our Stable.”

Baffled, I nodded cautiously whilst the guardpony worked on freeing my aching legs. The metal loops dropped and moaned a little too orgasmically at the feeling of being able to freely move my limbs about once more.

“On your feet, come on,” urged the guard, helping me back to the door once more. My thoughts of the scratching wall were gone, all I wanted now was a proper mattress and something with a lot of alcohol in it. However, Overlook had more to say first.

As he guided me past the cells once more, I looked around, expecting some complaints from the Snips regarding my freedom. The first cell we passed was empty. Then the next, and the next. The Snips were gone.

“Was there a jailbreak whilst I was napping?” I asked, looking to stallion with the smart-pony spectacles. When he shook his head, his angel-feather mane wisped from left to right.

“Nothing of the sort. Chief of Security Procrustean brought fresh proof to the council of Stable T-Thirty that the ponies we arrested upon your rescue were plotting a rebellion within the Stable. We’ve moved them on. Come, I’ll explain more when I reunite you with your friends.”

Crusty was observing at the far end of the corridor, unlocking the main gate for us. His beady eyes locked on to me as we passed him, his gaze demanding I do not deviate from my vocal contract with him. Being under his hoof made me feel physically sick to the stomach.

Crossing through the gateway, the three ponies continued to lead me to the Beta room whilst avoiding the first. I could see that some poor guards had been ordered to clean the crime scene in interview room Alpha, mops, clothes and buckets stained red. I found myself wondering just what would have happened to that body.

“I must apologise for that as well,” Overlook said ruefully as he glanced in also, “I understand that the raider you were interviewed with lashed out due to a mistake on our parts.” I considered telling him the truth, but after everything I’d seen Procrustean do thus far, I didn’t think mutiny was beyond his capability.

“Accidents happen,” I mumbled as I was shown through the door.

“Crow!” Sighed Gypsy in relief as soon as she saw me. She slipped down from the chair to hug me. I cuddled her back gladly and glanced over her shoulder at Elm, who was watching us as though he’d never seen a pair of mares embrace before. He was bandaged around the stomach, the white ribbons disappearing under his Stable suit.

“Are you both alright?” I asked in concern as I nudged my favourite friend.

“We’re fine, thanks chick,” she answered hastily, busying herself by pushing strands of mane out of her eyes, “I had a little bit of radiation poisoning. Couple of RadAways and I was back to perky old me again.”

“Please take a seat,” Overlook requested as I tried to determine the insincere face my friend was using. Gypsy couldn’t look me in the eye, and I knew that meant something else was going on with her, I just couldn’t convince her to say what with other ponies around.

“Miss. Crow?”

“Miss. MacRural actually, Overstallion,” Elmwood said for me, “Crow’s her first name. Just Crow. Nothing comes after that bit except MacRural, I promise.” His face asked me to try not to hit him. The overstallion gave a bemused huff and nodded without an ounce of understanding in what Elm really meant.

“Very well, Miss. MacRural, if you please?” Gyspy and I joined Overlook and Elmwood at the table, as water was passed to us by a waiting guard. I willed it to be a beer but my powers of persuasion were not powerful enough, so I sipped from the glass glumly.

“Firstly, on behalf of Stable T-Thirty, I want to offer my appreciation for your foresight and instinct to stop a horrible attack on our good ponies,” he pushed his glasses up and gave us equal smiles. I gazed briefly across the table to Elm, who caught me looking and returned a bright beam across his muzzle, followed by the mouthed words, “please don’t hit me.”

“Had you not apprehended the villains when you did, they could and would have hurt many more ponies. Your bravery and innocence in the attack has been noted, and your freedom has been assured,” Overlook placed both forehooves on the table and leaned into us.

“Procrustean and the council have reason to believe that these raiders who infected the minds of the four terrorists might still be at large and preparing a larger attack.” The overstallion sighed wearily, touching his glasses again. The wire framed circles were determined not to stay on his nose.

“You want us to keep a look out and tell you what we find?” Elm said, filling the gaps. Overlook, the master of looking contrite, confirmed the suspicion.

“I won’t ask you to put yourselves in harm’s way again,” he told us, “I just need to know that we are all protected from those jealous of our good hearts.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. O,” Elm said jubilantly, giving him such a firm push that he nearly knocked him off of his chair. “We’ll take the case! We just need a couple of things to sweeten the deal.”

“Ah, of course you’ll be paid,” Overlook agreed, nodding, “and your desires and needs will be considered. Is there anything else I can arrange for you now?”

Elm gave a thoughtful hum then smiled over at me, “ladies first?”

*** *** ***

The healing potion was like a cooling breeze on a sweltering day, soothing the angry notch in my shoulder gradually from the moment I ingested the medicine.

I examined myself in a true mirror this time, stood in the bath house for the second time during my stay in the Stable. My wishes from Overlook had been simple; a private bath, a supply of alcohol, a proper opportunity to heal, and the suit I’d previously rejected. He granted all four.

Infuriatingly, I looked good. The navy uniform with gold trim had been fitted just for me by one of the Stable seamstresses, with short sleeves for my wings to protrude from. The only hiccup had been getting it over my PipBuck, which had been an awkward and annoying labor. Thankfully, I got it on, although I had to wonder how I was going to get it off again.

I stroked the suit down with my front feet to straighten it. The Stable-Tec logo and T-Thirty numbering were on my collar, shoulder and breast, just to remind me where I was and who I belonged to now. I got to keep my bandana at least, and so I still felt like myself although some pony had washed it and now it stank of strong flowers.

I had finally chosen to wear this because I needed to fit in with the rest of the Stable. Crusty wanted me to be his tattletale and that didn’t sit right with me, but as long as I did as Poxy had originally asked and started playing from the same record, I could get away with telling him all was well. I couldn’t report my fellow comrades if there was nothing to report.

The true blue griffoness stared out of the shiny glass at me, blinking slowly and examining the odd scars under the feathers that told the stories of my life. She, like me, was considering whether to start drinking, find a song we could actually sing for the Seven-Day rule, figure out just what was up with Gypsy or try to locate Mole.

Hours ago, all I’d wanted was a drink. After having time in the bath to abide with everything else that had happened to me during my one stint in Procrustean’s care, my priorities had changed.

I needed that smile.

“Oh fuck,” I told the idiotic griffoness mouthing the same words along with me through the reflection as we both thought of Molasses Candy, “you’re falling for that bucking spaz.”

For some reason, that just made me smile more.

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Completed - Jailbird Blues
Quest Perk added - Twinkle-talons (level one): You are now able to sneak 10% better within range of enemies.

Quest Complete - Stable T30
Quest Perk added - Suited for Success - Access to 1st Rank armor modifications

Level up!
New Perk: Ghosts of the Past - Add +1 to Acumen

Quest Begun - Mane Squeeze
Quest Begun - Bun In The Oven
Quest Begun - Bitch Snitch

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Objects In The Rearview Mirror - Meatloaf

Another long one, getting longer and longer... It's 3AM! I did not mean to stay up this late editing this chapter but I'm happy I did, I'm happy with the end result of this. The story is really starting to get some meat on it's bones.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 015 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part Two)

Entry 014 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part One)

How do we find something lost so deeply to the dark that we are too blind to see it? The answer is more simple than you may believe, my loyal subjects. You follow your heart to it.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 014 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part One)

Something strange happened next.

That might sound like the understatement of the century. I’d just encountered ghostly, green apparitions that sang to you, found out that if I wanted to live then I had to sing in a competition within the next seven days (and I’d already lost one of those days to prison), and been caught talking to a noisy wall. All of that had been downright bizarre, and whilst the next occurrence wasn’t quite at that level, it was still queer enough to be noted.

“Hello, Just Crow,” smiled a mare with pigtails cheerily on passing. I returned the greeting and then tried to ask how they knew me, but they were already lost to the crowd. Wait, “Just Crow?” I tried to find the lady again, but she’d already moved on and become a nopony once more.

Shrugging, I went to continue my journey. I had one Molasses Candy fixed in my mind, I was looking forward to seeing her and wasn’t expecting any pony to get in my way. However, I was barely alone for a second before I was accosted by another mare who grasped and shook my talon.

“Way to go, sister,” she cried nasally, “You showed ‘em what girl power is all about!”

“Err, thanks. No, wait, showed who?” I asked, but she had hustled off as quickly as that last pony. Scratching my head, I tried to carry on, only to have my new name called once more. Bemusement was paving way for vexation as I growled, spinning myself one-hundred and eighty degrees to face the shouter.

“What?” I yelled, and instantly regretted it. A little filly, the young one with the glasses whom had visited me in the hospital wing with her classmates, stood smiling and holding up a grey lump in a band of yellow light.

“Hello” she said softly, “I made this, um, to say th-thank you for saving our Stable.” I wasn’t sure how the little thing had managed to find me. I had images of her running up and down the Stable looking for me then rummaging through flowerpots, in hedges and trash cans when she got desperate to find me.

“Err, thanks. What is it?” I asked bluntly, plucking it out of the air, the magic evaporating as I did so.

“It’s a statue of you being a hero and making bad ponies’ heads explode,” she proclaimed importantly, puffing out her chest. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or horrified that I’d taught her and her classmates that cranium bursting weapons were a thing.

“This is supposed to be me?” I held it up between two claws gingerly as though it was a horrible alien baby. The thing had a bulbous head, a cone for a beak, and the wings looked like pizza slices. “If this is what I look like in real life, then I make the things from Planet Zod look practically adorable,” I grumbled, referencing a comic I’d scavenged from an old miner colony. I looked up and saw a trembling lip on the foal, giving a small sigh. I had to blend in, not be the outcast.

“But I really like it. You captured my big balloon for a head perfectly and you can tell I really want to make a bad pony’s head go splat. Good job, squirt.”

“Your head is kind of balloon-like,” she giggled. Everypony gets one. The complement cheered her up ecstatically, and I gave her a quick head ruffle before explaining I had important business elsewhere.

“Okay, bye Just Crow, hope I see you soon,” she peeped, before turning to gallop away, her small stature allowing her to disappear through legs and then be blocked from view shortly after by a new group of faces. Whilst chatting to her, I had not known more and more ponies had gathered around me and by the time I realised it, they had me surrounded.

“Hey, Miss. Just Crow. Try my Haytallian seed loaf, on the house to you!” I had a bundle tucked under my wing. Another tried to put a bottle into my free claw. I took it, until I discovered to my dismay that this wasn’t alcoholic.

“You look like you could use a bottle of Snail Bright’s Magical Mystery Curative for all things! Guaranteed to make you feel 20% healthier, Miss. Just Crow,” another stallion enlightened to me enthusiastically. I didn’t get the opportunity to decline the gift as a horse pushed to the front with a camera.

“Guardian Griffon! Can we get a photo for the T-Thirty Tabloid?” I had a couple of seconds, in which all I could do was question the new nickname before a bright flash lit up my eyesight. My eyes watered with the white orbs bouncing around my pupils, my body slumping into a wall of fussing creatures.

“Oh, please can we get a photo with the Guardian Griffon?”

“Sure!”

“Why are you-?” Flash-flash-flash!

More white lights punched me in the eyes until I raised my wings over them, finding myself pushed and prodded and moved about. Clearing the temporary film in my vision, I found the crowd only getting thicker and more invasive. I had to make a quick get away before this got out of control.

I crouched and propelled myself up out of the tangle of fanatics, flapping just above them with my gifts bundled in my upper legs. I managed to create a motion that encouraged the ponies to be silent.

“Okay, thank you for-” but the cheers began before I could reach my fifth word, drowning me out before I could make my requests for somepony to tell me what in the name of Griffonstone was going on here. I made another attempt to settle them down and retry, “why are you calling me-“

“Guardian Griffon!” I thought some pony was finishing my question to begin with, before they cried it again and again, others joining them.

“Guardian Griffon, Guardian Griffon, Guardian Griffon!” They had begun to chant for me, stomping their hooves to my new moniker. It was driving yet more onlookers to my position. Everypony had signed on to the same belief that I was some sort of idol that they needed to worship and provide offerings to.

Well, not everypony, I realised as I thought of Procrustean and Poxy. I briefly wondered how the leader of the raiders was handling this place. Extremely well, I assumed, based on her new squeeze; Whiskey Jack.

“I have to do the thing in the place now,” I called out over everypony, “so, bye!” I zipped off before I could be stopped, and checked the map on my PipBuck, making sure I didn’t have to stop before I reached my destination incase I got mobbed again.

*** *** ***

“Mole! Everypony has gone crazy! You won’t believe-” I skidded to a halt as the shop door of Mole’s store jingled shut behind me. After my new pony itch had sent me the location of her shop in the Le Grand Sector, I had come expecting Mole to be alone. My assumption was based on the previous evaluation of her business, or with so few customers that it didn’t matter too much when I charged in to speak to her, but what do they say about assumptions? They just make an ass out of you and me.

Gypsy was leaning on the counter beside my friend, her ribboned tail dancing happily as she chomped on one of the selection of taster candy the candy-mare had provided her with to try. Both were looking my way.

“Oh! Gypsy! Mole! In the same room! Look at that! I-I mean, I’m sorry, a-am I interrupting?” I looked between the pair almost-timidly, my wings ruffling. In actual fact, this was a horrible circumstance! My two deepest crushes were standing together, talking and sharing sweets, whilst I had been planning my next words for Mole. Now I had to think of new things to say whilst my outside friend was here.

“Not at all,” piped up Mole, waving me in as she somehow managed to juggle a circle of confectionary over her head without dropping a single one. She was going to have to show me how she did that one day. “Come on in and make yourself at home!” Instead of finishing her trick traditionally, she reangled the toss of her hooves and chucked the sweets towards her open mouth, swallowing each one whole with a delicious “ulp!”

“I was just catching up with your new bestie, dudette, thought I’d get to know who’s the best mare you’re replacing me with.” The damn diva wore the dirtiest smirk on her face, and it was taking all of my stamina not to find a way to turn tail and flee from the little shop of delights. Mole gave a horrified gasp.

“You’re replacing her with me? No no no, you can’t Crow! We can share you! Gypsy and me will both be your best mares, right Gypsy Breeze?” That was it for me, I was backing into the door, but I wasn’t quick enough. The purple mare giggled and hurried over, pulling me along the floor with legs and telekinesis.

“Hehe, ooohf! Don’t worry, Molly! I was just teasing our mutual friend,” she slid me up to the desk and the sugar-doped pony hopped over the counter to tackle me with a hug, forcing me to drop my expiations. I received a muzzle on the beak and laughed, my tail flicking as I cuddled her back for a moment. Then, I remembered that Gypsy was right there and looking pretty smug.

“Hey, what’d I say about hugging?” I ordered, although it was far gentler than I had meant it to be. The filly leaped back onto her hooves with a salute and zipped back to the till.

“Aye, aye Captain! Would you care for a sample tray too?” She was scooting around her shelves, collecting different items before I had a chance to provide an answer. Breeze, still tackling her own collection of treats, gave me another wicked glance. Oh Princess Moonbutt, I thought to myself, what is this devilmare planning?

“Molly actually makes this friggin’ stuff herself, Flaps, and it’s not half bad. You know, some ponies would consider an astute, innovative mare a desirable catch, but you’re still single, right Molly?”

“Single and ready to sing, guuurl!” replied Mole lyrically, pirouetting before arriving beside me with my own selection of her inventory. I gave her a weak smile and a weaker thank you before I tucked in to a yellow one.

My face felt like it was trying to rearrange itself through my skull and out of the otherside. My eyes scrunched and within seconds I spat the sweet out and watched it skid across the floor, rolling beneath a shelving unit to gather dust, hair and small bugs unfortunate enough to get stuck trying to feast on it. Mole giggled at the silly faces I was pulling at first, but as I rubbed my eyes I heard the laughter falter, turning to worry.

“Captain?”

“It wasn’t that bad, really,” I quickly tried to advise, “I’m just sour enough already, aye?” Gypsy nodded. Mole shook her head and made herself look busy by trying to straighten a price list.

“You don’t like them, I get it,” her mane seemed to deflate as she accepted the bad criticism, reaching out to take the tray away. I caught it just in time.

“Hold up, hen. Let’s just try one more. What about the one’s on your flank, you got any of those?”

“Oh-ho-ho? You wanna eat her Cutiemark, Crow?” Gypsy teased after a quick glance at the confectionaires rear. I squawked uncomfortably, but the joke seemed to reinvigorate the other little horse with the dopey ears. So much so, she joined in, hopping her rear up onto the counter to give me a better look.

“Absolutely everything is lickable in the Sweet Elite store! Just don’t bite if you still want teeth, or a beak, or whatever!” She guffawed cheekily, whilst the blonde enchantress raised her eyebrows at me and grinned. She was trying to set me up with Mole, which was what I wanted but not with Gypsy’s bragging rights or “I-told-you-so’s” attached to it. Damn it, this was my thing!

Mole levitated a ball coated in the same black and gold wrapper as her mark and, positively showing off, removed the cover to reveal the dark brown gem inside. I blinked at it a moment, until Mole prompted me to open wide and say ‘Ah’. I caught Gypsy nodding eagerly, and clopped a hoof when I shut my beak on it.

The treat was sugary, treacle-like and I found it delicious. I was enjoying it so much that I did not notice the next problem it was creating for me until I tried to tell Mole I enjoyed this one. My beak was glued shut.

“What’s that Crow? You like it?” taunted Miss. Breeze. Oh no, I thought, don’t give her this power over me, Celestia, I beg you. The grin told me Celestia wasn’t listening. Mole Squealed.

“I think she does like it!” Mole cried, “she does, she does!” I gave a weak shrug and nodded whilst my eyes pleaded with Gypsy not to do what she was planning next.

“She does,” agreed the evil mare, “and I think I know something else she likes, or rather, someone…” No, no, no! I danced on the spot like a drunken leprechaun, trying to catch the other pony’s attention. Mole just beamed and did a rather better impression of a dancing mythical nymph than I was doing.

“Oh yeah, Breezy?”

“Mhm, and that somepony is you…” she completed the betrayal with a boop of a hoof on Molasses’ snout. I groaned and shook my head heavily, trying to stretch my beak open wide enough to defend my corner. The younger of the two chuckled happily.

“Oh, I know that!” she squeaked, flashing a damned adorable smile towards me.

“I mean, like-like… you know, love.” The knife was sunk into my shoulder blades and there was no getting it out now. I sagged as I watched the realisation form on Molasses Candy’s face. It was like a party she had been witnessing in her mind had turned out to be a mirage of rocks and household utensils. The smile clung on to her muzzle before it slipped from the edges of her snout and floated downwards, jaw parting softly. Her tongue was stained a deep blue from a sweet she’d eaten earlier.

“Love?” She asked quietly. A clumsy laugh, one that wasn’t sure whether it had been invited to the event, stumbled out of her mouth. “Don’t be silly Gypsy, mares cannot fall in love. Unless you mean like, sister-love or motherly-love or even cousin-love, or-”

“None of those, Moley,” crooned Breeze, leaning in, “love-love. Mares can love other mares, and I have seen the way you two are together. I think you like her just as-”

“Gypsy!” I had managed to snag my mouth open with the aid of some picking with a talon and gave my friend a deadshot stare. The shout had my other friend recoiling, blinking up at me as though I was a bomb that had just begun to tick. I settled, sighing and shaking my head to gather my thoughts within the few seconds of silence. Pandora’s box was open now, and between hell and high waters, I was going to have to deal with that.

“Mole. Gypsy’s not wrong,” the mare beside me let out a breath she’d been holding, “and if you do not like me that way, we’re still friends. If you wanna explore it though, we can. I’m… I’ll take it as steady as you want to.” The pair of us, Gypsy and I, watched Mole and waited.

Time stood still. Not out of trepidation or fear, but because the brain of the usual chattering, eccentric little brown mouse was suddenly frozen and trying to reboot. Her chest rose and fell, blowing loud air through her open mouth, but otherwise she was transfixed on me.

“Molasses?” I got up, moving over to her. The purple mare followed my lead.

“Mo-”

“Ponies ca- Mares can’t- What are-YOU’RE CRAZY!” The barrage of stumbled thoughts that had jammed up the traffic in her head all flew out at once. I flapped, flailed and skipped several hops back at the startling display. Gypsy Breeze jumped backwards as well, unfortunately landing in my lap.

In one lithe motion, Mole pounced onto the counter, stood on two others as she pointed accusing hooves at both of us.

“You haven’t heard the rhyme?” Gypsy and I exchanged glances. I might have been learning not to question the brain of the nutty brown horse at this point, but that still threw the pair of us off guard. She had gone from rebuking relationships to nursery poems?

Mole didn’t wait before she burst into the song like a toddler having a tantrum.

“If a mare kisses with an evil enchantress,

And stallions go lovingly together to dances,

And they find themselves looking into each other’s eyes,

They’ll all find they fall into evil trances,

When they call it love then what will you do?

When they boil your faces in a horrible brew!

The Gardens of Equestria will be all burnt up,

And monsters will turn you into a terrible stew,

Soooo... Watch out!”

She heaved her chest for lungfuls of breath, waving her hooves over her head and staring wildly at us which gave the impression she was attempting to cast a voodoo curse on us. We merely sat back in shock at the words Mole used, not the way she used them.

“Molasses, you cannot believe that is right, can you?” My hugging buddy finally asked as she rose herself back up to full height. Mole hopped off of the makeshift platform, her eyes playing visual tennis with us as she smacked her gaze from one to the other.

“It’s what Mrs. Jubilee taught us in school. You saying a teacher lied, huh? Huh? HUH!” She came eyeball to eyeball to Gypsy, only partially threatening to my conflict-cultivated chum. “I got a message for you, Gypsy Breeze. If that is your real name!”

“... It is…”

“TEACHER’S CANNOT LIE!” She released the shout with a stomp of a forehoof, then began to slink back towards her counter with a dark rain cloud very clearly hung above her head. The smartest thing to do would have been for us both to leave the shop now and come back at a time when Mole was less upset. That would have been the smart thing for us to do.

“Really?” Gypsy chided, stamping her own leg in dominance, “you think teacher knows best? Well then, here’s a new lesson for you, Molasses Candy. Teachers can be wrong!” Succeeding her scolding statement, Gypsy did the unthinkable. She grabbed me by the shoulders, the ache in them minimal now or so I recollect, yanked me heavily down to her eye-level, and she kissed me.

I am going to let that sink in a moment. Gypsy Breeze kissed me. Not a peck, not a cheek smooch, and not a chaste little tryst. This was a full, mouth-over-beak, head tilted and feather gripped, snog.

Crow the big, bad, butch griffon had broken down in numerous places. If her PipBuck could recognise this error, it would have been screaming and flashing until its circuits burst into flames. If her body could have shown where the most critically affected areas were, her entire body would have been a scolding phosphorescence. It was such a paradigm shift in my whole life up until this point that it literally threw me into an out of body experience, where I could only see Gypsy, locked in an embrace with me, her hooves stroking the back of my head and her mane draped over my face. I was so in awe of this moment, the one I’d dreamed of from the day she gave me a new home, that I lost track of where I was and why this was happening now.

I only really started to get a grip of the situation I had been thrust into, and had even parted my beak slightly, when the screaming began. Mole was barely making any sense at first, the few words I did catch included “evil,” “wrong” and “jail”. Her legs grabbed me, the brown pony suddenly developing the super-strength needed to rip me off of my seductress. Drunken ballet moves turned into falling arse-side to the floor and looking shocked, embarrassed and awkwardly aroused. I had to shut those thoughts off fast as I understood that the long-eared Stable dweller wasn’t just mad at us, she was terrified as well.

“STOP!” She pointed accusingly at both of us. The actions reminded me of a wall-eyed junkie high on dash who I’d had the misfortune to bump into alone once. He had barely any mane, it looked as though he’d pulled it out in clumps based on the bloody scabs remaining, and he had stank of numerous fluids and substances. He’d impeached me for killing “his” moon, who he claimed turned into a mistress every night to come down and suck him off. I’d told him the moon could do better, only for him to lash out at the news. I knocked him out, but let him live; because where there’s a junkie, there’s a dealer, and they do not like you killing their customers.

“You are bad! You’re really, really bad! You’re going to make the security look you both up again and they’ll never let you out, and if they do that to you, they might do that to me for watching!” She snatched ankle-fulls of her lobes and tugged them, looking at each corner of the room before shaking her panicking head. “I didn’t, I wasn’t! I’m going to Mr. Minion now! I’m a good pony! I promise!”

Without only a droplet of insanity left for her to share with us, Molasses legs moved at a seperate frequency to the rest of her body, before they snagged at enough friction on the ground to get her running. The bell had barely jingled above the open door before she was gone, just a chocolate thunderbolt zooming through the ponies. I closed the door slowly with an ache in my heart and a cloud of confusion in my head, once I was certain she was gone and not coming back, before turning to the sheepish admirer I was left with, her face already admonishing herself for her deeds.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, too lost to find a flamboyant way of asking why the girlfriend of Elmwood was kissing me seconds after she’d served me as a main course to somepony else. I had a lot of time in retrospect to consider what I would have said instead.

“I-,” she shrugged pathetically, “I don’t know. I… my best answer is a mood swing?” yet she shook her head as she said it, knowing within that something wasn’t right. It was all over her face. I shut my eyes and pushed my clawed foot against them, turning my head up to the ceiling.

“Is… there something you want to tell me, Gypsy?” I grunted, turning around slowly to face her. She cringed at the question, tiptoeing back until her flank hit a shelf, knocking a jar of round colourful sweets over so that they went everywhere. I quickly bent over to start collecting the ones that we could see, but she shook her head and advised me that she could handle it.

Sparks erupted from her horn as she almost lit up the room, hugging each candy ball in magic. She rose them from the ground and swirled them above her head, a cosmos of sugary artificial colours and preservatives. Confident she’d raised all of them, the flock of sweets swung through the air and streamed into the jar in one patient line.

Despite still being frustrated and upset that Gypsy had torn up my relationship with Mole before it had even begun and confused my breaking heart further with a kiss, I still had to marvel at her magical prowess. She didn’t just think outside the box when it came to horn work, she was born outside the box, and she could figure out the right spells for a task just by looking at it for a few seconds. Collecting more than a few objects in one go was not an easy feat, I’d seen many try and fail, but Miss. Breeze made it look easy. That had made her a leader once, in a small band of ponies who weren’t sure what they had wanted to be after they’d found their freedom from slavers.

“There’s a lot of things we need to talk about, but I’m scared about the consequences,” she eventually admitted once the spectacle was finished and the jar was set the right way up. I moved towards her with my wings wriggling uncomfortably, taking a deep breath.

“Let’s start with the kiss,” I initiated, only to be stopped by four knocks on the closed door. I turned my head slowly, wondering whether our out-of-the-closet homophobe was back. Instead a stallion with a rusty mane was waving hurriedly through the window at us. I made a gesture for him to jog on, but Gypsy released the door handle and let the stallion in.

“Oh, phew, I thought you were closed. I need to collect an order for my cousin’s cute-ceañera and-” there was a flash of realisation over his eyes, looking between us in awe. “Wait. Are you the Ribboned Rescuer and the Guardian Griffon?”

*** *** ***

“Where’s Elmwood in all of this? Why isn’t he here with us, having to scribble the Bad-Eyed Bleeder or whatever it is they’re calling him on ponies’ flanks?” I asked Gypsy as the last few customers dwindled out of the door with signed goods. Having seen the opportunity to get out of having to spill the beans to me, Gypsy Breeze had immediately invited the gingernut horse in, and any of his friends too, to meet Ribbons and Guardian; the heroes of the Stable. We might as well have invited a pack of starving Timberwolves into the shop, that was the reality until Gypsy maintained order and demanded purchases in return for our signatures.

The gullible ponies agreed and each bought something just to get a signature from Gypsy and I. Bags of sweets and chocolates, long candy canes and cakes that were nearly entirely made of icing crossed the counter with envelopes we’d found and written on for them to keep. They picked up anything they could get to put in a signed bag from us, some not even fretting about a consumable purchase and just paying for the names on whatever writing material they could find. It had been one of the best trading days that Molasses’ store had ever seen and the confectionaire had not been back to witness it.

“I had to ditch him for a while,” Gypsy Breeze admitted as she tucked into her fourteenth cake. At this rate I was surprised she hadn’t been sick again, but I was also relieved that she was feeling well enough to eat once more. She took the last payment she’d received and opened the till to place it inside as well as to count our final earnings.

“Sometimes, the way he is... “ I watched her bite on her tongue, as if stopping herself from saying something she might regret. Her head turned to me with an expression of wistfulness, as though I should have already known the answers. I did, but I still rose my shoulders and shook my head.

“He’s a bit too much,” she expanded, “it’s like he’s got a fetish for different masks and has been locked in a mask shop for life. He wants to try every mask on and see which one really suits him, except that he thinks they all suit him so he keeps trying them on. He’ll never be happy with the face he’s got.” This time, her face asked me whether I understood what she meant or had it been too far out there. I gave a playfully concerned squint.

“You’ve been playing in the moon sugar again, haven’t you, hen?” I grinned wryly and lifted my PipBuck, just to check on the true proprietor of this establishment. After asking several of our early guests whether they’d seen Mole, one pointed out that I could just find out myself. They introduced me to one of my now favourite features of the PipBuck; it keeps track of the location of tagged objects or ponies.

“Bucky, can you check on Molasses Candy again for me, please?” I asked politely. My frustrating little sprite pranced onto the screen in his line-drawn Stable suit, tapped his chin, then created a yellowish-lime map of the Stable for me. The diagram zoomed down to the same location it had since my first attempt; a restroom located in the western maintenance wing on the farthest side of Stable T-Thirty to myself and Gypsy. It seems like Mole had gone to an extreme length to put the Stable between us and her. The guilt of seeing her stuck there, only moving to occasionally change stalls or visit the sink, was palpable.

“I’m going to have to go get her when we’re done here,” I told Gypsy as I turned the sign to say “The Sweet Elite Is Now Closed, Come Back Soon,” and locked the door. “What’s the plan again? Split the bits three-ways?” I wasn’t sure if the mare just hadn’t heard me or if she was ignoring me. I allowed myself to decide it was both.

“Tee-Total Radio~ooo,” sang the wireless on the highest shelf in the shop. Thankfully, it was through the ponies who had come to visit us that we also learned that the radio station was how word had gotten around about our exploits. One of the customers had insisted we put it on and give it a listen, then stuck around to wait for the music to turn to the daily news reports, whilst talking to us about… well, I forget, but it was a boring conversation anyway.

“Good afternoon, Tee-Totallers!” The voice on the other end of the broadcast was enjoying her job of delivering the news, despite having to do so every thirty minutes. The stallion who introduced us to Tee-Total Radio said that the DJ had one of the hottest voices in all of Stable T-Thirty. They’d got a boner for her, I assumed.

“This is DJ Dreamer, once again bringing you your ninety second update on the Stable news!

“Alright, Tee-Totallers, it’s been a tough few days for the Stable following the attack on our monumental museum. However, today we’ve heard that it could have been oh-so much worse! If a trio of heroes had not held back those attackers in the museum, they could have slaughtered many, many more.

“I have been reliably informed by my sources that the names of those heroes are Just Crow the Griffon, Gypsy Breeze and Elmwood, but some of you are already calling them the Guardian Griffon, the Ribboned Rescuer and the Black-Eyed Bruiser. If you see them before I do, give them some love from Dreamer and all her listeners, and I’ll try to get them onto the show before they perform their numbers for the Seven Day Rule.

“In other news, some of you are still reporting odd noises around the Stable following the Great Blackout ten years ago. However, our techie toolys have been hard at work to find the source of the sounds and have reported there to be no signs of a problem at present. They’ll keep on the lookout, but they still believe there’s nothing to fear.

“And lastly, many of you have already performed your songs for the Seven Day Rule and there’s been some amazing acts that we’ve already seen! Don’t forget to do so if you haven’t already, you don’t want our lovely Minstrels to have to get their mad on with you. Remember, it’s all for the longevity of the Stable and Equestria.

“I can happily report that Mellow Melody will be performing one of her songs for the rule tomorrow night in the Serenade Gardens, alongside The King of Cool and Black Cherry. Get your places early, folks, it’s going to be a popular show!

“This was DJ Dreamer with your ninety second update, if you missed any of the bulletin then stick around, we’ll be repeating the news every thirty minutes. But, for now, here’s a favourite of mine, “This Coming Storm,” by the beloved Sweetie Belle.”

The jigsaw clicked into place as I listened to the sweet, sad voice replace the news story for the umpteenth time. If I hadn’t been dwelling on Gypsy’s change of heart and Mole’s forsakened behaviours, I might have realised it sooner. Of course, how could I have been so blind to it before? It was obvious. I face-clawed with a groan.

“Elmwood did it,” I told Gypsy, who was studying the filled till tray with a hint of greed in her eyes.

“You’re going to have to be more specific there, Flap. Elmwood does many things,” she advised without a look in my direction.

“He was the one to speak to the radio pony. It’s all in the name ponies are calling me.”

“Guardian Griffon?”

“No. They call me “Just Crow,” like a misunderstanding,” I replied, with a grunt and a grimace, “ever since I told him not to call me Crowella, he’s made a fuss about it. This Dreamer pony must have got the wrong end of the stick when he said it to her.” Gypsy nodded sleepily and then blinked, as though she’d just woken up. I gave her a frown.

“Are you having a sugar-crash, hen?” I enquired, nudging her. She shook out of it after a few seconds.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, yeah. Knowing Elmwood, that makes sense,” she muttered, giving a grin gingerly.

“Nevermind that now, what’s with you? You were utterly away with the fairies then!” The mare nickered softly and pointed inside the cash counter.

“Young Candy’s got a pair of memory orbs in here,” she explained, glancing to me, “but they’ve got the balloons engraved on them from those ugly-ass posters all over Equestria.”

“The “Pinkie Pie is Watching You, Forever” ones?”

“Yeah, those ones,” she flicked at one of the memory orbs with the edge of a hoof again, then looked at me, “should I look at them?”

“Why?” If I was a better griffon, I would have said no, but privacy was not a word I heard often enough to be worried about and meant “must try harder” in my books.

“It might explain why your little friend is freaked out by the sight of a pair of girls kissing,” she suggested.

“Yeah, about that-“ I started, my body lurching with the thought of having to deal with the day’s previous and erroneous faux pas. Sensing the shift in the conversation again, the berry-purple babe struck an orb with her horn and immediately straightened up, her eyes were lost to the power of the memory.

Lost marbles; that’s the best explanation I could come up with for average memory orbs. Each one holds a single memory from a creature’s past, and can be replayed by a unicorn as many times as their heart’s desire so long as they have the magic to hold it. Since I wasn’t the kind of horny creature able to create the magic needed to enter the memories stored on these things, I only had unicorn’s word on what happens in them, but supposedly it was like possessing a body without having a hand on the controls. You see, hear, even feel, smell and taste what they did. They were created for spies and bigwigs to keep accurate records of their missions and dealings.

That’s why they were just lost marbles to me. The creators were mad enough to take something so important and then lose it, the finders were crazy enough to catch that moment locked in glass and collect it, and the rest of us saw them as pretty little things with no real significance. The other downside was that there was no way to exit until the vision was over.

Gypsy Breeze was locked into that orb for the entirety of its contents, she could not hear nor see or feel anything occurring on the outside world. I decided now that I could let her have it, everything that had welled up inside me since her lips had hugged my beak.

“How dare you,” I paused regularly between the words that I said, taking my time to know that the raw emotion I had pumping through my body was channeling itself in a productive manner. I couldn’t smash up Mole’s shop, no matter how therapeutic I thought it might be.

“How dare you,” the first phrase became repeated over and over as I paced and bought myself the courage to move on into the true accedance of my feelings. Finally, they could not be quelled any further and sloshed over the rim of the overfilled cup of my dysphoria.

“If you know,” I pressed my talons onto the desk and hung over the absent mare, “if you know how much my heart has bled for you, then you’re a cruel pony to do what you did, Gypsy Breeze.” I scuffed my cheeks with a front leg but there was nothing to mop up. I couldn’t create any more tears for the pony who had changed me so long ago.

“If you were aware of how many times I told and retold myself at night that you’d never be mine, only for the hope that someday you might be, every time you smiled my way, and still you kissed me for a laugh?” I scrunched shut my eyes and dug my claws into the desk, pulling deep wounds through the wood as I slid off of it to back away.

“I was moving on. I was going to follow your suggestion and give up on the unrealistic belief that I could be your rebound from Elmwood. I had chosen Molasses, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone. That’s not the reason I hated it though.” I crossed the room, peering out of the glass shop front.

The Stable was entering into a different mood. Somepony had told me that the lights in the Stable were specifically created to replicate day and night, but this was the first time I had properly witnessed it. Along the streets, lamps flicked and illuminated, replicating gaslights from an age when gas wasn’t a scarce commodity. The bubbling fountain statue was illuminated by orbs of light in the water, representing a pure light in the core of the underground city. The central roads of the Stable were getting less busy and the place had the eerie feeling of a silence that came before a nasty accident.

I knew my next words were my most damning of them all.

“I hated that kiss because I loved it. I wanted it,” I shuddered, pressing my ruby-bandaged forehead to the chill of the glass. “I wanted you.”

If I hadn’t taken my time to labor over every syllable as it left my mouth or cared how much impact my speech would have if my Gypsy was alert, I might have noticed the removing of the white projection screens from her eyes and seen her blinking back into the real world. I could possibly have even noticed her prepare to speak before I said the three words that would change my relationship with the mare for the length of time we had left together on Equestria.

“I loved you.”

Once said, it could never be taken back. I sank back from the window and wondered what reply I’d get if the mare had been awake. Little did I know…

“I’m pregnant, Crow.”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; About Her - Malcolm McLaren

Thank you to Blazie, this is the first published chapter he's edited for me, really super appreciate his hard work.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 016 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part One)

Entry 015 - Palpitations and Tremors (Part Two)

“I’m pregnant, Crow.”

The disclosure sank my revelation with lead weights around its ankles. I don’t think either of us did anything for several minutes, I certainly didn’t and I couldn’t recollect Gypsy doing anything either. We sat in a closed shop that didn’t belong to us, leaning on a counter that bore my claw marks and pen lines where we’d missed the thing we were signing, lost in a universe we were utterly disorientated by.

“Elmwood doesn’t know and I’d like to keep it that way for now,” my unicorn friend finally obligated me, when she was ready to speak again. I tried to piece the words she’d said into the right order in my head and then said the cleverest thing I could muster.

“Holy mother of the biggest bag of dicks, Gypsy. You’re pregnant,” It was the smartest thing my brain could work out to say, but it was not a lesson in how to speak egghead.

“Okay, we’ve established that,” mumbled the mum-to-be sassily, “my moods have been all over the place. My head is on the moon and my stomach isn’t sure whether to squeeze or expand my waistline.”

“You don’t want Elmwood to know?” I was following this at the pace of a turtle and she made a point to make me aware of this before she continued.

“I love Woody, but sometimes he scares me too. The masks,” she reiterated, and this time I understood.

“But he is the Pa, aye?” I asked cautiously. Whilst I wasn’t expecting Gypsy to be the type to sleep around, common relationship guidelines did not really apply to Equestria anymore and even less to Raider groups. I still deserved the hard stare I received for the question.

“No, it was that one magical night with a hellhound. He was such a surprisingly gentle lover,” she laced her reply with sarcasm.

“Oi! How am I supposed to know? You two were bucking last night, but I dunnae think babies work that fast, do they? Unless yer magic stretches to midwifery now?” My rant brought the laughter out of her and together we were finally able to relax before she spoke again, moving closer to me.

“I think it was two months ago, when we were on the coast of Side-Saddle Island, camped outside Fort Berrytwist. There was that epic bucking sunset, when the grey skies turned pink for a little while and the water burned orange,” Gypsy smiled comfortably as she reminisced on that moment’s reprieve from being the villains if the Wastes. I nodded, remembering that night as well. I’d eventually spent it with Poxy, because you couldn’t witness a rare beauty alone in the world where clouds reigned the skyscape.

“Even if it wasn’t then, I’d lie and say it was.” She appreciated the sentiment and began to lean towards me for a hug when we both had the same thought spring into our minds.

“You bucking snogged me,” I crowed, whilst Breezy went with the more tactical, “listen, about that kiss…”

“Kiss? Your tongue was trying to find the candy I’d swallowed!”

“It wasn’t as bad as that,”

“It wasn’t bad at all, just bad timing!”

“I gotta agree, dudette, but I had my reasons…” she stopped and I think she expected me to interrupt her again, but this time I stopped as well. Was I hearing this right; The Prench embrace had not been an accident in her eyes, so much so that she had even liked it? I patiently gave her time to say what she really needed to say. Realizing she definitely could not put off the inevitable this time, Gypsy sighed and moved her head into my shoulder. I didn’t stop her and accepted her with forgiveness and love before I’d actually heard her excuses.

“Elmwood’s not fit to be a father,” it was a strange beginning to this explanation, but this had been a bizarre day all around. A bizarre week, in fact. “He does some wonderful things, gets us into some utterly-crazy fun situations, and I do love him, Crow, I do, but he can’t be a dad. He’s too self-centered and egotistical to be in charge of a life that needs him.”

“You’re gonna abort then,” I assumed rather than asked. To my surprise, her head was shaken, sending flutters and ripples through the multi-color ribbons in her mane. At some point, I noticed that she’d changed the old, fraying and filthy ones for pristine ones, their colors bolder and fresher.

“I want to be a mom, Feathers, and in this world, I don’t know how many chances I’ll get. Thing is, I can’t do it on my own. I’m strong and I can fight with hoof and horn like a bad flank but I’m not dumb, I need someone to help me in this. Someone I trust…” someone she trusted. Not somepony. I did not know whether to feel exploited or cherished.

“You kissed me to claim me,” I figured carefully, deducing the reasons from the moment her lips found mine, “you weren’t trying to push Mole to me. You were trying to freak her out.”

“No,” Gypsy denied solemnly, holding up a hoof, “I wanted that to work on a small level so that I could move on from thinking about you. Only, when it looked like it wasn’t, my other desires pushed me to make it fail harder. I saw it as a sign saying, “Mole’s not interested, go get her, Breeze,” and that’s exactly what I did.” I still held her as my mind wandered across the last few words that my old friend had said. My heart was skipping beats, struggling to find the right tempo for this moment. The Radio was playing “Mane Squeeze,” a ‘new’ track that DJ Dreamer was excited to have received from one of the Stable Fifty-Four ponies, who had recorded it onto their own PipBuck. The group who sang the song were extremely firm favorites of DJ Pon3 in the Wastelands, so I’d heard the song often. This time, however, it felt just right.

I felt like any moment Mole and Deadwood would leap out from a hidden doorway and point at me, laughing about how all three of them had tricked me. My concerns never came to pass.

“You knew how I felt for you all this time, didn’t you?” I asked, a feeling akin to being able to ask what the meaning of life was on the day of your death.

“How could I not? The little bird who cannot sing, and lets me sing for her. Who else listens to me the way you do? No pony, I can tell you that much. I knew how you felt about me, and I admired how long you did nothing about it.” I thought I would have been upset, and I had every reason to be, but instead, I felt comforted by the knowledge that I had been noticed.

“I loved you, Gypsy.” I told her importantly.

“I know,” she hesitated, “loved?”

“Loved,” I assured her, although I was not sure I meant the words really, “right now, I don’t know what to think. There’s still Elm, and Mole, and you’re pregnant.” She went limp in my careful grasp, her forelegs held around my waist. There was something missing from her explanation that was as blindingly obvious as a tank-sized turtle playing the trombone to me.

“You haven’t said you love me.” It was a point of fact, not a question, and it made her stiffen once more. She held her breath for a long time. Too long for her next words to be genuine.

“Crow, I-”

Whurrrrrrrrrr-ah! Whurrrrrrrrrr-ah! Whurrrrrrrrrr-ah! Whurrrrrrrrrr-ah!

The klaxon was the death rattle of an ursa major and a scream of a hydra in constant battle with one another, crying out in unison. Gypsy and I leaped up with a start immediately, thinking we’d precariously set off any thievery alarm. A hole opened up in the ceiling, and down dropped a cylinder with silver metal pipes, pointing straight towards us. A turret!

Cursing profusely, the pair of us dived behind the counter and wondered what our rotten luck had tossed at us now until we realized, huddled without a weapon to claw and hoof, that we were not being shot. Despite this, Gypsy still gave a few paper bags a wave to test the system. The gun swiveled and whirred to follow the bags, but never fired, and this peaceful reservation continued when we plucked up the courage to look at it. Our heads remained intact and un-shot.

Now we could see the other Stableponies dashing past the shop window and not attempting to force their way in to challenge us. The dawning revelation that whatever was going on was bigger than us forced us to race to action, hurrying through the door and attempting to flag a pony down who could tell us what was occurring.

Upon turning, I was instantly greeted by a floating mare with a short mane and one big ribbon around her head, tied in a bow at her forehead to keep her fringe up out of her eyes. Her wide, concerned eyes had to be foreseeing a prophecy that I was not privy to. Gypsy yelped in shock when she saw our pollen-collated phantom.

“Warning, warning,” professed the minstrel girl with a young but familiar Manehattan accent, “a civil danger has been announced in the Western Sector of Stable T-Thirty. This is not a test. This is not a test. Analysis; hostile takeover in the Western Sector of Stable T-Thirty. For your safety, the Stable Emergency systems have been activated and the Minstrel Defenses have been released. Please follow your Minstrel to the safe rooms until the threat has passed.”

My heart cut through my chest and plunged itself to the cold floor. The Western Sector. That was where the danger was. That was where Molasses Candy had last been seen.

“Gypsy, Mole’s in trouble!” I yelled, spinning on my hind paws and starting to pound my wings to burst myself along the catwalk, whilst already commanding Bucky to give me directions to Mole’s bathroom hideout. I wasn’t more than a few wingbeats in when something cold and strong wrapped itself around me, snatching me from the air. I was being wrapped up by a spinach snake, my wings tugged together and my limbs forced up under me so that I became a parcel, bouncing hard on the bumpy walkway and coming to a halt.

“Do not fight. Cease all movements. You were going the wrong way. Relax and your Minstrel will correct your retreat path.”

The jade serpent rose a pony head as it lifted to look at me, speaking as calmly as a mother correcting a placid child whilst I struggled in vain to escape the chokingly tight grip of the new form the Minstrel had taken. It repeated the message as Gypsy hurried to try and free me before it faced her and flung extra castigating vines out to hold her hooves down as well. Her horn lit, but before the intensity had wrapped around her spire, a blanket of green snagged it and neutralized the spell.

“You are becoming a hazard to your fellow ponies,” the collection of particles squeezed tighter, “if you do not cooperate, then you will be extinguished. Please, abandon your fight and return to your attending Minstrel.”

“Oh, this isn’t fair,” whimpered Gypsy, trying to pull herself free and shake the matter off of her horn. I went to speak but the coiled body covered my mouth and forced my tongue flat in my beak. I was helpless, trying to fight back and failing Gypsy, Mole, everyone…

“Minstrel stand-down code ‘P0W3R P0N135,’ came a sudden male voice, too high an octave to have been Elmwood. The password worked perfectly and the Minstrel instantly slid off of the pair of us, regrouping as the mare with the bow whilst I returned achingly to my claws and feet.

Before us stood a guard, wearing the typical security uniform with extra armored padding for a riot or attack and a helmet with the visor raised. Under the attire was a salty-sea blue stallion with a messy curl of blackened-green and dark azure mane, his eyes a cool turquoise. He wasn’t built like the other guards, and his manner didn’t suit the, well, suit. He wasn’t another stuffy representative of Crusty’s core, instead, he was smiling ever-so-kindly at the pair of us and reaching down to help us up.

“Aren’t you a little short to be a Stable Security guard?” I grunted at him as he got Gypsy back onto her hooves.

“Huh?” he tilted his head at me, before laughing jovially, “Good one! I can tell I’m gonna like you, Crow.”

“This is Private Joke,” Gypsy introduced us as I marveled and feared yet another pony I’d never met who knew my name, “I met him on my first day here. He’s on our side, him and a few of his colleagues.” She turned to face down the Minstrel with a look of vengeance in her eyes. Before either me or the strange stallion could figure out what she was planning her horn sparked up, and like a dying balefire phoenix, the specter burst into a flash of green flame, turned to smoke like a lit torch paper in seconds. It didn’t scream, or complain, or get angry, it just blew away in the fire. Gypsy stumbled back, as though pained for a moment, and Joke hurriedly caught her before she could go down on her flanks again.

“There’s a group of ponies on our side?” I asked Private, after composing myself at the thought that Gypsy could create fire from nothing.

“We call ourselves the Tunnel Bugs. Tunnel Bugs rule!” he celebrated, posturing. Oh god, I thought to myself, not another Molasses. Luckily, this thought put my head back in focus and I spun around to start flying again, telling the pair that my mission was to save young Candy. I was shouted by name as Gypsy hurried to stop me this time.

“Jokes could know a better way, he’s grown up in this Stable!” she urgently explained, and I considered her logic.

“Western Sector, maintenance, the toilets,” I told him, as he was already nodding.

“I know it, follow me!” He almost flipped as he turned himself a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, taking the same direction the Minstrel had wanted us to go. My PipBuck vibrated regularly, but I chose not to look at it, just to stick to running after the strange friend of Gypsy’s. Around us, other ponies were following their Minstrels, ensuring that they placated them. Seeing the trust the rest of the Stable was putting in the ghost army filled my stomach with poison, knowing there would come a time when their protectors would turn against them.

Private Joke’s tail disappeared through a gap into an alleyway, which my partner and I hurriedly followed, spying a dead end ahead.

“You sure about this, fella?” I called over the wails of the sirens in the complex, echoed by the tight walls. The greyish blue pony looked over his shoulder, just grinning at me, then sped towards the solid wall ahead as though he expected it to part once he was within range of it. I wasn’t quite as ready to take this blind leap of faith, and I slammed my feet and claws down to stop myself before I made a mess of my beak on that wall, with Breeze colliding into the back of me. We recovered from our crash just in time to see Joke dive through the wall, the surface swallowing the body without a sign of him once his tail had been absorbed as well.

Short-winded, I gawked at the mirage that had just accepted a new member. Whilst I was overtaken by the vision, my blonde friend weaved around me to make her own way to the pretend wall. She stopped at it, reaching her leg up to watch the mass part and ripple when she stuck her hoof through the barrier. I moved to ask if she felt alright, only to witness two black legs snatch Gypsy’s leg and haul her through.

“Gypsy!” I croaked and rushed for the wall myself. Despite having seen two ponies go through it already, I still felt a moment’s panic and shut my eyes tightly, certain I’d end my charge with a broken beak and a headache.

Instead, I kept going, galloping until I hit something strong, furred and firm that partially yielded to make my impact less tremendous. I freed my vision from the fleshy lids protecting them to look up at the tallest, burliest stallion I’d ever met. He looked like he could even give Crusty a run for his bits, and maybe even win the fight. Even as I regarded this, I couldn’t help noticing that I wasn’t afraid of him. His face didn’t command discipline by fear the way Procrustean’s did. Behind the black, white and coffee fur and cobalt eyes, there was something easily calming about him.

I stepped out of the stallion’s hold to right myself, Gypsy and Joke moving over to me. I took one glance back to see the alley was still behind me for a moment, before the gentle giant pushed a button, causing a pair of metal shutters to close up the gap. We were now in a curved iron-encased corridor, lit by orange lighting that made the passageway feel as though it ought to be hot to the touch rather than cold as stone.

“Lumbah, we’re heading to the Western Maintenance core, tell me we’ve stored something away to fight the beasts with,” The one called Lumbah looked taken aback by Joke’s request, and then buried his eyes with his brow.

“Tell me there’s a good reason?” was all he asked.

“We’ve got a friend down there, Molasses Candy, we’ve got to rescue her,” I pleaded, pacing. I had no idea which way to go in this rat warren. Big Lum looked between us and gave a noise I could only describe as a kind of croaky whicker.

“It’s not good down there. Your friend, she’s probably… Look, I’m sorry…” My eyes widened, my head shook, my tongue went dry. No. No, she couldn’t be…

“Wait,” I lifted my foreleg and jabbed at my PipBuck until I’d successfully cured most of the warnings I was receiving so that I could reach Bucky.

“Bucky, location, and status of Molasses Candy!” I shook nervously and hunched my wings as I watched the foal dance onto the screen and shoot me a reassuring wink. The map returned, the diagram zoomed down to that restroom in the lowest maintenance areas. My heart spun several times in my chest like a cheap, crap novelty bow-tie.

A green light. She was a green light, sat in a sea of red, but very much alive.

“Molasses Candy. Status, Animated, Alarmed. Distance to assailants; 0.3 yards.”

“YES! Yes! Oh, thank you Goddesses!” I squawked, smacking invisible opponents away with my fists. This was short-lived, however, as Mole might still have been alive but alone she was in very grave danger. I could see on the map she’d held herself up in the last stall of the bathroom, and the red lights were trying to get in there to join her on her toilet break. She had minutes if that.

“Right, you, Big Lum, I need whatever you’ve got that can help me take on-” I stopped, realizing something terribly important, “what’s down there? Other ponies? Raiders? Slavers?”

“Fearsome creatures, like mad dogs but with buck teeth and-and... glowing!” Lumbah gave me a rough estimate of their length with his hooves. I looked to Gypsy, her face showing the same bout of skepticism as me.

“Mole rats?” I asked with uncertainty. The two ponies didn’t seem to have a clue, shrugging with penitent expressions. There was no time to analyze it though, Mole’s life depended on us.

“Get us there! Now!”

*** *** ***

“Shit!” I hissed as we found the secret entryway into the Stable’s security munitions, only to find it swarming with Procrustean’s men. Even if Gypsy lassoed a weapon or four with her magic, there was no way she could bring them through to us without being spotted.

“Can’t you march in there, collect a few and come back out to us?” I posed to Private Joke, trying to find every possible solution to the problem that there was. He shook his head so that his hard hat rattled, and pointed to the security mare with a clipboard.

“They note everything a guard takes, and not even Tunnel Bugs are sneaky enough to skip past their gaze. The weapons are tracked, all of them. Best I can do is get one and-”

“Then do it,” I commanded without a second thought, then looked to the other two once the security stallion was through the gate.

“Tell me we’ve got other options. We cannot beat this many mole rats with one gun, my talons, Gypsy’s magic and a gender-bent Saddle Rager.” Before either could answer, I caught the tail-end of urgent whispers from the guards closest to our hiding space. Lumbah urged me to keep my voice down for a moment so that we could listen. They sounded frustrated.

“What the buck is going on with our Stable?” complained one, “first those outsiders move in, then all Tartarus breaks loose. I’ve been comforting Tidy Springs over the loss of her brother for the past couple of nights, she’s a mess, and now this?”

“You’ve liked Tidy since you were a foal, Pink,” replied the other officer, “this has played straight into your hooves. It sucks about her brother but look on the bright side.”

“You’ve changed, Malt,” murmured Pink, clearly unnerved by the cold way in which his colleague was looking at the silver linings.

“Nah, I’m just seeing things the way the chief is, for once,” responded Malt.

“Did I hear that right?” asked a third, female voice, “you think Security Officer Procrustean’s latest orders are ethical?”

“That’s contempt, private Jewels. We follow his orders no matter what they are, he would never deliberately give us orders without considering the consequences.”

“Oh, really?” bit back Jewels, “there are ponies in the Western Maintenance hall that need our help, but Procrustean is holding us back as he ‘assesses the situation.’ We should be in there, saving and defending lives!”

“Jewels, I’m warning you. One more word and I’ll have you repeating them to Security Officer Procrustean yourself!” I heard a grunt of indignation, and Jewels fell silent. Even in Procrustean’s ranks, ponies were starting to notice things were off with his rulership over the safety and protection of the Stable-dwellers. Maybe I had a shot at making others see that too, after all, I thought, before spinning back to Gypsy and Lumbah.

“Come on, ideas! Now!” I hissed as I spied Joke carefully weaving his way back. The pair thought for a long moment, too long for my liking.

“Mole is going to die, come on!”

“I’ve got an idea,” admitted Lumbah finally with a sheepish hoof scuff on the metal plates, “but you’re not going to like it.”

*** *** ***

Big Lum had not been wrong. I didn’t like his idea at all, but I didn't have any better suggestions, so it was this or nothing.

He’d taken us to a storage facility for the Stable, which served to provide all of the recreational equipment. Thankfully, no pony had come in here, but there had been a good reason for that. There had been no weapons in there unless a box of misplaced knives we found that should have belonged to the storage center for kitchen equipment counted. We collected several and moved on.

“Here,” called out Lumbah, waving me over to a separate shelving unit. He collected a bat in his teeth and tossed it across to me. I caught it, examined it, very perturbed by the thought that a wooden bludgeon would be my weapon of choice against the nasty, bitey, irritating creatures. More baseball bats along with golf clubs were tossed between us and we turned to leave.

I cannot say what caused me to glance into the shadier half of the storage block, but something drew my eyes there as we were returning to the concealed doorway. A bench of archery bows had been stored in the darkest corner, gathering dust. I changed course and raced across the depot to the rack, casting my eyes over them.

Arching had been a small past time of my Pa’s, and he’d often encouraged me to try picking up the bow myself. Now I was cursing the fact that I’d only done it once, and regretted that I’d given it up after the string had grazed my leg. Hindsight was a very cruel bitch.

These were meant for shooting at targets for fun, not pest control, but as I picked one up and gave it a testing tug I was more confident that I’d be able to fend off the attack with this than by swinging a club around. I kept my bat tucked in my Stable suit as a backup, but slung the bow across my shoulder and kept searching. A quick duck into the lower half of the trestle produced arrows with sharp tips (I’d half-expected rubber ended suckers and was pleased that Stable-Tec hadn’t brought health and safety standards down on this collection) and a quiver to store them in.

“Alright,” I nodded to them as I glided back over, “now let’s go save maid Mole!”

*** *** ***

Lumbah and Joke led the sprint, taking us down flights of stairs and through sliding doors. We barely met a single pony, and those we did were too preoccupied with their own escape plans to stop us.

Finally, signs and stamped directions on the walls told us we were getting close, and the sounds of commotion ahead soon followed. I checked on Mole’s status via Bucky as I flew along the route, seeing her green dot turned to yellow.

“Molasses Candy. Status, Injured, Alarmed. Distance to assailants; 0.2 yards.”

“Boys, we’d better be bucking close!” I fretted, lifting my head to look to them.

“That door there!” Joke yelled back, then both threw on the brakes, their hooves skidding on the smooth surface. Gypsy slipped into Lumbah, who managed to catch and stop her conscientiously, and I landed beside them. Inside the doorway, we could hear the sounds of the villainous beings that were putting my floppy-eared sweetheart in jeopardy. It was a colossal tumult of scraping, quarreling beasts tumbling and thumping into the barrier between us and them, as though they were already aware of our presence and impatient to be feasting on our bones.

“Ready?” Joke asked with a hint of trepidation, as he reached for the door release button. Gypsy and I nodded. She produced two bats and spun them in the air, whilst I readied my bow. Lumbah growled on the club between his teeth and offered a salute.

“Hold onto your flanks,” Joke told us apologetically in advance, and smashed the button, “right NOW!”

Discord burst into the corridor in the guise of a heaving mass of black bodies, verdant with luminous sour-green radiation. For the first time since owning it, I heard my PipBuck click as the built-in radiation detector did its job. I lifted up swiftly as the first of the onslaught figured out its new surrounding and snapped at me. I drew my bowstring back, arrow loaded, and my vision changed. I was now seeing the creatures highlighted in a red band, as though I needed to know what I was supposed to be hitting. Mentally, I realized this had to be another enchantment feature of my PipBuck that I had yet to discover. Bars and symbols told me all sorts of other things, but I had no time to figure these out now.

Before I had released my projectile, the creature that had come after me was sent careering across the floor by a pair of spinning brown circles. The hurlyburly bats smashed into its brothers and sisters of their own volition, clearing the writhing siege of irradiated mole rats in the entrance in a matter of seconds.

I turned to Gypsy, the operator of the manic wheels, and pointed through the doorway.

“Clear a path!” I didn’t need to tell her twice, the baseball bats twisting in the air and whizzing into the next aggressive freight train of sickly rodents charging for us. Every rat hit flew up and out of the way, spiraling ragdolls tossed through the air like out-of-control Wonderbolts. The moles missed were left to Lumbah, Joke and me. Joke had the best advantage as he was able to fire on and vapourize the skittering, screeching beasts, whilst Lumbah swung his bat hard enough to knock several of the diseased beings further than Gypsy was throwing them. I felt useless in comparison, but loaded my bow and fired at anything I hoped to hit, then swooped to collect what arrows I could retrieve, and repeated.

The maintenance room was huge, dark and full of machinery that I had no time to consider the uses of. Only emergency lights and scurrying glowing bodies lit the hall, but it was enough to see that the mole rats had infested it like flies on a dead body. They were everywhere.

“Crow! UP!” Gypsy bellowed, thrusting a hoof to the catwalks above. I looked up just in time to see a fat mole rat leap and plunge towards me.

Whoooossshhhhh~

I was drifting in a single photograph of chaos, my body suddenly very aware of the cold. My eyes adjusted to the better aid of a luminous marker around the attacker falling my way. My S.A.T.S. had kicked in, I realized, and then I knew just what to do next.

I focused on the diver and prayed to Good Ol’ Luna, Goddess of the Hunt (as Pa would tell me) that I could make this shot count, as percentages promised I had a good chance for a headshot. I aimed for its body rather than its head out of a lack of confidence in my novice ability. I noted I could try for more, but right now I just had to hit the kamikaze jumper before it hit me.

Breath held I remembered to flap my wings again as I allowed the targeting spell to take over in real time, bedlam returning to overdrive.

Whumpf ~ went the world around me.

Shwink ~ sang the string as it snapped out of my claws, thrusting its missile up to meet my falling foe, its mouth wide open and it’s fangs bared.

Shlak! My arrow had been a little high on its target. Instead of finding the pudgy middle of the mole rat’s belly, it sped through the stretched maw of the creature, sank through its throat and burst from the back of its spine. A contrail of ichor spilled from it as it flew past me, hitting the floor below with a wet splat.

“Whoa! Guardian Griffon for the win!” Cried Joke gleefully, taking a moment to pull out the arrow from my kill and toss it back up to me to be recycled.

“Aye, nothing to it!” I lied. Gypsy let out a scream.

I spun to find another dirty fiend had got the drop on my deepest crush, latched onto her leg with a venomous bite. I yelled out to her, placed the arrow on the bow and dropped into S.A.T.S. again to save her, only to find a polite message asking me to abide with my active stamina as I did not have enough. Cursing wildly, I released myself back into the moment and hoped my aim was enough to save her. Gypsy saw me pull back the string, whimpered in horror and shut her eyes.

Oh eggs, I thought fearfully, I’m going to miss.

Shlink~!

Fwap~! It wasn’t clean, it hit the floor first and then bounced, but it struck the rat in its hip with enough power to pull its jaws off of Gypsy’s ankle, leaving a pair of bite marks drizzling blood and poison into her thick purple fur. Despite this, she still breathed a sigh of relief and mouthed a thank you before limping back into action. I glided over her to be her back-up, and checked my PipBuck hurriedly to get the trail to take us to Mole’s bathroom.

“This way!” I squawked and dove across to a stairwell, once protected by a now broken in doorway.

“Hold on!” Joke cried as he took down three more hairless land sharks, waving to me, “the security features have failed in here.” I remembered the gun turret presenting itself from Mole’s shop ceiling, and realized that nothing resembled that in here. Not even a siren. The private reloaded, shot another racing assault before it reached him, and continued, “Lumbah can fix them, but it’ll take us a different route. We’re going to have to split up!”

“Aye, do it! Gypsy and I will find our friend!” I called back, blasting another pair of arrows into a bouncing rat before it could snap onto Joke, “Good luck, don’t die!”

Lumbah smacked a mole right out of the playing field, then gave us an ecstatic wave as though he was a foal showing off his baseball prowess to his mom. I saluted both and drove Gypsy into the stairwell. She set one bat to pinwheel ahead of us, one to rotate behind, and started struggling down the stairs at my command, leaving a dark lane of red from her injury.

“Are you okay?” I worried, even as I kept shooting at any stragglers attempting to breach our oscillating defense walls. She gritted her teeth and moaned as she squinted ahead.

“Fine,” she uttered, “but when we get outta this, you and I are havin’ a little talk about activities you do and don’t do with pregnant ladies.” I winced, missing my shot on a rat and having to dive in to kick it, sending it bouncing down the stairs and bowling into its fellow pins. I wasn’t just worried about Gypsy’s leg. She’d been using her magic for a while now, and I had been reliably informed once that magic was as exerting as having to sprint with a heavy backpack on. She was going to exhaust herself at this rate, and then we’d really be in shit creek.

We weren’t far now. We turned the last corner before the bottom of the stairwell and found a breathing, alive blob of moving mole rats climbing over each other. They were all so preoccupied that they didn’t notice us on the stairs, and Gypsy was able to stop her makeshift batons for a merciful minute so that we could attempt to stealthily creep past them.

The closer we got, the more we realized, with an attempt not to sound horrified, that the bulk wasn’t all the black and nuclear beings. There was a stench of wet iron and another smell, not unlike halitosis, coming from ripped and gnawed bodies piled at a door that should have given them a safe exit. It had never opened, those worker ponies had died trying to escape.

Gypsy’s magic spluttered. Her hold on the bat ahead of us faltered and dropped, clattering along the brushed metal stairs that led to the feasting horde. They all stopped, and all turned to look at us, all still insatiably hungry for fresh meat. My bow wasn’t going to hold them all back, and I had to protect Gypsy, get to Mole and avoid death. I replaced the composite over my shoulder and tugged out my bat, motioning as they spun around to come for us.

“Stay back, and don’t use too much more magic,” I protested before driving a hard swing down on top of the first mole rat’s skull. Once I got into a rhythm, I was beating this real-life game of Whack-a-Mole with a ton of points already in my favor.

I felt Gypsy slump behind me and inwardly cursed, but I couldn’t go back to her yet. If I did, the rats would kill us, so I fought. I fought with bat, claws, knives, and beak.

“You have got to have an extra edge, babe…”

Fhwap! Smack CRACK! Snap! Slink! Splat! Bat! TWAT!

The last of the greedy bastards at the doorway was the biggest, it’s huge clawed foot managed to smack the bat straight out of my claws. I recoiled, it followed and leaped. I fell beneath it but already had my hind feet up into its stomach as I fell back. I drew it down to me, talons snatching its throat, and kicked. Its teeth barely scratched my beak before it flew backward, and my claws followed it. It hit the door, my talons hit its neck, and I held it, burning with rage. I was stood on the corpse, and I couldn’t care. I just had to get through the door.

SMACK! I threw the struggling beast into the door.
When they call it love then what will you do?

SMACK! I repeated...
When they boil your faces in a horrible brew!

SMACK! And repeated….
The Gardens of Equestria will be all burnt up,

SMACK! It buckled...
And monsters will turn you into a terrible stew,

SMACK! It broke...
Soooo... Watch out!”

“AGGGGH!”BANG! The force of my last slam ruptured the door open, the grisly body in my grasp dead as a doornail. More fierce eyes turned my way, only to squeal as the corpse of their biggest and best hunter slammed through them like a cart crash on a busy junction, spilling them all over.

“Molasses Candy. Status, Injured, Alarmed. Distance to assailants; 0.1 yards.”

The door to Mole’s bathroom was right there on the left, but Gypsy was fallen behind me. I had to choose, and I damned Celestia, Luna and every other deity I knew for putting me here. I looked back to the unconscious mare behind me, prayed for her safety, and ran for the restroom block.

Wham! I kicked open the door with my powerful feline legs, my wings beating as I drew my bow string back horizontally, three arrows attached to it. A risky move, only one struck a target, the smallest of the three falling with a bolt through the neck. The other two turned away from the stall they’d forced a hole into, screaming at my presence. I snatched my last knife hugged on my belt as the pair came for me, and thrust myself to the ceiling, dodging one and dropping onto the other with my blade sinking through it’s back.

I landed by the busted stall, catching a chance sight of Molasses inside. Her eyes with huge and terrified, she was deep in a state of shock and bleeding from scratches all over. My heart wept.

The last mole rat fell through the door into the bloodied hallway, screeching disgustingly, and turned back around to face me. The magical display in my eyes told me that, if the rat I’d thrown through the door was the King, then this was the Queen.

“Let’s dance, bitch!” I snapped, and slung out my talons, lunging towards her. She shrieked and kicked off of the ground to come at me.

BAM!

My talons swiped through burning green gloop as a ball of plasma impacted it before I could. I skidded on the remaining mess of the body and slapped the wall like a wet fish, my head spinning and my body bruised.

As my eyes recovered from the suckerpunch, a barrel rose between my gaze and two blackened eyes glared at me.

“You left her for dead?” demanded Elmwood around the gun in his mouth. Gypsy was slung over his back, groaning and trying to protest, too weakly to fight her corner and mine.

“Elmwood, I didn’t~” WHACK. Of all the hits and scratches I’d taken in the battle for the Western Maintenance wing, the one that hurt the most was Elmwood’s punch to my face. I staggered, blindsided, and rose my dukes, prepared for more. The stallion was already leaving.

I thought about chasing him, telling him she’d been safe when I left her but I couldn’t be sure that was the truth. Feeling my cheek slowly puffing up red and balloon-like, I turned and did the only useful thing I was capable of right then; I went to Mole.

“Molasses!”

I dragged the deceased mole rat from the smashed door and ripped it off of its hinges to get to her, finding her huddled in the corner by the u-bend of the toilet. Another dead mole rat was in here with her, half of its body protruding from the toilet bowl.

“You’re hurt,” I mewled, seeing the bite on her foreleg. She was trying to cover it as though she’d been bitten by a zombie.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry I-” she began, but I hushed her.

“We’ve got to get you to the infirmary,” I explained, and turned around, “get on my back, hold onto my wings as best as you can. I’m going to have to run.” As I felt her slip out timidly and touch my back, I used the opportunity to look out of the stall. It looked like the coast was clear.

“A-Are we… S-Safe?” Whimpered Mole. I gave a nod and a quick glance back to the beast drowned under the toilet seat.

“You kill that?” I caught a soft “Uh huh, Captain,” and smiled, “Way to go, Moley. Mole the Mole Rat Assassin.”

Soft lips found the back of my neck before I’d taken a step, and they lingered. The tempo of my heart lifted once again, and I craned my head around the look at the battered, banged up mare with the sweet floppy ears.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” I don’t remember which of us said it first, and which of us agreed, but we both said it. We both meant it.

The turret dropping from the ceiling startled the already nervous creature clinging to me, but I wasn’t afraid. It aimed towards us, examined us, then went back to staring straight ahead.

“Nice one, Lumbah,” I murmured, knowing my new friends had fixed the system, then gave the quivering mite a reassuring glance.

“Hold on, love,” I whispered, and then I ran. I ran like my life depended on it.

In a way, it did. More than ever.

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Completed - Mane Squeeze
Quest Perk added – Princess of Thieves (level one): You are now 10% more adequate with a composite bow.

Quest Failed - Bun In The Oven

Level up!
New Perk: S.A.T.S. Legend - Add +1 to Success

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; About Her - Malcolm McLaren

YES! Yes yes yesyesys yesitty yes yes yes! They said it! They said it!
Okay... damn... now I've done it. Two birds, Crow? What do we do now?
Also, I guess the Guardian Griffon is Katniss Everdeen now ... I just hope Moley isn't Rue...

Thank you to Blazie, this is the first published chapter he's edited for me, really super appreciate his hard work.
Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by your side to sing along!

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 017 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part Two)

Entry 016 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part One)

There is often a turmoil between one’s heart and one’s head. That clash can create greater confusion, but when you follow your heart then you can only be guided to the light. Even if the results look even more troublesome by doing so, you still follow the light within yourself to find the brighter lights of your closest and dearest friends.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 016 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part One)

“Good morning, Tee-Totallers,” DJ Dreamer’s usually eager voice took on a dour tone the next day, as she brought the news to Stable T-Thirty.

“Today marks a new day of mourning for our Stable. As you are all no doubt aware, an active state of emergency was announced last night after creatures broke into the Western Sector Maintenance Hub. We now know that twenty-four souls were lost in the unprovoked attack and two more gravely injured. This comes just days after the incident in the Stable-Tec Museum, although it is known that the two occurrences are not linked.

“The creatures have been nicknamed ‘Glowing Hounds’ by the security clean up and defense crews. They have advised that whilst they believe the threat was contained, citizens should still be vigilant. If you see anything strange, report it. If you come face to face with the creatures, do not engage with them, instead get out of the vicinity slowly and calmly, isolate the area as safely as you can, then raise the alarm and inform your local Security officer. The creatures have been described as pitch black, with glowing green ulcers along their body, as well as irradiated eyes. Listen to your PipBuck – if you are close to one, your Radiation meter will begin to click.

“Here to speak to us about this news is Overstallion Overlook. Good afternoon, Overstallion; can you give us any update into this investigation?” Dreamer’s voice on the radio was replaced by the softly spoken leader of the Stable.

“Thank you, I believe I can,” the Overstallion’s voice came over the radio, “the alarm was first raised when the beings were seen coming up from Maintenance tunnel two, where mineral mining had been taking place. We believe the drilling disturbed the creature’s nest and they were then given reason to retaliate. We know that these Glowing Hounds were born of the ground, and are not a product of the Gardens of Equestria. They had burrowed this deep due to their banishment by Princess Celestia.”

“Overstallion,” DJ Dreamer asked, “our listeners understand the new Guardians of T-Thirty were on the scene, and that one of them was critically injured. Could you tell us any more about this?”

“Yes, I can confirm that once more three of Stable Fifty-Four’s residences leaped to action in order to protect our good ponies.” Overlook sighed, “Whilst I do not condone this vigilante act, I do appreciate their noble sacrifice. However, I ask everypony, from our Stable and abroad, not to follow these heroic actions. It has cost one her health and quite possibly her life.” Dreamer gasped uneasily at this announcement.

“You do not believe the victims will recover?”

“At this time, their future is uncertain.” He didn’t sound hopeful. “The venom they were poisoned with is not being cured by the antidotes that we have to hoof. It seems the Glowing Hounds held a disease we have never encountered before. This was only discovered after the carcasses of the deceased creatures were incinerated, in a terrible case of missed hindsight. All we can ask is that you send your thoughts to Princess Celestia to help guide our physicians and scientists towards a cure for our friends.”

“Thank you, Overstallion,” DJ Dreamer returned to her listeners, “Tee-Totallers, you heard him. If ever we needed the Princess’ kindness to shine on us, it’s now-“ I turned the radio off after that, giving a bitter sigh and resting the front of my bandana on the edge of the silver shelf.

“Tough stuff to listen to, huh?” The similar voice had me assuming that I had not turned the wireless off properly, and I spent a few extra dumb seconds trying to fiddle with the power and volume knobs before I realized the voice was there in the infirmary bay with Mole and myself.

I turned my head against the shelf to look to the only other conscious pony with us, a mare unknown to me sat hooked up to machine taking some of her blood via a tube and transferred it to a polythene bag. She had a glossy black coat, her mostly similar straight mane wore lanes of actual gold, and her eyes were like silver moons in a night-time sky. Her cutie marks matched the satellite theme, a white crescent with a musical half-note hovering in the mouth of it. She was unlike any mare I had ever seen before and I was transfixed for a moment until she giggled at my staring.

“Sorry, it’s just that… It’s going to sound silly, you sounded just like-” I began, and she raised an eyebrow without losing the cheerful smile.

“Good Morning Tee-Totallers, and thank you for the fanservice!” DJ Dreamer! My jaw clattered on the floor. It was her! Okay, I’d only ever heard a few of her broadcasts, but the Tee-Totallers had been so besotted by her that she was still a celebrity and not the kind of pony I expected to be popping in to help my friend (or filly-friend, whichever she was at that point).

“It is you! But how..?” I gestured to the radio.

“Pre-recorded show. What, you think I repeat the same stories the same way over and over? That’s insanity!” She laughed joyfully to herself and I found myself giggling with her. Of course, she did, and I was a silly bird for thinking differently.

“Still, wow, you’re her!”

“I get that a lot,” she chuckled behind her unfastened foreleg, the other laying still for the pipes to do their work, “that’s why I usually tell ponies to call me Midnight. I’m not shy, it’s just fun to see the bit drop for most ponies.” That was right; when the doctors had brought her in originally, they had told me that Midnight had come to donate blood to replace the diseased fluids in the passed out pony.

“I get that,” I let my head bounce automatically, “but, you’re famous down here. What’s a famous pony doing donating blood for…” My voice caught in my throat as I looked to Mole, and I clucked.

I’d felt the weight of the little brown unicorn go limp on my back just as I was reaching Procrustean’s men. The swarming guards had burst through the main doors to the maintenance wing and their weapons were making short work of the mole rats. Private Joke and Big Lum were nowhere to be seen. Elmwood had already joined them and was making his own orders for Gypsy to receive immediate care, I avoided his evil eye and made my own arrangements to ensure Mole was safe. I’d cared less for myself but somehow I only came out of the fight with minor cuts.

She’d never reawoken since that moment, laying like a sleeping doll with bandages around her head, somehow managing to hide those huge ears. Enchanted quick-recovery band-aids covered her other scratches, whilst a breathable gauze covered the infected bite on her foreleg. For my part, I’d been her lonely bodyguard, staying by her side and willing her to suddenly wake up and be her skippy, silly-sweet self again.

Midnight risked moving her pinned foreleg close enough to hold Mole’s floppy hoof.

“A couple of reasons. It’s what the Guardian Griffon would do,” she told me softly. I took another deep breath and pulled the comfy chair around carefully to her side of the bed, hopping into it.

“Not feeling much like a guardian, lass,” I confessed, “less so, today. There were a lot of dead ponies down there.” The reflection on what the fiends had done to the horses who had been so innocently working away in the Western Sector brought out a brief horror in Dreamer’s face, but she instilled it remarkably quickly.

“You can’t blame yourself for who you couldn’t save, you have to look at the fact you saved somepony at all and got out alive.” She patted my talon with her free hoof, to which I shrugged.

“I wish ponies here wouldn’t call me their “Guardian Griffon,” I lamented, “if they knew what I’d done to get here-”

“You could tell them,” Midnight interrupted with good intentions, “You could explain how you got from Stable Fifty-Four to here and tell your side of the story on my show. My listeners are dying to hear from the legendary Just Crow… bad analogy, sorry,” she quickly added when she saw me wince, but the reason for my frown was not her poor word choice.

“It’s just Crow, I mean, it’s Crow. Without the ‘Just.’ My name is Crow, Crowella MacRural really but, I like to stick to Crow.”

“Oh, I see,” she threw her untied hoof to her forehead and groaned at her mistake, “that’s why he said ‘Just Crow,’ so many times, I thought he was just making sure I was saying it right. I figured it was a, um, Trottish thing? Am I saying that right?”

“Aye, before the Stable, my family hailed from Trotland. And, don’t worry. Elmwood has a habit of…” I tailed off as my thoughts wandered uncomfortably into Deadwood’s territory. I’d seen something different in him last night, something that scared me. I’d seen him feel something.

Dreamer must have noticed, as her patting hoof became more insistent.

“He’s a strange pony. Fun but, kinda weird.”

“You don’t know the half of it, hen,” I grimaced, then let out a strangled laugh, “one time, he--” I stopped, realizing I couldn’t tell that story, but the DJ was now expecting one and I was on the spot to provide. I continued carefully, making sure I exchanged the details that might make her suspicious of me.

“He was the acting Drill Sergeant for the guards in our Stable, and this one time he was escorting the new recruits through the mess hall with me.

“After everypony had made it through the chow line, he sits them down and barks at them, "There are three rules in this mess hall: Shut up! Eat up! Get up!"

“Then he wants to check and see that they ken his instructions, so he walks up to this one recruit and commands him up onto his hooves. This guy’s already sweating as he ‘sir, yes, sir’s’ and salutes, so Elm demands him to repeat his first order.

“The recruit salutes again, all panicky, and then says, ‘Shut up, Drill Sergeant!’ The rest of the recruits and me are struggling not to laugh but Elm, he just holds this look of absolute fury and asks how he dares tell him to shut up. The recruit whimpers that it was the first rule, but then Elm tells him, ‘I did not order you to speak further,’ and points to the next recruit, ‘remind your comrade what the first rule is again?’

“Of course, they salute, stand and say ‘Shut up, Drill Sergeant,’ too. As does the next, and the next. By the end of it, he has the whole party of recruits doing PT for contempt, until the Sergeant-General realizes what Elmwood did and dismisses them. He got a bollocking, (that means a telling off) as did I for not stopping him do it. It was the funniest thing in the whole of Equestria at the time, though.” I rounded up my story with an impish grin, but Dreamer was only frowning.

“Those poor kids, to want to protect their Stable and get treated like that.” I gave an embarrassed chuckle and a shrug.

“Never really thought about it that way,” I muttered, “I should leave the storytelling to Elmwood. He has a way of telling them better somehow.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Midnight agreed, “he promised me a good story and, filly, he delivered. He put you in a real good light, he seems to really think a lot of you.” My wings plumped out of my sides slightly, indicating my surprise at the suggestion.

“He does?” I couldn’t imagine he held the same mood for compliments on my behalf after last night. The radio host nodded as she stroked Mole’s warm but still cheek with a hoof, before deciding the movement was too risky for the needle in her leg and relenting.

“He told me you have some real good stories about your own heroics out beyond the door that never opens. Like I said, my listeners would love to hear them sometime.” The idea made me frown. I had no noble tales to tell about my life. They were all tarred with regret, self-pity or unethical reasoning.

“I cannot call myself a hero, Dreamer,” I said, shaking my head. The DJ held up her good hoof.

“No honorable pony does,” she advised politely, “that’s not for them to decide, that decision is left to their peers and friends.” It was sound logic, and although I couldn’t deny it, I couldn't forgive myself either.

“The real hero right now is you,” I moved the subject back to Mole, “thanks for donating some of your blood for her.”

“No problem, I only wish I could be doing more.” I was nodding with her, my heart aching. “She is going to get better. I have a feeling about ponies, and she feels like a fighter.”

“I hope so, Midnight,” I mumbled, trying not to dismiss her reassurance and let hopelessness slip in. As though on cue, the teal curtains around us crinkled open. In stepped the nurse, advising us that should be enough of Dreamer’s blood for now.

“Do you feel like you’ll float off yet?” I joked, and she shook her head, smiling. The needle was removed, the blood speck cleaned and a fresh band-aid placed over it. Then she was promised cola and biscuits in the next room, and I was asked if I wanted to join, but that meant leaving Mole. I politely refused and we exchanged goodbyes.

“I own the music shop up at the back end of the Songbird Sector. It’s where I do all my… other performances,” she grinned, winked, “come visit me sometime.” She turned, flapping her tail. “And get well soon, Molasses Candy.”

She left, and I returned to my vigil, praying to Celestia for a miracle.

*** *** ***

I stayed with Mole throughout the day, whilst the doctors and nurses kept Mole comfortable and in a stable condition. The doctor in charge wasn’t Dr. Moon Ache, and when I enquired where he was, I was abruptly told that his department dealt with cuts, lacerations and (recently) gunshot wounds, whilst this department was focused on toxins and poisons and was led by Dr. Wolfsbane. She had far less patience for me than Moony did, and I was often shooed out for her to administer tests, attempt antidotes and have her nurses sponge clean my mare.

What I’d discovered during feigning sleep when the doctors and nurses were around, was that mole rats were a new thing to this Stable, they’d never had a plague like this before so bites and venom were not something they’d expected to need remedies or learn magic healing spells for. On top of that, the old medicines and curatives that they did have were not advanced enough to do more than calm the illness.

I must have dozed off properly when they finally stopped pestering us, slumped over the spare space of bedside with Molasses’ hoof held delicately in my talon. It was the first ounce of sleep I had got for a while, and it was interrupted.

A violent shove, as opposed to a gentle shake, woke me from my slumber. I shot my head up and looked around, the lights having been dimmed for the night. Regardless of the low glow, I could still distinguish those scarred eyes anywhere.

“You’re going down,” he muttered to me, leaving me to believe I was being threatened.

“The only one going down is you, pal. You lost yer mind? I will beat your head so far up yer flank that you’ll be kissin’ last night’s dinner!”

“What? No, no, no, no, no, Crow, I didn’t come here to fight. I mean you’re going down. With me.” This time I chose confusion and disgust as my expression.

“Yuck. Elmwood, I’m the wrong griffon to be proposing that to…”

“No! Agh, dammit,” he tried one last time, sensibly, “I’m going back into the Western Maintenance sector with you. We need to go catch that mole rat.” I stared at him like he was the stable idiot who had just swanned into the room with a chicken on his head and buckets on his hooves, declaring it was Hearth-Warming night. But I knew that Elm would not have merely said it without checking his facts, so instead, I asked him how a living mole rat had not yet been seen or caught.

“It has been driven into the mineral mine of the area. Rather than looking for it, the guards have just shut the doors to that area and locked it up. You haven’t been watching on your PipBuck?” He asked curiously, peeping into my personal bubble to look at my PipBuck. He barged in to manhandle it, causing a warning growl from me.

“There, see?” After releasing my leg, I took a good look at it. My PipBuck was displaying the map once more, showing a deeper area of the Sector and the yellow spots of the guards. Behind the closed doors, a red dot was bouncing between the green lines that indicated the walls of the cavern. I breathed in deeply.

“Why isn’t Crusty’s men going after it? They can see the same thing as us, right?” Elmwood confirmed it.

“But going after that little puppy suggests they give two bucks about us outsiders, which they don’t. They want us to die so that this place can run the same way it always has.”

“Mole’s not one of us,” I muttered, front legs crossed as I glanced to her.

“She’s still an outsider though, or do you forget how pissy your big handsome Commander of the Stable Guards got at poor Mouse when she was assigned to you?” I corrected him on Mole’s name, but I had forgotten he’d been there watching. Proc had no love for my mare, was that enough of a motive for him to want her dead?

“Then go get it, I’m not stopping you.” I shrugged, frustrated at Elm’s tactics, and began returning to Mole. He tsked softly.

“Yeah, no can do, Captain,” he clopped after me. “Mr. ‘Big and Angry’ has posted his guard everywhere in that area. No pony is getting through the main gate, so I need to find another way. I need to know how you got in; the doors were still locked when I got there.”

Pensively, I stared at Mole. There she was, the most innocent creature I knew, in a state of pain and sickness that she did not deserve to be in. At that moment, I hated Elmwood for blaming me for Gypsy, and for pushing Gypsy towards me, but I loved Mole more. After Periwinkle and Gypsy, I never thought I’d open my heart to someone ever again, and yet right then and there I was ready to suffer for the unconscious, uncorrupted creature.

First, I crouched down and stuck my claw into the shadows below Molasses Candy’s bed. I quickly felt what I had hidden there since the doctors had left us, and pulled it out. My bow and quiver; it had been a difficult job getting them here under my wing, but I had not wanted the misfortune to be without a weapon again. With this collected, I shifted away from Candy’s bedside and started walking. I didn’t speak to the ass following silent behind me, not even to confirm I was joining his party. I knew where to go and how to get there, he was just a clause in my personal contract from this point onward.

Despite the sounds of our feet and hooves on the cold floors, the casualty was otherwise silent. There was a light on in the doctor’s office as we passed it, but I couldn’t spot anypony inside. There was a nurse on duty tending to another patient at the other end of the hall, but they didn’t stop to look at us. I froze on the spot, realizing who it was they must be visiting.

“Keep moving, Crow,” Elm directed, giving my rump a push.

“I need to see her,” I said, disobeying the order not to head for Gypsy’s ward. I felt guilty for having focused so heavily on Mole, been so scared of losing her, that I’d forgotten to check in on Gypsy. The stallion stepped into my path and blocked it.

“You can, when the missions over. deviate at all and you’ll never see her again,” he told me harshly, his head raised in a vain attempt to be above mine. Sometimes, I believe he forgot we no longer wore ranks, and he didn’t rule over me the way he once had, back in the Rangers.

“If she dies-” I started.

“We won’t let her,” Elm overruled. His eyes bore into mine, attempting to mind control me into doing things his way. I broke contact first, looking one last time to the place I knew Gypsy Breeze was resting and said a quiet prayer to the eggs of the old and great griffons to look over and protect her. Then it was out of the exit and into the main drum of the sleeping city once more.

*** *** ***

The journey started uneventfully, finding that I was just walking with my thoughts swimming and my eyes focused ahead. I didn’t want to look at the despicable pony walking beside me. He’d made assumptions about my morals with no regard for how long he’d known me and how much I cared for Gypsy. What really chewed at me inside, though, was my own choice to discard Gypsy so easily. She’d come with me on my appointment. She had struggled through sickness and exhaustion to fight by my side to save the rival for my heart. She had never questioned it, and yet I let her fall without any help or aid.

Seeing the fountain ahead felt like waking up from a sleepwalk. There were still citizens up and about, and the majority seemed to be gathered at the fountain, although there weren’t any there that I recognized. It soon dawned on me what they were doing when I saw the flowers, photos, and notes laid down by the base of the round centerpiece of the stable. I took a long deep breath in an made my way towards it.

“...And they don’t know how to deal with this,” I heard when I finally realized Deadwood was talking, “they’ve never had to deal with actual death before. They’ve only known ascension.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “whilst for us, it’s just another Sunday.” I reached the fountain and stopped, expecting Wood to be urging me not to stop once again. To my surprise, he stopped with me, crouching to read the notes and look at the photos. The other gathered ponies assumed that he was showing respect and reverence to the departed, so much so that they started to gather with him and attempt to comfort him as well.

The photos I could see were all paying respects to the guards who’d lost their lives in the museum fight. Having not been down here since then, this was my first time seeing all of this. I expected the photos of the Western Maintenance deceased to be on the other side, but before I could look, Elmwood startled me.

All of a sudden, he yelped out and jumped up, sending the closest to him sprawling back. He became a hound looking for a clue, hurrying around and around the fountain with his head bowed and his eyes scanning each picture.

“Elm,” I hissed, angered at his disrespect of the honored dead, “Elm!” He did stop, and he flopped again at a photo around the other side of the basin. With a grunt and a roll of my eyes, I started walking around towards him. A second taller, heavier-set stallion was beating me to it, which made me wonder and yet not worry about whether they were going to hit him. To my disappointment, he didn’t. He dropped down beside Deadwood instead and stared at the same picture. There were tears in the stranger’s eyes.

“You knew her too, didn’t ya?” I heard him ask as I neared them. I wondered who and panicked for a moment as I thought of Gypsy. However, even Deadwood couldn’t be cruel enough to pretend my friend was alive just to send me on a wild goose chase.

“I did. She stood beside me and my friend when her friends threatened us. She was a big damn hero,” he said, with a deep, sad gasp. It took me the rest of the short walk to realize who they meant. I arrived beside the sniveling T-Thirty citizen to see a picture of a mare, the same mare who had stood up to Rose Bed all those days ago at the main gate.

“Crow, look. It’s Terrace Lane.”

“Garden Path,” both I and the upset pony corrected Elm, who nodded hastily.

“That’s who I meant, sorry, grief and all that. She was in the Western Maintenance sector when the mole rats came up?” The stallion nodded hurriedly, rubbing his eyes, but not answering vocally. Elmwood rubbed tears of his own, nodding as well with him and rubbing him between the shoulder blades.

“You-you worked with her?” A sniffle, a sob, and a moan.

“I worked with her, sponsored her, and we-” Deadwood spoke over him.

“Why aren’t there more pictures up of the ponies who passed into Celestia’s welcoming embrace yesterday?” He must have known his mask had slipped. “W-Wasn’t there more ponies down there?” That encouraged an answer, and as the other horse explained what he knew, I looked over the other pictures. Elmwood was right, I could only find two glossy images and a polaroid of the ponies who had been in the West Section when the mole rats stuck, but I had definitely seen more dead than that.

“She, Party Ring and Dunker were the only ones of us left,” the worker replied sorrowfully, “the rest were all newbies from your Stable. They got brought in on some ‘rehabilitation’ course, all the other workers were told it would be just them, so they could learn the ropes.” Elm gasped at the exposure in shock.

“What? Nopony else remained to train them?”

“We were told we were getting an early night. We didn’t even know anything odd was gonna happen, we had no warning…” Deadwood was back on his feet, his sadness slipping away like an invisible cloak as he marched ahead again.

“Come Crow,” he ordered and I frowned, quickly apologising to the sorry state of a stallion. My leg barely moved a step before it was grabbed.

“Hold on,” he said, looking to me, “G-Guardian Griffon, she was your friend, right? She talked a lot about you.” This threw me. I only met the girl once when we both had the barrel of a gun aimed directly at us, and yet this pony, who knew her far better than I, was saying that she’d spoken of me. I worried just what might have been said.

“A little?” My reply was cagey, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He lifted my PipBuck leg and clicked something on it, opening up a panel above the display, then slipped a rectangular item into the slot, and closed it.

“I got this off of her PipBuck after she-” he whimpered, but brought himself to heel, “I can’t make sense of them, but if you can, could ya come tell me what she means? I’m worried she got up to some bad stuff.” Bucky appeared on my screen, the animated colt clumsily stumbling from one side to the other with a heap of envelopes in his forelegs, struggling to walk on his hind ones before he toppled over and lost them across the monitor. He gave a pair of dazed blinks then disappeared, my screen replaced with a list of five entries. I looked to him curiously.

“Please?” He asked, hope splashed over his mourning face.

“If I can figure ‘em out, lad, you’ll be the first to know,” I confided to him, and squawked at the hug that earned me. I patted him and turned, flapping off to catch up with Wood.

“If you figure them out, come find me,” he yelled after, “just ask for Gizmo, anyone’ll know who ya mean.” I gave him an okay symbol with two talons and gained my ground back with my dead eyed partner.

“What the buck was that about?” I asked him furiously, “not content to ruin the living’s lives, you wanna disturb the dead too?”

“Somepony went an awful long way to minimize the casualties of the Western Wing,” he answered sedately.

I stopped, my brain changing track so quickly that I think I felt the snap in my cranium, “holy quivering mare-lips.”

“Exactly,” advised the stallion, “which way now?”

“Err, um, up,” I offered dumbly, pointing to the level Gypsy and I had been on when we met PJ. As I led the way, I considered the gift that the worker pony had provided me. He’d wanted me to listen to it and had hoped I would understand. Had Garden given too much away? Had she told her PipBuck who I really was and why it was not a good idea to trust me, or my friends? I was hoping things would be resolved quickly so that I could listen to it in private and find out.

“What did he give you?” Elm asked on the way up the cobbled lane, as I flew slightly ahead of him.

“Some tape thing, put it into my PipBuck,” I waved it at him. He frowned.

“A holotape? Listen to it,” he told me, and I scoffed, raised a complacent eyebrow at him.

“During a stealth mission? Good idea genius.” He picked up the pace to line himself up beside me and told me to stop. Then, he took my PipBuck, pressed a small lever I hadn’t seen, and pushed it up to reveal a new, oddly shaped gadget from the corner of the cuff.

“What is that?”

“Earbloom,” he tugged it out with his lips and stood up on his hind legs. “Right, now, you just hook this around your… ah,” as he lifted it towards my head, I saw the problem. What he wanted to put on me was made to clip on the ear of a pony, not sit in the auricular of a griffon. A few seconds later he figured out a solution and attached it to my bandana, tucking it under the cloth so that the item was close to my ‘ear’.

“There, let’s give that a test,” he suggested, pressing a few more buttons on my PipBuck. “Is that working?” I went to answer, but was immediately surprised by a female voice talking into the same ear as the earbloom. I looked around but there was nopony else beside us, so it had to be coming from the accessory he had given me. Elm smiled and nodded, gesturing that I kept going. A few more wingbeats, I spun back to him.

“IT’S GARDEN PATH!” I realized, causing Elmwood to wave off my epiphany.

“Cool it with the Canterlot Voice, Luna, I’m right here,” he teased, then told me seriously to just keep my voice down and listen as I showed him how I got into the Maintenance wing. I agreed, and as we went I restarted Garden’s first entry again. Along the way, I let the mare’s final week’s worth of ‘dear diaries’ tell me what had befallen her.

*** *** ***

I guess I made it.

I mean, by rights, I should be dead. I was born in the Wastelands, in somepony’s garden. I mean, they were a long time dead, but it still belonged to somepony at some point, right?

Anyway, being born in a place with scarce water, where you have to hunt every day for food not rotten enough to eat, should have killed me as a foal. Not only that, there’s the Raiders, the Slavers, heck even the Scavengers are dangerous enough. And then! And then there was the building that got dropped on us! And then… And then there was Rose Bed! She should have shot me. She should have killed me! Instead, she’s the one that is a pile of ash outside the main door, whilst I’m inside it, safe.

I’m the only member of my congregation that’s free. All of the others were arrested for what Rose Bed did, or what she was made to do because of that Deadwood. The way he looked at her when he knew we were being rescued; I think he knew what was coming. I don’t think he had ever been scared at all, that it was just an act.

I should feel sorry and angry for my brothers and sisters who are now locked away in some cell here in this… place. I mean, they looked after me when my mother died, then they gave me a job, a purpose, taught me all the teaching of Grand Master Snips, but… They were willing to watch me die, get shot by Rose Bed with Deadwood and the griffon. I dunno, you cannot come back and forgive ponies after that, can you?

Now I’m down here, in this… is it a Stable? It feels like it in some places, but then there’s this big city in the middle of it! It’s like a town that sunk into the ground to hide when the bombs fell a hundred years ago. It feels like I was meant to be down here, like this was my destiny. I’m not going to mess this up, I’m going to play my part and pretend to be one of the new Stable Dwellers.

What else… Oh! I’ve already made a friend! His name is Gizmo and he’s my sponsor here. That means that he has to show me around, teach me things that I don’t know and help me feel at home. He does a very good job of it too… Oh! And speaking of job, he’s taking me to start at my new one tomorrow. It’s in man-erm… main-tain-ance? But he said not to worry, I’ll learn on the job with him. He’s so sweet…

I can’t think of much else to tell you tonight, but I’m going to make it my mission to do one of these every night. I mean, it’s helping me make sense of all of this, and that’s a good thing, right?

*** *** ***

“I’m listening to a dead pony’s diary,” I thought out aloud as we took the turn into the alley with the hidden doorway. “There’s something really wrong about that.”

“Ponies listen to other ponies holotapes all the time, Flaps,” Deadwood reminded me, crudely, “if anything, you’re doing her a disservice if you do not listen to the last words she had to tell anypony.” He stopped before I had as I reached the end of the path and studied the wall. I looked back to him.

“It’s not a dead end,” I stated, “It’s a-”

“It’s a steel door with a silent sealing lock, a sliding false wall panel and -ooh! Enchanted holographic projectors that display a secondary fake wall,” he informed me, blowing my explanation out of the water with a well-aimed cannon. I lowered my eyebrows.

“It’s a hidden door, aye, what you said,” and I shot him a name that Mole would have gasped, maybe even fainted at, if she’d been there. I went to push my hand through the wall, only to find my talon bang painfully into the metal. Hissing another expletive, I patted more tentatively at the false wall.

“It’s, uh, not open,” I advised, but even as I was saying the words, the pretend bricks hissed and slid out of the way. I caught a brief sight of the polished grey of the bolted door before the holograms fired up, leaving me with my claw half way inside cement and stone, then felt my fingers scratch on the gate as it opened behind the mirage. I pulled back to look at Deadwood, who’s hooves were pressed on a sunken pair of stoneworks.

“Sorry, forgot to knock,” he added cheekily, and pulled back so that the buttons he’d pushed returned to their normal form. I shook my head, clicked my beak, and headed cautiously into the corridor. It was the same as before, the crimson-lit hallway devoid of life, including Lum and PJ this time. I let Elm slip in and close the door behind us, then started up Garden’s second recording whilst we made our way back to last night’s battlegrounds.

*** *** ***

I LOVE THIS PLACE!

This is how today began; first I woke up and had a piece of toast, and was munching it in the dining square when Gizmo came over and sat next to me. He’d done something with his mane and he smelled nice and, oh fillies, I liked it. As we sat eating, he just… gasps! And I’m like what, and he’s like “look!” So I look and it’s the griffon, but she’s having to walk about naked with the chief of security. I waved but, she didn’t see me. Poor Gizmo was blushing, I had to explain that most ponies out in the Wasteland don’t have jumpsuits, and it’s kinda normie to be all naked out there. I don’t know if he believed me…

After breakfast, he took me to the Maintenance Section, explaining all about it on the way; there’s four of them and they all have several purposes, like storing the big engines and things that held the tal-sorry, hold on… tal-is-mens- talismans, sorry, had to write it down. Those power the Stable with magical energy, water, everything it needs. There’s also farming areas in the other sectors and even a lake, he was telling me. He said they’ve lit it up and that it’s kind of romantic, so he’s going to take me one day.

They got me working in the mineral mining area, taking readings and things from the machines. I made sure I listened to what Gizmo told me and I picked it up real fast. I mean, it wasn’t too hard, it was just numbers and stuff, but Giz said that I’m a natural! There was this other guy, Dunker, he was a bit of an ass. He had criticism for every single thing I did. Giz just told me to ignore him.

I didn’t mind having to work, it took my mind off of my brothers and sisters. I don’t even know where they are. When I asked a few of the guards if I could visit them they all said not until the Head of Security advised that I could. The other day there was a mare called Gypsy Breeze who had been comforting me through that, and I even tried to talk to Brittle Sticks about it, but then this other mare, Poxy I think, took him away as she had important stuff to talk to him about. It made me feel real lonely.

Gizmo took me out for lunch around midday, and this incredible thing happened! We were sung to by these strange green ghosties, Gizmo called them Minstrels. They’re like versions of you but they’re not. Um, you do this thing where you have to sing and then if you are picked, then you ascend to a nicer place than this… I don’t know if there is one! And Celestia is there, it’s really complicated to explain…

Hold on. What’s that? There’s some kind of siren and … okay, ponies are running. I have to go-

*** *** ***

The recording ended abruptly there. I could hear the sirens over her voice and knew what was occurring at that moment in time. As she’d been recording, Elm, Gypsy and I were fighting for our lives in the museum. That wasn’t the immediate concern on my mind, however.

“Poxy spoke to Sticks the day before the fight,” I told Elm as we passed a few doors that I recognized, showing him towards a stairwell.

“I thought as much,” he mumbled back, skipping steps as he walked down them, with me following behind.

“Did you?”

“Yes. Well, when you said it just now, I did.” I rolled my eyes and hurriedly started the next log. He started talking again, but I just pointed to my bloom and shrugged, as though I could not hear him. I could, but I was happier knowing I could block out his voice with the spirit of Garden Path.

*** *** ***

Brittle Sticks… He’s …

I mean, I understand why he’d be so upset, he lost his sister that night we first came here. Vanilla Sticks was a good friend of mine too, we used to go out scavenging together. One time we found this shop that was more or less intact with a bunch of old hats in, we had such a laugh trying them on and pretending we were pre-war ladies. I was pretty cut up about losing her too, but in the Wastelands, we got used to it. Being squashed by a building though, that was awful…

I thought Crow the griffon was helping him through it, I’d seen him following her into the museum and I thought to myself, ‘Great. She helped Brittle through the tunnels to get here and now they’re good friends, they’ll get through this.’ I didn’t realize it would all end so badly.

Why did they fight? Everypony is so confused about it, especially the ponies from this Stable. They’ve never known death in, like, forever. Not like we do. They’re already putting up memorials at the fountain for the guards who died…

Gizmo came over to the warehouse, where we are all sleeping. He was shocked, but he was glad I was alive. He’s cute. Did I say cute? I-I mean, handsome… sweet. Okay, I’ll level with you. I might have a small crush on him… We talked for hours and I felt bad because he had genuine stuff to tell me whilst I made up a bunch of stuff about living in a Stable. This is all going to bite us on the bum one day, isn’t it?

Anyway, I talked about Brittle, explained his sister to Gizmo, he was still upset but I think he understood in the end. We chatted for hours and he’s only just left. He’s… I think I’m…

I mean, I should probably get to sleep. Busy day tomorrow. Good night, PipBuck, see you in the morning...

*** *** ***

“Here it is,” I explained, gesturing to the big, sealed steel archway. It wasn’t hard to miss; someone had done a bit of a cleanup job here but the marks and scores in the floors, door, and walls were distinctly recognizable. Elm looked over the gateway and found the release button for it. Something had taken a big gash out of it but it looked like it was still in working order.

“Hold on,” I muttered, remembering the seething bulk of bodies that piled through the door when Joke had opened it the day before. I prepared my bow with an arrow nocked on the string and gestured my readiness to him. He pressed the button and the entrance slipped open with the hush of a librarian urging for quiet in a studious space.

The maintenance hall was a very different place to the one we had entered the day before. Nothing rushed through the gaps towards us, nothing gnashed its teeth or snarled deathly promises at us, it was quiet, almost peaceful. In some ways, I could pretend that nothing had ever happened last night, that this huge darkened space was only empty temporarily. However, the blood stains and battle scars of multiple creatures on the walls and floors could not be denied, even if the bodies that had created them had all but disappeared in the space of a day.

The guards were patrolling the perimeter, and several more were up on the walkways, weapons levitated to their chests and beady eyes on the lookout for any stray mole rats, or anything else I imagined they wanted to be rid of. Thankfully, our cover currently seemed to be holding out, as nopony had reacted to a scarred stallion and a griffon that had just appeared in a hole in the wall. The holographic wall here had not been damaged either.

We couldn’t be seen, but we couldn’t stay there either. Elm looked out of the door then back to me.

“Alright, thanks. I should be able to make my own way from here,” He told me, arranging something in the saddlebag he’d brought with him.

“Uh huh?” I said, as though I wasn’t really listening. I was examining my PipBuck for the map, looking into the directions to reach the mineral mine section.

“So, you go back to the girls and I’ll bring a mad irradiated little fucker around in an hour or so, okay Squawk?” As Deadwood spoke, I checked the area to ensure there were no guards moving too close to our location. I spied a bulky machine not far away that I could duck behind easily, and several tall metal tanks and pipes not far from that. I just had to move quickly and quietly.

“That’s nice, I don’t give a buck,” I offered in a faux-friendly way. I ignored the suggestion that he was going out there alone, and made my own way out of the door, my wings making the journey swift and silent.

“Buck,” I heard him hiss, then he sped after me as softly as he could. I hurriedly glided over the factory floor, arriving behind the shelter I chose without being spotted. A few steps behind me, Deadwood slipped around the corner to join me.

“Go back,” he insisted, “with two of us, there’s a greater likelihood of us getting caught, and let’s face it, stealth isn’t your strong point.”

“Oh, and it’s yours?” I whispered back, checking our visuals on the guards. “Okay, ready? Three, two…” I picked myself back up with my feathered limbs and flew across to the silos, my claws clicking on the metal when I landed. I waited hesitantly to see if hoofsteps are coming for us after Deadwood reached me, but none came. I lowered the bow, with it’s arrow still in place, and looked to him.

“I care for Mole and Gypsy, I wanna get this creature as much as you do, so if you’re doing this, then we both are. You need me, fella.” I poked him hard in the chest for good measure, whilst he simply glared at me.

“Fine, but if you get caught, I’m carrying on regardless,” he promised me.

“Och, funny, that. I was gonna tell ye the same thing,” I raised my bow again, hoping up to move, sticking to the shadows as best as I could.

“What was that?” I dove into the cover of an open storeroom, looking for who had spotted or heard us without sticking my neck out to be shot.

“What was what?” One guard trotted across to the other peering over the walkway above us. Their eyes glinted in our direction.

“I saw movement down there, in that corner. Looked big,” the stallion pointed, the mare beside him searching thoughtfully.

“How big are we talking here?”

“Err, as big as a pony, but it had big… things coming out of its sides. Wavy things,” he nickered. I caught sight of the mare briefly, and gulped, pulling myself deeper into the dark with Deadwood whilst putting my arrow back into my quiver and slipping my bow over my shoulder. It was Officer Bones, lil’ cute butt herself. I knew she’d recognize my shape even if all she saw was a wing, and I told my partner in crime as much. Oddly, it only seemed to settle his nerves, and he moved closer to listen to the conversation.

“If it was a pony, they’d have heard you making a fuss about spotting them and be long gone by now, wouldn’t they?” Bones grumbled at the unnamed stallion. A moment of contemplation hung in the air before I heard the stallion whispering his agreement at that assessment. “Here’s what we do, you take the back stairway down, I’ll take the front. If there really was a pony down there, we’ll catch them.” I clucked in disappointment, knowing that in any moment we would be cornered and our chance of catching the mole rat would be forfeit. But Elm was undeterred.

Without warning, he dashed out of the storeroom, my urgent low cry for him to stop or he’ll get caught going unheeded. Resentful that he would throw us under the cart without a plan, I searched for another option.

Looking one way, I could see the stallion coming down the stairs. Looking the other, I could see Deadwood reaching the bottom of the steps that Bones was declining along. I cringed, waiting for her to sound the alarm…

And sat astonished when she didn’t. I froze for a moment, wondering whether he’d used a StealthBuck that I hadn’t seen on his person previously, but there was nothing hiding him and yet she walked past him like he was a ghost! He waved after me as she kept going and hesitantly I peered out.

Even in the dull light, there was no way the female guard could not have seen me and yet… and yet as she looked directly to me, she did not show any bemusement with me being there. My stiff form only shifted more when her eyes went wide and she gave a group of persuasive nods. I knew then that she had to be on Deadwood’s side somehow, and wanted me gone before her hapless colleague saw me as well.

Quickly reciting the Junior Speedster creed in my head, I threw myself forward, racing past her without another glance and twisting after Elm as he disappeared into the shadier side of the walkway once more. I’ll never know how a stallion with a coat of pure snow could hide so well, but he made it look effortless.

As we ducked into another room to avoid another sentry, I caught the sound of the conversation below.

“There’s nothing here, see?”

“But I swear, I saw…”

“You saw a giant white and blue hound with floaty things?” The stallion froze at the mare’s smug words.

“Don’t tell anypony,” he muttered nervously, and Bones promised it would be their little secret. As they separated to return to their stationed locations, I rounded back on Elm and gave him a small push.

“Cannae get in, ye said. Door’s locked, ye said. But you had a pony on the inside the whole time? You’re paying me in cats, you bastard!”

“Keep your voice down,” he prompted, without retaliating to my shove, “I didn’t lie. She’s on our side, yes, but she could not let me in, she couldn’t leave her post. I still needed you for that. I didn’t need you for this, but you’re lucky I know you well enough to know how bucking headstrong you are. I warned her I might have company she’d need to help me account for...” He grumpily lifted his PipBuck to look at it and sighed, shaking his head.

“We’re early. Go ahead and keep listening to your tape, let me know if there’s anything else important you gain from it.” I stared at him in disbelief as he nonchalantly tapped and fiddled with his leg-terminal. I really hated it when he predicted the future like that, and I really hated it when he involved me in his schemes without telling me all the details. Most of all, I really despised him. Grumbling about these facts, I lifted my leg and arranged for the next track to play, before starting to scavenge the area, whilst I could, for anything useful.

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; You Want It Darker - Leonard Cohen

Thank you to Blazie, this is the second published chapter he's edited for me, really super appreciate his hard work. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
"It's only when I'm cheating death on the battlefield. The only time I feel truly alive.” Solid Snake, Metal Gear Solid.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 018 - Lost My Six String (Song)

Entry 017 - The Whirlwind Romance of Garden Path (Part Two)

I LOVE GIZMO!

Sorry, sorry, sorry, I mean, hello! Day three and, ohhh! Great Grand Master Snips must be smiling on me because he kissed me! Gizmo, I mean, not the Grand-Master. I… I should probably explain, right? I mean, how can you fall in love with somepony you only just met? But I have…

Okay, calm your hoofsies, Path. Here’s how it went down. First I woke up and had a piece of toast. The toast is amazing here! I was expecting Gizmo to come to greet me, but I never expected him to appear with flowers! I mean, they have gardens in this place somewhere and everything, he promised to show me them someday as well. He passed them over to me, and as he did he said, “You’re going to think I am crazy, but I’m crazy for you.” I mean, it was the cheesiest line ever, but it worked.

He had this big date planned, wanted to take me to see that lake, and then those gardens, and maybe the fair. B-But… we didn’t do any of that, PipBuck. Oh no, we didn’t. Instead, he showed me back to his place, put on some coffee, and was showing me how his camera worked, he took this really nice photo of me. And then he held it in his magic to take a photo of us when he turned and started kissing me. Gosh, he was a good kisser, but not as good as… as… Oh PipBuck, we… we... we did it. Y-Yes… that…

Oh my gosh, it was amazing! He was just so gentle and sweet and wanted to make sure I liked everything he did, and how could I not? We just couldn’t keep ourselves off of each other, even when we stopped for lunch! He was so big and strong and masculine and… and…

And when he held me, I never wanted to be held in any other arms ever again. We lay with silly smiles afterward, just giggling to ourselves and talking about the future. I mean, he did say relationships usually start this quickly in the Stable, because you never know when it’s your time to ascend, and he didn’t want to waste another minute wondering if we were friends or more. Well, Gizmo, if you ever listen to this, you know your answer now.

I guess I should wake him so we can shower soon. We have to start our next shift at work and I wanna get a few kisses in before we do. I mean, maybe a little something more.

I love this place, PipBuck. I never want to leave.

*** *** ***

“She sure loves saying, ‘I mean,’ a lot,”

“You mean ‘loved’” Corrected Elm.

“Morbid,” I grumbled, scowling his way. I’d managed to come up with a box of matches, more snacks than I could stash, a fully loaded first aid kit, a couple of bottles of Sparkle-Cola (one of which I popped open when I realized how little I’d had to drink that day) and an alarm clock. The clock puzzled me the most and had me wondering whether some pony had been sneaking in here for a few crafty winks.

There was also a terminal in the storeroom, but after discovering that it was blocked by the world’s easiest password, ‘Password,’ I found that the content was duller than century-old dishwater. The author had written about his daily life activities, which only ever amounted to working, sleeping, eating and moaning about the wife’s friends. Only one entry did catch my eye, and I opened it up for a quick read.

“Day 234/ Year 2076/ Time 17:22/ Entry of Mr. T. Dunker;

“Entered Western Maintenance at 12:01, pump pressures normal and energy levels were fluctuating slightly. Brought levels down and reminded Mr.Ring for the fourteenth time this year that he needed to keep the levels steady. He called me some unsavory remarks and advised that I was not his supervisor, suggesting I could not correct him on his job. A letter of complaint has been sent to Mr.Minion in regards to this. This is his NINETEENTH OFFENCE.

“At 13:34 all drilling systems were stopped due to a mistake by Ms. Path, leaning on the emergency stop control. I logged that this was likely to be her FIRST OFFENCE of falling asleep on the job, as well as poor attempts to excuse herself and not admitting the truth. Systems were down for two hours, restarted at 15:17.

“Odd, unregulated bangs and clanks heard in the mine at 16:10. Investigations were inconclusive.

“At 17:29 precisely, Mr.Minion announced a total of twenty-four more workers to arrive for the night shift at 18:30, an hour from now. At that time, all unnecessary staff are dismissed, and Myself, Mr. Ring and (regrettably) Ms. Path are to remain and train parties of eight each.

“I already know that my colleagues are unequipped professionally for this task, I have made my comments known to Mr.Minion in a strongly worded letter. I will document everything.

“Daily report closes at 17:29/ Day 234/ Year 2076.”

I was turning to Elm to deliver my latest findings to him when he shoved something into my chest that reminded me of a large battery. It took me a few short seconds to realize I’d seen one of these before, but not quite as clean.

“You’re only now giving me a StealthBuck?”

“I know,” he shrugged, eyes just as wide as my own, “look how well you were doing without it! You only nearly got us caught once.” I glared at him and waited. I knew that if I stared long enough, he would be compelled to tell me the rest of his plan. It worked.

“We need these to sneak into the Mineral Mine,” he told me, “all we have to do is follow the rest of the walkway to the end, where Officer Boner is waiting for us. You’d do her, wouldn’t you?” I held my hostile expression.

“And she’s gonna just open the mine doors for us?” I asked, plain and simple.

“Huh? No, no, no, no, those big blast doors would alert all the other guards, and then not even a couple of stealth bucks would be able to hide us. No, you’ll have to fly us up onto these trucks that are suspended on a rail about, oh, I don’t know, forty feet high? Then Bones will ‘accidentally’ push a button, and we’ll be carried into the mine.” He finished his details on the plan with a friendly smile. I did not return it.

“Fly? FLY?”

“Shh!”

“I’ll ‘shh’ you, yer wanker!” but I did drop my voice, “What’s the three things I never do, laddie?”

“I know, I know, ‘own a cat, skip a bathroom and-’”

“Fly higher than I can stand,” I finished, forelegs crossing. He groaned and pushed his forehoof into his head.

“I need you to do this. Gypsy and Molasses need you to do this. It’s just a few feet and hey, if you fall, at least we fall together. I’ll even cushion your fall, how about that?”

“Buck off,” I declined his offer and turned myself to the corner of the door, “Come up with a better plan.” I peered through our door on the lookout as I listened to him mutter to himself, and his hooves pace the room. Finally, he stopped, and I believed he might have found an alternative.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he murmured as I turned to see him scanning his PipBuck, “if we switch the StealthBucks on now, hurry to tell Bones to open the main gate and run as fast as-” I didn’t hear the rest. My infernal leg brace chose that moment do something nice and loud.

“It’s tiiime~ for the PipBuck Boop game!”cheered Bucky excitedly as he bounded into my vision. I yelped as the plinky-plonky music began playing, losing one of my bottles of Sparkle Cola. In the sudden explosion of noise, the bottle shattered, sending fizzy sticky liquid everywhere. In an instant, I was slapping, twisting and struggling with my FunBuck, snarling words that would have made Bucky’s ears gush glowstick-green blood. Outside, I heard someone yell, “Hey, where’s that noise coming from!” and had enough time to stop the game before Elmwood reached me.

“You did it, you did it, you really, really did it! You’re the best, you’re great! Never, ever forget~! Yaaaaaaay! ”

“You win… a SPA TREATMENT for TWO! Subject to availability, terms and conditions apply.”

“StealthBuck,” he snapped, “now!” Instantly, he disappeared before my eyes. I fumbled for my own cloaking device and twisted it, poofing out of existence temporarily. I pushed myself to the wall, covering my PipBuck screen to avoid the glare, and watched the stallion from before galloping into the room with four others.

“Look around,” yelled one, “They have to be in here somewhere.”

“You know what that sounded like?” enquired the stallion we knew, walking dangerously close to my gut, “sounded like that damn PipBuck Boop game. That thing was the worst!”

“A foal then,” finished a mare, looking to the smashed bottle. I felt Elm’s foreleg move me away from it. “Search everything, the Chief is going to want a report, especially if we have a breach.” Their investigations began, and Elm took a hold of me.

As guards moved towards us, we would shift out of the way. When someone grew close to where I could envision Elm being, I pulled him to me. He returned the move for me. We turned, we twisted, and we aimed for the door. What began as an attempt to hide, turned into a dance to avoid capture and escape.

“Hey! Who’s hoof prints are these?” We froze. We were almost at the door when the call came across the searching team. I looked down, expecting a trail of cola to be leading to one of us.

“Ah, that’d be me, sorry,” a klutzy stallion admitted sheepishly, “stepped in it as I was checking that area.”

“Great,” grunted a jurisdictional mare, ”now we gotta add spoliation of evidence to the report. Thank you, Officer Half Job.” She sighed and examined the room, “They can’t be here, but they cannot be far. Spread out and search…” We hadn’t waited to listen to the rest. As soon as we found the blame for the spread of the fizzy drink wasn’t our responsibility, Elmwood got us moving again. We were a good distance along the walkway by the time they peeled out and were splitting up.

Ahead, I could see Bones waiting for us by a control panel twice as big as her. Above her were huge metal trolleys suspended on a mechanical rail. I glanced up at the height and lost an ounce of my nerves through the souls of my feet.

“Bones, fire ‘em up, we’re going for a ride,” hissed Elm as we screeched to a halt beside her, startling her. I felt as his forelegs reached out for me, bumping me at first then feeling and holding my shoulders. “Crow, it’s now or never,” he encouraged me, “if you don’t fly us up there, we have no more options left, our girls die and we live with that. You live with that.” He had me between a rock and a hard place, but I was broken from my contemplation as a klaxon sounded out and the train of trucks above us started to move. Guards saw this and yelled, running towards our masked location, and the last second arrived.

I snatched him under his front legs, using his hold as a guide, and flapped my wings harder than I had for many years. Even with the extra weight, I lifted us both off of the ground, my aim to get to the closest bucket. It was hard to do with my eyes closed, and Elm noticed that in my direction too.

“Tilt us forwards!” He barked, prompting me to check my surroundings. The floor was a dizzyingly long way away and the moving skip didn’t look much closer. I faltered, starting to shake, and began struggling to keep myself flapping. My invisible weight grunted.

“Crow, I swear, if you do not snap out of this, I will hit you again, and hit you harder,” I recalled his punch to my jaw. I remembered how it felt. I stopped being afraid, not because he had told me to, but because anger and adrenaline replaced it.

The wings thrust us up again as his StealthBuck ran out of juice first. To the guards who spotted him and started to aim, an Earth pony gliding through the air on his own steam must have been an unnerving sight, and I was certain I even heard one yelp, ‘ghost!’

The realization came to them once my own sneaky accessory gave up all of its energy and revealed me. By the point, however, the buckets were in range. I dropped Elm into it with a clang as the gunfire started, then tucked my wings in and dropped into the same cylindrical basin as him, landing on a huge pointy mound of rocks. The bullets and blasts ricocheted off the bowl for a moment, then ceased as we continued moving into the mine.

“Get the doors open!” cried someone, “we have to go get them!”

“No,” I heard Boney call out, “we cannot open those doors without the Security Chief Procrustean’s orders. Somepony go get him! The rest of you hold the fort here until they come out or our orders change.” I looked to Deadwood, worried our ace in the hole was betraying us, but he wasn’t judging on the smile he wore.

“Good girl, Bones,” he said, “she’s giving us enough time to get the mole rat.” The barrier between the maintenance sector and the mine passed overhead. Grey and red beams held the ceiling of rock and stone up from this point onward.

“Hope you’re right, lad,” I mused, not sure who I could trust. Mole, I could trust Mole… I could hear the occasional sound of heavy things falling every few seconds, and wondered what the sound was.

Elmwood grasped me again after a pause and looked me dead in the eye. “Flap.”

“What?”

“Flap. Flap now. Quick, or we’ll-“ the floor suddenly plummeted from beneath my hind feet. The trap door in the bottom of the bucket had automatically released its load, and us along with it. I squawked in terror as I was dropping suddenly, but Elm snatched me and yelled for my feathers to save us again. I looked, seeing the small mound of rocks promising a broken end to our story.

I pumped my wings, and it was only just in time. Only just, for we still hit the small mountain of rocks with a strong blow and tumbled out of each other’s grasp, rolling separate directions down the hill of jagged edges and wannabe-knives.

I came to rest finally at floor level and moaned, wanting to lay there for a second to recuperate. However, as though we’d not been divided, Elmwood came charging around the foot of the slope and grabbed me, hoisting me up.

“Move!” he demanded, and together we ran just as a fresh load of boulders crashed where my head would have been from the trucks up above. The doors beneath it gaped in shock at the tragedy it could have caused with its accidental delivery. The car gave a screeching groan as an apology, then it rumbled on in shame of its failure, letting its siblings release their own burdens into the growing mass of wasted minerals.

*** *** ***

Dunker is an absolute asswipe.

He claimed I had been sleeping on the job when all that really happened was a bang deeper in the mine startled me, and I fell on the big red button that stops everything. I mean, if it’s that important, why make it so easy to press? I really hate that guy.

Okay, hate might be a strong word, but I’m just… I’m really upset, PipBuck. Not just that, something strange is happening right now.

They sent Gizmo and the other maintenance workers from this Stable home. There’s only three of us left now, but that’s not even the most worrying part. They’ve sent my brothers and sisters to be trained on how to work here! The guards said it was some kind of rehabilitation process so that they could learn how to behave as proper Stable-Dwellers. The ponies in this Stable still think they’re the raiders.

I started telling them what to do and where but, I could see their eyes hating me and I-I panicked. Dunker sent me to this bathroom, said he’d report me but I don’t care about that. And what with all the weird noises that I keep hearing in the mine too?

PipBuck, I’m scared. What if one of these ponies tells the others who I am? What if they tell Gizmo? I don’t want to lose him, he’s my first true love. I mean, I only just got him. He makes me happier than my wildest dreams and I … Huh? What’s that?

Hello? Is someone else in here?

*** *** ***

“Hello, is someone else in here?” Garden had asked during the middle of the recording. It didn’t end there, the counter told me it still had seven minutes and nine seconds left, but Garden stopped talking for a brief moment, and what sounded like the squeak of a door at first turned into quiet sobs.

“Hello?” Path attempted again, followed by rapping on something distinctly hollow. I knew what was coming before I heard it, and my heart was not prepared for the voice.

“Go away!” squalled Molasses Candy on the holotape, her voice muffled by the restroom stall she had sheltered herself inside. Despite knowing the outcome, I found myself urging them to escape, even if it was just for the sake of this recording. I was hoping things would end differently.

“M-Maybe I can help. I mean, Come on, don’t push a friend away. I’m Garden Path, what’s your name?” There was hesitation, followed by a click and a squeak. Mole had opened her toilet door?

“... You came here with Cap… with Crow, and her friends?” She asked nervously.

“Uhm hmm, I promise I’m nice,” Garden had offered soothingly. I could hear Mole’s deep breathing through little nostrils. “Did something happen?” Mole had wavered, and I believed she was going to refuse her again.

“... I was horrible,” she suddenly wept, and I found myself wondering why a muffled slap followed this, and why the woeful mare’s voice had gotten closer. “I was mean and evil and I said some really nasty things because Crow said she loves me and she cannot love me, she’s not allowed!”

“There, there…” They must have been hugging, as a pattering on the recording told me Garden was using her PipBuck leg to pat and comfort my girl. “What do you mean she’s not allowed? I mean, don’t you love her?” I waited with Garden for the delayed answer.

“I love her,” my heart soared, even as I knew that danger was fast approaching them.

“Well then,” Path told her contentedly, “tell her. I mean, you never know when it’s your time to ascend. You’d feel bad for ascending before telling her, even if someone tells you not to, right?”

“But I’m not allowed-”

“Oh, pish! No one can tell you that you’re not allowed to love someone, and if they are, they’re probably not a good pony. Love finds a way, Sugarcube, trust me. Okay?” Garden laughed as there came more rustling and squeezing, and I heard Molasses squeak a thank you. At that moment, I was more grateful of Garden Path than I was of any other pony. And then things went to shit.

“What’s that?”

“Someone’s coming! I-I’m not supposed to be here,” whimpered Mole, “I’m supposed to be on my shift! If Mr. Minion finds me…”

“It’s okay, hide in the stall, I’ll cover for you…”

“But you’ll-”

“Shh! Just hide!” I heard the door shut and lock, the filly peep the last thank you and Path start to march over the tiles. No...

“What?” I could hear distant screaming. Snarling. Smashing. No, no…

“Garden Pa-”

“Stay in there, Miss!” Garden ordered shakily. I heard her open the main door. No, no, I couldn’t listen to this...

SCREEECH!

“AGGHHHHHHH!”

“NO!” I yowled in anguish, ripping the earbloom off of my bandana and tossing it across the room. Elmwood was at my side in an instant, taking the PipBuck-bound leg and turning off the recording in a matter of seconds. I pushed my face into my free leg and howled, my shoulders shaking and my claws clenched. I needed to destroy something, and all I had at reach was my StealthBuck. The weight flew with the greatest of ease and blew up against the wall like a firework made of bolts and magic. Once my energy had been dispelled in the act, I sank down and let my eyes drain themselves of the tears I’d held onto for the past few days.

“She died protecting Mole,” I finally afforded an explanation to my watcher, who thankfully did not look too disappointed about the wreck of the device he’d lent to me.

“You’re not going to let her death be in vain then, are you.” It wasn’t a question, and it was very accurate. I settled back and sent a silent prayer for the soul of the pony who’d comforted then shielded my fillyfriend in her time of need. Elm fetched my earbloom for me and I put it back into its place on my FunBuck.

I retrieved my bow and turned towards the door of the wooden storeroom shack we’d taken a brief break in. Elm tugged out a fold away cage from his saddlebag and set it up, nodding orderly to me. He blithely explained that he’d got it from the pet store and that the store owner had been confused when Elm wouldn’t buy a canine to go with it.

“Now what?” I asked, ready to kill more of the vile cretins.

“Now, we walk, we make as much noise as possible, and we get it to come to us,” Elm advised.

“Oh, good,” I exclaimed as loud as I could, still hurting from the last words of Garden Path, “I’m good at that.” I reached for an arrow, but a hoof stopped me.

“Sorry, Squawk, one more point of order. We need to catch it alive.”

*** *** ***

The caverns echoed with every noise. Every noise. From the sigh of a low breath to the irritating tales and chit-chat shared by my forced companion. Yet, every sound was far from the sounds I wanted to hear. In this partially natural and partially pony-made hall, everything was still and calm, and that unnerved me, especially as it had been this way for at least an hour now.

After a walk along paths of varying sizes and lengths, taking twists and turns, we came across a great opening with busted machinery, crumbling wood shacks and many mounds of upturned earth. This, my PipBuck informed me, was the ‘Mole Rat Nesting Grounds’. This was where we would find our last mole rat.

Walking around the huge hall for the umpteenth time still earned me a few new sights that I hadn’t spotted previously. I spotted a group of stalactites that had built up in such a way with ridges and bumps that it looked like a palace built upside down. Staring at it brought thoughts of Canterlot to me, of the city tainted by immoral bombs and insidious magic. That once-great city became a beacon for all that was wrong with Equestria, and wrong with its inhabitants. My dark and gloomy mind pondered that as I rambled the rocky concourse.

My PipBuck bleeped at me. A glance told me the prey had moved back into the deeper end of the cave again and was not taking the bait. It was selfish, in my still grieving eyes, for it to only care about its own self-preservation whilst the lives it could be saving were on the verge of leaving their mortal coils.

“Ack, this is getting stupid. It’s not coming to us, we need to go to it,” I complained, thumping a large rusted metal carcass of a digging machine to accent my frustration. I shook the pain from my claws as Elm walked up to examine the place I’d hit.

“I imagine that hurt...”

“It did,”

“Oh, sorry, I was talking to the excavator, not you, Squawk.”

I growled in irritation and organised the arrows in my quiver, then pushed my bow into a more comfortable place before looking back towards the exit. Enough time had passed for Procrustean to raise a team capable of storming in and taking us, yet the coast was still clear and the mine remained undisturbed. When Elmwood voiced the same concerns, I remembered what Garden Path had said in her last message.

“The other ponies in the mine were the last of the Snips,” I revealed to Elm, tapping my claw on the ground as I replayed the events on a timeline in the dirt, “Path confirmed it, she was enlisted to work down here on her first day in the Stable, but the Snips were moved in on the day of the mole rat attack, about an hour before.”

“That’s not a coincidence,” Elm reasoned.

I agreed, “he brought the Snips down here because he knew the mole rats were due to attack-”

“-Or he created one,” the bleached stallion suggested. I gasped in anger. The idea of somepony, most likely Procrustean, using the infestation of mole rats to remove the Snips from the face of the Stable, like snubbing out a cigarette. The butt remains, but the smoke is gone. I didn’t want to think it was true, but with the operations that the Security Department had set up down here, it was more than possible.

“Crusty was cleaning house, he destroyed the mole rats before they could use them to cure Gypsy and Mole, ”I continued, mulling over my inductive rationalizations, “can we really believe he wants to snuff them out because they annoy him?”

“You said Path saved big ears,” Elm gestured to his own, showing that he meant Molasses.

“...And right before that, Garden Path was discussing the Snips, something that Molasses Candy would have heard,” I deducted. Had he heard these recordings though? Impossible, I assumed, as he would have destroyed the holotape if he had.

“It’s going to be fun trying to get out of here. He’s going to try to kill us too,” offered the blue-maned colt with the scratched eyes. I moved away from my previous thoughts to consider that.

“Your right, he is,” I acknowledged, shuffling with my bolts once more.

“So what I suggest,” he drawled, leaning against a large stalagmite sticking up out of the ground, the largest in the room, “is that you get over that little slap from earlier and prioritize getting this mole rat so we can get out of here.”

“Little slap?” I asked Deadwood darkly, once the frost had started thawing inside the heart behind my feathery chest.

“Yes, because you’ve been acting like I shot your grandma ever since,” he chuckled, patting my back.

“You think I left Gypsy to die,” I countered, rounding on him. My body was between fire and ice, fury raging at the fact he’d hit me, horror at the fact he dared to challenge me on it chilling me. “Do you think I left my best friend in such a vulnerable place so easily? It hurt, pal! Hurt a lot more than your ‘little slap,’ aye. You think you can judge me after everything you’ve put us through?”

“If you’re waiting for my apology-” he started, his matter-of-fact way of speaking enraging me further. I was in such a compromised state that I didn’t notice his eyelids had drooped.

“I’m looking for you to stop pretending you’re some Prince Charming who galloped in at the right time to save the day!” I began to pace, voice crackling, my angry fires growing wilder with each word, “Gypsy was safe, and Mole was going to die. I made the hardest decision of my life but she knew the risks.”

“-I cannot forgive you for that.” The stallion pushed his back off of the stone pinnacle, and approached me.

“You can’t forgive me?” I threw down my wings to hop the distance between us. “I can’t forgive you! You dragged us down here. You are responsible for the deaths of all those Snips! You dropped a building on me!” Landing, my beak and his face met with a bump, in a competition to see who could intimidate the other more. My furious energy was on my side, but his quick tongue was on his.

“And you endangered my pregnant mare willingly for our own selfish desires.” The response had the effect of Elm pushing me under the ice of a frozen lake and holding my head beneath the water whilst whistling ‘Dixie.’ He won the shoving competition over me, sending me stumbling back to sit on the wet dirt, my jaw wobbling a few times.

“She said you didn’t know. She said she didn’t tell you…”

“No, she didn’t,” he confirmed, “I just guessed, and you just confirmed it.” My heart burst. He’d tricked me, I’d fallen for it like a drunken idiot in a rigged card game. I regained myself quickly, using my annoyance at the fool as my mental booster. I pulled back, stood tall and straightened up, looking down on him. ‘Stand tall,’ my mother once told me, ‘even when you are in the wrong. You’re a talon, be proud of it.’ It was some of the only advice my mother gave me that I actually held on to.

“Ye had to have ken before I said anything, and if ye did then ye had no excuse! You shoulda been there-”

“She shouldn’t have been there in the first place, you were responsible for-” he argued over me.

“She’s a grown mare, I have no right telling her what to do, you cannot tell her what to do either, she-”

“Both she and my mare could have died,” Elm was shouting now, and his dead eyes were locked on me, “but I guess that’s not a stretch for a foal killer!” The last part of my rational mind was plucked out. My chest burned hot, my heart twisted itself hard, the corners of my eyes trickled with acrid acid. I felt my claws scrunch as Deadwood attempted to talk over the thump-thump-thump in my head. The beat egged me on.

“Cr-” Blam.

My fist impacted without warning.

The stallion flew without wings until gravity slammed him to the ground.

“You BASTARD!” Punch number two was ready and locked on, and yet it missed as Deadwood anticipated it. He weaved out of its way, burst into me to knock me back just as hard, and clocked my beak in an uppercut.

I fell, one wing jarring in a difficult angle painfully, the other spread out unguarded. A hoof dropped fiercely on the appendage and pinned it, the second raising threateningly over my head. Wood balked; tried to speak again, to apologize or to goad me further, I do not know, he never got the chance to say it.

I swung for him, but he moved. I threw out my open talons again, eager to purchase some red in his white fur. It didn’t catch, and I got a taste of the hoof he’d held back.

“STOP! I-OOF!” I dug my hind feet into his gut and kicked, flinging him into the air. As I rolled on the ground, I saw him touch down with his forehooves first. He must have recovered fast, I was still finding my feet when his leg swept me. I was forced to twist again, to try to escape a second hit, but his body was on top of my back again before I was up. It was a bad decision.

My wings flicked out and clapped him in the head.

Feathers hurt more than you think if used with the right strength and velocity. When I heard him cry on the third slap, I knew I’d hit him in the eye. The wing-bones snatched around his neck and held him as I threw my head back. My cranium smashed against his nose, I heard a crack, his weight leaving me.

“Aggh!” I flicked myself back onto my feet and twirled to see him standing once more. He was clutching a bleeding snout, eyes glared at me. “Stop, Crow!”

“No!” I screamed back, “Not ’til you stop fightin’ like a feckin’ pussy and do the job proper!”

“You want me to put you down, Squawk?” he asked incredulously, smearing the red across his nose.

“I want you to try, you cat-sellin’ bastard!” I spat, wings flared from my back and feet taking slow, meticulous steps towards the horse. He moved into a fresh stance and snorted a spray of crimson onto the gritty floor. He nodded and entered my bubble.

An incessant dripping of residue in the cave wept for us. The lights of our PipBucks splashed over the walls that rarely if ever received illumination. The supporting beams groaned, the long open spaces mocked us with our own echoes, and the occasional screech or click of what, in retrospect, I assumed were bats in the deeper half of the cave, cried at us to have mercy on ourselves, and on our relationship.

But we ignored the protests of our surroundings and fought. This time, Elm fought magnificently.

A griffon hates a lazy battle, a Trot hates an easy fight, and a MacRural hates to be beaten by brains over brawn. Finally, the duel between Deadwood and I was none of these. We were equally matched in skill, and from his first jab to my first block, we kept landing attacks and defending ourselves like we were captured in some violent dance craze. We bobbed and weaved, struck heavy blows as we went toe-to-toe with one another. Elm had speed, I had strength. He could whip rings around me, but I could knock the air from his lungs with a single punch or kick.

When he faltered and dropped to a knee from a southpaw, I thought I had him on the ropes, but how wrong I was. The instant I prepared to lay the final judgment on his fallen form, he revealed a feint, rounded himself to let his hind half face me, and bucked me square in the chest. I thought something went snap and tumbled backward over and over until I landed near a sharp rock that almost threatened to crack my head open like an egg if it had been any closer. I choked on lost breath but was relieved to find no blood on my claws in the process.

I didn’t have time to celebrate the fact, as Elm charged towards me. Despite the stabbing ache in my chest and headache behind my eyes, I wasn’t as easily apprehendable as the floppy-maned stick figure was assuming. He leaped, launching towards me with his leg raised to post a final blow into my face. I was ready for him.

My first claw snatched his protruding leg, my second grabbed his throat. I forced us off the ground for a moment with my wings, seeing the surprise in his popping eyes as I spiraled us around. Then, he winded himself as I slammed his back into the ground and pinned him there, keeping his movements restricted. Finally, the match was over, both of us knew it no matter how much Deadwood struggled.

“Gypsy’s pregnant, but she does not want you on the scene, Deadwood. You’re not fit tay be a father! Yer not even fit to be her stallion,” my words were harsh and cruel as I choked the life from the stallion’s lungs. My body heaved with his at the exertion of our dispute above him. My feathers were ruffled and out of place, salted with dirt and sand, and minor cuts dripped through my azure coat. I didn’t clock the clicking on my PipBuck through the noise of my righteous anger.

“And at least have the decency t’ look at me when I’m strangling some sense inta ye!” Deadwood’s gaze had turned, his one hoof was slapping me faintly on the chest, his other gesturing behind us. I shook my head and snorted, sneering, leaning into his face. “That old trick dosnay work with me, la-”

Some of the fight returned to Elmwood as he found footing under me with his hind hooves and booted me backward. I had no time to be angry, as a glowing body whistled past my shocked beak. It had no sooner hit the floor, that it scrambled again, this time its course in motion for the wheezing horse I’d just been saved by. There was a cry, a screech, and it’s effulgent gnashers sank into my friend’s neck.

I howled out and leaped, forgetting the reason we had been down here, the reason we had sought this monster and the reason it needed to be alive. I snatched the bow from my back, readied an arrow, and fired without S.A.T.S. to aid me. Like a record-breaking speedball, my projectile threw the powerless creature straight into the unmoving, jagged rock face. It stayed in one place on the wall, almost comically, for one moment before tumbling off with the elegance of an old bandaid, snapping the bolt when it hit the floor.

“Elm!” I reached to help him up, a waterfall of blood leaving from his bite wound, yet thankfully proving to have not killed him yet. The dazed horse looked paler as his eyes searched the area in a state of confusion, struggling on weakened legs before seeing the limp rat.

“Shit. Fuck… C-Crow, t-tell me you didn’t…” he croaked, stumbling towards the defeated and unmoving animal. I aided him across, whimpering myself.

“I-I’m sorry, Elm, it was killing you, I had to stop it somehow…”

“I-I thought you’d just…” he started, before coughing and shuddering hard. As his hooves peeled back, the dashes of crimson could not be denied. Spilling another swear, he crouched to check what I surely thought was a dead mole rat.

“It-it’s still alive!” he gasped, pointing. Sure enough, the small creature’s rib cage was rising and falling, albeit with dying breaths. It was enough to prompt hope.

“H-Hurry. The-” Wood’s lungs erupted again, and he shoved me towards the cage as he covered his bleeding muzzle. I could make amends, I thought, as my cheeks began to drizzle with tears, I could fix all the mistakes I had made with Elmwood, Gypsy, Mole…

I ran back to him with the cage, moving carefully around Elm as he lay staring nearly nose to nose with the beast that had put him in this critical condition. Then again, I had the overwhelming guilt gurgling in my gut as I knew I’d had a claw in his fate as well. Collecting the unconscious potential savior, I eased it into the small prison cell whilst my PipBuck tutted at my task and locked the door to it just to be safe. Then I went to reach for the stallion I’d given the beating to. His hoof reached up and pushed me back with a strength he shouldn’t have had.

“Don’t. I… I’ll… I’ll slow you down…. Get out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Bullshit,” I hissed, going for him again, only to be rejected once more. “I’m not leaving you this way,” and I started unpacking the medikit from my belongings, refusing to listen to his protests. I wasn’t the best medic, we had better in our band of Raiders back in the outside world, but I could apply ointment and a bandage, and was even lucky enough to find the case I’d swiped contained a serum which I hastily had him drink.

“I’m sorry,” I offered him as I patched up the stallion, whose droopy scribbled-on eyelids took a melancholy expression, “that shit. I shouldn’aw said it.”

“Yeah…” he uttered huskily, “but… I... needed to hear it.” He closed his eyes, and I panicked, but then he smiled at my hasty reaction, “thanks for the honesty, C-Crow. That’s why you’re…” He stopped, trying to clear his throat and shaking his head. I rubbed his back once the coughing stopped and he pointed back out to the exit.

“Go… the mole rat, it’s…” I looked back and could see the creature was convulsing. I whined out and looked quickly to Elmwood, pushing back the sting in my eyes.

“I’ll be back for ye, dunnae do nothin’ stupid!” I demanded.

“Hey… it’s … me,” he managed a shrug and the last wave before sinking back into the wall I’d propped him against.

I spun quick, grabbed the weighted cage in my claws, and cried out the Speedster creed to the parroting empty cave as I fired up my wings like missiles. I launched myself to the exit, dodging turns and twists in a bid to get the being to the doctors before it expired. The journey was a blur as I retraced the steps we’d taken to get to the mole rat nest. It was only as I neared the tower of rocks we’d landed in on that I realized there was still a problem to overcome.

I skidded to a halt at the door, wishing I had gotten the full plan from Elmwood as I crashed my palms against the half-meter thick steel stopping me from accomplishing my escape. I had only one option, and I knew the odds of it working were horribly slim.

“Hey!” I cried through the door, slamming my cut knuckles on the metal, “I have the mole rat, I can save my friends, ye have to let me through! Don’t let them die! Please! Don’t let them die!” I broke down, sobbing against the cold wall that I deserved. I had earned this punishment, even if they hadn’t. I had ruined everything.

“Please…” Thrum. The door vibrated as I heard mechanisms unlock, and moved back hurriedly as the halves parted, spilling fresh lights into the cave, blinding me. I covered my eyes until they found a mutual understanding with the blinding glow, at which point I recognized the face of the friend approaching me through the still parting doorway.

“Bones!” She didn’t make time to return the greeting, instead grasping the mole rat in a magical glow and levitating it.

“This is it? I thought the aim was not to kill it!” she turned quickly and started running for the way out again, forcing me to follow her at the same speed.

“Bones, Elm got bit as well, he-” She skidded through the gate, looking mortified at me, then tossed her head to the closest two guards.

“Gears, Solid, head back into the cavern. The coast should be clear but remain vigilant all the same. Collect the injured party, no matter what state he is in, and get him up here as quickly as you can!” she ordered, sending the two members of her team back into the cave before galloping again.

With Elm covered for, and the mole rat out of my grasp, I could finally take in the changes to the Maintenance Sector. In our time down in the hole, somepony had been very busy. Where it had once been dark, riggings had been set up to fill the hall with glaring light. What had once been a deserted square was now teeming with soldiers thundering up and down on the silver floors, patrolling or preparing their equipment. I realized at once that none were attacking me, although some shot me curious looks. I noted that even the stallion who’d been fooled by us earlier was now trying not to stare at me. I found myself wondering what had changed.

At the center of it all was a temporary wall built up of white panels, enclosing machinery that clicked, squeaked and peeped. Ponies in white lab coats appeared from it, and as Bones reached it, the second familiar face of Dr. Wolfsbane slipped out of the coverings as well. The officer hailed her, and she immediately shot her gaze at the cage that might as well have been holding roadkill by now. I saw her relief turn to disgust, but she accepted the gift and quickly conversed with Bones before she disappeared back into her pop-up office with the mole rat.

I staggered towards it in a vain attempt to find out more, only for the diligent guards on the scene to step into my way.

“Sorry, Guardian Griffon, you do not have clearance into this area,” the male told me as Bones was returning.

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” she informed me, “we’re doing everything we can.”

“What is this? What’s going on?” the mare with the cute hiney turned me around and walked me around the white panels, where shadows moved behind them in an odd style of puppet theatre.

“Come on, let me get you patched up, I’ll explain everything…”

*** *** ***

Coffee tasted amazing, I came to realize. At least, it did in Stable T-Thirty. Out in the wastelands, you were lucky if sugary mug of coffee wasn’t mud, saliva and somepony’s flaky scalp.

I nursed my hot drink as I took in everything in the debrief Bones had given me in return for my own story from the deep, dark pits.

“So what you’re saying,” I uttered over a dull pain in my beak from one of the punches that had landed perfectly for Elmwood, “is that this is all Procrustean’s doing?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” The voice that had come to fill me with dread made my head turn quicker than my brain wanted it to. My vision spun as I identified the fortress of security trotting into the area that had been lined with seats and included several blackboards chalked up with orders for his men.

“Aye,” I mumbled bitterly, “it kind of is.”

“Nonsense,” A new visitor joined the party, one I’d only heard speaking on the radio that very morning. The Overstallion joined us with a respectful smile, stood beside his faithful rottweiler of a security pony. “Procrustean’s goal here has always been the safety and protection of our people. That is why, when he heard that you had risked your lives yet again to try and retrieve the cure for our mutual friends, he organized this operation. He knew that the Stable would be too broken hearted if it lost the ponies and griffon they have all come to admire. He had the patients brought here to be closer to their cure, and was about to send in a search party when you came knocking on the door.” Overlook gave me an impressed smile.

“That’s correct, sir. I am glad to see you escaped mostly unharmed, Crow.” I really didn’t like when Procrustean used my real name, but I did not dare bring it up. Nor did I choose to address how this must all have been a ploy to make Crusty look good whilst plotting his evil plans against us, even though afterward I would wish that I had. I simply nodded, sighed, and moved my inquiries to my real worries.

“Mole, Gypsy, are they…?”

“Dr. Wolfsbane is doing all she can…” his words trailed off as a commotion at the main door had us all turning around. Fearing the worst for Elm, I flew up before anyone could stop me and raced overheads of the forming crowd, reaching the front where I touched down in a flap. I was expecting to see the stallion on a stretcher or see him carried out by the guards in a bad way. In all honesty, I presumed he’d already be dead. However, when I spotted Gears and Solid walking out of the black grotto without the pony, my puzzlement and fears grew. Had they left him to die?

“Ey, Squawk!” I spun around to the voice in shock, and let out a half terrified, half ecstatic screech. “You can patch me up anytime. I feel great!” Elmwood stood amongst the surprised crowd, grinning at me like a bloody idiot. His smile weakened as I raced for him.

“No, no, no, wait!” but he wailed as I grabbed him and cuddled him tightly, breaking my personal space rules with the stallion. “Ouch! S-Still sore.”

“Sh-Shuddup, pussy,” I sniffled and sighed gratefully as his forelegs returned around my aching and bruised ribs. I never asked how he had recovered so fast. I assumed the serum was better than I’d given credit, but looking back I should have asked questions. I should have asked a lot more questions.

*** *** ***

“Wh-What? Where… Where am I?” Gypsy’s eyelashes crept open, revealing the rose-red irises beneath. I let out the deep breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding ever since Dr. Wolfsbane had administered the antidote. The studies on the fresh mole rat’s blood had come through, and with them, the doctor and her team had worked throughout the night to uncover the cure. The first two tests had given positive results, but it was only after the third tests that simple hopes became signs of healing.

“Still alive, sorry,” Elmwood offered soothingly, taking her hoof. She looked at him with painful confusion. He smiled at her with more affection than I’d ever seen him display. “Although you gave dying a really good go, you almost had me believing you were a goner. I was about to start courting Crow instead.” He was trying to make her laugh, and yet it didn’t seem to be working. She turned her head to me, and I could tell she knew something else was up.

“I… didn’t…” she lowered her ears and her hooves drifted to her stomach as she took a long, shuddering breath. The doctor stepped in at that point.

“Miss. Breeze, you’re in a field hospital set up in the Maintenance Sector of Stable T-Thirty. You were bitten, but at present, the antidote we have administered you with appears to be working successfully. We will continue to monitor you until you-”

“Please, don’t tell me…” she interrupted, looking from the doctor to me, and finally to Elmwood. He lowered his eyes regretfully and cast them away. The doctor took a long breath and released it like a dead man savoring a last smoke before going to the gallows.

“I am sorry, Miss. Breeze. Your foal… has not shown any life signs for the past few hours. I am afraid you have had a miscarriage…” Gypsy closed her eyes. The first wet pearls dropped over her cheeks and her shoulders trembled. Her mouth parted, and her horn glowed, and Elmwood held her tight as she brayed in grief.

“No…”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, over and over, despite the magical disruption from her horn glowing brighter and fiercer. The Doctor moved in to attempt to calm her, but Elmwood got in the way. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No.”

The other doctors, the Overstallion and the Security Chief all backed up as Gypsy’s aura encompassed her entire body, even stretching into her squeezing partner. Even I, who wanted to join Elm in clinging to her, had to pull away as the glow became too intense.

“NO!” She screamed, tossing her head back and forcing out such an astonishing blast of power that it knocked out machinery, obliterated lights and send Dr. Wolfsbane tumbling over her desk. Elmwood, in the heart of the storm, seemed unaffected, although he still held to Gypsy Breeze with his eyes shut as her body turned into a magnanimous radiating light bulb. Her horn spat arcs of magic and spewed energy as she burned up in her bed like a dying star.

There was a whumpf.

A pop.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The magic shattered, it crackled out of existence around the deploring pony, whose fluorescence died out with her consciousness. Apart from the dead lights and alarmed sounds of guards trying to find out the cause of the explosion, all was calm again. Regaining herself, Dr. Wolfsbane lit up her PipBuck and hurried to her patient.

“What in the name of Celestia was that?” demanded Overlook in a state of absolute shock.

“That,” proclaimed Elmwood in the darkness, shifting out of the doctor’s way, “is what happens when you upset the Element of Magic.”

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Begun: Hole In the Wall

Quest Completed - Hole in the Wall
Quest Perk added – Here, Kitty, Kitty - Creatures are now 10% more likely to follow commands or be startled and flee from you.

Quest Penalty - Molasses Candy and Gypsy Breeze now have a permanent loss of 10HP.

Level up!
New Perk: Beat Up The Bruiser - Add +1 to Stamina

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; You Want It Darker - Leonard Cohen

Apology for the delay in this chapter; family matters and other things sprung up and had to be dealt with. Thankfully, I have had this chapter to take some frustrations out on. Apologies it got fairly dark in places, but it was great for stress relief.

Thank you to Blazie, this is the second published chapter he's edited for me, really super appreciate his hard work. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
"It's only when I'm cheating death on the battlefield. The only time I feel truly alive.” Solid Snake, Metal Gear Solid.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 019 - Sense and Stability (Part One)

Entry 018 - Lost My Six String (Song)

Entry 018 - Lost My Six String
(Song by the Stripes and Spots)

‘Lost My Six,’ was a song I only really started listening to properly in the Stable. I’d heard it around the Wastelands a few times before that but never really sat and realized the story in the words.

It’s another fun song, and I think when things started going southwards, really southwards, for me and my friends, that’s when I started having fun. Or at least, that was when I thought I was having fun. Fun is in the eye of the beholder, when the drink is involved…

Lost my Six String
By the Stripes and Spots

1.
The girls and me were due to play,
At the ‘Old Smokey Club’ on Los Pegasus Way.
But with first night nerves we went out for a drink,
And when we got back to the club, we were in for a sink~
Our changing room door was bust wide open,
Our stuff all over and I’m not even joking,
Our instruments were as good as gone,
And our good ol’ band had nothing to play on!
We took to the manager, he just shrugged and said,
“You still gotta perform or you’re as good as dead!”
We didn’t quite know what we were gonna do,
The girls looked at me and said “it’s up to you!”

Chorus
Whoa~
I have lost my six string,
We are down to play,
At Los Pegasus Way.
Some-pony
Has stolen our kit,
And if we don’t get it back,
We’ll be leaving in sacks!

2.
We were meant to be on stage in an hour,
I cried “we have to go into the city to scour,
Around for our equipment before we’re in trouble,”
We galloped into the town to get onto our puzzle.
We asked around, put our hopes out there,
The city folk just shrugged, and said “we don’t really care,”
But finally we got ourselves a breakthrough,
When some helpful pony gave us a really big clue!
“We saw some scoundrels running away with your stuff,
They went into that alley, they didn’t look so tough.
If you’re real quick you should catch them,” so we ran,
To capture these villains and defeat their plan!

Chorus
Whoa~
I have lost my six string,
We are down to play,
At Los Pegasus Way.
Some-pony
Has stolen our kit,
And if we don’t get it back,
We’ll be leaving in sacks!

3.
We burst into the den of our wicked criminals,
And to our shock we found a bunch of foals!
They looked to us with regret in their eyes,
“Please don’t be mad,” came their touching cries.
“Our own instruments were taken by an evil gang,
We just want to play,” they hit me with a guilty-pang.
I turned to my band, and we came up with an idea,
“If you can play, then we’ll give you an ear,”
The filly with my six-string struck up a song,
And her crew joined in, their talent really was strong!
When they finish we just smiled and said,
“You’re coming with us, because you guys can shred,”

Chorus 2
Whoa~
I found my six string,
We are down to play,
At Los Pegasus Way.
Some foals
Had taken our kit,
But it was just a misunderstanding
So we let them join in our singing.

4.
We got back to the club with our new band members,
But the manager looked at them, said the couldn’t join us.
We said, “If you’re gonna be like that, then we aren’t gonna play,”
He said, “If you aren’t gonna play then you’re gonna have to pay!”
We thought about it quick and inspiration came,
“Alright,” we said, “we’ll play your game,”
And out into the street we went with our group intact,
And there we played and sang and performed our act.
The best bit about it, Los Pegasus could see us for free,
And not a bit did that nasty manager ever see!
And now we play as an awesome octuple,
Do screw us over or we’ll find a loop hole!l

Chorus 2 (x2)
Whoa~
I found my six string,
We are down to play,
At Los Pegasus Way.
Some foals
Had taken our kit,
But it was just a misunderstanding
So we let them join in our singing.

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story in a safe, friendly environment with like minded Tee-Totallers? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Step Around - Wasteland Wailers (sung by Brittany Church)

I realised we hadn’t had a song for a while and this bouncy little number was well over due! It’s inspired by the tracks of the Wailers, including but not limited to ‘Step Around,’ ‘Dare Master,’ and ‘Let’s Go Shopping!’

However, for once I didn’t have an actual tune in mind when I wrote this, I just wanted a nice jazzy number with plenty of brass. I think, if someone ever picks this up and makes a real song out of it, they’ll have a lot of fun with it.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.
and kids, please. Don’t go in Fluttershy’s shed. It smells funny.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 020 - Sense and Stability (Part Two)

Entry 019 - Sense and Stability (Part One)

I would be reviled more if I were not to apologize for the sadness that my decision will cause. I have stepped down from my office because I have found myself struggling to summon the daylight within myself. It is not gone completely, nor do I believe it is gone forever. However, after the losses of innocent and inoffensive lives at Littlehorn, including that of my own family, I- I am sorry. I do not believe I could rightfully hold my position as Princess without emotional compromise.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 019 - Sense and Stability (Part One)

”Whoa~

I found my six string,

We are down to play,

At Los Pegasus Way.

Some foals

Had taken our kit,

But it was just a misunderstanding

So we let them join in our singing.”

The very next day, Molasses Candy’s jaw was dropped wide enough to catch a dragon if it wasn’t looking where it was flying. The sweet chocolate filly had been moved into Moon Ache’s ward that morning to be monitored, although they believed she could be escaping as soon as that evening. She’d been released from most of her bandages, however, the tightly wrapped white bands around the bitten foreleg had to remain for a while longer, and the wound beneath them was almost certainly going to leave a scar.

The reason for her gaping maw had come after my attempts to rehearse the song I might try to sing for my ‘Seven Day Rule.’ Time was running out; it was already day five and this was the first time since day one that I’d even considered having to sing in front of anypony. Therefore, I’d chosen the song I thought might be the most entertaining and easy enough to sing, whilst allowing me to partially disguise the fact that my warbling voice was as irritating as my name-sake’s cries. I hoped that performing it for Moley first would generate the encouragement for me to take the song to one of the music halls in the Songbird Sector.

“So, what do you think?”

Mole’s eyebrows rose ever higher, her mouth shut and she withdrew her head further back into her fluffed pillow, squirming to abscond from the necessity of being honest. It was a futile venture.

“Captain… how do I say this without upsetting you?” Her eyes began to shine wetly as she considered the possibility of destroying our relationship so early. I clucked fondly, moving in to rub my beak delicately against her cheek with a sigh.

“I won’t get upset. It was that bad?” I asked tentatively, my eyes carefully studying her expression. The toffee colored filly really looked like she was going to calmly critique my entry for the forced contest.

“It was AWFUL!” She proclaimed, loud enough to startle a young foal a few beds away who’d been trying to eat a bowl of cereal. “Never, ever do that ever, ever again! It was like a cat, inside another cat, and they’re both dying really reaaaally painful deaths, but much, much wor-“ I gently clamped Mole’s muzzle shut with the smooth sides of my talons.

“Och, okay, so ye dinnae like it! I get it.” I gave a miserable sigh and prompted her to wrap her skinny forelegs around my body in a big cling. I pushed my beak into the long, flowing curls of her mane and breathed deep, admiring how it still smelled of baking sugary goods regardless of the sponge baths she’d had. She giggled quietly, and I felt discreet lips on my neck. She must have found the secret button to my wings, they flew open the moment she nipped my throat.

“You’re getting braver,” I gulped.

“Shh,” she whispered, but immediately gave the tiniest sounds of mirth following it. “It’s not that your singing is poop…”

“‘Poop?’” I teased, “that’s a nice, cute way of saying ‘horribly shit,’ isn’t it?”

“Swear!” She inhaled in horror at my language and gave me a reprimanding tap on the beak. We were both grown adults, but she still believed in the proper and polite ideals that parents misled their young foals, into believing was important. “You just haven’t found your song yet, Captain. When you find your song, then you’ll be ready to sing.”

“S’not like I have a lot of time to go looking for it though, Fuzz Ball-”

“Fuzz Ball?” she asked with a head tilt.

“Sorry new nickname. Don’t like that one?” It generated a few seconds of thought before it got the green light.

“No, I like it,” she said with a soft expression of contentment, stroking her tummy through her bed sheets, “continue.”

“Thank you,” I smirked. “I’m just going to have to just go and do my best at the end of the day, hen,” I shrugged ruefully and crossed my bird legs, talon tapping on my elbow, “and suffer the wrath of the crowd who survive my caterwauling.”

“Hmm,” Mole leaned away from the embrace to show me her thoughtful expression, “Hot Shot said he would give you some lessons in singing right, didn’t he? You should go see him! He’s the head honcho when it comes, to judging and singing and being the manager of the best singers in the Stable!”

“He also seems to be a right prick,” I complained, waiting for another correction to my course language, although it turned out Mole didn’t actually know that was an expletive. “I’d rather boil my head in molten lava first, thanks.”

“No,” she yelped fearfully, “don’t do that! You’ll die from it!” I squinted at her, trying to wrap my head around whether she really believed I’d do it, or whether she was playing with me.

“You’re trolling me,” I decided, mentally flipping a bit and hoping for heads. I knew I won the bet when she grinned cheekily.

“But I still gotcha, just a little bit, there!” she sniggered, a noise that became raucous laughter when I tickled her for even suggesting she had tricked the wise and clever Crow!

Tickles became touches, became strokes, and then I paused over her, the pair of us panting and grinning with mixtures of pleasure and affection thumping in our hearts.

I leaned in…

She lifted towards me…

“AHEM, Miss. Crow?” I was almost annoyed that the call of my name interrupted the promise of my first truly intimate meeting with my brand new fillyfriend, but my frustration became sympathy at the sight of Gizmo hovering by the partition screen. I had forgotten for a spell that I had invited him to meet us here. “Do you want me to come back another time since you’re visiting your friend…?”

“No, no, lad, it’s fine. Thanks for coming.” I motioned for him to come in all the way and glanced back at Mole. “This is him.”

The little mousie mare let out a small noise of understanding, and for a long time, that was the last noise she made. She started to slip her weakened body out of the bed, to which I moved in to help her out of it. I noticed Gizmo step forward to aid her too, but having seen me get to her first he stood back. Once she’d wobbled on her hooves and found her strength, she hobbled towards him, letting me keep her up the right way with a wing. She reached the bullish but benevolent bloke and looked up at him, with the eyes of a pony meeting someone very important to them for the first time. I didn’t see the movement, but during a blink, her forelegs were wrapped around him and she was cuddling him tightly, stroking the back of his thinning mane, her face pressed against his iron chest.

He held her, thankful for the compassion, but looked at me questioningly. I’d told her what I could about Garden Path’s holotape, some of what it had contained and how I knew she’d been the last pony to see her alive. She’d broken down then, and thankfully she was a little more reserved now. I felt that wasn’t to last. I hadn’t asked her how much she’d heard Path say in that bathroom stall, it had been the least of my worries at the time.

“Haud yer wheesht, Mr. Gizmo,” I told him not to worry with kindness, a lump forming in my throat, “I’ll explain everything.” I couldn’t explain everything though, because that would have meant being the one to tell him that his filly friend had lied to him. Sure, it was in some small regards, but it was still not what he deserved to hear. Instead, I told him enough to know that she was a heroine to little Mole. I told him about how she had saved my life at the entrance of the Stable, and how she had proclaimed her love for him to her PipBuck. By the time I came to tell the end of her story, Molasses was not the only one with wet cheeks.

*** *** ***

Irregular noises of protest came from the usually agreeable little brown filly, whilst Dr. Moon Ache checked her temperature, blood pressure and more. His actions were all to ensure that he could truly sign her out of his practice with a clean-ish bill of health, along with a bill of expenses that came with his services. Something I’d learned on both occasions in the sick bay was that getting better did not come cheap, and my debt was still to be paid at that time. The worker from the Stable and I waited patiently outside the cordoned area.

“Will you be coming tomorrow?” Gizmo enquired, after tidying up his appearance, using at least a tree’s worth of tissues to blow his nose and dry his eyes. I looked at him in confusion for a short moment, and recognition of his meaning hit me slower than a drunk, one-legged pony in an arse-kicking contest.

“Oh, aye, the ceremony in Serenity Gardens? Aye! We’ll both be there.” I hadn’t just developed psychic powers; the big partially-balding stallion had brought up the service, that was due to take place the following day, several times during our chat about Garden Path. A mass vigil for the fallen ponies of the two attacks had been arranged, and it sounded like a lot of the Stable occupants were going.

Gizmo smiled appreciatively at our RSVP’ing in the affirmative. I’d prematurely assured Mole’s involvement in our plans, and yet I was certain that she would not disagree with the appointment. I was more confident about my decision when the little bundle of cocoa in the guise of a fully grown mare bounce out from the sterilized panels and snatched me into a great hug.

“I’m free to go!” cried the previous prisoner of medical care. I let my joy show and pulled the mare in as I enjoyed the ability to hold close the loving creature I’d almost lost. Something whelmed up in me, and realizing that the emotion I was putting a restraining order upon was trying to leak through once more. I’d blubbered more times in this Stable than I had in a long time, and based on the evidence I had in front of me I was positive this chirpy survivor was the culprit for it. I also held my suspicions for this on Gypsy as well, especially after…

I scolded myself internally for thinking about it. Knowing Gypsy Breeze’s foal hadn’t survived the mole rats hurt like a surgical knife in the heart. It hurt, even more, knowing she would not have been down there if it wasn’t for me, that I’d been so focused on the big damn rescue plan that I had not stopped to send her back to someplace safe. And yet, I convinced myself, if her genius skills with magic had not been with us on that day, we’d have certainly lost Molasses along with Path and the others.

“What are you doing, you thick-as-a-hellhound-shit dull-claw,” I insulted myself through my own thoughts, “stop thinking about it. You need to be the griffon Mole wants now.”

“Ack! S-Squeezing! N-Need my- ribs!” croaked the young girl I was clinging to, reminding me that I had the strength she did not. I clucked hurriedly on my apologies and loosened up my hold, relaxing when she laughed airily.

“It’s alright, I have plenty more where they came from, Captain.” Her nose pressed to the underside of my beak, and yet I had to give her a half-hearted nudge back when Gizmo, but more so Moon Ache, eyed us suspiciously. She caught the hint quickly and stepped back, awkward giggles stuck in her chest. I included a chuckle of my own to mask the behavior that the Stable dwellers considered so unusual, and moved us away swiftly from dangerous questions.

“We should get out of your manes, I’m sure Dr. Ache has wee patients to look after,” I offered, taking Mole by the shoulders, turning her around towards the door.

“Oh, Miss Candy, you’re forgetting something,” the doctor moved into Molasses’ previous prison cell, and returned levitating a bottle across to her. My fillyfriend’s face fell and she reached out, taking the tablets that she would have to live with for the rest of her life, pocketing them away in her Stable clothing. My claw on her shoulders rubbed comfortingly.

“Mr. Gizmo, do you have things of your own to be getting on with or are you going to come to join us?” The pony at my side asked. Gizmo’s moustache whistled when his head shook.

“Sorry, Molasses, I agreed to join the crew preparing tomorrow’s service.” And so we bid farewell to Mr. Gizmo, with a respectful claw-hoof shake from me and a sugary sentimental snuggle from the dopey-eared little filly. He and the Doc waved as we left the surgery, slipping into the corridor and rambling back towards the town center at our own leisure.

“Wanna go back to the fair, Captain? You haven’t ridden any of the really good rides! I bet you could even get over your fright of heights from all the squealy-wheely fun we’ll be having! Huh, Captain, huh, Captain, huh huh?” my short lover suggested eagerly, her cutie mark bumping on my permanently blank flank.

“Maybe,” I considered musingly, surprising the mare, “but I’d like to see Gypsy first.” Those huge but cute ears fell so fast that they clapped on the top of her mane.

“You’re not still blaming yourself for-“

“No,” I lied, “I just- I wannae ask her something, and make sure she’s on the mend.” That consoled Mole enough to keep us moving, entertaining me with more wild anecdotes during the wander into a stairwell and down the circular steps that led us to the Northern part of the Stable.

Gypsy Breeze should have been transferred to Moon Ache’s clinic along with Mole, and yet somehow when Dr. Wolfsbane came to examine her the day after she’d almost gone supernova, she found something peculiar. The bite wound for my blonde-maned friend had gone, without so much as a scar. Furthermore, her fatigue was easing at a faster rate than it should have been, so much so that the doctor couldn’t find a reason to keep her in a bed that could be so important for somepony else. She discharged her with orders that Gypsy rested for the rest of the day. I had hoped she’d follow that order.

Of course, she didn’t.

I sighed as we strolled across the warehouse, already seeing the empty bunk that belonged to my absent friend. She hadn’t even been in the bed, based on the clean, unruffled sheets, and she wasn’t the type to fix the covers up early in the morning. Oddly, that was more Elmwood’s style. He was quite regimented about having his bed ready for sleeping in at a moment’s notice. The thought prompted me to send Mole off to my stallion friend’s bunk, a matter I wondered whether I’d regret, but thankfully she did not see anything that would scar her mentally, and unfortunately, she did not find Gypsy or Elmwood either.

Despite the missing nag, I hoped I might at least find a clue to her whereabouts. I rummaged around in the molding-pea colored locker that she’d been assigned, but found only a spare Stable suit which I plucked out to check. It looked like it had been created to accommodate maternity, which made my feelings sagged a little more, and caused a sigh to drop from my beak.

“It’s not your fault.” Molasses mumbled by my ear, having appeared like a spider web to the face. Jumping, I gave her a complete scowl, clucked and flicked her on the snout lightly for startling me.

“I’m not thinking about that,” I protested.

“What are you thinking about then, huh? Don’t tell any big fat lemon pies! I’ll know!” She tapped my beak back, bringing out a fussy grunt from me. I thought fast.

“Something Elmwood called Gypsy yesterday. ‘The Element of Magic.’ What do you think that means?” I turned my head curiously to her, my fluffy tail end tapping her leg. She scrunched her face and shrugged in confusion. I turned back to the lockup.

“I mean, she’s a wee crazy talented unicorn with magic. She just thinks of it and-,” I paused, as I saw something I’d missed on my first look through the closet. The memory sphere with the balloons that Gypsy had first seen in the Sweet Elite had become hidden in the very corner of the metal cabinet. She must have forgotten to put it back during my emotive outburst. I crouched down and picked up the orb, lifting it up and presenting it on my palm to Molasses.

“I’m sorry, we found it the other day in your store. Gypsy looked into it, I hope you don’t mind.” Mole looked at it thoughtfully and then gasped, reaching out with her telekinesis to pluck it from my talons.

“My great-great-great grandma Maud’s marble! I have two, she-” she paused, yelped, and then sat completely still as she was propelled deep into the memory. I watched her with my head tilted, wondering why she’d called it a marble, then let her sit there with my safeguarding presence around her.

It was a lucky thing that Mole did not see a bunch of my old team stumbling into the warehouse lodgings, blue sacks slung over their shoulders with the lip of the bags closed in their teeth. They eyed me and Mole as they tossed the full, clattering, jingling packs against their sleeping quarters, attempting to push their goods below their beds. Raiders might not be trustworthy folks, but they were especially hasty to hide things they had to work hard to pilfer. I made my way over with a saunter and used a claw to peep into one of their swag bags. Tons of bits, cutlery, gems, things made of precious metals sat in the spoils. I could see in another sack they were trying to stash away that they had collected was a bar’s worth of spirits and beer.

“Ooh. Nice goodies, lads and lassettes. Where’d you get these from, eh, Eye Dance?” I addressed the closest mare with a strong grin, digging bits from one bag, letting them trickle through my claw. Eye Dance, named for her wooden eye with a painted iris that seemed to have a mind of its own, stared me out of her one good eye grimly for a second and released a shrill laugh that her comrades echoed. Together they kept hiding their goods without an answer for me until I struck my claws into the bag Dance reached for and pulled it away.

“Spill the beans, or I’ll go see what a guard thinks of all this stuff. They might suggest a holder’s account, or starting your own museum, aye?”

“We don’t have nothing to speak to you about, Mac,” sniggered a stallion I knew as Tea Bag, not for his love of hot beverages.

“Yeah, your friend mighta got us in here, but you’re still no friend of ours,” Eye enjoyed telling me, as though it wasn’t old news, “you ain’t Poxy’s bitch no more even. She reckons you’re soft for the ponies here.”

“Soft, me?” I scraped my claws along the concrete floor in demonstration, examined them and blew off the stone dust, “You sure about that one, lassie? Pah!”

“Oh, come on,” she rolled her eye, the other spinning of its own momentum as she used a hind hoof to push the remainder of her stolen goods to her colleagues to be packed away, “you ain’t one of us. You act like one of us when the boss is looking when it suits you, but when shit gets messy you take a moral highpoint and you start asking questions. You don’t live by our code.” She poked my chest with the golf club she had for a right peg-leg, and which she liked to joke she lost in a ‘golfing accident.’ She thought that was funny, and it was, back during the first time she said it. The other billion times, not so much.

“Nopony isn’t a target,” recited one.

“Nothing isn’t ours,” said another.

“Nopony deserves to live,”

“And if you disagree, you’re already dead,” finished Eye Dance proudly, leaning into me, “so do ya disagree, big girl?” I looked over the four thieves in front of me, judging each one on their strength, skill, and ability to menace. I knew I could take the back two easily with or without weapons, they weren’t the best of Poxy’s team. Tea Bag was only a little higher on that punch-able scale. Eye Dance, despite her depth perception, was a fast little bucker. I knew she’d pose the most challenge to me if it came to blows.

“You’re all arseholes,” I said bluntly, strolling around them, “I don’t care what you say, and I don’t care what Poxy says. I know what I am; a bitch Trot with nothin’ to prove to you scunners.” I turned around and started to head back towards Mole, but hopped quickly back to face them as I heard Tea Bag’s hooves shift. He had taken a step to come after me, and I readied my talons for a fight. Eye Dance stopped him short by grabbing his tail with the remaining blackened teeth she had, halting him.

“You really think you’re such a bitch?” she countered daringly.

“More so than you’ll ever be, Woody.”

“Prove it,” she sneered, flicking an eyebrow and pointing to the memory-engrossed pony by Gypsy’s bed, “head right over there and gut that little piece of jailbait that hangs around with you. Don’t think, just do it,” she flashed her rotting dentures again. Ugh, I could smell the halitosis from a mile away. Luckily, I had her provocation to occupy my mind instead.

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re thinking about it again! Te-”

“I heard you make a fuckin’ idiot o’ yersen! If I go over an’ do that, she’s gonnae make a wee mess of the warehouse, and did ye wannae explain to Poxy why we jumped the plans too soon, lass?” I made an estimation; there had to be a reason Poxy and the raiders were only committing petty crimes right now, and whilst I wasn’t filled in on the full details I could at least pretend I knew more than Eye and her gang thought.

“You’re chickening out of it,” she grunted with a squinting eye, my bluff failing.

“She’s right though, Dancer,” Tea admitted with an expression that showed how much it hurt to admit that, “we can’t start killing ponies too soon, they gotta trust us first…” Eye Dance considered the options and suddenly flashed a new, maleficent smile.

“We’ll only make a little mess then… Tea Bag, you know what to do. Consider it treatment for the blue balls I’ve been dealin’ you with lately.” As horror struck me, Tea Bag’s face lit up with lust and excitement. He practically pranced his way around me and skipped across the shady warehouse towards my marefriend. I instantly spun, hoping to stop him, but I could barely lift a claw when something sharp found its way against my neck. I could only stop and watch as I smelled the decaying calcium and listened to Eye Dance whisper in my ear.

“Watch without crying like a fuckin’ foal, then we’ll talk.” The knife Dance was tucking into my feathers hurt, and I contemplated suffering a new scar or worse if I could at least save my innocent little treasure from her fate. I sank back, laughing weakly, shrugging defeatedly.

“Y-You think I care about that l-little shit? D-Do … Do what you want with her.” I promised to her in my head that I was not going to let this happen, looking around with my failing act of impartiality. My tail flailed around hard and twice whacked against one of the canvas sacks beneath the bed. Checking, I found I was hitting one with the candlesticks inside it. If I could coil my extra long limb around it, I might be able to send Dance southwards faster than she could gut me, I supposed. I had to be quick, though, as I saw Bag had finished his preliminary checks of Molasses. He’d done a full tour around her, he was encouraging her hindquarters off of the floor like positioning a toy doll. He rubbed his hooves together gleefully and started to climb.

Two things happened in that instant in quick succession. The first was that my tail delved fast into the bag, and coiled around the closest thing it could, dragging it out in a hurry. The second was that Molasses woke out of the dream-like state.

“OH MY GOSH, CR- AAAH!” Mole hadn’t expected a stallion to be on top of her back, especially since she hadn’t anticipated the things she thought to just be marbles actually have the power to show her the past of another pony. Her hind legs rolled back instinctively, then jutted out with strength my little bat-earred girl didn’t know she had. Her aim was true, and Tea Bag fell to one side, his balls a lot bluer than they had been before.

“What the fu-” started Dance, the knife her muzzle was holding to my throat dropping to a safe distance. My tail tugged out from the bag, a particularly heavy candlestick with a marble base coming with it. I whirled it around for propulsion and flung the heavyweight into the back of Eye Dance’s head, thanking my lucky eggs I didn’t take myself out in the process. The mare slumped hard onto me and, whilst not completely concussed, was not getting up too quickly from the shock of the unseen attack either. I twisted immediately to the other two and brandished the knife that I had been threatened within a claw, pointing it at them.

“You want me to tell Poxy about this?” I warned. There were hurried shakes of heads and I stared them out nastily, tempted to carve into them for even intending to abuse the sweet and unaware filly. Mole, for her part, was gasping and apologizing over the crumpled form of Tea Bag, clutching his spoiled plums and sobbing for his mother. I threw Dance’s weapon into the rafters of the warehouse before running over to collect the mare from her unsuccessful rapist.

“Crow, I didn’t mean to, I just- he just- I-” She sobbed, breathing in short, rapid bursts. I grabbed her leg like a mother pulling her child away from an accident of her own liability and got her out of there as quick as I could.

“Don’t worry about it, he deserved it, trust me, he shouldn’t have tried to get a piggyback off of you without permission,” I lied to her, and watched her accept that with a mix of relief and dread. In some ways, I wish I’d told her who I was there and then. She might have known enough to know when to run and hide when to get herself out of the danger I was slowly approaching like a bug to a flame.

“I think I hurt him bad,” she whimpered, trying to look back at the storehouse we were bustling away from. “Shouldn’t we be trying to get him some help?”

“I think we helped him enough already, lass,” I grunted, patting her saddle lightly, “was that really your first time with a wee memory orb?” Mole’s jaw dropped open as she stared at me, hopping deftly in front of me and trotting backward.

“That’s what those have been this whole time? I thought they were marbles! I was told never to take them out of that old cash register, but Mr. Lemon Drop must not have known it was super special!” She gave a squeaky giggle and danced with a bounce on her hooves, all the while moving rear-first. It was enough to make me forget the trials and troubles of a minute ago and smile at her.

“Mr. Lemon Drop?” I enquired thoughtfully, to her eager nods.

“He was the pony who sold Daddy’s old shop to me before he ascended, he bought it off of my brother because Hard Candy wanted nothing to do with it. Mr. Lemon Drop was my longest and oldest friend.” She sighed heartily, “I miss him sometimes, but I have to remember I’ll see him again when I ascend.” I winced at the thought of Mole ascending and tried to fill my mind with something else.

“You’ve seen the memory on there now, then. What did ya see? Can you tell lil’ old me?” I asked with a hopeful chirp. She laughed again and raised both eyebrows at me.

“You’re not little, Captain,” she teased.

“That’s not the part you’re supposed to correct,” I frowned, although I couldn’t hide the good-natured feelings, just having her safe around me, produced. “Come on, gimme a clue. Was there a pink mare with a crazy smile in it?” I got an expression from Mole that suggested I had just read her mind.

“How did you know? Have you done the memory orb thingy too? Have you? Huh? Huh? Huh?” I shook my head at her adorable exuberance.

“Can’t. Doesn’t work unless you have a horn, you gotta hit it with magic for them to work, lass.”

“Ooooh,” she said, realizing that was exactly what she had done. Then happiness flooded her face and she scooted quickly around to my backside, pushing me towards a bench by the fountain overseen by the tiny dancer.

“Get ready to settle down and listen to Aunty Moley, Captain,” she cried with excitement and keenness. She ensured I was sat, then fell back into space before the spitting statue to tell, perform and occasionally sing the memory, from memory to me. “It’s storytime!”

*** *** ***

Rocks.

The book of hoof-written poems were all about rocks. Not one, or two, but the entire damn book that sat in the hooves Mole saw in her vision. Poems about the love of rocks. Poems dedicated to the joy of ‘making’ love to rocks, although her host did not take to reading those. Each perambulation through the verses was besotted to crystals, stones and minerals.

Molasses wondered why she was so focused on such a boring book, why she couldn’t gain control of her body to easily toss it away and why she wasn’t interested in finding something else more exciting or adventurous to read. That brought her to the realization that the gray hooves holding it were not her own, nor were the granite colored legs it rested on, and the slate blue dress she wore certainly wasn’t a number from her own wardrobe. The voice, her voice, but not her voice, was the clincher that made her understand she was looking through the eyes of a different pony.

“Ode to a Smokey Quartz,” her lips read in a low female tone, sounding a lot duller than they felt they were being.

“Smokey Quartz,

you are created in clusters.

Some say you have healing properties,

But I say your pointed hexagonal rhombohedral prisms,

Are some of your best qualities.”

A cherubesque sound pulled the possessed mare from the recital of her own penned poem, to look up at the crib she was sat before. She could feel the start of a smile on the lips, as she sat up and looked into the foal’s pen to see a baby colt attempting to suckle his own hoof whilst gazing up with the brightest blue eyes. His mane was a mess, lapis lazuli in color, his fur a pale gray. At the sight of her face, he gurgled agreeably.

“I know that’s one of your favorites, Sodalite,” she said, the monotone sentence bearing some maternal affection in its context. She lowered her eyes to the book to find another poem he could enjoy…

… and was stopped by an insistent rap, tapping eagerly on her only door. Mole thought she could detect a sense of foreboding within the body she was riding, but it was pushed aside as the book was closed and put on a chairside table. After a short glance at a photo of her and her sisters, where a smiling and enthusiastic salmon-colored mare gleefully hugged all of the others, the young mother got herself onto her hooves and crossed the rugs in slippers made in the form of the same plush, pink and eccentric pony.

Her home was made of a cave far smaller than anywhere in Stable T-Thirty, and yet it was a truly grand design that nature had created and the mare had decorated in her own unique way. A waterfall brought a clear water pond to her residence, whilst hundreds of multicolored gems grew out of the walls, floors and even plant pots like beautiful, translucent flowers. A wide crack in the ceiling allowed fresh sunlight, real sunlight, into the natural home. She’d put up a purple permanent gazebo as a shelter for her living area.

The mystery mare hesitated at the thick, oak door, sighed gently and reached out to open it, not even blinking as a pair of cannons shot streams of confetti across her porch.

“Goooood Morning!” The figure on her doorstep leaped forward through the cloud of rainbow paper with a bright, white grin so wide it nearly defied her cheeks and left her face. “StableTec calling!” The mare was drenched in a tanned-beige rain mac and a matching fedora with a brown band. Beneath it puffed a crazy pink mane, belonging to the mare from the Ministry of Morale posters. She looked tired, but that did not seem to sap her hyperactive energy as she feigned a salespony in her terrible disguise, right down to the faded red tie around her neck. She clutched a clipboard in front of her and waited for Mole’s driver to speak next.

“Hello Pinkie,” she said flatly, her delight or displeasure unclear. Despite the calm admission that this mare was aware who was beneath this costume, the mare on her doorstep still looked back and forth for the mentioned pony before shrugging in a state of confusion.

“Pinkie? You mean Pinkie Pie, that magnificent party extraordinaire, that funster of fun-fun-fun, the Ministry of Morale’s mighty, all-around merrymaking mare? Nope! Don’t see her!”

“Oh,” murmured the mare blandly, “my mistake.” She slid back to let the mare wander in, who started making notes with ‘hmm’s and ‘ahhh’s every time she stopped.

“Nice place you got here, verrrry nice, almost… StableTec nice?” The mare posed with an eyebrow lifted. The mare she was talking to stared blankly at her, and yet that didn’t seem to deter the fruity pony from continuing to talk.

“Anyway, Mrs. Dr. Maud Pie. It is MRS. DR. Pie correct?”

“No, it’s-”

“Can I call you Maud?” The intruder did so anyway, “Maud, I can see that you’re a busy pony, so I’ll cut right to the ch- oh! Hi cutest-nephew ever, Sodey!” The Sales Rep skipped straight across the rug to the crib by the pondside, faltering only once her hooves were planted on the wooden bed. She gave a disconcerted expression to the mare.

“I mean, who is this-this handsome young stallion, whom I have never met and am certainly not related to?” the response was granted a slow, placate blink.

“His name is Sodalite. He like poetry long strolls in my saddle and hugs with his aunty Pinkie Pie.” She quietly shared a hope with Molasses that this explanation would be enough of a prompt for her to break out of her masquerade.

“Well, I’m sorry your absolutely super-huggly aunty Pinkie Pie isn’t here, Sodey, but I hope hugs with StableTec Representative-” she checked the badge hanging from her raincoat pocket, “-76 will be enough to satisfy you until you next see her!” She hoisted the foal out of his safety cage and cuddled the bemused colt warmly in her forelegs. He blinked at her, decided auntie Pinkie was being a big silly as per usual and laughed gleefully before starting a blown-raspberry war with her.

“There must be some mistake,” the pony named Maud went on to explain, as the internal voice Mole hyperventilated at the realization that she was seeing the world through her great-great-great-something-grandmother’s eyes, “one of your representatives already came to visit an hour ago.” This didn’t shock the covert horse, as she cooed joyfully snout to snout with the current Candy family’s great-great-great grandfather.

“Oh, nothing to worry about, don’t panic about that, just some pesky paperwork that I need to complete so that you can be prepared for, heh, ‘total devastation’ of Equestria as we know it!” She went bug-eyed at her own realization and stared into an unoccupied corner of her room for a second before Maud’s son poked her nose, waking her out of it.

“We already did paperwork,” Mrs. Pie said pointedly, “we did a LOT of paperwork.”

“Oh, I know, Maud, I know, but in case you haven’t noticed, Equestria is going to heckie in a picnic basket, if you’ll excuse my language,” Pinkie had the good foresight to cover Sodalite’s ears as she said it, and he gave her hoof a friendly suck when she was done. “Once I’ve bounced over the last of your documents to your Stable, you’ll be ready for the future, safe and sound away from total shamanistic annihilation. That is if that’s still what you want?” Pinkie leaned in, her ear flicking around in a circle to invite an answer. Maud stared.

“That’s what we want.”

“GOOD!” Cried the cotton-candy kid in another horse’s ill-fitting uniform, although she did not sound too happy about that answer. “Good, good, good, goodie goodgoodgood. Let’s get this troublesome paperwork out of the way then.” She placed Sodalite gently back in his bed, earning a sad whiffle from the boy as he watched her slip into a chair and prepare her clipboard for the responses. She tucked her pen into the corner of her mouth and waited patiently for Maud to settle down as well.

“Ready?” A firm nod. “Okie-dokie-loki! I mean, Rightie… Tightie-wh.tie… Ahem! Question One: You’re approached by a pony who says they’re going to put their cold hydrochloric acid all over your conglomerates and breccias! What do you do?” Maud frowned, Mole, feeling her ears flicking back gently as she considered the strange question.

“I’d say that would create a catalytic reaction with the clasts of my carbonate rocks and minerals, and I’d rather they didn’t,” was the emotionless answer. Pinkie gave a surprised, ‘uh-huh?’ She jotted down that reply and moved to the next question.

Each query was more bizarre than the last, “you come across a pony trapped in time, do you release them or leave them where they are trouble-free,” and, “you discover your best friend is not who they say they are, do you stay with them even when they change the rules to your favorite game,” and even, “you fall into a well with a load of stolen gear, do you REALLY think a pony will come and help you out of it?”

Finally, the pink spy reached her last question, and she drummed her stylo on the paper before posing it to Maud.

“If the Stable you and your family were about to live in had a deep, dark secret, like scary experiments, or if you were being watched through your walls, would you still go live in it, huh, would you?” She looked up from her quiz and watched the straight-maned mother inquisitively.

“I’d still go,” answered Maud, not rising to the clear probe into her choice of protection from the dangerous future that they all faced. Pinkie had expected more of an answer than that, it seemed, and she kept eye contact until her left eye began twitching irregularly.

“Right! Right, sure, that’s one reply, I guess!” she finally ululated, hopping out of the chair and carelessly putting the documents lengthways away in her saddlebag, showing that she’d been doodling hieroglyphics the whole time. “I can, huff! Sure tell you one thing, Maud, no pony has- phew! There! Ever answered quite like you. But hey, you’ve passed! I’m…ahem!” The sales-pony suddenly had something irritating their eye, and they turned, hurrying to the exit.

"Wonderful! That's... Everything...” she finished fussing with her eyes and waved through the door as she pulled it closed behind her. “Just gonna walk this over to the Stable! Congratulations on being prepared for the future!” There was a rattle from the knocker as it shut, and yet the memory was not over.

Maud sat, counted the seconds on her carriage clock over the fireplace knowingly, not having to wait very long at all. Three ticks in, there was a new knock on the door and in stumbled Pinkie Pie, almost completely free of the previous disguise, the coat caught on her hind leg.

“Hiiii~ Maud! I just saw this totally crazy official StableTec guy, looks like he was coming from your place and I thought, whilst I was passing, I’d just-”

“I knew it was you, Pinkie.” The mere suggestion created the biggest explosion of defiance.

"Me? I don’t know how you can think such a thing, who’d pretend to be StableTec? That’s crazy, you’re-”

“You’re still wearing the tie…” Maud pointed out, motioning to it with her hoof.

“-Crazy,” Pinkie finished her rant as she tugged the tie off with a struggle, briefly bunching up all the excess skin and fur of her face as she pulled at the fabric until it came over her head with a pop. Scooting it away in her tail, she squealed and scurried over to handle her youngest family member once more.

“Hiiii~ Sodey, bestest little peeper in the peepiest peeping land!” She giggled, returning to the affectionate, fun-loving party horse her sister remembered her as. Maud gave a small, barely noticeable sniff and got up steadily. Pinkie looked at her through the corner of her eye as she fussed with the foal, stroking his mane which brought out an adorable whinny from him.

“You know, StableTec are doing some really freaky, deeky thingies, Maudy,” she shared warily, “I know that Apple Bloom and her friends are our friends too, and the Stables look super-dee-duper, but it’s not them that spook me, it’s the weirdos that work for them...”

“That is not what this is about, Pinkie,” the mare, who Mole was watching from the inside of, said, “you don’t want me to be in a Stable where you’ll never see me, Mudbriar or Sodalite ever again.” Even in the unwavering voice, it was clear the words did not land without pain in for Maud, but more so, Molasses could pinpoint the exact moment it broke Pinkie’s heart.

“Y-You can’t. You won’t! I’ll do anything, Maud, i-is this about the Party-Time Mentats? I-I’ll give them up! F-For good this time! I P-Pinkie Promise!”

“You Pinkie Promised before…” Maud advised softly, watching her usually happiest sister tear up over her son, who did his best to honk her nose and cheer her back up, “I cannot expose Sodalite to this behavior anymore, Pinkie Pie.” Watching the mare crumple into a flood of tears, she moved in and carefully slipped Sodalite from her forelegs, still reaching out her spare leg to comfort her.

“I’m sorry, Pinkie, but StableTec employed me to work at the new Stable they are building in Manehattan. They need my expertise, and they are offering us a good package. We cannot pass this up. I hoped you’d understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” wept Pinkie Pie, struggling to keep any moisture in her body from flying out of her eyes. “I-I mean, I do, b-b-but…” She snuffled, and pouted, and snorted messily. Maud moved in and let everything out with a placating, “there, there,” that somehow made things hurt a little less.

When she finally drained most of the tears she’d been storing for far too long, Pinkie pushed her cheeks about and gazed contritely at Sodalite.

“Why do things have to change?” she mumbled ruefully, her mane and tail looking a little less voluminous than they had before.

“I don’t know, Pinkie,” her sister said with a sigh, then gave her a small affectionate touch of noses. “Want to stay for dinner? Mudbriar will be home soon, he would hate to miss you.” That brought a small light and a lift back to the sad baby-rose mare and she nodded gently.

“I’d like that.” Then, looking directly into her sister’s eyes, she paused, gasped and smiled optimistically.

“Oh. Hi again, you two!”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Dizzy - Tommy Roe Because, well, snu snu... FINALLY!!!!

This chapter came to be, mostly because of rewrites. I originally wrote this chapter and the following chapter fifteen as one chapter, with less Mole. However, without this chapter, it felt dark and depressing. Chapter fifteen will be pepped up a little more too, so won't feel as bleak. The intention of the story and where it's going will remain.

Thank you to Blazie, and Synesisbassist, who helped me with advice on writing snu snu! Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 021 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part One)

Entry 020 - Sense and Stability (Part Two)

The one pony theatre production took a dramatic bow, which drew applause from behind me. As I’d been engrossed by Molasses acting out the roles of both ponies (three if you counted the foal which, of course, she also performed the part of) I hadn’t seen that company had joined up with us.

“Bravo!” Private Joke cheered with an awarding stomp and a whistle through two hooves. “I particularly liked the bit when you struggled with the tie. I really believed you were wearing a tie!”

“Oh, hehe, thanks! That sure was tricky,” giggled Molasses, hopping off of the wall of the fountain to trundle across the street to join us, “I had to imagine I was wearing a tie, and then pretend to pull it off! Crazy, huh?”

“Out of sight,” chortled the guard, and moved around the chair before he reached out a hoof for Mole, “nice to meet you, I’m a friend of Crow.”

“Mole, this is Private Joke. PJ, Mole,” I said, in way of introduction as I gestured between them, as I felt glad I’d not imagined the elusive stallion who’d turned up at the eleventh hour to rescue, and aid, myself and Gypsy. Giving Mole the quick download on who this guy was and how he’d helped us save her, I tittered as she knocked him over with a hug. As he gave his best 'fallen tortoise' impression, I shot him a pleased smile and a quick look over, noticing bandages along his back leg. He caught my concern.

“Nothing to worry about, Cee. Just a couple of scratches,” he assured me, stretching the leg out and giving it a flex.

“Lum got out too though, right? Neither of you got bit, aye?” I asked with some trepidation. He gave his detainer a light pat, really seeming to enjoy the closeness of my little bear, and she replied to it with a nuzzling nicker on his chin. I felt a bubble of jealousy pop inside me but gulped it back down. I had to remember that she was my filly, not my songbird in a cage. I had to remind myself that a lot.

“We both got a few scratches, but nothing too nasty. Tunnel Bugs don’t go down that easy!” he grinned widely, sharing a wink. The mare on top of him lifted her head, her eyes almost as wide as her mouth.

“Oh. My. Squeakiness! You’re a Tunnel Bug? That is so sugars-and-creamy coolio-beanies! Do you do requests?” I immediately wondered why Molasses was requisitioning a pony I assumed was a mercenary, and yet he laughed with a shrug and a nod.

“Sure, what are you wanting to hear?” He said kindly. This sent the hyperactive goofball into an entirely new fit of indecisiveness as she sprung off of him and bounced about, playing a unique game of ‘the floor is lava’ whilst umming and ahhing.

“Oh what about-no, I heard that last week. How about-No! Silly Mole, too over-done. You could-Eeesh, that’s not a thing you can do without percussion instruments…”

“How about I just riff one off for you?” he offered, to an excited squeal from the filly balancing one-hooved on the bench backrest, and a disgusted look from yours truly.

“Och, if this is a clop thing-”

“Whoa, no!” Private scrambled to his hooves, looking between me and Molasses, waving his hooves frantically, “It’s just poetry. Nothing sexual about it!” I gave him a judging look until I was confident that he was being honest, at which point I let out a long sigh, shaking my head and looking down.

“Poetry? Really? Ugh, now I’m wishing it had been a sex thing…” I grunted, too flustered, unintelligible complaints from Mole and an embarrassed laugh from Private Joke.

“Ignore the Captain, PJ,” she advised haughty, “would you really make up a poem on the spot for me?”

“I’ll do better than that,” he genially replied, “I’ll make up one about you guys, even the grumpy Guardian Griffon.” He provided me another wink and a sniggle, that I could only respond to with a sarcastic fleer. It wasn’t enough to cease and desist his improv waxing, and after checking his PipBuck while advising he was just recording the poem for future performances, he began.

“The Guardian, and the Heart of Gold are the best of friends.

They seemed like an impossible pair, yet each defends,

The Magic of Honesty, Generosity, Laughter, Kindness, and Loyalty.

See them race into the fray to rescue others, without any anxiety!

Watch them stop the darkness spreading, side by side, not stopping,

Even parted, they are strong, with their fellowship never dropping.

They may love others, they may wander, but never break apart,

For what you see in them, now is only the start.

For years and years, the legends will grow, and when this poem is very old,

They’ll still tell stories of the Guardian Griffon, and her Heart of Pure Gold.

Tunnel Bugs rule, and you’ve been cool,

Thank you~”

Astonished that he’d come up with a sonnet so fast, I found myself staring at him while my counterpart zealously scurried in and wrapped her limbs around him, bringing him floorwards once more. Suppressing the urge to tell him that I didn’t hate the rhyme, I helped him be free of the cling-on filly.

“Aye, okay, that was…” I twiddled my talon at him in a vaguely appreciative manner, and followed it up with a shrug, “did you just show up to give us a wee poetry sesh, or is there some other reason for you appearin’? Don’t tell me,” I produced a grand smirk, “You missed me! Aww, yer too kind, laddie.”

“Ah ha ha, aye, I did miss you, actually,” he began, assuming my accent accidentally, before clearing his throat to correct himself, “but that’s not why I’m here. Gypsy told me that as soon as the ‘Heart of Gold’ was up and about, we needed to give her some hooves-on training.”

“‘Hooves-on’ training?” Molasses asked as I took a seat beside her, curious about this myself. But more importantly…

“Gypsy? You’ve seen her? Where is she?” I asked, hoping he’d point me in the right direction. He disappointed me with a rise and flop of his shoulders.

“Busy is my best guess. She said she had a lot to do now, she felt bad that she’d already been slacking up to this point.” Mystified by this vague explanation, I pressed him for more. What was so crucial that Gypsy needed to leave her odd jobs up to somepony else? Why couldn’t she come and see me in person? None the less, the more I badgered Joke, the more uncooperative his responses became, until he tapped me on the beak.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about that mare in the whole time I’ve known her, it’s that she knows exactly where to be, exactly when she needs to be there. If she needs us, she can find us.” He waggled his PipBuck in my direction. “Until then, let’s get this little cutie a gun.”

“The whole time you’ve known her?” I scoffed, “you’ve known her a week, I’ve- A gun?” My brain didn’t catch up as quickly as it should have, although Private was pleased that I didn’t continue with my original train of thought.

“A gun?” Mole looked like a bar of chocolate that had been left on a shelf and forgotten for a few months. The stallion in the guard’s barding, which I was increasingly suspecting to be nothing but a disguise, nodded sharply.

“Come on. Lumbah’s got you all set up.” Without further ado, PJ turned and led us back through another alley.

*** *** ***

The journey had not soothed Molasses Candy's timidness about her next task into the sewers of, what Private Joke affectionately called, the Under Stable. Firstly, he had to spend nearly an hour convincing my adorable filly friend that she could walk through the secret wall into the back passageway without anything awful happening to her. I even had to do several journeys through it myself, then guide her in under my wing, before we were able to move on. Every step, every sound, every movement, had the mare on edge, but I could forgive her for this. She’d not been acclimatized to nastiness the way I had.

The underneath of the Stable did not bear the dignity nor the sophistication of the upper deck and beyond. In fact, I’d seen damaged and pillaged Stables with nicer squalors than this. Pipes ran back and forth, some leaking, some broken completely. In one such case, I saw a note scrawled on it advising, “to be fixed; found-” and a date, which put it back two years ago. I tutted and rose my eyebrow at PJ, giving him a lecture about good settlement management. He agreed and humbly suggested he’d ensure somepony would be sent soon to fix the job.

We followed the wide metal tunnels along a grated concourse that hovered over the streams of sewage water. Every few yards, we passed big circular plates on the walls, with the StableTec logos adorned on them and lettering, proclaiming this to be the “STABLETEC GUTTERING NETWORK,” fancy-schmancy way of saying a literal shit-hole. The stench caused Mole to gag twice and struggle over the side at least once. I was thankful that the wastelands had places that smelled worse, although admittedly not by much.

“How doesn’t this reach the Stable above?” I asked at one point as we passed under a drain that led to one of the streets above.

“Smell spells,” Private started simply, before expanding, “they’re all over, masking the places that could stink like an ogre's armpit and instead of letting you smell something good. In some places, they’ve even made money from it. You go past the bakery and try not smelling fresh bread, or fresh coffee by the cafes…”

“Wow,” I huffed, “is anything in this wee place real?” but then I realized I was saying this in front of Molasses. “I mean, really, really uncool, because so far this Stable, och, it’s too cool for school.” The mare gave me an odd look, but then flip-flopped her ears and kept trotting with us. She was still on edge, and I made sure to land and comfort her with a wing until we reached our destination.

Thankfully, the room Private was leading us into was a fair walk from the sullied streams. Before we walked through the doorway, he paused and looked at a pile of trash in the corner.

“You see that spot right there? Once saw a rat pick up a full bottle of Sparkle Cola, right there. Drank from it, two paws and everything. Crazy, right?” He laughed spritish-like to himself and tapped his hoof on the wood before he stepped on through the door. Mole and I shrugged to one another, but we stepped through the door regardless.

Big Lum was waiting for us, stood at the head of a pop up shooting range, made especially for us. A wall of sandbags was built to be stood behind, while there were already targets at various lengths of the room to be aimed and shot at, blank-faced so as not to freak the mare out on her first day with a weapon. I still argued over that, walking over to Lumbah and whispering to him.

“This is a good idea, but if she doesn't know now that she might have to shoot at something without three circles for a coupon, will this just be another kiddie’s game for her?”

“Hello to you too, Crow,” he grunted irritatedly at me, and I found myself apologizing to him.

“Och, sorry, Lum, how are ye?”

“Grouchy,” he replied, “little hungry. Left shoulder’s a wee bit sore…” He found himself with the same problem as Joke when it came to parroting my accent, and he made sure it didn’t become a habit, “I think the filly’s having enough problems picking up a gun, nevermind who she’s going to be shooting it at, don’t you?” He encouraged me to turn around, where Molasses Candy was stood directly in front of the wall, her head bent down to look at the set of guns in front of her.

“I don’t know if I can do this…” I caught her muttering, as Private Joke trotted over to sit and pat her back reassuringly. He went on to explain each weapon they’ve placed on the sandbags, from a 10mm pistol to an IF-9 Shotgun.

“How’d you get these?” I asked nervously, “I thought we couldnae get a hold of any guns without the big bad security chief knowing, on account of them all being bugged. What’s to stop Crusty following us all the way back here?” I glanced back to the exit. There was only the one, and that was usually not my style. Wasteland etiquette included knowing you’ve got a second way out in case the shit hits the fan and splatters you and your friends in excrement, but it was a rule I'd forgotten to follow at the time. I could foresee this Stable turning me soft, and I was hating the feeling.

“I’ve had a bit of time since then to rejig the tracking system,” Big Lum looked incredibly proud of himself, “I can’t get us access to the full inventory yet, but I decommissioned these from the list for ‘faulty reasons’. The revolver? Barrel keeps falling out. Pistol? Loose clip and the IF-9? Infested with mites.” He pointed out the signed off gear, then gave us a very pleased grin. Private followed this up with a fling of his hooves and a cry of, “Tunnel Bugs Rule!” The pair bounced up and crashed chests.

“Ach, you two. Adorable,” I sniggered, yet recalled the primary objective here and positioned myself by the blanching equine staring at the selection of toys she didn’t want to play with. I slipped my wing around her shoulders and embraced her into my side, which seemed to mollify her.

“Why do I have to-? I don’t want to, Captain,” she said, with a voice as though I’d told her to go to bed early. The wing squeezed fervently.

“I know it wasn’t what we expected to be doing today, Fuzzball,” I offered, beak rubbing her cheek, “but it makes sense. Once mole rats find a way into a place, they’ll keep finding a way in. You want to be prepared. Listen, let me give ye a wee bit of an incentive. Get a head-” I paused. A headshot wouldn’t have been the impetus Mole would need to learn to shoot. “Get one in the center of the target, just one, and I’ll take ye to Glad Rags, aye? I’ll even go on every ride you want me to.” She sniffled without tears, rubbed her nose, leafy eyes dew-dropped for me.

“Even the whoopie-swoopy rolly-coaster?” she enquired, foal-like.

“Even that,” I smiled.

“Even what, Captain?” She murmured, grinning.

“Don’t make me say it,” I groaned, rolling my eyes, really not wanting to have to lower myself in front of the gawfawing Tunnel Bugs.

“I don’t know what I’m getting if you don’t say what you’re giving!” She purred playfully, her naiveness shimmering through her nerves. I clucked indignantly.

“I will go on the … ugh. Whoopy… Swoopy… Rolly-coaster with you. Okay, yeh Spaz?” I murmured, crossing my forelegs. Her smile almost burst off of her cheeks, she lifted off with one kick to the ground and was instantly squealing around my waist in joy. I threatened with my eyes to do terrible things to the stallions if they breathed a word of this. They looked away diffidently.

“You ken what you need to do, hen.” I picked up the 10mm with care and turned it around to show her the grip, made for oral use. She took it with a slither of telekinesis and held it away in a manner that suggested it was going to explode if she so much as moved an inch. When it didn’t, she floated it slowly across to her lips and slipped it into her mouth.

“Oh, you don’t need to-“ started PJ, but I stopped him quickly. I believed I knew exactly what the right advice was here.

“Good; you could use your magic but-no, no.” I quickly stopped her from spitting it back out, “you’ve got to have an edge on anything that wants to hurt you. They’ll expect you to use your magic, Mole. So learn how to use your mouth, your hooves, your tail… heck, I think you could even use your ears.” I reached up and rubbed them between my claws, causing her eyes to go doe-like at me. I didn’t tease her for too long, nudging her up to the barrier before the first painted pony target on stretched white paper, hung between the ceiling and floor with poles, nails, and string.

“It’sh heafy,” she grumbled, trying to keep it in her muzzle, nearly losing her grip. I helped her straighten up and accustom herself to the extra weight, talons holding up her shoulders. I tapped the underside of the gun to encourage her to aim it at the target, and briefly caught the broad worry in her eyes. That fear was not of the gun anymore; it was concern that she might fail us, fail me.

“Aim for the head-“ Private started to step in, but I waved him back, tapping my lips with a feather.

“Top target. Squeeze the trigger carefully but don’t-“ BLAM! SQUEAK! Clatter.

Mole had squeezed the trigger too far and sent the bullet ripping past the edge of the paper, nowhere near the center of the target as intended. Startled by the sound, she dropped the gun and cowered, hooves over her ears. I hadn’t considered how loud it would be on her poor radar dishes, so I collected the weapon from the ground and reached out to cuddle her. Hush sounds left my beak, and they soothed the shaken whimpers that she gave.

“I know, loud, aye? Spooked me the same time I had to shoot one, lass. It gets easier.” The three of us were patient with her as we let her acclimatize again. Her jade saucers stared at me.

“H-How did you-?”

“Get used to it?” I asked, thoughtfully, “I got shouted at, a lot. But that’s not how I want you to get used to it, Fussball.” I felt Mole’s lobes try to move at my admission as I stroked them. She rose back up before my forelegs had released her and moved her mouth back towards the gun handle, but I moved it out of her way by just a little bit.

“Are you sure you’re ready, hen?”

“Mhmm…” she smiled anxiously, “for you.” My beak was in jeopardy of giving a beam stronger than even Mole was capable off, and I let the grip slip into her maw.

“This time; squeeze the trigger only seventy percent of the way as I cover your ears, and pull it the rest of the way when I press down on them, lass.” Together, we turned to face her adversary. She rose her gun and looked uneasily along the sights when I told her to, pulled on the lever apprehensively with her tongue.

“Take a deep breath, and hold it,” encouraged Lumbah, as my palms moved over her ears. She took the breath, her cheeks puffing until one of us suggested she swallow the air.

“Don’t lock your neck up, bring it back a little to take the recoil.” I gave her ears a press. Her tongue tugged timidly, enough for me to assume she wasn’t going to take the shot. I looked to PJ for more advice- Blam! Eeee!

I had the lads laughing at the fact my wings sprung out in surprise, but Mole had done superbly; the gun was not dropped this time, and a smoking hole had created a window near to the target’s cheek.

“Not bad,” I chirped, glad the filly hadn’t seen the big bad bitch griffon jump like a pussy. “You okay?”

“My mawff hurds,” she remonstrated, pulling out the puppy eyes for me. Luckily, I was partially immune to that particular attack. Partially. “I don’th likef iff.”

“Just think about the whoopie-loopy rolly-thingy,” I suggested, wheeling her back to her task. Descending my eyes to look just safely enough over her shoulder, I had her adjust her aim, which was sloping down and to the left. I held her jumbo tabs and pushed on them.

BLAM!

“Whooo! Way to go, Candy-Girl!” Private Joke pranced on the spot in celebration as the second blackened circle in the line-pony’s jugular. That wasn’t a head shot, but it would still have been a killing blow. Her head started to come back around, my fore-feet stopped her and encouraged her to face forward.

“You were so wee close that time, let’s go for one more.” Head up a little more, more bracing, less tightening. Pull, breath, hold, tug-

BLAM!

The static baddie had a new spacer in their ear. Down, more to the right.

BLAM!

One through the chin.

“This is a good wee grouping. Now you just have to-” Yet, as I was talking, she was going through the steps without my encouragement. She found the aim, prepared for it with a lungful of oxygen…

BLAM!

The gun crashed on the wet and black stone, but the shock was different this time. In the center of the paper-pony’s painted circle for a face was a perfect smoldering ring, showing the wall behind through it.

“You did it!”

Mole stared at what she’d done. Her jaw gaped, her eyes locked on that little impressive hole, and they remained that way long after we stopped hugging and adulating her.

“Oh my SQUEAKNESS!”

*** *** ***

The pair of us should have been exhausted.

After the newly-established sharpshooter got her bearings with one gun, Big Lumbah insisted she became acquainted with the others, in both mouth and magical firing. She didn’t have to spend as long on the others as she had on her first, and she got through learning how to load, maintain and fire each piece relatively quickly.

Following this, he took her through a full S.A.T.S. tutoring, which I also asked to sit in on “to refresh my memory.” There were features I found I hadn’t been aware of during my previous couple of attempts with the system, such as its ability to estimate how much health or strength my target might have left, and even a suggestion of what weapon on my bird-some might have a better chance of wiping out the scumbag coming for me. I might have hated the cuff on my arm at first, but I was finding myself getting more indebted to it as I learned more and more about Bucky and his never-ending box of tricks.

Eventually, Private Joke had one last task for us. He’d located some radroaches in a deeper half of the sewer maze, and he led us there for some live practice. I showed Molasses I few techniques on ducking out of sight and sneaking towards an opponent without being noticed, she proved to be a fast learner. And yet, when it came to shooting the creatures, she hesitated.

The gun shook in her mouth, her eyes stared at the ugly, clicking insect approaching her, it’s thin, banded legs and smooth belly sliding easily through the murky sludge. She was stuck fast, she couldn’t even bring her gun up to face as it grew closer, and closer, and closer…

BLAM!

I took action, blasting away the fluttering, hissing pest as it passed the steps and was a few strides away from Mole. It exploded in grey-green gore and splashed back into the muddy mire.

At the sound, more rose from the muck, and our shots blasted out to meet them. All except for Molasses, who stuck like a statue and stayed that way. Being roaches, it did not take long for us to remove the menace from our midst. As the last one was blown to dust, I removed the weapon from Mole’s mouth, encouraged her to face me and promised that it was all okay, it was over and that she was safe again.

“I let you down, Captain,” she finally mumbled, after we had thanked and bid farewell to our Tunnel Bug friends. A firm exclamation stopped her from facing the music, and I flapped up to land down before her.

“Bullshit-”

“Swear.”

“Bulleggs, then. Big, fat, stinkin’ bulleggs. Ye ken why I’m happy ye didn’t blast that bugs’ ugly fuckin’ face off? D’ye really want to know?” I tilted my head, looking her deep in those viridian windows.

“Sw-”

“Because you recognized they had lives. Aye, their lives then consisted of wanting to suck the wee juices outta yer head, and we’ll look t’ fix that, but you thought about it.” I wriggled my wings uncomfortably, “to a griffon who hasn’t seen that very often, that’s a beautiful thing, darlin’. Jus’ need to remember your life matters too, aye?” I smiled at her, gazing fondly with a warmth encasing my heart.

I had never felt so safe about this feeling before; I’d always expected to lose Periwinkle to the clutches of my mother, even after we’d escaped her, and loving Gypsy was something I knew as a game rigged from the start. Mole was somepony I could call my own, and I was fast feeling myself become vulnerable for her.

Later, I would say that her eyes sparkled at that moment. We were back in the light of the main Stable, perched on a walkway with the mirage of the sun beaming down on us. It caught her in a light I had not seen her wear before, yet it suited her like a radiating ball-gown. Her grass pools rolled from the ground to my line of sight and held it. There was a power to those eyes, they seemed to inflate and draw me in, encourage me to go whether she told me to go and do whatever she told me to do, but how could that be? I was her Captain! I was meant to be in charge of this relationship.

“You, er…” Very few times, I’d been this lost for words. Now, I was struggling to clean the fog from the part of my brain that dealt with the ability to speak. “Oh! That’s right, come on, Spaz. We should head on down to Glad Rags, aye? Ye wanna beat the queue to that loopy-swoopy-shizzle, aye?” I managed to tumble my tongue through the proposition, only to receive a very tiny head-shake and an even tinier voice.

“I don’t want to go to Glad Rags today, Captain,” The impromptu hypnotist informed me, not allowing me to leave her glistening peepers. I blinked and licked the lip of my beak, clicking it a couple of times.

“Okay, that’s fine, hen. Where do ye wannae-”

“Nuh-uh,” for the first time in a while, she hushed me bravely, pressing my beak shut with her hooves. She was closer, and I could feel my heart drumming with anticipation as if it knew what was coming and it wanted to send the signals out to the rest of my body. “What do you want to do?”

It was a dangerous question, but after the day Molasses Candy had, I felt she might have built up an ounce more confidence than she was aware she had. I gulped, I looked about - I had to be careful, there were still ponies walking past, even if they were invisible to Mole’s mesmerizing goggles. I mumbled through my forced shut bill, and she released it so that I could talk.

“The… Bath-house?” I suggested lamely, my feathers growing puffier by the second. She repeated my option with a croon, her eyes starting to grow lidded. She should have been sleepy; she was anything but. “The bath-house, aye. We’re…” I chose my words carefully, once more, “we’re both a little filthy. We both need to … clean up? Besides, I love a nice, hot-”

“The bath-house!” Her eyelids sprang up, her hooves pulled at me and she started with a spring as she hooted back to me, “great idea, Captain! Last one there gets a cupcake in the eye!” I watched her bounce, and while everypony else saw her as an overactive little grasshopper, only I saw her then as a beautiful, bounding deer, springing along the causeway with the promise of leading me to springs of clean water and halls of trees, built by nature. And only I saw the tail flag up to deliberately entice me.

Soul sold to the mare with sugar in the brain, I raced after her, although I can honestly say I deliberately let her win…

*** *** ***

Miraculously, the water that was still in the bathtub had a comfortable warmth to it when my built-in curtains rose. The last of us to fall into slumber was also the first to awaken as something sang within the room. It was a jingling message from one of our PipBucks.

“Psst, Mole?” I gave her nude form a few tender nudges with the beak and a very compassionate shake which had her head rock from side to side like a comical foal’s toy. Eventually, she allowed her nearest eye to creep open, and a content smile spread her lips.

“Five more minutes, Captain. I was having the bestest dream…” She turned in the water, reaching for me and snuggling her chin over my suddy chest, which had never been able to decide if it was made of feathers or fur. I stroked her mane and rolled my eyes, giving her ear a sharp nip.

“Owwwie! Heeeeey,” she whined grouchily, snorting horsily as both eyes bleared at me.

“Sorry, spaz, but Mama Crow needs to see what Bucky’s whinging about now.” I pointed to the cuff as it grew close to pulsating itself off of the ledge into the water. With a small “oh,” Molasses stretched out her lasso of power as it tipped, and swung it into the air, gliding it into my waiting claws.

“Thank you, Fuzzball,” I turned her head up to give her a short kiss empowered with fidelity, then logged into my messages to see what was so important, it couldn’t wait until we’d maybe made love one more time and then dried up.

“Oh, no,” Molasses lamented, “I got my bandages wet! I’m going to have to-”

“OH BUCK!” I yelped, sitting up straight.

“What? Swear! What?” whinnied my lover, trying to see the screen for herself.

“Gypsy’s about to do her song for the ascension, and we’re missing it!”

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Begun: Lead A Horse To Water...

Quest Completed - Lead A Horse To Water...
Quest Perk added – Lover’s Embrace - You get a +15% experience boost for 8 hours, after sleeping for any amount of time in an unowned bed with Molasses Candy

Quest Begun: All Night Song

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Dizzy - Tommy Roe Because, well, snu snu... FINALLY!!!!

Also; FINALLY! Got that Pinkie Sales-pony in, I've wanted to write that for a while. Obvs, she's not REALLY a salespony from StableTec; I've read the story guys.

Thank you to Blazie, and Synesisbassist, who helped me with advice on writing snu snu! Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 022 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part Two)

Corrupted Entry 020 - 53N53 4ND 5T4BL1TY

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 020 - Sense and Stability [WARNING - CORRUPTED]

>ENTRY014_SECTION_DELTA_deleted <07092177>
>Waiting...
>Recover? Y/N?
>Recover_Y_initiated
>Recovery_Successful

>ENTRY014_SECTION_DELTA_recovered <10172264>

*** *** ***

Innocence, encapsulated in the form of a small but licit mare, with eyes the brightest green I’d ever seen.

Her innocence was her most attractive attribute to this battle-worn moth, whose wings were torn and tattered from so many mistakes chasing the wrong lights. How quickly I could have just stared at her, admired the beauty few saw in such a restless, occasionally raucous goof. Yet, right then, I believed the worst thing I could have done was ogled her lecherously.

Molasses sat on the edge of the pewter bath, watching me with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her nerves had gotten the better of her as soon as we entered the bathroom itself. She’d slipped into that spot as we were shown in by an attendant, and told where we could find everything we needed, then to call if we required anything else. I couldn’t help myself, I had to check that they didn’t mind us being in the same room (I didn’t reveal our intentions) and after an odd expression, they carefully advised that multiple bathers were permitted, so long as they understood that they all paid the same fee. This room was ours, we would not be interrupted for the time that we spent in it, and that suited me just fine.

Although I gave our temporary den a cursory glance once the door shut, I do not recall a lot about the room. The pewter basin had been finished with a burnt-sienna tiled wall and was slightly sunken into the floor to provide easy access. It had already been filled with sweet perfume-scented, bubbly and steaming water by one of the stewards at the bathhouse. There were candles, towels, soaps at an easy reach. The rest of the room was the kind of soil color that Molasses could blend into easily. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said somepony took the color-scheme straight from my mare.

The rest of my attention became endeavored to the sweetheart, whose gaze held me wherever I went. I took a circuit of the room, and her head pivoted nearly the whole way until her neck refused to let her defy bones and muscle by doing a full circle. She spun her head around and watched me from the other shoulder instead, which lifted when she sucked a breath through her nose and held it.

It was such a small expression of the emotion inside her, yet seeing it, I was quickly granted a world of understanding into what she was feeling. She had been assertive when she led me here. Now that self-assurance had slipped off of its axis and was letting her equilibrium falter. This was her first time with anyone, not just a fellow girlfriend. I had to tread softly.

In my most recent past, my love-making initiation had been to leap to action, regardless of virginity and fragility. Pinned the partner, taking what I want, given enough to satisfy in return. This flower, who’d chosen to bring me here of her own volition, did not deserve to have her petals plucked from her in such a manner. That was how my intentions started, anyhow.

“Breathe, love,” She released the wind trapped in her chest in a way I’d expect of a pony who’d forgotten how to respire. Once, I’d have groaned at such foalish manners, now I found them endearing. Her airways found their usual pattern once more, her breast rising and falling in her Stable clothing. That was problem number one. Her clothes.

“Can I…?” I reached for the button of her collar. A tremble, overridden by a nod. A very cautious claw rose, slipped under the blue fabric and tweaked it, opening up the hidden space where her throat wobbled. In I leaned, clicking an affectionate peck on her short brown fuzz, eliciting a whicker from her. The zip was collected next, rolled down her front at delicate leisure, following it down while admiring the brown and cream fur that appeared. Yes, the cocoa coat swept lightly into a milky fluff as I revealed more and more of my filly’s concealed anatomy.

“Oh, now that’s cute…” I chuckled, running talons through the alternate pale fluff once the suit was fully peeled open. Her cheeks flooded with the stain of dark wine, one leg rubbing meekly on the other.

“I g-got it from my Momma,” she murmured, smiling aloof. The suit slipped over her head and along her hooves but snagged on the infernal piece of technology latched to her leg. Problem number two.

“Ah bawsacks,” I grunted, “I hate trying to get around these things, last time, I-” Click. All Molasses had to do was press a button. Staring, I felt a rise of mild shame and frustration as she unclipped the PipBuck from her leg and placed it to one side, before eradicating her jacket and setting it down neatly beside it, keeping only her bandages on. Her sight returned to me and she at once fell into a dither at my annoyance.

“You d-don’t like what you see, do you? I-I’m too fat, too-too… geeky-”

“What? Och, no!” I urged, changing my tact instantly, “Mole, you’re the most …. I’m nay good at this stuff…” my brain took a moment to find the words for the naked mouse in my presence, “if there’s a mare out there more special to me than ye, I dinnae wantae ken her.” If Mole was blushing before, she was practically a radish now.

“B-But, then, why did you look all grumpy?”

“Because I didn’t know we could take these bucking things off!” My outcry had her tittering “swear!” behind a hoof as I flopped beside her, my talon trying to find the eject button on the attached portable terminal. Distracted by my new challenge, I didn’t catch her watching me dotingly until I felt her runty weight settle on me. I lowered my leg out of my eyes, which must have been glowing like that last sunny dawn a hundred years ago, on the alluring sight over me.

“Let me, Captain,” Molasses Candy was in a state of gentle flux. I could see, and feel, that part of her wanted to be sexy, ambitious, flirtatious. Yet another part of her, and the part I felt was the true her, wanted to please me and was scared that she, in her naiveness, wasn’t doing it right. I had to convince her that as fun as it was having a headstrong Mole, I had fallen in love with awkward, daft, real Mole, hadn’t I?

The FunBuck cracked off and was levitated away. I moved my claw to my jumpsuit, and it bumped the nose that blocked it.

“I’ve gotta have an edge,” she coquettishly crooned, “use everything I’ve got, even my mouth, right, Captain?” Her teeth made short work of the buckle on my collar and found the zipper with ease after that. Her eyes looked up, locked, and down the fastener went to free my feathers and fur once more.

“C-Clever girl,” I whispered breezily as I watched her seductive gaze keep with mine, with the only harmless radioactive holes I had ever known. The zipper ran the length of my chest and stomach, no peculiar plumage or contrasting fur to set apart from my constant azure pigmentation. I watched the blue on blue spread open, the young horse acting carefully with her hooves as she encouraged my spread wings to seal themselves a moment so she could take off the ensemble. With it laid as considerately over her uniform, she hovered in a place that had me feeling the air dance over my gut, her lip chewed once more. I knew from that expression, she was in the perfect place to decline for a peek at the area she’d consider being my most private, and yet her manners, her ailed mettle, and her chastity were getting the better of her. She looked for an excuse, she found one, and she pounced on it.

“Oh! Your bandana! I have to-oof!” It was her turn to collide with me, my gentle right forefoot pressed to her forehead, her bony pillar between my talons. The fluttering eyelashes tickled the sole as she gave a shocked whinny.

“No, no,” I ordered. When the resistance ceased, I moved the claw away. Her eyes looked hurt and confused as she pointed to the ruby fabric around my head.

“It’ll get wet,” she suggested pathetically, her horn lighting to supernaturally remove it. In retaliation, I grasped her horn and pushed her back down.

There were other ways to convince her that I wanted, needed, to keep my crimson bandana on, such as explaining its importance to me or holding it down until she accepted defeat. Perhaps I decided that this mechanism she was using to play for time as her hooves grew colder on the chilly tiles needed to be nipped in the bud quicker than I’d previously believed. Either way, when my careful but insistent force on her skull stopped, she had nowhere else to look but between my fuzzy, cobalt thighs.

Her eyes became perfect, full disks. She was staring into the garden of another lady, a first for her by my reckoning and her expression. I had a modest griff-hood, kept it tight and tidy for any interested visitors who came a-knocking. That attention to my velvet pocket might have been lost on the mare, but the vision of it was not. I could almost see the reflection of the thin pink line in her eyes. If my mouse had whiskers, they would be twitching.

She sniffed. I witnessed the action before I smelled the scent myself. I was diffusing an aroma as spicy as cinnamon, as inviting as the Stable patisserie in the morning and as tempting as the first fumes of a well-aged scotch. For a filly who had only let confectionary’s smells touch her nose before today, it was intoxicating.

Struggling with my louder, more demonic side who was in a fisticuffs match with the angel on Mole’s side, I reached out to pet her ear gently, letting her see the love in my eyes. I knew, despite her timid demeanor, that she shared that with me, I could feel it from the slight wrinkle around her gaze, the modest parting of lips revealing the pearl tips of her top teeth.

“I’m needing a decision from you, Moley,” I explained importantly, trying to relax my tightening ribs, “you’re either going to need to grow a pair quickly and stick your hooter-“ I tapped her nose, “-down there, or- o-o-o-ooh…” I had a second option, but I forgot it in a split-second. It wasn’t necessary. She took the option number one.

Her nose felt like the shy, inquisitive snout of a tiny rodent as it barely hit my skin. She went straight for the target and only stopped a hair away from my organically moisturized cleft. Her cheek rubbing on my inner leg reminded me of Winnie, the eager to be loved pup that belonged to our family before mother scared her it away.

The closeness of my quads made her feel closed in, I guessed as she pressed her hooves to both and helped spread them as far as they could go. Her tongue, perfectly pink and wet, slipped out over her parted lips. She declined, her eyes lowering like a pair of falling leaves, dropping together harmoniously.

“W-We haven’t-haven’t kissed,” she informed me, rising again, the mouth muscle still in its prime location, “aren’t you supposed to- squee~mff!” The devil’s side won, and I pushed Mole’s head the rest of the way.

Splat. Flat, soggy tastebuds touched my stretched, drenched outer membrane. The reaction was instantaneous, I was sent on my way into the cloudy heavens of a summer’s day with her floating beneath me, all thoughts of cold tiles and fearful ponies forgotten. Our tails mutually swirled and swished with no intentions or directions in mind. A gentle rub of her tangling long mane. a soft, assertive squeeze.

“Just try one wee li-ahh, yes, that’s it…” Swish. Slurp. Slurp. Swish.

That first cat-like lap at my bowl of cream was short but perfectly pleasurable. I felt the ripples on my joyful pool turn to swirls and swells as she tested and tasted me. My hips lifted, my body encouraged, and she took the bait. She might have been nervous, but she was-

“Ah-s-stoatin’! Yer a-amazing… bairn-“ I released her head, using my claws to spread open my lubricated purse, showing Molasses the red and saturated innards. The wriggling, babbling worm was a part of me in no time at all, speaking wonderfully to my akimbo form. She was learning fast, her twirling and twisting strokes to slurp every drip from me finding ways to cause my heart to throb and my head to dizzy.

“Nnf.” Exhale. Deeply inhale. Fight the urge to lose it too soon.

The cloud my mind had taken us to wrap around us, caressed us, enamored us with the vapors of hot fragrances and hotter bodies. I could feel the droplets from the fluffy wool nest sticking to my mate’s body each time she wiggled. Buck, did she like to squirm. I could feel myself, steaming from my little pussy-eating beginner, drunk on nothing but her infatuations and mine. It sent me closer and closer to a watery release.

“Coooo~” Clucks sang from my beak in time with the hungry groans and damp slops between my limbs.

“Ah-ah-whinn-eeeeeee~!”

My eyes may have shut on their own at some point before I was aware of it, but I had to reopen them when I heard my doting and adored student to lovemaking make a sound so high, it could have resummoned the canine I lost so long and so far away.

Moley’s eyes were still huge and like rare, new bits shone temptingly at me. But her ears flapped like they wanted to take off, the wind from them wisping through the fur on my legs. One foreleg had disappeared, and as I spotted one shoulder shaking more than the other, I realized what my generous glutton for my joy had been doing while she had been savoring my nectar. Her journey towards an orgasm had already reached a climax without my knowing it had even begun, and despite teetering on the precipice of my own, I wanted to rectify this.

“Mmmf~” Move. I had to move, or I would grow stuck in the cloud of lust, unable to escape.

I placed my feline footpaws with still curled toes on the hard floor and pushed myself back. “Ah-hooo~” Hoot. The slip of the tongue from me curled just as it was leaving me. Mole hadn’t meant to flick my fun bead, merely stop me leaving with the power of her oral skill alone. It didn’t stop me tugging her out of my tunnel but did have me shuddering divinely.

“C-Cap-ptain?” The shaking babe gave a planteth neigh, fearing her banking her release before mine to have been a terrible move. Any other pony, it really would have been. Seeing her fretting caused a lump to form in my throat, and she did not have to say anymore before I was up to convince her she’d done such a fantastic job already, the only way I knew how.

Smooch. Mmm. “Mmmmmm~”

I re-enacted the kiss I’d received days ago, with the players switched. Now I was in the role of Gypsy Breeze, Mole was my Crow who had not expected love to land so hard and passionately upon her. Her muzzle fit so perfectly inside my beak, but her mouth needed showing how to open and receive deliveries in this way. When my tongue did reach and massage hers, it was as soft and spongy as the rest of my filly. I could taste my familiar tangy musk, but my nose was filled with something else entirely. I was breathing in her ejaculation, and it was like a bouquet of gingerbread.

Ohhh… “Nmmm~”

I could have danced with her tonsils for as long as we had the bathroom, but we’d already been in it a while and had yet to appreciate the facilities. With regret, I untangled our limbs, our muzzles, and even our tails, whose relationship together had grown as quickly as our own, and slipped my front legs beneath Molasses.

“O-Oh, Caaaptain...Wha-What-Nicker!” Her legs peddled beneath her in shock when I took us up into the air, but only for a short moment. I felt her breast hammering, her lungs filling and releasing quickly, her head turning this way and that at the ground she’d never seen so far away without a floor for her hooves.

“Shh- hush, my love, I’ll never drop you…” I promised, and meant the words with all my soul and being. She settled, her head turning to me. Despite worry still present, I knew she did trust and believe me. That day, I may have risen a new phoenix in the ashes of old Mole, but there was still the kind heart of the girl I fell in love with there in my embrace.

She squeaked again when the first kiss of bubbles and hot water found her hooves, but even that transformed into an effervescent croon. I and she gleefully moaned as we let the heat of the water soothe our bones and wash away our deeds, laughing joyfully at each other’s reactions. We let our bottoms come to rest on the tub, my wings trying to tuck back into me, only for one to snag. It had been caught by a chocolate-covered, smiling ray of sunshine.

“I, um-”

“Love you,” the words were getting easier and easier to say.

“Mhm,” she was a little giggling spark from a potential firework now, the fuse not yet blown out. I wanted to breathe a little more fire into that fuse before it reached its colorful display.

“But I-I also… want to um… How do I...um…” her unenlightening inquiry had me turning my head inquisitively as I moved closer to her, not taking my navy foil from her grasp.

“Use your words, Fuzzball,” I chuckled, leaning in and nibbling at the lane between her neck and her collarbone. Twitch. Gasp. An opportunity opened. I took it, my claw moving over her chest, feeling her now bathed yet still as silky fur trickle through my claws, dedicated to the careful treatment of my small, excitable fidget.

“W-Will you show me … h-how to ...ohh-” she swallowed, her gullet jumping, “...d-do stuff… w-with these?” I paused, my talon at her pudgy little belly. I knew what she was asking, but I was still caught off-guard. No mate, nor one-night boot knocker, had ever suggested they wanted to take care of me in that way. Not even Poxy. Not even Periwinkle.

“Stuff?”

“W-Wing st-”

“Preening,” I corrected her, moving across her, swapping stroking implements at her gut and wings for her touch, “it’s called preening, my wee flower.” I considered her proposal, then smiled, stretching the wing out with a lackadaisical snuggle into her. My claws stayed, drawing figures of eight on her tummy that made her squirm and whiffle more. She reached out and brought it to her like a kite that might be caught and stolen my a mischievous wind.

“It’s simple really, lass.” I used my beak as a pointer, “I start from the inside, work my way outwards, and check the feathers. If it feels loose, or close enough, I’ll pull it until it slides free.” I chose an easy one I knew was already on its way out and showed it to her. “I use my beak, but you can use your- mmm…. Well, th-that works too.”

When she plucked the feather away with her lips, I started to suspect I’d accidentally deactivated her innate magical abilities altogether. My blood pumped faster and my groin grew hotter in the water as she leaned back, holding it in her mouth with a look of sweet pride. Collecting it gently and putting it to the side, I nodded approvingly.

“A-Aye. Like that.” I spread my sail again. Her snout snuggled in and snuffled about for more treasure to loot. Her warm puffs were surprisingly big from such tiny nostrils. I watched her for a minute, letting her believe that I was going to be impartial in the zealous activity.

Bounce! Shiver. Mooaaan~

“Wh-What are y-ohhh-you doing?” The question was absurd. It was clear what I was doing, or going to do when my digits dropped to her waistline. I could feel the grooves the tight Stable suit had left in her fur and skin. I fiddled, but I didn’t dwell there.

“Inspiration,” I told one of her hefty ears. That was all I told it as Mole’s precious, untouched hole was sought, located, and-

“Neeeee~!” ...Stimulated.

For once, my own needs came secondary. Instead, my pleasure came from a new source, an audiovisual source, watching the vulnerable creature in my clasps feel someone else in control of her sensory processes. She was as cushy on the inside as she was on the outside, she tried to grip me but I had strength and experience at my disposal.

“N-nnn-AHCaptain~” My actions had broken the controls of her volume. Her eyes too were busted, she tried to watch me but her eyelids flapped, occasionally clenched, often in time with her lower, winking jellied clam.

My wing was stopped from sealing away by her telekinesis, putting my thoughts that her abilities were lost to rest. She spread it out again and scooted herself- “Ahhh-” A big sip of the air, thick with evaporated water and sweat. She drank it up, hugged it in her ribcage, and thrust her snout into my thatchwork of feathers. Despite her first experience of ‘fingers,’ she was determined to do a good job…

“Wark!” I’d been too distracted by her delicate lips wailing into my quills to be aware of what her hoof had sought. Now, as I was between her legs, loving her, she was between mine, proving out desire, our tied emotions, mutual. I moved a leg, giving her space to learn about me and what I liked, as I instructed with the luxury of her body as my chalkboard.

Huff. Hump-hump…

“Th-That’s a g-good motion, love, but… c-copy me...” my finger slid out from her, followed by the warmth of her leisure which the water rudely stole from me. Touching only skin, my blunt side of the black curved spike swirled the parting, then brushed from the bottom up, before-

“N-Nffff… MmmmCrow~” Rolling hips, tensing all nerves, tongue slobbering out. All the signs that she was close, All it would take is a few more taps of that powerful love button.

I didn’t speed her to the end. I could have, and I imagine I could have done it again, and again, and again… But I wanted her to experience the feeling of seeing it first. Watching the griffoness she somehow bonded with and became invaluable to, become putty in her hooves. I wanted to hand Mole the reins and show her she had me, complete and unadulterated control of me.

“Y-You try…” I chirped as she placed another freed blue shaft of my plumage on top of three she’d now plucked. I showed her the move once more; circle, sweep, stroke. Moan, quake, kiss~

She’d gotten into kissing any part of me near enough to her. A leg, the wing, my chest, my neck, my beak, as it parted as the fruition of a low groan came to be.

“Ah! AhMoley~”

She was butterhooved, she was too light in places and too pushy in others, but the combination of wing-love and that secret rub was sending me back to the climax I’d denied myself before.

“Again,” I asked of her, beak clipping on her neck. She complied. I replied.

“Again baby,” I whimpered, spine arching to give her unbridled access. She took her time with the motion. Shudder. Beak spreading, scream silent. She was a brilliant prodigy.

“Again, Mole,” I commanded. Circle. Line. flllllick~ The sparks within were flying. They would soon catch.

“A-Again, Mole…aaahmmm...” She tied the fuse into knots in my loins. She even finished them with a big, pretty bow. I held her shoulder with my mouth and tasted her salty, bristling fur.

“A-Ahga-” The order was heeded without needing completion. The spin around the split was soft, the draw up fierce enough to push her hoof tip in. The perfect touch was when she treated my bean like coffee and ground it with her hoof. She was experimenting on my body, and I could see her grin as she mentally noted the results.

“A-A-Aaah...” One, maybe two more… Swirl, swish, flick...

“..M-Maa..” It was definitely two more… Swirl, swish, grind...

“M-MMMooooe~” Swirl, swish, griiiiind… one more...

Swirl, swish, griii...

“MOLE!” Whumpf! My firework flew, my wings stretched out, and my Molasses Candy saw her Crow explode with every color the rainbow could offer. I latched onto her shoulder with my beak, wrapped my legs around her shoulders and made unstoppable love to her hoof as my climax drizzled from my pulsing, spasmodic lips.

My rockets flew and blew up over my scrunched eyes again and again, and still, I took my girl in my wings, released one seizing leg, and plunged it into the water.

“CROW!” I was spilling my energy and leaking elation, but I would take her to the burning skies with me if I passed out or lost a limb from the experience. I squeezed my bill as my pressure on her brought more forceful rubbing from the hoof at my trembling gates. She prolonged my rumbling tsunami of femininity, as I used the last of my senses to seek out those special places, the mystical sweet spots with one claw, while the other-

“Crooooow~” Mashed.

“Cr...CRRRR~!” Bashed.

“NEEEEEIGH!” Smashed the clit, until she could take no more. I unlocked my beak, lay back in the water, and watched the mare convulse and relish an orgasm brought on by my merit. The water splashed over the sides, the horn sparkled like a firecracker, and her eyes, when they stopped downloading the immense pleasure coursing through her veins, looked at me in awe and wonder from what she had just ridden through, and was still experiencing.

She stayed that way with mouth parted, tongue on teeth, gaze on me until the aftershocks petered away in both of us. The unison of sensations we had just gone through; the way we had felt one another’s sincere devotion to finding and pleasing the other, the answers to our real longing desires; finalized our stamp on each other’s lives. No matter what, she was my Mole, and I, her Captain.

We lost ourselves to the mirth and relief that finally our lives were complete, and we swam into each other’s embrace, sharing what we’d learned in the simplest way possible.

“I love you, Captain...”

“Aye, you do. And I love you, Moley...”

“Mhmm…” I thought I heard her giggle, but when I looked at the little squealer in my protective shield, she was already completely fast asleep.

“Heh. That… that’s a good…” My beak stretched itself and smacked shut once the last bubble of energy in my lungs had floated out of it. My eyelids suddenly weighed a ton, and when I shut them, I could not lift them open for a long time afterward.

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Begun: Lead A Horse To Water...

Quest Begun: All Night Song

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Never Ever Gonna Give You Up - Barry White Because, well, snu snu... FINALLY!!!!

Also; FINALLY! Got that Pinkie Sales-pony in, I've wanted to write that for a while. Obvs, she's not REALLY a salespony from StableTec; I've read the story guys.

Thank you to Blazie, and Synesisbassist, who helped me with advice on writing snu snu! Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 023 - Griffi Vanilli (Part One)

Entry 021 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part One)

We live in a time when we do not listen to our hearts, but our heads. We praise our cunningness and our wisdom and we put our pride into the machines and projects that we create. I have equally been as guilty of doing so, and I have seen and felt first hoof what cleverness destroys when it is not backed up with a pure heart. Knowledge is half a battle, but that battle is still lost without love.
~The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 021 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part One)

Up to this point, my life had felt like a slipping slide into a quagmire of the slurried bodies that I’d helped to destroy, which my own body would soon be joining and absorbed up as punishment for my deeds. However, when Gypsy Breeze told me she was expecting and she wanted me to be a part of the wee bairn’s life, I felt like I’d been given a stepladder to climb off of that slope. Although Gypsy’s loss of the foal knocked my escape route away, Molasses Candy immediately came to my rescue. She pulled me onto that new pathway and put a little worm in my ear that started to tell me I could do better in life, I could BE a better griffon.

The peril of a new path is that the old one never stops taunting you. It never lets you forget it, and every so often, from far away, you hear it whispering, “what if…” What if I kept surviving? What if the route of the wrong proved safer, and stronger and wiser than the route of the moral and just? What if I was making another foolish mistake by following my heart over my head?

The call to remake my choice started far sooner than I would have liked, and my attempts to claw my way out of being a no-good scoundrel began as the end of the Seven-Day Rule drew near…

*** *** ***

Moderately still soaked but clothed, our feet and hooves slipped and slid on the false stone floor as Mole and I skidded into the Songbird Sector. We raced past ponies as I checked we were heading to the location on my PipBuck, where the message had promised me Gypsy was due to, or already had, performed. We were not to know whether we’d missed her, only that she had chosen to sing her ascension song at one of the music halls.

Regrettably, getting through the Songbird Sector wasn’t as easy as was hoped. It was busier than a bazaar selling sweet rolls for a-bit-per-bag. There were long queues for each of the music halls, for both watchers and singers alike. It wasn’t hard to tell which was which; one fed into the main archways, oak doors or ascending grand stairways into each auditorium, the other led into the sides where ponies with clipboards took their names and details. The biggest crowd by far gathered at the “Falling Shadow Concert Hall,” which I first believed might have been our destination. Onyx pillars held up a bold coliseum of chrome and jet black metals. Flashing blinding lights made the whole building feel like a chunk of space, cut out of the sky and placed in the Stable like a slab of sparkling cake on a plate. To my surprise, it turned out not to be the platform for Gypsy Breeze’s performance.

“That’s Hot Shot’s music hall,” Mole informed me when I asked why it had such a popular following, “if you go in there, you may not only ascend, you might also be picked to be the next big thingie in the Stable!” She gave an over-dramatic sigh. “I tried once, he said I ‘must try harder,’ but I had already tried the hardest I’d ever tried! So I went to “The Magnolia” instead. I like it there, the judges are always friendlier and say, ‘just try your best, Molasses Candy,’ and I do. Then they say, ‘good job, Molasses Candy,’ and I leave feeling super good about myself!” I chuckled, rolling my eyes at another case of Mole sharing more than necessary, and kept us moving through.

“Kiva’s Moon Palace,” was the eventual stop via the guidance Bucky gave me. Although smaller than the ‘Falling Shadow,’ it still looked important, impressive and stylish, with sky blue walls finished with a darker tiled roof, long white legs holding up the entrance and matching windows. The doors were open, welcoming all inside, and the queues around it were only paled in comparison to those for the big black cube behind us.

Over the hubbub and the eagerness to see or be seen from the other ponies, a voice found its way to my ears. The harmonies, to me, were perfect, the tune partially melancholy, with enough hopefulness in the lyrics to bring light to foggy dawn. The last time I heard the song, it had been sung cracked and occupied, but now it was clear, and pure, and perfect. Without thinking, I hopped up, almost leaving Mole behind.

“Crow!”

“Come on, lass!” I called to her, then flew over the heads of the ponies waiting and hovered into the grand hall in search of my songbird.

“Oh, young pink bird,

To continue to laugh must be so tough,

Do not hide your giggles in a house of cards,

Confess that you really needed my love.”

Cloud-like chambers were what I’d stepped into, filled to the brim with ponies in plush cyanic chairs, surrounded by thick solid white and aquamarine walls, very clearly decorated by somepony wanting to remember the old days of what Cloudsdale had once been. Even the stage misted over, as the lights fell on the singing starling, projecting her voice into the squall. There was no other noise, no interruption or disturbance of her heartfelt calling to the room. The lights, the eyes, and the hearts were all set on her, her microphone and her voice.

“Oh, my bluebird,

Be loyal to yourself from the start,

Changing yourself now is too long a path,

Your strength and resilience is an art.”

The melodic harmonies were easily mistaken for Sweetie Belle’s from a crystal clear radio transmission, the first time I heard that angel sing. It was an elementary mistake to make; my eyes were closed, my body broken. After the forty-eight hours before that wake-up call, I ought to have been dead.

“ Sing your songs, little birds,

Then the sun shall rise,

Spread your wings, little birds,

and return to the bluer skies.”

My vision hurt, but only for a moment. I had not been subjected to waking up in any bright lights, even if that was hard to find in cloud-punished Equestria. I had just one candle, a bed that was some relief no matter how hard and lumpy it was, and the passerine who sat watchfully over me, soothing me with her aria.

“Please, sweet young birds,

know that kindness and trust never burns,

I see your innocent beauty under tattered feathers,

and still feel the good in my oldest friends.”

As she saw me waking, she did not cease to sing, only boosted her voice an octave more, stroking the only cheek that did not hurt. As I looked to her, I wondered if I had died, and this was the new vision of Celestia; not a mare of graceful white but now an amethyst with a top and tail of pure golden ambrosia. Her eyes reflected the light of the simple flame in my room as she silently promised that, from that moment on, she’d look out for me in this brave new world; where I would be without the wings of Periwinkle to guide me. Where I would lose my nerve to soar as I had once done. Where I would follow the only stallion I’d be foolish enough to follow.

“Whether I am yours, whether I am not,

I will love you, no matter what.”

The crowd burst into thunderous applause. Molasses reached me as Gypsy Breeze stepped around the microphone stand on the stage and took a curtsy to her new fans, though she seemed above it all. Something about the Gypsy I first met, and the mare here today was very different, and it didn’t take a psychologist to work out what.

“Wow, Gypsy Breeze,” beamed one judge, once she’d managed to settle the excited crowd with a wave of her hooves, which gave me the opportunity to see who it was. Midnight Dreamer reared up on her desk and whinnied in awe, “that was, by far, the best rendition of that song I have ever heard! You’ve got a real voice; a beautiful, talented voice, pony! I think you’re in for a real shot at ascending this year!” More cheers followed this suggestion, and Gypsy took another awkward bow.

“Splendiferous!” proclaimed a mare who appeared to be fond of making up words next to Dreamer. The stallion on her other side just wordlessly nodded, and although I could only see the back of his head, shadowed by the stage lights, I could easily imagine he was smiling too.

“Do you want to say anything to your crowd, Gypsy?” Midnight had to call over the whoops and hollers for my gracious but tired-looking celebrity. The mare on the stage did not hesitate, nor show an ounce of previous consideration before her eyes drove around to me. The focus on me flooded the blood from my upper-body and chilled me to my guts, causing my wings to seize so that I had to land. As she looked, so did the auditorium, hundreds or maybe a thousand eyes staring right back at me, like a jury of judgment for my crimes to the unborn young that never took a breath. I shrank back behind Molasses.

“I do, actually,” she levitated the microphone off of the stand and trotted to the edge of the stage.

“I wanna just say a big welcome to the Guardian Griffon, thanks for making it tonight, Squawk. Without Crow, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. She’s saved my flank countless times, and she did so again only a few days ago so… Yeah. Phew…” She looked like she was about to take a dizzy spell and sat down on the stage. I got up quickly to go to her but was instantly mobbed by the crowd who had exploded with overzealous behavior the moment Gypsy got past thanking me, rather than destroying me for putting her in that danger in the first place. Cheers, stomps, and whistles deafened me, but my ears were relieved quickly.

“Are you alright, Gypsy Breeze? Is she alright?” When everyone settled down, I saw Midnight stood up with her forehooves on the desk, as a grey stallion stage manager came out of the wings to check her over. The mare hurried fussed them away and pushed her straying mane out of her eyes, looking frustrated at the ponies treating her like a porcelain doll.

“Fine, I’m fine…”

“If you’re sure,” Dreamer looked to her fellow deciders, “we’re going to take our vote, now so you can rest up. It’s an easy yes from me.” That pushed the button for the audience, who became ecstatic at the first upvote for my talented pal.

“Absolutely!” Grinned the mare on Midnight’s left. The stallion on her right waited for the adoration to die down before he placed his verdict.

“It was a great performance, but was it ascension worthy? I don’t know,” the stallion stood, rubbed his chin and looked to his other two judging partners. It was the first time I recognized the stallion as the Overstallion himself. Midnight’s ears fell back as she returned the frown at him.

“Come on, dad. We need an answer!” Her response blind-sided me. Overlook was Dreamer’s father?

“In that case, I’m going to follow suit and side with my daughters. Congratulations Gypsy, you’ve got three yeses.” I sank as the community rose, a sad bluebell amongst gleeful roses. I was still going to lose my Gypsy, after all of this. “You’re through to the next round.”

The next round? I’d completely forgotten that this was a competition, not a lottery. I squawked happily with the rest of the gleeful onlookers and applauded my friend, expecting Molasses to be just as joyful as well. The look of seething jealousy took me by surprise, instead, and I gave her a shove and a questioning shrug. She didn’t explain herself but immediately changed her attitude to one of guilt.

Of course! That kiss! I’d been a fool to think Mole would forget it so quickly. I had to hope the pair would patch their differences up or this would be an extended stay in the Stable, however long that would be. That was another question on the growing list to pose to Elmwood and Gypsy.

“...and it says here the Guardian Griffon has yet to perform her Ascension song.” I came out of my musings to the sound of Overlook’s revelation to the crowd. “Crow, would you like to ascend onto the stage?” Buck!

“I cannae!” I belted out as the ponies rose to more showers of adoration, “I said, I cannae-” but Dreamer, her father nor the extra judge, apparently Midnight’s sister, weren’t hearing me over the delighted audience. I kicked myself back into the air with clenched fists and drew in a breath, letting loose a sound my feline half kept inside until it was imperative to release it.

ROAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWRRRRR~!

The bellow caused the entire building to go silent, so much so that it was possible to hear a singer from a neighboring hall.

“I am not singing!” I declared, flinging my forelegs out as a sign of the fact. That introduced horror to the listening throng, something Overlook was keen to expel.

“Don’t worry, everypony, it’s natural for someone who has not had the luxury to sing every day as we have to get cold feet. Ahem; Crowella, you have to sing. Everypony does, and our only griffon must as well, for the good of the continuity of our Stable. Do you not want a chance to be with our fair Princesses in their bountiful gardens?” He smiled so warmly at me, I couldn’t tell him that he was a bucking loon for believing that drivel.

“I-I’m not saying I wouldnae… I-I mean, I’m jus’ savin’ meself fer tomorrow, I haven’t perfected my song…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Crow!” Dreamer called to me, “It’ll be fine! You’ll do great, come on, get on stage...” she waved her hooves to me. Some buggar in the third row thought it would be a wise idea to start chanting my moniker in encouragement. It wasn’t.

“Guardian Griffon! Guardian Griffon! Guardian Griffon! Guardian Griffon!”

I showed Mole my worried face as the rest of the crowd fanatically demanded my audio sacrifice, shaking my head urgently. She saw the look in my eyes, she sensed my fear, and miraculously, that was all she needed to come to my rescue.

“I VOLUNTEER!” She cried out, raising a hoof to the roof while hopping eagerly on two legs, managing to shout better than I could over the clamor. She shot me a wink, and I’m pretty certain she said, “bet Gypsy would never do this, huh!” before galloping through the aisles, leaping onto the seat rests with agility a mountain radgoat would be jealous of, over and sometimes briefly onto heads, before spiraling over the judges and landing on stage beside Gypsy.

“Wow,” gasped the flock, the judge’s bench and I. I didn’t miss the look of smug one-upmanship Moley gave my previous lip-sharer, before smiling at her evaluators. Dreamer picked her jaw up off of the floor and checked her PipBuck.

“Well, sure, it says here you’ve yet to perform, Molasses, and by the way, we’re all happy to see you are looking much better too…” the auditorium shared that sentiment, “...but wouldn’t you like to let these good ponies to hear the song your savior’s going to sing?”

“Well, maybe, sure, I bet they would, but -er… They can’t!” I could pretend that the lights were making Mole sweat, and nerves were making that leg twitch, but the face screamed that she was covering for me, I never expected anypony to fall for it. “Not until I’ve sung my song, for her. I have to! She saved my life,” she nodded, breathing out the air she’d been safe-keeping. The three unicorns with the power looked to each other, considering it.

“Okay, Molasses Candy, you can sing your song first. You will be doing the usual song, “Smile,” again, right?” Midnight lifted a hoof to ready the band that this hall had prepared for all its applicants, only for Mole to flag her down.

“No, no, no, no, no! Not this time! I want to do a special one, for Crow,” she cuddled the microphone in one leg and smiled across to me as she touched it to her lips.

“Err, okaaay? Cool! What do you want to sing?” Dreamer let her leg droop as she waited for my little heroine to decide how she was going to rescue me. Mole first shot Gypsy a questioning look, who was still hovering on the platform with bewilderment at the latest turn of events. The golden-maned wonder shook away the confusion in her head and backed off of the stage on my side of the suite.

“Oh! I’d like to sing “Imagine With Me,” you got that one?” she looked to the musicians, each shuffling papers and nodding in turn. The maroon mare beamed at the panel with a slight bleat behind her smile, showing off the shiniest teeth I’d ever seen on a pony. Overlook gave his appraising gesture, his daughters took their seats, and the instruments aroused the song’s cue.

“Things might look bleak,

You might be hurting,

But I promise you,

I won’t go running,

Without your hoof in mine.

(Without your hoof in mine)”

I was mesmerized by the tiny soul with the voice as big as the set, who did not falter as she seamlessly transitioned from an excited little beast to a powerful siren. The song alone had majestic energy although notoriously difficult to sing. Molasses Candy did not make it seem that way at all.

“You’ve come this far,

And you’ve done it all on your own,

I joined your fight,

When you were already in the zone,

And still, I’ll never leave.

(Still, I’ll never leave)“

In the stunned stupor, I wasn’t aware of Gypsy until she bumped me firmly with her hip to get my attention. I fought to pull my eyes away from the show, finally twisting my head around to my friend.

“Molly’s not a bad little entertainer,” she mused over the song, “I think it’s in the genes.”

“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to interrupt the atomic act put on and dedicated to me.

“Remember nothing ever stays bad forever

Remember that this life is our endeavor

Just sit back, and let’s dream of the future together,

Imagine with me.”

“So what’s with the big uproar about singing, Crow?” Breeze insisted, “you don’t want to ascend, do you?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure...”

“Hey!” she socked me devilishly hard in the leg, fuming when I turned to look hurt. “You’re not listening to me! What’s with… Oh.” Perception changed her expression. I should have been listening to her and concentrating. Instead, I showed my cards too early and I could tell she’d sussed me and Mole out. Now, she had my full alertness.

“Gypsy, let’s talk about this-”

“No need. You’ve made your choice. Good on you, Crow,” the sliver of the smile on her face did not feel very friendly as she turned back to the girl swaying on stage. She had the crowd joining in with her, some even raising hooves into the air.

“Our neighbors standing, leg to leg,

No need to cry or scream or beg,

A reason for all to sing as one,

Imagine with me.”

“I mean, how could you resist?” Gypsy grunted, “younger, cuter, a virgin… was, at least.” She snorted enviously, squinting at the prancing artist as she poured her heart into the tune.

“Hey now-” I chirped, but Gypsy was already turning to leave. My heart tore between the singer on-stage and the grown mauve horse exiting along the aisle. I wavered, eyes looking into the honest green gems of my beloved for the answers.

“Come on, let’s go,”

She pointed to me and nodded in time with the tune. I gave her a soft, dumb smile.

“This darkness cannot last,

Come on, let’s go,”

She thrust her hoof outwards and upwards, hips shimmying. I flicked my tail. What was she trying to tell me?

“Escape from our past,

Let’s go, go, go.

GO!”

Oh. I got the message that time, my rust-colored diva giving me the distraction needed for me to escape before I was called to take her place in front of the demanding and hungry watchers. I spun as she sung the same word over and over, thrust myself to the top of the room and chased Gypsy’s tail through the door.

“Let’s go, go, go.

Let’s go, go, go.

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!”

I paused to listen to the crowd bellow calls, stomp applause and it made me grin proudly at the thought of my little munchkin finally getting some recognition from her peers. Then I flapped hastily after the striding pony, who stopped without notice so that I collided into the back of her.

“You following me?” I was asked curtly, my sight clouded by the gold locks of her tail. I didn’t answer but didn’t have to. “Good, because I want to show you something.”

*** *** ***

The rest of the trip through the Stable streets she remained silent to me, no matter how hard I tried to communicate with her. I would have got more words from Bucky, and I did as the PipBuck Boop game flashed up no less than five times along the journey. I groaned awkwardly and had to sit with the grumpy cow as I attempted to boop my way to glory, winning a free hay burger with fries, a cuddly toy and three free rides at Glad Rags.

Thrice the attention from the game gathered ponies over to once more want to speak to myself and the Ribboned Rescuer. She was ten times more gracious and chatty to them than she ever was to me, and I was left to play happy families until they left as well. The only time she showed some concern to my wellbeing was when I growled and thrust my PipBuck against a wall once more, forgetting I’d tried and failed to break it days ago. I caught her thoughtful expression for a second, but then she was trotting again.

We secreted ourselves into the rare passageways that I was becoming increasingly well aware of, into the stinking sewers below ground and onto a second path I hadn’t previously traversed. I think I made a joke about the smell, I don’t recall what it was now. In truth, Gypsy’s new cold shoulder frazzled my brain until I couldn’t think of anything but my worries and problems. It made the guilt and grief inside me all accumulated until it was the pit of a peach that had to be spat out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first. I was going to but, it all happened so fast! She came on to me-”

“Really? That’s why you think I’m upset?” the angered nag turned on me so fast that her mane’s bows fluttered, snorting with a stomp, “I couldn’t care less how you took that little things’ virginity, and to be honest I’m very glad you did because you turn into a spoilt little princess when you don’t get a lay. Why do you think I pushed you towards so many mares over the last couple of years? I can answer, don’t worry; it’s because you turn into a real bitch when your snatch is overruling your brains.” My mouth moved, but there wasn’t a word on my tongue that the cat had not already stolen. The bombshell kept raining fire on my attempts to continue, pushing her mane back stressfully.

“What really twists my teats is that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask about the foal,” her voice cracked, her carmine eyes trying to stop my gaze from slipping away in shame, “no, it’s not just you. No pony wants to talk about her. It’s like she didn’t exist! But I felt her inside of me, I felt her life, and I don’t want to pretend she was just a bucking dream.” She didn’t raise her voice, and she did not need to. Her face was a picture of all the emotions that she was bleeding out. “She had a name. Memory Breeze. She was supposed to be safe here, Crow. Safer than out there.”

“I’m sorry… It’s all-all my fault…” my beak somehow managed to utter. I did not expect her to deny it, and I was still unprepared for her next sentence.

“It is. You’re right.” Her dark red stare killed me. I lost my fight and sank, shrinking under her, letting her have the winning blow. Yet, she would not take it and turned, leaving me with a worse comeuppance; the pain of an unfinished argument. It hurt more than the soccer punch Elm dealt me.

She thrust herself through a doorway and into a carbon copy of the room I’d been in not a few hours earlier, even occupied by the same two Tunnel Bugs I’d seen there, alongside Bones and Woody himself. The differences included the last of the company sat at a bench, working like a mad scientist on a bunch of odd contraptions. There was the same shooting range, but with different targets, ones far more pony-like and familiar to me. They’d taken the trouble to set these boards up with Steel Rangers on them.

“Lover’s tiff?” asked the calcite horse, not turning around.

“Continue bucking yourself with your toys over there,” answered Gypsy.

“Fair enough,” nodded Elmwood, waving a hoof, “hi Crow.”

“Um, hullo, all of you,” I said inadequately, feeling more ashamed and low now knowing that my friends had all heard the complaints against my character and furthermore, how true they were. I glanced around the squad and scratched an arm, looking to somepony other than Gypsy. “What is this all about?”

“Exactly!” Elmwood leaped out of his seat, one eye enlarged by a magnifying glass attached to a leather band around his head, looking like a crazed and malformed creature wanting to judge everything the icy eye set itself on, “that’s the right question. Finally, somepony else asked it other than me.” There were smugs of grease in his fur and his scars seemed even more defining in this light. “Why a singing contest to discern something as important as joining Princess C’s orgy fest? Why aren’t there old ponies in this Stable? Why let a bunch of raiders into a Stable, knowing full well they’ll piss in the cooking pot, and why, among all other things, haven’t you told Crow or I who these three really are? What is going on here, Gypsy?” I stared at the stallion with a tired and defeated heart.

“No, I meant, why have you brought me down here? I haven’t a clue on the rest of what you just blathered on about, Elmwood,” I muttered softly, flicking my wings, looking at my front feet in self-deprecation. I heard the guy backtrack on his joy of finding someone thinking just like him but then clopped over to me.

“Oh. Well, one reason is your PipBuck. I am going to need to take a look at it, Crow, please? It’s easy to take off, you just-” I popped the locks off with ease, now that I know how to do so thanks to Mole’s tuition, and held it out on my palm for him.

“Clever bird,” he smiled reassuringly and took it in his teeth, trotting back across the room to his private desk. Meanwhile, Gypsy had taken a seat beside Joke and-

“Whoa,” I coughed as though the smoke of the cigarette she’d just lit had already reached me, “you’re taking that up again, hen?” ‘Gone-out’ is an expression the Trots use when a pony briefly steps out of their minds, and that vacant glance was exactly what Gypsy used for me when I chastised her for returning to a habit I’d seen her kick a while ago.

“Leave the bottle alone, then we’ll talk, Squawk,” she uttered before another drag. I didn’t like the way she used the once-fraternal nickname in that instance. This emotional shiv in my ribcage was digging deeper.

“I’m sorry, Gyps, but, err-” Private Joke hemmed and hawed over his following choice of words, “there’s the matter that we discussed and, well, we Tunnel Bugs have sorta been preparing for this for, well, ten years…” I rose my eyebrow to the group, shrugging and shaking my head at the mare with the grudge. Deciding that she couldn’t play the stuck-up card and be productive at the same time, Gypsy levitated her cigarette before her and went for a walk around the three dwellers from the Stable.

“Honestly, this is going to answer some of your burning questions too, Detective Woody,” she began, running her hoof along Boney’s shoulders. The mare, who I knew from the jail was unnerved by feminine wiles, shuddered as she glanced between the blondie and me. I realized that, without her helmet on this meeting, the chestnut scruffy mane she had suited her pale buttercup fur. Intriguing, her eyes matched PJs, and when I checked this on Big Lum, the stallion’s eyes were not all that different either. Different contrasts of cerulean, each with a slightly ominous glow behind them, like someone had lit a tiny candle behind their pupils.

“I know,” advised Elm, to Gypsy’s response, still not looking up from his work on my PipBuck. I wondered what he knew, what all of them knew that was due to be such a surprise to me, and I wasn’t going to have to wait long. “It’s going to open a whole apple-cart more too, and you’re not going to tell me the answers to those, are you?”

Mistress Breeze huffed, and as predicted, she did not answer. Instead, she walked across to Lumbah and sat, sipping smoke from her death stick and holding it in her lungs until she couldn’t contain the sweet burn any longer.

“How much do you know about changelings, Crow?”

“HAH!” Elm smacked the table before I had a chance to answer, startling me fiercely, “I knew it! -Sorry! Sorry, continue to allude to the answers, oh wondrous alluder.” He waved his hooves towards her in a sorcerer’s fashion, earning a fractious scrunch from his partner. Answering the question seemed to be what was expected of me, but I was just yammering at the present events unfolding before me.

“I, err, they’re critters who look like bugs, can change into anything their size. They feed and bide on something pure weird like the energies of feelings, fear, love, that kinda thing? Um, there was a hive before the war and a queen, I dunno, some legends reckon they turned barmy, others say they were stoatin’, I don’t ken muckle about ‘em at all, really.” I eventually gave a non-committal raise of my shoulders, more concerned about still trying to apologize to Gypsy Breeze with my eyes.

“Today’s your lucky day, Flappy, you get to have a one-on-one workshop with some representatives of those elusive little love-suckers.”

“Hey,” grunted Boney in irritation, “that’s offensive.”

“-But true,” finished Gypsy, who seemed unwilling to consider the feelings of others at the time. Disbelief, confusion, and denial all filled my head at once as I squinted from Lumbah to Joke, the three appearing to stand in order of ultra-cool to extremely nervy. Joke was breathing slowly and laboriously as Bones gave a dismissing bat at the air between myself and Gypsy.

“This isn’t funny, it’s not even clever. I got your foal killed and I’m really bucking sorry for that, you two,” I counted Elm in my commiserations, considering that I had to be thorough if I wanted the madness to finally end, ”But tossing this egg full of shite at me to get your own back is low, it’s obscene!” I observed Gypsy’s only reaction to my tirade, leaning over to whisper in Private’s ear, but I was too engrossed in finally fighting my corner to pick up on it, “I deserve to be chewed out, aye, but not toyed with! After everything we’ve gone through together, a simple, ‘ta for your services Crow, now buck off,’ would suffice, wouldnae you say? And another bucking thing-” but that other bucking thing was lost to the echoing chamber, as a wave of blue flame erupted quickly around Private Joke.

The gaseous fire disappeared as quickly as it had come. I did not see everything immediately, but I saw the sheen of the exoskeleton and that was enough for me. I squawked in horror at the creature in its waking form and turned to climb the walls and escape.

“Crow, whoa, whoa, whoa, Crow! Stop!” despite Elmwood being closer, Lumbah caught me first and held on to me, avoiding my slashing talons as I screamed and panicked. The next thing I knew, I was in his legs, frozen. I couldn’t move my head, or feet, or claws. Gypsy skidded along the wet stones in between me and the door, her glowing horn proving to be the real culprit.

“This is why I didn’t tell her from the off. I knew she’d react like a raving retard,” she took a fresh seat on the cold ground and leaned in, snout inches from my beak. “It’d have been so much easier if you just…” she paused on the words, glancing around me to Elmwood. I couldn’t see him, but I could still hear his tools tinkering away and I knew he wasn’t paying any attention. I always got the impression that nothing surprised him, that he knew what to expect every minute of every day. The mare let out the sigh she was holding.

“You’re being a dumb bitch right now, but you’re in a safe place here. If Lumbah and I let you go, promise you won’t try to scramble away again?” In my head, I was still trying to get my legs and wings to move, but it was no use. I stopped resisting and stared her out.

“Ah wernt,” I said through my stuck beak, which suddenly returned power to me once the groan left through the closed shell. Lum did his best to buddies release me befittingly, and I landed on all fours, swiftly moving into a corner of the room not occupied by, what I felt then were, freaks and assholes. I didn’t try to take my leave again, but for that first hour, I was twitchier than Mole after one-too-many Sunrise Sarsaparillas (something I have seen twice in my lifetime, so far).

“I’m sorry,” another lightning-quick taste of electric blue and PJ was back in the body I knew him as.

“Hey, no.” The ring-mistress pointed demandingly at the transformer, “turn back. We need her to get used to this. Lumbah, Antennae, need you to do likewise, please.” The three long-term pals shared uneasy glances before three more energy tsunamis washed over them.

To look at, the Tunnel Bugs still resembled their pony forms, similar in color, definition, and height. The speckled, completely indigo eyes sent the chills through me, even after I was confident they were still placid beings. Their chitin skins only partially revealed their translucent wings, their tails and film crest flimsy, and their horns were crooked and spikey. They moved around to stand with each other and Private Joke shared some sympathy for me.

“Sorry for spooking you, Crow, this wasn’t the way we wanted to do this.”

“What in the bucking egg is going on, Joke? Why in the buck are you, changelings?” I scoured them for answers but couldn’t gain a single clue from their definitionless eyes.

“You can call me Pons,” PJ told me, “Private is my pony name. Saw Bones real name is Antennae.” I looked to Lumbah and gave him a searching glare.

“And you?”

“Oh, actually. Lumbah is his real name. He doesn’t go out into the main Stable much so he’s never needed to adopt a pony name.” Private Joke, Pons, gave the stallion a big pat on the shoulder and tried to flash me a warm smile. Shuddering involuntarily, I kept my eyes on the most prominent and meanest looking one.

“Really? You live down here and in the walls of the Stable? How do you cope with that? I’m guessing being a bug hel- Oh. Tunnel Bugs. Ha-dee-ha ha. I get it.” I pushed my face into my claws, cursing my poor attention to details that I hadn’t realized this sooner, and snapped my beak angrily. I was getting sick of being tricked. “How’d a clawful of changelings in here? Did you sneak in here with the rest of the insects?”

“Careful, Crow,” called Elm from his workbench, though not caring enough to look over to the scene going on over this side of the storeroom, “you’re getting dangerously close to being racist-”

“No!” I thrust out my wings, clenching my fists. “No more fucking games! I want to know how they turned up in this shithole!”

“We were already here!” suddenly yelled Antennae, catching me off guard with her previous incarnation of a timid aphid growing a backbone. “One hundred years ago, we were here first, and this Stable was built for us. The ponies were brought in to feed us-”

“That’s sick-”

“-WITH THEIR LOVE!” The creature I knew as Bones stomped down both hooves to silence me, clicking snappily, “the songs and-and-and the Minstrel days? Those are all for us, to keep us alive. Their singing keeps them happy and fueled with a warm meal. They don’t even know we’re down here.” She stared at me furiously, and I hooted indignantly, scraping talons over the moist flagstones.

“Och, sounds like slavery to me…”

“That’s enough.” Gypsy stepped between us before Bones could retaliate, or I could say something stronger that would get one of us into even deeper trouble. She had a way of becoming the pony that was needed at the moment a situation called for her. I never really appreciated that then, but I do now. On that occasion, school ma’am Ms. Breeze broke up the fight before it could get nastily prejudice. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“She’s right,” added Lumbah, who’d been a big silent rock up until this point, “we were helping the ponies upstairs to ascend, that was what we’d been tasked with by StableTec. We could not reveal ourselves until the ponies had ascended, but once they did we would be there to greet them-”

“Oh, aye?” I glared at him, “on the mysterious vale of Celestia’s Equestrian gardens, aye?” My snappy backbite did little to change his reposeful conduct.

“We know you know that the world above is not what the ponies here believe it to be,” He answered firmly. “Our job was to prepare them for that. There was a time we believed that the songs that they learned would help them to heal Equestria, as they had done so long ago. The singing competition ensured that the right ponies were picked to leave. That was what StableTec imposed on the Changelings living here; make sure they go out singing.”

“That was before the blackout.” Pons sighed deeply, shaking his head, “there was a portal for us changelings to come up and down into the Stable as much as we needed to, but when the power went down in the Stable, the three of us came down here to check that things were okay. Then, we got stuck in here. The elevator wouldn’t return us, even when we fixed the problem with the generators and got the power back. Communications to the top went down as well. We have no way of knowing what happened to our friends and family up there, or why.”

“Hang on,” Elm clicked, looking back at us without turning his head so that his face was upside down, “the ascension stuff, however you do it, that’s still working. How come?”

“Again, no idea,” shrugged Pons, “we sent a few of our people back through it, but no matter who we sent the problem was never fixed. We never heard from them again.” That earned a curious “huh,” from Elm, but he was contented enough with the answer to continue with his work. I wasn’t.

“...And you’re all okay with that?” I asked reproachfully. “Ye all gladly let ‘em keep sending ponies to the top and an uncertain future?”

“Of course not,” snarled Antennae, “we went to the Overmare immediately, as soon as we found out we had no way of solving the problem. We asked, no, we begged her to stop sending the ponies to the ‘Gardens of Equestria,’ but the response back was that we had to continue to ascend the Dwellers of Stable T-Thirty. She said it was our mission, given to us by Celestia herself. That didn’t change with the new Overstallion either.”

“Overlook knows you all exist?” I exclaimed, puffing my wings out in surprise.

“Of course. He’s our Overstallion too, Crow,” advised PJ, “but he is the only one. We’ve kept to the rules, even when things went from cool to crazy in ten seconds flat. No changeling must ever reveal themselves to a pony that hasn’t been ascended. You guys are the first to see us for who we are in ten years.”

“Even when we’re in the presence of good, honest ponies, we’re still a bad influence,” sniggered Elmwood, making the ‘Tunnel Bugs’ scuff their hooves uncomfortably. Gypsy stepped into command once more, standing before me.

“The changelings aren’t the ones fucking with us here, nor are most of the ponies up there. But there is somepony bucking us up the tailpipes, and we need to figure out who before they make a bad mess.”

“I love your imagery sometimes, darling.” Elmwood chuckled from his desk. After another glower at him, I stepped tentatively out of my safe space towards Breeze.

“You’re talking about Procrustean,” I suggested matter-of-factly, “I’ve seen him murder a stallion in cold blood when he was interrogating me. He tortured me into being a snitch for his wee plans too.” I rubbed my shoulder, remembering the pain, and felt a pang of annoyance when Gypsy shook her head at that.

“No. The Chief’s a big fat mother-loving dick, but he’s the monkey, not the organ grinder. Overlook would be the next prime target, but-”

“We’ve done extensive research on both of them, Crow,” Pons explained over Gypsy, “both grew up in the Stable and have families here, it couldn’t be either of them.”

“We need to figure out who’s giving them the orders, and how. Antennae, that means I have a fresh task for you. Come with me.” Seeing as the mare had eliminated the conflict between the bugs with me and was taking charge of this entire operation, I watched her lead the female changeling across the room, the latter of whom gave me one last decidedly grouchy look before moving over. On the other side, she had her station of operations, where papers and what looked like a full map of the Stable sat. Joke started to approach me, but I wasn’t prepared to deal with or understand him at that moment. As his mouth opened, my voice was faster.

“Elmwood, how are ye getting on with my PipBuck?” I swiveled on the spot and marched deliberately across the floor to take my place beside my oldest, and what felt like the only friend there at that moment. I was wrong, of course, but I wore rose-tinted glasses that had been mucked by years in the Wastes and wars. I wasn’t ready to see what really mattered. Snubbed and hurt, Private turned to Lumbah, who just dismissed the rude gesture and chose to follow Gypsy.

“Almost there, just got to erase the annoying sprite the fit into the FunBucks-”

“Whoa, no. Hold it, pal,” I protested, “you cannae go erasing Bucky! He’s grown on me!” I got a look from the kook like I was the maniac in this scenario and a cock of an eyebrow.

“You like the annoying little thing?” He judged me as one judges somebody who likes a particular singer when that celebrity is notoriously disliked and seen as a bit of a brainless dipshit. I held onto my pride and responded with a taunting shut down.

“Aye. I do. He reminds me of you,” He pretended to belly laugh shortly, before giving me a vacant, sarcastic scowl. He muttered something about supposing he might be able to make the best of both worlds, before getting back to work on my PipBuck. I didn’t realize that, in the week I’d been wearing it, I’d grown accustomed to having it. My leg felt oddly bare and clumsy without it now. I looked at the markings it had left in my ankle around an old but big scar, pinkish-grey and wrinkled. It wasn’t one of my favorites, in fact, it was the ugliest thing on me. That made it all the better that I could hide it.

“Why isn’t this new to you, Elm,” I asked, keeping my voice low, “why isn’t your skin crawling the same way mine is?” I glanced back to the conference table Gypsy was at.

“That’d be telling,” he responded, curtly.

“And you cannae tell the griff who got your flank out of a badly-made deal back in Marehay?” I knew from the wince on his face that I had him. He sighed, putting down the tools and giving me a sideways glance, even lifting the spyglass out of his eye to look at me properly.

“You wouldn’t be backing the wrong side if you made friends with these guys, Squawk,” he answered softly, “I have a feeling there are worse things than changelings in this little rabbit warren.” He gave a low sigh and glanced over his shoulder at an unoccupied corner, his eyelids drooping to half-mast. It made me follow his gaze for a moment, and see the “STABLETEC GUTTERING NETWORK,” circular plaque with its one overseeing eyeball, but didn’t have the patience to see or imagine what he was seeing. What I did know was that my friend had an astute, eerily prophetic way of reading places, people and situations. If he said that these ‘things’ were the good guys, I knew he wasn’t saying it because he wanted to endorse the magic of friendship.

“Okay, fine, but I wish they didnae resemble Mirelurks,” I muttered darkly, earning a ticking from Elm as he got back to his task.

“Something I learned real early on, Squawk, don’t insult your hosts. Especially when you’re the minority.”

“Oi!” I cawwed, “that’s-” I couldn’t finish the sentence, and the stallion’s filthy smile told me he knew as much. I growled through my beak and bumped my fist thrice on his desk. “There’s only three of them, so they’re only a tiny percentage less rare that I, aye?”

“Is there?” asked my associate mirthfully to my disharmony.

“Aye!”

“Is there?” This time, his tone was more judicious, his eyebrow raised as he gave the PipBuck a few more taps and nodded sedately. “That’s done. I’ve modified the tracker, turned off the foal lock features, so you won’t get any more messages stopping you from taking a kill shot. The annoying games have been turned off, but what I’m most proud about is- Oh. Okay. Fine.” His last comment came because I had stopped listening and turned my back on him. I am sure he grunted about manners and imitated my accent as he thanked himself profusely, claiming himself to be a genius, but I only know that because it is the kind of thing he’d have done. What I was focused on now, as I floated myself across the room and strapped my updated PipBuck back to my arm, was getting a proper answer from the mare and her cohorts.

“How many changelings are in this Stable?” I demanded before I’d even touched down. Gypsy Breeze looked back to me and gave an objecting huff. She began to rebuff my question, but it was Pons who waved her down this time. Despite head shakes from the representatives of his fellow species, he took a short walk to a corner of the damp and murky place. I shot my gaze at Elm since he’d already pointed out this wall to me a moment earlier. What I had not noticed the first time around when I had looked, was that it was positioned at a jaunty angle, with the eye looking more quizzical than overseeing. Nor had I noticed the red wire attached to it, hung on hooks and running away into the wall adjacent to it. PJ placed his hoof on it and turned his head to me.

“We just want to live, Crow. We want to keep the ponies above safe, and we want our families to feel the same way. You gotta respect that, right?”

“Families?” I asked cautiously. The changeling turned around and concentrated on moving the disk, showing me that it could turn on a central axis back and forth. I didn’t realize until he did this that there was a notch above the circle that he was using as a marker, and the words around the circumference were spelling out something new.

“TUNNEL BUGS RULE”

There was a clank, and a sliding sound from the wall beside this one, which drew the attention of Elmwood as well as I. We watched as stone dust fell from the edges of the brickwork, before the entire thing moved aside slowly as one. When the whole thing stopped moving, the partial light from the small wire-strung bulbs above us lit a short corridor that cornered off to the left. The white stallion jumped to the chance to take the lead, cantering into the dark hole and hurrying around the bend.

“Wait!” Antennae raced after him, and Pons gestured for me to follow too. With him at my side, I entered more tentatively than my chum, taking the route through to the opening past the turn. Although there were more lights ahead, I could see that their attempts could not illuminate what had to a vast expanse. Elm had stopped on a stone path hugging the wall, his mouth gaped open, his head doing cartwheels at the sight unseen to me. I braved my way through the exit of the corridor and turned to see what he was looking at.

Revealed to me, hid snugly beneath the Stable, was a cathedral of catacombs surrounded by winding paths and a lot of circular caves dug into the walls. There were so many holes that the rocks and supporting pillars looked sick, as though infested with mites. This, I quickly realized, was a hive, which meant that the creatures flying around the vast chamber were the occupants.

“Well,” started Elmwood vivaciously, “you asked how many, Squawk. Start counting.”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Dreambreaker by Alvin Stardust I wanted to pay tribute to a local legend and fantastic singer, plus I love this song.

As said in the previous chapter, this chapter and the subsequent one too all came about from what I had drafted for chapter fourteen. However, these three chapters felt that they had better flow and care for the characters this way.

Thank you to Blazie, for some of the edits in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 024 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Two)

Entry 022 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part Two)

“No.” It was the first thing I said to Gypsy as she tailed me. The moment after Elmwood suggested I do a tally of the changelings to ponies ratio was when I turned and walked out of the cavern, and the sewers, to escape back to the sanity of the upper half of the Stable. “No, no, no, no, and might I add, buck no.”

“Crow, stop and hear me out,” she ordered, “don’t make me freeze you again, because I swear on Luna’s silky wet underwear that I will.” I paused, then spun around to face her, and not just because she got me thinking about soil regal lingerie.

“I’ve been listening, hen, and what I hear is that you’re asking me to help insects who deceive ponies and wear disguises.”

“They are not hurting anypony here-”

“Are you certain about that, lassie?” I pushed out my chest, raising my head over her eye line, “they could be anypony at any time anywhere. Och, you could be one. Mole could be one! Buck, it makes my feathers itch thinking about it…” I scratched my wing uncomfortably. Gypsy waited patiently for me to stop.

“I’m not one. You want proof?” She sighed and sat down gazing into my eyes, “I remember the day I first met you. The Helping Hoofians brought you into the medical tent because they’d heard Elmwood crying out at the riverside for help. He then disappeared so I was lumbered with looking after your sorry, broken ass.” She smirked and I sighed, unable to avoid smiling too.

“Nopony asked you to.”

“Sure, I was gonna let a sexy piece of flank like you become worm food…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Molly isn’t a changeling either. I checked with the Tunnels, they’re one-hundred and ten percent certain.” It wasn’t much reassurance but it was enough. I lowered my eyes to the floor.

“I’m not just refusing to help your plight because I don’t like what those-” I took a moment to remember that we’d just walked into a crowded place, and had to force a smile to the pale yellow and pink maned mare who greeted us blithely, before carrying on with her journey. “...What those other things are. Even if I wanted to help them, which I don’t, I still have Crusty watchin’ me like a hawk. I cannae go sneaking around under his dry, cantankerous beak.”

“That’s why you are perfect for this task,” she hissed back to me, “if anything, you can say it’s part of your investigations for Mr. Nasty. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything he hasn’t already.” I stood looking, or what I felt was an impression of being, determined not to give in to her bossing me about. She probably sensed that too, as she released the mean spirit that was turning my friend into a militant pimp, and let a rueful serenity come over her. “Crow, I’m sorry for blaming you for the foal. I’m wrong, it’s not entirely your fault, I came along of my own volition. Am I a little jealous of Molly? Yeah, a little…”

She waited for me to say something, and I really tried, as the pair of us took seats on the ironwork floor. Yet, the more I gazed at her and the harder I tried to find some words that would tell her how sorry I was for the loss of her unborn, or that I forgave her envy of my mate, or even scolding her for thinking of leaving Elmwood for me, the fewer things came to my head that I could actually offer her as a response. In the end, I went with the easy option.

“What do you want me to do, Gypsy? I cannae promise I’ll do it, but I can promise I’ll try.”

“I need you to find out what Poxy and our gang is doing, and why,” she answered, “since we got in here, Elm and I expected more fight from her, but she’s given us no clues on what the Raiders will do next, even when I’ve asked. It worries me that she’s being so secretive with us.” She patted my shoulder slowly, showing me the seriousness of her scarlet eyes. ”Elm told me you discovered something weird went on with her and that Sticks guy, and we could all do with knowing what made him go gung-ho in the museum. I want to know why she hasn’t caused more chaos since then, too.” She saw the face I was pulling and lowered her ears. “I’m not asking you to seduce her-”

“But you know that’s the only way I’ll get those answers, Gyps,” I finished for her, giving a long, low grouse. I considered my options and clicked my talons on the metal in thought. From somewhere in town that I’d still not found, a bell chimed to announce a new hour, and I witnessed the Stable begin its transition from night to day before me. The ‘sun’ positioned on the metal sky started to click downwards, as the moon rose up from behind the building on the opposite end. I looked around at the shops in the districted we’d sat amongst, where ponies were turning the placards in their door windows, stepping out, locking up and offering each other a pleasant night. It was a twisting ball of calming versus unnerving energies inside me, to know that the lives of the Stable Dwellers continued as usual up above the creatures that fed on their joys and passions. The untold truth was that anypony here could be a changeling, a thought I hurriedly dismissed as too frightening for conscious thought.

“I’ll do what I can,” I eventually decided, “but I won’t cheat on Molasses Candy.”

“That’s all I ask,” Gypsy said, with a smile. After a small hesitation, she pulled me into her and hugged me close, pressing her face into my Stable suit. Without a qualm, I wrapped my legs around her and held her for minutes, stroking her mane and accepting her earlier apologies silently. It was only when she drew back that I realized her eyes had leaked, but my attempts to address them were brushed off.

“I’m glad you found Molasses. I think-”

“She could be good for me?” I offered, grinning, “aye, so do I”

“No,” she said as she got back to her hooves, “I think you’ll be good for her.” My stunned mug received a small nuzzle before my friend bid me a good night and took her leave. Regardless of my new relationship status, I still admired that shapely back end.

“You’re still a pervert, then?” she called back to me jovially, causing me to squawk and flap.

“I was-wasn’t-”

“Haha! Goodnight, Flaps!” she offered one last wave before disappearing away to the same direction we’d come from. I pondered on whether to get a head start on my new mission, or whether to try completing the Seven-Day task, but in the end, I knew what I wanted more than anything. I started up the messages on my PipBuck to drop a note in Mole’s inbox.

Bucky poked his green luminescent head onto my screen. I was briefly relieved to see that Elmwood had not removed him entirely, that as until the avatar’s excitable young voice emitted from a speaker on my cuff.

“Hi, there! It looks like you’re about to arrange a buck sesh with your lady-friend. Need some help?” I squawked and covered the speaker, looking around to see a couple of ponies walking past and looking at me with surprise and confusion at the odd phrase that left my device. The stallion, in particular, looked horrified.

“Heh, och, sorry about that,” awkwardly laughing, I knocked on my PipBuck, “blasted thing’s broken again. Technology, aye? Nay built to last…” The mare feigned a chuckle, swiftly glancing at my newly demonic machine and urging her partner to keep walking as quickly as they could. I hissed a curse to Elmwood and lifted my chunky watch to my beak.

“Nay, no help. What’s he done to ye, Bucky?” The sprite just blinked at me as innocent as a lamb. I hit several buttons and knobs until I found the one to dismiss him and continued muttering what I’d do the Bucky’s defiler as I wrote my message.

“Crowella MacRural:
Wnt 2 meet up, Fuzbut?”

I didn’t need to wait long for the reply.

“Molasses Candy:
Oh, golly gosh yes! Come to the Sweet Elite! I got you a surprise…Winking face smiling face heart heart heart!”

That was all the convincing I needed. Ten minutes later, I had Mole excitedly showing me the candles she’d set up around the shop, the meal (which she called ‘noodle surprise!’) she’d been out to get us, and a rolled out, pumped up bed with a duvet behind her counter that she’d managed to collect for us.

“OH! And I have to tell you,” she began eagerly as I discovered new sights at every turn, “I finished my song and the judges were really kind, and I GOT A~Mmmpf!” I didn’t find out what she got as I shut her up that moment with my beak. What had earned the long, tongue-dancing kiss was the bottle of whiskey she’d bought just for me (while several bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla were set aside for her). I think I smooched the words right out of her mouth.

We dined that night like a pair of Princesses, drank like a pair of old friends and made love like reckless teenagers. We didn’t try anything we hadn’t done in the bath-house as I was still building Mole’s confidence but love still beat a steady drum between us. Compared to the beds in the warehouse it was rough sleeping and yet for me with my belle in my warm grasp, it was the best night’s sleep I’d ever had in my whole life.

*** *** ***

A memorial. That was a new one for me.

Not that my merry band of Raiders hadn’t celebrated the lives of dead friends and family before, but such festivities had previously consisted of one of the deceased’s closest allies yelling the name at the top of their voice over a drunken pack of their mates. The announcement would lead to every pony quaffing booze until nopony can walk. I remember one such occasion, a stallion named Short Cut got too close to a Mirelurk, got himself wholly severed into two pieces. He was an absolute legend, so we made a big thing about his passing with a bonfire, dancing, the works. Woke up in bed with his sister, so it really wasn’t that bad a memory…

Stable T-Thirty ceremonies were more respectful affairs compared to those. Even the entrance to the Gardens, where the gathering was to be held, was dressed in white cloth and pink and peach flowers. Mole and I got up early to make ourselves more respectful for the affair, and as Mole agreed on details with Gizmo on her PipBuck, I watched the pretend moon drop once more, and the sun-light lift from her shop window. We got moving shortly after, soon meeting him on this elegant pathway into the underground meadow, where he greeted us both with a big friendly hug. We could tell he was already wrought with nerves, so I let him have my wing over his back for comfort, while my filly stood by him on his other side, trying her best not to get teary too.

Several chaperones on the door welcomed us in, passing us flyers covering the itinerary of the funeral and telling us to come to them if we needed anything else. I took a look at the glossy leaflet in my claw, which had been printed to include the faces of all the ponies who’d died in the last few days. Not all had photos and those that did not have a grey StableTec logo in their place with their names and ‘Stable Fifty-Four’ printed in their place. Of the others; some posed smiling, some held important and serious expressions, but all reminded me that none of them believed their lives would be cut short. They’d never ascend, not the way they’d believe they were going to at least.

My gut lurched. I’d killed plenty of fools for plenty of reasons and most of them deserved it, but there were always consequences to taking someone off of the earth-plane, and I had a clawful of dead souls on my conscience.

Were their eyes judging me? Even the grinning ones were now frowning, livid that I should be able to walk free as they ended their days in a furnace.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Mole,” Gizmo was saying distantly, “you did well…”

“How can you live with yourself, knowing what you did,” each face snarled at me, their eyes obscured in glowing embers, their features shrinking, changing into foal-like creatures full of hate.

“It was an accident,” I whispered painfully, crystals chugging through my blood, cutting me with cold precision. The corners of the pictures bubbled, the corners of the children’s faces licked with the tongues of flames. The furs and skins blackened, the cheeks blistered and bloody, the fire spreading quickly through each mane. They opened their mouths to scream murderously as their throats and sockets melted liquid puss-

“NO!”

“Crow!” My body was encased in a warm, tight jacket, pinning my front legs to my sides. Breathing hurt and the lights flared across my returning sentience. “Come back, Crow, come back, it’s okay, it’s safe, you’re safe, Captain!”

“Come back, Molasses, that’s only making her worse,” Gizmo gathered the bundle of love with good intentions off into his legs and heaved her to a place she could still be near without crowding me. I gave a dazed cluck at her, my world slowly finding normality amongst the chaos my regrets and karma brought me. The blazing lights became manageable, and the explosions in my head left a hollow, numb feeling. I lowered my eyes to the pamphlet, which my claws had skewered during my fit. The faces that were visible were regular once more, not a scorch mark in sight.

“I’m fine, really,” I got to my feet quicker than I should have done and staggered into Gizmo as he bent down to examine me. He caught me like he was catching a buckball.

“You sure,“ he asked with a tone of concern, “just sit down a moment longer.” I did as I was told, since my body weight took a bit of getting used to once more, and looked to Mole’s worried image with a sigh.

“I am fine,” I reiterated, my breathing finding the proper manner of exertion, a gulp or two between slow breaths better than hyperventilating.

“But you were screaming,” Moley told me softly, “you looked at the pictures first, and then you stopped, and then you started screaming really, really loudly! Why’d you started screaming, what scared you?” Her voice rose from the shy worry to a loud panic, Giz calming her down with a hug. He did look to me for answers, however, and when I saw the revelers and the guard who had stopped and observed around me, I could see they all wanted the same.

“Spider.” I told them all, “got a wee phobia of them, and one big, nasty black one was on my page. False alarm, sorry, folks.” I answered drolly, to chuckles, head shakes and a return to regularity.

“Sounded more like a cry of guilt to me,” rolled a snotty voice into my previously unjudging circle of friends. I shifted to see behind me, where I found an imposing pink stallion with thick, tall, curled locks. “Better you know now, Bird. Not everyone here thinks it’s a good thing you or your friends are here.” He kept his head high, moving between my colleagues and me with one eye fixed on me, demanding I justify my existence to this (rhymes with) runt. “Is it just a coincidence you happen to be at every horrific event our Stable has seen?”

“And you are? Apart from a puffed up windbag?” I asked. Mole wasn’t waiting for his answer, pushing between us and giving him a furious stare.

“Get lost, Bubble Candy!” she snapped, her voice frying with anger and hooves stamping into the floor, “or I’ll tell Hardy you’re being mean to my friends!”

“You’ll tell Hard?” The second Candy sibling to grace me with his presence since I’d joined Stable T-Thirty sneered at his little sister, “we’re not foals anymore, Sugar-Breath, and you need to grow up fast.” He pointed sharply at me, “you’re hanging out with a killer, she’s no Stable Dweller like us.”

“No, she’s not!” Mole looked back to me, completely certain of her assumptions regarding me, “she’s a hero and a good griffon, and she’s my friend!” She turned to him. “You’re just a… a…. A poop head!” He laughed, and this only proved to incense her more. In a squeal of rage, she was on him with her hooves buffering off of his chest. Her blows didn’t have the strength to land but the intention of her fighting for my honor still had me puff up in pride. I was about to step in as he pushed her when a deeper voice broke them up.

“ENOUGH! Both of you, back up, one yard!” A rhubarb and cream colored stallion with his mane slickened back stepped into the fight and had them apart with barely any forcefulness at all. His eyes matched Mole’s, but barely had any of her warmth. I quickly recognized the mare beside him as the New Maud, Mole’s sister, and had to guess that the mediator was her oldest brother, Hard. That penetrating stare even had Bubbles flinching.

“Hard, Bubble called my friend a-”

“I heard, Molasses,” Hard advised her, snorting her into silence and thumping the floor with a hoof. Rather than address the situation, or apologize to me, he dismissed the immediate event and walked forward again, head held high. “Bubble, come along. You too, Molasses, you’ll sit with your family for once.

“But I-” she began.

“Molasses Candy, “ even I sat upright at his commanding tone, the energy behind his voice ordering respect. Mole’s cheerful ears became sad and despondent. He kept walking, as did his brother and nearest-in-age sister, while Mole trailed at the back long enough to give me a sorry glance.

“Bye, Crow,” came her reprimanded farewell, “I’ll see you soon, I’ll-”

“Molasses Candy,” her brother growled again. She scampered away with them, but not before managing to hop around on one leg to point out the PipBuck on her right leg, blowing me a dorky kiss too. I nodded with a rueful smile, blowing a kiss back to her. I giggled a little too fondly, and it roused Gizmo’s suspicion enough to prompt a question.

“You and her. Not filly-fooling, are ya?” he asked. I lifted an eyebrow, feeling invincible when I should have been apprehensive. I made a small mistake.

“What if we were? There are no laws against it.”

“Actually, Crow, there is,” he warned me, to a sharp squark from me. I looked to him to see if he was joking, but his face was deadly serious. “It ain’t the wishes of Celestia; all thems who wish to ascend must be pure in love. ‘Male must love a Female, and she must love him in return. Should he or she take love without permission, or love his or her peer, which means the same gender, by mistake, then punishment must be sought if they are to ever ascend after.’ That’s Celestia’s second decree for the rules of ascensions,” he rolled off, what sounded like a legal clause in a document, from memory, and had me gazing at him in horror.

“So,” he finished, giving me a serious but kind nod, “I hope you and her ain’t filly-fooling.”

“I… she… we…. Shit, I … No-No, we’re not.” I muttered, feeling my heart self-destruct. So this was why Mole had been so reluctant to accept her feelings for me. This was why it had been a matter of secrecy. For all this time, I thought it was just her siblings who were against our love, or that the Stable had been in the ground so long that they’d not known how far Equestria had come in it’s wounded state. The bottom of my world had just dropped out, and I was at a loss as to what I could possibly do next.

Gizmo patted me on the shoulder as if that was to convince me not to worry about it, or him, or anything. He moved on to the other matter I had been accused of, with, “most here know you was there to save them ponies,” he blundered through the sentence to explain that very few felt the same way as that bastard Bubble. I nodded limply, wanting nothing more than to return to my bunk and curl up.

“You gonna be okay, Crow?”

“Aye,” I watched the Candy clan find their place in the congregation. We moved to find a space of our own, which allowed me to take in the beauty of the grand expanse the Stable called a Garden. Pre-war photos and paintings of the old gardens looked about as fantastical as comics when compared to their current day counterparts, but this was the closest I’d seen to anything matching them. I nearly sat down in shock once more.

It started before us as short plateaus, a stairway to actual heaven. Each platform up wore lush carpets of emerald spikes, painted with splashes of a sleeping rainbow that swept long, perfect lines of color along the walls and beneath shrubs. Just like in Maud’s memory, walls and flowerbeds had been dressed with gems as well as actual plants and herbs, all in amazingly good health. And then, there were the trees.

Ah, aye, the trees. Not skeletons of warriors lost to time and the fires of the apocalypse, but intense, mightily built soldiers, proudly wearing their leafy tunics, their trucks of brown, clean armor keeping them steadfast on their tall and unchallenged bodies.

From the most Southern side, a waterfall fell over the exposed rocks from within the cavern wall, which somepony had built a fetching archway of gleaming gems around. The falls spilled into a shaking blue road which twisted and wound under quaint pale bridges and snoozing, dangling willows. It swirled away into the gap on the other side of the garden, into a space that looked curiously filled with stars of every shade of a paint set. Unfortunately, we were not headed there, much to my disappointment.

Beside the river, on the most extended, flattest field, was a large stage which appeared to be a permanent fixture, nearly puncturing the fake blue sky painted and partly flaking on the steel panels. It’s lights focused on the center stage, where five ponies sat in a lane facing their audience. I could make out Procrustean, to my loathing, and watched the eldest Candy sister climb up the side steps of the stage to join on the sixth chair as well. In the central seat sat Overlook, his side turned to us as he greeted Maud Jr. The other ponies up there were a mystery to me.

Encompassing the stage in serene reverence, the crowd of ponies from all backgrounds of the Stable stood to wait for the service to begin. We walked in to join the back of the group, not wanting to push through and cause a scene. That was what Gizmo told me, anyway, and I didn’t question his metal any further than that.

“Hello, Crow,” I recognized Poxy’s smoky tone anywhere and it struck me under my diaphragm uncomfortably, as I turned my head slowly to face the speaker. I forgot to answer immediately, in my surprise to find her here after her potential part in the murder of the guards in the museum, if Garden’s holotape was to be believed.

It took me a step further into disbelief at the new look Poxy was sporting, her tear tattoos covered by make-up, her mane style and tail given a lift, with more color to its appearance too, and her eyes looking less tired in this light. Elm would have been proud of her in some small way. Then again, after the sights the day before, I wasn’t so sure this was her.

“Poxy, that is you, aye?”

“Well, that’s... one way to greet a girl, I guess,” she responded, a little put out by my question. “It’s me. Do I really look so different?”

“Sorry... After the week I’ve had, I’m having a problem recognizing faces…” It did enough to cover the confusion the head Raider was feeling. Beside her stood Whiskey Jack, still as a gravestone, an angel unaware he’d sided with the devil. However, I couldn’t tell him that, nor could I start probing her for information on Brittle Sticks and the museum raid here. It just wasn’t the right time or place.

Any thought to tactics was lost, unfortunately, as I saw Overlook step forth, silence the crowd and took the microphone from its stand. I thought back to what the Tunnel Bugs had told me; he knew about the changelings. He probably knew a whole lot more, too. Yet, he could stand here as smug as shit giving a eulogy for ponies he may have had a hoof in the killing. I felt rage bubble quietly in my gut.

“What’s he wearing?” I asked, trying to hide my anger with curiosity.

“Excuse me?” asked Gizmo, while trying to listen to the Overstallion’s beginning speech and help me at the same time. Thankfully, Poxy picked up on what I meant a lot quicker.

“She means the cape,” indeed, Overlook was in his usual blue attire, but now had a red cape cross his back that flowed up to his tail and down over one shoulder, ending just before it could drag on the floor while hiding one foreleg. “I was just thinking the same thing. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been walking around dressed just like one of us. Is it some ceremonial thing?”

“Oh, that,” Whiskey nodded carefully, “yeah, it’s a mark of the Overstallion or Overmare’s respect. He wears it as recognition of an important event, like a cutiesena or a wedding. They take it with them when they ascend, and a new one is made for the next Overpony by the top fashionista. It always has to be red, though.”

“How long has Overlook been Overstallion, again?” I murmured. I knew Bones and PJ had mentioned it to me the other day, but I couldn’t recall an actual figure.

“Nine years,” Whiskey Jack whispered. “After everypony lost confidence in Shepherd Pie, the previous Overmare. Overlook came up fairly quickly as a surprise contender in the elections, but he said the right things and made the right promises; no more blackouts, more ascensions, and more singing. He stuck by his pledges, too. Guess you can say that much about the stallion.” His voice dropped, having no finesse or spirit to his tone. He had an air of loss, and although he faced forward I could see that a dash of red surrounded his bluebell eyes. I looked to Poxy for an answer, but she too was now listening to what the Overstallion had to say. Choosing to bring it up later, I focused as well.

“... As a Stable, we are one family,” he told us through his speech, “and today that family is smaller. But, as I look out at all of you, I see that those souls did not live lonely lives, as they each touched us in some way great or small. They were loved, they were cherished, and among all things, their memories will not go forgotten…”

As he gestured to a stone plinth that was covered in the names of the lost, being revealed from under a white cloth by Maud Jr., something struck me. I wanted to defend myself, but then realized that I was not being attacked, instead, the great, muddy-ginger form of Gizmo leaned on me as a post to bawl on. I looked to Poxy again, to find she was comforting a sad but not sobbing Whiskey. There was something in the expression she wore, some kind of regret, and yet I didn’t figure it out straight away.

The chaperone ponies walked the lines amongst us, passing out lit candles to those who could hold them. Mostly, these were collected by the unicorns, who could clasp them with their telekinesis, but as Gizmo was without a horn on his head to take one, he forlornly refused. That broke the bitch in me, I couldn’t let Garden Path’s true love be unable to hold the last light for her. I just couldn’t.

“Hey, lassie, can we have one of those...? Aye. Thank ye,” I grasped the candle in my left claw and tucked my right foreleg around his closest front leg.

“There. Now we both hold it for her, aye lad?” I told him, like a parent covering for a foal. He sniffled snottily and cradled me as close as he could while the service rolled on. Words like “valor,” “bravery,” and “greatness of heart,” were used like notes in a thesis that had to be addressed to please some wizened old professor. They didn’t do justice to Garden’s real character. I gave Giz a nudge and moved my beak to his ear.

“The first time I met Garden Path, she was saving my life. The last time I met her, she was saving the life of my ma-my friend. If it wasn’t for her selflessness, I wouldnae be here to hold this candle with you. I think she’d want you to get busy living, loving, and lookin’ after yerself. Aye?”

The blues came to town, and I thought I had done the wrong thing as I watched him fracture and break down, dropping flat to the floor and covering his face with crossed legs to cry. I leaned down to him and gave a startled flap as he brought me down to be nuzzled with sodden cheeks and thanked gratefully. By the time I was back on my feet, Overlook was completing his eulogy.

“Thank you, Princess Celestia, for the gift of life. Thank you, Princess Luna, for showing us how to respect the end of our days. What over all of your beloved children, on this plane and above. As we are all in your tender care.” He raised his candle above him, a gesture for all others with a flame to lift theirs too. With Gizmo’s leg on mine, our droplet of fire flickered safely above us, showing the way home for our strayed friend.

The Stable was moved by our sign, as its lights dimmed sooner than was previously scheduled. At first, I feared another blackout, as did the concerned murmurs of many others.

“We bid goodnight to our sleeping family and friends,” announced the Overstallion, and I realized this was planned. The beaming light in the ceiling mimicked the sunsets of old with rose and orange hues, and then the paler, beryl light in a crescent shape took its place in the metal sky. Twilight fell over the whole sky, including the twinkle of potential stars for that real touch of nostalgia.

Upon the call of the night, the swaying orange tears above the ponies were soon not alone, as a trail of forest fireflies through the garden entrance from the Stable to join up along the top of the river. Groups of them split up and unsurprisingly formed the ghoulish algae-colored bodies of the Minstrels once more. I shuddered at the sight and dug my claws into the soft earth, remembering the scare that one had given Gypsy and me before Private had shown up. Reminded of that, I then felt ashamed that I’d treated him that way after he’d come to our rescue days before. Each changeling had been good to me, and I’d reacted in a bigoted, unnecessary manner. It was the kind of attitude I expected and probably inherited, from my mother.

Trepidation made me keep one eye on the false ponies, expected them to launch a fresh onslaught on this innocent crowd.

“Not the nice singers these Stable ponies paint them as, are they?” I heard Poxy say. Once again, I had no chance for me to answer, as Overlook began reading out the names of the victims that had passed in their rotten week.

I listened without listening, the names floating off past the hundred heads of the assembly, where they rose and bumped along the iron casing like lost balloons. We were the foals who were feeling the regret and sadness of letting go when we should have held on tight. Each name was read out aloud by Overlook, and while many were lost on me, there then came the ones I’d heard of.

“Teatime Dunker,” Ah, yes, I recalled the stallion Garden had disliked. I wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for them. Gizmo gurgled grievously as, “Garden Path,” joined the ethereal crowd. He fell into my feathers and I patted him comfortingly.

“Party Ring,” was next, and just when I thought I’d heard all of the names I’d recognize, one more shocked me.

“Whiskey Tango.” Whiskey? I lifted my lead head and moved my gaze to the stallion by Poxy’s side. His eyes were big and hot as he held a secret stare at the Overstallion. This was no coincidence. I knew at that moment that whomever Whiskey Tango had been, they had been related to Whiskey Jack.

Poxy caught my eye. I could tell from the fearful scrutiny she gave me that she knew she’d shot herself in the hoof. In some ways, she seemed as guilty as sin, while in others she appeared to still have a fiercely righteous trust that there was something fair in the mistake she had made. She was a cornered, injured hellhound that was not prepared to lie down and die.

Despite wanting the stick to my assignment for Gypsy and keep my attention on this mare, I noted the movement to my side as the Stable Prayer was re-recited. Hot Shot, that smarmy talent critic I’d only had the displeasure of meeting once so far, appeared in my candlelight beside Gizmo, chillingly cheerful regardless of the mournful observance.

“Where your mighty trumpets sound,

We shall sing to you,

Where your incredible instruments play,

We shall dance for you,

Where your divine light touches,

We shall ascend to you.

We shall love, as you love.

We shall remember, as you do not forget,

That our Princesses are greater,

Than the sum of all of our troubles.

As the darkness does in the light of Equestria’s sun.”

We closed the last verse, and begun an entirely new song, to my utter dread.

“We will be singing one of the new songs brought to us by the ponies of Stable Fifty-Four,” the other mare from the collection of six head ponies on the stage, whom I then recognized as Midnight’s sister, told us. “The words are on page five… ‘I Understand Love now,’ by Stardust.” She gestured, and Maud Jr. levitated a spinning orb from her lap with her pale carnation horn. It lit up brightly, and a tune I knew reasonably well began to play. Stardust was a famous singer on the Wasteland radio stations, he’d been around for years.

Hot Shot, despite being an insufferable prick, was also one of the most influential judges in the Stable, as far as most ponies here were concerned. He was about to hear me do my best impression of a singing voice, and I knew I was going to come across as a drunken idiot. I cringed, glancing to the Minstrels, now wishing they’d give me a free pass or kill me on the spot.

It wasn’t that I wanted to ascend, especially after hearing the point of view from the Tunnel Bugs on the situation. This was just stage fright, pure and simple. I rose my head to the ceiling, pulled my wings in tight, and cawed.

Give me a second,

To talk about you.

Then kiss me,

Before you go.

I needed this time,

To see how lonely I’d been,

And yet, when you came,

You made me feel clear and clean.

I sweated, panicked, peeping around at everypony as my voice croaked and squeaked in all the wrong places. Miraculously, no pony was watching or listening to me, too busy singing the song on their own. No pony, except for Hot Shot. As I stared at him in horror, he merely smiled at me.

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

Why was he smiling? Was he deaf? Did he think I could sing? All of these thoughts and more hopped through my head as I stumbled over the song, confused and uncertain as to his interest in me. Was he laughing at me? Resisting the urge to get angry and flip him the bird, I kept going, lifting my head back up.

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

Love will hurt, and love will be kind,

It can open eyes, and it can blind,

I fought to win love, and that is how,

I discovered I know nothing about love now.

As the song came to a close, there was no joyful applause for one another, none of the glee of the first day the minstrels sang with us. Just a mutual air of appreciation for such a pretty song, and the profound loss and respect for the memorialized dead.

“May Celestia and Luna watch over you all,” finished Overlook, and with that, the obituaries were over.

“Lady Griffon!” I’d tried to get away from him as quickly as I could, but Hot Shot proved quicker and closed off my escape. Even so, I attempted to perform the same trick I’d pulled on Private Joke the day before.

“Hey Poxy, how are y-”

“I was hoping!” Hot Shot interrupted me as I was interrupting him, “You and I could have a little chat.” I looked to Poxy over his shoulder who shrugged at me unhelpfully beside Gizmo and Whiskey.

“Um,” I replied indifferently, and with nothing intelligent to follow the utterance I started to go again.

“You cannot sing,” Shot said ruthlessly.

“Wow,” I was lost for words at his sheer heartless criticism.

“That was an understatement. A drowning clown with its vocal cords slashed would be a more harmonious sound than what you just screamed during that last song.”

“Okay, aye, I get yer point. Now if you can kindly let me take my bagpipes elsewhere-” I gritted my beak, sorely tempted to sock him in the face which would have happened if it had been less of a somber occasion. I was annoyed that his words hurt me more than I was letting on. Surprisingly, this didn’t convince him to leave me alone.

“Bagpipes? My dear even bagpipes sound sweeter than your horrid deathly cries-”

“Right, you!” I rolled up my sleeve, “I’m giving you to the count of three-”

“But I can change that!” He whispered as he shot his snout straight to the side of my head, his fragrance smelling earthy, citrus-y and frustratingly good. He pulled back with a grin at me, then thrust forward like some terrifyingly intimate mating dance. “After all, you are a celebrity in this Stable now, although I could have predicted that from the off. A griffon, the first in one hundred years to step into this Stable, if not longer than that? That is fascinating, and I want to be with you on the rest of your journey through your life and career here…”

“Career?” I grunted, feeling my eyebrow go up of its own accord. “Listen, that’s all well and good, pal, but I was just going to help my wee friend with her candy store…”

“A confectionary shop?” He went still for a second, then broke into raucous laughter, “that’s a joke? The famous Trottish wit I’ve heard so much about? Good one! Oh, we are going to get along famously.” He patted my shoulder and pulled me in, insisting on speaking softly into my ear once again, “you’re the Guardian Griffon now, you’ve got a reputation to uphold. We cannot have you working like some lowly dweller, nor singing like a broken Minstrel.”

“I-”

“Crow!” I turned towards the welcome interruption. Midnight Dreamer was pushing her way through the moving crowd towards me, trying to wave a hoof. I gave her a grin and a salute, then shuddered as Hot Shot had one last private word with me.

“Think this over. If you decide to make the right choice, come to my studios. I may not be there, but my associates will make you more than comfortable.” He tapped at his PipBuck in front of me, and a new message appeared on mine.

“Started: A Star Is Born

Visit Hot Shot’s Studios to boost your reputation.”

I was given directions, and a note advising of my free pass into the stallion’s headquarters. I was still reading it as Midnight reached me, but as I looked up I could see she was treating Hot Shot like sour milk.

“Mr. Shot?” She asked him coldly, “do we have a mutual friend?”

“We shall see, DJ,” he answered, equally as frostily. “I have actual work to do now, I cannot be seen with a ‘play-along reporter.’ Think about the offer, Guardian Griffon.” He gave me a grin and a wink, although I still felt itchy maggots crawling in my feathers from the greasy impression the horse left me with as he trotted away. I shook them off and gave Midnight a cheerful smile, to be met with her continued displeasure.

“Tell me you didn’t accept anything from him?” she questioned. I shrugged candidly.

“I didn’t get a wee chance to, hen. Guess you aren’t on his Hearth’s Warming card list?”

“And all the happier for it!” She smirked at me, before getting serious again. “Whatever he offers you, don’t take it. He isn’t a traditionalist…” She trailed off, looking to me to see if I understood her drift. I lifted my shoulders again and shook my head.

“Not sure I follow?”

“He uses MVAs! ‘Magical Voice Augmentations’,” she exclaimed hotly, bringing a hoof down, “it changes your voice so that you sound better, but it isn’t you singing.”

“Och, really? You can sound like a real wee singer?” I gasped, much to Dreamer’s growing annoyance. She gaped at me for a moment before giving a disbelieving laugh.

“No, Crow, that’s not a good thing! It’s destroying the music industry. The ponies who deserve a chance and sing well based on talent are pushed aside for ponies who have a magical voice pretending to be good. It’s unfair and it’s causing contemptible ponies to ascend faster. If you don’t believe me, go over and see for yourself. You only have to take one look at the stallion there by the name of Black Cherry to get what I mean,” she growled his name, snorting steam.

“Black Cherry?”

“A stallion here, was an amazing singer and guitarist before Mr. Shot got his claws in him,” she clicked her tongue before glancing at my talons and rethinking her response, “no .” I contemplated her approach to this and then gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” I explained to her, sitting and feeling myself visibly shrink, “I ...cannae sing. Something that might make me sing better? Och, it sounds like a wee dream to me, but if you say it’s a bad thing then I’ll listen to ye, Dreamy. I’ll stay away from him and swing by your hall at some point instead, so long as ye promise me I willnae get laughed off of the stage.” I earned myself a beam from her for that and the mare pressed herself against me for a slow hug.

“That’s all I ask- Oh. Hey there!” I felt the presence beside me of who she was talking to and glanced to my left at Poxy as the mares stretched out hooves to be shaken. “Midnight. You’re a friend of Crow’s, right?”

“You could say that. Epoxy, nice to know you, Midnight.” The ankles hooked and the legs waved together in the air, “Whiskey, Gizmo and I are going to be having our small wake at Hopscotch Brewery. Do either of you want to come?”

“I’ll pass.” Dreamer lifted her hoof back and gave a regrettable motion, “it’s not just my Radio show that’s Tee-Total.” She offered me a grinning wink, and I rather artlessly gave one back, seeing her off with a cuddle. She was warm and smelled of peaches. I liked peached. Epoxy dismissed her with a roll of the eyes and waited for my answer.

I think we both expected me to say no. I was poised to refuse, and it was on the tip of my tongue when I realized to my disdain that this was going to be the perfect opportunity to get Poxy in a vulnerable place. After a few drinks, she’d be a bit more pliable, and then I could convince her to give me a little more information that would help Gypsy’s task. I had my answer.

“Ye ever known me to say no to a wee dram, Poxy?”

*** *** ***

Cards slapped on the table to the sound of raucous laughter. We’d encouraged Oaky and Smokey Hopscotch to join us in toasting the dead, which evolved into a game of One-O and more whiskey. Time had passed since the sorrow of the morning, food had been consumed and with Gizmo cheered considerably too, we were each buzzing with drunken frivolity.

“Smokey and I have been thinking,” started Oaky, laying down his play in the game, “how would you like to be a sponsorship deal with us, Crow?”

“I’ve already got a sponsor,” I smiled lopsidedly, “Mol-asses-us is my sponsor, and she has the cutest wee Mole ahs-”

“Oh, that’s not the kind of sponsorship we mean,” advised Smokey, seemingly oblivious to the confession I was about to make. “No, we mean to officially announce you as our stakeholder, support you financially and productively in return for your face on our future advertising and your co-operation as our spokes-pony.” I squinted at her, shutting one eye completely.

“Ye want me to say I like this wee whiskey store, and then you’ll pay me?” I burst into a laugh so clumsy that I fell off of my chair, “och, that’s easy!” I peeped over the table, “I already do that!”

Oaky clopped her hooves together and left the table, amidst complaints that it was her turn to bet. When the bronze mare hurried back, she already had the legal documents prepared for me to sign.

“Sweet titty-buckin’ Tia, you don’t mess about,” I muttered, to a snort of disbelief at my colorful language from Gizmo. I was reaching for the sheets when they were pinched from my talons by a pair of lips.

“As a representative of my client, I gotta look over this first and check it is within Crow’s best interests,” Poxy murmured, leafing through the papers with an authoritative hum as the game around her continued. As Oaky took her turn, I leaned over to try and look at my contract for the Hopscotch Distillery as well.

“My representative?” I slurred while pondering whether the short pony made of thin sticks could even read some of the jargon, especially as there were some words on the paper that I didn’t even know.

“I am still your leader, kid,” Poxy told me factually, “Besides, somepony has to look out for you. Can’t let you go skipping after all the fluffy tails in this place and getting yourself in trouble.” She waved at me to be silent before I could argue with her and mumbled something about needing to do the maths, starting to fiddle with her PipBuck.

“Crow,” Whiskey tapped on the oak veneer.

“Hullo, Jack?”

“Your turn,” He pointed out that Gizmo had gone and now I needed to play my cards. I grinned a little too hastily as I flicked through my claw and tossed one on the deck.

“Pick up three, Poxy,” I sang, potentially better in my drunken state.

“Pick up six, Whiskey-Boy,” belted Poxy with a far better voice, slapping a card down a boosting card to my previous one. As the grey and white stallion with the black mane scooped up six cards, Gizmo slammed his down in front of him.

“You’re cheatin’, the pair on yer,” he yelled, pointing to my friend and I.”You’re working together!”

“I don’t -hic- ken what ye mean, lad,” my PipBuck bleeped. I raised my leg as Poxy lowered hers. Ironically, the message was not from her, despite groans and huffs from the ponies around the table who assumed that their suspicions had been confirmed.

“Molasses Candy:
Hi Captain! Finally escaped my icky, groooooss brothers. Wanna meet at Glad Rags? I have cakes!
Message me quickly quick!
Love, your Rolly Moley Woley!”

I sighed happily and moved my claw to begin responding, only for the thought to occur to me that I still hadn’t achieved my goals here. I needed to know what my ‘leader’s’ plans were before I could go skipping away to swallow treats with my sweet Candy girl. With a less pleased exhale, I replied.

“Crowella MacRural:
Sry Mol
Ranchck? I do stiff.
Lub u :(
Cro”

“Aye, that’ll do,” I told myself, as I sent the illiterate message.

“Alright, that’s it,” snapped Gizmo crabbily, getting up from the table, “if you ain’t playin’ fair, then I ain’t playin’.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re playing perfectly fair,” argued Poxy, as Smokey put down a golden seven. “Come on, sit back down, the game’s nearly over anyway, Big Daddy.” He grumbled and sat, rechecking his cards and placing his turn down, followed by me with a knock on the wood to tell the group I was on my last card. My neighbor muttered louder, but then Poxy mouthed “just watch,” and placed down a reversing card. Leering at me, she revealed three more cards of the suit beneath and nodded to the fatter pile of rejected cards. “Pick up nine, Crow!”

“You sneaky little scunner,” I squawked, picking up my many stiff paper rectangles as the others applauded and laughed. It had the desired effect. Gizmo settled back into his seat, and the game ran its course, with Oaky eventually winning the round.

“I’m in!” I called as I poured myself a new glass of the good stuff, while the business owner collected her winnings and the cards were reset.

“No, you’re not,” explained Poxy as she tapped my bare pot, “not unless the Hopscotchs are willing to give you your earnings early,” she was still pawing at the yet-to-be-signed agreement.

“We haven’t been to the bank to collect the bits as we were waiting to see if the offer would be taken first,” said Smokey apologetically, “and even if we had, we would be extremely irresponsible to give them to you while you are extremely drunk!” I tried to nicker at that, a sure sign that I was as rat-arsed as the mare was telling me. I always tried to mimic my bronies and pegasisters after a heavy skin-full.

“I’m not funk, pal, I am perfectly drine,” I gurgled, sipping my fresh bourbon daintily. My PipBuck vibrated again, but this time it went ignored.

“You might be ‘drine,’ darling,” Poxy mused, “but you’re still bit-less.” I gazed at my empty offering and gave a humpf, fluffing my feathers as I tried to rake through my dizzy brains for an alternative method of payment.

“Well, then, I bet something else, laddies and lassies,” I insisted, claws on my hips.

“Oh really, and what would that be?”

“I bet…” I stalled as I examined each of the faces. What could each of them possibly want that I could provide? It came like a shot in the dark, hitting a target with miraculous power. “...ME! I bet me, winner... gets... me.” I pointed to myself, sloshing whiskey across my sky Stable jacket. The others looked dubious about accepting the player on their table as a prize.

“No,” Smokey said, deadpan.

“No, no, no!” I flapped one wing, stretched out another and accidentally clouted Gizmo with it as I leaned across the table. “Just-Just-Just, shhh…. Just think about it-”

“No!”

“Hey! Hey now, just plum think about it for a second,” I clicked my glass of bourbon on the table as Oaky shook her head and got up. “Hoppies, if ye win me, I sign the wee contract with no additional wee clauses such as free whiskey, aye?” the curly-maned mare’s ears pricked, her back to me. “Ye could have me flying about, calling, ‘come to Hopscotchs, they do you whiskey at a good wee price!’ by morning!” I turned to Gizmo, booping my beak on his.

“You, Mister, need a hug. I could be huggin’ you all night, every night…” He gulped and nodded without certainty. I turned to Whiskey, frowning, and tried to figure out what he’d particular want as he eyeballed me restlessly. I decided to skip him and go to Poxy, as I knew what she’d want…

“Poxy, I’ll be a better wee friend, I’ll stop sayin’ ‘nay’ to ye so often,” I offered her. I leaned in and whispered a few extra things into her ears that made her eyes widen and the skin around her hoof go white as she pushed it on the table. My PipBuck rumbled again, but I was drunk and foolish, and thoughtless.

“Lastly, Whiskey, for you, I-”

“Winner gets Crow,” he proclaimed before I had the chance to finish. We all stared at him dumbfounded, even I, as he dished out the cards and pushed in his full kitty. “What? Maybe she’ll win?”

“If Whiskey’s down, then so am I. Winner gets the Guardian,” snorted Gizmo, pushing his payment in too. Poxy, Smokey, and Oaky all followed this tact and picked up their cards.

“Aye!” I grinned, pouring myself another scotch, “now this is what I call a wake!”

*** *** ***

FOOTNOTE: Quest Begun: A Pox On You And I
Quest Begun: A Star Is Born

Level Up!
New Perk: Say It Again, Griffon - 1+ to Charisma

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Dreambreaker by Alvin Stardust I wanted to pay tribute to a local legend and fantastic singer, plus I love this song.

Oh, did you want changelings? Because, that's how you get changelings. Thank you to Blazie, for some of the edits in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 025 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Three)

Entry 023 - Griffi Vanilli (Part One)

Equestria; pride, jealousy, and anguish have become the mainstream in our society. This is our sickness to overcome. We have created this illness within our world through our desires to be better than our rivals and to avenge against those that have done us wrong. We have let those with the most influential voices speak for us and tell us we are the ones doing the right thing. In short, we have become machines.

~The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 023 - Griffi Vanilli (Part One)

Five Years Ago…

“This is ours,” announced Gypsy Breeze, “our settlement. It’s not much but it’s safe and whole and ours. We call it Helping Hooves because everyone here came to us when they were most in need. We take all sorts, no matter whether they’ve got stripes, wings, or if they fool with fillies and buck with bucks. You’re safe here. We promise.”

I’d spent my first week at Helping Hooves settlement lying around in various levels of pain and discomfort in the infirmary tent, so I was grateful when I finally did have the strength and wellness to move. On my first hobble out, the mare who had been nursing me back to full health took me to the highest point so that I could see the full site. She talked to me the whole way, showed patience and understanding, and not once got annoyed when I had to stop and rest on my crutches. Finally, not far from the tallest point reachable over the community we sought a rock to sit down on and my guide lit up a cigarette, offering me a light of my own. I politely refused; after near death, I didn’t want to flip the bird to any of the folks who’d worked tirelessly to keep me on this side of the veil.

Helping Hooves wasn’t much to look at. A bunch of tents and shelters put together around a nearly unscathed greenhouse with the bountiful scraps the Wasteland had left to offer. The residents called themselves Hoofians and it was a union of ponies as unprejudiced as Gypsy first alluded to me. From the hillside, we could see pony scavengers sharing supplies with zebras, pegasi flapping around ensuring the skylight was fixed and not about to break or fall on the growing crops and unicorns keeping the fertile earth pregnant with fresh fruit and vegetables.

I scanned the horizons. The only reason this location hadn’t gotten us busted so far was that it sat within a valley where the hillsides kept up a wall against the elements and most of the opportunists. Travelers only set upon it accidentally as they believed the area to be quiet and unoccupied for the most part. For a warm meal and a bed for the night, they were asked to keep other ponies thinking that way too. There were pop up villages not far away who also agreed to keep Helping Hooves a secret in return for food shares, but they were few and far between. This was the last stop for a while.

The water for the village came from a nearby river; the same river I’d been dragged from. As I gazed at it, I recalled what I’d been told about that night when I’d been lucky to be found at all, nevermind alive. I was weak, I’d lost a lot of blood, both of my wings had been broken deliberately and I’d been shot in the back. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t through my spine, it was within a few inches where a less lucky blow would have crippled me.

A vocal harmony started back in town, the local singing group practicing an early number from before the war. Colonists stopped to listen, applaud and join in. An elderly pair of ponies even broke into a dance with each other, while a buffalo who’d been concealed in a shack set up like a shed stepped out from it. He wiped his hooves with the long poncho he always wore, eyeing the display. Songs seemed to bring the camp closer together. It was sweet and friendly, and utterly ridiculous.

“Nobody’s safe,” I eventually croaked, causing my new friend to stir.

“Sweet Celestia’s glittering girl-parts, she speaks at last. Doc Babe said you hadn’t lost your vocal cords, just misplaced your voice. Where’d you find it?” My healer asked with a smile, sucking her smoking stick again. I couldn’t return the pleasure, no matter how thankful I felt I had to be for everything she’d done for me. I could only give her the jaded advice I’d learned from my utterly bucked-up collection of past mistakes.

“This steid isn’t safe or as hidden as ye think, lass. It’s not smart to sing out loud like that nor is it a good thing to trust everyone who comes through telling you that they seek sanctuary.” I finished speaking. Gypsy Breeze remained silent. She kept her eyes on me, her face matching someone who had realized that they’d found somebody who could finally understand them and their worries. As I was not blasted for being a pessimist I added more.

“One day, somepony will notice you've got what they want, and they willnae worry about the morality of coming, killing you all and taking it. They’ll come at any time of day, they won’t announce their arrival and they won’t worry about whether or not you think you can stop them. They’ll destroy all of this, and they’ll take what they want, and they’ll nay care what they do to you to get it.”

“You sound like you know a lot about that,” she suggested rhetorically. That glint in her eye only grew. She looked back across the town and let her mouth savor the musty outdoor oxygen before she continued her smoke. Blowing a ring, she patted the safe end on her lower lip. “You don’t have to stay. If you don’t, all I ask is you keep our secret safe and don’t buck us over after all we’ve done for you. Except…” She collected a new drag, held it and released a plume before gazing slyly at me. “I think you’d be more useful if you stayed, griffon girl. You could teach us how to make our place safer. We need a head of security to knock our noodles together. What do you say?” She popped the cig between her lips and stretched out a hoof to be shaken, her scarlet loops encouraging my gold coins to meet them. They did, and they locked in for a long bout of understanding between us.

“I need a drink. A hard one,” I stipulated to a laugh as Gypsy finished partaking in her habit.

“Only if it seals the deal,” she advised and I took her hoof with a firm nod. Getting back up and helping me onto the legs that worked, she added: “I’ll need a name to go with the drink.”

“Crow,” I told her, “Crow MacRural.”

“Gypsy Jennifer Breeze, but stick with Gypsy and you can’t go wrong,” she chuckled, starting back towards town. “So tell me one thing. Crow, You ended up on our river bed with two broken wings, broken ribs, a bullet through the leg and a gash on the cheek among many other bruises and scratches. Who the buck did you piss off?”

I paused and stared ahead, remembering but not wanting to answer. My heart clenched in my chest and the space behind my eyes burned up. Gypsy halted in her tracks as she gave me a while to consider what to say. Seeing that I wasn’t going to inform her there and then, she took the few short steps back towards me and showed me her gritty, determined expression.

“You don’t have to tell the full story but if my settlement is in trouble, I need to know.”

“They wouldnae come looking,” her expression suggested she didn’t quite believe that but I nodded honestly, gazing at her, “they think we’re dead.”

“‘We’re’?” she repeated curiously.

“Aye lass. And before I start thinking about settling down with ye, I need to go looking for somepony,” I responded, wincing at the ache running through my hind leg, “and any help finding him would be most appreciated.”

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

Throbbing waves of pain encouraged me to keep my eyes closed for as long as I could. With no real reason that I could remember to wake myself, I listened to the clock tick and tried to understand why my tongue tasted so bad. I’d had hangovers and all the joys that came with them but never awoke with the taste akin to sour milk before. A warm buffer was pressed against my front, making my fur and feathers feel like they’d been put under a glowing lamp. There was a telltale stickiness between my thighs, and despite my stomach churning from the alcohol I’d drank before my temporary coma, it had a pleasant hum of carnal felicity as well. I believed that meant I’d scratched the itch once more with my little horse and my only regret was that I couldn’t remember it.

“Hey,” I whispered, grinning like an idiot, “Moley? Did we beat last night’s record? Was it fifteen orga-” I moved in the unfamiliar bed, feeling sheets I did not remember from Mole’s hidey-space in the store and indeed wasn’t my rough blanket from the storehouse hotel. That was encouragement enough for me to open my eyes and find a bedroom I did not recognize, and a mare that I unfortunately did. It was not my Molasses.

At first, I panicked believing that the changelings had kidnapped me as a meal to their vampiric love lust but I quickly realized this wasn't the case. The real memories trickled back to me; the card game, the contract, the bets, oh sweet merciful Luna, the bets…

“Mmmm, morning Crow…” Poxy mumbled tenderly, tucking herself back against my stomach as the small spoon. Her eyes slipped halfway before they brought the shutters down again, an angry wince spreading across her snout, particularly showing some of her gold teeth when her mouth curled in a snarl.

“Ow,” she grunted, “I wasn't as ready to do that as I thought I was.” She rolled her body around in place so that her face could push into the feathers of my chest, hiding from the light. I caught the faint whiff of stale arousal, alcohol, and cigarettes. When she breathed, I could smell myself on that curling air.

I closed my eyes as a greater discomfort concerned me. Barely days into our relationship, I’d already betrayed Mole’s trust and innocence. I’d gone back to who I was deep inside thanks to the aid of alcohol and gambling. I knew I had to get information out of Poxy, but I’d taken the easy route without question. My feathers drooped and I felt desperately sick, but I had to stick this out now. I had to get the answers Gypsy and her shapeshifting cohorts needed.

Flexing my toes stressfully, I pushed my mental regrets to the back of my mind so that I could do what was necessary of me. I was less than shit right now but my mission was for the good of everypony in the Stable in the end, including Mole. She’d understand, right?

I wrapped my front leg around Poxy and pulled her in, eliciting a sigh from the colorless maned mare.

“How was it for you?” Her murmur was content and wholly contrasted my disgust.

“Ohh,” I stalled, “if it had been any better, I don’t think I could have lived with myself.” I made her chuckle, as she stretched and liberated a moan from her lips. The rest of her body proved still eager to bump and grind with mine.

“You sure know how to keep a filly waiting,” she gasped. A headache wasn’t the only thing making me close my eyes now, as the feeling of a slug on my thigh rolled back and forth. I tried thinking of Mole, remembering the small thing with the dopey ears and the loveable little smile, but every time she came to mind she was in tears and genuinely disgusted at my drunken actions. I tried imagining Gypsy, but the last memory I had of her was her wrathful fury, despite parting ways with a band-aid over our troubles. Bringing Elmwood to mind brought me no joy either. His smirking face did not make the slimy feelings disappear in my head nor my fur.

“Part of the fun is in the chase, hen,” I mumbled with difficulty as I lay there like her toy, letting her rub and squeeze her limbs around me, her lips taking a feather and holding it. Seeking to make the experience at least seem real for the mare I was trying to entice information out of, I stroked her partially shaved bed-mane and slipped my eyes open once more to look around the room. Finally finding something to do, I focused on trying to work out where we were.

The ceiling was metallic and a caged light sat in the central panel but that was the only indicator here that this was still in the Stable. The rest of the room was decorated to look like a clean chalet, with pinewood slates on the walls and posters of female singers from the Stable across the ages. A curtained window allowed light in from the rest of the Stable to my left, a pair of doors led to a mystery on my right. A framed note hung on the wall that faced the foot of the bed, but it was too far and my eyes burned too much for it to be read. Turning, I found that on the dresser beside me was another frame holding a photograph. It had captured a full family; mom, dad, a filly and a colt with a grey and white coat, with a black mane. I smiled at the picture as I tried to remember who, out of all my friends past and present, looked like that. Memories steamed back into my head on the Flying Trotsman and I sat up in horrid alarm.

“OH SHIT!” I twisted my body to look at Poxy, who was looking deeply disgruntled since I’d just ruined her early morning indulging of my warm body. She was not my concern now, however, preferably the waking skinny pony next to her who matched the photo but had since grown up into a long stallion.

“He-I mean… Did he…?” I spluttered incredulously as I watched Whiskey Jack sit up, yawn and stretch out his forelegs as though trying to reach the light, several feet too short. Poxy chuckled and reached out to hug his flank close, eagerly pressing her cheek onto his glass of bourbon cutie mark.

“I’m a lucky mare, wouldn’t you agree? How many stallions have we ever known willing to share all their winnings with their filly-friends?” She smiled toothily as I took in all the possible scenarios and situations that suggestion produced, and shuddered heavily. I looked back at him as he rubbed his mane and gave me an embarrassed smile, clearing his throat slowly.

“Err, morning… I don’t usually operate without a cup of joe first thing. Can I get you, ladies, anything?”

“Coffee sounds perfect, thank you, hun,” following my silent staring, she added, “make that two and close the door on the way through as I think Crow needs a moment in private. She thinks about things.” Whiskey didn’t understand the jab at me, and that was just as well as he left the room. I hissed fury through my beak and clenched my talons.

“Did he-?”

“Did he buck you?” Poxy anticipated my question, “buck no. You think I think so little of you that I’d leave you so vulnerable?” Considering it I shook my head slowly and let myself sag, feeling as though I had to reach out and clasped the mare against me. It still felt like a violation of my rights that I’d been allowed to be put in this position, however for a moment I was thankful Poxy had been looking out for me.

“You would’ve been in real trouble without me there, let me tell ya. You were about to offer him everything on a plate. You practically turned heterosexual after the last drink and put together a compelling argument as to why I should let you have your wicked way with him. Never seen it that bad with you before.” She looked worried for me, and I felt sick to the stomach from more than just the liquids I’d consumed that night. With my lungs, my heart and my head working over time, I asked one more question about the circumstances I found myself in.

“Did I do anything?”

“With him? No. The little pervert was more than content to watch you with me.” Although she tried to nuzzle the fears out of me, that taste was still on my tongue and my limbs still felt matted with something different to all the other times that I’d woken up with sharing a sleeping arrangement. Regardless of the warm duvet, and warmer body, I was cold as ice.

“Is that the absolute truth?”

“Crow, it’s the answer you’re going to get,” she responded shortly, “you’re going to have to decide whether it’s one you’ll accept or not.” Softening again after nearly biting my head off, she slipped back down and stroked my chest feathers, humming a small tune a few moments later. I let her, my body numb and my throat dry. I could hear the stallion in the next room and knew he would be back along soon so, despite my revolting plight, I had to make use of this unhinged opportunity.

“When do we take this wee place, Poxy? Come on, I know you have a wee plan bubbling in that pretty head of yours,” I purred, leaning forward to rub my beak on her neck. The act elicited a sigh, but one more disappointed than I was expecting.

“You know, after four years I believed you might have learned how to be subtle when you’re pretending to like me,” she grunted indifferently. I flinched at the words, unable to deny that she was right about them. She sat up on the bed and turned her back to me.

Humiliatingly groaning, I set myself up as well and reached out for her.

“Hey now, I like ye plenty, I’m just curious what the move is since we’ve been here a week and all I’ve seen is petty larceny and a bunch of idiots willing to blow themselves up-“

“That was not my fault!” She snapped instantly, although she managed to drop her voice as she glanced to the closed door. “Brittle Sticks was eager to join the cause. They were only supposed to check the wares and report back, I wasn’t to know Brittle had such a bad grudge against Deadwood.” Defensively, she shot me a pointed look and moved around again. “You’ve had a week since then and this is the first time you’ve brought this up with me, so tell me what the sudden interest is, Crow.”

Guilt tied my guts into bows and then lit them all on fire. A wicked game was being played on me between Gypsy and Poxy, with poor little Mole in the dead center. The right move was not to join in on their version of piggy in the middle, but I was too proud not to. I still believed this had a possible winner and I was planning to be that victor.

“Your mistake killed someone from Whiskey’s family-“

“His sister. It wasn’t my mistake-“ she started.

“It was your mistake-“ I countered.

“It wasn’t her mistake.” Whiskey had re-entered the room, no doubt on account of me raising my voice. Fearing I had outed our true nature, I attempted to save his perceptions of us.

“Of course not! What I meant was that it was her mistake that she never got a chance to introduce us before she was taken from ye, aye? Whiskey, I’m sorry again for your-“

“It wasn’t Poxy nor any Raider’s fault that Tango died,” Jack cut me off with a stunning blow, “the real culprit is Procrustean. He sent her in there first not knowing the real dangers. He always looked down on her as expendable, he put her down in training and some of the stories that she came back with about his regimes? He’s the real monster in this place.” I sat, flabbergasted by the piece of knowledge that now sat in front of me, offering me caffeine. Poxy had been honest with Whiskey Jack about our identities. When I had to see how she felt about me knowing this, I only saw indifference on her expression. The room still held the frosty atmosphere from the previous argument.

Whiskey sat the coffee and cups down on the table and wordlessly walked around the bed, collecting the photo of his family to gaze upon it. His hoof trailed over the filly in the picture, his ear flicking occasionally. He did not speak even when Poxy reached out to him to stroke his shoulders or when I apologized adequately for my outburst, upon realizing how insensitive it had been. He only stared into the photograph and I think he tried to transport himself back to that better time.

“You wanted to know when we take this place, Crow?” Poxy eventually asked, chipping through the silence, “it starts when we kill the bastard head of security around here. We can only do that when we’re a party bigger than the hoof-full of Raiders we are now. The museum taught us that much at least.”

“And how do we go about planning for that, hen?” I asked cautiously. Poxy held Whiskey in her vision as the stallion set down the photo once more and ensured it was at the right angle on her bedside cabinet. When Jack's eyes found mine, I understood why the head of the Raiders so easily swayed his mind. He didn’t have the look of a Stable-dweller, it just wasn’t part of his soul. Instead, someone far more dangerous and reckless resided there who was willing to break harmony for their means. It made my feathers prickle.

“We start recruiting. There’s plenty more who know this place is a joke, they need nudging in the right direction.”

“‘We’?” I asked him, but he was already on the move again.

“I’ll get started on breakfast. Thanks again for last night, Prize Bird,” he stepped through the door and shut it once more, leaving me to gather the scattered information I’d been told. Poxy glanced at me sternly.

“I’m not going to stop you from feeding back to your friends, Crow, but they’re hiding something from both of us as well. Yeah, I’m a sick, twisted witch but I still don’t want to see you get hurt, girl.” She ran her hoof along my cheek and I found myself involuntarily leaning into it. She lifted herself, kissed my beak once and waited a moment. When nothing else happened, she snorted lightly as she slipped out of bed and into the second room where I heard running water to help me guess what door number two held behind it.

I lifted my PipBuck, expecting at least one message from Mole, only to feel even more guilt, dismay and angst as there was not one. Instead, I had a red banner flashing urgently and warning me that the clock was ticking on my ascension song.

“Oh dear,” giggled Bucky as his head peeped up on my screen, “your buckable griffon buns are in trouble now!”

I had to sing today or I was doomed.

*** *** ***

Five Years Ago…

The Mechanic stepped back from his creation.

Ottawa was a well-respected buffalo in the Helping Hooves community, even though he kept himself to himself. He was a big guy and yet somehow he found a big enough poncho to cover his legs. He was here long before me, and everypony called him ‘Mechanic’ after his abilities to pick up items that should be long past dead and breathe new life into them. When he heard of my plight with my healing wings he suggested he might have a way to help. Two weeks later, he called me solely to his shop to see what he’d built.

A pair of metal wings hung from the ceiling of his garage, buffed and shiny. They’d been measured to fit me and were meant to act as braces to strengthen and improve my flight after so long grounded. He stood beside the stretched metal additions for my limbs and looked to me, waiting for my criticism. They weren’t what immediately caught my eye, however.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the glint of something curved, red and shiny hiding at the back of his workspace. He didn’t need to look to know what I was pointing at.

“Not griffon’s,” was his reply.

“But what is it, laddie?” I cooed hopefully, crouching as though I could creep past the wall of bison. I couldn’t tell you back then, nor could I tell you now, what that little flash of magenta did to attract me so much, but I was hooked on finding out even to the detriment of my potential to fly again.

“The Red Racer,” he eventually told me after an impromptu staring contest. He pushed his hoof on my forehead before I could try to sneak around him again, “and it still not yours.”

“But what is it?” I enquired again. He huffed and turned my head away from the heart of my magpie desires, focusing me on my wing-supports.

“If griffon can get herself in the air and hovering for more than ten seconds, I’ll show griffon the Red Racer,” he offered as a trade. I examined the metallic additions for my busted limbs and stretched out my appendage tentatively, squinting at the dull ache that throbbed from it. He gave me a whistle-stop tour of the devices he’d created for me, from the way the trusses were designed to bend in the right places to match my wing movements to the augmented magical crystal implanted in them. They’d give me enough strength in my span without taking the entire task of learning to fly again away from me.

“Sir, you got yoursen a deal,” I grinned, spitting into my talon and holding it out to shake. He looked at the gesture in discomfort and sighed, shaking my right claw quickly before wiping his hoof on his green and tan poncho.

“I do not like spit swears,” he mithered and reached up to help get my new calipers down, ready to be tried on for the first time.

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

Whiskey made us a spot of breakfast before he let us leave his home in the second tier of the Beret Sector. He didn’t bring up the Raiders or the revenge plan against Crusty again, but he did share with us more memories of his sister. I sat crunching through my toast, eggs (aye; the place had chickens) and heck, I don’t know what the paté was but it was all delicious, as I listened.

The stallion painted an image of a good-natured mare who joined the guard as a way to deal with her wanderlust and trapped energy. There she found she wasn’t the fastest, most active or most enduring member of the team, she came last in all her tests and only caught Procrustean’s attention through her poor performance. He hounded her, he pushed her to be better with threats that she would not like the outcome if she didn’t.

When the lass came home with news that she’d finally made the security team, she wasn’t full of joy and pride as she should have been. She seemed as though she’d lost a part of her that she had held onto for as long as she could. It was as though the role had robbed her of her treasured possessions, and she was never the same again.

“I know he did something to her,” Whiskey concluded, “but I never asked her what. I hate myself for that even more now that we’ll never know.” He dropped his empty cup on the table so hard that it caused a crack in the porcelain and he excused himself to replace it.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” I said, losing count of how many times I’d told him that now, “we’ve all lost someone we loved. You’re nay alone in that hurt.”

“Damn bucking straight,” sniffed Poxy, staring absently at her empty plate and reminding me of something important I’d yet to ask her.

“Why’d you never bring up your daughter with me before, Pox? You had every wee chance to talk to me about her,” I asked, hoping the comfort in my voice was as genuine as it felt. I expected more of a reaction but looking back it was clear she knew the question was coming after that first day in the Hopscotchs.

“Would remembering them change their fate? When we remember Whiskey’s sister or the ponies of Helping Hooves, Crow, we know we can do something to avenge them. Remembering my bro and my Fragile Heart will do nothing to bring back that hellhound so that I can make it suffer.” I pushed my plate away, my crusts remaining on the blue ceramic. My elbows rested on the tabletop and I gazed thoughtfully at her.

“Remembering our lost mukkers and folks isn’t always about vengeance, hen, sometimes we just do it so that we dunnae lose them forever.”

“This,” she groaned, “is the other reason why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want your sympathy.” When she caught my frown, she elaborated. “I know you, Crow. Sometimes better than you know yourself. Do you think you’re the big bad ‘Bitch Griffon’ from Trotland? Well, let me tell you something. You have a bigger heart than the rest of the Raiders combined, and then some.”

To myself, I thought she was entirely wrong. I was cold and callous before I’d gotten here. It was how I brushed off all of the terrible things I’d done, all the lives I had to take and sometimes the ones that I did not deserve to take. She had me completely confused with another griffon so far as I could see. Considering her words I tried a different tactic.

“Is that why you’ve not been involving me in the plans you and Whiskey have been cooking up?” I wondered, “you think I’ve gone too soft?”

“I don’t know you from Luna, but I’ve been seeing you skipping around our Stable with the resident sickly-sweet foal-brained filly Molasses and put two-and-two together,” Whiskey offered, making me blush and turn away with a huff. “Can you say she’s not turned you soft to us?” I caught Poxy’s hint of admonition and focused on a blank space of table instead, talking to it since it would not judge me.

“Aye, I’ve been getting off with that wee mare. Ye wanna know why? I’ll tell ye; because when you play joyful wee families with the happiest little bitch in this bucked-up wonderland, no pony suspects you’re planning to take the place by storm one day.” I lifted my head with my brow furrowed and gave them both a determined look. “What have I got to do to be a trusted member of these plans?” Poxy laughed gently and shook her head, smirking at me as she thought about her answer. Just as she was opening her mouth to reply, however, Whiskey grabbed my foreleg and pulled it over the table to look at my PipBuck.

“You haven’t sung yet?” he demanded of me as he saw the countdown on the screen, watching me give a meaningless shrug. He grunted furiously with a roll of his eyes and he let me have my claws back. “You gotta take her to the Music Halls now, babe. She’s not performed her ascension song.”

“What?”

“Och, I was going to today-hey!” I flailed as Poxy snatched me out of my chair by my tail, dragging me through the kitchen that incidentally matched the decor of Whiskey’s bedroom, and towards the door.

“You have to get it done, you don’t want the Minstrels to come for you,” he called after us, “I’ll see you gals later.” Yanking my tail out of Poxy’s teeth, I grimaced as I rubbed the marks in the fur and grumbled ruefully.

“Fine, aye, let’s get it out of the way…”

The task was not as easy as it sounded. As we walked through the gigantic themed-playground of a Stable, I had the growing thundercloud of impending destruction hovering over my head. Experience told me not to open my beak to sing and yet on this occasion, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. The troubles only grew as we were regularly accosted by ponies who hadn’t forgotten that I was the Guardian Griffon, the big bloody heroine of the Stable. Every signature, every photograph, every gift reminded me that I would lose this respect the moment the first screeched note left my throat. Once we got past the crowds in the Stable center, it became a little easier to traverse the upper lanes towards the Songbird Sector. Once the public had thinned out, Poxy gave a thoughtful hum.

“What have you got to do to earn my trust and be a part of our plans?” She repeated my question and pondered out loud. The bouncing tail should have been an indicator to me that she was enjoying having me in her company, but the moment she suddenly found an opportunity to tackle me into an unoccupied alleyway still came as a shock. I wasn’t able to stop the lips wrapping around me beak, forcing my head so hard into the wall that it hurt. It was long, passionate from her side and tasted of cigarettes. For me, it was another addition to the violations I was being subjected to today for the sake of reconnaissance. It didn’t hold any power over me the way Gypsy or Mole had and I was thankful when it was finally over.

“When you no longer have to ask if you’ve earned my trust, Crow,” she purred to me, lips hovering at the point of my bill. Her smile suggested she expected more from me but I could only blink dumbly at her with my back up against the wall like she was a hellhound wanting to eat my face straight off.

“We’re not far from the music halls now, you sure you want to come with me?” My voice asked, oddly feeling like it didn’t belong to me. Poxy fluttered her eyelashes, then dropped back with the romance leaking out of her so that she became the bland grey pony once more. She needed somepony to fill the void her brother left and I wasn’t it. I am not so sure Whiskey was either.

“It’s not like I have somewhere better to be,” she grouched and helped me back out of the alleyway. To the surprise of both of us, this was when a nervy little stallion burst into our lives. By the way he yelped, I think we startled him as well.

“Ahh, th-the Guardian Griffon, I presume?” The short berry-red stallion with a belly as yellow as his mane stuttered, having to crane his head right back to gaze up at me. The eyebrow sarcastically rose with no effort on my part.

“Nay, sorry, that’s the other griffon that hangs out around here, I’m the Charismatic Catbird.” Poxy laughed so hard that she had to sit to stop herself stumbling about. Our stuttering interruption took the tease on the chin.

“Ah-haha, very f-funny, haha, ha. I was sent to find you by Mr. Shot.” Now he had our attention, both mine and my infatuated tag-along. I studied the neat, if unsteady stallion again and leaned forward, cocking my head slowly.

“Mr. Hot Shot?”

“The very same!” He pipped, “I’m to show you to his studios here in the Songbird Sector. I’m Mr. Punch.” This time it was my turn to snigger.

“Mr. Punch? Who’d ye have to upset to get a name like that?” It was amusing to both of us that the shaking pony had such a violent name, but he went on to explain that his full name was Mr. Fruit Punch, and he was Mr. Shot’s associate.

“Associate?” mused Poxy.

“Pet, I think that means, Lass. Or slave.”

“Ahh,” she nodded solemnly, unable to hide the grin. The face of utter dismay told us this poor guy had not had to deal with ladies as sarcastic as us. After all of our difficulties this morning, having a little fun with this silly little minion was more than healing for the pair of us.

“Friend!” Protested Fruit, “an-and business partner!”

“Of course,” I chortled, “I’m sure Hot Shot shares everything.” I ruffled his mane demeaningly, “I’d love to pop in and see your wee ‘friend,’ but I need to go sing my song or I’m in a fat lot of trouble, laddie.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he insisted, “Mr. Shot knows you have not sung your song yet and he wants to ensure you do so... ahem, ‘comfortably’,” he rubbed his throat and waggled his eyebrows so that I knew exactly what he meant by that.

“You’re here to make sure I go to see him?” I smirked at the idea of being intimidated by this squirt.

“Oh no, the choice is yours, Miss. griffon, but Mr. Shot’s Studios is only a minute away...”

I pondered the idea. I wanted to be able to raise my voice without being reminded of the horrors doing so had once brought about. However, as enticing as the idea of being able to sing like my ribbon-wearing friend was to me, I couldn’t forget the matter that this stallion might be a changeling in disguise. For reassurance, I only had one source with me to fall back on and so I looked to her. Poxy brought her eyes, the shade of unripened fruits, up to me.

“Crow, you still got time and this Shot guy? He’s a big deal around here. I’d say go for it, he’s not gonna feed a chick like you to the Minstrels.” I nodded to her, agreeing with the sentiment. Out of all of us, I was the most memorable. That was why I got the best treatment from Midnight, the Overseer, even why Gizmo singled me out to help him solve Garden Path’s mystery. It was not that I was intelligent or essential, just that I was different. It was the same reason why Procrustean couldn’t kill me the way he’d killed the Snips. With the sobering weight of understanding on my shoulders, I turned back to Punch.

“Come along then, laddie, show us the way.”

*** *** ***

Five Years Ago…

Continuously, over and over, I fell.

In my last drop, I thought I’d pushed myself and pulled my limbs up out of the way so that I could focus on my wings. My beak hit the ground last, and dust puffed from the dusty dirt around me.

“Again,” grunted Ottawa, carrying his personally carved staff as he chewed an apple in front of me knowing just how long I’d been trying to fly that day and just how hungry I was. We’d been doing this repeatedly for days, weeks, I had been losing count for how long accurately.

“I cannae,” I whimpered pitifully, “I’m tired, I’m hungry, I need one day where I can just breathe and rest, please!”

“Not until griffon hovers properly. Stop complaining. Do it properly without talking.” He clattered the staff on the floor with every word in the last sentence, accenting the importance of his words.

“How can you talk?” I finally snapped, “you can nay fly! You have no idea how hard it is to re-learn how to use something that was taken from you!” His gaze on me was casual, not angry nor disappointed. There was something more understanding in his eyes instead as he took a long breath and reached to pull back his poncho from his rear half. He rolled it up slowly to the top of his thigh and turned to show me a shining metal limb. His full hind leg was bionic. It seemed as though it had built and repurposed from a Steel Ranger suit, and fitted to his back half with bolts and leather straps.

I stared at it.

“I hide it so it does not scare away the foals,” he informed me, sitting and giving it a tap with one of his organic hooves. It whirred and clicked when he moved it and I could see through several grills that encased inside were several gears all working in tandem. The metal was well looked after, renewed from the state that it would have been when it belonged to a full set of power armor and almost certainly polished daily.

“Heh, it’s not the foals I think ye need to worry about. As a wee chick myself, I’d have thought a metal leg would be pretty cool to see,” I moved over for a closer examination while taking a seat beside him. “How’d you lose it?”

“Not important, griffon. What important is that griffon know Ottawa has been in griffon’s place. If Ottawa did not fight to regain his leg, Ottawa would have given up everything. Griffon must not give up.” His eyes pierced into mine with sincerity as he covered the artificial limb and stood himself back up. “Now, try again.”

“Tell me the story and I’ll try again,” I bargained. He snorted gruffly but I could tell from the way his mouth pushed to the corner of his snout that he’d been expecting this from me. He shook his head.

“Griffon have two choices, fly high or tell Ottawa how wings got broke, those are only choices for griffon. No freebies.” The wind caught and tugged on his weathered poncho, tugging it aside to tease the metal ankle for me one more time. The warm curling air stroked and teased at the long feathers in my wings, reminding me that the metal braces were numbing the physical pain I could be experiencing from trying to relearn my congenital ability. The real ache was coming from the memory of my last battle and the foe who brought me down to terra firma. It wasn’t fear cutting into my abilities, it was grief.

So fresh was that mental wound that I couldn’t admit it to him then, but I realized that if I never admitted it, he would always want to know just as I wanted to pester him about the missing leg. He may not leave me alone unless I removed the thing then prompted him to question it. The revelation resolved me to get back up into the starting position once more and stretch my wings.

“Push off of the ground with your hind legs, to fly you must first be in the air…”

“Shut up…”

“Ottawa say nothing,” the old buffalo advised me honestly. Unfortunately, it was not him I was hearing at that time. I could see the mirage of my younger snow-white bird walking around me, giving me the same tips she’d given me when I was smaller and more hopeful. My eyes burned more from the wind and the emotion getting to them.

“After that, all you need is one good flap. When it doesn’t feel like falling anymore, you’ll know you’re doing it right…”

“I said, shut the buck up you stupid BITCH!” I kicked myself up into the air, thrust out my wings and beat them with all the strength left in the long limbs. Despite all the hatred I now stored for the pale griffon who I had once adored, her advice was truthful. I felt the gust pick up under my auxiliary feathers and let it lift me, giving the illusion of hovering. I was just like a kite and had to hold that updraft precisely so that I did not fall to the ground and have to start again.

I kept my wings moving, focused ahead and began counting to ten…

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

Hot Shot’s studios were no less glamorous than I’d been expecting from such an affluent and arrogant arse. For a start, this wasn’t a studio so much as it was a mansion, with a tall ceiling painted to show an essential meeting between the Princesses and a group of strange mythical-looking ponies. The walls, pillars, and staircases were whiter than bone with the latter almost certainly made of marble. The carmine carpets that greeted our feet and hooves was real and in no way matched the putrid squelching and molding remains we were accustomed to finding in old ruined buildings. Two short golden dragon statues welcomed us at the bottom of the stairway, frozen in snarls with their heads and backs craned up awkwardly. They were preparing to breathe flames that would never leave their throats.

There were many ways we could have taken in this hallway with doorways to other rooms or passages hidden behind red and gold curtains with sunshine yellow cords both downstairs and upstairs. Poxy and I could quite easily have gotten ourselves lost in this area alone if it wasn’t for Punch hustling us inside and up the ivory wave to the top level.

“Just up here, Mr. Shot is judging at the Falling Shadow Concert Hall at the moment,” the scrawny thing updated us. I stopped on the stairs with a squawk of irritation.

“He’s not in? Are you tryin’ to mess us about?” I skree’d, spinning him around to face me. He yelped in surprise and backed up the stairs away from Poxy and me as he spluttered.

“N-Not at all! He asked me to make you comfortable whilst you wait for him. H-He said h-his home is yours, your every need we will provide until he gets here,” he tripped on the last step and sat back as I became beak-to-snout with him. Poxy tapped me to back off as I glared.

“Every comfort?” She enquired further.

“I-I do not believe you’ll be disappointed,” he added, somewhat hopefully. Poxy looked to me for my decision this time and a gave a slow nod.

“Lead the way, Fan-Dan,” my tease meant that I believed him to be a bit of a fanny, but it went straight over his head as he hurriedly nodded and scampered ahead, pulling a pair of curtains apart then waving at us. I let Poxy follow me and she didn’t complain about the view.

I had assumed that he was taking us to a waiting room or a lounge of other hopeful contestants, and it turned out that I was partially right. There were ponies of both genders and several ages waiting on plush couches and seats, heads turning to look at us with anticipation that dwindled when they realized we were in the same boat. Some even sat around a table playing a variation of the games I had been losing at the previous night to a tuneful radio broadcast. The walls were covered with photos and paintings portraying Hot Shot and some of his precious commodity of valued performers, whilst any furniture not dressed in decadent fabrics was spoiled with valuable metals and jewels. All I had forgotten was the part where there was a fully stocked bar, a table laden several levels high with food and a set of beds, one of which was almost certainly moving. This was not a reception, it was a brothel.

“Take a seat,” smiled Mr. Punch, more at ease now he saw our awe, “if you need anything at all, Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will will provide." He gestured to a mare, but I didn’t look her way at first as an opening door near the writhing bedsheets opened.

“Gypsy!” I cried out, starting forward at the shock of seeing my friend in Hot Shot’s den of iniquity after she had already shown her allegiances to Dreamer in Kiva’s Moon Palace hall. The inconsistencies kept coming, as this deep violet mare dressed in a long pink dress had her bumblebee mane short and bobbed with one big red ribbon around it, tied in a bow before her horn. The last tip-off was the eyes, that shimmered a dirty sea green when they turned towards me.

“For buck sake, Punch, I’ve told you to keep the fanatics away from my private space,” she hissed furiously at the flinching stallion nearing my side, “no autographs without Mr. Shot by my- Oh.” She focused on me again with a gaze that told me she was seeing me properly this time. She lost the snooty tone of somepony who believed that everypony else should be seen and not heard and instead adopted interest. “You’re the Guardian Griffon. Hot Shot has spoken of you. ‘A griffon in our Stable, how quaint,’ I thought. Of course, you’ve heard of me.” She gave me a horrible impression of what she thought smiling looked like.

“Miss. Griffon, this is Mel-” Punch began, only to have his head verbally bitten off by the opulent mare.

“She knows who I am, you do not need to introduce me, you foal!” Luckily, her outburst allowed me to join the dots and see the full picture in front of me.

“Oh, aye! Mellow Melody! You’re famous, I hear,” I rose my talons to be shaken but the gesture seemed alien to her as she looked at the claws as though they were crawling with spiders. “I have a wee friend who’s the near spittin’ image of you, ya see. I thought you were her.” That nipped her intrigue and gave her a reason to ignore my offer to greet one another formally.

“A mare that looks like me?” She searched my eyes as I nodded and described Gypsy to her.

“Her eyes ain’t green and her mane’s got more length to it, but otherwise you’re almost her twin!” I considered for a millisecond that this mare might be a changeling stealing my friend’s identity but I was able to brush the thought away quickly. Mole had established she had known and been a fan of Mellow Melody for some time, long before we got into this stable. Thinking of Mole I also added, “my friend’s a wee fan of yours, I think she’d appreciate anything you might be willing to sign.”

She still seemed unnerved that I’d advised to her there was somepony with a similar appearance.

“Um, yes. Of course. Mr. Punch, be a darling and collect a photo for me to sign. No charge for the Guardian Griffon. Am I signing this to the same friend, Gypsy you said?”

“Oh, no, no. This one’s a wee mare called Molasses Candy…” I watched her scrawl a quick message on a glossy photo, smiling thoughtfully. I could understand her awkwardness when she was a mare who partially relied on her good looks and as a doppelganger of Gypsy Breeze with access to more cosmetics, she was hot to trot. If she’d have turned to me then and asked me to make her feel like a real mare, I might have considered it. The only thing holding me back was the surreal feeling that there was still something ungenuine about this interaction. I didn’t know what, but I could not shake it.

“There we are, I hope she likes it. Mr. Punch, arrange my entourage. I am expected at a gathering in less than an hour and I have not seen my make-up artist yet,” the already pretty mare groused, still ignoring my held out foot as she waved to Poxy and I, “I must dash, but I am sure I will see you around. I’ll speak to Hot Shot about arranging an evening supper for the elite members. It was a pleasure to meet you!” She did not wait to hear our goodbyes as she turned and cantered past us. Punch nodded and as turned to follow her he tried to say one last thing for our benefit-

“ENTOURAGE, NOW! For BUCK sake, Punch!” screamed Mellow, revealing her true colors one last time before they left through the closing curtain. I kept her flanks in my sights until she disappeared and hated the awkward wingboner I wore for doing so. I couldn’t help myself, it was as though somepony had taken my Gypsy Breeze and ran a full diagnostic on her, making many improvements and subtracting the personality. Poxy snorted with a smirk.

“Entitled lil’ bitch, ain’t she,” she gave me a nudge as I waved the photo to dry the ink and tucked it safely away in my saddle bags. “I like her!”

“Of course, you would, lassie,” I sneered, “bitches are right up your alley.”

“Mmmm, yes they are,” grinned Poxy, bumping me again. Before I could attempt to carefully move the conversation on without upsetting the mare I was trying to cross-examine, a distraction presented itself all on its own.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” A mare greeted us with a such a sickly-sweet voice that it physically hurt to listen to her. She was a fat mare dressed in a pink apron over her Stable suit and a coat of bubble-gum cyan, with an ugly green mane that was whipped up to look like puke flavored ice-cream. I realized this was the Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will that Mr. Punch had told us would serve our every need. How right he was.

Her dumbwaiter encouraged us to bear the nag’s company as it was set up like a candy-shop trolley but was piled high with narcotics. Some of the adult candy I recognized but some were entirely alien to me. The pale addict to my side instantly jumped at this opportunity, becoming a hungry and salivating mutt for the goods on offer.

“Since you’re offering, I’ll take several packets of Mint-als and a shot of Dash. What’s that in bits?” She pulled her saddle bag around, dipping into it. I heard her hoof hit cloth and knew she was going to play the ‘be a friend’ game that would inevitably have me paying for her purchase. For once, luck favored me.

“Everything here is on the house for guests of Mr. Shot,” she replied giddily, passing Poxy her order. The dull colored mare’s jaw dropped open and she collected some of everything, grinning like a foal on Hearth’s Warming morning. Mrs. Whips waited for me to decide what I wanted, but I was not as eager to junk up as my collaborator. I took a box of Mint-als, thanked her, and made my way to the free bar while putting my choice away in my saddle bag.

I poured myself a scotch and looked at the reflection of the room in the glass thoughtfully. I could see a pair of exhausted heads appearing from one of the beds where they had just been consummating... whatever it was they were. There was a stallion slumped over his guitar in a chair, drooling in a near comatose state and a mare dancing awfully to a fast-paced tune from the radio. If it wasn’t for the cleanliness and the wealth in the room, I’d have assumed this was another junkie’s hidey-hole. I gulped my drink and took the bottle, moving towards the food.

“Oi,” called Poxy, already shooting up from the inhaler and settling back on the chez lounge, “eatin’s cheatin’!” From the widening of her pupils and the long sigh on her lips I could tell she’d hit the Dash first. I rolled my eyes and filled a plate anyway because I didn’t know when I would next get to eat.

“Mr. Cherry,” squealed Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will, shaming the fella who’d been treating his guitar as a teddy bear and was now using the floor as a sick bucket. The name instantly got my attention. Was this Black Cherry, the stallion Midnight Dreamer was referring to?

He flopped back into his seat and fought to keep his guitar as the mare wrestled it away from him. “For the last time, if you continue to be so greedy and complacent, Mr. Shot will only have one option for you and that will be to have you removed permanently from his employment.”

“I’m -ugh- I’m up,” he pushed her hooves away and slid himself idly along the chair, trying to find the floor with a blindly searching hind-hoof. “I’m ready to perform, show me the way…” The dark russet stallion with the heavy shadow on his muzzle and the black and garnet mane managed to find the floor with his eyes closed. He also found his vomit and the rest of his attempts to move resulted in him slipping and sliding until he was back in his comfy seat and returning to his torpid state. Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will gave a long-suffering tut as though she had no part to play in this tragedy, cleaned him up as best she could before hurrying away with a woeful carping to find a mop. I stole the opportunity when he was unguarded to sit next to him.

“Black Cherry?” I enquired quietly with my beak pointed down into my plate to give the illusion to onlookers that I was feeding my face. He stank of cocktails and the contents of his gut.

“Who wants to know?” He grumped, “I said, show me the way to my stage. I’m down to perform and I ain’t too messed up to do a good number…” He turned his head and his rancid breath made me heave slightly.

“I’m not making you perform,” I mumbled, grimacing, “just wanted to have a wee chat with ye-”

“I’m not in the mood for chatting right now, lady,” he grunted, finally opening two bleary piss and blood eyes to stare at me. Or rather in my direction, as his pupils were shrunk to pinpoints and his semblance suggested he clearly was sightless for the time being at least. His limbs barely had any meat on the bones and his mane was disheveled. He’d been on the somber stuff by the looks of it.

“Black,” I tried again, “Midnight wanted me to have a wee word with you-”

“Midnight!” Unwittingly, I had triggered something in the junkie that I was unaware of and the reaction to the name was not a positive one. “BUCK OFF! Get the BUCK away from me!” He shoved me away, sending my plate smashing to the floor and spreading my food everywhere. I didn’t get chance to calm him or retaliate as a stallion much more significant and far more muscled seemed to appear out of nowhere to restrain him. Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will hurried across to us faster than her jiggling form should have allowed, her tiny eyes darting suspiciously at me.

“And just what is going on here now,” she asked me accusingly, “what was said?”

“Och, I-I was just-” I stammered.

“Just Crow,” the interruption, both welcome and disconcerting at the same time, came from the owner of the lavish hostel. Hot Shot sauntered into the room and owned it, his groupies all turning to look at him. He had brought Punch back with him, ensure the rogue stallion trotted behind him like the lowly servant he was. There was the handle of a square case between the colleague’s teeth. I was about to inquire about it when there was a cough and a splutter as Cherry released the remainder of his guts up behind the sofa when he was being led away. Mrs. Whip-Poor-Will was mortified and quickly spun to grovel to Hot Shot.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Shot. We’re cleaning him up but-”

“Not a problem, Magnolia,” Shot murmured reassuringly, resting a hoof on her shoulder, “we’ll ensure Mr. Cherry gets all the care he needs when I return.” He gave her a nod, darting the stallion a cursory glance and finally came to me.

“I’m glad to see you chose to come to us, Lady Griffon. We are just about ready for you now so if you’ll just come with us.”

“Wait for me,” gasped Poxy, leaping out of her chair and zipping over to my side. “My client goes nowhere without me from now on.” Her grin was manic and her itchy feet proved that the Dash was burning in her furnace, yet her actions and speech told me she’d added Mint-als to her diet.

“And you-?“

“Epoxy Heart,” Poxy beat Hot Shot’s question with the answer, “Crow needs me and that means you need me.” She grabbed his suit and tugged him down to whisper in his ear. The bouncer who was sorting out Black Cherry started forward only to have Shot wave him back. He listened to my representative. After she released him, he watched her and reevaluated her worth. I looked between them but could only guess what the mare had whispered to him.

“Very well,” Hot finally agreed, “but you both need to come now. We have a slot for you to perform, Just Crow. Follow us.” He turned, shooting Cherry one last disgruntled examination as he strode forward through the doorway. With Punch behind us, Poxy and I followed the exalted judge down the chalk uncolored stairway and then around to find a new doorway beneath them. As he opened it, this appeared to lead to a secret passageway that was not dark or dingy as one might expect, instead, it was paved with dark maroon wood and was well lit and clean.

“This Stable,” I muttered under my breath, “whoever built it sure loved their surprises.”

“What might that mean?” enquired Hot Shot, although he did not stop strolling.

“Och, nothing at all,” I advised, not willing to sell out the changelings at that time no matter what my feelings against the swarm were.

“This path will lead us straight to my concert hall,” he explained, “it will only take us a few minutes.”

“B-But ye havenay fixed my voice, Mr. Shot!” I protested, looking over his shoulder. He chuckled and looked back, winking.

“All in good time, Lady griffon,” he advised me coyly, “all in good time.”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Annie Lennox - Little Bird

credit to Brainiac for the art
This is the last chapter brought together due to rewrites, thus meaning some of the timings I suggested a while ago have now moved on. My plan to have something impactful happen in chapter 20 might be moved to a different chapter. I have a plan, and I hope I haven't cooked all the eggs in my basket already...

Thank you to Blazie, for editing this in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 026 - I Understand Love Now (song)

Entry 024 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Two)

Five Years Ago…

“Och, out, beyond the valleys a-rollin’,
Up, where the mountains are climbin’,
Soarin’ where the eagles are flyin’
S’where you’ll find my bonny Trotland.”

Vivacious song and laughter followed me as I glided around the camp. My wings had returned to me and I had steadily improved over the following month thanks to Ottawa’s persistent coaching. I could not encourage myself to go any higher than over the heads of ponies but I could fly about and even build up a burst of speed before the bolstered limbs got tired. I’d kept the braces on that Ottawa made for me as a security blanket, regardless of the many times he told me my wings would be stronger without them now. There was still a lot of things I felt I couldn’t do.

Despite the ever constant presence of the grey cover above us, the light was a little brighter that day, the air was pleasantly warmer and there was healthy optimism in the folks I flew past. The foals of the community had picked up my song from my regular early morning wake up sing-song. They thought it was hilarious to chase me as I took my first flight of the day and sing along. Back then I knew I had a terrible voice and the residents complained often, but the thought of opening my beak didn’t upset of faze me.

“Griffons, hear yon ponies singin’,
Ponies, hear bonny griffons warblin’,
Highlanders, ye will always be,
True, strong and brave.”

I finished my flight, touched down in front of the Mechanic outside of his workshop and spun to face the kids hurrying after me.

“ATTEN-SHUN!” They all giggled at my yell, skidding and colliding into each other before giving me a messy line of salutes. I saluted them back with a wing and waved my claws dismissively to them.

“Go on, get out of here, ya wee dweebs!” They did, all except a black and blue colt with indigo eyes. He didn’t say much and always had a smile, even when I tried to wipe it off with a snide comment or a marching order.

I never learned his name.

I lowered myself to his height.

“Did I stutter, laddie?” He shrugged while still beaming at me and suddenly launched forward, hugging my beak tightly. The squawk couldn’t come out through his firm cuddle so I flapped my wings instead until he let me go free. He sat, looking dopey but contented at me and refused to leave until I ruffled his mane.

“Try that again and I’ll show you how t’ caber toss, with ye bein’ the log,” I playfully threatened. He didn’t understand the words but the tone was enough to make him gasp and neigh, turning and fleeing as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Griffon good with foals. Shame griffon sounds like she’s mating with cactus when griffon sings,” Ottawa suggested behind me as I watched the youngest pony scamper away. I rolled my eyes and turned around, huffing.

“Don’t make me unhook your tin leg and hit ye with it. Speakin’ of which, you’ve still not told me the story.”

“Griffon has not earned right to hear story yet,” he told me, to which I gave an aggravated caw and pushed myself up to hang in midair, forelegs crossed.

“Oh aye? What do ye call this?” I challenged to his passive expression regardless of how menacingly I glared at him. His head shook, his thick and lengthy brown fur waving with each movement.

“The deal was that griffon flew high. If Ottawa can still stare griffon in eye, then griffon not high enough.”

“What?” I exclaimed, “you nay mentioned that! That’s nay fair, you cannae just change the goal posts willy-nilly!”

“It is that,” he continued in his monosyllabic tone, “or griffon tells Ottawa how wings broke in first place.”

“There’s no time for any stories, kids,” came a prepotent voice from inside the Mechanic’s shed. A plentiful shadow moved forward inside and Gypsy stepped out into the light, her hooves rested on the silver bars of a crimson beast as she guided it out of its pen. Even in the hazy daylight, its paintwork gleamed with an aura of its own. Its one eye always stared ahead with no vision to guide it but that was not needed as it loyally only charged when its rider was upon its back. Its nose glowed brighter and redder than that of an old drunk while its cheeks emitted blue lights. It owned its own big brown satchel which was currently bulging with the red demon’s belongings. This snarling being from Tartarus did not have feet, instead, it slinked along the ground on two thick black tyres which left deep straight tracks in the dirt when it roamed the area. She encouraged it to keep going until its side faced us, at which point it obediently stopped as her hooves moved away and stayed still as a pointer.

“You’re bringing the Red Racer out for a ride?” I gasped, enjoying seeing it out of its covers and in the open for the first time since I’d arrived. The significance of this action was not lost on me either as I realized this had to mean one critical thing.

“You found him,” I didn’t give her a chance to answer, “I’m comin’ with ye, lassie. Nay matter what the danger, he came with me and I’m responsible for him.”

“You’re damn right he is, Feathers,” she smirked prepensely, climbing into the driving seat and looking to me, “hop onto the back, hold me around my middle. It’s a day’s trot from here but on Red, we can get there in half the time.”

“Och, you and me on this beauty?” I asked excitedly, “how could I pass up a bonny wee chance like that?” I scrambled in behind her, wrapping my forelegs around her stomach and pressing the side of my beak to the back of her mane accidentally. I remember the smell of lavender between the ribbons she wore and the way she looked at me when I pulled back with apologies. The look of tenacity in her eyes turned the crush for her that I’d started to become aware of into a full-blown infatuation. I didn’t have time to act on it however as she lit up her horn, which started up our mount and let the magic within it roar with life.

“Mechanic, if we’re gone for more than two days then get everyone moved and don’t stop until you hit the first city. No exceptions,” she ordered. Ottawa simply nodded and Gypsy ensured I was holding tight before she pushed down a hind hoof. The enchantments growled as the throttle opened up and instantly we were cruising through town to our defense gates. My driver only needed to wave to our gatekeeper to encourage the doors out of Helping Hooves to be opened for us and once we were over the threshold she gunned the great thaumaturgic scooter into the wild valley.

Trees, boulders, and debris were set up as tests for our two-wheeled wonder and it raced around them with ease just by a mere touch of the handlebars in Gypsy’s hooves. Our steed charged through the greens, browns, and blacks of the world that remained as though it ruled these lands and moved so quickly that any ponies we did see would have been too slow to ambush us. We found that they all chose to hide when they heard us instead, as the sound was not unlike the warning rumbles from a hungry dragon.

The feeling was exhilarating. It brought back memories of flying for the first time, launching up and over hills was like dipping in and through clouds and the growl of Red Racer was near enough the same to the whistle of wind when it buffeted through my aerodynamic body. The only thing improving this experience was Gypsy herself. Her adventurous company and her thirst for life were contagious.

“I found her in the ruins of a toy factory, of all places,” Breeze was calling back to me as she drove us along a cracked and separating path, explaining how she came to find the wonder-on-wheels, “the place has the same name as this girl. There is this huge scooter on the top of it, you can’t miss it.”

“I ken the one,” I recalled the gigantic replica of a child’s toy that looked like it was ready to come crashing off of the building one day. “What does that make this grand old girl then? Is it a toy too?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, turning us through the trees and around a bend onto a road where the dry grasslands became a weaving rocky passageway, “but I do think it was based on a foal’s scooter with an adult rider in mind. She was the only one of her kind that I could find in a big vault inside the place even though Ottawa and I had a long look around.”

“A big vault?” I was full of questions but I wasn’t used to talking and moving with the fast air closing up my beak, so I had to pose my curiosities a mouthful at a time.

“Under the factory floor. The Mechanic and I were chased into there by big, buck-ugly Manticores,” which was an accurate description. Manticores were part-lion, part scorpion, part bat and always angry, hungry fuckers. “There was a lot of stuff down there didn’t fit with the foal friendly ‘My Little Giddy-up’ and ‘Action-Bucks’ they’d been making on the surface.”

“Branchin’ out into toys for big colts and fillies?” I asked and she shook her head.

“Bigger stuff than that. Cloak and dagger bullshit,” she shrugged, “she was sat in the heart of it, and there were enough technical goodies down there for Ottawa to get her up and running. Seriously, what that bison can do with long, shiny gems and a bit of wire boggles my mind.” She chuckled to herself, glancing briefly back at me. “Once he fixed her up, we pulled open the doors and bombed out of there.”

“You got Ottawa on the back of this scooter?” I asked incredulously. I was struggling to keep on the rest of the seat and I was far lither than the buffalo.

“Of course not,” she laughed, patting the red tank between our legs, “she came with a side-wagon that he just about squeezed into. One manticore damaged it bad during our escape. Otty was lucky to escape with his life.“ I thought about the big guy packed into a small red wagon like a toad stuck in the throat of a gull while being attacked by a venomous cat and I formed a conclusion on my own.

“Is that how he lost his leg?” I asked forthrightly. Gypsy pushed her hind hoof straight down and turned the Racer sharply. We skidded to a halt on a ledge overlooking a fresh valley amongst some burnt and dead trees.

“We’re here,” she said, ignoring my question and instead lowering the magic from her horn. In turn, it ceased the growling energy inside the Red Racer and put her to sleep once more as we alighted. Tossing her daylight mane out of her sunset eyes with a head toss, she came around to the saddle of the super scooter and unzipped it, immediately passing me a rifle from out of the top tier of weapons she had assorted inside. I slipped the gun strap over a shoulder and examined the rest of her collection.

“Are we expecting a lot of trouble, hen?” I enquired, impressed by her haul. She strapped an assault rifle across her back and slipped two pistols into the holsters inside the old leather jacket I wore back then. As she did, she frowned at me as though she was about to tell me a secret she had been long overdue telling.

“What do you know about hellhounds, Feathers?”

*** *** ***

Before sight or sound, there was the stench. I was gagging hard on the offensive battle inside my nostrils while my foot tried to cover my beak to avoid it. Gypsy, usually a tribute to cool and calm under pressure, had to back out for a moment to relief her stomach. The aroma of decayed blood, feces, and unclean canine were too hard to miss but fortune favored us that our struggles did not bring the lumbering beasts over to see who was being bothered by their living conditions. Somehow, despite the warming that the sickening essences gave us, we managed to keep moving forward until we had a safe place to stop and observe the target.

Buried in the core of the beautiful but scarred woodland was the most monstrous sight I’d ever encountered. A hellhound pit was not going to be a park full of roses and tulips but I was not prepared for the slaughtering grounds that lay in the clearing. Terrified and disgusted, I nevertheless could not take my eyes away from the visual image of a foal’s playground that had been bastardized and painted with gore until very few shreds of its innocence remained.

There were parts of what had once been living creatures strung up from the climbing frames and swing sets. Only one of these wicked creations still resembled anything like a pony. The head hung partially skeletal into the cavity in its chest and its guts now dried yet still as grisly from the waist down, while its legs and hips lost during the end of its life. The playhouse had been partially smashed apart and crudely rebuilt so that the big fiends could use it as a watchtower with bits of useless wood hanging from the frame like broken ribs. The slide looked like it had been used as an operating table and the spring rockers were now spent and dilapidated chew toys. The ground was corroded brown nearly everywhere in the park and a mess of bones and limbs which led to a building that had once been an old school house before it was torn open to see out the remainder of its broken years as a dogs den. Inside I could make out tall iron cages but without more light, I was unable to confirm immediately whether or not they were occupied.

“In there is where he’s been seen,” Gypsy whispered to me, “It was a couple of days ago, a pair of travelers only just got by without being caught. They said they saw a stallion here who was still alive and described him right down to the scarred eyes you told me about. They said he was only just being led into the camp so he might still be-” her debrief might have been more thorough, if our view of the camp was not then obscured at that moment by a great shadow.

Nopony goes looking for a hellhound pack unless they have a particular suicidal wish. The creatures are not just adapt hunters with floppy ears, brilliant noses, and keen eyes. These egg-buckers have an intelligence that can outsmart a tactical genius and as soon as they know that somepony is in their territory, they will show absolutely no mercy. In some cases, the prey’s only inclination that they are about to be mauled by one of the foul dogs is a rumbling underhoof, before the ground opens up to reveal that the monster burrowed underneath them. Rumors and hearsay claim that their kind was once a more placid form of a pooch who would mine for gems. Of course, the greed of ponies changed that and through tampering with magic and the natural order of life they turned timid beings into unstoppable killers. That is if the speculation is to be believed.

With this knowledge in mind, it is understandable as to why Gypsy and I froze to the spot as the diabolic mongrel stopped not far from us and sniffed the air menacingly. Its shaggy black and matted fur was speckled with occasional brown, its eyes were nearly nonexistent dark voids and one ear was split straight down the middle, giving it the impression of having three ears. It turned its head, and I saw a long scar trailing from the right corner of its mouth like a nasty lopsided grin. The worst part of the whole make up of this thing was its coat made from the hide of a white pony. I could see over the shoulder the remains of a matted blue mane and just cut off of the edge of the hem of the beastly garment was the top half of a green, cloud-like cutie mark.

My stomach lurched. We’d bitten off more than we could chew and wandered into Tartarus with signs around our necks saying, “eat us, please.” Our only reason for being here was now a dead fashion item. I was prepared to meet the tremendous big nest in the sky and tell old King Grover that I bucked up royally and made a right featherhead of myself. There would have been only one chance for my friend to escape and that would be if I sacrificed myself. Mentally, I began to accept lady luck’s middle claw…

The hellhound shook out its fur with a demonic snap of its jaws and moved on, dragging its huge knived toes through the rancid ichor dirt as it went on along its path. I do not know how long it took for it to leave, as I was shaken and eventually slapped by Gypsy Breeze before I came to.

“Crow, look at me, we cannot stay sat here-”

“He’s dead, they killed him, he-” the words that I whispered stung Gypsy, her hooves pulling my face up so that she could look me in the eyes.

“We need to get in there and see if there’s anypony else we can save then get the buck out of here,” her voice tinged with hurt, “if it wasn’t for the smell of barfed foal shit and blood here we’d be goners already. There’s nothing we can do for your friend but this might no-”

Her new orders were interrupted by a scream, coming from the other side of the encampment. Our heads shot to the area and we both could see more hellhounds of various shapes were pushing through the undergrowth. They had at least five ponies that we could see, some hurt more than others, and they started pushing them towards the doorway of the ravished schoolhouse. One particular teenage filly was sobbing and screaming regardless of how hard the hound nearest her shook her. The closest and most bloodied stallion tried to grab her to calm her down but his state only caused her to squeal more.

The dog we’d narrowly avoided meeting stormed straight across and towered over them all.

“SILENCE, PUNY PONY!” The yell echoed as though his presence was everywhere around us, repeating the command until it was a whisper and then nothing at all. This finally had the desired effect but he did not address the pitiful creatures further, instead raising his head to the leading pack member.

“Why you bring more ponies?” The challenge was as surprising to his team as it was to us. The fellow canine gave a derivative snort.

“Forever Meat not always here and is only one. We need more or we no last,” it barked, squaring up to his comrade who growled defensively. I was sure there was more story here, but I was not prepared to stick around to find out. Regardless of whether a fight over dominance broke out or not, none of the monsters were looking at us and we could run with our asses intact.

“This is a bucking distraction. Time to go!” I spun and had flown a few paces when I found my guide wasn’t joining me.

“Gypsy!” She had stuck on the spot again with her body facing the direction of the infernal display, her head turning towards me. Her scarlet gems filled out the whites of her eyes, her horn glowing softly to retrieve her weapon from her back. I swore.

“We can’t leave anyone to die. We were here to rescue ponies so our plan doesn’t change.”

“The forever meat keeps hellhounds alive, it only tells us no pony else to be harmed! Why you go against it wishes?” The big bad scarred wolf was snapping.

“Och! What plan?” I snapped back, “go in and become the dog’s dinner! How’s that helping anypony?” Any attempt to reason with her was pissed into the wind. That look in her eye, the way her rose irises shone even without a light on them would be a constant sign for me that this mare was willing to lay her life down for what she believed in. A moment after gazing at me and over the continued yells of the beasts, she hurried to and hissed the plan.

“Go back to the Red Racer,” her hoof pointed up to the cliffside where we’d parked it, “ride it down here and get their attention. As they’re watching you, I can sneak in and retrieve their prisoners!”

“I cannae drive the Red Racer, she needs yer magic, lass!”

“No, she doesn’t,” she answered quickly. She had to pause with a yelp as the sound of sudden dueling roars and the slamming of muscular bodies against immovable objects came from the den. The fight for the independence of the pack had begun. Gypsy twisted back to me urgently, “the Red Racer was designed for a pegasus but Ottawa told me he was certain it would work for any creature with wings. All you need to do is climb on her and beat your wings, the Spark battery in it will do the rest. Oh, and steer. Steering is important.”

“But-” she didn’t give me a chance to complain, whimper or beg her not to throw us into this as she pecked my cheek once for luck. Then she spun and galloped out of our safe space towards the frail schoolhouse. For a second I let panic and fear set in, not knowing how I would get through this alive.

“If you are going to fight, (and Crow, I know you are going to fight) then fight with every single bit of your being that you have. Even your beak. Especially your beak...” Snowbird whispered in the darkness of my mind. I swore and clawed at the ground, shutting my eyes but unable to stop the tears squeezing through them.

“Buck you, you murderous whore,” I seethed at the memory of her, “it’s your bucking fault I’m in this fucking place…” I opened my eyes with shaking pants, watching the black shadows tumble ahead of me with red claws flying and yellow teeth slicing. It was not courage nor was it terror that made me turn and bolt towards the Racer as fast as my wings could carry me. It was a purpose.

I needed a purpose to change me. I needed it to fix the damage Perriwinkle had done. I needed to feel like I had a reason to be alive again.

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

Ponies brayed and flailed hooves from behind the barrier line as Hot Shot led me, Poxie and Mr. Punch passed a long line of waiting hopefuls inside the concert hall, still eager to perform for the stallion himself and receive his judgment.

“Hot Shot, please, I’ve got the Melody factor! You need to hear me sing!” A young colt whinnied from behind the railing, his hoof joining many others who tried to reach out to him and touch any part of him to get his attention. All efforts were in vain, the producer did not take one look at them as the burly bodyguard who’d been with us since we’d stepped into the ‘Falling Shadow’ helped usher him and us past the desperate group and through into a green room. I heard other voices and realized there were other ponies in here too but rather than gushing over the bigwig, there were surprised whispers of “it’s the Guardian Griffon.”

“I need to go prepare myself to rejoin the panel,” Mr. Shot turned to me and placed a hoof on my shoulder with an eager grin, “knock them dead, Griffon!”

“What? WAIT! I haven’t-” I got to see the tail-end of Hot Shot trundle out of the doorway once more before the second black-suited behemoth in this room stepped into my way and stopped me from following him. With nowhere else to go I turned to Mr. Punch and glared at the representative of Mr. Shot, taking a step towards him. “You! I was promised my voice wid be repaired afore I hud tae sing! Whit in sweet buckin’ hay is this?” I exalted myself over him.

Punch dropped the case from his mouth into his hooves, almost losing the grasp but quickly regaining it after a second or two of fumbling to catch it. He used his teeth to pop open the latches and pulled up the lid to reveal the contents. Installed in the center of a rippling velvet sea was a sheet gold diamond-shaped pendant, attached to the center of a thin, average chest-length horizontal silver crescent. The center of the flat yellow zircon was decorated with a pinwheel of five different colored musical notes sat on an embossed star. The rest of the necklace was on a long chain so that it could be clipped around the neck. It was clear that a few extra links had been added for my broad-collared benefit.

“Th-This is your voice, M-Miss Crow,” jabbered the tense pony, holding out the jewelry, “pl-please, put it on, quickly now.” Making Mr. Punch stand there while holding the open box for as long as he could, turned out to be quite amusing but curiosity got the better of me and I took the offered item, flipping it around in my talons. I spied an inscription on the back yet didn’t get a chance to read it as Poxy-on-Dash stole the piece from my claws and took it upon herself to put it on me. It was evident that she was using this as a reason to get up close and personal with me for that short moment.

“Accept the lovely gift and say thank you, Double-G,” the mare who was chemed to the eyeballs demanded, her hooves awkwardly managing to click the clasp around the back of my neck.

“Thank ye fer the lovely gift, Mr. Punch,” I lifted it, trying to look at it but struggling to see it now as my beak got in the way, “how does it work, laddie?” He watched as Poxy took the box and promised to look after it on my behalf, then cleared his throat and rubbed it thoughtfully. He seemed on edge ever since I’d started to really look at it as if I was scrutinizing a generous present.

“You just sing, just sing! Easy as that, just sing and then, well, hee hee, you-you’ll sing!” He kept glancing nervously at the door as he answered the question unhelpfully. I shook my head and frowned deeply, wiggling the awkward regalia pressing into my feathers to find a way of making it more comfortable. Punch gasped and scuttled forward to me, producing a cry from me as he tugged the zip of my Stable suit down between my forelegs. His intention became clear as he tucked the necklace beneath the suit and closed it back up, patting the now hidden amulet.

“Oi, next time, ask,” I growled, poking him in the chest with a claw, “just how does it work, Mr. P? How is it I will be able to sing with a glorified piece of tat? How can I trust ye dunnae want to make me look like a twat?”

“It’s… I… You see,” he hemmed and hawed, once more looking at the doorway and then made a show of pulling up his PipBuck, gasping in exaggerated horror at it, “oh goodness, Mr. Shot has not taken his medicine yet! I have to hurry and get it to him before the next performance!” He was a nimble little thing, evading my talon as I attempted to stop him so that he could give me my answers and dodging around the heavyweight. Cursing, I watched him zip away and glanced at the open-eyed petrified bull blocking our exit.

“Dunnae suppose you know how my damned trinket works, aye?” I asked the statue hopefully. Upon realizing that a brick wall would have been more talkative, I gave up and turned back towards the rest of the room.

Some of the ponies in the room were still looking my way while others had lost interest. Those ponies were instead pacing, practicing songs to themselves or warming up their vocal cords nervously. I pondered whether I should be doing that. This waiting area was barely lit at all with most of the light projected onto the framed portraits and paintings of acting, singing and dancing ponies presumably on the same stage I would be headed to shortly. These were nailed to emerald walls and hung over several seating arrangements. The rest of the light of the room came from mirrors and desks where a pair of ponies were sat while two unicorns gathered several cosmetics and painted them until they were a shadow of their former selves. The room was designed for waiting, preparing and very little else.

Poxy had found us both a place to sit and I shuffled over to slip into the chair ruefully. Her head clicked as it spun to face me, the potions in her mutton body still working through her like a thoroughbred nag.

“Hey. Hey! You’re overthinking again,” her addled mind had forgotten how to keep her voice down, “he said just sing. You’re questioning too much. Juuust, sing! Now, do it, sing,” she elbowed me hard into the ribs repeating the words until I squawked in protest and grabbed her leg with my claw.

“Alreet, alreet! I’ll have a practice, just quit with yer bleedin’ junker ramblin’s,” I snipped back at her, receiving a smartass grin for my trouble. Sighing, I stared ahead and opened my beak.

“Guardian Griffon?” A mare gawped at me and then clicked her hooves eagerly, “you are going to sing here? That is so exciting! I’ll have sung on the same stage as the Guardian Griffon! Oh, wow! What are you going to sing?” She moved towards me, her mouth catching flies. A song! My next dreaded stress came to me as I realized I still hadn’t chosen a song for my performance.

“I need a bucking song,” I uttered, turning to Poxy, “what do I bucking sing?” The mare started to speak but was interrupted by a call of, “MacRural! Two minutes until you’re needed on stage!”

“What?!” Both I and a different pony cried out. The furious mare stormed over to the bodyguard at the door, seemingly hoping for better luck than I with the stoic mass of menacing muscles. “She gets to go before me? She just got here, how is that fair?”

“Merry Belle,” soothed the pony who’d had been asking about my impending performance, “she’s the Guardian Griffon, She’s only been here a week and has already saved our souls several times over. I think she’s earned the right to jump the queue-”

“Nay!” I cried out, “Merry Belle’s right! It’d be reet rude of me to perform first when these wee fillies have been waitin’ so patiently. Send one of them out instead, aye?”

“There, see? Even she agrees,” the sharply toned mare nodded, looking sternly at the emotionless horse holding up the doorway. Her friend examined me from where she was stood, from my heavily puffing chest to my knocking knees, and she gasped gently.

“You’re nervous? Why are you scared?” Her approach was not as fast as Mr.Punchs, who barreled around the doorway and squeezed past the security before grasping me urgently. A skinnier unicorn hovering a clipboard in front of him slipped in as well, the pair cantering into my personal space.

“Here she is, completely untouched. It c-could take a-a bit of work, c-can one of your team manage it?” Mr. Punch asked the clipboard wielder apprehensively. There was a scrunch of his mouth from this unknown stallion but then he turned his head to the makeup ponies across the room.

“Powder Brush, a moment please?” The referred to artist hustled over and looked me over, then with little enthusiasm, this mare’s horn began to light as I looked cautiously at the three of them. My first inclination of what she was doing came when I felt my red bandana slipping off.

“Hey, no!” I grabbed at it but she tugged it up into the air before I could catch it. “That stays with me or I go nowhere, lady!” I snarled, reaching my talon quickly towards her throat. My scarlet cloth dropped from above me powered by magic and tied itself around my arm as the pony only partially flinched from my threats.

“We want the audience to see you, Guardian Griffon. You are a pretty thing after all,” the mystery clipboard horse told me. I felt his girl’s magic touch wiggle all over my face. As she did some unseen alterations Merry Belle put on her most polite voice to pitch her complaint to Punch and the other stallion.

“Ah, excuse me. When will it be my turn? I’ve been here since five this morning.”

“W-When your name’s called, madam, if you please,” he groveled, stepping over to me to make sure she couldn’t ask him any further probing questions. He barely studied whatever this horse was doing to me before he stomped his hoof. “Stop now, that’s perfect. Bright Start, she’s ready for the stage. Quickly now, get her to the wings!” The makeup mare stopped wordlessly and returned across the room while the named stallion nodded.

I opened my beak and then really wished I hadn’t. The skinnier stallion reached his hoof out to my shoulder and I observed his horn burst with energy as Poxy let out a cry behind him, trying to hurry towards us. She was too late, suddenly the universe felt like it was trying to suck itself down my throat, spinning, and racing past my eyes with fierce rainbows. Everything lurched forward, turning my body inside out from the hind feet up painlessly, but still uncomfortable.

I tried to scream but my vocal cords no longer existed. My eyes were beaten with flashes until the felt like they’d taken several rounds with a boxing alicorn. I reached out to grab something, anything to rescue me from the over-sensory hell.

The stallion let me go and I floundered...

...Flailed...

...Fell...

...Through the colorful oblivion...

...For what felt like forever…

*** *** ***

Five Years Ago…

Gypsy Breeze believed that if you told everypony in your team your plan then you were dooming it to failure. Somepony could worry about the other doing their job adequately and try to help, which had the potential to send the whole mission awry. If a pony, or griffon, had only one part of the task to focus on, they would not be distracted by the other links in the chain or so the stunning unicorn assumed.

The back of the old schoolhouse creaked venomously as Gypsy clambered on stacked crates, debris and litter to reach the partially intact roof. Her judgment and perception so far had kept her from being found out by the sparring crowd of dogs who howled, snarled and barked at the top of their voices in the front yard. Shimmying her way awkwardly along the roof edge with an aim to maker herself as light as possible, she peered around the corner and saw the fur fly from the tumbling creatures clawing chunks from themselves as they continued to fight for dominance. the chained ponies were trying to keep themselves as far from the attack as possible but struggling. They could not go far while their bind was locked to one of the onlookers. Their hopeful heroine was glad she could at least see them unharmed in the chaos.

Satisfied she could continue safely, she crept back until she was lined up with a large hole in the house’s roof and tiptoed out onto a rafter, using a little magic to keep her balance steady.

Her goal was to rescue as many ponies from the hellhound gang as she could. The ponies outside could not be reached until there were less of the hungry fiends around them and she prayed to Celestia that the distraction would come swiftly, but she had enough time before then to try to find any other survivors. After that, she would act out the final part of her plan.

Gingerly shifting along the beam, Gypsy finally reached the spot where the top of one of the tall cages was directly beneath her. She shifted her hooves carefully and dropped down onto the metal, attempting to make as little noise as she possibly could. Her hooves still clattered, but the commotion outside was enough to mask the sound to almost anything. The mare looked around the jail cobbled together with bent fence railings, metal plates from the debased recreational equipment and other scavenged items. She blanched at the sight of blood and bones drenching the floor below her and crouched on the top of the coop, peering into the darkness past the twisted bars.

“Hello? Is anypony...” She gulped on her words, “alive in here?” She jumped nervously as something shuffled and ruffled in the cage beneath her. A thump of hooves and a groan confirmed it; there was something alive in here but she couldn’t see what. Fearful of what she might find, she edged the front of the crate and peered down guardedly with her gun levitating off of her back, pointing it at the cloaked moving figure.

“Are you friend or foe?” She demanded with more confidence than she believed she had.

“Depends,” croaked the shadow, coughing after the first word left his lips, “are you dogmeat or are you invincible?” The speaker staggered into the light and peeped back up at her with his scratched eyes. She stared dumbstruck at him. “What?”

*** *** ***

I zipped down and hit the dirt road on all fours, sliding to a stop by Red Racer. Gypsy’s loyal pet stood still and calm, the inner heart still ticking inside the bodywork from our earlier journey. Once my metal aided wings clattered closed, I inched towards it as though I was expecting it to turn around and rip my beak off for daring to touch it without its mistress present.

I exhaled out as my claw touched the handlebar without injury. The air caught something stuck to the speedometer and rustled it, encouraging my curiosity. I plucked it off of the dial to see my name on one side, realizing the only pony who could have left this was Gypsy even if I had not seen her put it there. I turned the note around and read what she’d written, finding she had left me a few extra instructions.

“Press the orange button on the tank to reset the energy from the Spark battery. Get on Red Racer, feet on pedals, talons on handles. Flap wings for the entirety of journey but do not take off. Twist right handle (throttle) towards you to move, open wings to stop.

I’ll need ten minutes, then bring those bad boys home.

~G.B.”

I read the message a couple more times hurriedly then bent down to look under the red bulb by the handles. Sure enough, there was the bright orange button, added after the rest of the scooter was built based on the discolored metal plate it sat on. It sank in easily under my claw and clicked, the innards giving a pleased whirr. It felt oddly pleasurable mounting the crimson devil, squeezing its sides between my hind legs. I didn’t have time to relish the thought however as I had a job to do.

My claws trembled as I reached out for the handles, sucking shaky oxygen into my lungs. The fighting barbarians could still be heard out in the woodland, where I was destined to return and risk my life. I clasped the bars and held my breath, stretching out my wings.

“Junior Speedsters are our lives,
Sky-bound soars and daring dives…”

My extra limbs beat and sure enough, Red Racer roared.

*** *** ***

“You’re Elmwood?” Gypsy asked, slipping off of the cage top and dropping onto the floor coated with sticky cruor, managing to avoid thinking of the ponies it once belonged to.

“No,” he whispered, then slammed himself into the steel barricade and wrapped his fore-ankles around the spokes of his locked doorway. He was a haggard mess with eyes bloodshot and mane tangled but his energy was not depleted. The swift action did make the mare addressing him jump. “Crow sent you? Is she here- Ohhh, of course, she’s here. No. damnit, no!” He pushed back his mane and whammed his hooves on the bars several more times.

“Yeah, we’re here to rescue you, hold up a sec,” she regained her courage and pushed forward to the lock of the door, levitating a bobby pin from her sack of goods. He pulled back hurriedly and paced the front of his pen with the intensity of a pissed-off tiger, wildly glancing at her with his glowing blue and white peepers surrounded by his permanent soot lines. “We thought you were dead, because… but shit, stallion, thank goodness you’re not. Crow’s gonna-”

“Forget that. You have to get out of here, you and Crow, before one of the bitches take down Smiler out there,” to empathize his point, he reached out and slapped her pin out of the lock.

“Hey!” She blinked at him, “you bucking lost the plot, dumb-buck?”

“No!” He shouted, placing his hoof over the lock as she produced a new clip, causing her to give him a ridiculing frown. “You’re the idiot in this scenario. Out there are the most incredible hunters in Equestria with noses able to smell a fart from the highest point of Canterlot and eyes sharper than a pervert in a swinger club. They can hear a mouse masturbate from miles away and you want to take their supper for a walk? They’re going to hate that, sweetheart, so why don’t you hop back up where you came from and take Crow with you before they know you were here- HEY!” As he was talking, her horn had illuminated and she listened to him blankly, all the while sneaking the bobby pin in and jimmying the lock. She tugged the door open and stepped into his space, her temper raised high enough to encourage him to back away from her.

“First, I’m no pony’s sweetheart. Got it? Second,” she lifted her saddlebag’s flap and levitated out several chunky disks, tilting her head cockily, “I’ve not finished my plan yet. You know how to use explosives?” Elmwood’s eyes moved to the hovering mines and then back to the mare wielding them in fascination.

“Name?”

“Gypsy Breeze.”

“I like you already, Gypsy Breeze,” he grinned. Their introductions were interrupted as a different kind of animal roared outside. Its cry was constant and growing louder, causing the other sparring creatures to stop their yells. “What the buck is that?”

“Crow,” she answered, tossing him several of the charges, “follow me!”

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Annie Lennox - Little Bird

Thank you to Blazie, for editing this in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 027 - First Ascension (Part One)

Entry 025 - Griffi Vanilli (Part Three)

Five Years Ago…

Exhilaration!

Even though I was blitzing towards certain doom, the Red Racer was still making my run for the enemy a brilliant last stand. Together we blurred through the forest, screaming between the trees with the power of my whipping wings propelling us faster along the ground than I could fly. She responded to the smallest tug on her alloy reins without a hint of complaint, weaving both of us through the bushes and past mounds with ease.

Then it was back in my sights and the fear returned. I felt my chest clench and my body go colder than the wind bursting through it. I could have turned back now and blasted away from the Celestia-forsaken cesspit but I was a Trot, a griffon, and a MacRural. “Charging into battle recklessly where death and destruction await,” was our family motto, or at least it might as well have been. I pulled the throttle all the way, filled my breasts with air and screeched as we bounded into the mongrel killing grounds.

Speeding from the shadowy trees to the dull light still dazzled me momentarily. When I could see again I realized I was in the shade of a hellhound gawping idiotically at me. I was driving my iron steed straight towards them.

They dived to escape my trajectory as I turned to avoid them. Our paths continued to align and their chin hit the ground at the same time my wheel reached their neck. The bounce nearly threw me from Red Racer as she cracked through the head of her first victim. Satisfied with her dominance, she allowed me to swerve back around and halt sharply beside her kill, purring proudly.

I watched the stray struggle with death as its body bounced and its limbs clawed, its head sickeningly hanging on to the torso on a sock of sinew filled with broken bone. All eyes rose from it to me as it gurgled its final rattles and came to a gruesome twitching end.

“Buck,” I whispered and grabbed my rifle from my back, aiming it as the reunited monsters moved as one.

Blam, Blam!

I managed to wound one with the pair of bullets I fired, unfortunately not enough to stop the black horde bounding my way. With my emptied rifle allowed to swing under my leg, I twisted the controls with the other and zoomed forward. I nearly didn’t get out of the way in time as one set of claws glanced off of the metal on my wing. Not stopping to see which one, I rode as fast as Red Racer could take me. I did not need to look back, the anger of the calls and the smashing paws on the undergrowth behind me confirmed I was being followed. The rest of the pack didn’t appreciate a blue griffoness on a scarlet contraption killing their comrade.

“YOU DIE NOW GRIFFON!” The leading hound with the grinning scar bawled after me as I barreled out of the clearing and back into the woods. I heard the creatures snapping trees with the same effort it would take to break cocktail sticks behind me. How did I manage to kill one of these crazy buckers? I didn’t stop to ask or find out, keeping the huge killers busy and praying Gypsy was having better luck…

*** *** ***

Luck wasn’t the word Gypsy Breeze would have used. She chose a similar sounding word as she glanced out through the doorway.

Together, they’d managed to plant and arm all of her explosives inside the building before I’d made my getaway. They watched as the mob of hellhounds gave chase after me. However, not all of them.

The one remaining was the bitch with the shackled ponies cuffed to her lumbering front leg, panting sharply and fiercely as she stood gazing at the mangled body of the one I’d managed to kill, albeit by accident. This could have been a good fortune as the ponies would all have bounced behind the hellspawn like tin cans on a string if it had followed its group. Instead, it hobbled across the massacred playground to its deceased kin and stared down over it with growls passing its pulsing tongue. The poor, scared captives had no option but to follow along behind her sniveling and whimpering, forced to observe the fury growing in the stationary canine.

Gypsy jumped in shock as her rifle seemingly moved on its own until she discovered Elmwood was slipping it off of her shoulder and taking it.

“What are you doing? That’s mine!”

“You should have brought enough for the whole class, Miss. Breeze,” he murmured smoothly, giving her the first vision of his sleepy second personality, “go do what you came here to do.” He flashed her a grin as he sauntered out of the protection of the shelter and into the quagmire. Gypsy’s attempt to snatch him back with her leg missed and he called out before her magic could drag him back inside. “Oh dear, what happened? I thought I heard a fuss going on out here…”

The bulking top half of the alert animal turned fully while the feet remained planted where she stood in front of her departed ally. Her bold yellow eyes widened as she saw the pony cantering towards her without a bound or chain in sight and she pointed her claw at him, her radar ears still listening to the sounds of her kinfolk chasing the killer on wheels through the brush.

“What Forever Meat doing out of cage?” she demanded hoarsely. The big bitch’s life had flipped the moment she’d come home, from her leader telling her they should not have captured the ponies in her grasp to the bird on the odd machine killing her friend and casual mate before her eyes. Now Elmwood was out of his cage and this was one needle too many in the pincushion of her day.

“Relax, I’m not going anywhere. Just wanted to make sure you were safe. Who are the new ponies?” She turned her head from him for a moment but quickly snapped it back to ensure she did not lose sight of the horse who should not be free.

“Forever Meat will get back in cage or-”

“My terms were simple!” he interrupted in a voice that boomed louder than her bark, only to soften when it quietened her, “hurt or eat nopony else and I would stay for the pack. Who chose to break the rules?” He casually strolled past the bitter pooch at a distance where she could strike him down with ease and yet she didn’t, she was rendered stock-still by the talkative horse. He hopped over the corpse and placed a hoof on it, cocking his eyes crazily. “Who broke them. Was it Brutus?” He tapped the body twice to highlight who he meant.

“Not Brutus,” she uttered croakily, her grief-filled eyes shooting many times from Elm to her spiritless party.

“Coco then? Killer? Caesar?” The pony continued to demand impossibly, as though he was the one with knives on his limbs and arrowheads in his mouth. The answer was not significant, because Elmwood did not have any more interest in who broke the rules. His objective now was to see that he kept the doleful livewire from knowing his liberator was carefully freeing the ponies attached to her.

Gypsy had figured her part in the impromptu plan relatively quickly. Once the eyes were on scar-eyes and away from their victims, she rushed out on silent hooves. She reached the farthest pony in the chain gang and clasped their locks, which caused a squeak from the petrified mare.

“Oh, sweet Celestia, save m-”

“Shh,” a hoof pushed to her lips as they both saw the head of their jailor start to turn.

“Caesar! I knew it, he always wanted to best Rex and take his position,” Elmwood yelled, reacquiring the growling girl’s attention. Gypsy let out a soft huff and turned back to the pony, patting her muzzle to prompt all of them to keep silent. A fresh bobby pin levitated into the padlock and wriggled, taking little effort for the fastening to click open. They carefully removed the bonds with delicacy, trying to make as little noise as possible to avoid capture. The mare turned, prepared to run, but Gypsy stopped her. She slid a comforting hoof around her neck and a flash of her horn later, the pair were long gone…

*** *** ***

Gunning the Racer through the woodland obstacles and trying to master the handling of the roaring transport while the relentless hellhounds continued to chase my tail was not the ideal conditions for learning how to drive the scooter. I couldn’t rely on speed, my chasers were just as fast and in one hairy second, they proved to be much faster. I cornered tightly around the remains of brickwork and dodged the swiping claw, bursting over a fallen wall and getting out of the range of the attack.

I didn’t have time to speculate on my surrounding but from the rubble, this appeared to have once been a small village which time took back. There was little of the old houses and cottages remaining, but some partitions, roads and the bare bones of structures had survived to this point. Whether they’d last to see another hundred years was in the grasp of nature’s hunger to claim back its land.

This was the hunting ground of my chasers. I was trying to drive a foreign contraption through the routes they knew like the backs of their paws. My chances all rested on becoming proficient with the Red Racer plus employing and firing a pistol with one claw at the same time. One talon steered the handles, the other held my gun out and fired back to ward off the hungry pack.

Bam, Bam, Bam!

Without the ability to aim, I hit nothing, but it added milliseconds to my distance between myself and the leading runner. I pulled the steering urgently around the corner of the last building and jumped along the rocky weed-crippled roads. As I turned a smudge through the street shot forth and one of the drooling snarlers stood in my way. I flung my wings out, banked hard and turned. The back wheel slipped. The Racer dropped onto its side and together we slid into the ankles of the dog, tripping him.

Ignoring the deep graze on my side I pushed me and the scooter upright once more, my wings pounding and propelling us forward in time to miss the next swipe of blades. I lost my pistol in the fall but was still running despite the wet teeth now snapping at my heels. I twisted the bike around again and spotted an alley between some of the carcasses of the last buildings. I scooted for that, pulling the throttle open the whole way.

Another hound gained speed and bounded alongside me, blocked only by the trees whistling shrilly between us. I had seconds before I’d reach the alley, he only needed one for a chance to pounce me and tear me a new breathing hole. I drew out my second pistol, aimed and fired.

Bam, Bam!

It was all that was needed for the black being to lose its footing and spill, rolling into a cluster of trees with a crunch. With no time to celebrate I kept on course and slipped into the alley like an envelope through a mail slot.

The Racer’s screams echoed along the eroded walls around me as we sped through the tight gap, leaping out of the other end with the expectation that several hulking bodies would spill through the gap behind me. I glanced over my shoulder with my pistol raised to fire but there wasn’t a sign of any of the epitomes of hatred.

I flung my wings out to slow myself down and turned, halting briefly but prepared to shoot off again the instant I saw so much as a snout of a hound. Snouts, tails, even claws were nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t the sound of beating paws or growling breaths. There wasn’t even the glint of eyes in the shadows. My chasers had disappeared.

I thought quickly about the possible tactics of the super intelligent monsters. They could have been planning to jump me if I got off of the Red Racer or plotted to kill me with fearful anticipation. They could have hidden where they’d be ready to strike me down with a surprise attack but I was sure that wasn’t it. I considered the implications of why they were no longer chasing me and a shock of lightning spilled through my soul.

“GYPSY!” I thrashed my wings to urge the bipedal device back to life and burst through the ruins once more, speeding back towards the hellhound’s den.

*** *** ***

“...Do you remember who convinced Coco not to ruin your chances with Brutus? Me! This guy! And you repay me by stealing ponies? Look at me, I’m not finished!” Elmwood noticed his new friend reappear for the second to last pony in the chain through the corner of his eye. Gypsy had so far managed to free and evacuate the other ponies successfully without capture. There was still a chance their hard work could be outdone as the fraidy-mare nearest the hellhound was growing anxious and looked fit to wail any moment.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll let these ponies go, Roxy. No Excuses, no-”

“Forever Meat is not enough to feed pack!” Roxy flared up, clenching her paws as her rabid eyes drilled down on him. “Forever Meat try but is only one pony. Hellhounds need more and-” She stopped after a step forward. Something felt weird to her and her cunning mind quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together. She shot her eyes down to the cuff, then to the ponies attempting to get free from the last links of the chain. The terrified teenage mare screamed.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN TRICK ROXY, PUNNY PONY?” She foamed at the mouth as she whirled around, stomping towards the group as Gypsy struggled with the lock. The wild wolf pulled up her chained leg and dragged the two ponies out of the sweating guardian’s embrace, forcing the squealing filly to dangle from the metal ring cutting into her leg. The nails on the paw glinted, ready to come down on the failed escapees and cut them to shreds.

Roxy’s yip stuck in her throat, trapped by the rifle used to choke her in the tight grasp of Elmwood’s legs. She stumbled back and flung her body about in an attempt to throw the pony from her back. He held on like a limpet, his teeth clamped shut and hind legs squeezing her ribs to keep himself locked to her. The blond mare tripped away.

“Why aren’t you shooting her?”

“Couple of bullets- Ugh! -Do nothing-agh! -To them!”

The other ponies fell to the ground but were not clear of the fight yet. They were titubated and dragged across the gluey dirt as Roxy swung around. Her ankle caught the body on the ground and she tumbled back, landing on her assailant which winded him. In the moment’s reprieve, Gypsy got the first lock disengaged and pulled the wounded stallion out of the chains. She dove for the screeching mare and ducked as huge hind paws kicked over the top of her head.

Elmwood rasped as he grappled with the tormented titan trying to wrestle out of his grasp. In the distance, the sound of buzzing was coming and growing the closer it got. He still didn’t know exactly what it was but he knew he had to hold on until it arrived…

“Got it,” cried out Gypsy over the earsplitting sobs of the rabbity pony. The last clip came apart and the dark amethyst mare dragged her back, waving the other one to her hurriedly. While they came, she looked to the crushed horse under the bulk of the canine. “I’ll be back for you!” The freed ponied held her and all three popped out of the area in a sparkle of magic.

Elmwood made the mistake of slackening his hold. Roxy pushed on her back muscles and slammed her forepaws into the grime, thrusting herself up and out of his chokehold. He rolled before her claws could damage his graffitied face any further and sprung to his hooves with a mad dash for cover. There were clangs and crashes behind him as Roxy coughed her lungs back into working order and something hard, fast and cold smacked his ankles out from under him, definitely doing damage.

He cried out in anguish and fell inches from the watchtower, rolling onto his back to see one of his legs twisted in an angle that did not look healthy. Roxy had regathered her long line of manacles and was twirling them above her head, tottering towards him as the droning kept growing.

“FOREVER MEAT THINK HE CAN ESCAPE?” She howled, her chest heaving with a violent storm in the cavity, “NOW YOU DIE!” She straightened up her back as the agitated noise was at its loudest and Elmwood closed his eyes, accepting the finality of this outcome with calm dignity...

*** *** ***

“NOW YOU DIE!” I heard the shout from the gigantic silhouette body I could see through the trees and I put the hammer down as fast as Red could take me. I beat my wings harder, leaning back, tugging the front wheel up off of the ground. As I kept on course, the back wheel of the Red Racer hit a large sheet of rusted iron discarded on the outskirt of the lair and launched. We flew out of the shelter of the woodland, twisting in the air with the grace of a striking lion.

The hound swinging the metal rotor about her head turned to look to me and Racer as we glided through the air towards her head. She had no time to move, the weight struck her between the ears as she tried and she was tossed back: a rag doll filled with bricks slammed across the unforgiving mud.

Somehow, I caught the air perfectly with my wings and angled the heavy scooter back onto both wheels when we hit the slimy earth, drifting to a stop by the offensive hanging frame. I took a moment to swallow my lungs back down and realizing what I’d just done, looking hurried to the dog I’d collided within mid-air. It wasn’t moving a muscle and based on what just hit it, I imagined it would stay that way for a long time to come. I let out a gleeful squawk, fist pumping the air.

“Did ye see that? Did ye see-” The usually colorless coated pony was a revelation to my eyes. He was filthy, bleeding and severely injured but I’d have recognized his panda eyes even if the rest of him had been smeared in coagulated blood.

“ELMWOOD!” I cried out, leaping from my faithful magenta mustang and running towards him. I got as far as the slide before he lifted his rifle and aimed it square at me, forcing me to stop. I lifted my claws to surrender. “Oi, it’s me, laddie, dunnae shoot. I thought ye were dead, I saw-”

“Shut up, will you?” He spat painfully and cocked his head, listening to something with his hoof tracing the ground. I obeyed his command regardless of the embitterment I felt being reunited with the stallion who saved my life only to be threatened at the point of a gun. It was only after freezing that I felt it.

The floor beneath my feet vibrated as though I was still on the Red Racer. I looked down, seeing the smaller stones and pebbles defying the sticky ground by rumbling and rolling to the vibrations. The comprehension of what was coming arrived too late to save me from the situation.

“Fly!” Screamed Elm, “fly, fl-“

Booming through the ground came several thick shapes slashing claws through the earth like scissors through a dress. The floor fractured as my feet hovered away from it while my wings attempted to pick me up and away from it. Hatching open, it propelled the hellspawn my way.
Pain lanced from the bottom of my spine and upwards indicating that something had gone seriously wrong. I was jerked backward and pulled into the grasp of a hound as its feet smashed into the ground.

A high pitched siren filled the air over the roars and howls of the triumphant beasts. As my mind burst back into the situation I became conscious that the sound I was hearing was me screaming. From the way that my jacket hung I knew it had been torn from behind like paper and I could feel heat seeping from it culminating in a drip from the end of my tail. I was hanging from the floor in the grasps of a hellhound, holding me by my wing braces with the tight straps cutting into my upper legs.

I bravely turned my head. My executioner would be Smiler, his fixed grin looking positively gleeful at having snatched this bluebird from the air. He panted strongly with humid clouds of noxious mist swirling from his tongue, a low chuckle leaving his chest. Then he thrust me up for his pack to see.

“YOU WANT MORE THAN FOREVER MEAT?” As he yelled to his hungry comrades I hurriedly scanned around, looking for my fallen friend. If he was still here, I couldn’t see him. Run Elm, I thought, run far away. “TONIGHT WE FEAST ON BIG BIRD!” Big bird? Was he calling me fat? The mind or my mind at least became quite arrogant when faced with certain death. With the amount still alive and baying for my blood on their tongues, I would be flying up to meet my Pa in less than a few seconds but, as stated before, I was a MacRural. We didn’t give up our lives without a fight. I curled my hind leg.

“HELLHOUND ARE STR-AGGGH!” I silenced Smiler with my hind foot in an area that distinctly felt like his crotch at the same point my claws pulled the emergency release on my braces. He dropped back as I fell gracelessly onto my chest, the unseen wound scrambling the communication from my brain to my limbs. His group saw that their most hated enemy was free and in that second initiated a fresh attack.

“If you are going to fight, then fight with every single bit of your being that you have. Even your beak. Especially your beak...”

My beak clashed with the jaws of the first demon as it thumped onto me with claws scrapping at the floor and teeth cutting at my cheeks. Holding his bite away from engulfing my whole head I plunged my talons deep into his chest and felt the lifeforce ooze between them. Not stopping to consider the implications of another soul to my growing collection, I pushed him up and wrapped my claws around his ribs, tearing his lungs to create a grotesque shield to fend off my foes. However, I had no field of vision other than left or right. My screen still had enough life left in him to continue to try and wrestle with me.

I swung him one way then the other as I tried in vain to keep the rest of the back from snapping at me. A claw sliced at my shoulder, another glanced from my hindquarters. I was going to be done in moments. Deciding my dog-defense was a hindrance more than an advantage, I twirled to bat away the closest fighters then released him through the air towards the group at the back, feeling the weight and ligaments leave my hooks with a wet rip. The few the carcass bowled into toppled backward and I twisted to make my escape.

Smiler was back on his feet and in my way, grinning furiously at me. His teeth bared, his claws stretched, his chest pumping. His eyes told me all the horrible things he planned to do to me and I struggled back as the rest of his band found their paws. He took a step forward and I closed my eyes.

BAM!

Smilers head blew into two halves of a smashed tomato, his weight instantly dropping him to his knees. His huge headless torso swayed to an unheard metronome before the mass of timber had no energy left to stay upright and hit the ground with a thick slap. Gyspy stood behind him inside the wreck of the schoolhouse. She lowered the still smoking double-barrel and waved her hoof to me urgently.

“RUN TO ME, COME ON!”

Seeing her alive and kicking bestowed new strength in my damaged body and my sore limbs began to move. I ignored the urge to limp as my back and sides ripped pain through my body. I stumbled and found myself falling, but determination put another foot in the way and pushed me back up, my wings trying to beat. I could hear the feet behind me drumming along the earth and knew I didn’t have time to buck about. I flung clumsily into the air and forced my limbs to keep me airborne regardless of the fire scorching through my core. All I had to do was speed towards Gypsy and everything would be alright.

A claw bashed me to the floor at the final hurdle. I bounced off of the bloody, spurting mess of Smiler’s heap and was rolled to see the hellhound that had swatted me out of the air coming down on me.

Pop, Pop, Pop!

Bullets bounced into it as I screamed in terror and anguish. Glittering supernal ropes wrapped around me and I was drawn rapidly from the bellowing canine from Tartarus. I stopped between Gypsy and Elmwood in the shelter of the school, the stallion still firing an assault on the flocking monstrous crowd. The ribboned mare helped my back to my feet, no time to look at my blistering injuries as she heaved me back into the shell of the building. I began to panic, looking around at the closed in walls.

“Fall back, Elmwood!” she commanded, the stallion lowering the trigger from his mouth and feebly hopping backward as well. We kept crawling as the light from the front doorway was extinguished by the collection of boiling mad brutes slinking in to corner us.

“Oh buck, oh buck, we’re dead…” I sobbed as my scratched backside hit the wall, “G-Gypsy, Elmwood… I-”

“NOW YOU DIE, STUPID THINGS!” interrupted a furious mutated wolf leading the pack into the closed space. I whimpered. Gypsy growled. Elmwood laughed.

“Stupid? I thought you idiots were meant to be smart!”

“DON’T TAUNT HELLHOUND, FOREVER MEAT!” Snarled the leader as I looked incredulously at the besmirched pony struggling to stand with a sneer plastered all over his face. I’d still not learned then what his dead eyes truly meant. I felt a shuffle and saw Gypsy was moving something from her bag into her mouth.

“Okay, okay, okay. It’s just …. It’s so funny,” he dropped and rolled onto his back, laughing his arse off.

“WHAT FUNNY?” demanded the monster, punching the ground so hard that it quaked under all of us. Deadwood cuddled his tummy, looking back to the horde with a long sigh.

“The look on your faces when we blow them off of your skulls.” He ended the conversation with a simple smile as the barbarians finally began to look around at the tiny red dots flashing all around them.

By the time the first one rose its paw to point out the mines, Gypsy had grabbed both of us.

When they let out a horrified cry, her horn was ignited and our bodies were wrapped in light. She bit down and spat out the detonator from her teeth.

The red lights turned yellow and sparks, heat, and death exploded from their casings all around the room. Gypsy’s spell fired on all cylinders and we disappeared as the trap for the hellhounds blew up. No matter how quickly they turned, they were no match for the combusting schoolhouse as the bell rang for the last time on the obliterated class of freaks.

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

After what seemed like an eternity in Tartarus’ most rainbow-centric section, I collapsed onto the firm ground. I felt achy, sick and my dizzy eyes were still spinning in their sockets. Incredibly, all sensations only lasted a few seconds before a new beam of magic rose me to my paws and talons while a feather brush brandished by the pony with the headset called Bright Start. All illness had evaporated by the time he began speaking to me.

“There, you’re ready for your performance. Just got to wait for the nopony on stage to be seen off.” He wrapped a foreleg over my shoulder and gave a coy, hushed giggle, “come on, you’ll find this utterly hilarious, no doubt.”

A song. I could hear a singing voice and music in the dim as he guided me through the blackness past ropes, huge dark curtains, and thin framed backdrops. Fearful that he might teleport me again if I did not follow him, I kept to his pace until we turned a corner and found the light once more coming from the stage into the wings. Bright crept us towards it as the song abruptly ended and applause rang out from the invisible crowd listening. We stepped into the brightness while hidden from view and witnessed a pale blue stallion with a faint red mane hugging his microphone at the front of the stage. We could not see who quietened the audience nor who was the first to speak, but it was unmistakeably Hot Shot from the tone alone.

“Mr. Humane, that was the most inhumane thing you have ever done in your life. You butchered that song!” I saw Mr. Humane flinch as though he’d just been fired at by a rocket launcher. Another feminine voice picked up where Shot left off.

“The song choice was awful, your voice wasn’t in it tonight, Humane. Sorry.” And finally…

“I think you should feel sorry about what you did tonight. You’ve taken up too much of our time already, it’s a no from me…”

“...And a no from me…”

“That makes three,” finished Hot Shot, in agreement with his mysterious other voices. “Goodbye, Mr. Humane. Do not come here again, I hear ‘The Magnolia’ are looking for ponies who are more your caliber.” The crowd, who had a one moment been in support of the lonely stallion now jeered and laughed at him as the judges’ words brutally destroyed him. The stallion whimpered, wailed and ran from the limelight with tears splashing me across the face as he escaped past to disappear into the gloom where no more words could hurt him.

“It’s you!” Bright hissed as he was done guffawing at the poor pony’s misfortune. I did not move. I did not want that to be my fate, what kind of egging-crazy griffon did they take me for? The pony gave an impatient sigh. His hoof slipped over my wing and a flash of gut-wrenching, world-spinning movement sucked me out of my safe space into the bright lights and the praising, stomping party in their seats. Bright Start removed himself with another crackle.

“There she is, our very own Guardian Griffon!” applauded Hot Shot, starting a standing ovation among his fellow judges and the silhouettes of the throng. Every seat was filled, every eye focused on me. I hadn’t even opened my mouth and already they loved me and I had no idea how I could please them with my cat scratched voice. The noise deafened me and shook my paws.

“So, what is the song you’re going to sing for us, Double G?” I recognized the other speaker as Mellow Melody to the whine of my inner monologue. I was going to humiliate myself in front of the Stable’s most admired singer. I didn’t have a song, I didn’t know how to answer, my beak did not want to work anymore.

“Oh,” Shot clopped his hoof on the desk, “do you know how to sing that new song, what’s it called? ‘I Understand Love Now,‘ by Stardust?”

“Oh,” gasped the mare on his other side with heavily framed glasses and an exuberant mane-style, “I love that one! Tell us you know it?” They all stared at me for a silent eternity and my eyes looked over every face for a savior. There was no Mole rushing to my side now nor Gypsy blasting a safe passage through this hell. There was just me, a microphone and an amulet that I did not know how to work. Right now it just felt like a dead albatross around my neck. The crowd started calling encouragements to me and Shot chuckled wholesomely.

“She’s saving her voice for the song! Quite right, too!” He waved to the group of musicians in the corner of the stage who I’d only just realized were accompanying me and gave me a nod, “go on, sweetheart, sing your heart out!” The band nodded graciously and an orb of light levitated from one horn, the tune instantly starting to play loud enough to fill the auditorium.

This was it. This was the moment I would lose all respect in the Stable. I trembled, trying to let the music of what was a pretty song soothe me as I felt tears swim down my cheeks.

I was going to do it again.

I was going to ruin the night with a song.

*** *** ***

Four Years Ago…

It had been a whole year since the rescue of the ponies from the clutches of the hellhounds and my wounds had been stitched, patched and healed with a few extra scars to my collection. I’d been fortuitous enough that the rake of claws along my back had not damaged anything permanent other than feathers, fur, and skin. Elmwood’s smashed leg took a surprisingly short time to repair despite breaks in three places and Gypsy had only received minor injuries that didn’t need a lot of attention.

Sadly, the most hurt stallion emancipated from the clutches of the enhanced canines was too severely hurt and within a month had passed away. Days later, a mare from the extricated group became unstable. She had been attempted to be comforted by the Helping Hoofians and shown that she was in a safe and secluded place now, but she couldn’t recover from the stress and depression the memories brought her. Too traumatized by the experiences from the dog bloodbath, she chose to put a pistol to her temple and pull the trigger. Gypsy and her ponies ensured that they received a proper burial while Elm and I could not join them. Together we believed that death was part and parcel of this existence as it was now and we used the time to enforce our defenses and scavenge for supplies.

As the year ticked along, a peace formed over our little settlement and the rest of its inhabitants. The mad world outside our little bubble largely ignored us and we did not attempt to aggravate it either. It seemed like everything would be perfectly fine for us from that moment on, but of course, nothing ever stays that way for very long and the one to ruin our safety and security would be me.

Something dwelled on my mind ever since Gypsy teleported Herself, Elm and I into the safety of our village. We’d left something behind that I saw as vitally important to our victory and future. The Red Racer.

The last time I’d seen her was after I’d jumped from it to run to Elm, into the trap the Hellhounds had set for me. I was convinced it would have survived the blast and even if it hadn’t then there were parts of it that would still be important to us. I tried to convince Gypsy of this, however, she showed no interest.

“It was just a Scooter, Feathers,” she’d remind me everytime I brought it up, “lives are more important now. Forget the bucking thing and move on.” I couldn’t.

Maybe it was because it took my jealous mind away from the blossoming romance I saw Breeze and Wood fall head over hooves into as she played nurse to his rapidly healing leg, then scavenging partner, before admitting themselves to be full-time lovers. Having something else to keep my mind from producing a lewd slideshow whenever they were near and wishing Gypsy’s attention still came to me was like a drug I did not want to let go. Ultimately, the drive to go seek it consumed me.

I couldn’t just race away and find the Red Racer alone nor could I expect it to be found without a bit of damage, so I had to ask for the Mechanic’s help. Ottawa took a lot of convincing as he often asked me what Gypsy had said first and then agreed with her. Finally, I realized that I did have a bargaining chip, something he had asked for many times before. I found him one day in early fall polishing his leg and took a seat beside him.

“Good morning, griffon,” he murmured, not looking up from his shiny detached appendage. “Ottawa still not helping griffon’s suicidal plans.” He looked to me and saw me smiling slyly as I looked down at our extra fortified community. “Griffon plotting. Ottawa does not like it when griffon plots.” He returned to his work.

“You wanted to know how I broke my wings, laddie?” I asked him with a casual tug of a wing to preen it. His eyes lit up and his prosthetic leg clanked onto the wet grass.

*** *** ***

The only sound in the clearing was that of the crunch of feet, hooves, and wheels as I rolled the red carriage out of the woods with the bison. I remembered the path from my pursuit a year before then and the surrounding area had not changed. It was the inner circle which had once been the deformed and sickening schoolhouse that was the most changed now.

The blast had demolished the entire building with only a floor of bricks, tiles and blistered timber remaining across the whole space. The smell was almost gone, an earthy scent taking its place. Between the smashed and fragmented masonry and mortar lay the burnt, vulture-picked bones of the beings that had once been monsters. Seeing proof of their deaths brought satisfaction and relief to me after trepidation during the trip of potentially discovering them still prowling around the crater.

“This is it, laddie,” I called back to Ottawa as he held himself by the circumference of the pit, “there are nay signs of life, we’re safe.” This prompted him to walk over and together we started to scout around the sight, leaving the rebuilt sidecar that I had pushed all the way here beside a tree. We’ve brought it to fix it to the rest of the Racer if it was salvageable and drivable still. I first moved towards the spot I initially believed I’d left it, basing my presumptions on a few twisted climbing bars and the shapes of the bushes. If it was going to be there, it appeared it might have been buried. I started digging.

“Griffon does realize somepony may have found and taken Red Racer for themselves?” The Mechanic asked across the yard as he nudged through the debris of his own. I stopped and thought about it, lifting my head with a click of the tongue.

“I have a feeling it is here, big fella. It is my extrasensory wee griffon sense.”

“That does not exist,” grumbled the killjoy bison while my talons blindly swept away the mess.

“Maybe but-AGGH!“ I yelped out fearfully and flapped away from the sight I had just looked back down at. A skull of a wolf split in two, a deep scratch on its cheekbone gazed forever walleyed back up at me. After the initial shock, I gasped in relief and laughed myself back down on to the pile of refuse.

“Are you okay Griffon?”

“Aye, just being a wee daftie and scarin’ me-“ I stopped, staring forward, “hold on a tick…” Squinting at the set of trees in front of me, I got up from the hole I’d been digging and slowly approached the crimson bulge I saw in the bushes.

“Is that…?” I bounced up, flying over the bump covered in vines and weeds. Collecting them in my claws, I thrust myself up with my wings and ripped the majority away in one large clump. There was an exuberant cry from me as I uncovered the red body beneath it.

“Ottawa! We’ve found her, lad!”

*** *** ***

“We’ll meet –again- someday,
So don’t you go –a-getting- blue,
Don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but I know,
Every road, will lead me back to you.

Tell my -old friends- back home,
I was singing -this song- out loud,
And was laughing about all the things we’ll do,
Hugging you, I will be back, I vowed.”

I sang as loudly, proudly and defiantly as my old Pa had taught me to. It was nightfall when we returned to Helping Hooves, our ride revving between my thighs and Ottawa sat in the repaired sidecar. We’d been fortunate, she was rusted and needed some tender care but she still worked. The front headbeam lit up the main door to the settlement and a figure stood there waiting furiously for us. I was on a triumphant high and not even the face of thunder Gypsy wore like a parent seeing their children creep home after midnight could not bring me down.

“Taa daah!” I spread my wings and arms, rolling us to a halt before her as she stood in the main gate. “Told you I could do it, lassie!”

“It was never a question of whether or not you could, Crow. It was whether you should,” she gestured out to the dark space of the valleys we’d rumbled out from, “what you’ve both done today may have jeopardized us all.”

“I am sorry, Gypsy,” Ottawa responded ruefully hanging his head but I waved my claw to hush him, smirking to the mare.

“We weren’t followed. The Racer is too fast. Sure, she’s a little rusty and needs some wee lovin’ but we’re safer wi’ her than wi’out.” I leaned in with a raise of an eyebrow, stroking my feathery fringe back. “All we found was bones and dust. Yer wee plan worked, hen. We dunnae have to fear hellhounds ever again.” Her sad blazing moon eyes watched me boost myself up on my red trophy and prepare for the gate to open. She shook her head and stepped out of the way.

“I hope you don’t regret this, Crow,” she uttered, before waving to the pony up on the watchtower to open the gates.

“It’s Crow! And she brought home the Red Racer!” Foals had gathered on the other side of the gate to greet us in, racing excitedly alongside us as we trundled home.

“See, Ottawa? We did a stoatin’ thing! They love us!” I looked to him eagerly. His face of concern never lessened.

*** *** ***

I spent the night laughing with friends, singing the bawdiest songs I could recall the words to and drinking as much liquor as I could get my claws on. Everypony bar Gypsy was happy that the Red Racer had come home. It would be our symbol of hope and resilience in the face of the harsh wastelands.

The festivities ended late and I chose to find my bed much later, after rubbing beak to nose with a cute little thing whose name also escaped me. Faces, smiles, songs, and stories would stay with me but names became lost to time after a while. I would forget a lot and regret a lot in the events that followed.

I was still crooning tunelessly as I stumbled my way to where I usually lay my head, a half bottle of whiskey still in my claws. It slipped the moment I heard the first scream, crashing on a rock, shattering across my feet.

Not caring for the cuts the glass tore into my hind paws, I leaped and zipped towards the terrified squeals of foals in danger with my body sobered by the emergency in my beloved camp. I turned past a shack to see the main entrance was still closed, but daunting mounds of dirt had been dug up before it. From those mini mountains, a trail of destruction and slaughter led through to one of the settlement huts which now burned angrily. Many ponies were already there trying to stop the fire and others were hurrying over. Knowing this had been the home of my little foal friends, I hurried to it as well, only to be redirected by another high-pitched shout.

I turned and saw Gypsy and Elmwood leading a group towards the greenhouse. Through the windows, I could see a terrible mass of blackness with a smudge of blue fighting and squirming against it. The mounds, the bodies, and the shape told me what had found us. My heart plummeted as I saw what was coming to pass.

I zoomed over the heads of the ponies hurrying to the scene and spun past Elm as he looked up at me.

“Gun!” I cried and caught the shotgun he tossed up to me. Faster than all the others, I dashed ahead with all the speed I could muster and prayed to every deity I could think of that I was not too late.

The hellhound held the whinnying, crying coal and cobalt foal by the head in front of her when I burst through the greenhouse and landed in front of it. My gun instantly cocked and pointed but the canine guarded itself with the child, knowing full well I wouldn’t shoot the foal to get to it. It rushed forward and stopped me in my tracks, barking like a rabid pooch.

“SO STUPID, GRIFFON! SINGING SONGS SO LOUD! HELLHOUND COULD HAVE FOUND CAMP IN THEIR SLEEP!” I felt my moral balance shift as I understood her snarls. I had sung from the graveyard of her past home to the walls of mine. I’d danced and trilled and been merry, not understanding that Gypsy was right, I’d brought this upon us. Foolishly I thought I could still make it right.

I had a split second to look it in the eyes and it was enough for the vision to stay with me for the rest of my life.

A scar ran along its cheek from the corner of its mouth creating the same eerie smile as the leader of old. But the eyes, the snout, the whole not split ear was all different. This was the female I’d hit with the bike who I had believed I’d killed saving Elmwood. She had made herself look like her deceased alpha and that made the sight of her all the more terrifying for me. I kept my gun up and aimed, squawking over the wails of the foal.

“Let the wee lad go! He’s done nothing to ye!”

“Help!” Screamed the boy, “I don’t want to die!”

“ROXY NOT MONSTER!” The intimidating bitch sprayed outraged saliva from gnashing teeth as it flung the child around in the air like a rag doll. “STUPID GRIFFON AND PONIES DESTROYED HOME AND FAMILY! YOU THE MONSTERS!”

“Help, help! She’s going to eat me!”

“Roxy,” Elm slid between us with his forehooves up as a mediator, “it’s me, Forever Meat. I’ll come with you, he’s just a foal, a pup, see?” The ponies behind filtered in with weapons trained on her, sealing off her escape. Other ponies were hurrying around the other side to try and get to a place where they could take her down without hurting the foal. “It doesn’t have to go down like this. Put the pup down an-“

There was a roar and a scream outside, followed by gunshots. Something black and fast ripped past the windows, scattering the settlers everywhere. Roxy had friends. I flew up to the ceiling in a flash and prepared to fire between her ears.

“Drop the foal and call your pack off!” She lifted her head to me, staring me dead in the eyes and gave me a yellow grin, heavy snorts leaving her fat snout. “I said drop them!”

“IT JUST SO FUNNY!” She barked, bursting into raucous laughter. I frowned furiously and clenched my claw on the trigger, but then seized up in horror. I had seen what the hellhound found so mirthful.

She raised her free paw which clutched a remote control and a glance around the room revealed scarlet blinking lights all over. She’d caught us with our own trap.

“OUT! Get out! GET OUT!” I shrieked, dropping to push Gypsy and Elm away hurriedly. The crazy devil girl split her sides with amusement before she cried out her final chilling message, the foal still stuck in her paws.

“YOUR DEATHS WILL SET ROXY FREE!”

I spun as the button was pressed in one last-ditch attempt to save the foal. As I heard the remote click and beep, something hastily grabbed my wings. I saw the light, felt the heat, smelled my feathers start to smolder…

Then I hit cold, wet grass. The erupting bang that had been all around me a millisecond ago was now a horrifying ball of fire and destruction in front of me. The warmth found us again abruptly, not comforting or friendly but brutal and torturous. At first, I thought I had died and was witnessing my body burn from far away, but then I heard Gypsy screaming and Elm attempting to comfort and sedate her. I realized she’d saved us once more to the detriment of her heart for all the friends and ponies she could not protect.

She’d teleported us to the top of the valley. Against my back was the rock we’d visited the week I first arrived. I’d been asked then to protect my new home. I’d failed it. I’d killed our friends. I’d killed the foals...

Ottawa. Had the buffalo survived? I hadn't seen him since getting off of the Racer. I looked urgently at the chaotic sight below and saw his workshop on fire, one black demon parading around it. I lost a new cry for my friend, certain his end had come at the claws of my talons as well.

Gypsy started to run back to the inferno as I sat dazed and mortified at the distressing view from the hillside. Elmwood was after her like a bolt and caught her speedily, dragging her back up to me punching and wailing for her people.

“We’ve got to go! We’re not safe! CROW!” He yelled at me. I blinked and hoped I’d woken up from some evil nightmare at the angry shout of my name, only to find my home was still burning and I was still to blame. Elmwood heaved me to my feet.
“She’s going into shock! We need to get her to safety now!”

Thrusting me forward with a few more pushes, I finally helped grab her and pull the suddenly heavy mare away as she started to go unnervingly quiet. We ran until we found a place to lie low, warm Gypsy and stay safe. Behind us, the survivors screamed and the hellhounds roared for their victory, and Helping Hooves settlement became a bloody red stain on the cloudy night sky...

*** *** ***

Stable T-Thirty, Seventh Day of the Seven-Day-Rule…

My heart raced in my chest. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t sing this song, I just couldn’t…

I could.

It started at my chest like a warm, comforting sensation of being hugged and heartened while the musical introduction played. A gentle stroke of an imaginary hoof released the cloudy haze in my mind over the first lyrics and the strangling grip on my throat released like a kind splash of smooth whiskey over my vocal cords. What had been fear of the first duff note to leave my beak became surprising confidence in my ability to sing. I could do it, couldn’t I?

I could feel the tune rising to the point that I would open my lungs where the amulet sat. It was no longer a weight of impending doom but a lucky charm that would carry my melody to victory. The moment was here, I closed my eyes and clasped the microphone with my beak open. I felt the amulet radiate and from it, the song poured out.

Give me a second,

To talk about you.

Then kiss me,

Before you go.

I needed this time,

To see how lonely I’d been,

And yet, when you came,

You made me feel clear and clean.

I looked around my audience when I heard the yell. It was not an angry or disgusted cry like all the other times that I’d raised my voice. It was an approbation. They loved the song and furthermore, they loved me, so much so that they were willing to leap to their hooves and stomp them with their neighs of approval raising the roof. Even two of my judges, Hot Shot and the bespectacled mare, were up and hailing my efforts while Melody stared at me as if I’d just taken a dump on the stage.

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

My heart launched when I saw Gypsy in the center of a row, her ribbons glittering from the flashing lights. Her astonishment at my voice was evident in her eyes. How far she’d seen me come since the day we lost Helping Hooves. I shed a new tear as I remembered that foal who never stopped smiling or trusting me. I realized that this song had to be sung for him and now that I could do it justice I was going to make it the best tribute he deserved. I lifted the microphone as I spread and flapped my wings, levitating over the stage.

You didn’t see me,

As so many ponies do.

You saw me as a thing of beauty,

So you said, if that is true.

When it all changed,

I thought it was all just a prank.

How could this happiness and hope,

Be so easily punctured and sank?

There beside her was Mole, hooves clasped together and green hearts shining. Her mouth was fixed in the most captivated expression I’d ever seen her hold and her tail was dancing so quickly that it looked like it was one thick fluffy brown cushion behind her. I recalled all the times she had set my heart soaring and healed me with a single kiss in this past week. This song was for her also. For my little Heart of Gold.

When the chorus rose again the audience joined me, hundreds of voices united as one by a song. My song.

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

I caught sight of Midnight Dreamer. Her expression was that of devastation as she saw me submit myself to the stage of her rival but how could she know how this felt? I had been a griffon with a voice so bad it had ruined and slaughtered many lives in one fateful night. With a piece of jewelry, Mr. Shot had taken that responsibility and fault away from me and given me a chance to redeem myself. He had done more for me now than she had and I believed then I’d be ever grateful and in debt to him.

She shook her head and turned to leave but no remorse or disappointment came to me. My song never stopped and I never stopped singing, I had what I needed now and my friends were my voice and my amulet.

How did fairgrounds, parties and laughing songs,

Kisses, dances and moonlight strolls,

Turn dour in the fall, and rain clouds,

Sob their sorrows in my heart of holes?

Friends say I changed when I took the blame,

Of your words, and shames, and run arounds,

But how does a mare stay the same,

When all her smiles turn to frowns.

I could feel the song and I felt as though it felt me. As I sang, the amulet sang to me. Not with me or for me but to me convincing me I could keep going forever, I could do show after show without break and I would never lose this ability as long as I held on to her. She was my power now and my strength. My tiny trinket would never ask for anything in return.

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

The music played the crescendo as I finished my part in this historical moment. A sigh of bliss slipped through my bill as I landed on the stage and replaced the microphone stepping away from it. A weight had been lifted from my body, the milestone that had lodged itself in my journey through life had been passed and I could feel free and innocent once more. I was floating in a sea of euphoria and there was nothing that could bring me down.

Hot Shot led the applause as I smiled jubilantly at my crowd and took a low bow. There were cheers, whistles, and chants of my sobriquet all for the love of my performance before the band had even finished playing. I stood up and looked over everypony, nearly missing the vibration on my leg as my PipBuck flashed up an alert.

“Seven Day Rule: Completed”

Bucky poked his head out from the corner of my screen and glanced at the congratulatory message.

“Hey, you did it,” he chirped, “but at what cost?”

I didn’t dwell on the stupid green elf’s words nor did I have time to. All three judges were on their hooves and encouraging silence from the crowd before they faced me with poker faces.

“We’ll take the vote straight away, Guardian Griffon, we have a lot of ponies left to see and time is ticking,” Hot Shot advised me quickly. “Mellow Melody; is it a yes from you or a no?”

Melody studied me for an uncomfortably long time, her eyes scrutinizing every little detail of my existence. I puffed up my chest and ruffled my feathers, smiling. She had to say yes, there was no way she could refuse such a performance, could she?

Her mouth opened, she released her final verdict and the audience dropped a shocked gasp.

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest completed - Seven Day Rule
Quest perk - Autotune the Blues - Enchanted items are 10% more effective

Level Up!
New Perk: Dogs of War - Your fancy footwork and agile flying keep you out of harm’s way. Opponents suffer a -5 to combat skills when attacking you.

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Annie Lennox - Little Bird

This landed at almost 28k words, a bit of a big feat for me really! FO:ES will be pausing as I concentrate on 'Luna Switched' with Synesisbassist now, but don't worry, it will be back soon enough...

Thank you to Blazie, for editing this in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 029 - First Ascension (Part Three)

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Entry 030 - First Ascension (Part Four)

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Entry 031 - He's Good To Me (song)

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Entry 032 - First Ascension (Part Five)

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Entry 033 - First Ascension (Part Six)

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Entry 034 - Discord's Ball (Song)

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Entry 035 - A Dark Nightmare Night (Part One)

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Entry 000 - Prologue

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria...

... There were two sisters, elevated from mere unicorns to regal alicorns, who ruled together and created harmony for all the land. They defended their kingdom from many different threats and helped maintain the balance for their subjects; the unicorn, the pegasus, and the earth ponies, and many other magical beings. However, one sister grew jealous of the attention her other received and a black cloud of mistrust and greed befell her. One fateful night, the sister of the day was forced to imprison the fallen sibling in the moon, where she was to be sealed for a thousand years.

When her incarceration ended on the eve of the Summer Sun Celebration, the vengeful sister returned to bring eternal darkness on the lands of Equestria. It appeared that all was lost until one student of friendship sought the Elements of Harmony. She found them in her closest comrades and together they kept the balanced scales from tipping. The nightmare was defeated and the two sibling princesses reconciled to take their place as sisters of the sun and moon once more.

The era of peace that followed felt like it would remain forever with no end in sight. The student soon became the Princess of Friendship, her brother married the Princess of Love, and despite several trials, all was well with the realm. Yet, like the blackest thoughts that once enveloped one sister, the cogs of time turned towards such things as greed, gluttony, fear, and loathing. For even in the brightest of days the darkest shadows could be found.

A darker chapter in the history of Ponies would come to pass that would draw a permanent cloud over the lands. There were battles for dwindling resources, mistrust and anger for anything deemed different and a violent split between friends, families, siblings...

The sister of the day who had devoted her life to harmony lost her spirit to the heartbreak around her. She abdicated her throne to her sister of the night and wept as good became undone. Her choice and the choices made by princes, princesses, and ministries forever changed the harmonious land, driving it toward a future torched by balefire and dark magic...

Still, this was not the end. Through the flames of their homeland and beneath the blistered earth, many did not perish. Instead, they were forced to find new ways to survive in a world that no longer promised to protect them from the shadows. The time of friendship and harmony appeared to be at an end. The age of monsters, rogues and thieves had dawned...

FALLOUT:

EQUESTRIA’S SCOUNDRELS.

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; 'My Little Pony Theme Slowed' by 'MissSeddieSunshine' originally composed by Daniel Ingram

"Why am I writing this part now," I hear Doomande cry! Do not fear my friend, there is a reason. The reason is, my dad (who has not watched the show nor read Fallout Equestria by KKat or any MLP:FIM fiction) has expressed an interest in reading this. I wanted to give him and others a gateway into understanding the world before it blew up.

Hopefully, this doesn't feel too condescending to old readers of this story and other FO:E tales. A new chapter IS in the works, I hope to bring it out in a few weeks.

All good things,

Duskhoof.

Entry 007 - Mole and the Minstrels (Part One)

Entry 006 - Stable T-Thirty

I realise how terrifying a prospect that is and believe me when I say that it is not one made lightly. I promise you, however, that it was one made out of love, respect and care for every one of you, no matter your opinion of me. I have every confidence that my sister, aided by my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle, and her friends, will now carry out my responsibilities with more capability than I have recently been able to.

~From The Last Great Speech of Princess Celestia

Entry 006 – Stable T-Thirty

“I’m not a bloody freak show to come ogle at!”

A dozen agog eyes were staring at me from the end of my comfy hospital bed.

I had woken to the sound of Dr. Ache gently trying to advise a group of foals and their adult that it was nice of them to come visit me, but that this was a hospital and not a zoo.

As soon as the kids saw I was awake, they began to interrogate me. Who I was? What had I come to the hospital for? When they asked why I was so different compared to them, I snapped. Mrs. Building Block, who promptly introduced herself as the teacher of this class, quickly defused the grievance.

“I’m sorry, miss, the foals were eager to meet the ponies who saved our Stable from Raiders!” The silly look I shot her must have spoken volumes, as a politely grimacing smile spread across her muzzle.

“I didn’t save anything. You saved me.” I explained my puzzlement.

“Oh no, you did save us. Your group raised the alarm to warn us that there were ponies who intended to take our Stable from us, just as Raiders had done to you. You were all so very brave.” Kudos to this mare. As she stood behind the kids, she had the patience of a saint with me.

I squirmed up in my bed, just glad to feel that my wing was not in as much pain as yesterday. Right then and there, I could have quite happily given the Doctor a beak job just to show my gratitude, even if he wasn’t my preferred gender. However, even in the Wasteland, that is not completely appropriate to do that in front of foals. It still happens, mind you, but I was not that kind of bitch griffon.

“Thank you. It’s pure berry just to know you’re all safe now.” When I used my full Trottish expressions, it was either because I wanted to confuse my audience, or because it was a little politer than telling them to buck off. On this occasion, it was the former.

“Do you think the foals could ask you some questions or hear a few stories? They’ve never known anypony come back from the Wastelands, and they did not know Griffons existed!”

I was a little different looking, but that didn’t make me anything special compared to any of them in my opinion, and I told them as much. Dr. Moon Ache deciphered this as me needing less company now. My healer asked that they move on so that I could finish my bed-rest, but the droopy heads and disheartened nickers cut me deeper than any knife had up to that point.

“Hold on, I suppose I can answer a few questions, aye?” The Mexicolt wave of smiles reassured me that the decision was a good one.

They were urged back into place by the ruby-maned teacher. She ushered the kids to listen to me as she queried where I’d come from and how I’d gotten here. I’d not had chance to collaborate with my fellow “Stable Fifty-Four comrades” so I tried to keep my answers vague and not go off script.

“I came from Stable fifty… fifty-something. I don’t remember, I was hit with some spell before getting here and it has made my head funny. Raiders killed my family, I’m pretty sad about that so, aye.”

The teacher and a few of the foals gave me a look of sympathy, whilst two of the others were wearing perplexed expressions. Thankfully, it wasn’t at my poor attempt at a cover story.

“Do you speak Equestrian?” a brazen little foal asked me, with a slow, patronizing tone.

“Aye, I’m speaking Equestrian right now.” I growled, grinding my beak.

“I have no idea what she just said.” He turned to his fellow classmates and shrugged.

“She speaks Equestrian, she just sounds funny,” the filly beside him educated her class, pushing her spectacles up from the end of her nose.

“I speak Trottish! It’s where I’m from!” I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth fast enough, “I mean, it’s where my folks came from, or their folks… Sorry, this confusion spell has really done one on me, aye?”

“Did you see any other ponies outside?” This filly got her eager question out before anypony could agree to let me off on the last one. At least I believed I knew the answer to this.

“Oh, aye! Lots of ponies hang about outside, but most of them are a bunch of bampots, you’re all tidy in here.” My smiled, my answer intended to reassure.

Uncomfortable glances between the ponies in the group seemed to suggest they’d not followed my unique slang.

“It’s a fucked-up world beyond that door. You’re safer inside.” I translated, nodding. There were several gasps and the colt with the big mouth whinnied that I’d sworn, overcome with a touch of awe. Mrs. Block clearer her throat.

“Well! I think that’s all for now…maybe we should~”

“Have you ever had to shoot a pony?” Squeaked the smallest pony. I grinned tremendously and leaned down to her. I should not have answered the question, but I could not help myself.

“I’ve made at least one’s head explode.”

It was right here that I started to discover Stable foals were not like Wasteland foals. A Wasteland foal from Flea Town might sound impressed and dream of doing that one day. Another Wasteland foal from Glascow might just shrug their shoulders and grunt that they’d already blown off five faces this morning before breakfast. It was a regional difference.

I wasn’t prepared for the tiny girl from Stable T-Thirty to tear up and dash behind the teacher. Nor the filly with the glasses excuse herself to be ill in a nearby trashcan. The adults glared at me for my confession.

“Whoa. Don’t flap, hen, I’m not going to hurt any of you. Not unless you cross me.” Innocently, I’d assumed this would be enough to stabilize the situation.

With a horrified gasp, Mrs. Block drew question time to a close abruptly, sending the foals out before they’d had a chance to say goodbye. I gave them a cheery wave, receiving similar only from little-big mouth.

Once gone, Dr. Ache seemed to decide I was not potential dating material. He pushed a stale cheese sandwich my way and a glass of water, then said I could be discharged within the hour.

*** *** ***

Seeing the Overstallion outside the hospital ward was like a mare catching you riding her unfaithful cowboy for a husband. I puffed myself up to full height, prepared for more annoyance.

“Are you here to give me a bollocking now?” Skeptically I padded along the corridor towards him. His mane glided with its own physics when he shook his head, and his wry smile put me off-guard.

“I have no idea what that means, Miss Crow, but I assume my answer ought to be no. I am here to offer you each the olive branch of friendship between our two Stable communities. You are the last new arrivals that I personally wished to check on. How are you settling in?”

“Kind of hard to tell you, I’ve only seen one room so far. Nice whiskey in this place though. So, you’ve got that,” I complimented genuinely, making him chuckle.

There was something unsettling about this stallion. I couldn’t put a claw on it, he was friendly, but something other than the strangely clinical nature of this leader made me uncertain about him.

“The Hopscotch family do make a lot of good whiskeys. We have a lot of comforts here that I’m sure even your Stable was lacking...”

My feathers fluffed as I asked whether I’d heard that right. They make whiskey here?

“Whiskeys,” he affirmed, “they have several flavors. However, there will be plenty of time for that. I’m certain you’ll be eager to get a warm bath or a shower and into fresh jumpsuit, after being out of one for such a while. We’ve commissioned one to be tailored just for you.” They’d made me my own Stable suit? I wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or grossed out. Those uniforms were not exactly the most tactical things to dress up in.

“Thanks. Sounds great,” I lied, then let out a squawk with a start.

A hulking stallion had managed to get into my personal bubble, without a single sound to alert me to his presence. Only after I’d collided with his brick-wall chest and nearly broken my beak did Overlook think to point him out.

“This is Chief Officer. Procrustean, the chief of the Stable Guard here at Stable T-Thirty. His duty is to ensure you and your fellow Stable Fifty-Four citizens are safe and secure here.”

The security here must have been tighter than my fellow Raiders had suspected. I had wondered why there hadn’t already been fresh chaos ensuing from a hostile takeover attempt. If these guards were all going to be as ugly, muscular and mean-looking as Chief Officer Procrustean, then our modest band of crooks had little chance of overthrowing the residents.

I gave him one of my most friendly greetings and offered a paw to be shook. He chose to ignore it, which I silently remembered. If he wanted to be an asshole, I could beat him in a ‘Assholes Got Talent’ contest, any day of the week.

“Allow me to show you through to the local bath house. Then the Chief Officer will show you around the rest of the Stables, particularly the warehouse where you’ll be staying. You friends are already there, I’m sure you’ll want to get back to them.” Completed the Overstallion. I let out a hollow laugh.

“We’ll see whether they deserve my presence,” and then, because I was thinking about it, “did you get a chance to talk to a pair of ponies, err… a green mare with a cutiemark of a garden path and a…. a lesser green mane? She might have been with the stallion, a black coat, a cutiemark of sticks, I think, and a brown mane.”

Overlook thought about it for a moment, before pulling his mouth up to the corner of his muzzle.

“The mare I recall. Garden Path. She is being looked after by a mare with an eggplant coat and a golden mane, decorated with ribbons of all colors. Jinxed Breath?” He suggested. I gave a long sigh.

“I don’t know what an eggplant is, but that sounds like Gypsy Breeze. Good, she’ll look after her... And the stallion?” We had begun walking now, following the lengthy, uninspiring corridor.

“I do not recall him. Chief Officer, can you check that this stallion been seen by our guard? I do hope he has not been locked up with the Raiders by mistake.”

“Sir, there was a stallion by that description earlier,” my wings instantly went over my ears as his deep voice shook us. He must have been the one making the command over the amplifier back at the Stable Door, “but we have not seen him since he was checked-in at the main gate.”

“Hmm, do you recall his name?” We paused briefly as Procrustean lifted his hoof, tapping at his own PipBuck for a brief check before giving an answer that he had registered as Brittle Sticks. The Overstallion began trotting ahead again as he deliberated on this problem.

“Have the guard keep a look out for him, ensure that he is safe and not in harm. We do not want a stallion walking around Stable T-Thirty without a clue where he is.”

“It’s not like he can go too far though, right?” I interjected, “We’re in a Stable. There’s a limited number of places he can go.” The pair stopped and looked at each other, Overlook grinning whilst Procrustean just looked annoyed. I came to learn that this was his default face and mood.

“We will take the scenic route to the closest bath house then,” offered the humble leader as he turned and flashed me an enigmatic pose. I followed along with a blow of air between my beak. The Chief Officer marched behind me.

The corridor we walked through began to look like more gray walls occasionally lashed with Stabletec’s blue. Only when we quickly reached a sliding glass door ahead did I start to get the hint that this was not the same.

It was not the same at all. Nothing like the old, broken-into Stables infested with the Wasteland horrors. Nothing like the soaked, rotten corridors and eerie, festering halls that we’d raided in the past. This was different. This was new.

As the glass doors slid apart, I hesitatingly crept through them, expecting my body to drop from the catwalk as soon as I stood upon it. It may have seemed strange that I had been worried about falling, but even us winged few do not want a solid floor to disappear from beneath us. I know it is difficult to believe, but heights were not my strong point. If I was on anything higher than a ponies head, I’d be sweating like a pig on bacon day.

Mr. Smug and Mr. Angry remained at the doorway as I shuffled awkwardly along the platform, cautiously rested my paws on the railing and finally allowed myself to recover just enough to fully take in the view.

Below me stretched an underground city. Not a Stable, not Stable T-Thirty’s atrium as I had been expecting, but an entire subterranean municipality, with all the sounds and smells and even tastes that came with it. I’d been to several of the remaining ‘Jewels’ of Equestria, and this could easily have been any one of them. Only the steel ceiling above gave away of the illusion that this was just another busy town in the middle of the day.

I’d seen similar sights to this in soggy magazines and long-lost photographs of old Canterlot. Somepony, or ponies, had taken a lot of time trying to recreate what had been gone for a while now and preserve it.

Swashed in their navy uniforms with gold-leaf streaks, the other residents of the city went about their business without a fear or a worry. Some of these walked across many bridges like mine, whilst others cantered over different levels to this Stable-city. The floors, of which I counted at least five, were clad with cobble stones and street lamps. The rooms were made to look like clean, inviting thatched buildings.

Higher up, I saw that the Stable was lit by a giant orb of light. I imagined this was created to represent the sun, it even stung my eyes watching it. Someone had taken the time to detail it with triangular rays around the outside, but that was all I could notice before I really did have to stare away to the ground again. It took a few seconds for the spots to leave my eyes.

A shell-gray fountain sat in the heart of the huge, circular plaza, adorned by a pony, set in stone during the middle of a ballet recital. Her head was pointed to the metal sky with poise and grace, whilst she spat three jets of water constantly around her. I’d never seen a fountain like it, never mind one in working order.

Around that sat a ring of market stalls, dressed in their best clothes. Nothing like the sad and trashy markets of the Wastes. These were hole-less, bright canvases of many colors and invited all cheerfully in to see their wares.

Outside of the court, there stretched five extensive lanes, which disappeared into the ambient light before I could see the ends of them. Ponies were everywhere between the streets and levels. There was not one place beneath me where I would look and not see a blue minion wandering through my view.

I was lost for words. I might have watched the Stable dwellers move about their miniature set all day if Overlook hadn’t stepped in beside me and cleared his throat.

“Your fellow survivors told me that Stable Fifty-Four was far smaller than this, correct?”

“You could say that again. This… this is…” I could still not string a full sentence together.

“…This is your home,” he replied helpfully, “Come, follow me. I’ll show you to the bath house. I think you’ll enjoy this, the others did.”

*** *** ***

Splash~!

Imagine bathing in pure sunlight, with the twittering of birds and the angelic song of some sweet, pretty mare strumming a harp. Sinking into the bubbled, steaming water felt exactly like that, in my mind.

My previous washes had been with chilly, cloudy water. It was many years ago that I’d managed to dip into a lukewarm tub, and even that certainly was not as clean as this. Heck, it even smelled good. A little minty, with another fragrance I didn’t recognize, however I was far from complaining at this point.

I ducked below the surface to immerse myself in the full cozy glow. My paws brushed the soap into my feathers and I relished the ideal of feeling cleaner than I’d been for far too long.

I gave a gentle sigh and relaxed slowly, closing my eyes with a ruffle of my feathers whilst the healing comfort soaked through to my core. I did manage to calm myself a little, except for the few odd reflections that slipped through the net, my fall out with Gypsy and the missing Snip being at the forefront of these.

Overlook had left shortly after delivering me to the bath house, claiming that he had important Overstallion business to oversee. He hadn’t entrusted me to be completely alone in this vast metropolis, having left the stimulating Chief of the guards to keep an eye on me. The excuse was that he could show me about town when I was done meditating in my bowl of joy, but I believed the true intention was to make sure I wasn’t here to cause trouble. The mien of utter disgust from the stallion watching me when I peeked seemed to confirm my theory.

I provided him with a glorious beam.

“I have to say, Pro… Procrew… Crusty,” Crusty growled at me for giving him a new handle, “you do not hold a conversation as well as your master does.” My body slipped down voluntarily into my moist, heated bed. Without deliberately doing so, my paw moved between my legs and took the pleasure to that easy to reach, and yet so pleasing, extra level.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled after a lifetime to think of a sensible comeback.

“Don’t be silly, the Overstallion invited me to come for a bath and I have to say it is~”

“You do not belong in this Stable.” He continued, raising his voice over me, although he didn’t need to do so, “None of you outsiders do, and when I have enough evidence to prove it, you will all be going back out into it. Whole or as dust, it matters not to me.” The memory of Rose Bed poofing into a pile of jade shavings jumped the queue of my concerns, causing my gleeful grinning to slacken.

“That’s not very friendly of you,” I sniveled effectively.

“I have no interest in friendship with any of you,”

“What happened to ‘the olive branch of kindness between our two Stable communities.’ Maybe you’d like me if you got to know me.” I’m not sure why that tickled my arousal in the way that it did, but unbeknownst to him, I quickly plunged my claw finger further into my honey pot. I did not get chance to enjoy it.

CRACK!

His hooves smashed down by both sides of my head and he furiously demanded my attention, ceasing my petal petting.

“You are not a Stable dweller. I know it, the Overstallion knows it, even if he infuriatingly denies it. A single griffon is one thing. But for you to retain your family accent, after living your whole life in a Stable with ponies who do not speak the same dialect, is an impossibility.”

“My family were murdered, Raiders d-destroyed everything…” until this moment, I had no idea I still had water works. Outside of my performance, I was impressed with my ability. ‘Crusty’ was not.

“I will find the evidence I need, griffon. Mark my words~” Something fizzed and dashed, then a fresh female voice rose from his PipBuck.

“Officer A-One-One-Three to Chief-Officer Procrustean, do you read, over?” He paused one last time over me to snort angrily, before he forced himself to step away. His magic lifted a wired clip from his Stable manacle and plugged it into his ear. He grunted an affirmative and listened to it from the privacy of one of his auricles. I didn’t try to follow it, I was still analyzing the threats he’d posed to me.

I did not realize he’d pushed a button that ended my orgasmic dip before I’d reached a satisfying climax until the chill reached below my fur and across the nethers I’d been probing. I had a film of bubbles draped over me as the water burped from the plug hole. I reacted too slowly to stop the towel slapping me in the face.

“Dry yourself now. I’m to assign you to a citizen who has offered to be your personal guide and, urg, ‘friend’ from the Stable. Hurry up about it,” Thankfully, he slipped out of the room after my orders so that I could dry in peace. I muttered a few angry words and lamented the orgasm I had been robbed of, whilst rubbing away the suds from my fur.

“Where the fuck is my stuff?” My complaint came as I tried to return to my armor and, predominantly, a beloved cardinal bandana I’d worn for a decade. Instead, it had been replaced with the bland wardrobe of Stabletec, with the device for my foreleg to complete the ensemble. The Chief Officer gave a dangerous growl, which I retorted. He did not know how much that bandana meant to me.

“It has been locked down to be checked. You’ll get it back in a few days,” came the response through locked teeth.

“You’re paying me in cats, you bastard!”

“What?”

“You’re cheating me from my stuff and I want it back.” I stamped my demand with a paw.

“A. Few. Days.” We declared a full war between our stares, which lasted a discomforting ten seconds before I eventually withdrew.

“Fine. A few days, but I do not wear your junk in replacement of my own.” I puffed myself up to height, only for him to sneer at me.

“Then you’ll walk Stable T-Thirty naked,” I found it amusingly unusual that he found the suggestion humiliating to me, agreeing cheekily to the terms.

“I don’t know why you imagine that to be a threat, we walk around with nothing on all the… what are you doing with your horn?” I noticed the light gleaming from the bone pointing out of the top of his helmet. It was too late to comprehend his plan.

Cli-Clack!

I felt the unfamiliar pressure around the cuff of my left foreleg and lifted the fully sealed PipBuck into view. He provided me a sadistic grin and tapped on the screen as it flared to life for the first time.

“It must go everywhere your leg goes, so do try not to lose that particular limb or else we will have to come find you,” he relished having the upper hoof on me with a deep whicker, then he turned to the door.

“Come on, griffon, let us see if the Stable’s nudist colony is accepting new members.” His magic snagged me around the middle before I could protest further, and I was dragged along behind him on my backside.

*** *** ***

I began to feel the shame before we had even reached the destination Procrustean had in mind. This was insane, in the Wastelands there were no end of ponies who wandered with nothing but a saddle bag on if they were lucky. In Stable T-Thirty, this aspect was flipped on it head, and I was gasped at by the prudish inhabitants for not wearing the garments of their people.

At first it was hilarious, especially when heads spun away in revulsion and foal’s eyes were covered. Then it began to get creepy and unsettling. By the time we reached our destination, it felt demeaning and isolating to be different to every pony else. It felt like I had been born in the wrong set of fur and feathers.

Begrudgingly, I was thankful when Crusty led me through a set of double doors, out of the public viewing. Signs everywhere told me this was Warehouse Seven, a building as tall as any atrium I’d been in before, sparsely decorated and still spotless. Dull concrete walls with a line of windows before it reached the ceiling, and three walkways leading to other, smaller rooms. There were enough lights to see where you were putting your feet, but compared to the cityscape behind me, this felt cold and unwelcoming. I’d seen a prison once, and this reminded me of it, which was a perception I shivered at after the Chief-Officer’s earlier cautions.

I was somewhat uncomfortable seeing my own people in this room. The anxiety that one might accidentally lift the veil on our true identities grew with each passing minute that I was under duress of Mr. High-and-Mighty himself. I kept my head forward and kept padding along.

Bunk beds had been laid out around the perimeter, each looking pleasant compared to the tainted mattresses and solid floors outside, although none of them held a candle to the bed I’d had in the hospital ward. Shiny silver tables dressed the center of the main floor, filled with food that was already being devoured with the wasteland rats I’d been hanging out with for so long.

I could see that Overlook had paired my fellow ‘Stable Fifty-Four denizens’ with members of Stable T-Thirty. Although all were dressed in a singular costume, you could tell the ruffians from the innocents just by seeing how eager, happy and scrupulous they looked. Which pony was doing the most talking was another key factor, although one couple broke that mold and I was not surprised to notice who it was.

Elm watched me stride past as he continued to chat away to a subsurface native. I did not need to look at him again to know he kept glancing across at me for several minutes. He had every opportunity to join me, but I believe the reason he didn’t is because he knew exactly what I would have in store for him when he did.

“Your bunk,” my chaperon announced as we came to a stop in the corner. I examined it thoughtfully.

“No mint?”

“What?”

“I read in a book once that before the war they used to lay a mint on the pillow, aye?” I wasn’t prepared for Procrustean to give a grunt of cynical laughter at that.

“You read?” He didn’t give me time to answer before he turned to a fellow officer, who had been feverishly taking notes as soon as I’d stood by my bunk.

“See that she stays until a pony is assigned to her and- No!!!” The bark he made stopped me from inspecting my bed and made me spin sharply. I quickly assuming our cover had been blown and that the entirely good folk of Stable T-Thirty would shortly turn into a mass of fearful hellhounds, livid at our infiltration.

Instead, it was a mare who was barely past her teenage years, that had made the Chief Officer cry out in annoyance. She was happily levitating neatly wrapped parcels with sparkling pink bows to the newcomers. It seemed like she was talking or interrupting them in mid-conversation, but then I saw that she was pressing each box to their noses and mouthing “thank you” over and over until they said it back to her. Only when she received a polite response, would she squeeze out a toothy smile and carry on.

“No, no, no, no! Molasses Candy, what are you doing in here?” observing somepony else winding up my tormentor without having said a single word yet pleased me greatly, but it was short lived as she cowered under his shadow. Somehow, her voice still jingled like a Hearth-warming bell when she spoke.

“Treats! They’re new ponies and I wanted to treat them to some of my treats! Treats of treats which will treat them to~”

“Stop.” His foreleg pushed up his helmet to rub his forehead, “we do not need the… these ponies to spend their first days in our Stable suffering from irregular bowel movements thanks to your… concoctions.” The words were spluttered out like a bad bite of a spoiled apple. Those close enough to overhear groaned and spat out any of the ‘treats’ they’d been eating from their boxes.

Molasses’ ears tumbled.

“No, but, I’ve perfected them since then, they’re not bad ones anymore they’re~” She began, trying to patch things up between my colleagues and stallion with a hard-on for authority. His hoof lifted, and he blasted his orders for her to leave once more with the inclusion of imprisonment for the day if she did not. I could not watch any longer.

“Molasses Candy?” I asked, with a cheekiness risen in my voice, “isn’t that the mare the Overstallion assigned to be my Stable-pal, aye?” Crusty’s seething hatred returned to me, but I could handle it.

“No. She is not, griffon.”

“Oh, no, I’m plum certain she is, but aye, if you’re unsure, we could always go have a powwow with Mr Overlook, if you so desire it,” Lord Dickweed of Dickweedington knew I had him beaten there. With our party currently being treated like royalty, Overlook would have no choice to grant such a simple request and the Chief of security had no leg to stand on.

He looked between us with such sharp jerks of his head, that I heard the bones click in his neck. Finally, he gave me a wide, false smile.

“Very well. Molasses Candy! You are now assigned to be the representative of Stable T-Thirty for Ms. Crow. If you leave her side for one moment, you will both be imprisoned. Am I clear? Officer Bones, ensure this is noted down,” Before he left, Procrustean leaned in to me.

“I am sure I will be seeing you very soon, griffon.”

“Aye, I’ve had a blast. On our next date, we should feed the ducks followed by a nice candlelit dinner. And don’t forget my bandana!” I hollered after the uppity pony storming away. Sniggering, I turned around to crawl into my bunk.

A moving force snatched me clean from my paws and flung me to the floor. I rose my talons to defend myself, only to discover that my attacker was the chocolate colored mare with the caramel glazed mane that I had defended.

“YAY! Friendship buddies, forever!” she squealed at a frequency high enough to wake the dogs in New Appleloosa. I rubbed my auricular beneath my feathers and squinted at her.

“Get off,” she followed my demand as cheerfully as a baby goat but continued nuzzling as I got up myself. The aforementioned-officer Bones donated a rueful nod when I caught her gaze.

“My apologies for the Chief Officer. He can be bullish with, well, everypony.”

“Don’t sweat it, Boney.” I patted her shoulder and let her do her job, cautioning Molasses every time the chirpy little creature got too close to me. Unlike her moment of fear of the authoritarian stallion who’d put her down, she seemed quite content to let me berate her. Soon, the security personnel had done her job and even promised to see if she could return my bandana when I mentioned my gripe about it.

I have no shame in mentioning that I tilted my head to glance at her flank as she trotted away. It was tight, but I imagined that I could tease her to loosen it. With Gypsy now in my bad books, I had found during my bath that I was in sore need of new material for the wank bank.

My daydream was interrupted by my new puppy. Molasses was still desperately trying to give away the rest of her boxes of indulgences, but now the other ponies were refusing and even throwing them back at her.

“Hey, that’s not very nice, why don’t you~”

“Molasses! Come over here a moment,” saving her rear was fast becoming a new occupation for me as she skipped over with a friendly hello, as though the last twenty seconds had not happened. I collected one of her boxes and showed it to her.

“These ponies are used to being given poisonous things – no, don’t tear up, I’m sure these are fine, aye, hen? Instead, watch me and you might learn something…” I took the full tray from her and wandered out into the hall, speaking to Molasses as though I was expecting nobody else to be listening in.

“You sure I can have the rest of these, Mole? That’s so sweet of you. I’m going to put them under here so no pony else eats them.” I slid them onto a chair, pushed it under the table, and then returned to her. I had hardly shown my back to the tray when a sneaky thief was already pilfering the boxes I’d attempted to conceal.

Mole’s eyes were glittering in awe as I returned casually to her with a prudent smirk.

“That’s how it’s done. These ponies have had to learn to want what others have, so if they think it’s worth something, they’ll take it.”

“You called me Mole!” She bounced from hoof to hoof like a canine in dire need of a restroom break. The cry was so misplaced in my lesson that I could only give her a puzzled shrug.

“Nopony has ever given me a nice nickname before!” I could not stop her giving me yet another embrace, this one even including a peck on the cheek, before I pushed her off.

“Hey, now!” I wiggled my claw at her with a frustrated huff, “we need to set some ground rules here! No PDOAs, that means public displays of affection, aye? You do what I say, when I say it, and if I say zip it, you shut your maw. Got it?”

“Ooh! Roleplay!” She gave an infant’s giggle and saluted me, “Aye Aye, Captain!” Part of me wanted to laugh with her, but I just rolled my eyes and slinked into my bunk to lie down. Out in the wastes, if you weren’t moving, fighting, eating, shagging, or fighting a lot more, then you spent the time sleeping. There wasn’t much else to do out there.

“Why don’t you buzz off to find somepony else to bother for a while, aye? I’ll call when I need you,” I tucked my head under my wing and waited. The sound of hooves leaving never came.

“Are you deaf?”

“I am not allowed to leave you,” peeped the tiny voice, “Chief-Officer Procrustean told us so. We’ll get thrown in to jail.” I let out a long sigh and rolled over, staring at the springs above me for an idea to get me out of this. None came.

“Fine. Alright. Aye.” I sat up and slipped back away from the small piece of refuge I had. “What do you do for fun around here?” She attempted to pull all the air within the warehouse into her lungs.

“I know! I know! I know! I knooooow!” She skipped, hopped, twirled and scampered to the doorway, halting when she saw I was not racing after her. “Come on, Captain! Let’s skedaddle!”

Since the only other past-time I could suggest was seeing if I could punch Deadwood’s head through a wall, I decided to let my legs follow lazily after her.

*** *** ***

Footnote: Quest Complete - Bed, Bath and Befriend
Quest Perk added - Mend a Friend - Healing potions are 10% more effective on party members

Quest Begun - Mole’s Hole

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane

Imagine you finish writing a particularly dark chapter of a story. You're proud of it and excited about where it is going, but you also feel concerned that the tale you're going to tell will only get darker with the current characters that you have. You feel a sinking sensation as you wonder whether you are piling too much bleakness into a tale that you want people to enjoy.

That's where I was at with the "Way In" chapter. Then I get a message from a friend of mine. We used to play as members of the altered-six, and I would be Bubble Berry. I was reminded of the fun I would have bringing him to life, and how he would make me feel better after a rough day.

I was excited, but I also realized I couldn't introduce Bubble Berry into this story, i had to build somepony new with enough of his idealistic nature to be a unique character.

Enter onto stage Doomande. Not only have they been helping with some awesome feedback and nitpicks for me to improve upon, but they notes that there is another 'Little Birds' song the I had not known about. I listen to it, and one line stands out to me;
"Find molasses candy"

I had found her. From there, the little brown munchkin stepped into the light with a squeaky giggle and an encouraging sense of endearment.

I also have to thank my friend Private Joke, who let me introduce her and a few of the other cast member to gauge her reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you leave us, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 010 - The Seven Day Rule (Part One)

Entry 009 - We'll Meet Again Someday (song)

Entry 009 – We’ll Meet Again Someday (song)

My pa’s old drinking song.

It isn’t a sad song, it’s hopeful.

He wasn’t an angry drunk either, he got sloppy and lovey-dovey and the only complaint from my sister was that she’d have to mop up his spillages when he was done.

I never thought things would turn out this way.

*** *** ***

We’ll meet –again- someday,
So don’t you go –a-getting- blue,
Don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but I know,
Every road, will lead me back to you.

Tell my -old friends- back home,
I was singing -this song- out loud,
And was laughing about all the things we’ll do,
Hugging you, I will be back, I vowed.

I have –no special- sense
But I trust –that- new skies will come,
Dark and grey- will -not last forever, you’ll see,
Until then, this song is what I will hum

Time –will- pass too quickly
But I know –that- we must be strong,
Wise and cautious, and ne-ver fear for too long,
True hearts can never truly be wrong.

Carry-on –as- if I were there,
Tell me stor-ies -of pranks and fun,
Write me letters about all the good times you had,
And stomp your hooves, you’ll never be outdone.

And when I –fin-ally come home,
We will party, from dusk til’ dawn,
And will sing this bright song,
With all of our hearts…

We’ll.
Meet.
Again.
Someday.

So don’t cry.
Don’t sigh.
Smile.
And make others smile too…

(Instrumental – 40secs)

We’ll meet –again- someday,
So don’t you go –a-getting- blue,
Don’t know when and I don’t know where, but I know,
Every road, will lead me back to you.

And when I –fin-ally come home,
We will party, from dusk til’ dawn,
And will sing this bright song,
With all of our hearts…

We’ll meet –again- someday,
So don’t you go –a-getting- blue,
Don’t know when and I don’t know where, but we will,
Every road, will lead me back to you.

Tell my -old friends- back home,
I was singing -this song- out loud,
And was laughing about all the things that we’ll do,
Hugging you, I will be back, I vowed.

We’ll meet –again- someday,
So don’t you go –a-getting- blue,
Don’t know when and I don’t know where, but I know,
Every road, will lead me back to you.

And when I –fin-ally come home,
We will party, from dusk til’ dawn,
And will sing this bright song, With all of our hearts.
Every gold road, leads me right back to you, baby.

*** *** ***

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter: Marble Machine by Wintergatan

Since I’m not a song writer but I wanted songs in this, I wrote songs against pieces of music that I liked but that did not already have set lyrics, such as ‘Sophia’ and this one. In my head, the song has more of a jazzy beat to it and plays nicely against a horn. There's likely to be more songs that come in to the story as I continue to write.

Thank you again for reading up to this moment. Ask me anything.
If this is when you leave us, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof

Entry 028 - First Ascension (Part Two)

Entry 026 - I Understand Love Now (song)

Entry 026 - I Understand Love Now (Song)

This is a song that means a lot to me... I guess, partially because Gypsy AND Mole sang it to me at seperate intervals.

I Understand Love Now

Sung & Written By Allshine Stardust

Give me a second,

To talk about you.

Then kiss me,

Before you go.

I needed this time,

To see how lonely I’d been,

And yet, when you came,

You made me feel clear and clean.

(Chorus)

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

You didn’t see me,

As so many ponies do.

You saw me as a thing of beauty,

So you said, if that is true.

When it all changed,

I thought it was all just a prank.

How could this happiness and hope,

Be so easily punctured and sank?

(Chorus)

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

(Bridge)

How did fairgrounds, parties and laughing songs,

Kisses, dances and moonlight strolls,

Turn dour in the fall, and rain clouds,

Sob their sorrows in my heart of holes?

Friends say I changed when I took the blame,

Of your words, and shames, and run arounds,

But how does a mare stay the same,

When all her smiles turn to frowns.

(Chorus)

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

Now I live, because life is for the living,

And love, who I am prepared to be killed by,

Because if you cannot trust a heart,

Then you might as well be prepared to die.

You can sing me all your songs of hope,

Promise me castles full of wishes and fairy tales,

But I’ve seen both sides of love now,

It’s beautiful triumphs and it’s wicked fails.

(Chorus)

I found out,

that I am not on a single track.

My journey,

Is more than a fade to black.

I’ll hurt,

But it’s a pain that I can allow,

Because I met you,

And I understand love now.

Love will hurt, and love will be kind,

It can open eyes, and it can blind,

I fought to win love, and that is how,

I discovered I know nothing about love now.

Author's Note

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter;

Alvin Stardust - Pretend

Thank you to Blazie, for writing the sheet music to this song... (COMING SOON) Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof