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