Equestrian Roadtripby Mark Garg von HerbalistChaptersA Pie in a HeatwaveCold Fries and Hot BathsNo Ticket For You!A Pie in a HeatwaveIn a brightly lit cathedral, a young couple stands underneath a stained glass display of Celestia and Luna circling around a sun and moon overlapping each other. The light from outside shines through, bathing them in a soft glow of white, blue, yellow and other light colors. Above the couple is an arch made of white wood, wrapped in a rainbow of flowers, and next to them, on a slightly elevated platform is a wooden podium with the sun engraved in gold. It is being occupied by an older stallion wearing a white robe with a gold collar and a sun necklace hanging from his neck. The groom, wearing a simple black tuxedo, smiles at the bride, who is wearing a flowing white dress with silver flowers and vines stitched to it. “I can't believe this is finally happening,” says the bride. “Me neither,” says the groom. “Are you ready for the ceremony?” asks the priest. The bride giggles and prances in place. “Yesyesyes!” The groom nods. “I've been ready since I first met her.” The priest smiles, his old heart warming from the scene of love before him, and he opens a thick book to a bookmarked section. He takes a moment to let the two lovebirds to stare into each others eyes, then begins the timeless ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we come together in this day of matrimony to celebrate the new union between-” FLASH! The priest blinks, and the young couple smiles awkwardly at a photographer that has taken a seat on the front row. She is tall earth pony mare with an orchid coat and cherry colored tail, wearing a vest full of camera rolls, a camera contraption hanging off of her shoulders, baseball cap for the Coltorado Mountaineers as well as dark sunglasses, and she is chewing gum like a grazing cow. The priest clears his throat and looks at his book again. “We celebrate this new union-” FLASH! FLASH! The trio glares at the photographer, and she waves for them to continue. “Don't mind me,” says the photographer. “Yes, well...” says the priest slowly. “We come here today to celebrate this union between stallion and mare, who, against all odds, overcame their trails and-” FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! The priest slams his hoofs on the book. “Okay, cut that out!” “If you didn't want pictures you shouldn't've hired a photographer,” says the photographer. “You're not even the right one!” says the bride. “Yeah, where's the one we hired?” says the groom. “Ate some bad food. I'm filling in for her,” says the photographer. “Can you at least turn the flash off?” says the priest. “Sure. Yeah.” “Thank you.” The photographer adjusts her camera, shifts her position, inflates her bubblegum until it is a big, pink ball that pops against her muzzle. The trio grimace as she licks the sticky candy off of her lips and nose and starts chewing again. When she motions them to continue, they hold their glare on her for a few more seconds before putting their attention back on each other, putting on the best fake smiles they can. “So, anyway~” says the priest, casting one last look at the photographer. “We're here to celebrate a special day.” Click.... Clickclick... Click...clickclcickclcickclick.... “We're here for a wedding and it is very nice-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “These two obviously love each other-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “And are going to get married, have lots of kids and-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “Call security on the worst photographer in history!” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick Click.... Click... Click... Click. The photographer stops pushing her button and stares at the main trio. All three are red faced and trembling, with their ears folded against their skulls, the broom's eye twitching and the bride grinding her teeth. She then looks around at the filled cathedral, which is now a void of silence and angry eyes. “What? None of you have ever seen a photographer before?” she says. A few minutes later, Tempest Shadow trots out the back door of the cathedral and tosses the hat, vest, and empty camera contraption into the back of a wagon where a drooling mare lays on her back, snoring and kicking her leg. Next to the mare is an empty container for Taco Hut, and Tempest smirks and pats the sleeping mare's hoof. “Thanks for the getup,” she says. She then goes down the street, baking alive in the sunlight, passing a sidewalk band playing guitars and singing in Spanish in the comfort of a tent, some vendors under more tents selling colorful pinatas, wooden skeletons, and corn covered in mayonnaise and flavored salt among other snacks. Her destination, which she reaches rather quickly, is a double storied sand colored building with arches and lanterns along its a perimeter and clay tiles on its roof. It is a bit too fancy for her taste, but she is not complaining. The price is fair and is quite humble compared to Twilight's abomination of architecture. Upon entering the hotel, a bell dings and a rush of cool air brushes against her hot body, pushing off the sweat that has traced the muscles of her body. It feels nice. Wonderful, in fact, but she will never admit that. She has an image to keep up, and that image is a stone faced veteran of countless battles who loathes any and all forms of comfort. Even if the comfort is in the form of cool air or a good looking stud who offered her a drink only for it to not be because of attraction but because of a stupid dare that ended with him getting his face slammed into the table and her and Grubber having to high tail it out of the town lest they wanted to expand the fight to the whole pub and possibly end up in a dungeon. Tempest shakes her head. 'And there I go again, wandering in thought.' She makes her way up to the second floor, ignoring the pleasant greeting in French from an old hag of a pony who looks like wrinkled skin tossed on broom handles, and she quietly enters her hotel room. A fan blows, a radio is broadcasting the weather, and sitting on the bed, reading a Watchponies-Powerponies crossover comic, is Grubber without his armor and a thawed out bag of frozen beans on his head. “So, the low for tomorrow -like today- is going to be 113 degrees and the high is going to be 115,” says a stallion over the radio. “Why the heat? I don't know. You will have to ask our neighborhood pegasi! They know all about the weather and why it is so dang hot!” “Chill out, Map,” says another stallion. “No, you chill out! All of you chill out! I'm done with this place! I quit!” Tempest turns off the radio and goes to a small kitchen that is spotless from the ceiling down to the tiny corners, and there she rummages through the sparkling fridge, happy to see some refrigerated water left, as well as half a pan of cherry pie. But the pie she will save for later. Now is time for hydration! “Any mail?” asks Tempest. Grubber points at the enchanted tube Twilight gave to them on the day of their departure, which is sitting on the nightstand next to the only bed in the room. “Twilight mailed you,” says Grubber. “About what?” asks Tempest while pouring herself a glass of water. “I'm allowed to read your mail?” Tempest rolls her eyes and after taking a gulp of the crisp, cold water she has a look at the rolled up parchment sealed with a wax stamp of the Princess of Friendship's cutie mark. She stares at it for a moment, pondering what it could be about. Mushy friendship stuff? Danger? Lunch invitation? Ghost hunting? Tickets to a wrestling match? The missing tickets to the National Waifu Convention that mysteriously disappeared when Twilight had her friends do that IQ test? So many possibilities. Though, if there is one thing Tempest has learned about Twilight, it is that she likes to waste time with pointless letters and has no idea what a hint is. Especially when that hint has been not replying to a single shred of mail ever since she left Ponyville. But, nonetheless, Tempest still carefully unrolls it using her teeth and hoof and flattens it on the nightstand, just to see if the letter will be different. Dear Tempest Shadow, It's me (Twilight Sparkle) again. I'm just wondering how you are doing since you haven't written back after you left. I'm fine, by the way, and so are the other girls. Fluttershy made socks- “Whatever,” scoffs Tempest. She pushes the letter away, gathers her armor, and turns the metal plates and jumpsuit into a makeshift pillow for her to rest her head on when she lays on her back on the carpet, which has also been cleaned to the last dust bunny's demise. Such a feat only took eight hours of constant vacuuming and another eight of scrubbing, and another eight of vacuuming again. But it kept her busy and now she does not have to worry about a dirty room or sniffing up someone else's fur during her stay. “You really should return Twilight's messages,” says Grubber. “She keeps sending them and I think you're hurting her feelings by not replying.” “If I have something to say to her then I will,” says Tempest, eyeing the bland ceiling. “I thought you two were cool now. That means you write often, doesn't it?” “It means I'm not trying to capture or hurt her or her friends.” “Ohhh... Any mail for me?” Tempest sighs. “No, Grubber. There is no mail for you.” “Oh.” Grubber suddenly hops off the bed, grabs a white sun-umbrella with Celestia's cutie mark he bought from a vendor back in Canterlot and goes to the door. “I'm hungry. Want anything?” “Surprise me.” Grubber grins. “You sure?” With a hint of a smile, Tempest glances at her chubby hedgehog companion. “As long as there are no mushrooms.” “Got it!” Grubber then opens the door, flooding the room with a heatwave that dries out Tempest's eyes, and thankfully he closes the door rather quickly, leaving Tempest alone in the room to stare at the ceiling, the weight of the heat dragging her eyes down. Her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open!And her eyes drift shut... And stay shut. They shut and keep her in the sweet, comfortable darkness. Tempest rolls on her stomach, digs her hoofs and face into her pile of metal plates and sturdy fabric, enjoying the warmth of the sunbeam on her back and the carpet to cool her stomach. It really is a comfortable position, and just as she is entering the dream of bells and flowers, an acoustic guitar shatters the dream and her baggy, bloodshot eyes snap open. Then someone starts singing and her ears perk up as she glares at the door, muzzle scrunched and a growl rumbling in her throat. “Give a little bit... Give a little bit of your love to me I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my love to you~ There's so much we need to share So send a smile and show you care~” Tempest stomps towards the door, ears folded, nostrils flaring and eye twitching as very unkind words try to push their way out of her mouth. “Alright, alright~ I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my life for you~ So give a little bit... Oh, give a little bit of your time to me~ See the mare with the lonely eyes Oh, take her hoof, you'll be surprised~” Tempest yanks opens the door, and as quickly as the door opened her scowl switches to wide eyed shock with ears perked high when a familiar pony runs her hoof along the acoustic guitar for a long, drawn out twang. When the melody of strings fades, the pony lifts up her blue eyes and grins brightly while returning the guitar to a sweaty, mustachio stallion wearing a colorful sombrero. “Gooooooood afternoon, Fizzles!” says Pinkie Pie. “What. The. Buck.” Cold Fries and Hot BathsDear Tempest Shadow, It's me (Twilight Sparkle) again. I'm just wondering how you are doing since you haven't written back after you left. I'm fine, by the way, and so are the other girls. Fluttershy made socks that I think you will like. They are dark and broody in design, but comfortable. Applejack finally decided to hire more ponies for her orchard; Rainbow Dash is going on a six month tour with the Wonderbolts; Rarity's boutiques are doing well and she is thinking of opening up another one in Las Pegasus; and me? Well, I said I was doing fine, but that is not entirely true. I am actually on the verge of a panic attack since I found out that Pinkie Pie escaped the Canterlot Institute of Psychology. Security found blankets and sheets tied to a rope that went out the window (she was on the fifth floor so there was no way she was able to get down), but that is not important. What is important is that her treatment isn't done, and I got a feeling that she went to find you, so if she does happen to cross your path, please let me know so I can pick her up. Sincerely, Twilight Sparkle P.S. Spike says “Hi” to Grubber. Tempest stares at the letter. Specifically the part where it says that Pinkie Pie escaped the Institute, and her baggy eyes slowly look at the pony in question. She is eating the last of the cherry pie out of the pan and meeting her expression with an innocent look, cheeks puffed and crumbs clinging to her face. “You got a lot of explaining to do,” says Tempest. Pinkie Pie swallows. “About what?” “Don't play dumb.” The glow in Pinkie's eyes dim. “You aren't happy to see me?” Tempest rubs her face, groaning. “Don't dodge the problem. Just explain why you thought it would be a good idea to escape the Institute and travel almost a thousand miles to get to me. How did you even know where I was?” “I have my ways.” “Uh huh. And the mental ward?” “They were a bunch of jerks, so I left.” Tempest shakes her head and goes to her saddle. There, she rummages around until she pulls out a roll of parchment, a sealed inkwell and a pen. With careful use of her magic she flattens the paper, unseals the inkwell and dips her pen in the black liquid. Seeing this, Pinkie's ears perk and she hops across the bed and lands next to Tempest, peering over her shoulder. “What'cha doing?” asks Pinkie Pie. Tempest gently pushes Pinkie Pie back. “I'm letting Twilight know that you're here so she can pick you up and put you back.” “Don't do that!” “Give me a good reason why I shouldn't,” says Tempest, now writing with slow strokes. But even then the quill pen still wobbles, making what should have been eloquent strokes shaky, much to her annoyance. “That place was a prison!” says Pinkie Pie. “Twilight doesn't know what it's like in there! She thinks its a hospital, but it is a mean, evil place with bad energy.” Tempest sighs and puts down her pen to look at the Element. “One, its not a hospital. It is a mental rehabilitation facility. Two, hospitals are not supposed to be nice, anyway. You go to hospitals to die, and you aren't dying.” Pinkie's muzzle scrunches. “Wow, that's dark.” “Its the truth. Now sit still and stay quiet so I can get this letter out.” Tempest and Pinkie Pie stare at each other for a few seconds before the Element retreats to the kitchen, and the former Commander watches her until said pink ball of fluff digs into the pie pan. With Pinkie Pie distracted, Tempest shakes her head and resumes writing. Dear Twilight Sparkle, I got your letter (and the fifty three others) and I am writing to inform you that I have Pinkie Pie with me at San Palomino. The address is- CLA-SPLAT! Tempest shrieks and reels back, tripping over herself in the process as the inkwell flies off of the table, splashing her note and her orchid fur in ink. The little well rolls off the table and clatters to the floor, where it rolls for a few feet before falling over, leaving a trail of black streaks. On the table, the black liquid drips off the edge like a drying waterfall while the rest spreads on the top, consuming the paper, the pen and the mail tube. As for Tempest, the ink is all over her barrel and face and hoof, and with eyes wide and body shaking, she looks at the inkwell and sees the cherry pie pan flattened with crumbs and cherry sauce still covering it. She then looks at her hoofs and barrel and sees the blackness all over her body, which took forever in a day to groom for her preparations of ruining that wedding. All that hard work to look presentable, all that hard work to look somewhat pleasant, all the hours she took to get the hotel room cleaned, ruined by a pie pan. “Oh darn, that really sucks,” says Pinkie Pie. Tempest closes her eyes and inhales slowly, and then she exhales just as slowly and a ball of light blue energy crackles at the nub that is her horn. “Oh... Uh... Are you okay?” asks Pinkie Pie. “I'm going to count to three. You better start running because I'm going to hurt you,” says Tempest. “We don't have to get violent. I mean, it was just a joke.” “One.” “What if I helped you clean up?” “Two.” “You aren't really going to hurt me, are you?” “Three.” Tempest opens her eyes and stands up, eye twitching, horn sparking bright and muscles tense, and she stomps towards Pinkie Pie, who is now peeking behind the counter, ears drooped and eyes wide. “Time's up,” says Tempest. Before Tempest can zap Pinkie Pie, the door opens and along comes Grubber's voice and steps. “Hey, I'm back. They didn't have any bat soup, but I did get you a monster hayburger with horseshoe rings,” says Grubber. “Also, low carb like you... like... Whoa...” Tempest snaps to Grubber and sees him staring at the ink mess, holding a large plastic bag with a smiling mustache star and carrying a tray of three drinks. Her eyes zero in on the three large drinks, and then she looks at the bag and sees three outlines of boxes, and she slowly lifts her eyes to Grubber. “Grubber,” says Tempest. “Yeah?” says her companion. ''Did you know about her coming?” Grubber looks past Tempest, and after Pinkie Pie waves to him he looks at the handicapped unicorn and flashes a nervous smile. “Maybe... But I got you a low carb monster hayburger, so we're good right?” says Grubber. Tempest's horn fizzles out, and in a state of no emotion, she gathers her armor and jumpsuit, walks to the bathroom, locks the door and turns on the bath. Hot water gushes out, splashing all over the tub, gurgling and sputtering, and Tempest puts her suit on top of the toilet. She then lays in the tub, letting the hot water beat against her, breaking down the stiff muscles and weakening the ink all over her. When the steaming hot water is up to her shoulders she shuts off the faucet, closes her eyes and rests her head against the tub's incline, where the water is slowly polluted with a dark gray fog, and she hopes all of the noise outside will soon fade so she can have a moment of peace. Pinkie Pie stares at the bathroom door, eyes wide and unblinking, and Grubber pulls out a fat hot dog, dripping with mustard, chili, cheese and onion. “That went South fast,” says Pinkie Pie. “You did throw a pie pan at her and covered her in ink,” says Grubber, now pouring a large order of fries on a plate. “That was a joke! I thought she would take it better than that.” Grubber removes another burger from a box and puts it and a large order of fries on another plate. “And I thought she would be happy to see me, too. I thought we were friends. Or kinda friends,” says Pinkie Pie. Grubber slides the plate to her. “Thank you,” says Pinkie Pie. “No problem,” says Grubber, grabbing a handful of fries from his plate. “Look, I've been with Tempest for a very long time. I know her better than anybody! If there is one thing I know about her, it is that she is a mare... And these fries are cold.” Pinkie Pie raises a brow. “Really? All you got out of everything you did together was her gender?” “Not what I mean. What I mean is that she's got two sides to her. She's got her Tempest side and her Fizzlepop side. Fizzlepop comes out when her guard is down and O-M-F it is funny... Just like these fries being cold even though I waited twenty minutes! Only, Tempestpop is actually ha-ha funny but these fries are sarcastic funny.” “I kinda figured.” “It's just... Taste the fries! They are cold!” Pinkie Pie licks up one of the fries on her plate and slowly chews it. They are definitely old. If she did not know any better, she would guess that the stale, crunchy potato slices have been redunked in hot oil a few times before sitting out for a while. “This is ridiculous,” says Grubber. He stands up and grabs the receipt. “I'm getting a refund! Nobody gives me cold fries! Nobody!” Pinkie Pie holds up her hoof, but before she can formulate a sentence, Grubber has stormed out of the hotel and slammed the door shut, leaving Pinkie Pie alone in the room. So now her only company is the ceiling fan and her hayburger. Sighing, she takes a bite of her burger and chews in silence. In the bathroom, Tempest Shadow keeps her eyes closed, with her head partially submerged in the grayed water. The hot water has cooled down some at this point, but not to the point where it is luke warm. It is still hot, but at a comfortable level, and with her head tilted, the hot water rubs against the inside of her ear and brushes against her nose and lips. But despite the hindrance of the water in her ear, she can still hear the conversation outside. “That went South fast,” says Pinkie Pie. “You did throw a pie pan at her and covered her in ink,” says Grubber. “That was a joke! I thought she would take it better than that. And I thought she would be happy to see me, too. I thought we were friends. Or kinda friends.” Tempest's eyes open and she lifts her head to look at the door with one of her eyes covered by her soaked mane. “Thank you,” says Pinkie Pie. “No problem,” says Grubber. “Look, I've been with Tempest for a very long time. I know her better than anybody! If there is one thing I know about her, it is that she is a mare... And these fries are cold.” Tempest rests her head on the tub's edge and stares at her armor. “Really? All you got out of everything you did together was her gender?” says Pinkie Pie. “Not what I mean,” says Grubber. “What I mean is that she's got two sides to her. She's got her Tempest side and her Fizzlepop side. Fizzlepop comes out when her guard is down and O-M-F it is funny...” Tempest's eyes mist over and she shifts in the water, splashing some of it on to the tile. “Just like these fries being cold even though I waited twenty minutes! Only, Tempestpop is actually ha-ha funny but these fries are sarcastic funny,” says Grubber. “I kinda figured,” says Pinkie Pie. “It's just... Taste the fries! They are cold! This is ridiculous. I'm getting a refund! Nobody gives me cold fries! Nobody!” Next thing Tempest hears is Grubber storming out and slamming the door shut. There is silence after that, and she closes her eyes and drifts into the dark. With nothing but an endless black void, the sounds of the real world fade away, until all that is left is silence. A dark, comfortable silence where there no troubles, no disappointments, no unfulfilled dreams or a life too far to change. Just a blank canvas for her to enjoy. Then a ball bounces past her, glowing faintly in the void, and rolls into a boarded up cavewith water flowing out of it. Tempest stares at the cave entrance, muscles too stiff to move, and the ball's glow is just a dot in the water filling the rocky mouth. Her throat becomes tight and she inspects herself, seeing that the water is covering her hoofs and she is without her armor. She backs up, her legs trembling and eyes watering from lack of air, but when she looks up she sees the cave is right in front of her and the water is now up to her knees. Tempest tries to back up, but she goes nowhere. Her hoofs move, but all it does is bring the cave closer and closer, and Tempest shakes her head, tears flowing and horn sparking. Then a large, watery paw shoots out from the cave and slashes Tempest's face. She screams and- Scrambles out of the tub, hyperventilating with thick streams of water pouring off her body and splashing to the floor. Her eyes are red and wet and her mane hangs over her face. Her knees can barely hold her up and she keels over, coughing out globs of water and wheezing for air. She collapses on the floor, still coughing and wheezing and eyes too fogged up to see anything. As she lays there, trying to quell the burning in her lungs and get air back into her, the door is forced open and Pinkie Pie rushes in. “Fizzles!” says Pinkie Pie. “Fizzles, are you okay?” “I'm fine,” wheezes Tempest. “I'm fine... Thank you.” Pinkie Pie pulls Tempest in and hugs her tight, forcing her to partially stand and squeeze out what little air she reclaimed. “Thank goodness for that!” says Pinkie Pie. “You were quiet for so long and then next thing I knew there was a commotion and the door was locked and I had to break it open and you were soaked and coughing out water and on the floor and I was thinking the worst! Like, CPR worst. Which would have sucked because I failed the CPR course like five times. But don't worry sixth time was the barely passing charm.” Tempest looks at the door, which is barely hanging on its hinges, and then she pries Pinkie Pie off of her. “I didn't need to know the last part.” Pinkie Pie pulls off a towel from the rack and begins rubbing Tempest's mane, which honestly feels good for her and her scalp. It is like a head massage. Not that she will ever admit to it. “But in all seriousness, are you okay? Like, okay-okay? Or are you just saying that so I wouldn't worry?” says Pinkie Pie. “I already said I was fine,” says Tempest. Pinkie Pie moves down Tempest's neck, the combination of hoof-work and the soft towel doing miracles for alleviating the new tension. “If you say so... By the way, if you want to get Twilight over here, I fully understand,” says Pinkie Pie, now moving down the unicorn's spine. “She must be worried sick about me.” Tempest sighs. “That won't be necessary. You still have to go back, but you did come all this way to see me and kicked open a door to see if I was alright.” “You would do the same for me... I hope.” Tempest smirks. “I would. I would do it for Twilight, too. Not so much your other friends.” “Don't be like that. They would storm a castle for you.” “Can Fluttershy even see a shadow without freaking out?” Pinkie Pie wraps Tempest's tail with the towel and points at her. “Hey, don't underestimate Fluttershy. She will mess you up if you push her far enough.” Tempest rolls her eyes. “I'll pretend to believe you.” “That answer will do for now.” Pinkie Pie lays next to Tempest and looks into her eyes. “By the way, you said I had to go back, but you aren't messaging Twilight, so what's the deal?” “The deal is that I will take you back to Ponyville. If the shrinks aren't working then maybe your friends can help you. Besides, Twilight has been bugging me with her stupid letters, anyway, so maybe if I tell her face-to-face to only write to me when its important she will do that.” Pinkie Pie grins. “I like the way you think. When are we leaving?” “As soon as Grubber gets back.” Pinkie Pie's grin drops. “Oh... That's kinda fast.” The hotel door opens and slams shut. “Guess who's back with hot fries and a pie!” says Grubber. “Really fast,” adds Pinkie Pie. “And the pie is cold!” cries Grubber. Tempest smirks. “Time to pack up.” Author's Note Cold fries are the best. Grubber is just a hater. No Ticket For You!“Welcome to the San Palomino Postal Service. How can I help you today?” says a unicorn stallion with a large, very much fake smile with a name tag that says “Postal”. Despite the massive fan blowing on him, sweat still manages to darken his gray shirt, flatten his light red mane and give his powder blue coat a shine. His eyes also seem to have a habit of hopping between Tempest's broken horn and her armor. “My eyes are right here,” says Tempest, her hoof pointed at the eye that does not have a hideous scar over it. Postal's eyes snap to hers, and he quickly apologizes while shifting nervously behind his counter, which has a list of prices displayed underneath a pane of glass in need of cleaning. “That is a nice costume. Is there a convention?” asks Postal. Tempest's lips curl into a deep frown, thus bringing the stallion to force out a chuckle. “Sorry... Um... Hi! Welcome to the San Palomino Postal Service! How can I help you?” Tempest taps a square on the price chart, labeled as Letter Assistance. “I need you to send an express letter to Twilight Sparkle. 4242 Sparkle Lane, Ponyville, postal code 21021.” Postal levitates a pen and paper to the counter. “Fan mail?” “No. The letter is: Twilight, this is Tempest. I have Pinkie Pie. I'm bringing her back and I'm plugging your mail tube because you keep sending me pointless letters. I'll see you in a few days. P.S. Tell Rarity I love the dress.” After Postal writes the letter he rolls it up, seals it with a stamp, writes the address on a card, which he then uses his magic to attach it to a rubber band and wraps it around the scroll. Once that is done, he goes to a device behind him that resembles a furnace holding green flame with a series of dials placed in even increments. He sets one of the dials to the Ponyville seal and the green flame grows in size. He then tosses the scroll inside, and a sparkling flare erupts and the scroll's ashes is sucked up the chimney. “That'll be twenty bits,” says Postal. Tempest looks at Postal, then at the price beneath the glass, then at Postal again, only this time her eyes are narrowed. “I want to speak to your manager.” Pinkie Pie lays in the grass, under the shade of a tree with Grubber by her side. Up top, legs and tails dangle from a flock of pegasi that are using the branches as makeshift beds, with many of them partially concealed by the cool, green leafs. For the life of her, Pinkie Pie can't understand how anybody can find a branch comfortable, especially since every time she tried it she always got a serious pain in the ribs after spending forever finding a balance or fell off the tree, which in turn led to a pain in the back. After the thirtieth failure of sleeping on a branch, Pinkie has found that she likes laying on the ground a whole lot better. It is comfortable, won't snap, and she has a less than one percent chance of falling off. As Pinkie enjoys the softness of the grass, her tongue rolls out of her mouth when her maw opens wide for a yawn, and then she scratches her ear with her hind hoof as she eyes the San Palomino Postal Service building. The building is made of tan brick and a red tinseled roof with the only legal way in being a simple door. On the roof there is a balcony that has carts designed for pegasi, but as tempting as it is to use it to sneak in and see what is holding up Tempest, she does not feel like getting arrested again. “What's taking her so long?” says Pinkie Pie. “She's probably arguing with a manager about prices again,” says Grubber. “Does she do that often?” “Every. Single. Time.” The door to the Postal Service flies open and Tempest trots out with a smug smile on her face and a light hop in her steps. When she reaches the two, Pinkie Pie stands up and raises her backside and stretching her front end forward, smiling when there is a very satisfying pop that leaves her with a temporary sense of weightlessness. “What took you so long?” asks Pinkie Pie, now standing normally. “They tried to rip me off,” says Tempest. “But I won.” “Won?” “Instead of paying twenty bits for delivery I only paid ten.” “Jeeze, what did you mail? A cake?” “A hoof.” Pinkie's colors pale and her eye twitches, and Tempest snickers and rubs her sweaty head. “Relax. It was a joke,” says Tempest. “There are better ways to get rid of unwanted parts than by mail. But now that the mail is sent, we have a train to catch.” Tempest resumes walking, keeping her steps light, and Pinkie Pie and Grubber walk after her. As they walk, Pinkie Pie notices that some of the locals stare at Tempest's armor (having to crane their necks to take in her size, too), but whether or not Tempest notices or cares is something she is not sure about. “You have a really demented sense of humor, you know that, right?” says Pinkie Pie, keeping pace and nearly rubbing her body against the unicorn, choosing to ignore the stares and the heat radiating from the armor. “You can thank the Storm King for that,” says Grubber, taking the other side of Tempest. “She used to be a total dweeb with the edgy emo gal thing, which included the personality of a rotting tomato. But being around him really gave her a bizarre sense of humor and a personality to go with it.” “That's enough, Grubber,” says Tempest. “Really? Fizzles was an emo? No way!” snickers Pinkie Pie. Grubber chuckles. “Not lying. I swear on my mom's secret pie recipe. The funny thing is, when Tempest joined the Storm King's army she was this scrawny filly who walked around with a scowl, trying to be tough and intimidating, but it never worked because we just laughed at her.” Tempest's ears flatten against her skull. “That's enough. Grubber.” “We called her Madam McFrowny and Maddy the Moody Munchkin behind her back,” continues Grubber. “Ooooh, Moody Munchkin. I love it!” says Pinkie Pie. She leans against Tempest and scratches underneath her chin. “Who's a little Moody Munchkin? You are! Oh, yes you are!” Tempest bats Pinkie's hoof away, and Pinkie Pie laughs it off, but looks away to conceal her biting her lip and blinking tears out of her eyes caused from the painful throbbing. As this happens, Grubber keeps talking. “Then one day we filled her sleeping bag with mustard and oh man, talk about a fight! I mean, she still lost, but-” A sharp blue bolt of energy zaps Grubber, causing the pudgy hedgehog to yelp and flop on the ground with smoke rising from his twitching body. This brings Pinkie Pie and surrounding crowd to stop and gasp as Tempest's broken horn dims and releases thin blue smoke. Grubber coughs out a ring of smoke. “Ow~ Sorry...” “And now we're going to play the quiet game,” says Tempest. “First one to speak owes me twenty bits.” Before the two have a chance to object, Tempest walks ahead with great speed, and in the spirit of friendship and pity, Pinkie Pie puts Grubber on her back and silently trots after the unicorn. She flashes an apologetic smile at the crowd, but that does nothing to alleviate the shocked looks, so she picks up the pace until she is by Tempest's side and doesn't look back. As the trio walks in silence, Pinkie Pie glances at Tempest, trying to see if there is anything besides annoyance. Unfortunately she cannot see anything beyond that, so she averts her eyes to the road, eyes snapping to every stall, every tent, every vendor for anything she can use to cheer up Tempest without losing the game. Said game is becoming increasingly more difficult for her, too. With each passing minute and disappointing point of sales, the pressure in her throat builds. Pinkie Pie really wants to apologize for the Moody Munchkin thing, but Tempest does is not in the mood to be hearing anybody, so if she speaks now it will surely sour the situation further. That, and she will lose the game. But losing the game is not nearly as bad as seeing Tempest mad. Which if she loses the game then she will make Tempest mad since it is a quiet game that she is adamant that is played, so it will be a double loss and double losses suck! With that in mind, Pinkie stays quiet and the group keeps walking silence for another ten minutes before they come across a station with towering tan walls, a pair of stained glass murals depicting a rising sun and moon over a desert, and a rounded entrance with San Palomino Central Station arching over it. Ponies walk in and out, as well as the occasional zebra and one griffon family wearing umbrella hats. When the group enters a wall of cold air blows off the sweat and brings a shiver through Pinkie Pie, but Tempest does not seem to be effected by this while Grubber appears relieved to be feeling something other than soul cooking heat. The group weaves their way through the crowd, careful to avoid bumping into tourists, luggage, baby carriages and the station staff. As they go through the crowd, Pinkie Pie notices Tempest's steps slowing and her ears swiveling as her eyes scan the area. The Element also searches the area to see what is aggravating Tempest, but does not see anything out of the ordinary. A dozen tourists here, a bratty kid there; a couple of guards wearing security hats eating donuts here, a band of smelly ponies wearing rainbow ponchos playing guitars and singing something there. Nothing serious. But looking back at Tempest she clearly sees her steps becoming heavier and her hardened eyes shifting over the scenery at a faster speed. When they reach a square of benches surrounding a block shaped pillar with a clock on each side, Tempest holds out her hoof and her eyes lock on to a service area with polished wood, a gated window and an illuminated sign reading: TICKETS. “Wait here,” orders Tempest. Pinkie Pie and Grubber nod, and Tempest heads straight towards the ticket area. Once she is far enough away, Pinkie Pie exhales and slumps on the bench. “I got a feeling she's mad,” says Pinkie Pie. “She'll be fine. She's just in one of her moods again,” says Grubber. He digs into his bag and pulls out a plastic bag with a blob of yellow crumbs and white powder inside. “Sponge cake?” Pinkie Pie looks at the bag, and after a brief second of though she shrugs, lays on her back and opens her mouth wide. Grubber proceeds to dump the crumbs and powdered sugar in her mouth, and that is when the stale crumbs and hard sugar assault her taste buds. She coughs and sputters out the stale crumbs and rolls on her hoofs, hacking and wheezing. After catching her breath and scratching her tongue against her teeth she glares at Grubber, who is now back to digging into his bag. “That was old!” says Pinkie Pie. “I had to get rid of it somehow,” says Grubber. “There was a trash can right there!” Pinkie Pie's hoof snaps to an old can over flowing with garbage, but Grubber just shrugs and pulls out a candy bar. “Yeah, but you were closer.” Grubber unwraps the bar and holds to her nose a chocolate bar covered in nuts of various colors and sizes. “Nutjoy?” Pinkie Pie scrunches her muzzle. “No.” Grubber shrugs and takes a big bite out of it. “Your loss.” Tempest looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes when she sees Pinkie Pie coughing up a mess by the bench. Some passerbys are visibly repulsed by this and turn the opposite way. Except for a griffin who has decided that taking a picture of a pony coughing up old sponge cake is worthy of a photo album. Tempest looks ahead, her ears twitching with the constant buzz of activity, from the laughter, to the yelling, the clanking, the squeaking, dings and dongs, and words barely understood over the intercom. When she reaches the ticket booth the line is thankfully small, so she does not need to wait long, and when she gets to the window she is greeted by a neon green unicorn stallion with a tri-colored mane of orange, blue and black. His gray uniform also labels him as “Ticket Price”, and Tempest is grateful she only has to see him once since his very appearance is sore on her eyes. “Three tickets to Ponyville,” says Tempest. “No can do,” says Ticket Price. Tempest raises a brow. “Why?” “A pack of mole bears dug a bunch of tunnels underneath the tracks leading to Ponyville creating a massive sink hole that has destroyed the tracks, so we cannot give an accurate estimate on how long the delay will be, therefore all sales to Ponyville have been suspended until further notice. However, we are offering a discount on tickets to the Mysterious South, Macintosh Hills, and South Luna Ocean Resort.” “No. How much for a ticket to Las Pegasus?” “We don't go there.” “Appleloosa?” “Nope.”' “Ghastly Gorge?” “Nu huh.” “Saint Sunshine?” “No bueno.” “Where can you go?” “Southern Plantations in Mysterious South; Woodtown in Macintosh Hills; and the South Luna Ocean Resort in the South Luna Bay. Which, I would recommend you take that one since you look like you need a resort.” Tempest growls and places her hoofs on the counter. “Those are all the opposite direction of where I need to go!” Behind her, someone groans and mutters for her to hurry up, but she ignores them. If they complain again she can always kick respect into them. “Well, the tracks you want are broken,” says Ticket Price. “Just use magic to fix it! I have somewhere to be!” says Tempest. “Ma'am, you can survive missing one convention.” Tempest narrows her eyes, and the stallion's snark melts to worry and his eyes shift as a bead of sweat rolls down his face. “Get me your manager,” orders Tempest. “I am the manager,” says Ticket Price meekly. “You? The manager?” Ticket Price nods and Tempest rubs her temple, exhaling and horn sparking. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the pair of security guards eating donuts approaching her, and while she knows she can beat them all into submission she does not want to spend time in jail. Especially since she is supposed to be delivering a very mentally unhealthy Element to a safe place. “Forget it. You're worthless,” says Tempest. “Enjoy your box, maggot.” Tempest storms away from the ticket booth before the guards can reach her, grumbling to herself and not paying any attention to the harsh stares she is receiving from the line that formed behind her. She quickly weaves her way through the crowd and goes to the bench where Pinkie Pie and Grubber are sitting, which she is pleasantly surprised to see they actually stayed put. “I spy with my little eyes something... brown,” says Pinkie Pie. “The wall?” says Grubber. “Nope.” “The floor?” “Nope.” “The smog?” “Nope.” Tempest stops in front of them. “The counter?” asks Grubber. “Nope,” says Pinkie Pie. “I give up.” “Fizzele's saddlebag.” Grubber frowns, and Tempest waves them up, glancing over her should to see the guards still watching her. “Get up. The tracks are busted so we're walking,” says Tempest. “Why not rent a taxi wagon?” asks Grubber. “And spend more money in mileage fees than a train ticket? No. We're walking and that's final.” Pinkie Pie gasps and hops off the bench. “You mean we're actually going to go on a long stroll and enjoy some sights? Awesome!” The trio walk towards the exit, and Pinkie Pie digs into her saddle, tosses a rolled up map in the air, grabs it with her hair and lets it unroll in front of her face so she can see the X's and lines all over it. This brings out a confused sneer from Grubber, but Tempest ignores this. It is far more tame than the junk the Element pulled when they had their night together. “I got some destinations we can see. Casinos, landmarks, restaurants, dance clubs, oh! Souvenirs and theme parks!” says Pinkie Pie. Tempest rolls her eyes while Pinkie Pie moves the map away from her face and grins at the ex-Commander. “Las Pegasus Wonderland has the Tunnel of Love,” says Pinkie Pie with lidded eyes. “You owe me twenty bits,” says Tempest. “What!?” Tempest holds out her hoof. “You lost the quiet game. Pay up.” Pinkie Pie offers a sheepish smile. “Uh, yeah. About that. I'm sorta broke.” Tempest drops her hoof. “Then how did you get out here?” “Sheer willpower and a lot of burnt calories.” Tempest sighs. “I'm going to pretend you said something else.” “Neat! Now if my map is correct then the closest stop is... Well, what do you know... Las Pegasus.” Tempest nods slowly. “Hmm. Too bad you're broke. We could have hit some casinos or gone into that Tunnel of Love you mentioned.” Pinkie Pie giggles. “Yeah... Wait, what?” Tempest smirks and trots ahead. “Keep up the pace. I'm already behind schedule.” Pinkie Pie stands still, her eyes blank and the cogs in her brain jamming from a wrench. She only regains motor function when Grubber pats her on the side and jogs ahead, and even then it takes her a few seconds for her legs to actually propel her forward. “Fizzles, wait!” hollers Pinkie Pie. “We can always go to a bank! I got notes I can turn in! We can have money!” Author's Note Honestly, I forgot this chapter was even finished.
A Pie in a HeatwaveIn a brightly lit cathedral, a young couple stands underneath a stained glass display of Celestia and Luna circling around a sun and moon overlapping each other. The light from outside shines through, bathing them in a soft glow of white, blue, yellow and other light colors. Above the couple is an arch made of white wood, wrapped in a rainbow of flowers, and next to them, on a slightly elevated platform is a wooden podium with the sun engraved in gold. It is being occupied by an older stallion wearing a white robe with a gold collar and a sun necklace hanging from his neck. The groom, wearing a simple black tuxedo, smiles at the bride, who is wearing a flowing white dress with silver flowers and vines stitched to it. “I can't believe this is finally happening,” says the bride. “Me neither,” says the groom. “Are you ready for the ceremony?” asks the priest. The bride giggles and prances in place. “Yesyesyes!” The groom nods. “I've been ready since I first met her.” The priest smiles, his old heart warming from the scene of love before him, and he opens a thick book to a bookmarked section. He takes a moment to let the two lovebirds to stare into each others eyes, then begins the timeless ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we come together in this day of matrimony to celebrate the new union between-” FLASH! The priest blinks, and the young couple smiles awkwardly at a photographer that has taken a seat on the front row. She is tall earth pony mare with an orchid coat and cherry colored tail, wearing a vest full of camera rolls, a camera contraption hanging off of her shoulders, baseball cap for the Coltorado Mountaineers as well as dark sunglasses, and she is chewing gum like a grazing cow. The priest clears his throat and looks at his book again. “We celebrate this new union-” FLASH! FLASH! The trio glares at the photographer, and she waves for them to continue. “Don't mind me,” says the photographer. “Yes, well...” says the priest slowly. “We come here today to celebrate this union between stallion and mare, who, against all odds, overcame their trails and-” FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! The priest slams his hoofs on the book. “Okay, cut that out!” “If you didn't want pictures you shouldn't've hired a photographer,” says the photographer. “You're not even the right one!” says the bride. “Yeah, where's the one we hired?” says the groom. “Ate some bad food. I'm filling in for her,” says the photographer. “Can you at least turn the flash off?” says the priest. “Sure. Yeah.” “Thank you.” The photographer adjusts her camera, shifts her position, inflates her bubblegum until it is a big, pink ball that pops against her muzzle. The trio grimace as she licks the sticky candy off of her lips and nose and starts chewing again. When she motions them to continue, they hold their glare on her for a few more seconds before putting their attention back on each other, putting on the best fake smiles they can. “So, anyway~” says the priest, casting one last look at the photographer. “We're here to celebrate a special day.” Click.... Clickclick... Click...clickclcickclcickclick.... “We're here for a wedding and it is very nice-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “These two obviously love each other-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “And are going to get married, have lots of kids and-” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick “Call security on the worst photographer in history!” Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick Click.... Click... Click... Click. The photographer stops pushing her button and stares at the main trio. All three are red faced and trembling, with their ears folded against their skulls, the broom's eye twitching and the bride grinding her teeth. She then looks around at the filled cathedral, which is now a void of silence and angry eyes. “What? None of you have ever seen a photographer before?” she says. A few minutes later, Tempest Shadow trots out the back door of the cathedral and tosses the hat, vest, and empty camera contraption into the back of a wagon where a drooling mare lays on her back, snoring and kicking her leg. Next to the mare is an empty container for Taco Hut, and Tempest smirks and pats the sleeping mare's hoof. “Thanks for the getup,” she says. She then goes down the street, baking alive in the sunlight, passing a sidewalk band playing guitars and singing in Spanish in the comfort of a tent, some vendors under more tents selling colorful pinatas, wooden skeletons, and corn covered in mayonnaise and flavored salt among other snacks. Her destination, which she reaches rather quickly, is a double storied sand colored building with arches and lanterns along its a perimeter and clay tiles on its roof. It is a bit too fancy for her taste, but she is not complaining. The price is fair and is quite humble compared to Twilight's abomination of architecture. Upon entering the hotel, a bell dings and a rush of cool air brushes against her hot body, pushing off the sweat that has traced the muscles of her body. It feels nice. Wonderful, in fact, but she will never admit that. She has an image to keep up, and that image is a stone faced veteran of countless battles who loathes any and all forms of comfort. Even if the comfort is in the form of cool air or a good looking stud who offered her a drink only for it to not be because of attraction but because of a stupid dare that ended with him getting his face slammed into the table and her and Grubber having to high tail it out of the town lest they wanted to expand the fight to the whole pub and possibly end up in a dungeon. Tempest shakes her head. 'And there I go again, wandering in thought.' She makes her way up to the second floor, ignoring the pleasant greeting in French from an old hag of a pony who looks like wrinkled skin tossed on broom handles, and she quietly enters her hotel room. A fan blows, a radio is broadcasting the weather, and sitting on the bed, reading a Watchponies-Powerponies crossover comic, is Grubber without his armor and a thawed out bag of frozen beans on his head. “So, the low for tomorrow -like today- is going to be 113 degrees and the high is going to be 115,” says a stallion over the radio. “Why the heat? I don't know. You will have to ask our neighborhood pegasi! They know all about the weather and why it is so dang hot!” “Chill out, Map,” says another stallion. “No, you chill out! All of you chill out! I'm done with this place! I quit!” Tempest turns off the radio and goes to a small kitchen that is spotless from the ceiling down to the tiny corners, and there she rummages through the sparkling fridge, happy to see some refrigerated water left, as well as half a pan of cherry pie. But the pie she will save for later. Now is time for hydration! “Any mail?” asks Tempest. Grubber points at the enchanted tube Twilight gave to them on the day of their departure, which is sitting on the nightstand next to the only bed in the room. “Twilight mailed you,” says Grubber. “About what?” asks Tempest while pouring herself a glass of water. “I'm allowed to read your mail?” Tempest rolls her eyes and after taking a gulp of the crisp, cold water she has a look at the rolled up parchment sealed with a wax stamp of the Princess of Friendship's cutie mark. She stares at it for a moment, pondering what it could be about. Mushy friendship stuff? Danger? Lunch invitation? Ghost hunting? Tickets to a wrestling match? The missing tickets to the National Waifu Convention that mysteriously disappeared when Twilight had her friends do that IQ test? So many possibilities. Though, if there is one thing Tempest has learned about Twilight, it is that she likes to waste time with pointless letters and has no idea what a hint is. Especially when that hint has been not replying to a single shred of mail ever since she left Ponyville. But, nonetheless, Tempest still carefully unrolls it using her teeth and hoof and flattens it on the nightstand, just to see if the letter will be different. Dear Tempest Shadow, It's me (Twilight Sparkle) again. I'm just wondering how you are doing since you haven't written back after you left. I'm fine, by the way, and so are the other girls. Fluttershy made socks- “Whatever,” scoffs Tempest. She pushes the letter away, gathers her armor, and turns the metal plates and jumpsuit into a makeshift pillow for her to rest her head on when she lays on her back on the carpet, which has also been cleaned to the last dust bunny's demise. Such a feat only took eight hours of constant vacuuming and another eight of scrubbing, and another eight of vacuuming again. But it kept her busy and now she does not have to worry about a dirty room or sniffing up someone else's fur during her stay. “You really should return Twilight's messages,” says Grubber. “She keeps sending them and I think you're hurting her feelings by not replying.” “If I have something to say to her then I will,” says Tempest, eyeing the bland ceiling. “I thought you two were cool now. That means you write often, doesn't it?” “It means I'm not trying to capture or hurt her or her friends.” “Ohhh... Any mail for me?” Tempest sighs. “No, Grubber. There is no mail for you.” “Oh.” Grubber suddenly hops off the bed, grabs a white sun-umbrella with Celestia's cutie mark he bought from a vendor back in Canterlot and goes to the door. “I'm hungry. Want anything?” “Surprise me.” Grubber grins. “You sure?” With a hint of a smile, Tempest glances at her chubby hedgehog companion. “As long as there are no mushrooms.” “Got it!” Grubber then opens the door, flooding the room with a heatwave that dries out Tempest's eyes, and thankfully he closes the door rather quickly, leaving Tempest alone in the room to stare at the ceiling, the weight of the heat dragging her eyes down. Her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open! And her eyes drift shut. And then they open!And her eyes drift shut... And stay shut. They shut and keep her in the sweet, comfortable darkness. Tempest rolls on her stomach, digs her hoofs and face into her pile of metal plates and sturdy fabric, enjoying the warmth of the sunbeam on her back and the carpet to cool her stomach. It really is a comfortable position, and just as she is entering the dream of bells and flowers, an acoustic guitar shatters the dream and her baggy, bloodshot eyes snap open. Then someone starts singing and her ears perk up as she glares at the door, muzzle scrunched and a growl rumbling in her throat. “Give a little bit... Give a little bit of your love to me I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my love to you~ There's so much we need to share So send a smile and show you care~” Tempest stomps towards the door, ears folded, nostrils flaring and eye twitching as very unkind words try to push their way out of her mouth. “Alright, alright~ I'll give a little bit... I'll give a little bit of my life for you~ So give a little bit... Oh, give a little bit of your time to me~ See the mare with the lonely eyes Oh, take her hoof, you'll be surprised~” Tempest yanks opens the door, and as quickly as the door opened her scowl switches to wide eyed shock with ears perked high when a familiar pony runs her hoof along the acoustic guitar for a long, drawn out twang. When the melody of strings fades, the pony lifts up her blue eyes and grins brightly while returning the guitar to a sweaty, mustachio stallion wearing a colorful sombrero. “Gooooooood afternoon, Fizzles!” says Pinkie Pie. “What. The. Buck.”
Cold Fries and Hot BathsDear Tempest Shadow, It's me (Twilight Sparkle) again. I'm just wondering how you are doing since you haven't written back after you left. I'm fine, by the way, and so are the other girls. Fluttershy made socks that I think you will like. They are dark and broody in design, but comfortable. Applejack finally decided to hire more ponies for her orchard; Rainbow Dash is going on a six month tour with the Wonderbolts; Rarity's boutiques are doing well and she is thinking of opening up another one in Las Pegasus; and me? Well, I said I was doing fine, but that is not entirely true. I am actually on the verge of a panic attack since I found out that Pinkie Pie escaped the Canterlot Institute of Psychology. Security found blankets and sheets tied to a rope that went out the window (she was on the fifth floor so there was no way she was able to get down), but that is not important. What is important is that her treatment isn't done, and I got a feeling that she went to find you, so if she does happen to cross your path, please let me know so I can pick her up. Sincerely, Twilight Sparkle P.S. Spike says “Hi” to Grubber. Tempest stares at the letter. Specifically the part where it says that Pinkie Pie escaped the Institute, and her baggy eyes slowly look at the pony in question. She is eating the last of the cherry pie out of the pan and meeting her expression with an innocent look, cheeks puffed and crumbs clinging to her face. “You got a lot of explaining to do,” says Tempest. Pinkie Pie swallows. “About what?” “Don't play dumb.” The glow in Pinkie's eyes dim. “You aren't happy to see me?” Tempest rubs her face, groaning. “Don't dodge the problem. Just explain why you thought it would be a good idea to escape the Institute and travel almost a thousand miles to get to me. How did you even know where I was?” “I have my ways.” “Uh huh. And the mental ward?” “They were a bunch of jerks, so I left.” Tempest shakes her head and goes to her saddle. There, she rummages around until she pulls out a roll of parchment, a sealed inkwell and a pen. With careful use of her magic she flattens the paper, unseals the inkwell and dips her pen in the black liquid. Seeing this, Pinkie's ears perk and she hops across the bed and lands next to Tempest, peering over her shoulder. “What'cha doing?” asks Pinkie Pie. Tempest gently pushes Pinkie Pie back. “I'm letting Twilight know that you're here so she can pick you up and put you back.” “Don't do that!” “Give me a good reason why I shouldn't,” says Tempest, now writing with slow strokes. But even then the quill pen still wobbles, making what should have been eloquent strokes shaky, much to her annoyance. “That place was a prison!” says Pinkie Pie. “Twilight doesn't know what it's like in there! She thinks its a hospital, but it is a mean, evil place with bad energy.” Tempest sighs and puts down her pen to look at the Element. “One, its not a hospital. It is a mental rehabilitation facility. Two, hospitals are not supposed to be nice, anyway. You go to hospitals to die, and you aren't dying.” Pinkie's muzzle scrunches. “Wow, that's dark.” “Its the truth. Now sit still and stay quiet so I can get this letter out.” Tempest and Pinkie Pie stare at each other for a few seconds before the Element retreats to the kitchen, and the former Commander watches her until said pink ball of fluff digs into the pie pan. With Pinkie Pie distracted, Tempest shakes her head and resumes writing. Dear Twilight Sparkle, I got your letter (and the fifty three others) and I am writing to inform you that I have Pinkie Pie with me at San Palomino. The address is- CLA-SPLAT! Tempest shrieks and reels back, tripping over herself in the process as the inkwell flies off of the table, splashing her note and her orchid fur in ink. The little well rolls off the table and clatters to the floor, where it rolls for a few feet before falling over, leaving a trail of black streaks. On the table, the black liquid drips off the edge like a drying waterfall while the rest spreads on the top, consuming the paper, the pen and the mail tube. As for Tempest, the ink is all over her barrel and face and hoof, and with eyes wide and body shaking, she looks at the inkwell and sees the cherry pie pan flattened with crumbs and cherry sauce still covering it. She then looks at her hoofs and barrel and sees the blackness all over her body, which took forever in a day to groom for her preparations of ruining that wedding. All that hard work to look presentable, all that hard work to look somewhat pleasant, all the hours she took to get the hotel room cleaned, ruined by a pie pan. “Oh darn, that really sucks,” says Pinkie Pie. Tempest closes her eyes and inhales slowly, and then she exhales just as slowly and a ball of light blue energy crackles at the nub that is her horn. “Oh... Uh... Are you okay?” asks Pinkie Pie. “I'm going to count to three. You better start running because I'm going to hurt you,” says Tempest. “We don't have to get violent. I mean, it was just a joke.” “One.” “What if I helped you clean up?” “Two.” “You aren't really going to hurt me, are you?” “Three.” Tempest opens her eyes and stands up, eye twitching, horn sparking bright and muscles tense, and she stomps towards Pinkie Pie, who is now peeking behind the counter, ears drooped and eyes wide. “Time's up,” says Tempest. Before Tempest can zap Pinkie Pie, the door opens and along comes Grubber's voice and steps. “Hey, I'm back. They didn't have any bat soup, but I did get you a monster hayburger with horseshoe rings,” says Grubber. “Also, low carb like you... like... Whoa...” Tempest snaps to Grubber and sees him staring at the ink mess, holding a large plastic bag with a smiling mustache star and carrying a tray of three drinks. Her eyes zero in on the three large drinks, and then she looks at the bag and sees three outlines of boxes, and she slowly lifts her eyes to Grubber. “Grubber,” says Tempest. “Yeah?” says her companion. ''Did you know about her coming?” Grubber looks past Tempest, and after Pinkie Pie waves to him he looks at the handicapped unicorn and flashes a nervous smile. “Maybe... But I got you a low carb monster hayburger, so we're good right?” says Grubber. Tempest's horn fizzles out, and in a state of no emotion, she gathers her armor and jumpsuit, walks to the bathroom, locks the door and turns on the bath. Hot water gushes out, splashing all over the tub, gurgling and sputtering, and Tempest puts her suit on top of the toilet. She then lays in the tub, letting the hot water beat against her, breaking down the stiff muscles and weakening the ink all over her. When the steaming hot water is up to her shoulders she shuts off the faucet, closes her eyes and rests her head against the tub's incline, where the water is slowly polluted with a dark gray fog, and she hopes all of the noise outside will soon fade so she can have a moment of peace. Pinkie Pie stares at the bathroom door, eyes wide and unblinking, and Grubber pulls out a fat hot dog, dripping with mustard, chili, cheese and onion. “That went South fast,” says Pinkie Pie. “You did throw a pie pan at her and covered her in ink,” says Grubber, now pouring a large order of fries on a plate. “That was a joke! I thought she would take it better than that.” Grubber removes another burger from a box and puts it and a large order of fries on another plate. “And I thought she would be happy to see me, too. I thought we were friends. Or kinda friends,” says Pinkie Pie. Grubber slides the plate to her. “Thank you,” says Pinkie Pie. “No problem,” says Grubber, grabbing a handful of fries from his plate. “Look, I've been with Tempest for a very long time. I know her better than anybody! If there is one thing I know about her, it is that she is a mare... And these fries are cold.” Pinkie Pie raises a brow. “Really? All you got out of everything you did together was her gender?” “Not what I mean. What I mean is that she's got two sides to her. She's got her Tempest side and her Fizzlepop side. Fizzlepop comes out when her guard is down and O-M-F it is funny... Just like these fries being cold even though I waited twenty minutes! Only, Tempestpop is actually ha-ha funny but these fries are sarcastic funny.” “I kinda figured.” “It's just... Taste the fries! They are cold!” Pinkie Pie licks up one of the fries on her plate and slowly chews it. They are definitely old. If she did not know any better, she would guess that the stale, crunchy potato slices have been redunked in hot oil a few times before sitting out for a while. “This is ridiculous,” says Grubber. He stands up and grabs the receipt. “I'm getting a refund! Nobody gives me cold fries! Nobody!” Pinkie Pie holds up her hoof, but before she can formulate a sentence, Grubber has stormed out of the hotel and slammed the door shut, leaving Pinkie Pie alone in the room. So now her only company is the ceiling fan and her hayburger. Sighing, she takes a bite of her burger and chews in silence. In the bathroom, Tempest Shadow keeps her eyes closed, with her head partially submerged in the grayed water. The hot water has cooled down some at this point, but not to the point where it is luke warm. It is still hot, but at a comfortable level, and with her head tilted, the hot water rubs against the inside of her ear and brushes against her nose and lips. But despite the hindrance of the water in her ear, she can still hear the conversation outside. “That went South fast,” says Pinkie Pie. “You did throw a pie pan at her and covered her in ink,” says Grubber. “That was a joke! I thought she would take it better than that. And I thought she would be happy to see me, too. I thought we were friends. Or kinda friends.” Tempest's eyes open and she lifts her head to look at the door with one of her eyes covered by her soaked mane. “Thank you,” says Pinkie Pie. “No problem,” says Grubber. “Look, I've been with Tempest for a very long time. I know her better than anybody! If there is one thing I know about her, it is that she is a mare... And these fries are cold.” Tempest rests her head on the tub's edge and stares at her armor. “Really? All you got out of everything you did together was her gender?” says Pinkie Pie. “Not what I mean,” says Grubber. “What I mean is that she's got two sides to her. She's got her Tempest side and her Fizzlepop side. Fizzlepop comes out when her guard is down and O-M-F it is funny...” Tempest's eyes mist over and she shifts in the water, splashing some of it on to the tile. “Just like these fries being cold even though I waited twenty minutes! Only, Tempestpop is actually ha-ha funny but these fries are sarcastic funny,” says Grubber. “I kinda figured,” says Pinkie Pie. “It's just... Taste the fries! They are cold! This is ridiculous. I'm getting a refund! Nobody gives me cold fries! Nobody!” Next thing Tempest hears is Grubber storming out and slamming the door shut. There is silence after that, and she closes her eyes and drifts into the dark. With nothing but an endless black void, the sounds of the real world fade away, until all that is left is silence. A dark, comfortable silence where there no troubles, no disappointments, no unfulfilled dreams or a life too far to change. Just a blank canvas for her to enjoy. Then a ball bounces past her, glowing faintly in the void, and rolls into a boarded up cavewith water flowing out of it. Tempest stares at the cave entrance, muscles too stiff to move, and the ball's glow is just a dot in the water filling the rocky mouth. Her throat becomes tight and she inspects herself, seeing that the water is covering her hoofs and she is without her armor. She backs up, her legs trembling and eyes watering from lack of air, but when she looks up she sees the cave is right in front of her and the water is now up to her knees. Tempest tries to back up, but she goes nowhere. Her hoofs move, but all it does is bring the cave closer and closer, and Tempest shakes her head, tears flowing and horn sparking. Then a large, watery paw shoots out from the cave and slashes Tempest's face. She screams and- Scrambles out of the tub, hyperventilating with thick streams of water pouring off her body and splashing to the floor. Her eyes are red and wet and her mane hangs over her face. Her knees can barely hold her up and she keels over, coughing out globs of water and wheezing for air. She collapses on the floor, still coughing and wheezing and eyes too fogged up to see anything. As she lays there, trying to quell the burning in her lungs and get air back into her, the door is forced open and Pinkie Pie rushes in. “Fizzles!” says Pinkie Pie. “Fizzles, are you okay?” “I'm fine,” wheezes Tempest. “I'm fine... Thank you.” Pinkie Pie pulls Tempest in and hugs her tight, forcing her to partially stand and squeeze out what little air she reclaimed. “Thank goodness for that!” says Pinkie Pie. “You were quiet for so long and then next thing I knew there was a commotion and the door was locked and I had to break it open and you were soaked and coughing out water and on the floor and I was thinking the worst! Like, CPR worst. Which would have sucked because I failed the CPR course like five times. But don't worry sixth time was the barely passing charm.” Tempest looks at the door, which is barely hanging on its hinges, and then she pries Pinkie Pie off of her. “I didn't need to know the last part.” Pinkie Pie pulls off a towel from the rack and begins rubbing Tempest's mane, which honestly feels good for her and her scalp. It is like a head massage. Not that she will ever admit to it. “But in all seriousness, are you okay? Like, okay-okay? Or are you just saying that so I wouldn't worry?” says Pinkie Pie. “I already said I was fine,” says Tempest. Pinkie Pie moves down Tempest's neck, the combination of hoof-work and the soft towel doing miracles for alleviating the new tension. “If you say so... By the way, if you want to get Twilight over here, I fully understand,” says Pinkie Pie, now moving down the unicorn's spine. “She must be worried sick about me.” Tempest sighs. “That won't be necessary. You still have to go back, but you did come all this way to see me and kicked open a door to see if I was alright.” “You would do the same for me... I hope.” Tempest smirks. “I would. I would do it for Twilight, too. Not so much your other friends.” “Don't be like that. They would storm a castle for you.” “Can Fluttershy even see a shadow without freaking out?” Pinkie Pie wraps Tempest's tail with the towel and points at her. “Hey, don't underestimate Fluttershy. She will mess you up if you push her far enough.” Tempest rolls her eyes. “I'll pretend to believe you.” “That answer will do for now.” Pinkie Pie lays next to Tempest and looks into her eyes. “By the way, you said I had to go back, but you aren't messaging Twilight, so what's the deal?” “The deal is that I will take you back to Ponyville. If the shrinks aren't working then maybe your friends can help you. Besides, Twilight has been bugging me with her stupid letters, anyway, so maybe if I tell her face-to-face to only write to me when its important she will do that.” Pinkie Pie grins. “I like the way you think. When are we leaving?” “As soon as Grubber gets back.” Pinkie Pie's grin drops. “Oh... That's kinda fast.” The hotel door opens and slams shut. “Guess who's back with hot fries and a pie!” says Grubber. “Really fast,” adds Pinkie Pie. “And the pie is cold!” cries Grubber. Tempest smirks. “Time to pack up.” Author's Note Cold fries are the best. Grubber is just a hater.
No Ticket For You!“Welcome to the San Palomino Postal Service. How can I help you today?” says a unicorn stallion with a large, very much fake smile with a name tag that says “Postal”. Despite the massive fan blowing on him, sweat still manages to darken his gray shirt, flatten his light red mane and give his powder blue coat a shine. His eyes also seem to have a habit of hopping between Tempest's broken horn and her armor. “My eyes are right here,” says Tempest, her hoof pointed at the eye that does not have a hideous scar over it. Postal's eyes snap to hers, and he quickly apologizes while shifting nervously behind his counter, which has a list of prices displayed underneath a pane of glass in need of cleaning. “That is a nice costume. Is there a convention?” asks Postal. Tempest's lips curl into a deep frown, thus bringing the stallion to force out a chuckle. “Sorry... Um... Hi! Welcome to the San Palomino Postal Service! How can I help you?” Tempest taps a square on the price chart, labeled as Letter Assistance. “I need you to send an express letter to Twilight Sparkle. 4242 Sparkle Lane, Ponyville, postal code 21021.” Postal levitates a pen and paper to the counter. “Fan mail?” “No. The letter is: Twilight, this is Tempest. I have Pinkie Pie. I'm bringing her back and I'm plugging your mail tube because you keep sending me pointless letters. I'll see you in a few days. P.S. Tell Rarity I love the dress.” After Postal writes the letter he rolls it up, seals it with a stamp, writes the address on a card, which he then uses his magic to attach it to a rubber band and wraps it around the scroll. Once that is done, he goes to a device behind him that resembles a furnace holding green flame with a series of dials placed in even increments. He sets one of the dials to the Ponyville seal and the green flame grows in size. He then tosses the scroll inside, and a sparkling flare erupts and the scroll's ashes is sucked up the chimney. “That'll be twenty bits,” says Postal. Tempest looks at Postal, then at the price beneath the glass, then at Postal again, only this time her eyes are narrowed. “I want to speak to your manager.” Pinkie Pie lays in the grass, under the shade of a tree with Grubber by her side. Up top, legs and tails dangle from a flock of pegasi that are using the branches as makeshift beds, with many of them partially concealed by the cool, green leafs. For the life of her, Pinkie Pie can't understand how anybody can find a branch comfortable, especially since every time she tried it she always got a serious pain in the ribs after spending forever finding a balance or fell off the tree, which in turn led to a pain in the back. After the thirtieth failure of sleeping on a branch, Pinkie has found that she likes laying on the ground a whole lot better. It is comfortable, won't snap, and she has a less than one percent chance of falling off. As Pinkie enjoys the softness of the grass, her tongue rolls out of her mouth when her maw opens wide for a yawn, and then she scratches her ear with her hind hoof as she eyes the San Palomino Postal Service building. The building is made of tan brick and a red tinseled roof with the only legal way in being a simple door. On the roof there is a balcony that has carts designed for pegasi, but as tempting as it is to use it to sneak in and see what is holding up Tempest, she does not feel like getting arrested again. “What's taking her so long?” says Pinkie Pie. “She's probably arguing with a manager about prices again,” says Grubber. “Does she do that often?” “Every. Single. Time.” The door to the Postal Service flies open and Tempest trots out with a smug smile on her face and a light hop in her steps. When she reaches the two, Pinkie Pie stands up and raises her backside and stretching her front end forward, smiling when there is a very satisfying pop that leaves her with a temporary sense of weightlessness. “What took you so long?” asks Pinkie Pie, now standing normally. “They tried to rip me off,” says Tempest. “But I won.” “Won?” “Instead of paying twenty bits for delivery I only paid ten.” “Jeeze, what did you mail? A cake?” “A hoof.” Pinkie's colors pale and her eye twitches, and Tempest snickers and rubs her sweaty head. “Relax. It was a joke,” says Tempest. “There are better ways to get rid of unwanted parts than by mail. But now that the mail is sent, we have a train to catch.” Tempest resumes walking, keeping her steps light, and Pinkie Pie and Grubber walk after her. As they walk, Pinkie Pie notices that some of the locals stare at Tempest's armor (having to crane their necks to take in her size, too), but whether or not Tempest notices or cares is something she is not sure about. “You have a really demented sense of humor, you know that, right?” says Pinkie Pie, keeping pace and nearly rubbing her body against the unicorn, choosing to ignore the stares and the heat radiating from the armor. “You can thank the Storm King for that,” says Grubber, taking the other side of Tempest. “She used to be a total dweeb with the edgy emo gal thing, which included the personality of a rotting tomato. But being around him really gave her a bizarre sense of humor and a personality to go with it.” “That's enough, Grubber,” says Tempest. “Really? Fizzles was an emo? No way!” snickers Pinkie Pie. Grubber chuckles. “Not lying. I swear on my mom's secret pie recipe. The funny thing is, when Tempest joined the Storm King's army she was this scrawny filly who walked around with a scowl, trying to be tough and intimidating, but it never worked because we just laughed at her.” Tempest's ears flatten against her skull. “That's enough. Grubber.” “We called her Madam McFrowny and Maddy the Moody Munchkin behind her back,” continues Grubber. “Ooooh, Moody Munchkin. I love it!” says Pinkie Pie. She leans against Tempest and scratches underneath her chin. “Who's a little Moody Munchkin? You are! Oh, yes you are!” Tempest bats Pinkie's hoof away, and Pinkie Pie laughs it off, but looks away to conceal her biting her lip and blinking tears out of her eyes caused from the painful throbbing. As this happens, Grubber keeps talking. “Then one day we filled her sleeping bag with mustard and oh man, talk about a fight! I mean, she still lost, but-” A sharp blue bolt of energy zaps Grubber, causing the pudgy hedgehog to yelp and flop on the ground with smoke rising from his twitching body. This brings Pinkie Pie and surrounding crowd to stop and gasp as Tempest's broken horn dims and releases thin blue smoke. Grubber coughs out a ring of smoke. “Ow~ Sorry...” “And now we're going to play the quiet game,” says Tempest. “First one to speak owes me twenty bits.” Before the two have a chance to object, Tempest walks ahead with great speed, and in the spirit of friendship and pity, Pinkie Pie puts Grubber on her back and silently trots after the unicorn. She flashes an apologetic smile at the crowd, but that does nothing to alleviate the shocked looks, so she picks up the pace until she is by Tempest's side and doesn't look back. As the trio walks in silence, Pinkie Pie glances at Tempest, trying to see if there is anything besides annoyance. Unfortunately she cannot see anything beyond that, so she averts her eyes to the road, eyes snapping to every stall, every tent, every vendor for anything she can use to cheer up Tempest without losing the game. Said game is becoming increasingly more difficult for her, too. With each passing minute and disappointing point of sales, the pressure in her throat builds. Pinkie Pie really wants to apologize for the Moody Munchkin thing, but Tempest does is not in the mood to be hearing anybody, so if she speaks now it will surely sour the situation further. That, and she will lose the game. But losing the game is not nearly as bad as seeing Tempest mad. Which if she loses the game then she will make Tempest mad since it is a quiet game that she is adamant that is played, so it will be a double loss and double losses suck! With that in mind, Pinkie stays quiet and the group keeps walking silence for another ten minutes before they come across a station with towering tan walls, a pair of stained glass murals depicting a rising sun and moon over a desert, and a rounded entrance with San Palomino Central Station arching over it. Ponies walk in and out, as well as the occasional zebra and one griffon family wearing umbrella hats. When the group enters a wall of cold air blows off the sweat and brings a shiver through Pinkie Pie, but Tempest does not seem to be effected by this while Grubber appears relieved to be feeling something other than soul cooking heat. The group weaves their way through the crowd, careful to avoid bumping into tourists, luggage, baby carriages and the station staff. As they go through the crowd, Pinkie Pie notices Tempest's steps slowing and her ears swiveling as her eyes scan the area. The Element also searches the area to see what is aggravating Tempest, but does not see anything out of the ordinary. A dozen tourists here, a bratty kid there; a couple of guards wearing security hats eating donuts here, a band of smelly ponies wearing rainbow ponchos playing guitars and singing something there. Nothing serious. But looking back at Tempest she clearly sees her steps becoming heavier and her hardened eyes shifting over the scenery at a faster speed. When they reach a square of benches surrounding a block shaped pillar with a clock on each side, Tempest holds out her hoof and her eyes lock on to a service area with polished wood, a gated window and an illuminated sign reading: TICKETS. “Wait here,” orders Tempest. Pinkie Pie and Grubber nod, and Tempest heads straight towards the ticket area. Once she is far enough away, Pinkie Pie exhales and slumps on the bench. “I got a feeling she's mad,” says Pinkie Pie. “She'll be fine. She's just in one of her moods again,” says Grubber. He digs into his bag and pulls out a plastic bag with a blob of yellow crumbs and white powder inside. “Sponge cake?” Pinkie Pie looks at the bag, and after a brief second of though she shrugs, lays on her back and opens her mouth wide. Grubber proceeds to dump the crumbs and powdered sugar in her mouth, and that is when the stale crumbs and hard sugar assault her taste buds. She coughs and sputters out the stale crumbs and rolls on her hoofs, hacking and wheezing. After catching her breath and scratching her tongue against her teeth she glares at Grubber, who is now back to digging into his bag. “That was old!” says Pinkie Pie. “I had to get rid of it somehow,” says Grubber. “There was a trash can right there!” Pinkie Pie's hoof snaps to an old can over flowing with garbage, but Grubber just shrugs and pulls out a candy bar. “Yeah, but you were closer.” Grubber unwraps the bar and holds to her nose a chocolate bar covered in nuts of various colors and sizes. “Nutjoy?” Pinkie Pie scrunches her muzzle. “No.” Grubber shrugs and takes a big bite out of it. “Your loss.” Tempest looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes when she sees Pinkie Pie coughing up a mess by the bench. Some passerbys are visibly repulsed by this and turn the opposite way. Except for a griffin who has decided that taking a picture of a pony coughing up old sponge cake is worthy of a photo album. Tempest looks ahead, her ears twitching with the constant buzz of activity, from the laughter, to the yelling, the clanking, the squeaking, dings and dongs, and words barely understood over the intercom. When she reaches the ticket booth the line is thankfully small, so she does not need to wait long, and when she gets to the window she is greeted by a neon green unicorn stallion with a tri-colored mane of orange, blue and black. His gray uniform also labels him as “Ticket Price”, and Tempest is grateful she only has to see him once since his very appearance is sore on her eyes. “Three tickets to Ponyville,” says Tempest. “No can do,” says Ticket Price. Tempest raises a brow. “Why?” “A pack of mole bears dug a bunch of tunnels underneath the tracks leading to Ponyville creating a massive sink hole that has destroyed the tracks, so we cannot give an accurate estimate on how long the delay will be, therefore all sales to Ponyville have been suspended until further notice. However, we are offering a discount on tickets to the Mysterious South, Macintosh Hills, and South Luna Ocean Resort.” “No. How much for a ticket to Las Pegasus?” “We don't go there.” “Appleloosa?” “Nope.”' “Ghastly Gorge?” “Nu huh.” “Saint Sunshine?” “No bueno.” “Where can you go?” “Southern Plantations in Mysterious South; Woodtown in Macintosh Hills; and the South Luna Ocean Resort in the South Luna Bay. Which, I would recommend you take that one since you look like you need a resort.” Tempest growls and places her hoofs on the counter. “Those are all the opposite direction of where I need to go!” Behind her, someone groans and mutters for her to hurry up, but she ignores them. If they complain again she can always kick respect into them. “Well, the tracks you want are broken,” says Ticket Price. “Just use magic to fix it! I have somewhere to be!” says Tempest. “Ma'am, you can survive missing one convention.” Tempest narrows her eyes, and the stallion's snark melts to worry and his eyes shift as a bead of sweat rolls down his face. “Get me your manager,” orders Tempest. “I am the manager,” says Ticket Price meekly. “You? The manager?” Ticket Price nods and Tempest rubs her temple, exhaling and horn sparking. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the pair of security guards eating donuts approaching her, and while she knows she can beat them all into submission she does not want to spend time in jail. Especially since she is supposed to be delivering a very mentally unhealthy Element to a safe place. “Forget it. You're worthless,” says Tempest. “Enjoy your box, maggot.” Tempest storms away from the ticket booth before the guards can reach her, grumbling to herself and not paying any attention to the harsh stares she is receiving from the line that formed behind her. She quickly weaves her way through the crowd and goes to the bench where Pinkie Pie and Grubber are sitting, which she is pleasantly surprised to see they actually stayed put. “I spy with my little eyes something... brown,” says Pinkie Pie. “The wall?” says Grubber. “Nope.” “The floor?” “Nope.” “The smog?” “Nope.” Tempest stops in front of them. “The counter?” asks Grubber. “Nope,” says Pinkie Pie. “I give up.” “Fizzele's saddlebag.” Grubber frowns, and Tempest waves them up, glancing over her should to see the guards still watching her. “Get up. The tracks are busted so we're walking,” says Tempest. “Why not rent a taxi wagon?” asks Grubber. “And spend more money in mileage fees than a train ticket? No. We're walking and that's final.” Pinkie Pie gasps and hops off the bench. “You mean we're actually going to go on a long stroll and enjoy some sights? Awesome!” The trio walk towards the exit, and Pinkie Pie digs into her saddle, tosses a rolled up map in the air, grabs it with her hair and lets it unroll in front of her face so she can see the X's and lines all over it. This brings out a confused sneer from Grubber, but Tempest ignores this. It is far more tame than the junk the Element pulled when they had their night together. “I got some destinations we can see. Casinos, landmarks, restaurants, dance clubs, oh! Souvenirs and theme parks!” says Pinkie Pie. Tempest rolls her eyes while Pinkie Pie moves the map away from her face and grins at the ex-Commander. “Las Pegasus Wonderland has the Tunnel of Love,” says Pinkie Pie with lidded eyes. “You owe me twenty bits,” says Tempest. “What!?” Tempest holds out her hoof. “You lost the quiet game. Pay up.” Pinkie Pie offers a sheepish smile. “Uh, yeah. About that. I'm sorta broke.” Tempest drops her hoof. “Then how did you get out here?” “Sheer willpower and a lot of burnt calories.” Tempest sighs. “I'm going to pretend you said something else.” “Neat! Now if my map is correct then the closest stop is... Well, what do you know... Las Pegasus.” Tempest nods slowly. “Hmm. Too bad you're broke. We could have hit some casinos or gone into that Tunnel of Love you mentioned.” Pinkie Pie giggles. “Yeah... Wait, what?” Tempest smirks and trots ahead. “Keep up the pace. I'm already behind schedule.” Pinkie Pie stands still, her eyes blank and the cogs in her brain jamming from a wrench. She only regains motor function when Grubber pats her on the side and jogs ahead, and even then it takes her a few seconds for her legs to actually propel her forward. “Fizzles, wait!” hollers Pinkie Pie. “We can always go to a bank! I got notes I can turn in! We can have money!” Author's Note Honestly, I forgot this chapter was even finished.
