“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.