Fallout Equestria: Feather in a Windstorm

Startin’ this has not been easy. I swear I’m gonna wreck the tape before I get somethin’ we’re both happy with. She says I keep makin’ it about me, that friggin’ banshee. She’s doin’ this on purpose.

Whelp, here’s try number seven.

Hi there, my names Maize Dancer, and if you are listenin’ to this it means you are me. Hello! Or you’re my travellin’ partner, but if you aren’t either of those then future me is in a wee bit of a bind. So if by Celestia’s whim future me is still kickin’ and has the good sense to skip this bit. I’m going t’jabber on so the future me who has the problem, can find you.

Okay?

Good. Just find a seat away from all the wasteland gribblies, and relax as the Madame Maize Dancer regales you with our tale of wasteland adventure. Depending on future me’s situation we are going to be here awhile. I’ll at least try to make it entertainin’.

ZBZBZB I already know what you are thinking and... well. Spoilers.

Anyways I was Dodgin’ potholes on the E5 between somewhere and nowhere. Behind me was my home and refuge, a house-wagon that had seen me and my kin rest our heads for generations. On my left, the sun was peekin’ over the endless shrubs of the windswept fields. On my right, even more of the endless shrubs, soakin’ in what light they could from Celestia and her throne. As I said before, I was truly in the middle of nowhere.

I weaved around another of those dang potholes, takin’ my home off the road. They’d swallow you whole before you knew what was happening. Though that could also be the rad-scorpions. The asphalt was caked in so much dirt you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the occasional sign.

I was passin’ some billboard when an echoing gunshot shattered the serenity of the mornin’ calm, causin’ my ears to perk up. It came from the direction I was headed but I only managed to spot a red dot far off in the distance. It could have been it but ya see, out on the plains, you can hear a gunshot miles away. However that’s no invitation to take matters lightly. Any wastelander worth her salt can attest: if you get the slightest inklin' of trouble, you respond to it. So I did, movin' onwards cautiously, my little Beam Pistol unholstered and warm, my mind on the harness’s quick release.

There’s no good place to hide in the open fields. Plus it’s less stupid to run towards gunfire than turning your back against it. And yeah, I need a damn good reason to leave my carriage unattended.

The farther I trekked, the more I could make out what that one aforementioned red dot was: A scooter statue, balancin' on a single wheel atop a small buildin' as if an invisible pony were performin' some kind of stunt on it. The sign was so big, I doubt anypony passing by could have avoided the bold bright words, ‘RED RACER DINER’. When I read those words and the smell of the house soup and fresh baking tickled my nose. Well my stomach growled somethin’ fierce, diggin’ it’s claws into my sides like one of the monsters of the wasteland. Remindin’ me I hadn’t had my mornin’ meal yet, or last nights evenin’ meal or even yesterdays lunch. For a second I let my guard down, givin’ voice to my thoughts. “Roadside diner? Score!” Carefully, I hauled my cart off the main road into the small parkin' lot. I left it near a broken chariot so it wouldn’t stick out too bad.

Was this probably a bad idea? Oh almost certainly but hunger makes a mare do funny things, besides nothin' out of the ordinary had happened just yet. I wasn’t easin’ up or anythin’ either, no matter what my stomach had to say about it I still had some rad-scorpion meat that probl’y hadn’t gone off yet… maybe, was best to play it safe. My caution paid off when I heard some shoutin' from inside. I crouched under the long misty windows t’get t’the front door. Slowly and carefully, I raised my head t’peer through the blurry glass. Twasn’t easy, but eventually I made out three ponies standin’ in front of the counter, guns raised. Behind the counter was an aged mare, the business end of her double barrel starin’ down the trio. By the looks of things, they were havin’ a heated conversation.

“FUCK YOU!” A very heated conversation.

“You owe us caps, Happy!” one stallion shot back.

“I owe you chem pushing dirt bags nothing!”

Another stallion stepped up. “Your kid bought our merch—”

“Your merch is what got him hung up in bed for days!” She turned her shotgun at the first stallion who was about t’take a step forward. Was at that point I realized I was witnessin’ a chem-call gone awry.

He snorted. “Our merch is what Smiles bought and put on your tab. Wasn't easy gettin’ our hooves on those mint-als, Happy.”

“Horse shit! I’ve seen you weasels skulk around my diner. I’ve seen you ogle my cash register, my caps, my kid. You dragged him into your shit just so you can get to my savings.”

“Put the gun down, Happy.” The third stallion spat and pointed a hoof behind his shoulder. “You don’t want a payin’ customer to get hurt do ya? It’s bad business.” My heart skipped a beat thinkin’ he was referrin’ t’me. But his hoof wasn’t pointin’ at me. He was pointin’ at a hooded fellow seated in one of the diner tables.

Happy narrowed her eyes. “Fuck. You.”

Poor thing wasn’t the actiony type from what I could tell. Pressing yourself on the flat surface of a table won’t protect you from gun fire. You have better chances under it. I couldn’t make out anything beyond that though. T’was hard t’tell with this damn window.

Now, I have a strict policy I think everypony should abide t‘survive the wastes. If something ain’t your business, you don’t interfere. Let bygones be bygones and let ponies sort out their own shit. That’s the secret to a long life in the wasteland, lemme tell ya.

I would have followed that policy, I really would have. I could have walked back to my wagon and sneaked off and it would’ve been just another close call. But, it seems the sisters had something else in mind. Cuz when you’re holding anythin’ in your magic, your horn just starts shinin’ bright.’ Too bright to not notice. If one of the mooks hadn’t turned his head, probly catching sight of my horn all lit up, I would have just backed out and had some stale grilled rad scorpion. But as it stood, that was no option anymore.

Now I want you to put yourselves in my shoes for a sec. A bunch of drug peddlin’ mules are tendin’ to their business, and the next thing you know, you’re likely on their chopping block now. D’you run away hoping to high heavens they don’t chase after ya? D’you try to negotiate a deal with them? Or d’you start shootin like a lunatic hopin’ to be the toughest sum’bitch in the wastes.

Here’s what I did.

“Mornin’ folks, strikin’ the iron while it’s still hot?” I stepped into that diner holstering my beam pistol whilst I gave out an empty greetin’, and whad’ya know? So many guns were so eager t’meet me… Twas’ just a matter of keepin’ my cool and playin’ the scene and I’d be out in a jiffy.

“And my day just get’s worse...” the third stallion, a unicorn, groaned. “May we fucking help you?.”

“Yes please, I’ll take whatever soup you folks got goin’,” I replied with the most naive smile I could muster. “Been marching since dawn, stomach’s just about ready to revolt.” I waltzed past the startled goons, hopin’ to the sisters they didn’t catch wind of the show I was puttin’ on. I took a seat opposite to the hooded fellow.

“She sat in front of me. Didn’t she...” The hooded fellow muttered. She had a mature voice. Smooth as velvet, but with a slightly rasp.

“Mornin’ there ma’am, you on the run or somethin’? most ponies don’t bother hidin’ their face so much unless it’s winter.”

“Go away.” She answered, nonplussed. Spoilsport. No cake for you.

“Woah there, just tryin’ t’strike a conversation, but if that’s how bad I am at small talk I don’t rate my chances here very high.” I gave her a sly wink. Then realized she didn’t receive it with her head pressed against the table.

“I said go away.”

“Maybe the guns didn’t give a clear indication of what we’re about.” The unicorn pressed his firearm t’my head. t’was a hideous thing built from scrap lookin’ for the first excuse to blow up. “How about now?”

“Woah there.” I tensed up, pretending I just now noticed them. “No need t’make a mess of things.”

“You’re right.” He pressed harder. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna leave here, go far far away and pray you never see us again. Clear?”

“Does that offer extend to me?” The hooded fellow chimed.

“You’re staying here.” He put a gun to her covered head. “We need leverage.”

“Hey!” The cafe owner banged her hoof on the counter. “Stay the fuck away from my business!”

“We gave Smiles a batch worth three days. It’s been two days, and I doubt he eased up on them. So if you wanna discuss a return policy, I suggest you do it now, Happy.” There was a quick skirmish above us as hooves scrambled around desperately. “And I think your spawn just got the memo.”

“One last warning, you drug mules!” she gesticulated giving the double barrel a good shake for emphasis. “Get. Out.”

Things were gettin’ tense. I had to hightail it before shit hit the fan. “Well, if it’s all the same to you lot,” I got up from my chair. “I’ll be taking my leave now.”

As I scooched my way out of dinin’ chair, my mind was at ease. Did I still have an empty stomach? Yes unfortunately. But hey, beggers can’t be choosers in the wasteland. I made my way to the exit, nodding at the unicorn’s lap dogs. But before I could turn that rusty door knob, I stopped dead in my track.

“What’s the hold up?” One of the earth ponies asked, growing impatient.

I honestly didn’t know. I was off the hook! Easy win if I ever saw one, and Madame Maize Dancer is no righteous pony, lemme tell ya. I have done the same things everypony else has to get by in the wasteland. So what was the holdup? I looked around the cafe, as though my answer lied somewhere within in these walls. I looked at the owner. She seemed nice, but nopony I’d risk my life to save for no good reason. I looked up at the ever tremorous ceiling; still nothing registered. I looked at the drug mules. Definitely no.

Then my eyes fell on the hooded fellow, her hunched back that raised and fell with every shaky breath. The poor soul under that robe, wondering if her life was cut short. She made no attempt to fight back. She didn’t know how. ‘Twas then I realized, I felt pity for the poor thing. And let me be clear. I have acted on that instinct alone before, just never this bad. Even now doesn’t make sense to stick my neck out for somepony to slit like that...

So, I took what might have been the deepest breath of my life, and turn a one-eighty to the earth ponies closest to me

“You got something to say?”

To his suprise, I smiled genuinely. “Couldn’t resist.” With all the force my telekinetic grasp could muster, I slammed my cap bag on the floor, making the smoke bombs inside go boom.

The first order of the moment was to make a quick roll through the smoke to confuse the shooters. Second was to unholster my beam pistol. Third was to push my beam pistol right into mister horn heads face and shoot.

Good plan? Good plan! And in the hooves of the right pony, it would have gone down swell! Too bad I am not that pony. Like I said, bonafide badass I am not. You see, I use smoke bombs to get out of sticky situations, not tangle myself in further. What does that mean? It means I was as blind as everypony else in the cafe. So try not to judge when I say I didn’t expect one of the earth ponies to get a clean shot on my leg… and my stomach… and my chest… I fell on the ground like a rolling dice.

I repeat. Bonafide badass I am not.

The owner deciding only NOW would be a fun time to act, shot one of the distracted earth ponies in the back of the head. Good thing they were close to her. Apparently she only had the one shot in her barrel, as she slammed the butt of the shotgun into the other goon’s head. The unicorn couldn’t tell what was going on, whipping his pistol from the hooded fellow. He shot at Happy’s vicinity but hit nothing. The mare probably ducked under the counter.

The smoke bombs I use are for theatrics… mostly. So they don’t last very long. As the haze cleared, he managed to get a good glimpse of me trying to crawl away. Levitating his gun behind the back of my head, he spat. “You. Little. Bitch.”

“Hehe… Made quite the mess of things, huh?.” I gritted out through my clenched teeth, not making an attempt to hide the fear in my voice.

“You had one chance.” He responded, cocking his gun to fire the second time. I closed my eyes, thinkin’ that was it. Have to say, that would have been quite the way to go. Moral of the story my little ponies? Don’t play hero. And yeah, that’s where my story should have ended. But as I awaited my final breath, I noticed something was up. Namely the lack of a mighty bang followed by oblivion or perhaps the heavenly thrones for the sisters to cast judgement on my life… or oblivion.

As I dared my eyes open, I saw the hooded fellow roughing it up with the drug mule. My suspicions of her fighting prowess were made rather clear as he had the obvious upper hoof.

I found in front of me his scrap gun. Slightly bent out of shape but still usable. I snatched it up tryin’ to line up a shot, but I got a factory manufactured beam pistol for a reason. Somethin’ made clear as I fired one and then two and then three bullets into the melee not even five feet in front of me each time the recoil knocking the barrel up and back throwing the bullets into the ceilin’. Didn’t help that my wounds were taking their sweet toll on me.

Mr. Unicorn getting wise shifted her in front of me blocking any followup shots. Shakily I stood up onto my hooves, bringing the gun with me, putting it at a distance where I couldn’t miss. I gave a dark chuckle as I echoed his words pulling the trigger. “You had one chance...”

BANG!

He went down. And so did I. Seems I had spent all my energy puttin’ the bastard down. Almost worth the trouble if you ask me.

Almost.

My vision was a blur at this point. The hooded fellow, ran up to me and the last thing I remembered was her taking her hood off.

“You have pretty eyes...” That’s what I muttered before I blacked out.

Cool last words, eh? Well tough, cuz those weren’t. Next thing I know, I woke up in cold sweat on a blood caked mattress. The sisters can be such a bother sometimes. One minute you’re dyin’ all romantic-like, next minute you’re on a mattress that smells like your old rotten blood. Strange ways they operate in…

It was dark. Really really dark. The greedy cloud cover wasn’t letting any light from the moon break through. The only thing that kept the room lit. was a lonely little lamp on the opposite corner of the room. It bathed the room in a weak yet ominous shade of umber.

I squinted, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I wouldn’t consider myself afraid of the dark, just by the things squirmin’ in it. It was a pretty standard wasteland crib. You had a desk full of old knick knacks, a musty mirror, and a salvaged rug to tie everything together.

Twas getting frightfully lonely up in here. “H-hello?”

“Happy and her son are asleep downstairs.”

I would have jumped if my body let me. There in a corner of the room where the little lamp’s light didn’t have the courage to travel, on an old chair, sat the hooded fellow, her hood splayed back. I could make out the silhouette of a face eerily lacking in symmetry. But the darkness was sparing me the details. My little beam pistol was cozy in her claws

Yes. Claws.

“Feeling better. Are we?”

“No, but I guess that’s an improvement.” I gave a slight chuckle to cut the tension. I wasn’t really too far off either what parts of me that didn’t hurt were sore and what wasn’t sore was stiff. But hey. At least I knew I was alive.

A sharp appendage distinguishable by the glint of silver in the dim light tapped on my beam pistol habitually. “You’ll be operating at a hundred percent by the next day. I didn’t have much to work with.”

"So how you do it? You seal me in bandages or did yah crack open a healin' potion?"

“I’m no ameture wasteland medic.” She said, putting her hood back on. “Or whatever passes as a professional around these days...” She got off the chair and ambled to the table. Celestia be damned she was tall. Not alicorn tall, but look down at you like a schoolyard bully tall. With her claws she began, mixing various substances haphazardly poured in cans. Her claws moved elegantly with finesse and dexterity.

“Didn’t say that, just that’s how a pony is patched up so quickly. You fish for the bullets?” I queried as I dropped my head back down to the pillow.

“You ask too many questions.”

"Need'ta know whether or not I pass on in my sleep tonight." I sighed.

She held three bullets between her appendages in front of the light, and let them slide in her palm in a closed fist. “You’ll be fine. Sore in the morning, but nothing to keep you up at night. I’m assuming that wasn’t your first soiree?” She began mashing some powder with a stone pestle.

“Nah, I am just used to running away from the bucks with guns. Not towards.” I admitted as I shifted my weight.

“Is that so...” She trailed off for a moment. “Not used to playing hero?”

”Sweet Celestia no!” I exclaimed. “Today was the exception. Certainly not an act I am plannin’ on repeatin’.”

“Quite the intelligent thing to say for a pony who made the biggest mistake of her life not too long ago?” She poured some water into the bowl. “What made you think it was a good idea at the time?”

“Dunno. Didn’t seem right is all.” I sighed leaning my head back examining the wood grain looking for the answer. “I had a clean break, everything was going to plan, I didn’t even get shot at!”

“If I had a cap for every time I heard an idiot say that...” She stirred the contents of the bowl.. “Going against your own self-interest to save a mare who can’t even stop her son from becoming a junkie. I might grow old enough to outlive all the rot in the waste and that mentality still won’t make sense to me.”

I burst into giggles and couldn’t contain myself for a second. “More like the poor schmuck trying t’shut the world out and ignore the fact that she was caught in the middle of a stick up.”

She paused for a moment. “I suppose we’re even then.” She began stirring again. “I would have preferred someone more qualified than a bargain bin wasteland hero though.”

“I prefer the better part of valor, honey. The part, that puts me well away from the angry ponies with guns.”

“How is that working out for you right now?”

“I’ve made it this far haven’t I?”

“Luck.” she answered matter of factly, “And it tends to run out. Especially for upstart wastelanders with honour codes” She brought the concoction up t’me, gyrating it in one claw. “If you know what’s good for that body of yours, you’ll keep to yourself next time. But then again, the hero types tend to be rather stubborn.”

“Trust me, not planning t’be anywhere near gunfire for a long time. I’m highly allergic as you see. “ I free a forehoof from its warm blankets prison t’gesture at my state.

“Atta girl.” She offered me the curdled liquid in what used t’be a can o’beans “Now drink this. It will help with the pain.”

“Yes, Ma’am…” I stuck out my tongue like a foal as I plucked the bowl out of her grip with my magic. Taking a few tentative sniffs nose gaining a few folds from the assault that… concoction launched. “Buck me, what in Celestia’s half acre is in this!”

“Some ingredients I improvised to the same effect of Parafyndol.”

“Parafyn-what? You mean like candles?”

“It’s a salve that heals long-term tissue damage, but the last properly manufactured unit probably expired a hundred and ten years ago.”

“Don’t you put a salve on the wound?”

“Emphasis on the word ‘improvise’. Though if I were in my prime, I would have thought of something better.” She said longingly, walking up and taking her place on her wooden throne of throniness, pulling her hood back.

With a hard swallow, I downed that, that thing I know all the ingredients are supposed to be tasty but it tastes like my harness after a day of running and goes down twice as hard. ”If you’ve poisoned me, I’m haunting you till the day you drop.” I managed to squeeze out a threat between coughs.

“You’ll be waiting quite a while. I have pride in my craft, miss...”

“Maize Dancer.” I finished. “And you?”

“Gwendolyn.” She answered hurriedly as though getting off track. “Anyways, You seem to be stable now. ”

“Good to know. I‘m not quite ready to see the thrones yet.”

“Well, my job is done for now. Why don’t you get some rest for now, Miss Dancer. Your vitals should be stable by tomorrow.”

“Probably a good idea, bound to be an early day tomorrow.” I state as I slowly shift back closing my eyes. As my head hit the pillow there was something odd. She didn’t leave, she didn’t even move there was no creaking of 200 year old furniture no clip clopping of hooves over floor. I waited, seconds became minutes and those minutes stretched on. Eventually I spoke. “You... gonna be there all night, Gwen?”

“I need to make sure you won’t pass away in your sleep tonight.”

“Didn’t you say-”

“I’m a careful one. I refuse to take any chances.”

“Don’t you need some shut eye?” I asked pointedly

“You ask too many questions, Miss Dancer” She shifted on the throne of throneiness.

“Everypony sleeps dear, anypony that doesn’t is on somthin’ or dyin’, and you ain’t either of those.”

“Dying is a relative term.”

“Quite a bit is relative in the wastes. What’s up, Gwen.”

“You really should get some sleep.”

“You keep sayin’ that but it ain’t making me want to sleep.” I finally open my eyes. “Now you can tell me why you wanna keep an eye on me like a creeper, or I can just stay up all night. And if I am, I might as well grab somethin’ from my wagon.”

“You’ll fall over by the time you get to the door.”

“I’ll take those odds, thank you very much.” I didn’t really want to think about what she would do to me if I just left things as they were. Sue me! I barely knew the mare. I shifted about in the bed ripping the covers off, as I called maroon power to my horn having it coalesce into a ball at the tip, the magic changing into a bright white as it collected. Detaching into a luminous sphere that hovered at about head height.

I’m not going to say I expected what I saw. Then again, I won’t say I didn’t either. There aren’t many colorful ways to describe what I was looking at but I think this sums it up perfectly.

Ready?

Okay.

She was missin’ half her flippin’ face! I’m sorry, but that is honestly the best way to put it. The right side of her luna damned face was skull. I stared at it with petrified fascination. An exposed skull with a look of perpetual melancholy from the sullen shape of the eye-socket with a blue ring that I could only assume was a pupil. The other side was that of a dishevelled bird. So she was a griffon, a ghoul griffon. I swear, lookin’ at her was like looking at a prewar zoology textbook, one with illustrations.

“You have some gall!” She hissed like water on hot metal, pulling up her hood, hiding the skull side of her face.

There really wasn’t much to say. She was a ghoul I knew many ponies had an issue with them if DJ Pon3 was anything to go by. But she didn’t seem all that different from a any other wastelander. Sure she was missing half her face, but she was just as prickly as any other wastelander and the other half seemed to be workin’ just fine. After a moment or two invitin’ somethin’ to nest in my mouth I finally spoke up with all the skill and eloquence my folks taught me.

“FACE!” Truly a master of prose, I am.

You’d think it’d be hard to read a griffon’s expression when half of her face is bone, but you underestimate Madame Maize Dancer. Cuz as always, reading folks is half my job. The other half is running. So much running... But it don’t take much to see that she was like a rolling cloud just ready to let loose angry thunder and lightning, and by Celestia’s word was she angry.

“What is wrong with you?!” She adjusted her robe in a futile attempt to hide the rest of her body. I winced when i chanced a glance at her ribcage.

“Lot’s? Your kind of asking the mare that knowingly walked into a robbery.” I replied trying to get back on top of the situation after the loop I was run through, I can’t say I was expecting that.

“Not the point, is it?” She crossed her arms, a more refined look about her now that she didn’t need to keep her little secret from me.

“Look. Gwenny. Can I call you Gwenny?”

“No!”

“I just don’t want t’sleep in the same room as you, no fault of your own, I just don’t know you and I’d rather ere on the side of caution.”

“Incase you haven’t noticed, you don’t have much of a choice in the matter.” She turns her head towards the window. “Unless you can muster enough strength to walk down stairs all the way to that cart of yours.”

“The other solution is that I just don’t sleep.”

The griffon smiled slyly. The skull side of her head looking very sinister. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

I responded with a smirk of my own before stifling a yawn, “I think you are selling me short. But just one thing: you’re a ghoul, ghouls sleep too. See ‘em lyin about all the time in my travels.”

“Different ghouls have different needs. Some need sleep, others need to eat, I need neither.” She adjusted her hood. “I did however feel the (intalic)need(italic) to put animal tranquilizer fluid in my patient’s medicine to have her quiet down.”

“Wait you wha-” Those were the last things I remember saying before everythin’ went dark. I have to say, she got one up on me.

Cudos you over-reaching banshee.

Cudos…