Fallout Equestria: Golden Daysby Wasteland StorytellersChaptersIntroductionChapter 2: The Drunky from the AlleyChapter 3: The Foozler in the BarChapter 1: The Ninny behind the CounterIntroductionMost ponies tell fillies me age that I’m too young t’know what a bad day is like until I get proper acquainted with the world. Then again, most ponies are fockin’ idiots. ‘appened a few weeks ago, yes it did; the worst day of me life. I dunno why but aside for the most important things that ‘appened t’me that day, it’s all a blur in me ‘ead. What I can remember, I can see play out in me ‘ead like one of those prewar movies. I’m there lookin’ after me baby brother in ‘is crib, yes I am. ‘e was born yesterday and we’re still comin’ up with a name for the littlun. All of a sudden, dad runs inside and tells me and mum t’hide. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen dad this scared, so I’m scared. Mum asks why and ‘e just utters three words t’make ‘er coat go pale. “The Weeping Sirens.”’ Everythin’ is is a frantic blur. The next thin’ I know, I’m ‘idin’ in the closet with mum and the littlun. ‘e’s still ‘alf asleep. We ‘ear a few loud bangs and the door gets blown off. I ‘ear bunch of ponies walk inside. I ‘ear a quick kerfuffle and a pony slam on the ground. The baby starts whimperin’. More scramblin’ and then a sound that shakes me t’me very core. Dad’s screamin’ in agony. Mum starts cradlin’ the baby desperately. I’m too scared meself t’help in anyway. Baby’s whimperin’ gets louder. Mum tries t’shush ‘im. Tears are streamin’ down ‘er face, but she smiles for ‘im cuz she’s the best fockin’ mother in the world. We can ‘ear the ponies who broke into our ‘ouse. Three of’em atleast. We start ‘earin’ ‘avoc as the the ponies tear me ‘ouse apart. That scares poor littlun, yes it does. Baby starts cryin’. Mum cant do anythin’ about it. I can’t do anythin’ about it. Everythin’ is silent for a good second aside for littlun’s frantic weepin’. A stallion yells out ‘e knows there’s a pony with a baby in the closet. If we don’ come out, ‘e’ll shoot us dead. The bastard ‘as a mainland accent like me dad. Baby starts cryin’ louder. Mum breathes ‘eavily for a moment. As though she’s about t’make the most important decision of ‘er life. She looks at me, then at the baby, then me again. Leans close and kisses me on the ‘ead. She spares me one last smile cuz she’s best mother in the fockin’ world. She opens the closet door only wide enough for ‘er t’be seen. It's all silent for a second aside from some mutterin’ ‘ere and there. Then comes the laughing. That ‘orrible fockin’ laughin’. Somepony laughs like ‘e just ‘eard the funniest joke in the wasteland. ‘e laugh like it was a clown that came out of the closet instead of me mum. Then as soon as the laughin’ stops, BANG! The baby cries even louder. Me poor baby brother needs ‘is big sister, and I’m pissin’ away in this fockin’ closet, tryin’ not to gag on the scent of gunsmoke. Mom screams a blood curdlin’ scream. A quick commotion ‘appens, and ends as soon as it starts: BANG! I ‘ear a thud, and some more of that bloody laughter before I ‘ear those spawns of discord leave me ‘ouse. It's all quite after that aside from littluns bawlin’. I’m about t’muster all the courage I ever ‘ad t’walk out of the closet but stop when another pair of ‘ooves comes closer. Me breathin’ gets ‘eavier, I’m pretty sure the pony outside can ‘ear me. Suddenly, it stops. I ‘ear littlun’s voice waver for a second. Then ‘is cryin’ gets quieter and quieter till I can’t hear’em no more. Who ever that pony was, they took the only livin’ family I ‘ad left, away! And I just sat in that bloody closet like the coward I am. I stayed for what musta been ‘ours cuz by the time some ponies came t’me ‘ouse t’check what ‘appened, all the tears, sweat, and snot on me face ‘ad dried up. They opened the closet and got a good look at the miserable coward who did nowt as ‘er baby brother was taken away from ‘er. I looked fockin’ pitiful, yes I did. Then I see me parents, lyin’ on the floor, in a pool of their dry blood. The pony asks me if I’m alright. I don’t answer, just stare at me parent’s dead corpses. Everythin’s another ‘azy blur after that. That pony takes me t’the mayor of the town. I tell ‘im everythin’ that ‘appened, yes I do. Then I beg’em we need t’find the bastards who ruined me whole life and find me baby brother. Then with a straight face ‘e refuses. Ah look at ‘im flabbergasted. Ah beg ‘im t’reconsider. ‘e doesn’t relent and sounds off on some shite about the sanctity of ‘is position in the town and ‘ow it might be compromised by goin; after a “petty grievance”. I say ‘e was bein’ unreasonable, ‘e politely responds by ‘avin’ security escort me out of the buildin’. Everythin’s a blur after that. Last thin’ I remember is ah’m lyin’ on me bed in me ‘ouse in the dead of night. No pony bothered t’do owt about the bodies in the next room and they’re too ‘eavy for me t’pick up. So I placed a blanket over them. I’m just starin’ at the ceilin’ on me bed completely numb t’the world. I ‘ear some buzzin’ in the other room, and go outside t’investigate. A fockint bloatsprite is sittin’ on me parents corpse tryin’ t’get its way through the blanke'. ‘ow it made its way into town without gettin’ shot is beyond me. But when I see the little puss ball make a tear through the blanket t’munch on mum’s hide, I scramble towards it and ‘oof it away. It hits the wall and falls down. It tries t’hover away but I dont let it. I pound the glob of shite over and over until its innards decorate a good chunk of wall in me ‘ouse, and ah still keep pummelin’ away. I tenderize the damn thin’ with me ‘oof. I realize then I’m feelin’ somethin’ I didn’t feel all day. Hate. I ‘ated the bloatsprite for tryin’ t’sink it’s putrid teeth into me parents. Ah ‘ated the tossers who killed me parents and took away me baby brother. I ‘ated the mayor who sat by and let me parents’ murderers get away. And most importantly, I ‘ated meself for not doin’ anythin’ t’help me parents. As I stood on the puddle of green blood and pus-filled meat. I made a pledge t’meself, yes I did. I would brin’ Tartarus t’the ponies who ruined me life. Or at least ah would die tryin’, yes I would. Chapter 2: The Drunky from the Alley“Alrighty,” a senior unicorn mused out loud, placing an ice pack on Rickety Cricket’s swollen cheek. His voice was as tremorous as the rest of his body. “Keep a steady grip on that. I’ll go check up on your friend.” “I can’t thank you enough for letting me use your general store, Abacus,” the bartender smiled warmly, applying healing ointment on a particularly rough scrape on the filly’s foreleg. Cricket hissed from the sting, futilely holding back the tears falling down her cheek. It didn’t fool anybody. Her hat and scarf lay cozy in a corner; the piglet pouch rested comfy on top as though the king of the arrangement. Abacus adjusted his thick pair of glasses and smiled in a way that made him look even older than he already was. “None of that, Vineyard,” he said, moving towards the door with reserved motion. “Anything to get some company around here.” “Well, stop by at bar sometime,” Vineyard offered, wrapping a bandage over Cricket’s bad leg. “It’ll get you out of the store. Drinks are on me.” “I appreciate the thought, but the chatter I’ve heard in that place is unnerving,” Abacus answered a hint of hesitation in his words. He then remembered who he was talking to and desperately corrected himself. “N-not to say there aren’t any good people in there.” He glanced back to see Vineyard’s cheerful smile. Though it was lost on Cricket, Abacus picked up on the apologetic look in her eyes. The bartender giggled, “It’s okay, I’ll bring a bottle of moonshine later.” He nodded with a guilty grin. “I’ll remember to cook up some rad steaks.” With that, the old stallion closed the door, leaving the barmare with the filly. “So,” Vineyard began, placing her first aid kit aside when something caught her eye. “I see you have a cutie mark. We don’t get them as pretty as yours these days.” It was a heart on fire. Simple, yet full of meanings. Cricket didn’t answer, staring at the ground with a hateful look on her face. “Care to tell me what it means?.” Still no response. “That’s fine you don’t have to answer.” A few moments of silence flew by. “That was quite the pummeling you took in the back alley.” The filly shot the mare an angry look with so much venom that even Vineyard was taken aback for a split second. She then broke into a light chuckle and gave the filly a warm smile that could brighten up any other pony’s day. “You just took a beating from a pony four times your size. If something like that happened to me when I was your age, I would have been the coolest filly in the playground.” Hearing this, Cricket’s face turned a bright shade of red. Of course, she didn’t want the bartender to see her this way so she hunched forward, like an armadillo. “Piss off...” she mumbled. “Oh, now you’re just being mean.” When she didn’t receive a response, she sighed as though resigned to silence. “Fine, I won’t--” “Who is ‘e?” Cricket interrupted the mare, taking her by surprise. “Come again?” “Drunk wanker from the alley” “Oh…” Vineyard blinked. “He’s a… ‘different’ kind of pony, prefers to keep to himself.” Cricket didn't seem to like her answer. Different? She pondered. The filly unraveled herself and turned to face Vineyard. “I wanna know ‘is name.” The mare seemed to be more comfortable with this question, as she was quick to reply. “Most folks don't know what his real name is, but we call him Jäger.” “Jäger?” Cricket gave Vineyard a funny look. “Why do you call ‘im that?” The mare smiled again as if the name brought back memories. “Well the name itself is from an old Germane word.” The filly gave confused look, Vineyard gave a light-hearted giggle and continued to explain. “It was his nickname, given by an old friend. The word, you see, has a different meaning in Equestrian.” “And what’s that?” Cricket asked, growing impatient from Vineyard’s word game. But all ill-will towards the mare vanished at the dark look that came across her face. “Hunter.” Vineyard answered, her voice a tone deeper. Cricket huffed. “Didn’ look like a ‘unter t’me” For a second, there was a hint of a playful smile on her face. “You’d be surprised.” Vineyard laid against the wall staring into space, reminiscing. “Most folks here are too young to remember. But ten-odd years ago, Jäger was a ranger for the Republic of Canterlot.” Cricket’s head tilted in confusion. “A what?” The mare chuckled lightly. “Right, I have to stop pretending like people know what that means.” Cricket noticed her words had a tinge of grief in them. “They were fighters. ‘Tried to introduce law to the wasteland. The best of’em got titles.” “Where are they now?” “Disbanded. Most are dead, some are out there doing whatever the hell they please. Jäger’s one of’em. But he chose to put his talent into getting wasted every day.” The last words saddened Vineyard. Cricket, too young at the time, never picked up on the mare’s body language. The filly opened her mouth as though ready to ask another barrage of questions, but stopped. A look of contemplation came over her, followed by a nod to herself. Getting up, the filly walked to her belongings, tied the scarf around her neck with practiced hoof movements, placed her hat on her head, kissed the piglet on its snout and stored it snug in her saddlebag. “Where you heading off to?” Vineyard mused out loud. The filly didn’t answer, putting on her saddlebag. She exited the room and closed the door behind her, leaving a confused Vineyard alone with her demons. The general store was one of the only buildings in the town that didn’t need any scrap to keep out the wind at night. It was a plain looking building by prewar standards, but the architect had outdone himself by making one of the most resilient private establishment in all the wasteland. There was even an ‘opened closed’ sign hanging on the door’s blurry window, still legible from the outside to anypony who had better eyes than Abacus. It was a shame no one ever noticed the grandeur of its perseverance through the ages. Cricket walked down the wooden stairs almost failing to notice they didn’t creek, upon arriving at ground level, she found that this was where the shopkeeper did his business. She didn’t take notice of this part of the building while Vineyard had her employees rush her and Jäger in after the fight in the alley. There was a wooden counter and shelves containing various knick-knacks. The only thing Cricket found interesting was the earth pony asleep close to the counter. Abacus was generous enough to place a blanket over him. As she approached him she got a better look at the stallion. He was rather well built for his age, well worn with a notable scar running down his face by his left eye. Cricket realized if he wasn’t sauntering around the drunk, one might see him as an intimidating figure. His dark brown hair was actually well-kempt in a crew cut style. His beard was the same. This was in contrast to the acrid odor of all the alcohol he consumed. It was hard to tell whether or not that came from him or his shaggy tunic, turned brown from overuse; or the fact that he most likely vomited some more before falling asleep. Cricket’s nose wrinkled, bracing against the nauseous vapors. “Oi.” She nudged him. “I got work for ya” No response. She nudged him again getting a vague sense of deja vu from the ordeal. “Oi! Wake up ya drunk tosser!” “I’m awake! I’m awake!” The stallion yelled, pulling the blanket over his head. “Let a colt deal with a hangover in peace, will ya?” “I ‘ave caps and a problem, yes I do.” Cricket stated slightly satisfied with herself. She had been saving that phrase ever since she decided to hire help. “You’ll have another if you don’t beat it.” Jäger angrily retorted from under the cover. “I need help trackin’ down some ponies” Tracking was a new word Cricket had learned back in the caravan. She quite liked it. “And I need help getting through this damn hangover!!” “Well get over whatever you’re ‘ung up over and ‘elp me!” “Kid. I’m fucking begging you, shut up.” “Well if you listen t’what I ‘ave t’say, maybe I will!” “Fine!” The earth pony pulled the blanket behind him, his eyes were tinged a shade too red to be considered healthy. “Make it snappy!” He held his head trying to deal with his pulsing headache. Cricket smirked and continued with her onslaught of questions. “I heard you’re a good fighter, yes I did.” Cricket proclaimed a flame was visible in her eyes. Jäger gave a hearty laugh and cringed from the strain that went from his head down his back. “You could say that, kid.” He rubbed his temple with a hoof, “But that's debatable.” He smirked. “What you did in the alley didn’t look too debatable t’me.” “Get to the point, kid” “I need ‘elp.” There was a short silence. “Well spit it out.” The earth pony said, a little annoyed. “I need you t’track some ponies for me.” The filly smiled, happy she was finally making some progress. Jäger gave her a hard glare. “Why?” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care why?” The stallion sniffed “I’m not an idiot who takes orders from anypony with a vendetta. That’s why.” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “I got caps. Isn’t that enough?” Jäger let out a heavy sigh. “I don't work for just caps. Sorry kiddo.” He gave a small smile to the filly. The filly narrowed her eyes. “Oh don’t honestly tell me you’re some kind ‘igh fashioned psycho numpty” The earth pony gave the filly a confused looked, unsure of what she meant. So, he decided to clarify. “I'm. Not. A. Merc.” “Alright, what are ya?” Jäger opened his mouth to answer but shut it for a moment in deep asceticism. “A wanderer?” He mused then doubled down. “Yeah, a wanderer.” “Bullocks!” Cricket yelled, scorn growing in her tone. “No prissy drunko bell-end I know can lay down a beatin’ like the one you did in the alley and call ‘imself a fockin’ jolly wanderer.” “Thanks for the appraisal, kid,” Jäger slightly narrowed his eyes. “But I'm telling the truth.” He rubbed his eyes in a vein attempt to get the sting out. “The mare from the bar told me a different story.” The tan earth pony frowned. “So old V told you who I am, eh?” His voice was more leveled than before. Cricket nodded. “She told me you was a Canterlot Guard.” “I was ROC!” Jäger fired back, no hint of chagrin lost in his voice. He then cringed at the sting of his headache. “Not some cannon-fodder for the old royals...” “Doesn’t fockin’ matter!” Cricket stomped her hoof on the floorboard. “I just wan-” “Save your breath.” Vineyard interrupted, walking up from behind. “Jäger isn’t lying. He’s no hired gun.” Cricket whipped her head around, shooting the mare a glare. “Well, you said ‘e’s some kinda grandiose guard!” “Ranger.” Jäger corrected, clumsily ambling out the front door. “Whatever doesn’t matter if ‘e- WHERE THE FOCK ARE YOU GOIN’?!” Rickety Cricket shouted, sprinting for him. “Kid, just listen to V.” He said, cracking his neck. “She knows some of the best fighters in town.” “I don’t care!” She stomped a hoof on the ground. “I want your ‘elp!” “For the last time kid, I-” The stallion paused and smiled contently with a mischievous glint in his smile. “I’d be happy to help.” “Wha-” Cricket face beamed with a young smile. “Really?” “Yeah!” The stallion arched his back, with audible cracks and pops. “All you have to do is beat me.” Cricket raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What?” “Yup. You beat me in a game of… game of...” Jäger trailed off scratching his scraggly beard. “Tag?” Cricket offered. “No, that’s not it.” “Shoot the can?” “Nope, damn this is gonna bug me later if I don’t figure it out now.” “Hunting?” “Nope” “Hopscotch?” Vineyard suggested. “Nu-uh” “Roughhousing?” Cricket proposed “No.” Cricket rubbed her chin. “Hide and seek?” “Yes!” Jäger proclaimed triumphantly. “That’s it.” “Musical Chairs.” Vineyard offered, getting an odd look from the stallion and filly. “Sorry, I was having a nostalgia trip.” “So anyhoof,” Jäger shook his head, “You beat me in hide and seek, and I’ll do whatever you ask. Ranger’s honor.” Rickety Cricket mulled over the earth pony’s challenge and grinned mischievously. “You’re on!” “Alright,” the stallion yawned. “I’ll hide and you seek.” “Perfect! I’ll start countin’ so you go hide.” with that Cricket pressed her head against the wall and closed her eyes with her hooves. “One. Two. Three. Four...” Jäger began walking away. Before he could turn a corner, Vineyard called. “You have a good hiding spot, Jäger?” “Doesn’t matter.” He answered. “Just need to wait it out. She’s a kid; she’ll give up in a week; probably less” He turned the corner and left. A few minutes passed and Cricket finished the last of her counting. “Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred!” “So where to?” Cricket jumped. “Why are you still ‘ere?” “I figured you’d need help counting.” Vineyard smiled almost showing a little pride in the filly. “Seems I was wrong.” Cricket took umbrage with that. “You takin’ me for twit?” “Oh no, it’s just... you’re a kid.” “I know me numbers just fine, yes I do! ” She shot back and began walking away. To her chagrin Vineyard followed. “So where to?” the bartender repeated as though the filly didn’t spew poison her way. Cricket sighed, getting the sense that the mare would not relent unless she answered. “I’m goin’ t’the bar.” “Oh? You think he’ll be at the Whistling Widow?” “Nope.” Cricket dismissed, smiling proudly. “But ‘e will eventually. Right?” “What makes you think that?” The mare inquired with false naivety. She did know the answer, however, and she didn’t like that a child did too. The filly was too vain at the time to catch on. “‘e hasn’t picked up ‘is wallet yet.” Vineyard blinked. “What?” “Yup.” Cricket huffed, her gait holding the bravado of an old canterlot royal. “The daft git said he left it in the bar.” “Oh.” The bartender said, before the filly’s plan came to in her mind. ‘Oooooh… So he walks in and you get the drop on him.“ “Mhmmm” The filly nodded, affirming herself. “Full proof!” Vineyard giggled, her good mood returning. “I have to hand it to you. That’s a solid plan” “I ‘ave me moments, yes I do.” Cricket looked at glanced at the barmare. “You ‘ave t’be tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties t’make it in the waste- oof!” the filly exclaimed walking into something with the scent of last night’s alley vomit. Cricket looked up to see Tequila staring back at her. Her fur coat was gone, but the putrid odor of Jäger’s stomach contents remained. What she had instead was a nasty black eye from acquainting her face to the butt of her own shotgun. The look on her face was a calm yet, seething torrent of hate. When she spoke, the venom in her voice made the filly take a step back. “You...” She went to reach for the filly with a hoof but stopped as Vineyard took a step forward. Cricket turned her gaze towards the bartender. She didn’t reciprocate Tequila’s facial expression. Instead, the look on her face was calm as still water. Cricket couldn’t understand why the unicorn was intimidated by this. The two stared each other down for a full ten seconds before Tequila finally broke away begrudgingly. She walked passed the filly and bartender, shooting another glance at the mare and being promptly shut down by Vineyard’s gaze. “The ‘eck was that about?” Cricket asked. “She won’t be bothering you anymore.” Vineyard answered. It was then that the filly noticed that the mare’s scars looked deeper than before. Rickety Cricket came to understand many things over the years. But she could never for the life of her grasp how those scars worked. Maybe the bartender knew, maybe she didn’t. But whenever trouble called, Vineyard’s scars would surge in presence. They were always like guard hounds to Cricket, growing ravenous whenever they sensed danger in the midst of their mistress. Chapter 3: The Foozler in the BarWhen Vineyard and Rickety Cricket walked through the bar’s front doors, the establishment was closed up. It was early morning and the bar didn’t open till late noon. Vineyard’s employees swept around the place in preparation for the noon opening. The only pony left was Night Light, still sound asleep on her table. The peaceful look on her face along with her quiet snores was enough to dissuade any staff who thought about waking her up. “So,” Vineyard began, “Make yourself comfy. Jäger normally doesn’t show up till midnight.” Cricket groaned. “He’s a drunky. How cordial can ‘e be?” “You’d be surprised,” the barmare answered, taking her place behind the counter. “Whatever, it’s not like ‘e-” the filly paused as her stomach rumbled like thunder. A nearby stallion paused mid-sweep, slightly surprised. Vineyard frowned and gestured to the employee closest to her. “Lace, see if you can scare up a can of oats.” The earth pony mare gave a quick salute and went out the back door. Cricket gave Vineyard a contemptuous look. “Oi! I didn’t ask to buy anythin’.” “You’re not,” the barmare said, pulling out her rag and glass cup. “It’s compensation for what happened last night behind the bar.” The filly gave her a doubtful look as she took a seat on a salvaged bar chair. It was noticeably wobbly. Vineyard smiled at her compliance. “It wouldn’t kill you to strike up a conversation with me though.” The unicorn foal opened her mouth to protest but sighed instead. She was too hungry to pass up a free meal. “Whadya wanna know?” “Your name for starters,” Vineyard began cleaning her glass cup. “Rickety Cricket.” “That’s a weird name.” “Sod off!” Cricket shot back. “Fair enough,” the barmare giggled before adopting a serious tone that caught the filly off-guard. “Why do you want Jäger’s help?” Cricket whipped her head away in defiance. “I don’t need to tell you that, no I don’t.” “You kinda have to,” Vineyard countered with a sly grin on her face, her voice back to a more cheery tone. “If I don’t keep tabs on what business ponies are up to, it might be bad for the whole town.” The filly considered her words then sighed. “I want ‘im t’help me find some ponies.” “Why? They do anything to you?” the barmare asked, curious. Cricket didn’t answer, staring blankly at the wooden counter Vineyard nodded understandingly. “Fair enough. You don’t have to-” “They killed me parents,” the filly said, anger and sorrow in her words that the barmare didn’t expect. “Took me baby brother too.” Vineyard stopped cleaning her cup. “I’m so sorry...” “I never asked for your pity!” Cricket shot back, red-hot fury in her speech. She caused every head in the bar to turn her way sans the sleeping Night Light who didn’t even stir. “I don’t want anypony’s fockin’ pity! I want me parent’s murderers!” Vineyard looked at the unicorn foal with a weary face. She sighed, cleaning her cup. “He won’t help you.” Cricket snapped out from her sudden stupor. “What?” “Jäger won’t help you.” “When I catch ‘im in the bar-” “Doesn’t matter. He won’t care.” “But ‘e said ‘e would!” Cricket yelled, banging the countertop, eyes tearing up. “He’s not the type to keep promises.” Cricket scowled at Vineyard who just stared back blankly, no sympathy in her eyes as per the filly’s request. Wiping away her tears, she hopped off the chair and began making her way out the bar. “Where you goin’?” Vineyard called, cleaning her cup. “I’ll find’em meself.” “You won’t last long on your own,” the barmare called out. Around them, the other bar employees shifted nervously, unsure of whether to intervene. “Fockin’ watch me!” “Don’t bullshit with me, kiddo.” Vineyard stated a coldness in her voice that sent a shiver down Cricket’s spine. “I’ve seen ponies twice your age say the same thing before they waltzed out those doors. The lucky ones are dead.” Cricket stopped mid-walk and whipped her head at Vineyard. “Then what do you expect me t’do?!” She sobbed Vineyard sighed, “Get help.” She pointed a hoof to a wall of papers. “If you’re gonna do this, at least do it right. Sign your name, and I’ll get you a merc.” “I’ve seen the ‘talent’ around ‘ere. ‘Got their arses ‘anded to them by a fockin’ drunky!” “Then you’ll be glad to know I got another Ranger who will take the job.” the bartender replied with a small smile. “Eh?” Cricket’s ears perked up. She looked at the wall and scowled. “What makes you think this one will ‘elp?” “Well, let's say she has nothing better to do.” Cricket sniffed, rubbing off a small tear that accumulated on her face. She trudged back to Vineyard and snatched the parchment she was holding out before trotting to a table, pen clutched in her teeth. “You need help with the-” “I KNOW ME WORDS!!” After a few seconds of writing, Cricket marched over to the wall and slammed the parchment on. “There. Done.” The poster read as follows. Help Needed: Find murderers and saiv foal. Wil be riworded hansumly. Vineyard nodded, a smile returning to her face. “Night Light? Can I bother you for a second?” The mare sleeping on the table groaned and lifted her head up to yawn. She looked like she was still missing a few hours of slumber, and the baggy shirt she wore did nothing to discourage that image. Cricket looked at the powder blue mare, then Vineyard, then the mare again. There was a look of chagrin and disbelief on the filly’s face. “Night Light,” the barmare began, “this is Rickety Cricket.” The unicorn looked at the filly and gave a tired smile. “Hey.” Cricket looked at the barmare dumbstruck. “Really?” Vineyard nodded. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s not as good as Jäger but she’s no slouch either. Right Night Light?” The mare obliviously nodded “Mmmmmhm.” “She’ll get the job done for you. I can guarantee it. Right Night Light?” “Mmhmmmm” Cricket stared at the drowsy mare, as she gently swayed to and fro under a non-existent breeze. “I don’t see it.” “Could you say the same thing about Jäger when you first met him?” Vineyard countered, smirking. Cricket didn’t like how the barmare had a point. “Fine. I’ll ‘ave it your way” “Good.” Vineyard put her glass cup aside. “So let’s start by going into the details. Is there any clue you’ve got for us? Something that can narrow the search.” Cricket thought pondered over the question for a while but came short. “Nothin’ that I can think of.” “Any faces that jump into your mind? Places? How about a name?” “Weepin’ Sirens!” Cricket blurted, the name popping into her head. “That’s what dad called’em.” The moment she said those word, the two mares grimaced. Cricket tilted her head in confusion. “What’s the matter?” “The Sirens were a big name gang back in the day.” Vineyard said, her scars gaining more presence. “They’re gone now, but wannabes pop-up from time to time, trying to fill in the big shoes they left behind.” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “But I used to live in Stalliongrad. Why’d they go all the way there to kill me parents?” “Staking a name for themselves.” Night Light yawned. At Cricket’s confusion, Vineyard finished. “When a new gang comes into town, they bring something to brag about. ‘Let the ponies know what they're about. But they know if they do anything too extreme, we’d just smoke’em out.” The barmare’s scars faded back into her face, and she snickers. “These idiots thought killing a couple of foreign ponies cements them as bonafide badasses.” Night Light giggled. “I’ll make quick work of them Viny.” “Good.” Vineyard replied. The mare yawned again, ambling languidly towards the entrance. She stopped halfway and glanced at the filly. “You coming?” The filly’s ears perked up, she looked at Night Light, then at Vineyard, then at Night Light again. The barmare raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter?” “What about me oats?” The filly didn’t like how both mares chuckled. ———————————— There were many things Rickety Cricket did not like. She did not like the cold. She did not like an empty stomach. She did not like prewar music. She did not like ponies that asked too many questions. But most of all, the most aggravating thing for her in the wasteland, was an awkward silence. It was something she had experienced plenty of as she walked through the streets of Sweet Trot. She could have said something, but the air about Night Light had put Cricket on edge. It was no immediate threat that she posed; far from it. Sometimes as they walked, she would stumble on her loose shirt sleeve. Cricket wondered why she invested in a shirt that was a few sizes too big. Every now and then, a lock of her long hair would tickle her face, and she would have to blow it away. Cricket wondered why she didn’t just scavenge up a hair clip. Frequently, she would stop to yawn and Cricket wondered how she didn’t get enough rest. Vineyard’s voice was like an alarm clock to the mare, jolting her a little every time she urged them to move faster. It was definitely not the attitude that made the filly tense up in her presence. It was the complete banality of her character. To Rickety Cricket, the unicorn Night Light might just have been the most harmless pony in the wasteland. Of course, foals aren’t capable of making such deductions on adult psyche. As such, all these unarticulated thoughts could only manifest themselves as unease and suspicion towards the mare. Cricket mustered the will to strike a conversation with the mare, consciously aware she treading a path ending with a headache. “So, uh… You got an idea on where we need to be lookin’?” “Mmmmmmhm,” proclaimed the unicorn with all the bravado of a glass of water at room temperature. “You think it’s a good place to start?” “Mhmmmmmmmm.” After a moment rendered palpable via sheer awkwardness, Cricket added. “And?” “We’re going to meet a friend.” Another moment of silence. The filly’s eye twitched. “And this friend can ‘elp because...” “He knows where we can start looking.” Night Light said, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. Cricket gave her a deadpan look, which was left neglected. She was about to make another attempt at establishing contact with this alien posing as a mare but was cut short when she turned a corner abruptly. The filly startled, ran to catch up with her, finding herself in an alley between two tall buildings. “Where are you now...” Night Light wondered, scratching her chin with a sleeve draped hoof. “Is this where your friend is supposed to be?” The filly asked, walking up to her. The two buildings blocked most of the light from reaching the forlorn looking area. The only thing of note was the excessive grime and an old dumpster, it’s paint peeled off from centuries of decay. “Mum told me alleys are where liggers and nutters come ‘ome to roost.” “Well, I don’t know what a ligger is.” The unicorn mare banged her hoof against the dumpster loudly. “But he is pretty nutty.” Cricket’s eyes widened. “Wait, your friend lives in a fockin’ trash bin.” She broke into a hearty laughter. “Back in me ‘ome town, that woulda been a mark o’shame!” Night Light didn’t seem to take offense to her words, banging on the dumpster again. “He doesn’t live in a trash bin,” she emphasized, opening and closing the lid on its hinges. “It’s a dumpster.” “Like that makes it any less awful,” Cricket snickered. “I’d rather be caught ‘avin’ crumpets with a nutter AND a ligger than ‘ave a friend who sleeps on yesterday’s leftovers.” “Hey,” Night Light huffed. “Now that’s just mean…” “Well tough,” Cricket snorted with an air of bravado. “Either way your nutty ligger ain’t here, no he isn’t.” “She is right though.” Cricket felt a warm musty exhale on her back, she fell forward and whipped her head in the opposite direction. A sickly green pony stood in front of her; he was a lanky unicorn with bulging red eyes not unlike a bloat sprite. He took a step forward, eyes running up and down the filly with no effort to hide any malice. “That’s not a very nice thing to say y’know.” He spoke again. “Care to make up?” “Hi Weasel,” Night Light yawned deeply, keeping an eye on the unhinged looking pony. “How’s it been?” The stallion glanced up at the mare, his face warped like plastic “It’s. Whistle.” “Right, sorry,” she replied innocently. “Can we talk?” His face grew more twisted. “I told you this week’s batch isn’t ready ye-” “Not why I’m here,” she interjected apathetically with the wave of a hoof. “I need some info if you have any.” “Well, I don’t.” He stepped forward, smirking when Cricket jumped. “Not my area of expertise.” “C’mon… I know you’re lying,” she drawled, hanging on to the dumpster as she almost tripped. “Not my problem. Now beat it.” He shot a dark grin at a now pale Rickety Cricket. “I got a runt to rough up.” “Don’t touch that filly.” Night Light ambled forward, yawning. “Vineyard told me to keep her safe.” There was a silence in the alley as Whistle stared at Night Light as though she had said something unthinkable. It was then that Cricket noticed quite the maniacal grin creep on his face. “Vineyard, eh?” “Mhmmmmmm.” Night Light nodded. The stallion laughed a hearty laugh. “Alrighty, I’ll let you in on what I know.” “Really?” Night Light smiled. “That’s awfully-” “On one condition.” He pointed a hoof at Cricket, who was inching away from him. “I want the kid.” The filly froze. “P-piss off!” she yelled, but her cry fell on deaf ears. “Sorry, not happening.” She telekinetically pulled the filly behind her. “She’s under my protection.” “Oh c’mon, you’re pulling my leg here. If it’s a direct order from Vineyard of all ponies…” “No.” Night Light answered. Cricket noticed she made that proclamation rather soberly. “Fine, no info for you.” He snickered. Night Light took Cricket by the back of her hat and began leading the filly out of the alley. Her gait had much more fortitude than before. “Then again, I can still sweeten the pot for you.” The unicorn paused. The stallion’s grin grew more twisted as though his face was not accustomed to smiling so brightly. “You give me the kid, and the next three batches are yours. Free of charge.” Night Light stayed still for a moment but began walking again. “Alright next five batches!” The mare paused again, this time longer. But still, she marched on, now close to the light outside the alley. “Ten batches! You give me the kid, the next ten batches are yours.” Night Light froze once more, much to Cricket’s growing worry. “C’mon! Y-you’re not gonna hand me over to that bum toad... Right?” The unicorn didn’t answer. It was hard to read her perpetually tired face. “Ten batches...” Whistle nodded, his countenance reflecting a reptile rather than an equine. “I’ll throw in a little more spice.” “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Night Light thought aloud. Cricket was panicking now, she kept on glancing from Night Light to Whistle, wondering if she could make a break for it. Much to her aggravating fear, Night Light kept a steady grip on her head. She wondered if she could fight back, but flashes to her last fight behind the bar rang in her head like Piston’s knocks to her skull. “I wouldn’t give this offer to just anypony ya know.” “I don’t think Vineyard would forgive me if I did...” “Who cares what that high and mighty bitch thinks? She doesn’t let you do anything fun anymore, keeping you in that fucking bar all the time. Waste of your talent! Live a little...” He slowly walked forward eyeing his prize. “Not like she cared in the first place.” She nodded to no one in particular. As though she had finally come to an agreement with herself, the unicorn mare lead Cricket to the far edge of the alley. With a telekinetic grip, she adjusted her hat and brushed off the dirt on the scarf with her hoof. Cricket didn’t expect the peck on the forehead either. “Wait here, sweetie.” With her previous lumbering gait, she walked up to the reptilian resembling pony. “I knew you’d come around, Night-” His words fell short with a hoof to the face. Followed by another that knocked him to the floor, then a set of more when he tried to get up. All the while, Cricket watched flabbergasted as the world’s most benign looking mare beat the living puss out of a stallion with the callous look she wore before stepping into the alley, given new context as blood caked her hooves. It was like how Cricket dealt with the bloat sprite back home, only the blood wasn’t green this time. “Now I’ll ask again, Weasel.” She softly spoke, telekinetically opening the dumpster lid. She took Whistle by the head and placed it on the rim of the container. “I need info on the new gangs forming up these days.” “C-consider yourself banned from every vendor on the f-fucking wasteland,” he mouthed, not given much room to speak. “Wrong answer.” She tapped the lid on his head and hovered it above. Cricket cringed at his squeals. “Try again, weasel.” “F-fuck you!” Another tap on the head. “One more chance, Weasel.” She gently placed the lid over his head, like a looming storm. At his silent protest, she opened the lid as wide as possible and brought it down on his skull. “There’s a factory!” he screamed, the lid only a centimeter above his skull. “I’m listening.” Night Light cooed, raising the lid. “West from here... T-three hour walk… I heard something was cooking up!” he breathed heavily. Night Light stood there mulling over something before smiling languidly. “That’s pretty helpful! Thanks for the help Weasel.” “MY NAME’S WHISTLE!” he shouted. Night Light slammed the lid on his head. The sound rang out throughout the alley. The mare slumped his limp body over the waste receptacle and yawned, this time genuinely. She trekked towards a shocked stiff Cricket. “Whelp, we know where to start.” The filly snapped out of her trance and gazed at Night Light’s relaxed face. “Did you...” “Nnnnnnnnnnnope.” Night Light arched her back to stretch out the soreness for holding a pony in that position for so long. “He has a concussion, but he’ll live.” “oh...” “Something the matter?” “N-no.” “Mmmmmmhm. C’mon, gonna be a long walk from here.” She started trekking away, not checking if the foal followed after her. “R-right!” Cricket stammered and prepared to chase after the mare. She paused for a moment and spared the alley another glance. Rickety Cricket had seen many beatings throughout her life. Sometimes ponies deserved the receiving end, and others didn’t. Some were more brutal, others sent a stronger message. Some had more blood, others had more broken bones. But never would Cricket forget the merciless onslaught the unicorn Night Light served to Whistle in the back alley. For only Night Light taught her a lesson in assuming from appearances. Chapter 1: The Ninny behind the Counter“Or at least I would die tryin, yes I would.’” Rickety Cricket ended. Silence fell over the moving caravan cart as the unicorn filly concluded her story. The inhabitants of the carts shifted awkwardly. Every now and then, the creaking of rusty cartwheels would be accompanied by the wail of a brisk autumn wind. “Damn.” An elderly stallion adjusted his saddle bag. He spoke with a deep empathetic voice. “I’m sorry to hear all that, little miss.” “Save it ya old hoot,” Cricket answered, no hint of an effort to conceal her venom. “You wanted me story so bad? Now you ‘ave it.” An earth pony mare who was handing out rations to the caravan caught up to the stallion with a sack full of rations. Her accent was the same as Cricket when she spoke. “Somethin’ up here? This cart’s quieter than the rest.” “No.” The stallion answered. “Just a routine check. Found an unattended filly and decided to ask a few questions.” “And ‘e was just about t’mind ‘is own bloody business too,” Cricket interjected. “Oi you disrespectful little harpy,” the mare remarked taking umbrage. “You best apologize or-” “No need for that, Miss Thimble.” He dismissed her with the wave of a hoof. “She’s right, it was rude of me to intrude in the first place. Carry on as you were.” The stallion walked on ahead. Letting the mare do her work. Grumbling, she pulled loaves of bread out of the sack and passed them to the ponies in the cart. She gave Cricket a particularly stale looking loaf. The filly either didn’t notice or care, snatching the edible from her hoof. The ponies in the cart watched, some with pity in their eyes, as the filly scarfed down the musty piece of food rapaciously, as though it was her first meal in a very long time. “So,” A unicorn mare huddled close to her husband began. “How are you going to um… take care of these ponies, if you don’t mind?” “I actually do mind, yes I do.” she shot back, picking leftover crumbs off her scarf and popping them into her mouth. “Well don't get me wrong little miss.” The husband added. “But I doubt a kid your age can pull off a job like this.” This earned him a glare from his wife. “Well, I’m just being frank here. You’re far from the first to ever want revenge on somepony in the wasteland. But everypony in this cart can attest that most of these stories don’t turn out to have happy endings.” “Well, who says you have to do it on your own?” A mare at the end of the cart adds, chewing on a piece of straw as she gazed off into the horizon. “I mean we’re heading to Sweet Trot, right? Ain’t that the hired gun capital of the wasteland?” Cricket raised an eyebrow, keeping her hat from flying away as a wind blew by. “‘ired gun?” “Yeah” The mare stretched to get comfier in her spot. ”You walk into the local bar, and ask ponies to get rid of your problems; monsters, zebras, griffins, ponies, you name it.” Cricket raised an eyebrow, confused. “You ask a pony t’kill and they just do it fer you?” An elderly earth pony chimed in, “Some have standards so they won’t kill just anypony, but as long as you have caps, most will have their guns locked and loaded for you.” “Hey now,” the unicorn huddled close to her husband interjected. “Are we all forgetting where telling a little filly how to commit murder?” “Your point?” the straw-chewing mare callously yawned. “Don’t pretend you haven’t killed a pony for any less a reason.” This made the unicorn shrink, but before she could fire back with a retort, the caravan master called from ahead. “Alright everypony our third stop, Sweet Trot!” his assertive voice almost echoed in the open field on which they were traveling. Hearing this everypony quieted down, leaving Cricket to think about what she had just heard. ‘ired gun eh? ———————————— The filly looked out the back of the old dusty cart for a moment. Then began to follow in line with the rest of ponies leaving out the back of the cart. The settlement, if you could call it that, featured decrepit buildings repurposed and mended via wood planks, metal sheets, and other scrap material. To Cricket it was just another old, run downtown. It only took her ten minutes of searching to find the bar. It was called, according to the sign in the front, The Whistling Widow. That’s a stupid name ’. Cricket mused. From what she could tell, it seem to be the town hotspot judging by the amount of ponies going in. If she was gonna find a hired-gun this was the place to be. As Cricket approached the bar’s doorway, the smell of alcohol and the sound of music engulfed the building. An earth pony stallion lumbered out, piss drunk. He took a swig out of a bottle with contents so pungent, Cricket was sure she tasted some. How he could maintain balance this drunk when holding a bottle in one hoof and walking on three, was anyone’s guess. He ambled past Cricket, bumping her on the way. He was a tall fellow, so he knocked the little filly over. He paused for a second and spared her a glance. “Pardon.” “Piss off, ya drunk bastard.” The filly yelled getting up. ”Some of us are walkin’ ‘ere.” The stallion raised an eyebrow before shrugging and went on his merry way, turning to the back alley where he indeed took a piss. With that bizarre encounter over and done with, Cricket stood in front of the entrance. Taking a deep breath, she walked underneath the looming saloon doors too high up to impede the little filly. ———————————— The inside was a lot tamer than what she expected. The music was loud, but no one danced to it. Ponies drank, but not to excess. Ponies sat on their tables chatting about having a good time; there were even some griffons hanging around. This was the first time Rickety Cricket ever saw griffons in her life. Her dad told her about them but she had never seen them in real life. The table they sat at seemed to be reserved for them, given their claw marks all over the surface. It took a second for Cricket to realize those were to keep a tally of something. One of them flashed her a glare, prompting the filly to look away. “Hey,” a relaxed feminine voice called from across the bar. Cricket turned her head to find it had to come from a mare behind the counter in the far corner of the bar. Confused, she placed a hoof on her chest gesturing ‘me?’ and she amicably gestured back ‘of course you’.’ With a reserved look on her face, the filly walked towards the mare. Upon getting closer, she noticed that she was an earth pony teetering at the edge of her prime. The formal bartender attire she wore covered the myriad scars on her body. The cut marks on her face didn’t stop her from looking pretty, but Cricket wondered if her smile would have been brighter if not for those scars. “Hey there, kiddo,” the bartender cooed in an almost motherly voice. “Oi,” Cricket replied, with visibly practiced hardiness. “What’s a filly like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, cleaning glass cup with a rag. Cricket noticed it was already spotless “What’s it t’you?” She answered, struggling to keep face under the mare’s calm smile. The Barmare giggled at her defiance. “Well I run this place and I don’t get ponies your age very often. If you’re lost I can give directions.” “I know where I am,” she replied with a prickly tone. “Oh? So what business are you looking for? We don’t serve drinks to kids your age.” “I ain’t lookin’ for no fockin’ drinks.” she stated, her frustration brewing from the Barmare’s borderline condescension. “I need ‘elp.” She stopped scrubbing the glass cup for a split second before resuming, her smile vanishing as though it was never there. She spoke with more weight in her words, “If you want somepony to help you lift something heavy, you can ask the general store owner across the street.” she smiled again, resuming her scrubbing. “He’s nice.” “I don’ want that kind of ‘elp.” The barmare didn’t respond, only scrubbing the inside of her glass cup. Despite all the ambient cacophony of the bar, the only thing cricket could really hear was the squeaks from that cup. “I don’t suppose you wanna play a prank on one of your friends.” “I got no friends,” she answered straight. The barmare breathed a deep sigh as though she felt resigned to something. Her face grew darker, and her scars more pronounced. “Well, you’ll need quite a few caps to have these ponies do whatever you want.” With a faint golden aura from her horn, Cricket pulled a pouch which resembled an obese piglet out of her saddlebags and tossed it onto the counter. It was stuffed with caps giving it a ball like shape. “That enough?” The Barmare stared at the pouch’s button eyes with a tired look on her face. She spoke with a seemingly rehearsed voice. “Everypony here is ready to do what you want. You wanna ask ponies closer to the counter. Steer clear from the one’s close to the walls. Avoid the griffons and anypony with a smile. Don’t make eye contact with anyone you don’t want to talk to.” A bit taken aback from the sudden string of advice, Cricket nodded and put the caps back into her saddlebag. She didn’t come close to the griffons or anypony near the walls. But almost everypony had a smile on their face. The ones who didn’t smile were either too drunk or passed out. Cricket looked back at the barmare still cleaning her glass cup, but staring at her with a very grim look. The filly begrudgingly looked away but could feel the Barmare’s cold stare piercing through her. Can’t even follow her own advice, the minger. She walked towards a unicorn mare with long dark hair, passed out on a table. There was a half-finished tanker of pungent cider sitting next to her head, seemingly her only company. “Oi.” Cricket nudged her. “Wake up. I got work for ya, yes I do.” She didn’t budge. Cricket budged her but to no avail. “Oi! Wake up ya lazy sod.” “Don’t bother with Night Light, kid.” A stallion on a table behind Cricket suggested. He had a playful grin on his face, and the garishly red suit he wore didn’t help make it look friendly. A unicorn mare accompanying him giggled. She was wearing a worn looking fur coat a few sizes too big for her. When she spoke it was with a grin, but there was no attempt in hiding the poshness in her voice. “When she goes to sleep, the second coming of Celestia can’t wake her up.” “Who are you?” she said with a scowl. “Oh? That’s an odd accent.” The mare noted, stroking her coat. “You’re not from around here, are you?” “The name’s Piston,” the stallion greeted with a tip of his gaudy red hat, “That’s Tequila.” “And I’m leavin’,” Cricket fumed, attempting to storm out. “I knew this was a bad idea.” “Hey now,” the mare cut her off, “We’re just interested.” “You said you wanted work done, right?” he pointed out. “We can spare you some time.” Cricket glanced at the barmare for a moment. The bartender had diverted her gaze from the filly to the stallion. There was a ghost of a frown on the side of her mouth. Cricket got the hint. “I said I’m leavin’” she stepped to the side of the mare, and to her growing worry, the two got up from their seat and followed. The filly took a deep breath. She had a feeling there was a fight coming her way in the near future. ———————————— Thud. Thud. Thud. Piston pressed his hoof against a bloody and bruised Rickety Cricket in the alley next to the bar. “Maybe that’s why you little bitch,” Thud. “Listen.” Thud. “To.” Thud. “Adults.” Thud. Thud. Thud. “You made your point Piston.” Tequila said, callously rummaging through Cricket’s things. “Beating on a foal is beneath you.” “Ah doll, don’t be like that.” The stallion spat on the still conscious filly. “Not a single broken bone, See?” “F-fock… You...” Cricket hissed out like a dying snake. “She still has fight left in her.” The mare giggled, “Will you oblige her?” She pulled out the Cricket’s piglet looking pouch out of her saddlebag. “Oh this is adorable” “Nah,” Piston answered with the wave of a hoof. “She’s spent, look at her! She can’t even- FUCK!” Piston screamed in pain as Cricket bit his hind leg. He bucked the wall, slamming Cricket head first into the concrete. She fell on the ground, limp for a moment before willing herself up. “OK, that’s it!” The stallion rolled up his sleeves with his hooves. “You just won a trip to the E.R you little-” “H-hey Piston.” A voice familiar to Cricket called from behind. It was the same earth pony that Cricket bumped into walking outside the bar. He had a drunk happy smile on his face. “Whadya… Whadya doin’ here?” He tilted his head finding a rather disheveled looking filly that he swore he met before. His eyes widened in realization. “Are you’ze three having a... slumber party?” Piston raised an eyebrow. “The fuck are you doing here?” “No no no no no.” The drunk pony waved in an over the top fashion. “First... you say ‘how do you do’ and... I say ‘I’m doing fine.’ Here lemme demonster...” He turned to a confused Tequila who smiled awkwardly. “How do you- BLUUUUUEEERRGGGHH!” Tequila’s scream was loud enough to be heard in the bar, particularly by the barmare who scrubbed her glass cup, a content look about her face again. The mare quivered as though traumatized, her coat covered in alcoholic vomit and miasma that seeped into her mane and coat and clung onto it. “Well, shit.” The stallion desperately tried to gain some composure.”I am... so sorry. Here lemme-” with a quick motion, he forced himself away from the mare and landed the rest of his stomach contents on to the ground. Cricket looked at the show, unsure what to make of it. “Alright, that’s it.” Piston stormed in front of the earth pony and slammed his hoof in the other pony’s face. Somehow, he managed to keep his footing despite being drunk as a rad-ocean sailor. “Okay... we’re doin’ this now.” He spat onto the ground, clumsily getting into position. “Sure. I’m game... But I gotta warn you Piston, I-” A hoof to the face shut down the intoxicated interloper. In between his words, Piston pulled out a pair of iron horseshoes. “Don’t interrupt my work you old mule.” Piston said strafing from side to side. Cricket noticed that despite his big words, Piston approached him with a great deal of caution. The earth pony sighed. “I’m too... drunk for this.” “I said, BEAT IT!” Piston went in for a knockout punch, but with a motion too practiced to be considered flippant luck, the daring drunkard smacked the assailant's foreleg into a wall with a sickening crack. As Piston screamed in agony, the earth pony shut his ears, in a vain effort to subdue an oncoming headache. Inside, the barmare closely observed her glass cup just to make sure she didn’t miss a spot when she heard Piston’s scream. A young earth pony employee raised an eyebrow in concern “You think we should go do something about all that noise?” The barmare took her rag and continued scrubbing her glass cup. “Go clean the empty tables, Fee.” Outside, The stallion grabbed Piston’s head and slammed it into the wall, knocking him out cold. “Screams like a banshee that colt.” the drunk stallion remarked before turning to the mare. “Now about that coat...” He trailed off, quickly noticing the business end of a shotgun was intimately close to his head. Cricket noticed that it was shaking in the mare’s telekinetic grasp.. Tequila was furious. Her heart was racing, her good mood was ruined, her fur coat was ruined, Piston’s face was ruined, and worst of all, if things kept on going this direction, she couldn’t show her face in the bar again. “You barked up the wrong tree, you old bastard! You should have passed out drunk on some bench.” The earth pony scratched the back of his head. “I was gonna... but I left my caps in the bar and... I need’em back before Vineyard takes a cut out... again.” “Shut the fuck up!” “Right… Sorry about Piston’s face.” “Okay, that’s it!” She loaded her gun. But before she could shoot, the earth pony yanked it out of the way with one hoof and with the other, pointed the stock at the astonished mare’s face. BANG! Inside the bar, Fee was wiping the table clean under the supervision of his boss. Suddenly he heard gunfire. “What was that?” The barmare paused from cleaning her cup, pointing at a seemingly random part of the table. “You missed a spot, Fee.” Outside, Tequila lay on the dirt, missing a few teeth. The shotgun was no longer in the alley. It had flown far off into space. Cricket likes to think it managed to break through the cloud cover, hitting a pegasus while she was mowing her cloud lawn. Cricket looked at Tequila, then at Piston, then at Tequila again. She then looked towards the mysterious stallion who was now starting to tilt forward and backward, seemingly on the cusp of passing out. He turned to face the filly, putting her on edge. “Uh… hey there.” The stallion responded by falling to his side, now fast asleep. Rickety Cricket looked back at this moment several times in her life. No matter how she spun it, she couldn’t make up her mind. Was that how the fight in the alley actually played out? Or was it just a fabrication of her young mind? She could never decide.
IntroductionMost ponies tell fillies me age that I’m too young t’know what a bad day is like until I get proper acquainted with the world. Then again, most ponies are fockin’ idiots. ‘appened a few weeks ago, yes it did; the worst day of me life. I dunno why but aside for the most important things that ‘appened t’me that day, it’s all a blur in me ‘ead. What I can remember, I can see play out in me ‘ead like one of those prewar movies. I’m there lookin’ after me baby brother in ‘is crib, yes I am. ‘e was born yesterday and we’re still comin’ up with a name for the littlun. All of a sudden, dad runs inside and tells me and mum t’hide. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen dad this scared, so I’m scared. Mum asks why and ‘e just utters three words t’make ‘er coat go pale. “The Weeping Sirens.”’ Everythin’ is is a frantic blur. The next thin’ I know, I’m ‘idin’ in the closet with mum and the littlun. ‘e’s still ‘alf asleep. We ‘ear a few loud bangs and the door gets blown off. I ‘ear bunch of ponies walk inside. I ‘ear a quick kerfuffle and a pony slam on the ground. The baby starts whimperin’. More scramblin’ and then a sound that shakes me t’me very core. Dad’s screamin’ in agony. Mum starts cradlin’ the baby desperately. I’m too scared meself t’help in anyway. Baby’s whimperin’ gets louder. Mum tries t’shush ‘im. Tears are streamin’ down ‘er face, but she smiles for ‘im cuz she’s the best fockin’ mother in the world. We can ‘ear the ponies who broke into our ‘ouse. Three of’em atleast. We start ‘earin’ ‘avoc as the the ponies tear me ‘ouse apart. That scares poor littlun, yes it does. Baby starts cryin’. Mum cant do anythin’ about it. I can’t do anythin’ about it. Everythin’ is silent for a good second aside for littlun’s frantic weepin’. A stallion yells out ‘e knows there’s a pony with a baby in the closet. If we don’ come out, ‘e’ll shoot us dead. The bastard ‘as a mainland accent like me dad. Baby starts cryin’ louder. Mum breathes ‘eavily for a moment. As though she’s about t’make the most important decision of ‘er life. She looks at me, then at the baby, then me again. Leans close and kisses me on the ‘ead. She spares me one last smile cuz she’s best mother in the fockin’ world. She opens the closet door only wide enough for ‘er t’be seen. It's all silent for a second aside from some mutterin’ ‘ere and there. Then comes the laughing. That ‘orrible fockin’ laughin’. Somepony laughs like ‘e just ‘eard the funniest joke in the wasteland. ‘e laugh like it was a clown that came out of the closet instead of me mum. Then as soon as the laughin’ stops, BANG! The baby cries even louder. Me poor baby brother needs ‘is big sister, and I’m pissin’ away in this fockin’ closet, tryin’ not to gag on the scent of gunsmoke. Mom screams a blood curdlin’ scream. A quick commotion ‘appens, and ends as soon as it starts: BANG! I ‘ear a thud, and some more of that bloody laughter before I ‘ear those spawns of discord leave me ‘ouse. It's all quite after that aside from littluns bawlin’. I’m about t’muster all the courage I ever ‘ad t’walk out of the closet but stop when another pair of ‘ooves comes closer. Me breathin’ gets ‘eavier, I’m pretty sure the pony outside can ‘ear me. Suddenly, it stops. I ‘ear littlun’s voice waver for a second. Then ‘is cryin’ gets quieter and quieter till I can’t hear’em no more. Who ever that pony was, they took the only livin’ family I ‘ad left, away! And I just sat in that bloody closet like the coward I am. I stayed for what musta been ‘ours cuz by the time some ponies came t’me ‘ouse t’check what ‘appened, all the tears, sweat, and snot on me face ‘ad dried up. They opened the closet and got a good look at the miserable coward who did nowt as ‘er baby brother was taken away from ‘er. I looked fockin’ pitiful, yes I did. Then I see me parents, lyin’ on the floor, in a pool of their dry blood. The pony asks me if I’m alright. I don’t answer, just stare at me parent’s dead corpses. Everythin’s another ‘azy blur after that. That pony takes me t’the mayor of the town. I tell ‘im everythin’ that ‘appened, yes I do. Then I beg’em we need t’find the bastards who ruined me whole life and find me baby brother. Then with a straight face ‘e refuses. Ah look at ‘im flabbergasted. Ah beg ‘im t’reconsider. ‘e doesn’t relent and sounds off on some shite about the sanctity of ‘is position in the town and ‘ow it might be compromised by goin; after a “petty grievance”. I say ‘e was bein’ unreasonable, ‘e politely responds by ‘avin’ security escort me out of the buildin’. Everythin’s a blur after that. Last thin’ I remember is ah’m lyin’ on me bed in me ‘ouse in the dead of night. No pony bothered t’do owt about the bodies in the next room and they’re too ‘eavy for me t’pick up. So I placed a blanket over them. I’m just starin’ at the ceilin’ on me bed completely numb t’the world. I ‘ear some buzzin’ in the other room, and go outside t’investigate. A fockint bloatsprite is sittin’ on me parents corpse tryin’ t’get its way through the blanke'. ‘ow it made its way into town without gettin’ shot is beyond me. But when I see the little puss ball make a tear through the blanket t’munch on mum’s hide, I scramble towards it and ‘oof it away. It hits the wall and falls down. It tries t’hover away but I dont let it. I pound the glob of shite over and over until its innards decorate a good chunk of wall in me ‘ouse, and ah still keep pummelin’ away. I tenderize the damn thin’ with me ‘oof. I realize then I’m feelin’ somethin’ I didn’t feel all day. Hate. I ‘ated the bloatsprite for tryin’ t’sink it’s putrid teeth into me parents. Ah ‘ated the tossers who killed me parents and took away me baby brother. I ‘ated the mayor who sat by and let me parents’ murderers get away. And most importantly, I ‘ated meself for not doin’ anythin’ t’help me parents. As I stood on the puddle of green blood and pus-filled meat. I made a pledge t’meself, yes I did. I would brin’ Tartarus t’the ponies who ruined me life. Or at least ah would die tryin’, yes I would.
Chapter 2: The Drunky from the Alley“Alrighty,” a senior unicorn mused out loud, placing an ice pack on Rickety Cricket’s swollen cheek. His voice was as tremorous as the rest of his body. “Keep a steady grip on that. I’ll go check up on your friend.” “I can’t thank you enough for letting me use your general store, Abacus,” the bartender smiled warmly, applying healing ointment on a particularly rough scrape on the filly’s foreleg. Cricket hissed from the sting, futilely holding back the tears falling down her cheek. It didn’t fool anybody. Her hat and scarf lay cozy in a corner; the piglet pouch rested comfy on top as though the king of the arrangement. Abacus adjusted his thick pair of glasses and smiled in a way that made him look even older than he already was. “None of that, Vineyard,” he said, moving towards the door with reserved motion. “Anything to get some company around here.” “Well, stop by at bar sometime,” Vineyard offered, wrapping a bandage over Cricket’s bad leg. “It’ll get you out of the store. Drinks are on me.” “I appreciate the thought, but the chatter I’ve heard in that place is unnerving,” Abacus answered a hint of hesitation in his words. He then remembered who he was talking to and desperately corrected himself. “N-not to say there aren’t any good people in there.” He glanced back to see Vineyard’s cheerful smile. Though it was lost on Cricket, Abacus picked up on the apologetic look in her eyes. The bartender giggled, “It’s okay, I’ll bring a bottle of moonshine later.” He nodded with a guilty grin. “I’ll remember to cook up some rad steaks.” With that, the old stallion closed the door, leaving the barmare with the filly. “So,” Vineyard began, placing her first aid kit aside when something caught her eye. “I see you have a cutie mark. We don’t get them as pretty as yours these days.” It was a heart on fire. Simple, yet full of meanings. Cricket didn’t answer, staring at the ground with a hateful look on her face. “Care to tell me what it means?.” Still no response. “That’s fine you don’t have to answer.” A few moments of silence flew by. “That was quite the pummeling you took in the back alley.” The filly shot the mare an angry look with so much venom that even Vineyard was taken aback for a split second. She then broke into a light chuckle and gave the filly a warm smile that could brighten up any other pony’s day. “You just took a beating from a pony four times your size. If something like that happened to me when I was your age, I would have been the coolest filly in the playground.” Hearing this, Cricket’s face turned a bright shade of red. Of course, she didn’t want the bartender to see her this way so she hunched forward, like an armadillo. “Piss off...” she mumbled. “Oh, now you’re just being mean.” When she didn’t receive a response, she sighed as though resigned to silence. “Fine, I won’t--” “Who is ‘e?” Cricket interrupted the mare, taking her by surprise. “Come again?” “Drunk wanker from the alley” “Oh…” Vineyard blinked. “He’s a… ‘different’ kind of pony, prefers to keep to himself.” Cricket didn't seem to like her answer. Different? She pondered. The filly unraveled herself and turned to face Vineyard. “I wanna know ‘is name.” The mare seemed to be more comfortable with this question, as she was quick to reply. “Most folks don't know what his real name is, but we call him Jäger.” “Jäger?” Cricket gave Vineyard a funny look. “Why do you call ‘im that?” The mare smiled again as if the name brought back memories. “Well the name itself is from an old Germane word.” The filly gave confused look, Vineyard gave a light-hearted giggle and continued to explain. “It was his nickname, given by an old friend. The word, you see, has a different meaning in Equestrian.” “And what’s that?” Cricket asked, growing impatient from Vineyard’s word game. But all ill-will towards the mare vanished at the dark look that came across her face. “Hunter.” Vineyard answered, her voice a tone deeper. Cricket huffed. “Didn’ look like a ‘unter t’me” For a second, there was a hint of a playful smile on her face. “You’d be surprised.” Vineyard laid against the wall staring into space, reminiscing. “Most folks here are too young to remember. But ten-odd years ago, Jäger was a ranger for the Republic of Canterlot.” Cricket’s head tilted in confusion. “A what?” The mare chuckled lightly. “Right, I have to stop pretending like people know what that means.” Cricket noticed her words had a tinge of grief in them. “They were fighters. ‘Tried to introduce law to the wasteland. The best of’em got titles.” “Where are they now?” “Disbanded. Most are dead, some are out there doing whatever the hell they please. Jäger’s one of’em. But he chose to put his talent into getting wasted every day.” The last words saddened Vineyard. Cricket, too young at the time, never picked up on the mare’s body language. The filly opened her mouth as though ready to ask another barrage of questions, but stopped. A look of contemplation came over her, followed by a nod to herself. Getting up, the filly walked to her belongings, tied the scarf around her neck with practiced hoof movements, placed her hat on her head, kissed the piglet on its snout and stored it snug in her saddlebag. “Where you heading off to?” Vineyard mused out loud. The filly didn’t answer, putting on her saddlebag. She exited the room and closed the door behind her, leaving a confused Vineyard alone with her demons. The general store was one of the only buildings in the town that didn’t need any scrap to keep out the wind at night. It was a plain looking building by prewar standards, but the architect had outdone himself by making one of the most resilient private establishment in all the wasteland. There was even an ‘opened closed’ sign hanging on the door’s blurry window, still legible from the outside to anypony who had better eyes than Abacus. It was a shame no one ever noticed the grandeur of its perseverance through the ages. Cricket walked down the wooden stairs almost failing to notice they didn’t creek, upon arriving at ground level, she found that this was where the shopkeeper did his business. She didn’t take notice of this part of the building while Vineyard had her employees rush her and Jäger in after the fight in the alley. There was a wooden counter and shelves containing various knick-knacks. The only thing Cricket found interesting was the earth pony asleep close to the counter. Abacus was generous enough to place a blanket over him. As she approached him she got a better look at the stallion. He was rather well built for his age, well worn with a notable scar running down his face by his left eye. Cricket realized if he wasn’t sauntering around the drunk, one might see him as an intimidating figure. His dark brown hair was actually well-kempt in a crew cut style. His beard was the same. This was in contrast to the acrid odor of all the alcohol he consumed. It was hard to tell whether or not that came from him or his shaggy tunic, turned brown from overuse; or the fact that he most likely vomited some more before falling asleep. Cricket’s nose wrinkled, bracing against the nauseous vapors. “Oi.” She nudged him. “I got work for ya” No response. She nudged him again getting a vague sense of deja vu from the ordeal. “Oi! Wake up ya drunk tosser!” “I’m awake! I’m awake!” The stallion yelled, pulling the blanket over his head. “Let a colt deal with a hangover in peace, will ya?” “I ‘ave caps and a problem, yes I do.” Cricket stated slightly satisfied with herself. She had been saving that phrase ever since she decided to hire help. “You’ll have another if you don’t beat it.” Jäger angrily retorted from under the cover. “I need help trackin’ down some ponies” Tracking was a new word Cricket had learned back in the caravan. She quite liked it. “And I need help getting through this damn hangover!!” “Well get over whatever you’re ‘ung up over and ‘elp me!” “Kid. I’m fucking begging you, shut up.” “Well if you listen t’what I ‘ave t’say, maybe I will!” “Fine!” The earth pony pulled the blanket behind him, his eyes were tinged a shade too red to be considered healthy. “Make it snappy!” He held his head trying to deal with his pulsing headache. Cricket smirked and continued with her onslaught of questions. “I heard you’re a good fighter, yes I did.” Cricket proclaimed a flame was visible in her eyes. Jäger gave a hearty laugh and cringed from the strain that went from his head down his back. “You could say that, kid.” He rubbed his temple with a hoof, “But that's debatable.” He smirked. “What you did in the alley didn’t look too debatable t’me.” “Get to the point, kid” “I need ‘elp.” There was a short silence. “Well spit it out.” The earth pony said, a little annoyed. “I need you t’track some ponies for me.” The filly smiled, happy she was finally making some progress. Jäger gave her a hard glare. “Why?” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care why?” The stallion sniffed “I’m not an idiot who takes orders from anypony with a vendetta. That’s why.” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “I got caps. Isn’t that enough?” Jäger let out a heavy sigh. “I don't work for just caps. Sorry kiddo.” He gave a small smile to the filly. The filly narrowed her eyes. “Oh don’t honestly tell me you’re some kind ‘igh fashioned psycho numpty” The earth pony gave the filly a confused looked, unsure of what she meant. So, he decided to clarify. “I'm. Not. A. Merc.” “Alright, what are ya?” Jäger opened his mouth to answer but shut it for a moment in deep asceticism. “A wanderer?” He mused then doubled down. “Yeah, a wanderer.” “Bullocks!” Cricket yelled, scorn growing in her tone. “No prissy drunko bell-end I know can lay down a beatin’ like the one you did in the alley and call ‘imself a fockin’ jolly wanderer.” “Thanks for the appraisal, kid,” Jäger slightly narrowed his eyes. “But I'm telling the truth.” He rubbed his eyes in a vein attempt to get the sting out. “The mare from the bar told me a different story.” The tan earth pony frowned. “So old V told you who I am, eh?” His voice was more leveled than before. Cricket nodded. “She told me you was a Canterlot Guard.” “I was ROC!” Jäger fired back, no hint of chagrin lost in his voice. He then cringed at the sting of his headache. “Not some cannon-fodder for the old royals...” “Doesn’t fockin’ matter!” Cricket stomped her hoof on the floorboard. “I just wan-” “Save your breath.” Vineyard interrupted, walking up from behind. “Jäger isn’t lying. He’s no hired gun.” Cricket whipped her head around, shooting the mare a glare. “Well, you said ‘e’s some kinda grandiose guard!” “Ranger.” Jäger corrected, clumsily ambling out the front door. “Whatever doesn’t matter if ‘e- WHERE THE FOCK ARE YOU GOIN’?!” Rickety Cricket shouted, sprinting for him. “Kid, just listen to V.” He said, cracking his neck. “She knows some of the best fighters in town.” “I don’t care!” She stomped a hoof on the ground. “I want your ‘elp!” “For the last time kid, I-” The stallion paused and smiled contently with a mischievous glint in his smile. “I’d be happy to help.” “Wha-” Cricket face beamed with a young smile. “Really?” “Yeah!” The stallion arched his back, with audible cracks and pops. “All you have to do is beat me.” Cricket raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What?” “Yup. You beat me in a game of… game of...” Jäger trailed off scratching his scraggly beard. “Tag?” Cricket offered. “No, that’s not it.” “Shoot the can?” “Nope, damn this is gonna bug me later if I don’t figure it out now.” “Hunting?” “Nope” “Hopscotch?” Vineyard suggested. “Nu-uh” “Roughhousing?” Cricket proposed “No.” Cricket rubbed her chin. “Hide and seek?” “Yes!” Jäger proclaimed triumphantly. “That’s it.” “Musical Chairs.” Vineyard offered, getting an odd look from the stallion and filly. “Sorry, I was having a nostalgia trip.” “So anyhoof,” Jäger shook his head, “You beat me in hide and seek, and I’ll do whatever you ask. Ranger’s honor.” Rickety Cricket mulled over the earth pony’s challenge and grinned mischievously. “You’re on!” “Alright,” the stallion yawned. “I’ll hide and you seek.” “Perfect! I’ll start countin’ so you go hide.” with that Cricket pressed her head against the wall and closed her eyes with her hooves. “One. Two. Three. Four...” Jäger began walking away. Before he could turn a corner, Vineyard called. “You have a good hiding spot, Jäger?” “Doesn’t matter.” He answered. “Just need to wait it out. She’s a kid; she’ll give up in a week; probably less” He turned the corner and left. A few minutes passed and Cricket finished the last of her counting. “Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred!” “So where to?” Cricket jumped. “Why are you still ‘ere?” “I figured you’d need help counting.” Vineyard smiled almost showing a little pride in the filly. “Seems I was wrong.” Cricket took umbrage with that. “You takin’ me for twit?” “Oh no, it’s just... you’re a kid.” “I know me numbers just fine, yes I do! ” She shot back and began walking away. To her chagrin Vineyard followed. “So where to?” the bartender repeated as though the filly didn’t spew poison her way. Cricket sighed, getting the sense that the mare would not relent unless she answered. “I’m goin’ t’the bar.” “Oh? You think he’ll be at the Whistling Widow?” “Nope.” Cricket dismissed, smiling proudly. “But ‘e will eventually. Right?” “What makes you think that?” The mare inquired with false naivety. She did know the answer, however, and she didn’t like that a child did too. The filly was too vain at the time to catch on. “‘e hasn’t picked up ‘is wallet yet.” Vineyard blinked. “What?” “Yup.” Cricket huffed, her gait holding the bravado of an old canterlot royal. “The daft git said he left it in the bar.” “Oh.” The bartender said, before the filly’s plan came to in her mind. ‘Oooooh… So he walks in and you get the drop on him.“ “Mhmmm” The filly nodded, affirming herself. “Full proof!” Vineyard giggled, her good mood returning. “I have to hand it to you. That’s a solid plan” “I ‘ave me moments, yes I do.” Cricket looked at glanced at the barmare. “You ‘ave t’be tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties t’make it in the waste- oof!” the filly exclaimed walking into something with the scent of last night’s alley vomit. Cricket looked up to see Tequila staring back at her. Her fur coat was gone, but the putrid odor of Jäger’s stomach contents remained. What she had instead was a nasty black eye from acquainting her face to the butt of her own shotgun. The look on her face was a calm yet, seething torrent of hate. When she spoke, the venom in her voice made the filly take a step back. “You...” She went to reach for the filly with a hoof but stopped as Vineyard took a step forward. Cricket turned her gaze towards the bartender. She didn’t reciprocate Tequila’s facial expression. Instead, the look on her face was calm as still water. Cricket couldn’t understand why the unicorn was intimidated by this. The two stared each other down for a full ten seconds before Tequila finally broke away begrudgingly. She walked passed the filly and bartender, shooting another glance at the mare and being promptly shut down by Vineyard’s gaze. “The ‘eck was that about?” Cricket asked. “She won’t be bothering you anymore.” Vineyard answered. It was then that the filly noticed that the mare’s scars looked deeper than before. Rickety Cricket came to understand many things over the years. But she could never for the life of her grasp how those scars worked. Maybe the bartender knew, maybe she didn’t. But whenever trouble called, Vineyard’s scars would surge in presence. They were always like guard hounds to Cricket, growing ravenous whenever they sensed danger in the midst of their mistress.
Chapter 3: The Foozler in the BarWhen Vineyard and Rickety Cricket walked through the bar’s front doors, the establishment was closed up. It was early morning and the bar didn’t open till late noon. Vineyard’s employees swept around the place in preparation for the noon opening. The only pony left was Night Light, still sound asleep on her table. The peaceful look on her face along with her quiet snores was enough to dissuade any staff who thought about waking her up. “So,” Vineyard began, “Make yourself comfy. Jäger normally doesn’t show up till midnight.” Cricket groaned. “He’s a drunky. How cordial can ‘e be?” “You’d be surprised,” the barmare answered, taking her place behind the counter. “Whatever, it’s not like ‘e-” the filly paused as her stomach rumbled like thunder. A nearby stallion paused mid-sweep, slightly surprised. Vineyard frowned and gestured to the employee closest to her. “Lace, see if you can scare up a can of oats.” The earth pony mare gave a quick salute and went out the back door. Cricket gave Vineyard a contemptuous look. “Oi! I didn’t ask to buy anythin’.” “You’re not,” the barmare said, pulling out her rag and glass cup. “It’s compensation for what happened last night behind the bar.” The filly gave her a doubtful look as she took a seat on a salvaged bar chair. It was noticeably wobbly. Vineyard smiled at her compliance. “It wouldn’t kill you to strike up a conversation with me though.” The unicorn foal opened her mouth to protest but sighed instead. She was too hungry to pass up a free meal. “Whadya wanna know?” “Your name for starters,” Vineyard began cleaning her glass cup. “Rickety Cricket.” “That’s a weird name.” “Sod off!” Cricket shot back. “Fair enough,” the barmare giggled before adopting a serious tone that caught the filly off-guard. “Why do you want Jäger’s help?” Cricket whipped her head away in defiance. “I don’t need to tell you that, no I don’t.” “You kinda have to,” Vineyard countered with a sly grin on her face, her voice back to a more cheery tone. “If I don’t keep tabs on what business ponies are up to, it might be bad for the whole town.” The filly considered her words then sighed. “I want ‘im t’help me find some ponies.” “Why? They do anything to you?” the barmare asked, curious. Cricket didn’t answer, staring blankly at the wooden counter Vineyard nodded understandingly. “Fair enough. You don’t have to-” “They killed me parents,” the filly said, anger and sorrow in her words that the barmare didn’t expect. “Took me baby brother too.” Vineyard stopped cleaning her cup. “I’m so sorry...” “I never asked for your pity!” Cricket shot back, red-hot fury in her speech. She caused every head in the bar to turn her way sans the sleeping Night Light who didn’t even stir. “I don’t want anypony’s fockin’ pity! I want me parent’s murderers!” Vineyard looked at the unicorn foal with a weary face. She sighed, cleaning her cup. “He won’t help you.” Cricket snapped out from her sudden stupor. “What?” “Jäger won’t help you.” “When I catch ‘im in the bar-” “Doesn’t matter. He won’t care.” “But ‘e said ‘e would!” Cricket yelled, banging the countertop, eyes tearing up. “He’s not the type to keep promises.” Cricket scowled at Vineyard who just stared back blankly, no sympathy in her eyes as per the filly’s request. Wiping away her tears, she hopped off the chair and began making her way out the bar. “Where you goin’?” Vineyard called, cleaning her cup. “I’ll find’em meself.” “You won’t last long on your own,” the barmare called out. Around them, the other bar employees shifted nervously, unsure of whether to intervene. “Fockin’ watch me!” “Don’t bullshit with me, kiddo.” Vineyard stated a coldness in her voice that sent a shiver down Cricket’s spine. “I’ve seen ponies twice your age say the same thing before they waltzed out those doors. The lucky ones are dead.” Cricket stopped mid-walk and whipped her head at Vineyard. “Then what do you expect me t’do?!” She sobbed Vineyard sighed, “Get help.” She pointed a hoof to a wall of papers. “If you’re gonna do this, at least do it right. Sign your name, and I’ll get you a merc.” “I’ve seen the ‘talent’ around ‘ere. ‘Got their arses ‘anded to them by a fockin’ drunky!” “Then you’ll be glad to know I got another Ranger who will take the job.” the bartender replied with a small smile. “Eh?” Cricket’s ears perked up. She looked at the wall and scowled. “What makes you think this one will ‘elp?” “Well, let's say she has nothing better to do.” Cricket sniffed, rubbing off a small tear that accumulated on her face. She trudged back to Vineyard and snatched the parchment she was holding out before trotting to a table, pen clutched in her teeth. “You need help with the-” “I KNOW ME WORDS!!” After a few seconds of writing, Cricket marched over to the wall and slammed the parchment on. “There. Done.” The poster read as follows. Help Needed: Find murderers and saiv foal. Wil be riworded hansumly. Vineyard nodded, a smile returning to her face. “Night Light? Can I bother you for a second?” The mare sleeping on the table groaned and lifted her head up to yawn. She looked like she was still missing a few hours of slumber, and the baggy shirt she wore did nothing to discourage that image. Cricket looked at the powder blue mare, then Vineyard, then the mare again. There was a look of chagrin and disbelief on the filly’s face. “Night Light,” the barmare began, “this is Rickety Cricket.” The unicorn looked at the filly and gave a tired smile. “Hey.” Cricket looked at the barmare dumbstruck. “Really?” Vineyard nodded. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s not as good as Jäger but she’s no slouch either. Right Night Light?” The mare obliviously nodded “Mmmmmhm.” “She’ll get the job done for you. I can guarantee it. Right Night Light?” “Mmhmmmm” Cricket stared at the drowsy mare, as she gently swayed to and fro under a non-existent breeze. “I don’t see it.” “Could you say the same thing about Jäger when you first met him?” Vineyard countered, smirking. Cricket didn’t like how the barmare had a point. “Fine. I’ll ‘ave it your way” “Good.” Vineyard put her glass cup aside. “So let’s start by going into the details. Is there any clue you’ve got for us? Something that can narrow the search.” Cricket thought pondered over the question for a while but came short. “Nothin’ that I can think of.” “Any faces that jump into your mind? Places? How about a name?” “Weepin’ Sirens!” Cricket blurted, the name popping into her head. “That’s what dad called’em.” The moment she said those word, the two mares grimaced. Cricket tilted her head in confusion. “What’s the matter?” “The Sirens were a big name gang back in the day.” Vineyard said, her scars gaining more presence. “They’re gone now, but wannabes pop-up from time to time, trying to fill in the big shoes they left behind.” Cricket raised an eyebrow. “But I used to live in Stalliongrad. Why’d they go all the way there to kill me parents?” “Staking a name for themselves.” Night Light yawned. At Cricket’s confusion, Vineyard finished. “When a new gang comes into town, they bring something to brag about. ‘Let the ponies know what they're about. But they know if they do anything too extreme, we’d just smoke’em out.” The barmare’s scars faded back into her face, and she snickers. “These idiots thought killing a couple of foreign ponies cements them as bonafide badasses.” Night Light giggled. “I’ll make quick work of them Viny.” “Good.” Vineyard replied. The mare yawned again, ambling languidly towards the entrance. She stopped halfway and glanced at the filly. “You coming?” The filly’s ears perked up, she looked at Night Light, then at Vineyard, then at Night Light again. The barmare raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter?” “What about me oats?” The filly didn’t like how both mares chuckled. ———————————— There were many things Rickety Cricket did not like. She did not like the cold. She did not like an empty stomach. She did not like prewar music. She did not like ponies that asked too many questions. But most of all, the most aggravating thing for her in the wasteland, was an awkward silence. It was something she had experienced plenty of as she walked through the streets of Sweet Trot. She could have said something, but the air about Night Light had put Cricket on edge. It was no immediate threat that she posed; far from it. Sometimes as they walked, she would stumble on her loose shirt sleeve. Cricket wondered why she invested in a shirt that was a few sizes too big. Every now and then, a lock of her long hair would tickle her face, and she would have to blow it away. Cricket wondered why she didn’t just scavenge up a hair clip. Frequently, she would stop to yawn and Cricket wondered how she didn’t get enough rest. Vineyard’s voice was like an alarm clock to the mare, jolting her a little every time she urged them to move faster. It was definitely not the attitude that made the filly tense up in her presence. It was the complete banality of her character. To Rickety Cricket, the unicorn Night Light might just have been the most harmless pony in the wasteland. Of course, foals aren’t capable of making such deductions on adult psyche. As such, all these unarticulated thoughts could only manifest themselves as unease and suspicion towards the mare. Cricket mustered the will to strike a conversation with the mare, consciously aware she treading a path ending with a headache. “So, uh… You got an idea on where we need to be lookin’?” “Mmmmmmhm,” proclaimed the unicorn with all the bravado of a glass of water at room temperature. “You think it’s a good place to start?” “Mhmmmmmmmm.” After a moment rendered palpable via sheer awkwardness, Cricket added. “And?” “We’re going to meet a friend.” Another moment of silence. The filly’s eye twitched. “And this friend can ‘elp because...” “He knows where we can start looking.” Night Light said, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. Cricket gave her a deadpan look, which was left neglected. She was about to make another attempt at establishing contact with this alien posing as a mare but was cut short when she turned a corner abruptly. The filly startled, ran to catch up with her, finding herself in an alley between two tall buildings. “Where are you now...” Night Light wondered, scratching her chin with a sleeve draped hoof. “Is this where your friend is supposed to be?” The filly asked, walking up to her. The two buildings blocked most of the light from reaching the forlorn looking area. The only thing of note was the excessive grime and an old dumpster, it’s paint peeled off from centuries of decay. “Mum told me alleys are where liggers and nutters come ‘ome to roost.” “Well, I don’t know what a ligger is.” The unicorn mare banged her hoof against the dumpster loudly. “But he is pretty nutty.” Cricket’s eyes widened. “Wait, your friend lives in a fockin’ trash bin.” She broke into a hearty laughter. “Back in me ‘ome town, that woulda been a mark o’shame!” Night Light didn’t seem to take offense to her words, banging on the dumpster again. “He doesn’t live in a trash bin,” she emphasized, opening and closing the lid on its hinges. “It’s a dumpster.” “Like that makes it any less awful,” Cricket snickered. “I’d rather be caught ‘avin’ crumpets with a nutter AND a ligger than ‘ave a friend who sleeps on yesterday’s leftovers.” “Hey,” Night Light huffed. “Now that’s just mean…” “Well tough,” Cricket snorted with an air of bravado. “Either way your nutty ligger ain’t here, no he isn’t.” “She is right though.” Cricket felt a warm musty exhale on her back, she fell forward and whipped her head in the opposite direction. A sickly green pony stood in front of her; he was a lanky unicorn with bulging red eyes not unlike a bloat sprite. He took a step forward, eyes running up and down the filly with no effort to hide any malice. “That’s not a very nice thing to say y’know.” He spoke again. “Care to make up?” “Hi Weasel,” Night Light yawned deeply, keeping an eye on the unhinged looking pony. “How’s it been?” The stallion glanced up at the mare, his face warped like plastic “It’s. Whistle.” “Right, sorry,” she replied innocently. “Can we talk?” His face grew more twisted. “I told you this week’s batch isn’t ready ye-” “Not why I’m here,” she interjected apathetically with the wave of a hoof. “I need some info if you have any.” “Well, I don’t.” He stepped forward, smirking when Cricket jumped. “Not my area of expertise.” “C’mon… I know you’re lying,” she drawled, hanging on to the dumpster as she almost tripped. “Not my problem. Now beat it.” He shot a dark grin at a now pale Rickety Cricket. “I got a runt to rough up.” “Don’t touch that filly.” Night Light ambled forward, yawning. “Vineyard told me to keep her safe.” There was a silence in the alley as Whistle stared at Night Light as though she had said something unthinkable. It was then that Cricket noticed quite the maniacal grin creep on his face. “Vineyard, eh?” “Mhmmmmmm.” Night Light nodded. The stallion laughed a hearty laugh. “Alrighty, I’ll let you in on what I know.” “Really?” Night Light smiled. “That’s awfully-” “On one condition.” He pointed a hoof at Cricket, who was inching away from him. “I want the kid.” The filly froze. “P-piss off!” she yelled, but her cry fell on deaf ears. “Sorry, not happening.” She telekinetically pulled the filly behind her. “She’s under my protection.” “Oh c’mon, you’re pulling my leg here. If it’s a direct order from Vineyard of all ponies…” “No.” Night Light answered. Cricket noticed she made that proclamation rather soberly. “Fine, no info for you.” He snickered. Night Light took Cricket by the back of her hat and began leading the filly out of the alley. Her gait had much more fortitude than before. “Then again, I can still sweeten the pot for you.” The unicorn paused. The stallion’s grin grew more twisted as though his face was not accustomed to smiling so brightly. “You give me the kid, and the next three batches are yours. Free of charge.” Night Light stayed still for a moment but began walking again. “Alright next five batches!” The mare paused again, this time longer. But still, she marched on, now close to the light outside the alley. “Ten batches! You give me the kid, the next ten batches are yours.” Night Light froze once more, much to Cricket’s growing worry. “C’mon! Y-you’re not gonna hand me over to that bum toad... Right?” The unicorn didn’t answer. It was hard to read her perpetually tired face. “Ten batches...” Whistle nodded, his countenance reflecting a reptile rather than an equine. “I’ll throw in a little more spice.” “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Night Light thought aloud. Cricket was panicking now, she kept on glancing from Night Light to Whistle, wondering if she could make a break for it. Much to her aggravating fear, Night Light kept a steady grip on her head. She wondered if she could fight back, but flashes to her last fight behind the bar rang in her head like Piston’s knocks to her skull. “I wouldn’t give this offer to just anypony ya know.” “I don’t think Vineyard would forgive me if I did...” “Who cares what that high and mighty bitch thinks? She doesn’t let you do anything fun anymore, keeping you in that fucking bar all the time. Waste of your talent! Live a little...” He slowly walked forward eyeing his prize. “Not like she cared in the first place.” She nodded to no one in particular. As though she had finally come to an agreement with herself, the unicorn mare lead Cricket to the far edge of the alley. With a telekinetic grip, she adjusted her hat and brushed off the dirt on the scarf with her hoof. Cricket didn’t expect the peck on the forehead either. “Wait here, sweetie.” With her previous lumbering gait, she walked up to the reptilian resembling pony. “I knew you’d come around, Night-” His words fell short with a hoof to the face. Followed by another that knocked him to the floor, then a set of more when he tried to get up. All the while, Cricket watched flabbergasted as the world’s most benign looking mare beat the living puss out of a stallion with the callous look she wore before stepping into the alley, given new context as blood caked her hooves. It was like how Cricket dealt with the bloat sprite back home, only the blood wasn’t green this time. “Now I’ll ask again, Weasel.” She softly spoke, telekinetically opening the dumpster lid. She took Whistle by the head and placed it on the rim of the container. “I need info on the new gangs forming up these days.” “C-consider yourself banned from every vendor on the f-fucking wasteland,” he mouthed, not given much room to speak. “Wrong answer.” She tapped the lid on his head and hovered it above. Cricket cringed at his squeals. “Try again, weasel.” “F-fuck you!” Another tap on the head. “One more chance, Weasel.” She gently placed the lid over his head, like a looming storm. At his silent protest, she opened the lid as wide as possible and brought it down on his skull. “There’s a factory!” he screamed, the lid only a centimeter above his skull. “I’m listening.” Night Light cooed, raising the lid. “West from here... T-three hour walk… I heard something was cooking up!” he breathed heavily. Night Light stood there mulling over something before smiling languidly. “That’s pretty helpful! Thanks for the help Weasel.” “MY NAME’S WHISTLE!” he shouted. Night Light slammed the lid on his head. The sound rang out throughout the alley. The mare slumped his limp body over the waste receptacle and yawned, this time genuinely. She trekked towards a shocked stiff Cricket. “Whelp, we know where to start.” The filly snapped out of her trance and gazed at Night Light’s relaxed face. “Did you...” “Nnnnnnnnnnnope.” Night Light arched her back to stretch out the soreness for holding a pony in that position for so long. “He has a concussion, but he’ll live.” “oh...” “Something the matter?” “N-no.” “Mmmmmmhm. C’mon, gonna be a long walk from here.” She started trekking away, not checking if the foal followed after her. “R-right!” Cricket stammered and prepared to chase after the mare. She paused for a moment and spared the alley another glance. Rickety Cricket had seen many beatings throughout her life. Sometimes ponies deserved the receiving end, and others didn’t. Some were more brutal, others sent a stronger message. Some had more blood, others had more broken bones. But never would Cricket forget the merciless onslaught the unicorn Night Light served to Whistle in the back alley. For only Night Light taught her a lesson in assuming from appearances.
Chapter 1: The Ninny behind the Counter“Or at least I would die tryin, yes I would.’” Rickety Cricket ended. Silence fell over the moving caravan cart as the unicorn filly concluded her story. The inhabitants of the carts shifted awkwardly. Every now and then, the creaking of rusty cartwheels would be accompanied by the wail of a brisk autumn wind. “Damn.” An elderly stallion adjusted his saddle bag. He spoke with a deep empathetic voice. “I’m sorry to hear all that, little miss.” “Save it ya old hoot,” Cricket answered, no hint of an effort to conceal her venom. “You wanted me story so bad? Now you ‘ave it.” An earth pony mare who was handing out rations to the caravan caught up to the stallion with a sack full of rations. Her accent was the same as Cricket when she spoke. “Somethin’ up here? This cart’s quieter than the rest.” “No.” The stallion answered. “Just a routine check. Found an unattended filly and decided to ask a few questions.” “And ‘e was just about t’mind ‘is own bloody business too,” Cricket interjected. “Oi you disrespectful little harpy,” the mare remarked taking umbrage. “You best apologize or-” “No need for that, Miss Thimble.” He dismissed her with the wave of a hoof. “She’s right, it was rude of me to intrude in the first place. Carry on as you were.” The stallion walked on ahead. Letting the mare do her work. Grumbling, she pulled loaves of bread out of the sack and passed them to the ponies in the cart. She gave Cricket a particularly stale looking loaf. The filly either didn’t notice or care, snatching the edible from her hoof. The ponies in the cart watched, some with pity in their eyes, as the filly scarfed down the musty piece of food rapaciously, as though it was her first meal in a very long time. “So,” A unicorn mare huddled close to her husband began. “How are you going to um… take care of these ponies, if you don’t mind?” “I actually do mind, yes I do.” she shot back, picking leftover crumbs off her scarf and popping them into her mouth. “Well don't get me wrong little miss.” The husband added. “But I doubt a kid your age can pull off a job like this.” This earned him a glare from his wife. “Well, I’m just being frank here. You’re far from the first to ever want revenge on somepony in the wasteland. But everypony in this cart can attest that most of these stories don’t turn out to have happy endings.” “Well, who says you have to do it on your own?” A mare at the end of the cart adds, chewing on a piece of straw as she gazed off into the horizon. “I mean we’re heading to Sweet Trot, right? Ain’t that the hired gun capital of the wasteland?” Cricket raised an eyebrow, keeping her hat from flying away as a wind blew by. “‘ired gun?” “Yeah” The mare stretched to get comfier in her spot. ”You walk into the local bar, and ask ponies to get rid of your problems; monsters, zebras, griffins, ponies, you name it.” Cricket raised an eyebrow, confused. “You ask a pony t’kill and they just do it fer you?” An elderly earth pony chimed in, “Some have standards so they won’t kill just anypony, but as long as you have caps, most will have their guns locked and loaded for you.” “Hey now,” the unicorn huddled close to her husband interjected. “Are we all forgetting where telling a little filly how to commit murder?” “Your point?” the straw-chewing mare callously yawned. “Don’t pretend you haven’t killed a pony for any less a reason.” This made the unicorn shrink, but before she could fire back with a retort, the caravan master called from ahead. “Alright everypony our third stop, Sweet Trot!” his assertive voice almost echoed in the open field on which they were traveling. Hearing this everypony quieted down, leaving Cricket to think about what she had just heard. ‘ired gun eh? ———————————— The filly looked out the back of the old dusty cart for a moment. Then began to follow in line with the rest of ponies leaving out the back of the cart. The settlement, if you could call it that, featured decrepit buildings repurposed and mended via wood planks, metal sheets, and other scrap material. To Cricket it was just another old, run downtown. It only took her ten minutes of searching to find the bar. It was called, according to the sign in the front, The Whistling Widow. That’s a stupid name ’. Cricket mused. From what she could tell, it seem to be the town hotspot judging by the amount of ponies going in. If she was gonna find a hired-gun this was the place to be. As Cricket approached the bar’s doorway, the smell of alcohol and the sound of music engulfed the building. An earth pony stallion lumbered out, piss drunk. He took a swig out of a bottle with contents so pungent, Cricket was sure she tasted some. How he could maintain balance this drunk when holding a bottle in one hoof and walking on three, was anyone’s guess. He ambled past Cricket, bumping her on the way. He was a tall fellow, so he knocked the little filly over. He paused for a second and spared her a glance. “Pardon.” “Piss off, ya drunk bastard.” The filly yelled getting up. ”Some of us are walkin’ ‘ere.” The stallion raised an eyebrow before shrugging and went on his merry way, turning to the back alley where he indeed took a piss. With that bizarre encounter over and done with, Cricket stood in front of the entrance. Taking a deep breath, she walked underneath the looming saloon doors too high up to impede the little filly. ———————————— The inside was a lot tamer than what she expected. The music was loud, but no one danced to it. Ponies drank, but not to excess. Ponies sat on their tables chatting about having a good time; there were even some griffons hanging around. This was the first time Rickety Cricket ever saw griffons in her life. Her dad told her about them but she had never seen them in real life. The table they sat at seemed to be reserved for them, given their claw marks all over the surface. It took a second for Cricket to realize those were to keep a tally of something. One of them flashed her a glare, prompting the filly to look away. “Hey,” a relaxed feminine voice called from across the bar. Cricket turned her head to find it had to come from a mare behind the counter in the far corner of the bar. Confused, she placed a hoof on her chest gesturing ‘me?’ and she amicably gestured back ‘of course you’.’ With a reserved look on her face, the filly walked towards the mare. Upon getting closer, she noticed that she was an earth pony teetering at the edge of her prime. The formal bartender attire she wore covered the myriad scars on her body. The cut marks on her face didn’t stop her from looking pretty, but Cricket wondered if her smile would have been brighter if not for those scars. “Hey there, kiddo,” the bartender cooed in an almost motherly voice. “Oi,” Cricket replied, with visibly practiced hardiness. “What’s a filly like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, cleaning glass cup with a rag. Cricket noticed it was already spotless “What’s it t’you?” She answered, struggling to keep face under the mare’s calm smile. The Barmare giggled at her defiance. “Well I run this place and I don’t get ponies your age very often. If you’re lost I can give directions.” “I know where I am,” she replied with a prickly tone. “Oh? So what business are you looking for? We don’t serve drinks to kids your age.” “I ain’t lookin’ for no fockin’ drinks.” she stated, her frustration brewing from the Barmare’s borderline condescension. “I need ‘elp.” She stopped scrubbing the glass cup for a split second before resuming, her smile vanishing as though it was never there. She spoke with more weight in her words, “If you want somepony to help you lift something heavy, you can ask the general store owner across the street.” she smiled again, resuming her scrubbing. “He’s nice.” “I don’ want that kind of ‘elp.” The barmare didn’t respond, only scrubbing the inside of her glass cup. Despite all the ambient cacophony of the bar, the only thing cricket could really hear was the squeaks from that cup. “I don’t suppose you wanna play a prank on one of your friends.” “I got no friends,” she answered straight. The barmare breathed a deep sigh as though she felt resigned to something. Her face grew darker, and her scars more pronounced. “Well, you’ll need quite a few caps to have these ponies do whatever you want.” With a faint golden aura from her horn, Cricket pulled a pouch which resembled an obese piglet out of her saddlebags and tossed it onto the counter. It was stuffed with caps giving it a ball like shape. “That enough?” The Barmare stared at the pouch’s button eyes with a tired look on her face. She spoke with a seemingly rehearsed voice. “Everypony here is ready to do what you want. You wanna ask ponies closer to the counter. Steer clear from the one’s close to the walls. Avoid the griffons and anypony with a smile. Don’t make eye contact with anyone you don’t want to talk to.” A bit taken aback from the sudden string of advice, Cricket nodded and put the caps back into her saddlebag. She didn’t come close to the griffons or anypony near the walls. But almost everypony had a smile on their face. The ones who didn’t smile were either too drunk or passed out. Cricket looked back at the barmare still cleaning her glass cup, but staring at her with a very grim look. The filly begrudgingly looked away but could feel the Barmare’s cold stare piercing through her. Can’t even follow her own advice, the minger. She walked towards a unicorn mare with long dark hair, passed out on a table. There was a half-finished tanker of pungent cider sitting next to her head, seemingly her only company. “Oi.” Cricket nudged her. “Wake up. I got work for ya, yes I do.” She didn’t budge. Cricket budged her but to no avail. “Oi! Wake up ya lazy sod.” “Don’t bother with Night Light, kid.” A stallion on a table behind Cricket suggested. He had a playful grin on his face, and the garishly red suit he wore didn’t help make it look friendly. A unicorn mare accompanying him giggled. She was wearing a worn looking fur coat a few sizes too big for her. When she spoke it was with a grin, but there was no attempt in hiding the poshness in her voice. “When she goes to sleep, the second coming of Celestia can’t wake her up.” “Who are you?” she said with a scowl. “Oh? That’s an odd accent.” The mare noted, stroking her coat. “You’re not from around here, are you?” “The name’s Piston,” the stallion greeted with a tip of his gaudy red hat, “That’s Tequila.” “And I’m leavin’,” Cricket fumed, attempting to storm out. “I knew this was a bad idea.” “Hey now,” the mare cut her off, “We’re just interested.” “You said you wanted work done, right?” he pointed out. “We can spare you some time.” Cricket glanced at the barmare for a moment. The bartender had diverted her gaze from the filly to the stallion. There was a ghost of a frown on the side of her mouth. Cricket got the hint. “I said I’m leavin’” she stepped to the side of the mare, and to her growing worry, the two got up from their seat and followed. The filly took a deep breath. She had a feeling there was a fight coming her way in the near future. ———————————— Thud. Thud. Thud. Piston pressed his hoof against a bloody and bruised Rickety Cricket in the alley next to the bar. “Maybe that’s why you little bitch,” Thud. “Listen.” Thud. “To.” Thud. “Adults.” Thud. Thud. Thud. “You made your point Piston.” Tequila said, callously rummaging through Cricket’s things. “Beating on a foal is beneath you.” “Ah doll, don’t be like that.” The stallion spat on the still conscious filly. “Not a single broken bone, See?” “F-fock… You...” Cricket hissed out like a dying snake. “She still has fight left in her.” The mare giggled, “Will you oblige her?” She pulled out the Cricket’s piglet looking pouch out of her saddlebag. “Oh this is adorable” “Nah,” Piston answered with the wave of a hoof. “She’s spent, look at her! She can’t even- FUCK!” Piston screamed in pain as Cricket bit his hind leg. He bucked the wall, slamming Cricket head first into the concrete. She fell on the ground, limp for a moment before willing herself up. “OK, that’s it!” The stallion rolled up his sleeves with his hooves. “You just won a trip to the E.R you little-” “H-hey Piston.” A voice familiar to Cricket called from behind. It was the same earth pony that Cricket bumped into walking outside the bar. He had a drunk happy smile on his face. “Whadya… Whadya doin’ here?” He tilted his head finding a rather disheveled looking filly that he swore he met before. His eyes widened in realization. “Are you’ze three having a... slumber party?” Piston raised an eyebrow. “The fuck are you doing here?” “No no no no no.” The drunk pony waved in an over the top fashion. “First... you say ‘how do you do’ and... I say ‘I’m doing fine.’ Here lemme demonster...” He turned to a confused Tequila who smiled awkwardly. “How do you- BLUUUUUEEERRGGGHH!” Tequila’s scream was loud enough to be heard in the bar, particularly by the barmare who scrubbed her glass cup, a content look about her face again. The mare quivered as though traumatized, her coat covered in alcoholic vomit and miasma that seeped into her mane and coat and clung onto it. “Well, shit.” The stallion desperately tried to gain some composure.”I am... so sorry. Here lemme-” with a quick motion, he forced himself away from the mare and landed the rest of his stomach contents on to the ground. Cricket looked at the show, unsure what to make of it. “Alright, that’s it.” Piston stormed in front of the earth pony and slammed his hoof in the other pony’s face. Somehow, he managed to keep his footing despite being drunk as a rad-ocean sailor. “Okay... we’re doin’ this now.” He spat onto the ground, clumsily getting into position. “Sure. I’m game... But I gotta warn you Piston, I-” A hoof to the face shut down the intoxicated interloper. In between his words, Piston pulled out a pair of iron horseshoes. “Don’t interrupt my work you old mule.” Piston said strafing from side to side. Cricket noticed that despite his big words, Piston approached him with a great deal of caution. The earth pony sighed. “I’m too... drunk for this.” “I said, BEAT IT!” Piston went in for a knockout punch, but with a motion too practiced to be considered flippant luck, the daring drunkard smacked the assailant's foreleg into a wall with a sickening crack. As Piston screamed in agony, the earth pony shut his ears, in a vain effort to subdue an oncoming headache. Inside, the barmare closely observed her glass cup just to make sure she didn’t miss a spot when she heard Piston’s scream. A young earth pony employee raised an eyebrow in concern “You think we should go do something about all that noise?” The barmare took her rag and continued scrubbing her glass cup. “Go clean the empty tables, Fee.” Outside, The stallion grabbed Piston’s head and slammed it into the wall, knocking him out cold. “Screams like a banshee that colt.” the drunk stallion remarked before turning to the mare. “Now about that coat...” He trailed off, quickly noticing the business end of a shotgun was intimately close to his head. Cricket noticed that it was shaking in the mare’s telekinetic grasp.. Tequila was furious. Her heart was racing, her good mood was ruined, her fur coat was ruined, Piston’s face was ruined, and worst of all, if things kept on going this direction, she couldn’t show her face in the bar again. “You barked up the wrong tree, you old bastard! You should have passed out drunk on some bench.” The earth pony scratched the back of his head. “I was gonna... but I left my caps in the bar and... I need’em back before Vineyard takes a cut out... again.” “Shut the fuck up!” “Right… Sorry about Piston’s face.” “Okay, that’s it!” She loaded her gun. But before she could shoot, the earth pony yanked it out of the way with one hoof and with the other, pointed the stock at the astonished mare’s face. BANG! Inside the bar, Fee was wiping the table clean under the supervision of his boss. Suddenly he heard gunfire. “What was that?” The barmare paused from cleaning her cup, pointing at a seemingly random part of the table. “You missed a spot, Fee.” Outside, Tequila lay on the dirt, missing a few teeth. The shotgun was no longer in the alley. It had flown far off into space. Cricket likes to think it managed to break through the cloud cover, hitting a pegasus while she was mowing her cloud lawn. Cricket looked at Tequila, then at Piston, then at Tequila again. She then looked towards the mysterious stallion who was now starting to tilt forward and backward, seemingly on the cusp of passing out. He turned to face the filly, putting her on edge. “Uh… hey there.” The stallion responded by falling to his side, now fast asleep. Rickety Cricket looked back at this moment several times in her life. No matter how she spun it, she couldn’t make up her mind. Was that how the fight in the alley actually played out? Or was it just a fabrication of her young mind? She could never decide.
