Fallout Equestria: Golden Days

“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.