Fallout Equestria: Golden Days

“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.