Fallout Equestria: Golden Days

When 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.