Fallout Equestria: A Touch of Spice

Bubble Spice felt the heat of the fire warm against her face, the gleaming brass pot was heavy in her hoof. She leaned closer to the flames, sweat beginning to trickle down her nape, soaking into the too-large gown that was draped heavily over her body. The gown was her mother’s, hastily tailored to fit Bubble for the ceremony. She felt self conscious in the deep blue pattern, knowing it looked out of place on her mint fur. Nerves bit at her steady hooves as though threatening to drop the skein cradled in them. Throwing a subtle glance towards the door where Brynhildr stood guard, Bubble caught the eye of the bat pony who tilted her chin slightly towards her. A tiny movement that was barely discernible, but it was comfort enough. She took a deep breath and focused back on her surroundings. She could do this.

Hazy figures danced at the edge of her vision, the indistinct babble of chatter around her pulled her into a sense of calm tranquility and she concentrated on the skein of crimson wine, fat and bulging against her leg. She tilted it up, the wine pouring and splashing around the cauldron with small whirlpools forming as the foam rose and fell. Anticipation lingered in the air from the indistinct forms around her, but Bubble dared not to look around lest it break the much needed feeling of serenity in her mind and expose the deafening sound of her hammering heart. The voices around her increased, she realised she had stilled and was holding her breath. Exhaling into the flames, she emptied the skein of wine and began to stoke the kindling. Despite the heat, Bubble found a shiver dancing down her spine. Whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell. In this moment, the guest’s eyes were solely fixed upon her. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation and curiosity, for it was not usual for such a young mare to be performing the wine ceremony.

Moving her hoof slowly and deliberately, she stirred the foaming wine in the brass pot; first clockwise then counter clockwise. The wine pooled around the silver ladle, rippling and whirling as it thickened in the heat. It resisted the ladle, making stirring difficult. Bubble set down the spoon, minding the angle to be exactly 45 degrees to her right, symbolising the horizon. Lifting a tray, she settled it in front of her, the bags of fragrant herbs and spices heady and stifling in the hot room. The murmurs turned silent, this was the moment that would decide how the evening progressed. Each spice had a meaning, each herb a different effect. The wrong combination could be disastrous, overpowering and vile. Bubble could feel the clients leaning towards her, interested to see her choices.

Aromatic cinnamon balanced on a silver spoon, and it was soon joined in the pot by nutmeg, preserved spices from long ago. Bubble set the weighty tray aside and dipped her hoof into the sleeve of her gown to retrieve the secret vial Lord Strikes had slipped her this afternoon. The spoon dipped into the tiny dark vial, lifting out a clear thick fluid. Precariously it balanced, quivering on the spoon on its journey to the pot, the fine muscles in the young mare’s hoof trembling as she kept every drop of this precious liquid safe. It splashed into the mulled wine and an explosion of berry scent, sweet and rich, burst through the tent and filled the noses of the guests. Sighs of admiration, gasps of realisation and the room exploded into talk with the identification of the mysterious substance. Bubble wanted to desperately look around, to see the shock and awe upon their faces as they realised what she had placed in the wine, but knew in doing so that the ceremony would be tainted by her eager inexperience. Instead she contented herself by once again flicking her eyes to Brynhildr’s, delighted to see a tiny smile on the stoic mare’s face. She had also enjoyed the wonder that the guests had experienced, watching such high society ponies marvel like foals at a fair was a rare sight.

A brash guffaw cut through the admiration. It was a harsh, gravelly sound that hurt her ears, and it took all of her restraint to not fold them back. Instead she focused on stirring her choice of flavorings into the wine, spreading them so that it would taste even and rich, while listening to the conversation that now grew around her.

“Elderberry! Marble Strikes, you never cease to amaze. Where in Celestia’s name did you get elderberry nectar?” There was a slapping sound, and Bubble Spice knew that the toothless donkey whom the voice belonged to had just slapped her Master on the back. He was a new business partner, having travelled here from the irradiated swamp lands with a Talon hire as his guard. Brynhildr said that the need to pay a guard spoke volumes of his ability to inspire loyalty, and from the smell that lingered about the jack and his coarse way of speaking, Bubble could understand why.

“I bought it off a travelling herbalist,” Marble Strikes boasted proudly. “She said there is still a tree or two in the Everfree Forest. It cost me a great deal of caps, but as you fine ponies can tell, it was well worth it. This is a momentous night, and I felt it needed a wine befitting the occasion.”

“Momentous indeed! This deal will make further all of our territories, and make us all much richer!” More guffawing. Truly, that donkey was little better than a irradiated mule, discussing business before the ceremony was completed like some heathen.

The guests were seated in a large circle around the fire, with Bubble placed in the middle. She began to set delicate silver cups in front of each guest, thinking back to this morning when the clients had arrived. Master Strikes was going to make a pact that would change the power dynamic of the surrounding houses of power, and as such was holding a feast and a wine ceremony to ensure its success. The swamp stallion had been her charge of the day to serve, and he had spent the whole time belittling her employer’s camp, boasting of his own and making crass jokes. Bubble would have dearly loved to kill him, but he was an important guest. Instead she had contented herself with pulling faces at him from afar with Brynhildr.

“Now now, Velvet Bristle. You know it is customary for the wine ceremony to be completed before we turn to business. We wouldn't want to bring bad luck upon this agreement would we?” A low, raspy feminine voice reached her ears, full of wisdom and age.

“Of course, of course. Just some silly banter, Obsidia, no need to get your horseshoes in a twist.” The prune coloured stallion sneered across the room at the older brown mare, who looked upon him with haughty eyes. “After all, we will all profit from this venture.”

The sleek coated mare’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she made to begin a retort, but was interrupted by Bubble Spice laying an ornate silver cup before her, completing the large circle. Bubble lifted the heavy pot from the fire, and began to pour the wine into the guest’s cups, bowing deeply before each guest when the cup was filled before moving onto the next. Strong scented steam curled up from the cups, and Bubble noticed several of the guests licking their lips in preparation for the exceptionally rare taste of elderberry nectar wine. The cinnamon and nutmeg added a depth of warmth to the strong berry flavour, and Bubble found herself wishing she could experience the fine taste trickle across her own tongue. Instead she breathed deeply of the steam, the ghost of the flavour satisfying her for now. The handle of the pot was hot through the cloth gripped in her hoof and once again Bubble feared that she would drop it.

“You have trained this slave rather well in the art of the wine ceremony, Warlord Strikes, especially for one so young. She doesn't even have her cutie mark yet.” Obsidia gave Bubble an approving nod. Bubble’s cheeks flushed with pleasure, and she almost lost her internal struggle not to beam with the compliment.

“My staff value tradition as much as I do, no matter their age.” The pride in Marble Strikes’ voice was apparent. “This one also happens to be the foal of Buttermilk, the last earth born pegasus.”

Obsidia now looked at Bubble with fresh appraisement. “Indeed? She does have the mane colour. Tis a pity she did not inherit the wings her mother is famous for as well.”

Bubble filled the final cup of wine, placing the ladle back upon the now empty pot, her ears burning from the unintended cruelty in Obsidia’s observation. She was the only foal of the most famous and beautiful mare in the wasteland, and she was an earth pony. It was a point that she knew had disappointed everyone around her with her birth, but she had vowed long ago to become an exemplary slave, one that could be on the same level as a pegasus.

She made her way to the silken cushion in the corner of the room as she tried to calm the hurt in her heart. There was a slight shift by the door that caught her attention and without looking, Bubble knew that Brynhildr was sending her a comforting look. She knew how much not being a pegasus hurt. Bubble drew strength from her friend, holding her head high. Scooping up the silver bell that awaited, she silently sat down and waited, the smoky room stinging her eyes slightly. The moment for the ceremonies apex was almost nigh and her timing had to be perfect. There was no time for self pity.

The fire had already burned low, the enchanted wood snapped loudly. The orange colour was engulfed in sparks, shifting white hot then settling to a deep blue, filling the room with its brilliant radiant shine.

This was the moment. The wine was prepared in an orange fire, representing the flames of the sun. It was drunk by the glow of a blue fire, representing the glow of the moon. When done right, the ceremony was said to give both Luna and Celestia’s blessings upon the deal that was to be struck, ensuring prosperity and protection. It was an ancient ceremony from the land of Mistmane, and her mother had been performing it since she was found by Master Strikes. Three light and gentle chimes rang from the bell Bubble held, symbolizing the rise of the moon and the start of the time for drinking.

The room fell quiet, the only noise now the genteel slurping of the mulled wine. The scent of the elderberry was almost overpowering in the room, one could almost get intoxicated from the smell alone, which she was sure was Lord Strikes intention. Bubble held herself still in a delicate sitting position, patient and waiting. After they had drunk the wine, she would gather the cups, replacing the elderberry wine with a more gentle ale, and begin the ceremonial dance, a beautiful dance of an ancient bird called the crane, full of bells and slow movements. Her heart hammered in her chest, nerves betraying her stillness. This was the part that she had no confidence on. She was an earth pony, and hadn't mastered the bird-like movements that the dance needed.

A sharp movement caught her eye and her head whipped around only to watch in shock as the foul Velvet Bristle did not sip his wine. Instead he threw his head back and chugged the entirety of the glass at once. Bubble held her face still, but her eyes betrayed the shock at the blatant disrespect for the importance of this ceremony being hosted by Master Strikes. Scandalized gasps escaped from the other guests as they too noticed him draining his cup, and he wiped his muzzle on his suit sleeve. The stains on it indicated that was a regular occurrence and Bubble suppressed a shudder at the display of such filth in front of her master. Bristle may hold the power of the irradiated swamplands, but surely dealing with such a beast was not worth her kind and loving master.

Marble Strikes looked up sharply at the disturbance, just in time to see Velvet hurl the delicate silver cup at the fire. Bubble made to move and catch the cup, but a grey blur hurtled in front of her, leaping through the air gracefully.

“Be still.” Her mother’s soft and gentle voice reached her, and Bubble sank back onto her pillow in surprise. Buttermilk had left on a secret and important errand this morning, which was why Bubble was here in the first place. The urge to embrace her mother almost overwhelmed her, but she knew this wasn’t the time.

Coming to a stop, Buttermilk pirouetted while balancing the cup upon one delicate grey wing. She turned to look at the stallion who had callously hurled the rare and expensive cup at the fire, and in doing so had disrespected the entire evening and Lord Strikes. Hackles rose around the room as Buttermilk turned meet the gaze of Velvet Bristle, his hard eyed guard placing a claw on his scimitar. As soon as his claw made contact, the metallic scrape of the guards beside the door unsheathing their blades rang out through the room. Bubble heard a small growl behind her, a sign that Brynhildr was excitedly anticipating a battle.

“Your cup appeared to slip from your hoof, Master Bristle. You really must take more care.”

Buttermilk playfully chided the donkey, extending her beautiful wing towards the him with the cup handle turned his way. The room teetered on edge for a heartbeat, ready to break into a battle should Velvet Bristle not take the grace which had been offered. Bubble bit her lip, her own hoof curling around the blade concealed within her sleeve.

“Y…yes, of course. How clumsy of me.”

Abashed, Velvet Bristle took the cup back from Buttermilk, sitting back against his cushion, his murky eyes furtively glancing around the room at the rest of the nobility. Marble Strikes met his gaze, staring down his nose at the impudent donkey, causing him to sink further into the cushion in shame. The gryphon slipped his claw from his blade, and the guards behind Bubble relaxed but she could hear Brynhildr muttering angrily under her breath at the lack of bloodshed. Suppressing a giggle, she turned her attention back to her mother.

Buttermilk smiled warmly at the foul beast, then turned and gracefully curtsied before the other guests. She spread her grey wings out fully; the yellow tips grazed the floor with a faint rustling sound.

“I beg your humble pardons, my esteemed guests, my interruption was terribly timed. I do hope that my daughter was of no trouble, and that the ceremony can continue?”

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, a slight tremble in her voice. Her pink mane seemed to droop, abashed at herself and begging for forgiveness. It was impossible for any pony, mare or stallion, to fight against her when she was like this, and she knew it. Sure enough, comforting calls came from around the room, and Marble Strikes helped Buttermilk to her hooves, a magnanimous smile upon his face.

“No harm done, my dear! We shall continue as planned. Welcome back!”

“Join us!” Obsidia tipped her cup towards the pair, her slanted eyes gleaming at the sight of a true pegasus. “It’s so rare that I get to see such exquisite beauty. I fear I am yet to tire of looking at it.”

Buttermilk curtsied, this time bouncing up spiritedly, seemingly overjoyed at being forgiven.

“Thank you for your kindness, my Lords and Ladies. Before I am fit to finish this ceremony, I must change into more fitting attire! If you will excuse me.” She kissed Marble Strikes upon his cheek, then swept Bubble Spice out of the room.

Once in the hall, time was of the essence. Bubble quickly stripped from the dress before helping to slip Buttermilk into it. She pulled the the altered threads out, watching the fabric unfurl and settle back into its proper positioning, draped elegantly over her mother’s body.

“Mother-”

“I must return, beloved. I will send Brynhildr with word as soon as I am able. Rest now, you did wonderfully.”

Buttermilk disappeared behind the heavy oak door, the scent of elderberry woodsmoke escaping briefly before the door slammed shut.