Fallout Equestria: Trailblazers

“Well ain't that just a darn inconvenience.”

Lemon Butter stood in front of her wagon, watching the caravan slowly slide down onto its side, the heavy wheel popped almost completely off. It was an easy fix, but it required much more strength than she had in her body. She was going to be stuck here for a while. She just had to hope the first ponies that stopped by would be helpful instead of a nuisance like bandits or raiders. Sighing, she sat down in the dust, scanning the horizon hopefully for the tell tale dust cloud of an approaching caravan. Nothing. Even worse, the sky was creeping slowly from a hazy light to an evening glow, which meant that the night critters would be coming out soon. Looks like she was camping right here tonight. Lemon groaned, dusting off her flank as she dug into her wagon. She'd need a fire, and dinner. Nothing fancy if it's just herself, a can o’ beans would do just fine. Putting together the campfire, she spread out her daisy patterned sleeping roll. It was showing a little wear, so while her beans were slowly bubbling away Lemon pulled out a repair kit and got to work. She was soon absorbed in the methodical pull of the needle and thread, barely seeming to notice when a small caravan pulled up beside her broken wagon.

“You alright, ma'am?”

Startled, Lemon let out a dainty gasp and ducked behind her wagon, hiding from a group of travelling stallions.

“Ah'm fine thank you!” Her small voice shook as she bravely levelled a very elderly, rusted shotgun, the muzzle mostly blocked by dirt. The stallions took one look at the state of her gun and her wagon, the single can of beans on the fire, and glanced at each other. One of them, by the looks of it, the merchant who owned the caravan, stepped forward.

“We mean you no harm, ma'am.” Pulling his own weapons off his body, he popped them all on the ground and kicked them away. “We can see y'all might be needing a little help with your wagon there. Tell you what, we will turn around and you can go run and hide with your valuables, and we will fix your wagon then be on our way. No harm, no fuss. Sound good?”

The shotgun tip wavered, then dipped in a small nod.

“Promise you won't steal mah wagon? She's all Ah got.”

The sweet, southern lilt of her accent and her shy trust brought a delighted flush to the merchant's cheeks.

“Yes ma'am. Swear on this here caravan, no harm will come to you nor your things. We just can't leave a young lady stranded out here. Ain't right. Ponies gotta help ponies.”

Nervously, Lemon stepped out from behind her wagon, lowering the decrepit shotgun and giving the caravan a shy smile.

“Momma always said any stallion who swears on his livelihood cain't be a bad pony. No hidin’ necessary, sir.”

The merchant ducked his head, hiding his smile from the others.

“I'm no sir. You can call me Smokey Pokes.”

“Lemon Butter.” Tentatively, she stepped forward and shook his hoof, her small yellow and brown hoof tiny compared to his own. Looking up at the handsome merchant, a small blush graced her own cheeks. They stepped awkwardly away from each other, and Smokey cleared his throat.

“Well then, I'd s'pose we'd better get started then. C'mon fellas, hop to it!”

On his command, the stallions fanned out around her small wagon, hoisting it from the ground so Smokey could buck the wheel straight back onto the wagon. One of the stallions pulled a small nut from his saddlebag, and Smokey screwed it onto the wheel, pinning it in place.

“There you go, Miss Butter. Easy as pie fix, no harm done.”

“Why Mister Pokes! Ya’ll have done an amazin’ job! How can Ah thank you?” Lemon circled her wagon, marvelling at the fixed wheel.

“No thanks needed, Miss Butter, though we wouldn’t say no to any extra rad-away if you got some. Happy to trade for it.”

“Nonsense! You can have the rad-away, Ah have a spare dozen. Consider it payment for fixin’ mah here wagon. An’ tell yah what, Ah’ll even cook you boys up a fine feast. It’s the least Ah c’n do to not send ya’ll away on an empty stomach.” Lemon paused from where she had dove headfirst into her wagon, peering back over her rump at the group of travellers. “You will camp t’night, won’t ya?”

Smokey reluctantly shook his head. “We gotta keep moving, got an urgent supply delivery to Appleloosa.”

“Yah cain’t even spare one night t’ let me repay yah? Ah got bacon! Caught and smoked mahself.” Lemon triumphantly pulled a slab of rad-hog bacon from her stores, grinning mischievously at Smokey.

The grumbling of five stallion bellies was deafening.

“I guess we can stay the night. Appleloosa will understand if bacon is involved.” Smokey grinned as his friends seemed to magically set up camp around the fire in an instant, attentive and prepared for a small feast. A small guitar was strummed, and the mood shifted into a festive one. Bacon was always to be celebrated.

Lemon Butter hummed along to the campfire songs as she pulled together a cohort of delicious looking ingredients from her wagon, moving her now slightly burnt beans to the side to make room for bacon, tomato, sweet potato, spinach, even some brahmin milk, cheese and powdered eggs. Expensive supplies, but they were worth it for a delicious frittata for the boys who had saved her from being stranded. Surveying her ingredients, she slipped a small jar from her bag.

“What’s that?” Smokey had snuck up behind her, interested in what the pretty mare was cooking up for them.

“Jus’ some herbs an’ spices my momma always used t’ swear by. Goes amazin’ with frittata. Wanna smell?” She smiled up at him, and saw a returning smile spread across his muzzle. It had fallen truly dark by now, and his coat glistened dark in the firelight, surrounded by music and warmth. He reached out a hoof to touch her face, and she leaned into it, answering his unasked question. They stayed like that for a moment, frozen in each other’s eyes, before a throat clearing loudly interrupted them.

“C’mon boss, it’s time for you to sing something! Stop distracting our chef!”

Smokey stayed a moment more in the moment, before turning back to the group, leaving both their faces flushed and glowing. His walk seemed more of a swagger and his voice began to ring out clear and full. Lemon Butter turned back to her cooking, a happy smile still on her face. He was very handsome, and she felt a deep pull towards him. Tonight would be interesting.

The bacon and frittata went down a treat. The travellers even managed to dig up some sasparilla and were now taking turned reliving their adventures in enthusastic pantomime, goading each other on. Lemon snuggled up closer to Smokey, enjoying his warmth and scent. He smiled down at her, pulling her closer.

“I never asked, what were you doin’ out so far all alone?”

“Ah was huntin’. Got a bit distracted and well, yah saw mah wagon.”

“Mmm. I’m glad we came along. You should come with us to Appleloosa, we can always fit one more.”

“Ah’d like that.”

Turning her face to his, she allowed him to pull her into a deep kiss full of promise. Whoops and cheers accompanied them as they pulled apart, and they got up to rejoin the festivities into the evening.

Slowly, one by one, the stallions dropped off to their bedrolls and settled in for the night, each of them falling into the deep sleep of the well fed. Smokey sent a look to Lemon, receiving a nod in return. She’d join him soon, but first she had to check her caravan for the night.

She watched him lay down, and soon he was also deeply asleep. Lemon was almost ready for her evening plans, though before she could continue she had to test something. Pulling a large cowbell from her bag, she stood in the centre of the sleeping camp and dropped it. The bell let out an enormous pell, ringing through the sleeping camp. Lemon held her breath, but nothing happened. Snoring was the only noise. Picking up the bell again, she rang it three times as hard as she could, the deafening sound hurting her ears. Pausing, the noise faded into the evening and she waited, listening. Nothing else greeted her but the sound of sleeping stallions. Momma’s sleeping powder never failed. Mixed into the frittata under the disguise of herbs and flavour, they had all eaten a giant portion, barely noticing that she was quietly eating her slightly burnt beans.

Dropping the bell with a loud clang, she went around to each bedroll, giving each pony a swift kick, waiting to see if they awoke. When she was certain they were all asleep, she got to work. Stripping the campers of their possessions, she tied each of them up and dragged them into a pile, covering them with a tarp. With the stallions taken care of, Lemon Butter moved all of her things from her wagon into their caravan, then hit a switch on her wagon to collapse it completely. Stowing that into the caravan as well, she cleared the campsite of anything even remotely of value, leaving not even a scrap behind. Pulling a well cared for gun from her saddlebag, she slipped it into a holster on her hoof.

She had been tailing this caravan for weeks, learning their route and their habits. Lemon knew they were delivering a massive payload of spark batteries and weapons to Appleloosa, of which would fetch a very pretty price with her associate at Fillydelphia. She knew the merchant was an honourable fellow, so kind and soft hearted, recruiting and hiring anyone with the right sob story. A helpless mare on the side of the road was perfect for his pathetic hero complex. Such a waste of such a good looker. Hitching herself up to the stolen caravan, she began the long trek back east, her strong earth pony legs handling the heavy caravan easily.