Fallout Equestria: Wandering Woes

Chapter 6: Dreaming Melody
(Tolson)

Sitting in the darkness, I start to click; oddly enough, the darkness remains. So I instead opened my eyes; looking around, as the darkness slowly bleeds into stars, shining in the distance as I heard a voice behind me saying, “Well, bout time you got here.”

Turning around, I see Him once again. The mirror from before was gone and it was just Us... or I? Us? Eh, I’ll just use We for now. WE, are out cold harder then after Whiskey handed us a bottle of milk; turns out a 100 year old bottle of milk knocks you out harder then a boot to the head... Who knew?

“You ain’t gonna try and kill me?” I asked as I tilted my head, looking at Him quizzically.

“What’s the point? We’re out cold; it serves no real purpose if I kill you... won’t help me get out of here.” He always seemed angry for some reason; though his neck scar, the smiling one, was pulsating like he was holding himself back.

“Well… at least we have each oth- Ya know, who am I kidding? The only thing we ever do is fight,” I say as I give off a short bark of laughter, trying to be snarky. He doesn’t smile.

He opens up his mouth; I assume to say something, although he could just be trying to bite me. Before he can, however, the void around us starts to close in, shutting him up before words could escape his sharp toothed maw. A vision; no, a memory starts to play, blinding me for a short moment before my eyesight returns and we could walk around the memory. The memory itself appeared to be almost like a hologram; like we were watching the memory from a third person perspective, and nothing could see us. Scarface didn’t seem to want to comment on any of this.

“Howdy stranger, now before you go getting all huffy on me, care to tell me whatcha doin’ here?” A mare said to me, pointing a 6 shooter rifle down my face. The entire rifle was practically the length of my torso as the mare grins down at me. My body at the time was on the ground, I had been dragging myself through the mud and who knows what else for a week now with any gear in tow that I had scavenged. I couldn’t even speak back then, the wound on our neck was still somewhat fresh, and raw.

Looking at her past the barrel, I decided to open my jaw and clamp down on the barrel of the gun. Sadly, I was lacking any strength to even really dent the stupid thing, I think my jaw just popped as well... I wonder how many bones were broken in it.

“Huh, well ya ain’t a raider, that’s for sure; but yer also not very smart. You seem hungry, and tired. Get up.” She steps backwards and lifts the gun up with surprising strength, practically pulling me to my hooves; none of which support my weight so she’s practically just carrying me at the end of the gun as I hold onto it, determined to at least bend it. As she walked into town, I think we got a lot of weird looks; this mare had her gun pressed into her shoulder with my jaw locked on the other end making grunting noises as she hummed a cheerful tune, almost like she just bagged dinner.

I look up as I am bouncing on this gun, the bones in my jaw creaking from the effort of holding onto it as she stops for a moment, and then slams her hoof into the door of this… building? Before taking a deep breath, smiling, muttering under her breath something, and then screaming out “WHISKEY” as she bashes the door open. The brown pony I learned later was named Apple Whiskey turned around, “What in the blue hell is that thing Sarabelle!” The mare holding the gun smiles at him; at least I assume she does, it’s hard to tell when all I can see is her back and all. “It’s my new catch of the day, kinda like a lost radscorpion. ‘Imma name him George, can I keep’m?”

Whiskey gave her a flat look before I grunted, bouncing against the end of the rifle, Serabelle looked up at me with a laugh. “Oh, you’re alive! So, not a George, eh? Well, we’ll find a name for ya, don’t ya worry; for now though, we’ll get you something better to chew on than my gun. Like some... hrm...”

She looks around the room for a minute, Whiskey raising his eyebrow before she gets a massive grin on her face as she slams me down onto one of the stools, my teeth clamped around her gun as she has Whiskey hold it. She then runs off into the backroom, the sounds of boxes being thrown around and crashing noises fill the air as Whiskey sighs, keeping the gun up as my legs more or less crumple on the stool. After a few minutes, she comes running back towards me with a box that she proceeds to slam onto the table hard enough to shake it before proclaiming loudly, “Found it! Pancakes, the food of the champions!”

I looked at her with my eyebrow raised, even while chomping on the gun the taste of blood and the radioactive tang in my mouth left much to be desired and I doubt whatever this, dust she has in that box would taste any better, if I could even taste it. She seems excited, though and I suppose it is better than this gun. I shrug and finally unlock my jaw, letting the gun out of my mouth. Just a moment passes before I remember my legs don’t work that well, and I feel the all too familiar crack of my head hitting the floor. She starts to laugh slightly as I sit there, more pissed than anything else; nevertheless she moves the tray of White Death down. I used my chin to draw closer to it and the more I think about it, the fact that no one has tried to kill me yet was amazing to me. I started eating, well, whatever you can call deepthroating food with gurgling and crying. Hmm, “What do you think we should call how we’re eating here?” I ask Scarface laughing a little bit. “Soft and pathetic,“ he growls back.

As the image begins to fade, a new one takes its place. Judging from the light, or what can be counted as light in this place, considering the masses of clouds above us constantly. My voice had returned and I was fit to fight once more; well, as fit as a scar covered mongrel can be, but I am fit to fight.

I spent most of that previous night learning about the town from Miss Serabelle, an odd lady to say the least, but she did have a knack for picking up anything living, everyone around the town seemed to enjoy her… spark, I guess it would be called. Her cheerful mood seemed to affect everyone around her; well, aside from me.

“Wake up, ya heap of meat, you got work to do!” Serabelle said, ripping me off the floor that I had been asleep on before smacking my face with her hoof and shoving a bottle of water into my open mouth.

Through the choking and gurgling of the water I started attempting to speak, all that came out was “hmpha mphwpher” Which vaguely translated to “What do you mean, work?” I’m not entirely sure how she understood me, considering I practically spewed water all over her and made about as much sense as a Bloatsprite. But she seemed to have a lot of experience with things that can’t talk properly.

“Well duh, ya think ya gonna sit on ya happy flank and just watch the clouds split open to have a shining rainbow of happiness and unicorns?”

“What is a cloud? What is a rainbow? And the last thing I remember, unicorn horns were used for… uh, nevermind” I spoke rather dryly though my throat, as I got to the end of my sentence, it started to close up, so I took another swig of water.

She practically slapped me for that comment, well, she did slap me; just on my back. Huh, I think she touched some of my exposed spine as well. After a moment, she sat down and pulled out that box from earlier as she tried to figure out a name to call me. She had ignored my previous statement altogether as she poured the dust into a bowl and added water. Why add water? The dust was acceptable by itself. “Hrm, Bob, Billy, Destroyer, Rampage, Murder Funtime, Jim-”

“No, no. you ain't callin me that. No, no, now that one isn't to bad... but your still not calling me that” I retorted with every name she put forwards, Jim sounds fitting but not quite what I want. As I’m watching her she pulled out a helmet and lights a fire under it, curious on why she was burning a helmet, I continue watching. Within a few moments, she smiles at me and says “Ya see… Uh, Bartholomule Citycatch, watch the magic happen” I was about to retort again at how purely stupid that name was before she started pouring the liquid on the helmet… It was now, hot liquid.

“What even is that name? Look, I appreciate you trying to find one, but I don't need a name, Miss Serabelle, why are you obsessed with giving me something I don't deserve, anyways?“ I ask as dryly as possible as she seems to get very quiet for a moment, slowly flipping the… pancake, I believe she called it.

“Billy Bob, when I told you about this town, what is the one thing we all have in common here? Aside from us being stuck in a wasteland of hell that seems hellbent on trying to murder us every day of our lives?”

“Guns, ammo, a distinct desire to kill and maim those who wish to kill, raid, and rape you. Maybe a sense of pure unadulterated despair and lack of hope for the existence we have.” I just blinked, saying that as I had been told it a thousand times.

Serabelle looked at me curiously for a moment before shoving this pancake creation onto what looked to be a grayish-white saucer before turning off the heat

“We are all either slaves or used to be slave owners. Every single person in this town with the exception of Miss Ditzy, was born with a number, not a name. We’re inside of a hellish wasteland where the only people that truly cares about us are counted on the hooves we have, and even then you can never be sure if they are helping you because they can, or if they want something out of it. So, we choose to do something about it, maybe not as big, or as flashy of a mark as murdering towns, but we made our mark but making sure our numbers hold no meaning, and our names held some kind of meaning. Giving you a name just feels… Like something you should hold near and dear to yourself, gives you a purpose, helps you fight against the wasteland, and make sure it doesn’t twist you into a monster like so many have become.”

I sat there for a minute, contemplating the concept she had thrown at me; in Philly, you were a number, didn't matter if you were a slave or slaver. “Toll son” I muttered.

“Pardon? What was that, hun; I couldn’t quite catch that.” She looked at me, dead in the eyes, as she moved a different, more pink, saucer towards me. This one with half of the pancake on it, the other half in front of her. “My name is Toll, Son. Miss Serabelle”

She smiles at me for a moment, taking a bit of the pancake and looking like she was thinking about something “Hrm, Toll Son huh, how about we call you Tolson; you’ll get less looks that way, and it’s a bit faster to say.”

“As long as it holds the same meaning, I couldn't care less how you say it, and long as you’re happy I don't much care.” I said, popping the pancake into my face, she raises her eyebrows for a moment before practically laughing her flank off and putting down her, saucer, before standing up “Haha, well, if that’s all it takes to get you a name, should’ve smiled a while ago; and you can stop callin me Miss Serabelle, makes me feel like an ol’ gal round these parts. Just call me Serabelle.”

Around that moment a small foal ran up to another mare outside and was saying Ma and Mommy as it was excited over something, I could not tell what they were blabbering about. “Miss Serabelle what is a ‘Ma’? Or ‘Mommy’? I don't understand what that foal is saying.‘ I was a bit confused, and more than a little angry at those words for reasons I simply could not remember.

Serabelle looked at me with what I can only imagine is a rather sad face, but one that seemed used to this as a bit of her pep was taken out of her step. “Well Tolson, Ma, or Mother, is usually someone that brings you into this world; but, especially in this world, it’s more often a mare that’ll take care of you, will risk everything for you, and do their damnedest to see you happy.”

I sat there looking at her, not sure if my face had made something she didn't like or if it was the topic, but we stayed there in silence for a bit, listening to the sounds of the town outside. Then I stood up, grabbed the gun I had with me, and looked at her.

“So Ma, what am I doing today?” I looked at her rather blankly as I said that, putting the gun against my shoulder as she stood up smiling, as cheery and as bubbly as ever, and the memory once again faded to black.

The next one didn’t pop up immediately, although at this point, neither me nor Scarface were talking, just watching silently. The gunfire and screams were all we heard, no visual; just voices.

“Did we win? Did we get the raider?” I screamed out, blinded by blood I think, probably why there's nothing here. I heard hooves walk up to me, I think 2 sets, one that slumped and another that ran up to me and slammed themselves on my shoulders.

“Son; you murdered everyone. Your companions, your enemies... that family you were supposed to be protecting. What in the Sam Hell is wrong with your boy, Serabelle? Is his nut wacker then a raider?! The male voice was angry and in a kind of pain I didn’t understand, “Did I lose?” I muttered, not quite comprehending exactly what had happened

“Son. Everyone is dead. It doesn't matter if you won or lost... if what you were fighting for is gone. If all a fight is to you is whether you killed them all, is it good? Is it a win to kill all those folks that wondered by?” the voice kept getting angrier and angrier.

“...Am I a monster?” I wanted to say, I wanted to scream those words, but my voice was gone. At that point I was scared, it was cold, and it was dark.

“Serabelle, get your bastardized child out of here before we all put a cap in him; find him a different job, One that doesn’t require him to differentiate which ponies need to die. Hell, kill him if you want to; I don't care just get him away from here!” The voice was demanding and it was ringing in my head

I heard Ma walk up to me and grab me before starting to lead me off; there weren’t words for a while, and I wasn't sure how far we were walking, either. All I knew was that she was mighty upset.

“Am I a monster?” The words finally came out but only half were my own, the other half were His.

“Mercy is a thing you give to those no matter who they are. If they spit in your face, turn away. If they try to kill you; that's when you take them down, but only if absolutely necessary, Tolson. Mercy always comes before murder; never, never, never, the other way around.” Ma was hurt, I could hear it in her voice, I wonder who died, I wonder if I will ever learn.

Scar and I just sat there for a while; neither of us talking. I don't think either of us could stomach another word; as always, this place hurts more than words can say.

As things on the outside began to fade in I heard the voice of a mare I wasn't familiar with, telling one of the others that I was alive, just out cold. Slowly but surely, I was dragged out of the cold and dark into the world once more.

As I opened my eyes for probably the first time in several hours, I try to move my limbs, make sure everything is functioning, but as I do so, I realize there is something holding me down. I sit up regardless before I feel a sharp sting across my face and see the small unicorn from before staring at me, it was almost… cute. Then she started talking. “If you continue moving, you’re going to rupture something inside of you, again; now I’m almost done fixing you up, but if you don’t want to be stuck here for yet another hour and waste even more of my resources, I would suggest you lay back down, and let me fix whatever this hellscape you call a non-functioning body is!”

I blankly look at the small mare as I sit up and stand, grabbing the bandages and wrapping up whatever was open with them before grabbing my gun “But it is my body, so I shall do what I must.”

She gives off a deep sigh before looking up at me, “Alright how about this, if you sit back down on the bloody table, you won’t head off, get the crap kicked out of you, and then make me have to save you anyways. Instead you can just let me heal you, then you can go and actually kill things without dying in the process. Who knows, you might actually help your allies if you let me heal you, rather than just being a hinderance. More efficient to be healed now anyways.”
I felt insulted by the mare, who’s the size of a stick, and just as crass as a viper. I sigh, walk over to her, pick her up, walk outside, and scream out to see who’s still alive of my group. “OY, MORONS, Y’ALL STILL ALIVE?!” the vibration in my throat told me this was not a good idea, but eh, this is normal.

I can feel the viper under my arm give off another sigh before I feel a needle slamming into my throat, a rather soothing feeling following it before a bullet slams into my shoulder. This resulted in a frustrated yell of the pony in my foreleg as a couple of sewing needles starts sewing it up, and the bullet is slowly pulled out of me. Several shots fill the air as my group seems to appear from the surrounding areas, most of the ponies seem no worse for wear with Cyclops being the only one with a lot more bullet holes then armor. I finally let go of the small pony as she finishes fixing up my foreleg before turning to the rest of my group “Urg, can I seriously not go two Celestia damned minutes without finding another pony with a bullet wound or drug addiction? Really? Is that so much to fuckin ask?”

“Aye, that language’ll get your mouth washed out by Ma if you ain’t careful.” I snap at her. She looks up at me like I just told her that I could make her fly. “Boy, how old do you think I am?”

“Old enough for raiders to rape you, young enough to make me look like an old stallion.” I say dryly ignoring the incoming fire. She sighs and sets to work on Roasted’s bullet wounds “I’m probably older than you are, and I’ve seen ponies do much worse than this little show y’all put on for this town. Although the amount of injury you have sustained makes me wonder how you are possibly even alive at this point.” She takes a look back at me as her needles fly around with the skill of one who’s been doing this for far too long. “Honestly, the fact that you are able to speak, much less move, much less kill something, is more of a miracle then I’ve seen in months, if, ya know, ever.”

“It’s not a miracle; it’s Ma’s cooking and Ma’s love keeping me going. She’s such a nice lady.” I pop back, somewhat smiling. Every single pony in the group just kinda stops and stares at me; the filly’s needles have even stopped moving. I feel like that’s dangerous. Oh well. “What?”

The filly shakes her head before pulling out her needles; she might be small, but she does impressive work at least. “If her cookin’ is all it takes to make a body better, I would be out of work. There's a little more to healing than just some good cooking and love; there’s medicine, surgery, bloody magic, ya numpty wombat; takes years of training to be able to heal some pony without using your potions, and even then, those can only save you for so long.” She gives off a deep sigh as she comes back to me, slowly looking over my body as her horn lights up, seeming almost to scan me, which was very unnerving.

She only gets about halfway through my body before she abruptly stops and stares at me, looking like a ghost that just got slapped by Ma. “What, in the fuck, is wrong with your body? How in any way, shape, or for-” I slam my hoof over her mouth and stare at her for a moment, the rest of the group looks on curiously, but none of them seem intent on interfering. “Again, Ma’s cooking is what keeps me alive... Ok?” I say, smiling. I think she took the hint not to try and question any further. Moving my hoof off her mouth I decide to switch the topic a bit “So, why are you healing us and not trying to kill us? I imagine those needles could make short work of any of us if you really wanted to.”

She looks like I just slapped her silly as she actively flinches at that statement. “I’m a medical pony. I do not kill, I heal. Regardless of the side you’re on, if you are wounded my job is to get you back on your feet for you to die another day. Sounds like a glamorous job, but it’s really not.” I look at her with a tilt of my head “You are a naive child if you think everyone should be healed.” She looks back and sighs before grabbing my backhoof with her magic and twisting it hard, snapping it back into place before she starts to continue.

“Look, being a medical pony wasn’t my first choice; in fact, I originally wanted to learn music. Hence why I’m called Melody.” She grabs her needles in her magic once more and starts sewing up bits she had missed previously, muttering something under her breath. “One day, this old pony came into town, nice fellow, name was Scrappy, he said I had an amazing talent for telekinesis, one that could be used to help many ponies. After a few days of debating, he decided to take me on as a medical pony; there have been many over the years, but we all follow the same code, a code that was created by the Ministry Mare Fluttershy of the Ministry of Peace herself.” She stops for a moment and digs through her bags, then she pulls out a statue of a yellow pegasus with pink hair. “He gave me this so I would always remember the code of the Medical Ponies.” She takes a deep breath and sits down before uttering out what had to have been this code she was talking about, long since memorized and likely over said.

I shall heal all those that come my way, whether they be to kill me, or to save me
I shall never kill, these blades cut infections out, these needles sew up wounds
My magic heals, never kills, saves, never harms, locates, never wanders.
To be a medical pony means you don’t choose sides, you only choose to save.

“So your mentor is dead, then, I take it?” As always I was dry in my delivery. She looked up once she was done with her code thing. “Yes, shockingly he is the only pony I’ve ever met that died of old age. A rarity in this world.”

I was about to retort to this by stating how unlikely that is before Big Guy runs forward between the two of us, to try to define the size difference between the two would be if a whale was looking at a radscorpion. “Oh, oh, I wanna be checked up, can I be checked up? I wanna see if I’m hurt. Do you think I’m hurt? How does being hurt feel? Is it when I poke myself? Cause I do that a lot.” This didn’t seem to phase the viper as she starts to check his body with a smile, a smile that very quickly faded once she looked at his eyes. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me? How many fucked up ponies do you have on your team?” She looked right at me as she said this. She proceeded to grab the massive mammoth by the snout and with strength you couldn’t fathom coming out of this filly she pulls him straight to the ground slamming him against it as she stares at him.

“What do you take, how much do you take, how many times do you take it, and how are you not dead? Why do I keep having to ask that question?” Big Guy seemed rather stunned by everything going on, but he just kinda tilts his head “Uh, well, scary lady. I don’t really know what I take, however it always makes me happy, here ya go.” The titan of a pony proceeds to shrug a bag off his back which falls to the ground a short way, it’s a rather large bag about twice the size of a normal saddlebag. The moment the viper looks inside of the bag, however, her face falls, she sighs, puts her head in her hooves, and starts beating her head against them. “Oh, why, Celestia; why did you have to torture me by putting me with this group of all groups? Give me a raider group or cannibals or even slavers, at least that wouldn’t be as painful!” As she picks herself up and starts throwing insults at the colossus and pulling most of his drug stash into her own saddle bags, the Big Guy just looks like a sad puppy that had his favorite toy taken away. She also started explaining to him how all of his drugs worked, he didn’t seem to register it though.

At this point, most of the group, having gotten a “You’re fine, don’t be such a foal.” from the tiny Viper, they started scavenging; searching for any ammo, tools, weapons, or money left behind as Soldier Boy walks up to me. “Hey, good to see you on your hooves again, you were out for a few hours, so we routed out most of the town. Any living ponies that were here have either fucked off somewhere or they are in the town hall over there.” He proceeds to jerk a wingtip to the massive area with gore and body parts adorning it. “They barricaded it pretty heavily, but with you and Junker awake and active, knocking down those doors shouldn’t be too much of an issue. That is of course if Melody stops torturing the poor stallion.”

I look over at the two as the Viper was practically beating the big guy off of the drugs with a stick, not sure where she got the stick but it looked hoofcrafted almost, rather old but very sturdy. Didn’t do much to the big guy but he seemed to understand the threat. “Hey, if you want this hulking stupid idiot to actually stay alive and not have a heart beat of over 150 BPM then I’m doing y’all a favor, now shut up and get him goin!”

“I’m gonna record all this later,” I sigh and mumble to myself as I begin to walk to the doorway of the giant “town hall” I think he called it. We still haven't found Ma or Miss Ditzy and I’m very, very angry right now, let's hope that they’re in here. Or Celestia and Luna, help these ponies; all of em. The sound of clicking can be heard as the recording stops playing. Static fills the air in the room.