Underside, San Palomino

Day 15

The rest of the day proved to be mostly calm and relaxing, as I had hoped it would be. I wandered around Underside aimlessly, going from street to street to look for anything of interest, stopping in at small shops or greeting creatures that went past. They all knew who I was, at least on some level. The moniker of Cloudbourne Anomaly had traveled much quicker than Rhapsody’s name, and everyone wanted to make sure I was really them.

It wasn’t the infamy I wanted, but it was the kind that had been hooved to me. Gemmy was the popular one, the name on everyone’s lips. In four days, she had become a household name within this desert community. More often than not, those who approached me did so less because of my nickname and more because of my connection to Gemmy. Everycreature wanted to know about her, where she came from and what life she lived. I refused each and every one of those questions.

Gemini had only told two ponies about what her life was truly like in Trotson, and that was Willow and myself. If she wasn’t openly telling those around her, then I was going to do the same. A lot of it was too traumatic for the young mare anyways.

It was later in the day, around sixteen hundred, that my mind turned from relaxation to preparation. With Gold gone, and Sharpshot, Willow, and Gemini not coming with me to Northern San Palomino, then I had to make sure I was ready. Discarding or selling shit I didn’t need, buying ammo, food, and otherwise for the long road ahead, and tracking down Falke both to tell him why Gold hadn’t returned with my friends and offer him a contract. The sooner I took care of them, the better.

The first thing I did was hoof the Atomizer over to the Shattered Moon, asking that the weapon itself be disposed of. Rhapsody had seen what it did, weighed its use during more than a fair amount of combat encounters now, and after some discussion with my inner-selves a conclusion was reached: it was too dangerous. Only two shots had actually been fired from it, and they nearly cost Rhapsody her life. Best thing for us all was for it to be disassembled for parts.

They also asked for the power armor ArcanaTech had given Gemmy and myself, though not for military purposes. They wanted it for mining and scavenging operations in the ocean. The use of power armor in mining wasn’t something new; old world corporations had designed suits for that specific purpose. The deep water scavenging, however, was a bigger shock. Turns out, this armor was made and enchanted in such a way as to withstand a heck of a lot of pressure that would make it perfect for such activity.

While it was quite the asset to loss, I gave it to them. Looking at the armor, knowing the pegasi it had once belonged to, and seeing what it had become made wearing it… hurt. Not saying I couldn’t put the armor on, but it was a shadow of the Enclave armor that I adored. I wished it well as they took the bastardized armor away, that connection with the soldier it had served before me still there.

Lastly, I gave all the drugs Rhapsody had picked up all the way back in the Grand Trotson Hotel, seeing how I was going to use them. Leaving them for actual medical experts to use was a far better idea than holding onto them any longer. They’d obviously still have to check if the medicine in question was safe to use, but that was expected. Where many wastelanders would probably use these without a single thought about side effects or addiction, doctors would keep things considered harmful away from such idiots.

That left me with just my Novasurge rifle, what ammo I had for it, and her radio, all that Rhapsody had come to the surface with. Yet something inside me felt slightly off. The weapon felt right, but it was like only one side of my brain was satisfied with it. There was a deep longing for another firearm, one that connected me to my other home from centuries prior. Something simple, powerful, nostalgic.

A shotgun. Dead Hooves had used a shotgun. Her desire to hold one again was rubbing off on me.

This need led me to what was likely the only place in Underside that had the right to sell firearms inside the town’s walls. Shattered Moon is very particular about who they allow to sell such things in their territory, apparently requiring far more paperwork and background checks than anything else. After all, most creatures weren’t allowed to hold weapons anyways. It meant that, while somepony was allowed to buy a rifle within the confines of the Underside, it would be given to a member of Shattered Moon and placed with the rest of your arsenal till you leave town.

Hate it if you want, but those are the rules.

The store in question was called Rebel Path, the lonely nature of the street its own exaggerated by the setting of the sun. The store got traction – sand and rocks led inside through the open door – it was just a slow hour for them. Given the time of day, and the nature of their merchandise, that was probably due to closing sooner rather than later; it was seventeen-thirty when I arrived.

Rock music filled in for the lack of customers, loud enough to be heard an entire building away. It was all old, anti-war, likely banned by the ministries for their messages or drowned out by all the pro-war shit that had played instead. It felt ironic hearing a gun store of all places play such music.

Trotting in, my eyes immediately started scanning for what they had to sell. It was a pretty impressive selection, that was for sure, holding a lot of the more recognizable wartime era rifles, shotguns, sidearms, and otherwise in glass cases on the counter or on the wall behind it. No M.E.W.s in sight, likely are around these areas, but there were some lesser known, foreign options that wouldn’t be seen in most other places.

It was an incredibly impressive selection.

Wasn’t allowed to touch anything there, but I didn’t need to in order to figure out that these guns had been well preserved. No sign of rust, nothing clearly broken, and the clerk, a zebra, was clearly well versed in maintenance. Absolute gun nut, could give you a full history on at least half his inventory right off the top of his head. Obsessive, perhaps, but no less fun to listen to all the same. Just be careful when you ask him about his merchandise, he won’t be shutting up for the next thirty or forty minutes if you say the right thing.

Found that out when my interest landed on an odd zebrican weapon that stood out compared to all the others. The thing was short yet bulky, a cylindrical magazine that functioned like an old wind-up toy. It was certainly an odd choice, and the Rhapsody half of me was inwardly complaining about every little problem based around it. Unfortunately for her, that rant wasn’t loud enough to catch my attention, especially with the zebra (his name was Mapinduzi) doing the same right before me.

“– which is why, despite the XS-23 being passed over in favor of less mechanically complicated firearms, it was considered a marvel of zebrican engineering for its time,” he said, finally finishing up what had been at least afifteen minute history lesson on the. He placed a hoof on the clockwork magazine, a prideful smile on his face. “You won’t find many of them out there, not exactly easy to fix. Unless you’re a collector, I wouldn’t recommend it. Ironshod and Redwing firearms are more common and a lot easier to use.”

There was a beat of silence following that.

“Oh, thank Celestia he is done,” my inner selves said, sounding oddly out of breath for what we're just voices in the back of my mind. “Now, please, have him put that back. We are not taking that thing.”

I gave a subtle eye roll at their behavior. “Yeah, something a bit easier to maintain would work better. I’m… not really a mercenary, just a wanderer. Once I leave Underside I’m not sure when I’ll next be taking a stop in civilization.”

“Meaning you’ll want something that will be able to withstand lots of sand and shit inside it, and easy to take apart if it does get clogged,” Mapinduzi said. I smiled and nodded to tell him he was right. “Well, if you want my pick…”

His eyes turned behind him, eyes lighting up as he looked at one particular model behind him. It was griffon in origin, something clear from the way the sights and mouth grip were made. Compared to how most of the zebrican and Equestrian weapons were designed, these were a lot rougher and more patchwork. It was still griffon made, despite being made for us Equines.

“You got magic right? I think I heard something about that from rumors,” Mapinduzi said, briefly looking back to me. I answered by lighting up my horn, a sight that made his brow rise exponentially. “Heh. Heard some talk about you being a hornless alicorn, seems it's true.”

“Magic is a new thing for me. Long story, but to summarize I haven't had it most of my life,” I replied, cutting the horn glow after the first sentence. “Why are you asking?”

“Because, while it certainly isn’t terrible, the early equine version of the Redwing Trench Buster is not spectacular,” he explained. The joy in his face became almost blinding, the same one that he had worn when he started talking about the previous shotgun. “You see, Equestria saw what the griffons had and wanted it. Due to the difference in anatomy – they have claws, we have hooves – they had to expirement. They idea of holding it with out mouths came some time later, and it took several tries for both to get it right.”

He pointed up at the Trench Buster he had been looking at before.

“That? That’s one of the original designs. Usable, but not comfortable. Great piece of history, though, and still Ironshod-level reliable.”

His eyes went to a different version of the same gun, this time with the talon-grip, trigger, trigger guard, and otherwise that marked it as griffon-made.

“Either way, it didn’t matter if you were a griffon, pony, or zebra,” he continued on, taking it off the wall and placing it down on the counter between us. “In the trenches of zebrica, this thing was considered a menace. Twelve gauge, pump action, reliable, if you want something that will withstand the sands of San Palomino, then look no further.”

“Sounds like this is coming from more than just a merchant,” I replied, smiling smugly. My inner selves sighed in relief that his rant had been significantly shorter this time around. “Own one yourself, I take it.”

“Yep. It was my closest companion back east,” he said. “One of the Equestrianized ones perhaps, but it was all that stood between me and whatever horrors or monster wanted to take my merchandise and me.” He took a step back, the happiness faded from his face to be replaced with something mournful. “It wasn’t easy, being a zebra merchant out there. So many of the ponies over there still held hatred that was ingrained in you from the war. You think it would have faded, after two centuries.”

Something about those words and the sadness in his face as he spoke them hurt me. It wasn’t from a singular source, but rather two different ones at the same time, belonging to both sides of me. He was right, two hundred years should be enough to curb harmful stereotyping and distrust, or at the very least lessen it. Instead, it had either stagnated or grown in much of the central wasteland or grown worse. The latter seemed more likely because… because…

I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth and mentally chastising myself. My two halves had lived on different sides of that hatred. One had throw slurs and insults at those on the ground as if it was a standard part of her vocabulary, the other had bore insults to half her ancestry from all those outside her family. I was stuck between hating myself and hating the world, but eitherway, I understood.

I understand, for I was both a part of the problem, and a victim of it all the same.

“I left when it became clear I wasn’t welcomed out that way. Didn’t know where to go and somehow I just ended up wandering here, into San Palomino,” Mapinduzi continued on. He waved one of his forelegs in front of me, a dry laugh leaving his muzzle. “Sorry, got carried away there. You didn’t come here to listen to my life story.”

“Just like we didn’t come here to listen to you talk about the entire history of Zebrican shotguns.”

“Shut up, let him show his passion,” I muttered to myself, looking away briefly as I did. I made sure to turn back to the zebra as I addressed him. “No need to apologize. I can’t really imagine what it’s like, living that way. What I do know is being on the other side of it, being that terrible influence which creates said stigma.”

“Pegasus originally, right?” he asked, getting a nod from me as his answer. He looked back down at the Trench Buster, running a hoof over it. “Yeah, I’ve heard or seen some of what your own does. Don’t like it, can still blame you for the thing you said, but I also understand that certain environments cause certain… behaviors. That part, I can’t blame you for.”

His words made me a little less uneasy, as if the mere understanding of what my life had been like was more useful than any version of ‘sorry’ he could have used. Sorry wasn’t an applicable word for me or Rhapsody; everything we had done in the Enclave, brainwashed or not, had been of our own volition. Every surface dweller killed, every joke made at their expense, every pegasus we tried like shit was still all us.

Once, those cities about the clouds were a shining beacon of what the wasteland refused to be. Now the differences between the ground and the sky had grown fewer, the line separating them blurring. What was the Enclave's biggest difference? A government? Maybe, but it no longer felt like something worth respecting.

I understand that dashite mentality much more now than I did before.

“I am learning to be a better pony, I promise you,” I said. As true as I felt the words were, the lack of reaction from Mapinduzi showed how empty the statement was. Claiming you changed and actually changing are not the same things. “So, the Trench Buster.”

“Yes,” he replied, clearly happy to get back to more important matters. “Wish to see other options?”

I shook my head. “No, it’ll be perfect.”

Willow Wisp didn’t vanish off the face of the planet, thank the princesses.

The sun had gone over the horizon by the time I found her, sitting outside the motel rooms that we were still renting. She was all alone, or as alone as she possibly could be now with her own collection of voices in her head, silent and staring into the distance. From afar, I grew certain of one thing I had felt unsure about when we had talked that morning: there was more blue on her coat than white now. Her wings, the majority of her mane, all of her coat up to the very top of her back, was now a deep blue.

I had been staring at her for a minute when she finally noticed me. Our eyes locked on each other, neither saying a word, not a single other movement between us. She knew it, didn’t she? She knew I had questions, ones that only she was able to answer. At the very least, she didn’t flee at the sight of me, telling me that she was ready to talk.

“Say something,” my inner selves said, gentle yet commanding.

“What… what do I say though? If I say something bad and hurt her–”

“It’s going to hurt anyways. Just be blunt, direct. That’s the best thing to do right now.”

Despite Rhapsody and Dead Hooves’ little nudges for me to talk, my muzzle refused to move. My eyes fell on the sand-covered street beneath me, one of my forehooves pawing at the ground in discomfort. Being blunt about a subject such as the Unity, that seemed impossible. Willow was already hurting, and the fear of hurting her further kept my mouth shut and my mind struggling to come up with something to say. I couldn’t hurt her. I couldn’t…

I couldn’t…

…

“It’s okay, Macabre.”

Though my head still hung low, my eyes found themselves capable of looking at Willow. She wasn’t smiling – wasn’t pretending that everything was fine – a deep melancholy and pained look itched into her visage. I hadn’t said a damn thing, and yet somehow that was what hurt her. Swallowing down my nervousness, I started to walk towards her as she talked more.

“I’m sorry for this morning. I didn’t think I was that connected yet, and wasn’t prepared at all for her to take control of me like I’m some… some puppet,” Willow explained. A shudder passed through her body, her eyelids closed tight at a phantom pain. “She got angry at me when I took back control, chastised me like I was a misbehaving filly. Snapped back at her for ruining a talk with a good friend, ended up shocking a lot of my sisters.”

Sisters.

Such a simple word with so many implications. It implied family, the closest companionship a group of creatures could ever have. Hearing Willow use it, when referring to the other alicorns in the Unity, left me conflicted. Did she truly see them as family? Or was it some sign of her individuality being taken from her? I doubt, even if she would tell me it was the former, that I would believe her.

“She wants to talk to you, but I managed to fight for permission to talk to you first,” Willow explained. I was right next to her at this point, a wing subconsciously wrapping around the bigger alicorn in comfort. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I said softly. “I’m just glad that you still seem to be… you.”

Willow let out a somber giggle. “The Goddess isn’t used to it, having alicorns like myself around. Not saying there is no individuality in the Unity – you have the personalities of so many in one hive mind there is no way there couldn’t be – but outside of me there is only one other that is really their own pony. Her name was….”

She tapped a hoof against the ground, then suddenly beamed.

“Lacunae, right! Thanks, all of you!” she said. She looked back to me, and near immediately her emotions swapped once again. “Go on, I know what you want to ask.”

I briefly looked to the ground, then back up to Willow. “How long have you been hearing them?”

“Since before we entered the sandstorm back in Trotson,” Willow answered. “Sorry for keeping it a secret, but if Sharpy found out what was happening to me… well, I didn’t want him to worry.”

“Willow….”

I placed a hoof on her shoulder, the contact earning the tiniest of smiles from the alicorn next to me. She wrapped another wing around me, her feathers gently stroking my back. It felt nice, comforting, and I started subconsciously stroking her own back in turn. For a little bit of time, we allowed stress and fear to fall away, relaxing and giving no worries for the implications of her newfound connection to the Unity. Those moments of ignorance were pure bliss.

When I felt relaxed and ready, I let both my shoulder and wing fall off of Willow’s body. With a clear mind, I found the ability to ask questions that my mind was previously unable to ask.

“Is it crowded up there?” I asked, tapping on my noggin.

“Very,” she replied. When I tapped the top of my head, she rubbed it as if nursing a headache. “I thought I was going crazy at first… or crazier than I already am anyways. Was hearing all these tiny, indecipherable noises at first. They seemed excited, anxious, but I couldn’t tell what it was for. The more connected I became, the louder they got. Took a bit of time, getting used to it.”

“I can imagine. I mean, I told you earlier how everything is feeling up here,” I said, tapping myself a few more times. “Talking with what remains of Rhapsody and Dead Hooves, all the memories, I’m surprised I’m dealing with things as well as I am.”

“Guess the two of us are just made of tougher things than most other alicorns,” Willow replied. She let out a laugh, her expression growing more and more smug as she did. “At least one of you agrees with me.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the way she was talking to the Unity. “There a cast of characters?”

“Do you want to know how many pony minds make up the Unity, Danse?” she retorted. While she remained smug, there was a tinge of seriousness in her expression lips too. “The Goddess has kept count, and it’s past four digits. Almost shocking, except so far I have a higher body count than at least three fourths of them…”

She leaned in, her pupils bearing into mind with that crazed, murderous expression that tended to come before she brutalized someone.

“Combined.”

“Sweet Celestia,” I muttered. Willow backed off as soon as she heard those words from me, looking proud of herself. If there was any show that this was still the same alicorn I met back in Trotson, that was it. “I think I’m good not knowing then. That’s a few more alicorns than I want to be aware of.”

“Or be on the opposing side of.”

“Still all things considering, you seem to be taking this rather well.”

Willow blinked, snorted, and then chuckled. That chuckled turned into a pained laugh, her smile holding on by a thread. She sounded crazy than usual, if that was somehow possible, her laughter showing amusement while her expression and body showcased agony. It almost seemed like she was ready to cry for a moment, but there were no tears. Just more cackling at the world, situation, and most clearly of all, herself.

“Well? I had my body taken over earlier today, know that the same being is going to take it over again when we are done talking, and it seems like I’m doing well?” she asked me. Though her words seemed mocking, her tone was far closer to desperate. She scrambled to the ground, head resting on her forelegs as she continued to laugh at herself. “Is my mental voice really so foalish that the pain isn't clear in it? I thought that I made it clear that this isn’t what I wanted, no matter how welcoming my sisters have been, or how highly they seem to think of my life.”

My forelegs left the ground, held close to my chest as I watched one of my first friends on the surface have a complete breakdown. “I’m sorry.”

She briefly looked at me, and then winced. For a moment, I thought something about my apology had upset her further, gotten her angrier at me. Instead, her head went from on top of her hooves to under it.

“Danse I… you shouldn’t have been on the receiving end of that,” Willow explained. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I’m just… maybe it looks like I’m doing well, but the truth is I’m really, really scared.”

I shuffled closer to the mare and laid down so that I was eye level with her. I placed a wing around her withers, doing my best to smile despite everything. I wasn’t sure, but considering her sniffles died down and her breathing had evened out, she was in a better state. It was when she looked at me that I finally decided to speak.

“If it helps, I’m also afraid of what’s happened to myself,” I said. My pupils went to my hooves, specifically where my toe and fur overlapped. “I had my name taken from me, separating memories is literally painful, I physically look different. Maybe it's not the same as what you are going through but it’s similar.”

Willow’s expression went neutral, blinking rapidly at me. “I guess it is. Huh. ”

“So you aren’t alone in this.” I patted her on the back with my already extended wing. “It’s not fun, and I’m not making light of what you’ve gone through. I’m just saying that, if you need somepony to talk to about it, I’m here for you.”

“Danse you…,”

Willow stopped herself. She lifted her head, meeting my smile with one of her own. In a blink, she had removed my wing from on top of her body, surrounded me with her own, and shoved me into her chest. The warmth of her fur and feathers left a fuzzy feeling inside of me, one increased when her forehooves wrapped around my barrel and pulled me close. Compared to how she had attempted to crush Rhapsody twice before, this time Willow’s hug was comforting, cozy.

The fuzzy feeling in me seemed to grow, my head burying itself in her chest fluff. There was that slight tinge of jealousy at it (even with how much I changed I had not gotten fluffier), but my heart and mind did not care. Something about being cuddled up against Willow like this felt right, like a long forgotten yearning had returned with a force. I rubbed against her, taking in deep breathes, the smell of what was definitely blood long dry didn’t matter. It was only when I heard the alicorn’s giggle at the back of my mind that I managed to peel my head back and look up to her. The smile on her face had become quite goofy, adorable…

Cute.

“Well, we have the answer to that question I posed back in Trotson now,” she said, one of her forelegs going to her mouth in an attempt to hide said goofy smirk.

Thank the infinite my face was already magenta because otherwise the blush on it would have been clear as the desert sky. Didn’t take much for me to figure out exactly what question she was referring to, this was about the possibility of Rhapsody swinging both ways. In everything that had happened over the past two weeks, somehow the mare had remembered something that is, at least compared to everything else, rather unimportant. Now I was faced with the fact that, despite everything, she might have been right.

Yet of all the ponies for me to realize it around, it was Sharpshot’s wife.

“I, uh, I-I-I couldn’t help myself,” I said, standing up and flapping backwards so I had just enough distance. “It’s just, something about your fur and feathers was so nice and, u-u-um….”

Willow chortled at me, not in my mind, but out loud. My blush only seemed to deepen at it, though I wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the realization that I thought her laugh was cute.

“It’s more than okay, Danse. If I were to guess, it’s probably the Dead Hooves part of you acting up right now,” the other alicorn said. It took me a couple seconds to put together, and while the blush certainly didn’t get any worse it certainly didn’t fade away. Somehow, the fact Dead Hooves was a lesbian had not yet hit me. “So technically Rhapsody isn’t bi, but you? There is a decent possibility that you are.”

While definitely still embarrassed, I managed to laugh at the news. “I guess so. Still, we probably shouldn’t tell Sharpshot about this.”

“Oh, like he is going to care,” Willow replied, standing up and rolling her eyes at me. Her pupils landed on the ground for a moment when the eye roll ended, before looking back to me. “He’s allowed me to fool around with ponies the entire time we’ve been together. His way of dealing with the fact that, well, you remember.”

“His banana is broken,” I said. Willow nodded back at me. “Still, we were just snuggling Willow. I don’t think that really counts as ‘fooling around’ to any couples.”

“Well, in that case, I guess you have to ask yourself a question,” she replied, touching her nose to mind. In less than a second, the blush that I thought had faded was now back and even brighter than before. “Do you want to see what it's like for mares to fool around?”

Those piercing purple irises cut through my own with ease, the goofy smile that had originally adorned Willow’s face now mine. My heart was beating fast, the feeling of her breath on my face making it skip beats here and there. With a tiny, mental apology to Iron Anchor, I chose to give into my fellow alicorn’s proposal, and melted into her embrace once again. I rubbed against her neck in a nodding motion, in case the sudden affection was not a clear enough ‘yes’.

The door to one of our rented motel rooms opened, and with a gentle touch she ushered me inside. The Goddess never got her moment to speak with me; Willow and I had both fallen asleep an hour later, both tired from certain… activities.

Sharpshot had come back to the motel the night prior with a very clear idea of what had occurred, but Willow had been right about him not caring. Willow had woken up around then, the ghoul had moved me onto the floor because Sharpshot is Sharpshot, and I woke up some hours later with a stiff back, dry throat, and mild dehydration. They had a good laugh at my panicked reaction to Willow and I being found out, the former throwing light jabs about inexperience my way.

All the while, I came to the conclusion that I liked both stallions and mares, and it was something I was more than able to get used to. I just hoped I didn’t pick up any more of Dead Hooves taboo tastes. The discomfort that went through my body at the thought was clear enough indication that, no, I hadn’t obtained them.

The morning went by quickly and quietly without anything to interrupt it, and Sharpshot invited me out to lunch. It was his way of spending some time with me before I headed out to Our Haven. A good drink and meal, throwing each other jabs, while he was definitely still an asshole the ghoul was more mellow than he had been. It was a little strange, seeing him in a less pissed off state, but at the same time it was nice.

That said, Sharpshot was still Sharpshot. He was one of the wastelands most wanted for a reason, and he was damn proud of it. Was more than willing to share how he got on the bad side of literally anypony if you got past that mask of his.

It was in the middle of one of these stories that his focus was abruptly pulled away, eyes going from our table over to the bar. I decided to follow them, see exactly where they were going. I was greeted with the sight of a familiar griffon, one I had sat down with two days prior, making their way to the Lucky Clover’s bar.

Falke.

“Did you talk to him yesterday?” The ghoul asked. I looked back to Sharpshot as he continued to speak. “About the job, I mean.”

“No, not yet,” I answered. “Wanted to make sure I was ready first. Not sure how many days of travel it's going to be, after all.”

“Right. Not a bad idea, but since he is right there…,” Sharpshot left that sentence unfinished, instead motioning me back towards Falke. “No reason to not ask him about it now. Sounds like you got a lot of that taken care of already”

I nodded, seeing the logic in his statement. Getting up, I made my way over to the bar slowly, giving the griffon enough time to relay his order to Basalt. His eyes flicked my way, flashing a small smile as he did. I gave him one of my own, and he tilted his head towards the seat next to him. An invitation, one that I probably should have expected, given what he had asked me to do when we last met.

That would have to be taken care of first, and he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

I sat on the barstool next to him, giving a little wave to Basalt on the other side of the counter. The abyssian more than knew I was already here, but it felt right to update him on my temporary change of seats. He gave me a small nod, and then returned to whatever he was doing.

“Got the answer to your question,” I told Falke quietly. I already had his attention, but I figured it was best to let him know that, yes, I was coming to him about Gold. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Figured that much out already,” he replied. His talons strummed the top of his glass. “Is he dead?”

“No, but it sounds like he came damn close to it,” I answered. “Tried to kill me while I was out cold. Sharpshot and that Shattered Moon associate saved my ass.”

Their was the faintest sign of shock on Falke’s face, his crest rising ever so slightly. His talon slid off his cup, possibly scratching the surface of it in the process. When it touched the table, his other talon grabbed it and practically threw the rest of his drink down his gullet. He slammed the glass into the table with enough force to make Basalt jump.

One simple word left the old Talon’s beak.

“Fuck.”

“Is everything okay, Falke?” Basalt asked. Falke looked to the abyssian, then back down at the table before waving the pub owner off. “You sure?”

“Yeah, just frustrated,” the griffon replied. Basalt, not wishing to push further, backed off, and gave him some room. As soon as Basalt was out of earshot, Falke shook his head. “You’re gonna have to explain it all.”

“You don’t believe he would do it?” I asked.

“I don’t think any worthwhile mercenary would do it,” he said, his eyes snapping to, filled with anger and a drop of confusion. “Talons have an honor code toward their contract holder, and breaking that code is seen as a serious mark against you. Word would get out, any settlement in that entire area would know you can’t be trusted. Killing the individual holding your contract is the stupidest thing you can do and yet… he isn’t here.”

He turned so that his entire body was facing me, leaning forward so that his face was all that I could see.

“So why, Danse Macabre? Why did he attempt to kill you?”

“Keep poised. Just tell him the truth, and you will be fine.”

Closing my eyelids and taking a deep breath, I gave the smallest of nods possible to my inner selves. They were right, Falke lacked a lot of context that Sharpshot, Willow, Day Glow, and myself now knew. He didn’t know until he and Gold reunited that Trotson still existed, nor did he know about ArcanaTech, Moondancer, or the pony truly holding his contract. As they stated, just tell him the truth.

“Despite what he said, I wasn’t the pony with the contract,” I explained, staring him dead in the eyes. He straightened his posture a little, a wordless ‘keep talking’. “The ponies who do? They are descendants of the Ministry of Arcane Science, using a foal he seems to treat like his own daughter as a puppet leader. The actual conditions of the contract, as far as I know, was that he was to watch and protect me as long as I still held value to that group. If not, then he was to kill me.”

“Which, considering how severe your injury originally was, made you a liability,” Falke said, finishing up my explanation for me. I nodded, and the griffon brought a talon up to hold his head in disbelief. “Using somepony he cares about for their own means, and he’s too much of a softy to realize it. He didn’t break the contract, just followed it through.”

He turned away from me and back to his empty glass, anger gone from his eyes. He remained silent, emotionless, taking in everything I had just told him.

“Gideon and Gigi aren’t going to like this, not after how much I talked him up,” he said, eyes seemingly glued to the countertop in front of him. “He was an inspiration to me, when we were both younger. Sure, I had some stupid moments, but that goes for everyone. I don’t remember that griffon, but the one able to pick up on a bad contract in a single word. His shooting was perfect, negotiation fluent, even with his weird speech quirks. He was a good griffon.”

“You’re talking about Gold like he’s dead,” I said, brow ever-so-slightly raised.

“He will be, before long. We all have that contract, the one which finally manages to get the better of us in one or another,” Falke replied, looking back to me. “I’m fifty-eight, a lot of Talons don’t live to even half my age. Even fewer live past their first contract. It is always a test, a way to see if you really have what it takes to live the life of a mercenary. The amount that never come home is…,”

His gaze trailed off behind me, staring at nothing. There was the tiniest of shakes in his forelegs and talons, his beak left wide open as if he was still attempting to speak. It was impossible to imagine the events his brain was recalling at that moment. The idea, though, was familiar to me.

“The first time Rhapsody saw the surface, she probably went through a lot of the same,” I told him. My voice was enough to cut through the trauma of a long-held memory, his focus back on me. “Not everypony is made for the military, and more than a few crack when they see raiders for the first time. Some die, some abandon the Enclave, some try and abandon only to get gun down for desertion. That’s… just a few of the results the Grand Pegasus Enclave considered bad.”

One of Falke’s talons slid off the countertop. “How many for her?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve,” I echoed. “Twelve that never came home, for one reason or another.”

“I see,” the griffon replied. His gaze once again went elsewhere, though this time of his own volition. His eyes darted across the ceiling, a void in his eyes. “Gold and I, we were the only ones to come back from our age group. Our year was considered a tragedy, and our parents and their friends didn’t see us as strong, but lucky. It’s probably why he grew as attached to me as he did.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said.

“Thanks, though I doubt any number of ‘sorrys’ will ever make the memories hurt any less,” he said. He flashed me a smile for less than a second, and then returned to that emotionless look he had been wearing before. “Lucky though they thought we were, the truth is Gold and I were smarter when picking out our first contracts. We asked questions the others didn’t, weighed risk to reward, prepared more thoroughly, and came out alive because of it. I still hold to those today, but Gold? It seems like only a matter of time before the one who hired him gets him killed.”

He motioned to Basalt for a refill, and after the Abyssian confirmed it he looked back to me.

“You have my condolences for his betrayal, and my thanks for telling me this information,” he said. He brought one of his talons to my muzzle, sending a strange, not-entirely pleasant sensation through it. “You are free to rejoin that ghoul friend of yours, if you want.”

He looked away from me and back to his empty glass. I stayed silent as Basalt came over to us and refilled said glass with whatever Falke was having, waiting for the perfect moment to bring up the other reason I had come to talk to him. That, to me, meant waiting until enough time had passed between topics for me to bring up work. It was simply a matter of if I would have to broach the subject or not.

Falke made the option I would have to choose perfectly clear when he down the entire glass and immediately asked for another.

“Are you open for hiring?” I asked. That drew his attention to me instantly, his posture straightening and his talons strumming against the bar countertop in anticipation. “I’m in need of a bodyguard. Where I’m going Sharpshot and Willow would be shot on sight, and I need somecreature who might possibly be more accepted.”

“Really? Well, from what little you’ve already told me, the prospect doesn’t seem bad yet,” Falke responded. His claws tapped a bit more forcefully on the bar. “Bas, you still have any of that Vhoski blend?”

I tilted my head.

“Vhoski blend?”

“I believe I do. Let me just take a look,” the abyssian said, ducking under the bar. His tail flicked back and forth slowly, before pulling out a small container of dark coffee beans. “It will take a bit, but that is what you are hoping for, aren’t you?”

Falke just grinned at the feline in response. I looked between both of them, reasonably confused as to what exactly was going on right now, only for Basalt to make their way over to me. His own grin was even cockier than that of the griffon next to me.

“Hope you can handle strong stuff, Missus Macabre,” he said, “Not a lot of ponies out there can handle this stuff.”

“I, uh, I see,” I replied. As Basalt turned around to start working on my cup, I looked to Falke, beyond confused as to this sudden shift. “What is this Vhoski blend? Never heard about it before.”

“A rather rare type of coffee bean that was once grown by one of the tribes of zebrica. The tribe itself is long gone, having refused to kneel and fight against ponykind, by which part of them lives on,” Falke explained. “I hold this belief, you see. The Vhoski always drank it black, and to the soldiers outside their tribe that drank it during the war, its taste was vial. Whenever someone asks to employ my services, I have them drink it, to see if their hearts are as rotten as those who stole the lives of its creators, or if their hearts are pure.”

I blinked a few times, then tilted my head even further. “That’s… quite poetic.”

“It is. Just because I’m a Talon doesn’t mean I'm a cap-hungry idiot,” Falke replied, laughing at his joke. “You learn interesting things when your work takes you all across the wasteland.”

A few minutes later, a freshly brewed cup of the darkest coffee I had ever seen was placed before me. Its aroma was just as intense, not unpleasant but completely unfamiliar to my nose. It certainly didn’t seem like something to form superstition around, but then again I wasn’t a griffon. From being around Gold as much as I had, not to mention this little ‘test’ from Falke, had heavily skewed my viewpoint of them.

Still, if Falke really did survive this long via such a coffee based superstition, who was I to say if it was true or not.

Picking it up in my hooves immediately and blowing some of the steam away, I brought the cup to my lips. Like any other drink I had in my life, I managed to down a decent amount of it with relative ease. It was nutty and foamy, almost overwhelmingly so. I didn’t like it, but years of Rhapsody dealing with military cooking and rations won out over Dead Hooves' more immature way of dealing with food she disliked. That meant not complaining and dealing with the exceedingly nutty taste, because it might be all you get for the next several hours.

Before I had even put the now empty cup back onto the bar counter, Falke was grinning at me with massive approval. I had passed his little test with flying colors. He even clapped at me, though it seemed a bit much.

“So, thoughts?” He asked. His tone voice hinted that this question was back asked purely out of intrigue and nothing else.

“A bit much, but certainly not bad,” I said.

“Lots of clients think the same. Very few have ever tasted coffee like this before, given the general state of the continent literally anywhere but here,” Falke explained. He leaned in, his grin taking on a sly twist to it. “So, if I’m going to charge you accurately, I need to know the details. If it is confidential, we can discuss elsewhere.”

“Not confidential, but I have a feeling that most creatures here wouldn’t approve of it,” I said. Basalt took the hint and once again made himself scarce, going to help his other customers. “When Rhapsody came down from the clouds, she had four targets that she needed to kill. Two of them are already dead, but neither were what she expected to be the first. That mare, going by Angel Hair, was last sighted heading towards Our Haven.”

Falke’s expression twisted from a grin into something far more serious. Merely saying the name of that place was enough to make it clear why I had waited to tell him everything. Still, he had not yet said no, only leaning in further.

“You care for the vengeance of a mare you no longer are?” He asked.

I nodded. “Though I’m not Rhapsody exactly, her likes, dislikes, and desires are a part of me. I think of what Angel Hair and these others did, and I feel the same anger she felt. I can kill them myself, but getting there is something too dangerous to do alone.”

“And your ghoul and alicorn friend can’t come with you due to the Equalist encounter that finished making you…,” a talon motioned to all of me, from tail to ear, “who you are now.”

“They don't look any different. Well, maybe Willow would but I’m not separating her from Sharpshot in what might be her final–” I cut myself off, shaking away that insidious thought. No doubt enough had already been said for Falke to figure out where I was going with it, but he didn’t ask for anything specific on it. “The point is, I look different enough from Rhapsody; their hivemind will be looking for a pegasus with a magenta coat and a white and blue mane. I got brown and black dotted on me, and I’m taller for some reason.”

“Enough where they might pause at your approach, but like looking at somepony from the back, it is easy to mistake one for the other,” he said. He went from leaning forward to a better, yet still lackadaisical posture. A talon tapped the air in front of him. “The hostilities between the Shattered Moon and Equalists, Gold’s duty to kill you, and loneliness are all dangerous in similar or different ways. Anything else, before I give my price?”

“Just that Angel Hair is mine to kill, not yours,” I explained. “Our agreement would see you bringing me safely to Our Haven, that is all.”

“I would not take vengeance from you and Rhapsody, Danse Macabre,” Falke replied in a matter-of-fact tone, one foreleg swaying horizontally through the air to emphasize his words. “This is your dish to serve, not my own.”

“Straight forward, and so far a lot more honest than his friend ever was to us,” my inner selves replied. It was impossible to not feel Dead Hooves specifically approve of the griffon. “Still, we’re possibly hiring him to kill his friend. I’m surprised he doesn’t seem to have much of a problem with it.”

“Given his earlier remarks, this probably isn’t the first time he’s had to do it,” I whispered back to her.

“Fair. Still, if his relationship proves problematic, well,” the malicious smirk at the back of my own mind sent shivers down my spine, “nothing a bit of magic won’t fix.”

A piece of me wished to argue against the lack of care at wielding mind magic, but something deep inside me agreed. No argument, no talk of right or wrong, just acceptance that the option was there. In fact, as if preparing to do it in that exact moment, I felt the exact spell necessary come to my mind. As soon as it resurfaced, it engraved itself in my mind like the memory of a foalhood injury. It would be so simple to make sure there were no problems here and now.

That was something far easier to beat down, thankfully. Even that side of me more than willing to use it understood that the application was not necessary at this exact moment. It was a safety net, in case death ever felt just around the corner.

“That’s all,” I said, speaking up now that my conversation with myself was done. It didn’t hit me how unconcerned Falke was about it. “So, I imagine you’ll be wanting a decent number of caps for your work?”

“That is correct, however, it will not be the majority of your pay,” Falke answered. He seemed to relax, wearing this expression between content and education all at once. “You see, while the coin is well and good, it is fleeting. There are better, more long term rewards then a cap long removed from its soda bottle. Connections, items… work.”

The way he singled the last one out, it was too coincidental.

“You… want my help with something?” I asked.

“Again, correct!” the griffon replied. “You see, I’ve actually already been employed by someone else. Their name is something I can’t share until some time after you agree, unfortunately, but it just so happens that their contract and yours… line up. Similar end destination, but they need me to take them to Shorelock.”

I tilted my head. “Shorelock?”

“The headquarters of the Shattered Moon,” he explained. “You’ve heard about the Hurricane, right?”

“The ship the Shattered Moon brought into dock around a week or so ago. Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” I answered, nodding my head. After a second, my eyes went wide. “It’s at the port there. This contract has to do with it?”

“Loosely, but I again can’t explain it all until you meet and agree to help the other employer,” he said. He brought a talon to his temple, pinching its center and closing his eyes. “Usually I don't take jobs with this amount of red tape, even if they pass the coffee test. The price though, not only would it allow me to retire after this all, but it would set up Gideon and Gigi to continue their work without me.”

Red tape, an unknown employer, and rewards too good for an aging griffon to pass up. I was left wondering if that was too many unknowns to consider agreeing to meet this creature, but I didn’t really have a better choice. If hiring Falke didn’t work, I’d be heading into the desert all on my own, with a chance at anything ending my life when I closed my eyes to sleep. The risk of dying with revenge unfulfilled was far greater so far than that of some mysterious other.

Besides, from the sounds of it, I still had the option to say no even after meeting them.

“So you want me to help with this other job as payment for you seeing me safely to Our Haven,” I summarized. Falke’s talon fell from the top of his head to his seat, his eyes open once more and focused back on me. I received a nod as my answer. “In that case, when and where do you introduce me to this creature?”

The when ended up being the next day. The where was answered with a number.

It should have been obvious that something so secretive had to deal with Day Glow’s new employers. The organization had been born out of keeping about themselves hidden from Minister Pinkie Pie, and while they had become more highly thought of they hadn’t changed all too much in terms of operations. All I had to go off of as Falke and I were guided through the halls of were the sounds, and they were few. We here hooves, some conversation here and there, the ruffle of their makeshift uniforms, but that was it. No clue where we were going, even if the identity of the hiring was obvious.

The question was, given the context clues Falke had given me during our initial talk the day before, why was the Shattered Moon sending a Merc north? The path of his current employer lined up with my own, he had made it clear. Something felt off, though for all two of my lives it was impossible to pick up on what it was. What did the Shattered Moon need in Equalist territory? Why send an aging Talon like Falke (no offense towards the griffon in question, of course) instead of anycreature else? The pieces didn’t fit, and thinking made my head hurt just as much as when I tried to sort my memories.

My answers came when a hoof was pressed to my chest; a silent order to stop. We had arrived at the employers destination. We heard the opening of a door, and then the clearing of throats.

“Once we close the door beyond you two, you are free to remove your blindfolds,” one of our guides said. “Make sure to have them on when you are prepared to leave.”

“Understood,” I replied.

With that, they ushered Falke and I inside. My ears flicked as I listened to the door quickly close behind the two of us, and then lit my horn. The griffon removed his blindfold quicker due to being a bit more use to his talons than Rhapsody’s body was to her magic, but I managed to get them off easily.

After my eyes went through a mild adjustment period as they were once again greeted with light, I found myself looking at Falke’s employer. My muscles tensed as my eyes were greeted by chitin.

A changeling was seated at a table facing away from us, one who seemed to hold nothing in common with their northern brethren. Where the ones I had met before were black as night, this one was a vivid – and somewhat enchanting – orange. They lacked the seemingly copy-paste body of the drones, being taller, more feminine, insectoid wings that fit on a butterfly and tail not too dissimilar. The last ones in particular were striking, being a gorgeous orange separated into patterns with black lines, white at the very edge. I hadn’t even seen their face yet, and an uncomfortable realization had hit me.

“They… they look absolutely stunning!”

Their appearance struck something in me that I didn’t even know existed. My heart was thumping wildly for reasons that I did not understand. What kind of changeling was this? Were there more of them? The thought of more than one in the world existing was both terrifying and alluring.

Then they turned around to look at us, and it took every ounce of strength in me to not let my attraction to them show. Where ponies had whites in their eyes, she had dark blues. White iris stared at first Falke, and then at me. Underneath an orange mess of whatever changeling manes were made out of, as well as a mandible, was a confident and playful smile. Above both her muzzle and eyes was a large, slender, and curved horn completely dissimilar to that of a unicorn or alicorns.

It was at the moment they gave me that smile when something clicked. Everything gorgeous about them washed away, replaced with dread and a small amount of shock. There was a piece of me that hoped my realization wasn’t true, that this changeling was different from the one I knew had been in Underside days prior. Amaryllis had been an Equalist, after all, and there was no reason Shattered Moon would allow them to hiring anyone after Gemini had captured him.

Yet, like so many things, all it took was one or two sentences for those fleeting hopes to be dashed.

“Well, well, this is certainly a surprise,” they said. That voice, though clearly more feminine and distorted with an odd trill, was all too familiar. “Mister Falke, who is this?

“Her name is Danse Macabre, Miss Bloom,” Falke replied. My stomach twisted into knots at the all too recognizable name. “I figured you wouldn’t mind another bodyguard, but I needed to make sure both you and Danse were okay with it first.”

Amaryllis’ smile turned devilish, raising their chin high as they eyed me. “Danse? How intriguing.”

They got up with the grace of a monarch, their body language as confident as their smile. With slow, careful steps, they made their way over to me. My body was eyed up like a slave up for auction, the changeling giving little nods and hums as they did. Every single piece of me was looked over, from my cutie mark to my hind legs all the way up to my eyes. When Amaryllis got to the last one, they looked me dead in the eyes.

Their dark smile took on an uncanny vibe, far too big to be natural.

“So familiar, yet so different. We have met, haven’t we?”

Author's Note

He/she has arrived. Prepare yourself folks, Act 3 is going to be a ride.