Far as Jaw was concerned, the old myth about spirits of disharmony and chaos leaving unused bullets in crates for wastelanders wasn't a myth at all. It was objective fact.
Wasn't just crates either; He had long since ceased to be amazed by the sheer fucktons of stuff that ended up blown by harsh winds from all over Equestria, ending their long travels caught on the barbed wire of the walls that surrounded the Pound.
Posters, propaganda leaflets, and magazines were one thing. Bobbleheads, mini-nukes, and bags of caps hanging off the barbs to be found by morning patrol (And Celestia knows what else the other dogs on patrol are finding and keeping to themselves), stuff that by all logic couldn't be carried by the wind over a ten foot wall, proved it in his brain. Someone was fucking with him.
Not that he usually minded.
Keep fucking with Jaw, by all means. The hellhound thought to himself, climbing the wall as the early morning sun rose over the horizon. Jaw don't mind.
The walls had been crafted a long time ago, with the dual purpose of keeping in and keeping out. If a Hellhound wanted to leave, he wouldn't bother travelling by ground to be picked off by snipers, pegasi, and bloodwings. He'd go under the wall like a sensible hound, and hope he didn't take a wrong turn at Albuckerque. Thus, the walls had been made of anything on paw, mostly melted down steel and rebar, with a few posters slapped on over as paper-mache glue to hold it all together.
Jaw's pelt was tough enough to protect him from the barbs so long as he didn't stick his face in, and he ignored the dull prickings as he dug through the tangled mess. Hayburger wrappers, soda cans, a few caps...
This one's new. Faint memories dug in his brain as he pulled out his prize, a red felt cone-shaped cap with a white pom pom at the end. A pony thing, surely, but he found himself slightly shy of context on what it might be other than gaudy.
For reasons he didn't quite understand he took it with him, jumping back down to the ground floor. Inspecting the hole-riddled cap in curiosity, he considered a few uses for it. Wear it? Didn't fit his head shape. Carry liquid in it? Too many tears. Carry solid objects in it? They had saddlebags, the Pound wasn't barbaric.
And really, even if it were good for any of those reasons, it's just really ugly.
Jaw wound his arm back and threw, launching the disgusting thing back over the wall and patting his paws on his knees.
Six minutes later it was forgotten, and he was back to patrolling.
Vault dweller. Unicorn. Jack of all trades. Left to find a destiny. Learned how to fire a gun. Eventual savior of everything.
You've heard this one before.
Devoid of a map or directions, following rumors to Canterlot was Blast Radius' best option right now. The long walls circling unseen structures seemed promising, but the condition of these walls didn't scream Earth Pony ingenuity; more likely, brain disease-addled raiders with just enough sense to not invite in the hellhounds.
Still, putting something to his 9 o clock cut off 50% of ambush opportunities, and to his surprise he was able to find more than a few interesting prizes caught up in the barbed wire lining the walls, including an original generation Rarity figurine and more caps than he could shake a stick at. So he hugged the walls as he made his way around whatever ramshackle settlement they were protecting.
It was about halfway around and getting ready to part from the wall entirely that he noticed the splash of scarlet among the brown and grey. A little digging pulled out a ragged looking cap with white fluffy trimmings, and as soon as it clicked recollections of illustrations in children's books from the vault filled his head.
He smiled despite himself. It was December, wasn't it? Hearthswarming season. Season of giving.
Well, hell, they hadn't shot at him yet, had they?
Shaking his head, he levitated what few bullets he could afford from his saddlebags and dropped them in, fluffing the hat up a bit best he could. Then, with a flick of his head, he tossed the hat back over the wall and continued on his way.
Jaw's first reaction the following morning was annoyance. This damned hat was testing his patience; Not only had it returned, it was daring to encroach even further on his territory, bypassing the wire entirely.
He snatched it up in his paw, ready to tear it to bits until a jingling from inside perked his ear. Gingerly he flipped it over, pouring the contents out in front of him.
Bullets. .308 rounds, and a good number of them too. Enough to fill a combat rifle.
Jaw glanced back at the wall, confused.
Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.
He pocketed the ammunition, and bit his lip as he peered inside the hat again. His paw lingered at the pockets hanging around his belt, and against his common sense, he procured a few shiny knick knacks that had proven to be useless.
Stuff them in, sling it over. Back to the patrol, with a fresh sense of...
Anticipation, is it?
Bizarre.
Red hat. White pom.
The two identical green alicorns, one short of a Wing, shuffled their hooves nervously as the one member of the duo inspected the offending headwear. Neither of them considered themselves individuals; Only put together were they anything, hence they thought of themselves only as hands to a larger body.
"You're thinking." The left hand said sternly, tossing her head and nickering. "I can see it in your eyes. Thinking leads to remembering."
"Only as much as I need to." The right hand responded. "Not my name, or face. Only something I experienced, Pre-Unity."
"It still bothers me. We should vacate the area, and return to The Goddess. We've identified no threats, if this colony is truly as isolationist as it seems."
"There's a Mini Nuke in here, Sister." The right hand levitated out the offending object, finally identifying the weight inside. "Who would leave this in a... A hat?"
The left hand fell silent, approaching and snatching the hat up. One more item inside, which she pulled out for them to inspect together- A crystal orb, swimming with magic inside. A memory orb. Both alicorns instinctively bristled; Bad memories from what these had done to Unity in the past.
"I'll activate it, Sister. You keep watch."
The right hand nodded, and stood vigil as the left hand sat down and placed her horn against the orb.
A few minutes later, the left hand jerked her head away, blushing vigorously. She tried quickly to stifle her memory, but it was too late; Within minutes, the contents of the orb had leaked into the greater hive mind, and every alicorn in Equestria bore witness to the lecherous acts contained inside.
The right hand shook her head, shuddering.
"...The Goddess is going to execute you for making her see that."
"Grab the nuke and let's head back. Unity doesn't want anything further to do with that damned hat."
The left hand took flight, and the right spared one more glance at it.
When she was sure her sister had flown out of sight, she quickly dug into her saddlebags. She procured an energy rifle, sticking it haphazardly in the hat and tossing it over the wall, all the while trying to suppress her thoughts of the act.
By the time she had returned to her Wing, all memories of a 'Hearthswarming' had been dashed from her brain, and she was a model member of Unity once more.
GLORY TO EQUESTRIA! GLORY TO THE PRINCESSES!
MY GLASS VISOR DETECTS A ROSE CAP ON THE GROUND AHEAD OF ME, SHINY AND RED AS MY METAL COVERINGS! SCANS AND CROSS-REFERENCES IDENTIFY IT AS A BEAUTIFUL SYMBOL OF EQUESTRIAN CULTURE, REPRESENTING THAT BEAUTIFUL HOLIDAY KNOWN AS HEARTHSWARMING!
HARK, AWAITING INSIDE, TWO (2) SILLY PONY™ BRAND SNACK CAKES, CHOCOLATE FLAVORED, ONLY 245.3425 YEARS OLD! SURELY A GIFT FROM THE CHILDREN OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD TO AN UPSTANDING ADULT CITIZEN LIKE MYSELF! IT IS ONLY RIGHT TO REPAY THEM!
MY CHEST HATCH OPENS, AND FROM INSIDE I PROCURE THREE (3) URANIUM CORES, ENOUGH TO CHARGE AN ADULT MALE PONY FOR UP TO THREE HUNDRED (300) YEARS! WITH A HEAVE OF MY LIMB, I GRACEFULLY RETURN THE HAT AND CORES TO ITS OWNER AS A PLEASANT SURPRISE!
HAPPY HEARTHSWARMING TO ALL! MAY THIS BE THE YEAR WE FINALLY DESTROY THE ZEBRA SCOURGE!
On their way from the Dragon Lands, a pair of dragons- Couldn't be older than 50, given their remaining bipedalism, and being a little smaller than a carriage- stopped by the Pound walls to rest their wings. Red, the one in a heavy trenchcoat and ushanka, leaned against it to fish a cigar from his pocket and lit it with his breath.
"Bastard tries to clip me with a fucking energy weapon. Fucking vaporize me. Misses, obviously, but if he had hit a, a goddamned talon I'd be dust in the fucking wind. Then who would you have to bitch to?"
"Thought you were gon eat him, prolly." The green dragon with the shriller voice pointed out, shoving his compatriot and glancing at the ground between them.
"Fuckin' furred assholes. I get we gotta take our- Our goddamned sympathies on them, because they ain't used to living like we do, in dirt and silt and shit, but I thought goodwill to their fellow horse was their fuckin' thing. What stuck up shits. Gimme patience, Dragon Lord."
"Ey. By your leg. There's a thing." Green snatched up the hat before Red could say anything, digging his claws inside and procuring a handful of shotgun shells. "Their little metal slugs they fling at us like soffballs. Wrapped up here and shit."
"Pocket it. Good eating."
"You're the asshole who bothers with pockets. You fuckin' take it." Green furrowed his brow as Red held onto the hat, searching his pockets. "Hell you doing?"
"Well." Red began, thoughtfully chewing a cigar between his fangs. "Some fur fink's giving up shit from their personal inventory, right? Stuff they could be using to- To take potshots at us from the ground, or ward off pests, or kill cats or somethin. They're givin' up their shit, leaving it all giftwrapped and the like, and I don't see any- Any sort of note, asking us to return the favor, do you?"
"Not one. Which means we take it and send our warm wishes, eh?"
"Go soak your head. You take some, you give some, that's the basis of a functioning society. Ain't you ever taken a, a, a goddamn ethics class?" Red straightened his coat proudly. "This is called turning the other cheek. They shoot at me, and I leave em a gift, even if I think they're all shits."
"You soak your head. Fine. We leave something of equal value. A ruby or something. Don't that seem nice and friendly-like?"
"Ought to leave your balls in there. Bitta fresh meat for their fires."
"I said equal value. We're civilized fucking dragons. Here, since you wanna give the furry four-legs so much." Green reached into the other dragon's trenchcoat, snatching up a box of cigars and stuffing it into the hat.
"Well, shit, Happy Hearthswarming to me." Red grumbled, coughing into his hand. "I'll pick up some more at the next place we pillage."
"That means we're getting back to it, then?"
"Our consciousnesses- Count senses- Our fuckin' souls are cleared. Let's go eat some ponies."
"Ethically."
"Ethically."
Red slung the hat back over the wall, and the two took to the sky again.
Seven days after his initial arrival, Blast Radius staggered out of Canterlot bloodied, bruised, and irradiated. The last slivers of sun were vanishing, leaving the light of his Pip-Buck to guide him.
His walk of shame (or limp of shame, as it were) gave him plenty of time to think about his failures. Shot the wrong turret, chose the wrong bomb to throw, didn't take enough Rad Aways. All excellent ways to get chewed on by ghouls, swallowed by a manticore, and in at least one instance, robbed by a five year old child. To make things worse, night time meant the nasties would be out soon, and he looked like easy prey; Nasties which were likely smart enough to chew him into chunks before sending him down the hatch this time.
Thoughts of shame and nervousness briefly left him when he tripped over something, and laying on the ground with his eye to the sky, finally noticed the wall he had been walking home just across from.
He stood up again, shook himself off, and glanced down at the object he had tripped on; A red beanie, poorly concealing a hard round object inside.
This all seemed very familiar.
His first thought was a memory orb, but pulling the object out revealed it to be much more mundane; a tiny snow globe of Manehattan, which spun a blizzard around the miniature city with a jiggle of his hoof.
Blast looked up again at the imposing wall, biting his lip and considering his broken ribs.
The good news was, it wasn't raiders on the other side of the wall.
He had never in his life seen a Hellhound colony this big. There must have been at least fifty of them in shacks and huts resembling a small town, and in the center under a crumbling statue of Celestia, Blast rested his broken body by a garbage can campfire.
The faces of a few assorted dogs sitting closest to the flame were lit by the orange light, generally the muscular males he was more used to seeing guarding the wall, though he noticed a few slimmer ones who might have been female. The one he had met at the wall certainly was, seemingly Doberman in breed with a sash of fabric wrapped around her head covering one eye. Encountering her maw of smashed up teeth and muggy breath through a sliding panel in the wall, he had been sure he would be disemboweled on the spot.
Instead they had given him a box of Sarsaparilla to rest on and a warm fire to recuperate by with the rest of their ranks.
"Pony." Bulldog, the top of his skull nearly entirely bionic, including cyclopsian glass eyewear. The lack of expression save for his scowl made an imposing image. "You the one leaving things in hat?"
Blast swallowed. "...Uh, yeah, I left something there. If you need to return it, load it in a magazine and you can get it back to me real fast."
That one got a small chuckle from a few of the dogs, and he exhaled lightly as some tension was relieved.
"Bright Eyes. Cooler. Get pony food and meds." Jaw barked at a pair of smaller canines away from the fire, then turned to Blast. "Pony must realize this is very hard for Jaw, but he feels strange need to thank pony. Perhaps we skip it entirely, and pony just gets message implied."
"Pony can do that." Blast nodded. "You're welcome, Jaw. And... Thank you for letting me stay the night. Most hou- Most creatures wouldn't have done that."
Jaw shrugged, continuing to clean his rifle with a dirty rag. "Is Hearthswarming."
"I didn't know you celebrated." Black said doubtfully.
"Dogs don't celebrate the forming of the tribes, the banishment of the winter, any of those things." Jaw explained.
"Wasteland could do with bit more winter." Another piped in.
"Dogs celebrate one of the only days we were ever given a break, before war." Jaw finished. "Dogs ancestors brought into city in first place because they good diggers. Digging's what they did, up'ntil was no more ponies left to bark orders. Guess even bosses grow hearts on holiday."
"Doubt that. Breaks probably mandated." Doberman butted in.
"Message is the same." He snapped. "For one day, to pony who has already shown kindness, perhaps we need not be such hard in our asses."
Despite a distinct distaste that he had said it so plainly, no dog stepped up to deny the sentiment. They cleaned their guns and ate their radroaches, and the hostility began to ebb.
"Soon as ribs mend, pony leaves." Jaw said sternly. "Dogs walled off for reason. Only want to be left alone. Don't want caught up in whatever power struggle happening in Wasteland this week."
"Of course. I'll be out of your fur soon as I can." Black assured. "I haven't forgotten my place."
The dogs seemed content at that. As Black relaxed for what was probably the first time in months, he stared into the crackling fire. His horn lit up, and a dial on his Pip-buck rotated to fill the air with gentle caroling. A few tails beat against the ground, and at least one dog felt secure enough to start happily panting.
For one night, the Wasteland didn't feel so cruel.
"...Do Hellhounds like being scratched behind the ears?"
"Try it and lose hoof." Jaw responded.
"Copy."
Author's Note
Blast Radius' placeholder name was Dick Smasher, and i very nearly published without fixing it.
