Fallout: Equestria: New Pegasus: Gun Trotters

by democritus

Rating: teen
Tags: Twist, Tragedy, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1085

Not every story in the wasteland is interesting. Loot, loot never changes.

In the post-megaspell wasteland, factions of ponies vie for control of the blasted hellscape. Wars are waged, heroes and villains are born, rise to power, and fall. Legends are written and forgotten.

This is not one of those legends.

For loot, loot never changes.

Note: I regret nothing.
Note 2: Cover art by a guy who refuses to connect himself to me selling myself out
Note 3: written because Bok asked
Note 4: I like notes.

Published 2012-12-09 16:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-09 16:10:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Fallout: Equestria: New Pegasus: Gun Trotters
A fanfic by: Democritus
Staring: Vendortwist; some asshole OC I made up for the sake of this fanfic
Featuring: excessive colon use

Vendortwist waited, the lights above her blinked and sparked out of the air. Gun Trotters was known for quality, sure, with guns of every shape, size, and caliber, all made on-site in excellent shape. She was proud to have had an impenetrable kiosk built around her and to serve such a fine firearms company in its mission to supply the best guns in the Wasteland.

Sadly, Gun Trotters was also known for its price. If a potential customer wanted anything bigger than a peashooter, it usually meant coughing up a few thousand bits. When half of the potential customers were hopped up on chems or in chem withdrawal, it was a bit hard to clench a sale. While the New Pegasus branch of Gun Trotters made a shitton of money selling to the NLR troops in the region, that was through armed convoys, leaving Vendortwist, the on-site sales robot, alone sometimes, begging any bum who stumbled by to purchase a 9mm pistol or a silenced .22 LR. Since she couldn't leave her kiosk, she got very, very alone.

Thankfully, right as Vendortwist was trying to figure out how robots feel existential grief, a pony appeared on the horizon. It's good ol' Windseeker! And he's... loaded! The jingle of bits in his sack is unbearable! Vendotwist couldn't take it anymore and had to say something. "Welcome thir or madam. Do you with to purchathe thomething?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," said the pony, named Windseeker. Vendortwist remembered him, he sold so many packs of cigarettes just to purchase a trail carbine. And then he came back a week later and sold nearly 7000 bits of stuff to her. "I'll just be selling all these," he said as he dropped a dozen 12.7mm sub-machine guns on the counter.

"Okay, that cometh out to... thikth hundred and thirty theven bitth."

"...You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"Nope, thikth hundred and thirty theven bitth ith all I have left. If you want thome more, then you'll have to wait until Wednethday or Thaturday tho my thelection will be rethtocked.

"But it's Thursday. I waited for today after you told me on Monday you restock on Wednesdays."

"Well then, potential cuthtomer, I guethth thomeone forgot to check up on ol' Vendortwitht. I thtill have your thigaretteth in fact. Want one? It'll be on me!"

"No, goddammit, I want to get rid of all these fucking machine guns!"

"It'll be thikth hund-"

"I KNOW THAT YOU FUCKING SCRAP HEAP," screamed Windseeker. Luckily Vendortwist's coding prevented her from caring what names people called her. Useful when she has more shotguns per capita than the entirety of New Pegasus. "Okay, I'll just buy things to make up the difference. Uh, I'll take all your service rifles!"

"Okay, that cometh out to... thikth hundred and thirty theven bitth."

"You're fucking with me, you stupid robot."

"Thorry, thir or madam, only one thervithe rifle per cuthtomer."

"Ugh, okay, let me see here... wait, what the hell? Is that a flaming sword?! Hell yes I'll take that!"

"Okay, that cometh out to... um, you owning me tweleve thouthand theven hundred thirty three bitth."

"What in the actual fuck," Windseeker felt lucky he had a dozen 12.7mm sub-machine guns with which to kill himself if this went on any longer. "I only have 4800 on me!"

"Well then, thir or madam, you'll jutht have to peruthe thomething lethth ekthpenthive."

"Fuck this, I'll just take a barrel of bullets. And this stack of... wrenches. And this fucking broken-ass helmet. Shit."

"Okay, we don't thell thhit here, tho with everything elthe, that cometh out to... thikth hundred and thirty theven bitth."

"Jesus, that's still not enough? How fucking much do I have to buy?"

"Well, thir or madam, you are trying to thell twelve twelve-point-theven millimeter thub-mathine gunth. It cometh out t-"

"I get the fucking point! Goddammit! I'll buy this fucking shotgun! Jesus!"

""Okay, that cometh out to... thikth hundred and th-"

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!"

"-irty two bitth."

"...Wait, two, not seven? As in not more than you have? You mean I've achieved some sort of parity with this shit?"

"Yeth, thir or madam!"

"Really really!?"

"Jutht five under, but yeth you have."

"YEE HAW HOLY SHIT YES!" Windseeker screamed, hopping about in front of the kiosk like a loon, nearly tripping over the reloading bench in the process. "Okay, let's settle this shit so I never have to see those fucking machine guns again!"

"Okay, that'th one thervithe rifle, one barrel of bulletth, a pile of wrencheth, a broken-athth helmet, thhit, and thith fucking thhotgun, Jethuth."

"Yes. Alright. Finally! I am free from the sub-machine gun scourge!"

The goods were given to Windseeker, who responded by dashing off into the night with his newfound loot and his new lack of machine guns, screaming "Fuck yes!" all the way.

Vendortwist felt she did an excellent job that day, and hoped she would be able to sell more guns next Sunday. She would have quivered with anticipation if she were programmed to do so. Instead, she went back to scanning the horizon for more potential customers.

Author's note: I know nothing about Fallout: Equestria except the premise and that it has a lot of horse puns. This was done to appease Bok, the jerk.

the shocking DÃ�ï¿½Ã¯Â¿Â½Ã�ï¿½Ã�Â©nouement

"Well, let's turn it on, and see how poorly this can go..." said Windseeker, as he activated the robot.

"Yeth, thir, Twithto reporting for duty. Pleathe aththume the pothition."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Windseeker exclaimed helplessly, staring at the horrible creation he himself had helped bring into this world. "What the fuck is it with me and Protectotwists!?"

"I am programmed for your pleathure. Pleathe aththume the pothition."

"Fuck this I am out of here." He said, mentally rummaging over the places in New Pegasus he had seen that would be excellent for killing himself. Perhaps he could use his trusty Trail Carbine on himself for once. Maybe he could run up and buck a Deathclaw in the face. All sorts of options for ending himself quickly swirled through his mind as he raced out of Cerulepony Electronics.

Twisto stood there, alone and unloved, with no companions but rat corpses. "What elthe ith a thekthbot to do...?" she said to no one, wandering into the New Pegasus night. She wondered what kind of adventures she'd have.