Howdy. Name's Smut. I run Playcolt magazine.
Now that that's out of the way, if you'll indulge me – I 've got a story to tell, and it's a bit of a doozy.
I wasn't raised in a stable – though, sometimes, part of me wonders what it would have been like. No, I was born and raised on the open road, a foal to my wastelander mother and father. My foalhood comprised of traveling about the Equestrian Wasteland, getting shot at by raiders, shooting back at raiders, and generally eaking out a meager existence. I got my cutie mark at a relatively early age, when I figured out that I was a bit of a filly's filly, if you catch my drift. Looking back on my (arguably) short life thus far, I'll say it without a doubt: mares are usually more trouble than they're worth. Especially in this post-apocalyptic bastardization of a world.
In any event, I was orphaned in my late teens when a roving band of raiders crept up on us in the middle of the night. My dad was supposed to be on first watch, but he had nipped his muzzle into the well a bit more than we had bargained for that night, because he got his throat slit while he snoozed, poor bastard. I remember awakening to the sound of my mother being assaulted, and then...it's nothing but reds and blacks for a bit. I don't really remember what happened, but the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by five freshly dead ponies, covered in blood and viscera. Ironic, considering the almost comically cute cartoon heart-and-arrow adorning either of my flanks. I used my magic to wash myself off, dumping a bucket of lukewarm water all over me. I just wanted to melt into nothingness. I was numb.
But I got over it.
The past six years of my life, I've been on the run. I'll be goddess-damned if I can tell you what I'm running from, but I can't seem to shake the wanderlust that moves my legs, propelling them into constant, almost nomadic travel. These past four months, though...they've been different. Real different.
In those four months, I picked up a group of ponies that seem keen on following me around everywhere. I hesitate to call them 'friends,' but...well, let's just say that we're all quite familiar with one another. Read into that any way you like.
First up, there's Lilac. She's a bit rough around the edges, but once you get to know her (IF she lets you get to know her), you'll find that she's a pretty cool mare. She used to be a member a special unit in the Pegasus Enclave: no matter how hard we've grilled her on the subject, even with the scorch marks sitting on either of her dark blue flanks, she's refused to give details. I respect that wish, I suppose. Doesn't mean I won't nag the crap out of her about it.
Next is Breakbeak, but he prefers that we just call him “B” or “Mr. B.” I refuse to comply to the latter. He's a few years younger than myself, and ironically, his beak is quite broken, a thin fracture running down the centre of his snarling griffon mug. He can be a bit of a jackass, sometimes – apparently there's no filter between what goes on in his brain and what comes out of his mouth, and that's gotten us into some...interesting situations, to say the least. He's a merc that thinks he owes me a favour, and for the time being, I'm gonna let him keep thinking that.
Last, would be Ember. She doesn't say much; she's a distant, light red unicorn mare with orange freckles on either cheek (face, you whore) and a fiery spark on either flank. A while back, I had run into some raiders-turned-slavers who were giving me some sass about some such or some other. Long story short, I freed their dozen or so captives, and this one just kinda...kept following me around. Was kinda cute, actually, but that's a story for a different day.
Life's been...well, it's been something so far, that's to be certain. Who's to say, ultimately, whether it's been pleasant or horrid?
These are the things I ponder to myself when I get a moment alone. At this particular moment, I am doing just that. Lazily calling upon my magic, I levitate the bottle of Wild Pegasus in the air, swirling it slowly. I raise the bottle and take a sip, relishing the warm burn as it slides down my throat. And no, that's totally not as gross as it sounds. Promise.
0230 hrs.
Equestrian Wasteland, somewhere S by SW of Hoofington
I sat on the ruined office chair, close to the gargantuan gash in the building we were camping in. The pale, almost lambent light of the obfuscated lunar rays cast an eerie glow to my surroundings. The landscape seemed to glow, something alive and self-aware. It gave me the fucking creeps. The occasional bare tree dotted the gently sprawling hills in front of me, skeletal and almost disrespectful or distasteful representations of the once blooming leviathans of pony magic they were. I shuddered, taking another sip of the whiskey.
“Well, you're up late,” a voice said from behind me. I nearly jumped, but managed to keep my nerve.
“And good morning to you too, Lilac,” I answered in kind, doing my best to keep my voice down. Though the lot of us had scouted out the perimeter a few hours ago, it always did well to keep silent when one is not entirely familiar with one's surroundings.
“D'ya mind?” She asked, motioning to the still-floating bottle with one of her wings. I shrugged, silently envying her ability to so acutely express the emotion of disinterest. Or sore wings.
“Be my guest,” I said, floating the bottle over to her. She took it in her hooves and helped herself. I honestly didn't mind – ever since that last job, I had a crate full of the stuff. The real good shit, too – not the cheap knock-off excuse for distilleries that sometimes pop up in the wasteland. No, distilling a whiskey as fine as a classic bottle of Wild Pegasus...that takes finesse. It's a bit of an art form, really. Anyhow, I digress.
“So what keeps you up on this fine, potentially horrifying evening, m'lady?” I asked, cracking a slight smirk when I saw her blush a little.
“I told you to cut that shit out, dude. Seriously,” She pouted, doing her best to look aggressive. I did my best not to lose it right then and there.
“Fair enough. But still...shit, what time is it, anyhow?”
“Don't you have a PipBuck, Smut? I thought all unicorns at least knew how to check the time,” she teased, queueing up her own PipBuck.
“H-hey!” I protested. “I can too figure out what time it is, thank you very much!” I fumbled with the blasted device, hitting buttons at random. Eventually, something resembling a clock flashed on my EFS.
“It's...uh...0236. Yeah.”
“Pfft,” she said. “Lucky guess.”
I took the high road, sticking my tongue out at her. She returned the favour in kind, and the two of us just chuckled for a little bit. Slowly, she walked closer towards the chair in which I sat, looking out upon the darkened wasteland that sprawled before us like a thick, surreal abstract painting. I didn't even tense up this time as she sat her flank right down on the arm of the chair, wrapping one of her forelegs around my shoulders. Silently, I felt my neck muscles betray my brain and give way, cradling my neck in the crook under her chin. I inhaled deeply through my snout, smelling the scent of her mane.
“We've got to stop doing this, Lilac...” I started, knowing exactly what she would say. What I would say. What would happen after that. And after that. And after that, still.
“You know you like it because it's wrong. I know I like it because I know you think it's wrong. What's to think about it?” She whispered into my ear. I felt her hot breath on my fur, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled in kind.
“G-goddeess damn it, Lilac...” I said, already knowing all too well where this was going. I felt her tongue on my neck – a thick, firm, wet sensation that spread up and down the length of my throat, all the while a few cursory moans escaped my lips.
“F-f...for fuck's sake...that's n-not fair,” I panted, already feeling the pressure building inside of me. She shifted from the arm of the chair and straddled me, lunging forward and locking the two of us in a deep, relentless kiss. We traded tongues with one another, each exploring the recesses of each others' mouth in kind, both of us squirming and panting against each other, finally breaking the embrace and just resting on each other's necks for the time being.
I floated the half-full bottle of Wild Pegasus over to the two of us, levitating the sweet, sweet saccharine nectar to my lips as I filled my mouth with the stuff. I locked my lips with hers, offering her a one-of-a-kind shot. I call it...well, I call it “the Smut.” C'mon, what did you expect?
She drinks the alcohol down in a few hefty gulps, her hooves absentmindedly massaging her own torso as she moaned. When she opened her eyes, she was staring down twin barrels of my shotgun.
“Lilac. Darling, we've talked about this, time and time again. I like you. Hell, I could really get into you. But I don't know how many times I need to keep reminding you that I'm just not ready for...that. Not quite yet. Oh, believe you me – I want to do things to you that Celestia banned before the Elements of Harmony even existed – but I'm not quite ready yet. Fillydelphia was hell. You and I both know that.”
It was true. The Two of us met there.
The lustful look on her face faded, and turned into a mournful one.
“G-goddess damn me, I did it again, didn't I?” she mouthed softly, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Yeah. It wasn't so bad this time, though. No ropes. Heh.”
“Heh heh.” She barked with sharp, mad cracks of laughter, admiring my fortitude, given the situation. “Fucking hell, Smut. I'm sorry. I really am. Normally, I'm not even into mares...but you know that, right?”
“Yeah, Li'. I know.” The two of us just sat there in silence for a time, taking in the environment. It was almost soothing, in a way; a calming, lifeless sort of funk that settled about the landscape beneath us that almost ensured that we were safe...for the moment, anyhow.
“So, Smut...” she began, “...dunno if now is the very best time in the world to ask, but mind openin' up a little?”
I closed my legs instinctively. I knew what she meant, though. I sighed.
“Y'mean, you want to hear 'bout my sex life. 'The Tales of the Infamous Smut', or whatever shit that conniving Earth Pony cunt is publishing about me these days.”
Perhaps a bit of backstory is in order. I'll keep it brief.
Long story short: I'm a mare. Before I was into mares, I had one – yes, one – stallion partner, one “Tin Roof.” He was an Earth Pony, he was horrid in bed, and he was about as thick as a fucking doorstep. I openly admit that it was my sexual misadventures with that bumbling clusterfuck of a pony that turned me homosexual. But enough about that.
“I'll say this:” I began, “-no matter where you are in life, there ain't no skill more valuable than knowing how ta eat good pie.”
Lilac blinked.
3...
2...
1...
...burst out into laughter. I grinned. Success!
“Heh. Y'liked that one, huh?”
“Y-yeah, that was a pretty good'un,” she nodded, wiping a tear from her eye with a forehoof. “Where d'ya come up with these, anyhow?”
“Who says I need to come up with'em?” I asked. “Maybe I was just observing. Ever thought o' that?”
“You...hell, you might be onto something there, my fr-” She stopped short. “...-iend...”
Hoo, boy. The things I put up with.
“H-hey...It's ok. Really. I'm fine. Nothing happened, and I'm fine. Hell, I didn't even need to stab you this time, so we're good, right?” I smiled. She managed to crack a small grin at that, and I felt a bit better about myself. It's not often pleasant, what I'm forced to do to this mare.
“I suppose you're right,” she assented, nodding once more.
“So, Li'-...”
“Don't even ask, Smut-”
“-about your time in the Enclave...”
“Goddess damn it, Smut.” I chuckled. If anything, it's fun to mess with her when she's...well, when she's 'normal,' I suppose. Though how any of us can be considered 'normal' is quite beyond me, at this point.
“I know, I know. Just fuckin' with ye.”
Sensing a story coming on, I broke out another bottle of the good stuff, passing my opened one to Lilac.
“Here's one you might enjoy.”
