You know, once upon a time I didn't have a name. I didn't have anything. Couldn't even call my cutie-mark mine.
Once upon a time, I was a slave.
Of course, some would still call me a slave, judging by the way I treat my Mistress, but that's where they're mistaken. I chose to follow my Mistress, she didn't choose me. Only choice I ever made, and I still don't regret it.
Let me back up a bit. You see, it all began back when I was a colt, living in the harsh reality that is the wasteland. You think it's bad now? You should have seen the place back before we had all these heroes fixing up the place. Heroes like the Stable Dweller, Security, and yes, my Mistress too.
Yes, the wasteland was a real Tartarus-hole back then. Not that I knew any of this, being a colt so young I hadn't even started to worry about my cutie-mark yet.
Anyway, I was living in the wasteland, with my ma and pa. Except one day, my pa just ups and disappears. No idea why. Did he die? Did he leave? I don't know, and I'll doubt I ever will.
My ma takes this bad. Real bad. She takes to the bottle, and a load of drugs too, just to cope with it.
Eventually, the predictable happens, and she becomes addicted. She becomes so messed up she can no longer work, which means no caps, which means no drugs.
So she begins to pawn everything off—clothes, guns, furniture—even our shack got converted into drugs.
Soon, we had nothing left. Nothing left but each other, that is. That's right, she sold me into slavery to fund her addiction. She got a raw deal as well—bastard slaver only paid 50 caps for me.
Before I knew it, I had a slave collar over my neck and I was being dragged away from my home.
Now because I was an earth pony, they set me to manual labour—pulling carts, clearing debris—that sort of thing. And as I grew, I became stronger as a result. Very strong. There are few who can compete with me in terms of raw strength, and that's no idle boast either.
But my true talents lie elsewhere. You see, occasionally, my masters would grow complacent, leaving me alone. And when I was alone, I did what any colt would do—I played.
It was during one of these 'play times' that I discovered that I was very good at putting things together. I'd been left to myself in one of the store cupboards, surrounded by junk. When my masters found me a few hours later, I had managed to turn some scrap metal, a battery and a lunchbox into a fully automated toy robot, and a picture of a screwdriver and a spanner on my brown behind.
I was beaten of course, and the robot destroyed, but the slavers who owned me were smart. They realised that if I could fix stuff up, my value would rocket. You could practically smell the greed on them.
In order to train my talents, my masters began breaking things on purpose, just for me to fix. If I repaired it, they fed me. If I didn't, they beat me and I went hungry. A cruel, if rather effective teaching method, if you ask me.
I quickly became very good at repairing stuff. Even managed to get an actual robot up and running once. My masters were so pleased with me, they gave me a double portion of food that day. And until I met my Mistress, that was the best day of my life.
How did I meet my Mistress, you ask? I'm getting to that. Though I suppose I can fast forward a few years—nothing of interest happened during my time as a slave—I got passed around a few different owners, repaired a few things and so on. Like I said, nothing important.
Anyway, my Mistress. My current masters, myself and a few other slaves were holed up in a fortified cave somewhere in the wasteland. I think we were making a trade agreement with some raiders—fresh meat for weapons. And we had my Meat, if you catch my drift.
I wasn't really paying attention—I was just there to pull the cart and to fix things, as I had been doing for the past 19 summers or so.
That's when she burst in. There was no fanfare, no warning. The door just burst inwards, bullets flying out of the smoke.
Two of the slavers died instantly, before they could even draw their weapons. The rest then pulled out their guns—all in top working condition, thanks to yours truly.
I dived for cover—I wasn't a fighter, I was a slave. I wasn't even allowed to hold a gun without permission. I heard more gunfire, and screams of rage and pain.
Looking out from my hiding place, I saw three more of the slavers had fallen. I also saw one of the slaves pick up a pipe and charge at the intruders.
That's when I saw Her.
A brilliant white coat, marred by the dirt of the wasteland, with a bright yellow mane billowing around a long, spiral horn, and a look of shock adorning her face, followed by one of determination as she levitated a pistol to her eye and dropped the charging slave. She spun, impossibly fast, and fired again, killing the last of the slavers.
Then there was only silence. I looked at my fellow slaves, only to see that they were as shocked as I was.
This mare, who had to be the same age as me, possibly younger, had single handedly killed our masters.
I didn't know what to do. I'd always had a master. But now he was dead. What is a slave without a master?
Turns out, the answer is 'free'.
"... all free now," the mare was saying.
I shook my head. I couldn't believe it. Free? But what would I do without a master?
Many of the other slaves cried tears of joy. I cried for a different reason. My life was gone. My world had been destroyed.
I remember wondering if that is what the ponies of long ago had felt when they saw the bombs descending upon their homes.
I shook my head, clearing it of such melancholy thoughts. Looking again, I saw that the mare wasn't alone, but that she was accompanied by a griffin, who was currently escorting the slaves out of the cave.
Throughout all this, I hadn't moved my spot. The mare must have noticed me, for she approached me.
"Hi there," she said in that cheerful, easy going attitude of hers, as if she hasn't just killed a dozen ponies. "I'm Glorious Destiny. What's your name?"
I blinked in shock. Was this an order? I decided to treat it as one.
"Slave."
She snorted. "That's what you were. What's your name?"
"Slave." Why couldn't this mare understand? I had no name. I was a slave.
"Oh come on now, you've to have a name. What does your mother call you?"
"50 caps," is my immediate response. As soon as I said it, I flinched, realising what I had done. I had spoken back to a master!
However, the beating I was expecting never came. The mare was just sat there, with a look of incredible sadness on her face.
"Your mother sold you into slavery?" she asked. I nodded in response. "I'm so sorry." She pulled me into a hug. "How long?"
"Since before I got my cutie-mark."
I don't know how how long we sat there, holding each other. I think I cried again.
Eventually, she pulled away.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked me, unlocking my slave collar with a key and removing it.
I looked at her in confusion. "What do you want me to do?"
She snorted again. "I don't want you to do anything."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
I flinched. "Okay, Mistress."
"What? No! I meant why did you say 'okay'?"
"I meant that I won't do anything, Mistress."
"I... I don't even... For a start, don't call me Mistress."
I flinched again. "I'm sorry. Please don't hit me."
She sighed. "You're a difficult one, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress. Ah! I'm sorry! Please don't hit me."
"Calm down! Calm down. I'm not going to hit you." She sighed again. "I suppose you could just follow us to the next town. We can work out what to do with you there."
I nodded. This was an order I could understand. Follow. Follow my Mistress.
"We still need a name for you though. Can't just call you slave."
"Sure we can," said a new voice, this one harsh and sharp. I looked up and saw the griffin approaching, a fierce expression on his face, augmented by the red vertical stripes beneath his eyes. He also looked to be my age. "We can call him Destiny's Slave, oh great Mistress."
I nodded. Destiny's Slave. My Mistress was called Destiny, and I was her slave.
"No, Garoth. We are not calling him that. He’s free, not a slave." my Mistress snapped angrily, before turning to me. "Say, what are you good at?"
The unexpected question caught me by surprise. "I fix things. Equipment, armour, weapons, carts, you name it, I can repair it."
The griffin looked at me thoughtfully. "Say, can you fix this?" he asked, pulling a rifle out of his backpack.
I took it off him and ran my hooves over it. It was an assault rifle, zebrican design, with a custom grip—presumably for griffins. I quickly saw what was wrong with it—the barrel had warped. I remembered seeing something similar amongst one of my Masters.
I got up and walked over to the corpse, retrieving its weapon. Five minutes later and the griffin's rifle was functional once more.
"Not bad," he said as I handed it back to him. "Not bad at all."
"Heh, you're really good at that, aren't you?" my Mistress said. I beamed at the compliment. "Why don't we call you Toolkit? Because you can repair stuff."
Toolkit... My name is Toolkit. I am my Mistress’s Toolkit. I nodded slowly. It was a good name.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said. For some reason the griffin began to laugh, earning him a glare from my Mistress.
"Oh let's just get out of here before the raiders arrive," my Mistress said, heading for the door.
I obediently followed.
Upon exiting the cave, I looked around at the wasteland. Dark brown soils and rocky debris, stretching as far as the eye could see. To the south stood Vanhoover, it's tall, crumbling towers reaching up to the sky. To the north lay the Crystal Mountains, a huge wall of snow-capped rock, bordered by the ever present ceiling of cloud that obscured the sky. I looked around, but couldn't see the other slaves. They must have headed back home already.
Closer to home, I found a cart waiting for us. Garoth, the griffin, immediately took to the air and landed on it, whilst my Mistress and I remained on the ground. Without any prompting, I immediately climbed into the harness.
"What are you doing?" my Mistress asked. I turned to look at her.
"Pulling the cart. You do want me to pull the cart, don't you?"
My Mistress opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a chuckle from Garoth.
"Glory, if he wants to pull the cart, let him. Besides, he's an earth pony. He could probably pull us all the way to Canterlot and back without having to stop every five minutes."
"Ugh. Fine, we'll let the ex-slave pull the cart. Anyway, Toolkit, we're heading north, to Gem Town."
I nodded. My former masters had been in there not two weeks ago, picking up 'meat'.
I pulled on the harness and the cart followed, rolling down the rocky road.
Hours flew by as I pulled the cart northwards. Garoth and my Mistress spoke for a bit, something about Stable-Tec and the Ministry Mares, but I was paying more attention to the road.
Not once was I hit by a whip. Obviously, my Mistress was pleased with my work. I like this Mistress. She's easy to please.
Eventually, the light began to dim and my Mistress gave me the order to stop.
“Come on, we can make camp here,” she said, hopping off the cart. I let myself out off the harness and followed. Setting up camp was something else I knew how to do. Between the three of us, we quickly had a small shelter and a fire built, rats-on-a-stick roasting over it.
“Ugh, not meat again,” my Mistress complained, sticking her tongue out at the griffin.
“What? I am a carnivore,” Garoth explained. “And besides, lots of ponies eat meat. Right, Toolkit?”
I nodded. "The Masters only ever fed us meat. Everything else is to valuable to waste on us."
My Mistress frowned at me. “You said ‘us’. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a free pony now.”
“I suppose I am,” I said cautiously. Free was never a word I had associated with myself. “What does a free pony do?”
“Well, anything you want to do. Thats kinda the point,” my Mistress said.
“I don’t know what I want to do. What do you want me to do?” I asked, rubbing the circular scar around my neck nervously.
My Mistress threw up her arms in exasperation. “What I want is for you to decide on what you want to do!”
I take it back. This Mistress is hard to please.
Garoth chuckled. “I think we’re getting a little recursive now. Lets start with baby steps.” He turned to me. “Toolkit, do you want to share some of my meat?”
I nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Well, aren’t you a polite one?” he said, passing me a stick.
I looked at it, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Most masters don’t like it when I’m rude.”
“Well, I’m not your master, so feel free to be as rude as you like,” He said, still holding the stick. “Well, are you going to take it off me or what?”
Hesitantly, I lifted a hoof for it, waiting for the griffin to snatch it away. This was a popular sport amongst my masters, and not playing could get me beaten. I darted my hoof forwards grabbing the stick, before pulling back, holding my prize to my chest.
I looked down in amazement. Garoth hadn’t snatched the food away from me, and he wasn’t making a fuss out of me having it. I tore into it as fast as I could—I was going to eat it as much of it as I could before it got taken off me again.
“Woah, easy now, easy now,” my Mistress said. “What's the rush?”
“Got to eat it... before somepony... takes it from me,” I said in between bites, ripping at the flesh with my teeth.
“Nopony is going to take your food away from you,” my Mistress said, with an angry glint in her eye that made me pause. “And I’ll hurt anyone who does.”
That took me aback. Mistress... cares about me? It didn’t make any sense. I was a slave—property, something to be owned and bartered. You don’t care about property. Yet, my Mistress did. That’s when I knew what I wanted.
“I want...” I said, closing my eyes. “I want you to be my Mistress.”
I opened my eyes, to find my Mistress staring at me in shock.
“You... want what?” she asked, incredulous.
“I want you to be my Mistress,” I repeated.
“But why would you want that? You’re a free pony now!”
“No, I’m not. All I know is how to be a slave. Being free... I don’t know where to start. But you... you care about me, you’re kind. You gave me a name, you haven’t beaten or whipped me, you gave me food. If I am to be a slave, I want to be your slave.”
My Mistress held a hoof to her head. “But I don’t want or need a slave.”
My ears drooped. “Do you want me to leave?”
“What? No! Its just... agh, Garoth, talk some sense into him, would you?”
“But I’m with him on this one,” Garoth said.
“What.”
“I’m serious. Look at him—he clearly can’t look after himself. Toolkit is so used to following orders that anybody could just order him around, and he’ll do it. Say for example, someone ordered him to give them all his caps, or all his food. Toolkit would do that, because that's all he knows to do. But what he’s proposing... isn’t so different from the griffin blood oath Dad made me swear to you—to follow you around and obey your orders. It’s just that mine is a cultural thing, and his is a psychological need thing. If it really bothers you, think of it as voluntary indentured servitude.”
Griffin blood oath? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my place to ask.
“Ugh... Fine, fine.” She turned to me. “Are you sure that you want to be my slave?”
I nodded.
“Okay, fine, whatever. You want to follow me around the wasteland? I can’t stop you. So go ahead, be my slave.”
“Oh thank you, Mistress,” I said.
“Don’t call me that! My name is Glorious Destiny! Glory for short!”
I was about to apologise, when a thought struck me, out of the blue. It was so unexpected that I nearly dismissed without acting on it. Maybe it was the shock of seeing my old masters die, maybe it was the food, or the camaraderie, or simply the thrill from making my own decisions, but a long buried part of my psyche rose and gave me the perfect response.
“Yes, Mistress."
Footnote:
Level Up!
Repair increased! Survival increased!
New Perks!
-Indentured Servitude—Your life as a slave has toughened you up. +1 STN, +1 END and +5 Damage Resistance. However, you are also highly susceptible to suggestions. Other ponies get +10 to barter and speech when trying to persuade you to do something.
-Mechanic—You have received extensive (and brutal) training in making repairs. +10 to your Repair skill.
Author's Note
Here we go, another new story, this time in the fantastic (if a little oversaturated) Fallout:Equestria universe. Thanks to KKat for this fancy sandbox to play in!
Now, you may have noticed something different with this fic. Rather than following a slightly mare-y (hah) sue-ish character who is freash out of a stable, fixing the wasteland one quest at a time, Destiny's Slave instead follows one of her followers. This idea arose whilst I was playing Fallout 3/reading Project Horizons (I multitask media), and I couldn't help but wonder, what would life be like if one of these 'protagonists' just entered your life one day, turned your world upside down and then left, leaving you with nothing as you try to make sense of what the hell just happened.
The rest of the story sort of fell into place after that.
Please leave a comment, as I am really really lonely I love to talk to people! And if any diehard FO:E fans are out there, could you tell me if I'm doing something wrong? Thanks!
I awoke to the sound of gunfire.
Quickly scrambling to my hooves, I leapt behind some nearby boulders, flakes of rock falling around me as bullets impacted against the stone.
“Good morning,” Garoth said joining me behind the debris. He already had his rifle out—the one with the custom grip. There was a lull in gunfire, which he took as opportunity to lean out of cover and return fire, with a rat-tat-tat.
“G-good morning,” I replied, still shaken by my abrupt awakening.
“Morning, Toolkit!” my Mistress said, diving next to me on my other side. “It appears the wake up call I ordered arrived early!”
There was another lull in the shooting, during which both my companions stood up and returned fire, the noise pounding in my ears.
“That’s two more down,” my Mistress said, reloading her SMG. “Say, Tools, can you shoot?”
“I... I don’t know,” I said. “My masters never trusted me with a gun long enough to try.”
“Here, take this,” Garoth said, passing me a pistol. “I presume you at the very least know how to use it?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak with the weapon in my mouth.
“Okay, on three,” the Mistress said. “Three!”
We jumped up and faced our foes. There were seven of them, all earth ponies, holding a motley collection of weapons in their grip, except for one stallion at the back, who had a battle saddle with a pair of assault rifles on it.
As one, we fired our weapons into the mob. Bang, bang, bang, went the pistol in my mouth, the recoil chipping a tooth and throwing my head backwards. I barely had time to register that none of my shots had hit, before my Mistress was pushing me back to the floor.
“Damn, you really can’t shoot, can you?” Garoth said.
I lowered my head in shame.
“Don’t let it get to you, Tools,” my Mistress said. “When I first arrived in the wasteland, I couldn’t shoot either.”
“Besides, I’m more than enough for these morons,” Garoth boasted, jumping up again.
“Come on, one more time. Only a couple left now,” my Mistress said. Together we burst out of cover and fired our weapons at the remaining three raiders. Two of my shots went wild, but the third clipped one of the stallions.
Unfortunately for me, this one appeared to be on drugs, his mouth foaming around the handle of his sledgehammer. He ignored the hit and carried on charging, catching my Mistress by surprise and bowling her over. He raised his hammer up, intending to bring it down on my Mistresses head.
“Mithtreth!” I called out, the gun muffling my words. Without another thought I leapt forwards, pivoted on my hooves and gave an almighty buck to the stallion's head.
Crack!
The stallion collapsed to the floor, his head facing the wrong direction, the right half of his face little more than pounded meat.
There was another rat-tat-tat behind me and I saw Garoth mow down the last bandit.
I stared at the corpse. The wasteland had been a nasty place, but I had never killed before. It kept staring back through its one good eye, accusing me of murdering it.
I heaved, and I realised I was panting with exertion, sweat dripping down my flanks. My teeth were clamped down the pistol, grinding down the handle, my tongue clenched around the trigger.
“...kit? Are you okay?” A voice was asking. A part of my brain which wasn’t numb realised that it was my Mistress who was talking. “Toolkit? It’s okay, calm down. Deep breaths. Breathe with me. In... and out. In... and out.”
Subconsciously, I began to obey the voice, calming my breathing. My jaw loosened, and the gun fell from my grasp, clattering on the floor. I felt a hoof touch my head, guiding it upwards, until I was gazing into my Mistresses golden eyes.
“It’s okay Toolkit. Everything’s fine.” Her voice was soft and gentle, her eyes understanding.
“You’re beautiful.” The words leapt out of my mouth before I had even realised I was thinking them.
My Mistress blushed, and glanced away, embarrassed, whilst Garoth laughed his head off behind us.
“Right, lets break this up before Glory melts a hole into the ground,” the griffin said, moving between us. “We got loot to scavenge, after all.”
“Yes, of course, loot.” My Mistress got up and began to rummage through the corpse of the stallion I killed.
“Wow,” Garoth said, admiring the kill. “You did this? Remind me to never get into a fight with you.”
“Spending a lifetime pulling carts does build up your muscles,” I said, refusing to look the corpse in the eye.
Garoth bent down to pick up the sledgehammer. “Say, do you think you could use this? Seeing as you can’t shoot and all.”
I tentatively took it in my mouth (after wiping down the handle of course) and made a few practise swings with it. Somehow, not only was I able to maintain my balance with it, but when I swung it at a rock, the rock shattered, spraying dust and gravel into my face.
“Great,” Garoth snarked. “Our mechanic is also our melee tank. Talk about cross class skills.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“Its just a joke, I don’t expect you to get the reference,” he said, blushing for some reason.
“Garoth,” my Mistress called up, “are you making Palace and Pony jokes again?”
“...No.”
“Toolkit, just ignore Garoth. He’s being a nerd.”
“I am not a nerd!” Garoth squawked indignantly. “I’m a geek. There’s a difference, you know!”
“Sure there is.”
A sudden noise interrupted their bickering. It took me a moment to realise it was laughter. Specifically, my laughter.
As soon as I realised what I was doing, I clamped my hooves over my mouth.
Oh Celestia’s sweet flanks, I can’t believe I laughed at my Mistress!
"Hey, Tools, there's no need to be embarrassed," my Mistress said, approaching me. "I like your laugh. It's cute."
Now it was my turn to blush. I looked away, scuffing a hoof on the ground.
"You... like my laugh?" I asked.
"Yeah, I do actually. Anyway, I found some gear. Do you think you could look at some of it?"
I nodded. This was familiar territory. My Mistress dumped a load of guns at my feet, and I spent the next half hour or so going through them, making tweaks here and there, disassembling the odd unusable gun and using its parts to fix up the others. Garoth passed me another rat-on-a-stick to serve as a late breakfast. By the end of it, I had three fully useable guns—a sawed-off shotgun, a machine gun and a battle saddle with a pair of assault rifles, one on either side.
"Bagsey the machine gun!" my Mistress cried, snatching it with her magic. She levitated it and her other one on either side of her face. "How do I look?"
"Like a comic book character," Garoth snorted. "Please don't do something stupid and use both at once."
"Spoilsport," my Mistress said, sticking her tongue out.
"Anyway, we can sell the shotgun in town, as none of us can use it, but what about the battle saddle?" Garoth asked. "Do you want it, Toolkit?"
I shook my head. "I can't wear it and pull the cart at the same time. And I can't shoot well either."
"So we sell the saddle as well," my Mistress said. "Combined with all their ammo, a hundred odd caps, two healing potions and three portions of dash, that was quite a profitable ambush."
"I'm just wondering why they attacked us," Garoth said. "They didn't look like raiders."
"Oh, they're probably after this," my Mistress said holding up her foreleg.
"Your PipBuck?" I asked.
"Yup! Or rather, the information on it. When I was a filly, I accidently downloaded some files onto it from my stable mainframe—including the access codes to some pre-war treasure valut up north. It's why I left the stable—to hunt for treasure, just like my hero Daring Do!"
Who's Daring Do? I wondered to myself, but another question came to me. "You're from a stable?"
"That's right, Toolkit," Garoth said, slaping me on the withers. "You're talking to Stable 71's best fry cook."
"A fry cook? Really?" I could not believe my ears. My Mistress, a fry cook? But she's my Mistress!
My Mistress sighed. "Yes, a fry cook. Stupid G.O.A.T."
Goats? What do goats have to do with anything? I looked at Garoth, but he just shrugged, as confused as I was.
"Anyway," my Mistress continued, "after I left the valut, I may have let slip that I have the codes to some unsavoury figures."
"It's how we met," Garoth said with a chuckle. "And now we're heading north, to claim the treasure for ourselves!"
"But first, we need to head to Gem Town to collect our reward and trade our loot," my Mistress said, indicating northwards.
"Reward?" I asked, helping Garoth put the saddle into the cart.
"For freeing the slaves, remember?" Garoth said, rapping me on the head with his knuckles.
Oh.
Garoth and my Mistress climbed into the cart, whilst I settled into the harness. With a nod from my Mistress, I set off, northwards.
"Gem Town, here we come!" Garoth called out.
We arrived in Gem Town a little over a hour and a half later, which made me wonder why we didn't just keep on traveling last night.
The town itself was a rather simple shanty town that had been built up around a gem mine, with the former administrative buildings forming the town hall.
A chain link fence ran around the complex, providing only two ways in—one for the road heading south to Canterlot, and another for the railway that headed east, connecting to the larger Canterlot-Vanhoover line that lay to the south-east.
I walked up to the south gate, where I was stopped by a barrier and two well armed guards.
"Halt! State your business," cried one of the guards. I looked back at the Mistress, who hopped of the cart and trotted forwards.
"I'm here to trade for supplies and collect a bounty on some slavers," she said.
"That was you?" the other guard said. "Thank you, my little Rosy and the other captured ponies came back home last night, along with a few new friends."
"Oh, it was nothing," my Mistress said modestly, blushing.
"Well, it wasn't nothing to us," the guard said, passing my Mistress a few caps. "Here, have a drink on me."
"Thanks, will do."
The guards raised the barrier and we passed on through into the settlement.
“Where to first, Mistress?” I asked.
“Don’t call me that,” my Mistress grumbled. “And we want to head to the inn and book a room. We’re staying overnight.”
I nodded and pulled the cart in the direction of a corrugated iron shack that with the word “Inn” spray painted on the side.
As I approached the inn, I noticed my reflection looking back at me in one of the windows. A short, spiky brown mane hung over my head, matching my dark coat, green eyes peering out of a scarred face. Many of my masters liked to hit me there. It was a miracle I hadn’t lost an eye yet.
After hitching the cart to a post, I turned to the Mistress.
“Right then,” she was saying. “You boys go rent a room for the night, and I’ll go see the mayor about the reward money, then pawn off our loot. We’ll meet in the diner afterwards.”
“Come on, Toolkit,” Garoth said leading me into the building. Inside was a rather bare room, with a counter and a rack of keys labeled 1-6 on the wall. Behind the counter was a fat, balding earth pony with a tourist shirt.
“Good day lads, what can I do for you?” said the pony.
“We need a room,” Garoth said, pulling out a sack of caps.
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “Weren't you with a mare last time I saw you? Not your type?”
Garoth looked puzzled. “What? Wait... you mean? What, no! We’re not together, and I wasn’t with her either! Look, just get us a room with three cots, okay?”
The innkeeper laughed. “Alright, alright, I was just yanking your tail. Oh, and good work on getting our people back from those slavers. Here’s your key, you’re in room 4.”
Garoth snatched the key off the desk and turned around, grumbling.
“I can’t believe he implied we were we together,” he fumed, marching down the street.
I shrugged in response.
“I mean, really, I don’t even like tiercels that way, let alone ponies.”
I frowned and cocked my head. “Tiercels?”
“Male griffin,” he explained. “You’re a stallion, I’m a tiercel. Females are called hens.”
“Oh.”
We continued down the street in silence, towards an old disused train car with a broken neon sign declaring it to be the “Ruby Diner”. Garoth pushed open the door, a bell ringing.
“Take a seat lads,” said an exhausted mare wearing an apron from behind the bar. “I’ll send a girl to collect your order in a minute, kay?”
Garoth nodded and led me to a table in the far corner.
“Say, Toolkit, you don’t speak much, do you?” Garoth asked me.
I shrugged. “Masters don’t like it when I speak out of turn.”
“Yeah, well, Glory ain’t going to punish you for speaking your mind.” He paused, and looked thoughtful for a second. “I think she’ll actually prefer it if you spoke more.”
“My Mistress wants me to talk?” I asked, surprised. My Mistress was very different from my former masters.
Garoth snorted. “You still calling her Mistress?”
“Of course. She’s my Mistress.”
Further conversation was halted by the appearance of a waitress.
“Hello sirs, can I—Hang on, you’re that griffin that freed me from those slavers,” she said, pointing at Garoth.
“Garoth Hawkwing Jr. at your service, miss,” he replied with a bow.
“I'm Rose. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me. I was so frightened, but then you and that other pony...”
“Glory,” Garoth said.
“Thanks, when you and Glory burst through that door... Thank you! Order whatever you want, everything’s on the house.”
“Why thank you Rose,” Garoth said with another bow. “We were just doing the right thing. Anyway, food. Could we have three Sparkle-colas, two roast squirrels and something vegetarian for Glory?”
“I’ll get it right away.” She scampered off with a flick of her hips that wasn’t entirely necessary.
“Huh, Glory was right,” Garoth said, looking at the waitress, “Helping people is its own reward.” He turned and grinned at me. “In this case, the reward is free food.”
“You’re not exhorting food out of the locals, are you?” a voice behind us asked. We turned and saw my Mistress approaching the table. She slid herself onto the bench next to me.
“No, Mistress!” I said, panicking. “She offered it to us! I swear!”
“Calm down, Tools, I’m just yanking your tail,” she said, flashing a smile at me. “And don’t call me Mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
My Mistress glared at me for a moment, before sighing and digging into her saddle bags. “I got the caps from the job and from the loot, by the way.” She poured a pile of caps onto the table, then split it three ways, pushing one pile of caps towards me.
“Mistress?” I asked. Why was she giving me caps?
“You did good, Tools,” she said. “Not only did you pull our cart for us, but you saved my life this morning. And besides, you’re one of us. That means an equal share of all loot.”
I looked down at the pile in front of me. These caps... are mine? Nopony had ever given me anything before, and here was the Mistress, giving me... Money, of all things. I tentativly reached out my hoof and touched them. When I wasn't beaten for touching caps, I pulled them closer, nearly hugging them to my chest. I felt something wet run down face, pooling in one of the many facial scars I had collected. I was crying.
“Tools? Are you okay? Tools?” My Mistress grabbed me by the shoulder.
I turned to look at her. “Th-thank you, M-Mistress,” I sobbed, holding her tightly, a massive grin on my face.
“You’re welcome, Tools, you’re welcome,” she said softly. “Hey, you know what this calls for? A shopping spree!”
I didn’t know what that was, but judging by Garoth’s expression, it couldn’t be anything good.
Shopping actually turned out to be quite interesting. Okay, I struggled with bartering and choosing what I wanted to buy, but my Mistress’s enthusiasm for it was infectious.
“Ooh,” she squealed. “Doesn’t this dress look gorgeous on me?”
I looked at the article in question. She was wearing a yellow pre-war dress with white frills that complimented her coat and mane colours, as well as exposing her pink sunrise cutie-mark. Completing the ensemble was her two machine gun holsters, one on either forearm and her PipBuck.
“Yes, Mistress, it does,” I obediently replied.
She frowned at me. “Are you saying that because it does, or because you want to make your mistress happy?”
I blinked in surprise. I had no idea how to respond to that. “Uh... both?” I said, flinching slightly. My Mistress hadn’t hit me yet, but I couldn’t quite shake the fear just yet.
Thankfully, my Mistress just laughed and skipped off down the aisle. I glanced at Garoth, but he looked as confused as I did.
“Hens,” he cursed under his breath.
I shook my head and made to follow my crazy Mistress, when something caught my eye. It was a glass orb, with a with a pair of purple crystals sticking out of a powdery, silver floor, several more suspended between them. It looked like a magical, crystal arch.
“Ooh, a snow globe,” said my Mistress, having snuck up besides me. “Look at this, Tools.”
She levitated the glass ball into the air and shook it. When it came to a rest, I saw that the powder had been thrown up into the air and was drifting slowly down onto the scene.
I was captivated by it. Slowly, I plucked it out of my Mistress’s golden aura and shook it myself, the ‘snow’ falling again.
“It’s pretty,” I said. I turned it over in my hooves, finding an inscription on the bottom. I frowned as I tried to read it. “The Crst... Cryst...”
“The Crystal Gateway, Entrance to the Crystal Empire,” my Mistress read for me. “Tools, can you not read?”
I shook my head. “Not well. Never had a chance to learn properly.”
“Well, then, how about I teach you?” my Mistress said, putting an arm around me.
“I think... I would like that,” I replied. “But first, can I... buy this?” I held up the snow globe.
“Of course you can. Tools, you don’t need my permission to buy it.” My Mistress detached herself from me and we walked over to the counter.
"Mistress, what is the Crystal Empire?" I asked.
She paused and frowned, looking thoughtful. "You know, I don't actually know. I've heard it before though. I think it's a pre-war thing."
"You're quite right, miss," the shopkeeper said, overhearing our conversation. "Legend has it that before the war, there was an Empire to the north of Equestria, beyond the Crystal Mountains. That's where the mysterious Crystal Ponies lived. Of course, that's just an old mare's tale. Nopony's ever survived crossing the mountains. At least, not since the bombs fell. Personally, I don't believe the Empire exists, but we get a couple of adventures willing to brave the passage on occasion, and sometimes trinkets like that one turn up. Speaking of which, that'll be 50 caps."
I hoofed over my caps and left the store, placing my new possession into some saddlebags my Mistress had insisted I buy. The doorbell rang again behind me, and I saw my Mistress come out, also sliding a few objects into her bags.
"Come on guys, lets head back to the inn. It's starting to get late," she said, heading off down the street towards the inn.
Upon entering the building, the innkeeper gave us a nod in greeting, and made an over-exaggerated wink at Garoth.
"What was that about?" my Mistress asked once we had entered our room.
I opened my mouth, but Garoth cut me off. "Nothing, nothing at all."
My Mistress frowned, but dropped the matter.
I looked around the room. There wasn't much to speak of, really. Three cots, a washbasin in the corner and a desk made up our temporary living space.
Garoth and my Mistress each picked a cot, leaving me with the third.
"Hey, Glory, pop the radio on, would you?" Garoth asked. "I want to hear if DJ PON-3 has anything interesting to say."
My Mistress nodded and pressed a button on her PipBuck. A moment later it began to play music, a rather catchy swing piece with a female singer.
The music carried on for a minute or two, filling the silence of the room, before it ended and was replaced with a stallion's voice.
"Hey everybody, this is DJ PON-3, your friendly neighborhood disc jockey. What's a disc? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna keep talking anyway.
Say, kiddies, it's been a hell of a month, am I right? First we have the Stable Dweller leave her home and start being the goody-four-shoes we all love her for, and then we start to get reports of another wasteland hero out by Hoofington, and then dozens of others start to pop up everywhere—even one down in Roam, if you can believe it. Well, get this right. We have another heroine in the making, this time up north!
What the hell? These ponies are like busses. You wait two hundred years for one, and then fifty show up at once!
Now this new gal, she's already done some sweet work up north. Not only has she ended a two year conflict between two warring griffin mercenary tribes, increasing the stability of the region, but she's also taken out a band of slavers in the Gem Town area, rescuing many townsfolk from their evil clutches.
Now here's the interesting thing. This gal? She's from a vault, which does makes you wonder what exactly is happening down underground. But the real important thing is, she ain't no securitypony, or a computer repairmare, or anything like that, no, she's a fry cook of all things. A fry cook. She's the bucking Burger Queen!
Anyway, if you're listening to this, Burger Queen, keep up the good work. And if you're ever down my way—extra sauce, hold the pickles.
Thanks for listening, children! This is DJ PON-3, telling you the truth, no matter how hard it hurts."
Music began to play again, this time a slower piece.
There was a brief pause, before Garoth burst out laughing.
"I can't believe it!" he said, struggling to get the words out between his laughs. "DJ PON-3 called you the Burger Queen!"
He clutched his midsection and rolled off his cot onto the floor. The only thing that kept me from joining in was the Mistress's glare—if looks could kill, Gem Town would be a smoking crater.
"How the hell does he know all that?!" my Mistress angrily demanded.
I shrugged. "DJ PON-3 knows everything. It's what he does."
"But he knows what my job was back in the vault! How? How does he know that?" My Mistress was all but screaming at me.
"Oh, don't worry about it." Garoth managed to hold his composure for all of one second. "Burger Queen! Bwah-hah-hah!"
"Oh buck this, I'm going to sleep." She turned off the lights and rolled over, her back to us. Moments later, Garoth climbed back into his bed, still chucking. His laughter was the last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep.
Footnote:
Level Up!
Melee Weapons increased! Repair increased!
New perk!
-Day One—You've survived your first day as a free pony in the wasteland. +1 Luck.
Crystal Empire Snowglobes found: 1/?
Author's Note
Hello wasteland, it is I, 3-Dog ProfCharles! Bow-wow!
Yeah, I was totaly channeling 3-Dog at the end there. If anyone else can hear it in his voice, I'll be happy.
And, yes, Glory is a fry cook. Why? Because that is one of the possible G.O.A.T results in Fallout 3. It always ammused me that you could spend like 5 years training to be Vault 101's best fry cook, and then you would leave and be the most badass person in the Capital Wasteland (Here's your side order of extra PAIN!). That, and it was the one option I always ended up with. Also, before anyone complains, yes, I know that the fry cook's tag skill is melee weapons, which Glory lacks, but I'll just say that if Glory had tried better on her G.O.A.T, then maybe she would have gotten a more sutible career.
Tiercel is one of the two names for male eagles. The other is gigallo. I am not making that up. I could have gone with Tom/Tomcat and Molly/Queen (the cat versions), but Tiercel is just such a cool word.
One last thing—that Crystal Empire Snowglobe? It's foreshadowing. Just in case I was too subtle.
