With Statchel having left the pantry to give her some privacy, Finders Keepers was able to “clean” the mess of spilled corn far faster than if she were in polite company. With no one watching, all bets were off.

Licking her lips clean of any stray kernels, Finders Keepers soon found that all that remained of the corn were the bits that had fallen onto the floor, and even she wasn’t that desperate. Not yet at least. That left only the tin that her meal had come in, which now just contained some corn-tainted water. Shooting a cautious glance to the door, she moved her hooves to grip the sides of the metal container, lifting it up to her muzzle to drink what remained.

Unfortunately for her the door chose that particular moment to swing open, causing Finders Keepers to spray corn-water across the room and onto the familiar figure of her bipedal companion.

Hacking for a few brief few seconds, she sputtered once more, this time with an apology that probably wouldn’t be understood. The biped’s response was to be expected: a look of annoyance focused on her, followed by a limb trying to brush the stain off its shirt. With an exasperated sigh it — he, she corrected — moved to the sit across from her, his pale, furless legs bending and crossing in a seemingly unnatural fashion before resting on his haunches.

Despite the fact that the biped was now sitting, the table seemed comically low in comparison, its surface barely above his stomach. Still, he was low enough now that Finders Keepers could see Statchel closing the door behind him, with one weapon still trained at the biped’s back as a precaution.

“Way to have a gun on him while he’s on the ground, ” Finders Keepers pointed out, her tone of disapproval mixed with no small amount of amusement. Fat chance of the biped somehow managing to overpower a griffon, let alone one as muscular as Statchel.

“You never know,” Statchel replied with a smirk, slipping the machine pistol into his barding’s holster. The male griffon moved from between the doorway and the biped, eyes staying on the latter’s collar for a moment too long before the wearer stared right back.

With the creature looking at Statchel as he crossed the room, Finders Keepers had a few seconds to stare at the collar without fear of being seen as rude. The dark ring of metal around the biped’s neck seemed much more comfortable than she would have first thought, as it didn’t appear to be digging into the wearer’s pale flesh at all. It almost looked pretty, with all the runic markings scored into the metal.

The face across from her soon came to look in her direction, though by that time it would merely be looking at a politely sitting earth-pony, who seemed to merely be waiting patiently for something.

Giving the biped a polite smile, she turned her head to see where Statchel had gone when she’d been looking at the collar. A quick search managed to locate the missing griffon, who was currently standing on his hind-legs to work on something on the counter, though what she couldn’t tell. Leaning a little to the side, she saw that Statchel was simply connecting a hot plate to a spark battery. How exciting, she thought.

“So,” Finders Keepers started, wanting to break the silence with something that amounted to more than just small talk, “how long will you be having us here? Not saying that we’re not thankful and everything, but I’m sure we can’t be here forever, you know?”

“Probably not for long,” Statchel assured, turning from the hot plate to face the earth-pony mare. “I imagine that Razor-Quill will probably want to ask you a few questions before he turns you loose.”

Finders Keepers nodded at that, smiling in relief as her fears were assuaged. She had not, in fact, been dumped out of the frying pan and into the fire after all.

The sound of muffled steps from the hallway alerted her to a newcomer, and she turned around just in time to see the door open to reveal another griffon, this one’s features contrasting greatly with those of Statchel’s. Still, while the mare wasn’t very knowledgeable about griffons, she knew enough about them to pick out genders, and this one was definitely no male, which meant Razor-Quill had yet to arrive.

“Hello!” Finders Keepers greeted warmly, if a little forced. “Thanks for taking us in after saving us from those raiders, we'd've been goners if it weren’t for you.”

Rather than getting the return greeting Finders Keepers had hoped for, she was miffed to see the griffon had chosen to stare at the back of the biped’s neck instead, completely ignoring the earth-pony. She wasn’t the only one to notice the one-sided greeting, either, her ears unconsciously perking up at the sound of Statchel’s barding scraping against the wooden counter, followed by the clicks and clacks of talons hitting the floor as the griffon turned to look in the same direction as Finders Keepers.

“It’s rude to stare at a guest, you know,” Statchel’s said, the deepness of his voice almost equal to the tone of annoyance that had been piled onto the short sentence.

With words guttural and low, the biped said something as well, his voice mirroring Statchel’s only in annoyance, but it was enough to convince Finders Keepers that the message carried the same sentiment — if not more so.

The reaction was unexpected, though.

*** *** ***

There were many annoyances that plagued the man throughout his life, most of which were actually quite minor compared to other things. Still, there were limits to the unpleasantries he was forced to endure, and he had already given one warning already.

“Does every hole tickle your fancy,” Kiako said as he turned to look to the creature behind him, “or am I the exception?”

The already-large eyes of the cat-bird in question went wide with unmistakable indignation — something that apparently transcended the boundaries of species. Its feathery head reared back away from him, and Kiako couldn’t help but let a flicker of a smile pass over his face. It took a few milliseconds for him to register that the offended creature’s talons had just come off the floor for a swipe at the back of his head, but with the familiar warmth of something wet and sticky running down his scalp, he was anything but motionless.

*** *** ***

Statchel’s first reaction was to wince at the unprovoked strike the biped had just received to the back of his head. Still, at least it didn’t go across the face, said the part of him that tried to find a silver lining in what was likely going to turn into something unpleasant.

Fortunately for the griffon, his protective instincts were much quicker than that other part of him, as he had his forelegs up just in time to protect his head from the suddenly approaching table.

*** *** ***

Definitely wasn’t expecting that, Finders Keepers mused from her spot on the floor, her ears ringing from when the previously docile table had slammed her onto the floor before continuing onward toward the poor griffon behind her. He’ll be fine…

The earth-pony blinked away the foggy film that covered her vision, giving her head a little shake despite the protests of her undoubtedly bruised muzzle. Facing the front of the room, amidst some shattered kitchenware and a few cups, she could see the contorted bodies of both the biped and the rosey-feathered griffon, their bodies bleeding and on the floor but not at all still.

With the biped’s lack of body hair, Finders Keepers could clearly see where the griffoness’s talons had left weeping lacerations on her opponent’s pale, unprotected flesh. That didn’t mean that the griffon wasn’t being given as good as she got, though, because even her rosey-hued feathers weren’t that red.

Shakily getting up onto her hooves, she knew that she couldn’t just lay there and watch the fight. With a quick glance behind her to check if Statchel was alright — and he was, if him pushing the table was any sign of that — the earth-pony threw herself into the fray, coming to the rescue for a second time.

*** *** ***

Rosewing’s beak shut with a painful clack as the back of her head hit the latch of the door that had been left ajar. Really wish I had closed that.

The griffoness tried to go for the gun holstered on her barding, but before she could wrap her claw around Rose Red’s grip, the wind forced its way out of her beak with a ragged gasp as the biped snaked a kick beneath her and into her midriff, lifting the front of her body a few inches off the floor before something else — also hard — slammed into the top of her skull, sending her to the floor.

Dazed and her thoughts a little muddled, Rosewing felt something pressing hard against her throat, but the near-blind, panicky swipe of a foreleg earned her a grunt of pain from her opponent, followed by a faint snap and the sound of someone falling.

Having made herself some breathing room, she pushed against the floor to give herself as much distance as she could before her back hit the wall, and by then the two-legs was on her again, its clenched fists pounding into her with such fury that for a brief moment she could have sworn it was an earth-pony delivering the blows.

Ignoring the thunder of her pulse, and trying to stave off the thunder of blows raining down onto her body, Rosewing managed to force out an ear-piercing shriek of rage that put pause to the blows that had a moment ago seemed endless. With a grunt of pain she managed to sweep her wing against the crouching biped’s legs, knocking it off balance so that the follow-up sweep with her foreleg finished what the first one started.

The fighting continued from there, on the ground. Biting, punching, kicking, and everything in between were the order of the day, and so focused was the griffon on destroying her abominable assailant that she never noticed the hoof that smashed into the side of her head, or the gunshot that followed.

*** *** ***

Old as the motel was, it didn’t take long for someone to grow familiar with the noises it made. Wooden boards creaked beneath the paw, and hinges squealed in protest at not having been oiled in centuries; it was the same story with many of Equestria’s buildings.

Some noises are trouble though, and can’t be ignored. Razor-Quill dropped his microphone with a start, tore off his headphones and grabbed his pistol from off the table before scrambling out the door, the tinny voice on the radio forgotten.

That sure as hell wasn’t the building settling, Razor-Quill thought, his mind racing through the possibilities of what had caused the crash downstairs. He was already flying down the stairs before he realized that he’d taken off his barding earlier.

A solitary gunshot rang out the moment his claws hit the base of the stairs, his joints popping painfully in concert. Cursing for reasons more than just old age, he continued to close the distance between himself and the pantry.

*** *** ***

The man lay on his side, the floor pleasantly cool against the area of skin where his shirt had ridden up. Other parts of his body were starting to realize that he’d taken just as much of a beating as he had given in return, and he could feel the pinpricks of sensation that meant pain wasn’t far behind.

Bleeding and beaten as he was, though, he was relieved that he wouldn’t be falling out of a LifeNet pod anytime soon. The fight was over for now, that much he knew, thanks to the rather unexpected end to the fight. Unfortunately for his horse-like companion, it had been the one to take the bullet likely meant for him, and was reacting appropriately in response to being shot: screaming and crying bloody murder, probably at the shaken hybrid that had fired the bullet.

Moving a hand to wipe away some of the blood on his face Kiako found that there was something wrapped around his fingers. Investigating the matter he found that some sort of medallion was on the floor beside him, and it just so happened that a fine steel chain connected both the medallion and his fingers together. How did that get there?

Casting a furtive glance around the room, he saw that the other occupants of the room were still recovering from the fight — though one would likely take a bit longer to recover than the others, he was quite sure. Looking over to the hybrid with the gun to make sure it or its owner wasn’t looking toward him, he pulled the chain loose from his fingers before tucking his prize in the space between his waist and the elastic strap of his briefs. It was quick and simple, and none were left the wiser.

Taking a moment to wipe away some blood that was about to drip into his eye, he turned his attention to his wounded — and loudly protesting — acquaintance. Screaming and hollering in a way that transcended species, the equinoid was thrashing on the pantry floor between himself and the rosey cat-bird he had just scuffled with. Whether the bullet had been meant for him or not, the equinoid was the one who had reaped the repercussions.

What drew his attention the most though wasn’t that the thrashing creature was wounded and bleeding — though he did give a cursory look over its blooded flank, small caliber perhaps? — or even the racket it was making, but instead what it was saying. Sitting upright now the man stared wide-eyed as the equinoid’s stream of foreign expletives and curses began to flow into something sounding uncannily familiar to human speech, if not quite English.

Before Kiako could even figure out what was going on his thoughts were interrupted by the figure that had burst through the doorway. The man’s eyes focused instantly on the gun that was scanning the room before it turned on him, a sickly green glow emanating from the muzzle.

“Statchel, what happened?” bellowed the room’s newest occupant, the speaker’s gruff voice in clear English. Kiako’s eyes drifted up from the muzzle of the weapon went up the limb holding it, and saw that this creature was of the same species as the other two hybrids in the room.

“He f-fucking shot me!” cried out a feminine voice, the words sounding like they were being spoken through gritted teeth.

Was I being lied to? So she does know English! Beyond bewildered by this point, he sat up straighter to try and get an uninterrupted view at the wounded equinoid. That got a reaction out of the cat-bird, and for the man’s trouble he was rewarded with a shove back onto the floor, his head nearly smacking into the wood.

“S’what’s you get for trying to join in, fatty!” This voice Kiako was already familiar, for he had just been fighting it — or her, he supposed — just moments ago.

Yet another voice chimed in, and Kiako’s head turned to look at the other hybrid that had escorted him into the room earlier. “And you shouldn’t have started this whole mess in the first place, Rosewing!”

Rosewing, pretty self-explanatory. Statchel must be the other cat-bird, then. The man gained some childish pleasure at being given two of the names of his captors, without having to ask himself. Still, something was going on that wasn’t normal — aside from him being captured by talking animals — and he wasn’t going to draw any undue attention to himself by asking questions. Best to play it by ear.

“We have bigger things to worry about than who started what,” the unnamed hybrid began, obviously the leader of the group by this point. “Statchel, take the pony and treat her. We’ll have a talk later.”

“Got it boss,” Statchel said, having already holstered his gun by the time he had helped up the wounded equinoid. “Let’s get you up and out of here.”

“Just hurry up,” was all his horse-like acquaintance managed to hiss as she was helped out of the room, Statchel the cat-bird lending support.

Unfortunately that left Kiako alone with two of his captors, one of which already had a reason to hate him — possibly even before the fight happened — and the other currently holding him at gunpoint. He’d been in similar situations before, but never one quite like this. If they did choose to execute him, he hoped that they’d make it quick so that this little adventure could end and he could be back in familiar territory.

Kiako stared at the remaining two hybrids, Rosewing having come around the side of the unnamed one, gun drawn. One of her eyes was swollen shut, the sickly purple clashing with the feathers of her head, and blood dripped from a nostril in her beak.

“Can I have the honors, boss?” Kiako could see the edges of her beak curling up in a wicked grin, though the fact that her beak even could unsettled him more than her bloodlust.

The man glanced over at the other cat-bird, trying to gauge its reaction to Rosewing’s offer. Looking past the large beak and into a pair of very large and blue eyes, he tried to figure out what the hybrid-leader was thinking. It took the man a few seconds to realize that it was trying to do the exact same thing with him.

If the two hadn’t been locked onto each other so, Kiako might not have registered the almost imperceptible nod that the cat-bird gave to him. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it gave him some relief that maybe, just maybe, the hybrid wouldn’t let his underling avenge herself upon him.

“Rosewing...” the leader began, hesitating for a moment as if deciding how to finish the sentence, “...go to Statchel and get fixed up. I’ll take care of this.”

Compared to the cool reply that had answered her question, Rosewing’s response was anything but. Kiako could see the flicker of shock across her avian features, a flicker that was replaced by a scream of frustration and a litany of curses and accusations of the other hybrid’s mental faculties.

The male cat-bird wouldn’t be swayed on the matter however, which only served to increase Roswing’s level of frustration. The fiery passion that the female hybrid exuded for his murder frankly amazed Kiako, and the image of a child throwing a temper-tantrum was one of the first things that came to mind.

Just as it looked as if the argument would turn into a more physical confrontation did Rosewing finally relent, having been ordered to put her gun away. She cast Kiako in a baleful glare that more than told him what she wanted to do to him, and it seemed to him that the only thing that prevented her from changing her mind on the spot was her obedience to the other hybrid.

As if daring her to do anything more, the male cat-bird continued to glare at Rosewing even as she slinked out of the room. Only when the door was slammed shut in a final act of defiance did the male hybrid turn to back to Kiako, looking him over as if seeing him in a new light.

“You’re hurt,” the male observed, gesturing with a talon to the many aching cuts that crisscrossed the man’s legs and arms, as well as the one on his face.

Kiako nodded at that. “If you have my belongings, I can treat myself, rather than having your… male… tend to me. That will allow me to avoid your other subordinate.”

The hybrid nodded back, seemingly pleased that he could keep the man and Rosewing away from each other. Still, as strange as talking with some sort of animal experiment was, Kiako had questions that he needed answered, two in particular.

“What are you, you and the… horse-thing.”

Upon being asked the question the creature seemed taken aback, surprised at what had been said. That didn’t last long though, and soon the male gave a soft chortle, as if a child had said something humorous. Kiako didn’t much care for it, but he waited silently for the cat-bird to finish.

“You really aren’t from around here, aren’t you?” the hybrid said after it had finished, a mirthful look in his eye. “I’m a griffon, and that filly we found you with is a pony.”

Kiako mulled the names over, ignoring the slightly patronizing tone of someone talking to a tourist. The names were familiar to him, but neither could really be true, could they? To see a phenotypical mix of avian and feline, only to have it be named after a breed a dog, was truly bizarre.

Though I can see why the other creature might be called a pony, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Naming conventions could wait later though, and with a grunt of exertion he heaved himself off the floor, careful to keep his arm against his hip, where the medallion he had stolen earlier was hidden between himself and his briefs.

“Take me back to my belongings, and I’ll treat myself,” Kiako announced. He had put off checking himself for too long, and if he waited any longer he would pay the price for it, whether by blood loss or infection. Already he felt as if he were a little faint-headed.

“Good,” the griffon. “I don’t know what you are, and I don’t much care. All I know is that you’re trouble, and I don’t want to deal with you.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be here.”

The two beings stared at each other for a moment, and then walked out of the room.

*** *** ***

Once again the earth-pony was back in that medical room, though this time she was at least awake and not under the effects of some sedative: now Finders Keepers was trying a different drug, one that numbed the pain and not the mind. That very same surgical table she’d seen during her last visit was now seeing some use, and despite her coat the cold metal still managed to give her a shiver.

Finders Keepers had long gotten used to the profuse apologies from Statchel, and withdrawn within herself, trying to ignore that the fact that the griffon was digging inside of her to undo the damage he’d done. Even with the painkillers, she still flinched as the probe touched something it shouldn’t have.

Giving herself a break from the floral pattern on the walls she closed her eyes, letting out a drawn-out sigh to try and rid herself of some of the unease that had built up ever since the day at started.

If there’s ever a time to think about your life choices, it’s when some guy is pulling a bullet out of you, she mused darkly, unable to help but chuckle under her breath.

“Sorry,” Statchel murmured, his deep voice at odds with how apologetic he was being. She didn’t give him a reply.

Thinking back to when she had first left home five years ago, she reminisced about the places and people she’d met in her travels since. Her scavenging had taken her all across the battered Equestrian Wasteland, from the bustling NCR capital of Junction Town to the quiet and more subdued Stableside. She’d even met the original Element of Kindness, if only briefly.

Still, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. She’d had run-ins with bandits on occasion, forcing her to leave some of the best scavenging spots she’d ever run into. Other times she’d have to run away from the wildlife if her pistol couldn’t deal with it. Adding a gunshot wound to the list was a long time coming, if nothing else.

She was a scavenger though, and she went where the pickings were good. It was her namesake, after all.

Mercenaries though, they were different. It wasn’t that they did questionable jobs in exchange for caps; she looted the dead, whether the corpses were buildings or actual corpses. No, what bothered her the most was that she felt confined in this place, this motel. Being trapped in the same building with the psycho-griffon and another griffon who had shot her to protect the first one didn’t help her opinion of the place, either.

Finders Keepers took pride in her knack for getting out of bad situations, and her instincts were telling her that she should leave this place as soon as possible. Getting shot by the griffons who had saved you from bloodthirsty raiders couldn’t be a sign of goodluck.

The opening and closing of the door brought her back to the real world, her ears perking at the sound before her eyes followed. There in the room was the one member of Sabre Squad she really didn’t want to see.

“Get me a compress, Statchel,” Rosewing said, her demand sounding a little sulky to the pony’s ears.

“Wait your turn Rose, I’m kinda busy cleaning up the mess you started.” Finders Keepers flinched as another bullet fragment was removed. Thank Celestia and Luna for the painkillers.

The pony flinched again as Rosewing sent her a hostile glare. Finders Keepers glared right back, and the staring match continued for a few more seconds before the griffon finally relented, shaking her head and getting her own medical attention from a nearby crate.

“I’m nearly finished, just need to slap a healing poultice on and give you a potion and you should be mostly better,” Statchel said from the other end of the table, trying to sound cheerful.

“Your bedside manner is still bad,” Finders Keepers quipped, not entirely without humor.

The griffon huffed at that, but continued treating her. Now that Statchel was no longer digging into her with his tools the healing could begin, or as he called it, “the Two P’s”. The pony could feel the tickle of the healing poultice doing it’s work, though the potion she drank almost made her throw up.

Spitting out the plastic vial, she turned to look how Rosewing was doing: she might have been a psycho, but she had helped save the biped’s life as well as Finders Keepers’. Either the griffoness was really bad with tending to herself, or the crates were hard to open. Maybe it’s both.

Statchel moved on to tend to his squadmate once he made sure Finders Keepers was fine, offering yet another apology as he left to tend Rosewing.

More or less alone at this point, there was nothing to do but wait for whatever happened next. Her thoughts moved to the strange creature that she had saved and traveled with, and wondered if it was alright. She had the suspicion that if Rosewing had killed it, she’d have looked a lot happier.

Once again the door opened, though this time it wasn’t a griffon filling up the doorway. Favoring one leg, the biped stood there equipped in his barding once more, and carrying her saddlebags. He tossed them to the floor.

“We’re leaving.”

Author's Note

Whew! I finally churned this out for you good folk! I think that I may have been procrastinating because I felt as though I was stuck writing this section in only a specific way, but now that it's finally finished I feel a sense of freedom. Next chapter should come much sooner, that's for sure.