Author's Notes:

This chapter was written after the story was completed.

The following is not my personal experience, because I was unconscious for the duration. (The bastards.)

A few Spool Reelers dumped me on a table under a spotlight, somewhere in Warreington. House had found another couch on which to continue his habit of sleeping through conversations that important ponies were having. Hard Sell and Sand Dollar floated somewhere off to the side while a couple of scribes marvelled over their talisman. Hard Sell seemed to be passively appraising everything in the room, while Sandy was still trying to get over himself. Lone Star's breathing caused some of the Sting Ringers' armour to rattle with its heft.

Stars must have had ditches in her face by now from frowning. "Are you sure about this? I'm not sure I want to trust her with anything more than a... y'know, I wouldn't even trust her with a bent spoon. She'd find some way to get someone killed with that."

Tribute opened her mouth, then stopped to pick some seaweed out of her mane. Then she continued. "Okay, look. I'm aware that she's an irredeemable sociopath who just makes whatever's in front of her explode, in total ignorance of any kind of consequences..."

"And steals anything that's not nailed down," Sell grumbled.

"And murders ponies that mildly irritate her," Lone Star rumbled.

"And she's vindictive and grudge-holding," House muttered in his sleep.

"And has creative murder methods on par with raiders," Stars said.

Tribute rolled her eyes. "Alright, calm down, calm down!"

"And she took your rum from off your desk," Grapevine said, hanging upside down from some shelf.

"Did she? Fucking..." Without regard for how many teeth she'd loosen, she turned me over to root through my saddlebags for the rum. Bottle safely in front of her, she resumed. "Despite all of those things. She's effective. When she wants to do something, she'll make it happen. She has the health and nutrition of a stable pony, and the unflinching drive of a raider. She's an unstoppable force of will." She paused and scowled. "Ech. I'm still tasting salt. Someone get me some cola."

"She won't be told, though. She's like an extremely deadly teenager."

I yawned and kicked the air a bit. "Mum, fuck school. Turn the lights off." A Stooge Rager floated up a small mallet. Stars shook her head at him and pushed it back under the table.

"This is why you don't tell her what to do. You make her want to do it. She blows up everything in front of her? Just put the right things in front of her."

Stars' face lit up for the first time ever. "Drop her off in Buckingham? Okay! Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Tribute slapped her own forehead. "No, not... that makes joining the Enclave the path of least resistance, and then we have a bigger problem. Try to think like her. She likes adrenaline rushes and getting her ego stroked."

Hard Sell drifted over. "And winding ponies up with extended lies."

"That's not... wait. Yes. That is relevant. She's blown up a thunderhead for fun before, how hard can it be to convince her to do it again?"

House didn't even look up. "The standard bounty is two hundred caps for every confirmed innocent life taken. So let's see: the Royal Liverpole had at least a hundred ponies, so we're already up to five figures... about the same again for the gryphons, if we're counting proxies then there's a couple dozen slaves to add to that, the kid in Colton, the traders... that's what, fifty times two hundred..."

Tribute sighed. "Okay, let me try this another way. The mob is outside and they want their money. We can cash our chips now and walk out, not even close to paying them off, or we put it all on black. Those are our options." House raised a brow high enough to pull his nose up along with it, then went back to sleep.

"Fine. You've got a point." Stars paced. "Let's see. Ego and adrenaline. Path of least resistance. What do we have to work with? Get the quartermaster in here."

I stirred again, this time stretching my forelegs. The grunt with the hammer pulled a look of alarm and reared up. Tribute went wide-eyed, and yanked the hammer away from him. Over the next couple of seconds, I almost threatened to wake up, but then pulled my askew saddlebag to my front and started cuddling it like a teddy bear. Look, I was nineteen, I liked my comforts!

Stars stared at this for a moment. "Tribute, you're... arguing her corner pretty hard."

"I... what do you mean?" she said, maybe a little too snappily.

"You have a crush on her, don't you?"

"No, I... no!" Tribute's jaw hung slack. "No! No." Another pause.

"You sure? Not even a little?"

"No! Fuck off."

"Don't something something, sexuality, tolerance, blah blah, I don't care, I'm dead," Sand Dollar rattled off, floating upside down somewhere above the table.

"Please, Stars, I'm a professional, I'm not about to let my feelings get in the way of my judgement." Grapevine raised a brow. "Shut up, you," Tribute muttered, taking a swing at her. She fluttered out of reach with a smirk.

The Sunday Roast parted to let someone more important through. The base's quartermaster, a stallion so tall and heavily-built his mother must have needed planning permission to give birth, arrived at the table with burlap of stuff. He set it down and pushed it to the middle of the table, pushing me off the far side like an air hockey puck. I landed with a yelp, but didn't wake. Somehow. Stars nonchalantly looked down for a second to make sure I wasn't impaled on anything. She patted my head, but it was more like knocking on a door. "You're fine."

The quartermaster pulled open the bag, and a collection of junk spilled out. Some heavy canvas, some paint, electrical junk like switches and fittings, some random magazines and battle saddle parts... A plastic bag labelled "melee personal self-defence arms" contained kitchen knives and candlesticks.

"I thought you'd bring us a list."

"This is literally everything not in use. It was quicker to bring it here than make a list. Some of our boys are going around with airsoft guns and hoping for the best."

"When you said we had a supply shortage... ugh."

Tribute started sifting through the stuff. "Okay. We've got the makings of a parade," she said, holding up some of the canvas. "And sci-fi movie props." She grabbed a button switch with a cap. "Hey, check this one out. A button this red needs a label like 'all of the missiles'."

"Hang on... hang on. I'm getting an idea." Stars paused, giving it a sanity check. Though at this point, all any idea needed to pass was a D. "Okay. Here's what we're gonna do..."