A lone pony swaggered into Appleoosa, arid dust weaving underfoot , the town quiet except for the low din coming from the local saloon and the steady screech of a rusty weathervane. Her head was angled, a beaten Stetson hat concealing her eyes and casting a shadow on her lower face. Stopping abruptly in the town’s main street, she scanned the horizon slowly, until she located the general store. Resuming her steady gait, she crossed the street and pushed open the door.

“What can I do ye’ for?”  Queried the shopkeeper, a grizzled older colt with an unkempt, cropped brown beard.

“An oilstone and a pound ah’ oats.” She replied, her head still tilted as she approached the counter.

“No apples? This is Appleoosa you know..” the shopkeeper said, trailing off when the stranger raised her head enough to look him in the eyes.

“No. Apples.” She said slowly, her eyes boring into his soul, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and anger.

“Right.” Moving briskly, the shopkeeper spoke up, hoping to alleviate the tension. “So what’s your name, stranger?”

“Bloodjack” she replied curtly, the lack of excitement in her speech almost transcendent in the way it discouraged conversation.

The shopkeeper peeked over with one eye, scanning the figure. Toned physique, weathered hooves, determined face. Typical frontierspony. Strapped to her front left leg was a supple brown leather sheath, several shades darker than the weathered Stetson on her head. In it was a gleaming Bowie knife, the handle within easy reach of her mouth. Traveling upwards, he met her stern gaze and unconsciously shivered, the unnerving eyes watching him unblinking.

After placing the two items on the counter, he looked up at her nervously and stated the price. “70 bits.” She said nothing and continued to stare at him with a face as immobile as granite. Looking at her, he licked his lips nervously, a trickle of sweat running down his left temple as she watched him. “50 bits?” he said weakly, a self-deprecating stance and timid smile painting the vivid scene of his mental subjugation. Moving slowly, she slid the items into a saddlebag and dropped a small sack of coins on the counter, turning to leave without another word.

The moment she was completely out of the store, he breathed out in relief and rubbed his forehead. Glancing out the storefront window to double check her departure, he fell back when he saw her look back and meet his eyes.

Glancing at the sun, the stranger trotted in the direction of the saloon, prepared to waste time.

Pushing open the saloon doors, she scanned the room. Appleoosa’s really gone to shit, she thought, her sordid gaze displaying her contempt concerning the other patrons. Cutthroats, liars, and thieves. The usual nowadays. What happened to the town I used to know? She took a step forward.

Any normal outsider would have met opposition and seclusion, but at the sight of a lone mare, the predominantly colt crowd bristled, eager to test her mettle. One does not simply “enjoy a drink” in Appleoosa after all. Cited as having Equestria’s Rowdiest Locale, this particular taproom was known as the toughest Dive around.

Walking past the silent eyes, the mare slumped into a barstool in the corner, slamming several bits on the counter and ordered three shots of whiskey. Of course Bloodjack knew the bar was watching her, waiting for any mistake on which to base their cruelty. She had hoped that the show of alcohol would satisfy the crowd, but as soon as the glasses were filled in front of her three drunken colts stumbled towards her.

“Whattayah go’ there, missy?” the ringleader slobbered, the stench of alcohol emanating off his body.

No reply. The mare casually downed the first shot by grabbing it in her mouth and tilting her head back.

“Mebbe she’ss scared..” said another, jeering at her as he swayed from side to side. “Are ye scared, lass?”

The bartender looked Bloodjack in the eyes, ready to intervene at any prompt. She smiled at him and downed the second shot.

Several of the other patrons moved to stand, but their friends held them down. “Wait a bit, Lucky,” said one of them, his leg barring the other pony, “give her a chance. We’ll help if it gets serious.”

The rest of the bar watched on, expressions ranging from apathetic and amused to inebriated and alert.

“Oi, why’re you shmiling? Yer’ not shpose to..” slurred the last pony, hiccupping before turning to look at the ringleader in confusion. The ringleader was sweating profusely, the imagined laughter of the other patrons ringing in his ear at his failure to intimidate the lone mare.

She downed the last shot.

Reaching back to hit her, the ringleader was met with two bucking legs to the chest, a resounding crack filling the taproom. Several ponies stood, but by the time they had begun to step towards the scene, the other two had been taken down with a combination of jabs and hooks, the lone pony’s powerful legs moving fast as a whip.

Returning to her seat calmly, she smiled at the dumbstruck barkeep and ordered another three shots, the crowd erupting in raucous laughter at the three ponies groaning on the floor.

One of the ponies who had moved to help her before walked up to sit next to her. “Howdy, Stranger! I’m Lucky Strike, and that was some damn good fighting.” Said the pony, a broad smile on his face and an outstretched hoof held in greeting. She smiled politely at him, the corners of her mouth faintly curving up.

“Tweren’t no trouble to take out three drunk colts. You shouldn’t congratulate me.” She said quietly, so that only Lucky (and the experienced bartender) heard.

Lucky was taken aback. He smiled at her again. “May I ask you your name?” he said, hoping to learn more about this mysterious mare.

“Bloodjack.” She replied curly, displeased at the query. She downed another shot.

“Well, Miss,” he said, sensing her discomfort, “may I perchance, ask you what you’re doing in this quaint town?”

“No, Sir. No you may not.” Lucky was eager to change the subject and careful to avoid her name, but apparently this subject wasn’t good either, as evidenced by her hard tone.

Shit! The second a pretty mare walks into town you alienate her! Lucky blew out air in a resigned manner. “Well, if you need anything, ask for me at The Red Stallion down the street.” He said and turned to leave.

She said nothing, preferring to let her silence speak for her. The other colts, observing the dialogue, left her alone as well. If Lucky can’t strike, how could we compete? They all despaired in union silently.

Next Chapter: Lucky Strike Estimated time remaining: 3 Minutes