“Howdy, all. It’s your favorite DJ, Honest Jack, here to give you some news, tunes, and good vibes.”

The pony at the card table tipped his hat to the radio.

“And while I’ve got some stories for you today, I’m more in the mood for some music. And since I’m the one who decides what I do, music it is! So, here’s a little number for all you Steel Rangers in Vanhoover. It’s called, ‘The Highwaymare.’”

“Oh, I like that one.” The pony reached towards the radio’s dial with his metallic griffin claw. He turned the volume up and started whistling along with the song.

There was not much else in the room with him aside from the card table and radio. Four of the five chairs around the table had a Sparkle Cherry near them. The fifth was accompanied while by a glass and bottle of red wine. Each of the four walls had a turret lodged into it. The turrets constantly swiveled on their hinges, as if they were searching for threats. Their sanguine laser sights frequently passed over the pony, but they never once fired.

“The Highymare came riding—riding—riding—The Highwaymare came riding, up to the old inn door.”

Thud. Thud. There were two knocks on the large metallic door. The pony nodded to himself and touched a button below the card table. Click. The door swung open, and four ponies walked into the room.

The first to enter, because she shouldered her way to the front, was the only unicorn in the group. Her pint-size indicated she was half-way between a filly and mare. Yet she strutted with the confidence of a Princess. Her pretty amber eyes flashed at the pony at the card table. “Fairchild,” she stated in her sniveling, grating voice.

Fairchild tipped his hat to her. “Slaughter. You’re looking….” His voice trailed off as he admired her form. Her soft white coat, the bright red curls of her mane. The succulent nape of her neck. The bright red pendant, with the shimmering green and black aura. “Well.”

Slaughter snorted and took her seat at the table. She sat to the left of Fairchild and fiddled with a loose thread in her brown barding. Fairchild found his mind beginning to wander as he stared at her. The thought of her replacing that dirty garb with the uniform of one of his waitresses gave him goosebumps. Then there was the thought of her sitting on his lap, wearing nothing at all.
“Bess, the landlord’s daughter, plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black mane.”

His fantasy was interrupted when a hoof tapped him on the shoulder. Beside Fairchild stood a tall, dark blue, batpony ghoul. His leathered flesh was mostly concealed beneath his white lab coat. He wore contact lenses which created the illusion that he had the eyes of a normal pony.

All four turrets swiveled towards the ghoul, but Fairchild waved them off.

The ghoul let out a gravelly laugh. “Funny how you never seem to check your weapons at the door.”

Fairchild chucked in turn. “House rules, Cornelius.”

“House rules,” Cornelius mused. “That term has a whole new meaning once you’ve been imprisoned for over one hundred years.”

“Maybe you should have been imprisoned for more.” Clunk. Clunk. The armored earth pony entered the room with disgust present on his light green face. Despite the impressive plating, he seemed almost naked with all his weapons detached. “It’s what your kind deserves for what you did in the war.”

Cornelius sat across from the earth pony and eyed him with a thin smile. “My kind? I assume you mean traitors. After all, as they say, it does take one to know one, Templar.”

“I didn’t betray the Rangers. I simply—”

“Oh, forgive me. I didn’t realize you simply raped that poor mare. My mistake.” Cornelius sat on Fairchild’s right. His tail slithered around the bottle of red wine and poured a glass. “Pardon me, Templar, but I fail to understand how you have the moral superiority in this situation.”

Templar was silent for a moment before he answered. “I don’t. But I can find solace in knowing I didn’t betray my race. Nor was I locked in Cloudsdale’s Ninth Circle.”

“Ahh. My home sweet home.” Cornelius took a sip of wine. Crimson liquid splashed against his lips. He ran his tongue across his horribly chapped lips, removing any trace of the wine. “Speaking of which, how is your experiment progressing?”

Templar flinched at Cornelius’ choice of words. “Failed Wish is progressing just fine, thank you.”

“Failed Wish?” Slaughter leaned back in her chair and started laughing. “That’s a fucking retarded name.”

Again, Templar flinched. “A lady’s language should not be so coarse.”

Slaughter’s laughter subsided into a giggle. “Aww. Does the big bad tin-stallion have a heart, after all?” She reached a hoof towards Templar and banged on his chest. She snickered at the echoes. “Oh, a big one. Probably much bigger than his cock.”

Templar did not flinch that time. He simply took his seat beside Cornelius. He turned his attention towards the door. “We’re waiting on you, Fickle. Or does the NCR simply not care for other ponies and their time?”

“My apo…po…po…po.” There was a deep breath. “My apologies.” Fickle glided over the table and took his seat in-between Slaughter and Templar. He folded his black wings neatly behind his metallic purple barding. A bright red sash with the words, “Northern Canterlot Republic” adorned his neck. A patch was sewn onto his chest with an emblem of a pony overlooking the Canterlot castle. “I was distracted. We’ve had our hooves full with making Equestria a better place.”

Slaughter rolled her eyes. “It’s all just self-righteous bullshit if you ask me.”

“I don’t believe he did,” Cornelius added with a chuckle.

Slaughter narrowed her eyes, and a solid white glow enveloped her horn. Cornelius’ eyes glowed behind the contact lenses, and a shadowy mist leaked from his eyelids. His mouth opened with a smile. A smile which revealed his long, curved, fangs.

Slaughter wrinkled her nose, and the glow around her horn faded. “Vampire, fucker.”

Cornelius picked up his glass and observed it. “I suppose it does bear a resemblance to blood.” He flicked his gaze towards Slaughter and grinned. “One of these days I just might sample yours.” He titled the glass towards her, as if to toast, and casually finished his drink.

Slaughter snorted and turned her whole head towards Fairchild. “Well? Deal the fucking cards.”

Fairchild raised his hoof and metallic claw in a defensive posture. “Easy, Slaughter, easy. There’s no harm in waiting for everypony to get comfortable before we start.”

Slaughter glared at him. “Tell that to every filly you’ve fucked.”

He glared right back. He stretched out the talons of his griffin claw and imagined raking them into her side as he fucked her from behind. The thought sent a wave of good feelings throughout his body. Enough for him to focus on the task at hoof. He reached his claw into his vest and produced a deck of worn out playing cards.

Slaughter shook her head. “You’ve probably memorized all the cards by how worn out they are.”

“You know me too well.” He reached back into his vest. “Which deck do you want then?”

“She wants no deck of yours, that’s for sure,” Fickle mumbled.

Slaughter dropped her head on the table as she laughed. She stared directly into Fairchild’s eyes as the laughter continued. A laughter that gradually devolved into moans of, “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Fairchild’s eyes weren’t on Slaughter; they were on the freshly unwrapped deck of cards he cradled in-between his hooves and claw. “Better watch what you say, faggot.” He stomped one of his back hooves and started shuffling the deck. The turrets immediately turned towards Fickle and covered his body in dark red laser sights. “Like Cornelius said. I don’t check my weapons at the door.”

The only audible sounds were of Fairchild’s shuffling, the low hum of the turrets, and the radio’s continued song. “His eyes were hollows of madness, his mane of moldy hay.” Fairchild finished shuffling and placed the deck onto the table. A smile formed on his lips, and he stomped his hoof again. The turrets moved away from Fickle, but their ominous hum remained.

His metallic talons drummed against the top of the deck. “I’m only fucking with you, Fickle. I wouldn’t kill you over a joke. Especially one that’s legitimately funny.” He flicked his talons twice, and two cards sailed towards Slaughter. One was face down, the other was the Jack of Hearts. He repeated the action and acquired two cards of his own. His face up was the Ace of Diamonds. “Show order first. Hit or stay?”

Slaughter lifted her cards, and she waved her hoof. “Stay.”

Fairchild lifted his cards. His face down was the Seven of Diamonds. Eighteen or eight. Eighteen was a solid number, but eight would be worth the hit. He rapped his hoof against the table twice and flipped over another card. Queen of Clubs. Eighteen again. “Stay.” He flipped over his hidden card and smiled.

“Ha!” Slaughter flipped over hers as well. Queen of Hearts. “Twenty, cunt. Which means I get to show my toys first.”

She slid her cards towards Fairchild, who quickly shuffled them back into the deck. “Very well. You get first show.” He started to deal out the cards again. He dealt fifty three cards between all five ponies. “Now we play for picking order.”

Templar picked up the cards in front of him. “What game?”

“I’ve become quite fond of old mare recently.”

Slaughter snickered. “That’s a first for you, fillyphile.”

Fairchild chuckled, and he touched another button on the bottom of the table. The wall behind the card table parted, revealing a large screen. On the screen was an image of three ponies. Two of them wore tight black barding, and the symbol of a metallic griffin claw was plastered on their flanks. Both ponies held beam pistols in their mouths and pointed their weapons at the third.

The third pony was in chains. Despite his immense size, he appeared terrified. His good eye twitched constantly. The scorch marks around the socket implied why his other eye was considered bad. There was a hole in his head where his horn should have been, and there were deep scars around his chest and flank.

Slaughter stood up straighter and smiled when she saw him. “He was a good toy. Took longer to break than most.”

Fickle threw a pair of Jacks on the table. “You mean you’re selling damaged goods? Again?”

Templar snorted, as he slid a pair of eights onto the table. “When has the NCR ever cared about the condition of a pony?”

Fickle threw all four fives, a pair of tens, and a pair of Aces on the table. Then he slammed his remaining cards on the table and locked eyes with Templar. “The Northern Canterlot Republic exists for the purpose of—”

“Ushering in a new era of peace, prosperity, and order to the Wasteland.” Cornelius threw all four Kings, two Queens, and a pair of threes on the table. “Interesting how you don’t have liberty in there. But I suppose a Republic built on the backs of slaves would collapse without them.” He cast a glance at Slaughter. “How strong is his kick?”

Slaughter threw all four sixes, a pair of nines and pair of sevens on the card pile. “I had him crush a pony’s skull beneath his bare hooves.”

“By any chance did you happen to bring the headless body?”

“Of course. It won’t get any work done, but it’s still fuckable.”

The sides of Cornelius’ mouth twitched. “That was more information than I wanted, but thank you anyways.”

“You all make me sick.” Templar tossed the other pair of Jacks and Queens on the table, as well as a pair of twos.

“Ah, yes. Our white knight.” Fairchild dropped one pair of aces onto the table. “Tell me again, Templar. What exactly did you do to get discharged again?” When Templar was silent, Fairchild smirked. He threw a pair of twos on the table. “Oh, now I remember. You had an interest in the Star Paladin’s daughter. She said no, and you had your fun anyways. And, if I’m right, you nearly beat her to death when she rejected you.” Then he placed a pair of fours on the table.

“I’ve changed since then. I’ve found the Light.”

Slaughter rolled her eyes. “Not that fucking journal again. I swear, Templar, you’d have been that mare’s bitch if she were still alive.” A slight blush formed on Templar’s cheeks. Slaughter’s response was to cackle. “You would. You actually would.”

Templar opened his mouth, but he was cut off.

“Ponies don’t change, Templar.” Cornelius placed a hoof on the statuette around his neck. He stared at the rainbow pegasus with a grim smile. “Not really. Sooner or later they return to their original natures. It’s just a matter of time.”

Fickle sighed. “Speaking of time, are we going to play cards or not? The NCR could use a few more recruits.”

Fairchild nodded and waved his claw towards Fickle. “Go ahead and start.”

Fickle stretched out one of his wings and plucked a card from Slaughter. He frowned when he saw it. “Damnit.”

“Now I know not to pick that one. Likely the lone Joker.” Templar reached out with his hoof, but Fickle quickly swapped the order of his cards.

Templar picked a card. He grimaced when he saw the card. “Sneaky son of a bitch.” He turned towards Cornelius and presented his cards.

Cornelius reached out with his tail, but he hesitated. “Aren’t you going to shuffle your cards first?”

Templar shook his head. “I don’t play unfair. I believe everypony should have a fair and equal chance at victory.”

Cornelius shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He snatched a card with his tail and dropped a pair of sevens onto the pile. He presented his cards to Fairchild, while his eyes were fixed on the stallion on the screen. “He would be a fine addition to my armory.”

Templar and Fickle both flinched at Cornelius’ words. Slaughter snickered at the two of them. Fairchild’s only reaction was to take a card from Cornelius. A four. Fairchild discarded the four along with its match.

Slaughter levitated a card from Fairchild. She looked at the card and immediately laughed. “Ha!” She took another card from her hand and tossed it onto the pile with her new one. Two threes. She presented her lone card to Fickle. “Ready to finish me off?”

Fickle plucked the card with his wing. “Gladly.” He dropped a pair of eights on the table. He reached his wing towards Slaughter, and she responded by giving it a victory slap.

Templar eyed his own set of cards with a sigh. “I’m likely going to lose.” He fixed his eyes to Fairchild’s two cards. “I’ll take the one on the right.”

Fairchild dropped the card face down on the table. He flicked one of his metallic talons, and the card slid towards Templar. Templar flipped the card over, and he dropped another nine on it. He pushed the pair of nines into the pile with his tail, while offering his cards to Cornelius. Cornelius grabbed a card and grimaced.

Fairchild took the other card from Cornelius; in his hoof and claw were a seven and a ten. Templar had two cards, while Cornelius had one. Given Cornelius’ grimace, it was likely he had taken the Joker from Templar. Which meant Templar had a seven and a ten as well. Templar would have one pair, and he would be out of cards once Cornelius took one. Then Fairchild would have a fifty-fifty chance of losing the game.

“Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warmed him—with her death.”

Templar took the ten, and his other card was taken by Cornelius. Cornelius turned his body, and shadows leaked from his eyes. His cards were obscured by a cloud of darkness. Slowly, the darkness retreated back into his eyes. The batpony turned towards Fairchild. “Choose wisely.”

Fairchild took the card on the left. The Joker. He gripped both cards in his metallic claw. He shuffled the cards with his talons. The cards danced across his claw as a blur, frequently trading places. After twenty-seven swaps, Fairchild presented the cards to Cornelius.

Cornelius chuckled, as he waved his tail back and forth. “You can’t fool these eyes, Fairchild.” Cornelius grabbed the ten with his tail and slapped it on top of the others.

“Ha!” Slaughter smiled mockingly at Fairchild. “House always wins my flank.”

“Quite right.” Fairchild’s eyes admired Slaughter’s flank. “I will win your flank.”

Slaughter rolled her eyes and looked at Fickle. “What do you want to know about Muscles?”

Fickle’s reply was quick and curt. “Nothing. I pass.”

Slaughter’s face scrunched up. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “May I ask what the fuck for?”

“Because he—” Fickle turned to face Slaughter, but he flinched away from her gaze. He turned his head with a cough and looked at the screen. “He’s damaged goods. He’s too skittish to be a soldier, and if you’ve played with him he probably won’t want to breed either.” Slaughter stood up straighter after that remark. Fickle pointed to the stallion’s legs with a wing. “He looks too damaged to be an effective worker. And if he won’t fight, fuck, or—hmm, what’s an alliterative word for building?”

“Fortify,” Cornelius offered.

Fickle snapped the feathers at the end of his wing. “Thank you. And if he won’t fight, fuck, or fortify, I don’t see the point in wasting my pick on him.” He used his wing to grip his Sparkle Cherry and took a short drink. “So, pass.”

Slaughter sank back into her chair. She sighed and waved a hoof. “I’m passing too. I don’t want to keep him.”

Templar’s eyes were fixed on the screen. “He’s perfect.”

Fickle snorted. “Perfect for what? Look at him. He looks like he can barely walk.” Again, Slaughter perked up at Fickle’s comment.

Templar continued to stare at the pony on the screen. “Exactly. Failed Wish exists to give ponies like him another chance at a meaningful life.”

Cornelius raised a hoof. “That’s all well and good, Templar, but I want that stallion as well. What if I trade you my next two picks? You would get to pick twice in a row in the next two rounds.”

Fickle rubbed his chin with his wing. “What are you ponies seeing in this stallion that I don’t?”

Cornelius stretched his own wings and smiled. “Simple, Fickle. The NCR is focused on what a pony can provide right now; I am focused on their potential. And I believe that stallion has plenty of potential.” He swiveled his head towards Templar. “Trade?”

Templar snorted. “I refuse to trade a pony.” He tapped his hoof twice on the table. “I’ll take him.”

Fairchild nodded. “The first pick has been made.” He reached into his vest and produced a small radio. He pushed a button on the radio and began to speak. “He’s Templar’s pick. I have the next show. Bring out Passion.” He placed the radio on the table and smirked.

The scarred stallion was escorted away, and he was quickly replaced by a young, light grey mare. She wore a tight-fitting, frilly, pink dress. She batted her light blue eyes towards the screen. Fairchild gestured to the screen with his claw. “Gentlecolts. Slaughter. May I introduce you all to Passion. She’s been a dancer at the casino for the past five years. If you want some pleasurable company, I can personally recommend her services.”

He sighed with a shake of his head. “But, alas, she’s getting cabin fever. She wants to see Equestria, or what’s left of it. She’s at the age where she’s looking for love. As you all know, that makes her too old for my tastes.” He paused so Slaughter could let out her disgusted chuckle. “She hasn’t worked off her debt so I can’t just let her go. Thus, she’s open for taking.”

Fickle rubbed his chin with his wing. “Looking for love, you say. That is tempting. She could be a breeder. And even if not, we could always use morale boosters in the NCR.” As if she heard him, the mare blew a kiss towards the screen. Fickle groaned. “I think I’ll have to pass. Unfortunately….”

Slaughter’s nose wrinkled as she shook her head. “I’m passing too. I don’t want any toys you’ve already played with.”

Fairchild let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Very well then. Cornelius?”

Cornelius wasn’t looking at Fairchild or the screen. His gaze was fixed on Templar. “A pretty young mare like that. She’s not the type of pony I usually bring black to Cloudsdale. But I suppose the prisoners could use a…-what did you call her Fickle?”

“Morale booster?”

Cornelius clicked his tongue twice. “Ah, yes, that’s the term. They could use a morale booster. But, with the right leverage, I can let her leave here with you. Maybe she could replace that Ranger you were so fond of.”

Templar’s face displayed both disgust and disbelief. “Leverage? How can you say something like that about a fellow pony?”

There was no mirth in Cornelius’s ensuing smile. There was even less empathy in his eyes. “I am a batpony ghoul, Templar. There is nothing ‘fellow’ about that mare and me.”

Templar glowered at Cornelius. “I won’t give you the stallion. I already told you I refuse to trade ponies as if—”

“Spare us the self-righteous horseapples, Templar.” Slaughter hopped onto the table and trotted over to Templar.”

Fickle turned towards Fairchild. “Is she allowed to do that?”

Slaughter lashed her tail in Fickle’s direction. “He’s going to get a prime view of my flank. He’s not going to say no.”

Fairchild didn’t say anything; he was too focused on his prime view.

Slaughter leaned forward so that her face was almost touching Templar’s. “You’ve shoveled so much shit down our throats that I’m about to fucking gag. We treat the slave trade like a game. ‘Cause, guess what, it fucking is. A game you have no problem playing with us. So don’t for a second think you’re better than us you self-righteous cunt.” She finished by jabbing her hoof into his chest.

Templar replied by flicking his hoof against Slaughter’s forehead. The impact sent her skidding a few hoof-steps away. She rubbed her head, and glared defiantly at Templar. “Try that again, and I’ll ram my horn so far thro—”

“The old me wouldn’t have needed to try again.” The sharpness of his tone made the others flinch. Even Cornelius twitched. “The old me would have crushed your skull without a second thought for daring to speak to him like that. But I’m not like that anymore. The Light changed me. The Light makes me better.” He rounded on Cornelius. “That stallion is now a part of Failed Wish. I will not turn him over to you under any circumstance.”

Cornelius took one more sip of his wine, which left his glass empty. Without taking his eyes off Templar, he refilled his glass with sparkling blood red wine. “Pass.”

Fairchild took a drink of Sparkle Cherry. “Pass, which means Templar is free to take her.”

“I will.” He tapped his hoof twice.

Fairchild spoke into his radio again. “Congratulations, Passion. You’ve been chosen by Templar go return with him to Mailed Fish—”

“Failed Wish.”

“Whatever. To start a new life. Make sure to give him a proper thank you.”

Passion curtsied, and she blew another kiss to the screen.

Fairchild snickered at Templar. “You’re welcome.”

Templar turned his head and coughed, but there was no hiding his blush.

“Awww.” Slaughter was leaning back in her chair. Her back hooves rested on the table, while her front hooves pressed against her cheeks. “You gave him a pump station. That’s so sweet.” She outstretched her tongue and made a gagging noise.

Fairchild took a much longer sip of his drink. “Your turn, Slaughter.”

“Oh, I know.” Slaughter closed her eyes and giggled. “This one’s for you, you sick fuck.”

Passion had been escorted out. In her stead were two nearly identical mares. Both had maroon coats, and they each had a large white patch around their left eye. Both had dark blue eyes, dirty black manes, and a deep green locket around their necks. The main difference between the two was one mare was fully grown with a cutie mark, a pair of hooves wrapped around a heart, while the other was a blank-flank filly.

“Mother and daughter. Package deal. I wonder if anyone wants that filly.” The wild lust in Fairchild’s eyes were the only reply she needed. Slaughter’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “This is too rich. Fickle, please tell me you want them. That would be the icing on the cake.”

He rapped his wing on the table twice. “I do.”

Fairchild’s metallic talons twitched. “Care to say that again?”

“Ye…-ye…yes I.” Fickle cleared his throat. “Yes. I want them. Well, I—hey don’t glare at me like that. I only want the mother. I can trade you the filly.”

Fairchild folded his hoof and claw. He rested his chin upon them, and he leaned towards Fickle. “What do you propose?”

“I want your next two picks, and your first pick for our next meeting.”

“Done.”

Fickle, who had been drinking from his Sparkle Cherry, began to choke on his soda. He pounded his chest with his hoof until the choking spell had ceased. “Forgive me. I’m just surprised you took the deal so willingly.”

Fairchild shrugged. “You underestimate how much I want that filly.” He leaned down towards the small radio. “The mare is Fickle’s; the filly is mine. I want her in here after the meeting. Get her ready.”

The guards separated the mother from her child. The mother struggled against her captors. She kicked one in the shin; she tried to buck the other with her back legs. She missed and fell onto her belly. The second guard then knocked her unconscious with his pistol.

“Momma!” Tears soaked the filly’s tender cheeks. The guards did not use force to subdue her. Not after what Fairchild had done to the last guard who had injured a child. Fairchild watched the scene unfold before him with a warm smile.

“Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.”

The meeting continued, but Fairchild paid the others no heed. The blood running through his veins burned as he thought of the filly. How she would tremble at his touch. The taste of her virgin lips. The sound of her crying for the Momma. Beads of sweat poured down his body. “Ohhh, yessss….”

“Fairchild?”

Cornelius’ voice snapped Fairchild out of his trance. He wiped his face with his hoof. “Yes?”

“The meeting is over, Fairchild. We’re leaving.” Cornelius finished the last bit of wine. “As always. Your choice of wine was superb.” He patted Fairchild with his tail as he glided out of the room.

Fickle’s face bore an expression of concern. “Does your dick owe you money or something?”

Fairchild raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Slaughter approached Fickle’s side and giggled. “Oh, we were just wondering. Ya know, ‘cause you were beating it like it was.” She raised her hoof, and Fickle slapped it with his wing. The two walked off together, snickering as they left.

Fairchild clapped his hoof and claw together. When he saw Templar’s incredulous expression, he simply shrugged. “What? That was actually funny.”

Templar shook his head. Without saying a word, he stood up and walked by Fairchild.

“You’re not even going to say goodbye.” Templar’s answer was to keep walking. “Leave the door open. I’m expecting company.”

Templar stopped walking. “Do you know what your vice is, Fairchild?”

Fairchild finished his Sparkle Cherry with a relaxed sigh. “My insatiable desire for young girls?”

“No. It’s your arrogance. One day, you’re going to be feeling completely untouchable. And someone’s going to burst through that door and put a bullet through your head.”

“Oh, really now?” Fairchild’s eyes glinted. The turrets swiveled towards Templar. “Is that a threat?”

“No. Just a hunch.” Templar resumed his walking. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Eventually, Fairchild was unable to hear the hoofsteps. He heard nothing but silence. Even the radio was quiet. Honest Jack must have gone on break. The quiet was deafening. So much so that Fairchild drummed his talons against the table solely to hear sound. “What does that self-righteous fuckboy know? Nopony, griffin or any other abomination will ever put a bullet through my head. I’ll make sure of—”

“Mr. Fairchild?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked from excitement. He quickly cleared his throat and turned around. “Yes?”

There she was. The maroon filly had been clothed with a lacy blue dress and black socks. Blush had been added to her cheeks so they could appear more succulent. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Fairchild?”

Fairchild licked his lips. “Yes, my dear. Would you mind coming closer?”

She gingerly stepped towards him. Fairchild’s heartbeat quickened with each step. It was almost time.

“Mr. Fairchild, where’s my Momma?”

He brushed her cheek with his hoof. So soft…. “I’m sorry, my dear. One of my friends has your Momma. But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

She sniffled. “You will?”

Fairchild drew an “X” over his chest with his talons. “Cross my heart.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fairchild!” She wrapped her tiny hooves around his waist. “Thank you so much.”

He stroked the back of her neck with his claw. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “No, my dear. Thank you….”

Author's Notes:

Hey, all! Crystals is back. And on the night of the return of season 6. Psshing! I had picked July hoping to have some material to post, but it was kind of an arbitrary date. But everything’s gone really well. I was able to finish my other book and finish my edits, and I had plenty of time to work on Coalescence after. I’m really excited to be venturing into the Equestrian Wasteland.

And what an uncomfortable way to do it. But, I felt it was necessary. Part of what makes the Crystal Wasteland different from the regular Wasteland is the civility. Yes, there are still terrible people who do terrible things. But for the most part, it’s a civilized society. Even the True Cadanites seem like likeable people once you take away their zealous bigotry. At least, that was the intent. But here, there’s little to no civility. And I thought there would be no better way to capture the moral desert of the Wasteland than through the eyes of a child molesting slaver. It might not have been the funnest way to return to Crystal Hearts, but I am glad to be back.

And, as always, a special thank you to Kkat, other FO:E writers, and the readers of Crystals. Sorry it’s been so long since the last chapter. I hope the upcoming chapters will be worth it. See ya in a month!