“Welcome to Boulder Springs.” Packrat faced us and gestured to a sign behind her. The letter “B” on the sign fell off as soon as she pointed to it. Without turning around, she chuckled and shrugged. “It does that.”

Well. I supposed that was one reason to temper my expectations. Another reason was what I saw in the center of the town. There was a large boulder sitting inside a small hot spring. Boulder Springs. I wondered if the pony who named this town was the same pony who named the Cemetery. It explained the lack of creativity.

The parts of the town around the eponymous springs were more interesting to observe. For starters, there was the worn-down clock tower. Interestingly enough, the clock itself looked almost pristine. The face was well polished; the second hand was working perfectly fine. Comparatively, the building surrounding the clock was worn down. At the very least it could have used a dusting.

There were two buildings situated side by side next to the clock tower. One was labeled “Food,” and I assumed it was a canteen. The other was called “Wk ut.” What? The door opened and two muscular stallions trotted outside. Their coats glistened with sweat, and the duo drank from water bottles as they walked. Ah. It was a gym. The words had likely spelled “Work Out” at some point.

On the other side of the clock tower was another building that had seen better days. The roof in particular was missing more than a few shingles. All of the windows had bars on them. That was my first indicator that the building was a prison. My second was the guard. A zebra sat on the steps of the building. The zebra’s mane was smooth and was clinging closely to his neck. Part of his left front hoof was missing, and his right back hoof was mangled. The left half of his face had been badly burned. Perhaps it was the light, but his left eye appeared misty and sightless.

I was not sure what to make of the zebra. On one hoof, I doubted he would make an effective guard. If he was blind in one eye and had a mangled hoof, I suspected he would be easy to sneak past and outrun. However, he was also carrying a halberd. The size of his weapon was magnificent. It did not matter if the zebra was slow on his hooves if he could cut an enemy down from a distance.

The door to the prison opened. The zebra leapt to his hooves and swung the halberd. It stopped just inches away from the neck of a chartreuse pegasus. The pegasus was wearing a modest brown robe, and he carried a book in his mouth. A robe and a book? Was he a priest? He touched one of his hooves to the halberd and gently lowered it to the ground. I noticed he wore the same device as Packrat on his leg.

“A zebra and a Stable pony. This town does seem to attract outsiders,” Lysandra murmured.

Packrat nodded. “Yeah. Azrael, that’s the zebra. He’s been here since forever. I don’t really know his story, but I’ve heard he’s more loyal to Mom than anypony else in town. And that pony with him is Spectrum. He’s from Stable Seven.”

“Pray tell, Packrat. What experiment was the basis for Stable Seven?”

Packrat’s brow furrowed slightly. “Um, I don’t really know that much about it. It was pegasi only. Other than that, Spectrum doesn’t say much about his time there.”

I pointed to the book in his mouth with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, he’s a Confessor.”

“Confessor?” Lysandra echoed.

Packrat nodded. “Uh-huh.” A short period of silence followed her unhelpful statement. Then her eyes grew wide. “Ohhhh! You need me to explain. Got it. Confessors talk to other ponies. They get them to confess the bad things they’ve done in their life and offer them forgiveness.”

So, he was a priest. I rolled my eyes. There was no need for priests if there were no goddesses to follow.

“I see you’re not too keen on faith, friend.” Spectrum had moved swiftly and silently. The book was cradled in his hoof, which allowed him to speak with us. “May I ask why?”

I pointed to the scar across my neck.

“You blame a higher being for your pain. I can understand that. But may I ju—”

“Actually,” Lysandra interrupted. “I believe he’s just saying he can’t fully answer your question because he’s mute. Right, Savage?”

I nodded.

“Ah.” Spectrum shook his head with a smile. “I apologize for misunderstanding you.” He offered a hoof. “Spectrum. I’m the resident Confessor of Boulder Springs.”

Lysandra extended her hoof. “Lysandra Margaux.”

Spectrum took a step back. “The Pearl of Vanhoover?”

“Well, well.” She stood up straighter and flipped her mane. Given how short it now was, the effect was severely diminished. “I’m glad to know somepony is cultured enough to have heard of me.”

“Cultured may not be the best word, Miss Margaux.” Spectrum snatched his book with his wing. He started flipping through it. As he did so, I noticed the words were all written in an indecipherable scrawl. He was not carrying a book of teachings; he carried a book of sins. He stopped at an empty page roughly a third of the way through his book. He retrieved a pen from within his robe. “Tell me, Miss Margaux. Do you have any sins you wish to confess?”

Lysandra chuckled. “Why would I do that? I prefer to keep my secrets to myself. Loose lips have been known to sink ships.”

Spectrum frowned. “That may be true, Miss Margaux. But forgiveness can only come to those who confess their sins.”

Lysandra scoffed. The warmth in her smile did not quite reach the frost in her eyes. “I need no forgiveness, Confessor. I’ve learned to keep my conscience quiet.”

Spectrum faced me with a resigned sigh. “Do you have any sins you would like to confess?”

I was uncomfortable with the notion, but I was in full agreement with Lysandra. I needed no forgiveness. I no longer answered to the Goddess; I answered to myself. If I could justify an action under my two rules, then I felt no guilt. Thus, I needed no forgiveness.

I shook my head.

Spectrum nodded, and he packed away his book and pen. “I cannot say I agree with your decisions, but I will respect them. Please know that my door is always open if you wish t—”

“Wait!” Packrat’s hoof shot into the air. “I have some things to confess.”

Spectrum retrieved his book and pen. He flipped through the book until he reached a slew of pages with green ink. “Yes?”

Packrat sighed. “Okay. I killed a pony because my PipBuck said to. Then I met Savage and got really lusty. Then I—”

“Don’t forget you shot me in the face,” Lysandra said bitterly.

“Shot Lysa in the face. I did a lot of looting, which is bad. And I know it’s bad. But I love it sooooooo much.” Her sigh was the sound of pure bliss. “Mhmmm. So many caps….”

Goddess not above, she was drooling. I thumped the back of her head with my hoof. She snapped out of her trance, and she used one of her forelegs to wipe the drool from her mouth. It was the same hoof with the device attached to it. I assumed that was the “PipBuck” she had referred to.

She chuckled awkwardly and flashed me a grin. “Thanks for that.” She titled her head back. “Hmmm. What else did I do?”

“You lusted after me.”

“Shit yeah I did. And if you need a place to stay tonight I’d be more than happy to—”
Lysandra slapped Packrat, again. Packrat rubbed her cheek and grumbled something. It sounded something to the effect of “stupid sexy pearl pony.”

Spectrum looked up after he finished writing in his book. “Is that all, Packrat?”

She nodded. “Yes. There’s nothing else I feel guilt for.”

That was an interesting choice of words. She was refusing to admit her murder of the raider. She seemed to be acknowledging that it was a sin, but it was not one she regretted. I wondered if that was how Orchestra viewed her murder of Lyra.

The look in Spectrum’s rose eyes told me he picked up on Packrat’s sentiment. But he did not comment further. He stood on his hooves and packed away his pen and book. In their stead, he retrieved a small vial of a pale gold liquid. Spectrum opened the vial and poured the liquid over Packrat’s head. From the smell, I assumed it was some kind of cooking oil. “Your sins have been acknowledged and forgiven.” He wrapped a hoof around the back of her neck and pulled her close. Spectrum kissed the top of Packrat’s head. “Go forth and walk in the truth.”

Whatever that meant. Truth could mean different things to different ponies. Orchestra and I held contradictory truths about similar topics. She believed there was a Goddess; I knew there was no such thing. She believed non-crystal ponies were heathens to be purged; I viewed them as people equal to us. She knew our parents as ponies of color and personality; I only saw them as vague shadows. Packrat’s truth was that looting was fun, enemy ponies needed to die, and avenging her fallen friend was nothing to lose sleep over. Telling her to walk in the truth, while acknowledging her truth was sinful, seemed contradictory to me.

“Thank you.” Packrat did not seem to share my views. She just smiled at the Confessor. “Is Mom in her office?”

Spectrum nodded. “Yes. I believe Shadow is with her currently.” He grimaced and cast his eyes towards the prison. “She recently returned from a rather unscrupulous assignment.”

Packrat winced. “Oh. Did she do that thing with the—” Spectrum nodded. “Right in the—” Spectrum nodded again. Packrat shuddered. “I love that mare, but she scares me sometimes.”

“Yes.” Spectrum tapped his hoof against his breast. I assumed that was where he had stored his book. “Never before have I met a pony so…-jovial about her transgressions.”

“Sounds like my kind of pony,” Lysandra whispered to me.

Jovial? I wondered what Spectrum and Lysandra would have thought of Carbine.

“Okay, we’ll be seeing you, Spectrum.” Packrat waved to the Confessor and took off running.

Lysandra sighed. “I suppose we should follow her.” She cantered after Packrat.

I followed in her hoofsteps, but I paused. For some reason, I turned back towards Spectrum. He was not looking in our direction. Rather, he was focused on a silver locket around his neck. Spectrum’s eyes sparkled with sadness. It was the look I imagined was on my face whenever I reminisced about Lyra. He touched the locket to his lips and kissed the cold silver. “Forgive me, Borealis.”

Hmmm. It seemed the Confessor had his own sins to confess. I was mildly curious to discover the secret behind Stable Seven. Just as I was mildly curious to discover just what exactly a Stable was.

“Coming, darling?”

I bristled at Lysandra’s choice of words. I was not her darling. There was malevolence in her chuckle as I strode past her. She trotted beside me. “Just think of the cornucopia of sins we could create together, Savage. I won’t confess them if you won’t.”

My coat continued to bristle. Though, I was loathe to admit it, it was more out of anticipation than irritation. There was just something about Lysandra’s tone….

Packrat led us to a small house. The house was painted the drabbest shade of grey imaginable. The décor surrounding the house was not much to look at either. There were rocks, and every now and then there was a boulder. Maybe the inside would be more creative. Perhaps we would find stones inside.

The door opened, and a pony stepped out. At least, I assumed it was a pony. Whoever stood before me was covered from head to hooves in skin-tight barding. The barding was primarily purple with patches of black on the chest, head, and hooves. The black and purple were separated by yellow zigzags made to resemble lightning bolts. On the pony’s flank was what appeared to be a pony skull with a wing protruding from behind. The possible pony was also wearing a purple and gold mask over its eyes, while the mouth was obscured as well. The only visible body part was the nose.

There were no mane or tail that I could see. Nor could I find wings or a horn. I could not speak for the wings or horn, but I wondered if the lack of mane and tail was a side-effect of being a ghoul. I could tell this was a ghoul due to its nose having the same texture as Reverend Bones’.

“Shadow!”

The masked creature, which I was going to assume was a pony until further evidence proved otherwise, emitted a sound I could not describe. I assumed it was a chuckle, but it was hard to discern due to how gravelly the sound was. The muffling of the mask did not help either. “Hey, Squirt.”

Shadow raised a hoof. Packrat raised her own hoof and jumped towards Shadow. But Shadow pulled her hoof back at the last moment and shook her head. “Too slow, Squirt.”

Packrat lowered her head and grumbled. “Every time.”

Something resembling a laugh rumbled in Shadow’s throat. She patted Packrat’s head and ruffled her mane. “Maybe next time, Squirt.” She turned her head. Since her eyes were obscured, I could only assume that she was looking at Lysandra and me. “Who’re these two? Prisoners or fuck buddies?”

“Neither, actually.” Lysandra stepped forward and offered a hoof. “Lysandra Margaux.”

“Shadowbolt number 007. Everypony calls me Shadow.” She titled her head downwards, and I could hear the disdain creeping into her voice. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not touch hooves with a raider.”

“Ahh. My reputation continues to precede me.” Lysandra titled her head backwards and brushed the remnants of her mane with her hoof.

“Sure. If you like being labeled as a murderous tart.”

Lysandra fluttered her eyes and flashed Shadow a sensual smile. “We all have our talents.”

“And some of us get to keep our faces.”

Lysandra paused. All semblances of friendliness melted from her expression. Her blue eyes glistened as she glared at Shadow. “And some of us have the gall to actually show our faces.”

There was a long pause. Lysandra was smirking, while Shadow did not move. I did not know her, and her lack of a response made me very uncomfortable. Packrat, who had been standing in-between the two mares, noticeably took a couple steps back.

“Oh, that’s right. You can’t see my face. My bad.” Shadow took a step forward and outstretched her hoof. “Respect, Tart. That was actually funny.”

Pure disdain took ahold of Lysandra’s face, but she touched hooves anyways.

Shadow turned her head towards me. “What’s your role, Sparkles? Are you the cherry on top of the tart?”

“Nope.” Packrat walked towards me and wrapped a hoof around one of my legs. “Savage is a hellhound slayer.”

I noticed Lysandra flinch at that. I simply shrugged my shoulders.

“A hellhound slayer. Well, come back and talk after you’ve slain zebras, griffons, and a dragon.”

“I’m assuming you’ve killed all those creatures yourself?” Lysandra ran her eyes up and down Shadow. “You’re quite the accomplished warrior, aren’t you?”

Shadow snickered. “Watch out, Tart. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I know.” Lysandra flipped her mane. “That’s sort of the idea.”

Shadow shook her head. “Sorry, but I’m not really into scissors.”

Scissors? What was she talking about? Packrat was blushing, while Lysandra had a knowing frown on her face. Perhaps it was a mare thing.

Shadow tilted her head back and yawned. “I’ve had a long day, and I need to get up early for tomorrow. Which means I need some booze.” She strutted past us. “Nice to meet you Tart and Sparkles. Later, Squirt!”

Packrat stood at attention and saluted. “Bye, Shadow.”

Shadow chuckled and returned the salute before dashing off.

Packrat watched Shadow leave. She did not move; she did not even lower her hoof. The only easily identifiable signs of life were her eyes following Shadow. That and the drool forming in the corner of her…-I swatted her with my tail.

“Ow.” Packrat rubbed her cheek with a sour expression. Lysandra and I gave her incredulous looks. “What? She looks great in that uniform.”

Lysandra and I both rolled our eyes, as Packrat led us inside. Almost immediately, we reached a fork in the home. There was a wall in front of us with two branching pathways. I could hear sounds coming from the left hallway. I could not make out any words, but it sounded vaguely like a conversation. Conversely, the right hallway was as silent as the rock garden outside.

Packrat pointed towards the right hallway with her hoof. “That way.”

“Are you sure, Packrat? If we’re going to meet your mother shouldn’t we head towards the sound of ponies?”

“Nah.” Packrat shook her head and started walking down the right hallway. “Mom keeps her office away from the rooms. Oh, and Mom’s not actually my mom. I just call her that.”

“Fascinating.” Lysandra’s tone was slightly more condescending than usual.

Packrat did not seem to notice. She continued walking down the hallway. She led us to a closed grey door. Packrat knocked on the door. “Mom?”

There was no response. Undeterred, Packrat shrugged and opened the door. I stepped inside and was overwhelmed by how underwhelmed I was. Mom’s office was, in a word, grey. The walls and furniture shared the same drab color. By furniture, I meant there were a few chairs and a desk. On the desk was a clear glass tank. The tank was filled with an assortment of rocks. The words “Rock Petting Zoo” were scrawled on the walls of the tank.

Lysandra ran a hoof across the desk. Her lips curled into a grimace as she gazed at the coat of dust on her hoof. “I’ll never understand how some ponies are able to live in such filthy conditions.” She blew the dust off her hoof.

It found a new home on Packrat’s nose. “A…-a…-achoo!”

“Gesundheit.”

The three of us turned towards the door. An earth pony was standing in the doorway. Her mottled coat was as grey as the wall of the office. To my surprise, the frock she wore was blue rather than grey. Although the color had faded to the point it was practically grey anyways.

The balefire bomb went off in Packrat’s eyes. “Mom!” She bounded towards the grey ghoul, and she wrapped her hooves around the ghoul’s neck in a hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Mom replied in a monotone.

Lysandra and I exchanged glances. This mare emoted as much as the rocks in her petting zoo. It only now hit me how strange the concept of a rock petting zoo was. I was surrounded by so many strange ponies the bizarre was beginning to seem normal.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Packrat backpedaled until she was in-between Mom and Lysa and I. “Mom, these are my friends. Savage and Lysandra. Guys, this is Mom. Maud Pie.”

Lysandra reached out a hoof. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Pie.”

Maud glanced down at Lysandra’s hoof. She grunted and looked at Packrat. “Have they come to live here?”

“Mm-hmm. They’re my new friends.”

Maud grunted again. “In that case.” She turned to face us. “Welcome to Boulder Springs. Greatest settlement in the Wasteland.” If there was any trace of genuineness in her words, it was not conveyed in her voice. “If you want to live here, you have to work. You can help around town, or you can take jobs. Ten percent of everything you earn goes to the town. Everything else you get to keep. Those are the rules. If you don’t like it, you can leave.” She blinked once. “Any questions?”

Lysandra raised a hoof. “Yes. What kind of work do you do around town?”

Maud blinked again. “I built Boulder Springs with my bare hooves.” She reached a hoof from her frock and produced a small rock. “Boulder helped. It’s why I named the town after him.”

Lysandra and I exchanged glances a second time. Packrat did not partake in our skepticism. She was nodding at everything Maud Pie stated. Maud placed Boulder back into her pocket. She blinked twice and addressed Lysandra and I. “What do you two do?”

Lysandra raised her head proudly. “I am an effective manager of other ponies.” She motioned to me with her tail. “He’s a sniper.”

Maud nodded. “What do you two want?”

Lysandra’s expression turned sour. “We already told you what we want, Miss Pie. To stay in your…-lovely town.”

Maud stared at Lysandra without speaking. A few seconds past. Then a minute. Then five minutes. She blinked her eyes rarely, and she did not speak. Lysandra looked back with clear discomfort. Her lips were curled inwards, and her eyes were narrowed. “Miss Pie?”

Maud slowly walked towards her office window. She gazed out at her town. “Ponies come to Boulder Springs because they want something. And they think we can get it for them. You two are no different. What do you two really want?”

Lysandra sighed. “Very well, Miss Pie, I’ll be honest with you. Packrat and Savage invaded my home, killed my companions and my pet, and damaged my face. When given the chance to finish me off, she instead offered me a chance to travel with her. I have nowhere else to go, and so I chose to follow her. To answer your question, I don’t know what I want besides an opportunity to continue living my life.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Packrat levitated the chunks of the hellhound from her saddlebag. “I finished that job you gave me, Mom.” A guilty expression took ahold of her face. She gave Lysandra a small smile. “Sorry.”

Lysandra said nothing, but I could see from her eyes she did not accept Packrat’s apology in the slightest.

Maud took the pieces of the hellhound and stored them somewhere behind the desk. She raised her head and aimed her eyes at me. “And what do you want?”

Packrat stepped forward. “Savage wants to find his friend. I told him if he did some jobs for Boulder Springs then maybe we could give him a team to find his friend.”

Maud’s eyes shifted towards Packrat. There was no ferocity in her gaze, but I still felt the urge to flinch. “You didn’t have the authority to make that promise, Packrat.”

Packrat lowered her head and rubbed one front hoof against the other one. “Um, whoops,” she muttered.

Maud’s gaze returned to me. “But if you can contribute, I’m willing to see what I can do.” She walked back to her desk and sat down. “The Sisters and their Caravan arrived today and will be staying with me until morning. They’re asking for guards on their journey from here to Neighagra. I already told Shadow she could have the job, but I can put you three on it too.”

Packrat slammed her hoof down on the desk. “Done!”

“Yes, Packrat, thank you so much for conferring with us first,” Lysandra scoffed.

Packrat either ignored Lysandra, or she was too focused to pay anything else any attention. The second option actually seemed more plausible to me. Personally, I did not share Lysandra’s sarcastic sentiments. If accepting this job would aid me with rescuing Carbine, then I would happily take it.

Maud grunted again. “Okay. I’ll see you three in the morning. Feel free to leave.”

Packrat hopped onto the desk and wrapped her hooves around Maud’s neck. “Later, Mom. Love you.”

Maud tapped Packrat twice on the neck. “Love you too.”

Packrat slinked off the desk, waved to Maud, and started trotting away.

“Wait.”

Packrat spun around on her hooves. “Yeah, Mom?”

“I wrote a new poem today. It’s called ‘Fragile.’ Would you like to hear it?”

Yes, I actually would. I missed hearing other ponies expressing themselves in ways that did not involve bullets. I sat down in front of the desk.

Packrat slid into an empty space next to me. She looked at Lysandra with large eyes, and she patted the floor next to her. “Come on, Lysandra. Mom’s poetry is the best.”

“Oh, alright.” Lysandra sat next to me. She looked anything but excited for the poetry reading, but at least she was making an effort.

Maud cleared her throat and started reading:

“Ponies think rocks are strong

and can never bend or break.

But some ponies are wrong

since a fragile crystal can shatter.

“Loose stones roll away,

while sturdy boulders choose to say.

Loose stones can lose their traction,

and sturdy boulders erode by reaction.

“Old stones yearn to fade

and keep their secrets safe.

Young stones are honest,

but they’re likely to shatter or break.

“Hidden stones use camouflage

to choose their moments wisely.

Smaller stones suffer abuse

but can still be quite lively.

What did you think of it?”

Packrat clopped her hooves together with unparalleled enthusiasm. Unparalleled because my clopping was minimal, while Lysandra refused to clop at all. I enjoyed the poem, but I was confused by it. First and foremost, I had yet to understand Maud Pie’s fascination—actually, at this point it was more of an obsession—with rocks. Second, her first stanza did not rhyme. I would not mind that if her entire poem was in free verse, but it was the only stanza which did not adhere to an ABAB rhyme scheme. Her poetry was as bizarre as she. I could see where Packrat got it from.

After the poetry reading, Packrat took Lysandra and me to her house.

“I can’t wait for you guys to meet Toothpick. That’s my brother. He’s the greatest pony in the whole world. You’ll see.”

I was not holding my breath. After meeting her “Mom,” I was not too thrilled about the prospect of meeting her “brother.”

Packrat swung open the door, and there he was. A wiry pegasus with a dirty brown mane was sitting on the floor slouched against the wall. He was holding a screwdriver with one of his wings, and he was tinkering with a metal box and some wires. He was not holding the screwdriver in his mouth likely because he was chewing on a toothpick. That explained the moniker.

Packrat hugged him with both hooves and kissed him on the cheek. “Bro! I missed you.”

Toothpick rolled his eyes. “Right about now I miss peace and quiet.” His gaze flicked towards Lysandra and me. “Oh. Great. Just what I need. More distractions.” He ducked under Packrat’s hooves and slithered away from her. “And who are these two sad sacks of shit?”

Lysandra recoiled as if she had been struck. “I beg your pardon, but what the fuck did you just say about me?”

Toothpick fluttered onto the couch. He dropped his box and screwdriver on a coffee table. He lay on his back and let his hooves drape off the sides. “I called you and Glitter over there sad sacks of shit. I mean, just look at you two. You’re missing part of your face. His neck is scarred all to fuck. Not to mention the fact that you’re travelling with my sister. That’s how I know your life is going downhill.”

Lysandra’s glare was cold enough to freeze flame. Conversely, it was fiery enough to melt solid stone. “And what does that make you?”

Toothpick did not look at us as he grinned. “The saddest sack of ‘em all, that’s what.” Snap. “Ah, damnit.” He spat the broken toothpick out of his mouth. He titled his body towards the table and grabbed a tooth pick from a jar. He slipped it inside his mouth and began chewing.

“Tooooothpick.”

“Forget it, Packrat, the answer’s no.”

“Oh, come on!” She threw her hooves up and plopped against a wall. “You didn’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“You were going to ask if I would let you keep some of your stuff in my room because you’re almost out of space.”

Packrat pursed her lips and turned her head away. “No.”

“Then you were going to ask me if I would work on Opus for free.”

“But he needs a touch up.” The massive revolver slipped out of Packrat’s bag and levitated towards Toothpick. “Come on, Toothpick. Don’t you want to add a scope?”

“Not for free I don’t.”

Packrat set her gun on the top of the couch. She was quiet for a few moments. I was unsure if she had given up or if she was contemplating her next strategy. Then she opened her mouth. “I killed him.”

“That’s specific.”

“The fuck who killed Dartboard. I killed him.”

Snap. Toothpick’s toothpick broke in two. He sat upward and faced Packrat. He used one of his wings to push the revolver to the side, and he rested his head where the gun once sat. “You better not be pulling my leg so I’ll give you free shit, Pack.”

“I’m not,” she said with a shake of her head.

“I mean it, Packrat. Don’t fuck with me.”

She shook her head a second time.

He turned towards Lysandra and me. “You saw it happen? She killed the ‘Ho!’ guy who chewed on his knife?”

Lysandra took a step forward. “She saved me from hi—”

“I don’t give a fuck about you.” Toothpick spat the pieces of the toothpick onto the ground. “I just want to know if you saw that fucker die.”

I nodded.

Toothpick rubbed his face with a hoof and groaned. “Congratulations, Sis. You got yourself a free upgrade.” He scooped Opus with his wing and rolled off the couch. “I’ll be in my lab if anypony needs me.” He stopped and groaned. “For the new kids. That’s code for, I’m going to get work done. Don’t fuck with me unless the house is on fire. And even then, I’ll just be pissed you couldn’t figure out how to use the fire extinguisher.”

With that, Toothpick sulked his way towards the basement.

“He was…-something. Wasn’t he, Savage?”

Absolutely charming. He likely had mares eating out of his hoof. I approached the couch and sat down. Goddess not above this was comfortable. Between church pews, tents, and solid ground, I had not felt this comfortable in a long time. My eyes closed. It was rude to sleep on somepony’s furniture without being offered but I….

…-awoke on the floor. I got to my hooves and gazed outside. Darkness had fallen upon the Wasteland. Sleep had taken possession of my comrades. Lysandra was slumped against a chair. The chair appeared to be made of the same material as the couch. I assumed it was just as comfortable. Packrat was sprawled on the floor. She was nibbling on her hoof, and she continued mentioning the name Duststorm. Given the drool pouring from her mouth, I would say I had a decent idea of what she was dreaming of.

A flashing light emitted from the basement. I considered investigating, but I quickly decided against it. I would rather not disturb Toothpick while he was at work. On second thought, I would rather not engage him at all if I could avoid it. I opened the door and walked outside.

The first thing I noticed was the glint of a rifle in the distance pointing at me. However, the rifle pivoted away from me after a few seconds. I assumed somepony, or zebra, was on guard duty, and that I was not deemed to be a threat. I felt relief; I would rather not have been shot at. But, I could not deny, I felt slightly offended. Unless, of course, I was not a threat because the guard had seen me walking around town before. That outcome was satisfactory.

“Howdy, pardner.”

Hmmm? I turned around. I was greeted by the sight of a black mare, with lighter grey hair around her face. A black hat adorned the top of her wiry brown mane, and she had a rifle slung across her back. She spat on her hoof and offered it to me. “I’m Cheyenne. Friends call me Cheye.”

I stared at her hoof. I may have been calling myself Savage, but I did not always have to act like one. I dipped my head politely.

Cheyenne scraped her hoof against the ground. The saliva was gradually rubbed off. “That better?”

I touched hooves with her. Much better.

“Alrighty then.” She tipped her hat over her green eyes. “Yer with PR, ain’t cha?” I nodded again. Cheyenne whistled. “I wish ya luck with that one, Stranger. That Packrat is an odd one.”

No arguments here.

She cocked her head towards a shanty looking building. Most likely the saloon. “Care for a drink?”

My suspicions were confirmed. I shook my head. Both times I had alcohol resulted in my being rendered unconscious. If that were my only grievance, I supposed I could have looked past it. I had the last time I partook in drinking. Being unconscious that night robbed me of time with Lyra. I should have spent every moment of her final twilight with her. Drinking had deprived me of more time with her, and I was more than a little bitter.

“Aw, shoot, Stranger. It ain’t just booze in there. Just have some water. Or soda.”

Now that was agreeable. I followed Cheyenne to Holder’s Hole. The world “shit” had been spray painted in-between the two words, but a large X covered up the profanity. The X, of course, consisted of a pair of light grey legs. It just was not the Wasteland without dismemberment or dead foals.

Cheyenne bucked open the swinging doors. I could be honest. Holder’s Hole was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The tables looked clean. The chairs were not a breeding ground for splinters. The booths appeared worn out, but that was my only aesthetic complaint.

I saw two earth ponies, one stallion and one mare, sitting in one of the booths. The auburn stallion was wearing a leather vest which was reinforced with metal links. In addition to his armor, he carried a sword at his waist. Even in the Crystal Wasteland that was a rarity. Given the prevalence of firearms, I wondered how well a sword suited him. On one hoof, he was alive. On the other, how much combat had he actually seen?

The mare he was speaking with was garbed in splendor. A red velvet dress clung tightly to her body. Her dress did not cover her legs, which gave me an ample view of them. Though I was not focused on her legs for lustful reasons. Rather, I was drawn to the knives she barely concealed within her stockings. Her face was white, but I could not tell if it was her natural color or if she had done so with makeup. Given the blush on her cheeks, mascara on her eyes, and the lush lipstick she wore, it was very hard to tell. The mare walked away from the table into a backroom, and the stallion followed her.

I did not bother thinking about their clandestine activities. I would much rather listen to the music around me. There was a stage in the corner of the room. A golden-brown earth pony with a russet mane sat on a stool on stage. He cradled a saxophone in his hooves. I felt chills as I heard him play. There was legitimate swagger to his music

A sound coming from the bar caused me to look in that direction. The sound I heard was Shadow snoring on a barstool. Next to her was a cream unicorn with viridian mane, who was tapping her hoof as she drank from a glass. I noticed two things about her. First, her horn had been badly chipped. It almost resembled a key. Second, there was a half-empty bottle of golden liquid around her neck. From the aroma wafting from her direction, I assumed it was perfume.

Cheyenne approached the mare and lightly tapped her on the head. “Howdy, Pricilla.”

Pricilla turned around and half-heartedly swatted at Cheyenne. “Hey, Cheye.” She looked at me with eyes as black as pitch. She nudged Cheyenne with a grin. “Convinced Packrat to share, eh?”

Cheyenne sighed. “This is Pricilla. She runs the Shit Shop.”

Shit Shop?

“Damn straight I do.” She raised her empty glass at me. “Shit Shop. ‘Cause I got all the shit you need at my shop.” She took a sip from her glass. Obviously, she came up empty. She opened her eyes and looked dumbfounded. “Speaking of things I need.” She banged her glass twice on the bar. “Sparks! Another round.” She looked back at Cheyenne. “Sis?”

“Sparkle Cola for us.” Cheyenne looked at me. “Does that sound okay, Stranger?”

I nodded.

“Deuces on the Sparkle Cola.” Pricilla banged her hoof twice, again, on the bar. “Chop, chop.”

The door behind the bar opened. A young pegasus with breathtaking orange eyes and very pronounced eyelashes pranced out of the back room. A bottle of liquor balanced on one wing, while twin Sparkle Colas balanced on the other. The drinks delicately slid in front of us. The pegasus fluttered her flame-like eyes in my direction. “Just let me know if you want something with a little more buck.”

Oh. This was stallion. I had not expected that.

Pricilla scoffed. “Stop teasing the new guy, Sparks.”

“Who said I was teasing?” He tapped his wing against my bottle. “On the house.” He tapped Cheyenne’s bottle as well. “For you too.”

Cheyenne tipped her hat. “Thanks, Sparks.” She took a drink. “Parden my askin’, but why so friendly?”

“It’s his first time, and a little generosity goes a long way to building clientele. Besides, I’ve gotten more than enough caps from your sister tonight.”

“Bastard,” Pricilla grumbled mid-gulp, which led to her spitting liquid onto her lap.

Sparks waved a wing in her direction. “Five bits for a bib.”

Pricilla narrowed her eyes. “Fuck you, Sparkle Cola.” She looked down and wiped her hoof on her lap. Her lips curled, and her nose wrinkled. She placed five bottle caps on the table. “Give me the damn bib.”

Sparkle Cola nodded and retreated to the back room. Once he had gone, Pricilla let out a long sigh. “I made myself look like an idiot, didn’t I?”

Absolutely. She may have been able to salvage some of her dignity if she had not purchased the bib. Since my response would not have been comforting, I ignored her and took a drink of my Sparkle Cola. Ahh. The fizz was refreshing to say the least. Especially after drinking contaminated water for the past few days.

“Shoot, Sis. I don’t reckon it makes much difference seein’ as how he’s a colt-cuddler, an’ all.”

Pricilla groaned and rested her head on the bar. “The good ones always are. Especially if they’re cute too.” She looked at me. “Are you a colt-cuddler?”

I shook my head.

“Looking for a mare to settle down with?”

I shook my head again.

She rolled her eyes. “Just as I thought. I’m doomed to be single forever. Doomed I tell you!”

Cheyenne kissed her sister’s broken horn. “There, there, hun. It’ll be okay. You’ll find yerself a great stallion someday.”

“You don’t believe that. I can hear it in your voice!” Pricilla wailed.

I really did not feel like dealing with this right now. I offered Cheyenne a friendly smile, which she halfway returned. I finished my drink, patted Pricilla on the back, and walked out of the tavern.

Judging from the orange color in the sky, I assumed the sun was rising. My companions would likely be rising soon as well. Hmmm. On second thought, Lysandra would likely be rising soon. Packrat struck me as the type who would sleep in if left undisturbed. In which case, I would be sure to wake her. Then I would grab my effects and wait for the mysterious Sisters to join us. Hopefully after the mission was completed I would be able to procure a team to help me find Carbine.

Hold on, Carbine, I—

“Enjoying yourself, Glitter?”

I turned around. Toothpick was standing on his back legs, slouching against the wall of the saloon. There was a long toothpick in his mouth, which he nibbled on. His eyes were as sharp as broken glass. He slid off the wall and onto all four hooves. He approached me with a snarl. “I took the liberty of inspecting your battle saddle while you were out. It just looked so well made I couldn’t help myself.

“It’s in peak condition. There’s little to no wear and tear to the leather. The bit was working well too. Which leads me to believe one of two options, although they aren’t mutually exclusive. One, you rarely use it. Or, two, that it was designed by a genius. Oh wait, I already know that it was. Do you know why, Glitter?”

I had a feeling I knew where this was going. Try as he might, Toothpick was not going to make me feel guilt for killing that mare. She shot first. She missed. It was as much her fault as it was mine. Taking her battle saddle kept it in use. I was not so cold as to think he should thank me for keeping his creation in good condition. However, it was better than leaving it to rust in the snow.

He snarled at me and spat out his toothpick. It hit my cheek and bounced onto the ground. “You know, I think you already do. And from the look in your eye, I don’t think you give one iota of a fuck that you killed my friend.” He turned his head away and produced another toothpick from his feathers.

He flicked his gaze back towards me. “Listen closely, Glitter, because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t know what Duststorm did to get herself killed. She was always a hot-headed bitch. Knowing her, she probably deserved it. But since she’s my friend, I’m choosing to blame you instead. Since I’m blaming you, I’ve decided that I hate you. And you can ask Packrat. I get really stubborn once I’ve decided to hate somepony.” He snickered, and his new toothpick moved from the left side of his mouth to his right. “Well, I would say that. But since you’ve got that scar on your neck, I’m guessing you wouldn’t be able to ask her much of anything.”

I spat on him. My saliva splattered on his cheek. He was grieving for his friend; I could understand that. Especially since I had lost friends as well. He could blame me as much as he wanted. But I was not going to let some puny pegasus insult me like that. I also could not lie. It was cathartic to have my liquids end up on somepony else instead of the other way around. I just pra—hoped next time it would not end up being my blood.

Toothpick pressed a hoof against his cheek and wiped my saliva off. He pointed his hoof at me. I assumed he was trying to be intimidating, but it was hard to take him seriously with spit dripping from his hoof. Toothpick gazed at his hoof with a scowl. He seemed to pick up on his predicament. “Whatever.” He pivoted on his hooves and turned his back to me.

He started walking away from me, but he stopped. “There’s no point in telling you to stay away from my sister. She’s already set her sights on you, and I know she won’t let up. I doubt even telling her about Duststorm will stop her, so I won’t bother. But I want you to promise me that you won’t hurt my sister.” He spat out his toothpick. He turned his head to grab another from his feathers. As he did so, he glared at me. “What’s your answer, Glitter?”

I kissed the tip of one of my front hooves, and I touched that hoof onto another hoof. I did not know if Toothpick spoke hoof language, but I still gave him my answer. I promise.

He rolled his eyes with an obnoxious groan. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.” His mouth latched onto another toothpick. He chewed on it violently as he walked away from me.

“Looks like you made a friend, Sparkles.”

It seemed the ghoul had awakened. Shadow trotted over to my side. She sat on her haunches and nudged me. “Real charmer, isn’t he?”

I had already made that joke to myself. But I still smiled at Shadow’s comment.

“Ah, so there’s more to you than just brooding stares and sniper rifles. That gives me something to work with.” She must have caught the roll of my eyes because she snickered. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. Ole Rocks let me know I’m going on a job with you, Squirt and Tart. I’m just happy to know one of the newbies will appreciate my humor.”

After dealing with Packrat’s leers and Lysandra’s general personality, it would be nice to have a female companion who was not interested in making lewd proposals towards me. But that was not the part of her statement my mind chose to focus on. Kid?

Although I could not see her mouth, I had a feeling Shadow was grinning. “I’m over two hundred years old. You’re all kids to me. And even if you weren’t, you’re a mud pony. I get to be condescending.”

To my surprise, there was no hint of scorn in her racist comment. It was unlike what I was used to hearing from the True Cadanites. I assumed Shadow was just trying to make an off-color joke. Instead of making me laugh, or uncomfortable, I was simply confused. And not simply because I was a crystal pony rather than just an earth pony. I pointed to her with a raised eyebrow.

She scoffed. I also imagined she was rolling her eyes. “I’m a horsefly.” She raised a hoof, and she rubbed it against her chest. “And back in my prime, I was one of the most badass fliers in Equestria. It’s why I got this here uniform.”

A horsefly? I had not yet heard that term before. I assumed it was another word for a pegasus. Likely an insult of some sort. This just raised more questions in my mind. If she were a pegasus, what happened to her wings? I had seen ghouls before. The flesh deteriorated, but the bones remained intact. Unicorns kept their horns after all. While I could not explicitly remember seeing a pegasus, I was sure they existed with their wings. Maybe not their feathers, but the skeletal structure of their wings should have remained intact. Shadow had nothing where her wings should have been. This horsefly had been grounded for life. I wondered what happened to her.

My silent questions were answered with a half-hearted chuckle. “We all have our secrets, Sparkles.”

I thought back to my conversation with Toothpick. I had killed one of Packrat’s friends. No, that was not true. I had killed two of them. There had been another pony with Dusttorm. Spyglass, I believed. Packrat and I were not especially close, but I did consider her to be my friend. I seemed to be running low on friends these days. If it was all the same to the powers that be, if there were any, I wanted to keep Packrat as my friend. Shadow said we all had secrets. It seemed I had one as well.

Footnote:

Quest Perk: Caravan Trail. Going on a road trip can be fun. Few words of advice. Don’t run out of food. And don’t die of dysentery! Experience points will be doubled until next level is reached.

Author's Notes:

Authors Notes:

Hey, all! As always, thanks to Kkat for the original story, to other authors who contribute to the universe, and to my readers. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving and managed to survive Black Friday. To any students, finals are coming. So, best of luck!