If there was one thing that I was very good at in this goddess forgotten wasteland, it was being silent. Blackjack’s kiss had thrown me for a bit of a loop. I don’t really like being touched, so to have her suddenly press her whiskey flavoured lips against mine came as kind of a shock. Especially since it was pretty much the first time anypony had kissed me that wasn’t my mother. I guess it wasn’t any surprise to my fellow heartmenders that I sat in silence, simply trying to find my centre as Sandalwood and Slate prepared dinner.

One benefit of having all the resources of Elysium and the Followers at our disposal meant that food was readily available. I watched Sandalwood as she prepared a simple meal out of roasted garlic flavoured Instamash, while Slate stood beside her, slicing up fresh tomatoes that had been delivered from Elysium’s gardens a few days prior to my arrival.

I liked watching the pair cook. Sandalwood seemed to smile more than she had since I’d arrived as she idly chatted with Slate, and the earth pony stallion always seemed to stand a little bit closer than what was normal for colleagues. I felt a small smile cross my muzzle as realisation dawned. The pair weren’t lovers… yet. However, both were clearly trying, and failing, to keep their affections for each other secret. My smile shifted into a knowing smirk as I watched Sandalwood’s wavy tail lightly kink toward Slate’s, and the stallion lightly shifted on his hooves, moving just an inch closer to the unicorn mare. But only an inch. Never enough to touch.

Heartmenders were funny, I figured. We could feel things more strongly than other ponies. We could follow anypony to the deepest, darkest depths of their feelings. But we too had our own buried sentiments. Which only made it the funnier when it was something like love, moreso when it was so poorly hidden.

…Though I really hoped that when Sandalwood and Slate decided to consummate their love, that I would be working with Blackjack. I really didn’t need to know just how much the two of them were enjoying themselves! Being a heartmender around ponies having sex was way more stimulation than I really preferred to have in my life! Being around two heartmenders, their mutual feelings unmasked and glaring outward like balefire...

I shuddered at the thought, and looked up to catch Slate giving me a look, his eyebrow cocked slightly in query.

“It’s nothing, Slate. Just getting a little bit more of this afternoon out of my system,” I lied. He was clearly unconvinced, but to his credit, he didn’t call me on it.

“Hrm. Well, it’s nice to see a pegasus again. We’ve got a regular gathering of the elements here!” He said, setting the plate of sliced tomatoes down on the wooden table in front of me. “All we’d need would be Cinnamon Twist, and we’d have every type of pony left in the wasteland covered, right?”

I must have made a face. Or maybe my emotional shields that I tried to use to guard my feelings for said batpony weren't doing their job keeping my emotions hidden, because Sandalwood chimed in.

“Now Threnody, be nice!” She chided softly, setting three plates down on the table. I smiled as I watched the soothing brown glow of her magic vanish from the plates.

Her magic is brown. I thought. That’s… actually really cool!

“I know Cinnamon is a little… different." Sandalwood continued "But she’s got her heart in the right place.”

“She’s social sandpaper.” I deadpanned, causing Sandalwood to hide a smirk behind her hoof and Slate to start laughing brightly.

The stallion clapped his hooves together, snickering. “Oh. I like you! You say it like it is! Haven’t had anything that refreshing since 69!” He added with a chuckle.

Sandalwood forced herself to take on a matronly expression. “That’s no way to talk about one of the ponies who may well run the Heartmenders one day, Threnody,” She chided, dishing out the Instamash. “I like to think that she does want good things to happen for our clients.”

Sandalwood, are you my mother? I know this shit! I thought to myself. If Sandalwood was my mother, maybe I wouldn’t be so plain…

Slate coughed slightly, then stuck a spoonful of instamash into his mouth. “Mmm~!” He said, chewing slowly. “Did you add more garlic?” He asked. “This tastes better than normal.”

Sandalwood beamed as I tried her creation. Ooo! It did have more garlic! That’s really good! The strawberry roan unicorn started laughing as she watched me dig into my helping of instant mashed potatoes.

“Yes, I added a little bit of garlic to it. And some sweet cream. The brahmin were producing more than even Mayor Charity could sell, so she gave me some under threat of death if I told anypony about her little donation.” She said with a bright smile, taking a bite out of Slate’s carefully sliced tomatoes. “Mmm~ Delicious! Thank you, Slate!”

A little part of me wanted to just scream at the two of them to fuck already. Goddesses, weren’t we a happy little dysfunctional family?

I cleared my plate quickly, snagged a half a tomato slice, and darted to my room.

“Are you sure you don’t want more, Threnody?” Sandalwood called after me.

“No thank you! I’m good!” I yelled back before shutting my door. I wanted some time to myself. I needed to look over Cinnamon Twist’s assessment of Blackjack, and… really I wanted some space. I tend to sulk a little after seeing clients, so shoot me!

I wriggled my hooves beneath the soft cotton sheets, and marvelled at the feeling. Okay. Well, sheets were weird. But I kind of liked them. It made my legs feel like I’d just trimmed my coat short. Yes…

I snagged the crumpled patient assessment from my bedside stand. I let my dark green eyes wander over the words, taking in what I could about my mysterious new client. Cinnamon’s assessment was remarkably thorough, drawing a grudging mark of credit for the redheaded batpony out of me. Sandalwood was right, she was a very competent heartmender, and was very good at using the old Ministry of Peace Manual of Psychology disorder criteria. I was a little rusty on my MPMP disorders, but I knew how they felt. That was kind of how every heartmender worked. Give us the psychological criteria of the disorder, and we were able to confirm what we’d been feeling. The criteria just gave us words to describe the emotions and hurts that a pony was going through. Give those hurts a name, and it could assist the heartmender to figure out how best to help the client.

Blackjack, however… she had lots of names. Lots of criteria. Lots of issues. Her issues had issues. And those issues had embroidered jackets and set up fan clubs.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and frowned. Slate wasn’t kidding when he said I had my work cut out for me. Honestly, we all did! Goddesses…

Quiet knocking on my door made me start, and looked up to see Slate standing in my doorway. “Can I come in?” he asked, offering me a kind smile. I balled up at the head of my bed, shifting Scootaloo and my pillows, and nodded. The earth pony curled up on the end of my bed, and smiled as he spotted Scootaloo’s mane poking up from behind my wing. “Foalhood toy?” He asked, breaking the ice.

“Um, actually I got her from Princess Grace. Apparently the princess felt I needed something for this assignment,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush. “I was the first pony to take interest in the toy since she was a foal.”

Slate gave me an approving nod, and crossed his forelegs. “I just want to make sure you’re doin’ alright comin’ out here and all.” He said, his slight drawl slipping through. “Blackjack isn’t the easiest mare to work with. Even for somepony like me.”

“Somepony like you?”

Slate smiled. “I used to be a whore that worked in Stable 69. Never got the opportunity to meet Blackjack while she was fuckin’ the place up. But I won’t say I didn’t come out of the experience with the more intimate understanding of the reasons for ponies to be all broke inside.” His face fell slightly. “Or a more intimate understanding of the ways they showed that brokenness.”

A part of me wanted to reach over and lay a hoof on his. The part of me that didn’t like physical contact stopped me from doing so. “Is that experience helping you get through to her?” I asked after a pregnant pause.

Slate shook his head, then huffed his soft black bangs out of his eyes. “Not particularly. She likes sex. Always has. But sex with her is often empty and hollow. It’s there to meet a need, but there’s little intimacy in the act. And she’s very… hard on herself. She wants everything to hurt her.” He frowned, shaking his head. “It’s painful to watch.”

I let his words rattle around my brain for a little while. Wait, sex with her? “Are… you sleeping with Blackjack?” I asked incredulously.

“Sleeping with her? No. Having sex with her? Yes. It’s… a part of my reaching out to her. She desperately craves intimacy, and… as a heartmender, I can be whatever pony she wants me to be. It helps that I remind her of a stallion she loved very much.”

I nodded, not in understanding, but simply to let Slate know I was listening. “So… what does get through to her?”

The stallion leaned back and lay across the end of my bed. “Honestly? I don’t think I’ve gotten to her at all. She doesn’t want me in. I remind her too much of P-21. It’s something Sandalwood and I have gone back and forth on for a while now. I feel like every time I see her, I’m only triggering her more. And dammit, it’s not even my fault!” He stomped his hind hoof and closed his eyes, frustration drifting from behind his emotional mask like a foul odor.

I sat in silence, letting the buck collect his thoughts. He knew better than I did how to handle such things, but I did understand how hard it would be to work with somepony who you made uncomfortable with your mere appearance.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked back at me. “Thanks for listening, Threnody.” He said with a soft smile, one that let me see why he’d probably been popular with the mares at Stable 69. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, it gives me a moment to get to know you a little better, Blank Slate,” I replied with a small smile of my own. “You, me, and Sandalwood are gonna be working together for a spell, right? I don’t mind seeing a little bit of the you behind the mask.”

Slate chuckled. “Well, call me Slate, not Blank, and we’ll get along great. But I’ll let you be. Gotta make sure Sandalwood doesn’t need help cleaning up.”

Or see if you can’t create a mess for her to clean up.

I nodded politely, trying my damndest to hide my smile as Slate left my room for the kitchen.

I’d nearly drifted off to sleep, when something woke me. I rubbed my eyes, my ears swivelling toward the sound of Sandalwood’s voice carrying through our small home.

“No.” She said sharply, the power behind her words confirming why I’d woken up. “She’s going to be meeting with Blackjack tomorrow.”

A long pause followed, which made me wonder who in the world Sandalwood was talking to.

“Yes. Yes. I understand that. No, we haven’t made any progress.” Sandalwood sighed. “Yes, I know how frustrated everypony is. But-”

Again, a long silence. “She’s not dangerous. I wouldn’t be placing a filly in with somepony who I thought would seriously harm her. You need-... no. NO. That is NOT an option. One more word out of you like that, and I’ll be personally reporting our conversation to Heartshine. You of all ponies know what kind of damage that would do. How bad it could be for us.”

Sandalwood seemed to wrap up her conversation, because I heard nothing else for several minutes. My mind whirled about, trying to put the pieces together. Who was she talking to? Why did they care? It certainly didn’t sound like she was talking to Princess Grace…

I frowned and shook my head. I’d just have to ask tomorrow. I rolled over only my side, and pulled Scootaloo close to myself, drifting off to sleep, only to dream of being chased by monsters made out of piles of empty booze bottles bound together with duct tape.

When I woke the next morning, I was greeted with the happy surprise that Sandalwood had seen fit to install a hot water talisman and a shower in the heartmender’s home. I spent a good several minutes enjoying the feeling of water running over my wings and withers. Sandalwood had showed me where the towels were, and I found myself more mentally prepared to meet with Blackjack.

I hummed a tune to myself as I trotted up to the massive doors of Star House, but today the Victorian styled building seemed less intimidating. I let myself in, and, hearing snores echoing from upstairs, set to cleaning the place up.

Cleaning was always an exercise in zen for me. I could just lose myself in the activity. I didn’t need to worry about mysterious conversations Sandalwood was having. I didn’t need to worry about Blackjack thrusting herself on me. I could just focus on picking up bottles, and finding my mental quiet space.

Bottles went into bags, and were carefully stacked on the porch for trade later. I found a small broom, and sent to work sweeping the kitchen. I would have killed for a mop, but I made do with what I had. I cleared off the counter, and found an old rag that hadn’t been consumed by mold. The kitchen didn’t quite shine - I doubt it ever would again - but the layers of grime and spilt liquor eventually were washed off. I even managed to find some plates to clean, and took down the beer bottle Hearth’s Warming tree, freeing the dirty skillet from its perch.

The bedroom door overhead opened with a crack and slow steps trudged along the balcony to the stairs. Blackjack moved like a zombie from an old pre-war film. She didn’t even look at me as she made her way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her head disappeared inside, then withdrew. “Where’s the whiskey?” she muttered, her red eyes unfocused as she gazed into the empty depths of the refrigerator.

I blinked. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch your whiskey, and I thought you wanted to talk to me sober.” I frowned, realising that I hadn’t seen food anywhere in Star House. “I could make you breakfast if you wanted! I managed to clean and season this skillet.”

Blackjack didn’t answer right away. She just gave me a look, like I’d said something offensive. Her horn glowed and she levitated over a jar, peeling it open. She peered inside and scrunched up her muzzle. Then she opened up the freezer and her red eyes immediately lit up and she removed an ice cube tray full of little amber squares. She popped one out, tossed it into her mouth, and started to chew with a loud, popping, crunching noise. “Whiskeycicles,” she said around a mouthful of frozen sludge.

I winced slightly as I watched her crunch on it. Well, maybe that would help with the hangover? “Did… you get some rest?” I asked, wanting to find a spot to sit, and instantly regretting my decision to neglect cleaning the couch. It was musty and covered in many, many mysterious stains. Mysterious, stinky stains ranging from white to yellow to brown. Oh goddesses. Okay, standing up worked. I could do therapy on my hooves!

Blackjack didn’t answer. She popped out a second cube and started chewing it as well as her eyes just bored into me. She didn’t blink as much as a normal pony should. Then, as she chewed her third, she finally answered. “Kinda,” she said as she stared at me.

I tried to not frown. Okay. Not talkative in the morning. “Have any dreams?” I asked. “I had one where all of the bottles became a giant monster and started chasing me. That’s why I sorta… wanted to clean up a little.” I admitted sheepishly.

“What a coincidence,” she said lightly. “I dreamed I was trapped in a prison full of screaming, flaming ghouls while this gargantuan, bloated monster that was the warden of the place was just about to bite my head off.” She said before popping another cube into her mouth and crunching it. “Of course,” she added around the mouthful of slush, “I once was trapped in a burning prison full of flaming ghouls with the giant warden about to bite my head off, so it probably wasn’t as... mmm... symbolic as yours. Or were you once almost eaten by a giant bottle monster?” She asked as she levitated a cube, jabbing it at me like an accusing finger.

I shook my head. “I’ve never been chased by a giant bottle monster. Never been chased by any monster.”

Blackjack just stared at me a moment, then answered evenly, “Lucky you.”

I opened my mouth, then sighed. “Well, I did get kissed by a drunk mare who loomed over me kinda scarily last night. That was kind of high on my scale of really scary things to happen to me recently.”

“You should be grateful that’s a high, scary, scale... thing,” she said as she trotted over and flopped down on the couch with a sigh, taking the cube still in her magical grasp and pressing it to her brow right under her horn. “So, maybe you’ll be honest enough to tell me... why are you doing this?”

I followed Blackjack, and sat down on my haunches in front of her. I frowned down at my hooves. I really didn’t have an answer for that. A good answer, anyways. What could I say? That Cinnamon Twist said you needed therapy? That’d ring pretty damned hollow, considering Cinnamon hated Blackjack for exposing Redoubt to the world.

“Because you have friends who are worried about you, and they’re worried that your self destructive tendencies will make it so they have to kill you. And they don’t want to do that.” I said honestly, meeting her red eyes. “And because you’re in a lot of pain. Even if you try to wash it away with alcohol.”

Again, she didn’t talk. That stare. That bloody stare. “Pain, huh? You know what the great thing about dying is, kid? The really... really... great thing? It doesn’t hurt. You’re done! You’re over. No more suffering. No more worries. And I should know! I’ve died twice... three times...” she paused and held up a hoof. “Maybe four... not sure if the time my mind was ripped from my body and stuffed into a filly’s head counts or not.”

“But you were brought back. And this time, nopony knows why. That’s got to suck stinky caravaneer balls.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I need to try Rampage’s woodchipper solution.” Then she froze and scrunched up her muzzle again, looking to the east. “Fuck...” she whispered loudly. Then she disappeared in a flash of white light.

I don’t hate unicorns. But I really, really hate teleportation. Especially when they teleport and I can’t hear that cute little ‘pop’ sound to figure out where they ended up. “Blackjack?” I called out, standing. “Blackjack?” I fluttered upstairs, and poked my head into the disaster area that was her bedroom. I then poked my head into the second upstairs bedroom, steeling myself for...

There wasn’t a bit of garbage or trash to be seen. The bed was neatly folded and tucked in, though the dust of months of neglect blanketed everything in the room. On the wall were arranged a series of pictures. They had to be Enclave; nowhere else had pictures that vibrant. They were all of the same pony: a gray pegasus mare with a purple mane. ‘Volunteer Corps: Class #1’ was written on one caption. A pair of vases framed the image, with dried lilac fronds filling the air with a delicate scent.

My heart sank as at looked at the pictures, and the lilac fronds. I didn’t know where the pretty purple flowers came from, but I curled up as my chest felt like it was going to cave in from grief. This must have been Glory, Blackjack’s girlfriend. Was this Glory’s old room? Was that why it was so untouched? I took in a few shuddering, steadying breaths, and reminded myself that the grief was not mine, and that I didn’t need to feel it so strongly as I was. I wiped a few tears welling in my eyes, and slowly backed out of the room, quietly shutting the door.

I leaned back against the door, trying to steady my breathing. Slate was right. I did have my work cut out for me. We all did. I wondered if any of the other heartmenders had even been in that room. I wondered what the other bedrooms in the house looked like. Was everything like this? A mausoleum of memories of the dead? Was that why she was still lived here?

“Blackjack?” I called out again, and glided downstairs. Landing in the hall that led to the bedrooms on the lower floor, I hesitated. Did I really want to search the whole house? Or… maybe she went to the basement. My mind, ever the jerk it was, decided to fill the basement with dead bodies of foals that had mutated into some horrible monstrosity that wanted to give me hugs. Thanks brain. Now I really didn’t want to go down there!

I set my wings, and made myself trot over to the basement door. Maybe I could just look, and the foal monster wouldn’t get me. I swallowed, and opened the door. “Blackjack?”

Only silence met my call. I flicked the light switch with a hoof, but it remained dark below. Something was humming down there. The deranged humming of crazed wasteland cultists about to - stop it, brain! You are on notice!

I took in a few steadying breaths, and trotted back into the kitchen. There had to be a lantern… there! I flicked on the lantern light, surprised to find out that the spark battery wasn’t completely spent, and carried it in my mouth as I trotted down the stairs. If something was humming, it was probably Blackjack. And if it was in fact a wasteland cultist who was trying to summon a horrible flesh monster, why would they wait for one scrawny little pegasus filly like me when Slate was a far better sacrifice? Or Sandalwood! She was pretty!

...unless they wanted virgins…

I shook my head as I realised that my mental monologue had let me only get one step down the stairs. I steeled myself again, and forced myself to make the next twenty to the stone floor. And before my eyes were... boxes. Lots and lots of cardboard boxes, stacked up in heaps like the basement had been used for centuries. Though come to think of it, this floor looked like it was centuries old. It was all fitted stone, with the ceiling vaulted slightly. In the corner was the source of the humming: a small gem powered generator that provided electricity to Star House. Well, in my brain’s defence, the low space looked like it could be used for cultist rituals if you cleaned out the boxes and boxes of junk!

I dug through one of the boxes, trying in vain to see if I could find a light bulb for the fixture in the basement. Okay. No cultists, but admittedly, basements were still creepy as fuck.

So were the spiders that dropped down into my mane.

That’s when I started screaming. I dropped the lantern, shattering the glass globe. The breaking the bulb exploded in a blinding flash of bright light, pitching me into the utter blackness of the basement as my eyes were overwhelmed. The dim light from inside of Star House vanished. I couldn’t see the stairs or anything else, and I flailed at my mane, trying to get the spiders out, then started sobbing uncontrollably as I realised I couldn’t find the stairs back up. I was alone, in the dark, there were spiders everywhere, and I had probably fallen into the lair of a giant star spider that was the size of the house and was going to eat me! I was going to die!

I freaked out, batting at my mane as tears ran down my cheeks. I hated this place! I didn’t want to be here! I wanted to be back at Elysium, helping the nice earth pony ex-serfs and unicorn ‘peers’ there! I didn’t want spiders in my mane. I didn’t want stupid Cinnamon doing my job. I didn’t want to be in the basement where I was likely to die alone and eaten by spiders!

I hugged my legs close to myself, and curled up against a pile of musty boxes. Well, hopefully Slate and Sandalwood came in soon to find me. I didn’t want to spend forever trapped in the creepy basement of creepiness in the dark.

It was impossible to tell just how long it’d been before I heard the door creak open and steps slowly descended down. There was a flick of a switch, nothing. “Of course,” muttered a strange stallion’s voice, followed by a sigh. A moment later the stallion said from above, “Where’s the damned lantern? I know I left it here.”

“It broke when I dropped it!” I cried out in relief.

“Luna save me!” the stallion blurted. “Cinnamon? Is that you?”

“No! I’m Threnody! Cinnamon didn’t want to work here! I’m one of the heartmenders! Please tell me you have a light. I want to get out of this creepy place!”

A wan yellow glow appeared, marking the top of the stairs, and then an earth pony appeared, peeking down at me, holding a candle on a holder in his mouth. He set it on a box. He seemed about the same age as Slate, but he looked a little older and more world worn. “I didn’t know they’d brought in another one. Blackjack does go through them fast, doesn’t she? This way out.” He said as he beckoned with a hoof.

I bolted up the stairs as fast as my lanky legs could carry me. “Thank you! I’m… I’m so sorry to be a bother. She… left and…” I swallowed a little sob. “I got lost trying to find her and I dropped the lantern when a spider fell in my hair and then I got stuck in the dark and this is not what I expected at all!” I blurted, vomiting out the words at the poor stallion.

“Well... shoot... spiders are the worst. Can’t blame you there,” he said and nodded back up the stairs again. When we were back in the light, I saw he could have been Slate’s brother, but was lankier and maybe a few years older. His coat was dark gray, and his blue black mane rose up in a chopped cut. “There we are. Better, no?” he asked with a small smile. “I’m Nails.”

I nodded, wiping my face again with my hooves. “I’m Threnody.” I said, sniffling. “Nails? It’s nice to meet you.” I looked him over as my mind finally calmed a little. “And thank you for rescuing me. You know Blackjack?” I asked, a little confused. I thought only the Heartmenders knew she was here! Then it hit me. “You must be from Chapel!”

He nodded. “We figured someone was living in here. Most folks don’t know about Star House and Blackjack, but I do,” he said as regret rolled off him like an oil slick. “I bring her food and supplies every week, and clean up occasionally. Nice that someone beat me to it for a change.” He said with a small smile of approval as he looked around the kitchen. “So she’s taken off again, huh?”

I nodded, sighing. “She talked about Rampage, and then said something about a wood chipper, said ‘fuck’, and then poof!” I waved my hooves. “I hate it when unicorns do that! Cheating unicorns with their teleporty magics!”

“I know. It’s almost as bad as pegasi flying away and leaving you stuck in the mud,” he countered with a lazy smile as he walked to the kitchen table where he’d set two saddlebags and started to pull out ‘supplies.’ “I see they didn’t give you a pipbuck, like I suggested.”

I shook my head, frowning as those supplies included more whiskey and less things like cram and apples and snack cakes. Oh wait. There were snack cakes…

“No, I never got one. Slate has one, and so does Sandalwood. But… I was stationed in Elysium before I got moved here. And I grew up in Junction City. Littlepip’s pipbuck was the first one I’d ever seen, but I was a 5 year old filly when I saw it. And even then it was only briefly.”

“Yeah. You need her tag to track her down when she does it. It’s not just the teleporting around. She could be clear on the other side of the Hoof,” he said as he started to put the whiskey bottles in the fridge. “She could be gone for hours. Days if she’s in a bad way. She usually comes back though.”

“What brings her back?” I asked, scrambling up onto one of the kitchen chairs and staring at Nails. He was the first pony who was actually being honest with me about what was going on! “Is it because Chapel is her home? Because she really likes helping out the Crusaders that grew up here?” I wondered, frowning down at the wooden whirls on the table’s surface.

“She was happy here, once. I guess a memory of happiness is better than none at all,” he said as he slipped the groceries in the cupboard. “She does that. Goes to places she was happy. Most people around the Hoof just think she’s a poser. A fake. They were big a few years back with the Lightbringer and all. Sooner or later someone’s going to figure out she’s the real deal.”

“I think that’s what the Heartmenders and the Followers are afraid of.” I admitted, happy to share the secret with somepony else who was ‘in’, if only by proximity. “That they’ll figure out it’s really her. I know there’s some… not nice ponies in power who really, really don’t like her.” I said with a grimace, thinking of the rhetoric that came from the hate blackened maw of Minister Boing, one of the leaders of the Commonwealth’s rather powerful political blocks. “Thank you for keeping her secret, Nails.”

“She spared my life, seemed like the least I could do,” he said with a little shrug. “And it gave me another chance. Two, if you count sparing me when I was with the Harbingers.” He said as he closed the cupboard. “You think you can help her?”

I cocked my head to the side, skewing an ear parallel to my head. Harbingers. That was a gang, right? “I’m hoping I can.” I admitted. “Wait, who are you? Where did you meet Blackjack?”

More oily regret poured from him, but it was old. Thick. “I suppose I should just say. Maybe it’ll help you help her,” he said with a sigh as he looked out the window. “I was one of the ponies that raped and nearly killed her on the Seahorse,” he said with a little half smile. My eyes widened at his admission, and I moved both of my hooves to cover my muzzle. “Guess you’d call me a raider back then. ‘Scum’ is more like it. Filth.”

I could only nod. What could you say in a moment like that? There were no words, and, if anything, Nails deserved a heartmender’s compassion. “I… think I see why you want to help her.” I said quietly.

“She could have let her friends kill me. I expected them to. I think I wanted her to,” he said as he took a seat. “I met up with the others and we stumbled on her when she was blind and helpless. It was our chance to get our revenge. Fuck her up, like she’d fucked up our lives. So we did. Not like you’d normally do to a mare. She made it difficult... so we...” He swallowed and shook his head hard. “Sorry, you probably don’t want the details.”

I knew, intellectually, that it was helping his guilt to talk about it, but I was so relieved when he stopped himself short of telling me everything. I already felt sick just knowing the deeds of the stallion in front of me, without needing to know all of the cruel points in which he’d violated the mare I was trying to help. I shook my head.

“N-no. Not unless it helps you.” I said quietly, hoping it wouldn’t help. “But it sounds like by you bringing her food, helping clean up, you’re trying to help put her back together. Give her a second chance like she gave you.” I added with a soft smile. “She may not say it, or ever say it, but I have a theory that kind acts, no matter how small, hardly go unnoticed.”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were a million miles away before they returned to me. “I think that Blackjack understands some things don’t get forgiven, don’t get forgotten, and the punishment is you live with what you’ve done until you die.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. It was easier as a raider... not giving a fuck about what you did or how you hurt people. To have her tell her friends not to kill me...” he trailed off and shook his head. “I couldn’t... I didn’t want to understand how. How could she give me that chance? I was scum. Raider scum...” He sighed and shook his head again. “I hope she’s back soon. I can tell you’re worried.”

I paused before answering. I wanted to point out to him that she saw a reason to redeem him. To give him that life so he could do better. Like he was doing. I shook my head. “I… well, I assume she’ll be okay. The Hoof’s safer than it was 9 years ago.” I said quietly. “But… to answer your question… I think that it goes back to Blackjack being… well, her. I remember hearing stories about her and how she would always tell ponies to do better.” I gave him another one of my soft, understanding heartmender smiles. “I think she knew that you’d take that chance, mull it over in your heart, and then actually use it for that good. No matter how small a good you could do.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” he said hollowly. “Anyway, get a pipbuck with her tag. It’s the only way you’ll find her. At the least, you’ll know if she went somewhere close by or not.” He said as he slipped his saddle bags on. “Take care. And watch out for spiders in your mane,” he said as he walked to the exit.

I rapidly bat at my already messed up ponytail, praying another spider wasn’t still in there. I took a deep breath, focussed on the regret, sorrow, and confusion that I’d taken in from Nails, and let it out, allowing the oily feelings to wash off of me and down into the floor. One breath in, one out, and more oil running off of my body.

… and then I began to clean again as I started to wait for my client to return.

When I’d finished with the kitchen, the living room, and braved cleaning up some of the stains on the couch, with no sign of Blackjack, I conceded defeat and left Star House. I made my way back to the Heartmender wing, and trotted in to find Sandalwood writing notes.

“How’d it go, sweetie?” She asked. I winced slightly at being referred to as ‘sweetie.’ “Oh, that good, eh?” She misinterpreted.

“No… not good.” I admitted, joining her at the table. “She said she had a nightmare about being in a burning tower of ghouls, talked about putting herself through a wood chipper, and then teleported away.” Sandalwood frowned as I told my story. “Then I tried to find her, got trapped in the basement, and had to be rescued by a stallion named Nails. At least he brought her some food. And he said I should get a pipbuck.”

Sandalwood looked completely nonplussed by my tale. “I… I see. I’ve met Nails before. Nice stallion. He’s always a little distant with Slate and I, but the food and, ahem, booze that he brings helps keep our budget low, I guess.” She sighed. “And I am working on getting you a pipbuck. It just may be some time before we can requisition one from the NCR.”

I shrugged. “I’ve lived this long without one. I don’t really need one other than for tracking down Blackjack. If you and Slate can do it…” I said, pointing down to the pipbuck on Sandalwood’s left foreleg. “I don’t know why I need one. It’s not like I’m gonna be using S.A.T.S. to try to mend Blackjack’s heart.”

Sandalwood nodded, then fiddled with her pipbuck. “Let’s see where she went off to…” She scowled at the display a moment. “Oh. The Luna Space Center,” she said quietly.

I laid my ears back. Welp. I wasn’t going to get her there. It was still kind of irradiated after the balefire bomb had been dropped on it during the final moments of the Battle of the Hoof. Lucky she had a Blank body, that was immune to magical radiation. I smacked my hoof against my forehead. “Of course. Rampage! She was talking about Rampage! She… probably wants to go get her back…”

Sandalwood smiled. “Exactly. She… tends to visit places that remind her of her friends when she’s badly triggered. Which… admittedly, isn’t hard to do.”

“Nails said the same thing. Was he the one that said we should track her with pipbuck tags?” I asked.

Sandalwood shook her head. “So far as I know, that was at Cinnamon’s insistence. Something about wanting to keep Blackjack away from major population centres where she could hurt other ponies.”

I frowned. Sandalwood was telling the truth. But so was Nails. Both of them couldn’t be right. Could they? I shrugged my wings. “When do you think she’ll be back?” I asked.

“It’s hard to say. If she doesn’t come back within an hour, we might have to track her down. That’s if she didn’t simply peel off the pipbuck and drop it down a hole. She’s done that too,” she said evenly and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if Velvet and Heartshine aren’t wasting our time with her.”

I glared at Sandalwood. “You’re wrong!” I said defiantly. “We aren’t wasting our time. We just haven’t found somepony that she bonds with yet! And… and if we are wasting our time, then that means that Willow Glen got hurt for nothing! I can’t believe that. I refuse to believe that. We’ve just got to give her time!”

“And while we are fixated on her, we are not helping others,” Sandalwood replied firmly, all unicorn logic. “I admire what she accomplished while she was a hero, but she’s far from that now. Her suicide would be tragic, but no less tragic than those that suffer without our help while we indulge the vagaries of that spoiled brat of a mare!”

I stared at Sandalwood for a long moment. “Is that you talking? Or is that Cinnamon?” I asked evenly. “Because what I heard, what little I did hear of you before I was moved here, was that you wanted this post.” Two could play the logic game!

She took a deep breath, clenching her jaw before forcing herself to focus. “I wanted to help a mare that had some interest in being helped. Not some mare that drinks herself into a stupor, disappears at the slightest provocation, and causes nothing but havoc wherever she goes. I want to help ponies, not waste my time on one pony that doesn’t want or respect my help!”

“Ladies,” Slate said evenly, his earth pony stability grounding my pegasus desire to bite Sandalwood’s head off as he stepped into the doorway. “Your shop talk is carrying,” he said in his deep, soothing voice.

I pinned my ears back and look down, feeling ashamed that I’d shouted. And that I’d upset Sandalwood. Good job, Threnody. Let your emotions get all caught up in the clouds. “I’m sorry, Sandalwood.” I mumbled, getting up from the table. “That was rude of me to shout at you.”

Sandalwood lay her ears back too, and rubbed her head near the base of her horn. “I’m sorry too, Threnody. You were right about one thing.” She said with a wry smile. “I did want this post, and I know that her case is getting to me. There’s just a lot-”

Slate coughed, interrupting Sandalwood. “Best we not let the little one worry about all that nonsense.”

“I’m not little.” I snapped, fixing Slate with a glare. “I’m short. There’s a difference.”

That got Slate laughing, and he shook his head. “Sorry. Just let Sandalwood and I worry about the political pressure from the… less wise ponies we have to deal with. Why don’t you focus on Blackjack?”

I supposed that made some sense, so I nodded. “I can do that.” I turned to Sandalwood. “Do we have extra sheets? I think I’m going to crash on the couch in Star House while I wait for Blackjack to come back.”

As I said the words, the foul piece of furniture came to the fore in my mind and I quickly added, “And some Abronco? A lot of it? Industrial grade, if we have it.”

I was curled up, reading a well worn copy of Mareyat’s The Phantom Ship on the newly cleaned and apparently hunter green couch when Blackjack returned. I’d been enjoying the scene that was slowly revealing the affections Philip, the unicorn main character, had for Amine, the lovely Saddle Arabian Sorceress! I looked about, trying to judge where in the house she might be.

My ears swivelled about as from upstairs came a thump and a moment later a door creaked open. Blackjack’s hoof falls pattered at the top of the stairs. Her striped mane hung in rumpled curtains around her shoulders as she slowly descended the stairs. Red eyes slid over at me with my book, but she didn’t break stride as she headed into the kitchen and opened the cupboards.

“Your friend Nails stopped by,” I called from the couch, setting down my book on the cushion in front of me. “He uh, brought some food and put some stuff in the fridge. Sparkle Colas and the like.” I said, just watching her, trying to quickly gauge her mood.

She froze and glanced at me, then pulled out a box of cereal. An almost visceral look of disgust crossed her features and she threw the box into the garbage with more force than the unopened box could have ever deserved. Then she levitated out a tin of deviled eggs and peeled off the top. She then trotted over to the dining table and pulled herself into the seat, eating slowly and carefully as she slumped in front of the table.

I frowned. Okay. Now was not the time to ask stupid questions like ‘how are you doing?’ I knew the answer. She knew the answer. So… ugh! What was going to get through to her?!

I shrugged and trotted over to the fridge, and to my surprise, found that Nails had brought a few Sparkle Cola Cherry bottles with him! “Can I have one of the cherry ones?” I asked, looking over at Blackjack’s back. She didn’t answer, not even looking over as she ate one of the two hundred year old eggs. Seriously, how wasn’t there an expiration date on those things?

Shaking my head, I looked at the poor box of cereal in the trash. Sugar Apple Bombs!? Those things never went stale, and the box was in near mint condition!

“Don’t you want the Sugar Apple Bombs?” I asked, examining the slightly bent and abused box in the trash. It didn’t look like anything was wrong with it...

At the question, I felt an emotion like a cold, slushy tide rolling in and sweeping around me. Regret. Disgust. Self hatred even. And mixed in with that, inexplicably, flashes of warm affection and love. She said in a shaky voice, “No. I don’t want to smell them,” she said as that exotic mix of emotion surged from her.

I shivered slightly as I was simultaneously warmed and chilled by Blackjack’s conflicting and complicated emotions. “Oh… well… I can um… Do you want me to bring them back to my house? So they’re not here?” I asked, trying to keep the selfish, foalish part of me that really wanted the cereal from sneaking into my voice. Come on, Threnody, this is about her, not you!

“Sure. Go ahead. They’re delicious,” she rasped, her breathing tense and quick. I carefully approached from the side, astonished to see her ignoring the rest of her eggs and holding her head tightly between her hooves, body shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. The storm of emotions kept growing more and more unstable as it alternated between acidic self loathing, oily regret, and warm affection. All this from a box of cereal?

I slowly stepped a pace closer to the table. My wings twitched on my back as I fretted, trying to figure out what to do or what to say. It took a lot of will on my part, but very slowly and deliberately, I put my hoof on the table, and slid it until the tip just barely touched hers. “Blackjack, it’s… it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Like lightning, all three emotions were replaced with one: white hot anger. Her head snapped back and she glared at me, her eyes blood red and flashing with malice. For an instant, I saw what so many of her enemies must have seen right before she killed them. She firmly pushed herself away from the table and started back for the stairs without a word.

Some of that white hot anger, to my own chagrin, carried through my hoof and nestled itself somewhere around the part of my brain that was full of resentment and frustration for this position. The petulant part of me that wanted to yell at the world really, really liked her anger. Unfortunately, this carried over to my mouth deciding to get ahead of itself. Again.

“Ugh. Fine, stupid mcdumbface. Walk away! I’ll just take your cereal because you’re being weird!” I yelled, snatching the cereal box from the garbage with a wing.

That made her pause, and the unstable, sloshing emotions were overcut by some bubbly amusement. “Mc. Dumbface? What, are you going to call me fat next? 'Your mom' jokes?” she said as she relaxed a little. Her eyes dropped to the box. “You really want to know why I can’t stand those? Why I can’t stand the taste of apples?”

The thinking, rational part of my brain finally decided to turn itself on. I gaped at her a moment like a mooning idiot, and then shook myself. “Um… kinda, yeah? I mean… who doesn’t like apples?”

“I don’t. I love the taste of them,” she said, her eyes on the box. “When we got out into the wasteland, those things were the first thing I ate.” Her eyes shifted briefly to the box now tucked under my wing “One of the best things I found in the wasteland,” she said as she stared, her emotions swirling... oddly. Instead of the unstable shifting, it was more like they were mixing about... but was it a good mixing or not? “I’d eat them any chance I could. With milk. Whiskey. Dry. Doesn’t matter.” She paused and amended, “Didn’t matter.”

What? “So… did you like… burn yourself out on them?” I asked, confused, but trying to understand. The emotions mixing in her were still… puzzling.

“You know about P-21?” she asked as she walked to the couch and sat down. She didn't even notice my painstaking scrubbing of the upholstery! I winced as she nearly knocked my book from its perch.

“I… know he was your boy.” I said simply. “And that Slate kinda looks like him. I know he was really, really famous for being super good at bouncing grenades around! Or that’s what all the colts and fillies that were Crusaders when they were foals liked to tell me about. What about him?” I asked, trotting over to the couch. I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit on the other end just yet, so I rested a hoof protectively on my book.

“In 99,” she began before her voice cracked. “I don’t know what they told you about 99, but... he was used. Bad. By all the mares.” Her red eyes softened briefly as they met mine, and a sharp stab of guilt lanced from her to my chest. “I got raped once on a boat. He got raped almost every day for most of his life. I guess most of the males just... I dunno... accepted it. He didn’t. It hurt him, but it also kept him trying to escape. He didn’t want 99 to just fuck him and then kill him when he was too old.” I didn’t have a vocabulary for the emotions coming off her. Spiny with soft tickly sensations that oozed all at once. Seriously, did this mare come with a manual? “You have no idea how much I admire him for that, now.”

I nodded slowly, still trying to process the pokey tentacles of emotion I was feeling on her. I didn’t really know what to say, so I stayed quiet, letting her continue. “There was this time... here... right before it all went bad... that last horrible day...” she said haltingly. “We were laughing and carrying on. Daring each other... and he told me...” She took a little breath. “He told me that my mom tasted like apples.”

I couldn’t quite suppress my own shudder at Blackjack’s admission. Apples. Well, that certainly hadn’t been - I shook myself. Nope. Not going there. “I… oh.” I said, the little pegasus in my head putting on a graduation cap. “So… apples are now a reminder of… all the bad things that happened to him? And how your mom didn’t do anything to stop it?” I asked. “Or am I… not following as well as I think I am?”

“Actually, you’re doing better than Cinnamon when I tried to tell her,” Blackjack said with the first warm feelings for me since we’d met. She closed her eyes. “It’s more than that, though. I think about who he was when we first started out, and just how far he’d gone... how much he’d changed... to even be able to joke about what my mother and I had done to him. I didn’t realize it then but... it was night and day from when we first met.” She leaned her head back as sour, acidic self hatred rolled off her. “And then I got him killed.”

I frowned as the self-hate fell like a waterfall off of the cushions and pooled around my hooves. I ended up jumping up onto the couch, curling my tail around my legs as I sat on my haunches, watching her. “But he did change. For the better, it sounds?” I asked quietly.

She sniffed and nodded. “More than you can imagine. He went from a stallion who couldn’t hold a gun without trying to murder me with it to a stallion who... aside from being my lover... loved his daughter. He was a teacher. He was going to be... I don’t know what. But he would have been amazing. Even more than he already was.” She bowed her head and shook it slowly. “I think about what I did to him... what mom did to him... and then he makes that joke... and... it all just hits me about just what I lost.” She closed her eyes, her emotional stew now one of bilesome recrimination simmering over the unstable shifting.

I nodded, mulling over my own thoughts and feelings as I listened to her. I toyed lightly with my blonde tail with my forehoof. “Resiliency, in anypony, is always an amazing thing, isn’t it?” I asked, ducking my head down to try to catch her eyes before they closed. “But I can see how his resiliency in light of everything could make you realise just how much you lost when he…” I trailed off. I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘he died.’ I feared what might happen if I did, and I was scared silent.

“Yeah,” she said as she leaned back on the couch, sitting oddly on her haunches. “When I got them all killed,” she muttered and took a deep breath. “Anyway, yeah. That’s why I can’t stand Sugar Apple Bombs now. I still remember how awesome they taste, but... I think of it and... yeah... all that happens up here.” She tapped the side of her head with a hoof.

I bit my lip, and let out a small sigh. “Well, Sandalwood would probably talk about stimuli and stuff. But to me, yeah, makes sense as to why you’d want to not eat them. I mean, if anything, the mere fact that every bite would be like your mom’s nethers on your tongue would be weird enough!” I said with a small grin, trying to lighten the sombre mood.

She looked at me a moment, then gave a small laugh. Her feelings didn’t share it one bit, but it was something. “Yeah. At least that didn’t happen in 99. Often. Usually.” Her lips twisted. “Though it did to the Overmare. And Daisy.” Her brows knit together. “Just when I think I get to the bottom of how messed up 99 was, I think about something new.”

I knew that my poker face had failed me as I felt my muzzle screw up in disgust. Okay, that was fucking messed up! “But… that’s… ugh.” My stomach decided that now was the best time to practice doing summersaults, and my wings wrapped protectively around my barrel and forelegs. “Home wasn’t really sweet, was it?”

Blackjack laughed again, but I could still feel its hollowness. “Yeah. It’s weird. You just didn’t think about it. It’s not like we didn’t know any better, either. I think we all knew somewhere deep, deep down how fucked it was, but we all just went with the flow. Mares were all that mattered and stallions were nothing more than tools to be used and thrown away when they got too old or we had too many, and if anypony didn’t like it then they shut up and kept it to themselves.” Her smile drained away. “I actually miss it, sometimes.”

I cocked an ear to the side. “Do you really? Or do you miss the stability that the Stable brought?” I asked.

She didn’t answer for almost a minute, her eyes gazing out at the past. “I miss not thinking about things. I miss not realising how much things suck. How my biggest worry was botching a cuffing spell or Daisy being in a pissy mood or missing a card game.” She gave a half smile, “And a shallow part of me misses the casual sex too. I never did get to bang Midnight. I think she had fun just stringing me along, now.” She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes, the one thing I want, more than anything, is to turn everything in my brain off. Just... go back to how things were. Don’t think about it. You know?”

I did know. “I’d love to know how to get my brain to shut up. It’s kind of a douche most days.” I admitted, and allowed myself to give Blackjack a small smirk. “Though… with the shallow sex, are you really missing that? Or are you just missing the fact that it can meet a need without having to worry about the emotional attachments?” I asked. “Like with Slate?”

“Yeah. Like with him. Or any pony for that matter,” she said as shook her head, that acidic self-loathing bubbling away. “That’s pretty sad, isn’t it? After everything, all I want is an easy fuck from somepony I don’t care about.”

“Honestly? I think that’s what a lot of ponies want. Intimacy in the wasteland is scary. Just being able to fuck and leave without having regrets or those gross, sticky emotions hanging around,” I winced at my unfortunate phrasing, trying desperately to not think of the biological disaster area that had been the couch until a few hours ago. Don’t think about it! I shrugged, trying to hide another shudder. “But… I don’t know. That’s just what the ad- ahem, everyone tells me.”

And like that the switch was flipped and a warm, sticky feeling began to wash over me. She smiled as she leaned closer, “And what about you? Would you like to just fuck without regrets or gross sticky feelings hanging around?” I was shocked at just how rapidly she could change her feelings, and worse, at just how quickly she could change those feelings for me!

I leaned away, feeling my spine and wingroots press into the back of the couch. “I… don’t want it.” I said, trying to push back against the bile that was rising in my throat. I didn’t want her looking at me like that! I kept my poker face, trying to maintain an air of polite disinterest.

Blackjack blinked, and those sticky feelings abruptly receded a little before she shrugged and gave a little smile. “Well, let me know when you do. Trust me. Glory taught me all the best spots on a pegasus mare,” she said. Then her smile faded as new guilt stormed through her. She slipped off the couch and trotted towards the fridge again. Surely she wasn’t still hungry. Just the thought of those two-century old eggs turned my stomach and she was going back for seconds?

I watched her move, and physically forced myself to relax. As my eyes followed her, they got stuck on the opened, but untouched Sparkle Cola Cherry. “My soda!” I squeaked, scrambling off the couch and taking a sip. Talking could make a pony very, very thirsty! I blushed slightly at the look she was giving me. She extracted a bottle of whiskey and started back for the stairs... oh goddess, she was smiling at me again. That warm smile of promising uncomplicated good times!

… Good times that the thought of which made my wings ache and my stomach try to eat its way out of my throat.

“Hey Blackjack?” I asked. “I know you probably want me to go, but can you try to go a little easy on the whiskey? If… you want me to come back tomorrow and you don’t have a hangover, that is.” I offered.

She paused and sloshed the amber contents at me. “This isn’t whiskey. It’s ‘don’t think about it’ juice. I drink it, and I don’t think about things. It’s this or sex. So unless you want to push my reset button, then it’s something I need.”

“Wait, you have a reset button?” I asked, very confused.

She smiled and approached me, the warm, sticky feelings getting disturbingly thick as she strutted... wait, why was she strutting? “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice low. “ When I have great, hoof curling, panting sex of wonderfulness with a little pony, and it resets me from just what a fucking monster I am.” She did something with her horn and I felt a caress on my pinions. “But I make sure the other person has a good time too. A very good time.”

I tugged my wing a little closer to my barrel, barely managing to avoid actively flinching at her touch. Little pony? Oh gosh, she meant me! Nope nope nope nope nope!

I bit my lip. “Um. I… can send Slate over if you need. But… no. I, I don’t do... that,” I explained, hoping I sounded somewhat calm. Goddesses damnit, Sandalwood was right. She WAS trying to get under my tail. Just don’t touch me again. With your magic or otherwise… I found myself mentally begging that she would just… lay off. Leave me alone. Leave sex to ponies older and wiser and prettier and just not me!

Blackjack seemed amused if nothing else. “Straight, huh? Imagine that,” she said as she leaned in, projecting... warm fondness... sticky lust... gentle concern... sucking desire... “Well, trust me, if you ever want to see if your barn door swings the other way, I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.” It was like drowning in warm molasses, a cloying inescapable quagmire.

“What kind of pony I like really doesn’t matter. I’m just… younger and smaller than you and that’s weird.” I said, trying to not sound too defensive.

“Oh, right. The whole age thing,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I was younger than you when I went through sex ed. I understand you don’t have practical lessons. But if you’re not interested then you’re not interested.” She started to walk away, her back end swaying a few steps before she looked over her shoulder at me, “But let me know when you are.” Sweet Celestia, she winked at me!

I puffed out my cheeks and pouted at her. “Just… go drink your ‘think me not’ juice, and I’ll just talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. And the sooner Slate shows up, the less hungover I’ll be,” she said as she trotted up the stairs to her room.

The slightly immature pony inside of me wanted to get in the parting shot. “...I’m still eating your cereal!” I yelled out, taking the box from under my wing and giving it a shake.

“Then you’ll know what my mom’s vagina tastes like, too!” she called back as the door to her bedroom closed.

I pursed my lips as I stared down at the box in my hooves, trying desperately to delete that sentence from my mind.

...

Damn it, Blackjack...

Author's Notes:

Yay! Another chapter done! It's been awesome to keep writing, and I want to give a big thank you and shout out to Somber, Bronode, and Solis for editing this for me! Without them, it'd probably be a lot more rough of a story! Thank you, everyone, for your kind words and criticism! I welcome both!

- Heartshine