Hey there Mr. Recorder. You know what I can not stand?

It’s not me is it? I’m recording as best I can, but I can try harder!

Oh no, don’t be silly. You pay way too much attention to me for me to hate you.

No, what I hate is hidden depths. And I don’t mean those giant ant hills ponies step in and then die screaming as they get eaten from the legs up. Oh no, I fly over those! I’m talking about those jerks who feel the compulsive need to flip the script on you.

I’m not necessarily saying that everypony should introduce themselves like, “Hi, I’m Ponyface McStupidname. I have a deathly fear of snakes and I like having things put up my butt.” Though that would make things go a lot faster for me...

Do you have any idea how much time I could have saved if guys would just tell me which hole they’re most interested in at the moment. It’s supposed to be sexy fun times, not “guess the fetish, win an orgasm.”

Empress Rita, you were saying something about—

Right! See, paying attention, keeping me on track. That’s what I love about you.

Anyway! I’m just saying that if you come up to me being all “Hey, I’ll kill guys for you for caps and we’ll have fun and go on adventures and stuff,” then you should actually do that! I don’t want to put time and money into you only for you to turn around and suddenly have “issues” and “moral reservations” and whatever when it comes time to stab someone in the face.

Maybe you shoulda brought that up in the interview before you took the job?

I mean come on, you guys wear your skills on your butts, is it that hard to also have a little bit of your heart on your sleeve?

But Empress, what about ponies without sleeves?

Did you just sass me Mr. Recorder? See, that’s another thing that’s great about you! I firmly believe that communication is important in any kind of partnership and that means a fun and sassy back and forth.

It all comes down to trust, Mr Recorder. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me, if I can’t trust you to not take my jabs about your weight seriously, then how can I trust you to not try to murder me in my sleep or take all my stuff?

Rita! Where the fuck are you!? We’re ready to move!

Case in point. Anyway, gotta get moving. I’ll talk to you again soon my whirling tape-filled companion. Bye-bye!

Pincers longer than the Iron Stag's face were wrapped around his neck, the ridges digging into the unprotected front of his throat. The armored pony stared into eight black, soulless eyes that bulged from the monstrous sand-colored face, each incandescent orb shining in the stray streaks of sunlight. With a hiss, the giant scorpion tried to squeeze through his armored plates and snap his neck. The stinger repeatedly whipped over Stag’s head as it tried to find a soft spot to deliver its deadly venom. Despite not being able to break through his armor, every jab brought his knees that much closer to buckling, and then it would be all over.

Crack

The scorpion slammed the pony sideways into the wall of boulders that surrounded them. Something popped in the Stag’s side and it became agony to breathe, but he remained defiantly standing. Insultingly close by, his rifle, the Head-Hunter, lay in the sand.

Stag lashed out with his forhooves, striking the pony-sized arachnid in its face. Its chitinous mouth splintered and snapped from his repeated kicks, light-blue blood spattering against the sand. The scorpion reared up, pulling itself away from Stag’s counterattacks. The change in posture loosened the pinchers hold on his neck, and he lunged forward with a roar, raising the scorpion higher until its front set of legs were lifted from the ground.

The branching spikes of Stag’s helmet hovered beneath the dribbling mouth of the enormous arachnid. With a grunt, he let his knees give out, and the weight of the creature did the rest. His horns erupted from the carapace of the scorpion’s head, its pincers going slack as it became nothing but dead weight.

Digging his hooves into the sand, the Iron Stag pushed back. The scorpion’s face exploded with a wet pop, shards of exoskeleton scattered into the air. The body tumbled down the hill and landed on two similar corpses; one had a large caliber bullet hole punched through one of its eyes while the other had its carapace caved in with horse-shoe-shaped indents scattered across what remained of its face. The pony stood, bloodied and bruised, but victorious.

Nearby, the ground stirred. Stag turned his even gaze to the shifting sands as a figure burst from beneath. A mirrored visor covered the figure’s eyes, and a hose extended from the center of its face. Paharita ripped the mask off her beak and coughed out a dust cloud.

“Well, on the plus side,” the scrawny griffon wheezed, “my snorkleoscope works!” She gagged and spat out a wet mouthful of sand. “Barely. I thought I was gonna suffocate for a minute there.”

Rita tugged on the glowing metal ring of her bomb collar to knock out some sand from her neck. Stag flinched as she did so. Ignoring him, she dusted off her shirt and Stable-Tec flak vest with her claws.

“So giant bugs,” she said and poked her tongue out. “Blech!”

Rita splayed out her wings and twisted her body to the side. “I actually read a case study that said the mutant bugs and stuff weren’t accidental.” The poof of hair at the end of her tail busied itself cleaning her feathers. “So that means the zebras built their megaspells to not just kill everyone and destroy cities, but also to make monsters. What jerks!”

“You’re unharmed?” asked the Stag as he nosed into his armored plates and tugged out a rag. He laid it across his fetlock and wiped away the blood smeared across his face.

“Oh yeah, totally fine,” Rita replied. She gave a wing-aided hop and glided to the fallen Head-Hunter. “This darn buckle shouldn’t have just popped open like that. I’ll need to work on it.” She scooped up the gun and harness and went about strapping it back on the Iron Stag’s side.

Stag opened his mouth to speak, but Rita turned away, fidgeting with the PipBuck that sat loosely on her wrist. The computer let out a burst of screeching static and she leapt back with a squawk, her feathers and fur puffed out. She slapped the device with the flat of her palm, shaking loose bits of sand until the static was replaced with soft piano music and a singer crooning out a sorrowful tune. She quickly turned a prominent red knob and the sound clicked off.

“Ew, Sweetie Belle. I preferred the static,” she muttered to herself. “But yeah, no, I buried myself as soon as I saw big nasty tails snaking through the rocks.” She held up a talon, curved like a scorpion's tail, and danced it in front of her face. “You did great, by the way,” she hastily added, shooting the pony a beaming smile. “Also your nose is bleeding again.”

Narrowing his eyes, the Stag looked down to see the splotches of red mixed in with the light blue already staining the rag. With a snort of dissatisfaction, he let the rag drop to the sand. His nose continued to stream down his mouth as he went back to his bags, retrieving a mostly empty vial. He held it in the crook of his fetlock and plucked out the cork before draining the softly glowing liquid. Within seconds, the bleeding had stopped.

“Guess that crazy Sandy lady did more damage than you thought, huh?” Rita asked as she plucked the filthy rag from the ground.

“Her makeshift sword tore into my nasal cavity,” Stag said as Rita grabbed his canteen from his saddle bag. “The potions healed it well enough, but the capillaries will be weak for some small time.”

Rita stood on her hind legs as she cycled between wetting the rag and wiping his face. “Eh, healing potions are overrated; they leave you all spic and span. Gimme a sexy scar any day.” She finished wiping the blood from his face and grabbed both his cheeks. With a smile, she gave them a squeeze. “Not that you need any more sexy.”

Only the slight inward motion of the Stag’s brow showed his annoyance, his gaze was as passive as ever. Rita slowed her cheek-play, her expression falling to a grimace as she took her claws from his face.

She tilted her beak down and lowered her eyes away. “Sorry about leading you into a nest of giant scorpions.” She wrung her claws as she spoke. “I guess I maybe could have scouted ahead a teeny bit more.”

The wind whistled between the close-knit boulders as the two stood face to face. A moment passed and the Stag’s brow relaxed as he stepped around Rita. Rita let out her held breath and clutched her chest as she collapsed in on herself. A second later, she had turned around and was skipping merrily alongside the stone-faced pony.

“Perhaps,” the Stag began, giving her a brief glance, “you’d have an easier time spotting incoming threats if you spent more of your energy paying attention to the surrounding area and less speaking about—”

Rita clicked her thumb and middle talon together. “Right, the MMs! Now where did I leave off?” she puzzled, tapping her beak.

“That’s not—”

“So Rainbow Dash swoops down, zoom,” Rita yelled as she belly flopped onto the Stag’s back, her wings spread and claws held out straight in front of her. “And just before she hits the ground, woosh, she pulls up! That’s when she opens fire with two machine guns!” Rita balled up both fists and held her thumb and index talons out and ratcheted her forelimbs back and forth while making machine gun noises and kicking her back paws.

“This isn’t—” The Stag sighed, then abruptly stopped, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Did you say she fired two machine guns? At the same time?” His usually monotone voice had the slightest edge of curiosity.

With a sigh of ecstasy, Rita rolled onto her back and let her paws and claws dangle inches from the ground while her tail twitched in the air. “Yeah, she’s the coolest,” Rita said dreamily. “Of course, the vibrations knocked out or broke, like, all her teeth, but Twilight made her some new ones after. And that was the last time the zebras tried to attack a major pony population.” She paused, then added, “Well, ya know, until the megaspells.”

The heavy sound of the Stag’s hoofsteps echoed as the narrow rock passage opened up. “How do you even know such details of a battle almost two hundred years ago?” the Iron Stag asked as she slid off his back and into a crouch on all fours.

“Rainbow Dash was the war hero,” Rita explained, falling back in step. “Rarity, the Ministry of Image’s head, published some of her less classified punch-ups as a way to help pony morale. I guess the civilian populace was still a bit freaked at so many folks getting fragged.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with these ponies.” The Stag shook his head. “And the last six hours of stories about them hasn’t made it any clearer.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I mean, duh,” Rita rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “These six ponies made the world what it is today!”

“Destroyed?” the Iron Stag arched his eyebrow.

Rita gave an exasperated sigh and slumped her shoulders, nearly stumbling over the claws. “Always with the negative world view! Yeah, Equestria’s got a little wear and tear on it, but it’s the only world we got. And these gals brought about technological and magical breakthroughs that had never even been dreamed of before their lifetimes.” She gave a little harrumph and added, “Besides, the zebras were the one’s who blew up everything.”

“I mean, there was a war on!” Rita brought her PipBuck up to her face and clicked the screen on with her beak. “Who knows if anyone would have even survived without the Ministry Mares and the things they did and created. It’s my dream to one day make a museum so that everyone in the Wasteland can learn about these amazing mares and maybe one of these ponies or whatever will get inspired and be all: whoa, I can change the world too! You gotta look at the big picture.”

With a quick tap of a few buttons, the screen on the PipBuck changed to a map of Equestria. “Speaking of big pictures,” Rita muttered. She stopped her stride and yanked the computer off her forelimb, flipped it around, and put it back on. “Oh dear. Um, whoops.”

“Whoops?” The Stag broke pace and turned around to face the griffon who was backpedaling with a forced smile on her face that was all teeth. “Have we been going the wrong way this whole time?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Rita said and laughed too loudly with her head thrown back. “This is actually a more direct path. It’s just that, well...” She made a looping gesture with her index talons. “I was kinda sorta trying to go around Piranha territory.”

The Stag blinked twice. “How deep are we—”

Ka-chik

On the tall rocks above stood two ponies, their bodies covered in red tribal markings, necklaces adorned in bones and teeth hung around their necks, and rifles held in their mouths. From the spaces between the surrounding rocks stepped a half dozen similarly dressed, but unarmed ponies. They showed their mouths full of razor-sharp teeth as they approached from all sides.

Rita rocked back onto her hind legs and put her open claws in the air. “I’d say we’re in pretty deep.”

Darkness and hoofsteps had become Rita’s world for the last hour. The blindfold did its job, but wasn’t tied so tight as to actually hurt. The gag was another story; she ran her tongue over the thick cords keeping her beak and teeth spread open and she had to wipe the drool from the underside of her chin every few minutes.

The world became louder. She heard voices, distant at first, but then they were all around her. Sounds of dozens and dozens ponies moving swarmed around her. There was a the soft crackling of fires and the hollow clunk of wood being chopped.

“Stop,” a voice commanded.

There was a tug on the back of Rita’s blindfold and she was briefly blinded by the nearby torches. After her vision cleared, she saw the Iron Stag standing in front of her, flanked on either side by Piranhas; one of them was nonchalantly leaning against the Stag’s armored side. The face she made must have been hilarious because all, save the stoic Stag, burst out laughing.

All around Rita were earth ponies painted with tribal markings. They came and went from seemingly sturdily constructed wooden huts. There were stands where sharp-toothed ponies argued with other sharp-toothed ponies about the cost of tomatoes. She saw rock walls all around them, stretching yards above them and closing overhead with only cracks of sky visible.

With a loud snap, Rita bit through the cords in her mouth. “What?” she stammered first pointing at the Iron Stag. “With them?” she babbled, gesturing at the Piranhas and the village surrounding them.

The pony leaning against Stag tapped his armored breast. “Brother Flint has been an honorary Piranah for some years now,” he said.

“Okay,” Rita said, nodding slowly. “That actually makes for more questions. Like why were you intimidate-y to me and what was with the bondage gear you slapped on me? I thought you were about to cook and eat me!”

The same pony spoke up, “You are not one of us and this camp’s location is a secret.”

“Okay, but then what was with the gag? Afraid I’d use griffon echolocation!?”

The Iron Stag stepped forward. “That was my idea,” he rumbled. “I thought that perhaps your tongue could use an enforced rest.”

A smile twisted up from the corners of Rita’s mouth. “Was that a joke?” She leaned back to point both index talons at the Stag. “You used a gag on me as a gag!” She broke into peals of laughter, clinging to a nearby stand selling eggs and banging on the counter with her fist as she continued to laugh. The salespony gave an uncomfortable smile as he tried to laugh along with her. Once her laughter became snorts he backed away.

“Brother Flint,” called out a voice that sounded like ground glass. Rita looked up to see a much older pony step from a hut at the center of town that was elaborately decorated in murals, the other ponies gave him a wide birth. His mane was long and grey, but well kept. He had the same markings and filed teeth of everypony in the village, but what made him stand out was that he appeared to be wearing an entire Timberwolf.

“Big Kahuna, it’s good to see you well,” the Stag said as the elder pony put a hoof on his shoulder.

“If we had known you’d be coming, we’d have prepared a feast,” Kahuna said with bark of a laugh. He looked Rita over. His gaze locked on the slave collar on her neck and he arched a brow at Stag. “You starting a collection?”

Stag gave the pony elder a hard look. “I’m under contract with the griffon, Rita,” Stag replied and the two began to walk away from the group. “Truth be told, I didn’t know I was coming this way, she was simply not paying attention to her map.”

When the old pony let out a hearty laugh, the Timberwolf jaws that surrounded his face shook and appeared to be devouring him. “Well, let us catch up a bit as you pass through. That’s a fancy new shooter you got there,” Kahuna said, tapping on the Head-Hunter.

“Thanks, I made it,” Rita said, springing between the two. She fixed her eyes on Stag. “Since when are you so chummy with raiders?”

Another laugh burst from Big Kahuna and the Stag lowered his head just slightly. “The Piranhas aren’t raiders,” the Stag explained patiently. “They’re descended from survivors of the megaspells who were not put in Stables. They instead went underground until the above ground was less irradiated. They till the land, drive off raiders, and keep much of the wildlife under control. I think they are well within their rights to charge a toll to travelers.”

“You didn’t see it that way when you first met our like,” the elder pony cackled. “You beat tens tons of shit outta six of my boys when they asked for the toll.”

“Well you do rely on intimidation to keep this land clear,” the Stag said without humor. “Maybe if you were more open with the rest of Equestria, there’d be less misunderstandings.”

"You're one to talk, Mr. Leave-Some-Blood-On-My-Horns," The Big Kahuna said and rolled his eyes. “Besides, then everypony would know we got gardens and farms and not enough guns to protect them.” He stopped and turned to Rita. “You didn’t hear that, by the way.”

Rita reached up a talon and rubbed it inside her earhole. “Could you speak up there, chief?” she mock-shouted. “Got some waxy build-up here.”

After the chief finished laughing Rita spoke up again. “So how did horn-hat here go from kicking you guys’s butts to being your b-f-f?”

“Our town is actually open for anyone to join,” Kahuna began. “You just have to first go through an initiation trial, fighting a half dozen of our hunters and surviving. So when I got there along with my rifleponies and found six of my boys being crushed under his hooves, I figured it was either let him in or waste a bunch of bullets trying to bring him down. Thus Brother Flint came into our fold.”

“About that,” Rita said and flicked one of the Stag’s metal antlers, “why do you call him Brother Flint?”

Bemused confusion swept across the Kahuna’s face. “Because he’s our brother and his name’s Flint? Not too swift are you.”

“I can run when there are bullets flying,” Rita said distractedly. “Your real name’s Flint?” she asked the Stag.

“Yes,” he replied. “My family were rock farmers. The name ‘Iron Stag’ was given to me with the armor.”

“Oh!” Rita clicked her talons together. “That’s why Pone Three calls you ‘rocky’ on the radio! I thought it was because you were tough, like a rock!”

Kahuna joined in with Rita as she laughed and Stag seemed to be struggling to maintain his stoic demeanor. “So wait.” Rita tilted her head towards the elder tribal. “Does this mean that all that cannibal stuff and you guys eating your enemies is just like rumors you spread to scare ponies?”

“Perish the thought,” the Big Kahuna laughed. “Of course we eat ponies, these teeth ain’t for show! It’s tradition to eat our honored dead and to ensure that our enemies help keep us strong. We just don’t, ya know, hunt.”

Kahuna waved his hoof covered by timberwolf claw at a stew pot with two ponies in chef’s hats busily adding in spices and taking out bones. “Just last night we caught some drugged up fuck-o’s trying to snatch some of our brahmin brothers,” Kahuna explained.

One of the chefs grabbed a large spoon as the Kahuna approached and filled it with stew and held it out. The elder pony slurped down the concoction and licked his lips, his eyes rolling back. “Add a couple more peppers and you’ll have outdone yourself,” Kahuna said to the chef who puffed out his chest proubly.

Rita ran her tongue over her beak and cozied up next to Kahuna, rubbing the top of her head against his neck. “Earlier, you said you’d have made a feast for my good friend Stag,” she purred. “It’s not too late for that is it?”

“Well, uh, I thought you both were in a hurry,” the Kahuna stammered as the little griffon cooed and rubbed his chest with her claw.

“We are,” the Iron Stag rumbled.

On all fours, Rita padded over to the armored pony. She looked up at him, her lower beak trembled and her eyes glistened with held back tears. Stag let out a heavy sigh.

“Big Kahuna, may I trouble you for two thermoses of stew?” he asked the elder. Rita’s eyes lit up as the pony nodded with a laugh. “And make mine vegetarian,” he added.

Scaled forelimbs wrapped around the Stag’s neck as Rita gave him a brisk hug. The Stag was very stiff and unyielding even as Rita pushed off him and sprung at the Big Kahuna, almost knocking him to the ground. The griffon proceeded to rub the corner of her mouth against the protesting pony’s cheek.

“What in the name of Celestia is she doing?” Kahuna pleaded to Stag as the griffon nibbled lightly on his cheek.

“Kissing you,” Rita squealed in between rubs and nips.

The increasingly blushing pony looked to the stoic Stag. The armored pony shook his head somberly. “I’m sorry, but kissing attacks fall outside my vow of fighting injustice,” he said with an entirely straight face.

“Are you ever gonna stop,” pleaded Kahuna. The chefs and every pony within sight of the scene burst out laughing.

“Never!” Rita wrapped her forelimbs tightly around Kahuna’s neck and increased her rate of griffon smooches.

The modest campfire crackled and popped. The warm glow of the fire served as the only light for miles. In the absence of any animal noises, it was as though the world had ceased to exist. Equestria devoured by the night.

"Don't build the fire too high," said Iron Stag pointedly to Rita from across the fire. "We don't want to be too visible."

A clatter sounded as Rita dumped the pile of sticks to the ground. She stomped over to the opposite side of the fire as hard as her padded paws would allow. She sat with a pout on her face and rubbed her forelimbs with her claws.

"Not like it's freezing or anything," the griffon grumbled to herself.

The Stag gave no indication of whether he heard her, but a moment later he said without trace of emotion, "To keep warm, I'd suggest we sleep together. Share body heat."

With a grin that quickly became a beaming smile, Rita bound around the small fire and collapsed against the upright seated pony's chest, tucking her wings under his right brisket. She immediately tugged the thermos of pony stew out of her vest and unscrewed the lid; the soup inside still steamed.

“Pony blanket and pony soup,” Rita said dreamily. “It’s been a good day. You gonna eat any more of yours tonight?”

“No, I feel it’d be wise to ration—”

“Psh, forget that!” Rita tipped the thermos back, draining it all in one mighty swallow. “I’m sure we’ll find some food with the raiders after you give ‘em the Iron Stag treatment.” She belched and scratched her fuzzy belly. “And if not, I can always get seconds from your chummy chompy tribals chums.”

Rita sighed happily and intertwined her limbs with his stiff and unyielding forelegs. The only concession made on his part was to lower his head onto her shoulder. She quickly smooshed her cheek against his. The metal of Rita's slave collar clicked against the armor on the Stag's neck as she shifted around.

The Stag inhaled to speak and paused for an instant, as though unsure if he should. The pony stared out into the seemingly endless darkness and asked, "How long do you have?"

Rita looked over at him and cocked her head to side. "What do you mean?"

"How much time were you allotted to complete this errand?" the Stag asked slowly. He blinked twice and his gaze drifted down only slightly. "No, that's not actually what I want to ask."

He turned suddenly to look at Rita, with an intensity in his eyes that made her seize up. "If I take you back to the Piranhas, they have ponies there that can safely remove your collar. I can report to your master that you were killed by a landmine or some other hazard. It'd be hard in most places for a griffon to hide, but out here, I think—"

A snort from Rita cut him off, she followed up with a burst of laughter. Still laughing, she shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you. It's the situation and you in the situation that I'm laughing at." She took a moment to compose herself, and spoke calmly. "I'm not a slave."

Click! Rita pulled open the collar with both claws and held it up front of her face. “The explodey-mo-jigger wasn’t turned on so I took out the explosives and just left the little lights in there.” She stared at his expressionless face and played the glowing red lights down her chest, unzipping her bulletproof vest with her free claw, her talons only barely touching the zipper. “See how it makes my feathers look really pink? I love that! Especially on my chest floofies. And look!” She held out her open claw by the collar, her pink-painted talons glittered in the glow. “Look how shimmery they are! It’s so shimmery!”

With a ratcheting series of clicks, Rita clamped the collar shut over her neck. “But my favorite thing about the collar...” Rita touched lightly touched the metal ring with her talon. “Is how it brings focus on my neck and that’s totally my best feature.” She gave a smirk, “Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of good features. Really,” she clicked her tongue and winked, “I just think it makes me look pretty.”

Rita looked, unblinking into his eyes and ran her claws down the Stag’s chest plate. “So,” she breathed, sliding down his covered stomach. “Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked, rubbing her knuckles against the plate armor between his legs.

The Stag did little more than shrug and Rita was on the ground. “I think the rifle was sufficient down payment.” His voice had lost what little trace of emotion it had.

Talons raked across the ground as Rita looked up, her head slightly tilted. Her words were a pur, “I promise you I’d be getting at least as much out of it as you.”

“I’m not even sure ponies and griffons are compatible,” the Stag countered.

“Believe me,” Rita purred with a wicked smile, “I’ve tested that out many times.”

“Enough.” Stag turned away and lay down on his belly. “We’re not doing this. The offer to lie with me was only a courtesy and I rescind it.”

In a flash Rita hopped on all fours. She zipped up her vest quickly, snagging several feathers in the zipper. “Fine,” she shouted. “It was getting too cold here anyway.”

She began to walk away and then turned back to Stag. “You know what? I’m going to go over there and diddle myself before bed and you’re not invited. That offer is rescinded!” She stuck out her tongue and marched away.

Rita flopped to the ground and shouted, “I hope your woody doesn’t get chafed rubbing against your codpiece when you hear the noises I make! I’m really loud, ya know!”

Not getting any response, Rita rolled to her side so that her back was to Stag. Her tail slapped at the ground in frustration. She brought one claw to her beak and stuck her tongue out, wrapping it around each talon. She gave every digit several laps until they were nice and slick, then she curled in on herself and brought her claw to her the hot dampness between her hind legs.

She rubbed hard with her palm, spreading her juices around. ‘Better safe and lubricated than having a talon get caught in your pussy,’ her papa always said. She teased herself, pinching and kneading the skin around her slit.

Her free claw went underneath her chin and slid down her neck, digging in under the feathers. By the time her one claw met her fur, the underside of her talon was sliding along her slit, the curved tip of the talon catching at her hood with each pass. The crook of her thumb pinched her clit at the same she slid two talons carefully inside.

Rita squeezed her eyes tight and lost herself in memory.

She could clearly picture the dingy hotel room with its dim lighting and its half broken furniture. The mostly clean mattress she and the neebish pony lay on was surrounded by their empty liquor bottles and a pair of discarded Dash inhalers.

The pony trembled as Rita brought her beak to his groin. She giggled and moved to straddle his hock, letting it vibrate against her.

“I’ve had these parts all my life,” she whispered, trailing her beak down from his navel. She slid her claws up his forelegs, pinning him at the knees. “I know how to be gentle. When I want to be.”

She let her tongue drift out, inches and inches of it. She kept her eyes on his own and brought her face to the base of his tail, only lightly touching his pucker with the tip of her tongue before tracing up to his scrotum. A tiny, breathless sound escaped his throat as she pressed the length of her tongue between his balls. He shuddered and she cooed, sliding onto his hind hoof and began grinding it into her crotch.

By the time Rita’s tongue slid along the underside of his shaft, he was already leaking. She waved her head side to side, her tongue tracing lazy circles and coiling around his ring. At the top, she swirled her tongue over the the head, gathered the leaking beads of semen, and brought them into her mouth. She gulped loudly.

“You taste sweet," Rita sang, still grinding on his hoof.

"I want you on my face," she whispered breathlessly as she glanced up from his throbbing length to his face. She watched thoughtfully as he writhed on the ground, fascinated with the way his sweaty mane moved along the shabby, rotting carpet.

"I want to make you whimper," she said, nodding in thought.

The young stallion only had time to make a small, questioning noise before Rita’s beak was clamped on the flared ridge of his dick. He choked out a gasp as she gave a tug. One claw went sliding from his butt-hole to his balls, while the other caressed the shaft. Any attempts from him to move was met with another tug and her biting down slightly harder.

She experimented for a few minutes; squeezing here, rubbing there, scratching anywhere that caught her eye. It wasn't until she pushed her thumb hard over his pucker that she got the whimper she'd been looking for. Her smile was brilliant and wide behind her beak as she crawled her talons up his shaft. Her index talon spiraled from his outside flare to the center. He looked up at her, eyes streaming, as she held the point above his leaking hole. He nodded, and she knew that she had picked the right guy for the night. She slowly plunged her talon down.

His reaction was everything she had hoped for. He shook like a broken air conditioner and whined like motor about to burn out. When she saw how his veins throbbed, she angled him painfully back and removed her talon.

He gushed straight into her face and she relished in it, simultaneously making a much smaller sticky mess on his hoof. She was quick in her next movements. The little combat training she remembered guided her in grabbing his shoulders and flipping herself onto her back while putting him upright. He seemed dazed, looking for the floor that was under his head only a moment ago; then she took him into her mouth and he seemed to lose interest in where he was.

With his head tucked deep in her cheek and her beak open wide to avoid slitting him open, he continued to come. He pumped his hips in a steady rhythm with his ejaculations. She let him pour down her throat until his knees began to buckle, then slowly pulled the still dribbling slab from her mouth.

Sweat covered his face as he looked down at her. His gaze shifted about, afraid to look her in the eye, just as he had been when she picked him up at that dingy hotel bar downstairs.

In that instant, Rita adored him. She grabbed his face with both claws and tugged it towards her. Her head shifted well to the side and she opened her beak wide. Her mouth engulfed his, with her beak on either side of his muzzle, and she caught a glimpse of the shock in his eyes before closing hers in ecstasy. The muscles of her throat shifted and she returned the seed to its sender.

When she finally released him, he stumbled away from the bed and galloped to the bathroom, his own fluids dripping from his lips. She regarded a thousand different pieces of her face in the nearby broken mirror. Her scaled talons ran through her sticky, dangling head feathers and, with a flick of her wrist, she sent fat white droplets into the air. She marveled at how they twirled and shimmered as her date gagged loudly in the next room.

Back in the middle of nowhere, Rita was starting to get sore and was still nothing more than damp. Chewing the corner of her mouth, she went through her greatest hits collection: the cyborg with a pistoned hoof; the raider who had forked her own tongue and put studs in both pieces— nothing worked.

She withdrew her claw from her chafing nethers when a huff of breath well behind her caught her ear. Her eyes drifted closed and her mind filled with the Stag's dark eyes. She felt his stringy hair in the back of her her neck, his weight pushing down on her back, her claw stroking his fetlock. Then she felt him pushing against her and then he was splitting her like a railroad spike through a peach.

She shot him cautious glances all the way through. Her feathers prickled every time he stirred, she held her breath waiting for him to join her, but he only did in her mind. She came resentfully, sucked her talons clean, and went to sleep.

Hey, hey kiddies! Your old buddy P0n3, has decided to mix things up a bit and bring you some lighter, softer, and friendlier news for a change.

Nah, I’m just kidding, it’s about gruesome murder, same as always!

This story comes from Equestria’s favorite literal powder keg, Salt Lick City.

You may recall my report a few weeks about the big time merchant Stripmine and his daughter who was abducted for ransom by some skeevy chem dealers. You may also recall that the story ended in tragedy when the local bounty hunters found the filly's body.

It seems that ending wasn’t good enough for Stripmine. He wanted the ponies responsible to pay for their crimes and hired that mysterious pony in the fancy hat.

No! Not that one! The other one! The bloody one.

And from the reports this morning, it seems that the Iron Stag has put a few more notches of ‘justice’ on his helmet with his usual gusto.

Messy work there, Rocky. Try not to spend it all in one place.

The familiar, barely audible, click told Rita that P0n3 had switched from live broadcast to prerecorded messages. She half listened to the message about Red Eye recruiting mercenaries and scientists as she stared at the back of Stag's helmeted head. His ears twitched as he listened out for possible attacks. Neither of them had spoken all morning. For hours they had walked in silence, the sandy dunes were giving way to more solid ground which meant they were getting close to their destination.

Rita hesitated to pull out the earbuds. She waited until the DJ mentioned the brilliant minds that had been taken in by Red Eye and she clicked off the radio with a satisfied smile.

While switching over to the map, she called to the Stag to wait. "We’re getting close to the raider den." She pointed at her PipBuck and held it out for him to see. "There's a cave just over this way, it'd be a good place to get set up."

"Lead the way," he rumbled.

Walking backwards, Rita stared curiously at Stag. "I was listening to the radio. DJ Pone Three doesn't like you very much at all."

Stag looked past her as he spoke, "He's an idealist. He disapproves that I only work for pay and of my more extreme methods. But what he somehow fails to realize is that in order for both me and my equipment to remain effective I need food, lodgings, ammo, and routine weapons and armor maintenance. None of these things are free."

"And your," Rita paused and opened her eyes wide and spoke dramatically, "extreme methods?"

"Why do raiders exist?" Stag asked, at last looking Rita hard in the eye.

The seriousness of the way he asked and the increased intensity of his gaze cause Rita to stammer briefly. "I guess," she paused in her tracks and tapped her beak. "I guess because ponies need or want stuff and they figure it’s easier to take it."

"Fear." The Iron Stag spat and tromped past the griffon, forcing her to scurry ahead. "It's fear that makes a raider. A foal fears dying of hunger, so he starts stealing food. Then he fears being hurt, so he steals weapons. He fears those stronger than him, so he steals chems to even the field. He fears punishment for his crimes, so he murders those that would seek vengeance if left alive."

"A raider is a simpering coward lashing out to protect itself." The Stag bowed his head, his horns forward. "Now I have made something new for them to fear: judgement."

He raised his head to look down at Rita. "You saw it in Salt Lick City, swaggering villains cowering in the garbage because the Iron Stag is there to make them pay for their crimes. The fear of me and what I will do to them just might make a pony think that taking whatever he likes isn't worth the danger.

The pair walked in silence as Stag seemed to relax. He looked past Rita, off to the horizon. "You know, I met Red Eye once." Rita's head bobbed back and she gave him a quizzical look. "It was years ago, there was only talk of a pony clearing out the slums and gathering groups to himself. The lights had yet to come on in Filly.

"I had only just adopted this armor, but I too was beginning to make a name for myself. I had received word that a client wanted to meet me and there he was. Just sitting at a bar table in the corner, looking at ease as though he were at home. His machine eye glowed brightly in that dark corner.

"He spoke first, inviting me to sit down. I sat, he talked. He told me about the Stable he grew up in, the work he was doing, his vision to bring industry back to Equestria in full force even if it meant doing so on the backs of slaves. He told me he was in talks with the Goddess and that, in time, the mutant Alicorns would serve his goals as well.

"Then he asked me to join him. He said that in the coming days and years he'd need ponies of exceptional skill. He told me that, allied with him, I could well and truly wipe Equestria clean of the filth that had seeped into every corner.

"I remember my exact words. I told him that peace through tyranny is worth less than nothing and that I would sooner die than serve the likes of him. He gave me a smile and a nod before departing.

"I recall every detail of that encounter because it is the moment of my biggest regret."

Rita tipped her head to the side. "You wish you'd said yes?" she asked.

"I should have killed him where he sat," Stag almost growled. He became more animated than Rita had ever seen him, slamming his hooves with each step, and nostrils flaring. "I thought he was delusional at the time, but I had no idea how large and powerful he'd become. If I had, I would have smeared him all over that bar. The things I would have done to him would only be spoken of in hushed, terrified whispers."

With a great sigh, the armored pony deflated, returning to his emotionless demeanor. "Even if I could somehow get to him in his fortress and kill him, I don't think it would matter. He's become too large for me, he's as much an idea now as a pony. He will survive his own death, this I believe."

As the Stag fell silent, Rita could only stare with just a twitch of a suppressed smile at the corner of her mouth. A beep from her PipBuck pulled her from her secret thoughts. They had arrived at the cave.

The mouth of the cave was barely larger than Stag and half buried in sand. Rita clicked on her PipBuck’s flashlight and the two stepped into the gloom. After the narrow, steep incline, the cave opened into a more expansive chamber. Stag set about dropping glowsticks around the cave. The stalagmites hung dry from the ceiling and tunnels too small for either of the pair pock-marked the walls. On the floor was the remains of a small campfire; tiny bones were scattered among the ashes.

The Iron Stag touched his nose to the plate by his shoulder and the rifle attached sprung forward. "How close are we to the raider den?" he asked as he unhitched the small bags from under flaps of armor.

Rita looked at her PipBuck and walked her talons across the screen. "About half an hour's gallop and we'll come to a cliff; from there you should be able to put your sights on them."

Stag spoke as emptied out his bags, scattering potions and ammunition across the cave's floor. "I'll prepare myself. You'll fly out there and then report back to me."

Rita stepped forward, waggling a talon. "Now I never agreed—"

"You insisted on coming along; you will scout out the area," Stag said without looking up.

Rita clicked her tongue and turned towards the cave exit. "Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "But I don't know what you expect me to find. Do you think they had raider babies and trained them on anti-sniper combat in the week since I was here?" She grumbled as she ascended the passage.

Warm desert winds rustled the feathers of Rita's face when she poked her head out of the cave. After fully emerging into the open air, she spread her forelimbs and sunk her claws into the sand. The muscles of her hind legs coiled and she spread her wings. With a pounce and a flap, Rita was airborne.

She flapped hard, gaining altitude until she could see for miles. Beyond the rolling dunes and just past a small cliff, stood the ruins of a town. The tallest building still standing was four stories and half collapsed. The sign for the restaurant stood out brightly against the cold, gray skies. Even from here, she could see figures moving about the area.

"Please don't look up," she whispered to no one at all and flew on.

Her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth set in a deep grimace, Rita descended into the cave. "Hi," she called down with a jagged and unconvincing smile.

The Iron Stag stood in the center of the cave, the Head-Hunter in the firing position, the majority of his bags pushed off in the corner. The only things left on the ground were three vials of healing potion. He looked as though he'd been waiting for at least a few minutes. He said nothing.

"We've got a teeny, itsy-bitsy problem," she said, holding up her claw with her thumb and pointer talon held close together. She paused and mid-stride and scratched the back of her head. "Now I didn't see any raider babies or anything," she said with a forced laugh," but there were a few more of them than when I was there last time."

"How many?" he asked with no expression.

Rita tapped her beak and looked away. She spoke rapidly. "Well I didn't get an exact head count or anything, but, ya know, I mean you're a really good shot, I'm sure you could get more than one of them with each shot and then do your little horn thing once you're out of ammo. I could make you a little hat with the healing potions attached so you could be getting healed up at the same time, not that I think you'll get hurt or anything. You're really tough after all and—"

Rita's back left was knocked out from under her. She struck the cave floor hard, and landed in a heap. “Real effin’ mature, kicking me,” she shouted in a daze. “It’s not like I put the friggin’ raiders there—”

Rita stopped and stared at her hind left paw; she had landed with her face near it. The angle was wrong. She moved to pull her legs under her, her toes twitched, and she screamed. Her leg flopped hideously to the side and the blood poured into her view. She slapped her claws against the ground and continued to scream in agony. From the corner of her eye, she saw the edges of ragged hole just above her knee, and she began to hyperventilate.

The Iron Stag stepped in front of her face with the barrel of the Head-Hunter still faintly smoking. “We need to talk,” he said loudly and evenly, “and you’re bleeding to death.”

From his face, Rita could see that he was shouting, but she could barely hear him. He touched the burning hot barrel of the gun to the root of her right wing, she could barely feel it. Rita sobbed so hard her body was clenching.

“To your right are three healing potions,” Stag shouted down to her. “Use only one hand to grab them or I fire.” He pushed barrel harder for emphasis. “Drink the first two and then pour the third on the wound itself.”

It was hard to move. Everything swirled when Rita turned her head, and she had to choke back to keep from throwing up. She tried closing her eyes, but very nearly passed out. Her leg stopped hurting and panic seized her. With a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the first vial and poured it down her throat. She let it drop and nearly knocked the second over in her rush to snatch it up.

The second vial empty, feeling and awareness began to return to her. The pain of her leg came back with all the subtlety of stepping into a meat grinder. Her claw shook so hard, drops of potion spilled from the top. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the wound and felt for the edge with her thumb. She dumped the contents and let out a long, high cry as it worked into the injury like thousands of red-hot needles.

Panting and sweating, Rita struggled to sit up. She looked up at the pony standing over her, with a gun of her own making still pressed against her wing. “You have my undivided attention,” she said between labored breaths.

"I need to know what's waiting for me out there." The Stag took the barrel of the gun from the base of Rita's wing and put it against her head.

Between gritted teeth, Rita growled, "I told you already! It's thirty-some raiders—"

Thump.

The Head-Hunter fired off right next to her ear, the muzzle flash singed her feathers. Stag pushed the barrel down on Rita's right paw. The hairs smoked from the heat and she dug her talons into the ground.

The Stag's face was so close she could feel his breath on her face. "Your leg may yet recover, but lie again and I'll destroy your foot."

"I don't know what you want!" she shrieked.

Looking her dead in the eyes, the Stag rumbled, "I want to know what Red Eye has waiting for me out there."

For a moment, Rita forgot her injuries. The corner of her mouth curled up and her brow raised. "Who said anything about Red Eye?"

With a heavy sigh, Stag released Rita's paw from under the gun, but he kept it pointed at her face as he spoke. "Your mannerisms are not like somepony who was raised in the Wasteland, hygiene aside. This, along with your PipBuck and Stable-Tec body armor would suggest that you were Stable born, but you don’t have their naivete.

“On top of that, your PipBuck fits too loosely to have been yours nor does it have the glove that fits over a griffon’s hand. Ergo, you got it from a pony. You also wear a slave collar that was never armed. This could suggest any number of slaver outfits, but your body armor is numbered with Red Eye's Stable number."

Rita grimaced and gave a pained smile. "Well look at Mr. Detective here. Yeah, I used to work for Red Eye’s science team, but I left him, like, months ago." She waved a claw dismissively. "Way too big an ego on that guy. Anything you do, he gets all the credit and that's just not how I roll.

"And speaking of big egos, what makes you think he'd devote any resources to taking you out? You're sort of just one guy who runs around torturing nasty-wasties to death. You're not exactly any kind of threat to him."

The barrel of the Head-Hunter was thrust over Rita's right eye. "Fine, then what does he want?" Stag asked. "At first I thought it might have something to do with the Piranhas, but you never asked for information regarding the whereabouts of their town nor did you ever touch your PipBuck while in their town."

With the one eye she could see out of, Rita looked defiantly up at her possible executioner. "Like I told you, there's a treasure down in that restaurant. And like I keep telling you, this has nothing to do with Red Eye. This is for me."

A hoof the size of a can of beets slammed down on the hole in Rita's left hind leg. She cried out and curled up on herself but was shoved onto her back immediately. The Stag lifted a forehoof onto her belly and put some weight on it, just enough for the spikes on his horseshoes to dig in.

"I don't believe you," he said slowly. "What is the treasure?"

Trembling and panting, Rita lifted a claw towards her vest. "I'll show you," she said. Stag pressed down harder with his hoof. "Cirminey!" she shouted. "What do you think, I'm gonna pull a rocket launcher outta my shirt pocket?!"

Stag lifted his hoof from her belly. Rita gave him a forced, sweet smile and reached into her vest. She withdrew her claw holding a series of papers. When she held them up for Stag to see, his scowl only deepened.

“I see,” was all he said.

Kicking her paws and humming a tune to herself, Rita looked around the dark and grimy bathroom stall while seated on the toilet. Taking her eyes from the standard graffiti of penises and suggested times and locations to meet aforementioned penises, Rita saw a rack mounted to the stall wall with light reading materials. She grabbed up the nearest two-hundred-year-old magazine and flipped through it, uninterested.

The corner of one the books stuck out past the others, it showed the back half of a pony. A blue pony. A blue pony with a rainbow tail. Rita gasped and yanked the book from the shelf. The cover showed the blue pegasus decked out in combat fatigues with a rocket launcher mounted to her back and a dragon above her, belching fire. Across the top was written, “Rainbow Dash’s Tales of Loyalty and Bravery.”

Page after page showed full color drawings of Rainbow Dash fighting against zebras with magically created bat wings in the skies above Manehattan. It was a comic book. A comic about Rainbow Dash. In a two page spread, Rainbow Dash took up two machine guns in her mouth and shouted, “Time to be awesome!” Rita’s heart was racing and her excitement was reaching its peak when she looked at the cover again, on the upper left corner was written, “Issue four of ten.”

The door to the bathroom was nearly knocked from its hinges as Rita slammed it open. The merchant behind the junk shop counter jumped for his gun as the wild eyed griffon lunged at him. Before he could grab his shotgun, Rita slapped the comic on the counter.

“Sir, where did you get this?” she demanded.

The merchant pony took a moment to calm down and looked past Rita. His face fell and he looked back at her. “You pissed on my floor.”

Her features contorted in confusion, Rita looked over her back at the wet trail from the restroom. “Oh, that. Some things can’t wait,” she said impatiently.

“I spent weeks working on getting the plumbing working,” the pony said, tears forming in his eyes. “I had never worked harder on anything or been prouder at achieving it. And you choose to disregard all that effort and use my nice, clean floor as your toilet.”

Rita slammed a clawful of caps on the counter. “Forget about your stupid floor! I’ll buy you a new floor,” she squawked with a maniacal smile on her face. “I need to know where you got this book. I will make it worth all your whiles!”

The teary eyed earth pony looked down at the book. "Oh my." His face lit up. "I didn't know we still had any of those." He wiped away his tears as he spoke.

Rita slapped another clawful of caps on the counter. "So you have more of these around here?" Her voice was all but cracking.

"No, not around here," the old pony said. He gave a little laugh and touched the comic with his hoof. "This one musta been grabbed by my daughter. She's a big Rainbow Dash fan, you see. Always saying she's gonna grow up to be a big, tough hero like—"

Another pile of caps were dropped on the counter. "That's totally awesome, I'll bet she's super hot," Rita said rapidly through gritted teeth. "Where did she grab it from?"

"My family reclaimed and rebuilt a restaurant," he said with the mist returning to his eyes. "We were making a little farm in the back, getting all set up to re-open them doors for all the hungry mouths we could—"

"Oh sweet Hearth’s Warming—" Rita clawed at her headfeathers. "I do not care about your life story! Just tell me where it is and if there's more!"

"I'm trying to tell you! I don't know if those books are still there," He said dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief draped over his hoof and sniffling loudly.

Talons dug into the merchant's moldy jacket collar, Rita tugged with all her might and succeeded only in pulling herself halfway onto the counter. "How can you not know?!" she screamed into his startled face. "Don't you realize how important these are!? They belong in a museum!"

The merchant broke out sobbing. "A band of rotten raiders took over," he cried. "This was almost a year ago, but last I heard, the bastards were still held up in there, making life miserable to any who get in their sights." His shoulder shook as he went on, "My brother and his son were killed holding the hoodlums off so the rest of us could escape."

"Then I will avenge them!" Rita shouted, still not releasing the pony.

The merchant pony looked into Rita's insane face with awe. "Do you mean it? You'll make those criminals pay for their crimes and bring justice to—”

Rita let go of his collar and grabbed his tear slicked face with both claws, her beak pressed against his nose. "I have never meant anything more in my whole life, I swear deep deep down from the bottom of my heart that I shall see these ner-do-wells dead at my paws. Now just tell me where to find them!"

"Comics," the Iron Stag rumbled, looking at the book held in Rita's bloodied claw. "That's the treasure."

"See?" Rita coughed as she stuffed the book back inside her shirt. "This has all been a silly misunderstanding that I for one am willing and ready to put behind me."

"You're willing to have over two dozen ponies killed for comics." Stag's face was blank.

Rita rolled her eyes. "They're raiders, they killed that guy's brother and puppy and whatever."

“And you hired me to kill them just to take property. If the merchant’s family had not been chased away, would you have hired somepony else to kill them?” Stag asked quickly.

“Of course not,” Rita waved her claw dismissively. “I’d try to negotiate with them first—” Rita suddenly stopped and continued a moment later, careful to not look at Stag as she resumed. “Then I’d just see if they’d be willing to sell. The books couldn’t have had that much value to them.”

Cautiously, Rita chanced a glance at Iron Stag, but found his face as unreadable as ever. “One last question,” his voice had a finality to it that made Rita gulp. “What if the merchant and his family had made the books available for any and all who came to them. Would that have been acceptable to you?”

“No!” Rita blurted, slapping her claws against the cave floor. “Those ponies don’t know the things I know about the Ministry Mares. They’d just be giving them away as trinkets or toilet paper and once they were gone, that’d be it! Ponies need to understand what those girls did and I’m the only one who knows how to really tell them so that they can learn something and better themselves from it!”

There was a heavy silence in the stagnant air for almost a minute after Rita finished her rant. The silence was broken by Stag. "I see you now. You're manipulative and a liar and you care nothing for the suffering for others. You would use me to destroy life, not for justice, but for your own ambitions. You would create monuments to past icons and present your ideas for the future of Equestria using these icons as your avatars.

"No, you do not work for Red Eye and this is not a trap for me. You would make yourself into another Red Eye and are having me help you with the foundation." The Stag cracked his neck from side and angled his horns towards Rita. "I'm going to start killing you now."

A sound erupted through the cave chamber. It was the last sound Stag had expected to hear and it made him freeze up. Rita was laughing.

"Do you wish to deny my allegations?" the Stag asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

"Oh no," Rita laughed and then gritted her teeth at the jostling of her leg. "Well, for one, I don't think I actually ever lied to you, but that's not what has me with down with the giggles. No. What I'm laughing at is the amount of farms you could start with the fertilizer you're dropping from your mouth."

The Stag raised a brow. "But you just said that you do not deny—"

"Yeah, yeah, congrats figuring out my aspirations of global domination within a day and a half of meeting me. Pinkie'd be proud. But that's not why you're going to tear me to kitty bitties."

The Stag tilted his head to the side curiously. Rita only laughed harder. "Oh, come on, Rocky. We're both adults here. Just you, me, and the wasteland. You can drop the act for a few minutes."

"What—"

Rita balled her claws into fists and bounced her forelimbs stiffly, as though she were marching. "I'm Iron Stag," she said in a faux deep voice. "I'm going to punch all the bad guys in the face and save the world. I don't like tearing ponies to pieces for hours and days, but I do it because if I act worse than the raiders, that'll show 'em. And then everyone will love and respect me, the tortured hero."

Rita relaxed her forelimbs and waved a claw in a circle. "Ya know," she said in her normal voice. "All that stuff."

Stag's eyes had narrowed and his nostrils were beginning to flare. Rita took one look at his face and fell backward laughing. "Oh man, you're not serious." She cackled. "You actually believe what you're spouting?"

Rocking from side to side on her back, Rita was laughing so hard tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. "Oh mercy, you really are killing me over here!"

In a flash, Stag brought down his massive hoof on top of Rita's right paw. She screamed as he ground it against the rock floor. When he lifted up, Rita's paw was a twisted bloody mess.

"I have dedicated my entire life to stomping out injustice," Stag said, his voice back to its eerie calm. "I do not appreciate your mockery."

"And I thought you had a sense of humor," Rita gasped through clenched teeth.

"Doesn't change what I said though," continued Rita as she sat up with a shudder of pain. "If you cared about fighting 'injustice' then you wouldn't waste time with this sort of crap. I mean, the ponies you’re torturing are usually so stoned out of their skulls that you could feed them their own wing-wang and they wouldn’t notice anything was wrong until they went tinky.

“Just look at yesterday! You spent almost an hour on two ponies when you had a sniper rifle and line of sight. If you hadn’t been so intent on showing off, you could have put a hole through that super stabby-cutty lady’s head or chest and then your nose wouldn’t be bleeding right now.”

The Stag took no notice as the blood leaked steadily from both nostrils, drained over his mouth, and poured from his chin. His eyes were locked on Rita's. His body and features were so still, one would be forgiven for mistaking him for a bleeding statue.

Rita went on, "You talk like you're making such a huge difference because dudes hide from you. Big shocker! A bunch of cowards are scared of a big guy who might hurt them. You're basically on the same level as say, a bear, or I dunno, anyone with a gun. They're not going be good because they're afraid of you hurting them, they're just gonna hide until you leave and then go right back to raping all the puppies at the orphanage for the blind or whatever.

"You're not gonna fix the world yourself and you know it. You just spout off all that bull-hooey so the little mangled girls who give you presents don't realize you're just a sadist who loves attention. And you've been saying it for so long that you've actually got yourself believing it. I mean, that's just hysterical!"

Looking up, Rita tapped her beak with a talon. "Sorry, I got off topic. Anyway, yeah, you're not about to rip me apart for some crazy justice thing that you don't really believe in anyway. Nor are you gonna tear me apart to sate your murder-boner."

Leaning in, Rita put her beak right up to his nose. "You're going to kill me, because I embarrassed you.

"You spent, like, all of yesterday trying to impress me. Little tip for the future: standing around bleeding through a hole in your face isn't cool. It just makes it seem like you're too stupid to take care of your boo-boos.

"Anyway, off topic. Back on topic! You take me to your big deal village of tribals and show me what a big shot you are and how much everyone loves you and lines up to smooch your hinder. And just really really playing it up for the 'plucky damsel in distress', moi.

"And I know, I know I should have played along, but last night when you were talking about freeing me." Rita chortled and held up a talon, asking for a moment. "I just, I couldn't. I mean, I just saw what you were imagining so vividly! You, the big burly hero coming to visit me in your secret village of good-natured tribals, we'd blah and blah and then you'd be all, 'I must go' and then I'd be all 'sniffle' and then you'd trot off to another adventure until the day came where I would tell you, the tortured loner, how much I need you to stay with me and that I love you—"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT," the Iron Stag roared, spattering Rita's face with saliva and blood. With a wordless yell, he smashed her across the face so hard that the griffon went limply tumbling across the cave floor, striking her head against the far wall.

"I am sick of listening to your shit," Stag shouted at her prone form. "I will not be judged by somepony who wears a fucking tool of torture and murder as a fashion accessory."

A tremble ran across Rita's body and she spat out a mouthful of blood. "Yeah, I'll bet that's annoying, like walking into a party and seeing someone wearing the exact same outfit except it looks ten times better on them," Rita said rapidly. Unseen by Stag, using a single talon, she slid back a small panel on her PipBuck, uncovering a tiny green button. "And it's funny you should mention my little bomb collar." The button lit up. "Did you ever wonder what I did with its explosives?"

Time came to a crawl. With a jab of her talon, Rita's PipBuck beeped once. Across the cave, the steady arm secured against the Iron Stag's neck made a similar beep. Rita only saw his face for an instant; his eyes were wide, his mouth was hung open slightly, and his brow was furrowed. In that instant, he was pleading, not like this. Rita gave him a smile before she looked away and put her claws over the back of her neck.

The crack of the explosion would have been smaller than a grenade’s, but it was amplified by the tight cavern. Rita stayed on the ground until the ringing in her ears stopped. She looked over to where Stag lie on the ground, blood pooling around his head and wisps of smoke curling from the side of his face she couldn't see.

“Wah-Wah!” she shouted, tilting her head from side to side.

With a grunt and a hiss, Rita rolled onto her back and sat up. She grimaced looking at the still oozing hole in her left leg and her smashed right paw. “Couldn’t you have focused on one leg, you big cheesebread?” she shouted angrily at Stag’s body.

Rita looked to the cave entrance and counted the tiny tunnels until she saw the one with very faint scratch over the top. She grabbed the ground with her claws and began scooting her butt across the cave floor. Each time her her wounded leg touched the dirt, it brought a fresh wave of pain.

“For a minute there, I was actually really worried, “ she said to Stag. “I was pushing all the buttons; vanity, your healthy helping of hero’s guilt, inner turmoil, loneliness, I thought you’d never lose your temper. I didn’t want that bomb popping off next to my head.

“Kinda bites that I had to boom you at all, really. You were a pretty cool guy; now I need some other chump to get my books and I don’t have any hardware to offer up.” She stopped mid-scoot, horror swept over her face. “Now I’ll never get any more of that yum-yum Piranha soup.”

She grabbed a tiny rock and lobbed it at Stag. It bounced to the ground three feet anyway from him. “This is all your fault. I had them trusting me! Do you know how useful they could have been! Gah! Why did you have to have a Red Eye hate-boner; why couldn't you be cool for just a few more hours?!”

The rump-based journey complete, Rita reached into the hole. She felt along the inside for the dangling strap and jerked it down. Her little green duffel bag dropped to the dusty floor. She opened the bag and began rummaging inside. She dug through the dozens of rattling bottles of nail polish and her claw shut on a fat, rounded bottle.

The green glass bottle had a piece of paper taped to it with a little doodle of Rita giving two thumbs up. She stuck her talon in the cork and pulled it out with a pop.

“Come to mama,” she whispered before draining the contents into her mouth. She gulped and gave a satisfied sigh. “Painkillers, extra strength healing potion, and a dash of Dash!”

A pleasant numbness washed across Rita’s body. The cut on her face became just a warm spot and then nothing. The middle toe of her right paw untwisted and settled back into place as the cuts and burns faded into thin, furless lines. Her smile was beaming and she gave her toes a celebratory wiggle. Her smile faded when she looked at the other leg; the hole had not diminished and continued to bleed.

“Well, poo,” Rita grumbled. “Gotta take care of this the hard way.”

"Let's see... if I knew how, I could sew it all up and clamp off each individual vein. Of course with the tissue infected by the zebra crap, all it would take is a good poke and it would open right back up." Rita looked at the hole, still big enough for to stick in a talon. "Or I could cook the whole thing and kiss my tap dancing days good-bye. Swell."

Digging into the bag once more, Rita pulled back the foam bottom and took out a metal case.Inside the case was a variety of tools and materials for gun maintenance. Among those was a jar marked "gunpowder." It was empty.

"One of those days, I see," Rita sighed and put the case away.

Rita looked over to the still smoking Iron Stag and gave another sigh. "Welp, time for you to help me out big guy. I think you kept your ammo on the left side of your hip."

Carefully, Rita rolled to her belly and stood up, keeping her back left tucked and raised. With slow, staggered steps, Rita made her way to the body. She kneeled down and flipped up the armor over his haunch. The hinge had been damaged by the blast and the plate popped off in her claws. She tossed the piece of armor aside and went for the saddlebag beneath. She stopped short of opening the flap.

"Now what are the odds that a kooky guy like you would booby trap his bags?" she asked the smoking pony.

Using a single talon, Rita cut through the bottom of the satchel and let the magazines and loose bullets spill to the ground. She picked up two of the bullets and stuffed them inside one of her shirt pockets.

Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled open the tear she had made in the bag. "Oh my," she whispered after peeking inside. "You were a kooky boy." Inside that satchel, wired to flap, was a little metal tube with a picture of fire on it.

"Running around with a bomb strapped to you." She giggled. "How irresponsible. Man, I could sell a thermite grenade for a very shiny bottle cap, but I think I'll leave well enough alone. I'd rather not add 'having my claws melted off' to the list of things that could have gone better today."

A whiff of smoke went up Rita's nostril as she stood up. Her eyes rolled up and she licked her beak. "Maybe it's just that I missed breakfast," she murmured as she looked at Stag, her eyes dilated, "but you smell delicious. You wouldn't mind if I just took a little bit of you for the road would you?"

Rita leaned back and answered herself in a deep voice. "Go right ahead, Rita. I figure I owe you for shooting you and torturing you and stuff. I'm a big stupid jerk, please, eat all you like."

She leaned down to his exposed neck, salivating. "Now, now don't be so hard on yourself we all make—"

The Iron Stag's left eye opened and locked on to her. Rita fell backwards with a squawk and he stood with a gargled roar. The right side of his helmet was mangled, his right eye was burnt and lidless, tiny fires still burned on the coat of his face. But it was his jaw that made Rita shudder, what little was left of it hung loose in the left socket and his tongue dangled down, twitching.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rita shrieked as he began his charge. “It was supposed to kill you, not maim you!”

The Stag’s steps were shaky and stumbling, but he still swung his horned helmet with deadly force. Rita tried to hop backwards and tripped over herself, tumbling to the ground as the bladed horns whistled overhead. The Stag’s hoofsteps became stomps as he aimed to grind her into the ground. Shrieking and panicking, Rita rolled away and onto her belly. She scurried away on all fours, ignoring the fresh gout of blood that seeped from her wounded leg.

The Iron Stag turned toward her, blocking the only path out of the cave. He pawed the ground lowered his head, his horns less than a foot from the ground. Stag charged.

Rita danced in place and shouted, her voice cracking, "Time to be awesome!"

The griffon leapt forward, flaring her wings and with her claws outstretched. Her leap had no strength behind it with her wounded leg and there were no winds to catch her in the cramped cave. She landed with a painful flop on her belly and Stag only a body length away.

The instant the branching blades passed overhead, Rita reached up and grabbed the base of the blades. She was jerked forward, her body curled under her and towards the spiked hooves. With a tug and a hop, she pulled her butt off the ground and she grabbed the Stag's breastplate with her paws. She was now nose to nose with the enraged, wounded Stag and clinging to him desperately as he tried to shake her off while continuing his charge.

The wall erupted in a shower of sparks when the metal horns crashed against the stone at full speed. Rita slid back, cutting open her palms, but she held tight. Stag brought his face forward and slammed his mouth into Rita's neck.

"Are you trying to eat me!?" she screamed. "You don't even have a jaw, you nutbag!"

The Stag continued shaking his head, pressing down with what was left of his mouth, and kicking out with his forelegs. Rita let go with one of her claws and slashed at the exposed and burned side of his face. She scratched over and over and over until strips of skin and muscle peeled away, but he refused to fall.

One of Rita's flailing scratches went across his burnt eye and it burst. Stag made a gurgling howl and shook his head from side to side, but continued to heavily stamp the ground. Rita’s remaining claw slipped off the metal horn. She grabbed wildly for anything to keep her from falling under his hooves, she caught what was left of Stag's lower jaw.

The reaction was instant and powerful, his viscous screams intensified as he tried to scrape Rita off. With both claws she wrenched the bloody chunk from side to side. Smiling insanely, she threw all of her meager weight to one side and, with horrible rip and snap, the jaw gave way.

At long last, the Iron Stag fell.

Though Rita was panting and exhausted, she was also still a little bit stoned from her medical concoction, and she pulled herself up. Limping, she walked to her bag.

"Now that you’re calmed down, just wait there," she said to the heavily breathing Iron Stag. "I can fix this."

Once more she plunged her claws past the nail polish bottles that filled the bag to the brim. She peeled back the bottom and wrapped her talons around a small metal handle. What she pulled from the bag looked to be little more than a tube with a gun's handle attached to it, but at the back, with thick, glowing wires running from it, was a dark purple crystal embedded in a dial. Rita turned the crystal with her mouth until all four of the dial's yellow lights were glowing brightly.

"Now just hold still," she said to Stag and took aim. Holding her forelimb out as straight as she could, she closed one eye and lined up the other with the gun's barrel. She stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth in concentration and squeezed the trigger.

Bzat!

The red laser beam may have struck the Stag directly in his remaining eye and burned straight into his brain, ending his pain and life, except he moved right as Rita fired. Instead, the beam went through his saddle bag and left a shallow burn across his left haunch. It also detonated the the thermite grenade inside the bag.

"Why did you move?!" Rita shrieked as flame erupted from the bag and rolled down the Stag's leg.

Rita grabbed a plastic water bottle from her bag and clipped off the top with her beak as she hobbled to the burning pony. She spattered some of the water across his leg, but it did nothing to stop the chemically fueled flames. Underneath his left hind leg, a flaming bead bubbled through his leg and dropped to the ground where it continued to burn.

"Now you know how I feel," Rita shouted as she continued to futilely throw water on the chemical fire. More spots burned through his leg, the droplets of fire splattering on the ground. "Okay, fine, make a competition out of it!

"You have to move your leg or it's gonna roast your tummy," Rita shouted. She grabbed his, thankfully not yet on fire, hoof with both claws and tugged. There was a sound like wet tar and Rita fell on her butt, still holding half of the Iron Stag's back left leg.

"I'm getting quite the collection here," she muttered to herself and cast the leg aside.

The rest of the chemical fire either burned through or rolled off to the ground where it died out moments later. Stag was still kicking in the air and still gurgling his screams of pain.

Rita grabbed her head with both claws and rubbed her temple. "Um, okay, you're in pretty rough shape and I can't help but feel a little responsible for that." She stumbled to the side of the cave, hoisted her duffle bag, and moved towards the incline leading out.

"So, yeah, I'm just gonna go. I'll see if I can spot any of your sharp tooth-ed buddies. You just, um, smolder here and try not to die for a bit."

The Iron Stag stopped thrashing and looked at Rita. The familiar calm came back to what was left of his face. He brought his head to side and then whipped it back towards Rita. His helmet flew at her like a spiked cannon ball.

With a squawk, Rita dived to the side. An instant later, the helmet's horns embedded themselves deep in the ground where she had just stood.

Her wings spread and her tail lashing, Rita screamed as loud as she could, "You mother-loving A-HOLE!" She re-shouldered her bag. "I was gonna get you some help, but never mind! You're clearly doing just fine on your own!"

She reached down and grabbed the Stag's still smoking leg off the ground. She waved it at him and said, "I'm keeping this! Nice knowing you, chuckles!"

And with an exaggerated salute, Rita turned her back on the Iron Stag for the last time and limped out of the cave. She was flapping her wings as soon as she felt wind on her face and, with the weakest jump she could manage, she made herself airborne.

The skies of Equestria were cold and grey. The heavy clouds hung still as far as the eye could see, shrouding the whole of the land below in gloom. The ceiling of the world.

"And not a rain cloud to be found," Rita grumbled, searching for dark spots in the sky. "Then again, with the kinda day I've been having, I'd probably pop in for a quick wash only to find some jumpy Enclave pega-sickos with a million, billion guns."

Frowning, Rita checked her PipBuck's map for the nearest running body of water. She found Kimblewick River wasn't too far and changed course. In less than an hour's flight, she was within sight of the river. She gave a check for anything that might wish her harm-of which the list seemed endless-and began her descent.

Rita settled carefully on the bank, being sure that her right hind leg took the brunt of the landing. Her PipBuck gave barely a tick from the Geiger counter, so she plunged her bloodied claws in without a thought. The running water went pink as it washed away the remains of Stag and over her own cut up palms.

Reflected in the water, Rita saw her face; she was spattered in blood both foreign and domestic, the feathers on her cheek were matted around the cut, her eyes were red from crying, her eye marking had smudges from the trail of tears, and there was dried snot all around her beak. She gave the rest of herself a quick survey and other than a few chipped nails and talons and the cuts on the palms of her claws, she was doing okay considering. She stared at the lightly bleeding hole in her leg; on the plus side, the bone seemed to have healed straight—this was of little comfort as she could actually see the bone.

From out of a shirt pocket, Rita pulled the two bullets. She once again took the weapon's kit out of her bag and fished out another bottle with a picture of herself on it, along with a roll of bandages. Lastly, she took out her laser pistol and set it aside.

Using a tool from the kit, she removed the bullets from the casings and unceremoniously threw them in the river. She carefully poured the gunpowder into wound, making sure it wasn't packed too tight and that it was even distributed on both ends of the hole. Lastly, she uncorked the potion and sat it down.

Holding the crystal at the back end of the laser pistol, Rita gave it a twist and only one of the four lights on the back faintly glowed.

"This is gonna suck balls," Rita said to herself optimistically. Eyes squeezed shut, she stuck the barrel of the laser pistol against her wound and fired.

Many miles away, a little filly was getting water from her family’s well. The sound she heard on the wind would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her days. Years later, she would tell her own children terrifying stories of the desert banshee to keep them from wandering off at night.

At least, that was the story Rita told herself, lying on the river bank and shaking in pain. As the pain killers and narcotics mixed in with her potion coursed through her system, she found enough strength to sit back up. She looked at the reflection of the small, bloodied, and crying griffon and slapped it away. She scooped up the water and forcefully scrubbed the blood and filth from her face and and neck. A number of pony teeth had been tangled in her feathers. She stuck out her tongue and threw them to the side.

By the time Rita’s reflection had reformed, she had taken a jar of makeup from her bag and was touching up her eye markings. “Today has been a little rough,” she said to the pretty griffon she saw reflected in the water. “Now let’s just ask, what have we learned and how can we make the rest of this day go better?”

Inside the Salty Trough, New Appleloosa’s local watering hole, it was business as usual. Ponies from various walks of life talked and laughed and drank as the waitresses went to and from the bar at the back. The bartender was a tall and tidy looking pony wearing a classy green vest and a matching derby. The waitresses wore great puffy dresses their manes were a pretty mess of curls.

The sparse lights left many a table in heavy shadow in the late afternoon sun. This seemed to suit many of the quieter bar’s patrons just fine, who watched the more chatty patrons for trouble or opportunity. A shoddy staircase lead to the floor above where well dressed stallions and mares looked over the railing for any interested eyes.

“Howdy-do, New Appleloosa,” Rita shouted loudly as she strode in through the swinging doors as confidently as her limp would let her.

All eyes stared at her either with either amusement or suspicion. She gave them all a smile. “I just flew into town and boy are my wings tired,” Rita said stretching out her wings. “Ya know, because I literally flew here. With my wings. This isn’t a joke, they’re really tired.”

Rita reared back, putting most her weight on her right leg, and clapped her talons together. “Anyhoo, I’m here offering employment to a lucky pony. Now, how many of you like caps?”

Hats were pushed up, chairs scooted as ponies turned towards the loud griffon; one of the stallions on the floor above gave her a whistle. Rita gave that pony a wink. “I see that’s most of you. Now how many of you would be willing to rid Equestria of a few mean-ol raiders and join me on a fantastic adventure to recover some very important historical documents in exchange for said caps?”

Many ponies turned away and went back to what they were doing before the interruption. Those still paying attention to Rita stood up; some took out either guns or other types of weapons to show off.

“Excellent,” Rita squealed. “So many socially conscious citizens!”

Rita held up a talon and waved it at the assembling crowd. “Two things though, that few raiders is actually about thirty or so raiders and the caps I’m offering will come from whatever you can get from them. All yours either to keep or to sell. Oh, and I get a twenty-five percent cut, since finders fee and all. Oh hey, that’s three things!”

Most of the crowd of ponies dispersed as Rita spoke, some grumbled insults at her as they went past. One pony, an exceptionally large stallion with a grizzled beard and a bandana, made it a point to bang into her as he walked past and sat down at a nearby table.

“That’s fine,” she said to the passing ponies. “I know that such a daunting task is not for everyone. There’s absolutely no shame in being a scaredy-pants who goes to sleep crying and sucking their hoof, none at all.”

Two ponies remained standing in front Rita, she eyed them both over carefully. One was an earth pony with a long ragged mane and a patch over his left eye. He had a heavy-looking revolver strapped to his side, a cigarette on his lips, and a cockatrice tattoo on his neck. The other was a unicorn with most of her mane shaved off save for a few wisps of blonde hair at the front and several small bandages on her face. She wore what looked to be a military uniform from the war. The uniform was full of bullet holes and more recently applied decals; she had a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and double-barreled repeater-rifle strapped to her back.

Rita clicked her tongue as she tapped the side of her beak. “Hmmm, you both look really tough and cool and all.” Rita smiled and scrunched up her eyes. “I’m just so bad at making decisions, I just want to take both of you and keep you all to myself.” She followed with a laugh that neither joined.

Pointing a talon at both, Rita’s eyes lit up. “Tie breaker question time.” She looked at the ground, scratching her chin as she muttered rapidly to herself. “I got it,” she announced after several seconds of deliberation.

With a raised brow and a coy smile, Rita asked, ”Do either of you,” she paused dramatically, “think I’m pretty? Now if you both do, and I wouldn’t blame you, then you can tell me how pretty you think I am and then I’ll pick the winner.”

The two ponies looked at Rita, then at each other. Without a word spoken, they turned and walked back to the bar. Rita watched them go with a trembling lower beak and her eyes shrink wrapped in tears.

“That’s so mean,” she sniffled.

With slumped shoulders and a lump in her throat, Rita brought up her PipBuck and looked up other nearby settlements. She nearly jumped when she felt a hoof come to a rest on her butt. She looked over and saw a drunkenly smiling unicorn, struggling to stand. He was an average height for a stallion, with an olive coat and a mess of an auburn mane. His face and body were crisscrossed in an obscene number of scars, and he even had a chunk missing out of his horn. He wore a simple red sweater with roughly repaired saddlebags on his hips.

“I kill raiders,” he announced proudly. A bit more quietly, he added, “You say something about killing ‘em for pay?”

A smile slowly spread across Rita’s face. “I prefer to talk business over drinks,” Rita batted her eyes. “Buy me one?”

“Sure,” he said distractedly. The unicorn was staring down at her twitching tail, more specifically at where the tail met her backside.

“You’re so sweet,” Rita cooed.

She headed for the bar and the unicorn’s hoof slipped off; he staggered at the loss of his perch. About two steps later she felt something warm and wet around her tail. She looked back to find his lips around the tuft of her tail, grinning back at her as if it were perfectly normal. She shrugged and led him to the bar.

When they had arrived, she put her talons up on the counter and lifted herself onto her hind legs, very briefly coming to eye level before she turned and leaned back against the bar. The scar covered-stallion unceremoniously draped himself against the bar, settling like melted wax. A handful of caps floated out of the unicorn’s bags. Rita snatched the floating caps and slapped them on the counter.

She twisted her neck back and called to the bartender. “Raspberry Ricky over here. You’re gonna need three ounces of raspberries, an ounce of lime juice—”

Clink!

The bartender dropped martini glass containing the rosey drink by Rita’s relaxed claw.

“Now that’s service!” she said with an appreciative smile.

Rita grabbed the glass in one claw and dug into her vest with the other. She pulled a small paper umbrella and unfolded it before plonking it in the glass while the unicorn watched her with a dazed awe. Two empty bottles of whiskey had mysteriously appeared next to him.

“You a slave?” he blurted, reaching out to touch her collar.

“Do I look like a slave?” Rita asked back, giving him another dose of eye lashes and running her talons over her puff of exposed chest feathers.

The unicorn fell silent for a time, as if in deep contemplation. “Kinda,” he said, scratching his chin.

Rita blinked twice, not breaking her flirtatious expression. “Well I’m not,” she said simply and took a gulp of her drink. “Refreshing. Now, onto business. Do you have any weapons?”

“I got, uh, a bunch of knives,” he said slowly as a series of different types of blades floated from one of his bags. He tapped different spots of his body concealed by his sweater, each tap made a metal clinking noise.

“I also got a bunch hidden all over here,” he explained.

Rita nodded and rubbed under her chin. “Hmm, yes I see. Do you have a gun?”

“Sure do.” The pony grinned in a way that Rita was almost sure he meant to be flirtatious. A rusty nine millimeter pistol floated out of the same bag as the knives. There were chips and minor dents all over the body.

Chewing the corner of her mouth, Rita asked, “Does it, ya know, shoot?”

“It was shooting just fine last month.” The pony curled his lip at her tone as he put the gun back. The unicron’s ears perked up as he added, “I got buncha grenades and stuff too.” His saddlebags glowed faintly and a single object floated from within: a metal pin. “Whoops.”

Rita inhaled sharply, eyes wide, and the unicorn burst out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you,” he chuckled, putting the pin back. “Haven’t made that kinda mistake in months.”

Tapping his chest with a talon, Rita looked the unicorn in the eyes and gave him a wry smile. “One last question. How do you feel about Sweetie Belle?”

“I can’t stand that whiny bitch,” he said with a disgusted sneer.

Rita stared at the unicorn for a long pause. He uncomfortably looked from side to side. She turned towards him and wrapped her forelimbs around his neck in a tight hug.

“You’re perfect,” Rita cried. She reached up and ruffled his already tangled mane. “Welcome to the team buddy!”

“Hey, what were some of the other things you said earlier?” he slurred. “I kinda blacked out a little I think.”

“Oh, nothing important.” Rita leaned back so he could see her face. She touched a talon to the puff of feathers that were pushed out of her shirt’s collar. “I’m Paharita, but you can call me Rita. Nice to meet cha.”

The drunken pony reached out a forehoof and rubbed it on her beak. “Good knowing you, Paw Rita. My name’s...” He stopped suddenly and looked down with an intense, focused expression. “Shit.” He stamped his hoof. “I knew it this morning.”

The bearded pony that had knocked into Rita earlier began laughing and pounding his hoof against the table. “Oh great escort you got there, birdie. I just wish I could see the look on your face when that drunken loser tosses you to the raiders and bolts to save his own cut-up ass.”

The scarred unicorn turned away from Rita and stepped over to the much larger pony. The bearded pony stood up. “You got something to say, tough guy?” he asked as he loomed over the unicorn.

The unicorn turned to walk away. The other pony laughed and looked back at his table-mates. That was when the unicorn reared, striking under the large pony’s chin with both forehooves. The big pony barely had time to blink before the unicon brought his hooves back down on top of the bearded pony’s bandana covered skull. His jaw struck the table’s surface and both cracked.

The unicorn spat on the downed pony. “Yeah, fuck you too!” he shouted. He turned back to Rita, and she realized he was smiling. His smile wild and dangerous. “And that’s my fucking name.”

Rita curled the corner of her mouth and tilted her head to the side. “Kick-kick?”

The pony on the ground stirred and the unicorn stomped on his face twice. “Double Tap,” the violent unicorn grunted.

ka-chick

From behind the bar, the dapper barkeep produced a shotgun. Tap glared at the pony, but didn’t move. Rita made quick work of her drink and moved slowly, but steadily, away from the vicinity where the gun was aimed.

The bartender spoke clearly and calmly. “Young ‘un, that was your last warning. You and your loud little griffon pal best get. And I don’t want to see either of you here again until you have the caps to pay for that table and his face.”

Double Tap sneered at the bartender and turned his backside towards him. He gave his tail a crack as he walked to the door. “Eh, this place is a shithole anyway. Come on, Parrita.”

Rita turned to the bartender who aimed the gun square at her forehead. “Thanks ever so much for the drink,” she said hastily. She dropped the glass to the floor and hurried after Tap, catching him just as he went out the door.

Dusk in New Appleloosa was cool and quiet. The train cars that encircled the town killed much of the wind and cut off the view of the surrounding plains. There were no stars to be seen in the cloud-locked skies and the lights in town were spread thin.

Double Tap stared off in the distance, towards the open gate way of the town. He turned to Rita, his eyes looking lost and irritated. “Where are we going again?”

With a smile who’s sparkle made up for the absent stars, Rita threw one forelimb over Double Tap’s neck and pointed a talon off to the horizon. “To adventure, Tap-y Tap. Let’s not leave it waiting!”