Do you know what I don't get?

Well there seems to be—

I was speaking hypothetically, Mr. Recorder. I wasn't going to wait for you to answer. You're just a device that records me that I like to talk back for with a funny voice.

Ah jeez. That was rude, I'm sorry. I'm just under stress.

I'm so sorry to hear that, Empress. And don't worry about my feelings, for I have none! Tell me, what is it you don't get.

Nah, it's dumb.

Nothing you say could ever be dumb. C'mon, tell me.

Well, okay. Since you seem to be just dying to know.

What I don't get is scavenging. Or rather I don't get the enthusiasm for it.

I mean, I get that sometimes you need stuff and that sometimes you gotta go rubble diving for it. But there are ponies out there, and griffons no less, that make this into a lifestyle.

They think it's cool to be all, "I'm gonna go into this building and nearly get killed by monsters, robots, booby traps, raiders, other scavengers, and zombies. But it's all gravy since I found some stuff that's not as good as the stuff I'm using but I can sell it to pay for the ammo I wasted and to patch up all the owies I got from the aforementioned hazards."

And then everyone is impressed by this! They go all, "Woo-hoo! Amazing work! I wish I could look as cool as you do while rooting through centuries-old trash!"

I just do not get it!

You know what I think's cool?

Shopping. Going into a merchant's shop or approaching one on the roads and being all like, "Hey buddy, you want thirty caps for this can of 200-year-old dog food. Have you even opened it? How do you even know that there's even any dog food in there? What if I buy this from you and a bunch of springy snakes jump out at me? Could you live with the guilt of me starving to death with only novelty gags to give me comfort?"

And then I get the can for five caps! No one applauds that! They don't say, "Wow, excellent consumerism! You're an inspiration to us all!"

No, all they do is yell at the merchant asking why they had to pay full price. And then the jerk junk dealer has the gall to get mad at me. Maybe you should try ripping off your customers less, guy.

But empress, don't merchants get nearly all their goods from scavengers?

That's a very good point Mr. Recorder, but let me counter with—

Oh wait, what's that over there? Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! I gotta go, bye-bye.

Guys! Guys! Get in here!

What's with all the noise? You want to bring every fuck in the area down on us?!
What is all the ruckus?

Looky, found it! I was all, "Hmm, I wonder if its in here."

And then I searched with my keen griffon eyes and dug around with my powerful griffon talons and I found the very object of our quest with great skill and cleverness.

Great. You want a fucking medal?

Really, it's so unattractive when you gloat over the tiniest accomplishments. And you do it so often.

You guys suck...

Rainbow Dash's rear hooves struck the attacking zebra, sending her flying back. The zebra's knife, along with a couple teeth, went skittering across the floor. Rainbow Dash was wearing the body armor and uniform expected of a soldier, but it hugged her body in a way that was likely not historically accurate. The zebra’s outfit was equally cartoony with bones dangling from its belt along with stripes painted on top of the uniform. Rita traced her talons over the raised parts of the card-stock cover. She was careful not to tear the plastic wrap. Not yet.

"What the fuck?" Tap asked, his eyes darted across the ten pallets stacked with shrink wrapped comics.

With a heavenly sigh, Rita lightly stepped to the nearby cardboard standee of the rainbow-maned pegasus. She wrapped her forelimbs around the two-dimensional pony. "This is Rainbow Dash," Rita said and nuzzled against the paper chest. "I spent months working on a time machine so I could marry her and have time-displaced gaybies."

Tap stared at her for several seconds. "What if she wasn't gay? Or wasn't into griffons? Or crazy?"

"What!?" Rita shrieked.

"I'm just saying you can't control—"

Rita paid him no mind as she leapt to a pallet of comics. She jabbed an accusing talon at the cover showing Rainbow Dash passionately kissing another pony in a military uniform.

"What is this?" she demanded. "That's not who you're supposed to be kissing, Rainbow Dash! This makes, like half my fanfiction A.U. now!"

A half empty whiskey bottle levitated from Tap's saddle bags to his lips. Only after it was completely empty did he say, "I'm going back up."

"See if you find something to weld this fridge shut while you're up there," Rita called without looking at him.

"Sure thing," Tap muttered, going up the steps. "Wait what?!" He turned around too fast and banged his horn against the wall and stumbled down the steps. He ended up on his side, staring up at Rita's behind.

"I can't very well take all these with me," Rita chided over her shoulder. "And I don't want anyone else finding them. They wouldn't appreciate them like I do, they must first be educated on their importance before they can be entrusted with—"

"So after all this, you're leaving your 'treasure' behind," Tap scoffed after reluctantly looking away from under Rita's tail.

"Of course not," Rita said as she rolled her eyes. "I'm taking one copy of each book for myself."

Tap's brow furrowed. "Why not two?" he asked. "Ya know, in case something happens to one of them."

Rita's eyes went wide and she dipped low to kiss Tap on the nose. "You're a genius!" she squealed before turning away.

After taking one last good look between Rita's haunches, Tap pulled himself back to his hooves. "Right," he said and headed back up the stairs. "I'm gonna get back to taking shit."

Rita watched Tap tromp up the steps. She tilted her head to the side as she appreciated the dangly parts between his hind legs. With a smile on her face, she went back to the books.

A quick slash of her talons slit each of the stacks' wrappings. After extracting two books from each, she grabbed a roll of plastic wrap from the corner of the walk-in fridge and wrapped her twenty comics up tight. She stuffed the stack down her shirt and pulled her flak vest closed.

Rita pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the freezer wall and whispered, "Thank you for holding this treasure for me. And I ask that you continue your cool vigil over these wonderful tomes a bit longer so that I may share them with the world."

Rita leaned back and puffed out her cheeks. She spoke in a heavy voice. "It was my pleasure Rita. Sorry about being hidden so well, I didn't mean to make you lose your cool."

Back in her normal voice she said sharply, "That's a terrible pun."

Heading for the stairs, Rita spotted a glint out of the corner of her eye; something shiny was hidden behind the Rainbow Dash standee. Rita carefully moved Dash aside and her eyes went wide. There, on the wall and in an ornate frame, was a letter from the Minister of Image herself, Rarity.

Dearest Minty Condition,

I want to thank you again for agreeing to buy up the entire stock of Graphic Novels.

I must say I was surprised to be contacted by you. Mostly because this endeavor hadn't been announced to the public yet. A little digging cleared that all up though, be sure and let Stable-Tec CEO Scootaloo know that her scheme has been successful and Equestria shan't be completely denied the tales of Rainbow's death-defying heroics.

I don't know why Rainbow Dash felt the need to demand that I cancel the wide release after Pinkie and myself worked so hard to create these stories glorifying her deeds, but there it is. I'm just glad I could convince her to let me sell off all the "comics" we'd already printed so at least it won't be a financial loss to us.

Her decision however, may come to benefit you. As a collector of niche items yourself, I don't have to tell you that rare equals valuable for the right customers. Were I the type, I'd hold onto a few issues myself to sell a few years down the line for a nice tidy profit.

Were I the type.

I wish you and your business all the best,

Rarity, Minister of Image.

The note wasn't typed-out, it was quill written, the signature alone took up a quarter of the page. Rita could only stare dumbstruck until the full effect hit her. She bounced on her talons and screeched out a giggle.

Logic told her she should take the whole frame with her. Her grabby mits told her to smash the glass, yank out the note and wrap it with the comics.

Rita left the freezer with shallow cuts on her claws, shards of glass on the floor, and a vintage, authentic, Ministry Mare-signed note tucked against her breast.

The kitchen of the restaurant was in shambles. The metal doors of the cabinets had been torn off, most likely to make weapons or armor. The stove too had been gutted, a small campfire had been made on the floor where it used to be. The nastiest part was the preparation counter; Tap figured that live ponies had been chopped up on it by a chainsaw. The biggest hints were all the blood, meat, and a gore covered chainsaw in the corner.

"Jackpot," Tap shouted from inside the vandalized refrigerator. He stepped back with a jug of moonshine in his magical field. "Hey Rita, I got a wheelbarrow out back already full of shit. We're gonna need a cart before I'm done."

Rounding the counter, he asked, "What did you do with your funny books?"

Rita dug into her duffel bag and pulled out a metal medkit. "Medical Waste" was written sloppily across the cover in nail polish.

"I disguised it," she announced proudly.

"What if they look inside?" Tap asked with a head tilt.

"I hid it under a bunch of used bandages, some broken needles, and some gooky stuff I scraped up from around the room," Rita said buffing her talons against her chest. "No one would ever think to look for ancient, valuable artifacts hidden in actual medical waste."

Double Tap couldn't argue against that.

From the corner of his eye, Tap saw one of the metal cabinets had been locked up with chains across the handles and a padlock. He gave the lock a magical tug to test it out as he walked over.

"I know what you're about to say," Rita piped up, sauntering next to him. "You're gonna say we need to search the raiders for the key. But, I'll have you known that I have, like, mad lock-picking skills."

Tap gave the little griffon a sideways glance. His horn glowed and a shotgun came hovering into the room from his bag outside the door. Rita grumbled to herself as he bashed the lock open.

The chains dropped along with the lock and Tap allowed himself a satisfied smile. The cabinet handles glowed with his horn and went downwards. Tap's smile vanished at the sight of the heavy safe inside.

"You want to try hitting that one too?" Rita asked with the sweetest voice and smile.

"Alright smart-ass," Tap growled. "But if you fuck up then you have to go corpse diving for the key."

Rita placed a claw on Tap's chest and pushed as she stepped forward. "Make room for the princess of picking. And try not to be too impressed." Rita said and gave her neck a crack. "And when I get this open, I claim half the swag."

Rolling his eyes, Tap stepped back and let Rita past him. She hunkered down so that her eyes were level with the keyhole in the middle of the dial. She ran two talons down both sides of the dial. She was purring.

"Shhhh," Rita whispered intimately at the safe. "You don't have to say anything, I feel it too."

Rita twisted her body and curled her tail until the tuft of her tail was by her face. "Don't worry baby," Rita cooed as she pulled a bobby pin from the tuft. "I got what you need."

The little griffon moaned as she put her head against the flat metal surface. With the bobby pin pinched tight in one claw and an outstretched pinkie talon from the other, she fiddled with the keyhole. With every twitch she made small gasping noises and Tap found himself shifting uncomfortably in place.

After roughly a minute of fiddling Rita began panting as she went deeper into the lock. "Yes," she squealed. "I'm about to—"

Rita shuddered as she pulled her claws from the lock and yanked the handle of the safe. It opened without resistance and she fell onto her side with a dramatic squeal.

"Was it good for you?" She whimpered, looking up at the open safe.

Tap craned his neck to peer inside their newly opened treasure trove. Rita immediately sprang up and put her feathery cheek against his and grabbed his other cheek with her claw. She cooed her approval.

Inside the safe, there were three shelves. On the top shelf were two odd machine pistols; they were a lot boxier and smaller than the others Tap had run across in the past, the trigger-bits were stubby and off-center, and the magazines extended oddly from the body in such a way that they'd run along the shooter's cheek. The next shelf housed a half dozen Dash inhalers. Finally the bottom shelf housed the most obvious of prizes: a sack full of hundreds of bottle caps.

"Well this will be a nice easy and even split," Tap said, a smile curling across his face.

"Yep," Rita said and gave his chest a light slap with the back of her claw. "I get the guns and two of the inhalers and you get the other four and the caps."

Tap slapped her claw down as she reached for the twin guns. "I think we need to discuss your math," Tap said, stepping between her and the safe.

The little griffon rubbed her wrist and looked up at him ruefully, the corner of her mouth pulled back to show sharp teeth. "I'm great at math," she growled indignantly.

"You sure about that?" Tap snorted. "Cause I see two guns, two of us—"

"Did you even look at the guns?" Rita interrupted jabbing his chest with an outstretched talon. "They're customs. Everything down to the magazines were made just for them. So you take one, you blow through the ammo, and then what? Are you gonna reload with loose ammunition under fire? No you're gonna drop them and run."

Rita rocked back onto her haunches and crossed her forelimbs. "I said I was getting half and you didn't argue. I'm giving you enough dash to take out a small army or to have a very relaxed weekend and all the caps. Now are you going to accept this or are you gonna shoot me and take it all?"

Tap's glare became daggers. "Fuck you, I'm no raider," he spat.

"And I'm not a cheat," Rita shot back, stretching her neck so that she almost appeared taller than Tap. Almost.

Tap nickered and stepped aside. Rita kissed him on the cheek as she went past to the safe.

A neuron fired in Tap’s brain as she dropped the guns into the her bag. "Wait a second," he barked. "I could have just sold the gun!"

Rita quickly zipped her bag shut. "Too late," Rita sing-songed. "No take-backsies."

"You are a fucking cheat," Tap grumbled as he gathered up his caps and Dash inhalers.

Rita gave Tap's mane a slight tussle. "Next time, don't bet against me. I always get what I want," she said proudly and stuck out her tongue.

"I'm going to check the main area of the diner," Tap grumbled, avoiding Rita's eye. "I want to see if they hid anything under the tables or whatever."

"Be sure to get everything," Rita said, her face buried in her bag as she looked over her new pistols. "Because we're burning down the building after."

Tap didn't even pause his stride. "Of course we are," was all he said.

The meager campfire did little to combat the chill of the night. They had made camp between two hills in order to stay out of sight from any roving marauders. The desert had been left behind not an hour ago and the pair were now in the vast grassy plains leading up to the murderous Everfree Forest.

Rita had repeatedly made sure Tap understood that they would, under no circumstances, be entering the forest.

"It would be a lot faster to cut straight through the forest," Tap piped up after draining another bottle down his throat.

From across the fire, Rita looked up from the disassembled Dash inhalers and smiled sweetly before raising her middle talon.

"I don't know what that means," Tap said while cracking open another bottle.

Rita sighed heavily and dropped her head back, raising her beak to the sky. "It means that the forest isn't frozen over and that means there's a chance of butterflies, and that means I'm not setting one paw in there unless there's a very good reason to."

After a third of the contents disappeared in several burning gulps, Tap belched and looked back to the griffon as she took some sort of needle and jammed it into the bottle of the Dash inhaler where the chemicals were housed.

"Does that mean you'd go in Everfree if it was snowing?" Tap asked.

Rita didn't look up as she spoke. "Gracious, no!" Rita said and gave the bottle a shake. "I don't want to get eaten by Timberwolves."

Tap stared at Rita across the fire. Seeing her through the crackling flames reminded him of the destruction they had left behind in the dead raider-town. A cold shiver crawled up his spine and Tap shifted on his haunches.

"So...” Tap started, unsure of how to broach what was on his mind. “Did we really have to—"

Rita cut him off, "Did we have to burn not only the diner, and all the standing buildings, but also the wheat field?" A smile oozed across her face as she filled the hypo with a blood red chemical.

"Did we have to gather up all the pony pieces and drag them into the center of town? Did we have to take rubble and spell out 'stay away' next to the pile of rotting horse meat?" Rita jammed the needle into the bottle and squeezed the release.

She looked up at Tap, her smile was all teeth. "Absolutely."

Tap gave his flank a scratch. "No, I get all that," he said with a shrug.

He looked back over his withers and his gaze was returned by the painted magenta eyes of Rainbow Dash, He shuddered and looked back to the griffon who was vigorously shaking the chem bottle again.

“But why that thing?” Tap suppressed a shudder, he could feel it looking at him. “Do you even have a place to put it?”

Rita clicked her tongue and snapped the second inhaler back together. "No," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Once I've got my cut of the caps, I'm getting me a nice little place where me and Dashie can be alone." Rita gave the standee a dreamy look.

Tap cleared his throat loudly and took another swig from the nearest bottle. It turned out to be vodka.

"So about those caps," Tap said doing his best to not think about what Rita had planned for that piece of painted paper. "Are we close to this guy of yours?

Coming out of her trance, Rita put the modified Dash inhalers back into her bag. "Oh yeah," Rita chirped.

Rita took a small blanket and unrolled it on the ground. She placed three rifles, all the same basic make, atop the blanket along with her maintenance kit.

She started disassembling the first of the rifles, setting each piece on the blanket as she went.

"At this rate we should be in Mustangia around," Rita paused and gave her beak a tap, leaving a smear of gun grease before continuing. "Well before sundown tomorrow so long as nothing goes horribly wrong. Like a raider attack or a Hell Hound ambush or if we catch the eye of Ranger patrol or —"

"Why's your guy in Mustangia anyway?" Tap interrupted.

"That's where his shop is," Rita absently replied as she checked between two bolts.

Tap barked a laugh. "What kind of dumbass sets up a tent in a pile of rubble? Mustangia isn't even on the way to anywhere."

"It's not a tent, it's a full building," Rita said as she set one of the bolts next to a pile of parts in the middle. The other two bolts she set to the side. “He and his family built it.”

Tap set aside his bottle and tried his best to catch Rita’s eye. Failing that he spoke hard and gruffly, “Are you fucking with me or what?”

“Exsqueeze me?” Rita asked looking up from the parts she was arranging in the middle of the blanket.

“My dad was a traveling merchant,” Tap explained, his voice terse. “I’ve been all over anywhere in Equestria where there are ponies willing to trade since I was born. And I’m telling you, Mustangia doesn’t have a building standing. Whoever told you there’s a shop there is playing you and is probably going to shoot us or some shit.”

Rita sighed and dropped her head back. “What is it with you tough guys and being all paranoid?” she grumbled.

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you get some face-time with the guy?” Rita said jabbing a talon at the hill behind her. “He’s right over the hill.”

Tap leaned back and curled his lip at Rita. She shushed him with a waggle of her talon and waved her claws at the hill. Shrugging, Tap pulled himself up to all fours. Not to be caught by any surprise, Tap’s horn popped with light and his gun hopped from the holster allowing him to catch the pistol in his mouth.

His horn lighting the way, Tap made his way up the hill. He wasn’t sure what to expect, he doubted the merchant would come this far out in the middle of nowhere just to meet some prospective purchases. Come to think on it, how would he even know when and where to meet them? Tap filed all this under his rapidly growing “Rita Is Insane” file and focused on keeping his eyes peeled for danger.

Despite Tap’s caution, a giant pony with three-yard long teeth still managed to surprise him.

With a yelp and shot, Tap fell back onto his side and was greeted by a laughing Rita. She quickly shined her PipBuck’s light over the massive billboard showing a pony in a checkered, blue jacket and a hat that would have looked colossal at regular size. He was smiling wide enough that his white teeth reflected Rita’s light to the cloud layer and he was pointed east with a square concrete building painted in the background, painted to glow amongst the dark ruins. All this was under the large letters spelling out: Chatterbox’s Safe Sanitary Swap and Shop. Along the bottom it read: Located in picturesque Mustangia.

“Fuck you, bird-cunt,” Tap spat after he looked away from the sign.

Dusting himself off, Tap looked again to the sign. “Did he paint that? All the way out here?” he asked with just a trace of awe.

“Mmmhmm,” Rita nodded. “Well him or one of his brothers or sisters. He’s got, like, a hundred of them.”

Rita snorted before bursting out in overly loud and nasal laughter. “Oh jeez-louise, you shoulda seen your face,” she cried, slapping at the ground.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Tap said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Then why are you smiling?” Rita sing-songed.

Tap sat quietly for a moment before deciding to answer honestly. “My dad used to do stupid pranks and shit like that all the time.” He wasn’t really looking at Rita as he continued with a relaxed smile on his face. “Once we were staying in this settlement where a friend of his had a stuffed Hellhound. He paid the guy fifty caps to put it next to me while I was sleeping. I’d like to say I didn’t piss myself in the morning but...”

Rita let loose another shower of laughs, falling onto her back. “Oh wow,” she managed to talk in-between fresh bursts. “Your dad sounds great.”

“He really was,” Tap agreed joining in with Rita’s horrible laugh.

“So where is the old man?” Rita piped in, looking up from the ground. “Did you decide to break from the family business or is he dead or something?”

Tap stopped smiling immediately and his laughter died an equally sudden death. “He’s dead or something," he said as his face went to stone.

"That sucks," Rita replied, playing with her head-feathers.

Through clenched teeth Tap growled, "You know how you winged fuckers can sleep in the clouds? Why don't you go do that?" He turned his back to her and stomped back down the hill.

"Rude," Rita called down and went to the sky with hop and a flap.

At the camp, Tap crawled into his recently acquired sleeping bag by the campfire. Restlessly he struggled to get comfortable. After several minutes he gave up and stared at the fire, watching the wood blacken to ash and crumble.

There was a soft thump behind him, he didn't bother to turn around.

"What do you want, Rita," Tap barked.

"Feeling restless and agitated? I know something that can help you take the edge off."

"If you're horny," Tap growled, "why don't you go fuck yourself?"

“You dropped something.”

“Yeah,” Tap twisted around to yell in her face, “I’m about to drop—”

There was no one there. Just empty shadows cast by the dying fire and whispers from the the wind.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tap said to no one at all.

On the ground, a yard from him, was the cause of the thump he’d heard. His gun was lying in a shallow patch of grass. He pulled it close with his magic as he climbed out of his bedroll and checked the magazine. The shot he'd fired had been replaced.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business," he shouted at the shadows. "But that's a good idea. I could use some killing."

Grabbing a shotgun and a belt of ammo as he passed, Tap left the camp behind him. He crossed the field of brown grass and entered the dark and deadly Everfree Forest looking for a fight.

He did not have to look for long.

The well traveled main road had been left behind hours ago and Tap was glad for it. They had drawn more than a few looks from other travelers with a shot-to-pieces unicorn wearing a red-dripping feed-bag over his face. Add to that a griffon perched on top of a pile of blood stained implements of violence as though it was her nest and throw in a cardboard pegasus propped against her to finish the sight. They got looks, but no one offered any trouble.

Tap hoped this streak of boredom would break soon.

To amuse himself, and because it had been half a day since he last ate, Tap once more refiled his feed-bag with shreds of meat. He moaned his approval far too loudly as Rita bristled behind him.

"I can't believe you won't share," Rita whined. "As Pinkie Pie says—"

"As Double Tap says," Tap interrupted, "get up and catch your own fucking cockatrice if you want it so bad."

Deep down, he really hoped she would. Mostly because he wanted to see her face when she bit into that meat that was both too dry and tough on the outside and oily on the inside. He was glad that she hadn't been awake to see him find out that neither end tasted like chicken.

Rita snatched up two empty cola bottles and held them in front of her eyes. With a gasp, she let them drop back onto the pile and she leapt forward. Rita gave her wings a flap and landed almost gently on top of Tap's back.

"Mustangia, dead ahead," she shrieked into his ear.

“My damn eyes work, Rita,” Tap shouted over his shoulder and into the griffon’s face.

One good buck later, Rita was off Tap’s back and fluttering back to her perch in the cart as they continued down the road. Tap kept his eyes on the sickly trees on either side of them as they narrowed tighter on both sides of the road.

The road opened up to the ruins of Mustangia. Rubble from the crumbled buildings covered the area with support beams jutting skyward like the bones of a long-dead whale. From the elevation of the hill, the crater of the bomb which leveled the city was still apparent two hundred years later.

This was all familiar to Tap. He recalled with a smile that he and his father had tried to salvage near the crater. He figured with only a little searching, he'd be able to find the lampshade his dad had worn while chasing him around. They had come back with nothing except mild radiation poisoning, but Tap wouldn't have traded that day for anything.

He was shocked from his trip down memory lane by the large slab of concrete that now stood at the edge of town, one story tall and stretching out a ways. It was windowless and unpainted, but what Tap guessed was the front was decorated with a colorful awning covered in declarations of safe shopping, fair prices, clean water, and flushing toilets. On top, there was a large billboard matching the one from the road. But what there wasn't, was a door.

"The fuck?" Tap asked Rita as she carefully climbed down from her perch.

"Just follow me, silly." She giggled and sauntered by, sliding her tail over Tap's muzzle and leaving him to unhitch himself from the wagon.

"Hello," Rita sang as she she went under the wide awning with Tap just behind.

A series of metallic clicks sounded. A half dozen energy cannons lowered from above and locked on to the pair. Without hesitation, Tap's horn lit up and his pistol snapped into the air, aiming from turret to turret.

"I told you Talon hooligans not to come around here anymore," a voice shouted. "I told you, I am an independent buisnesspony! I will not be bullied or bought-out by the messenger pigeons of Red Eye."

Tap followed the voice to a speaker stuck in the wall with a small camera positioned next to it. His first thought was to shoot out the camera and hoof it before the turrets opened up. He paused, looking at the shivering Rita. He didn't know if he could get her away fast enough.

"I'm not a Talon," Rita blubbered, waving frantically at the camera. "I don't even like Red Eye!"

"That's what a Red Eye spy would say," the voice on the speaker rumbled.

"I've been here before," Rita shrieked. "You know me!"

"All you griffons look alike to me," the speaker shot back.

"That's incredibly racist," Rita sobbed.

Just as Tap prepared to grab Rita by the neck and start running, both she and the speaker laughed. The turrets hissed as they slid back up into the awning. Rita wiped at her eyes while the laughter from the speaker relaxed into a long sigh.

"That was fun," the speaker said with a giggle. "Tell your chopped-liver friend to stand close."

Without warning, Rita threw a forelimb around Tap's neck and yanked him forward. Tap found himself muzzle-deep in the feathers of her neck. She had not bathed recently.

"Give us a wink, Chatterbox," Rita chirped.

Tap pushed his face free, gasping in a breath of non-musky air. "Wink!?" Tap gasped. "Just wait a fucking—"

Bzat

"-second..." Tap trailed off as he looked around. They were inside. A few wisps of smoke and a slight tingle in his teeth were the only indicators that he'd been brought in by a spell. Tap was impressed; last time he'd been teleported, he arrived with his tail on fire.

The shop around Tap felt entirely alien. The walls were windowless and painted a very relaxing blue. The floor below his hooves was slick and shiny and tiled. The bank of lights above hummed softly and spread the light evenly over the rows of shelves. Each shelf was marked with a sign showing a cartoon pony holding up the type of item labeled next to it.

They weren’t alone either. The other wastelanders, most with at least a layer of dust, shopping the pristine aisles only added to the other-worldly feel. Tap took a strange comfort in the energy turrets that hung from the ceiling in the corners of the shop; the threat of violent retribution making him feel more at home.

"Welcome friends, new and old," a smooth voice called behind them. "Welcome and spend heartily."

Against the wall was a pony behind a polished wood counter and encased in a transparent box made of thick-looking plastic. The pony’s appearance was immaculate as far as Tap could see. His dark mane was perfectly combed, his blue checkered suit jacket, which looked like it just came off the rack, draped down his back and covered his haunches. It took Tap a few looks before he noticed the boxed-in pony was a unicorn since he kept getting distracted by Chatterbox’s colossal wide brimmed hat.

"I'm afraid I'm not for sale, friend," Chatterbox said with a pearly white smile. "At least, not at a price you can afford."

The pony laughed loudly in his box and slapped the counter with his hoof. It was, as Tap would have guessed, perfectly filed and cleaned.

"Chatter," Rita squealed and threw her forelimbs open wide as though to embrace the encased pony. "It's been too long!"

"Three months, seventeen days, and six hours," said Chatterbox wistfully. "But who's counting?"

Merchant and griffon both broke into loud and phony laughter. Tap decided it was a good time to exercise his wasteland discount. Making sure that Chatterbox's eyes were on Rita and nowhere else, Tap tugged his saddle bags so they hung open and stepped around the corner, into the nearest aisle.

Confusion and disappointment competed for dominion over his mind. Anger won.

"What the fuck is this?" Tap shouted at the rows and rows of picture cards that dangled on metal hooks all the way down the aisle and back up the other side. On each was a picture and description of the item along with a list of prices at varying qualities.

"Efficiency lad, efficiency," Chatterbox said with a bright, toothy smile. "We sell hundreds and hundreds of quality items here. We got the inventory of a shopping mall under the roof of a convenience store." Chatterbox tipped his colossal hat back and smiled. "It also helps to cut down on, heh, shop-lifting," he said with a wink.

A filthy pony grabbed a card with a picture of an apple pie on it. He ran to Chatterbox excitedly.

“Can I have a slice, fresh?” he asked, all but stammering in excitement.

“I dunno,” Chatterbox said smoothly. “You got twenty caps?”

Still stewing at his lost chance to take part in his four-hoof-discount, Tap slid next to another customer. While she was frantically recounting a small pile of caps she had laid out on the floor, Tap made like he was very interested in the rack of cards for watering cans. He threw a quick look at Chatterbox who was preoccupied with his pie purchasing pony.

There was a flash of light and a clean, flower themed metal table appeared in a nook next to Chatterbox’s counter along with a cornflower blue bean bag chair. On top of the table was a steaming hot slice of apple pie, just like the picture had shown. The pony stumbled over himself running to it.

Tap looked back to the bent over mare, she was counting the caps a third time after the last count showed her still a few caps short of the cost of the medkit shown on the card in front of her. Tap’s horn sparked and a bundle from inside the mare’s bag leapt into the air and landed in Tap’s. He guessed it was her lunch.

“I saw that,” Rita whispered, stepping next to him. “Be sure and split it with me.”

"Where did all this come from?" Tap asked.

"Chatterbox and his family built it," Rita said impatiently. "I told you this already, you should pay attention—"

"Yeah, but where did Chatterbox come from?" Tap poked at one of the cards. "I never heard of him before today and this shit's a bit crazy."

"They're all Stable-born," Rita recounted, drumming her talons on the floor. "They opened up their little underground shelter about six months ago, but they’re keeping the location a big, fat secret. They'd been trained for generations on how to, like, literally rebuild Equestria by rebuilding big business.

"In fact, basically all his family is still in there, learning about how to build what you ponies need to get by in this kooky world. All the stuff he sells here is built, maintained, and kept there until he winks it over.

"So yeah, I'm afraid there's totes no way for you to steal from here," Rita said with mock-sympathy and ruffled Tap's mane with her talons. He slapped her claw away.

The pony with the pie gave out a contented sigh and relaxed into his bean bag chair. His plate stood empty on the small table in front of him save for a few crumbs.

"And how was the pie?" Chatterbox asked, moving closer to the pony from inside his booth.

"So good," the pony moaned.

"Well then I'm glad you have enjoyed shopping with us," Chatterbox said brightly. His horn glowed brightly and the wide-eyed pony vanished in a burst of light.

"You be safe out there," Chatterbox said into his mic. "And come see us again real soon.”

"Oh robot," he called out. "Please see to our customer's dishes."

At the rear of the store, the mares' restroom door flung open with a bang. Floating out on a softly glowing little magic engine was what appeared to be a dark green, giant, metal spider. It's many spindly limbs ended in a variety of tools ranging from buzz-saws to a torch, to simple metal clamps. In one clamp it held a plunger, in another was a scrub brush. From the middle of the round metal body extended another flexible arm that ended in a glowing, orange eye. The other customers gave it a wide berth as it floated forward. Its arms pumped in an imitation of annoyance.

"Coming, Master Chatterbox," it said in a posh tinny sounding voice, throwing the plunger and scrubber into an internal compartment on its body and pulling out a damp sponge and dry rag. "Not like I was in the middle of your last assignment, not like any of your brothers or sisters can't wipe off a few crumbs."

It rounded the aisle and stopped in place, its eye locked onto Rita as its sponge slipped from his claws and splattered on the floor. She gave it a wide, toothy grin.

"Empress," the robot shrieked.

"There's my buddy," she shouted, pointing a talon.

Rita ran with her back left tucked up under and slapped her claw against its metal pincer. She rolled back onto her haunches as he spun left and right clapping the flat of his buzzsaw and one of his claws against Rita's palms. This continued for several seconds until its eye reared back at the same time as Rita's head, the two bobbed forward and clunked together.

"You two know each other?" Tap asked, feeling his hangover flaring up.

"Know each other?" Rita shrieked while giggling grabbed the bot by the eye and it obediently floated along with her as she rubbed her knuckles on top of its eye. It flailed its limbs as though to resist, but never actually striking at Rita. "I built this metalhead from a pile of scrap in 'Filly. Oh, me and Handy go way back!"

"Handy," Tap asked, pulling a bottle from his bag and popping the top without even looking at the label.

"Ya know, because he's handy to have around," Rita said. She grabbed one of his claws and wiggled it around. "And ‘cause he has hands."

Tap responded by downing half the bottle. It turned out to be rum.

She looked the robot over and then shouted at the businesspony in the plastic case. "Hey, where do you get off changing his paint job?"

Chatterbox's ever present smile parted to show teeth. "I'm afraid Shocking Pink just didn't go too well with the rest of the shop," he replied.

"Along with anything else pretty," Rita grumbled. "When I came here last time I thought you were still painting. What's with all the grey and green?"

"According to customer survey, too many colors left our typical wasteland customers disoriented and confused," Chatterbox answered. "So we chose to keep it simple."

"And boring," the Handy bot replied. It and Rita slapped claws.

Tap found the situation to be much more tolerable as he tucked the mostly empty bottle back into his bag.

"Well hasn't this been a sweet reunion?" Chatterbox said with a voice liked a greased snake. "But I'm afraid my robot has work to do. And as nice as it has been visiting with you, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you both to make way for paying customers."

"And I'm afraid my robot won't be cleaning anyone's dishes but mine," Rita said raising her head to it's full height. "And you'll be the one doing the paying, we got a wagon full of high-class goods to unload."

The floating robot looked as excited as a robot could as it embraced Rita with as many arms as it could. Chatterbox stared hard at Rita and Tap for a long pause. His grin seemed to burst with light as he called, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

An actual burst of light enveloped Tap, Rita, and the robot. Once Tap finished blinking his flash-blinded eyes, they were all again outside. Handy's eye blinked from orange to blue and pulled itself away from Rita to inspect the wagon.

"You sure do have quite the haul," Chatterbox's voice crackled from the robot's speaker. "Any of it any good? Looks a bit second-hoof, what with the blood and all."

"You insult me with your implications," Rita said, holding a claw to her chest as though wounded.

She grinned wickedly and, with a hop and a flap, returned to her roost on top of the wagon. She gathered up the rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, and the grenades that she'd been tinkering with throughout the trip. She laid them all out on the ground along with a small case of ammunition and her share of the food and medical supplies. Tap noticed her modified Dash inhalers were absent for the pile.

Handy floated down the line of goods, occasionally picking a gun up to give a closer inspection. It let out a whistle at the end of the line.

"You've certainly been a busy little thing," Chatterbox said through the robot. "Some these weapons look fresh off the factory line."

"Darn right," Rita said while puffing out her chest.

"What about this," asked Chatterbox, the robot scanning the Rainbow Dash cutout.

Faster than Tap thought she could move, Rita went behind the cutout and threw her forelimbs around the midsection and her her head over the “shoulder”, her chin pressing against the chest. She made a long, high whining noise that might have sounded like a “No” to a dog.

“Ministry Mare Memorabilia goes for quite a bit with the right customer,” he continued.

She clutched the cutout tighter and whined louder. Chatterbox burst out laughing over the mic and went about scanning the other items again.

"So I'll be taking my robot and my axe," Rita said, reluctantly pulling herself off of Cardboard Dash.

Tap cocked an eyebrow. Rita didn't seem like much of a melee-fighter to him. In fact, she didn't seem like any kind of fighter.

"Hey now," Chatterbox said with a tone of annoyance. "I haven't even quoted a price."

"You don't have to," Rita waved a claw dismissively. "I checked your prices on this stuff, subtracted what I think is a fair trade-price and after my property is returned to me, you'd still owe me roughly three-hundred-fifty-seven caps. But I'll let you keep the change since you did such a nice job keeping my things safe."

Tap imagined Chatterbox was sputtering inside the shop.

A laugh popped over the robot's speakers. "You win this round, kitty-hawk," Chatterbox chortled. "I never could figure out this hunk of tin beyond what you told me anyway."

"I know," Rita beamed. "Handy's my bot-ty forever and always. You were just holding him for me."

"Guess I can't play a player," Chatterbox continued to giggle.

"If you two are finished dick-sucking," Tap interrupted loudly. "I have some shit to sell too."

Rita puffed out her cheeks, bared her teeth, and shot Tap a glare that he happily ignored.

The Handy Robot looked at him and then the wagon. "Are you serious?" Chatterbox asked.

"Yeah, I'm fucking serious," Tap shouted indignantly. "I mean, look at all this shit."

The robot's eye scanned over the wagon's contents. "You picked a good descriptor, son," he said as the claws picked through the various bits of clothing and weaponry.

"Don't call me son," Tap grumbled.

"These clothes here,” Chatterbox continued, “are so ratty and filthy that I wouldn't want to even burn them in fear of releasing a toxic gas. And these weapons are in such a sorry state that I'd have to part them out to get any value out of them."

"What? No! This is great stuff!" He climbed into the wagon and sifted through with his magic. "I got armor in here!"

"Made from pots and pans," Chatterbox said dully. "Wouldn't stop a twenty-two."

"I got some books."

"Half-burned."

"I got grub."

"I'll take the cans, you can keep the moldy sandwiches."

"Chems!"

"I'll have to verify that they've all been safely mixed in a clean lab."

"Look at this fucking hat, it's fucking stupid," Tap said putting on a baseball helmet with antlers taped to it.

Chatterbox sighed through the robot. "I approve of your entrepreneurial spirit, but you're hardly selling me on this one.

"I'll tell you what," Chatterbox continued, "I'll take the healing potions and ammo and then I'll toss in two hundred caps for everything else. I'll even take that wagon off your hooves and save you the trouble of dragging it into a ditch."

"How's about you get fucked," Tap offered cheerfully.

"I think we're done here," Chatterbox said. Handy turned back to Rita. "Now where were we?"

"You were gonna give me three-fourths of her sale," Tap interrupted.

"What?" Rita and Chatterbox asked in unison.

"You forgot you were supposed to pay me?" Tap asked Rita as he leered down at her from the wagon.

Rita acted shocked and danced about in place. "No," she said with a fake-friendly laugh. "I mean, you're standing in your payment."

"So you're planning on fucking me over?" Tap asked, a sneer on his face.

"It's not my fault you don't know how to haggle," Rita clucked.

"You said three-fourths of everything sold," Tap said, dropping to the ground and putting his face to Rita's. "Not three-fourths of the junk. I don't remember much from the other day, but I remember that I was getting paid for this."

Rita stared at Tap and then backed up with a unintelligible shout of annoyance. "Fine," Rita squawked. "Chatterbox, get my axe and give the rest of the caps to the minced-meat cry-baby."

"And I thank you for your business," Chatterbox said brightly. "It's been a pleasure."

The light of Mister Handy's eye switched from blue to orange and it snapped back to looking at Rita. It reached out a claw to her and Rita took it.

"Empress," it's tinny voice was barely more than a whisper. "Will I," it paused, "not be joining you?"

Rita put the claw against her cheek. "Not yet," she said, her voice choked. "But I'll come back for you soon. I promise."

In a series of pops of light, the items Rita laid vanished one by one.

"Don't look at them," Rita said to Handy as it turned its eye. "Look at me."

"I'm scared," it whispered. "I don't want to be without you.”

"Hey," Rita reached out and tapped the sphere of his body. "I'll be right here, so long as you keep me in your robot heart."

There was a flash and Rita was standing alone. She gently touched her chest and turned to face Tap. His jaw hung open.

"You programed your robot to give you a dramatic goodbye," Tap said curling his lip in disgust.

"Cool, huh?" Rita said, all smiles.

"Why?" Tap asked as a twitch developed in his eye. "What's the fucking point? Would it do that even if there was nopony watching?"

Rita snorted and clicked her beak mimicking him derisively and making high-pitched babbling noises.

"Are you a fucking foal?" Tap asked, exasperated.

"No, I'm a griffon," She said and stuck her tongue out. "You're just jelly of my mad science and bartering skills. Get on my level!"

Two flashes occurred inside the wagon, depositing a sack of bottle caps and, to Tap's surprise, a guitar. It was white with a black neck, and black flames painted down the body. Rita snatched it as though terrified someone else would take it. She fell to her back, clutching the instrument to herself.

"Grecotch," Rita squealed. "Oh I'll never sell you again!"

"Your 'axe'?" Tap asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yep," Rita answered as she righted herself. She slipped the strap over her chest, securing the guitar between her wings. "Now my legendary image is complete!"

Tap grunted and buried the sack of caps under the filthy raider clothes.

"So what now?" Rita asked Tap. "Do we wander the back-roads finding merchants to sell your crappy stuff to?"

"Nah, fuck that," Tap answered. "I know somepony, she'll buy anything. Only she's back in New Appleloosa."

Rita released a long high-pitched whine, stamping her claws all the way. "That's over three days back the other direction!"

Tap's ears folded in on themselves as she let out another whine. "Believe me, I'm not that fucking thrilled to have to cart all this shit—" Tap stopped mid-sentence, his ears perking up.

“The train,” Tap muttered. He turned quickly to face Rita. “New Appleloosa’s train runs to Fillydelphia once a week and then back the next day. The tracks are not too far from here we could hitch a ride.”

Rita grabbed Tap’s collar, her smile wild, her eyes gleaming. “Are you saying today’s the day the train will be coming back?” she asked, all-but-giggling.

Tap’s brow furrowed. “I dunno.” He said and looked down, as though the answer was written on a piece of paper he had dropped on the ground. “What day is it anyway?”

Rita released Tap’s collar and threw herself against the waggon. “It’s gonna be another three days before I get any caps,” she sobbed, far too loudly. “We’ll have to buy supplies from Chatterbox and he’ll talk me into selling him my guitar again and then...”

As Rita counted off various horrible things that would no doubt happen to them on the road, Tap banged his forehoof against his head. “C’mon think,” he muttered to himself. “I used to be on guard duty for that fucking train so I know the fucking schedule."

Around the third different scenario Rita brought up concerning Tap being eaten by the local wildlife, he slammed his hooves on the ground.

"Fuck! Why can't I fucking think straight?!" he roared.

"I can help with that," Rita said, suddenly appearing in front of him, dry-eyed and holding a small tin.

"Party Time Mint-Als," she explained as she opened the tin, revealing a small pile of what appeared to be candy coated mints. "Good for the thinking good. Now open wide and say 'ah'."

"Wha?"

"Close enough," Rita said and tossed three of the mints into Tap's hanging-open mouth. The mints tasted sweet as he swallowed them down.

The effects of the drugs were quick and dramatic. In seconds, the world became sharper and more colorful. All the little details that his eyes would slide over suddenly popped into full relief. The sound of the wind shifting about dirt and bits of debris became a kind of music.

Most jarring was the effect it had on his mind. Years of alcohol abuse, days spent without sleep, and even the new and growing need for Dash was wiped out. His thoughts clear for the first time in years, memories resurfaced and were examined by his newly sharpened mind. Questions bloomed like flowers across the fields of his brain with possible answers dancing across each to form a great web of action and consequence. Realizations both amazing and terrible washed over him.

"This is horrible and I want it to stop," Tap said quickly. "Now."

Rita gave her beak a tap. "Well, okay, two hits of Dash, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a shot of Med X should bring you back to stupid." Rita rattled off. "But it might make your heart explode."

"Acceptable," Tap said, hitching himself to the wagon with his magic as Rita fluttered back into it. "Mix that shit up and hook me up on the run. The train will be passing near here in a couple hours and that doesn't give us any fucking time to catch up."

"I'm charging you for the chems, by the way," Rita said and dug into her duffel bag.

Tap started moving at a full run, sending Rita rolling to her back with a squawk.

The sun was setting on the Wastes, which meant it was already pitch-black beneath the cloud-locked skies. Tap had set up a few lanterns he'd found in the wagon and had put together a few torches alongside the railroad. He and and the wagon stood in the middle of the tracks, ready to stop a train.

"For fuck's sake Rita," Tap said for the dozenth time since they set up at the tracks twenty minutes ago. "They're not gonna run through a fucking wagon. They haven't had coal for the engine in years, so it's a safe fucking bet that it's gonna be pony-pulled. "

Rita peeked her head out of a nearby tree. "I never gamble, unless I rigged the game," she said and then disappeared back into the tree.

"Just be sure you come out where they can clearly see you," Tap shouted. "Otherwise they might think you're part of an ambush and fire a rocket up your ass."

Rita climbed down from the tree.

Not too much later, lights appeared on the horizon. Tap’s horn ignited with magic to try and make himself extra visible. Rita cozied up next to him, waving her forelimb with the PipBuck in the air.

"Now remember, let me do the talking," Tap said to Rita as the sounds of the ponies pulling the train came within earshot. "I know these guys. You gotta show ‘em who’s boss and not take any shit."

Rita rolled her eyes and made a zipping motion in front of her beak.

The train was already slowing when Tap could start to make-out the dozen ponies pulling. He could see from where he stood that those pulling were heavily armed with battle-saddles carrying weapons ranging from automatic rifles to rocket propelled grenade launchers.

The train itself was a fearsome sight, the once-bright colors faded and burnt into a candy-coated nightmare. The engine’s cowcatcher had been modified with barbed wire and various sharp objects on the smooth rounded edges, making it into more of a cow-grinder. Directly behind was a car that had been shaped like a cupcake, but was topped with a mounted machine gun instead of a cherry. The majority of the other cars were boxcars; good for transporting items, but made for cramped and uncomfortable pony transportation, as Tap recalled. Many of those cars were barred with heavy locks on the doors, for the more unwilling passengers.

"Why the fuck are you parked on the tracks," shouted the lead pony as the train crawled to a stop. He was a muscular earth pony with a brown coat, dark hair, and a pair of assault rifles mounted to his saddle.

"Get fucked," Tap shouted back, "We need a ride."

Tap could feel Rita shrink behind him, a small whimper eeking out of the corner of her mouth.

"Does this look like a train station to you?" the lead pony asked as the train came to a full stop.

"Don't be an asshole, Rail Spike," Tap spat. "You know me, I've been on your guard crew for more trips than I can remember. You let us on and I’ll blast the fuckers off your back if shit gets hairy."

“Yeah, I know you will,” a pony growled.

The earth pony who spoke pushed forward to the front, his off-white coat was covered in dust from the journey and his mane was long and wild. He was less than a head taller than Tap but about twice as thick. His cutie mark of a spool of duct tape was pockmarked with bullet wounds. His face was worse with an ugly scar across his jaw and a matching exit-wound on the opposite cheek. His saddle mounted shotgun aimed at the ground, but a grab of the trigger bit could change that real quick.

“You still got your tits in a twist, Patch?” Tap sneered. “That raider on your back would have done a lot worse to ya, you should be thanking me.”

To Patch’s credit, he didn’t shoot Tap where he stood. Instead he gave an acidic smile. “We’ll let you on.” He said with all the sweetness of a salted lemon. “But you’ll give us all your caps and everything in that wagon.

“‘Course if you don’t like that, we could set fire to your stuff and maybe only beat the shit out of you for wasting our fucking time,” He finished and put his hoof on Tap’s chest. “How’s that sound, buddy?”

Tap readied himself to spit in the pony’s face when Rita stepped in front of him.

“Hi Patch,” Rita said, her voice sunshine and rainbows. “We have not been properly introduced. I’m Paharita, but you can call me Rita. Nice to meet‘cha.”

She grabbed his hoof and gave it a shake before he thought to yank it back. She gave a quick smile and hello to the other ponies in the line.

“Who’s this?” Rail-Spike asked, looking over Rita at Tap. “You buying sex slaves now?”

“No, silly,” Rita said with a laugh and gave the pony a glancing pat on the shoulder. “Hah, you blue-collar ponies with your lewd jokes.”

She sighed and continued, “I’m his partner on an little expedition.” Rita put a claw tenderly on her bandaged leg. “But I’m afraid we had a nasty run-in with some raiders and it left Tap on edge.” She put her palm against Rail-Spike’s chest and leaned in. “You know how he gets about raiders, I’m sure.

“And of course we’re sorry to have stopped you,” Rita pulled away from Spike and addressed the entire line of ponies. “But, as you can see, I’m in a bit of a bad way with my leg and poor Tap’s been having to carry me for a couple days now. It’d really help us out if you could give us a ride.”

Patch opened his mouth to speak, but Rita piped up before he could get a word out. “Naturally, we’ll be paying you twice the normal ticket fee for the inconvenience and we’ll add twice the fee again once we’ve conducted some business in town.”

Rita touched a talon to her beak and her eyes drifted to the side as she continued. “There’s also a more personal service I could do for you all. Something to take the edge off after such a long, hard trip.”

To Tap’s great surprise, Rail-Spike laughed. “Listen lady,” he said with a smile. “I like to get my dick wet as much as the next stallion, but for one, you’re a griffon and that’s just a bit weird, and we really don’t have the time to stand around out here and give you our best, so unless you’re going to try and give us a blow on the run—"

Rita laughed and slapped her good knee. “There’s more of that lewd-humor I love,” she giggled. “But I’m talking about music, you big goof. I can hook the train’s speakers to my PipBuck and play you all a bit of heaven with my instrument here as you run.”

“Are you any good?” another pony in the line-up asked.

“Give me half a minute and decide for yourselves,” she said as pulled the guitar from her back.

Tap grit his teeth and flattened his ears as she plugged the cord from the guitar into her PipBuck. He’d never heard griffon music before, but after the last few days with Rita he was certain there was no way she could produce anything but obnoxious noises.

“Now my PipBuck by itself isn’t the best amp in Equestria,” Rita explained apologetically. “And I’m a little out of practice, but...”

Rita sucked in air through clenched teeth and let out in relaxed sigh as she rocked back onto her haunches. The back of her talons flicked the strings on the body while her thumb held them at the neck. The sound that came was like nothing Tap had heard in his life. It was was hard and soft at the same time, each note trailed off with an edge of an electronic echo. As she worked the strings faster, her other claw traveled the length of the neck, producing the most wonderful tingling feeling down his spine. Rita didn’t look at any of them as she bobbed her head to the beat she made.

All too soon, she let the last strummed note fade into the night air. She took her talons from the strings with a shuddering breath. She strapped the guitar back between her wings before she looked up at the ponies facing her.

Patch was the one to break the silence. “Twice the cost up front and twice again once we reach town?” He asked.

Rita nodded.

“And you’ll play the whole way?”

“Most of it,” Rita said with a smile. “Girl’s gotta rest sometime.”

Patch looked to Rail-Spike. He gave a nod and Patch looked back to Rita. “Leave the caps here,” he said. “You got five minutes to load your shit in a boxcar in the back. And I get that fuck’s gun, I’m not gonna have him jumping at shadows and helping anymore.”

“It’s a deal, train-runner,” Rita beamed.

She squealed with delight and ducked past the stunned Tap to rummage in the wagon. After a minute of splitting up the caps, she tossed a sack of the shinier and rarer ones at Rail-Spike. Tap was hitched up and already pulling the wagon towards the back of the train when she finished.

Reluctantly, Tap pulled out his pistol with his magic as they passed Patch. The earth-pony snatched it out of the air with his mouth and tossed it into a pouch on his saddle. Patch gave a sneer as Tap went past.

“What’s with that?” another train-pony asked, pointing at the cardboard pegasus. “You found love at last?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking your old girlfriend,” Tap shouted. “I hope that’s cool.”

Tap went around the corner to the sound of raunchy laughter. After a moment, Rita hopped down from the wagon and strut by his side. Her smile was proud and her brow waggled at him when he looked her in the eye.

“Rita,” Tap began.

“Nah, you don’t have to say it,” Rita said loudly. “I know I’m amazing.”

After a brief, thoughtful pause she seemed to change her mind. “So which was more amazing, my defusing of your pee-pee contest with scarface back there or my killer guitar licks?” She asked.

“That was my gun you gave away back there, you stumpy douchebag,” Tap growled. He let out a disgusted sigh and added, “But yeah, I guess. Good work.”

“I know, right,” Rita shrieked and hopped into the first open and empty boxcar, Tap noticed it was one of the barred and locked cars that had likely just been emptied of its crying and pleading cargo in Fillydelphia. Rita went straight for the intercom box on the wall and yanked it open. She did not offer to help load in the wagon.

Tap's horn glowed and he flung weapon, after filthy set of clothes, after medkit, and so on until the wagon was empty. The train was already starting to get moving as he hauled in the wagon itself. He fell back on his haunches amid the loose junk rattling around on the floor.

Rita turned away from the intercom, a cable running from the box to her PipBuck. She clicked her tongue distastefully at the mess. “Jeez, just put that anywhere, why don’t ya,” Rita chided and set the Dash standee off in the corner.

“Well maybe if somepony lent me a hoof I wouldn’t have just had to throw the shit before the train took off,” Tap shot back.

“I guess,” Rita shrugged. “But why waste time on hypotheticals?”

Tap tried to figure out what a “hypothetical” was as Rita slid the door shut. He decided she had made it up so he called her a “chicken cuntlet” and went about putting all the junk back in the wagon. After he’d cleaned up he looked to see Rita curling up against her duffel bag.

“Don’t you got some guitar-playing to do?” Tap asked, trying to keep his own eagerness to hear her again out of his voice.

“Oh right,” Rita replied lazily. She sleepily slapped a talon against the controls of her PipBuck and the sounds of her guitar poured out of the speakers. Tap stared at her, he was somewhere between aghast and amazed.

“Like I’m going to play for those jerks for hours,” Rita yawned and rolled over. “I’m planning on sleeping until we get to N.A."

"Why do you have these tapes of yourself?" Tap asked after the recording gave one of Rita's not-swears when it hit the wrong cord.

Rita snorted a laugh. "This isn't the first time I've wanted someone to think I was somewhere doing something I'm not," Rita answered.

"Now, if you don't have any more dumb questions, I think it's sleep-o-clock," Rita said and flopped her head on her bag.

After a few seconds of silence, Tap fished in his bag for the first already-open bottle. Finding a half-drank bottle of hard cider, Tap went to work killing the other half.

"Hey aren't you going to sleep?" Rita asked, her head popping up.

"Nah," Tap grunted.

"In the days we've been traveling, I think you've slept, like, three hours," Rita said and tapped her beak. "What's up with that."

Tap's horn sparked and the newly empty bottle was smashed against the far wall.

"I don't like what I see when I close my eyes," Tap said without emotion, his eyes looking far-away and too old.

"Oh," Rita said and cocked her head to the side. "That's messed up."

She was loudly snoring before her head dropped. Tap celebrated the bit of peace with a few gulps of vodka and a hit of Dash.

As Tap put the inhaler away, something felt off. The boxcar began to feel a lot darker and colder than it had been moments earlier. The shadows in the corners of the room felt bottomless as they stretched up to the ceiling and Tap had a sudden impression of sitting in the middle of a slowly closing toothy maw. Rita's snoring and the music on the intercom became muted and distant along with the clacking of the train. Soon, he sat in complete, oppressive silence.

If this had been the first time this had happened, he'd have wondered if he had overdone it on the chems and booze. Instead, he sat very, very still and kept his eyes in front of him.

From behind him a whispering sound grew, like the bristling of thousands of tiny legs. It built to a whisper, rapid and indecipherable. It came close and spread out, coming from everywhere he wasn’t looking.

Dots of cold creeped up Tap’s back. His teeth clenched as the cold settled around his neck like long, spindly fingers. A bit of warm air touched his ear, as though someone was leaning in to whisper a secret.

“Hey Rita,” Tap said loudly.

Rita spasmed awake, her claws unsheathing and digging into her duffel bag. She looked around in a panic. Her eyes settled on her PipBuck and then turned to Tap with a glare.

Sound, light, and warmth had returned to the boxcar. Tap couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s only been three hours,” Rita growled. “We’ve got at least another six before getting to town. What is it?”

Tap couldn’t think of how to begin to answer that question.

"Look," Rita said sleepily. "If you're really hard-up, you can do me while I'm sleeping. It's totally fine. Just no monkey bites and either finish in me or on the floor. I don't want to wake up to a back of sticky and matted fur."

“I was just thinking,” Tap interrupted. “What’s so special about that rainbow pony? I mean you went to a lot of trouble to—"

Rita’s eyes became wide and sparkling, her teeth gleamed.

“Let me tell you about Rainbow Dash,” Rita said, she was vibrating.

Tap used his magic to yank open the boxcar’s door.

“And that was only the seventh time Rainbow Dash was wounded in battle,” Rita exclaimed, clapping her claws together and pressing them to her cheek. “Sometimes I stay up at night pretending I’m the doctor who got to pull the shrapnel from her haunches.”

Tap’s eyes were sunken and dark, but he still had the same small, odd grin that he’d had since he woke Rita up the previous night as he stepped down into New Appleloosa’s train station.

Behind the train, the heavy scrap metal-gates rumbled shut through a combination of machinery, magic, and good-old-fashioned ponies kicking it. They were inside the trainyard of New Appleloosa, though it was more a garbage dump. There were enough cars and engines around to make up a fleet of trains, but, except for the one they stepped off from, they were all jammed, nailed, bolted, or welded together to make the wall encompassing most of the city.

Getting the wagon down was a much easier affair. Rita pushed the cart out and Tap simply used his magic to slow the descent. Rita went to the harness to help strap him in, but looked up to see him trotting towards the front of the train. Towards the pull-crew, to be exact.

“I gotta settle up with Patch Job,” Tap called over his shoulder.

Rita cringed. If Tap died now, after all they had been through, in a stupid macho show-off contest, she didn’t know what she’d do. She couldn’t pull that heavy wagon by herself, after all.

“What the fuck do you want?” Patch asked when he saw Tap approaching. The other ponies were content to watch the scene unfold.

“I wanted to say ‘sorry’,” Tap said as he got close.

“Oh fuck you,” Patch sneered.

Tap looked down and pawed the ground with his forehoof. “No, I’m serious,” he said earnestly. “I mean, I remember how hard-up you were before to find somepony to fuck your ass-ugly self and now you got a fucking hole in your face. So I’m sorry.”

Patch was faster than his size would imply. Tap only had enough time to rear up, slapping his forehoof against Patch’s bag-covered flank, as Patch spun around. He delivered a full buck straight to the side of Tap’s head and sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Now go get our fucking caps before we cut your balls off and sell you in ‘Filly,” Patch said and spat on the bleeding Tap.

Rita waited until the other ponies had dispersed before approaching Tap. He was curled in on himself with his forehooves tucked beneath him and he spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. Rita lay down in front of him and crossed her forelimbs before setting her down on top to look him in the eye.

“So what did that accomplish?” Rita asked with a crooked grin.

To Rita’s surprise, Tap smiled. It was the kind of smile a shark would give to a sea lion as the sea lion was stealing a penguin’s lunch money. He pulled his forehoof out from under him, the underside was covered in tape and his pistol was stuck to it.

“When you’re a unicorn known for stealing shit,” Tap explained as he stood up with several loud popping noises, “ponies tend to watch your horn and not pay any attention to your hooves.”

It was several seconds before Rita got over the shock and let out a harsh laugh. She got to her feet and skipped up next to him as he went down the main road of town with the wagon harnessed to him.

“You know, Tap,” Rita said with a warm smile. “I’m starting to think you’re not completely retarded.”

Tap looked at her, his lip curled in disgust while his brow arched with a hint of amusement. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” he replied.

The rest of the trip through town was dull in comparison. Some ponies, mostly mares, greeted Tap warmly, the rest either glared at him, crossed the street to avoid him, or told him to pay the caps he owes already.

They came to a stop at a pile of three different kinds train cars well away from the other homes and businesses with a bunch of a junk scattered around it. Rita bounced on her claws as Tap unhitched himself.

“Are you taking a potty break?” Rita asked impatiently.

“No,” Tap answered and pointed his hoof at a pile of lumber leaning against the train cars. “We’re here.”

What Rita had mistaken for lumber, was a sign that looked like it had been painted over repeatedly. In large, sloppy letters it said: “Absolutely Everything, please stop vandalizing my sign”. The train cars had actually been welded together, Rita noticed on a second look. The large sliding door on the closest train had a smaller sign on it reading, “Always Open, except when closed.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Rita asked, hope fading from her heart that she’d ever turn a profit.

“Rita,” Tap said, as he yanked open the door to the shop. “Try to be cool.”

The inside of the shop was lit by bulbs on strings of wires taped and stapled across the ceiling. The interior walls of the other train cars had been knocked out and replaced by sheets of roughly nailed together plywood to make other “rooms” towards the back. The main body of the shop was made of a maze of shelves of all kinds of designs and makes from wire mesh to stacks of cinderblocks, all were decorated with scribbled signs describing the knick-knacks adorning them; each sign had been painted over several times. Behind a large counter was a locked, barred case with guns, blades, and anything that could loosely be described as a weapon. Above them was a large sign: “Please Don’t Hurt Anypony Nice With These.” A smiley face was painted underneath.

“She redecorated since I’ve been here last,” Tap said, nodding his head appreciatively. “Really cleaned the place up.”

“Yeah, it’s really pulling in the crowds now,” Rita jeered as she walked through the empty shop. “Maybe it’s the lovely aroma of meat left out in the sun keeping them at bay,” she added with a sniff.

"Hello," she called out, putting her elbows on the counter. "Anybody home?"

There was a shuffling from behind the counter. A stringy blonde tail flicked into view, followed by a grey backside. The coat was patchy and the skin beneath fared no better with bits of muscle in plain view, shining under a thin layer of mucus. Fully raised on the back were the horrid remains of wings where few feathers could be found. The head was the last to raise above the counter. What little of its blond mane were left came in individual strands and clumps. One ear was perforated with tiny holes as though some rodent had tried chewing on it. The nose had rotted back, leaving a single obscene nasal cavity. Around its mouth full of yellow teeth, the lips were smeared in goopy red. The faded gold eyes rattled around before one locked onto the pair while the other remained fixed on the ground.

Rita's scream was high and piercing. The ghoul's eyes bugged and it let out a dry and throaty roar, revealing its half-cut-out tongue, before it dropped to the floor behind the counter.

"Zombie!" Rita wailed.

Ears flat, Tap tried to shout over the shrieking griffon. "Rita, calm the fuck down."

Rita crawled in between Tap's forelegs as he stared, in shock.

"Shoot it," she screeched. "Aim for the head, that's where the evil lives!"

Rita dared to look back and saw the rotting horror directly behind her, a small sign was hanging from its neck: “Please don’t shoot me, I promise not to eat you.” Beneath the words was a big pink heart.

Above her, Tap was grinding his hoof against his forehead. “Hi Derpy,” Tap said and stepped aside so that Rita was no longer under him. “This is my partner, Rita.”

The ghoul trotted over and grabbed Rita’s claw between two hooves and shook it.

“She’s pleased to meet you,” Tap said with a grin.

Rita looked away and cried harder until her claw was released by the cracked and sticky hooves.

“You still enjoying that jam we got you last month?” Tap asked, pointing at the red goop around her mouth.

Derpy nodded her head rapidly and ran behind the counter. She dipped her head low and brought it back up with her muzzle stuffed into a glass jar. Her stump of a tongue scraped at the red goo on the sides. Rita clamped a claw over her beak to fight back the bile.

Derpy gasped and let the jar fall from her muzzle with a clatter. She glared at Tap who touched his chest as if to say, “Who me?” She grabbed a thick marker from the counter begin scribbling on the back of her sign, keeping one eye on Tap. After a minute of furious scribbling, she held up the sign.

“I’m still mad at you.” It read. “You took a bunch of stuff from my shop again without paying again. Please stop that!”

“Did I fucking forget to pay again?” Tap said and scratched the back of his head, like a scolded foal.

Another sign was popped up by the decayed pegasus. “Don’t swear,” it read with an angry face beneath it.

“Well look, how about I make it up to you,” Tap said stepping forward. “I got a wagon full of shit,” he stopped and hastily amended, “stuff outside that I got back from raiders. Got guns, food, clothes...”

Derpy squeezed her rotten cheeks in surprise and dipped her head under a cord attached to a blank sign, letting it hang around her neck. She leapt into the air and flew, literally, out the door. Tap gave the frozen-in-horror Rita a shove and walked towards the door. He grabbed a cracked snow-globe, three spark-batteries, and a candy bar on the way out and dropped them in his bag.

Outside, Tap and Rita stood in front of the door to the shop. Derpy was flying back and forth over the wagon, picking over the items with the same excitement as a foal at Hearth's Warming. She held up a ventilated and stained red shirt, giggling at the light passing through the holes.

“So pegasi can fly even as skinless, featherless, radioactive zombies?” Rita whispered at Tap. “I did not know that. Nor did I want to.”

“She’s not a zombie, you racist fuck,” Tap hissed back. “She’s a perfectly normal pony, except kinda nasty.”

Derpy rolled to her back in the air and dropped into the wagon. She popped back into view a few moments later with a handkerchief tied over her mouth, sunglasses over her eyes, and two machetes clutched in her nearly-naked wings. She made a growling noise and nodded approvingly.

“Okay,” Tap admitted. “She’s also a little fucking weird.”

From the bottom of the wagon, Derpy pulled up the Rainbow Dash cutout. Both eyes locked on the printed face. Tap thought she'd fallen into a trance. Or a staring contest.

"Hey that's not," Rita began, but fell into a dry heave.

After a few seconds, Derpy's mouth set into a heavy frown. She threw a sheet over the standee and her smile returned immediately.

"I can taste her smell," Rita coughed as she righted herself.

Tap nudged her hard in the ribs. "Where did your fucking bartering charm go?" Tap whispered. "Do you want to make her cry or something?"

Unable to hear the two, Derpy sat down and rapidly scribbled with her marker.

"But it’s so nasty," Rita whined.

Derpy flew to the pair holding up the sign in her mouth. “I want it, all of it,” it read. “With a bit of work I can have so many new things to sell.”

Rita choked at the smell of Derpy hovering so close to her, she held up a talon as she turned to the side to suck in fresher air. “Now hold on,” Rita gasped. “We haven’t talked about price and—”

Derpy flipped the sign over. On the back was written a number. Rita shut up immediately. Tap whistled.

“Okay, that’s a deal,” Rita said, her voice cracking.

Derpy smiled wide, showing off all her yellow teeth, and dashed between Tap and Rita and into the shop. Several loud bangs and crashes followed.

“See, I told ya,” Tap said grinning at Rita. “Ditzy will buy anything and everything.”

“I thought its name was ‘Derpy’,” Rita replied.

“Derpy’s a nickname,” Tap explained as another loud crash sounded from inside the shop.

“So you gave a pony whose name means ‘retarded’ a nickname that means ‘retarded’,” Rita said and clicked her tongue, “Very clever.”

“I didn’t fucking make it up, she already had the name even back when I was a foal,” Tap shot back.

A jangling sack of caps dropped between the two. They looked up to see Derpy happily hovering above the door. She gave a smile and a wave before drifting over to the wagon where she hitched herself up. When Tap looked back, Rita was already dividing up the caps before Derpy had finished dragging the wagon behind the shop. The sounds of an industrial elevator sounded moments later.

“And that squares us up,” Rita announced as she stuffed her share of the caps into her bag.

Tap looked down at the largest single pay-day he’d gotten in his life. “It hasn’t been completely fucking terrible working with you,” Tap said with a dark laugh. “We make a good team.”

“Oh yeah,” Rita said with a slow smile. She grabbed the Rainbow Dash cutout and folded it in half and again. Despite himself, Tap felt horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tap all-but shrieked.

Rita cocked a brow at him and shook the cutout like a rug. It popped back to it’s original shape. Tap’s hangover flared.

“It’s made of enchanted paper,” Rita explained. “It’ll never crease.”

“Then why the fuck did we have it out the whole time?” Tap pleaded.

Rita finished folding Rainbow Dash into a size the she could shove down her vest. “So I could show it off, duh,” Rita said with a shrug.

“Anywho, see ya,” Rita said loudly and clapped her claws together.

“What, that’s it?” he stammered in disbelief.

“Yeppers peppers,” she sing-songed. “You did good work. A solid six out of ten. I’ll totally write you a recommendation if you need one. Ya know, if we bump into each other again.”

Rita stuck her bottom in the air and gave a wiggle before she hopped into the air. She soared skyward without looking back. Tap stood silently for a moment, staring after the rapidly disappearing griffon into the grey skies. He looked at his sack of caps; it was enough to keep him fed, drunk, and with a place to sleep for months if he played it right. The thought didn’t enthrall him.

“So now what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he loudly asked no one.

Author's Notes:

Next time on Odds and Ends: Tap just can't get away from Rita and she just can't keep her caps in her pockets! Will her fast and furious pay-offs pay out or will she end up capless? Keep your eyes peeled for the next exciting installment!