Blocked.

Left, left, right. Blocked again.

The little pony slipped by. Hooves clasped around his neck and legs. His cheek hit the floor. The mat reeked with sweat. Losing fights wasn’t a thing he was accustomed to.

Leg locked and air-deprived, Plough heaved. He rolled as his attacker clung tenaciously. The leg flew up and over, slamming his adversary to the mat. Her grip loosened.

Plough slipped away, gasping. The other shook her head. Ready instantly. Jumping, she closed the gap between them.

Plough saw. In his heart he wanted to impress. Do fancy takedown. A lock of some kind. He reached into his mind. Nothing special.

He kicked. The kick connected.

The mare flew across the room until she was stopped by a wall. Her body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Medics rushed to her side.

Plough started toward her, afraid he had done something terrible. She sat up. A tin can rattled around in her throat, but she was alive.

Eyes wide, his hoof covered his mouth. Justice and change for the wasteland were his desires, not to accidentally kill sparring partners. He reached out a hoof, but thought better of it and returned it to his mouth.

She glanced at him as they carried her away in a stretcher, and winked.

He felt a towel around him. Dry. Noises. A voice, but through a long, misshapen pipe. The paladin was saying something, but Plough’s head had gone swimming. Plough nodded his head, unsure what he was agreeing to. This was the third match, but the only one requiring medical leave. He hoped for Knight Albondiga’s speedy recovery.

Being the size of a house and tough as a brick, strength-induced accidents were part of the territory. He recalled his first memory. Hungry. He had been hungry.

“More,” he told his mom.

“There is no more, sweetie,” Kandy replied. “You ate it all.”

There had to be more. “All of it?”

“All of it.”

“It’s all gone?”

“All gone yuh friggin’ leach!” his father chimed in.

His mother, as always came to his rescue. “Shucks!” If an interrobang were a face, her’s was it.

“Kandy, we’ll be here forever with th’ kid askin’ questions like that.”

“He’s just a colt. He’s hungry and curious.”

“Oh, here we go again…” The sandstorm of parents fighting bit at him even as his cheeks ran wet. Why was there no more? There should always be more! There had to be something he could do, but mom and dad were too big to stop once they got going. What else could he do?

He jumped from the table and screamed, “You shouldn’t have to fight like that! There should always be more!” With that he kicked two little holes in the wall, and scurried up the stairs to his room.

Sounds from the present dissipated the fog of the past. He recognized the words “medbay” and “okay.” He passed High Scribe Marrow as the Paladin led him out of the training room. A heavy hoof landed on Plough’s back as he heard the grizzled scribe say, “That’s the way, son. Good work.”

Plough wondered why Marrow had been so maligned by Trueheart and Fate. The scribe had been nothing but cordial and helpful since they had come to the bunker. His face screamed of the evil marauder who would lay waste to stables of ponies, but there was something in the back of Plough’s mind. There was a seed of trust he couldn’t explain, and Marrow’s good manners and fatherly demeanor were watering it daily.

A stallion screamed from down the hall. Suddenly he was not on the way to the medical bay.

Raze bounced the ball against the wall again and again. He had been in the hospital bed for two days. The trek to meet Trueheart and subsequent shootout weren’t the greatest things for a pegasus in recovery. Every few hours the Invictus doctor would force him to drink a disagreeable tea. It tasted like bark that had been buried in a swamp for months then cooked in a giant mushroom. Zebra magic was powerful, however. The infections were nearly gone.

The ball bounced back. He caught it in his hoof. Being laid up was nice. It gave him time to think.

The ball was green, the color of Grandma Riverdance.

How is dat old nag doin’? he thought. Visions of her chained to a wall flashed before him. There stood Marrow, stretching. Preparing to crush the defenseless. Enslave the free. Force obeisance from the poor in spirit.

Even as he bent her spine, Raze realized it would never come to that. They needed her, just as they needed him.

Another throw. The ball sounded hollow, smacking against the wall.

Scars from Willow Wind’s betrayal were finally healing properly after all these years. The only problems were those parts of Raze forever attached to her. As they fell off his spirit’s skin, he let them go. Buried them. He would never forget them, neither would he return.

Unfortunately for Raze, they were much larger than he dreamt. So much of his identity had been wrapped up in hating her for it, being pushed out of the clouds, forcing him into a life poorly-researched Enclave books could scarcely describe. As he watched his old self crumble to pieces, he wondered who would stand in its place. What material were they made of?

The ball bounced back to his hoof.

He hoped Frankfurter fared better. The Fire Stone was still unconscious. Raze supposed a gunshot to the face would have that kind of effect. Seriously, who survives a gunshot to da face?

Then there was Fate: another void he was eager to fill. She was a difficult lock to pick, however. Every stratagem he tried bounced off like the ball. Teasing banter? Bounce. Silly jokes? Bounce. Even just listening to her and getting to know her on a pony-to-pony level didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Persistence, he told himself. Wear her armor t’in, and when da time is right? Speared!

He chuckled. She was and interesting character, and Raze always went after the weirdos.

Bounce.

What would they do together in this world, anyway? Celestia’s Acre was one of the most pleasant Hell-holes in Equestria, but it was still a hole. She would never agree to shirk her responsibilities, damn the consequences and let the world burn around them. No, she was the type of nightingale who wanted nothing more than to just heal the world. It was what made her so irresistible.

How could he, then help change the course of the area? Steel Rangers, Invictus, Fire Stones and the rest. It was a complex problem with many variables. Which group was most dangerous? Who was likely to succeed? What was his place in this menacing equation?

The ball flew from the wall and bounced under his bed. His face told the room he had just won the bad luck lottery.

“Fuck me, I need a drink.”

The whiskey was almost gone, but that loathsome cur remained at the doorway. Trueheart studied the detritus falling from his mouth, but most came up gibberish. Not that he’d really want to know in the first place.

“The ‘rose in the desert.’ The shining example of Applejack’s moral code. Look at you. Disgraceful.”

Trueheart grit his teeth. Marrow was right, of course. No matter what he tried there was always some bramble, some snare to tear his skin and lay bear the devil inside. He turned on the bed and held himself up as dignified as he could.

*BURP*

Shit, he thought to himself. His nose reached for the air again. “You’re one t-to talk, Marrow,” He slurred. “You are a hhhorrible, hhorrible pony. You kill ponies jussst because they shtand in between you and a relic. You’re horrible!”

“You think stable dwellers give two shits about you? Hell, no. They’re selfish and stupid: the worst kind of pony. They reap the benefits of technology that could restore Equestria to her former glory and damn everypony else with their ignorance.”

“But, you’d round them up. You sshhhoot ‘em all. You’re a monster.”

“Tsk, tsk. Slander is a sure sign of defeat. And you forget your Zebra Infiltration Tactics, my friend. ‘Only victory is essential in war. No country benefits in protracted conflicts.’ If a mare or young colt need a still heart for the greater good, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Trueheart heaved the bottle Marrow’s direction. It shattered against the wall, littering the floor with crystalline sprinkles. The adversary’s eyes opened fire. “There’ss a room in Tartarus with your name on it, Marrow!”

“I’ll be sure to tell them who referred me.”

“I hope you choke.”

“Now who’s the monster?” Marrow was a ways down the corridor before he spoke again. “I’m going to go watch the new initiate attempt his trials. Hopefully this new son of your’s has more grit than what I’ve seen in the past.” The door closed behind him.

Trueheart was once again alone with his blurry thoughts. Not blurry enough.

He fell off the bed. Hooves stuttered syncopated rhythms across the floor. Lockers were difficult enough to open without magic. After he procured another bottle from it, however, he decided he must wield some kind of magic.

Pressure around the eyes. It felt like an invisible pony was choking him. He took a pull from the bottle. The gulp turned the invisible pony to ash and eased the pressure.

He toyed with Knight Fluff’s holotags.

“I miss you, bro,” he said as he kissed them. “I’ll make sure I’m the one who tells your big sister.”

A film projected in his mind. The little colt wrapped in a blanket. Poofy mane, fluffy coat, big eyes. Cute, little guy. His sister wouldn’t leave his side. Taught him to read, addition, subtraction, how to use logic to fool their father into giving them treats. The moment Senior Scribe Ohms taught him to program, she taught him to hack. The Elders were sure surprised when a crudely-drawn, intimate portrait of the cereal mascot, General Mare® popped up on every viewable screen in the bunker.

Trueheart was surprised when Fluff’s knee exploded.

No, none of that. He quickly downed another mouthful and closed his eyes.

Colors danced everywhere. Trueheart watched himself playing games as a child, watched his first kiss. He lingered at the scene where he and Crystal made their son. He felt a smile on his face. His boy could walk. Trouble at school. So apologetic.

“Dad? I love you, dad.”

The mental movies went on like this until the reel was left flipping, bereft of film.

Galena dumped the new box of movies on the floor. One reel canister tried to roll its way out the door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Galena squeaked as she dove for her newfound treasure. Once it was in her talons it received many hugs and smooches. “You, my friend, belong in a museum. But I suppose a shrine will have to do.”

She passed the animatronic skeleton used in 1,000 Nights of the Horswulf. Ducked under the bigature model of the Spruce Moose. Snaked around the giant, jarred face of Shoe from the Dr. Whooves series.

There it stood. The shrine to all things Daring Do. Every poster, every figurine, every newspaper and magazine clipping she could scrounge, every prop and piece of memorabilia imaginable was laid out in meticulous fashion. It would have been a marvelous subject for a documentary if anypony were still making documentaries.

She placed the new canister in the empty spot next to the others, next to the pith helmet, under an autographed picture of Hairerion Trot, and encircled by the actual whip used in the first movie. She bowed in deference to its glory. Leaning in close, she whispered menacingly at the Trials of Unity canister, “You are so getting watched with friends when we get done with that stable thing.”

Galena was surprised Raze had asked for her help. Being so tall and awkward, close-quarter security wasn’t exactly her forte. Nor was being in extreme danger, now that she thought about it.

But she was apparently the best scavenger he knew. And a fantastic historian to boot, if I do say so myself, she thought as she surveyed her walls and mountains of books. She hopped to her bed and pulled out one particularly worn-looking tome from the cubbyhole-bookshelf under the window. A pen jumped out at her when she untied the lash. Picking it up, she wrote:

Dear diary,

I can’t wait to see my friends in a few days! We’re going to free some pegasi from their underground prison. I can’t imagine never being able to fly outside for your whole life. That’s gotta really SUCK! Everybody going is new to me except Raze, so I’m a little worried what to talk about on the way there. I wish Grandma was going. I miss her and her stinky face a bunch! I hope she’s doing okay in that horrible Steel Ranger bunker.

Hopefully we can get back in time so I don’t miss my date! I don’t know what gets me more: those wizened, old-soul eyes or the really (I mean, really) ripped body. ^_^

I do know that I feel safe to be myself around him. Even in that little amount of time we had together he saw my weirdness and raised it with his. I really hope I see him again.

-G.

P.S.: The complete collection looks great from here.

She held up her director’s talons and framed the Daring Do shrine with them.

“Pretty as a picture.”

The portraits were nearing completion. Fate hoped it could bring closure to the incident, but knew it would never stem the wounds. Some of the older zebras didn’t care for the portrait idea. “It’s unlucky to have images of the dead watch us,” they said. “Lest their desire to live becomes too great and they rise up to haunt us.”

Fate, however, knew that wasn’t how it worked. Her friends were with the sisters now, grazing in the cool grass.

Their families mourned in their own way. A cornucopia of traditions played against each-other. Shaved manes, lit candles. Days passed, but the music and dancing grew ever more rowdy. Working on the portraits in the upper stories was Fate’s only respite from the cacophony of wild spirits below.

The poor souls, she thought as Raze appeared in her mind. He lay on the asphalt. Haze surrounded them on all sides. His eyes looked up at her, asking, “Why?”

Banned from the sky. Prostituting his skills to any bidder just to survive. Time had not been kind to the unwanted pegasus, and Fate was a cog in its machinations. She knew it was for the greater good, but those eyes.

The same eyes that were staring at her from a striped head.

“Damnit.”

She worked the eyes into a slightly less horrified gaze. The brush followed wrinkles in her friend’s face, tracing his experiences back through time. Every wound was there. Every fight, every meal, every kiss. All moments were accounted for, but the abused look of betrayal worn by Raze still haunted the portrait.

She moaned. Try as she might, she couldn’t escape its judgemental glare. It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult portrait. With her adept eyes and equally adroit magical abilities no artistic endeavor should elude her.

She sighed and moved to the other portrait. The painting was nearly complete, missing only small details in the coat. This zony had been so young, barely a stallion in his own right. When Fate had told his family, they were so distraught it seemed they might riot. His mother, however, just leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground. Too shocked to even cry.

There was a tiny bald patch here from a stairwell accident when he was a colt. It was there, nearly hidden by a stripe. This stripe curled up at the end like a crochet hook and this one had a white bulge in it that almost looked like a pear.

Nearly every strand of hair was perfect. The grays and blues worked together to bring the portrait to life.

Fate stepped back to critique her work. There was something missing. A spark of life. Something in the lower neck, maybe?

She brought her brush to bear. There it is. With each gliding stroke, the brush followed the curvature of muscles and tendons. She could almost see them move beneath the coat and skin.

Ever so gently the brush tickled the canvas. Each touch put Fate deeper into her trance. With reality unfolding before her, she reached out with her heart. She could feel them.

Muscles and tendons. A heartbeat. Warm breath. He was alive, but not blue and gray. An orange pegasus, his eyes as honest as they were kind, stood before her in her mind’s eye.

“You’re a good girl, Fate,” he said. “You’re a good girl and I forgive you.”

She felt the tightness coil around her neck. Her chin went taught.

“I understand, Fate. I understand.”

“Wow, Fate! Those look almost real!”

The brush dropped as she shuddered. Her eyes turned to the unwelcome interruption, cursing herself for leaving the door open. “Oh! Jukebox, hey. How’re you doing?”

He strode the rest of the way into the room. “Little jumpy, are we?”

She laughed as unmusically as she could muster. “Just enjoying the silence, JB.”

“Oh, I know how it is, and no, they haven’t stopped. They haven’t even taken a break. But, hey look at these. They’re amazing. I knew you were good, but they look more real than photographs, almost like they’re gonna walk right out of the canvas. There’s weight to them, know what I mean?”

“Thank you. Hey, has Crazy Rich talked to that Steel Ranger mare since we’ve been back?”

“Not that I know of. He keeps guards posted around her room. Makes sure she gets out to walk around. Has them give her books and play games. Have to keep her mind occupied, of course. Why do you ask?”

Because her brother died when they sent their negotiation team, her mind screamed. “Just curious. She’s a pony, too and I want to make sure we treat her as such.”

“Of course. You know how Crazy Rich is.”

She shooed him from the room. “Yep, I do. You don’t mind letting him know I’ll see him in an hour, do you? I have to freshen up.”

“Sure thing Fate. See you at dinner.”

Her heart was still keeping an upbeat tempo as she locked the door. A certain pegasus did loop de loops in her belly and lightened her steps.

“Shit,” she sighed as she put a hoof to her face. Lifting her mattress, she grabbed one of the many magazines she had stashed there and attempted to alleviate some of her loneliness.

Their eyes pressed in on her. No laughing, no open ridicule, but the feeling was there. Two days in the bunker and Chaff was already labeled a pariah.

At least Senior Scribe Ohms was on her side. The old stallion was quick to shower her with warm smiles and praise, not that her historical knowledge or scrimshaw were worth lauding.

She stared at the miniature, plastic abomination taking up space on the table before her. Cross-referencing her abilities with even the young fillies and colts in the class didn’t shine a hopeful light on her future in the visual arts. It was an atrocious attempt at the holy sun and moon symbols. She assumed Ohms would be offended, but it was what the figure represented that caught his attention.

“You all could learn something from this wastelander,” he had scolded the class. “She lived her whole life as a surface-dwelling savage and yet she knows the Steel Rangers are Equestria’s best bet to reclaim her former glory.”

Chaff smiled tentatively. Rarely was she complimented on a feature that wasn’t her looks. Accomplishment felt quite different than a nice, though generic sentiment.

“Class dismissed.” Senior Scribe Ohms waved her over as his class filtered out.

“May I have a moment of your time, my dear?” he asked, stacking books into a little wagon. His raspy voice had the texture of a bonfire, smokey and warm. He must get extra resonance from that big gut and chipmunk-like cheeks, she thought, holding back a grin and chiding herself for having thought it in the first place.

“Of course, Senior Scribe Ohms. Would you like me to help you with those books there?”

“Hey, these old bones may not look it, but I can still stack books with the best of them. No, I want to thank you for using you as an example earlier. Now, I know I’ve been hard on you surface-dwellers in the past, but I see the way you carry yourself. You pay attention to the lectures. You care more than any of these entitled brats going to classes these days. They think things are fine, that everything will be perfect if you just leave it alone. But you’ve lived up there. You know how dangerous it can be. You know the only way to change things is to be the changer.”

Chaff wanted to say, “thank you for understanding”, or “that is so sweet for you to say”, but instead opted for the much more erudite, “Uh-huh.”

Ohms nodded at Head Paladin Pozole and Apprentice Rewire as they entered the room. It had been an everyday practice, it seemed. The Apprentice would assist the Senior Scribe in enhancing the Head Paladin’s power armor. To Chaff it seemed a waste of time and resources to upgrade powerful technologies when the rest of the world was still in flames. The average Steel Ranger fought with fire, he wasn’t a firefighter.

Ohms continued, “I want to make sure you’re given all the help you need in order to more adequately serve the Rangers. I know you’re probably having trouble adjusting to your new life, so starting tomorrow Apprentice Rewire is going to begin tutoring you after your technologies class. He’s one of the brightest ponies I know when it comes to computers and robotics. He may be a little impatient or aloof, but he’ll quickly get you to where you need to be.”

“Thank you so much, Senior Scribe,” Chaff said, as her stomach did a back flip. She bit her lip. The prospect of meeting daily with Rewire filled her with not just a little apprehension. The apprentice was a disciple of High Scribe Marrow, and as such ran errands for him. Chaff bore nothing but revulsion for Marrow. Atrocities swam in his eyes, and if the stories Fate relayed were true, those atrocities would some day be realized.

“I want you to be meticulous when you’re studying programming. It requires a laser-beam focus. Any mistake in the code, any mistake at all, could make hours of work seem meaningless. It’s not meaningless, though. You’re always improving.”

“Of course, Senior Scribe. Thank you, Senior Scribe.”

Ohms shrugged into the harness for his wagon. “Now, let’s get you to Scribe Red Book. I’m sure you have a lot you need to get off your back, what with moving from your hometown and that harrowing escape from the terrorists in Little Neighpon.”

“Thank you, Senior Scribe. I’m just happy there’s somepony to talk to who can help me through all of the garb-”

There was a scream from the corner of the room. Chaff turned.

Head Paladin Pozole lay on the floor. No helmet. The power armor looked small. Too small.

Rewire tore at the suit. Ohms fled the yoke and hastened over. He scanned Pozole’s metal shell. “Get Doctor Pinzette,” he yelled to Chaff. “Hurry!”

Chaff ran toward the medbay. What if she brought this bad fortune with her? In her mind she knew she had nothing to do with the suit malfunction, but she felt the unheard voices condemning her. To make matters worse, they also judged her for putting Pozole’s pain and fading health after her own concerns. At least with her father, she was the only one who had to weather anything. She wished she hadn’t come.

“There’ss a room in Tartarus with your name on it,” Trueheart spat.

“I’ll be sure to tell them who referred me,” Marrow retorted.

“I hope you choke.”

“Now who’s the monster?” Marrow was a ways down the corridor before he spoke again. “I’m going to go watch the new initiate attempt his trials. Hopefully this new son of your’s has more grit than what I’ve seen in the past.”

“That stallion is so weak,” the voice in his head said. “How is he a Paladin, again?”

He wasn’t always like that, Marrow thought back.

“Hm.” There was a pause. “No, I suppose he wasn’t. What do you think about the new initiates?” Solidarity had been fairly quiet since the arrival of the new, savage initiates. Marrow wondered if she was planning something or was just observing. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his thoughts under wraps for long. She always found out.

I’m withholding judgement until I see results.

“What does your gut tell you, then?”

At least Solidarity was on his side. He found himself winning arguments and persuading others much more easily with her help. If only her help didn’t cost him so much.

The stallion is sharp. Knowledgeable, too. I’m curious to see how he fights. Hopefully we’ll be able to talk to him more before Elder Gazpacho sends them on their initiate quests.

“And the mare?”

What about her? A complication for dealing with the stallion. Useless otherwise.

“Don’t be too quick to dismiss what appears weak. Even flowers can be dangerous.”

You asked. I told you. I said I was reserving judgement.

“So you did. Touche.”

Marrow leaned against the wall and peered through the open doorway of the training room. What he saw was not terribly impressive.

Knight Albondigas dodged and blocked blow after blow. After mere moments, she took him to the floor. His floor game was even worse. Running out of breath with his cheek against the mat, he looked pathetic.

“Looks like your gut was proven wrong,” Solidarity’s voice whispered.

Take some of your own advice and relax. As he thought it, the new initiate rolled and flung Albondigas from himself. He coughed and sputtered, but Albondigas charged. Marrow heard the crack in her ribs from the kick. He didn’t hide his look of surprised satisfaction as the Knight flew, slamming into the wall at least ten feet away.

“Huh, I seem to give good advice, don’t I.” Marrow’s eyes almost rolled from their sockets.

The initiate followed Knight Albondigas’ stretcher out of the training room. As he passed, Marrow reached out a hoof and patted him on the back. “That’s the way, son,” he said. “Good work.”

“Son? Smooth.”

If you get everything you want without working at it, would your character grow at all? We have to give old Trueheart a challenge. I do believe I’ll make a good father.

Just then, Marrow heard a stallion scream from down the hall. He raced for it, limping as fast as his fused hoof would let him. He felt the adrenaline. The lightness, the rush. He came at last to the classroom.

He stood in the doorway, looking above the gawkers. Ohms was doing his best to look busy. Rewire was positively in shock, his eyes riveted to the scene.

He felt Elder Gazpacho push him to the side. “¡Fuera de mi camino!” he yelled. “¡Fuera! ¡Fuera! Out! Get back, all of you!” He rushed through the throng to his son’s side. “Mijo. Mi hijo. ¿Qué…?”

Marrow’s heart began to smile as Pozole failed to speak. The Head Paladin’s rasps could be heard while his father stroked his mane.

What do you think of the show? There was no answer. Solidarity?

“Not now, Marrow.”

What? Never had she been so adamant. So definitive in her rejection. She seemed to sense his unease, however.

“Just tending to my garden.”

What?

The new initiates turned to stare at him, blank slates as faces.

Author's Notes:

This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link: Equestria Daily

If you’d like to read more Fallout Equestria Side Stories, take a look at: Fallout Equestria Side Stories post on Equestria Daily and the Fallout Equestria Side Stories thread on Ponychan

Thank you also to Arcane Scroll for the excellent site: Fallout: Equestria Resource. There is a chat function on that site, come say “hello.”

Also, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everypony!