Chapter Three: O Times, O Mores!

"I don't desire to change anything in Equestria except the weather."

'Cause I've got spurs~

That jingle jangle jingle~

As I go trotting merrily alooooong~

And indeed, I trotted merrily along the cobbled stone path, singing cheerfully as the radio on my back radiated smooth swing for metres around. I considered buying saddlebags as soon as I got spare money. After I'd paid Turner back, of course. Speaking of Turner, the pegasus was walking along the trail with disinterest, his recent grimness replaced by mild disapprovement of my choice in music. Or the very existence of music, apparently. Still, I could swear I saw a glimpse of smile on his face when he glanced at me, probably thinking I wasn't looking.

Either that, or light just resonated off his face in such a fashion. Oh, light. That this area lacked, with the cloud curtain firmly covering the sky, letting only a few tiny rays of sunlight through the holes that were being constantly fixed by some force above. Pegasi, I assumed. Well, some light would've suited the Wasteland indeed. I mean, what's the point of my wearing sunglasses if there was no sun?

To look cool, that's why. Now, if only I had real shiny spurs that would go jingle jangle jingle, my life would be complete. The bleak, desert-like surroundings didn't bother me in the slightest. Every few minutes, we would come across a nice set of cacti, or a neat pastoral of bones, equine or otherwise. Ah, what a picturesque scenery! ...That was sarcasm, if you didn't get it.

Well, one way or another, no aspect of the grim surroundings could distress me, so long as I had the wonderful Box of Many Wonders! So I marched on through the sandy dunes, and stone trails, and scorched land, as Mr New Pegas launched one song after another. I wished he'd speak, but I was definitely content with the music. Even Turner seemed to be enjoying himself, if his slightly-less-than-more-than-stern look was any indication. Oh, and if he could ever enjoy himself - a fact I wasn't sure of.

He still was a pretty cool guy, you gotta admit. I mean, the only punishment I had to undergo for my selling away his stuff was to travel with him - a pony who, apparently, had deep knowledge of this wasteland, in addition to being a sharpshooter. I mean, could it be any better?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it could. I could be sitting in my TARDIS right now, sipping on a cup of tea. Or having some fun time with Twilight in Ponyville. Stop it, you perverts. Fun time means 'fun time', nothing more. Well, to think about it, being anywhere but here would be just wonderful. But hey, beggars can't be choosers, what?

I thought about the situation I'd found myself in. I mean, that was certainly not the first time I'd got into something like that, being a time traveller and all. I had found myself in strange places. I had travelled between alternative universes. I had even been parted with my beloved TARDIS a few times. But by Celestia's shiny beard, I'd never found myself in a post-apocalyptic desert! Erm... wasteland.

Or maybe I had... Maybe another me, from another universe or dimension had. Or maybe I from this dimension had already been here, only been here before after I went had gone here... Damn, those thoughts were giving me a nifty headache. And a stomachache.

Wait. A stomachache? Where did that come from? Indeed, my stomach grumbled, drawing Turner's attention for a moment. Good, maybe, if I was lucky, he'd look at me for so much as four - or maybe even five! - seconds. Someday.

So, hunger. One of the evil minions of Lady Destiny that make my life a nice and warm living hell. Along with anarchists, Labourists, and the like. You know. I had quite a powerful desire to sate that hunger of mine, and - guess what? - I resolved to share my longing with Turner, if only because he was the only one to talk to around here. Not much diversity, what?

"Hey, Turner?" I called out in a vain attempt to draw the stallion's attention. You'd think he'd give a shit. Welp, you'd be mistaken. Seeing as he carried on with his idle trotting, I pressed the issue. "Could we stop for a quick bite?"

Turner. Never turning to me since Celestia-knows-when. That'd make a good ad, don't you think? "I'm not hungry," said my ever-so-disregarding companion, not sparing me a single glance. Oh well.

"Well, I am!" I protested sourly. I mean, I hadn't had a meal in what - a day?! Well, to think about it, neither had Turner. Unless he'd snatched a snack or two while I was utilising my outstanding barter skills at the shop in Nuketown (still a silly name, if you ask me).

Finally, the pegasus turned his head towards me for a second, tossing me a mild glare. I'd give it a 5/10 on the glare-o-metre scale. Even though he was silent, his eyes spoke for him. And they said, "Do I look like I give a damn?"

I ran ahead of him and met his eyes with my own stare, lifting the shades. Time Lord stares, people. Serious business. My eyes replied, "Well, I don't care! I'm hungry!" 6/10 on the glare-o-metre.

Another flash of eyes from the brown pegasus. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Seven outta ten.

"Well, I-" I said aloud, just before I came to a conclusion that I was hopeless in the wake of a) my being unable to compete with Turner's glare; b) my being is his charge; and c) my owing him money. So, naturally, I shut up and fell behind, trying to find salvation in the soothing jazz music.

Just as the music gave way to the news and Mr New Pegas began to rasp out sweet information, the radio whizzled and screeched and retched with noise, and the sound died, leaving me aghast and disheartened.

No! No no no no NO! Fate couldn't be that cruel! Take my firstborn, but leave my sweet radio alone, dammit! My mind frantically roamed about my head as I tried to think of my next action. Naturally, that would be changing the batteries, but... Now, class: who's smart? What's the issue here? Right you are! Stuck in the wasteland with no spare batteries! Bingo!

All right, I'm done with sarcasm. If that was sarcasm. I always mix those up: sarcasm and irony. More difficult to distinguish between than two halves of one flank, I tell you. Anyway.

Blaming myself for not having bartered a pack of batteries, I shivered, giving the now-deceased Box of Many Wonders a swift kick in hope of reviving it. No such luck. Apparently, radios didn't work that way. Oh well. My TARDIS did, though! Aaaaaaand cue in miserable reminiscing.

I shook my head vigorously, trying to catch up with my pegasus companion. No sombre thoughts, now. I had to run to keep emotions at bay. Always running; that's what I'm good at. I can't say I'm the most enduring pony out there, but I'm sure as hay am the most enduring Time Lord! (Mostly because I'm the only one, but seriously, who gives a damn? I, for one, don't.)

I raised my head, eyeing the rocky path ahead of me. A black dot waited for me at the horizon: it had to be a settlement of some sort. It had to be. And a settlement meant food, rest, and spare batteries.

I chuckled to myself, stretching my legs. Who's a tough British stallion? I asked myself, trying to build up determination inside myself. Who's a damn tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion! Allons-y!" I roared aloud and quickened my pace in an attempt to outrun Turner. In retrospect, that was rather ironic. I mean, using a French phrase while pumping up my national pride and what-not. Ah well.

All I had to do was to repeat that holy mantra over and over again to keep my weary legs moving. Who's a tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion!" I rocketed forth, outrunning Turner, who didn't seem surprised, from the side glance I managed to sneak. Who's a tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion!" The stone burned beneath my hooves, but I galloped towards the black dot that, by now, had taken the form of a distant settlement; a town, even! Just a few more minutes and-

-And I fell flat on my face. Ouch. That's what I thought: Ouch. What I said (or, shouted, rather), however, was slightly different, and could be roughly interpreted as, "Fuck my arse with Celestia's wings!" I got up, grunting (At least my shades are all right, I mused), observing the place of my unfortunate demise.

A rock.

A damn rock! I kicked the silent offender aside, cursing rocks and making a mental note to put them on my hate list, just below anarchists and Labourists (but above hunger). Turner passed by idly, dropping, "And here I was, thinking that with an accent like yours, you'd say 'Blimey' or something."

Oh! So he was finally making an effort to partake in conversation! I smiled and trotted alongside him, making out a dozen of small buildings at the end of our cobbled trail. "You see, contrary to popular belief, 'Blimey' is not a swear, but a way to express surprise or-"

Turner glared at me, shutting me up. Okay, apparently, he still did not want to partake in conversation. Then why'd he address me? Probably to make fun of me. Or something. Anyway, his look confirmed my suspicion that the amount of fucks he gave was less than one. You can do the math.

After a few minutes, or, well, dozen minutes, of trotting towards the settlement, I could clearly make out at least twenty buildings, most of them one-storey rusty houses; but at least those were not huts. There were no ponies to be seen, but I assumed that, since it was a town of some sort, there should be inhabitants. Otherwise, the point of building a town is kinda lost, don't you agree?

Anyway. We entered the settlement via the aforementioned cobbled path, and Turner immediately turned (this is getting old) left, leaving me practically no chance to inspect the surroundings. Not that there was much to marvel at, though: apart from the buildings, the settlement was pretty much plain (in addition to it actually having been built on a plain): piles of rubbish were lining the dusty road that was piercing the town, and the sombre rust on the walls wasn't adding to a general pleasant impression. I decided to follow my companion, who approached an ordinary house that wasn't really that different from the other ones, and knocked at the door six times. Probably some secret code or something.

Apparently, it was a secret code of some sort, for the plain wooden door opened (wood was still a nice change from rusty metal, I had to admit), revealing a rather sleepy-looking brown unicorn. Did I mention it was probably either early morning or late evening, given the lack of light? On second thoughts, though, it could just as well be the middle of the day, the cloud curtain covering the sky and all. Maybe the host was just a heavy sleeper?

One way or another, the brown unicorn's eyes widened, and it seemed that his greying mane stood on edge as he saw us. Well, not us; Turner, probably. Unless he was a huge fan of Time Lords, that is. Off-hoofedly, I noticed that this wasteland was rich on brown ponies. Not that it was a bad thing, of course; I'm brown, Turner's brown - a little brown never hurt anypony! Hell, we could be the Brown Musketeers: a pegasus, a unicorn and an earth pony (who is also a Time Lord, but that's not a topical issue)! This stallion's shade of brown was lighter, though, more resembling his grey-ish mane, with little hints of orange-like tint.

"Captain!" the unicorn exclaimed, throwing his hooves in the air and waving them frantically. Well, rather, idiotically; but for the sake of political correctness and whatever you ponies are fond of nowadays, let's say that he was doing it frantically. More peculiar was the fact that Turner did not only reply to the strange greeting ("Captain"? Oh really? Did Turner look like a captain?), but even smiled. I know right?! Insane, I tell you. Up to that moment, I hadn't even been aware of the fact that my pegasus companion (okay, that's starting to sound like a title) was able to make his facial muscles work that way!

One way or another, Turner smiled and proceeded into the building. Needless to say, I followed him, mostly out of curiosity. Well, that and the fact that I was hopeless on my own in this Wasteland of theirs. Oh, and I owed him money! Can't forget that.

The interior left much to be desired. Apart from a knife-cut-adorned wooden table by the window and a three-legged chair, there was really nothing to catch my eyes. There was also some kind of rug in the corner, which distantly resembled what you could call a bed, and - rather anti-climatic - two stoic, not-a-millimetre-moving, large earth pony stallions standing in the middle of the room, armed to the teeth. Literally, mind you: they were holding a pistol each in their mouths, glaring at me in a similar fashion. Truly interesting, though, was the fact that they looked astonishingly similar themselves: same barding (well, lack thereof), same coat colour (purple; don't ask me - I didn't invent ponies' coats' colours), same neatly cut short manes (lavender; a different shade of purple, that is) and similar weapons. Since I was no expert in that field, I assumed that these were of the common variety, probably. The pistols, I mean. Not the stallions. Because, hell, where'd you find two purple twins?!

Anyway. As soon as the brown unicorn closed the door behind us, Turner proceeded straight to the table, standing nearby, his smile already gone. When I tried to follow him, though, the two identical purple ponies simultaneously pointed their guns at me. All right. Wrong move.

Freezing in place, I cast a somewhat pleading glance at my pegasus companion, who, by now, had shaken hooves with the brown unicorn that immediately occupied his place on the half-ruined chair. Well, twenty-five-per-cent-ruined chair, to be exact: three legs out of four were still intact, and one of the three was bent in such a fashion that it was supporting the rest of the chair. Ahem. As exciting as chair-observing was, I had more pressing issues at hoof, the most urgent one being not getting shot.

Fortunately, Turner had caught my begging look and eyed the Purple Twins of Purpleness indulgently, yet a little sternly - a peculiar mix of emotion, if you ask me. "Don't shoot him yet," he said. "He owes me money."

'Yet.' Oh, well, thank you! While I'd prefer a protective "He's with me" any day, at least the earth pony stallions paid heed and lowered their weapons, still glaring daggers at me. I considered making a face, but decided against it: I wasn't a foal, after all. Besides, they'd probably shoot me if I did.

"What brings you here today, Captain?" the unicorn wondered, idly toying with a pencil in his hooves. Wait, where did that come from? I could swear I hadn't seen anything on the table, apart from piles of papers; no pencils of any kind! And he didn't have saddlebags... All right, better not to think about it.

"Call me Turner," my pegasus companion replied, and not in a "Please, do call me Tuner" polite fashion, but rather in a "Call me Turner, or else" fashion. Which, needless to say, resulted in an immediate nod from the unicorn. Good, 'cause the name 'Captain' didn't suit Turner in the slightest. How the hell had that guy even come up with it?!

"I need to ask you some stuff, Shafty," the pegasus said, exchanging I-Know-What-We're-Gonna-Talk-About looks with his interlocutor. However, it wasn't the looks that commanded my attention to the unicorn. "Shafty"?! Seriously?

"What is your name?" I blurted out, instantly regretting my decision as the Purple Twins of Purpleness pointed the barrels of their guns at my head, prompting me to take a precautionary step back. As if it would save me... I thought, biting my tongue. "Sir," I quickly added. "What is your name, sir, if- if you don't mind my asking, that is..." I finished meekly, reminding myself of Fluttershy, one of the friends I'd gathered during my time-travelling frenzy.

The unicorn smiled, showing off two rows of somewhat-dirtier-than-white-but-still-okay teeth, and waved his hoof in the air dismissively. The PToP (for the sake of convenience; not like I was going to ask their names, anyway, minding the possible dramatic outcome) lowered their pistols again. "Long Shaft," the unicorn replied with a playful grin. "Wanna know why they call me that?"

"No!" I shouted, blushing involuntary. Catching stern looks from the PToP, I momentarily amended my phrasing: "No, sir." And, on second thoughts, added, "Though, thank you for presenting the opportunity, sir." Wow. Seems like my military training on Gallopfrey actually turned out to be useful! And earlier training as a humanoid Time Lord, as well. Ah, how long ago it was...

Before I could actually give in to pleasant reminiscing, Long Shaft... (Celestia, that name!) roared with laughter and almost got up from his seat. Almost is the key word here, because Turner actually cast him a look, and the unicorn placed himself on the chair again. "I like you, colt!" he concluded along, chuckling. Oh, a 'colt', eh? I'm over nine bucking hundred years old, just for your information! "Now shoo! We need to discuss some private matters."

'Shoo'? I'll show you how to 'shoo' a Time Lord! I thought, but, upon seeing the PToP, swiftly put a smile on my face and asked, trying not to let my sarcasm show, "And where can I spend my leisure time while you discuss 'private matters', sir?" Okay, maybe I wasn't really good at hiding sarcasm. Hey, at least I didn't emphasise the inverted commas with my hooves!

Still, Lo- Shafty (for Celestia's sake, I'll be referring to him as Shafty from now on) was either stupid or forgiving, because he simply replied with a shrug, "The bar, of course. The only building with a neon sign; can't miss it. Now..." He made a shooing gesture with his hooves.

Gritting my teeth, I turned round and left the building, much like a prominent actor hooted off the stage due to the ignorance of a shameless audience.

***

A 'neon sign' was definitely an over-statement. As I sat at the bar counter, on a dirty wooden stool, I could only wonder how I had been able to find this place: the 'neon sign' turned out to be a slightly-lit-up wooden plank reading, T.VERN, which, as I assumed by the missing letter, stood for "Tavern". I assumed that a bar on a bar reading tavern was a little too ironic. Still, it didn't seem like there were other places that served drinks around here.

Oh, since we touched upon this topic. Drinks. Now, I'm not what you would call a heavy drinker. I mean, I can swig down a cider or two, maybe accompanied by a nice glass of whisky or three, with a pleasant touch of gin and rum, in moderate proportions. Moderate. Ergo, I'm not a heavy drinker. But then again, 'moderate' is relative...

Regardless, I was very much in the mood for going for a drink at that wasteland bar as I sat grimly on the stool, eyeing the bartender, a dark brown unicorn stallion, who made me wonder if my colour was nothing special, to think of it. Now, class, who's smart? Who can guess why I was sitting all alone and sombre, glancing wistfully at the array of bottles behind the bar counter from time to time?

Bingo! Because I had no. Damn. Money.

Now that was a good reason for me to be upset. The sight of ponies of different colour and complexion drinking merrily all around me, sitting at their round wooden tables with their dusty mugs and shots, surely added some fuel to the flame of my sober sorrow. Make it sombre sober sorrow. Ha! At least I was still in the mood for lazy puns. If that could ever qualify as a pun, that is.

"You sure you don't want anything?" the bartender wondered for the umpteenth time over the past half an hour, cleaning a mug with an old rug that made it even dirtier, if anything.

"No, thank you," I hissed, trying to pierce him with a classical Time Lord Glare [TM] - that kind of glare that is rumoured to be able to make holes in ponies' bodies. Either that was just a rumour, or the bartender's skin was ridiculously tough, but I could see no hole. Maybe it was just too minute for me to see.

The stallion looked at me curiously, as if I were an abstainer. For buck's sake, me - an abstainer?! What's next - ponies thinking I'm a Labourist?

Before I could give in to pleasant thoughts about the role of a Time Lord in the course of history and what-not, I felt a not-so-gentle shove from the side. I immediately turned to the source of distress, determined to give the offender a piece of my mind, only to see...

Let's say, the most beautiful mare I had ever laid eyes upon. That's to put it simply. If I were a poet, I could write verses about her gorgeous cyan coat, and her brown mane that put my own shade of brown to shame, and her mesmerising lavender eyes, and... All right, I think you get it. She was really beautiful.

The insult died on my lips as I stared at her, watching her occupy the stool on my right and unzip her leather jacket magically. To think about it, ponies in this wasteland of theirs were really keen on wearing clothes, for some reason. I mean, in my time and space, ponies didn't use to wear clothing. I think Rarity would've been proud.

Some distant part of my mind reached for memories of my friends from Ponyville, their ultimate destinies, and their possible place in all of this, if they ever existed in this universe; but the other part of my mind directed my full and complete attention to the mare on my right, who was wearing a charming (and quite sexy, if I may add) smile.

Without as much as saying hello, she winked at me in what seemed to me a seductive manner. "Hey, big boy, wanna buy me a drink?" With that, she swished her tail against my side.

Now, I'm quite smart, as you may have already guessed, but at that exact moment the genii of my mind decided to make my mouth fall agape and mumble something completely incomprehensible.

"What was that?" the unicorn mare wondered with a grin that gave away her utter position of dominance over my emotions. Not that I minded. Hey, maybe she did like to top... Brain, I addressed my partner in crime as soon as that idea hit my head. Listen to me, brain. What are you doing, brain? Stop. Brain. Stop.

"I'm very sorry, my fair lady, but it seems that I am a little short of money at the moment," I replied, gathering my wits. Okay, well, meant to reply. What I did say, however, was something more along the lines of, "No... money..." Confound this brain and its inability to work properly. Or should it be, 'his'? I mean, I'm male, so, naturally, my brain should be male as well? Ahem. Anyway.

"Two whiskies," the mare said to the bartender, without dropping her smile, disregarding my stuttering slip. "On me," she addressed yours faithfully, putting me in an unpleasant situation. I don't know how it is wherever you live, people, but on Gallopfrey, stallions usually pay for the drinks. So, basically, I was hard put to accept the offer, considering my gentlecolt-y upbringing and what-not.

Still, my very upbringing told me that I had to accept the offer, because you don't look a gift pony in the mouth or whatever they say. Dammit, it seemed that in Soviet...  erm, Equestrian Wasteland, mares bought drinks for you!

The bartender topped up two shots, eliciting a frown from me: who drinks whisky from shots, for buck's sake?! Weren't they familiar with the concept of glasses in that wasteland of theirs? Still, beggars can't be choosers, so I decided to down the shot in a single gulp.

Now, in my life, and my life had been long enough before I ended up in the Wasteland, I had consumed many a drink. There had been good ones, mediocre ones, bad ones... But there hadn't been anything so utterly disgusting as that Manticore-Pissed-into-the-Glass-flavoured swill that I consumed at that unfortunate moment. My insides protested, and I barely held the urge to vomit, my stomach grumbling and retching mercilessly.

"The stuff's too hard for you, big boy?" the mare wondered with a smirked, not even wincing as she downed her drink. She probably had a stomach of a cow or something.

"That's not whisky!" I shouted, covering my mouth as I coughed fervently, trying to get rid of the awful taste. "And my name's The Doctor. You can omit 'the'." A-ha! Not a single lexical repetition this time! Take that, the Great and Difficult English language!

"Oh, so you're a doctor?" The mare's lavender eyes pierced me, making my face hot and my legs tremble. Or maybe these were the side effects of the drink. "That's wonderful, 'cause I've been having these terrible itches, down there..." She leaned in, her hot breath falling onto the sensitive skin of my ear. The most sensitive part of a Time Lord, by the way; just so you know. "Wanna help me with it?"

Help her with... Oh. Oooooh. Oh ho ho. She was hitting on me! Well, no wonder! I'm pretty attractive, you know? Sometimes I can't even avert my eyes from my own reflection in the mirror! Okay, well, maybe not to that extent: I'm not that narcissistic. Still, being the handsome stallion I am, I decided to play it cool and ran my red hoof through my mane. Wait... Red hoof?

Of course, Mother Nature had other plans in mind, raising my blood pressure and making my whole body turn a deep shade of pink, dancing on a rather red-ish edge. "I'm not that kind of doctor," I muttered lamely, as if I were coming up with an excuse. Damn you, Nature, for ruining my public image!

However, the mare didn't seem to care much, leaning in to me even closer, which, to me, had seemed impossible. "I don't give a fuck," she whispered, almost hissed, in what seemed to me a desperately passionate tone, if 'desperately' is word I want. "Come on and rut me silly already!" Ouch. Such vocabulary; and coming from a lady, no less!

Maybe it was the swearing - in retrospect, it probably was the swearing, mostly - but, suddenly, the offer didn't seem so enticing anymore. The way she talked, and craved for instant intimacy, really contrasted with her beautiful outlook; and I didn't like it. Not in the slightest. Still, I decided to be at least polite about my refusal. (I resolved to turn down her offer, despite, or, maybe, in spite of, my Time Lord hormones telling me to give in. I'm stubborn just like that. I know.)

"I don't even know your name, you know," I said, raising a brow in a seemingly stern manner. Well, at least I hoped so.

The mare groaned and let out a heavy sigh. "For fuck's sake, you don't need to know my name to stick your cock in my cunt!" And there it was again, the heavy swearing. Fortunately, it made me want any kind of contact with the mare even less. (Not to mention that I believe in love and all that jazz; not one-night stands. Yeah, I'm also old-fashioned and conservative. Sue me.) "All right." She lowered her voice and extended a hoof. "Name's Blue Curacao, pleased to meetcha."

I blinked in surprise and shook her hoof. "Um... Blue Cu-" I began, but she cut me short at once. Speak about bad manners...

"Just Kira. That'd be better for everypony." She cast a sharp glare at me, the kind of glare that could most certainly kill a squirrel on the spot. "And for your safety." Oh, okay. Kira it is, then! Still...

"Wouldn't it be more logical to call you Kura?" I wondered. "I mean, as in, short for-"

And once again her ill manners ruined the moment as she interrupted me harshly. "Forget it, fatty." Wait, what? 'Fatty'? For the love of all that's holy, I'm not fat! Not even chubby. Dammit, I'd even prefer to be called 'big boy'. Not like there were any proper forms of addressing a stallion. Like, you know, 'sir'. Or, at least, 'mate'.

"That sounds like a zebra name," Kira hissed. "That 'Kura'," she clarified. A look of disdain rested upon her face as her muzzle scrunched in a painful grimace. She said, "zebra" with such emphasis that I wondered if she, for some reason, held a grudge against all zebrakind.

"So what?" I wondered with as much innocence as I could possibly muster. Now, that may have come out slightly rude, but hey, I wasn't really in the mood for dealing with domestic racism, you gotta hand me that. Or, rather, hoof me that. Wait, I'll go get my shades.

"Fucking zebras," the mare clarified, meeting my dumbfounded look. "Those striped motherfuckers." Ouch. I bet that hurt. Sticks and stones... Well, anyway, that was the last straw. I mean, that was clearly offensive, especially given that I'd made good friends with Zecora back in the universe where I belonged. If I truly belonged in any universe, that is.

"You know, zebras are people too," I said in a low tone, lest I be heard by the other patrons. I mean, what if it was some kind of racist bar? I didn't want to end up in one of those situation with all of the bar glaring daggers at you, their expressions saying, "Oh, so you vote Conservative, huh? Time to kick someone's arse..."

"Yeah, people who destroyed Equestria," Kira retorted boldly, downing another "whisky".

"What?" Um... Nothing to say here. I really was kinda shocked.

"Are you from the fucking moon?" Dammit, why was everypony asking that?! First, Turner, then, her... or was it 'she'? Hmm, I'm pretty sure it's 'her'.

"Kinda." I decided not to argue. "Mind enlightening me?"

"Almost two hundred years ago," Kira began, "there was a war. Those striped fuckers destroyed our land with their Megaspells. Glad we could nuke 'em as well."

So... wow. So... damn. Damn it. It seemed that this whole apocalypse had happened due to a war... between ponies and zebras. And, judging by the word, 'nuke', I could assume that there had been some nuclear weaponry involved. Or, rather, nuclear magic. Didn't know it even existed.

Of course, just like any bright and prominent individual, I didn't trust my interlocutor at once. Freedom of doubt and all that stuff. So, I clarified, "Are you sure? I mean, is there any written evidence?"

Kira huffed indignantly, eyeing me in an "Are you kidding?!" manner. "You calling me a liar, fatty?" Ouch. There it was again, that form of addressing. "I'm speaking the truth." The cyan mare paused. "As for 'written evidence'..." She emphasised the inverted commas with her hooves. "It's not like anypony can read round here."

Wait, what?! What? What?! I resisted the urge to gasp. Not only was I in a racist town, but also in the company of barbarians! Those ponies couldn't even read! Now, I believe I must make myself clear: if you can't read, you're no friend of mine. Full stop. That's the rule. I love to discuss literature with my companions, and inability to delve into its wonderful world is a red light, regarding your friendly interaction with me. So... Dammit. I really was in the middle of some shithole, wasn't I?

Suddenly, a thought struck me, and my face broke into a slight grin. So you're telling me you people can't read, right? I thought satisfactorily. "So... How about that sign above the door of this very establishment, then?" I wondered, trying to hide my smile. They had to be able to read! They'd put up the right sign, after all! (Albeit without the letter "A" in "Tavern". Oh well. We all make mistakes from time to time.) Otherwise, they'd just have put up an image of a mug or something, right?

"Just an old wooden plank the owner decided to put up." Kira shrugged. I felt my hopes pop like a toy balloon. "Anyway, you gonna rut me or what?" She put on that sultry tone again, ruffling her brown mane. "Wanna stick your long shaft into my cavern, big boy?" Okay, so, apparently, I was a 'big boy' again. Well, at least it beats 'fatty' any day. Aaaand her phrasing made me think about Shafty. Damn.

So. On one hoof, she was hot, beautiful and interested in me. On the other hoof, my upbringing strongly spoke against one-night stands... Also, she swore a lot and was racist towards zebras. (I'd still have to enquire deeper into the history of pony-zebrican relations, I mused.) ...And she couldn't read. Who was I to sleep with a mare who couldn't read?! A disgrace to a Time Lord's name, I tell you. So, there was only one natural reaction.

"No."

"All right, let's- wait, what?!" she exclaimed, visibly dumbfounded by such a reaction from yours faithfully. "You said no?!" Yes, definitely dumbfounded.

"I said no," I confirmed, nodding ever so slightly. "Firstly, I do not like you attitude or behaviour. And secondly, back in my day, we used to date for a while before engaging in intimacy."

"You..." she hissed maliciously, making me back down a little. Which was a hard task by itself, for, let me remind you, I was sitting on a stool. Still, such advanced acrobatics wasn't outside my field of proficiency. "You turned me down?!"

I gulped, but still put on a brave face, for the sake of my dignity. "Yes, I did." I wanted to add something, but couldn't quite phrase it right; so I opted for meaningful silence instead.

"You. Turned me down." Suddenly, her face faded into a mix of shock and misery, making me wonder if she'd ever received such a reply before. Seemed like she hadn't. She chewed on her lip, her confidence not so evident anymore. "You know, you are the second pony to turn me down," the cyan unicorn mentioned thoughtfully, her gaze averted in the direction of the plain grey wall.

"I'm feeling special," I said, trying to brighten up her mood a little. However, my attempt turned out to have been in vain, for Kira frowned, her eyes unfixed, her breathing heavy. Finally, she stood up and left without a word.

Now that struck a nerve. I mean, sure, she had her flaws, but I'd never intended to sadden her. I sighed and looked at the empty glass before me. You know, at that moment, I would've even gone for that piss-flavoured whisky that that place served.

The patrons were drinking their booze, sharing their stories and laughing light-heartedly. I felt like an alien there, and Kira's sudden mood swing didn't add any pleasure to my general emotional status. This place wasn't for me.

I stood up, eyeing the establishment lazily, my mood somewhat low and damp like wet fur. The lights were dim, and so was my attitude. After all, I couldn't always hide my worries behind a brave face and a facade of jokes.

I turned, and walked away.

***

I let my hooves carry me out of the "T.VERN", inhaling the fresh breeze coming from the West. At least, I assumed that it was coming from the West. Basically, we all, or most of us, tend to assume that all good comes from the West, while the East brings us sorrow and despair. Sorry, I tend to get philosophic when I'm down; one of those terrible habits of mine.

Approaching the only other building I was able to recognise around here - the one Shafty lived/worked in - I stopped just before the lopsided steps, directing my gaze into nothingness. There are times when a Time Lord has to think about his life, the universe and his place in it, and so on.

Well, lemme tell you, that wasn't that kind of moment. You see, while I have long said goodbye to puberty - for a few  hundred years already - my mood still listens to jazz. Get it? 'Cause it swings. I cannot dwell on dark thoughts for long; but just as well I cannot stay happy and cheerful in the wake of even a slightest melancholy brought about by the circumstances.

So, after spending a few minutes in dark contemplation, I told myself that everything was all right (even though it wasn't) and went on to thinking about something pleasant, just to freshen up. No use giving in to sorrow, am I right? I mean, happiness leads to grief, grief leads to frustration, frustration leads to tranquillity, which, eventually, leads to a certain degree of happiness. That's the course of things. The only difference for me being that I experience all of those in quick, rapid succession. Moderation is for pussies and Labourists, anyway.

I believe I must digress a little (not that I don't do it every now and again) and once more apologise if what I'm telling you seems rather bland. I'm a Time Lord, not a writer, after all. But hey, I'm struggling: that's what counts, right? Also, if you have somehow got offended by my narration (e.g. you're a Labourist), again, I apologise. With that being said... Where was I?

Oh, yes. Here I was, standing right before Shafty's humble abode, if abode is the word I want. I'm pretty sure it is. Anyway. I found nothing better than to inspect the surroundings. And I'm not talking about the little town; I mean the broader picture. Thanks to my perfect Time Lord eyesight (never believe those who say that I have poor eyesight; even if it is I myself), I could see the general panorama of the Wasteland.

It looked beautiful, in a way. The Wasteland seemed to be a neat blend of a good old desert, with the sand, and the scorched ground, and a semi-barren land, with occasional cacti and plants resting here and there. What I hadn't seen before, however, were the mountains. They crowned the horizon almost completely, so distant and stately. My mind wandered around, making me guess what could be lying behind those giants. Now, if only I could get some nice ambient music here... But guess what? Right. No radio. Well, I mean, no batteries. The radio was still with me, on my back. I mean... You get me, anyway.

I glanced at the sky. Judging by the occasional rays peeking through the cloud curtain, I assumed that it was already lunch-time. You know why they call it "lunch-time"? Because it's time for lunch. And, being a little short of money (read, having no money), I couldn't really afford lunch. All I could hope for was for Turner to come out of the hut... erm, abode, and offer me a meal. Which didn't seem likely to happen.

My contemplative reverie was shattered in but a few minutes by the door opening widely with a raw, dry screech. I glanced up, hoping to see my pegasus companion. but instead faced Shafty, who winked at me with a yawn. Dammit. I sighed and turned back to admiring the plains around me.

"So, colt, how do you like my little town?"

I turned round, watching the brown unicorn light up a cigarette and start puffing the smoke into the afternoon air in thin rivulets. I muttered obscenities under my breath. A colt, for buck's sake?! I was no "colt"!

"Would be nicer if I could get some food," I replied in slight irritation. Seeing the stallion's frown, and remembering the PToP (stands for Purple Twins of Purpleness, in case you forgot), I quickly added, "sir."

Shafty laughed, smoke erupting from his nostrils. How he could laugh and smoke at the same time eluded me. However, taking a quick glance at his rump (don't judge me), I saw his cutie mark to be a cigarette, with the amber tip, and the tiny stream of smoke, and all that stuff. By Celestia's beard, I'd never thought I would ever see a pony whose special talent was smoking. Either that or there was some deep psychological meaning to it. I don't know - I'm no Freud.

"Well, come on in, then!" he exclaimed, waving a hoof in a welcoming gesture. "It's chow time, and you, as Captain's..." He frowned. "I mean, Turner's debtor, are welcome."

That phrase, simple at the first glance, evoked three point of confusion inside me. First, chow?! What are we - soldiers? Well, at least it seemed that he saw me as a recruit. But still!.. Second, why was he calling Turner "Captain"? He wasn't really a captain... I hadn't seen a ship, or at least a parrot nearby. And, last but not least, being somepony's debtor actually gave me some privileges? Wow, I had thought it only brought trouble. Some food for thought, what?

Yeah, anyway, food for thought was nice and all, but what mattered to me much more was food for my stomach. So, I stashed the aforementioned thoughts in the "To Think" section of my brain and happily nodded, watching the door open by the touch of the divine food-giver. That is, Shafty, if you didn't get it.

I nearly galloped through the door, having great expectations about the glorious, gluttonous feast that awaited me. I imagined litres of hot tomato soup, with basil and all, and mashed potatoes, and buckwheat, and maybe some pancakes to top it up? I looooove pancakes!

What met my gaze, however, was not a feast. In fact, all my hopes were crushed the moment I saw the almost-empty table, and Turner sitting at the aforementioned table and munching on some canned food, his muzzle inside the can. Eww. There are spoons for that!

The PToP were nowhere to be seen, and that put me a little more at ease. But just a little. Turner just glanced at me before returning to his... erm, "meal". If canned food could ever be worthy of such a title. I slowly sat down on the floor opposite him, watching Shafty place himself on the three-legged chair.

"Suit yourself," the brown unicorn said, putting an open tin can in front of me. I took a cautious sniff, but couldn't possibly make out the scent. If anything, it smelt like burnt cat fur wrapped around a manure-covered pole, if not worse. "You don't smell food, you gulp it down, colt," Shafty advised, looking at me indulgently.

"That doesn't look like food," I mumbled, inspecting the can. Hmm... It seemed like it was food. Canned beans, best before... "These are two hundred years old!" I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I saw the date on the can.

"So I take it you're not hungry, then?" Shafty grinned and made a motion to take the food away from me. I grunted and downed the "food" in one gulp, wiping my muzzle with a hoof afterwards. What? It's not like there were any handkerchiefs around there!

It tasted... strange, to say the least. Not entirely disgusting, but not delicious either. I could barely describe it; the flavour was a kind of spicy blandness, if such a collocation is possible. However, it left a sore, unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth. Oh well, nothing a cup of tea couldn't help!

"A cup of tea would be nice," I addressed the unicorn. "Black tea with bergamot?" I suggested with a hopeful smile. Maybe they could find some bergamot and lemon? That'd make a fine blend!

Shafty blinked with a frown. "Tea? What's that?" he wondered, his eyes locked on me.

I couldn't help but gasp, recoiling in fear. Being unable to read is one thing, but being completely oblivious about what tea was... It was a serious offence, in my eyes. To say the least. I had to escape from that town. Post-haste.

"It's a drink." I glared at the unicorn.  The best drink in the world, I added mentally. "But, you know, water would be just fine." That's it, Doctor. A nice, friendly smile. No need to murder a town of innocents because they don't know how to read or what tea is.

"Ha!" Dammit, he actually said that. I mean, he could've just laughed, but he said, "Ha!" out loud. "Ha," Shafty repeated, a little calmer this time. "That's a good one, colt." He reached out to tap me on the shoulder, but I evaded the gesture. "The only water around here is highly irradiated," he added seriously.

Irradiated water? Why would they keep irradiated water?! ...Oh, right. Some past conflict. Nuclear weaponry involved. All that jazz. Damn, I'd really need to enquire into the matter deeper... Still, at the moment, I had to sate my thirst. Thirst things first. Get it? Get it?!

"Give it to me," I half-asked, half-ordered, somewhat bold in the wake of PToP's absence. "A little radiation won't kill me." A remark: Time Lords don't suffer from radiation poisoning. Unless it’s, like, half a million rads per second. The more you know!

"A little won't; much will," Shafty retorted but levitated a bottle of water nevertheless. It looked clean, just like your normal water, but then again, radiation wasn't dirt, what?

I opened the bottle with my teeth and a little help from my hooves, and lifted it so that both stallions could see it. Shafty frowned. Turner was not amused. "Cheers!" I  exclaimed, downing half the bottle in one gulp. Ah, water! The most wonderful, the purest liquid in the Universe! It washed away the taste of beans and the unpleasant dry touch of that "whisky" they'd served me, prompting me to dive into a somewhat pleased and relaxed mood.

I munched on thin air for a few moments, so that the aftertaste could set in, and took a few more gulps. Shafty smirked. Turner was still not amused. "May I keep the bottle?" I wondered politely. I could need that water in the future, after all.

The unicorn nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. "Say, you're quite a sturdy colt, sipping highly irradiated water as if it were fresh cactus juice," he remarked. Damn. I was still a "colt" in his eyes. Oh well. In a moment, Shafty addressed his attention to Turner. "Speaking about the information I gave you, was it valuable?" he asked. I assumed that they continued a recently paused conversation.

Turner nodded slowly. I wished he'd say "Quite" or something of the kind, at least.

"So, can I ask you for a favour, too?" Shafty enquired. "For the sake of old times?"

Turner nodded again, with a frown, without as much as a "Sure" or "Yes, carry on". Seemed like he wasn't a talkative stallion, from what I gathered.

"I want you to take my daughter with you," the unicorn said with a sigh. "She can't be forever stuck in this town. She needs to see the world, and besides..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My colts can't take any more; she exhausts them."

"Exhausts" them? While that concept eluded me, the general prospect seemed fine by me. Having a lady in our party would be pretty nice, actually.

"She may aid you in battle," Shafty added. "You know how skilful she is."

Turner looked at the wall, all grim and contemplative. Finally, he sighed and hung his head. "All right, Shafty. I'll take her; but I'm not responsible for her." He cast a warning glance at the brown pony. Not me; the other brown pony. I mean, Shafty. Just so you don't get confused or whatever.

"I understand." Now it was his turn to nod. From a stranger's perspective, it could seem like a strange battle of nods. Hmm, sounds like a historical event. Battle of Nods... Anyway.

Shafty rose from his seat and trotted towards the door. "Kira!" he shouted, opening the door and looking into the street.

Kira? That name sounded familiar... Wait. Wait a minute. No. No, please. Please, don't tell me...

"Yes, Father?" A painfully familiar mare entered the hut... erm, abode, tossing her gorgeous brown mane aside. Upon casting her glance at me, she frowned. "You," she stated blandly. I tossed her a weak smile. "Turner." She bowed her head slightly at my pegasus companion. Seemed like she knew him... Well, at least she wasn't calling him "Captain".

"Kira, I remember you telling me that you wanted to 'get away from it all'," Shafty quoted, "so, here's your chance! I've arranged for you to accompany Cap- Turner and this fine colt here to the Lucky 56!"

"The Doctor," I muttered under my breath. "My name's The Doctor." Dammit, it seemed that this Kira was his daughter, and now I'd have to tolerate her ignorance on our way to... Wait a minute. The Lucky 56?! The very place where Mr New Pegas lived (and broadcasted)?! "We're going to the Lucky 56?!" I clarified audibly. Very audibly. So audibly that I actually made both Kira and Shafty flinch a little. Turner, as you may have already guessed, was not amused.

"I am going to the Lucky 56," my pegasus companion corrected me with (you guessed!) an unamused smile. "You two are just tagging along."

Oh well. At least there wasn't much disdain in his voice. I suppose. Still, Kira was somewhat displeased with the statement, and didn't hesitate to express her displeasure. "I didn't agree to tag along!" She huffed indignantly. "I'll never get laid with these two!"

Thank you very much. At least, now I was safe from being rutted to death by a mare. What a noble death it would have been! Still, I wanted to go to the Lucky 56 (because Mr New Pegas), I wanted to stick to Turner for the time being (because he was mighty powerful and stuff), and I didn't mind Kira tagging along (because, well, I was in a good mood; and I also wanted to find out more about the pony-zebra war). So, I came into play, putting on my Charming and Disabling Time Lord's Smile [TM]. "Wouldn't you get to get laid more, though?" I asked rhetorically, drawing circles in the air with my hoof. Always makes me look even smarter, that gesture. "I mean, get to know new stallions in the places we pass on our way? New faces, new ponies, new potential partners?"

Kira seemed to be lost in thought. Good. I have that effect on mares. "You know, for a fatty asshead, you seem reasonable," she let out finally, nodding towards us. I met her with a frown: I was no 'fatty asshead'! I'm a Time Lord, for fuck's sake! (Great, and now I'm swearing again...) Shafty grinned widely, visibly relieved to finally have his sex machine of a daughter out of town. Turner (guess what?) was not amused. Still.

"Well, good luck on your way, then!" Shafty cheered. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch with me." He winked.

Oh. Right. There was one thing I needed. "Can I get some spare batteries for my radio?" I pointed at my back, where the sad Box of Many Wonders was resting.

Shafty shook his head. "Sorry, colt, we don't have such stuff around here."

I replied with a frown and an understanding nod. Dammit. Well, even if I couldn't listen to Mr New Pegas' Raspy Voice of Sweet Raspiness, I was approaching the very owner of the voice, at least! No time to wail! Mr New Pegas was waiting for me, regardless of all the questions in my head, regardless of all circumstances, regardless of all the little things that kept nagging my brain. "Adventure awaits!" I yelled, rushing out of the "abode"-hut, the radio jumping up and down on my back, next to an almost-empty bottle of water. "Allons-y!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kira following me at a trot, a grin on her face. It seemed that my enthusiasm was contagious. Turner was trotting behind us, and, believe it or not, I could swear the corners of his mouth were turned a little more upwards than usual. At that exact moment, as I ran, chilly wind hitting my face, I couldn't think of the war, or my TARDIS, or my debt to Turner. Only one thought rotated inside my mind as I ran towards a new adventure.

Now I was totally sure that everything came in threes at this crazy place.

***

Footnote:

Level up!

New Perk: Orator - You really do have a smooth tongue, after all! Just to think of all the things you can do with your tongue... No wonder that you are so popular with mares! And stallions, for some reason... If you have any companions, you have a chance to get them to pay for various items from vendors in your stead. This does not apply to Turner. He won't buy you stuff: you know that.