Dangerous Amoeba - We all go together. (WIP) ps: this will be long.


                                            Author: Dangerous Amoeba

                                            Pastebin URL: qtqJJT4Q.html

                                            Date: Oct 26th, 2014


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                                            >Equestria is the greatest thing to happen to you.

                                            >Sure, you miss human company and other conveniences internet.

                                            >But the peaceful life is nice, slow, tight knit company. You haven’t had a PTSD attack for years.

                                            >After 2 years being in Equestria, you had finally practically married the pony who helped you through when you first arrived, Apple Jack.

                                            >You spend most of your time working on the farm, though granny smith still tells you to relax.

                                            >Your hands make it better to pick the more expensive hybrid apples the family sells to the higher-level customers.

                                            >AppleJack likes to do the harder labour, even if she sometimes ends up needing Macs or your help.

                                            >Size and your /fit/ body makes you valuable for heavy work.

                                            >It can get hard, especially with the recent restriction on farm supplies, shortage on charcoal for some reason, among other things.

                                            >But through thick and thin, this family has been your family.

                                            >Apple Jack, while she is blunt, her compassion and over all help everyone nature, made up for her stubbornness and close-mindedness.

                                            >Early on, she was one of the only ponies that would be all right with you; very few others wanted to be around you.

                                            >You helped on her farm after Big Mac was scalded from a train engine.

                                            >Having to work with her meant you obviously bonded.

                                            >She would always drone on and on about everything, just getting it all out, while you both worked.

                                            >Then at the end of it, she would apologise for eating your ear, and thank you for listening.

                                            >It was weird to say the least, you always stayed quite, no one knew much about you, not many know much to this day.

                                            >After a firework show, you turned a bit less anti-social, at least to AppleJack.

                                            >The show was in honor of some kind of victory that Equestria had, news wasn't on the internet, so who knows what happened.

                                            >After reluctantly going to the show, on convincing of the 6 friends.

                                            >You stood away from crowds, hardly mingled with the others, Pinkie, Dash and AppleJack tried to keep you as much company as they could.

                                            >Eventually, Dash left for the airshow, and Pinkie wanted to help with fireworks.

                                            >AppleJack said she had nothing better to do and stayed with you.

                                            >When the fireworks started, it was late at night and the festival was winding down.

                                            >You should have left the firework bursts where already causing pangs of anxiety through your body.

                                            >It was nothing that hadn't happened before, just last times it wasn't so direct.

                                            >A rocket that failed to launch properly, swayed off course and pointed its trajectory right at you.

                                            >You didn't know it was coming for you until AppleJack pointed it out, and moved out of the way.

                                            >A step back was all you took, before the rocket exploded into a brilliant bright smoky mess, right in front of you.

                                            >After that, all you can recall is a haze.

                                            >Trouble breathing, chest pain, and headache. There was sand, everywhere. Cracks and pops something whizzing by, a screech of something overhead.

                                            >Screams, dust blowing and hazing your mind, heavy-duty tires crunching gravel underneath. Shells exploding quarter of a mile in front of you.

                                            >Finally, you felt a sharp burning pain right in your heart, then felt nothing, the sound of explosions echoed.

                                            >After sometime, with the echoes still going, you felt warmth. Comfort.

                                            >You woke up, with the orange pony’s hooves wrapped around you.

                                            >Since then you started hanging out with AppleJack more, worked on the farm for a while.

                                            >Not out of necessity, ponies where very happy to help you out.

                                            >Wouldn't have even taken pay, had Big Mac taken no for an answer.

                                            >The rest was the average storybook rise to love.

                                            >Got to know the Apple Family, they treat you like a part; after all, you are dating the most famous apple.

                                            >Big Mac trusts you with everything, Apple Bloom treats you like an older brother and granny smith got a son.

                                            >AppleJack is your mare. She loves being the only one.

                                            --------------------------------------------------------

                                            >Be Armoured Bastion, captain of the guard.

                                            >Wouldn’t be such a hard job, if the ex-captain wasn't so incompetent.

                                            >He left to go play royalty with his new wife, leaving mountains of paper work and a badly built military behind.

                                            “If we reroute soldiers from the western borders that would give us enough on the east.”

                                            >”The changeling army is already at our eastern border. There is no time to reroute.”

                                            >Your best general is showing wear, she’s spend way too long dwelling on this. Even though she understand war better than anyone.

                                            >”Captain, If I may add a point. We can’t lose the defence on the west; it will be a political nightmare when that pampered husband of Cadence whines.”

                                            >While Heart Bow isn't your favorite pony, she has a political edge that’s important.

                                            “What about the Griffon borders? Can we get soldiers from there?”

                                            >”Yes, and I already have called for most of the northern guards, but it still leaves the time variable. It will take no less than half a month for them to reach, and that is assuming favorable conditions.”

                                            ”We just have to hold them off until them. How many numbers are we seeing?”

                                            >”Last hit had at least 100 changelings. Our kill count is around 20. 17 injuries, 1 death.”

                                            “I have 250 at the border, but I don't like the odds, even if we had them outnumbered first assault.”

                                            >”The soldiers who attacked where just drones, we have full reason to believe they have many more.”

                                            “Any suggestions, ladies?”

                                            >”I can only see one viable thing to buff our defences. Mares from Appleloosa and Ponyville can be in Canterlot in less than a day.”

                                            “Nopony wants war; no one going to sign up, what are you going to do then? Besides the princesses will never get behind this.”

                                            >”We have to force them to sign up, if we don’t, I doubt the 250 will last long. As for the princesses, I have no idea.”

                                            “Conscription? It always destroys a town, when the working mares leave. But I guess there would be no town if we don’t.”

                                            >”Captain. I can help convince the princess on this. First, we tell the princess of the Crystal Empire that we are withdrawing troops from the western border. Then when her husband inevitably whines, we not give him what he wants, so he goes to that aunt of his.”

                                            “Then we tell Celestia why we need to reinforce the east?”

                                            >”Precisely, with Whining Armour on her tail, we can probably convince her to declare war and conscript.”

                                            “Brilliant. Any suggestions, Quick?”

                                            >”Nah, sounds pretty workable to me.”

                                            “Alright ladies, meet back at 6 o clock. Dismissed!”

                                            >You step out of the war room, then through the hallways, down the stairs and out of the castle side door.

                                            >Moving quickly to a small pub on the bridge extension, just outside the castle wall gates.

                                            >The pub is the only good thing you can say about Shining Armor; he’s apparently quite the ladies’ stallion.

                                            >Inside the wooden building is a large area with tables around, in the center was a classical bar against a wall.

                                            >To the left of the bar is a pool table, with some other games spread around.

                                            >You head right, to the private room, reserved only for the captain of the guard and chosen company.

                                            >When you step in, you remember how well the bastard made his own place.

                                            >Carpeted floor, padded walls, with leather benches on either side, a table in front of the benches, with a cooler only a unicorn can use, it lowered the energy needed using some crystals.

                                            >A small door also leads to a tiled bathroom.

                                            >This one room is probably more expensive than the rest of the building, all paid for by tax dollar.

                                            >Apparently this one pub caused the budget for weapons to drop, so you couldn't afford the newer aluminum armour, and are stuck with this gold garbage.

                                            >Another of Armors blessing.

                                            >Taking your seat next to the cooler, your mind thinks back to the events of the day.

                                            >The last 4 months have been Tartarus for everyone.

                                            >A month after the wedding invasion, the changelings started gearing up for more ‘conventional warfare’.

                                            >You think this is plan B since plan A failed, it makes everyone uneasy, especially since the changelings outnumber ponies 3:1.

                                            >While they aren't very tough alone, they are none the less better prepared for war than any nation right now.

                                            >A small tap at the door, takes you out of your trance.

                                            “Come in!”

                                            >”Hey Bastion. Got some strong cider and had no one to share it with.”

                                            “Great. Sit down.”

                                            >The unicorn levitates the mugs and places 2 before you, and then sits down in front of you.

                                            “Thanks.”

                                            >”It’s crazy isn't it? We should have declared war at the wedding, would have given us more sway.”

                                            “Well we didn’t, we should have arrested their queen, instead of letting them time to ready up.”

                                            >”Bow was talking to the princess, she probably has most of this in the bag, but the princess is going to be there at 6.”

                                            “Good. Do you have the charts?”

                                            >”Yea, I have everything already in the room. Here’s the part you're gonna love though.”

                                            “What? Someone else gonna be there?”

                                            >”Only our favorite ex-captain of the guard, and he’s coming with that sergeant, sentry.”

                                            “Oh, buck you!”

                                            >Your friend chuckles.

                                            >After a good 1 and half hours, and at least 10 mugs of cider.

                                            >You enter the bathroom and rush to the pit. It’s a ceramic bowl with a hole in the middle.

                                            >A slight crevice to make it easier for a stallion to use. They don't like to duck down, risks touching the dirty floor or whatever.

                                            >After doing your business, you step back outside to see your general standing at the exit.

                                            >”Alright, let’s go then.”

                                            >When you arrive in the castle war room, the other guests are already seated; General Heart Bow is standing at the door.

                                            >”You're late.”

                                            >She whispers, like a mother telling you to be on your best behavior.

                                            “It just turned 6; you shouldn't have been on so early.”

                                            >”Ugh. Whatever, just try not to make Whining Armor too mad.”

                                            >You chuckle, and walk to some charts on a board at the end opposite of the door.

                                            >In front of you is a rectangular table with princess Celestia sitting opposite to you, Shining on one side, the generals on the other.

                                            >One empty chair next to Shining clearly meant for someone, judging by the glass of pink liquid.

                                            >”Sorry I’m late!”

                                            >Head drill sergeant Flash Sentry, Shining’s pet.

                                            >This stallion is possible single handedly responsible for destroying the concept of disciple and operating as a unit.

                                            >He sits down next to Shining; Celestia shakes her head a little, but stays silent.

                                            >”I’m sure no one minds.”

                                            >”Yea, thanks for making them wait, bro.”

                                            “Yes sergeant, we wouldn't have dreamed of starting without you. Now that you are here, let’s get this meeting underway.”

                                            >With the stallions shut, all eyes are on you. Except flash who seems to be playing with his hooves.

                                            --------------------------------------------------------

                                            >Fall apple picking is the hardest in all the year.

                                            >While ‘Mac and Apple Jack buck apples out of the trees, you sort them, separating them into cider apples, and selling apples.

                                            >You already picked the more expensive apples, because bucking them can cause them to bruise.

                                            >The massive wooden containers are beginning to fill up with the different apples.

                                            >Which is impressive because the containers are easily over 6000 gallons. They’re basically lidless half barrels.

                                            >”Heya Ah’non!”

                                            >Your body shivers, startled. Then you look at the red stallion before you.

                                            >An unnaturally shiny metal prong on his collar reflects the sunset.

                                            >”S-sorry, didn't mean tah startle ya.”

                                            “Don’t worry about it. Apple bucking went ok. Where’s AJ?”

                                            >”Eeyup. Apple Jack is finishing up.”

                                            “Alright ‘Mac.”

                                            >”Ah’non. Ah know its late, but it’s stallion’s night out tahnight.”

                                            “I was gonna make more cartridges, but alright sure. Brea’ hasn’t seen my rifle yet.”

                                            >”You be careful with that thing. Ah don’t have the heart to part you and it, but ah better not hear about nopony hurt.”

                                            “Mac. Its completely safe.”

                                            >”Whatever ya say Ah’non.”

                                            >The ponies being done their job, means you’re done yours.

                                            >You got through 70 or so baskets, that’s really good, considering you started late.

                                            >You face the western part of the orchard; an orange pony walks towards you.

                                            >Looking you in the eyes, Apple Jack smiles, and quickens her pace.

                                            >She turns her head. A second later, she removes her red hairband. Letting her corn silk like hair, wave freely.

                                            >AppleJack trots up to you, and you kneel down to greet your mare friend.

                                            >”Howdy there, sugahr cube.”

                                            >You reach a hand over and run it through AJ’s hair; it’s wet from sweat and somewhat tangled.

                                            >At the base of her scalp, you reach and scratch her ear. Nopony can resist a scratch or belly rub.

                                            “How was apple bucking?”

                                            >”Tiring, but nothing we ain’t doing for years. Speakin a work, can ya let ‘Mac sort tomorrow? Ah think he’s getting sore.”

                                            “Yea, ok. Speaking of ‘Mac, I’m gonna go to the bar for stallions night.”

                                            >”’Mac already told me.”

                                            >You pick AppleJack up, belly side up, and stand up. She starts laughing a cute laugh.

                                            >”Ah’non! This ain’t normal!”

                                            “And you love it.”

                                            >AJ tips her hat down with her hoof, then bites it and removes it from her head.

                                            >”Ah can’t say no to that.”

                                            >Reaching up from the cradle of your arm, she places the headwear on you head.

                                            >”Granny’ll be mighty mad, she sees me lah’k this.”

                                            >You start walking towards the farmhouse.

                                            “No she won’t. Besides what do you want? You carrying me?”

                                            >”Ah would if ah could!”

                                            >You reach your head down and AppleJack reaches up, your lips gently touch a gentle loving kiss.

                                            >AJ lightly blushing retreats as do you, sunset reflected in her green eyes.

                                            >You keep walking towards the farmhouse, cuddling with the mare in your embrace. Until you reach the dirt path that leads away from the farmhouse.

                                            >Big Mac walks into the house right as you put down AppleJack.

                                            >Almost instantly, you hear:

                                            >”Ah’pple Bloom! Put that darn thing down!”

                                            >He sounds panicked, scared even.

                                            >”Ahpple Bloom’s playin with yer rihfle.”

                                            >AJ and you rush into the house to see Mac scolding Apple Bloom, and behold your rifle behind her on the ground.

                                            “Spot on, my yellow mare friend.”

                                            >”Ah found Apple Bloom here, playing with Anon’s rahifle. This why we got rid of that old spread pipe.”

                                            >You pick up the gun and check for damage, this rifle cost you way too many bits by Earth standards, but every part is custom made.

                                            “Don’t worry, ‘Mac. It’s not loaded, And the safety is on. I told you only I can quickly change it.”

                                            >”Well, ah don want Ahpple Bloom hurtin somepony with it.”

                                            >You put on your nicest voice possible, the kind your teacher uses while telling you not to do something.

                                            “Apple Bloom, please don’t touch my gun without my permission, it’s not a toy. If you want to mess around with it, just ask me.”

                                            >”Ah’m sorry, Ah’non.”

                                            >Apple Bloom is innocent, honest, like her sister. She clearly feels bad, even though you hardly hold it against her.

                                            >”Comon Ahpple Bloom, let’s go make some ahpple fritters.”

                                            >Big Mac has calmed down, and is looking at the gun you are holding somewhat nervously.

                                            “Alright Mac, when are we leaving?”

                                            >”Ah say we leave right now.”

                                            “Alright, let me just grab a bit of ammo, and some applejack maybe.”

                                            >”Mac rolls his eyes and walks out of the room, towards the bathroom.”

                                            >Sling your rifle over your shoulder, by a leather sling connected from the for-stock to the butt-stock.

                                            >You walk upstairs to your room, the bookshelf’s are half filled with books on various subjects, and half filled with metal containers with dates on them.

                                            >You go to the can labeled 3 ARM, which stands for “After Return of Moon”. There is a little 12 final fall, which is approximately the equivalent of November.

                                            >Open the metal box, inside are 5 X 10 rows of cartridges, placed on paper, on top of other bullets. The can holds 7 layers of 50 bullets, each.

                                            >You get a small satchel from your side table, and empty the first layer of rounds into the satchel. 50 rounds.

                                            >You load 3 into the rifle, but make sure the safety is on and the firing pin is not cocked.

                                            >Cartridges are much more expensive than just ball and powder, which is what ponies use.

                                            >Ponies don’t use them, so you have to make your own rounds from whatever is suitable.

                                            >You buy hollow brass cylinders as casings, 8mm in diameter, and 70mm in length. The ponies put these into walls, to make a clean hole for deadbolts and other such things.

                                            >Buy powder, and lead, which are common. Melting the lead, and then pouring it into a mould, which the ponies use for their guns.

                                            >The bullets are about 20mm in length, also 8mm, thus you have to force it into the casing.

                                            >Then, buy mercury fulminate from Twilight, to make the primer; she’s happy to give it to you, though she doesn’t know what you do with it.

                                            >A brass cap that caps the casing, they come together. You put the mercury fulminate inside, and then stretch a thin piece of paper over it.

                                            >The slightly above 8mm extra metal, acts like a rimmed cartridge, because the rest of the cartridge is identical width so it’s not securely against the bolt without it.

                                            >You gently press the cylinder into the fulminate-filled cap. Then fill the casing with gunpowder, about 250 grains.

                                            >Then you press the lead bullet into the full casing and make sure it’s all tight.

                                            >Finally, with expensive 5 bits an ounce artist lacquer, you seal the primer and bullet, to prevent moisture from destroying the rounds.

                                            >One trip to the respected sources of resources can get you enough supplies for at least 200 rounds. Though, it costs you a couple hundred bits.

                                            >The loading process for one bullet takes about half a minute, assuming all the materials are ready.

                                            >And just like that, you have been stockpiling ammunition, for the past year and a bit. You have over 5000 rounds. Each container labeled with date of manufacture.

                                            >Mac is standing by the doorway, talking to AJ about what time you’ll be home.

                                            >”It ain’t safe fer a stahllion to be on the streets these times. Though Ah’nons with ya, so ah guess yah can take ah little longer.”

                                            >”Ah can take care of mahself!”

                                            >”Ah know, I’m jus worried. Ya take care of ‘Mac, Ah’non.”

                                            >Bending down while AJ reaches up, you both peck each other’s lips.

                                            “Will do, Apple Jack.”

                                            >You walk out the door after Mac.

                                            >Stepping out into the fall air, Mac gets closer to you.

                                            >The both of you walk into the barn, inside you have a barrel of high alcohol (at least by pony standards) Apple Jack.

                                            >Pressing the tap, you fill up a canteen with the beverage.

                                            >It’s the most popular thing with the ponies, they can’t drink too much, but they like to add some to their cider to increase alcohol levels.

                                            >Leaving the barn, and finally on the path to town.

                                            >You notice Mac combed his hair, back and sideways. He looks like he spend a bit of time on it.

                                            >His tail is also combed, similar to his mane, but with a slight twist or sway to one side, showing off his left haunch.

                                            >He looks clean, and you can smell a light cologne on him.

                                            >”So, Ah’non. What are ya gonna do with thing anyway.”

                                            “It’s not a ‘thing’, it’s a rifle. Back on Earth, we have tons of weapons like this; this is simple to some of the stuff back home.”

                                            >Your rifle really is simple. It’s basically a Mosin-Nagant bolt as best as you can remember, with some changes.

                                            >because of the things available, instead of a thin firing pin, it’s a thick hammer like cylinder, and the extractor is larger than you remember.

                                            >You don’t remember how the safety on the real Mosin-Nagant worked, so you added a lever opposite to the bolt handle that just caught the bolt and didn’t let it move.

                                            >Rifling the barrel was the single most expensive thing; the bolt over all was the most expensive.

                                            >Pony metalworker at Canterlot’s industrial district didn’t understand why you wanted grooves on a pipe like that. However, with enough money, anything is possible.

                                            >Mounting adjustable sights to the pipe needed some convincing, and the chrome lining cost more than the rest of the barrel.

                                            >The oak stock was the cheapest option, although it was a pain to get a carpenter to make for you.

                                            >Everywhere you went to buy parts, the initial response where weird looks of ‘but why?’.

                                            >You still get some weird looks when the ponies see you at the counter with bags upon bags of metal cylinders and caps.

                                            >Thankfully, the griffon hunter who sells you the powder and lead doesn’t give you that, he even gives discounts every now and then.

                                            >The internal magazine of the gun holds 2 rounds, and 1 in the chamber. You would have made it bigger, if your 8mm bullets didn’t complicate the matter. Or if ponies could make better springs.

                                            >Ponyville ponies have all heard of the famous “Thousand bit pipe.” they don’t know what it is.

                                            >They often ask why you spend thousand bits on this weird looking thing.

                                            >You don’t know why, maybe it’s a reminder of home, or maybe just cos you like guns.

                                            >”Yah? Well, what ya gonna do with it?”

                                            “You threw that shotgun away; someone needs to protect the farm.”

                                            >Ponies are generally peaceful, the last ‘fight’ you remember was just an argument. Still, better safe than sorry, so you carry the rifle everywhere.

                                            >”Yah sound lahk Apple Jack, she’s always goin on about ‘stayin ready tah defend yerself’ ah don’t see a point.”

                                            “What do you mean ‘you don’t see a point’? It’s good to be ready to fight back, or you’re an open target.”

                                            >”Ah guess so. Maybe ah shouldn’ta sold our old spread pipe, AppleJack loved thaht thing.”

                                            “I would let her use my rifle, but I don’t think she can fit her hoof in the trigger guard.”

                                            >The two of you stroll into town square, it’s dark and the little light the lamps provide is insufficient.

                                            >You whistle random songs, whistling impresses ponies simply because they have a hard time doing it.

                                            >Walk through the dark square and onto a path that leads towards the Everfree forest.

                                            >The path changes to a wooden bridge, over, which is the ‘Free forever’ bar, covered in bright painted wood and paper.

                                            >This place hardly qualifies as a bar. It serves low alcoholic cider; good enough for ponies, but nothing short of a barrel gives has any effect on you.

                                            >Its clean inside, the top part of the wall are white as snow, while the lower wooden part is almost reflective.

                                            >Tonight’s patrons include stallions, which is rare, because stallions night out, which means a discount for all drinks.

                                            >The mares are either regulars or looking to score, tossing the stallions a variety of looks, especially you.

                                            >Big Mac leads you to the table by the window opening to the back patio, overlooking a hill with scattered young trees.

                                            >The table already has 3 stallions seated on it, Breaburn, and 2 of the train workers: Steam whistle and Dusty Spur.

                                            >”Hiah, cuz! Glad yah came. Hiah Ah’non!”

                                            >”This the new addition to the family, eh? Steam Whistle. Honorary apple, just like you. My cousin Dusty Spur.”

                                            “Hey. How you do?”

                                            >”Yup. We ‘oughta have gotten some drinks by now, Brea here told us to wait for ya.”

                                            “Waiting on the real stuff, eh Brea?”

                                            >Dusty and Whistle stand up and walk to the bar, you put the 3-liter canteen on the table.

                                            >Breaburn pick it up and starts looking it over, before opening it and taking a sip.

                                            >”Woah, tha’s strong stuff Ah’non. Not apple family, Where’d yah get it from?”

                                            “Nah, I made it myself, friend of mine taught me.”

                                            >You join the circle of chairs surrounding the square table. You sit down on the chair with your back turned to the open window.

                                            >Staying back and listening while Breaburn tells some story about sharing land with buffalo being better than they thought.

                                            >Mac just responds in quite ‘eeyups’ and ‘eenopes’, or just shakes or nods his head.

                                            >Brea and Mac fill 5 shot glasses from the canteen. While Whistle walks back from the bar, with Dusty in tow.

                                            >They put down 5 large tankards of fizzy apple cider, clearly apple family.

                                            >”Can you believe this? They outta griffon ale, say they ain’t got no supply.”

                                            >”First, charcoal, now ale? Something’s not right.”

                                            >Dusty- who had been quite the whole time- sounds suspicious.

                                            >”Eeyup.”

                                            >”Dusty, yer jus’ bein’ paranoid.”

                                            >The stallions argue about the ‘last time Dusty made a prediction’ your mind just wanders to the bar.

                                            >You occasionally sip your drink, like the others, while the shots sit in the middle of the table.

                                            >You notice that the area the stallions and you are sitting in looks like a Wild West saloon scene.

                                            >While the stallions mingling with some mares across from you, looks like a drunken dance scene.

                                            >There’s even a gray pony drinking the most alcoholic kind of cider, looking miserable as all hell.

                                            >The place is plastic to the company.

                                            >Outside the window behind you is a porch like structure. No one’s on it.

                                            >Below the porch is a slight hill with different plants growing, saplings of trees, large fruit bearing trees, shrubs and ferns; all surrounded by a carpet of grass.

                                            >”Ah’non, whatcha thinkin?”

                                            “Nothing, just looking out the back. What are we talking about?”

                                            >”Nothin, just listening to my cousin’s crazy ideas.”

                                            >”I ain’t crazy, the Canterlot politicians are up to somethin’! Why else are we losin’ all our supplies?”

                                            >”That’s crazy talk, Dusty. Ah’non, whatcha think?”

                                            “Any news on the shortages? Weather was great this year, I don’t know why there could possibly be a shortage, unless maybe an emergency. I don’t know.”

                                            >”See, even Anon says there might be an emergency!”

                                            >”Thas ridiculous, this kinda stuff just don’t happen.”

                                            “What do you mean? We used to have little shortages depending on world events on Earth. Last one I remember was a hazelnut shortage, don’t know what came of that.”

                                            >The conversation continues on, you, once again, instead opt to look around the room.

                                            >Behind the bar is an assortment of bottles, mostly there for show, since very few ponies buy the exotic drinks, mostly because they can kill.

                                            >There’s a cherry drink that’s 30% alcohol, 2 ponies where hospitalized after a shot.

                                            >That sounds nice actually, your Apple Jack is at best 20%, and something strong would be nice.

                                            >Maybe later.

                                            >”Ah’non, is that the ‘famous 1000 bit pipe’?”

                                            “The one and only.”

                                            >Explanation of your gun and its history where the only time you talked for an extended period for the rest of the night.

                                            >The others continued jumping from topic to topic. You mostly spent the time out in your own imagination. Running out of cider and drinking Apple Jack, helped with that.

                                            >”It mighty late, ya’ll.”

                                            >You don’t know how longs its been, but all your tankards are empty, with just the shots in the middle.

                                            “Apple Jack is gonna get up in your case, ‘Mac.”

                                            >”Yea, good night. Let’s take our final drink.”

                                            >The 5 of you grab a shot glass from the center of the table.

                                            “Cheers.”

                                            >All the stallions raise their glasses slightly higher and nod.

                                            >Then you all gulp down the drink, and place the glasses on the table.

                                            >All of you walk out of the bar together, with you and ‘Mac being the last two out.

                                            >Slinging the canteen opposite your rifle, you walk back to the farm.

                                            >You have more harvesting to do, tomorrow.

                                            --------------------------------------------------------