[WIP] Nuclear Winter Wonderland


                                            >”Will you turn that damn thing off? You’re gonna get us killed.”

                                            >You tap a loose button on the old Pipbuck, instantly silencing the recording.

                                            >”Honestly, Cherry, why’re you even holding onto those things?”

                                            >Working the release mechanism, the holodisk pops free of the Pipbuck a little more gingerly than you’d like and you have to grab at it before it hits the ground.

                                            “Somepony thought they were worth keeping.”

                                            >That’s all Girder’s getting out of you, there’s really no need to have that conversation again.

                                            “Besides, we’re almost back at Junkyard, who’s going to hear?”

                                            >The grey stallion just scowls and turns back, leading you along.

                                            >At least he wasn’t using your full name - Cherenkhoof.

                                            >Real funny, dad.

                                            >Just because you have bright blue eyes doesn’t mean you needed laughs every time you introduced yourself. At least until you started using a shortened version of your name.

                                            >But you don’t want to get worked up right now.

                                            >Not when you’ve got precious cargo carefully wrapped in your saddlebag.

                                            >Way, way back down in The Hoof, one of the merchants told you and Girder about this place called ‘NEI’.

                                            >Well, the sign outside was worn and clearly used to say something more—you could just about make out ‘NEIGH’—but the old stallion insisted it was the ‘National Equinology Institute’ and they were running weird experiments before the war.

                                            >Yeah right.

                                            >Unless a safe full of old holodisk recordings of songs was what he meant.

                                            >Those were in your other saddlebag.

                                            >Most of the labels were worn off and the file headers weren’t exactly descriptive.

                                            >Some, like this, had enough for you to piece together a name.

                                            >Or what might be a name - Chuckles.

                                            >Some of the disks did make you laugh and the mare who recorded them sounded like she was having fun.

                                            >But this one sounded like somepony reaching out, hoping that somepony would hear and understand.

                                            >You definitely knew what that was like…

                                            >So you were going to hold onto it, keep her memory alive.

                                            >Make sure somepony would hear her and care about her.

                                            >”Hey, Cherry?”

                                            >You quickly slip the holodisk back into your saddlebag before Girder turns around.

                                            >”Since you’ve got the Pipbuck on, uh, would you mind, y’know… playin’ that other one?”

                                            >You knew the one he meant and you couldn’t stop yourself smirking.

                                            >He tried to play the tough stallion but Girder was a lot better than he thought.

                                            “Sure, Girder, just for you.”

                                            >Luckily he doesn’t see you nickering as you reach back into your saddlebag and fish the holodisk out.

                                            >’SNW/B4U’ says the label.

                                            >You have to jiggle the slot to get it to stay down but once it does…

                                            >Soft notes come from the Pipbuck, joined by the voice of a stallion.

                                            >"Give me a big mare to call my own,

                                            >"This Horsemas has been too long and lonesome by myself..."


                                            "Goddess above, Cherry, turn that thing off!"

                                            >You really don't want to.

                                            >The lyrics are... odd but the melody's really upbeat and catchy!

                                            >And the mare's singing about gift giving!

                                            >Must have something to do with this 'Horsemas' mentioned on the tapes.

                                            >Old Equestria sure had some weird customs.

                                            >You really only hear about griffon mercs being given 'gifts' to keep them sweet.

                                            >This sounds more like something you read in one of those books down in The Hoof.

                                            "Aww, c'mon Girder, where's your Horsemas spirit?"

                                            >His ear's flick forward as you speak then immediately back when he catches another few bars of the song.

                                            >"My what? Listen, the only spirit I'm interested in..." He sloshes the pale brown Wild Pegasus in its dirty glass using his magic. "Is right here."

                                            "I'm just saying, it sounds like these ponies really had something special."

                                            >"Oh, they're special alright," he says, taking a swig from his glass.

                                            >Your own ears flick back momentarily before you shake the frustration from yourself.

                                            >You still had to listen to most of the tapes but Girder had a few he did like, even if he insisted it was only because of that cute mare’s voice.

                                            >As if you were any slouch in that department!

                                            >But… you had to admit, they were a good listen.

                                            >Even if you’re still not sure what this ‘Horsemas’ is.

                                            >And Girder was sure you’d never get any use out of this experimental Pipbuck!

                                            >The mare who sold it just said she’d read some old documents about new, technological encryption methods that didn’t use magic.

                                            >That you’d probably never find any of the disks it took since they were so rare but the Pipbuck could still interface with some systems Girder’s own couldn’t.

                                            >”The Hearths the Warmiest…”

                                            >Wait a second… That sounds familiar.

                                            >It scratches something at the back of your head that you can’t quite recall but you know is going to bother you from now on.

                                            >Ugh.

                                            >This is about as good a time as any to talk to Squeezie.

                                            >She’s down at the other end of the bar, talking to a tan mare with a wide-brimmed hat and stitched leather barding.

                                            >Easy Squeezie was always a good source of information, as long as you had the caps to buy a drink first.

                                            >And as long as you didn’t take her name too literally.

                                            >You’d heard of both stallions and mares who thought Easy was easy to get into her bedroom and soon found out the portly mare wasn’t good at slinging just drinks.

                                            >”’Preciate it, ma’am.” The tan mare tips her hat with a hoof. “If ya don’t mind, I’ll take another bottle o’ that sarsaparilla.”

                                            >While Squeezie levitated over a tapered bottle with a faded yellow label, the tan mare pulled a hooful of caps from her saddlebag, dropping them on the metal counter before taking the bottle in her mouth.


                                            >Girder’s still nursing his glass of whiskey, having struck up a conversation with Squeezie’s barmaid so at least he won’t be paying attention to you.

                                            “Hey, Squeezie, who was that?”

                                            >Both of you watch as the tan mare departs the bar - a large bus pressed up against a metal shack.

                                            >Everything in Junkyard was made out of something else.

                                            >Even some of the ponies seemed so.

                                            >But it was a good place to find things, hence why you had that special treasure in your saddlebag for Squeezie.

                                            >”Don’t you worry about that, dearie, that’s trouble for somepony else to worry about.”

                                            >Despite her tone, Squeezie looks after the mare for a moment longer, wearing a frown.

                                            >It quickly disappears when she turns to you.

                                            >”Now then, what can I getcha?”

                                            “Actually… there’s something I need from you.”

                                            >”Oh?” she asks, levitating a glass and a decidedly dirty rag to wipe it with. “I’m all outta mutfruit pie until the caravan from Bucklin comes in.”

                                            >You flip open one of your saddlebags, glancing back at Girder to make sure he’s still occupied.

                                            “I heard from somepony that you have a few bottles of…” You lower your voice to a whisper. “Some limited edition Sparkle Cola flavours?”

                                            >”Oh! You mean the—”

                                            >You frantically wave a hoof, as subtly as possible, silently praying to whatever forces might listen.

                                            >”I can’t just give ‘em to ya, Cherry,” Squeezie says in a thankfully lowered voice, “a lotta ponies would pay well for ‘em.”

                                            >Nothing was free in this life, even for a valued customer like you.

                                            >But that was why you had the somehow still framed and kind of fuzzy painting in your saddlebag.

                                            >One of a pink mare with a blonde mane.

                                            “I know, that’s why I got you this.”

                                            >As soon as Squeezie laid eyes on it, her face lit up.

                                            >”Oho, what have we here!”

                                            >You loosen your grip on it and allow the mare to levitate the painting over to herself.

                                            >”What a beauty!”

                                            >While Squeezie admires the painting, you lean over the counter.

                                            “Would that cover the cost, Squeezie?”

                                            >Eyes twinkling, she lowers the painting and smiles at you.

                                            >”You just come with me, dearie, and I’ll set you right up!”

                                            >She tilts her head and makes for the locked door leading into the rear of the bar, likely where she keeps her stock.

                                            >Still levitating the painting by her side, Squeezie pulls a set of keys from her jacket and begins fiddling with the locks.

                                            “By the way,” you say, pulling one of the holotapes from your saddlebag, “there’s something else you might be able to help me with.”


                                            >You pull the cloak tighter around yourself as you near the village of Broad Bluffs.

                                            >It was the same cloak Girder had traded for, last year.

                                            >You’d told him—insisted, really—that you were fine!

                                            >What you couldn’t stop was the shivering.

                                            >Your winter coat never did come in as well as other ponies and winters were harder because of it.

                                            >Last year was a bad one and you couldn’t use any of your usual tricks to distract Girder from noticing you struggling.

                                            >You can still remember him asking you about it, giving you this long look, and then disappearing into one of the stores in Junction 8.

                                            >When he came back out, he was holding this cloak with his magic - the leather was nice and soft and it even had some kind of fur-like lining!

                                            >The only problem was that he wouldn’t tell you what he had to part with to afford it.

                                            >So now the only times you ever take it off in winter are if you run into trouble.

                                            >There’s no way you’re letting anything happen to such a precious gift from such a precious friend.

                                            >”And tell me, Cleri, why’d you move to Neigh-borhood?”

                                            >”Oh, that’s easy! After last Horsemas, myself and my… ahem, my friends, Aster and Cloudy, got to talking about what life in Canterlot was like. How hard it was to meet ponies that just wanted to be friends, at least unless you already knew somepony. And I grew up there!”

                                            >It’s still so weird hearing these voices from the past on the holotapes, ponies now long gone speaking of places almost forgotten about.

                                            >You’ve never been to Canterlot but all the stories from the east you heard about it made it sound like nothing short of hell.

                                            >To think, ponies once lived happy lives there…

                                            >”So we talked it out and got talking to some of the ponies from here and realised that this was the kind of place we wanted to live.”

                                            >”Sounds like you’re a lot happier here. I can tell you there’s plenty here that’re glad to have you.”

                                            >”Oh geeze…”

                                            >”I can also tell you that they’d love to know what the real deal with Aster and Cloud Puff is.”

                                            >”O-Oh gosh! Well, um, uh, the uh, the thing is, um…”

                                            >”Hey,” Girder says, looking back at you, “we’re almost there. You can turn that off and we’ll listen to the rest later.”

                                            “Finally found your Horsemas spirit, eh Girder?”

                                            >”Like I told you back in Pitstop, some of the songs aren’t too shabby.”

                                            “Admit it, you teared up when that stallion started playing his guitar and singing about <find the song>.”

                                            >”I only teared up because the wind kicked some dust into my eye!”

                                            >Well, it’s a step up from telling you to turn it off, at least.

                                            >And true enough, you’re practically walking into Broad Bluffs.


                                            >”Well, uh, thank you for that… enlightening explanation, Cleri. We’ll… be right back, talking to everypony’s favourite expert in confection perfection, Figgy Pudding, telling you how to make the perfect treats–”

                                            >With a click, you stop the holotape.

                                            >You were lucky with some of the unlabeled ones having entire recordings of radio broadcasts like this one.

                                            >This kind of journey, out to a village like Broad Bluffs, would’ve bored you to tears if not for these to keep you entertained.

                                            >Girder wouldn’t admit it but you knew he was glad of them, too.

                                            >Plus, you’re pretty sure you heard him humming ‘We Wish You a Merry Horsemas’ when he thought you were asleep last night.

                                            >”You sure this is where Squeezie said he was?”

                                            >It doesn’t look like the typical kind of place you’d find yourselves - what looks like adobe walls and buildings making up a village with some crops around it.

                                            >Or at least, what few are still hanging on through the cold weather.

                                            >Brrrr! You can’t help but draw your cloak a little tighter around yourself and mentally thank Girder once more.

                                            “I’m sure. She said he’s the only one who asks for that stuff so it’s hard to forget.”

                                            >Girder looks less than convinced and you find yourself trying to shake off some niggling guilt and disbelief.

                                            >”We’ll swing a little west on the way back but I’m not holding out much hope we’ll find better salvage that way. Maybe I can find something worth trading for here but…”

                                            >He trails off, shaking his head.

                                            >If there’s a village then they must have a source of clean water, so at least you can get more of that.

                                            >And crops mean they have at least enough to feed themselves so they might be able to spare some food for trade.

                                            >But… you can’t disagree with Girder, this doesn’t look like a prime spot for trading.You’ve never heard of any caravans coming out around here, anyway.

                                            >But Squeezie was sure about the pony here.

                                            >Generosity was a rare virtue—or vice, depending on who you spoke to—in the wastes and even less so accompanied by somepony talking like the ones on the holotapes.

                                            >No, she couldn’t forget about the stallion from Broad Bluffs who sent her a pre-war painting with one of the smaller caravans.

                                            >How did she know the stallion in question?

                                            >She just laughed and said if you ever found a bottle of apple brandy she’d be happy to drain it and tell all.

                                            >”Say,” Girder says, nudging you with a hoof, “why don’t you ask around for your stallion and I’ll take care of the trading.”

                                            >Ask around? Where would you even start with that in a one-headed brahmin village like this?

                                            >You’re about to make an incredibly witty and dubiously cutting remark to Girder but he’s already walking towards an adobe building with a canvas awning on one side, a number of tables spread underneath it with a weathered stallion behind them.


                                            >Looks like there’s nothing else for it but to check around completely at random and hope somepony knows.

                                            >You try not to let your heart sink too much at that thought.

                                            >There’s already a couple of fillies and a colt running about near one edge of the village, not a sight you usually see.

                                            >The kind of places you and Girder stick to aren’t the sort where children are raised.

                                            >But even so, if there’s kids around, that should mean… Aha!

                                            >There, under the awning of another building is a scarred, dark blue mare with a blue and grey—though from the few clean flecks, it seems her colours would be brighter under the dust—mane that hangs down at her withers in a ponytail, rubbing a long rifle with a rag that’s equally seen cleaner days.

                                            >A guard like that is sure to be familiar with most of the ponies here and used to dealing with outsiders!

                                            >You square yourself up, looking as confident as you ever have and talk over to her.

                                            >You can hear a pair of brahmin lowing in a pen and a pair of ponies whisper to each other as you walk by.

                                            >A place like this mustn’t see much action—

                                            >”It’s ten caps per day, fifteen if you’re going further south than The Hoof, and I don’t go within five miles of The Haze.”

                                            >You stop, mid-stride and hold your hoof in the air, taken aback by the guardmare suddenly talking to you.

                                            >She… She’s not even looking up, hasn’t stopped in going over her rifle.

                                            >”I have my own ammo and water, and I don’t need a bed. If you’ve got gryphons, I’ll sit upwind of their cookfire.”

                                            >Her hoof moves the rag in long, slow strokes along its barrel, leaving a shining trail in its wake.

                                            >”If you’re from Spoke’s Caravan Company, tell that son of a radroach that either he pays me what he owes, or the next time I’m down there, I’ll shove Dixson here so far up his rump that-”

                                            >She pauses upon finally looking up at you, squinting as she looks at you with an expression that says you don’t measure up to whatever standard you’re being judged against.

                                            >”You’re not a caravaner.”

                                            >Instinctively, you pull your cloak a little tighter, vainly hoping to hide whatever it is that gives you away so easily.

                                            “N-No, ma’am.”

                                            >The mare snorts.

                                            >”Sorry, waster, I don’t do private hires.”

                                            >She sets down her gun and rag and reaches over to a small bag with a hoof.

                                            “I-I’m not…”

                                            >Okay, Cheery, pull yourself together.

                                            >You take a steadying breath and a step closer to the mare, who looks back to you with a hoof still in her bag.

                                            “I’m not looking for a guard. I just need information.”

                                            >She snorts again.

                                            >“You want gossip? Go talk to Arid Leaf’s wife. He’s the village chief, his wife’s into that crap.”

                                            >You take another step towards her and stop from taking more as she raises an eyebrow.


                                            “I’m just looking for somepony in the village. I-I can pay you for your time.”

                                            >With the way these ponies are giving you the side-eye, your chances of getting information out of them are slimmer than a drunk stallion’s with Squeezy.

                                            >The mare reaches into her bag and you wish you had Girder here beside you, to keep you safe as… she…

                                            >Pulls out… A strip of gum?

                                            >You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding as the mare pulls off the faded wrapper and pops the strip of gum into her mouth.

                                            >”Not many ponies come out this way looking for somepony.” She gives her gum a few chews. “What’s your story?”

                                            >What?

                                            >You look back over your shoulder and see Girder haggling away with the stallion at his stall.

                                            >You really wish he was over here with you right now.

                                            “I-I’m not looking to hurt anypony!”

                                            >The mare nickers a little louder than she was talking to you.

                                            >”Yeah that’s kinda obvious, sweetheart. But listen, I’ve been cooped up in this place for the last week. Most that’s happened is I’ve had to chase off some molerats. You tell me what’s brought a pony like you all the way out here and I’ll see what I can do.”


                                            >”My friends so dear I must let it out:”

                                            >”(You)’re what my Horsemas is all about!”

                                            >You stop the recording with a click, sitting back on the box the blue mare brought out for you.

                                            >You’d told her it was kind of a long story but only once you brought up the holotapes did she really believe you. And once you’d finished, she asked if you’d mind playing one, radio signals don’t reach this place and it’s been a while since she’s heard some good tunes.

                                            >”Cute,” she says with a smile, “I wouldn’t mind meeting that stallion.”

                                            >You’d just pull one of the tapes at random, hoping to hear something new yourself and you can’t disagree with her - whoever that was, he had a really nice voice!

                                            >”And you say Squeezie sent you?”

                                            >You nod.

                                            “That’s right. I can’t believe how lucky I was that she knew somepony connected to all this.”

                                            >She’d introduced herself as Ring-a-Ding, which matched up with the horseshoe and peg cutie mark on her flank, but said to just call her ‘Ringer’.

                                            “So you know Squeezie?”

                                            >The blue mare smiles and says, “oh yeah, I know Squeezie.”

                                            >And from the glint in her eye you can guess exactly how well she knows her.

                                            >”Most caravans stop at Junkyard, good to pick up some food and supplies. If Squeezie sent you then you’re okay by me.”

                                            >Ringer takes another few chews on her gum, then points to one side, towards a small shack near the edge of the village.

                                            >”She’s probably talking about old Honeydew. I don’t know him as well as the villagers here but…” She nickers. “Well, you’ll find out when you meet him.”


                                            >Once again, be Cherenkhoof, giving your friend your best performance yet.

                                            “C’moooon, Gider! I almost could’ve possibly died back there!”

                                            >You point at the blue guard mare who’s since gone back to rubbing down her rifle, still chewing her gum. She doesn’t even look up as you point over.

                                            >At least Girder does look over at her, with the same tired, sceptical expression that he turns back on you.

                                            “Um… What if her hoof slipped and she pulled the trigger?”

                                            >Your friend lets out an almighty sigh and lifts his saddlebags back onto his back.

                                            >”The only danger you’re in is if you slip on some brahmin dung and fall. Besides,” he says, lifting a flap on his saddlebag and levitating out a small black lump of… oh no, “I know how much you hate hardtack and if you want something better, I’m gonna have to check around more of the village to find somepony selling better.”

                                            >Hardtack! That’s what the ponies where Girder came from called carrot jerky. You’d read the term was originally for some kind of baked food that was hard as rock but it’s hard to imagine anything ‘edible’ that could be harder than carrot jerky.

                                            >Goddess knows it’ll keep you alive but personally, a life eating hardtack is not one you’d consider worth living.

                                            >Blech!

                                            “Okay, you made your point!”

                                            >Even so, you can’t suppress an annoyed huff. You need Girder to have your back when you’re headed into the unknown!

                                            “Just promise you’ll come running, screaming, and firing your gun if you hear any funny business.”

                                            >”Funny business?” Girder asks with a raised eyebrow.

                                            “I dunno!”

                                            >You fall on your rump and start wringing your hooves. Definitely not over-dramatically.

                                            “He’s an old stallion and Ringer-” You point back at the guard mare. “Said he was kinda funny!”

                                            >’Overprotective’ was not a word you’d use to describe Girder, he was just… he knew the same as you did that the wastes were a dangerous place for a mare on her own.

                                            >Oh but of course he just rolls his eyes, knowing he’s practically marching you straight into the jaws of doom!

                                            >”I’m gonna go check in with whatever other merchants they have here, Cherry. Try not to have too much fun.”

                                            >And like that, he sets off down towards another adobe building with a stall outside it.

                                            “It won’t be fun when I’ve got some old perv chasing me!” you call after him.

                                            >”It’ll be a good laugh for me, at least.”

                                            >But really, the fact that he’s joking so casually does give you some bit of reassurance. Girder usually does have a good measure on places like this, he’s the best defence against pony-based landmines, after all.

                                            >Well, nothing else for it except to get to what you came here for.

                                            >The shack Ringer pointed you towards looks to be mostly made of sheet metal and junk, different from the rest of the houses of the village.

                                            >It doesn’t look dilapidated but still… Why would somepony live at the edge of the village?


                                            >Ringer said if Honeydew Hearth wasn’t at home, you’d know because you wouldn’t possibly mistake him for anypony else.

                                            >Which just piqued your curiosity even more - was he a pegasus? They weren’t unheard of but you’d never actually seen one in the flesh.

                                            >Couldn’t be a zebra! You can’t imagine anypony even in a sleepy little place like this would put up with hosting one.

                                            >It’s when you pull up in front of the shack that you realise you’ve become so curious that your walk turned into a trot and then a canter.

                                            >And it… doesn’t really look different from any of the other shacks you’ve seen in the other villages and towns around the wastes.

                                            >Except there’s an old brown curtain instead of a door.

                                            >You stand there, biting your lip and rubbing a hoof into the dirt.

                                            >Should you knock? Call out? Walk right in and make yourself at home?

                                            >You wouldn’t have been directed here if he’d be hostile to seeing anypony, right?

                                            >Maybe it’s better to check.

                                            >You clear your throat.

                                            “Hello? Mister Hearth? Honeydew Hearth?”

                                            >You’re not that small a pony but your voice sure does sound small right now.

                                            >So you reach up and gently pull one side of the curtain and repeat your inquiry.

                                            “Honeydew Hearth? Hello, are you home?”

                                            >Nothing.

                                            >No, not nothing.

                                            >Sounds almost like… singing?

                                            >You chew your lip again.

                                            >Somepony who sings wouldn’t be upset if you were to, say… poke your nose past the curtain to call out to them, would they?

                                            “Mister Hearth?”

                                            >Your ears suddenly prick forward and you can make out a few words.

                                            >”Up on the housetop, clop, clop, clop! Down through the chimney with Pony Claus!”

                                            >That is a nice voice!

                                            >”First comes the Nelly for Jellybeans, ol’ dear Pony don’t make her scream; wrap her up with a cute pink bow, and something big that’s sure to grow.”

                                            >There’s something familiar about this…

                                            >”Who wouldn’t go? Who wouldn’t go? Up on the house top, clop, clop, clop! Down through the chimney with-Oh!”

                                            “AH!”

                                            >You fall flat back on your rump, strangely enough not outside onto the sandy ground but onto the wooden boards lining the floor of Honeydew Hearth’s shack.

                                            >That’s funny, you don’t remember nosing your way past his curtain or bobbing your head and waving your ears in time to his song, or watching him with a big smile as he sang.

                                            >You’re definitely going to remember this shock, however!

                                            “I’m sorry!”

                                            >Definitely sorry you bothered this nice… old… unicorn?

                                            >”Hello there!”

                                            >No, not a unicorn.

                                            >Unicorns don’t have scales on their noses, or big thick manes that come down over their chests, or weird, gnarled horns!

                                            >”And who might you be?”

                                            “Uh… Uh… Um…”

                                            >It can’t be! You’ve only heard old stories drifting from the west! You’ve never seen one or talked to anypony who’s seen one!

                                            >”Well that’s a funny name! Can’t say I would’ve picked it for a pretty young mare like you but I guess you get all sorts out here these days!”

                                            “You… yuh…”


                                            >You lift a hoof, first pointing to his faded golden coat, then up to his warm brown mane that almost has more grey threaded through it, the deep brown scales along his nose and brow, and finally his long red horn.

                                            >”Oh yes, I’m me, alright!”

                                            >How can he be so calm? Doesn’t he know…

                                            >He’s a kirin!

                                            >”Hm? Oh!” He takes both his forelegs and taps them against his horn. Only now do you realise he’s sitting on a stool. “Ah, don’t you worry, miss, I’m not about to start poking you with this old thing! Hahah! Those days are long behind me, now!”

                                            >But you? Your days of sitting there, pointing at him with your mouth agape are with you right now and probably will be for some time.

                                            >”Aha! I know what this is, your mouth is dry as the desert after all that time spent out there! Well you just sit right there and I’ll get you something to drink.”

                                            >And like that, he slides off the stool and walks over to another end of the shack.

                                            >Your hoof falls back to the floor with a soft clop and you let out the breath you’ve been holding.

                                            >What the… Is this what Ringer meant? Because yeah, you would definitely not mistake him for anypony else in the village! Unless there were other kirin cleverly concealed!

                                            >Here, practically in the middle of nowhere.

                                            >Singing and… Now you see it - a makeshift desk he must have been working at. While he was singing, and didn’t hear you walking right into his home until you were right behind him.

                                            >There’s a piece of wood on it, and some tools you can’t identify.

                                            >What is-

                                            >”Say, you like Sparkle Cola? All the young ponies like it, right?”

                                            >You turn about and see the kirin standing behind and to one side of you, with a bottle levitating beside him.

                                            >Two sections of his horn glow a brighter red and the bottle has a similar glow surrounding it.

                                            >So weird…

                                            “Uh… th-thanks…”

                                            >And yet he just keeps giving you this big smile, even as he levitates the bottle over to your hooves.

                                            >“Now then,” the old kirin stallion says, walking back over to his stool, “miss, why don’t you wet your lips with that and then we can have a little chat about what I can do for ya.”

                                            >You hadn’t noticed before, because why would you notice anything when you were ensorcelled by a kirin’s song, but he has what looks like a long scar running down his back, through his scales.

                                            >Scales!

                                            >You couldn’t believe it the first time you heard it, or the subsequent times. A pony with scales was as unthinkable as a gryphon with hooves.

                                            >Yet here the very example of it sits before you, grinning at you while you hold the unopened bottle of pop in your hooves that the example just gave you.

                                            >Oh. Right.

                                            >Sparkle Cola wasn’t that uncommon but… you still didn’t feel right just taking one that somepony gave to you like this. Especially seeing as you barged into his home and bothered him.

                                            >Mysterious, legendary kirin or not, you’re not about to take advantage of such generosity.


                                            >You were very much the sort of pony who saw it as a virtue, after all.

                                            >Everypony needed some way to keep the wastes from grinding them down into the dirt.

                                            “I, uh…” you say, setting the bottle down beside yourself, “th-thanks but, um, I’m here because…”

                                            >Not because your eyes keep scanning over him - those cloven hooves, that unimaginably thick mane, that weird horn.

                                            >It’s a kirin! You’re talking to a real, live kirin!

                                            “I-I’m sorry, who are you?”

                                            >”Me?” He makes a show of looking shocked, touching his chest with a hoof that again, only now do you realise, has scars lining the foreleg. “Name’s Honeydew Hearth, pleasure to meet ya!”

                                            >He holds out the same hoof, with the same smile that hasn’t disappeared from his face the whole time and without even really thinking about it, you extend your own and he gives it a little shake.

                                            >This is so surreal!

                                            >”Of course, it’d be an awful lot more of a pleasure if I knew your name!”

                                            >In spite of yourself, your ears flatten back against your head when he nickers.

                                            >Surreal or not, you did barge into his home.

                                            “Cherenkhoof, I’m-”

                                            >You clap a hoof over your muzzle and only slightly wish it was the bottle of Sparkle Cola so the glass would shatter and kill you.

                                            >Great. First legendary kirin you meet and you just screwed it up by making a total foal of yourself.

                                            >”Cherenkhoof, you are.”

                                            “Just ‘Cherry’. Please just ‘Cherry’.”

                                            >No!

                                            >You clap the other hoof over your muzzle because you did not mean to squeak that out and sound so ridiculous!

                                            >”In that case,” Honeydew says, making a strange gesture with his hoof, “just Cherry, you are.”

                                            >He smiles at you a moment longer before his smile widens further.

                                            >”And now that we’re introduced, and you’ve a nice beverage to keep you from dying of dehydration, let’s see if I can’t keep you from dying of curiosity, too.”

                                            >Strangest thing, Honeydew clears his throat dramatically, touches a hoof to his chest, and closes his eyes.

                                            >”Yes, I am a kirin. I possess scales and a horn. No, I will not eat your children. I won’t burn your caravan, melt your weapons with the laser eyes I don’t have, or call forth the terrifying kirin goddess of storms. I’m not going to sink my fangs into you and drink your blood, I don’t eat caps so you don’t have to hide them, and I most certainly am not working on a new megaspell. Oh and you don’t have to worry about me turning into a fiery demon. Well, not any more, I’m a little too old to get that angry, these days!”

                                            >In spite of the pompous tone up to that last sentence, warmth creeps into his voice and he ends his performance with a nicker.

                                            >Your ears flick back in a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

                                            “I-I didn’t think you were gonna breathe fire…”

                                            >And laser eyes? What were ponies telling him?

                                            >The feeling of embarrassment starts to win out, however, as Honeydew keeps looking down at you from his stool.


                                            >”In that case, I’d guess that it was Ring-a-Ding who sent you and not Cleaver, right?”

                                            >Cleaver?

                                            >Ugh, with a name like that you probably don’t want to know.

                                            >You nod without really thinking, upon hearing Ringer’s name.

                                            >”Yeah, she likes to send ponies my way without telling ‘em.” He nickers again. “Ah, one of these days I’ll get ‘er back!”

                                            >Wait, Ringer did this on purpose?

                                            >This is what she meant when she nickered and said you’d ‘find out when you meet him’?

                                            >It’d be easy to feel angry but really… looking up at Honeydew’s smiling face, you can’t help but nicker a little yourself.

                                            “Guess she got me good.”

                                            >You say it more to yourself but the stallion nods anyway.

                                            >”Don’t think worse of her for it, she knows I wouldn’t hurt anypony.”

                                            >The scars on his forelegs suggest the reverse.

                                            “Sorry,” you mutter, “I didn’t mean to…”

                                            >Stare? Barge into his home? Sit here even after that and act like you could just take up his time because?

                                            >Wait, because you’re here on a mission.

                                            >That’s right!

                                            “I-I mean, I’m sorry to bother you but, um, I wanted to ask you something.”

                                            >The pieces slowly start to fall into place in your mind; Honeydew was singing before you came in and it didn’t sound like one of those old classic songs you’d hear on the radio.

                                            >Squeezie sent you here because she thought he might know about the tapes.

                                            “Maybe you can’t help me and I’m sorry for wasting your time if that’s the case but I need help and I don’t know anypony else who can help with this.”

                                            >Easier to focus with your eyes off him, in your saddlebag.

                                            >If only the tapes were labelled properly, you might be able to find a decent one.

                                            >Instead, you randomly pluck out one without a label and-

                                            >Turn back to the kirin.

                                            >Who’s still just sitting there, smiling at you, his eyes now on the tape in your hooves.

                                            >”I’d say I’m sorry to disappoint you, I don’t know what that is but…” There’s a weird tingling feeling as those sections on his horn glow again and magic engulfs the tape, kinda like when Girder uses his magic. “Maybe together we can figure this out.”

                                            >So this was who gave Squeezie that painting, who parted with it for no other reason than to give a gift.

                                            >Maybe you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are.

                                            >It does put you a little more at ease, knowing that even if this is a mysterious, legendary kirin, he’s a friendly one.

                                            “Don’t worry, I’ve something to help!”

                                            >You hold up your Pipbuck and proudly tap at the eject button to release the cradle for the tape.

                                            >And again.

                                            >Jiggle it a little…

                                            >There you go!


                                            >”Yes we need a little Horsemas,”

                                            >”Right this very second,”

                                            >”Need a little Horsemas now!”

                                            >”We need a little Horsemas now!”

                                            >Not one you’ve heard before and even thought the music stops a little abruptly, it suits the lively air of the melody and lyrics.


                                            >While sliding the tape in, you’d explained to Honeydew about where and how you found the tapes, how you were captivated by the songs, and asking Squeezie about it pointed you to him.

                                            >The old kirin had nodded along but again said he hadn’t heard of tapes like that before. Even so, if it was music you wanted to ask about, he was definitely keen on helping you out.

                                            >”Well… I’ll be.”

                                            >You tap a button and stop the recording, looking up at Honeydew hopefully.

                                            >”I’m sorry, Cherry, I really don’t know anything about those tapes.”

                                            >Your heart sinks.

                                            >Yeah, it was an experimental Pipbuck before the war, what were the chances anypony bar a tiny hoofful would even know anything about it or the tapes it used?

                                            >”But…”

                                            >But?

                                            >”That music, it sounds familiar. Like the kinda thing she’d sing, just not with that voice.”

                                            >He rubs at his chin with a scarred foreleg and, for the first time since you came in, looks markedly more serious.

                                            >”And if those tapes are from before the war… Yeah. Could be.”

                                            >His features relax as he looks back at you, returning from whatever place he was in, in his mind.

                                            >”But tell me something, Cherry, why did you come all this way to find out?”

                                            >You blink, taken aback.

                                            “Wh-... Why?”

                                            >Honeydew nods, tilting a hoof.

                                            “I… I guess I… thought it was important.”

                                            >Without really thinking about it, you tap at the eject mechanism again and, as expected, have to start jiggling the cradle to loosen it.

                                            “It’s like I told Girder, somepony thought they were worth keeping, preserving. And listening to them?”

                                            >Carefully, gently, you pull your hoof back and allow the cradle to open, making sure the tape doesn’t spring out and possibly hit Honeydew.

                                            “I understand. Or, I’m trying to. These ponies really sounded like they cared for each other, like they… they loved each other. And it’s all about this ‘Horsemas’.”

                                            >You turn the tape over in your hooves, examining the two reels inside the mostly-transparent casing. There’s a slot that’s pulled back by an interior mechanism in the Pipbuck, exposing the actual tape inside it.

                                            “Things are so rough now, I can barely imagine what that must’ve been like. I bet barely anypony else can, either. And…”

                                            >You look back up at the old stallion, smiling down at you.

                                            “And wouldn’t things be better if they were like that? If somepony who understood it all, what it was all about; if they could try and bring even a little of that back?”

                                            >With each word, Honeydew’s smile widens.

                                            >He leans back in his stool, resting his back against the edge of the desk behind him.

                                            >”Y’know, I think she’d like to meet you.”

                                            >That’s the second time he’s said ‘she’. And you’re about to ask who he’s talking about but he goes on.

                                            >”The tapes would probably be enough but anypony enterprising enough could scavenge them. Stumbling on her? Probably not. Not where she is.”

                                            >He seems to be talking more to himself than to you.


                                            >”But if she knew who sent you? And why? Mmm, she’d do anything to help.”

                                            >Looking back down at you, there’s a little glimmer in his eyes that almost makes the old kirin look younger.

                                            >”I think I can trust you, Cherry, which means she’ll trust you, too.”

                                            >This time he pauses, waiting.

                                            “Who?”

                                            >”Holly Jolly.”

                                            >Holly… Jolly?

                                            >Unsurprisingly, it’s another pony you’ve never heard of.

                                            >”You’ll find her down in the Hoof, in the Fifth Nail.”

                                            >Those words send a little chill running down your spine.

                                            >The Hoof was named for its shape, with each of its districts named for the nails in a horseshoe.

                                            >Bottom middle was First Nail, next left was Second, right was Third, and so on.

                                            >Fifth Nail? That was the bad part of town. The /bad/, bad part of town. Where the drug dealers, thieves, pimps, and gangsters hung out.

                                            >But it was also where the homeless ponies, the beggars, and… the ghouls were. The ponies nopony else wanted around but nopony important was willing to go into Fifth Nail to get rid of.

                                            >You’d been near it once before, what with Third Nail being adjacent and where most of the merchants were situated.

                                            >Bringing a pair of roasted carrots on sticks for you and Girder, you’d seen a ghoul pony standing near the edge of it. Most passing ponies spat on the ground near… her? Him? Poor thing, their mane was mostly gone and the shape of their face made it impossible to tell.

                                            >You’d heard the stories, same as everypony else about how they ate brains and spread disease but this pony was just sitting there, a few rags around their twisted body.

                                            >And what could you do? You couldn’t just walk by with hot roasted carrots. Maybe it was just how they looked but seeing the flesh clinging to that pony’s ribs… No, you said you’d never let another pony go that hungry on your watch again.

                                            >It meant shelling out more caps and by the time you got to Girder, you had the cold carrot but it was worth it to hear a raspy, “thanks”, from the ghoul pony when you gave them one of the carrots.

                                            >After they flinched as you approached.

                                            >”I wouldn’t send you there if you didn’t strike me as a good pony, Cherry.” Honeydew sighs heavily, quite unlike the kirin you’ve been talking to up to now. “But I know what Fifth Nail is like down there and Holly Jolly knows what ponies think of it. When you get there, tell her the Heart Breaker sent you.”

                                            >Heart Breaker?

                                            >Did he and this Holly Jolly have a thing in the past?

                                            >Honeydew’s smile returns but… there’s something else there.

                                            >”I know you’re curious.” He holds up both hooves, both forelegs bearing scars. “Can’t say I blame ya.”

                                            >You are but you still shake your head.

                                            “I-It’s okay, I don’t-”

                                            >”It is okay,” Honeydew cuts you off, still smiling, “and maybe it’ll give you a little more to go on.”

                                            >He looks down at his forelegs, the smile slowly slipping from his face.

                                            >”That’s what they used to call me. Back in the Slough.”


                                            >The Slough? That doesn’t sound like anywhere you’ve heard of but maybe it’s a little village like Broad Bluffs here. You and Girder get around but even you two don’t know every little place in the wastes.

                                            >”It’s a town way out east, most ponies around here wouldn’t know it, except for some of the merchants. And maybe a couple of other runaways like me.”

                                            >You really were going to insist again that he didn’t need to tell you but out east? You’ve never been there. As long as the journey between the towns along the main north-south caravan routes here is, you can only imagine what it must be like striking out in that direction.

                                            >”It’s not a nice place, Cherry. If you think the stories you’ve heard about Fifth Nail in the Hoof are bad, well… it’s a paradise compared to the Slough.”

                                            >He glances back down at you and then slowly back up, his gaze turning distant.

                                            >”Nopony who values their life goes there willingly, except the kinds of merchants who make the track up by Horseshoe Hill or the kinds who just don’t care about the sort of ponies they do business with.”

                                            >A hard edge starts to creep into his voice.

                                            >”The way it’s told, the big crater in the Slough is from a megaspell and the original ponies who settled it used slaves to clear out the contaminated materials. Not all of it. They keep some in a kinda moat around the town. You don’t fight? You get tossed into it.”

                                            >You pull your cloak a little tighter around yourself upon hearing that.

                                            >Everypony, everypony in the wastes either saw firsthoof or knew of somepony affected by magical contamination.

                                            >Being tossed into a pit of concentrated radioactive material? You shudder.

                                            >”In the centre of town, that’s where it all happens. In the Ring of Steel. What a load of horseapples; it’s just a pile of busses and train carriages they had their slaves push into a ring. But they wanted it to be feared, they wanted everypony to know what stepping into it meant.”

                                            >His horn starts to glow.

                                            >”That’s partly why they used the collars, even on the pegasi.”

                                            >Pegasi? This place had pegasi as well?

                                            >But how?

                                            >”On unicorns and kirin, it suppresses your magic. Keeps you from using more than your hooves and your teeth and your horn. Makes you remember who you are and who you belong to. They own you. And they’re going to get their caps worth out of you.”

                                            >He looks down at you suddenly, hard and intense, holding out his hooves.

                                            >You’re almost sure you see fire in his eyes, red flames licking at his eyebrows.

                                            >But that can’t be…

                                            >”Unicorn horns are just as dangerous even without their magic. Don’t ever let one fool you about that. But they go straight through and it’s easier for the stitchers to do a patch job on those wounds. A kirin’s horn-” He nods his head. “Well that’s painful, that’s long enough to reach into your heart and break it in two.”

                                            >Heart… Breaker…

                                            >Oh no…


                                            >”Just like Sunrise Supreme. Pretty purple coat, soft feathers; slavers didn’t care what we did once we were locked up. They might laugh at us keeping each other warm but you couldn’t afford to be bashful when the next day you might be facing down that same mare in the Ring and-...”

                                            >He stops and swallows thickly.

                                            >You almost manage to keep yourself from reaching up with a hoof to take one of his.

                                            >Almost.

                                            >Honeydew looks down at you fiercely, at first looking right through you but slowly blinking that way until it’s replaced with a sad smile.

                                            >”And it was after all that, that Holly Jolly found me. After Oil Pitch broke me out of the collar and me and him and Lavender, Ripcord, and Hot Slop got out. I was the one she found halfway between the Slough and Junction K-4. Half-dead, lying in the sand.”

                                            >His muscles relax as does the grip he has on your hoof.

                                            >”She didn’t have any reason to take me in, waste her caps and her food and her water on some beat up kirin she didn’t even know. But she did, anyway. With just a ‘ho-ho-ho’ when I asked her why she was helping me. When I was lucid enough to ask.”

                                            >Honeydew snorts, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

                                            >”Guess she knew what it was like. At least from what she taught me, it sounds like she’s been through some things.”

                                            >He gives your hoof a squeeze.

                                            >”I want you to understand, Cherry. More than anypony else in the world, you can trust her. If you really want to bring kindness back to Equestria, she’s the pony you need to meet. Whatever stories you’ve heard about Fifth Nail, whatever you might be worried about? You don’t need to worry about her.”

                                            >That’s the moment where Honeydew’s smile returns - a real, /real/ smile.

                                            >”The story of how I wound up in this quiet little place’ll have to wait for another time, though! It’s a lot better, I promise. As for you, my young friend? I think you know what you have to do.” He’s barely, just barely, holding back a nicker. “You have to let me give you another bottle of Sparkle Cola for the long road ahead of you!”

                                            >Honeydew slips back down off his stool, the raggedy cloak he’d levitated over onto his back while you played the tape swaying as he does so. A little more stiffly, this time. And still holding your hoof.

                                            “Oh no, really, I couldn’t take another one!”

                                            >You try to grab the bottle while holding his hoof.

                                            “In fact, I-I can’t even take this! You should keep it for yourself, I’ve got water!”

                                            >”Ah!” He holds up his other hoof, stopping in his stride and looking at you with faux severity that can do nothing to hide his smile. “Keep that up, young mare, and I’ll make it three bottles!”


                                            >As it turned out, it wasn’t three bottles but Honeydew did give you something more - a package to take with you and deliver to Holly Jolly. It’s wrapped in what looks like a cut up sack, with some paint slathered over it.

                                            >Actually, it doesn’t look half bad a job but the paint does little to hide the coarse texture of the material.


                                            >And yes, you couldn’t keep yourself from giving it a little shake but it’s packed tight - whatever’s inside, there’s no way to tell. Honeydew just said to give it to Holly Jolly and she’d know.

                                            >The sandy ground shifts under your hooves as you walk away from Honeydew’s shack.

                                            >You never would’ve imagined you’d meet somepony like that! Somepony so friendly, and generous!

                                            >But that can only keep your mind from turning back on things for so long.

                                            >Thinking about… the Slough.

                                            >About Honeydew Hearth and what he said and all that happened to him, how he’s here now, in a place where the ponies don’t seem to mind him. How you found him singing to himself.

                                            >How what he told you reminds you of Girder.

                                            >About growing up in Graveyard.

                                            >No! It wasn’t as bad as that but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a place for a colt.

                                            “Girder?”

                                            >He’s walking towards you, one of the flaps of his saddlebags open and a couple of boxes poking out of it.

                                            >”Hey, Cherry, I-Oof!”

                                            >You waste no time in charging at him, knocking him over with the strength of your hug.

                                            >Your hooves squeeze the life out of him, you know, but you don’t care!

                                            >Not right now, how could you!

                                            >”Cherry…” Girder wheezes, “can’t… breathe…”

                                            >So what if ponies stare!

                                            >So what if Ringer’s nickering!

                                            >So what if Girder can’t breathe-Oh!

                                            >In a flash, you release your death-grip on the stallion and he gulps in a breath of air, then another.

                                            >”Oh goddess!”

                                            >He continues catching his breath for a moment but not without your foreleg still around him.

                                            >Much to your chagrin, he fixes you with a look of annoyance that quickly melts away.

                                            >”What happened?”

                                            >You open your mouth to reply-

                                            >But where do you even begin?

                                            “Nothing! I mean nothing bad!”

                                            >That’ll do for now, the rest can wait until you’re back on the road and Girder’ll be telling you he’s glad of the talk to keep you from putting on the tapes.

                                            >Before he falls silent because you know he’s waiting for you to put them on again, after.

                                            >”You come running over to me after that and you’re saying,” he takes one last deep breath, “nothing’s wrong?”

                                            “Girder, I swear on the goddess, it’s okay! I’m just…”

                                            >You look into his amber eyes.

                                            “I’m just really glad you’re with me, Girder. Really, really glad.”

                                            >He studies your face for a moment longer before you feel a pair of hooves come up around your neck in a hug.

                                            >”I’m glad I’m with you too, Cherry.”

                                            >His voice is surprisingly soft and he holds the hug for a few moments more before releasing you.

                                            >And you realise that the two of you have been lying on the ground all this time.

                                            >Whereupon you push yourself off your friend and help him up with you.

                                            >”I’m guessing if nothing bad happened, you got what you came here for?”

                                            >Oh.

                                            >You hadn’t considered having to explain this to him.

                                            >Which calls for your absolute best winning smile!

                                            ”Weeeeell, about that…”

                                            >Not that it looks to be winning you any favours.

                                            ”We’re kinda gonna need to go just a /teensy/ bit further!”