/mlk/: Post-nuclear Celly Edition Shorts

Some Shorts from /mlk/: Post-nuclear Celly Edition

Pastebin for one Story: https://pastebin.com/UkZ6DEcF


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>another run into the Madlands with Celly
>you're rolling down a section of paved road in the bright morning sun
>the road forks and forks again
>there are no signs, or signs are meaningless, as the world continues to convulse
>reality stretches like taffy
>only a unicorn--a skilled and powerful one--can navigate the ever-shifting maze
>so teams like yours go out, normally a human driver and a unicorn navigator
>in search of salvage, valuables, food, medicine
>”Turn left here,” she says, “I have a feeling there’s something good.”
>you trust her implicitly
>you turn left, and see the border between merged areas, sharp as a knife cut
>the rolling scrub merges with potholed concrete pavement almost seamlessly
>you slow down and look around
>usually these urban portions were abandoned after the Cataclysm but you could never tell
>boarded-up buildings covered with graffiti alternate with overgrown vacant lots full of junk
>most of the lots are surrounded by chain link fence with coiled razorwire on top
>NOT a good sign, you think to yourself
>a street sign says “Six Mile Road”
>you think to yourself for a few seconds, you’d had family in Michigan before all this
>Detroit, this was a piece of Detroit
>fuck
>fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
“Celly, sweetie.”
>she wrinkles her muzzle at your tone
“Are you really sure about this?”
>”As sure as I’ve been about anything. There’s something big here.”
“You probably don’t know, but we’re in a chunk of what used to be Detroit.”
>she looks at you blankly
“A bad place.”
>”We’ve gone to bad places before.”
“A very bad place.”
>”You know, it’s not like you to be afraid.”
“Before everything happened, this wasn’t known as a place that had anything that anyone would want.”
>”That may be, but I can feel something.”
“Any idea what it is?”
>”No, just that we’re close to it. A few more blocks down, start looking on the right.”
>you drive slowly, weaving around the holes in the pavement, looking warily side to side
>you begin to see what had been businesses previously
>you pull up to a public health clinic
“Here, maybe?”
>”I don’t think so. Further down.”
“I want to check on this. The settlement always needs medicine.”
>you get out of the truck, shotgun in hand
>it looks like someone’s already put a cinderblock through the sliding glass doors
>you duck inside, and do a search
>it’s pretty clear that the place has been looted and there’s nothing left
>get back in the truck
>work your way down the street further
>on the left you see a sign
>she taps you on the shoulder and points at that buildings
>”HAPPY HERB MEDICAL MJ DISPENSARY”
>you turn to her in disbelief
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
>”Why not?”
>you pull into the parking lot
>and note that the building seems intact, at least
>you get out of the truck
“I don’t know what you think we’ll find here that’ll be useful.”
>”I don’t know either, but I feel something here.”
>you get a crowbar out of the back
>”Nnf. It feels good to stretch after hours on the road.”
“Yeah, it does.”
>”So what is this place, anyway? A dispensary for what? Medical supplies?”
“This is one of those stories where you’re gonna laugh at humans for being silly again.”
>”I promise nothing.” She gives a little smile.
“Okay.” She follows you as you walk around the building, checking for other entrances.
“I—well, I really can’t make any assumptions, I suppose.”
>she nods
“Remember how Radley was acting crazy and stupid yesterday? More than usual, I mean?”
>”I do.”
“He’d been drinking all day. Not water, either, if you understand my meaning.”
>you pause
“Do you understand? For all I know that’s not part of your culture.”
>”He was drunk, yes. Ponies have been fermenting fruit juice and drinking it for thousands of years. We know about alcohol.”
>you find a back door beside a dumpster and pry at it with the crowbar
“So, this can be thought of as having certain similarities.”
>the door pops open and pivots outward
>”You know, I’ve never seen you drink. At all.”
>you grin
“I live by my wits alone. Wits tend to be soluble in alcohol.”
>that gets a little smirk out of her
“So, this stuff. It was illegal for years and years, because it had, well.”
>you scratch your chin
“Cultural connotations. Cultural associations, I suppose. It was regarded as something for criminals and primitives, who weren’t as good as we were.”
“Then it was discovered that for certain very specific circumstances it had valid medical uses, which opened the door to changing the laws and selling it in places like this.”
>”It’s medicine, then?”
“Not really. As far as I know one ingredient it contained was useful in treating a particular eye condition called glaucoma, and one ingredient it contained was useful for treating severe nausea, and that was about it.”
>”Ah, I see.”
“But that was enough of a pretext to make it a business licensing matter instead of a law enforcement matter, and in a time when law enforcement resources were limited, that let them concentrate on more serious matters.”
>”So what is it, exactly?”
“It’s from a plant. I think it’s some kind of resin from the flowers, or something like that.”
>”I think I recognize this smell. Is this hashish?”
>you pause several seconds
“You--”
>”It’s currently more a Saddle Arabian thing, but yes, ponies have known about it for centuries. Some decades it’s fashionable and some it’s not.”
>you uncap your canteen and take a drink, and swallow
“It’s kind of hard to imagine you, uh--”
>she laughs. It’s like tinkling bells.
“Yes, ponies are all so innocent. Next you’re going to say you thought I was a virgin.”
>you cough and sputter, spraying water on the shelves
“Was that necessary?”
>”Yes, it was. The look you get when you get flustered like that is priceless.”
“Was the rest of this necessary?”
>”What do you mean?”
“We came all this way for, uh--” you point around at the shelves of medicine bottles containing samples
“What are we going to do with all this?”
>She puts a hoof under her chin and frowns in mock concentration
>”Spend a year stoned?”
>you chuckle mirthlessly
“I suppose it might be indirectly valuable for trade with other settlements.”
>you walk through the building, emptying everything into cardboard boxes
>there’s an enormous safe door, like a bank vault, set into a wall
>you poke at the wall beside it with the crowbar
>it’s just plaster
>you chuckle
“Dumbasses.”
>you break through the plaster, then get a saw from the truck to cut a doorway through the studs in the wall
>the “safe” contains hundreds of sealed containers, from heavy plastic freezer bags to peanut butter jars
>all with neatly hand lettered labels that say things like “TRAIN WRECK” and “BUTCH’S HYBRID”
>there’s also a coffee can half full of bundles of $20 and $100 bills
>you count ninety thousand dollars in pre-Cataclysm US paper money
>you carry it all to the truck, and scratch your chin
>you decide it would be most secure in some kind of crate
>and spend the next couple of hours scavenging in nearby buildings for plywood and scrap lumber
>and nail all the boxes and jars and bags inside
>and with a can of spray paint write “NOTHING INTERESTING” on the side
>you smirk
>in your best Texas accent, you recite:
"Survival kit contents check. In them you'll find: One twelve gauge shotgun, two boxes of ammunition, four days concentrated emergency rations, one drug issue containing at least two hundred pounds of weed, ninety thousand dollars in cash, a pack of chewing gum, and a prophylactic. Shoot, a feller could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff!"
>she just stares at you
"Goldie, how many times have I told you guys that I don't want no horsing around on the airplane?"
>she sniffs. "I can't help horsing around. It's in my nature."
“I know.”
>”And don’t call me Goldie.”
>a motion in the distance catches your attention
>you spin around and draw the shotgun from its scabbard
>but it’s just an old wig, blowing past in the gutter
“Huh,” you say
>”What?”
>you gesture
“It was just a tumbleweave.”
>”Well, that was anticlimactic.”
>you get back into the truck with her
“Where to next, Celly?”
>”Let’s get away from this and I’ll tell you.”
“Fair enough. Detroit is always a great place—to see in your rear view mirror.”
>”And when we get back on the road—I think maybe to the north.”
“North, huh?”
>”I can feel something there.”
“Oh yeah?”
>”Something big.”
“That’s what you said about this.”
>she snorts
>“You’re the one who doesn’t want to spend a year stoned, Mister--”
“Please don’t say ‘High and mighty.’”
>her ears flop backwards
>”You saw it coming, didn’t you?”
“I suspected it.”
>”You never let up, do you?”
“If you’re about to tell me to get off my high horse, please stop.”
>”What if I AM your high horse?”
“Madam, are you trying to seduce me?”
>”Would you like me to seduce you?”
>you chuckle
>she’s a funny lady. Horse. Pony. Thing. You like that in a woman, even if she’s not your species.
“North it is.”
>it was a day of high adventure