On the Road

>two months since the magical Cataclysm that fused Earth and Equestria
>you are Celestia, and you had a hoof in what happened
>you still blame yourself
>you've been riding with a crazy human loner who calls himself Anonymous
>your senses allow you to perceive the shifting pathways through what everyone now calls the Madlands
>you go out in a battered old diesel truck with spikes and coiled razorwire welded to its bumper
>and collect food, medicine, and supplies for the slowly growing joint pony/human settlement of New Manehattan
>the ponies accuse you of ending the world
>some humans believe it
>Anonymous protects you when mobs appear
>it's almost as if he cared about you, but clearly that's impossible
>you're just a business partner for him
>you go out days at a time to find warehouses or supermarkets to bring back supplies
>the townspeople pay you in diesel and a hot meal and a hot bath, and then it's back on the road
>Anonymous goes where few others will dare
>there are mutant biker gangs out there, and worse
>Anon doesn't appear to care much about his own personal safety
>yours, yes. his own, not so much. you don't understand why. he doesn't talk about it.
>this run, though, this run, he's keyed up and on edge
>he's got a manic grin, by which you mean, more so than usual
>you ask him what's going on
>"Treasure," he says
>and so you helped him break into the warehouse
>and load the truck with crates marked "DRAGON DILDOS" for the journey back
>"Trust me," he says

-----

1/3

>you've come back from another run into the Madlands with the talking horse lady
>unicorn
>whatever
>you and she just got out of the cab of the big old camouflage painted CUCV pickup truck you found at an Air Force base last week
>found an abandoned Wal-Mart supercenter sitting untouched in the center of what looked like a vast lava flow
>loaded it up with three quarters of a ton of flour, sugar, honey, powdered milk
>plus all the 9mm hollowpoints and 12 gauge buckshot that were in Sporting Goods
>got a cooler full of insulin and antibiotics from the pharmacy
>finally back in New Manehattan
>you and she walk up to the gate of the trading post and walk inside
>Celly stumbles, and the ratty old blanket falls off her back, revealing wings
>everyone goes silent
>then you hear the shout "It’s her! It’s the Betrayer!"
>and someone throws a rock
>you step in front of her and pull the beat-up old Mossberg shotgun out of the scabbard across your back
"The fuck are you people talking about?"
>a human and a pony both point at Celly
>the human speaks
>"That’s Celestia the Betrayer! She brought the end of the world! She caused it all!"
>you look at her
>she doesn’t meet your eyes
>the pony, a scrawny-looking pegasus flies up to you at eye level
>"Give her to us and we’ll let you go free. If you don’t give her to us we won’t trade with you."
>"She has to be punished. She’s a demon! A witch! Something worse!"
>you think about this
"Fuck off. She’s with me."
>Celly says "No, they’re right, I--"
"I owe you, and they’re not taking you."
>you raise your voice
"I don’t give a fuck what you say she did."

2/3

"Out in the Madlands I’ve saved her life four times, and she’s saved mine six."
"Out there where the roads and the places keep changing, and all you chickenshits are afraid to go yourselves, the only place to find food and supplies."
"If she were some kind of killer she’s had a hundred chances to kill me and take all the loot for herself, and she hasn’t."
"You want her? Come and take her. If you’re hard enough."
>you rack a round into the riot gun’s chamber
"Come on, you cowards. One at a time, or all at once, I don’t give a fuck. Let’s dance."
>Celly looks at you, her eyes pleading. "You don’t have to do this."
"The hell I don’t. I owe you, and I pay my debts."
>"They’re right. I did cause all this. I’m a monster."
"You’re no monster. There has to be more to it than that."
>"It was the only thing I could do, the only thing left to try, to merge our worlds."
>"I didn’t have enough power left after the last battle, and I botched the spell, and did this."
>"And now your people are dying, and so are mine."
"And what would have happened if you hadn’t cast the spell to merge our worlds?"
>"Tirek’s last spell would have destroyed both."
"Then you did the best you could. You saved all our lives and Tirek is the one to blame for everything else."
>a group of humans and ponies is beginning to gather in the narrow street
>some are picking up rocks and bricks
>you raise your voice
"Due to the ongoing ammo shortage, no warning shots will be provided. Management apologizes for the inconvenience."
>a tall skinny goober of a fellow in a tattered suit is holding a torch, and seems to be leading the mob
>he's from the Trade Office
>"Burn the witch," he shouts. "Send her back to Hell!"
>you bring the shotgun up and aim it at the loudmouth
"You first, motherfucker."
>he pauses
>"You ain’t the only one with a gun. We can get guns too."

3/3

"Then do it. Bring them out. Let’s play. Do it, do it, do it. Who taught you to use a gun? Who taught you to fight? I did three tours in Iraq with the Marines."
>"Is she worth dying for?"
"Yeah. I think she just might be. And I already know she’s worth killing for."
>his face looks like he’s tasting something sour
"Just two days ago we met a mutant raider gang, out in the high desert."
"I killed six human beings--or at least they used to be human before, I’m pretty sure--to keep her safe."
"You wouldn’t even be the first thing I’ve killed today."
"Now. If you want to trade I’ve got almost a ton of flour and powdered milk. Also a hundred gallons of distilled water. And a big cooler full of stuff from the pharmacy. Insulin, Cipro, Augmentin, Bactrim, morphine. All factory sealed, untampered-with, and in a cooler on ice."
"What do you want for it?"
"A hundred and ten gallons of diesel, a month’s worth of hardtack and canned food for both of us, a hot meal and a hot bath for each of us, an oil change for the truck, and no more crazy talk about hurting my partner here."
>"She--"
"There are other settlements, other towns, where they’d be happy to take all this stuff off my hands. I drove past them to bring this stuff to you. If you don’t want it, I’ll sell it to them."
>"Why is she so important to you?"
"She understands magic. She helps me navigate the Madlands. Without her I couldn’t do it."
>"She’s the Betrayer."
"Tirek betrayed you. She put together the pieces as best she could afterward."
>"You’re stubborn."
"I tend to be stubborn when I owe someone my life."
>he scowls
"So what’s it going to be?"
>he throws down the torch and yells into the trade office door
>"He’s got a truckload of food, water, and medicine to trade. Go get Flying Cloud to haggle with him."
>such is life in the Zone

-----

1/5

>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."

2/5

>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 right you see a sign
>she taps you on the shoulder and points at that building
>"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."

3/5

>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 chemical it contained was useful in treating a particular eye condition called glaucoma, and one chemical 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

4/5

"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 quarter-ounce portions
"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 cannabis, 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!"

5/5

>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

-----

1/4

>on the road
>you are Princess Celestia, riding with Anonymous after the end of the world
>road suddenly turns from paved to dirt
>suddenly surroundings turn from low grassy hills to jungle
>trail is barely wide enough to allow truck to pass
>vines and branches hang low
>brush and thorns press in on both sides
>he stops the truck and gets out
>take a machete out of the toolbox in the back
>takes a few swipes at the vines
>it cuts them, at least
>it's hot and humid, though
>and the air is swarming with mosquitoes and gnats
>"You know," he says, "I never saw the road turn to unpaved before. Any idea where we might be? Or even when?"
"No. I still feel something to the north, though."
>"Can't you do some kind of magical voodoo shit and clear the brush, or get us back on the pavement, or something?"
"I don't have the power right now."
>"Well, what are you good for, then?" His tone is bantering.
"Next time I land in a magicless world, I'll try to be more considerate."
>there is a rustling in the brush all around
>you try to reach out with what remains of your magical senses, but can pick up nothing meaningful
>and then you, and he, see the silhouette in front of you, in the road, barely twenty yards ahead
>a slender, whipcord-lean, feather-covered dinosaurish thing seven or eight feet tall
>the fangs make it very obvious it's a carnivore
>it advances, hissing
>Anonymous grins, baring his own teeth
>he turns to you, and tosses you the shotgun from the scabbard on his back
>"Get out of here. Get back to the settlement."
>then he turns to face it, machete in one hand, Glock in the other
>his eyes are wild, he's grinning like a maniac
>he raises the pistol and puts four rounds of 9mm hollowpoints into the thing's chest
>shouts a joyful Rebel yell that freezes the blood in your veins and leaps upon it, machete flashing in his hand, as it stumbles
>more of the creatures step out of the brush and advance on him
>he shouts at you over his shoulder
>"Get out of here! What are you waiting for?"

2/4

"I don't know how to drive!"
>"Fuck!"
"You never taught me!"
>you get out of the truck, pick up the shotgun telekinetically, and try to recall what he told you about it
>rack a shell into the chamber
>point it at one of the advancing things
>yank on the trigger, flinching at the deafening BOOM
>your telekinesis isn't as deft or as dextrous as it was, nor as strong
>and it's a human weapon, made for human hands
>which is probably why you miss
>one of them emits an unearthly shriek and turns to face you
>you rack the shotgun again, throwing out the fired casing, loading a fresh shell, and cocking the mechanism
"Get away from him!" you shout, in your most authoritative voice
>they hiss and their heads turn toward you
>he shoots another of them
>one reaches toward him with a clawed forelimb, which he lops off with the machete
>the pack look at one another
>you take this opportunity to point the shotgun carefully at another, lining up the bright orange plastic bead of the front sight with its face and yank the trigger again
>BOOM. This time you hit what you were shooting at.
>it goes down without a twitch, its head and neck perforated with dozens of holes
>the rest break and flee
>you and he get back into the truck
>his forehead is bleeding, and it's running all over his face
"What were you thinking?"
>"I. I wanted to protect you. I lost my wife, I lost my kids, all before the Cataclysm, but I thought--"
"I appreciate the gallant last stand, but I don't know how to drive this thing and you would have left me stranded in a jungle full of hungry--whatever those things are."
>"I think they're called velociraptors."
>in the cramped cab, you manage to put a wing around him
>and speak more softly
"Are you trying to die? Are you trying to impress me with your courage?"
>he looks at you for a long, long time
>"I'm not brave. To be brave you have to be afraid. I haven't had anything to lose for a long time now."
>"Nothing but you."
>you hug him
"Let's just get out of this place."
>"Well, you're the navigator."

3/4

>you look at him as he drives slowly down the jungle trail
"Do you need to talk about it?"
>"It won't bring them back."
"I know. But sometimes it helps. I'm here for you if you need a sympathetic ear."
>he nods
>the jungle begins to thin out and doesn't come right up to the roadside
>"My wife is dead, my kids are dead, my country's dead," he says, without preamble
>"I have nothing left to lose, and maybe I can make a difference."
"I understand that. Is there something else?"
>"And I'm not as young as I used to be.  I'm pushing forty."
>"And maybe sometimes I see situations where it seems rational, to, to--"
"Maybe lay down your own life for some innocent? Some child or foal? And it would be a glorious death in battle, maybe?"
>"Yeah. I've had my shot. I had my chance. And sometimes--"
"When you're alone, a voice comes--not even a voice, an idea, that says that it's better to die fighting, than to get old and become a burden?"
>the truck comes to a stop, and he turns to you
>while you talk, you get out the first aid kit and begin to clean and bandage his wound
"When you live with regret, and you're alone, and regret turns to a kind of numb despair. When you push others away because you can't let anyone get close, that voice comes to you, and when you're alone it's the only thing you can hear, maybe?"
>"How did you know?"
"I'm hundreds of years old. I live with what I’ve done. My own sister went insane, tried to kill me and usurp the throne. I had to put her down. I was barely able to avoid killing her and I hurt her badly enough to render her powerless and mad. I sometimes wonder--"
>and you feel something wet on your cheeks
"And I, I know," you say, your voice cracking, "what it is to live with despair, like ashes in your mouth, every day, to hate yourself for what you've done and to wonder if it's worthwhile to go on."
>he has tears running down his cheeks too
>"I didn't know.  I'm sorry."
"And it's easier when you have a friend."

4/4

"If you push others away--because you can't get attached, because you've seen so much death--"
>he puts his arm around you
"And when everyone depends on you, when you're on a pedestal and everyone has to see you as this perfect fearless god-empress, HAS TO, or else everything will fall apart--"
>"You have to be strong for others, not just yourself."
"And you have to do what the country needs, not what you want. I've started wars, may the Creators forgive me."
"And the people have to see you stand alone, lead alone, and lead from the front. And you're surrounded by cutthroat aristocrats who want the crown for themselves, who constantly probe for any sign of weakness--and sometimes I wanted to throw the damned crown at them, if they wanted it so badly."
"And you can't have confidants, you can't have friends, when everyone bows to you, and you have to be a--an idol, a perfect gleaming marble statue, because the only thing holding it all together is that everyone believes in you."
>he takes your hoof in his hands and bows his head. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine."
"I had some of the most brilliant ponies brought to me, to be my personal pupils. I planned to groom them, maybe to find the one who could rule by my side some day, or even succeed me."
>he nods
"And even they, even they, saw the crown and the marble statue and not the mare. Every single one."
"The last time I took a lover was before you were born. It's been thirty years since the last time I got drunk. Goddesses don't eat or drink, you know, or fuck, or fart. We're marble, not flesh and blood."
"And sometimes everything you have isn't good enough, and everything falls apart anyway, and innocents die in unimaginable numbers because you weren't strong enough."
"So, yes, I am well acquainted with sorrow. And I know that having a friend eases that burden."
"I want to be more than a business partner. Can we be friends?"
>he nods, and embraces you, as well as he can in the cab of a truck
>"So," he says. "North.  Right, friend?"
"Right."

-----

Another thrilling tale of Anonymous and Celestia in the Madlands.

1/8

>you are Celestia
>in the months since the magical Cataclysm that fused Earth and Equestria, you've been riding shotgun with a human named Anonymous
>sometimes literally
>the slowly growing settlement of New Manehattan has many hungry humans and ponies, as well as griffons, minotaurs, dragons, and others
>scout teams like yours go out into a churning world that's still twisting and stretching in response to your last spell, that almost killed you
>a few really powerful and skilled unicorns, such as yourself, can navigate the shifting, twisting maze
>you find bits and pieces of both worlds for salvage, and possibly others
>an abandoned supermarket or food warehouse can feed New Manehattan for weeks
>high-tech loot has given the growing settlement the Internet, or at least a town-sized LAN and fair Wi-Fi coverage
>a town militia armed with hunting rifles from a dozen looted Wal-Marts is mostly capable of fighting off the smaller raider bands that probe the defenses, at least so far
>the militia is mostly human
>Anonymous jokes that his kind's opposable thumbs and monkey rage add up to an aptitude for warfare
>he may be right
>he's a perfect example
>by pony standards there is something very wrong with him, psychologically speaking
>but he's kept you safe all these months, at great risk to himself
>he sometimes laughs about an old human film called "The Road Warrior"
>you haven't seen it
>but he says you're better looking than the dog and slightly more useful
>he has a dark sense of humor which you have come to appreciate
>even as you realize that it's a coping mechanism being used by someone who saw the end of his world
>but enough woolgathering
>you have for weeks sensed that something important is ahead
>you and he are determined to find it and bring it back to New Manehattan, or at least a map to it

2/8

>so you and he are riding in the battered old diesel truck down a road that shifts from paved to gravel every few hundred meters
>stretches of steaming jungle cut off with a razor-sharp border and turn into wheat fields or decaying urban buildings
>he's slowing down, cautiously approaching a low ridge up ahead
>pulls over it and--
>"The hell?"
>his first words in hours
>you are equally puzzled
>he gives a quick glance over his shoulder, throws the truck into reverse, pulls off the road into the brush
>you know what you both saw
>for the first time since the Cataclysm, a series of buildings that doesn't look abandoned
>there was even a large sign you didn't quite have time to read
"Don't you want to pull up and ask?  I know you're curious."
>his response is a taut smile that doesn't reach his eyes
>"These days I never assume I'm not going to have to fight my way back out, when I go somewhere."
>he shrugs out of the leather jacket he wears while driving
>digs around in the back
>pulls out his "stalker suit"
>a long-sleeved hooded smock that nearly reaches his knees, with lots of pockets
>it is memorably ugly, you think, but the camouflage pattern printed on the cloth sort of mitigates it
"Is this really necessary?"
>"Why, yes, I am aware I'm paranoid."
>he smudges his face with soot, then gets out a big square of dull greenish cloth and wraps it around his head as a sort of makeshift hood, with just his eyes showing
>cuts and attaches bits of foliage to the smock
>he even puts on dull dark gloves
>and looks over the implements in the big toolbox behind the cab
>and selects a big knife in a sheath, and a pair of binoculars, and straps both on
"No gun?"
>"They make noise and draw attention. Wait here. I'm going to have a look around and find out exactly what we're dealing with here."
>and creeps slowly up to the crest of the hill
>he stares several minutes, then crawls slowly back down
>"I'm going to have a look from a few different angles.  This may take a bit."

3/8

>and with that he creeps off into the brush
>you watch him go
>you stretch your back and wings in the cool breeze
>it's good to be out of the truck for a while
>you feel a bit hungry and graze a bit, but the grass is dry, tough, and bitter
>you don't think it's rained in a while around here
>you look around and see scrawny-looking acacia and what you think might be wild pecan trees
>mmm, pecans
>none ripe now, though
>a pity
>you look up
>there are birds high up, barely visible as tiny dots against a brilliant blue sky
>you consider flying up to have a closer look
>but the people in those buildings would surely see you
>Anonymous would recommend against it
>you don't like having to skulk
>but you suppose you know nothing about that place, its purpose, or the people and vehicles around it
>and it wouldn't be the first time strangers had tried to kill you on sight
>it wouldn't even be the first time this week
>an hour or so passes
>you hear birds you can't identify in the distance
>you pull a gallon jug of water out of one of the crates in the trunk and are having a drink when you hear a muffled sound of movement in the brush nearby
>you immediately take up a defensive stance and point your horn in the direction of the noise
>"It's just me, Celly."
"It sounded like something trying to sneak up on me."
>"Being sneaky tends to sound like that."
"What did you find out, anyway?"
>"It looks like a truck stop, complete with a restaurant and motel--and power lines that go down another highway."
"We've seen things like that before."
>"This one's full of people and appears to be open for business."
"That doesn't make sense.  Are they getting regular deliveries of food, or something?  Do they have electricity?  If they do, where's it coming from?"
>"I have no idea, but we might as well walk down and ask if they take pre-Cataclysm American paper money."
"Just a moment."
>"What?"
>with your telekinesis you pull off the hood, wet it, and wipe his face
>"Yes, Mom."

4/8

>be Anonymous
>be on the road to Armageddon with the technicolor lady horse with the horn and pretty wings
>she's a good traveling companion
>you get along pretty well, considering that you're different species
>you just found a place where several roads meet, with a truck stop in a low basin about half a mile across
>you pull the truck up and park between a tractor-trailer rig and some kind of armored hovercraft
>the sign above the restaurant portion says "Hannah Miller's" with a cute winking waitress drawn like an animoo character
>you're pretty sure it ought to say "Anna Miller's"
>but until not so long ago you were also sure horses couldn't talk and there was no such thing as magic
>you've got on your dirty leather jacket
>you're armed, but your weapons are out of sight for now
>you and Celly the Wonder Horse walk up to what appears to be the front entrance
>a woman in a waitress uniform comes out and scowls at you
>"You can't bring pets into this restaurant."
>without missing a beat Celly says "No? Then at least can I have a banana for my pet monkey here?"
>the waitress boggles and points
>"She talks!"
"Of course she talks. She's a woman. She never shuts up."
>which earns you dirty looks from both Celly and the waitress
>after a long pause the waitress drawls out "So, how long have you two been married?"
"We're engaged. My parents won't let me marry her until she converts to Catholicism, though."
>"Can I give up giving up stuff for Lent, for Lent?"
"See? Progress."
>the waitress smirks
"So, do you take pre-Cataclysm American paper money?"
>she looks you up and down. "Let's see it."
>you pull out your wallet and peel off some twenties and hundreds for her
>"Jackson and Franklin? Hmm. Yeah, sure.  I'm sure one of our suppliers will take them."
"Great!"
>you hook your thumb over your shoulder at your equine companion
"Do you have a vegetarian menu?"

5/8

>you and Celestia walk into the dimly lit restaurant
>they rearrange a few tables so that you end up in a chair, sitting beside her as she sits on the floor, reading the menu
>"Can we afford these prices?"
"I don't see why not."
>she orders six appetizer salads in a big bowl and seems to be gleeful at a meal that isn't hardtack or whatever vegetation is growing beside the road
>you decide to order a salad yourself, and then a fish and chips platter
>you haven't had fried fish since before the world ended, and you know she gets uncomfortable when she sees you eating meat
>Celly's eating shrimp cocktail from a big steel kettle
>you suppose she must be hungry
>you sip your coffee
>she's about halfway through a gallon-sized box of white wine, which doesn't seem terribly excessive given that she is more or less an actual horse
>this was a good meal
>she's dabbing at her lips with a linen napkin and looks more content than you've seen her in weeks
>and then it happens
>a waitress comes over with a dessert menu
>Celly looks over your shoulder and her eyes widen
>she looks at the menu and her ears just about touch above her head
>she makes the most adorable little squeal of happiness
>you never had much of a sweet tooth
>your late wife did, and that's one of the things about Celestia that reminds you of her
>half an hour later you're still nibbling slowly at a slice of rich pecan pie
>Celly is eating what the menu describes as a freshly baked vanilla pound cake with buttercream icing and a layer of vanilla custard filling between the cake layers
>a whole one, it must weigh three or four pounds
>she offered you a slice and it's dense and sweet
>you eat it slowly, savoring it
>she, on the other hand, has frosting on her cheeks and on the tip of her delicate little nose
>you don't often see her looking this happy
>you like seeing her happy
"So, is this the big thing you were hoping for?"
>"It'll do."

6/8

>she puts the last slice of the cake in a take-home box, and gets another gallon wine box
>you leave a $100 tip, because why not? You had a coffee can full of paper money in the truck, and you hadn't found another place yet that even took paper money in trade.
>"So, do you think we could get a room?"
"Why?"
>"We've been on the road for weeks, and they have running water here.  And beds."
>you ponder this
"Your idea has merit."
>she walks with you into the motel lobby
>this time when the attendant says animals aren't allowed, Celly says you're her seeing-eye human
>you love this horse
>you pay for the room and accompany her inside
>she nimbly lunges through the bathroom door
>you know, daintily
>like a the four-legged fairy princess she is
>drops her saddle blanket on the floor and steps into the shower
>"Come on in," she says
>"The water's fine!"
"Madam, are you trying to seduce me?"
>"Don't be like that. I need you to wash my back and help me preen."
"Now, Celly, you've been drinking."
>"I'll wash your back too."
>oh, what the hell, you were paying for it
>you strip off your filthy clothes and join her
>and wash off the accumulated grime of a month on the road
>you help towel her off and help her straighten her feathers
>you stand back to admire your handiwork
>she cleans up pretty nicely
>"There's just one last thing I want to do tonight."
"Oh?"
>"Remember that 'medical dispensary' from last month?"
"Yeah. Oh. Are you sure about this?"
>"If I can't get laid, at least I want to get hobbled. It's been thirty years since the last time for me."
"Hobbled?"
>"Poggled. Banjanxed. I want to 'visit the King of Prance.'"
"I suppose that stuff will do it, but I haven't any idea how much you should, uh."
>there's a sign on the wall, NO SMOKING
>"I'm a big girl. You don't have to worry about me."
"This is a non-smoking room."

7/8

>"Then I'll eat it with cake and wine. I'm a gluttonous sinful fiend and full of vice, I am."
>you dress and go out to the truck with her and retrieve from the toolbox a single pill-bottle containing seven grams of "medical herb"
"Are you sure about this? Really, really sure?"
>she pauses for several seconds, looking at you with an expression you can't quite parse
>and nuzzles you gently under the ear
"Making it so obvious that you care about a girl may turn her head, you know."
>you nod slowly, stroking her soft mane
>"It'll be okay. It's been a while. But I need this, one night off from the road, one night not being on duty. I can handle it. Don't worry."
>and she eats it all, with the last slice of cake and a gallon of sweet white wine
>an hour later she is supine on the bed, wearing the lampshade, and staring at her own hooves
>"My hands are missing!"
"You're a horse. You don't have hands."
>she giggles
"Are you 'poggled' yet?"
>she giggles
>you suppose she probably is
"Do you mind if I lie down beside you and get some sleep? It's been a long day."
>"You should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a poor innocent girl like me."
"If it bothers you I'll sleep on the floor."
>she smiles and makes a come-hither gesture with one wing
>you close the curtains, undress, and join her on the bed
>"You're such a good friend," she says, her speech faintly slurred
>she covers you with her wing, and nuzzles you
"You're the best traveling companion I could ask for."
>"If I were going to take a lover, I think it'd be you."
"I don't recall offering." But you smile at her and try to nuzzle her neck as well as you can without a muzzle
>the next morning you are grateful she's not hung over, though the conversation is still awkward
"Is this what we've been looking for?"
>"I don't see why not."
"A place to trade?"
>"A place to do business, sure."

8/8

"With whom?"
>"You've noticed these trucks with food and other goods. This must mean some areas are still producing them. That means farms and factories still working."
"So if we could get the representatives here, maybe-"
>"Exactly. New Manehattan has factories of its own that could produce goods they could trade for food. When winter comes we'll need it."
"Where are these other vehicles coming from, anyway?"
>"Alternate timelines, maybe. Maybe I fused more than just two worlds together. What's important is that it gives your people and mine a better chance than we had before."
"I suppose you're right."
>"This could be enormous. It's something worth celebrating."
"Isn't that what you did last night?"
>"Don't be a party pooper."
"I'm just asking a question."
>"You're never just asking. You imply things."
"Just what is it you're trying to say?"
>she makes air quotes with her hooves
>"You're implying again!"
"What am I implying?"
>"You're implying implications!"
>you love this horse