Fallout: Equestria - The Hooves of Fate

by Sprocket Doggingsworth

The Tunnel Whisperer

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN - THE TUNNEL WHISPERER
"The past is not dead, it is living in us, and will be alive in the future which we are now helping to make." - William Morris

Misty wasted no time in leading the way. He slithered right into that crawl space, took the light-orb with him, and the whole world went dark for the rest of us.

Bananas Foster patted my back reassure-istically as I ogled the glowing hole-in-the-wall. It led to a burrow that ought not to have been there - one that no sane urban designer (or sewerologist or whatever the fuck they're called) would have built.

It was tighter than usual too. Tunneleyer.
Not a casual walkway at all.

“Stupid tunnel,” I said. ”Getting tunnelyer.”

The light from the hole faded - diffused to an uneven flicker - as Misty disappeared. Deeper and deeper inside.

Soon, those of us left behind were scarcely more than disembodied eyes floating on the black. Cliff drew closer. He didn't utter a single word, but his peepers managed to say quite a lot (if you’re fluent in Cliff Diver’s dialect of eyeball-talk).

They shot back and forth. Worried. Confused. When they looked my way, those eyeballs were all soft and concernitty. Like Cliff wanted to offer me condolences on the deaths of everypony I'd ever met. When they shifted towards Foster, they were like arrows made out of a whole bunch of question marks.

"Jeez," I said. "I'm fine."

“I know," he said solemnly. “I'll go into the hole next. That'll, uh…give you a moment."

His eyeballs spun towards Foster. "Hay, do you feel up to covering the rear?” Cliff didn't look at me directly. But his message was clear. I needed to be watched. Herded. Protected. Like I was some kind of brittle old treasure map made out of crumbling paper.

Just ‘cause I’d fallen in love! And had my heart ripped out by Fate. And gotten my soul hugged by Bananas Foster's insect-brain.

…Just ‘cause Scribbles was probably on the surface already. Lying her tail off to the Safety kids…or at least looking for them by now. And I was liable to be distractified - wondering what she was doing. What she was thinking. What she was feeling.

“Yes,” said Foster. “I’ll manage.”

“I'm fine!” I said.

“I know.” Cliff summoned his courage, puffed out his chest, and made to climb into the crawl space. Just to buy me some time before I'd have to.

But before Cliff could even stick his head in, Misty popped out of it all over again.

"Ahh!" said Cliff as the light-orb blasted him right in his face.

"Pfft," Misty snorted.

I braced myself for a lecture. On how we’d lost too much time. How we all needed to get it together. How the ponies in Old Country could maneuver their way through labyrinthine sewers twenty times faster than we could.

But Misty froze when his eyes met mine. He saw through me. No concernittyness. Nor soft and tender pity for the fate of my love life. Just a gravity of sorts.

All of the impatience simply…fell from his face. Like a sack full of bowling balls that had been filled with cement and nails and elephants and stuff.

“Rose,” said Misty. “I need you up front. Cliff Diver,” he added. “You take the back.”

“But we were gonna have a Rose sandwich,” Cliff protested.

“Height order,” Misty commanded. “In case parts of the tunnel get narrow, larger pony cannot be in front and block thelight.”

Cliff shrunk back. Lowered his head and bunched his shoulders.

Misty Mountain returned his oddly patient eyeballs to me. “Come on,” he said. And held out his hoof.

* * *

Once inside, the crawlspace was somewhat more spacious than I'd expected. Somewhat. It may have been narrow, but there were fewer fallen bricks to trip on; less rubble everywhere. But it still wound around all over the place. Like it had been built around existing infrastructure.

“Thees part was built around existing infrastructure,” said Misty. He pointed to the sloping wall beside us. It changed shape - gradual-like - as we made our way up the sharply-winding path.

The orb hovered somewhere up ahead - enough to light the way without blinding our eyes. “We are headed for steam tunnel,” Misty added. “Making like central heat duct for to warm the entire theme park above. These crawlspaces were clever improvisations by sewer worker ponies. Making bridge between the two systems - steam and sewer. Thees crawlspace…” he gestured his head at our surroundings. Ancient bricks, and rusted metal archways. “...Did not exist in my time.”

“So…how can you find your way around with all the new…stuff…down here?” I asked.

“I know the Fillydelphia sewer - even if blindfolded,” boasted Misty. “Literally! My sister and I practiced together with scarves tied around our faces. She predicted StableTec before it happened, and she knew that there was no way that ponies like us would ever get inside.”

“Ponies like you?”

Misty paused to catch up as the path widened a bit. Once he was walking by my side, he turned to me and shrugged. “Miners," he said. "Workers. Ponies who get too many Disharmony Points on the job.”

“Disharmony…points?”

“You know,” said Misty. “Too sick to work. Late because local bombing. The usual excuse-making.”

I heard the apocalypse screams again. Just for a moment. That sound - like a nail against a chalkboard, scratching away at the inside of my ears as millions of ponies died horribly. It was the fate that awaited us all. “So Fillydelphia was gonna lock you out on the surface, and doom you all to–;”

“Yes, yes,” said Misty. “War is terrible. But anyway, there ees more important stuff! What matters ees that I learned the principles of tunnel-spelunking because of the practice that my sister made me do.

‘After that, everythingk ees simple! Just a matter of understandingk subterranean engineering. Steam tunnels. Coal mines. Fillydelphia grew very quickly once the war effort started - much construction under the ground! And all on top of old sewers, old subways, and long-abandoned water-treatment plants.

‘When I see a new hatch?" Misty boasted. "I make good guess where it goes because I know reasons why it might be there. You could say that I am Whisperer of Tunnels. Very very good. Twenty times better at whispering to tunnels than you!” Misty gave a hardy nod.

We navigated the next zag in silence. Hoof clopping filled the air. And the walls echoed with it. Along with the faint murmurs of Foster and Cliff Diver following close behind.

But a darkness fell over Misty. His hooves began to drag - just a little. Then the walls narrowed, and we slipped into single file formation. Me at the lead. Just for a minute or two.

I felt like I should say something. About - you know - having relatives who do shit that seems crazy. Like practicing sewer living, or amassing a library of doomsday scribblings in some forelorn cabin. But I never got the chance to speak up.

“It should have been me," Misty said softly. "Back in the mines...You should not have had to do that all alone.”

In the quietude that followed, the sound of own hooves filled the stale tunnel air.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

My mind reached back to the tunnels of Trottica. How my own hooves had scrambled as I ran from machine to machine, listening for Strawberry Lemonade’s voice to guide me through the labyrinth while the slave mine-o’s amassed, and revolted, and stampeded for their own freedom.

Strawberry. The technology wizard. Strawberry, our guardian. Strawberry, the hero.

For the first time, I stopped to consider what Misty had been doing that whole time. The mine schematics probably didn't have insurrection instructions codified into them. Or maps that were easy-to-make-sense-of, no matter how good Strawberry Lemonade was with technology.

I could see Trottica Misty now, (draped in The Priestess’ ridiculous jewelry), pouring over logs and charts and blueprints and stuff while Strawberry worked her tech magic.

Trottica Misty was diligent. Frustrated. Powerless. He knew in his dumb, foolish heart that my chances of subterranean survival were one-twentieth that of his.

That it should have been him down there.

“I wasn't all alone,” I replied at last. “I had you.”

“And Strawberry,” he said softly.

“Yeah, and Strawberry, of course,” I said. “But you shouldn't–;”

“And Twink,” he whispered.

Clup-cloppa-clop-clunkuppa-cloppity-clippity-cloppa-ktunk-appa-clop. All sixteen of our hooves proceeded. Down a tunnel as stifling as the mines.

Piercing through the echoes and the dinn, I could hear Twinkle Eyes’ laughter again - those bright joyous cackles that erupted from her chest as she stuck her head out of the careening escape truck and blasted dozens of cloak-o’s to smithereens.

I could feel her touch. How she pet my mane through the bars of our cages.

How she leapt up and held me tight when I first burst out of the mine tunnel. How Misty grabbed us both and hugged us half to death.

How Twink later begged me to hold her as she lay dying in my lap. How she pleaded with me to stay.

The tunnel started to slope upwards, and curve sideways. Its support beams cast longer and harsher ceiling-shadows as the orb wove its way up the path ahead of us.

“Twinkle Eyes never knew,” said Misty solemnly.

“What?”

“That you…disappear from truck,” answered Misty.

“How? I–;”

“Ponies see what they expect to see,” he said. “Some theengs - well…the universe does not want them to know - like how often our names make mirror of our cutie marks. Or when ponies disappear out of time and space.

‘In Trottica, when you make vanish into the air.” Misty gesticulated a poof motion, like a stage magician blowing into his empty hoof. “I caught Twinkle Eyes’ head. She was confused. So I held on to her. I held on to the world. To the emu. To Time.

‘I've been ripped through emuverse often enough to know that tug just before it tears you away. So I held on. Just for a moment. As Twinkle looked to the roof of the truck.

‘Do you know the last thing Twink said? No, of course you don't. The last thing she said was, ‘You made it, Rose.’ And her cheeks made a faint - very faint smile.” Misty held a hoof up in a teeny tiny pinching gesture. To show how faint that smile had been. “Twink kept looking to the ceiling. To the sky. Even after the light behind her eyes was gone.

‘You should be aware of that. Twink never knew you disappeared. Never. She did not know.”

My heart stood still. Twink hadn't died wondering where I’d gone - why I’d gone. She hadn't spent her last moments lost and alone and abandoned and afraid.

I spun around and threw my forelegs around Misty’s neck. And held him tight. “I wasted a lot of tea,” I murmured into his coat. And started laughing. Then blubbering. “Fuck, that was dumb,” I snorted.

Misty clutched my head with his forehoof.

“Yes,” he replied gently. Without having the first clue what the Hell I was talking about. “Yes, it was.”

Author's Note:

PATREON

If this story, or my Heart Full of Pony essays have touched you, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

For those of you who already are pledging, seriously, and for real, thank you. Your support means a great deal to me. /]*[\

SPECIAL THANKS: As always, I would like to thank Seraphem for his tireless assistance providing feedback during the editing process, and Kkat for writing the original Fallout: Equestria story that inspired me to write Hooves of Fate in the first place.

THOUGHTS:

Another chapter that's really really really really really really really really really, really, really really short.

I'm enjoying writing these character-oriented snip-its, I'm enjoying learning more and more and more about Misty as he lets himself be known. His general gestalt was always a conglomeration of several Eastern European old men that I have known throughout my life, but what he's got going on under the surface is a whole other universe entirely. I love watching it come to the surface in these tiny moments when he lets himself be seen.

I hope you enjoy it too.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

DEDICATION;
Happy Summer Sun Celebration!

Comments

[Fiaura]

welcome to the club.
Major Side Stories

[Sprocket Doggingsworth]

11932769
Thanks!

[MasterNotWriter6626]

No way Misty's lying about Twinkle is there? He's the kind of guy who could.