Dusty Trails

(https://youtu.be/1UMNoaefIp4?si=lfcqkJ_Gkgaf5sA_) Inside a dim, dry, dungeon, far below the quiet little town of Appleoosa, a man hangs against the back wall of a stone cell. There is little light to illuminate the cell. Only the residual light from an oil lamp affixed to the wall outside of the cell. A cloud of ancient dust permeates the air, and the man's lungs. Every breath he takes feels like he's sucking in dust directly off of an old piece of furniture. Worse still is the strain of being hung by his arms has put on his lungs. He wheezes, and gasps. Never truly feeling as though he's gotten enough air in a breath, but never passing out from lack of oxygen. He's been given just enough air to stay conscious, but just too little for his brain to believe it's getting enough. The man's eyes slowly shift upwards. He scans the room visually, but his eyes seem to pass over the majority of it. Instead, they come to rest on the lone unicorn sat in an old chair in the corner of the room. His fur is a mute-gray-purple, and his mane is a short, slick, deep purple. Much like those in the Lunars back in Canterlot. He wears a simple black suit with a purple dress shirt underneath, and a black bow tie, alongside a simple black bowler hat with a purple band. Atop his coat rests a badge in the shape of a crescent moon. For the love of the Lone Star. The man cannot recall how long he's been in this cell. It could have been days, or maybe even weeks by now. No. It has to have been less than 3 days. Otherwise he'd have died of dehydration by now. The agent who brought him here hasn't given him so much as a drop of water, or crumb of food since he got here. So it has to have been less than 3 days, right? No. That agent is a unicorn, and he knows magic. Maybe he's been using some sort of spell to keep him alive. Whatever the case, the agent is in the room with him. At first, the man believed the agent was using some sort of illusion to trick him into thinking he was always being watched. Then, the ones he thought were illusions started jamming instruments of torture into him. Now, the man's mind cannot distinguish between the real, illusioned, or imagined. For all it knows, the agent in the corner is real, but it could just as easily just be his eyes playing tricks on it. The man's head falls once more. He's so tired. So very tired. Yet, he simply cannot sleep. His body refuses to shut down for even a few minutes of rest. It knows it is in danger, and is adamant it be awake in case it needs to react. For a few moments though, the man manages to close his eyes, and pretend to rest. This false sense of rest is dashed by the voice of the agent. "Hey. I didn't say yous could go conkin' out on me now." The man then feels a sudden, cold, stabbing pain in his chest. He gasps, and his eyes shoot open. With what little strength he can muster, the man lifts his head. There, he finds the agent entering the cell through the doorway in front of him. His mind never even registers that he'd been sitting in the chair only a second earlier. It's then that the agent grabs the chair, and pulls it up in front of the man. "You know." The agent begins. "The King would do far worse to you than I am pal." He then sits in the chair. "Or, he'd just execute you. No questions asked." The agent shuffles in his seat, then leans forward. "You're a lucky guy, you know that? You happen to have something I want. So, I ain't just gonna kill ya. You know that by now though." The man does not respond. Even in his severe state, he remains defiant. "Hey, listen pal. I ain't askin' foah much here. Alls I need is yer name, and where you were stationed." The man's eyes widen as the agent produces a cup of dirty water, and a slice of moldy bread. In that moment, his body's survival instincts take over. All of his defiance quickly deflates, and the man's voice cracks as it rushes to be heard. "Jack Hammer. Camp. 2 miles south." Then, the man's voice croaks, and gives out on him. He attempts to say more, but the only sound he can produce is a rasping, wheezing, croak. The agent does not respond. He simply tosses the water, and bread to the floor in front of the man. The man's head drops, and he begins to lunge forward with as much strength as his body can muster.  While the man desperately attempts to reach the food, and water on the ground, he hears the agent speak. "Look at you." Then, the sound of stone being placed on stone. "Yoah pathetic. A 'proud outlaw', reduced to a wild animal, desperate for scraps of moldy food." The agent begins to laugh. The sound of moving stones becomes a constant, yet the man's focus remains on the spilled food on the ground. "I can't believe the Dawn Rangers didn't wipe yous guys out when dey had dah chance." At this point, the light which had been illuminating the ground begins to fade, obscuring the bread from view. Finally, the man looks up, and sees a wall of stone being built to block up the entrance to the cell. He cannot see the agent. The man begins to scream. He thrashes with all his might. Chains rattle against stone, and the man's body bumps against the wall behind it. A figure appears within the only remaining space in the wall. Only, when the man looks, he doesn't see the agent. He sees his own face, staring back at him. Then, the face speaks, using the man's voice. "Thanks for the info buddy." The face dips out of view for a moment before coming back into view. "Ain't no cask of Amontillado down here though." The man lets out one last scream, then a stone is slotted into the space, and the man is shrouded in darkness.

With Makabe and his family settled in, it was finally time for Dusty to get back to being a ranger. Well, after he gives his new friend, Dusk Patrolman Misty Steps, a tour of Appaloosa. The two men walk through the small town with the sun high in the sky. Mid-afternoon in Appaloosa could get pretty hot, but none of the townsfolk going about their business seemed to mind. Mist on the other hand, looked as though he might drop dead of heat stroke at any moment. "Told yah. Shouldn't'a put on that coat. Yer sweatin' like a pig!" Dusty gives his new friend a little jab to the arm, accompanied by a lighthearted chuckle. Mist's response is simply to flip Dusty the bird. He doesn't have the energy to actually cuss him out. "C'mon. LEt's get yah somethin' cold tah drink. That'll help yah cool off." This time, the response is an exasperated. "Yeah, sounds good." Just a few steps forward, and the two men turn to enter a small shop tucked away between two larger offices. A bright red sign out front reads "Papa Pops Sodie Shop." When the two enter, a barrage of aromas assaults their noses. Dusty can't quite pick out any particular smell, as they all blend together into one big ball of 'sweet' for him. Mist, however, instantly appears to perk up. "Hey! This is one of dose old timey soda bars! I haven't been to one'a dees since I wuz a kid!"  The inside of the small shop was fairly crowded all things considered. Not with patrons mind you. The inside of the shop was full of decor from the bigger cities up north. A single counter was all that separated the tiny drinking area from the business owner behind it. The entire interior was nothing like it's basic, wooden exterior. The floor was painted to look like shiny, white tile, the walls were a similar design, only painted a pastel blue. Not that you could see much of the wall past all the decor. There were posters, various figures, memorabilia, a neon clock, and even a jukebox. Granted, the jukenbox didn't actually work, but hey, it'd probably earn the owner some noise complaints if it did. Behind the counter stands an aging pegasus in authentic '50's soda clerk' getup. His hair is a slick black, but shows signs of graying. The apron on his front features a similar logo to the one on the sign outside, and features a pocket with a notepad, and pen inside. In front of him sits various machinery that Dusty has never seen anywhere but here. It was nice and all, but what impressed Dusty the most was the refrigerator, and ice maker under the shelves in the back. "Hey there Dusty! New friend of yours?" The older clerk offers a large smile. "Yesssirie. He ain't used tah tha heat, so ah figured this'd be tha best place tah cool down fer a while." Replies the ranger. "Well you were right! What can I do for you fellas today?" Dusty is already pulling bits out of his pouch before he's even answered. "Ah'll have a sarsaparilla." Mist surveys the machinery behind the counter for a moment before he poses a question. "Yous got any Moonfizz here?" The clerks expression changes to one of surprise, then excitement. "Sure do! Not many people down here ask for that! One of my favorites too!" After Dusty places 4 bits down on the counter, the clerk turns to grab 2 glasses off of the counter behind him. He begins to hum a light tune while filling the glasses with a generous amount of ice. He then slides the glasses down the counter in order to squirt a few pumps of syrup into each glass. The clerk gives one of the glasses a little toss, and spin, which he manages to catch without a single thing spilling out. While Dusty watches with interest, Mist rolls his eyes. People down here are impressed with anything, huh? There's a sound from behind the counter, followed by a spoon clanking against glass. Then, two glasses of soda are slid onto the counter in front of Dusty, and Mist. "You boys drink up now! Refills are free!" The two pick up their glasses, and lift them in thanks. Dusty holds out his glass towards Mist, who simply stares at it for a few moments. "What? This ain't no medieval feast. We ain't gotta clink glasses in case there's poison in 'em." Dusty smirks. "C'mon nah. It's custom tah cheers when yah drink with friends down here." Mist scowls, but reluctantly clinks glasses with Dusty. Dusty then lifts his glass high. "Bottom's up!" While Dusty proceeds to chug the contents of his glass, Mist prefers to take a small sip of his. The moment the fizz hits his tongue, images of his childhood flash into his mind. This tasted exactly like how he remembered it. He looks down into the glass, then over to Dusty. Damn, he's almost drank the whole thing already. Ah, fuck it. Mist replicates Dusty, and tips his head back to chug the contents of his drink. A shortened cry from outside nearly causes soda to shoot up into Mist's nose. Before he can even set his drink down, he sees Dusty rush out of the store. Mist manages to set his drink down, and cough a few times before he too exits the store. What he beholds when he exits the store paralyzes Mist temporarily. "Please! I already have you your money!" An earth pony man cries. He's being held aloft by a creature nearly twice his size. The creature holding the man aloft is none other than a dragon. His scales are black. His eyes pierce anything they look at, and sickly green acid can be seen forming in his mouth. He wears an outfit which one would expect from some sort of outlaw. A brown duster covers the dragon's torso, and most of his legs with dark jeans covering his legs. A pair of simple, black boots cover his clawed feet, and a simple, dark brown stetson rests atop his head. In a holster on his side rests a revolver the size of a man's arm. The dragon snarls, spitting acid onto the man's shirt, which eats a small hole into the collar. "You ain't paid the interest, pardner. Ah told you. You got two weeks tah pay up. It's been two weeks. Where's tha rest of our money?" That's gotta be him. The Lone Star himself. The guy who's been causing trouble for the town as of late. Mist begins to draw his handgun. If he can get the jump on him, maybe-. Dusty's arm comes up to block Mist. Mist turns to look to him, but the man's eye stay locked on The Lone Star. When Mist looks to the other townsfolk, he sees that they're all hiding inside the buildings. Besides The Lone Star, and his victim, Dusty and Mist are the only two people brave enough to even be outside. This is bad. "Lone Star!" A voice calls out from nearby. Mist's attention turns to his left. A lone lawman stands in the road, revolver in hand. "Ah'm takin' you in!" Without any words, the Lone Star tosses his victim to the ground, and turns to face the lawman. A shot rings out. One of the Lone Star's scales falls off. Then, quicker than Mist could even process, the Lone Star draws his revolver, and fires. The lawman seems to simply explode into a cloud of pink mist. The bullet that hit him had to have been at least the size of a golf ball, if not bigger. When the mist clears, Mist can see that the lawman is now without a head. It's just... gone. Afterwards, the Lone Star turns back to his victim. "Yah know what? Ah'm feelin' pretty generous tahday. Ah'll give yah one more week tah pay us back. No more interest." What looks like a smile seems to form on the Lone Star's lips as he leans down to look the man in the eyes. "But if yah don't have the money by then..." The Lone Star opens his maw wide, and quickly bites down with an audible snap. He then turns, and heads towards the saloon. The Lone Star never even acknowledges the two lawmen standing in front of the soda shop. The moment the Lone Star's back is turned, Dusty rushes over to his victim. "Elroy! You alright? What in tarnation did you do tah earn the ire of the Lone Star?" "I-I-I Didn't do anything Dusty! Honest! It was my boss! He took a loan from the Lone Star, then left town!" "That lowdown, no good-... C'mon. Let's get yah to the doc. Looks like yah've got some burns." So, that's the Lone Star? Looks like Mist's job is going to be a lot harder than he'd thought.