>The fear filled patrons jump in their seat, as a loud slam shakes the foundations of the saloon.
>You turn to the swinging doors, knuckles white from anger.
>“...‘Non, let ‘em go.” A white stationed pony commands in an uncharacteristic even tone.
>Looks like someone finally grew some balls and wants to try playing hero in this backwards town.
>Snorting in anger, you drop the bartender in a puddle of his own urine.
>Seems he brought two of his deputies with him.
>The bar goes silent as you size each other up.
>You decide to break the silence. 
“Sheriff, glad you finally showed up. Here I thought you skipped town.”
>He whinnies in surprise as you approach too quickly for him keep his facade.
“If only you came around sooner. This-” You gestured sharply to your empty shelves. “Wouldn’t of happened. When are you going to do your fucking job?”
>Cursing is offensive to these ponies, but it’s hard to mind when all the ponies around you are incompetent.
>Luckily he seems too shaken to even reach for his cuffs.
>You point an accusatory finger at him, which makes him pin his ears back further. 
“This is the third shipment of salt blocks this month.”
>”‘Non. We don’t have enough ponies ‘round here to deal with those no good bandits.”
>”Yeah,” his deputy lackey adds. “Everytime we prepare some pies, they seem to know not ta come.”


>You don’t even want to get into why pies are relevant.
>Mostly because you’re sick of eating cheap apple pies.
”Almost as if you have an insider, getting a cut, ehh?” you snap.
>The trio seems to cower at that, turning to each other with looks of doubt.
>”Ohh, he’s good. Hadn’t thought of that,” the other deputies adds.
”If I can’t trust you to make sure your own fucking department is clean, I’ll protect my own damned shipments,“ you snarl.
>You get some murmurs of approval within the crowd or patrons.
>A particular patron comes up to you to whistle and holler in your favor.
>You turn to him with a smile.
“Sit down, and I want to see that last tab paid, Braeburn.”
>He ducks into a low stance. “O-of course, Mister Anon. That’s why I’m here.”
>You turn your gaze back to the sheriff, and go back to your scowl.
>”Now see here,  ’Non. You going to be reasonable? I-I don’t wanna have ta take you in.” The sheriff forces out. 
Your grimace, slowly shifts into another grine.
>One that instills fear in the horse. 
”Alright. I suppose I’ve been a bit rude.” You hoist him up and rip the badge off of his vest. “How’s this for reasonable, I’ll be the town's substitute sheriff for the day, and you go fix your little loyalty problem.”


>His little hooves kick in the air as he flails around. So much so, that he gets a bit of dust on you. “P-please don’t drop me, ‘Non. I’m sorry.”
>With another snort, you set him down, and dust off your good shirt, before taking his hat too for good measure.
“Well, go on. Shoo little horses.”
>He doesn’t make you repeat yourself, scurrying out with his two deputies. 
”Smokey, you’re in charge while I’m gone,” you say, fashioning the pin on your belt.
>You hear a small, “Yes!” coming from the bar maiden.
“Spitshine?”
>”Y-yes Mister Anonymous?” the bartender sniffles
>Darn, Maybe you took it too far this time.
”What did we learn?”
>”...Call you down when some mean ponies try to steal the shipment.”
>More like call you when anything happens, but a man can’t be too picky in a land of childish horses.
>”Good boy,” You praise, giving his mane a quick ruffle.
>He gives you a little whicker, and kicks his leg a little at the attention. 
”Go get yourself cleaned up. While you’re at it I want to see myself on these floors when I come back.”
>His bright smile quickly falls. “Yessir...”
>...

_______________________________________________________


”...Also remember that my barrel of whiskey needs to be tucked in. She likes depressing bedtime stories. Helps if you drink a little first… or a lot”
>Smokey scrunches her muzzle. “I can’t even stand the smell of the room barrel sits in, Sir, more the less drink it.”
”Heh, it’s optional.”
>”Any particular stories she likes, sir?”
>You stop to think. 
”The one where the alien loses all of his family and gets flung into fuckall nowhere should do it.”
>The mare winces, but nothing more than that.
>Your two loyal workers are used to your foul language by now, at least mostly. 
>“Sir? Is there-“
”And if I’m not home before closing time remember to lock everything up.” You interrupt.
>Most ponies don’t lock their doors and valuables up. 
>It always seemed pretty dumb to you, what with the bandits going around.
>She sighs, and gives you a curt nod. 
>“Are you sure you should be going out there, without any backup or supplies? There’s some clay pots for holding water in the back. Also, I have my grandfathers tin. It hold 6 rounds of cupcakes. I could-”
>The thought of more sweets makes you dry heave.
>You shake the thought of sweets out of your head and look down at the mare.
>”Look, I appreciate it and all. But all I really need's directions. I’m going to do this the civilised pony way. Talk to them, and have an understanding. Going on some grand adventure is way out of the question.”