Suitaloo

"If you wish." Malt said, chugging half the bottle. "It's a bit warm, but it's better than nothing. He'd probably need something stronger than beer though, like vodka or whiskey to numb the pain enough. Then again, the beer will probably numb it enough so that it's still there, and the psychological trauma will remain no matter what. So fuck it, grab him a beer."

"Yes. Amputation was the only way to save him from bleeding out. At least with the tools we have on hand." Malt replied. "You feeling any better yourself? I put some healing powder in your wound, bandaged it, and gave you a shot of med-x for the pain. Turns out there was some in the boxes downstairs."

"We should probably search for some medicine in the crates." Malt turned to a pile of 3 boxes, one stacked on top of the other two. In the topmost box was a meat cleaver and a few caps. Malt pocketed the cleaver and caps, the cleaver would certainly come in handy for his purposes. In the left side box he found an empty syringe and some toy rockets. He took the syringe in case he found some wild broc flowers or xander root later. In the right-side box he found a box of 8 .357 revolver rounds and some duct tape. He took the rounds for Quick Strike and the tape for whatever it would be necessary for in the future. Turning around he saw some boxes with red crosses sloppily painted on them. Searching through one he found some healing powder, some bandages, and a single syringe of Med-X. "Here we go. This should help out Star here." Malt took the powder, bandages, and med-x and walked over to Star, administering the healing powder to the gash in his head, then bandaging it up. He then took one of the bottles of booze that Strike had left behind, poured a bit on the syringe of Med-X, and injected it in to Star's left foreleg. "There, once he wakes up, he should be feeling a bit better, but until then, we may as well wait. Re, you continue searching down here and keep an eye on Star in case he wakes up, I'm going to go check on our friend upstairs, make sure he's still alive." Items added: Meat Cleaver Empty Syringe 14 caps Duct Tape 8 x .357 rounds

"Star grabbed some of Soprano's notes or whatever and he just flipped out and Star got bricked in the head." Malt said. "It doesn't look like too serious of an injury, but it's bleeding, so it still needs to be bandaged up and sterilized. He won't be in any condition to fight, unless we can find him a medic or some stims at the very least."

"Son of a bitch..." Malt swore. "I'm a survivalist, not a doctor, dammit!" He looked around for anything that could serve as a bandage, hoping to find any kind of cloth. "Strike, I hope you still have some alcohol left. I don't think Star here wants an infection happening so close to his brain."

"I found out he was part of the reason this town is the way it is now." Malt said. "I was born and raised here, and now it's all gone, never to be remembered. And that was just a start of what will happen when we find the leader of the Gold Stars." He continued, checking around for more boxes.

"On it." Malt said, checking a nearby closed crate. "Hey, would anypony happen to have a crowbar I can borrow? This crate is sealed tight." He mentioned. "Oh by the way, here's your knife back Star. Might want to sharpen it a bit when you get the chance, cutting through bone isn't easy when you lack a serrated edge."

"Wonderful." Malt said, smiling slightly. "Now, in order to properly treat this, I'll need that vault jumpsuit, I hope you don't mind putting it back in your mouth, because it's either biting on that, your tongue, or breaking your teeth." He said as he stuffed the jumpsuit in the stallion's muzzle. Taking the gecko-hide blanket, he tore a strip of it off and tied it tight around the stallion's foreleg, close to the shoulder, creating a make-shift tourniquet. "You see, at this point, the only way to properly treat it is amputation, and I'm afraid we don't have any Med-X to spare, so you'll have to ignore the pain. Please try to hold still, or it'll only make it worse." Malt stated as he began cutting the limb. The Kabar knife was sharp, but it wasn't serrated, so cutting through the bone took time. After about a minute of attempting to cut through the bone, he decided it would be more expedient to break it, after pouring a bit of alcohol in to the wound to sterilize it. After breaking the bone, he finished cutting the flesh and remove the foreleg, untying it from the chair and discarding it, leaving the tourniquet around the stallion's arm to stop the bleeding, soaking the remaining gecko-hide blanket and putting it up to the fresh stump and slipping it under the tourniquet so it would stay. "Now, was that so bad?" Malt asked, smiling and patting his hoof on the Stallion's cheek. "Oh, by the way, I'm a former resident of this area. Just thought you might like to know that." Malt got up and turned away from the crying heap of what was once a stallion and headed downstairs, following Star Gaze's path. "I'm done with him. He should be fine, as long as he doesn't over-exert himself. The Gold Stars in the cavern are likely to have varmit rifles, 9mm pistols, and blunt weapons. The one I'm looking for will have a scar under his eye, a tooth sharpened to a fang on the left side of his face, and is a pegasus that isn't that great at flying. For now." Malt relayed.

"Thank you." Malt put the bottle and blanket aside. "Unfortunately, our friend here is going to keep it, considering what it's being used for, unless you happen to have a signal flare or something similarly hot on hand like a welder or even a flamer." He took a swig of the alcohol, pouring a bit of it in the wound, just to sting it.

"No thank you Strike, however, if you do still have any alcohol remaining, I'd like you to save at least one bottle in case he starts talking before he bleeds out." Malt said, piercing the skin and slowly cutting open the vein, drawing vertically, so the blood would flow freely. "Are you ready to talk? The clock is ticking." He said, turning back to Strike. "You wouldn't also happen to have any kind of rope or fabric would you? I'll need it in order to fulfill my promise that I would treat him if he starts talking."

"Not sure." Malt replied. He turned back to face the bound stallion. "Are there any other defining features? Anything else we should know? I'd like to have a little chat with him myself." Malt used his magic to open Star's saddlebags and grab his Kabar knife. He gently ran the blade along a major vein on the stallion's left foreleg, completely straight-faced. "You better speak quickly, I can fix you up, but if you don't hurry, and stay calm, you'll bleed out in about 15 minutes." He warned.

Malt stood up and grabbed a chair, sliding it in front of the stallion. He gently pushed Star aside and said "I'll handle this." Sitting down directly across from the fearful pony, looking him dead in the eye, he asked in an eerily calm voice "Were you involved in the destruction of Neighton?"

Items taken: 2 Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles (full), Copper Wire. "Alright then, if it's absolutely necessary. I'm going to keep rummaging around, see if I can find anything useful." He said as he walked around the room, looking for anything that seemed worth picking up. Giving up after a short time, he decided to lay down as the torture continued.

"He ain't only leaking information, but blood as well. If you're going to beat him for information, at least make sure it's within an inch of his life. Don't kill him for it." Malt said. "You don't gain anything by killing him, and my offer still stands at getting information from him peacefully, even if you've already done a number on him already." He continued, cracking open the nearby sunset sarsaparilla vending machine to see if there were any drinks in there still.

Malt rolled his eyes and went back in to the main room where the prisoner and Star were still conversing. "Get anything useful out of him yet, mate?" Malt asked, looking through the nearby containers, searching for anything useful. Particularly any kind of ingredients he could scrounge together in to sustenance.

I have to go with Payday 2. There's nothing quite like the feeling of successfully stealthing a bank robbery with four random strangers and getting away with a vault-full of loot. Not to mention the non-standard missions where you could be doing anything from re-enacting Breaking Bad (cooking meth, colored blue no less) to rigging an election for a certain political party.

I kinda sine-wave between a 7 and a 13. It really depends on my mood. The fact that I identify as pansexual doesn't exactly help, mostly because it doesn't really fall so much on a line so much as it would on a plane, because it doesn't discriminate between genders and gender identities, so yeah.

Malt put a hoof on Re's shoulder. "It's alright friend. I think you need some time to rest. You didn't sleep at all last night, and the closest you got to sleep was falling unconscious and being carried by Strike. We might be able to find some food around, I can cook us up something good and filling so we can continue on our journey. And if you ever need somepony to talk to, I'm all ears."

"Well... Shit..." Malt said. "I had no idea. You may want to try to find some kind of mattress and get some sleep while we're here. Although, if we do end up having to interrogate somepony else, let me handle it next time, you won't have to ruin your clothes when you do it."

Malt stayed in the corner of the room. Pulling Re aside in to another room of the same building. "Was that really necessary? I probably could have gotten him to talk without violence. I know how ponies tick like that. You don't work in a profession like a bar tender without picking up a few tricks to get information out of ponies peacefully you know, even if it is with alcohol." He whispered.

"Fuck!" Malt yelled. "Strike! Go for the legs!" He shouted, pulling out his pistol. It was more for the threat than anything, though, as he wouldn't be able to shoot him at all at this distance. Malt chased after the fleeing pony, following closely behind Star, hoping he wouldn't drop the knife. That wouldn't be a very good situation.

"A band of raiders. Don't know who they are, don't really care to know. I just know that if I see them around, well I won't attack them, but they might wind up sick some time later. Poisoned by something in their drinks or food." Malt said. "They certainly won't know what hit them, that's for sure."

Malt followed Star. "As a former resident of Neighton, unless they had prospectors with them, there wouldn't be much point in them staying. There's a reason I'm a former resident, you know." He quipped. "That being said, if prospectors haven't already gotten here yet, we may be able to find some supplies in the general store, assuming the raiders didn't ransack it."