"Helloooooooo, Wasteland! How's the weather out there? Heh, probably just as overcast as usual, but hey, don't let that getcha down! It's your all-time favorite pone, with a nose for the news and the tunes to shake those blues... and hey, if there's anything worth tellin', you'd better believe that good ol' DJ Pon3 has the latest word on it! And as long as I'm able, there'll be transmissions galore!"
"Now, for all you cats and kittens out there, we've got a lovely little number here from waaaaaaaay back in the day - y'know, when the sun was shining, the grass was green, and folks didn't keep trying to stare each other down over an ancient box of dehydrated apples! And hey, this one goes out to that poor soul wandering the wastes without a friend in the world - might be you, might be someone you know, might be someone you meet tomorrow! Who knows! But still, even if you keep your hoof on your pistol, try to keep an open mind too..."
"After all... the one who doesn't shoot you today... just might save your flank tomorrow!"
Fallout : Equestria Balefire Blues
Tacotue was just another shitty outpost, out in the middle of Bumblefuck, Equestria.
It had its' shitty little ramshackle shacks, its' shitty little shambles-of-a-building that could laughably be called a store, its' shitty little townsfolk and its' shitty little sign that proclaimed the name of this Celestia-forsaken place. The sign had once been something bigger, and the building it was in front of had the word 'cafeteria' on it... but it was the words on the sign, proclaiming 'TACO TUE-', with scorchmarks past the last word, that seemed to make this shitty little place even worth stopping into - they still lit up at night, as if irradiated or something, and could be seen over the flat plains for miles.
Luckily, one of these shitty little shacks was, more or less, a bar. It was counted as such because of the elderly-looking mare behind the counter who apparently had some sort of illicit still hidden somewhere in town; it was warm and it was occasionally slightly irradiated, but there was most certainly alcohol available here. The mare called it 'cider', but it had about as much apple in it as a plasma rifle clip - still, it did the job, and was occasionally somewhat tasty.
Other than that, there wasn't much else to look at. A population of about twenty, a pile of refuse from before the war that smelled like burnt fur and wet feces, and a rusted-out hulk of what was once a train that now made up a semi-wall of almost-protection... and honestly? That was about it.
Out front of the 'cafe' was one of the residents, an Earth Pony named Hot Seat, who had brought out his shitty little transistor radio and parked his flank on the front steps. He'd managed to get his hooves on one of the 'cider' drinks, and was sipping at it while he idly listened to the tinny sound of the music belching from the single working speaker.
It was a dreary day... of course, with the constant cloud cover above, it was always a dreary day.