You HATE STABLES. Stupid pre-war fabricated MAZES OF DEATH. All those ponies from before the apocalypse who thought it was a good idea to turn the ONE PLACE that was supposed to be a safe haven from the apocalypse into DERANGED SCIENCE FAIR EXPERIMENTS can go hang. The only place more dangerous than a Stable is Hoofington- and thank the goddesses that you've only had to make a delivery there once.

You don't like talking about The Hoof. No one does.

Though it's not like you have much of a choice. Going out into the wasteland without a weapon is just stupid- and maybe this Stable will have some good salvage. "Alright, I'm in." "That's what I'm talking about!" Cherry says, grinning and floating a varmint rifle over to you, "Here, this should do you nicely- got a hoof trigger, so you don't have to fumble around with a mouth piece in that beak of yours." Ponies certainly have some weird weapon designs. Though not having digits to operate stuff with makes necessity the mother of invention. "Let's rock 'n roll."

I live in my house, my house lives in Hoofington. It's not a bad town, rather quiet compared to Ponyville I hear.