>The basement underneath Doyle's Barbershop is dimly lit and smells of cheap liquor and even cheaper meat.
>What mellow electric lights there are shine over the dance floor.
>You pluck the strings of your bass and bob your head to the vibrant rhythm.
>Brasco's trumpet blares. The girls on the dance floor bounce and giggle. Their skirts twirl and twist the thick tobacco smoke around the room.
>The clinking of glasses and the sound of drinks sloshing and the raucous din of the ever-jovial crowd echoes from a hundred different establishments littering the city at night.
>Through the noise and the smells and the smoke you close your eyes and add your sound to the rising anthem Chicago's new decade.
>Where the aughts had screamed with horror, the twenties roar even against that damnable Prohibition.
>After your set you find a spot at the bar.
>Doyle heaves his greasy self over to you and grins.
>”That was a good set, Mously. You guys come up with that material yourself?” he asks. Everything that's wrong with the world can be summed up with one whiff of Richie Doyle's breath.
“'Course we did. No point playing if it ain't yours. Even if some other palooka's done it before, you just have to make it yours.”
>Doyle pours out a glass for you.
>”Well ain't you the bees knees? Y'know, if it were up to me, I'd just pay ya in this stuff. Be cheaper than shelling out actual dough to you jazz guys.” He sneers, showing his yellow mossy teeth.
“Good thing it's your boss cuts the checks, then. I'm sure the big cheese wouldn't want his entertainers going hungry, now would he? Now why don't you beat it? I think one of your valued customers needs a top up.”
1/

>Doyle shoots you a caustic glare and heaves off to the other end of the bar. You down the shot of cheap swill he gave you and rest on the counter.
>A different band takes the small stage and launches into a lively swing medley.
>You feel something brush your shoulder and turn.
>A woman meets your gaze as she takes a seat next to you.
>”Good evening,” she says. Her voice as a certain air of class about it.
“Same to you,” you reply.
>”I saw you on stage earlier, didn't I? Playing that bass?” she puts a dainty stem glass on the counter.
“That was me. Mously's the name. Anon Mously. And whose acquaintance do I have the pleasure of making?”
>”Elenor Hayes.” She puts out her hand to shake. You take it, capitalizing on the opportunity to get a good look at the girl.
>She's dolled up for a night on the town. Her blonde hair is bobbed short to hang above her shoulders. A sequined headband sparkles wildly even in the low light. Her ruby red lips keep that same smile she had when she came up to you, contrasting her bright green eyes..
“So what brings a girl like you to a little gin mill like this?” you ask.
>”Oh, my friends dragged me out here. Said it had the best little band south of Sixty Third.”
>You smirk.
“Well, doll, I'm afraid your friends are liars. I just so happen to know that my little band is the best one south of  Forty Seventh, at least.”
>Elenor giggles and swirls her champagne. “Oh, Anon, you slay me.” An idea seems to strike her. 
>”I think I have a proposition for you, Mr. Mously.”
2/

>You raise an eyebrow.
“I'm listening.”
>”Why don't you come up to a party my brother is throwing?” Elenor brushes a lock of hair back behind her ear. “It's up in Rogers Park, right on the coast past the yacht club. You can't possibly miss it.”
“A wealthy persons party? I've never had much course to rub elbows with the rich and famous.”
>”I promise, you'll love it. They are all insufferably boring people and I find it endlessly entertaining to watch them congregate and pretend to be something more than gray,” she says, throwing a glance back at her friends.
“Are you sure it's wise to invite some stranger from a speakeasy along to a party with you?”
>Elenor leans towards you. “Mr. Mously, I believe the simplest remedy to that is for you to become not-a-stranger.”
“That'd be the berries, Ms. Hayes. Why don't we get some air? The night is young.”
>She casts one more glance at her friends, who seem oblivious to your conversation.
>”I'm sure they wouldn't pay it any mind if I left for a bit.”
“Well then, may I?” You extend your hand and get up. Elenor takes it and hops off her bar stool.
>Suddenly, there's a loud banging at the door.
“Sounds like a couple of loose bulls. I know a back way out. We'll be gone before they can flash their badges.”
>”What about your bass?” she asks as you pull her through the crowd towards the back rooms.
“It'll keep. The cops won't confiscate that old thing. They'll hardly even raid the joint, in actuality.”
>”Then why did we leave like this?”
“More exciting.” You open the back door and let the loud sound of the city pour in.
3/

>You get back to your apartment right around three in the morning.
>The window in your small living room provides a view of the street. Cars stream by far below you. Above you, you see dense thunder clouds starting to form. 
>You head to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
>As you dry your face after washing, you look out the window once more. The clouds form a peculiar spiral pattern, though you can't see where the center is. The occasional burst of lightning lights the clouds.
>You watch the clouds move as you find yourself ever sleepier. Eventually you shuffle to your bed and flop down once you change into your bed clothes. You're asleep before you know it.

>A loud crack of thunder wakes you after a half hour of dozing. You shuffle to the window and look up again. The spiraling clouds seem to be picking up speed. 
>Now wide awake, you decide to head to the roof to get a better look at the strange weather.
>On the roof a strong wind blows. You note with surprise that there isn't any rain accompanying the apparent storm.
>You look up at the spiraling clouds and go wide eyed when you realize that the center hangs squarely above your building.
>As you stand there above the city streets watching the storm, you suddenly feel the hairs on your arms start to raise.
>A huge bolt of lightning strikes the roof just next to you, sending you flying into the side of an air vent.
>When you pick yourself up and blink the stars from your eyes, you see, standing in utter bafflement within a scorched circle of your roof, a magenta horse the size of a large dog.
>”H-hello?” it says to you.
>You faint.
4/

>Another crack of thunder brings you back to your senses.
>”Are you okay?” the pony asks.
“I- yeah? What happened?”
>The pony doesn't answer. It's apparently noticed how high up it is and now stares at the street below, looking petrified.
>”Ohhhh, Celestia...where am I?”
“South Side, near Sixty Third Street. How did you even get up here?”
>”Sixty what? Where's that?” it asks, a twinge of panic in its voice.
“...Chicago.”
>”Y-you mean Chicacolt...right?”
>You knot your brow in confusion.
“...No.”
>It finally starts to rain. You look at the creature with scrutiny.
“Curious...” you mutter.
>It seems to hear you. “What?”
“N-uh, nothing. I've just never seen a horse quite like you before.”
>”I'm not a horse,” it answers. “I'm a pony. My name is Berry Punch.”
>Taken aback by the pony's introduction, you reflexively put out a hand.
“Anon Yannis Mously.” You look up at the clouds. “Wh- why don't we continue this inside?”
>The pony looks apprehensive.
“C'mon. I promise it beats standing in the rain.”
>”A-alright.” You lead the pony down two floors to your apartment and show her inside.
>From its voice you assume the pony is female. She seats herself on your couch.
“So--” She cuts you off suddenly.
>”What are you? Why aren't there any ponies around here? What were those metal things in the street down there?”
>You sit in your chair across from the pony and clasp your hands together in thought.
“I- human. I'm a man. I don't see many ponies outside of farms. Those things were automobiles. Do you not have them where you're from?”
>She looks dizzy.
>”I think I need a drink...”
“You're not going to like what I say next, then.”
5/

>The pony's eyes are like saucers. Her jaw hangs open in disbelief.
>”Banned!? Buh- whuh- why!??”she demands. You walk into your kitchenette and feel around inside your cupboards.
“Oh, you know, same old politics. Some old bags in Kansas or Missouri decided it wasn't enough that they were no fun, took it to Capitol Hill. Good on The Phrasemaster to slap that one down, but those rubes passed it anyway.”
>Berry looks both confused and stricken. She balks at you in horrified silence. You keep rooting around in your cabinets until you finally find the string at the back.
“There it is! Hold on.”
>”N-no drinks? But how will I--”
>You yank the string and shove you arm into the hole in your wall behind the secret panel. After reaching around a pipe or two, you pull out with a bottle of crystal clear hooch.
>With a grin you turn around and shake the bottle.
“There she is.” You walk back over to Berry with a couple of glasses. “Fell behind the water pipe. Had to fish her out.”
>The pungent aroma of the moonshine usually floors the uninitiated. Berry, however, gets up and takes a huge sniff from the bottle, eyes lighting up when she recognizes the smell.
>She still has that look of confusion on her face, though, and stares at you.
>”I thought you said it was banned?”
“I did. I didn't say it was gone, though. Hell, I work in a juice joint most nights.”
>Berry takes the bottle from you and takes a swig. A look of calm washes over her and she seems to become far more at ease. 
“Just save some for me. That stuff wasn't easy to get, you know,” you chide.
6/

>You take your seat again and Berry gratefully gives you the bottle back. You pick up one of the cigarettes lying on your coffee table and light a match.
“So I've given you something. Now, where is it you're from, Jane?”
>”My name's Berry. I'm from Equestria.”
“Never heard of it.”
>”Really? It's pretty big. Princess Celestia is world famous. She even raises and lowers the sun, you know.”
“Miss, no one raises the sun here, and I've never heard of any Princess Celestia or any Equestrias, I assure you. Now, how did you get on my roof?”
>She thinks for a minute, eying the bottle of moonshine still.
>”I don't know, really. One minute I was just minding my own business talking to my cousin Cheerilee, and the next I was in this strange place.”
>You take a long drag.
“Huh.”
>”I honestly have no idea what's happening, mister,” the twinge of panic comes back to her voice.
>You pick up a cigarette and hand it to her.
“Here. This'll help calm your nerves. Just light it like this and...” You demonstrate. “There you go.”
>The pony takes a few short drags from the cigarette before coughing violently and dropping it to the floor. You get up and stamp it out.
>”Sorry, mister...I don't think I like that...” she says sheepishly.
“It's alright. Why don't you stay here the night until we figure all this out?”
>Berry looks around your apartment once again. “You'd really put me up? You hardly know me.”
>You look at the pony and smirk.
“There's a simple remedy for that problem which a new friend of mine taught me just tonight.”
>”What's that?”
“You just have to become not-a-stranger.”
End