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Bar Scene: Stories

By: TechyConversant on Jun 2nd, 2012 | syntax: None | size: 5.05 KB | hits: 398 | expires: Never

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE6HfI9EDPw
>You sit in the bar, taking another swig of your brandy.
>The soft rain can be heard rapping against the windows, complimenting the smooth tones from the sax behind you.
>The smoke from your last cigarette hangs in the air around you, joining the musk that already lingered.
>P0nies are playing cards, sharing stories, and enjoying the company.
>They share tales of times past, loves lost...
>Everybody's got a story.
>The soft noise of the door opening catches your attention.
>You see her walk in, it'd be a tough sight to miss.
>The hat and cape drip as she takes a seat, lightly shaking the rain off.
>You'd recognize her anywhere.
>Trixie was her name.
>'The Great and Powerful Trixie' to everyone else.
>But not to you.
>To you, she was the latest blue mare to wash up in this dive.
>Not the first, that's for sure.
>But that's a story for another time.
>"Double Scotch."
>She's lookin' to get real wasted tonight.
>You bet you know why.
>She was a showmare, that one.
>Always the talk of the town.
>For better of for worse, and she knows it too.
>The stares she's getting now are always present.
>The intent, however, changes day to day.
"Hey, Trix."
>"Who da-"
>She turns to face he who dared.
>"Oh. It's you."
>With a solemn expressionless face, she gets up and moves to a seat closer.
>One of the few gents she would make an exception for.
>As she sits, you can't help but notice she takes off her hat and cape.
>Now that's something she never does.
>Before long, the bartender arrives with her poison of choice.
"A double, eh?"
>She's aware of your intent.
>"Trixie doesn't need to explain herself."
"'Trixie' doesn't have to."
>You can read her like a book.
>With a sigh, she downs her drink in one swift motion.
>Impressive and saddening in one fell swoop.
>She clacks the glass on the countertop, the hollow noise resonating throughout.
"That bad, huh?"
>She simply glares.
>"Trix...I...have had enough of being judged for one day."
>She quickly gestures to the barkeep for a refill.
"You know I won't judge, Trix."
>With a long, drawn out sigh, she confides.
>"Another day, another crowd running me out of town."
>She stirs her empty glass, wishing there was more alcohol to fill the void she's creating in her ego.
>You take another drag from your stick.
"You know how it is, Trix. They weren't ready for ya."
>A small smile escapes the melancholy that is her, but only for a moment.
>"Will anyone be ready?"
>Her next drink arrives.
>You hold up yours in response.
"Here's to those that will be."
>With a soft clink, you both take a swig of your glasses.
>As the night passes, she shares her travels, like all the rest.
>P0nies she's passed, places she's been...
>Everybody's got a story.
>On her third glass, the oh so familiar sound of the door's hinges reoccurs.
>But a not-so-familiar face walks in.
>Striding in tall and proud, this griffon had been caught in the rain for a while.
>Not something to stand tall and proud about.
>She takes a seat at the bar, on the opposite side of Trixie.
"You know her?"
>"Please."
>Trixie wasn't one to make her voice silent, and for damn sure the griffon heard her tone.
>"You got something to say, punk?"
>Talons balled into a fist.
>Now wasn't a time for violence.
"Hey, hey, cool it."
>You slide your freshest glass of brandy down the counter.
>It makes a sharp ting as it strikes her talons.
>"...thanks."
>Her voice was sharp, still.
>Maybe a drink would cool her jets.
>Sure enough, the brandy was enough to unrustle her feathers.
>"Griffon..."
>"Gilda."
>"Fine, Gilda..."
>As Trixie set herself up, you knew oh so well she was about to knock herself down.
>Preventing this would maintain the atmosphere.
"So Gilda, what brings you to a dump like this?"
>You knew how to fluff a griffon's feathers, so to speak.
>"You mean the bar, or the town?"
"All a matter of perspective."
>"The town, then."
>She swigs from the brandy, then tosses it back down the counter.
>"I'm a whiskey kind of gal."
>You motion the bartender to pour one up.
>As it clinks down in front of you, one final pass ends the glass in it's rightful place.
>As a sip is taken, she starts on about P0nyville, the town she loathes so much.
>The friend she lost, and the people who hate her.
>Everybody's got a story.
>As it winds down, Trixie raises her glass to the griffon.
>"Cheers, it seems, are in order."
>Gilda looks on in confusion.
>"Cheers? Did anything I say sound fucking cheery?"
>Trixie scoffs lightly.
>"I meant to not being the only girl run out of this town."
>You could swear a flash of red crossed her white feathers as she reached for her glass.
>"Cheers it is..."
>They both take a sip, then turn to you.
>"How about you?"
"Me?"
>"Yeah, what'd this town do to you?"
>She had a point. This bar was made for the outcasts.
>Those who had some place to hide from, or someone they couldn't bear to see.
>A stigma with the p0nies, or the town itself.
>Everybody's got a story.
>But you?
>You sip the last drop from your glass.
"...that's a story for another time."

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE6HfI9EDPw

>You sit in the bar, taking another swig of your brandy.
>The soft rain can be heard rapping against the windows, complimenting the smooth tones from the sax behind you.
>The smoke from your last cigarette hangs in the air around you, joining the musk that already lingered.
>P0nies are playing cards, sharing stories, and enjoying the company.
>They share tales of times past, loves lost...
>Everybody's got a story.
>The soft noise of the door opening catches your attention.
>You see her walk in, it'd be a tough sight to miss.
>The hat and cape drip as she takes a seat, lightly shaking the rain off.
>You'd recognize her anywhere.
>Trixie was her name.
>'The Great and Powerful Trixie' to everyone else.
>But not to you.
>To you, she was the latest blue mare to wash up in this dive.
>Not the first, that's for sure.
>But that's a story for another time.
>"Double Scotch."
>She's lookin' to get real wasted tonight.
>You bet you know why.

>She was a showmare, that one.
>Always the talk of the town.
>For better of for worse, and she knows it too.
>The stares she's getting now are always present.
>The intent, however, changes day to day.
"Hey, Trix."
>"Who da-"
>She turns to face he who dared.
>"Oh. It's you."
>With a solemn expressionless face, she gets up and moves to a seat closer.
>One of the few gents she would make an exception for.
>As she sits, you can't help but notice she takes off her hat and cape.
>Now that's something she never does.
>Before long, the bartender arrives with her poison of choice.
"A double, eh?"
>She's aware of your intent.
>"Trixie doesn't need to explain herself."
"'Trixie' doesn't have to."
>You can read her like a book.
>With a sigh, she downs her drink in one swift motion.
>Impressive and saddening in one fell swoop.
>She clacks the glass on the countertop, the hollow noise resonating throughout.
"That bad, huh?"
>She simply glares.
>"Trix...I...have had enough of being judged for one day."
>She quickly gestures to the barkeep for a refill.
"You know I won't judge, Trix."
>With a long, drawn out sigh, she confides.
>"Another day, another crowd running me out of town."
>She stirs her empty glass, wishing there was more alcohol to fill the void she's creating in her ego.
>You take another drag from your stick.
"You know how it is, Trix. They weren't ready for ya."
>A small smile escapes the melancholy that is her, but only for a moment.
>"Will anyone be ready?"
>Her next drink arrives.
>You hold up yours in response.
"Here's to those that will be."

>With a soft clink, you both take a swig of your glasses.
>As the night passes, she shares her travels, like all the rest.
>P0nies she's passed, places she's been...
>Everybody's got a story.
>On her third glass, the oh so familiar sound of the door's hinges reoccurs.
>But a not-so-familiar face walks in.
>Striding in tall and proud, this griffon had been caught in the rain for a while.
>Not something to stand tall and proud about.
>She takes a seat at the bar, on the opposite side of Trixie.
"You know her?"
>"Please."
>Trixie wasn't one to make her voice silent, and for damn sure the griffon heard her tone.
>"You got something to say, punk?"
>Talons balled into a fist.
>Now wasn't a time for violence.
"Hey, hey, cool it."
>You slide your freshest glass of brandy down the counter.
>It makes a sharp ting as it strikes her talons.
>"...thanks."
>Her voice was sharp, still.
>Maybe a drink would cool her jets.
>Sure enough, the brandy was enough to unrustle her feathers.
>"Griffon..."
>"Gilda."
>"Fine, Gilda..."
>As Trixie set herself up, you knew oh so well she was about to knock herself down.
>Preventing this would maintain the atmosphere.
"So Gilda, what brings you to a dump like this?"
>You knew how to fluff a griffon's feathers, so to speak.
>"You mean the bar, or the town?"
"All a matter of perspective."
>"The town, then."
>She swigs from the brandy, then tosses it back down the counter.
>"I'm a whiskey kind of gal."

>You motion the bartender to pour one up.
>As it clinks down in front of you, one final pass ends the glass in it's rightful place.
>As a sip is taken, she starts on about P0nyville, the town she loathes so much.
>The friend she lost, and the people who hate her.
>Everybody's got a story.
>As it winds down, Trixie raises her glass to the griffon.
>"Cheers, it seems, are in order."
>Gilda looks on in confusion.
>"Cheers? Did anything I say sound fucking cheery?"
>Trixie scoffs lightly.
>"I meant to not being the only girl run out of this town."
>You could swear a flash of red crossed her white feathers as she reached for her glass.
>"Cheers it is..."
>They both take a sip, then turn to you.
>"How about you?"
"Me?"
>"Yeah, what'd this town do to you?"
>She had a point. This bar was made for the outcasts.
>Those who had some place to hide from, or someone they couldn't bear to see.
>A stigma with the p0nies, or the town itself.
>Everybody's got a story.
>But you?
>You sip the last drop from your glass.
"...that's a story for another time."

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