Barfly Anon

>Day 551

>Er

>Night 552 in Equestria

>You be Anon

>And you be getting yo drink on

 

>It’s a Friday night and you’ve just finished your shift at Sugarcube Corner. Most days were a breeze, but today had not been one of those days.

>For one, some irritating unicorn kept returning her custom ordered cookies.

>Hand shaped sugar cookies with an assortment of banana, blueberry and raspberry icing.

>First she complained there wasn’t enough icing.

>Then too much.

>And finally that they were supposedly burnt, even though you didn’t find anything wrong with them. Hell, you thought they were some of your best cookies yet.

>It took all of your will to maintain an amicability you didn’t really feel, and not offer the mare a rather creative suggestion of where she could put her cookies.

>Pinkie’s assistance with customers was far more lacking than on most days, leaving you to man the counter solo.

>She was in the kitchen most of the day working on a massive order for Filthy Rich and his family, who were about to celebrate the colt’s 41st.

>You’d worked the front before without much effort. But today was a Friday, it was busy, and with already thinning patience it was not fun.

>The hours had gone by slowly, and although the shop had a modest supply of cake flavoured vodka for sale, Pinkie Pie was adamant that you not dip into any of it. Offering to pay for it had not budged her on that matter.

 

 

>You suspected that the pink mare herself may be guilty of the very crime you had confided to her before attempting, a few times you thought you smelled it on her.

>Sometimes she seemed a little too chummy, even for Pinks, a little too rosy in the cheeks.  

>You’d toyed with the idea of drinking it anyway, but decided against it.

>You needed the bits, and while you figure Pinkie’d probably let it slide, if the Cakes got wind of it, you feel you’d be in some deep shit.

 

>So you’d finished up your day, sober and counting down the minutes.

>Likely sensing your sour mood, Pinkie popped her head outta the kitchen briefly nearing the end of your shift. After a look back into the kitchen, she told you you could leave a little early, she’d cover your last half hour.

>Those thirty minutes had seemed like an insurmountable gulf of time, and you thanked the mare genuinely.

>She saw your smile and raised you a grin, bidding you a great night.

>Maybe she was being a hypocrite about the booze, maybe not. But either way, still a sweetheart, that one.

 

>It was near dark once you got home, and you didn’t intend to delay any longer than you had to. Shit, shave, shower, shepherd’s pie and shortbread, and you were off to the bar.

 

 

>You usually drank alone, though you didn’t mind company.

>In fact, you were gonna get Pinkie to drink with you one of these days.

>You had a hunch she’d make an excellent drinking buddy.

>But, you didn’t need someone else to have a good time. You and a bottle got along swimmingly on your own.

 

>The bar was less than five minutes from home.

>It wasn’t a particularly glamorous building, alcohol didn’t seem near as popular with ponies as it did with humans, fuck knows why.

>The place had a ’barely scraping by’ feel to it. But it was one of your favourite places in town.

 

>You enter the humble establishment. It was mostly quiet, and mostly empty as expected, save for four or five ponies scattered throughout.

 

>As you pass her table, you nod to one of the usuals.

 

>A certain wall-eyed Pegasus slumps dejectedly over the table her head rests upon, slowly and dismally rolling a cider cap underhoof.

>She looks up at you over her considerable amount of empties, (at least, she sort of does) and offers you a strained little smile and returns your nod.

>Then she refocuses her attention on idly rolling that cider cap along the table.

 

>You take your accustomed spot at the bar, near another pony that you see here quite often.

>The bartender, a bearded, grizzly orange colt with a foaming bottle for a cutie mark turns to you from cleaning a few glasses.

>“‘Nonymous. The usual?”

>You nod.

 

 

>There’s a satisfying sound of a mug filling with cold suds, and he lays out a chilled mug of hard apple cider in front of you.

>You pay and take a long needed gulp. It’s cold, it’s good and it’s liberating.

>You finish off your first one in a matter of minutes, placing the empty and warming mug on the bar with a satisfied breath.

>Catching the eye of the bartender, he lays another one in front of you without a word.

>You drink on that way for a bit. The bar is mostly quiet.  

>Or, it would be if not for a rather rambunctious pair sitting in the corner of the bar.

>Your attention is mostly drifting, but the occasional exclamation from them pierces your indifference.

>They look a little young to be here. The bartender’s eye seems to fall on them more and more as you finish off your second and third drink.

>Two pegasi, a cool gray and dark maned colt and an orange and purple filly laughing and talking excitedly.

>They seemed quite at odds with this otherwise apathetic place.

>Perhaps they pick up on the barkeep‘s growing scrutiny, because their chatter gradually dies down, and it’s not long after that they depart.

>You finish off your drink in a silent toast to the departing teens and the peace they’ve left behind.

 

 

>As you order up your fourth a pleasant buzz begins to settle itself upon your senses. The stresses of the day loosen their grip on you, and you feel more at ease.

>As your buzz deepens, the quiet begins to feel heavier, more oppressive, however..

>Abandoning your drink for a moment, you wander over to the jukebox.

>It was a despondent, dusty thing, but it’s lights were still bright and hopeful.

>You had a fondness for them back in your world, and so you decide to browse through the playlists and see what‘s what.

>You’d browsed through it before, but usually not until you were well and truly pickled. Besides, the tracks were alternated out once in a while, maybe something good will be on it for a change.

>As you flip through the lists, you are startled by what you skimmed over and flip back to it.

>Your eyes widen.

>That’s not a pony song at all, it’s from your when and where! You dig out a bit and put it in the machine. Then you punch in the number.

 

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFIWstcaoLc]

 

>The bar is filled with it’s familiar rhythm, this was definitely some good old human-style blues.

>You somehow doubted ponies even HAD a genre of music called ‘blues’.

>You sit back down in your spot at the bar, tapping your foot softly to the nostalgic tune.

>You weren’t even gonna question how a human song ended up in what is probably another dimension, or something.

>Couldn’t be any weirder than how you yourself got here.

 

 

>You drain your drink and flag down the bartender.

>Your buzz deepens as he lays another in front of you.

>Two stools down is a mare that you see in here a lot, even more then the cap roller over yonder.

>She’d been keeping to herself for the night, so far.

>But, you’ve been anticipating her for a while, and as she lays down her.. Nine.. Ten, eleventh empty, you see her turn to you out of your peripheral.

>She smiles at you. “Hey there s-sailor. Come here often?”

>You raise an eyebrow, casting a sideways glance her way.

“You know I do Berry.”

>You say as you take a drink from your mug. But you wonder. This mare was plastered more often than you were, and that’s saying something.

>“Sure do.” She says, resting her elbow on the counter and propping up her head with a hoof. “I don’t forget a colt.”

>Great.

>You choose to ignore that, opting for another gulp of cider instead.

>She is silent for a moment, but then decides to try something with a little more tact.

>“What’s that playin’ on the juke‘? Never heard it before.”

>Another sideways glance her way.

“It’s a song from my.. Home. Old home.”

>She nods, as if that explains everything.

>“S’nice. Never heard anything like it before. Weird song, sorta. But nice.”

“Yeah well. Glad ya think so.”

>Not really. But a little taste in  music couldn’t hurt her.

>You polish off the last of your drink.

>A flick of the hand and a nod later, and a fresh one replaces the dead soldier.

 

 

>Berry Punch follows suit. “’Nother one Bristle, hun. If y’please.”

>He looks at her contemplatively.

>“I think maybe you oughta get going, Berry. You’ve drank plenty already.”

>She pouts at him, lower lip quivering slightly.

>One of the most unnerving thing about the people. Uh, ponies, of this world is that they all seem to be able to draw on some well of inner cuteness.

>You’d be willing to bet there’s not a pony alive that can’t be cute. It seems to be a physical impossi--

>“BRAAAWP.” You start at the explosion next to you and realize it was just a Berry belch.

>Well.

>I guess the cuteness only runs so deep in some ponies.

>“C’mon Bronzey, when have I ever got’n trouble at your bar? I’m a good mare, not gonna cause no problems.”

>“You got a girl at home. What’s her name, uh--”

>“Pinchy.”

>“Yeah, her. It’s gettin’ late. Don’t you think you oughta be gettin’ back to her?”

>“Hey, whaddaya take me for?!” Berry says indignantly.

>“She’s out with her girlfriends, some slumber party or somethin‘. She’s accounted for fer the night.”

>Bronze begins to walk around to the other side of the bar.

>“Alright, let’s go Berry. I’ll see you home okay?”

>“Naw naw,” She waves a hoof at the approaching bartender.

>“I ain’t goin nowhere yet Bristle. I got bits in m’ saddlebag and a will to spend ‘em!”

>She gestures around the bar. “It’s not like the place is doin’ that great anyway, colt. Take my bits, I’ll take your cider and we’ll both be better off, what’chya say?”

 

 

>Bronze Bristle halts midstep as Berry finds the chink in his armor.

>He looks down briefly, considering.

>Then he looks up, his gaze softened a bit but carrying a dash of forewarning.

>“Alright Berry, you can stay.”

>Bristle returns to his place behind the counter. “But you cut loose in my bar, and I’ll throw you out on yer ass, don’t think I won’t.”

>She nods sagely, as if this were an impossibility as the bartender sets another drink before her.

>The bar is silent for a few minutes, until there’s a scraping of a stool on the floor. The  cap roller gets shakily to her hooves and wavers her way to the door.

>“’Night *hic* Bristle!”

>“G’night sweethooves!” The bartender calls as the gray Pegasus lets herself out.

>You polish off your sixth mug and gaze sadly into it’s hollow, ciderless depths.

>You aren’t getting paid until next week.

>You’re gonna have to space out your drinks if you wanna make it without going dry.

>You suppose you could get one more, you were approaching real drunkeness now and c--

>“So.” Berry Punch purrs, peering at you and licking her upper lip suggestively.

>“Any plans for tonight, sugar?”

>So much for that last drink.

>You rise from your stool a bit unsteadily, leaning on the counter.

“It’s been nice chattin’ with you Berry, but I gotta head home.”

>You say, as you begin heading towards the door.

“Bristle, Berry, I’ll see you two t--”

 

 

>“The night’s still young, hun!” Berry calls after you. “At least lemme buy ya a drink!”

>You stop at that. That silver tongued bitch of a mare, no way were you gonna get sucked into hanging around her any longer just at the offer of a fr

“Yeah. Alright.”

>You turn and head back to the bar.

>Goddamn it brain, thanks a fucking lot. Your liver couldn’t agree more.

>True to her word, another mug of sweet cider is set before you. Sweet, free cider.

>You take a deep drink of the foaming brew, and let out a satisfied wheeze.

>The room begins to take on a familiar, floaty feeling that you welcome with a unconscious smile.

>The bar is back to it’s old silent self, and the deeper you get into your cups the more it bugs you.

>You look down at your suds, then over to Berry.

>She’s sipping at her own drink, gazing ahead of her, seemingly lost in her own thought.

“Hey.”

>This time it’s her turn to give you a sideways glance.

>“Thanks for the drink Berry. ‘ppreciate it.”

>She nods a little, before taking a deep drink of her own mug.

>She exhales deeply, the sigh of the practiced alcoholic “No problem kid.”

>The youngster in you protests a bit at that.

>Hell you were in your mid twenties, not really a kid anymore.

>A snarky grin begins to creep on your face.

>As you open your mouth to give some smartass reply, some patented Anonymous special, your forward momentum is broken by a !ping!

 

 

>Drunk but quick, your reflexes are still sharp enough to catch the bit that comes flipping at you.

>Flipping.

>Wait.

>HOW THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT WITHOUT A FUCKING THUMB?

>“Here. Thank me by puttin’ that song on. I wanna listen to it again.”

>You nod at her, and in a few moments, Gary Clark’s pouring out of the beaten juke once more.

>Berry wiggles a hoof to the rhythm.

>Her head bobs gently in time with the beat, as you take your place back in your seat.

>Fuck off Zecora

>“Beats ‘The Parasprite Polka’, that’s fer sure.”

>You grin at the grape mare, and she grins back knowingly.

 

 

>One night, after three or four cups of cider, a certain purple unicorn had decided it was the best song in all of Equestria, and set the juke to play it 15 times in a row.

>She even decided she was gonna improv her own lyrics, dancing on a table and yelling in perhaps the most toneless singing voice in all of Equestria.

>Imagine her surprise when Bristle, after repeatedly asking her to chill out, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and hauled her to the door.

>Yeah.

>She sobered up real fast as she was carried across the room, asking pleadingly

>“What? Ohh what did I do? I didn’t mean to make any trouble! Oh please this is so embarrassing!”

>before she was unceremoniously tossed out the door and having it slammed behind her.

>Bristle had just looked at you and Berry, both in your usual spots, before giving a sheepish, lopsided grin.

>As he crossed the room, shaking his head, he said “Some ponies, colt. Just can’t hold their drink.”

>You hadn’t been ready to listen to that damned song for the next hour or so, lyrics or no, and so you went and unplugged the jukebox.

>Plugging it back in, you figured it would be reset and stop playing that song.

>Nope.

>Dawn of the Third Repeat

>-12 Repeats Remain-

>Yeah, you decided to go home early that night.

 

 

>You take a drink from your mug, grimace a little, and then finish the rest of it off.

>You’re not the only one buzzing now. The room’s joined you.

>It’s like gravity has lightened up a bit, taking on a wavering and festively irresponsible quality.

>Now feeling well and truly rolling, Bristle sets another mug down before you.

>Berry, of course.

>As your old song plays out for the second time tonight, Berry raises her mug in the air, head down and swaying rhythmically in her seat.

>A splash of cider spills on the counter from her mug, and although Bristle’s still got his eye on her, he seems more amused than anything.

>It was the ancient dance of drunks everywhere.

>They, who wish to dance but are too hammered to have any interest in leaving their seat.

>Well, you’re still a little miffed by that ‘kid’ comment, and she’s gotta be on her, what? Fifteenth drink by now?

“Too drunk t’stand up Berry?”

>You give her a cocky smile.

 

>She stops mid drink, setting her mug down.

>She gives you a glare teetering somewhere between irritation and amusement.

>“I don’ think so. I ain’t a teetotaller, y’glorifed monkey.”

>She swivels her stool ‘round, and slips off with an unconscious grace to the fl

>No scratch that, her two left legs nearly give out as she stumbles, and you laugh, though not unkindly.

 

 

>Laughing with you she says “Naw, that doesn’ count! You didn’t see that!”

“Alright, alright.”

>You nod, grinning at your mug and helping yourself to some liquid bliss.

>You might have gaped if you were sober enough to fully appreciate the mare’s blood alcohol level, but you’re still impressed.

>She was no professional dancer, that was for sure, but once she found her rhythm she was able to maintain a modest but respectable dance.

>It was improvised and drunken, but any missteps were incorporated in such a way that it actually appeared to be part of the overall dance.

>It was whimsical and sprightly. Unique.

 

“Well, you’re doin’ alright after all. I’m surprised you haven’t turned up sideways yet.”

>She smiles, tipping you a wink.

>“It’ll take more than a few cups o’ cider to knock me down.”

>You choose to ignore the fact that a few usually meant three, not three groups of five.

>Perhaps she picks up on the source of the ire for your smartass comment earlier. You might’ve bet a few bits on it, had you been sober enough to notice.

>“Kid,” she says, with the slightest hint of emphasis on the word,

>“I think you’re the one that can’t stand. You’re swayin’ in tha’ seat a bit there, ya lightweight.”

>You gaze accusingly into your mug’s amber depths.

>But your gaze softens.

>No, cider would never betray you.

“Yeah? Think so? We’ll see ‘bout that.”

 

 

>Not to be outdone by a purple talking horse, you slip from your stool as the floor teeters sideways, ever the prankster of drunks everywhere.

>You steady yourself, missing Berry’s tickled grin.

>She hastily constructs a poker face as you turn to her, and attempt your own dance.

>You weren’t a dancer.

>The only times you ever danced were when you were alone, listening to a decent P0N-3 tune on the radio. >And those were when you were sober.

>Berry’s dance maintains an almost accidental grace, while yours merely seems to be an accident waiting to happen.

>Berry doesn’t seem to mind however.

>Your amateurish attempts are met by bright laughter from the mare, and you grin, feeling quite the fool but not giving a shit.

>She sidles a bit closer, not seeming worried about the potential broken neck should you stumble her way.

>You dance that way a bit, side by side, thoroughly proving your not-hammeredness as you break out the John Travolta.

>“You’re ehh.. Quite the dancer Anon!” She teases.

“Shut your damn mouth Berry.” You say pleasantly.

>She giggles, blushing a little before giving you a playful bump in the hip with her flank.

>You may as well have been hit by a truck as your delicate balance is thrown off.

>Arms flailing, you give a quarter spin as you fall, landing on your ass and finding yourself sitting on the floor.

 

 

>You blink up at the mare, surprised at how easily you’d ended on the ground.

>She halts her dance and blinks back at you, and then laughs fit to split at your expression, hell even Bristle chuckles at the free show he’s getting from behind the bar.

>You grin, face feeling hot.

>Berry extends a hoof, which you accept, and she helps you to your feet, just as your song comes to a close.

“You didn’t see that.” You say, parroting Berry from earlier.

>You head over to the juke.

>Much as you loved that old song, you figured you may as well find something else this time.

>You dig through the lists, noticing that Parasprite Polka was nowhere to be seen.

>You find some P0N-3 and decide on that, lining up a few songs.

>Berry has resumed her dance, matching the rhythm of your chosen song surprisingly well for a mare who should be vomiting and incoherent by now.

>You polish off your drink, and as you turn to join Berry she gestures to the bartender, who refills your mug behind you.

>Your head and the room are vibrating as one now, the music and the drink lifts you up.

>You feel euphoric, invigorated.

>Berry eyes you as she dances, glad to see you‘re not giving up despite your terrible dance moves.

>You grin at the mare, you didn’t know why you had been so icy to her in the past.

>Yeah she hit on you sometimes, and yeah it could be annoying, but otherwise she seemed like a nice enough mare.

 

 

>You rejoin her and continue your tragic efforts at dancing.

>You feel sillier than ever, trying and failing to wipe the goofy grin on your face.

>Here you are, dancing with a purple talking horse, looking like a fool and not caring in the slightest. >Listening to music that would be much more appropriate for one of the raves in Canterlot rather than this rundown bar.

>The music pours from the juke and Berry keeps the drinks flowing.

>By the time the bar’s ready to be closed, you’ve gone through sixteen mugs of cider.

>It’s a miracle you never stumbled into a table and killed yourself.

>You kept right on dancing, stopping only to drink or piss. Berry matched your vigor, dancing with you, laughing and cheering you on as you danced.

>She also managed to clear over 25 mugs of cider and by the end of the night, the two of you are ripped. >Even Berry’s dignified drunkenness was giving way to just plain drunkenness.

>The peaceful quiet of night (early morning?) in Ponyville is broken as you stumble outta the bar, Kramer style with a blushing and laughing Berry in tow.

“So then I say “Those aren’t raisins pal, look a little closer!””

>Berry barks laughter unapologetically into the quiet air.

>She takes a swig of the mug she stole away with, and then offers it to you.

>You take it and drain the rest and hand it back to her.

>Oh shit, you are spinning now.

 

 

>You grip a conveniently placed lamppost and hang on for dear life.

>Berry shrugs at the empty mug and tosses it into the bushes outside the bar.

>“H-*hic*-ey. You gonna make it kid?”

>You grin at her, willing the world to stop spinning just a little.

“No Bear, leave me ‘ere. I sleep now. Wake me up in the mornin’.”

>“I ain’t left a soldier behind before and I ain’t gonna start now.”

>A sly note creeps into her voice that you miss being totally shitfaced.

>“We’ll go back to yer place, I’ll get y’all tucked in.”

>You nod at her, pushing off from the pole and yelling

“Dammit, stop friggin SPINNIN’!”

 

>There’s a noise above you, and then you hear a miffed voice call out:

>“Hey! Someponies are trying to sleep. Knock it off, will ya?”

>Ooh, you recognize that voice.

“SHOVE THOSE COOKIES UP YOUR ASS!”

>You cackle your amusement and Berry joins you.

>The voice has no comeback it seems.

>You hear a window slam shut as you and Berry stagger off down the street, heading for your home.

>You arrive eventually, and dig in your pockets for your keys.

>After briefly thinking you may have lost them, AGAIN, you find them.

>After a few missed stabs, you get them in the keyhole.

>You unlock the door, and gripping the handle you turn back to bid your new drinking bud good night.

 

 

>Instead of standing behind you, she’s now reared up on her back legs, her front legs leaning on your front door and your head between them.

>Her face is inches from yours, and she’s blushing a deep red, her eyes half lidded, lips slightly parted.

>You are hammered and taken by surprise by this completely unexpected turn of events.

>You don’t know what to say.

>You try to anyway, unsure of what’s going to come out.

“Berry, I…”

>She leans in, eyes closing and taking advantage of your open mouth as she presses her lips to yours.

>Your eyes widen and you freeze, but as she kisses you you feel your inhibitions quickly melting away.

>Your head is beginning to pound and everything is spinning queasily, but it’s all spinning around you and this mare.

>You begin to return the kiss, your own eyes closing.

>A hand reaches up, seemingly of it’s own accord, plunges itself into the depths of Berry’s mane and you stroke it’s surprising softness.

>As you gently stroke her mane, you feel a warm wetness against your lips.

>You let her in, and your tongues playfully battle for dominance.

>She sighs contentedly, and you drink in her essence. She tastes of cider and berries, and you kiss her with increasing urgency.

>You feel dizzy.

>As you make out on your front step with a drunken purple mare, a background thought forms in your head that maybe you should go inside where prying eyes can’t potentially watch the free show.

 

 

>Deciding this might be a good idea, you absentmindedly turn the doorknob in your hand that you are still gripping.

>A sober Anon might have realized that you and Berry leaning against the door as you open it, might not have been a very smooth move.

>But he wasn’t here.

>As such, your eyes fly open and you see a surprise-faced Berry looking much the same as you feel, as you go sprawling backwards into your little house.

>Berry lands atop you, knocking the wind out of you.

>You lay there a moment, eyes closed, catching your breath.

>Having your eyes closed makes the spinning much worse, but it still helps with the ache in your lungs.

>Becoming increasingly aware of the warm weight on your chest, you open your eyes to see that Berry is laying on your chest, face red and smiling down at you almost predatorily.

>This does not make you uncomfortable however, quite the opposite.

>“Y’broke my fall. Yer a hero.” She says, and leans down to you.

>“And heroes get rewards.”

>She leans down and her lips find yours again.

>Your tongues dance against each other as the spinning becomes more defined.

>You groan dazedly, the kissing and the nauseating spinning combining into an uneasy mix of pleasure and discomfort.

>Berry “Mmm’s” softly,  and she begins to slowly grind her pelvis against your stomach.

>This goes on for awhile, and you are dimly aware of your stomach starting to feel a little damp as you french Berry.

 

 

>You become increasingly sloppy as the room steadily gets more spinny, your head more throbby.

>But Berry doesn’t seem to mind your sloppy kissing, she seems to like it actually.

>She sits up suddenly, straddling your lap, licking her lips and looking down at you.

>“What say we do somethin’ a bit more.. uh, advanced, ‘hun?”

>You mumble out a vague affirmative, and she slides off your lap to begin unbuckling your pants.

>You lay back, letting it happen.

>You maintain your effort on trying to will away the hot and green feeling in your gut.

>You don’t wanna puke.

>Getting smashed is fun.

>Lying facedown in a toilet, half choking on sour, burning bile while the room spins around you in a feverish haze, less so.

>You close your eyes.

>The dizzy feeling get stronger, but this time there’s a soothing note to it in the darkness of your closed eyes.

>Looking for anything to take your mind off that pukey feeling, you welcome that soothing note.

 

 

>You are Berry Punch.

>You are drunk, you are horny, and this button is ridiculous.

 

>You fidget with the button on Anonymous’ pants.

>These things were not designed for hooves.

>You try everything your inebriated mind can think of.

>Wriggling the button free was no good, trying to carefully pinch it between your hooves and nudge it out was no good.

>You even tried using your teeth.

>Nope.

>Irritated, you took to shaking his waistband hoping to work the button free but of course, that was no good either.

>Several minutes pass, your every effort rebuffed as you fruitlessly try to defeat the button boss.

“Hey uh. Anonymous, Lil’ help? I can’t get this darn button out.”

>Silence.

“Anonymous?”

>More silence.

>You abandon Anon’s waist and takes a few drunken steps over to his turned head.

 

>Here lies Anonymous, in the middle of his combination living room/dining room, eyes shut and a peaceful expression on his face.

>Seems while you were busy trying to undo his pants, he took it upon himself to pass out on the floor.

 

>You give him a gentle shake.

“Hey, Anon? Wake up.”

>He responds with a hiss of outward breath.

“Anon?”

>You shake him harder.

“Anon! Wake up!”

>As his head shakes around, he lets out a loud snore and rolls over onto your hoof, curling up into a ball.

 

 

>You yank your hoof out from under him, feeling disappointed and angry, and you open your mouth to yell him awake.

>But you see Anon laying there all curled up, smiling softly, and he really does look like a kid who couldn’t stay awake for the Summer Sun Celebration.

>Your angry look softens, and you gaze around a bit.

>Spying a blanket folded neatly on an armchair, you cross the room, pick it up in your mouth and drape it over the sleeping Anon.

>You feel a pleasantly sad sort of nostalgia, having done the same action for your Pinchy many times.

>You fancy his smile widens a bit, but that could be just the booze.

>You give him a little kiss on the forehead, and let yourself out back into the cool night air.

>Another night without a colt’s arms around you.

>You looked forward to Pinchy getting back from her friend’s tomorrow.

>At least when she was around, she helped keep the loneliness at bay.

 

 

>Day 552

 

>You awaken in a dehydrated daze.

>Seems you hadn’t made it to your bed last night.

>You must have been pretty drunk to not only pass out on the floor, but to grab a blanket and then pass out, rather than just go to bed.

>You sit up as you press a palm to your forehead.

>Your head aches, your mouth is dry and tastes like sobriety.

>You feel queasy and you back is sore.

>Identifying hangover

>Yep, it’s hangover

>You get yourself a glass of water and sit back in your armchair, blanket draped over your lap.

>You sip the water carefully, testing how your gut is gonna handle it.

>It seems confused by this strange non-alcoholic liquid, but you will it to stay down, and it does.

>Last night was a blur.

>Berry had been feeding you drinks for half the night, and by the time you two left you had been monumentally drunk.

>The last thing you really remember is leaning up against a lamppost to try and steady yourself, and then the rest of the night spins out in an incoherent smear.

>Well, at least you got home and didn’t wake up in a bush somewhere.

>You sit quietly for a bit, but you’re woken out of your light doze by a knock at the door.

>*knock knock knockknocknockknnokknknk*

>You lazily get up and go open the door.

“Who-- Oh.. Hey Pinkie.”

>The pink pony grins up at you with a perkiness that almost offends your aching senses.

 

 

>“Hi Anonymous! I thought I’d stop by and try and make up for yesterday! You looked so unhappy, but I couldn‘t let you drink on the job. Mrs. Cake would‘ve had a kitten if she found out!”

>You rub at an eye sleepily.

“Yeah, I kinda figured. No big deal Pink.”

>“I couldn’t sleep all night, I thought maybe you were mad at me! So I thought to myself, Pinkie, you gotta make this up to him! I thought about it all morning and then *GASP* I knew how!”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m not mad. Listen, I’m real tired, I think I’m just gonna take it--”

>She reaches behind herself and produces a 40 of cake flavoured vodka, and two glasses.

>She grins sideways at you, waggling her eyebrows.

“Drink? Now? Pinkie, it’s,”

>You glance at a wall clock

“It’s three o‘clock. Start now and I’ll be ready for bed by eight.”

>She sets down the bottle and glasses, and rummages through her poof of a mane, before pulling out two more 40s of cake vodka.

>She grins so wide at your gape that you feel her face might split in two.

>You smile back at her despite your lousy feeling body.

>Bending down, you pick up the bottle and glasses, and take one more from her as well.

>A little hair of the dog couldn’t hurt, right?

“Alright Pinks, c’mon in.”

>She squees in delight,  sealed bottle still in her mouth, and bounces past you into your humble abode.

>You glance around outside and, after taking the keys you’d apparently left hanging in the lock all night, you shut the door.

>Today was gonna be a good day.