"My humour is like food. Not everyone gets it."
By 8th-Sin (https://pastebin.com/u/8th-Sin)

URL: https://pastebin.com/7GsT0TUs
Created on: Saturday 26th of March 2016 07:03:18 AM CDT
Retrieved on: Sunday 9 of May 2021 08:38:48 PM UTC


>You look up from the bottomless pit that seems to be your glass and glance to the blurry colour beside you.
>Berry.
>Berry Punch.
>From what you hear she's here more than you are.
>Part of you feels this childish urge to beat her record but the other parts wonder why she'd bother and why she's staring at you right now.
>Then your thoughts drift, as they often do while you're drunk, to reflection of the past. You arrived in this land and found loneliness. Real loneliness.
>It's a cold and bitter thing to be surrounded by a vast number of friends, yet still feel lonely and isolated as if they were never there at all.
>A fifth of scotch and the rest was cola. That was your basic drink when took up the fine art of drinking away your problems.
>You could drink all your problems away, or at the least find the strength to drown them enough to cry.
>And every day afterwards, you'd wake and feel renewed. With enough strength to tackle the day ahead. You've still yet to know what a hangover feels like, despite how much you treat your liver like the Greek titan Atlas.
>Soon after you'd drink half and half.
>But now?
>Now you drink it straight.
>You lift the glass and watch the final drop trickle down in it's seemingly random dance until it reaches your lips. Then you gently place it down on the coaster the bartender gave to you.
>He pours more of the bottle you asked for into your glass. A fine scotch.
>And he smiles all the the while, like this is somehow a good idea.
>The bastard is probably after the money. You always feel he hikes up the bits you actually owe on your tab because you're too drunk to know better.
>But the bottom of your glass distracts you once more.
>Then the purple or pink pony beside you. Your reasoning is too far from your reach to understand much in this world, and colour is one of them.
"What? Seriously, you're starting to fucking annoy me."
>The little mare is taken aback at first, but a smile soon grows and sprouts into a giggle.
>"I've been wondering for a while, why you come here."
"The other bar in town charges the same price for half a shot," you exclaim while the mare finds herself laughing once more.
>Her laugh sounds free. Possibly because she is as drunk as you are. But it's sobering, in an emotional sense. You still lack any and all capacity to stand proud and tall to prove otherwise.
>Instead you falter, falter back into your glass and back into your thoughts where nothing can reach you, save for a refill.
>"I forgot long ago why I started coming here," she exclaims, not looking at anything really.
>Her eyes seem elsewhere. Like a storyteller who can vividly bring the words in his narrative to life within his own mind and forget all else around him.
>She continues to speak, whether you listen or not, and so you find yourself tuned in.
>"Perhaps it was my job, or maybe my daughter, or something else I've regretfully forgotten. I couldn't handle something, I know that much, and so I turned to this caramel liquid that soothes my panic until the panic loses all reason. Until my heart beats like a warrior's drum as he follows blindly, taking in the peace before the conflict to come. You know?"
"In my own way," you reply before you can catch your own lips.
>She smiles. Nothing more than an empty and toothy grin.
>"Anon, right?"
>Berry extends a hoof than you extend in kind. Only with a hand.
>Perhaps to an outsider, it might seem odd that you found a kindred spirit in her but to you, it feels like you've found what you've needed. For a very, very long time.
>Someone who understands.
"Yeah... And you are... Berry, right?"
>She just nods in kind.
"A bitch is all we'll ever know, yeah?"
>You raise your glasses with a small chortle, she clinks her's against yours but she immediately speaks up against you as her face finds a rosier red to turn to.
>"Life is all we'll ever really know."
"Whether fair is fair?" You ask.
>"Mm," she nods in return.
"So, why is it you're here every night?"
>"Not every night," she defensively replies as her eyes lock with anything that isn't yours.
"Still, why?"
>"I... Really... Don't remember."
>Her eyes lose more of their colour and her smile becomes more words as she finishes her answer to your question. And it sets in a guilt.
>You feel like a sympathy has been sowed inside you long before you ever even noticed her in your peripherals.
>"And you?"
"Me? Well, I was important... Before being stranded in what feels like a world that belongings to someone who belongs in a white strap coat. Once."
>"Once?"
"Yeah, in my worlds you could be knighted for anything from singing to combat."
>"And you were?"
"Yeah, I was. It was the only pride I had in myself, but now... Well, now I'm alone. Now I am nothing more than a token of a foreign alien."
>She catches herself, unable to find some way to protest. Instead she sits there in silence until her glasses becomes empty.
>" Sir who?'
>You glance her way with a half-hearted grin.
>And even as you consider the results of telling her it all, you find yourself unable to do anything but release the truth.
"Sir... They called me, Sir Osis.
