"Another, Tap."
>The bartender nods, and begins cracking open a new bottle of brandy.
>It's been a long night of drinking, and not much else.
>A few days after Trixie's performance, and she's already the talk of the bar.
>She embraces it fully, as you knew she would.
>The dress is now worn casually instead of the hat and cape.
>Even right now, she's sitting at a table, surrounded by interested stallions and jealous mares.
>To top it all off, she has yet to thank you for the performance piece.
>What did you expect?
>Getting used is something you, well, get used to.
>A lightly drunk pushover is a role you've taken to well.
>A bleeding heart, if the heart bled alcohol.
>Another brandy is placed in front of you.
>"Hey chief, what's up with the flighty broad?"
>You groan, picking up the drink.
"Who, her? She don't talk to me anymore."
>Tap shakes his head.
>"Nah, I mean THAT flighty broad."
>He points a hoof to the back of the establishment.
>Turning your head, you see he's pointing to a certain familiar griffon.
"Ah, flighty broad..."
 
>She's not alone, however.
>Surrounded by a few stallions.
>So she's popular as well, eh?
>A few seconds of observation prove the exact opposite.
>A hoof lands hard on her shoulder, knocking her back.
>That's not a friendly gesture.
>What's even less friendly is the group coercing her out the back door.
>Welp.
>It's not every day you're forced to get up from your stool.
>The bartender seems to empathize.
>"Want me to hold your drink for ya?"
>You grab the glass.
>In one motion, you swig down the cup of brandy.
>Slamming the cup on the counter, you turn to Tap.
"Nah."
>You feel pretty badass.
>Though it's a bit unwarranted.
>You also probably look like a fool, if anyone was watching.
>Luckily everyone had their eyes on Trixie.
>With a stern look, you exit through the back door.
 
>You see just what you expected.
>"What do you think you're doing here in P0NYville?"
>"We don't appreciate you peckerheads in our city."
>"Just fly away and there won't be any trouble."
>Three stallions surround the griffon.
>Oh boy do you hate conflict.
>The griffon is crouched down, her talons bare.
>"You wanna fight? COME ON!"
>You step closer to the group.
"Ah ah ah, no fighting tonight."
>One of the stallions turns back to respond.
>"Look pal, this ain't got nothing to do with you."
>You regain composure, and stand up tall.
"And what, may I ask, is your issue with her?"
>He sneers, turning back to her.
>"She's a griffon, pal. She's not welcome around here."
"Is that so?"
>You instantly regret what you are about to do.
>A light touch on his shoulder is all it takes for him to turn his head.
"Then consider me the welcoming committee."
>You toss a haymaker at his jaw.
>Holy fucking fuck that hurt.
>You had to have broken a knuckle.
>What the fuck is his skull made of, iron?
>Luckily, he seems to have felt the same impact, and hits the ground.
 
>The two stallions just stare at you.
>"What the buck, you just knocked out Mahonie!"
"Get back inside."
>This time they listen to you.
>Rushing inside, you're left with a stallion out cold in the alley, and Gilda.
>"Wow, nice punch."
>She crouches down to the guy on the ground, admiring your handiwork.
"Come on, let's have a drink."
>Getting up, she walks with you inside.
>Not before kicking the guy in the stomach, of course.
>Once inside, you take your seat back, this time accompanied by your feathered female friend.
"A whiskey for the lady."
>The bartender gives you a look.
>"Five people walked out there, 4 came back in."
>You sigh, nodding towards the door.
"He's unconscious."
>With a laugh, that brings a smile back to his face.
>"Figured as much. It's on me."
>Pouring her a glass of whiskey, you hold up your freshly pre-filled glass of brandy.
"To bar fights."
>She smirks.
>"That was a bar fight?"
>She clinks your glass with her own.
>"If that's what you call a fight, you'd never survive at my local pub."
 
>Time passes, and the two of you chat lightly.
>The stallion you laid out made it back inside, sitting down with his buddies.
"So, any inkling as to why those guys were on your case?"
>"Yeah, a few reasons."
>She sips her whiskey.
>"Talons, feathers, and beak."
>It's like that, is it?
>You've only seen her around here once, so it makes sense you wouldn't know how p0nies think of her.
>And, apparently, this is how it is.
"Been like this for a while?"
>She glares at you.
>"Ya think? Griffons and P0nies never got along well."
>With that, her head sinks.
>"And...not to mention I burned a few bridges here..."
>Rainbow Dash.
>She's told ya this tale before.
"Well, not much you can do, eh?"
>"What do you mean by that? I can leave."
>Her whiskey's nearly gone.
>"I can fly away, never look back. I got nothing holding me here anyway."
"Ain't that the truth."
>You swirl your drink in your hand.
"I wonder the same thing."
 
>She turns towards you.
>"How so?"
"Look at me. I've been here for longer than I'd like to remember, and I've spent that time drinking away my troubles."
>The level of blood alcohol is getting to you.
>"What do you mean 'been here'?"
>That's right, how could she know.
>Ah well...
>It's a story for another time...
>...
>...and that time is now.
>You swig the rest of your brandy.
"I came here a while ago. A long while. I have no idea how I got here, or why, but after the first few years, the shock faded."
>Gilda remains silent.
"So I did what I do? I hid. Found a place where I could drink my troubles away, and here I am."
>You solemnly look down.
"Nothing's keeping me here. At the same time, I got nowhere to go."
>After a few seconds, you receive a talon to the back of the head.
"OW."
>You rub the spot while looking at Gilda.
>She just smirks at you.
>"Cheer the hell up. You got good drink, good music, and good company."
>...
"...where's the good company?"
>That's met with another swift hit to the skull.
 
>An hour or so later, Trixie gets up from her table.
>A stallion of her choosing follows her up and out the door.
>You sigh as this happens.
"Another random colt for Trixie."
>"Hm? Oh, her."
>She watches her as she leaves.
>"She usually sits over here with you, eh? What happened?"
>You wince slightly.
"Ever since she played a gig here, she's been riding the popularity, hitting up stallions every night."
>"Ah."
>Gilda gives you a slight glance.
>"She don't know what she's missing, right?"
>She's...got a point.
>You're some of the best damn company you know.
>If you're gonna spend it with anyone, may as well be someone who actually wants it.
>Turning to Gilda, you smirk.
"Damn right."
>The two of you clink glasses one more time.
 
>Speaking of time, Gilda notices the clock on the wall.
>"Gettin' late."
"Yup."
>"Do you ever leave?"
"Not often."
>She gets up, her stretched wing brushing lightly against your back.
>"Then I know just where to find you."
>With that, she turns to leave.
>You sigh, looking into the empty glass.
>An outcast sharing drinks with an outcast.
>It was...
>...nice.
>As you hand Tap your empty glass, getting up for the night, you can't help but think.
>You spent the evening sharing company with a girl, who looks forward to seeing you again.
>Trixie DID miss out.
 
>Meanwhile...
 
>"Trixie said LEAVE."
>A stallion walks away from the mare, dejected.
>She now walks alone towards her wagon.
>Again.
>Every night it was the same.
>Leave with somep0ny, stay with nop0ny.
>The last stallion to ever be in here was...
>...well...not a stallion.
>She throws her head down into a pillow.
>That look he gave her before...
>Did it mean anything?
>Now he doesn't look at all.
>Trixie blew it again...