Title:           [PiE] Moonshine with Punch 2: Seeing a Man About a Horse
Author:          Fillydelphian
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/qWsWLw7X
First Edit:      Thursday 15th of August 2013 06:47:28 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Thursday 15th of August 2013 06:47:28 PM CDT

>There's something about an autumn rain that makes the city look more vibrant and feel more alive in the night.
>It might be the way the pattering  sets a backdrop for the sounds of downtown, or fills the peaceful silence of the quieter streets. There's that droning quality that the rain brings with it that cuts through the din and chatter. It makes the world seem a quieter place despite adding it's own voice to the noise.
>Or maybe it's the light that reflects off the street, splashing the glittering marquees and vibrant electric bulbs all around, where they would never otherwise be seen. A walk downtown is like a fireworks display in the rain. Color throws itself all around with the water, dazzling those with the privilege to see it.
>Of course, it could always be that sense of cleansing that comes with the rain. Like a gift from God himself to wash the streets clean so that the accumulating debauchery doesn't pile too high. Though, in this town, it's hard to tell if something can ever really be clean.
>You flip the collar of your overcoat up and duck under an awning to light a cigarette.
>After a long drag and a deep breath, you step back out into the rain and adjust your hat. A flask of whiskey in your breast pocket sloshes and knocks against your chest.
>You can't help but sigh contentedly as you walk slowly down the street towards your apartment.
>In the cheap briefcase by your side, a newly pressed record waits to be played on the gramophone your cousin gave you when you returned from Europe.
>A little music ought to lighten the mood in your apartment, but for now you take in the calm that the rain provides.
1/
 
>When you finally reach your building, you look up.
>Amidst the rain, you can see the lights on in your apartment. A silhouette appears in the window and remains there until you head inside.
>Your apartment, while by no means opulent, is still respectable, you like to think.
>The paint in some of the halls might be peeling and the heat doesn't work half the time, but it's been your home long enough that the flaws have become endearing.
>You turn the key in the lock to your door and step inside.
>Berry stands at the window, staring out at the rainy city.
>Once you hang up your hat and coat, you walk over to her with the briefcase.
“I got us some music while I was out. Fresh pressed from the Big Easy,” you say softly.
>The mare sighs and turns to you with a faint smile.
>”I'd like that,” she answers, walking to the gramophone. She eyes the contraption wistfully. “You know, we had something like this back home. It's...familiar.” Berry lingers, watching as you wind up the gramophone and lay the disc on the machine.
>The room is filled with lively swing music when you set the needle down. You go to the couch and flop down.
>”Long day?” Berry asks, sitting across from you in your other chair.
“A little. The juice joint was packed full tonight. I could barely move around after my set--” You stop yourself complaining too much. “I'm sorry. I know it must be tough being stuck up here.”
>”The view is nice...” she replies, trying weakly to sound positive.
“Why don't you tell me about where you're from?” She seems to perk up a little bit.
>”You mean Ponyville? Equestria?”
“Yeah. Figure I oughta ask about your home if I'm gonna have you in my house. I could be a better host that way.”
>Now her smile is genuine.
>”Well, where to start? I grew up in a town called Ponyville...”
2/
 
>”...And then there's Canterlot, the capitol. That's the farthest I've ever been from home,” Berry says dreamily. “It's amazing there. The Castle hangs right on the side of a mountain. You can see all the way back to Ponyville from the gardens there...” She suddenly looks down towards the floor. “But that all seems so far away, now.”
>You get up and put your hand on the mare's shoulder.
“Hey, chin up, Jane. It's not so bad here. Besides, it's only been a day. We'll find a way to get you home sooner or later.”
>”We don't even know how I got here in the first place, Anon.” Berry's voice carries notes of defeat.
“I know it involved that lightning bolt. That's a start, isn't it?” You walk to your coat. “Anyway, you look like you could use a drink.” Berry's eyes light up as you take the flask out of the breast pocket.
>She catches it deftly in her hooves when you toss it to her.
>After a swig her mood lightens and she gets up to turn the volume up on the gramophone.
>”You know,” she says, turning to you and speaking over the music. “For a country that you say banned alcohol, you sure have a lot of it around.”
>You smirk.
“Well, miss, not everyone quite agrees with the law, I think you'll find. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Little hair of the dog never hurt a soul.”
>Berry walks to the chair and takes another gulp of whiskey. She seems to loosen up and starts bobbing her head in time with the music.
>”Is all the music here so happy?” she muses, starting to sway.
“When the people are.” You join her in the free space in your parlor.
>”I think I'd like to meet some of them.” The pony tries her best to mimic your movements as you start a two-step.
“Maybe you will. Once we figure out this falling-from-the-sky business, that is.”
>Berry nuzzles your leg, cheeks flushed with drink.
>”I hope it's soon...” she quietly sighs.
3/
 
>The music slows down. Berry looks pensive again.
>”What about you?” she asks, looking up.
“Me?”
>”I figure I should get to know my host..” She smirks. “I could be a better guest that way.”
“Makes sense. Where should I start?”
>”At the beginning, or wherever you want.”
“Beginning's as good a place to start as any. I was born here in Chicago back in '96. Different place back then. The electric lights hadn't come in yet. Used to be there were little armies of men who went around town lighting the streetlamps.” You turn the music off and sit back down.
>”How did they light the lamps?”
“With long sticks with matches on them. Why? How do they do it in Ponyville?”
>”The unicorns do it with their magic. Or sometimes the pegasus ponies will take care of it.”
“Well, we don't have much magic here. Magicians, sure, like that Houdini, but those are just tricks.”
>”No magic?” the mare looks incredulous. “Then who controls the weather?”
“This Equestria place sounds like a real madhouse. Controlling the weather? My mother used to say that only God could do that, and I used to believe her.”
>”Used to?”
>You look away.
“Why don't we talk about something els--”
>The clock starts to chime three in the morning.
“Is it that late? I should go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
>”What's big about tomorrow?” the mare asks, intrigued.
“Lots of chores, and then I've got to go up north tomorrow evening. I won't be back until late.”
>Berry looks disappointed. You furrow your brow.
“Anything you need tomorrow? I can get it in the morning.”
>”I'll be fine.”
>You rise and head to your room.
“Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
4/
 
>The next night you hire a cab to take you to Rogers Park.
>As you go farther north, the city seems to quiet down.
>Save for the respectable cluster of theaters and ballrooms on Howard Street, the place is mainly residential. A sense of wealth and luxury emanates from the streets as the cabbie cruises along them.
>”So, you live up here or something, Mac?” the driver asks as he turns onto the street leading towards the coast.
“I wish I did. This place is a little too ritzy for me, though. I'm just coming up for the shindig at the yacht club,” you answer, looking out the window at the apartment buildings passing by in the night.
>”Ooh, the yacht club? Gonna rub elbows with the glitzy dolls, eh? How'd you swing a ticket to that?”
“Met a dame at Doyle's a few nights ago. Real live wire. She invited me up.”
>The cabbie chuckles. “Well, if you happen to see Citotte there, slug him for me.”
“Still raw about that business with the Series?” you laugh back. The cabbie shakes his fist jokingly.
>When the car pulls up to the yacht club, both you and the driver let out a whistle at the place.
“Thanks for the ride. What do I owe you?”
>”It'll be about seven cents, being that I'm out of my usual range.”
“Alright.”
>You hand the man some coins and walk towards the yacht club, straightening your dinner jacket as you go. The doorman stops you.
>”Guests only, sir. Are you on the list?” he says sternly, looking you over with annoyed eyes.
“Mously,” you reply.
>He looks over a list on the podium in front of him.
>”Mously....Mously...No, I don't see a Mously here, sir.”
“Are you sure? Anon Mously?”
>”It isn't here. I'm very sorry, sir, but I can't let you--”
5/
 
>The door behind the man opens and you see a familiar blonde bob poke out.
>”Is everything alright out here, Sam?” Elenor starts to ask before spotting you. “Anon! So pleased you could make it! Did you find the place without too much trouble? I know it's terribly far from Sixtieth Street.”
>Sam the doorman looks at you suspiciously. “Do you know this man, ma'am?” he asks Elenor.
>Elenor smiles warmly in her cream-colored silk dress. “Well, of course I do, Sam. Let him on in. I've been absolutely dying to have somebody to talk to whom I won't have to see debilitated at church tomorrow morning.” She motions to you. “Come in! Come in! I have to introduce you to my Cynthia and then you must come with me and share the bubbly. It makes the guest-watching so much more enjoyable.”
>You're about to say something when Elenor grabs your hand and tugs you inside.
>The yacht club ballroom is a grand affair; a classic art nouveau series of columns heaves a great vaulted ceiling high into the air above you while stately chandeliers hang overhead.
>Men in pressed suits mill about bearing platters and glasses.
>You try to take in as much of the scene as you can while Elenor pulls you through the great hall.
>”So how did you come up, Anon?”
“Well, Ms. Hayes--”
>”Please, call me Elenor. 'Ms. Hayes' makes me sound so distant,” she interjects.
“I grabbed a jitney down near Doyle's. Paid an extra two cents to bring me all the way up here.”
>”I thought so, when I didn't see a car behind you.” She cranes her neck, surveying the room. “This way...”
>Elenor trails off, spotting someone. “Cynthia! Come here! I've someone for you to meet!” She waves rapidly. After a few moments, you make it to a clear area in the room, where a black-haired woman in an emerald green dress is waiting with a delicate stem glass perched in her hand.
6/
 
>Elenor points to you. “Cynthia, this is Anon Mously. Anon, Cynthia Holmes.”
>The woman extends a free gloved hand to you. “Charmed. Elenor's told me about you. Jazz player at one of the clubs downtown. That must be interesting work,” she says.
“It gets the bills paid, that's certain,” you reply. Cynthia smiles coyly and whispers something to Elenor.
>”Well, you must try the champagne. It's fresh in from Montreal,” she states, turning back to you.
“You get it from that far?” you inquire.
>”Only the best for Maximillion Hayes, isn't that right, Elenor?” Cynthia laughs.
>”Of course,” Elenor affirms. “They ship it from France, and then it's taken along the river and across the lake to Buffalo, then through Cleveland, Detroit, and Grand Rapids before it makes it here to us. It's quite the journey, but Max does enjoy it, so father pulls his strings and makes it so.”
>Elenor waves her hand casually before catching herself.
>”Oh, but listen to me, flaunting my family in front of you. I don't mean to boast, I really don't. I would hate for you to think of me as another one of these prissy pills.” She motions to the room around her. “Present company excluded, of course.” Cynthia nods and tips her glass subtly with a smile. “Why don't we get you a drink? There should be plenty on the rotunda. Cynthia, care to join us?”
>The black-haired woman simply smirks and waves her off.
>You follow Elenor out to the back of the hall, where it opens up to the Lake and the docks.
>A small armada floats on the water. Before the boats, where Elenor leads you, is a large stone rotunda and a table covered in flutes filled with bubbly champagne.
>With a nod and a playful curtsey, she hands you one and clinks it against hers.
>”To the start of a wonderful evening, Anon.”
>You watch her take an enthusiastic sip before you reply.
“Cheers.”
7/
 
>The two of you spend twenty minutes standing on the rotunda, watching men in smoking jackets mill about talking to women in dinner gowns. Cynthia has long since disappeared into the crowd.
>Elenor nods her head to the quiet swing music coming from the main hall.
>Suddenly, she seems to be struck with an idea and again grabs your arm.
>”Oh! It's nearly time! Come! Follow me! We'll miss it!” she calls back, guiding you back into the hall.
>You come to a set of stairs flanked by large men. Elenor spots them and stops abruptly.
>”This way,” she says, tugging you away from them.
>She leads you to a set of double doors off to the side of the large hall before pushing through and going into the kitchen.
>You follow through a stark maze of steel and light brick as cooks and servers eye you in confusion.
>Above the din, you yell.
“Where are we going?”
>”You'll see!” Elenor yells back, ducking out of the kitchen into a quiet hallway leading to a much smaller set of stairs.
>She finally releases your hand in order to hold the railing.
>At the top, she turns down yet another hallway, this one leading back towards the sound of music.
>The hallway is as stately as the main hall. Elenor makes one last turn before coming to a marble balcony and peering over the edge.
>You come up behind to see what she's looking at, just in time for the band to change gears and for the crowd in the hall to react.
>They immediately, almost automatically pair off and begin to swirl to the beat, every couple doing the same two-step. It's an almost hypnotic scene from above. Elenor beams.
>”Just in time. What did I tell you before, Anon? They do this every time father throws a party -and he did throw this one, despite what Max might tell you- and it is always fun to watch. They are so like ants, or bees.”
8/
 
>You watch the scene below lazily. Elenor taps her finger on the stone railing in time with the band.
>Amidst the newly livened-up atmosphere, you hardly notice the hard footsteps coming up behind you.
>It isn't until Elenor turns around and rolls her eyes in annoyance that you see the tall, sharply dressed man standing behind you.
>He eyes you with an air of disdain and casually wipes his slicked-back blonde hair.
>”Good evening, Max,” Elenor says, making no effort to hide her annoyance.
>”Elenor,” Max replies. “Are you going to introduce me to your...friend, here?”
>Your companion sighs audibly. “Anon, this is my brother Maximillion. Max, this is Anon Mously.”
>You extend your hand to shake. Max ignores it.
>”What are you doing up here? The party is down below,” he says to his sister.
>”I could ask you the same. Besides, I can go where I like. It's a free country.”
>Max flashes his contempt.
>”Don't forget who fought to keep it that way.”
>You ball a fist, staying silent. Elenor seems to be picking up on your irritation.
>”You were on reserve, Max. Father made sure you saw as little of the front as possible. Don't lord it over our guest or me,” she says, tapping her foot impatiently. “Now, did you want something?”
>Max pinches the bridge of his nose briefly.
>”No, one of the help downstairs said they saw someone coming up here. I wanted to make sure it wasn't one of the guests again.”
>”You should watch out for the Lees. I hear they have sticky fingers,” Elenor giggles. Max looks unamused.
>”Well, if you're going to just stand here making jokes, I'll take my leave.”
>He turns and quickly disappears into the stairwell. Elenor lets out a sigh and turns to you.
>”I'm sorry, I should have warned you about my brother.”
“Quite alright. He seems tolerable. Hasn't got your charm, though.”
>”You're quite the flatterer, aren't you?” Elenor smiles.
“Only when a gal deserves it,” you reply.
9/
 
>Below the balcony, the mass of men and women continues its hive-like reverie.
>You momentarily regret leaving your drink on the rotunda. Elenor watches next to you.
>After a moment thinking about it, you push yourself away from the railing and turn to her.
“No sense just watching the fun,” you declare, extending your arm towards her. “Would the lady care to dance?”
>”It would be my pleasure. Do you know the Camel Walk?”
“The Camel Walk? Of course, but--”
>Elenor takes your hands in hers and starts the steps, cutting you off mid-sentence.
>You look over the balcony, letting your feet take over the dance. The band below has dived into a fast ragtime reverie.
>Your partner rests her head on your shoulder during a slow section of the dance.
>”I truly am pleased that you came,” she says, before going back to the energetic steps.
“So am I.”
>”You've no idea how cooped up it gets here sometimes. Going to Doyle's when I last saw you was the most fun I've had in weeks.”
>You laugh to yourself.
“I must admit, it was one of my more memorable nights, as well.”
>”You must have many a memorable night.”
“You would be surprised.”
>The band winds down, but the two of you continue dancing through to the next song,  almost ignoring the music altogether.
10/
 
>The large gilded clock at the side of the hall ticks over to midnight
>Elenor and you lean on the marble railing, looking at the crowd.
>She's closer to you now. Her shoulder brushes yours every so often.
>”Say, Anon? The party seems to be winding down...” You hear the disappointment in her voice and are struck with an idea.
“If you'd like to keep the night going, we could go downtown. The clubs will be open until the sun starts coming up. Besides, I could use some more drink.”
>”I couldn't agree more. Shall we take the car?”
>You raise an eyebrow in confusion.
“Car?”
>”One of my father's, of course.”
>You can't help but smile widely at the blonde.
“I like the way you think.”
 
>Half an hour later, you pull up to your building with Elenor.
“I'll just be a minute. Got to get my dough,” you say, patting your pockets for your keys.
>Elenor sighs in mock annoyance.
>”Alright. But don't be long.”
>You nod and head up into the apartment.
>When you arrive, you expect to see Berry staring out the window, like always.
>Instead, the apartment is empty. You look around for signs of the mare.
“Berry? Where are you?”
>No reply comes back. You furrow your brow, concern starting to set in.
>You go to the window and look down. The only thing you see below is the car and Elenor.
>After a minute or two wracking your brain for an answer, you snap your fingers and race out the door towards the stairs.
>Berry whips around in surprise when you burst through the roof access door. She's standing at the edge of the roof, looking at the sky and the skyline.
11/
 
>”A-Anon! You're back!” Berry yelps.
“What are you doing up here? It's dangerous!” You wave for her to come back to the door.
>”It's fine. Nop0ny can see me up here, anyway. I've been around roofs before, you know,” she retorts, the surprise falling out of her tone.
>You nod rapidly.
“Alright, alright. Just come back inside, will you? I thought you'd disappeared.”
>The mare walks over to you and starts down the stairs looking slightly deflated.
>”How was your evening?” she asks.
“Quite good. I'll tell you all about it when I get back.”
>”Get back?” Berry looks at you, disappointment in her eyes.
“Yeah. I just had to stop and get some dough. I'm going back out.”
>The two of you get to your room. You open the door for Berry and watch her go inside. After a second, you follow, remembering that you still haven't gotten your wallet.
>Once inside, however, Berry freezes, eyes wide.
>You stare at her for a moment.
“What?”
>”Anon?” comes a voice from behind. You turn around to see a baffled Elenor standing in the door, eyes locked on Berry. “I- you were gone longer than you said. I got bored...” she trails off. Berry cocks her head to the side.
>Her gaze is fixated on Elenor's sequined dress.
>”Pretty...” she mumbles. Elenor takes a step back.
>In a panic, you lurch forward and pull her into the room, closing the door behind her.
>”Anon, what is...that?”
>Mortified, you grasp at an explanation.
“Well, this is--”
>”Berry Punch,” the mare interrupts, extending a hoof and smiling genially. “I'm a friend of Anon's.”
>Elenor looks faint.
>”It...she...talking...”
>Berry purses her lips and looks around before her eyes light up again. She dashes to the couch and retrieves the flask.
>”You look like you could use a drink,” she says, bringing it to Elenor. You watch the scene silently, not sure if your input will put a wrench in Berry's handling of things.
12/
 
>Elenor slowly takes the flask and unscrews the top before taking a long swig of the whiskey.
>”I think I need to sit down. Anon, what on earth is this?”
>Berry looks to you.
“She's...a talking pony, in all simplicity,” you say slowly.
>”I have never heard of a talking pony, Anon.” Elenor looks incredulous.
“Neither have I, but there she is,” you reply, motioning to the mare.
>”And how did you meet this...her?”
“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
>Elenor smirks a little bit.
>”Try me.”
>”I kind of...fell here. From the sky,” Berry says sheepishly.
“You remember that big storm a couple nights ago?”
>”I do. Strange clouds. We watched it from the waterfront,” Elenor answers.
“Well, one of those strange bolts of lightning hit my roof that night, and Berry here was apparently inside it, because she just appeared there. I can't explain it past that.”
>Elenor leans in, examining Berry with mounting curiosity.
>”And she's intelligent? Like us?” She lets her gaze linger on you with a sense of muted wonder.
>”Maybe more so,” Berry says jokingly. “What is that you're wearing? It's so pretty.”
>Elenor looks down at the dress, then at you with an expression of both utter confusion and hilarity.
>Before you can say anything, she bursts out laughing.
>”She has good taste, Anon. I'm intrigued.”
>You're about to reply when she rises.
>”I'm going to go back, though. I think I need some time to think about this. You understand, don't you, Anon?”
“Do I ever...”
>The blonde places the flask on the table by the door and walks out into the hallway before turning.
>”All things considered, however, tonight has certainly been...memorable,” she smiles. You watch her walk away, leaving you and Berry alone.
“Yeah, memorable. I'm suddenly living with a talking horse. That's memorable, I tell you...”
>”I think she likes you,” Berry remarks.
“I think I need a drink.”
End