Title:           The Carousel Speakeasy
Author:          horsewords
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/1P3kVUmx
First Edit:      Thursday 7th of April 2016 12:22:25 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Thursday 7th of April 2016 12:22:57 AM CDT

>The sun has long since set.
>Rarity sits at her ornate desk, the only remnant of her once-luxurious lifestyle, in her barren study.
>The Carousel Speakeasy's miserable financial information sits in front of her, strewn on the desk.
>She picks up a cigarette and tries to light a match in her shaky magic.
>After the first few tries, it ignites, and she raises it to the cigarette.
>The first few puffs are quick and almost panicked, but her breaths soon change to slow, drawn out drags.
>A rapping on the door knocks her back into reality.
>"Come in," she says, almost dejectedly.
>The oak door swings open, and Rainbow Dash trots in.
>Her hair is messy as usual, vibrant colors muted, but it's an organized chaos.
>A gray suit, ironed and pressed, has a small stain on the collar.
>Rarity can't tell if that's blood, liquor, or something else, but she doesn't care.
>"Have you found us some hooch yet?" she asks.
>"Yes, darling. Most of the places have moved on from us poor saps, but Sweet Apple Acres has an unusually large amount ready. You can take-"
>She stops. Her brow furrows as she tries to recount the last seven years of automotive transfers.
>She begins muttering to herself. "Old Red's gone, Thunderlane wrapped it around a tree. Those are gone, those were sold, the Corinthian stole those in '25, Rainbow put that one into a ditch, so let's see-"
>"Rarity? There's the truck and the car."
>"Take the truck. I don't need to tell you how to do your job. Just, please, come back in one piece."
>"Ab-so-lute-ly."
>Rainbow Dash turns and leaves the room, but not before calling to Rarity behind her, still in her office.
>"They're waiting for you."
>Rarity laughs.
>"Who's left to wait for me?"
>Her gaze drifts to the window, where she can see just the glimpse of another grimy St. Louis street just past this one.
 
>Down a few flights of stairs, and Rainbow makes it to the basement.
>She glides through the doors and into the cavernous room, decorated by shiny marble and gold leaf, lit by chandelier, with the band playing slowly as usual.
>Few ponies populate the tables or the bar, and they pay no attention to her as she makes her way to the maze behind the stage.
>As she extends a hoof to open the door, it bursts open, and Pinkie jumps out.
>Her mane is done short and curled, and she boasts a long, flowing dress and jewelry to match.
>"Hiya, Dashie!"
>"Hey, Pinks. Just about to head out. Can't keep watering down the watered-down gin, after all."
>"Is Spike going? I was going to teach him how to dance. There's a new one they're doing in New York called the Lindy Hop."
>"You slay me. Yeah, I was planning on bringing him along."
>"Well, have fun! I'll be mixing drinks and swinging these pearls around."
>"Try not to be too crazy."
>Rainbow turns back and steps through the door, but before she can make it through, Pinkie speaks up again.
>"Hey, what's with the suit?"
>"You think I could scare the Corinthians as much as I do now if I was in a dress like yours?"
>Pinkie lets out a small laugh.
>"I guess so. Well, have at it."
>Rainbow smiles and goes through the door.
>The hallway is much less finished than the speakeasy itself, lit by utilitarian lighting.
>Down the narrow hall, the space opens up into a small break room, where Spike usually waits.
>He knew there would be a run tonight, after all.
>She walks into the room and sees him with a cigarette in a claw and his hat in the other.
>"Does Twilight know you smoke?"
>"Does she know I come here every other night?"
>"Touché. Well, put that damn thing out and come on. We're heading out. Sweet Apple Acres."
>Spike puts his hat on and scurries over to Rainbow Dash, and she resumes her step.
 
>Up the small staircase down the hall is the garage, which can be accessed through a trapdoor.
>Rainbow pushes it up, and enters the dimly lit room.
>She can hear the turning of a wrench somewhere in the room.
>She smiles. Big Mac must still be here.
>"Finally getting that junker I pulled off of those griffons to start?"
>"Eeyup."
>"Going well?"
>"Nope."
>"Well, I'll leave you to it then."
>She steps into the tired black truck, and Spike turns the crank to start it.
>After a few putters, the engine starts, and he hops in.
>Before Rainbow drives through the open garage door and into the alley, she sticks her head out the open window.
>"We're heading up to Sweet Apple Acres. You want me to tell AJ you're staying here?"
>"Eeyup."
>With no more words to exchange, she puts the truck in gear and drives off.
>St. Louis is active, even at this hour.
>Restaurants attract a few peckish ponies, and the few eateries that sell liquor under the counter after dark aren't doing to badly either.
>The hotel's lights are ablaze, a tall, towering monument to the everlasting prosperity of St. Louis and America as a whole.
>But there's nothing here for Rainbow right now that's not sitting drinking in the Carousel.
>Spike, though, doesn't deserve this.
>He has Twilight to take care of him, and her money in the stock market should last them until the Forties.
>Soon, the shops give way to bungalows, and the bungalows give way to farms and trees.
>Down one of these narrow country roads is Sweet Apple Acres.