Author's Notes:

I DID IT WRITE THIS TIME

The bottle tips rather slowly, releasing the strong, bitter liquid into your cup. Looking down into it, you see a sad, depressed man staring back at you. It’s been three long, hard years since you’ve arrived here. It wasn’t that this place was bad; if anything it was quite the opposite. Clean air, green grass, good company: They were the only things you had wanted since you left school and joined the working class. You even had a nice, large home with a big backyard like you had always dreamed about. Basically, the envy of all men, right?

Not exactly.

It might have been an important factor to mention before, but you were stuck in a world filled with pastel colored ponies. A land they called “Equestria”, where the only human was yourself. Unlike human society, however, these ponies were very social and refreshing. Many were willing to give you the shirt off their backs, metaphorically speaking of course. But it just didn’t feel the same as talking to a human. Every one of them just felt so... happy. Not a single worry met their minds. And even if they did, it was something simple like not having enough punch at a party, or one of their flowers being stepped on.

But beggars can’t be choosers, so since you ended up here, you’ve been working your ass off to make a living and find a place you could call home. Jumping from place to place, it was safe to say you’ve been all over the country. Manehattan was your first stop, but you weren’t there very long; the city life just didn’t cut it out for you. From there you made your way out west towards a small town called Appleloosa, but again, not for too long. The place was something straight out of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” with all the cowboys and indians around there. Vanhoover was nice for a while, but that only lasted for a few months. Turns out that sleeping with the mayor’s wife was widely frowned upon, even if you didn’t know she was married to him.

In the end, you stumbled upon Ponyville, a nice and small rural town. Once you got here, you picked up a few jobs to make ends meet and ended up buying a nice big home for yourself. Unlike the ponies, you didn’t have a “cutie mark”, meaning you were marketable for many jobs instead of just one. You have all the things you’ve ever wanted, but you still felt empty inside. No matter what did, you could always feel that hole deep in your heart.

Grabbing the glass, you down the tan liquid inside in one swig. Lightly placing the glass down on the hardwood counter, you let the burning sensation take its place. The warm feeling begins to slowly spread throughout your body, feeling almost like total ecstasy. You grab your empty glass and motion it towards the bartender.

“Another glass, if you can.” He gives a slight nod and fills another glass before making his way towards you. Using his magic, he grabs ahold of your dirty cup, cleaning it with a wet cloth. You’ve been to this bar multiple times, but this was the first time you actually took the time to look at this barkeep.

He sported a nice tailored vest that overlapped his dark brown coat. His black mane resembled that of a 1950’s gangster, glistening in the dim light from the massive amounts of hair gel used to style it. His goatee is roughly a few centimeters long and has a little curl on the end.

“You know, I’ve been working at this bar for almost eight years now. The day you walked in, I thought you were going to be trouble.” You lock eyes with him, taking a sip of your whiskey. He takes notice of your defensive look and smiles. “But after all the times you’ve been here, it’s obvious you aren’t looking for trouble. If anything, trouble’s been looking for you.” Taking the glass, you shotgun it down and wipe your mouth with a napkin.

“You can say that again, brother,” you grunt, placing the cup down onto the napkin. “I ended up on this strange world with nothing but the clothes on my back and no clue as to where I was. It’s been one hell of a ride since then.” The bartender leans against the counter with a look of interest in his face.

“If a stallion’s seen a lot in his time, he’s got some funny stories in his arsenal.” You break into a grin and look down at your glass.

“You and I are going to need a drink if you wanna hear this one,” you hint. His smiles widens as he grabs a bottle from the shelf with magic.

“I’ve got one I’ve been meaning to try,” he boasts, pulling a golden-colored bottle into view. The label reads ‘Regal Royal Suite’; just the name sounded expensive. As he pulls the cork, the aroma overcomes your nose with a very familiar scent: Scotch, the fancy man’s hard liquor.

As he pours a dram of the coppery, golden liquid into a glass, you begin your tale.

“You see, for a small amount of time, I was working in as a freight loader in Manehattan. After a long day of work, I went to the bar for a drink. I sat in the back and sipped on nice cup of cider as I watched a stallion come in. He goes to the bartender and tells him that he wants a glass of scotch, but it has to be aged twelve years.” The bartender places the glass down in front of you, nodding his head to signal that he is still listening to your story. “Thanks. I’m guessing the bartender expected that he didn’t know anything about scotch, so he gives him a glass. The stallion takes a sip and spits it right back out, screaming ‘This scotch is only aged two years!’ The bartender probably wasn’t exactly buying that he could tell the age difference, so gives him another cup. The stallion, again, spits it out and screams ‘This is only aged six years! Stop messing with me here colt!’ The bartender finally sees he isn’t playing around and gives him one last cup. The stallion takes a sip and is finally content.” Taking ahold of the cup, you begin to stir the liquid inside with your finger, making sure to coat the inside of the glass before finishing up your story. “So another stallion at the end of the bar who is drunk out of his mind, slides him a cup, telling him ‘Try that one.’ The scotch drinking stallion takes a sip and spits it out. He screams out, ‘What is that?! It tastes like piss!’ The drunk stallion chuckles and says, ‘Yeah, it is. How old am I?’”

The bartender laughs, smacking his hoof against the counter lightly. You can’t help but chuckle as well; his laughter is rather contagious. After all the giggles have left your system, you lift the glass and nose it. Taking in this aroma was not quite like the normal whiskeys; there was something special to it. You take a small sip and let it settle in your mouth, making sure to pick up all the flavors in it. Something seems off about this drink, however. Once the burning sensation has been too much, you swallow the liquor down, letting the typical warmth consume your belly. Putting your nose to the glass, you take a bigger whiff than before. You take another sip, this time enough to fill your mouth, and repeat the process. Looking back over at the bartender, you notice his impressed facial expression.

“You are the first one to come in here and know how to drink a glass of scotch properly.” You place the glass down and shrug.

“I know the finer points of drinking. It’s nothing special.” It looks like he raises an eyebrow, but you disregard it, figuring it was a trick of the eyes from the dim lighting. “Anyway, this drink is quite a unique one, that’s for sure.” He takes a sip before leaning back, crossing his forelegs.

“Oh? And how so?”

“Well,” you begin, looking down into the glass again, “For one, the glass was washed with distilled water and no soap in order to prevent the taste of the scotch from being ruined.” You look back up at him with a serious face. “Secondly, it’s really strong both in taste and aftertaste. When I let it settle in my mouth, it was consistent with the aroma. I caught hints of citrus and flora in the smell, particularly roses, but I did not expect the taste to throw me off like it did.”

“And what was it that threw you off?” he questions as a massive grin sneaks onto his face. Taking the cup, you give it another stir before setting it back down.

“I caught tastes of orange and rose. I’m pretty sure there was some oak in there as well.” His grin grows even wider, almost as if it was going to break his face. “I didn’t smell it, but I tasted it. A bit of a trickster this drink is. Taking the second sip, I made sure to put more in than the first, and caught a full grasp on the taste.”

“Which was?!” he asks as he leans towards the counter. It was obvious he was trying to hold back his excitement, but his actions were causing him to fail desperately.

“Caramel.”

“Finally!” The bartender smacks his hoof against the bar, unable to hold his joy any more. “For years I’ve served that drink to ponies and not one has appreciated the fine taste of it! Most drink it for the burn and nothing more.” Giving a modest shrug, you pull your hand back and place it down on the counter.

“It’s nothing special really. I just used to bartend back in my home world. You pick up the tricks as you go.” The bartender’s eyes begin to glisten with joy, like he had finally found a long lost friend.

“Anything else you used to do? If people of your world have such refined abilities, I’d love to hear more.” You take another sip and let it settle, making sure to take in all the flavors as they mixed in your mouth. After allowing the burn to start, you immediately swallow it and begin.

“Well, I used to be a bartender for a fancy hotel called Le Chat Paresseux. The place was always filled up with snobby rich people, but there was one thing that stood true to them all: They had taste in alcohol. Many would spend thousands of dol— I mean, bits on their drinks.” His eyes widen as you smirk at his response. “They had the finest tastes in everything. Drinks, clothes, women; but there was one thing they didn’t have any respect for.” You take a final gulp of your drink and carefully place the cup on the counter as he awaits your next statement with bated breath.

“If somepony’s got that kind of money, I highly doubt they have any bad tastes, but go ahead. Humor me.” Letting out a long sigh, you look him dead in the eyes, pausing for dramatic effect.

“They had no respect for music.” The bartender shakes his head in confusion, clearly not expecting your answer. “I used to write music in my spare time. I’m a big fan of all genres, but my favorites were classical, jazz, and pop. One day, I had the pleasure of meeting one of my idols.” Clasping your hand, you begin to feel your blood boil. This memory only brought you pain. “He came to the bar I worked at, holding a case in his hand, and ordered a single malt with water. I’ll never forget that drink. He was in town for his final show.” Your knuckles begin to turn white from the tight grip you were putting them through. “We began talking about jazz and the saxophone. I finally convinced him to take out his saxophone and play a song for me. He began playing such a beautiful melody, it felt as if the angels themselves had come down and played for him. But those so called ‘fine tasters’? They mocked him... Mocked him to the point where he stopped playing his song and packed up, leaving with tears filling his eyes.” Holding back the urge to slam your fists on the counter, you continue. “The next day it was reported that he had died in his sleep. ‘He went peacefully,’ they said, but I knew what killed him. His heart was finally broken after all the ridicule and mockery. He had told me that night that it was rare to find anyone who appreciated the fine art of music any more and as he left, I saw that look in his eyes. The look of a broken man, one who felt that there was no point in spreading the joy of music any more.”

The bartender shakes his head, grimace covering his face.

“I’m sorry to hear that, brother.” He pours you another glass of the scotch. “Here, this one’s on the house.” Looking down at it, a question raises in your mind.

“It’s nothing to worry about. I forgot to ask you. How much does a glass of this stuff go for?” you ask, taking a sip right after.

“About forty bits a glass.” You nearly spit the drink out and look at him in dismay. He laughs at your expression before waving his hoof. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll only charge you for a normal glass of whiskey. I don’t expect you to pay so much for something that I picked out.” Letting out a sigh of relief, you take in the aroma until it embeds its scent into your nose. The bartender takes his glass and begins to clean it with a separate cloth, making sure to not touch anything but the glass. He looks over your shoulder and cracks a smile.

“You know, you’re not the only music enthusiast in town that comes around here.” He gives his head a nudge, signalling you to turn around. Looking over shoulder, you peer into the surroundings. The bar was rather dark, but enough light was shed to help you see what was around you.

A few ponies sit in the booths that hug the walls, drinking away at their cider and generally having a good time. One mare is completely passed out on the table in the far end of the room. A few sketchy stallions sit at a table in the corner playing a game of cards, whispering amongst themselves. You quickly change your direction of sight when they all look at you with blistering glares.

One thing, however, catches your eye the most. A mare sits at a table near the center of the room, sheets of paper littered across her table. She holds a pencil in her mouth, scratching the paper with a look of frustration on her face. Leaning up against the table next to her is what appears to be an instrument case. Its shape is similar to a guitar, but it’s much larger than one. A cello, perhaps?

“That mare over there?” you ask, pointing over to her. The bartender nods and looks towards her direction.

“She’s in here once in a while. Just has a glass of wine and sits there looking annoyed.” He places the glass he was cleaning on the shelf and begins wiping the counter. “Every time she’s here, I bring her a drink as she works on that sheet music of her’s. It seems that she comes here when she was a mental block of some assortment. She’s actually been coming here more often than usual lately.” You lean in toward the bartender and drop your voice down to a whisper.

“Any idea what her name is?” you whisper. The bartender shakes his head slowly.

“I never really asked for it. She tends to be a quiet one. Just wants her drink and to be left alone. However, from what one stallion told me, she’s trying to get into the Canterlot Royal Orchestra.” Tapping your fingers against the counter, you think back to the old days on Earth. Sitting in your small apartment, you would often have time where you couldn’t concentrate on a writing. Then it hits you like a truck. There was one drink that could possibly help her out.

“Mind mixing up something real quick?” The bartender looks at you with a cocked brow. “Take three parts bourbon and one part iced coffee. If there’s anything that can break a block in concentration, it’s coffee and whiskey.” The bartender gives off a small smile and begins to mix up the concoction. He begins to measure out the amount of ice, making sure there was enough to fill the glass but not overpower the liquids. Using a jigger, he measures out the bourbon and coffee. Taking hold of it with his magic, he shakes the mixer until a nice layer of condensation develops on the sides. He grabs a rock glass and slowly fills it with the dark brown mixture. Standing from the stool, you pull out your coin purse and turn to the bartender.

“How much I do owe you?” He rubs his hoof against his chin while looking at your tab.

“Eighteen bits.” Reaching into the sack, you place twenty-five bits onto the counter. He takes them and places them into the small register, giving a nod as you head towards the mare’s table with the drink in hand. She takes no notice of your presence as you stand right besides her. You clear your throat, grabbing her attention. She looks up and reveals her face for the first time tonight. Her eyes hold a grayish, mulberry tint as her charcoal colored mane shined in the dim lighting.

“May I help you?” she asks with a hint of impatience. You place the drink on the table in an empty spot amongst the mess of papers.

“When your mind has troubles thinking, sometimes it can be helped with a bit of drinking,” you reply, giving her a small nod before heading towards the exit. Her eyes follow you as you make your way out into the cold night, but her mouth does not utter a single word.

As you step out into the chilly night, you let out a sigh and begin your walk home. Hopefully that drink will help her concentrate. If there was anything you could relate to, it was writer’s block. But that was behind you now. The only thing there was to do was to head home.

You look up to the night stars and begin to wonder if anyone back home was looking at the same ones. Friends, family, neighbors, co-workers; none of them are here. Many times you had tried to start anew in this world with the same techniques: Get a job, make some friends, live life like it was intended. But no matter what you did, it would never feel the same. There was always that empty hole in your heart.

You shake your head in protest. This isn’t the time for self-pity. You’re a man for fuck’s sake! Stuffing you hands into your pockets, you march down the all familiar road heading home.
Looking back down at the dirt path, you continue your walk as the cold breeze brushes up against your face. The Running of the Leaves ended three days again, leaving the trees bare and lifeless, but the ground in an array of colors. Different shades of green, red, and yellow litter the floor as you follow the path.

Scanning your surroundings, you listen for anything odd. The town is pretty quiet at this time. Most ponies are asleep, but even the ones who were awake refused to make a single peep. The silence in the street brings an eerie chill down your spine. Maybe it would be best to hurry up and get home to your comfy bed.

As you approach your humble abode, you open the gate and take in the current visual. The once beautiful roses in your garden are beginning to wilt, signalling Father Winter’s yearly visit was soon. The home you own is decently sized and even has a large backyard to boot. Walking down the brick path leading to your front door, you take one last look at the bright, starry sky before venturing inside.

Opening the door, the smell of fresh lemon envelopes your nose almost instantly. The house is always in peak condition. You have a tendency of tidying it when you were feeling down, so the place is clean enough to eat off the floor. After hanging your jacket on the rack by your front door, you make your way upstairs to your bedroom. You change into your nightwear and lay inside the comfy bed who’s been waiting all night for you. Your eyes slowly droop before sleep completely overcomes you.

The break of dawn approaches as your heavy eyelids begin to lift. For a few minutes, you lay under the warmth of your blanket, not wanting your body to be subjected to the cold without being mentally prepared. After a short moment, you quickly jump out of bed, allowing the cold rush to hit you. Your body gives off a quick shiver, leaving you chattering your teeth like a crazed chipmunk. Making your way for the bathroom, you start up the shower as you brush your teeth. After spitting the last swish of soapy water, you jump into the blazing hot water. For a moment, it burns as it touches your skin, but soon leaves a soothing sensation all around your body.

Standing under the shower head, you lean one arm against the wall and try to remember today’s agenda. Rarity stated that she would needed your help today since she would be extremely busy with the photoshoot coming up so soon. The Cakes also needed an extra helper for deliveries since they would be swamped with making an “experimental cake”, whatever that meant. Grabbing the shampoo bottle, you lather up and clean your hair thoroughly, making sure to catch each root. Looking up to the ceiling, you rinse the soap and think about what you would do tonight after work. There was only thing you ever did really, and that was go to the bar.

Roughly sighing, you finish the shower routine and shut off the water. As quickly as possible, you grab your towel, dry yourself off and get dressed before the cold can get to you. Grabbing a piece of toast for the road, you begin your venture to Rarity’s boutique. The bright sun almost blinds you as you open the door, making you want to go back inside. Blocking out the sun with your hand, you take the usual path into the market section of town. The ponies begin their usual morning routines like opening their stores or taking their children to school before heading to work themselves. A few say their “hellos” and “good mornings” as they pass you, a majority of them being the ones you’ve worked for doing odd jobs. You would call them acquaintances more than friends, but if one were to ask you to have a drink with them, you wouldn’t say no.

Your attention is brought to the giant carousel-like building now in front of you. Raising your hand, you give three short knocks, making sure not to hit too hard. Every time you hit too hard, Rarity would go on for hours on end about how obnoxious and ungentlecolt-like it was.

“I’ll be open in a few minutes!” you hear from the other side of the door. You look down at your watch and check the time.

7:56 am.

Rolling your eyes, you let out an annoyed sigh.

“Rarity, it’s me, Anonymous.” After a short moment of silence, the locks begin to click as they turn and retract from the door. The door cracks open as Rarity pokes her head out and looks at you before fully opening it. Her mane is in a complete mess and bags have developed under her eyes. By the look of it, she has yet to sleep. She motions for you to come in and quickly closes the door behind you. She makes her way to a sewing machine and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness that you’re here. I’m completely swamped with all of this work and I haven’t even opened the shop yet!” She levitates a list and bag of bits to you as she continues working on a dress. “That’s a list of supplies I need. If you could, please be quick. I need to finish one of my dresses before noon and I can’t do it without them.” She uses her magic to give you a bag of bits and waves you off.

You give her a nod and make your way for the door, looking down at your watch. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two to get everything and come back. Heading back out into the busy street, you make your way towards the marketplace. The list consisted of simple items: fabrics, threads, tools, and a little note at the bottom that catches your eye. In big, bold red ink marked the words, “Thank you for your help!” on the bottom. You can’t help but crack a smile as you walk to the first stand where a stallion greets you.

Opening the door to the boutique, you take a moment before entering and listen.

“Dear, listen to me. It’s fine! I have no problems making you a dress. You have three months before you’ll need it, so I will definitely have it ready by then!”

“I just don’t want you to overwork, Rarity, that’s all.” Your ears perk up at the sound of this new voice. It has a familiar tone and makes your heart jump a bit. It’s then you realize you are standing at the doorway like an imbecile, possibly because of the ponies passing by giving you strange stares. Items in hand, you enter the shop and clear your throat.

“Rarity, I have the items you asked for.” You round the corner and lock eyes with a familiar stare. The same mulberry eyes from the night before meet your gaze. It was the same mare sitting at the table with Rarity beside her. Rarity looks back and forth between you two, noticing the tension that held between you both. She clears her throat to break the awkward silence that hangs in the room.

“So, Anonymous, did you get everything?” Turning your head, you look at Rarity and break from the stare down. Handing her the bag of goods, you give a single nod.

“Yeah,” you grunt as she sifts through the bag, “I even found the shade of red you like for the one roll of cloth you requested.” A small smile breaks out on her face as she picks up the said cloth.

“Oh, Anonymous, you’re such a doll. Before I forget, here you go.” She uses her magic to levitate a small sack of money in front of you. Grabbing your pay, you mutter a small, “Thank you,” and begin heading out. As you make your way out, you can feel the gaze from the mare on your back the entire time.

Closing the door behind you, you look down at your watch and check the time once more.

10:36 a.m.

You had about an hour and a half before you needed to be at Sugarcube Corner to help out the Cakes. Maybe it was best to check in with Twilight.

Walking down the dirt road, you look around at the ponies passing by. So many of them seem to not have a care in the world. What was it that made them stay so happy? You’d give anything to have a genuine smile on your face again. Giving your head a small shake, you bring yourself back to Ear- er, Equestria. You stand before the massive treebrary and open the door. As you enter, Twilight looks up from her reading material and gives you a wide smile.

“Oh, hi, Anon!” she exclaims, closing her book with a solid ‘thud’. “How are doing today?” Shrugging your shoulders, you let out a disgruntled sigh and shake your head.

“It’s just another day to me. How are you doing? Any good news yet?” Her smile quickly disappears as she turns her head towards the window with a look of disappointment on her face. You walk up to her and place your hand on her head with a smile on your face.

“It’s alright, Twilight. If anything, I want you to know how grateful I am that you’ve taken the time to help me out.” Her smile reappears, bigger than before. “Well, on a different note, do you have any new books to read? I have an hour before I head to Sugarcube Corner.” Her eyes light up as she runs over to the shelves, grabbing a book with her magical aura. You read the title as it hovers in front of you.

“The Legend of Gloom Wing?” you read aloud, scratching your head. Twilight nods as you grab the book and flip through the pages.

“It’s a pretty good story, but the author left it on a cliffhanger and hasn’t made a sequel in a while. It’s really disappointing when an author takes so long to put out another chapter. You never know if they dropped it or not.”

Before you know it, an hour has passed since you began reading this book. Putting it back on the shelf, you thank Twilight for her help and head out back onto the street. Sugarcube Corner isn’t too far from the treebrary, so it’s quite a short walk. Opening the door, you head to the counter where an overly enthusiastic Pinkie Pie stands, cleaning the counter with a cloth.

“Hiya, Anon! Are you ready to run the deliveries?” Giving her a nod, you follow her into the kitchen where several boxes sit on the counter. Grabbing the rucksack that hangs on the wall, you turn to Pinkie, who instructs you on what goes to who.

“The tarts are for Berry Punch, the cupcakes go to Cheerilee, and the pie...” She wraps her tongue around the pan of the pie and eats the pie in one fell swoop, making sure to spit out the pan. “...goes to me!” Pinkie begins her spurt of laughter and snorts as you roll your eyes and pack the items into your rucksack. As you make your way out of the store, Pinkie screams something about blueberry pie; you don’t know, you stopped listening after she gave you the delivery instructions.

You follow the old brick road into town square, where Berry Punch lives. Her house is conveniently placed next door to the bar, something you noticed the day you came into this town. Berry is the town drunk; any time you caught her sober was probably a sign that something bad was going to happen that day. Giving the door a raspy knock, you wait for a few minutes before the door slowly opens. Berry covers her face with her hoof, trying her best to block out the sun.

“What is it?” she slurs. Yep, it was clear that she was drunk out of her mind again. Pulling the package out of your rucksack, you hand her the tarts.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she says with a sinister glare. You let out an annoyed sigh and point at the note on top of it.

“Yes, you did. You told Pinkie to write a note on top of the package to tell your drunk self that you needed these tarts. You’re just too drunk to remember.” Her glare changes from mad to confused and back. She gives off a loud scoff and rolls her eyes.

“I may be drunk, but in a couple of hours I’ll be sober and you’ll still be ugly.” She sticks her tongue out at you and slams the door in your face.

“What a bitch,” you mutter to yourself, making your way to the next delivery. Taking the brick road again, you follow it to the outskirts of town where a small schoolhouse lays in a big open field. The fillies and colts playing in the yard catch sight of you as you pass by and begin shouting your name.

“Anon! Hey, Anon!” You stop and kneel down as they all begin surrounding you. “Are those the cupcakes that Cheerilee ordered for us?” Giving them a nod, they all begin cheering. “Alright! Say, why don’t you leave the cupcakes with us? We’ll be sure to give them to Cheerilee,” they say, giving off a small snicker to each other. You give them a small smirk as you shake your head.

“Nice try, little ones,” you say, standing back up. “I was ordered to give these directly to Cheerilee.” They all let out a simultaneous groan as you chuckle to yourself. You head towards the front door as the children go back to their business. A familiar voice inside stops your hand right before you knock.

“It’s no problem at all, Cheerilee. I would love to show the children the wonders of music.” What’s that mare doing here? Is she following you around?

“Well, I don’t want to impose on you, but if you’re certain that you can do it, by all means! I welcome you to come by anytime and play for the children. Who knows? It might help a few of them find their cutie marks!” says Cheerilee, giving a soft giggle to her own statement.

Your neck begins to give off a burning feeling, almost as if you’re being watched. You look over your shoulder where two mares look at you suspiciously. It was kind of weird just standing here, eavesdropping in front of a school. You give a quick knock on the door and open it up.

“Miss Cheerilee, I have a delivery for you.”

“Oh, Anon! Please, come in,” You lock your gaze with the infamous pair of mulberry eyes almost instantly and stop at the entrance. Cheerilee extends her foreleg out and points to the mare.

“Anon, have you met Octavia before?” You don’t dare break eye contact with her as you shake your head.

“We’ve met before, but not formally.” Target still locked, you walk up to the mare and extend your hand out for a shake. “My name’s Anonymous. Charmed to meet you.” She puts her hoof into your grasp and shakes, still staring you down.

“Octavia. A pleasure.” You let go of her hoof and turn to Cheerilee, digging into the rucksack.

“I have the cupcakes you ordered,” you say, placing the small parcel on the desk. “I should get back to Sugarcube Corner.” You turn to Octavia and give her a small nod. “It was nice meeting you.” The burning sensation of watching eyes lingers on your back as you leave the school house. Once again, you begin following the brick road, almost as if it’s a ritual. The children wave you off as you pass, saying their goodbyes for the day. You wave back at them and make your way for the pastry shop.

As you enter town, a small, but rather noticeable noise catches your ears. It sounds like a throat clearing. Turning your head, you lay your eyes on none other than Octavia behind you. She gives you an annoyed glare that you ignore, continuing to walk. Keeping up with your pace, she walks alongside you.

“So why are you following me around today?” she asks, continuing her stare down. You give her a contentious sneer and scoff at her remark.

“I’ve been following you? Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been working all day and you just conveniently seem to show up everywhere I go.” You pick up the pace, trying to leave her behind. She merely increases her speed and keeps alongside you.

"It's plainly obvious that you have a general interest in me. You buy me a drink, you show up everywhere I am the next day; the signs are obvious." You roll your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

"Listen, I gave you a drink because it was obvious you had writer's block, hence what I said after I gave you the drink. I presume after that drink you were able to finish your work?"

A light blush forms on her cheeks as she mutters a low, “Yes.”

"Good. That's all there was to it. Nothing more, nothing less. I was just helping you, musician to musician." Looking up from the mare, you notice that you’ve made it to your destination. Opening the door to the shop, you walk to the counter and ring the bell. Pinkie comes from the kitchen wearing an apron covered in frosting and flour.

“Done already, Anon?” Giving her a small nod, you hand her the rucksack. She looks behind you and giggles. Taking a quick glance, you notice Octavia standing at the doorway, glaring daggers at you. You turn back to Pinkie with a furrowed brow, wondering what her laughter is all about. Pinkie beckons you with her hoof and whispers into your ear as you come close.

“She was asking where you were earlier. Somepony's got a secret admirer!” Pinkie breaks out into a surreal fit of laughter, falling to the floor. Should have guessed; it was too coincidental that she would show up where you were headed next. Pinkie lifts herself up, letting out whatever giggles she has residing in her go, and hands you a bag of bits.

“Thanks for your help, Anon.” Giving her a nod, you head towards the door where a distraught Octavia stands. You walk around her and head towards home. She reclaims her spot next to you as you walk along the same brick road that pretty much runs your life.

“What do you mean, ‘musician to musician’?” Why was she still following you?

"As in I've played an instrument, I've written music, I've been in your shoes or whatever expression you guys call it." You increase your walking speed, bringing yourself to a power walk. She keeps a steady pace with you, still pestering you with questions.

“What instrument did you play?”

“Saxophone.”

“How long did you play for?”

“Since I was a child.” More and more, she continues to throw tedious questions at you, only to increase your aggravation and speed. At this point, ponies begin to start at the two of you who are now jogging in the middle of the street.

“Do you still play?”

“No, I don’t have a saxophone or the money for one.” She gives of a grunt, mocking your answer.

“You don’t have the money, yet you were drinking Regal Royal Suite last night.” You stop dead in your tracks, mainly because you have reached your destination. Looking down at her with an irritated expression, you rub your face out of frustration.

“I didn’t pay for it. The barkeep gave me a glass to help calm me down. You see, I didn’t ask to be dropped here in this world, I kind of got thrown in here against my will. He saw that I had troubles and was willing to help me out. A true bartender knows what someone needs when they’re down and will listen to their problems. Maybe if you didn’t make assumptions—!” You realize you’re yelling at this point as Octavia backs up, ears tilted back. You slap yourself for your arrogance; she just wanted to know you better and you were making this into something that it didn’t need to be.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been... really frustrated recently. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” She scratches at her foreleg nervously and bows her head.

“No, I should apologize for pestering you. It’s none of my business.” She looks back up with a small smile on her face. “I want to thank you for the drink last night. Might I see you at the bar tonight for a drink?” It wasn’t like you weren’t going to be there; you went almost every night.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll meet you there at seven t-then,” she says, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. The shake in her voice didn’t really make it quite convincing. A smirk creeps onto your face as she leaves your property. You head into your home and empty the contents from your pockets on top the living room coffee table. Making your way into the kitchen, you open the fridge and pour yourself a glass of cider. Looking into the brown liquid, you try to process your thoughts.

There was someone here who has a general interest in you and your passion and all you were doing was pushing them away. Maybe this is why you always felt so empty on the inside. Maybe this mare was the one thing you needed in your life. Someone you could consider a ‘friend’. Maybe something more than that! After downing the drink, you look up from your cup at the clock.

4:34 p.m.

It was best to get ready for this rendezvous. It never hurt anyone to be prepared early. Heading into the bathroom, you turn on the shower and jump in. The cold water causes your skin to form goosebumps all over your body. It feels good though, to wash away all the grime and sweat from the day’s chores. After a bit of washing, you rinse yourself off and exit the shower. Grabbing the towel from the rack, you dry yourself off, get dressed, and make your way to your bedroom.

Looking around the room, you sigh and shake your head. Back in your apartment on Earth, this place would be riddled with sheet music and instruments. You tried to get back into music, but just couldn’t find the will to do so. It just wasn’t the same. You didn’t have that spark that pushed you to play music before. Standing from the bedside, you look outside as the orange sun settles over a hillside. Reaching into your nightstand, you pull out a book and start reading. For the next hour, it’s just you two.

When you finish, it’s almost time to head to the bar to meet Octavia. After a last minute shave and cologne splash, you make your way to the bar.

It’s exactly as you left it the night before. Dim lighting, the same crowd, and your good friend is behind the counter. A grin crawls its way onto his face the instant you take a seat on the stool.

“Hey, Anon. The usual?” You give him a nod as he grabs a rock glass and bottle of whiskey. After pouring a glass of the bitter liquid, he levitates the cup to you and leans against the counter in front of you. “How’s it going?”

“It goes,” you grunt, giving him a shrug.

"Something's bothering you. Something big." You give him a chuckle.

"Never did I think the day would come when I was the one in this chair, explaining myself to someone else." He smiles and puts a hoof on your shoulder.

"Listen, one day we're gonna have switched spots. And I'll need your advice. But for now, it's time I helped you out." You guzzle down the drink and take a breath.

"I was running my usual assortment of odd jobs. However, every time I would reach a destination, that pony from last night would be there." You begin to stir the ice inside your cup. "I find her interesting and all, but I have the fear that if I keep someone close to me, I'll just lose them again." Pulling your finger out, you wipe it on a napkin. "I don't want to lose everything again. So that's why I pushed her back the way I did." He closes his eyes and hums. You used to do the same thing; it is the process of problem solving." Processing all the possibilities, the consequences, figuring out the best outcome. His eyes shoot open.

"No matter what you do, you're going to get hurt. Either you live a miserable, secluded life, or you spend a small time of happiness with somepony." You jerk your head back and give him a puzzled look. "You both like music, she's willing to put up with your ways; it's plainly obvious that she likes you. Sounds like the perfect mate for you." Looking down into your empty cup, you begin to think. Maybe he's right; maybe it was time you found someone to spend your time with.

His attention quickly shifts over to your side, where you feel the presence of another. Somepony sits down on the stool next to you and places a manilla folder down on the counter.

“A glass of bourbon on the rocks, please.” You take a sip of your poison, letting the burning sensation travel down to your belly, and look to your side. Octavia sits besides you, pulling music sheets out from the folder. “Good evening, Anonymous.” You place the glass down clear your throat.

“Evening. Whatcha got there?” She pushes a pile of sheets in front of you and leans over, pressing her hoof against the page.

“I wanted you to take a quick look at my material and let me know what you think.” Grabbing the sheets, you scan through the pages and immediately notice something.

“The tempo here changes completely. What made you do that?” She begins to blush, covering the part up with her hoof.

“No real reason. I wanted you to actually look over this part in particular.” She flips the pages over to a different page and points it out. Looking over the page, you see a new glass has appeared in front of you. Its familiar fragrance enters your nostrils. You look down the bar and see the bartender placing the golden bottle back on the shelf. Giving him a nod, you mouth a thank you. He merely turns away and begins to converse with another customer. Taking a sip, you indulge in the fine liquid. Your body warms up and you feel something.

As if your troubles are gone.

Octavia watches as a smile creeps its way onto your face and follows in turn. "It's really that good, isn't it?" Placing the cup down, you look up to the ceiling.

"Everyone has their drink. Their drink is determined by who they are, where they come from, how they live. You are born with your drink, much like your soul." Her eyes shine hearing your wisdom. You glance over at her and chuckle. "I sound like a cheesy poet, don't I?" She shakes her head in disagreement.

"That came from the heart. I felt the meaning in those words. You really like to drink, don't you?" You take another sip from your cup and gently place it on the counter.

"Drink? In a way. I used to be a bartender. There are rules, ethics, and conditions. But in the end, you're not only a supplier of drink." You peer down into the cup. "You're a problem solver, a psychiatrist, a friend. Someone who knows the person at your counter better than they know themselves."

Finishing off the glass, you let out a content sigh and look over as she finishes her drink.

"You know about me, now what about you?" She lowers her eyes to her now finished glass and sighs.

"I live a life most would find boring. I play the cello, both solo and in an orchestra. I love to cook and sometimes I go to the bar to get away from all the noise." You place your hand on her withers and she looks up at you.

"Nothing in life is boring. Somewhere out there, someone wishes they were you right now." She emits a smile so radiant that it rivals the sun itself.

For the next few hours, you do nothing but spend your time sipping on whiskey and talking with Octavia. Surprisingly, it’s rather enjoyable. After a few glasses of the good stuff, you pay your tab and lift yourself from your chair, taking in your surroundings. You begin to feel the buzz a bit more than you did while sitting down, but you’re still good to walk home. Octavia, on the other hand, stumbles as she drops down from her stool, trying to position herself in an upright stance. She giggles as her rosy cheeks spread from her devilish grin. She tries her hardest to hold herself up, but quickly fails to do so.

“Here, let me help you out.” You bend down and pick her up, placing her on your back, and walk out into the moonlit streets. The moon is extra bright tonight and not a bit of darkness distorts your vision.

"Its almost as if it were daytime again,” she murmurs, gazing up at the moon. Giving a simple nod, you look up to the sky. The stars are much more abundant tonight than usual. After getting lost for twenty minute thanks to your drunk navigator, you finally reach Octavia’s home.

"Well, we made it safe and sound. I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight." You place her down on the ground where she stumbles to keep herself up.

"Of course. I had a wonderful time," she slurs. She really isn’t one for containing alcohol. Getting down on one knee, you give her a hug. She awkwardly attempts to return it, but accidently hits you in the head with her hoof.

"I'm so sorry! You're not hurt, are you?" You rub your head and break into laughter. Being how contagious it is, Octavia finds herself laughing as well. After the giggles have left your system, you get up and wish her a good night before leaving. Making your way home, you look up to the moon. For the first time ever, you didn't feel the heart-tearing pain you did before.

"I guess the saying is true. ‘Home is where you make it.’”

Two months pass rather quickly since your first night out with Octavia. She was everything you needed and more. Every day at noon, she came to you with a nice packed lunch. Around 6pm, you would visit her at home and listen to her play her cello. The spark had ignited back in you, so you began writing music again. Octavia was amazed by your talent and would keep your sheets to use as a "reference". In all honesty, you knew she just wanted to keep them as a momento.

Today, however, is special. Today is your unofficial birthday. Being that Equestrian days ran differently than Earth’s, you don’t know what your birthday is here, so you use the day you first arrived. Pinkie insists that you have a party today, which you aren’t exactly fond of, but you don’t want to be impolite.

Waking up from your slumber, you lazily roll over and look at the clock on your nightstand.

11:25 a.m.

Today and tomorrow are your only days off this week, and you plan to use them well. Ripping the sheets off your person, you quickly perform your morning routine and head outside. Octavia wants you to meet her on the plains outside of Sweet Apple Acres for a birthday picnic. Making your way down the small dirt path, you look out across the fields. Flowers litter the grassy plain, eagerly absorbing the sun’s rays. A single tree sits in the middle of the field, providing shade from the hot sun for Octavia, who waves her hoof in the air to catch your attention. You sit next to her as she grabs a sandwich from the picnic basket and gives it to you.

“Happy birthday, Anon,” she says, giving you a peck on the lips. She pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think, Tavi?" She glares at you and pours the drink in a glass anyway.

"Oh hush now, Anon. It's your birthday. Lighten up." Grabbing the glass, you take a gulp and bite into your sandwich. She smiles at you every so often and continues with her meal. As soon as you catch her in the act, she turns away rather quickly and buries her face in the sandwich or glass of wine.

“What devilish scheme do you have set up?" She rolls her eyes and giggles.

"Oh, nothing. I just got you a birthday gift and can't wait to give it to you." You look at her, annoyed, and put your sandwich down.

"I told you not to get me anything. You need your money so you can get that new cello for your performance, which, might I add, is tomorrow." She quickly puts on a serious face.

"I had enough for both. And you honestly think I'm not going to get my special somepony something for his birthday?" You point down at the picnic.

"This was more than enough. I just wanted to spend time with you for my birthday and you know that." She waves her hoof in the air and grins.

"You won't be saying that when I give you your gift." Letting out an annoyed sigh, you admit defeat. There was no winning with this mare. Finishing off the sandwich, Octavia wraps up the picnic area and packs it into the basket. You both begin heading towards Sugarcube Corner, where Pinkie is holding your birthday party. Opening the front door, you nothing but darkness inside.

"I swear if Pin-"

Before you can finish your sentence, the lights turn flash on as a group of ponies begin screaming, "SURPRISE!" Pinkie Pie runs up to you and begins bouncing up and down.

"Oh my gosh, Anon! Were you surprised, were you, were you, huh huh huh?!" You place your hand on her poofy pink mane and look deep into her eyes with a sincere smile on your face.

"No Pinkie, I wasn’t surprised. You told me yesterday to come over so you could throw me a surprise party, remember?" She puts her hoof to her chin and starts to laugh after some deep thought.

"Oh yeah, I guess I forgot about that." She grabs your hand and drags you into the crowd of ponies filling the center of the room. You mouth, "Help me!" as she drags you away, only to have Octavia laugh at your expense. Pinkie introduces you to all the ponies you know already.

"This is Roseluck."

"I've met Roseluck before."

"This is Twilight."

"Dammit Pinkie, I know who everyone is already." She stops her introductions and beams up at you.

"In that case, let's party then!" Removing yourself from her presence, finally free yourself from the pink heathen. Octavia walks up to you, laughing hysterically.

"Thanks for the help back there," you sarcastically remark.

"Oh calm down. It’s all in good fun." She giggles and grabs your hand, dragging you to the dance floor. After six hours of dancing and cake eating, you thank Pinkie and everyone for the party and head to the bar. The barkeep said he had something for you the night before, so you don’t want to miss out on this. As you enter the building, the bartender immediately beckons you over. Sitting at the counter, he grabs your hand and shakes it violently.

"Happy birthday brother! I've been waiting all day to give you your gift!" He reaches under the bar, pulls out a wooden box, and hands it to you. A familiar golden bottle is inside the box. Stunned, you pull the bottle out and read the label.

"Regal Royal Salute? I can't accept something this expensive." He shakes his head and smiles.

"Listen, don't worry about it. I’ve been meaning to give it to somepony with refined tastes like yourself." He leans towards you with a serious face. "I'll let you keep it on one condition. You got to have the first glass with me." Letting out a grin, you nod.

"Of course. I wouldn't have touched it without doing so." The bartender grabs three glass and puts them on the counter. Grabbing the bottle by the neck, you pour the copper-colored liquid into three cups. The barkeep puts up his glass in a toast.

"To the end of time!"

“Whatever that means!” you laugh as your glasses clang together. One hour and bottle of scotch later leaves you a drunken mess.

Words are being slurred, hugs are being offered, and general stupidity has hit an all time high. As you get up, you quickly realize how much you drank. Using your legs properly is a rather difficult task at this point. Octavia attempts to help you walk with little success. You thank the bartender for the bottle and walk out of the bar.

"Listen, we'll go to my house since it's closer. You can rest there."

"Sounds good," you slur, trying your hardest to focus on walking. However, the only thing Octavia hears is, "Shooos gooo."

She giggles as you both make your way to her humble abode. She opens the door and guides you inside. Inside is what you expected from her: A clean home. And lots of purple, enough to make purple seem less purple. The smell of lavender quickly invades your nose almost instantly as you make your way up the stairs. Well, stumble up the stairs seems more appropriate. After what feels like an eternity, you enter her bedroom and plop yourself down on the bed.

Octavia sighs as she attempts to remove your clothes and help you get in bed. A mare can only do so much with her hooves and teeth. Slowly, she begins unbuttoning your shirt from top to bottom with her teeth, tickling your chest and belly with her breath. She wretches the accursed garment from under you and throws it on the floor as you lie there motionless. The alcohol is completely destroying your judgement and you have no idea what’s going on. Looking down at her, you watch as she attempts to unbuckle your belt and pull off your pants so she can put you to bed.

Throwing your arms towards your lap, you take a moment to unbuckle your belt. In your head, this is a lot easier, but when implemented, it’s a whole different story. Octavia nervously watches, making sure you don’t hurt yourself somehow. After a minute or so, you finally remove the bothersome accessory. Octavia lets out a relieved sigh and lays herself right next to you as you remove your pants. Her warm fur brushes up against your skin, tickling you arm. She lays her head on top of your chest, nuzzling her nose against your chin. The alcohol’s effects were begin to wear off a bit, slowly bringing you back to Equestria.

“Did you have a good birthday?” she whispers, not opening her eyes. You tilt your head down and give her a kiss.

“Of course I did. I spent the whole day with you.” She gives off a small giggle as you stroke her mane and bring her closer. The glow from the brightly lit moon seeps in through the windows, giving off enough light to see her charcoal mane and mulberry eyes shine through the darkness. She lifts herself up and brings her face closer to yours. Her breath grows heavier as you move your head towards hers. Your lips touch hers for a moment, savoring a wonderful kiss that would make Aphrodite green with envy. Her lips taste of warm, succulent caramel, most likely from the scotch that you had shared not too long ago. You place your hand on the back of her head, digging it into her mane, not wanting it to end.

She places her front hooves over both your shoulders and leans her body against your chest. Her weight presses up against your body as the kiss deepens. You slide your free hand down her back slowly, feeling the fur between your fingers as you reach down for her bottom. She emits small moan as you lightly grasp her flank. She remains motionless as your tongue presses against the front of her teeth, slowly working its way to the back of them. Her tongue flails inside, trying to tie with yours as you forcefully push it back. Like an obedient dog, her tongue lays at rest as you slowly work your way towards it. You take in the taste of scotch as you tease her tongue further.

Working from the back of her teeth, you tap your tongue against hers occasionally. Her tongue lashes each time, hoping it is time for your attention. Once her tongue settles down, you quickly wrap yours around it. She moans softly, finally freed from your torture. Moving its way in, you can feel her tongue grab yours entirely. Both of you release your lock, trailing a long sliver of saliva. She lets out a heavy sigh, pressing her hot breath against your lips.

“My goodness,” she breathes, unable to finish her sentence. Wrapping your arms around her torso, you lift her up off of you and place her on her back. Leaning over her, you place your lips against hers again, feeling the shivers as you run your hand down her chest. You catch her cry in your mouth as you circle her with your fingers, making sure to move in slow, smooth motions. Your lips release their grip from her own, allowing her to emit moans of pleasure. Taking a single finger, you dip it inside of her slit, then another as her moaning increases in volume. She groans as you remove your fingers and lift her up so that her legs will wrap around your waist. Holding her tightly with both arms, you embrace her in another kiss, entering her with one swift, fluid thrust as she closes her eyes.

Octavia’s head drops back, her body shaking madly at the sudden intrusion. You place your lips against her neck, moving from her collarbone to her chin. You whisper a subtle, “I love you,” as you slowly work your way up her neck. She lifts her head as you make your way back to her lips once more. Releasing the kiss, you open your eyes to find tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” you ask worriedly. She shakes her head in protest, a smile protruding across her face.

“No, it’s alright, really. I’m just so happy to finally be with somepony who loves me.” Taking your hand, you brush the hair away from her face and lock lips once more. You begin moving within her, feeling the tightness of her inner walls wrap around your cock. Her body tightens as you increase the speed of your thrusts, more demanding than before. Her breath shortens as your thrusts press deeper and deeper inside her, each moving more rapidly than the last. Keeping pace with your strokes, she matches your movements as she gives in to the passion of the moment. Faster and faster, you thrusts intensify, signalling that you’re nearing your end. She wraps her back legs around your waist and her forelegs around your neck, holding you in a tight grip. Your seed releases into her womb as she begins to tremor from her own orgasm. Her clenching grasp releases from her limbs as her eyes roll up from the immense amount of pleasure.

You both stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like a lifetime, attempting to catch your breath. Pulling yourself out from inside her, you give her another kiss and lay down beside her. She leans her head against your chest, letting out a content sigh before nodding off to sleep. Your eyes begin to droop as a smile creeps onto your face. For the first time in three years, you no longer feel a gaping hole in your chest.

The next morning, you wake up to a beaming Octavia on your chest. She gives you a little snicker before poking at your chin.

“You snore really loud, you know that?” You roll your eyes and kiss her on the forehead before leaning upwards. She jumps off the bed and heads for the closet. After a bit of digging, she pulls out a rather large package, covered in wrapping paper. She lugs it over, placing in on your lap.

“What’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. She takes a seat next to you and chuckles.

“It’s your birthday present. Open it up!” she excitedly says. Her eyes shine as you tear through the paper, revealing a tough black container. It couldn’t be...

Popping the snap latches from the sides you open the container to reveal a brand new saxophone. Bringing it up to your lips, you wrap them around the mouthpiece and give it a blow. The sound echoes throughout the room, perking your ears up. The saxophone is definitely a high quality one, making you feel guilty for accepting such a gift.

“Look, Tavi, I can’t take something like this. It must have cost you a fortune to buy it!” She shakes her head in protest.

“Actually, I got it rather cheap. The merchant I usually buy my musical goods from gave me a deal for it since no one would buy it.” She leans over and gives you a peck on the cheek. “If it still bothers you, how about you make up for it by playing me a song?”

You give her a nod and place your lips back onto the mouthpiece. It’s been so long since you’ve played that you feel like you might not be able to play anything right. The only way to find out was to try it.

Octavia watches in amazement as you bring this saxophone to life with little effort, coursing her ears with such a melody. Her eyes never leave your hands as they move gracefully across the keys, not missing a single stroke. Once you finish your song, she claps her hooves together, applauding your performance.

“That was wonderful, Anon. Is it your own work?” You shake your head and sigh.

“No, but it is the first song I ever learned to play.” As you place the sax back in its holder, your stomach gives a rumble. You clap your hands together and give her a smile. “Let’s make some breakfast!”

Octavia laughs and heads downstairs as you get dressed. Making your way down the stairs, you enter the kitchen and look around. It was a pretty large room, furnished with marble countertops and brand new appliances. She begins placing ingredients across the counter along with all the necessary utensils.

“What’re we going to make?” She grabs a skillet from the cabinet and places it on the stove.

“Pancakes.” You grab all the ingredients and begin mixing them together as Octavia gets some coffee ready. As you place the batter on the hot pan, someone knocks on the front door.

“Oh, Celestia,” she mutters under her breath. “Anon, don’t stop.” She begins to gallop to the door screaming, “I’m coming!”

The batter hits the hot surface for the skillet, letting out a rather loud sizzle as it cooks along the surface. Octavia returns, but with a guest this time. Twilight walks alongside Octavia, holding a letter in her magical grip.

“Anon, I have great news! Princess Celestia finally found a way for you to get back home!” Your heart sinks as Octavia looks at you, completely devastated. She had that same look, the one he had that night so many years ago: The eyes of a heartbreak. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she quickly bolts out of room and through the front door.

“God dammit!” you mumble under your breath, quickly chasing after her. Twilight follows alongside you with a puzzled look on her face.

“Anon, what’s going on?” You look around every corner, every alley, every store with no success. Your lover is nowhere to be found. As you stop to catch your breath, Twilight stares you down with a mighty glare.

“What just happened, Anon? Tell me what’s the problem.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out an annoyed sigh.

“I completely forgot that you told Celestia about my situation, so I never told Tavi about me going back home. Now she probably thinks that I never really loved her or something like that. I don’t know how you females work! No offense,” you add as she glares daggers at you. Digging your hands into your hair, you begin pacing back and forth as Twilight awkwardly watches.

“So you’re telling me that you don’t want go back home?” You look up at the sky and groan.

“No! I mean yes! I mean... I don’t know! All I want to do right now is find Tavi and explain everything.” You sprint down the brick road as Twilight yells out your name. You don’t bother to stop; right now the only thing that matters is to find Octavia. She had to be somewhere; she couldn’t have gotten too far. You make your way to all the usual places: Sugarcube Corner, the market square, even the field that you and her had lunch at yesterday. Each place you eagerly look for the grey mare with no luck. There was only one place left to look.

Not stopping for a single break, you sprint to the center of town, looking for the familiar bar. You swing the door open and look around.

Completely empty. The living thing inside the building was the barkeep who sat behind the counter, wiping it down with a damp cloth. He looks over at the wall and back to you.

“You’re here pretty early, brother. It’s only three o’clock. What brings you here?” You take a long breath and shake your head, explaining the situation to him. His eyes widen as you tell him about the event that follow until now.

“So you can’t find her anywhere?” he asks. You give him a nod. “Did you try back at her house yet? She’s bound to be there by now.” You slap yourself for your ignorance. Why didn’t you check there?

“I’m going to head there now. Thanks for your help!” you shout as you run out of the bar. The barkeep shakes his head and gives off a short chuckle as he takes a sip of wine from a glass.

“Love really does cloud one’s judgement. And yet ponies still blame alcohol.”

Your legs couldn’t take much more of this, but the little bit of hope powered them to push you forward. In your head, you wish more than ever that she’s home. All you want to do is tell her everything that is happening, let her take know that you did indeed care for her, and this was nothing but an obstacle to overcome. Finally coming to the small home, you open the door and walk inside.

Soft sobs echo throughout the halls as you venture in, lifting your sense of hope, but crushing you at the same time. Slowly, you ascend the staircase and enter the bedroom where Octavia lies on her bed, face buried in a pillow. You take a seat on the edge of the bed stroke your hand through her mane, humming a mellow tune. Her sobs cut short as you continue your running your hand through her hair.

“What are you doing here?” she cries, not lifting her head from the pillow. “Aren’t you leaving me behind to go back home?” You wrap your arms around her torso and lift her up onto your lap. Her eyes are bloodshot from all the tears they’ve spilled over the past few hours. Rubbing your hand across her cheek, you give her a small kiss on the forehead.

“Listen to me. I had Twilight ask Celestia try to find me a way home well before I even met you. I completely forgot about it because I haven’t had the urge to go back. Ever since the day I’ve met you, I’ve felt something I haven’t felt in years.” You place her chin in the palm of your hand, directing her sight to yours. Her gaze meets yours, not breaking for a single moment. “I felt at home. I felt love for the first time in so very, very long, and I don’t want to lose that.”

Tears begin to form in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. Octavia smiles and wraps her hooves around your neck. For what feels like forever, you both hold each other in the dark room, letting time pass. Twilight, who stands outside the bedroom door, makes her way down the stairs and back outside. She walks back to her treebrary home and opens the door to find Princess Celestia waiting inside.

“I presume he will be staying?” Twilight gives a short nod as Celestia cracks a smile. “Did you learn anything today my star pupil?” Twilight gives a long sigh and thinks for a moment.

“Love can make a pony do crazy things, like run around town for hours on end. But as long you both care for each other, those things don’t matter. All that matters is that you both have each other in the end.”

Celestia gives her a pat on the head, nodding in agreement.

“I’m glad to see you weren’t the only one who learned that today.”