Chapter 1

“This is the last time, Mr Pierce. I’ve told you again and again, you ain’t welcome ‘ere anymore. Now stay out.” You yell, using your magic to throw the cerulean blue unicorn out of your pub. He landed with a rough yelp, before immediately getting back to his hooves, “Lads” was your response to him turning back to you, and a pair of drinkers left their seats at the bar.

“Now, you might want to think about what you’re going to try next, matey.” you start, your soft brogue putting your point across as well as the two large stallions flanking you, “We’re trying to have a good time, and you trying to mess with the fillies is ruining the atmosphere. Go home.”

He snorts at you, eyes darting from your face to the two farmers behind you, one fore-hoof pawing at the ground. He eventually turned and left, and your companions went back to their drinks.

Being the landlord and barman of the only pub in Ponyville had come with it’s own set of difficulties. The punters themselves, especially your regulars, hadn’t been that much of a problem and most who entered on a one off hadn’t been bothersome either, it was always just those who showed up from time to time.

Tonight you had thrown out a pair of young colts escorted by a baby dragon; the three had thought that a set of fake mustaches, whilst fine mustaches indeed, would allow them to try their first pint of beer. You had considered giving the dragon his drink, as after all they couldn’t process alcohol, so it wouldn’t affect him. In the end you’d decided against it on the off-chance that another one of your regulars, a member of the Royal Guard, would show up and take issue with you supplying drink to the under-aged. Back home in Cloplin, the legal age was closer to a guideline rather than a law, but it was far more strictly enforced closer to Canterlot. The trio hadn’t been that much of a problem, and had simply accepted your ruling when they were turfed out - complete with a series of tiny “awws” as they left.

The unicorn you had just thrown out was Pokey Pierce. He had been a good laugh at first, watching him try and fail at flirting with mares whilst sober. The problems only really started when he had a few drinks in him and began acting like he was Celestia’s gift to fillies; often making suggestive comments to other punters at the top of his voice. Once or twice, Pierce been challenged to step outside by other regulars after he had tried it on with their mate - he would laugh it off and aggressively stare down smaller males, yet run if a larger stallion took a dislike to him.

Your pub was quite a small place, probably enough room for fifty ponies maximum, with a stage at the far end. It was decorated in the traditional colours of your homeland, rich greens against earthy browns that appeared to work incredibly well against the backdrop of Ponyville in general. The natural wood tables had cost a small fortune to procure, but they worked with the theme of the pub fantastically, and helped keep a light airy atmosphere despite how rich some of the colours were.

At the moment, the stage was occupied by a local band as part of a talent night, consisting of an overly sophisticated looking fiddler, a guitarist who couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and a harp player who was doing her best to keep up; their singer was a blue and pink maned cream coloured mare who couldn’t keep her eyes off of the harpist. The song they were working through was a cover of “Are you gonna be my mare” by Pitch,

So 1, 2, 3, take my hoof and come with me
because you look so fine
and I really wanna make you mine.

I say you look so fine
that I really wanna make you mine.

Oh, 4,5,6 c'mon and get your kicks
now you don’t need that money
when you look like that, do ya honey.

Big gold eyes,
mint green hair,
she's so sweet
with a harp on her derriere!

Well I could see,
you home with me,
but you were with another fiiii-lay!

I know we,
ain't got much to say,
before I let you get away, yea!
I said, are you gonna be my mare?

Oh yea. Oh yea. C'mon!
I could see,
you home with me,
but you were with another mare, yea!

I know we,
ain't got much to say,
before I let you get away, yea!
Uh, be my mare.
Be my mare.
Are you gonna be my Maaaaaare, yeah!

Levitating a glass over and absent mindedly polishing it with a rag that you kept for such tasks, you hum along with the band, reflecting upon your life so far as you watched the punters enjoy the next few acts.

You were happy. Far happier than you had been working at The Burning Lyre in Canterlot, even after a flood had caused a full refit and rename to The Doused Lyre. The drinkers were far happier here too, the Lyre had a bit of a reputation as a rough pub, but your new establishment, and the first pub that you fully owned, had taken off wonderfully... even if you had to deal with the occasional trouble maker.

The final act was a young lilac unicorn, whose wall-eyed pegasus mother had begged for the opportunity for her child to perform a stand up comedy routine. As she takes to the stage you hear the audience go quiet; she didn’t look very old at all, likely a classmate of the colts you had asked to leave earlier, but gauging the reaction of the punters after she started, the young filly was very talented. The laughter very rarely stopped, and you could see the proud mother weeping with joy, sat with another pair of your regulars - one of whom you recognised as the teacher of the local school, the other her fiancee, the guard captain.

“Hey Paddock. Another round, please?” asked somepony at the bar, a large red stallion.

“Aye, no problem Mac, just leave the bits in the jar.” you reply, placing a clean glass under the pump and pulling the lever with your hooves. Macintosh complied, picking up the hoof-full of bits and dropping them in the jar you kept on the bar; he was a very honest stallion and definitely one of your favourites, often appearing for a drink with farmhands or occasionally with his younger sister when she wasn’t working herself crazy. He was one of the ponies on a list, the ones who you had served often enough to allow a slight bit of leeway on payment. His debts were always filled by the day you had to do your books, so it wasn’t a problem.

As Mac left, carrying the drinks on a tray held between his teeth, you turn to another one of your regulars. She was normally quite a quiet mare, happy to sit at the bar with a bottle or two of wine. Berry Punch was her name, you recall, and she was a single mother. She’d dealt with it by descending into what your father had once called “bottle bottom eyes” - not quite alcoholism, but she definitely needed the drink to help with her home life. Berry, or Ms Punch as you often called her, wasn’t as reliable as Big Macintosh or his friends. She was one of the ponies who you always had to ask to pay in full at the bar, and had once or twice left after realising she had no money, despite your offer of a glass of water and somewhere warm to spend the evening.

She tended to show up at around ten, presumably after she had put her daughter to sleep. It was just reaching midnight now and once the audience’s applause died down, the building began to empty. You waved goodbye to Mac and his companions, congratulating Dinky on her routine even though you hadn’t really listened to it that intently. As the last pair of drinkers left, a local astronomer and his slightly oafish friend, you notice that Berry had left also.

Thinking nothing of it, you set about cleaning the detritus from the day from around the bar and tables, levitating stools onto the tabletops after having wiped them, and then mopping the floor. Smiling at how quickly you had returned the pub to it’s pristine condition, you switch the lights off and trot out into the cool autumn air. It was close to the running of the leaves, probably one or two weeks before by your reckoning without a calendar, and the nights were drawing in quicker and quicker.

Ponyville was still rather quiet at night, although you could just just make out the shape of Mac and his friends in the distance as you reached Sugar Cube Corner. Walking past the bakery, you hear a grunt, accompanied by a sob. You poke your head around the corner,

“Come on, you know you want it.” a familiar and arrogant voice crooned.

“No. Leave me alone, we’re over!”

“There’s nopony here Berry! I... can... do... what... I... want.”

You walk slowly, slipping off your flat cap and approaching Pokey Pierce from behind before clearing your throat. The scene was not at all pleasant, you could tell what he had in mind for the rapidly shrinking Berry Punch cowering before him, one hoof held out in front of her, the other covering her face. He stood easily a good six inches taller than you.

“Now, what on Equestria do you think you’re doing?” you ask, before leaning around him, “Ms Punch, has he touched you?”

She nods.

“And you didn’t want him to?”

She nods again.

“Right. I’ve had enough of you,”

You rear, forcing one of your forehooves into Pokey’s face as his turns back from her to you. Not expecting the response, he staggers back before pulling himself together and running at you. Still on your hind legs, you bring yourself backwards, out of the way of his horn. You run after him into the middle of Sugar Cube Corner, meeting his face with your hoof again as he turned to face you. He snarls, low and primal, rearing and taking a swing at you. Growing up in Cloplin had given you a few street smarts, as well as significant training in bare-hoof boxing to survive anything that working in a bar may throw at you.

He took another drunken swing, this time half connecting with you, but not well enough to throw you off balance. You hit him again, weaving around the tip of his horn. You hear hoofsteps behind you and turn to see Mac and his friends, the red stallion doing his best to hold back his rusty coloured companion, whilst Cheerilee held Berry in her hooves.

“Oh, look, your back-up has arrived!” Pierce taunts, still arrogant despite the trickle of blood coming from his nose.
Ignoring him, you dodge again, planting another blow next to his horn, light and fast. Eventually he appears to start favouring protecting his head, allowing you to strike him in his stomach, both still reared up, almost dancing together on your hind legs in the moonlit street.

The blow to the stomach winds him, and he drops his guard just enough for you to punch him square between the eyes; he goes down to the applause of the small group of townsponies that had heard the commotion. You turn to Macintosh’s friend, raising a hoof towards him,

“Alright officer, I’ll come quietly now. He hit her, and would probably have done worse had I not stepped in - there’s no chance I was going to let that go.”

The stallion looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry, but from what I saw, he charged at you. You simply defended yourself,” he turned to his mate, who was still comforting the now crying Berry Punch, “Cheeri, is she going to be alright?”

The mare gently nodded her head, soft magenta and pink curls bouncing.

“I can make sure she gets home, I’ve dropped her off more than once.” you respond, “Is he to be arrested?” you add, nodding your head towards the unconscious unicorn behind you.

Snapshot smiled, “Oh yes. Mac and I will secure him for the night - I’ll get a D-mail sent first thing tomorrow to have him picked up.”

You nod, satisfied with the response and draw a hoof through your dark brown mane, green eyes floating over to Berry, who had stopped crying but was overly quiet, occasionally peeking at Pierce laid out on the street. She glanced at you, eyes probing your cream coat - you had sugar coated your past for her when the two of you first met, claiming to have been a dancer in your youth, which was technically true - the boxing school had taught you a small amount of ballet in a very odd attempt at getting students to be more fluid with their movements.

She eventually pulled away from Cheerilee, and walked over to you when the crowd dispersed; Big Mac’s sister had appeared with rope and a garish pink cart that “a friend of hers” had made, and Mrs Cake had appeared out of the front of the bakery to give Berry something to eat, claiming that the sugar would help her deal with any shock from her experience in the alley. You had seen the old mare watching out of the window as you had fought Pierce, something in her eyes telling you that she had seen combat before, but it didn’t feel right in such a usually jolly baker.

Holding the cake with your magic, you walk alongside Berry as the pair of you head towards her home. She stays silent for most of the journey, taking small bites from the floating cake. As you reach her home, you notice in the moonlight that a bruise is starting to rise on the side of her face that she had been covering when you found her. Eventually, the pair of you end up outside her door, which you notice had been left unlocked.

“I... I... Thank you, Paddock. Again.” she stuttered, looking at her hooves, “He’s never been like that before, I don’t know what got into him. He used to be so sweet and... and...”

“Calm down, and don’t be making excuses for him. You’ve seen him thrown out enough times for trying to force himself on mares; honestly, the last one threw him out herself - she’s a spicy one that Miss Dash.”

Berry laughed at the memory.

“There we go, you’ve got such a pretty smile, Ms Punch.”

Berry blushed, before bringing her lips to yours for a second. Before you knew what was going on, she had left and locked her front door behind her.

“Wha?” you think, barely avoiding saying the phrase out loud, aware that she may well be listening through the other side of the door. “Well, that was nice. Unexpected, but nice.” you eventually say, hoping that she heard you. When the door doesn’t open again, you decide to leave, trotting back through town to your own lodgings - temporary until the room above the pub is usable.

Finally reaching your apartment, you let yourself in and immediately fling yourself on the rickety single bed, the wooden frame shifting slightly under your weight. The room itself was tiny, but this didn’t really matter - you spent all of your time at the pub, and almost all of your personal possessions were in boxes next to the kegs in the cellar, waiting for you to finish fixing up the upper floor.

The only things of yours in the room itself were a picture of you and your parents taken the previous summer, along side a stack of mail - letters from your family. You did your best to keep in touch with them as often as possible, updating them on how life in Ponyville was working out for you. Unsurprisingly to most others, your parents were brewers, making a living from the hundreds of gallons of beer barreled and shipped off site to a number of bars and pubs all over the expansive nation of Equestria from their Cloplin home. Giving the picture a final glance, you slip into a dreamless sleep, reading no further into the kiss you received.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2 Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 16 Minutes