Chapter 1: Nirvana and Whiskey

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and stopped thinking. This was not a time for brain, but for heart. He felt he environment communicating with him, trying to tell him many things that others wouldn't notice.
Clinging of the glasses, some halfway filled, others empty, letting him know how many patrons resided inside and how much fun they had.
Sounds of music coming from an old jukebox by the wall, playing a quiet, moody jazz tunes. Nothing to make ponies dance, that's for sure.
The quiet murmurs of conversations, ranging from heated debates regarding latest hoofball match, rants about their new manager's attitude and the ever present complaints of few down on their luck stallions who wanted to have a better action then lonely movie night and a bottle of beer.

The air was filled with many scents mixed up. From perfumes, vodka, sweat, corn dogs, to tobacco. The image painted itself. Mares, looking for a lucky stallion of their dreams (or a one night stand, it was hard to tell). Drunken workers after their shifts, letting some steam before going back home to hear their spouses ranting. Those few radical dudes who just a few minutes ago still thought disco wasn't dead, until they ran out of breath dancing. Starved travelers who had a misfortune to arrive way past the opening hours of any proper restaurants and were satisfied by any meal, so long as it was warm. And those poor ponies that still thought smoking was cool and makes them more attractive*.

This place, to most ponies was just a regular bar. Placed on a road connecting Ponyville and Horsefield, close enough to be both a popular place to find new faces, while far enough to feel distant from your home in case you tried to run away from daily routine. A place for hangouts, flirting and celebrations.
But for him, it was something else.

Soarin was many things. A stallion. Element of Laughter. Hero who helped save the world. Flirt. Handsome devil, according to a tabloids. Wonderbolt... at least, until recently, but that was over and done with, because he never really felt like a true Wonderbolt. He was something different entirely. And no amount of stupid, sexy, badmouthed childhood friends could take away his real self.

He was a hunter.

And this was his hunting ground.

He absolutely loved his new favorite place. It was fairly big, but still not quite as large to feel overwhelming, instead giving this cozy, comforting vibe he so rarely felt in Canterlot, where everything had to be enormous and overblown. One of his early discoveries about his new home, Ponyville, was that even though it was full of mares (cute ones at that) it wasn't that big of a town to begin with. Count out married, underage, taken, siblings and families of his friends and those who he filed as 'Misc. reasons not to'... there were still a lot of single mares to pick from. But again, unlike Canterlot where you could walk the same street everyday for years and never meet the same pony twice, Ponyville had an opposite problem and if he wasn't careful, it could end up as 'Ex-ville'. He planned at least to spend a few months if not years, there was no reason to court every single mare. Yet.

Which is why this bar is a godsend. There were just enough new faces to keep him satisfied for a long time, while still allowing him to see enough friendly faces to feel at ease.
'Nirvana' was the name of this bar. Couldn't find a better description if he tried.

He usually tried to have at least one wingpony with him, but unfortunately, this was not his lucky day. Shiny and Blue were busy with re-organizing the library. Thunderlane had a date with Blossomforth, while Rumble was being babysat by Doctor and Ditzy. Big Macintosh was out of town. Flitter and Cloudchaser, his new awesome totally lesbian (not that it stopped them that one time) roommates, were using every opportunity to have an intimate night away from him. He didn't mind having two cute pegasi banging like rabbits while he was home, but apparently it made them uncomfortable (for whatever reason).
He had to work alone this time.

He scanned the room for a suitable partner. He tried to avoid any residents of Ponyville, of which there were a few. Especially Berry Punch, at least not until he confirms her status, what the deal was with that filly daughter/sister she lived with. He considered walking up to Lyra Heartstrings, a mint-green unicorn he recognized as Ponyville prime street musician. She clearly needed help hooking up with BonBon, her oblivious best friend and roommate, but decided against it. He barely knew her, so forcing himself on her problems might not be the best idea.

He eventually settled on a lonely, tan coated, blonde mare sitting at the counter. She was alone for the last ten minutes at least, disinterested in the environment and more importantly, not checking her watch frantically, which usually meant she was waiting for a date. She wasn't drinking soda, which meant she was also at the age of consent. He only caught a glimpse of her face- young and attractive.

A smile appeared on his face.

He sat right on a chair right next to her and ordered himself a drink. For the time being she ignored him. He opened his mouth and let the magic happen.

"I can't help but wonder," he spoke calmly, donning his most alluring, subtle smile "why is such a pretty mare alone in such place?"

"Get lost." she answered coldly, not even turning his way. He expected that. This was a test of determination and patience. Those with no spines would walk away and make place for better stallions.

"And leave you all alone, with nothing but a half-empty glass for compa--?"

"I said, GET LOST!"

The sudden outburst almost knocked Soarin out of his seat. This was too soon, way too soon. Something went wrong.

Unless...

He slapped himself mentally. Stupid! That's what happens when you grow too ignorant to notice small, but important details.

Now that he had a better look at his 'prey', he noticed clues he missed before. Her drink. It was one of those fancy, colorful drinks that no sane pony would order unless they were rich... or too depressed to care. Then, there was the ashtray, full not of ashes and cigarette butts, but napkins. Rolled, wet, dirty napkins, probably used as improvised tissues.
And finally, no make-up. Mares interested in bar romance usually used a ton. That's why it took him so long to notice a stream of tears across her cheeks- it was nigh impossible to notice that in such poor lighting, without messed up eye shadows.
There was no use trying anymore, just bail out before it gets ugly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you."

He was about to turn and leave his seat to seek out a better 'prey', learning on his mistakes and improving for the next time... but there was a lonely mare, crying. This was unacceptable.

"Bartender," he called out just as he was given his drink "one Golden Rainbow for the lovely lady right here. My treat." he threw a small gem as payment and generous tip. The mare turned her head towards him and glared at him as he raised his glass.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not interested, okay?"

"I noticed that."

"What, you think you impressed me with one drink?"

"There is always hope."

"Who do you take me for? Some naive filly that will buy into whatever story you try to sell?"

"Heavens, why would I?"

"Well here's some news for you- I don't need no stinking, backstabbing, two-timing stallions!"

He sighed deeply. For once he hoped the problem was not a stallion. It made him ashamed to be born as one, constantly working on repairing reputation of half the world.

"True," he answered calmly "what you really need, is somepony with ears that you could talk to," he caught a glimpse at her. She was eying him carefully, confused "unless you don't mind carrying this burden to yourself. I'm just a stranger in a bar, it's none of my business until you say it is."

What was it that made his cheesy lines work was a mystery. Whether it was his warm, yet subtle smile, calm, non-nonchalant tone of voice or just plain good manners, for some reason it worked. It always did. Almost.
Next hour was usually spent in a motel or apartment room with mare of his choice, doing the magic and making at least two ponies, himself included, happiest creatures in Equestria. This was one of those odd, special occasions where they haven't moved from their seats at all. He listened carefully, only occasionally nodding, as the mare kept on talking.
Long story short- her longtime coltfriend was cheating on her. He kept coming back late, inventing poor excuses, even using his friends to cover for him. All of that, while still maintaining a "happy" relationship with her, going on regular dates, acting like a true gentlecolt, which was why it took her this long to start doubting him and finally hire a private eye to spy on him. With results she wasn't happy about.

"All those flowers, those cutesy, romantic words... he even wrote a song! That slimy, backstabbing son of a..." she muttered through her teeth, not even able to finish the sentence, before chugging yet another drink into her throat.

Soarin had long since made sure that bartender would tone down the alcohol of his new friend, steadily providing her with weaker and weaker drinks, until she stopped paying attention to the fact that now it was just a fizzy apple juice. He took no pleasure in banging half-dead, intoxicated mares. The only stallion they needed was a doctor. And not his friend, but an actual physician. Which Doctor might be as well. Who knows?
He pondered over the pictures she gave him, the ones that the so called 'private eye' took for her. All of them represented a gray maned, black coated stallion together with a certain mare. A very familiar one at that.

"Forgive me for doubting you," he started "but what proof do you have that he's two timing?"

If glares could kill, Soarin would be a dead pony right now.
"Are you bucking blind? Don'tcha see the picture of him and... and... that tramp!"

"Miss," he turned to her and for the first time, a smile left his face "please do watch your tongue and don't call Miss Emerald Breeze that."

"Y-you know her!?"

"We met, yes," Day 4, kinda cute if shy jeweler from Horsefield, single, has two cats. Way too much toys, not enough stallions- problem solved, if he was allowed to brag "and take my word for it, she's not the kind of mare who would steal somepony's coltfriend." judging by her huffing, she wasn't convinced "When is the next time you two meet?"

"Hm? In two days... until I found out what he was up to. Why?"

"Go and meet him then."

"What?"

"I know you have all sorts of thoughts and emotions flowing around, but trust me, this is for your own good."

"Why in the bucking hell would I do that?"

"Do you love him?" silence. That was all he needed to hear "Then don't do anything reckless, or you might forever regret it."

She didn't respond. Her gaze fell on her almost empty glass of regular, non-alcoholic cider. After a while longer, she left her seat and went towards the exit.
"Thanks for the drink." she only muttered, before leaving the bar and heading towards the taxi outside.

He sighed deeply, but smiled regardless. This one turned out to be a dud, but from the looks of it, he just saved one mare from one of the biggest mistakes she could make, for all the wrong reasons. If he was right, that is. Which he usually was.
Oh well, he did what he could, no point in dwelling on it any longer. He didn't even get her name.
The bad thing was, that after hearing such sombre story, he lost any will for further hunting and wouldn't mind just going to bed early.

Except he promised to spend the night out of home. Girls probably wouldn't appreciate him barging in the middle of their funny time (which was 'anytime we're alone'). He could just go to his friends, but who?
Thunderlane and Mac weren't home and Doctor's place (actually, Ditzy's) was packed as it was. Library seemed like the only place, but maybe he shouldn't disturb them during work, or whatever they were doing late at night. Or just find a comfy cloud and hope it's not used by weather patrol this morning? Decisions.

"You fail?" asked a voice behind. Low, manly voice, to be precise.

"Nah," he answered without turning back "she was taken. I only hunt for singles."

"Yeah, we saw that," said another male voice behind, this one much higher pitched "you're taking all the single mares there are."

"Yeah, our mares!" noted third voice, relaxed voice. One he didn't recognize, but sounded far from friendly.

'Uh-oh.'

"They weren't ours!"

"Not when he takes them!"

"YEAH!"

Soarin froze and gulped. This is why he always tried to get a wingpony. Not to help with hunting, but to keep 'this' from happening, to have somepony watching your back when some angry locals decided to label you as a problem.
'Okay, don't panic. Maybe they just wanted to say hi?'

"And how are we supposed to get the ladies when he's here almost every night?"

"Now that he's here, all the mares ignore us!"

"YEAH!"

'I'm dead.' Good thing he was turned back to them, he at least had the privilege of hiding his wide open eyes and large beads of sweat. He took a few small breaths in attempt to think of some plan to salvage the situation.
'Okay, plan A. Just turn around, smile and talk this one out. They sound like reasonable fellows.' with that in mind, he turned back, donning his best salarypony smile.
'I'm THE element of frickin' laughter, I can do this, easy peasSWEET CELESTIA'S SUGAR PLOT!'

Whatever he had to say go aborted, as he was too busy looking at a giant, white mass of muscles. He could swear it had a pony attached to it. A big, bulky, angry looking, ripped pony twice, no, four times his size, looking right into his soul via his red eyes. He could swear there was something stuck out of his back, like little flippers (wings?), but he was panicking too much to care.

"Yeah man," said one of the other ponies, but he was too busy freaking out internally "it was hard enough before you came along!"

"I mean, seriously, how do you even do it?"

"YEAH!"

'I had a good life, all things considered. A lot of good friends, happy childhood, saved the world once, made many mares happy. One unrequited love but eh, nopony's perfect. At least I paid this months rent, so girls won't be in financial troubles. Yep, no regrets. Except dying young and sexy.'

"We've seen what you were up to," continued one of the other stallions "night after night, snatching like a boss."

"YEAH!"

'NO! I can't just give up now! There is too much left to live for! My friends, my roommates, all those mares in Ponyville and Horsefield that had yet to taste the 'big S' (note to self- never say that out loud). Element of Laughter. Spitfire.'

"You even asked out Beauty Star! Nopony ever dared to do that!

"I was gonna do it that day!"

"YEAH!"

Soarin needed a plan. He looked to his left. Single empty glass and ashtray full of napkins. Too unwieldy. Chairs? Bolted to the floor, to prevent barfights from escalating. Thanks, owner. A glance to his right filled him with a bit more hope. There it was, a lone bottle of whiskey, half emp-- half full (he had to think positive!). Just close enough to grab, smack and run. Even Nightmare Moon felt a sudden strike IN DA FACE!

"Don't take it the wrong way, dude."

"YEAH!"

"...Bulk, is that all you're going to say?"

"... umm... yeah?"

'Luna, grant me strength!' he quickly turned right...

"So we decided to ask you to..."

... grabbed the bottle...

"PLEASE TEACH US!"

"YEA---" SMASH!

Time stopped. Hundreds upon thousands of glass shards mixed with golden booze flew into the air and fell on the floor, when the bottle hit a giant pony-like creature right into the side of his head. Soarin realized a few things. The bottle was heavy, a quick swing could knock out a large bison, yet his target barely budged. He also saw his other two friends behind him, now wide-eyed and terrified. A nerdy looking stallion, barely old enough to drink, still covered in acne and thick glasses. The other was a slim, gray earth pony with dreadlocks, with a shirt and cutie mark of a substance that was probably illegal in many parts of Equestria.

He blinked. So did they, flustered half over the broken neck of a bottle, still dripping whiskey, half over their over muscled friend whose face was showing more confusion then pain or anger. It slowly raised its hoof, put it to the head and slowly massaged it. It grabbed a piece of glass and looked over it carefully. Sure enough, there was blood on it. His blood, two drops or so. His gaze, along with the other two, now landed on an even more confused pegasi ex-Wonderbolt.
Soarin blinked again. His mouth opened, but he failed to utter a single word. He shuffled on his seat and looked around the bar. Needless to say, the jazz in the air vanished and all eyes were on them. Especially at his hoof, holding a bottleneck of what once was a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"...why did you...?" asked the nerdy stallion, not quite sure how to react.

Soarin's eye twitched. He looked at his makeshift weapon, then back at the stallions. He smiled widely and laughed awkwardly, shrugging his hooves.

"My... hoof slipped...?"

'Come on, give them one of your million bits smiles! Make friends, not war!'

"So..." Soarin started, but hesitated before realizing that he almost tried to scratch his head with the sharp remains of a bottle "...sure, always glad to help, hehe. I've always said that we hunters gotta stick together. Right?"

'Bright smile. Confidence! Don't mess this up!'

"Whiskey?"

Author's Notes:

* - with apologies to all smokers.

It's not a Stallionverse story without an awkward beginning.