I look around the town. So, this is the famous Hollow Shades? Looks cool, if you like the fact that the thick canopy of the trees makes it impossible to see the sky. You know, technically we’re still in the forest and only the presence of the building indicates that we’re actually in the town. Most of the houses look like the late Golden Oaks Library, but there are also some brick buildings, mostly near the city centre.

It takes some time before my eyes get used to the dim light. I wonder how Vinyl can still wear her sunglasses. When we get out of the Flitter and Cloudchaser’s vehicle I start to notice the inhabitants of the town. Bat ponies are everywhere, walking, flying, hanging from the branches… Quite colourful group, I must say. Well, most of them are of various shades of grey, but their manes are as colourful as any other pony’s. I’ve never seen so many of them in one place.

Inkie looks at everything in awe. I guess if she had a camera, she’d be like those Neighponese tourists. You know, the ones who, during the tsunami, try to run away and take a photo at the same time.

I can feel Vinyl poking me. One day I’ll knock her teeth out. It can’t continue like that: I’m enjoying the view and she just pokes me as if we were friends or something.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I just wondered if you ever heard that joke about three bat ponies who walk into a bar…”

“I think I heard it,” Flitter says. “If it’s the one about tea, don’t tell it. It’s gross.”

I don’t think I want to know that joke either. It must be really awful if somepony who agreed to become her own sister’s sex slave thinks it’s gross. Definitely not something I’d want Inkie to hear.

You may wonder how she survived the road with her innocence unscathed. It’s simple: before we left Appleloosa, I took a jar and told everypony that if they say any bad word, sex joke or anything I find indecent when Inkie is within earshot, they have to throw a bit into it. At first, we didn’t talk at all, but after a couple of hours Flitter deflowered the jar – her complaining about the uneven road and slow cart before us cost her five bits. Then, when there was time to give Vinyl an injection, the stash in the jar increased to almost thirty bits. I must admit, that most of them were an effect of my liberal use of the c-word.

Also, guess who eventually managed to inject Vinyl’s heparin? Inkie. That girl would be a great mother.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie would like to hear it,” Trixie says. She’s also eyeing the bat ponies interestingly. Maybe she hopes that some local Braeburn will soon approach us yelling “welcome to Hollow Shades!” while cracking a smile so wide that we’ll see the remains of a mango on his fangs.

“Trust me, you don’t…” Cloudchaser replies. She gives Vinyl a nasty look.

We walk to the nearby building. It’s big and old, made of wood painted white. The board above the door states that it’s called the “Princess Luna Hotel”. From what I know from my voyages around Equestria, if a hotel is named after one of the princesses, it’s surely the worst and the cheapest hotel in town. Hmm, maybe it’s some kind of a chain?

We walk inside. Well, it’s not bad. The reception is clean. The receptionist, a bat mare with a blonde mane and thick-rimmed glasses (why the hell a bat pony would need glasses?) is watching us with a bored expression. I guess she saw everything in her life, so a DJ, a travelling magician, a farmgirl, an incest lesbian couple, and, well, me is nothing new for her.

“Vhat do you vant?” she asks in a haughty tone. If they only accept blood as payment, I’m leaving. Well, I’m a blood donor, so it wouldn’t be a problem, but I have some rules.

“Three rooms for two,” Cloudchaser says. Praise the Sun, I won’t have to live with Trixie and Vinyl again. Also, maybe it’d mean that I’ll live far from Flitter and Cloudchaser’s room and I won’t hear them screwing each other senseless.

But, on the other hoof, double room means no clopping for me again. Too bad, though I think that a single room in an old hotel where most of the staff has fangs wouldn’t be a good idea.

“As you vish,” the receptionist says. We walk upstairs. The floor creaks, there are cobwebs everywhere – you know it looks exactly like any old building in a horror movie. There are even monuments and armours placed in the strategic points of the corridor. I wonder if they move? I walk closer to one of the armours and I discover that there’s a small inscription on one of the plates. I lean to read it.

“Made in Chineigh”

Okay, nevermind. I guess it’s only supposed to look like a scary manor from the movies. Though, on the other hoof, maybe they want me to think that…

Focus, Minuette, for fuck’s sake! Your racism-fuelled paranoia isn’t gonna lead you anywhere. You know well that bat ponies don’t drink blood and they need fangs only to suck the juices out of mangos.

We walk to our rooms. I shamelessly exploit Vinyl’s disability and call dibs on the room next to the staircase. That way, Trixie and Vinyl will have to live between me and Inkie and Flitter and Cloudchaser. Good luck sleeping like that, fuckers…

We unpack our stuff and I walk to Trixie and Vinyl to see how they’re doing. To my surprise I see Vinyl cleaning her trench coat with her magic and Trixie styling her mane.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What are we doing?” Vinyl chuckles. “We’re going to a party, girl!”

“What party?” I ask.

“There’s always some party here,” Vinyl replies. “‘Chaser says that it’s the time when the mangos, bananas and stuff are ripe, and it’s kinda like mating season here…”

“What?” Part of me is worried, but the other part (and I can exactly say which one) is really happy.

“We’re so gonna score tonight…” Vinyl licks her lips.

“Vinyl, you can barely walk, how do you want to score?” I ask.

“Oh, Minuette… Your inner Inkie is showing…” Vinyl says, putting her injured hoof on my back. “Listen, all the guys in this town are bat ponies, right?”

“You don’t say. Where did you get that idea?”

“Your sarcasm is so lovely…” Vinyl smirks. “All the guys in this town are bat ponies, so they fuck bat mares, making sweet, little bat foals, right? Kinda boring, right?”

I’d never say that sex with a bat pony is boring. But Vinyl is kinda right – it’s all the matter of perspective.

“We’re the only unicorns here, girl. We’re exotic…”

Actually, I have a feeling that we’re exotic not only in Hollow Shades, but at least here someone may want to fuck us because of that. Also, I could use a drink. But there’s one problem…

“What we’ll do with Inkie?” I ask.

“She can go with us,” Vinyl replies. “She’s into fillies, right?”

“Trixie heard that bats have the highest rate of bisexuality among the animals,” Trixie says. She finished styling her mane, though it doesn’t look much different than usual. “Bat ponies are partially bats, so…”

“I’m not gonna let her go there… You know how she is… She’ll do something stupid if we let her go to a party like that…”

“A party?” I hear Inkie’s voice behind me. “I want to go! I haven’t been to a party since Pinkie got her cutie mark…”

Shit. I guess I’m outnumbered. It’ll take lots of my multitasking ability to take care of Inkie and look for a…

Wait, why do I even care? Inkie is an adult. She can drink, have sex, vote and get drafted and sent to Zebrica. I can focus on finding some nice bat pony to keep me warm at night. Or during the day… Wait, what’s the time? It’s hard to say here.

I ran to my room to prepare myself. You know, long time ago I was told that in a certain angle and a certain light I’m quite sexy. But it won’t hurt to help that a bit. The alcohol will fix the flaws of my character, but tonight I must look perfect. I’m not afraid that Vinyl would outshine me, but Trixie, with her flanks, and Inkie, with her natural look and shyness are quite a competition.

That reminds me: I have to talk with Inkie about some aspects of relationships she’s never experienced before. Just to make sure no one takes advantage of her. When she enters the room, I’m ready.

“Inkie,” I say. “I wanted to talk…”

“You’re nervous?” Inkie asks. “Strange. Vinyl said that you practise all the time…”

“No, it’s not that. And you can tell Vinyl that she apparently wants to have another hoof broken… I wanted to talk with you about guys...”

“I prefer mares…” She blushes.

“I know, but… If a guy asks you to do something you don’t want…”

“Refuse. If they insist, refuse again. If they still insist, kick them in the nuts. I’m good at that.” She smirks.

My stomach has something to say in that matter – I still have bruises.

“My mom told me everything about stallions. Not that she approved that…”

Quartz, you continue to surprise me. I guess the fact that all your daughters can probably crush a coconut by sitting on it is also your merit? Genes? Steroids in food? Celestia only knows.

“Okay, I’m glad we have this matter fixed,” I say. “By the way, don’t drink too much. If you feel that you can drink more, don’t do that. It always takes some time to work. And remember to eat something before.”

You know what? My life would be much easier if I followed my own advice. For starters, I wouldn’t be here, dealing with the mafia, Vinyl, Trixie, Flitter, Cloudchaser and adolescent mares looking for their sexual orientation. I’d be spending my boring life looking for better jobs and wasting my humble salary drinking with Berry Punch. Maybe I’d even have a foal?

Eww. I’m glad I’m here.

Speaking of Berry Punch: when I walk to meet the rest of the gang, I meet Cherry Berry on the corridor. Cherry Berry is Berry Punch’s cousin and, just like her, she drinks like a suction-hose. She also builds flying machines; she even let me fly her helicopter a couple of times. We even wanted to buy an airship and establish a shipping company, but then she crashed one of her prototypes. Since then she has a titanium plate in her skull and is a bit eccentric.

“Hello, Colgate!” she yells. “Merry Hearth-Warming Eve!”

“It’s summer…” I mutter, even though I doubt that such details bother her.

“Really? Shit, time really flows…” She looks at Inkie but she doesn’t seem to notice her. “Anyway, Aquafresh, I built a new helicopter! It’s designed for four ponies and has a new anti-accident system!”

“So, you can’t crash it?” I ask. You know, I’m kinda interested in that. Some ponies think she’s crazy, but I think her helicopters are the future of transport. Also, do you know how much fat can you burn while flying it?

“No, but when you do, you don’t die; you’re only paralysed,” she replies. “Anyway, I brought it here; I’m gonna show it to the ponies from this town. Tomorrow at that large platform on the top of the largest tree here. Maybe someone will invest into it?”

“Yeah, that’s a great marketing move…” I mutter. “Ninety percent of ponies here have wings…”

“Thanks, Minty Fresh!” she exclaims. “Anyway, gotta go! See you, River Song!” She slams the door of her room.

“Who was that?” Inkie asks, looking at the door, her eyes wide.

“One of the ponies I have to deal with,” I reply simply. “But life would be boring without her.”

We join the rest of the group downstairs. Flitter and Cloudchaser are wearing quite sexy leather outfits. I totally dig the Flitter’s collar. Vinyl has her trench coat (at least she doesn’t have the fedora) and Trixie wears her cape and hat. We look like a bunch of idiots, but we’re exotic idiots and it’s all that matters.

“So, where are we going?” I ask.

“I know a club here,” Cloudchaser replies. She takes a leash, attaches it to Flitter’s collar and grabs it with her teeth. Inkie is eyeing them curiously.

“What’s going on with them?” she whispers into my ear. “Does Flitter think that she’s a dog?”

“Long story,” I say. “But I guess you’d like it. It’s a kind of preference…” I whisper back. Sweet Luna, how to explain BDSM to her? I need a drink.

“Can ponies, umm… have relationships with dogs?” she asks. Sweet Tia on a stick, how do I need a drink…

“You mean ‘can’ as ‘it’s technically possible’ or ‘can’ as ‘it’s something you can be proud of’? In the former, yes, in the latter, no.” I reply.

“I almost banged a dog once,” Vinyl says. “It was a really nice shepherd…”

“Vinyl, shut up,” I command. “Also, when we’re back home, you’ll put ten bits in the jar.”

“Hey! Why ten?” She’s so distracted that she steps on her injured leg. Jumping on the other three hooves, she tangles herself in Flitter’s leash, almost strangling her.

“Because what you’re saying is highly inappropriate, not to mention gross…” I reply, ignoring Flitter yelling obscenities. Several bat ponies gather around us. Way to make it big here…

“Hey, I was drunk, he was drunk… And nothing happened!” Vinyl exclaims.

“Vinyl,” Trixie says. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is not amused by your ramblings, so please contain yourself from talking abou fucking dogs, at least till the time when we’re inebriated.”

Wow… Trixie never stops to surprise me. Vinyl is still silent when we get to the club.

The interior is dark and moderately crowded. There are a couple of round tables there, a bar and the DJ’s equipment in one of the corners. Behind the bar sits a bat pony, cleaning the glasses with blank expression. At the turntables sits a small filly with bright pink mane. She smiles widely and tries to play something. The results are terrible; most of the guests, however, don’t mind, too busy drinking or eating mangoes, bananas, lychees or fried grasshoppers. Yes, grasshoppers. Bats eat bugs after all, right? So grasshoppers are a delicacy among the bat ponies. I don’t mind that, though Vinyl and Inkie became a bit green.

I walk to a bar and sit on the stool.

“Hello,” I say to the bartender.

“Vhat do you vant?” he asks. Apparently I’m not the first unicorn he sees in his life. Or maybe he’s just professional.

“Bloody Mary,” I reply.

“Vith real blood?”

“Umm… I’ll take a bloodless Mary then…”

“As you vish,” he replies and pours me vodka. Hey, did anyone here heard about tomato juice? Nopony? Okay, nevermind. I like vodka too.

Well, “like” is not the best word. As my father once said: “the taste of vodka has to twist your mouth. If you start to like it, you have a problem”. For me, vodka without any additions tastes like the disinfectant I used to clean the tables when I worked as a lab technician. I quit that job, because it turned out that I’m allergic to mice.

I don’t like vodka. But I like the feeling I get when I drink it.

“Cheers, luv!” I say to Inkie and take a shot. Eww… Really, it’s like disinfectant. But when it flows to my stomach, it’s not vodka anymore. It’s just a warm feeling, blood rush, unpleasant thoughts going away…

Inkie looks at me and orders vodka too. She looks at the transparent liquid unsurely and gulps it in one go, just like I did. Of course, she chokes and spills some. Though, it wasn’t bad for the first time.

“How can you drink that…” she gasps. “It tastes like…”

“Disinfectant?” I prompt.

“Like that thing we use to wash the rocks when they fall on some worker…” Inkie replies. She slowly regains the ability to breathe, but her face is still red.

“Well, maybe we started a bit too hard,” I say. “You need something for vodka to go down with. I’d suggest a juice or something like that. Some ponies use cider or beer, but that’d be suicide.”

“Why?” Inkie asks. Oh, come on… Someone tells you that something is a suicide and you ask why? I tell the bartender to pour me another vodka and turn back to Inkie.

“You see, your liver doesn’t like when you mix too much. It can get upset or worse – gain sentience. Life’s not fun when your liver keeps asking you what the hay are you doing…”

“Really?” Inkie looks at the place where liver usually is.

“No, you’d just get a really bad headache and you’d vomit like a cat after meds. But enough of that…” I see that the bat pony, assuming that we’re together, also poured Inkie a glass. I levitate mine and drink it. Shit, that’s some good stuff. Inkie learned her lesson and now she drinks much slower.

Next to us, Vinyl looks around the club nervously.

“Hey, dude,” she says to the bartender. “That kid behind the turntables sucks!”

“Vell, she has a lots of enthusiasm… What do you want?” the bartender replies calmly. Behind us, the pink-haired filly jumps up and down, trying to make the equipment follow her orders. Flitter and Cloudchaser dance. Trixie tries to.

“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?” Vinyl asks.

“It’s called ‘Freight Train’,” the bartender explains. “The name comes from the fact that railponies use it to clean rusty engines. Also, when you drink it, the effects are similar to getting hit by a train…”

“No, thanks,” Vinyl replies. “I’ll take bison grass vodka with mango juice. Inkie, you should stick to it too. Drinking with Minuette usually ends badly.”

“It’s drinking with you that ends badly,” I reply. “By the way, may I try that Freight Train? The name sounds interesting.”

“As you vish,” the bartender replies and pours me something violet. The colour reminds me of some Berry Punch’s friend who, when he had no cash, started to drink denatured alcohol. From what I know, the photo of his liver is shown to the medical students during the toxicology lectures. Vinyl and Inkie get the bison grass vodka.

“In Ponyland they drink it with apple juice,” Vinyl says to Inkie. “But when in Hollow Shades, do what the bat ponies do…”

I take a careful sip of the Freight Train. Oh, by Celestia’s teats! Have you ever had a feeling that your oesophagus is ripped from your body, tied into a knot, fried and stuffed back into your body, but through the anus? Well, that’s exactly what I feel now. Crikey! My vision blurs for a while. The world around me becomes brightly coloured. I can see Vinyl looking at me unsurely. Sweet Celly, she looks so cute today…

“Are you okay, Minuette?” she asks.

“Yes, of course,” I reply. If we stretch the definition of “okay” to include “I have a feeling that my liver exploded, splaying gore around”, then we can say that yes, I’m okay.

“Good.” Vinyl turns to the bartender. “You know, I’m a DJ too…”

“If you vant to get behind the decks, you must first lure Heartbeat out. Candies will do.”

“Okay,” Vinyl says and takes a sip of her drink. “Minuette, hold my coat.”

She gives the filly some candies and steps behind the equipment. Some dancing bat ponies look at her as she examines it, pushing seemingly random buttons. Finally, she puts her sunglasses on and levitates a microphone.

“Hello, fillies and gentlecolts,” she says cheerfully. “My name is DJ Pon3 and I came here to cum into your fluffy ears!” With this words she spins a record. A monstrous wave of bass assaults my brain, still recovering from the trauma caused by the Freight Train. Suddenly, there are lots of bat ponies around. One of them grabs me and takes off. Help me, I’m being haped! And I’m scared of heights! And, what’s worse, judging by the fluffiness, the pony who grabbed me is a mare.

Still hugging me, she lands on the dancefloor. My head spins. My new friend decides to take another step and kisses me, or rather assaults my mouth with her tongue and cute little fangs... She kinda smells of strawberries… Eww! I jump back. Next to me, I can see Inkie who was also taken by surprise. Unlike me, she seems to enjoy her kiss.

“Oh, sorry!” The mare exclaims. She has nice black mane and yellow eyes. She’s wearing a leather jacket and a white scarf, like pegasi during the First Griffon War. “I just love to kiss! By the vay, my name is Symphony! Symphonie des Grauens, actually, but call me Symphony!”

“Okay!” I reply before the crowd separates us. Somewhere in the distance I can see Flitter and Cloudchaser. Similarly to the bat ponies, they not only use the floor to dance, they also fly to the ceiling and try to hang upside-down from it. Too bad, their tails aren’t that prehensile. Wonder what else those bat ponies can do with them…

I bump into Trixie. She doesn’t even notice me, too busy levitating three tankards of beer. Judging by how she staggers, there are not the first. Before I manage to ask her something, someone tackles me.

“Hello again!” Symphony cheers. “I didn’t get your name…”

“Minuette,” I reply. “Listen, can you get off me? I’m not comfortable like that…”

“Oh, sorry!” Symphony replies. “Vhat can I do to make you more comfortable?” She winks.

“Umm… grow a dick?”

“Too bad, I can’t… But hey, I know some guys! You’ll like them!”

Okay, I’m starting to like that party.

With me on her back, Symphony flies above the crowd. A couple of bat ponies – one of the mares holds Inkie – joins us.

“You know, in the basement there’s a couple of secret rooms for VIPs,” Symphony says, suddenly dropping her accent. “You can talk, drink or fuck there… But first, VE ARE GONNA DANCE!” She dives into a crowd, almost making me lose my breakfast. Before I can protest, we’re close to Vinyl’s turntables, Cloudchaser and Flitter half-dancing, half-making out next to us.

Someone gives me a glass. I gulp the contents in one go and I immediately recognise the taste of mandrake booze. You know, it doesn’t work for too long, but it makes you see fairies and shit like that. Also, even the grumpiest pony, after taking a shot of it suddenly becomes very eloquent. Like, they are the fucking masters of speaking; their speeches can easily convince you that going to Zebrica, becoming an airship gunner and getting shot down by the rebelliants is the greatest motherfucking idea in the world. Though, they can often drift too far in their speech, jumping from one topic to another. Speaking of the civil war in Zebrica, I once wanted to enlist. You know, I know how to shoot a gun, I constantly need money… I’m the best target for ponies who look for morons to convince them that there’s no smell like smell of napalm in the morning. But then, I imagined myself in that beautiful desert camouflage uniform, shot multiple times with a heavy machine gun, with my pants full of shit. You know, everyone who says that death is like falling asleep should see a pony dying. No matter how tough you are, you’ll shit yourself. And that’s how my military career ended before it even began.

Wait… where was I? Something about airships? Where’s my gun? Those separatists surrounded us! Help!

“Minuette!”

“Get down!” I yell.

“Trixie thinks she’ll be okay…”

“Are you with us, Minuette?” Vinyl asks.

I look around. This must be one of those VIP rooms Symphony told me about. It’s well-furnished, with a round table in the middle. I notice that I lie on the couch. I can feel the taste of whisky in my mouth. Trixie is standing above me, levitating a bottle. At least I didn’t need an adrenaline shot to the heart.

Around the table sit Vinyl, Inkie, Symphony, Flitter, Cloudchaser and some other bat ponies.

“If any of you, idiots, tries to give somepony mandrake again, I’m gonna rip your balls off!” Symphony yells at them.

Vinyl smokes a pipe. From the smell I can guess that it’s not tobacco. The whole group drinks whisky and eats mangoes, watermelons, grapes and bananas. Inkie’s face is red, but maybe it’s because of whisky.

“Okay,” says Vinyl calmly when I sit down and drink some whisky. “Since Minuette is back with us, we can go back to the topic. And maybe even ask her for an opinion in a matter of great importance.”

From her tone I can guess that I’m not the only one who had mandrake. Maybe she’s less sensitive?

“What’s that matter?” I ask.

“What kind of porn do you like?” Symphony asks.

Now I understand why Inkie is so red. “Watersports, bondage and those in which a mare with a strap-on fucks a guy in the–”

“Okay, we get the idea,” Vinyl says, shuddering.

“What’s watersports? It has something to do with swimming, right?” Inkie asks.

Vinyl, Trixie, Flitter and Cloudchaser look at me. The rest of the company looks at Inkie, unsure whether she’s joking.

“Kinda,” I reply. “But it’s more like bathing… With a golden shower…”

“That seems extravagant… Who has so much gold?” Inkie asks.

Oh, my sweet summer child…

“I’ll explain that to you later, when we’re both sober. Though I guess I won’t dare to do that without first having at least a couple of beers first,” I say.

“Maybe you should just show her?” Flitter asks, smiling mischievously.

“Maybe you two would demonstrate?” I reply, glaring at her angrily.

“Not a good idea,” Cloudchaser says. “Last time we tried, she choked…”

Thanks for the mental image, really. Do you know that awkward feeling when you want to vomit and clop at the same time? Yeah, that’s it.

“Don’t derail the discussion,” Vinyl says. “Inkie, what’s your favourite porn?”

“Umm… lesbians?” Inkie blushes even more. She gulps her whisky. “I have no idea… I first clopped to a Wonderbolts poster…”

“Don’t worry, there’s a room here, vith a large screen and lots of tapes,” Symphony says. “I think Wonderbolts Casting Couch is there too…”

Inkie has a rather bad poker face and I can read what’s going on in her head easily. It’s something like “not sure if want”. She pours herself another whisky and gulps it in one go. She gets used to it far too quickly if you ask me.

“Mmmaybeee I’ll go…” she mutters. Okay, I was wrong. Her taste buds got used to whisky quickly, but the rest of her system apparently didn’t. She burps. “I need to… I need to…”

“I’ll go with you,” I say quickly. “Where’s a bathroom here?”

Symphony also notices that situation is dire. She quickly points me the right way and I half-drag, half-lead her to the bathroom. Damn, how much did she drink when I was out? Earth ponies have more copies of alcohol dehydrogenase gene (I used to date a doctor, so I know such stuff) so they can drink more, but still their first times with alcohol may end up badly.

I almost obliterate the bathroom door with my magic and I help Inkie position herself. Hey, I’m good at that – I even managed to grab her mane before the mix of whisky, chunks of undigested mangoes and whatever else she ate and what is now unrecognisable, managed to tarnish it.

“You okay?” I ask after the first wave of vomit flows down the toilet. Inkie nods weakly.

“Are you sure? You know, never retreat, never surrender. It’s better to get rid of everything now…”

“Yeah… *hic!* I think I’m gonna go to sleep…” Inkie says.

“Good idea,” I say. Then I help her go to the sink to rinse her mouth and drink some water. You know, vomiting while drunk is fun, at least for some ponies. Dehydration isn’t.

By the way: I can easily guess when I should stop drinking. It’s always the moment, when toilet humour starts to amuse me.

We go back to the rest of our group. Flitter and Cloudchaser went somewhere, probably to dance, watch porn, fuck, or all of the above. Trixie sits by the table and eats pine cones, while Vinyl and Symphony watch her curiously.

“Can you help me?” I ask, dragging Inkie to the couch and placing her on it.

“No,” Vinyl replies.

“Why Trixie eats pine cones?” I ask, putting Inkie in the safe position so that she won’t choke if she vomits again.

“Trixie likes them,” Trixie replies, levitating another cone and crushing it with her teeth.

“You do realise that the only ponies who eat pine cones are the ones who suffer from chronic diarrhea?” I ask. “It’s like eating concrete…”

“Meh. Trixie never had constipation in her life!” she replies. Judging by the fact that the word “constipation” doesn’t make me laugh like an idiot, I can still drink something. And I’ll promptly do that.

“So, you’re not talking about porn anymore?” I ask Vinyl and Symphony.

“Nope. She’s far more interesting,” Symphony replies, pointing at Trixie. I notice that now, when she’s slightly intoxicated, she remembers how to pronounce her w’s correctly. “Did she tell you how she defeated the narcissistic vampire?”

“Yeah, she mentioned that…”

“And Vinyl told me a great joke about a bat pony drinking tea. I must really try that…” Symphony says.

“You’d better not try that with one of yours…” Vinyl giggles. “That’d be autocannibalism…”

Do you remember how I told you about my warning sign telling me that I drank too much? Vinyl has such sign too. When she uses words that have six syllables, you know that it’s really bad.

I take a sip of whisky. The only way to survive a calamity known as Drunk Vinyl is to be drunk myself. Soon, I feel a pleasant warmth. Too bad, Trixie chewing the pine cones starts to annoy me.

“Can you stop?” I ask her.

“Fuck you, Trixie can eat all those pine cones!”

Okay. I guess she’s not in a mood. I finish my whisky and pour myself another one. My vision blurs a bit and I feel like doing something stupid. Well, I do stupid things all the time, but this time I actually mean it.

Focus, Minuette! You’re, like, drunk. Probably. I’m not sure. Leave that whisky… yeah, the one that you’ve just drank. Too late… *hic!* Nevermind. I don’t care. Next to me, Vinyl finishes a beer and burps loudly. Bat ponies give her a round of applause.

Meh, I can do better than that. I inhale and I burp as loud as I can. Vinyl shots me a nasty glare.

“You dare to challenge me?” she asks, trying to focus her gaze on me. I’m not sure if she managed to do that. I can actually see two Vinyls now, so I guess something’s wrong with her. Or with me. Or whatever…

She gathers all her strength and tries to burp louder than me. Technically, she managed to get rid of some gas from her system. Too bad, it was through the orifice other than she intended. I dive under the table, trying to contain laughter. Stop laughing, moron, for fuck’s sake! And actually, go to sleep, Minuette. You’re drunk. I really need to stop laughing. It can end in throwing up…

No, I totally didn’t just vomit on the floor! And I’m not drunk, fuck off! Wait… Where am I? Where are everypony? Hello? Vinyl? Trixie? Where are you? Talk to me, please… I’m so lonely… Come on! Come back here, cunts, and talk to me! The Great and Powerful Minuette demands your attention!

Vinyl? Where the hell are you? Vinyl, come here… I may be thinking that you’re an incurable idiot, but it’s not like I don’t love you. Not “I’ll stick my horn into your ass and spin” kind of love, but I love you. And I even love Trixie… Just come here and help me get up, go to bed and stuff…

Wait. I can kinda see some guy in front of me. Yellow eyes, fluffy ears, wings. A bat pony? Oh wait, I’m in Hollow Shades. I think. So, a bat pony. He looks at me. From the position he’s standing I assume that I’m lying on the floor. Not good, not good at all! He’s a stallion. He has a dick. Minuette loves ponies with dicks.

I get up. Or at least I try to. After a couple of attempts I manage to achieve an effect resembling standing straight and sober. Or at least I hope so.

“Hello,” I say, looking at him, my eyes half-closed. Time for my best pick-up line. “Do you wanna fuck?”

He raises his eyebrows. I guess he’s just impressed by my improbable cuteness. “Thank you for the offer,” he says. “But I have to refuse.”

Refuse? No such word in my dictionary.

“Why?” I ask. “I’m a sexy, exotic unicorn! Come here and mount me! I demand it!”

“No, thanks,” he replies.

“What? I insist!” I swish my tail to the side, revealing my little treasu– Oh, fuck it. I reveal my cunt.

“Still, I have to refuse,” he says.

“Are you a faggot or what?” I ask.

“No. You’re drunk and therefore unable to consent.”

Therefore? Consent? Who needs consent when I need to get rutted? Do I have to clop again? I’m too drunk to aim my hoof at my clit, how am I supposed to do that?

“But I can make you a tea and carry you to bed if you want. You need to sleep it off,” he says.

Okay. Maybe. He lifts me from the floor and puts me on his back effortlessly. Geez, I can feel those muscles with my teats… My face is close to his tail… I reach under it with my hoof…

“Excuse me,” he says. “I think I’ll have to keep you far away from them…”

“Sorry…” I mutter.

“Nevermind. You’ll thank me later…”

We’re in the kitchen, I think. And I think I’m drinking tea. Not sure. It’s definitely not alcohol. Already too much blood in my alcohol. Or something like that. Tea good. Sleep good. Yeah, sleep…

Fuck! Whoever created hangovers should be assraped by Tirek after consuming all the magic in the universe. Ouch, my head. My dumb, fucking head. Nevermind, time to grit my teeth and run the “hangover morning” checklist.

All limbs in place? Check. Not in a hospital? Check. Not in prison? Check. No one drew a dick on my horn? Hard to say, it’s too dark here. Was I a cunt to someone yesterday? Hmm… Oh shit! I need to find that guy and apologise. And thank him for putting me in… Exactly, where? It seems like bed, but it has walls… and a ceiling. Wooden ceiling…

Oh, holy fucking mother of all the cunts! What am I doing in a coffin? They buried me alive? Or… or maybe della Morte’s guys got us and put us here? Crap. Okay, don’t panic, Minuette. Breathe. Do you remember that one party when you locked Berry Punch in a coffin? It must be something like this.

I knock at the lid. Thank Celestia, there’s not a layer of soil above it. A one spell should…

Yeah, one spell. In my state, it’d fry my brain. Time to do that the earth pony way. I gather all the strength I have and kick at the lid. Ouch! I must admit, it’s a good, oaken lid. When I die, I want to be buried in something like that. Worms and necrophiles would have to look for someone else.

After the third attempt, the lid gives up. I get up, stretch my hooves and look around.

First thing I see are some sleeping bat ponies, hanging from the ceiling. When I watch them, I think that coffin wasn’t a bad place to sleep. After all, they could’ve hanged me upside-down on my tail.

Next to me there’s another coffin; Vinyl sleeps on it. She kinda looks like some lady whose knight fell in battle and now she cries on his grave. Except ladies don’t usually snore, lying on their backs with hind legs spread. I avoid looking there. You know, when you look into the abyss for too long… Also, fallen knights don’t usually bang their hooves against the lid, yelling “Help! The Great and Powerful Trixie has claustrophobia! And she needs to pee!”

Sweet Celestia! On one hoof, I’d like to see Trixie getting into omorashi, but on the other, it’s a good, antique coffin which doesn’t deserve to be tarnished like that. A piece of art, I’d say.

I get out of my “bed” and, without saying a word, I push Vinyl off the coffin. A second later, when she tries to get her bearings, yelling obscenities at me, she’s hit by the lid, opened abruptly by Trixie’s magic. I can only see a blue blur when she runs away, simultaneously making some kind of potty dance.

“Vinyl, you okay?” I ask.

“Fuck you… My head…”

“I take that as ‘yes’. Can you help me find Inkie?”

“Stick a garden hose up your flank and turn on the water…” she replies. I guess she spends too much time with me.

I shrug and leave her in the room. Whoever built that place probably wanted ponies to get lost in it. Everything consists of narrow corridors full of wicked turns. Finally, I find the room where, if I recall correctly, we left Inkie. She’s there, sitting on the couch and drinking tea with a bat pony who seems familiar.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at me. “How are you?”

“I woke up in a coffin. Try to guess. You couldn’t find a bed?”

“Closest thing I got.” He smirks. “Still want to, umm…” He looks at Inkie unsurely.

“No,” I reply. “And I’m sorry for that. When I’m drunk–”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed...”

“Did I do something stupid yesterday?” Inkie asks. She has bags under her eyes and her voice is even weaker than usual.

“No, just standard things,” I say.

“Yeah, unlike Minuette…” the bat pony smiles. Did I mention that he has a really nice smile? And his mane… I really like his mane!

“What’s your name?” I ask. Well, I ruined my first impression, but I can fix that. At least I hope so.

“Tyluan,” he replies. “May I talk to you in private?”

“Of course!”

We leave Inkie with her tea and walk to the nearby room. There’s no bed in it, but it’s not important. Yet.

“I’ve got something to tell you…” he says.

“Yes!” I reply. We’ll have to marry in Las Pegasus. It may be kinda hard, but maybe mafia won’t expect us there?

“No, it’s not that…” he laughs. “Do you know a guy called Bacio della Morte?”

Fuck. Not only he has to chase us, he also has to cock– I mean, cuntblock me.

“Let’s say I’ve met him,” I reply. “What’s going on?”

“Remember Symphony? The girl you’ve met yesterday. Her father, Nosferatu des Grauen is a don of local mafia.”

Oh, fuckity fuck. I can’t even get drunk without mafia stalking me. What the hell I am, mafia magnet? “Let me guess,” I say. “He’s at war with Bacio della Morte?”

“Not really. Des Grauens and la Familia della Morte are friends. Just yesterday, one of della Mortes came here and said that they’re looking for, quoting, a slightly pudgy blue unicorn, another blue unicorn with a hourglass cutie mark, and a lanky white idiot.”

Oh, come on. Vinyl wouldn’t be amused by that. She’s not white, she’s slightly yellow.

“Why did you tell me that?” I ask.

“Do you want to know what happened to the last guy they wanted to find?”

“Okay, nevermind. Why haven’t they caught us yet? I’d say we’re quite memorable…”

“Della Morte’s pony shared his message with the only member of the mafia who isn’t drunk now.” He pointed at himself. “Too bad, Herr Nosferatu will wake up soon and della Morte’s emissary is already waiting to tell him the news. You have maybe half of an hour.”

“Great… Thanks, Tyluan. I need to hurry…”

I run to find Vinyl. Luckily, she’s still next to the coffin, scratching her head.

“Getupnotimetoexplainmafiaischasingusweneedtoescape!” I yell at her. It’s surprising how quickly she got this. Any trace of hangover disappears instantly. She’s on her hooves, ready to go. We run to the toilet and I kick the door open.

On a second thought it was a bad idea. Trixie sits there, reading a newspaper. She lowers it and gives us a surprised look.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie thinks that you should knock,” she says. I can hear some faint trace of suffering in her voice.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, even though the answer is kinda obvious.

“Pine cones…” Trixie blushes. “Trixie can’t get rid of them…”

I facehoof while Vinyl bursts into a fit of laughter. “Just great…” she says, trying to catch her breath. “Mafia will soon get us and your biggest problem is that you can’t take a–”

“Vinyl, please, have decency…” I say with a sigh.

“Why when you say ‘Vinyl please’, it always sounds like ‘bitch, please’?” Vinyl asks.

“I’ll explain that to you later. Now, we need to do something about her…”

“She’s lactose-intolerant,” Vinyl says, watching Trixie carefully. “Let’s give her a gallon of milk. It’ll be like a bottle of champagne…”

Thanks Vinyl. I’ll never be able to look at champagne the same way again. “Maybe we should do the same thing as with my mother,” I say. “Once I went to the chemist’s to buy some meds for her, but I met Berry Punch on my way and we got drunk. When my mother saw me in such a state, she shit herself…”

“Maybe you’d just leave?” Trixie asks, giving us a painful look. “Trixie can’t focus with you two here…”

“Or maybe I’ll just do it the hard way…” I mutter, aiming my horn at Trixie. I know that I shouldn’t do it when hung over; a slightest mistake and the pieces of Trixie’s colon will be found in Stalliongrad.

The blue light flashes and we hear the sound of something hitting the water. Trixie looks at her stomach unsurely. I know that feeling; nervous system is not used to things suddenly disappearing from the organism without a trace.

“D-did you just…”

“Yes, I teleported the contents of your bowels out of them,” I reply. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Minuette…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do that anymore.”

“Wait,” Vinyl says when we walk down the corridor to pick up Inkie and go to the hotel. “Did you really teleport the shit out of her ass? I thought it’s impossible!”

“I didn’t know it was impossible,” I reply. “That’s how great inventions are made.”

“Can we not speak about that anymore?” Trixie asks. “Trixie still feels violated…”

“Well, one could say that you penetrated Trixie with your magic…” Vinyl says innocently.

“Trixie’s right,” I say, hitting Vinyl at the back of the head. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

We find Inkie and we run to our hotel. I bang at the door of Flitter and Cloudchaser’s room.

“Girls, we need to leave the town! Like, now!” I shout.

“Fuck off!” I hear Flitter’s voice. “We’re kinda tied here!”

“Can we at least borrow your cart?” I ask.

“Just try and I’ll tear your legs out!”

“We can still steal it,” Vinyl says. “They’re tied; they won’t chase us…”

“Yeah… But we need wings to use it…” I give Trixie a meaningful glare.

“Hey! Trixie would be an alicorn long time ago if she wanted…” she exclaims.

“Yeah, right… But since none of us can fly…” I mutter. “Wait! I have an idea!”

I run downstairs, to Cherry Berry’s room. The door is open. Cherry’s inside, hugging an empty barrel of whisky.

“Cherry, we need your helicopter!” I yell at her. She mutters something incomprehensible.

“Oh, come on… Get up, you old drunk!”

I’m not sure whether she said something as a reply or just snored. I try to shake her, when the rest of the gang enters the room. In this whole mess I forgot that Vinyl can’t walk fast.

“Seems that our only hope went to fuck itself,” Vinyl mutters, looking at Cherry Berry.

I can feel that my throat is dry. “There’s something else,” I say. “I know where her helicopter is. I once flew one of the older models…”

“That’s crazy…” Trixie says.

“You speak like it was something that could stop us…” Vinyl smirks. “What are we waiting for?”

Inkie and Trixie go upstairs to take our saddlebags while Vinyl and I try to find the biggest tree in the town. It’s not hard: after all, it’s hard to miss a huge oak with a large platform on the top. Hell, they even built an elevator inside, so Vinyl doesn’t have to walk all the way upstairs.

Luckily for us, no one guards the helicopter. Probably they assumed that no one would want to steal it anyway. I look at it, trying to find any similarities to the model I flew. Unlike it, this one has place for four ponies: a pilot, two ponies powering it by pedalling and an observer-navigator. I look at the controls, trying to figure them out.

“Inkie, Trixie, you’ll pedal. Vinyl, you’ll take the maps and guide us to Fillydelphia, south-west from here.”

“Why Trixie has to pedal?” Trixie asks.

“Because it’s good for your figure, cures hangover and problems with bowel movement. Also, Tyluan gave us thirty minutes, so no discussion,” I reply, sitting behind the centre stick. Cherry Berry put lots of stuff here; gauges, speedometer, altimeter, lots of colourful lights… “Vinyl, take a shotgun. In case they chase us, you’ll scare them away.”

Trixie doesn’t ask why she can’t take the shotgun. After the last time she had it in her hooves, I’m not surprise. Vinyl takes the gun and loads it. We have about twenty shells of unknown quality (after all, they’re Vinyl’s), not to mention the zebra’s sniper rifle with damaged sights and only five rounds. I put my forelegs on the stick, hind legs on rudder pedals. Suddenly, I see a duct tape, a sheet of paper and a pen lying on the cockpit.

“Wait a minute, I have an idea,” I tell to the rest of the crew. I take the sheet and write a short letter:

Dear Cherry Berry,

I stole your helicopter.

Sincerely,
Nosferatu des Grauen

Not exactly a smart trick, but, after all, Cherry Berry is kinda dense. Maybe she’ll go and try to kick that old bat’s arse? I tape the letter to the platform and order Trixie and Inkie to start.

With a terrible screeching, the rotor start to move. Soon, the rhythm gets more steady as the oil pump begins to work. I pull the stick and the whole machine slowly lifts off the platform. Soon, we’re higher than the tree tops. Several bat ponies looks at us, unsure if we’re real or just a side effect of yesterday party.

“Where’s West, Vinyl?” I ask. Vinyl points to the right and I push the rudder pedal. The helicopter moves swiftly in the intended direction. I push the stick and we begin to move forward, slowly leaving Hollow Shades.

I think that Cherry Berry chose the wrong place to advertise it. She should’ve gone to the Army with that. Imagine that thing, armed with autocannons and rockets, flying up the river in the middle of the jungle. “Ride of the Valkyries” on the radio and you can pour napalm on the zebras all morning. Too bad all we have is a shotgun and a sniper rifle. If we had napalm, we’d just fly to Las Pegasus and drop it on Bacio della Morte’s head. And a couple of other heads, I guess. Then we’d rebuild the town. With blackjack and hookers. That is, more blackjack and hookers than is there already.

“Minuette, are you okay?” Inkie asks. “You look scary when you smile like that…”

Me? Scary? Well, maybe. Okay, maybe I should stop showing my teeth. Vinyl is throwing nervous glances around.

“I have a feeling that I’ve been here before…” she mutters. “But it was an airship…”

“Don’t worry, this thing is faster than any airship,” I say.

“Faster than those six bat ponies who are flying behind us?” Vinyl points at the six dark silhouettes barely visible on the sky.

“Fuck…” I mutter. “Trixie, Inkie, can you go faster?”

At first, the only reply is panting. “Trixie… tries…”

“Then Trixie should try harder…” I reply. “How’s the situation, Vinyl?”

“They’re approaching us!” she screams. “On six o’clock… They have guns!”

Crap. Not good at all. I grab the stick with my both hooves, ready for evasive maneuvers. Meanwhile, Vinyl levitates the shotgun and tries to aim it at them. Considering the range, we’re fucked. Forty metres at best versus typical gangsters’ submachines… Not to mention that we make a rather big target.

Suddenly, Trixie turns backwards and charges her horn. We’re slower now and we lose some altitude, but if it means the increase of firepower…

“Minuette! To the left!”

I jerk the stick to the left. For a moment, my vision darkens. I can hear the rapid gunfire, punctuated by the sound of Vinyl’s shotgun. Behind me, Inkie screams. We slow down and a couple of bat ponies flies past us. One of them is clearly lagging behind, while the rest reloads their guns.

Vinyl levitates fresh rounds while Trixie tries to lock the target of her magic on one of the attackers. I focus on the controls; it’s not easy to keep the helicopter steady with those two running around like idiots.

“Got one…” Trixie mutters.

“Terminate,” I say. “With extreme prejudice.”

The magic beam flies through the air. It turns sharply and explodes in the middle of the formation. The bat ponies seem okay, but at least they had to scatter. One of them charges directly at us. He aims his gun at me…

Bang! Vinyl’s shotgun almost deafens me. The bat pony pulls up at the last moments; some buckshot hits his legs, then he gets caught by the turbulence caused by our rotor.

The helicopter shakes violently. I can hear some wet sound above me and Inkie’s surprised scream when the pedals suddenly start to resist. I look behind and see that the tail of the helicopter is sprayed in something red. Why it always happens to me?

I turn right, hoping that the rotor is still intact. Vinyl looks around, searching the sky for the bat ponies. Finally, she spots four of them, sitting on the cloud, probably rethinking the strategy.

Trixie aims her horn at the cloud. The bat ponies immediately take off, but anyway one of them get hit by the lightning and has to go back with his fur smoking visibly. Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.

The remaining three charge at us from the Sun. I prepare for another sharp turn when suddenly I see something strange.

Two pegasi wearing the Equestrian Air Force armours jump from behind the nearby clouds and charge at the bat ponies. They have rifles and heavy machine guns in their battle saddles, but they don’t even use them; they just tackle the bat ponies. The sheer mass of them and their equipment wipes them from the sky.

What the hay? We were that loud? Before they disappear I can see one of the soldiers saluting at us. They wear helmets and goggles, but I have a feeling that I’ve seen them before.

I salute back and focus on the stick. Trixie goes back to the pedals and we head to Fillydelphia. Vinyl still searches the sky, but it seems that Herr Nosferatu des Grauens decided that his friendship with Bacio della Morte isn’t that valuable.

“I can see a town!” Inkie exclaims. Indeed, the first skyscrapers appear on the horizon. Soon, we’ll be close…

Suddenly I hear a terrible creak. We look around. Apparently, it comes from the transmission of our helicopter. Trixie and Inkie lose the rhythm when the pedals start to resist. Slowly, we’re losing altitude. I open the toolbox and levitate a hammer to Vinyl.

“Try to hit something with it,” I say. “I guess the guy whom our rotor changed into Estufa de morcego blocked something…”

Vinyl approaches the wall of the helicopter and hits it several times. The only answer is more creaking. Vinyl hits stronger.

Suddenly, we hear the sound of something snapping and the pedals go loose. The whole helicopter shakes.

“Aaargh!” Vinyl screams. “I don’t wanna die!”

“You won’t…” I mutter, trying to steady the helicopter. I can still hear the sound of the rotor turning. “Autorotation is on our side…”

“Auto-what?” Inkie asks.

“Autorotation…” I reply. “As long as the air turns the rotor, we have enough lift to find some safe place to land. Cherry Berry is a master of landing with the damaged transmission…”

I’d rather not tell them about that one time when the rotor got blocked with an empty vodka bottle. Fifteen metres above the ground Cherry lost lift and crashed into the ground. Since then she can’t remember my name and has a titanium plate in her skull which allows her to receive signals from the aliens. Or at least she says so.

Hopefully, there are no empty bottles here. I look at the ground, looking for some even place to land. I can see the road and some cottages. Good enough. Now, a bit to the left… And a bit to the right. We lose altitude a bit too quickly, but I can correct it easily. Thank you, Cherry Berry, for the improved controls. The earlier models were weird. There were so many things in it that could go wrong that they could kill you even before taking off. I even proposed her to name that thing “Flying Coffin”.

Slowly, we’re approaching the ground. Some guy looks at us with his jaw hanging low. Vinyl waves at him cheerfully while I struggle with the wind. Suddenly, a cabbage field grows right in front of me…

“Watch out!” I yell. We hit into the cabbage and my head comes into a painful contact with the windshield. The chopper skids to a halt. Then I hear a quiet “pomf!” and the airbag hits me again, throwing me back into my seat. Really, Cherry Berry? Anti-accident system?

“Everyone’s okay?” I ask.

“Yeah…” Inkie says.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is in a good condition.”

“Fuck…” Vinyl mutters.

“Let’s get out of here…” I say and rise from my seat. Shit, my spine… I’m never gonna fly that thing again, even if I get paid for that. I open the door and face about a dozen of villagers approaching us with torches and pitchforks. Oh, come on… I’m too tired for your shit, guys…

“Nothing to see here!” I exclaim, standing up. “Can any of you tell us how can we get to Fillydelphia?”

Author's Notes:

For those who know German: guess at which point I was listening to Die Arzte's Claudia hat 'nen Schaferhund while writing...