What time was it, even?

He let go of the shot glass and towel prior levitating by his magic, craned his neck to look behind him, and stole a wondering glance at the clock hanging shittily above the wine shelf. With the sound of the dusty ceiling fan swinging dangerously around above his head, his nostrils invaded by the aroma of pure, unfiltered urine stains, and his head buzzing with the forewarnings of a blinding migraine, the Unicorn squinted in the bright light of the local bar counter and mouthed the numbers he read.

Thereafter, he spoke it audibly, in case the bugs and termites beneath his hooves were curious as well.

"Twelve-thirty-four in the morning." He pressed his lips against his cheeks in a straight-lined frown, then shook his head and sighed. Not to say that he honestly hated working such late shifts—because, quite frankly, free bits for sitting on his ass and sneaking a shot or two was actually pretty damn worthwhile—but it sure made an impact on his social skills. The only kinds of ponies who stumbled their way past the saloon doors at this time of night, or morning he guessed, were already drunk off their rockers, violently making out with another individual, or brandishing their flaccid cocks like they were knights of the fucking round table. Sometimes, this odd combination happened all at once, and it was more than hard as all hell to not just walk out and vomit in the nearby creek.

Turning his head back to the counter and the shot glass and towel before him, he let out another exasperated sigh and lit his horn once more. Sweet, sweet grumbles and mumbles escaped his green muzzle as he went back to work with the diligence of a hotel maid, with all the scrutiny and distaste that came with it. As his little towel scrubbed and wiped away with equally tiny squeaks and creaks, he busied himself further by pursing his lips and beginning a whistled tune that he'd heard the past week. It had been catchy as hell, and from that usual customer to boot, who he'd come to know was pretty damn good at on-the-spot show tunes.

He had only just started when he heard a loud rapping from somewhere nearby. His ears perked up in involuntary response, but, deeming it too distant to be the one adjacent to him, he returned to his sunken form and continued his job, albeit at a much quieter rate. He slightly turned his head around to look at the clock again, and hummed along to its ticks and tocks, incorporating it into his tune. It was much too early for who he was expecting; they wouldn't be back for another hour or two, if their prior excursions and munchies meant anything in the past.

He trailed off in his song as he, once again, heard the sound of rapping on a door. He narrowed his eyes and looked to his left, toward the door marked with the sign Employee's ONLY hanging poorly from its knob. Once more, and he'd know for certain.

From behind the exclusive door, he could swear that he'd heard a series of curses that would've rivaled Old Noteworthy over in Ponyville, and almost went over to make sure he wasn't hallucinating until he watched the oaken door rattle and thump with the force of a pony hoof. Letting go of his glass and towel, he cantered over to the entryway, looked to his left and to his right to make sure nopony else was around, and swiftly opened the door with his magic.

Immediately, he regretted it.

"Your fucking fault!"

"Don't fuckin' start, motherfucker! You wasted the gas doin' stupid fuckin' flips and shit–"

"You broke the fucking engine, you shitbird!"

"I'm a pig, you dumbass bitch!"

"Delirious is the bird!"

"Call me a bird again, you son of a bitch!"

He watched in a stunned silence as the—he counted, one, two, three, four, and five, then hummed in surprise—five individuals walked around him almost as if he were invisible, heading toward the center of the bar's main room with thunder on their hooves. The pig, pulling the lead, stared at the sky and shook his little piggy head as his supposed friends continued.

"Wildcat, admit that you fucked up! You can't fix shit!"

Wildcat spun around in an instant, fire in his eyes. "I fix my fuckin' four-wheeler and shit all the time! The fuck do you do, Mr. I-Quit-YouTube?"

The small colt in the monkey mask who Wildcat had addressed immediately shrank back, lips pouted out and his eyes wide. The beginnings of whimpers sputtered out of his mask.

"Why you gotta be so mean t' Lui, Wildcat? Wha'd he ever do to you?"

Wildcat sneered at the blue Pegasus. "He fuckin'... like, fuck!" His outburst afflicted Lui with a giggle. Noticing this, he shot a hoof at him and claimed, "He fuckin' didn't know how to fly!"

"What?" The bagged, green pony in the corner asked, "You wanted to take his job?"

"Hell no," Wildcat affirmed, looking at Delirious, "I woulda told Delirious to do it."

Delirious craned his neck back. Even underneath the mask, he was clearly doubtful of either himself, or Wildcat's claim.

Silence filled the bar as a casual peace arose from the previously heated argument, a well-deserved bliss for the Unicorn bartender still watching the group with bated breath. If they kept being so damn loud, a guard would get curious and find them out, and then they'd all be fucked. He hummed. Last time he'd checked, there were only four of them. The blue one was new, but looked like he'd been thrown into the Badlands for a month or so and washed up with the local War Colts. The mask over his face looked a lot dirtier than the tattered outfit draped around his body. As if sensing the bartender's thoughts, the apparent Delirious gave a loud sigh and began wriggling out of his ensemble with the groans of a foal getting out of their snow gear to take a long-awaited piss.

He threw the robes onto the floor and began fanning himself by yanking at the collar of his dusty blue sweater.

"Might wanna take those off at some point," the red-coated... owl said, looking at Delirious.

He cocked his head. "Yeah, I gotta get it clean here soon–"

"No, I mean, like, hide them or throw them away."

Delirious stopped, his hoof hovering over the zipper. "Vanoss, what the fuck are you–"

"The police know our clothes," Lui chimed in from the other side of the half-hearted circle, "and even though we'd be pretty damn noticeable in a crowd anyway, they won't be able to spy us across a street."

Delirious looked down at his hoodie and stayed there. He looked back up, sucking air in through his nose as his eyes darted about almost wildly.

"Any little bit helps. I already threw my fuckin' shirt away, and I loved that thing," Wildcat said, nodding toward the front door.

"Kinda miss bein' a janitor," the bagged one admitted in a dumb tone.

"What, you miss mopping up piss and shit from kindergarteners all day, Nogla?"

Nogla nodded. "Smell was pretty nice."

The four laughed with each other, Nogla joining in with deep chuckles of his own soon afterward.

"That's sick as fuuuck, dude," Wildcat beamed, shaking his head.

The bartender coughed into a hoof involuntarily, startled and fueled by the dust permeating the recycled air of the establishment. Before, he would've been more than happy to just give them their drinks if they needed any and not speak to them, but now they all turned to him with sudden interest. He frowned at once.

"Oh shit, who's that?" Delirious asked, going into a low stance and pressing a hoof against his stomach.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. Had one of them really not seen him as they walked in? What kind of situational awareness was that?

"Oh, that's Jeeves–"

"My name is Clean Shake. It's not Jeeves, whoever the hell that may be," the bartender replied, passively aggressively.

Wildcat leaned over to Delirious and whispered in his ear loud enough for Clean to hear, "We still call him Jeeves."

Clean Shake sucked in a breath and let it out calmly, then opened his eyes to find Delirious unzipping his jacket as he and the others stepped toward the bar stools. Turning around, he lit his horn and asked to the wall, "What would you all like?"

"Just whatever. Today fuckin' blew," Wildcat's voice called from behind him. Shrugging to himself, Clean flexed his chin and magicked whatever he could off the shelf at random. Rotating around again, he placed them on the countertop with a resounding bout of clinks and took some shot glasses out for the group. If there was anything to look forward to, it was the five of them getting piss drunk and possibly falling down the stairs to their hideout in the basement. Stopping for a second as he judged the five glasses before him, Clean muttered a curse to himself and got another out for him.

Maybe he needed a drink too.

They each hopped up into their seats, Wildcat and Lui having a bit of a harder time than the others due to their small statures, but eventually leaned forward and anxiously awaited their coming drinks. Delirious sat at the far right of Clean, closer to the rest of the bar's main room, as if he wanted to have a quick escape route to the front door. Noting the desert-coated clothes on the floor, Clean deduced that that was probably exactly what Delirious wanted.

Clean magicked the shot glasses out and began pouring a case of Pupper Wine into them, eyeing Delirious all the while just to see what he'd do.

Delirious dipped his neck as he finally, though hesitantly, yanked off his sweater. Coiling it up into an audible ball, he dumped it on the counter next to him and sighed at the red knot around his neck.

Clean, cocking an eyebrow, wondered what it was.

Delirious, on the other hand, remembered what it was, and placed a hoof against it solemnly. Prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue, he wrestled the cape round his neck to get a look at the insignia still crudely stitched onto its back. His eyes and hooves suddenly felt a lot heavier than they had a second ago.

How were they, he wondered. He clearly hadn't left Ponyville, much less the whole country, better off with his stupid fucking crime spree. Lockdowns, and curfews, and bounty hunters. The fillies were probably scared as all fuck right now. They'd known him as their newest member, and they'd remember him as the murderer of a good friend of theirs. Lui had taken the shot, but Delirious had taken the hit. Big Macintosh was dead, and it was all his fucking fault. He didn't even know it was him at all. He had just looked like some lowlife thug robbing his town's bank, and he had tried to stop it because it was the right thing to do.

No one else had stood up, but Macintosh had.

He reached for the shot glass in front of him and downed its contents with a loud gulp, then threw the glass down and huffed.

How was Applejack?

Was everything okay?

...

Was she okay?

She was probably sitting on her bed, weeping her fucking eyes out, missing her brother. She was probably blaming herself for sending him to the bank that day, when she could've easily gone herself and handled things better. She was probably cursing Delirious under her breath, knowing full well what crew it had been at the entrance of that building. She was probably looking for vengeance.

She was probably going to find him. If he knew that mare—and it was no mistake saying he most certainly did—she wouldn't stop until the killer of her brother was found. It didn't help him or her much knowing it was him to boot. She knew the lay of the land, and she had connections. Free train rides, carriages, guides, and guards would get her there.

If she found him, he didn't think he'd be able to raise his gun. But he'd have to, wouldn't he?

He suddenly grew aware of a presence next to him thanks to their deafening slurps of the enormous drink on the counter in front of them. Delirious screwed up his face, his train of thought now thoroughly shit on. When the hell had they gotten there? They weren't there when he and his friends had come in. He narrowed his eyes and turned his head.

The now obvious mare was leaning forward in her seat, both hooves grasping the long, loopy, spiraling silly straw poking out of the root beer float being tortured before her eyes. With a smile on her face and her bright eyes dancing about, she hummed a low tune and gave little noises to signify her enjoyment of the treat. As if noticing Delirious as well, she slowly trailed off in her relishing and looked at him as well, silly straw still tightly clenched between her teeth.

Blue stared into blue.

The mare suddenly gasped so hard that Delirious swore she was having a panic attack.

"Ohmigosh ohmigosh ohmigosh!"

Holy shit he had seen her for two seconds and he already thought her voice was way too annoying.

"I know you! You're Applejack's friend, right?!"

Delirious' eyes shrank to pinpricks.

Wait.

...

Oh no.

The mare grinned at him widely, then reached a hoof out with a vigorous round of nodding.

"I'm Pinkie Pie!"

Author's Notes:

Got a new computer today. It doesn't have a fucking numpad, so inserting em dashes and the like are a biiiiiitch. Fucking copy paste every time I need it. It's killing me. ;_;