The comment section of anything on the internet was a cesspool, a toxic waste dump, of the most horrible kinds of people and the cringiest conversations one could ever bear witness to in their entire life. He'd spent much of his teen years browsing YouTube, and many times had he come out of comment sections much worse off. Pulling hair. Grinding teeth. Howling with laughter. Crying and spitting. It was the highest spectrum of emotions someone could go through in a span of just a handful of seconds, and when you had built an entire career on a website full of the type of individuals who put you through such ordeals, he was very happy to admit that he spent many a day laying on his bed and praying for the sweet, humble embrace of death.

His weren't any different. It wasn't too hard to garner a young audience when you threw your stupidity in video games on the internet, but the percentage of middle schoolers and tryhard jokesters that plagued each and every single one of his videos was a record—and quite a sight—in and of itself. Eleven year olds asking to play games with him because of how "good" they were, or how funny they could be when they probably hadn't even hit the first sign of puberty or touched a vagina. Giveaway scams with copycat profiles bearing his name but not the blue checkmark that he was sure would be ample enough reason to not trust the links they sent out. Some people were just stupid, and no amount of help would, well, help them.

He may have loved them all, because, in the end, they still took the time out of their days to watch his videos, but if they didn't know or understand a high amount of the things that happened, or were said, they should just remain in the silent majority that just lurked. He liked those the most.

Delirious blinked his blue eyes twice, first to throw himself back into reality, and second to make sure he'd been successful.

In front of him, hovering over the bar's counter, was his foreleg. One of them, at least. He turned it around, ever so slowly, and gazed at the leaf stem still poking out of the dirtied blue fur. He thought he'd plucked it off completely the other night, but when he'd gotten up this morning, he'd scraped it along the shed's front door and realized that it wasn't so. What the fuck was going on? First, he'd been vomiting up leaves and grass, and now he was growing fucking leaves on his body. Well, a leaf, but he didn't think whatever was happening to him would stop at just one.

Speaking of getting up, he was relatively glad that he and the others hadn't seen the head or tail of Pinkie Pie all morning. Maybe they'd successfully avoided her and warded her off. They'd been pretty obvious with their speaking to her that they weren't interested in knowing her for any longer than a day, or, at least he'd hoped. One night was all he could take of the mare. He'd only just met her last night, and already was he incredibly sick of her. He was sure she was actually super nice like the rest... like her friends, but she hadn't made a great first impression, especially with her loud voice that could've easily gotten them caught by any roaming lawponies. Not like any were really looking to get them caught out here. According to Vanoss, the city was so isolated from the rest of the world because of its size that news didn't properly reach it, and thanks to the lockdown, the ponies in Appleloosa didn't know shit about what had happened back in Ponyville, and, really, elsewhere.

He shook his head, looked back up at the countertop, and grabbed at the shot glass lying in wait for this exact moment. The sounds of the busy, bustling, talkative saloon rushing back to his head, Delirious leaned his head back, tilted his glass so its ass end saluted the ceiling fan above him, and splashed the hard liqour previously inside it across his battered white mask. Slamming his shot glass onto the counter with a sigh, he screwed up his face, looked up at the bartender, and found him mirroring his expression. Delirious coughed.

The bartender grunted, effectively ending their game of Charades. Nodding at Delirious' glass, the Unicorn stared at the Pegasus and waited for an answer.

Delirious pursed his lips, first to his left then to his right, then slightly, lazily, tiredly, raised his right hoof up by the end. With that, the Unicorn got what he wanted and levitated his bourbon back over to Delirious with a small grin. Filling it up once again, he tipped his brown cowboy hat and grumbled, "Bottoms up."

Delirious obliged in an instant, peeling his ears back and shutting his eyes as the alcohol practically dove down his throat. It tasted like shit, but, well, it was a lot better than the alternatives sitting idly on the shelf behind the bartender, their red fruits and promised acres causing him to pull a second-take at first glance, glare at his hooves at the second, and sigh at the third. This was the fourth. He only looked back at his glass now.

His hooves began moving even before he realized his—their—intentions. Reaching into the inside of his sweater, he fumbled around and grabbed at what he was searching for. Taking it in both hooves, he pulled it out, just barely, and looked down at its sandy, dirty, stuffed face. He pursed his lips and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Teddy bear..." he sighed, hugging it to his chest, "the hell are we gonna do 'bout all this?"

His proximity to the bar—or lack thereof thanks to his stool—made itself a grand enemy of his as he suddenly, simply, aptly dropped the bear to the floor. Cursing and gritting his teeth, he pushed his seat a few inches behind him, hopped off it, and reached down to retrieve it before anyone saw.

He threw a hoof out, and just about had it until a shimmering blue aura instantly appeared across its surface, bring it up and away from his promised grasp, and bring it over to a yellow Unicorn he now stared at in a tranquil silence. The Unicorn, adjusting his cowboy hat, spat a drop of tobacco on the floor, grinned at Delirious, and raised the teddy bear up to his eye level.

"What's this ya got here, partner?"

Delirious blinked.

"Y'all got yerself some kinda teddy bear, little filly?"

The ponies around him, who Delirious now assumed to be his little playmates, all guffawed in tandem.

"I think you should probably give me that back," Delirious delivered, never breaking eye contact with the stallion.

"Delirious."

He turned. Wildcat was half on his seat on half off. For a pig, this was actually a pretty impressive display that made him look like he was about to collapse onto the beer-stained floor in a cold heap. "Look man, I'd love nothing more than a good bar fight right now, but we're kind of wanted fugitives right now..."

Delirious swiveled about to, once again, very kindly and very calmly ask for his teddy bear back, only to find his prized object hovering horizontally in the air next to his opponent's head.

"Ya don't mind if I... hold 'm for a little bit, do ya?"

Delirious felt the corners of his mouth sink. "Not for too long, no."

The Unicorn gave a little chuckle like he was impressed with himself, then hummed as he turned the bear round and round in his magic. Delirious stayed his piece, but felt a single one of his hooves twitching in anticipation. There was gonna be a moment here, and he wasn't gonna waste it.

"Very nice stitching, this," the Unicorn remarked, narrowing an eye and bringing one of the teddy's arms up to the light peeking in from the outside, "pretty fancy needlework." Delirious' right cheek spasmed as he took notice of one of the stitches. It looked a tad slacker than usual. "Think I'll take a quick look 'ere–"

His foreleg was up in an instant.

The bar shut up in a bare millisecond. The pianist craned his neck and pressed one of his hooves against his instrument. The working mares, still smiling their enticing smiles, let crooked grins shine. The bartender, prior cleaning a glass, looked up from his work without a word and only a working of his lips that bunched up his mustache. His friends, in the corners of his eyes, kept facing straight ahead but slowed to a halt. The patrons and employees all locked eyes with both parties next to the counter, and stared anxiously at the blue Pegasus now training a revolver between his opponent's two eyes.

Delirious cocked the hammer back.

With one noise came another. A bottle broke somewhere in the room. On the other side of the building, a Pegasus rose from his chair, looked down at it, and promptly snapped off one of its legs. Vanoss, seemingly taking advantage of the motionless inhabitants of the bar, strode over to the pool table, rubbed his chin at the game that was previously being played, knocked a few balls into their holes, and grabbed a pool cue from the rack against the wall.

"For fuck's sake Delirious, we already had a bar fight like forty-five chapters ago," Nogla broke the quiet, shaking his head and rustling his paper bag.

From what sounded like the bathroom came a low, whooping cry that slowly rose in volume, ending as an Earth Pony came streaking into the main room, raising a foreleg, and clocking another pony upside the head. His victim crumbled against a chair and banged his head against the wooden table. Grinning a wild grin and breathing heavily, he chuckled exhausted chuckles to himself and looked around at the reticent crowd now focused solely on him.

"Did somepony say bar fight–"

"No, no one said bar fight you dumbass," Wildcat interrupted immediately, rolling his eyes.

A series of groans roused the bar's curiosity. They all turned as one to the recently KO'd pony, who scrambled to his hooves with gasps and sputters. Reaching for his hat and replacing it on his head, he regarded his assaulter with a cocking of his head and a shit-eating grin, then swiftly reached for his thigh and pulled out a revolver as well.

"Whoa!"

"What the fuck–"

"Put it down!"

Delirious licked his lips, turned his head a bare centimeter, and barely sputtered out, "But... don't... I have a gu–"

"Relaaax, it's a lighter," the stallion explained, pulling out a cigarette as well and lighting it once he'd placed it within his teeth. As he puffed, he shook his head and whispered a group of murmured obscenities.

A heavy sound cut through the bar. Everyone looked to the source. The bartender, his horn glowing, yanked the meat cleaver out of the countertop and let out a low growl.

"What's that for?" Lui asked.

"Cuttin' some meat later," the pony replied, not meeting the young colt's gaze.

"Oh."

The room fell quiet once again. The author began realizing his lack of diversity with the word "quiet." Delirious, still aiming his revolver at the Unicorn in front of him, hummed to himself and adjusted his grip. Everybody, and everybody, waited with anticipation, all expecting something big. A few minutes passed by without there being any further movement. The stallion still puffed away. The bartender slowly dropped a piece of deer meat on the counter with a frown. The dust particles, growing in number and choking the inhabitants, floated through the choked air and mixed with the stench of sex, booze, and regret.

Without warning, and a flurry of colorful confetti, the front swing door blew open, revealing a pink party mare dressed as a peculiar, redemption-seeking member of Dutch van der Linde's old posse.

"Did somepony say barf height?! Mine's three-thousand feet!"

"Bar fight?!"

Delirious, still holding the revolver, opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, and glared at Pinkie Pie, issuing a very resounding, "FUCK!" as the patrons began their pastime.