“This can’t be,” I say, watching the neon. “I’d be less surprised if I went fishing and saw her body going down the river.”

“Well, it must be destiny,” Vinyl replies. “Anyway, there’s only one way to find out.” She trots across the street. “We need to pay an old friend a visit.”

Well, why not? Trixie, even with all her quirks, was definitely more refined than Vinyl, and, as far as I like Inkie and Hexie, one can mostly converse about mechanics, drinking, and rocks with them. It’ll be nice to talk with someone intellectual.

By the door of Trixie’s Funhouse, we’re greeted by a rather peculiar pair. One of them is a tall minotaur, who, I guess, Candy would like. Basically, a mass of muscles with an enormous battle axe. Not a petty toy, but a big piece of steel that’d cut you in half, bounce off the pavement, go back in time, and cut off your grandpa’s dick just before the roll in the hay with your granny.

In the shadow of the minotaur, there is a small silhouette which, upon closer look, turns out to be an alpaca. He’s wearing a blue shirt with a pattern resembling Trixie’s cutie mark, and a name tag that says “Paco”. Well, it’s the second Paco I know.

“I’ll do the talking,” I say, trotting to Paco the Second. “Hello. We want to see your boss.”

Paco says nothing, instead producing a piece of paper.

“The casino didn’t cheat you, and if you don’t believe us, Banana Split can prove it to you,” I read.

The minotaur bows and salutes us with his axe.

“I believe it’s a misunderstanding,” I say, slowly and clearly. “We’re friends of the owner of this place.”

Paco smiles and produces another piece of paper. “The Great and Powerful Trixie doesn’t have friends. They only want her money.”

“That’s sad,” Inkie mutters.

“Listen, mate.” I walk closer to Paco, keeping my eyes on the minotaur. “We’re the reason she has money in the first place. And if you grab yet another card, I’ll shove it up your ass so deep that you’ll finally learn to talk.”

Paco is unfazed. He grabs the file and after a short search, he produces another card.

I sigh and look at it. “Your threats are empty like your head. Banana Split will serve your head to The Great and Powerful Trixie on a silver platter.”

“Well, that’s kinda what I’m trying to achieve,” I reply. “Though, of course, I’d rather be in one piece and you can tell Trixie that she can bang herself with her silver platter, but you get the idea. Old amigos. Understood?”

This time, it takes Paco a while to process my statement. Eventually, he grabs another card, but before he shows it to us, he writes something on it.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is currently away. She’s at...” In the blank space after “at”, words “the opera” are scribbled.

“What is she doing at the opera?” I ask. Knowing Trixie, she’s hiding behind her unnoticeability spell, pretending to be a ghost and wooing handsome singers.

This time, Paco grabs a card quickly. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is a proud supporter of any cultural event in town.”

I nod, raising my eyebrows. “Yeah, sure, mate.” I turn to my friends. “Okay, let’s take a walk to the opera and check if she’s there. But if Paco tells us bullshit...”

“I’m pretty sure Paco’s friend may consider it racist,” Inkie says. “And I’m bad at fighting minotaurs who have axes.”

“How do you know?” Ruby asks. “Did you ever fight one?”

“You’d never believe who we hired on the rock farm...”

Vinyl chuckles. “Judging by the fact that you hired Trixie and us, I can believe in pretty much everything.” She turns around dramatically. “Okay... Who’ll tell me where’s the opera?”

“You mean, that big building in the middle of the town?” Hexie asks. “I’ve seen it when we were landing. I’m pretty sure it’s like Palace of Culture and Science in Maresaw. You’re only lost when you can’t see it.”

“Well, we can see it,” Vinyl observes, proving that journeys make you wiser. She trots down the street, whistling some happy tune. We follow her, walking through the colourful district, consisting mostly of houses of rubber merchants, casinos, and bars. In Equestria, I’d probably say that the owners of those places are showing off. Here, I feel like I’m on vacation. Well, judging by the fact that Daring Do screwed us over, I probably am on vacation. I even put on my shutter shades.

“Do you think they have some souvenir shops here?” Inkie asks. “I need to send postcards to my parents, Maud, Pinkie, and Blinkie. And one to Coco, of course.”

“Meh,” Vinyl mutters. “I need a new hat. What hats do they have here?”

“You bought a sombrero in Mexicolt City,” I say.

“Yes, but it’s a hat from Mexicolt. Now I need something from here.” Vinyl shrugs. “Or maybe I’ll buy a machete, catch a crocodile, and make myself a hat? Or a purse?”

“I’m pretty sure Tree Hugger would make rolling paper out of your ass,” I mutter. “If the crocodile didn’t eat you first.”

“Well, the only problem the crocodile would have would be shitting the machete and sunglasses out.” Ruby chuckles.

I sigh. “What did I tell you about using such words?”

“That it’s fucking wrong to use them.” Ruby smiles in a way all the fillies do when they want to show how cute and innocent they are. “Also, I must’ve lost that lesson somewhere between you telling us what you think about the weather here, and what auntie Vinyl said about her ex.”

“What did I say about the weather here?” I ask. “Or don’t tell me. I can imagine.”

“Which one?” Vinyl raises her sunglasses. “Which of my exes?”

“The one who was a sailor and when the mast of his yacht broke, he tied the jib to his dick and managed to sail to the port.”

“Aah, this one.” Vinyl smirks. “It’s not an exaggeration. Not in the slightest...”

“By looking at Rumble or Pipsqueak, I’d doubt it,” Ruby says. “Button Mash, on the other hoof...”

“That’s not something I wanted to know.” I facehoof. “Also, be sure not to say that around your mom.”

“Of course not. I don’t want my own mother to steal him from me...” Ruby mutters.

“I meant a grievous bodily harm with a bottle,” I say, trying not to imagine Berry with a colt in her daughter’s age. I’m pretty sure a poor boy would rather run away, if he wasn’t killed instantly by an ethanol aura.

Luckily, our conversation is interrupted by the sight of the opera house – a large, salmon-coloured building with big balconies on each side, resting on arcades. Each of its many windows is framed with white marble. On the top of it, there’s a colourful dome which, frankly, looks on the rest of the building like a party hat on a Saddle Arabian ambassador.

“Let’s see what they’re playing...” Vinyl goes up the stairs leading towards the shadowed arcades.

Suddenly, halfway through the stairs, I hear a familiar voice. However, it doesn’t belong to Trixie.

“I swear, this story from Prance must be bollocks. Imagine, dating a musician who lives in the basement...”

Well, shit. I look at Vinyl, but it’s too late. She already recognised it and started to run up the stairs.

Seeing that I have no influence on the further events, I turn to Hexie. “Wanna bet that–”

“I’m not betting about obvious things,” Hexie says.

“Yeah, but I meant... Ten bits for a right hook.”

Hexie smirks. “Ten bits for a left uppercut. How about you, Inkie?”

Inkie looks at Vinyl, who is currently running towards the arcades, screaming “Tavi!”. “Ten bits for a roundhouse applebuck. But it won’t be too strong.”

“A sophisticated kick,” I mutter, watching the grey mare walking from between the arcades. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

Ruby smirks. “What if they start fucking?”

“That’s an obvious thing,” Hexie says. “Sooner or later, this will happen.”

“Tavi!” Vinyl yells, running to Octavia, who watches her with an expression one has when they watch a moderately interesting argument between neighbours. Suddenly, Octavia stands on her front legs, turns back and kicks Vinyl in the face with her hind legs – as far as I know, at only a quarter of her usual strength. Well, if she used full strength, the dust and paper scraps filling Vinyl’s head would probably fly to us. Instead, Vinyl simply loses her glasses and lands on her ass.

“You!” Octavia screams. “After all this things I did without you... I even stopped taking drugs after I left you! Now I’ll start taking them again!”

I run to them in case any further beating followed. Vinyl may be an idiot, but she’s my idiot and if someone ever kills her, it’ll be me.

Vinyl stands up and cleans her coat from dust. “Tavi, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” She puts her sunglasses on. “I didn’t expect you here...”

“Hold me, or I’ll throw her into the bloody river and hold till bubbles stop coming out!” Octavia exclaims. This prompts her companion – a blue mare from Canterlot whose name, if I recall correctly, is Beauty Brass – to walk from the shades and catch her.

“Why so serious?” I ask.

Octavia raises her hoof, pointing at Vinyl. “I... I changed my whole life and now she’s here... Again! First on the ship and now... In the bloody Maneaus, thousands of miles from Equestria! She’ll never stop haunting me!”

“Chill out, Tavi...” Vinyl says, smiling. “I’m pretty sure we can–”

“No, we can’t!” Octavia replies. “I’m with Beauty Brass now!” She kisses the blue mare, who backpedals, but only slightly.

Vinyl smiles widely. “You know what it means?” She walks to Octavia. “We can now have threesomes!”

“You hit her too hard,” I mutter to Octavia. “She got brain damage.”

“She was always like that,” Octavia replies, dodging Vinyl. “Okay, Vinyl, if you don’t want to leave, then I’m leaving. Fare thee well, friend.” She turns back and walks into the opera, towing Beauty Brass behind.

“She seems serious,” Hexie mutters. “Okay, but there are more serious things here.” She turns to Inkie and produces ten bits from the harness she carries her tools in. “How did you know about the applebuck?”

“A cellist right before a concert will rather protect her hind hooves,” Inkie replies. “And she wouldn’t hit her that strong because they still love each other...”

“Yeah, or she’d rather avoid being arrested right before the concert,” I mutter, grabbing ten bits and giving them to Inkie. “Now, before Vinyl realises that she just got dumped, we’d better go find Trixie.”

“Yeah...” Ruby sighs. “But how do we get inside?”

I look at the small door hidden in the shadows under the arcades. “Since you’re a little filly, you’ll stand here and look somewhere else while auntie Minuette will open that crappy lock in about thirty seconds.”

Exactly thirty two seconds later, we’re walking down a narrow, dark corridor, full of weird stuff, such as old musical instruments, bleached outfits, dull swords, and fake skulls.

“Hey, Minuette!” Vinyl exclaims. “I’m a pirate!”

I turn to her to see that she’s wearing an eyepatch and levitating a cutlass. Seems that she went into denial.

“I’m gonna get Tavi back on my ship!”

Or maybe not. I take the cutlass from her. “You’ll hurt yourself first.”

“Give it back.” Vinyl grabs the cutlass. “I need to storm the enemy’s fortress!” She runs up the corridor. Having no other choice, we follow her.

Suddenly, a loud, upbeat music starts playing. It’s getting louder as we advance, quite heavy on strings. Vinyl reaches the top of steep stairs and disappears. I’m not sure where, but I’m pretty sure she’ll soon do something stupid.

Panting, I reach the top of the stairs and take a look at the room in front of me. Or rather, the whole damn stage. Vinyl is there, fighting with a couple of ponies who are also dressed like pirates. All of them use the typical opera style of sword fighting: wide swings, aiming at each other’s swords, to make much noise without actually hurting anyone. In front of the fighting pirates, some guy dressed like an idiot is dragging a mare somewhere. Both are singing in Neightalian – as far as I know, it’s some duet for tenor and soprano.

I decide to move forward, crawling behind the scenography. I need to reach Vinyl – she just kicked one of the pirates in the stomach and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in the script.

Suddenly, the music changes to a low-pitched organ riff, almost deafening me. A fat guy with an obviously fake red beard enters the stage, facing the tenor. He draws a cutlass, but instead of cutting the audacious lad to ribbons, he starts singing an aria in basso buffo.

“Vinyl!” I shout, but my voice drowns in music. Meanwhile, the guys in the front start fighting: the red-bearded bloke pushes the tenor towards the stairs. Of course, they’re both singing.

“Vinyl, for fuck’s sake...” I can hardly hear myself. What’s worse, Ruby followed me to the stage, steals a jezail from one of the fake pirates and tries to fire it at the ceiling, possibly to attract everyone’s attention. Unfortunately, the jezail is as fake as the pirate wielding it.

Wait, did I say “unfortunately”? This thing is longer than Ruby; if she shot it, the recoil would break her hoof, not to mention that the bullet would probably cause the ceiling to collapse.

While I’m trying to reach Vinyl without attracting anyone’s attention, the duel at the top of the stairs reaches its climax. The tenor stands on the railing and decides to run from his opponent in a typical way, that is by jumping to a chandelier and sliding down. The jumping part looks well – he managed to grab a conveniently close thing, but instead of sliding down to his heroine, he just hangs there, looking down like an idiot.

The orchestra stops playing. The singer on the chandelier rips his clothes apart, revealing a pair of wings and flies down on the stage.

“What’s going on?” some moron in a suit yells, entering the scene. “Why is the chandelier still there?”

“Umm...” Hexie emerges from the backstage, holding a screwdriver in her mouth. She spits it out and continues, “The rope holding the chandelier looked like it was about to break, so I secured it a bit...”

“And who the hell are you?” The moron, who is probably the director, turns to the audience. It’s not very numerous: just a few ponies in impossibly expensive clothes. “Is she working here?”

Nopony replies, probably for the simple reason that they all only speak Ponytuguese. However, I easily notice that one of the mares in the audience, hidden in the shadows, is staring at Hexie with wide eyes.

I decide to step up. “Excuse me,” I say. “I believe we accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on the scene.”

The actors, musicians, and the audience look at me. What the hell? Do they expect me to sing a song about that? After a moment I realise that they’re looking at Vinyl, who’s standing in the middle of a circle of unconscious pirates. Apart from an eyepatch and a cutlass, she now also has a bandana on her head, a leather vest, and a pair of striped sirwal trousers.

“Yo-ho-ho and the bottle of rum?” Vinyl asks.

The rich ponies from the audience start talking to each other. All, except of the mare who is hiding her face in her hooves.

Inkie walks to me. “We’d better hurry,” she whispers. “When they stop thinking we’re dumb, they’ll call the guards.”

“Oh yeah,” I mutter. “That’s what this place needs: further escalation.”

“Hey, one of those important bitches is going here.” Ruby swings the jezail. “Are we running away?”

Indeed, the mare is going to us. She’s wearing an impossibly frilly, cherry-coloured dress and a sophisticated hat in a similar colour. Despite that, I’m pretty sure who she is.

The director runs to her. “Ms. Lulamoon, I’m going to fix this ri–”

“TRIXIE IS NOT GOING TO STOP FINANCING THE OPERA, YOU ANNOYING, DESPICABLE WRETCH!” She pushes the poor wanker away and trots to us. “Olá amigos. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Vinyl replies, saluting Trixie with the cutlass. Inkie, Hexie, and Ruby join us. “A dude in your casino showed us a card saying that you’re here.”

“Paco?” Trixie asks. “Of course. But how did you know it was Trixie’s casino?”

I look into her eyes. “A huge-ass neon isn’t exactly subtle, you know.”

Trixie scratches her head. “Maybe. Anyway, Trixie knows she’s gonna regret it, but she’s glad to see you. You!” She turns to the director. “Trixie thinks it was a truly magnificent performance. But now she’ll have to leave.” With this words, she throws a smoke bomb on the stage, allowing us to escape through the backstage. Well, most of us, since she trips over her dress just before leaving.

“Trixie swears, those clothes will kill her one day...” she mutters, walking down the stairs with us.

“Don’t you think your reputation here will suffer after exiting the stage like that?” I ask.

“Oh please.” Trixie rolls her eyes. “Trixie appeared here two years ago with a case full of money and became one of the most important ponies in town. The locals think Trixie’s a gypsy princess or something. Trixie’s supposed to be eccentric.”

“Isn’t it another word for ‘retarded’?” Ruby asks. “Because that’s what Silver Spoon said about Dinky when she put crayons in her–”

“No, it’s not.” I reply. “It’s ‘weird’, but only if the weird pony is rich.”

“Oh, so I kicked Silver Spoon and stole her glasses for no reason.” Ruby sighs.

“I’m pretty sure there was some life lesson for you behind that,” Inkie says.

“Yes. Diamond Tiara has a mean right hook and it’s not wise to fuck with her friends.”

Hexie shakes her head. “Kids today... Back in my days we were throwing bricks at kids we didn’t like...”

We walk out of the opera and trot towards the Trixie’s Funhouse. The ponies we meet on our way often smile and bow at Trixie. Seems that the owner of the best watering hole in town is treated with a great respect here.

“So, how did you end up in Maneaus?” Trixie asks.

“Daring Do fucked us over,” Vinyl replies.

“Yeah, right. And Trixie made Prancy Drew squeal like a little bitch...”

“We’re serious here,” I say. “Like, dead serious.”

“Trixie is serious too.” Trixie shrugs. “She just conjured a lot of candies.” Trixie looks at us and raises her eyebrows. “What? Prancy is a filly, what did you think?”

“Nothing in particular,” Ruby mutters. “You can conjure candies?”

Trixie smirks. “Of course. But Trixie needs a cardboard box and two mirrors.” She waves her hoof. “But enough about this. What exactly happened that caused you to grace Trixie with your presence?”

“Daring Do hired us to get her here,” Inkie replies. “But after we arrived, she dumped us and went into the jungle with Lyra.”

“More or less,” Vinyl adds. “Apparently we’re free to drink, play, and fuck as much as we want.” She walks to Trixie and wraps her hoof around her. “And since you apparently own the best place in this town where we can do so...”

Trixie shakes Vinyl’s hoof off of herself. “Destruction!” she exclaims. “Inflagration! Defenestration! Do you think Trixie doesn’t know what calamities follow you?”

Inkie walks to Trixie. “Don’t worry. If something starts going wrong, I’ll knock Vinyl down. Trust me.”

Trixie shrugs. “Fine. But if my empire gets burned, you’ll see the wrath of The Great and Powerful Trixie!”

Well, damn. When the zebras blew out her carriage, she nearly caused the end of the world, so if we do something to her precious casino... I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a pair of eyeballs floating through multiverse.

While I think about the consequences of our meeting, we approach Trixie’s Funhouse. Paco bows and the minotaur salutes Trixie with his axe.

“Those are Trixie’s special guests,” Trixie says to Paco. “Do what they say, as long as it’s reasonable.”

Paco nods. Trixie opens the door and leads us inside.

I always liked the idea that the way a pony decorates their house tells a lot about them. My house is pretty simple and shows my hobbies: clocks, hourglasses, various tools... Inkie also prefers simplicity; her room at the Sugarcube Corner is furnished only with a bed, a closet, and some shelves with books, photos of Coco, and rare rocks. Even the punching bag is usually hidden somewhere.

Meanwhile, the interior of Trixie’s Funhouse is... well, remember Aryanne and her vagina-like rooms? Here, instead of pink, we have gold, red, columns, arcs... all the stuff mixed together, as if an enormous clown swallowed a whole circus with a side order of a Minotaurian temple and a tall glass of a medieval castle, and threw it all up. Everything is bigger and more decorative than it needs to be. And it’s just the corridor.

“How do you like it?” Trixie asks. “We’ll go to your rooms first. How do you fancy king-sized beds with curtains and a fridge full of champagne?”

“As long as I don’t share it with Vinyl,” I mutter.

Ruby shudders. “May I get a closet instead?”

Oh. Remember what I said about rooms? Well, Ruby’s room is usually dark and filled with rather unusual souvenirs and books you wouldn’t expect a filly to know or enjoy. Her actual bed serves as an additional shelf, while she sleeps in a closet, wrapped in her sleeping bag. Interestingly, when I had to take care of Ruby for some time and let her sleep in a guest room, she hid in the closet anyway. She almost gave me a heart attack – I thought she ran away and got herself sold to the circus or something.

Anyway, Ruby’s question is met with silence. Trixie leads us upstairs, through floors full of casinos, smoking rooms, dancing halls, and something that looks like a small, discreet brothel. On the top of the building there are a few hotel rooms, so we promptly get our stuff from the plane and put it there. A quick lunch and a shower later, we’re ready to delve into debauchery. Or rather, most of us are – Ruby yawns and grabs her sleeping bag.

“I’m gonna wait for you with hangover meds,” she mutters. “They won’t let me into the casino anyway.”

“Okay. Have fun,” I say before going downstairs.

It’s late afternoon and the casino slowly fills with ponies. Vinyl, being a crude moron, lights up a cigarette and walks to the fruit machines. Interestingly, Hexie also goes there – someone should tell her that messing with the machine is not a valid tactic.

I, being more sophisticated, walk to the bar, where I anesthetize myself with a few cups of whisky and soda. Then, staggering more than I feel like, I walk to the blackjack table.

“Hello, baby.” I blink at the dealer, a bluish alpaca with a short beard. “I always wondered how you play this game...”

I listen to his explanations with one ear, carefully observing the way he deals the cards. My mind slowly fills with numbers. Two, four, and six is two, five is three. Seven is one, eight is zero... Nine is minus one, everything else is minus two. Six decks, minus twelve. Time to bet... or not.

Few minutes later, I have quite a few more chips on me. You know, I’d probably get rich much earlier, but Berry Punch is bad at maths. Not to mention that I had no money for a trip to Las Pegasus in the first place.

A few wins later, Trixie walks to me. “Excuse me,” she whispers. “Do you know what happened to the last guy who was caught counting cards?”

“Should I?” I ask, assessing how many cards are left in the deck.

“They called him Three-Legged Trapaceiro. After a motivational talk with Banana Split, he’s called Two-Legged Trapaceiro.” Trixie nods towards the door, where the minotaur is standing with his axe.

“Oh, I see,” I mutter. “I didn’t feel like playing blackjack today anyway, you know...” I stand up and walk to the bar, where Inkie sips a beer slowly.

“How’s the situation?” I ask her.

“Vinyl is now losing her life savings in roulette,” Inkie replies. “And Hexie cracked the slot machine, but Trixie’s gonna find out soon.”

“So, we’re gonna be broke by the end of the night,” I mutter, looking around. Suddenly, my eyes fall on a poker table. “Wait... Your sister can tell the future from cards, right?”

“Pinkie?” Inkie shrugs. “She usually uses the crystal ball.”

“How about you?” I ask. “Can you at least see what cards the others have by looking at yours?”

“No.” Inkie looks at me unsurely. “But I can play poker if that’s where you’re going.”

“You can?” I ask. “How so?”

Inkie rolls her eyes. “It’s not like the only entertainment on the rock farm is tipping rocks,” she says. “I was able to win with Maud. Maud.”

I nod. “That’s the spirit. Don’t you think those two over there look a bit bored?” I point at the table. A mare in a fancy dress and a young stallion in a uniform sit at it, staring blankly at each other.

Inkie finishes her beer. Bad sign – it’s actually more than enough to get her buzzed. “Let’s see what we can do with that,” she says.

We walk to the table. “Hello,” I say. “Wanna play.”

“Sure,” the uniformed unicorn replies. I’m not sure what kind of army he is in. His accent, although hardly noticeable sounds familiar. Also, what kind of an officer has hearts as his insignia? He may as well be a stripper.

“The officer is on his way from Maregentina,” the mare in a dress says.

“That explains everything,” I mutter. “How about you, ma’am?”

“Oh, I am a movie star,” she replies. “I played in Filly Burlesks.”

“I remember it.” Inkie smiles. “It was made, like, sixty years ago... But if I recall correctly, it starred only kids...” It takes Inkie a while to put two and two together. “Oh...”

“Don’t worry.” The mare takes a long sip of her vodka. “I used to be a sweet filly...” She hiccups.

“Never mind,” the Officer mutters. “Who are you two and what brings you to Maneaus?”

“Test flight, actually,” I reply. “I’m teaching young Inclination–”

“Incredentia.” Inkie sighs. “If you really need to use my full name, it’s ‘Incredentia’.”

“–young Inkie how to fly,” I finish.

“Fly?” The Officer shrugs. “I hardly can see any wings here...”

“Science does wonders,” I mutter. “But we didn’t come here to talk. Time to play!”

We sit at the table. The Fallen Movie Star currently owns the button, so the Officer needs to post the small blind.

“As Snowdrop says, ‘what is wrong with a small blind?’” I chuckle, tossing a few chips on the table. Judging by the looks the other give me, old jokes are not allowed here.

I’m given two cards, so I take a look. Well, it’s gonna be a ride. Six of clubs and seven of diamonds.

“Call,” the Star mutters.

The Officer chuckles. “Raise.”

I give him a nasty look. “Call,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Call.” Inkie’s face doesn’t move even a little.

The Star sighs and downs her drink. “Fold.”

The Officer checks. Since all our bets are even, the dealer puts the flop on the table. An ace of clubs. A changeling queen smiling at me from a queen of spades. Both accompanied by a humble seven of spades.

Pair of sevens. Could be worse, but I’m pretty sure it could be better. Let’s see how are the Officer’s nerves.

“Raise,” the Officer says. That bastard!

I stare into his eyes and grab my chips. “Raise.”

“Fold.” Inkie shudders. It seems that we scared the girl.

The officer doesn’t even bat an eye. “Call.”

Fourth card, huh? Fine. Let’s see what– Aww, shit. Nine of hearts. I’m still all alone with my pair of sevens.

“Check.” the Officer smiles. How come his teeth are whiter than his coat?

No risk no fun. I raise and this blonde piece of shit, of course, calls.

“I see you’ll have to show me what you’ve got, Ms...”

“Turner,” I reply. “Pair of sevens.”

“Oh. What a shame,” the Officer smirks, showing me the ten of diamonds and an ace of hearts. “Pair of aces, Ms. Turner.” He levitates a stack of chips towards himself. “How about a small revenge?”

“Always,” I say.

This time, I give a small blind, while Inkie ups it with a big blind. King of clubs and queen of diamonds. A few bets later, six of spades, jack of diamonds, and three of hearts lie on the table, which means I’m thoroughly fucked again. Despite that, I’m waiting for the fourth card, as does everyone. Six of diamonds.

The Officer clicks his tongue. “As my father said in Stalliongrad: there’s no way we’re losing this. Everyone remembers what happened then. Fold.”

I was going to fold too, but screw that. I still have a small chance to win with this fucker.

A minute later, an eight of hearts tells me that I was wrong. My pair of sixes has no chance even with Inkie and her two pairs of sixes and threes. However, the Fallen Star apparently got two tens as her starting hoof. She celebrates that with downing another drink.

“It seems that our duel is still going, Ms. Turner.” the Officer nods.

“If you want a quickie, ask Vinyl,” I mutter.

“As my mother said: there’s nothing better than a family feud over cards,” Inkie says.

“What does it have to do with anything?” the Fallen Star asks.

“Cards.” Inkie shrugs. I shouldn’t have let her have a second beer.

After the first three cards are put on the table, I’m left with a humble pair of fives. Screw that, I’m gonna do something dumb. After a few raises, I manage to make the buzzed ex-actress fold. The turn turns out to be another five. Three of a kind? Not bad. Raise.

Inkie hiccups. “As my father once said: fold now or you’ll dig rocks for a week. Fold.”

“How about you, officer?” I ask, not even trying to hide a triumphant smile.

“As my general said: if the enemy seems more insane than you, it’s time to retreat. Fold.”

I laugh, grabbing the chips. “Okay, but I’m still not done with you, mate. Another round?”

“I’m sorry, but I will have to pass,” the Officer replies. “I have a ship to Manegascar tomorrow.”

“Too bad,” I mutter. “Inkie?”

Inkie burps.

“Okay, I get the idea. In case someone asks, I’ll be outside, getting some fresh air.” I stand up and walk through the room. Then I trot downstairs, deciding to explore the other parts of Trixie’s Funhouse.

If I recall correctly, there’s a small pub in the back of the basement. It’s my kind of place – it even has a separate exit so you can go inside without attracting the attention of Paco and his axe-wielding friend. There’s beer for all the world here, the bartender is a snarky mare who swears like a sailor, and the bouncer is a short mule – if he survived two years in a place like that, he must be tougher than he looks.

I don’t even manage to get to the bar when someone pats my back. In such a place it may be a good sign – if someone didn’t like me outright, they’d simply stab me. But on the other hoof it may mean I’m fucked in a whole different way.

I turn around and my worst predictions come true. In front of me there’s a tall, muscular bat pony mare whose face looks like it was used as a dartboard. She reeks of beer, but it doesn’t seem to slow her down. I’m pretty sure the amount of muscles under her skin can’t be contained by as few drops of alcohol. However, the most important detail of her anatomy at the time is her ear. Or rather, a half of it – the other half stayed in Fillydelphia where it has probably been eaten by seagulls. What worsens my situation is that the uneven edge of the scar matches my teeth exactly.

“Wild Hunt,” I say, looking for something heavy enough to slow her down and give the bouncer time to reach us. “Long time no see. What are you doing in Maneaus?” I chuckle nervously.

“You,” Wild Hunt growls. “When I got outta the hospital, I wanted to kill you for this...” She points at her ear. Not sure what’s her problem – it’s hardly noticeable when compared to the scar that looks like someone tried to carve her right eye out but resigned after two thirds. But on the other hoof, I don’t know what she did to those guys.

“Listen to me!” Wild Hunt yells. “I heard you kicked the bucket after your friends busted you outta the ER. I clopped in the loo for the whole night after hearing that...”

“Too much information,” I mutter, wondering if I could levitate the table behind her without anypony noticing.

Wild Hunt grabs my arms. “Then I heard you were alive and how you fucked della Morte over...”

Oh yeah. I even got a letter from Nosferatu des Grauen in which he thanked me for helping him in taking over Las Pegasus after della Morte got arrested. He even forgave me for sending Cherry Berry to him – even though she apparently wrecked the shit of some of his guards.

“I wanted to go to you and rip your trachea out, but then I got relocated here,” Wild Hunt continues. “You know what happened?” She leans closer to me. “Turns out, guys here fucking dig scars...”

“W-what?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Thanks to you, I’m the hottest stuff around,” Wild Hunt replies, patting my mane. “You’re an alright cunt, if I ever met one...”

“So... We’re cool?”

“Cool like that bugger who did that...” Wild Hunt points at the scar around her eye.

“I guess it must’ve hurt...” I mutter, not sure yet how dead I am.

“Meh. Not really.” She raises her hoof, showing me a round scar. “Stray lawn darts, on the other hoof, are a bitch.” She chuckles. “Let’s go for a drink.”

Three drinks later, we’re besties. We spend some time bickering about damaged ears and broken ribs, then there comes time for news.

“So...” I try to focus on the glass in front of me. “What are you doing here?”

“One of the local rubber tycoons borrowed lots of cash from my boss to start a business,” Wild Hunt replies. “The boss suspected that this wanker was trying to fuck us, so he sent Symphony to look after him.”

Symphony? Last time I checked, this kid was more interested in parties than straightening up mafia’s clients.

“Then he sent me and Tyluan to look after Symphony,” Wild Hunt says. “Boss wants his daughter to be independent, but within reason.”

Tyluan? Sounds familiar. Oh, yeah. Last time we met, I was trying to molest him, so he locked me in a coffin. Fun times.

Just like now. Seven drinks later, I catch myself trying to count them, but then there are... two... eighteen... seven... three... some more. Like, it’s hard to be aware of the surrounding events as well as their continuity when the amount of ethanol in one’s system begins to overcome the certain threshold after which nothing is the same anymore and, scientifically speaking, weird shit starts to happen. Due to aforementioned situation, when a continuous blur of stuff happening in my vicinity decelerates and sharpens a bit, it’s the middle of the night, we’re in some dark nook, and I’m holding my tail in my mouth.

After a while, my brain slowly brings a memory that I usually keep my tail there when I need to take a leak in a hardly convenient place. Yeah, I guess I can’t hold it back anymore, so I let it go.

Damn. That must’ve been a ridiculously stupendous quantity of beer. Listening to the flow, I make a mental note to grab some water – considering the combination of my inebriation and dehydration, a hot day may result in my expiration. Which would be a damn bad situation.

I look around and notice Wild Hunt staring at me. “You’re gross,” I mutter.

“Hey, it was you who said that you wouldn’t make it to the loo,” Wild Hunt replies, chuckling as the puddle on the pavement almost reaches her hooves.

I shrug, using my magic to dry my nether regions. It’s entirely possible, although most unicorns prefer to use toilet paper, as if magic could be contaminated. “You know, I was always wondering... When bat ponies hang upside-down, can they pee?”

Wild Hunt hits her face with her hoof. “Well, it’s kinda like wetting your bed...”

“You mean, it’s a cultural equivalent of involuntary urination during the night?”

“Whatever. It’s generally possible. Like, all the pipes are put together in such a way that it doesn’t get in your face.”

I laugh, trying to imagine that. “You must be friggin’ kidding me. How is that even possible?”

“No, really. Evolution or other shit.”

“Show me,” I mutter.

“With you watching?” Wild Hunt winces. “No way.”

I smirk and shake my head. “Hey, you were watching me!”

She sighs. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone.” She flies to a pipe above us and catches it with her tail. Then she changes her position, spreading her wings to swing slightly as she spreads her hind legs.

“Whoa...” I mutter. That’s some impressive distance, especially since she’s able to maintain it even as the pressure drops. “Can you do your name?”

“Only in winter and definitely not here,” Wild Hunt replies. She lands on the only dry fragment of the street and compares the puddles. “Mine is bigger. You owe me a drink.”

“Actually, I don’t want to drink more,” I mutter. “It’s bad when I feel like I just did dumber stuff than Vinyl...”

“Okay,” Wild Hunt replies. “I think I know the place where we can have a break.”

We walk down the street. It’s even further away from Trixie’s place than the opera, hidden in a labyrinth of nooks and cul-de-sacs. The building we’re heading to seems to be a provisional construction which, just like all such temporary solutions to a shortage in real estate department, survived way beyond the initial assumptions of the constructors.

It stands at the end of the street with a grace of a cancerous tumour, slowly metastasising to the neighbouring parcels – a mass of bamboo, sheet metal, wood, and mud from the river that were layered onto one another to the point when a single lightning may give it sentience.

Wild Hunt walks to it and pushes the door, which looks like it’s going to fall apart from a gust of wind. We don’t even manage to walk inside, when a pony emerges from the shadows. A large, brown mass of muscles, even bigger from Wild Hunt. A crew cut and an outfit made of silver nails and enough leather to make Fluttershy rip the unfortunate owner apart.

“Oh, it’s you,” the pony says with a strong, local accent. I slowly realise that it’s the biggest mare I’ve ever seen. She looks at me. “See that you finally found a date...” She chuckles and pats my back, nearly breaking my spine. “You know, Wild Hunt, once you go filly...”

“Shut up, Diesel,” Wild Hunt mutters, dragging me inside.

“Wild Hunt,” I whisper as we walk through darkness and smoke of the interior. “It’s a sketchy lesbian bar...”

“So? They have great rice and beans.”

“I’m straight...”

“Me too,” Wild Hunt shrugs. “Nopony’s perfect.”

“I don’t know why, but for some reason, lesbians find me attractive and I don’t want things to get awkward,” I mutter. I’m fully aware that Inkie (when she was young and naive) and a group of ponies known collectively as Vinyl Scratch and Her Gay Company aren’t a big enough sample, but still.

Wild Hunt rolls her eyes. “Look at me and ask yourself a question: would you try to steal a girlfriend from me?” She smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

“The bouncer may try...”

“Pardal das Colinas Verdes, also known as Diesel?” Wild Hunt chuckles. “She’s happily married to the barmare.” She points at a diminutive mare behind the bar.

“Okay, I guess that leaves only ponies deprived of self-preservation instinct–” I pause, seeing a pony who definitely fulfills my definition. Vinyl is sitting on a bar stool, smoking something that definitely doesn’t contain tobacco. Next to her there’s Inkie, who seems as drunk as I was just a few minutes ago, when we were peeing in the nook. Which means she probably had her third beer.

“So, let me get this straight,” Vinyl says. “You got married when you were nineteen. Don’t you think that’s kinda like leaving the party before 10 PM?”

Inkie hiccups. “Parties get dangerous after 10 PM...”

“Yeah, but, y’know, you didn’t even read the menu and just chose the first thing on the menu, which happened to be spinach.”

“I like spinach...” Maybe it’s accidental, but Inkie is flexing her muscles. Maybe she’s not stronger than Wild Hunt or Diesel, but definitely faster.

I decide to intervene. “Vinyl, you insufferable moron,” I mutter, standing next to her. “You don’t get a girl drunk and then compare her wife to spinach.”

“Shut up,” Vinyl replies. “I’m drunk and my marefriend dumped me.”

Well, shit. We apparently went from denial to... hmm, anger? Bargaining? Mix of both? Vinyl being an idiot?

“Yes, but trying to pick up Inkie won’t help,” I reply. “It’ll only get you more bruises. Especially when Coco hears about that.”

I’m not kidding. Fucking with Coco may result in a long and painful death, mainly because with Coco’s strength, it’d take her a few days to seriously injure anyone. But if she was determined enough...

“Yeah, but I’m just trying to tell Inkie that she made a mistake,” Vinyl says. “And there’s only one way to fix this, that is, by going with me to the hotel and–” She’s rather rudely interrupted by Inkie’s hoof, knocking her off the stool.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t listen to this crap,” Inkie mutters, showing that she’s, indeed, drunk.

“What is it?” Vinyl gets off the ground. “National ‘Let’s Punch Vinyl’ Day?”

“I’ll punch you too if you don’t go back to the hotel and sleep,” I say. Suddenly, I sense some powerful presence behind me.

“Do you have a problem?” Diesel asks in a tone suggesting that all the problems in the world may be solved by kicking us all through the wall.

“I have a problem since I was ten.” I point at Vinyl. “It sits there.”

Judging by the fact that a second later the bar gains a Vinyl-shaped hole in the door, Diesel has no sense of humour. Or maybe her Equine is worse than I thought.

“We’d better go and help her,” I tell Wild Hunt. “It was nice to meet you, but I’d rather call it a night.”

Inkie and I walk out of the bar to fish Vinyl out from mud. As we do so, another guest approaches the bar. Led by instinct, Diesel trots to him.

“No males!” She pushes the poor guy against the wall. “Unless you’re a tranny, but I doubt it.”

I’m too busy looking for Vinyl’s glasses in a layer of mud that probably remembers Celestia’s first heat, but when the guy finally says something, I recognise him instantly.

“I’m only looking for a friend...”

“Tyluan!” I exclaim. “Long time no see, sexy beast...”

He’s so surprised that he somehow manages to slip from Diesel’s grasp. “Minuette! It’d be nice to see you sober for once...”

“Let’s go, Inkie,” I say. “And yes, Wild Hunt is there, mate. Deal with it.”

Inkie looks at Tyluan, who is again pushed against the wall by Diesel. She carries Vinyl on her back. “I think you’re too harsh for him,” she says. “He saved our lives once.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Hey, Diesel, don’t beat him. He’s fine.”

Diesel gives me a “I’ll-do-what-I-want-and-yes-I-remember-you-were-kicked-out” kind of look, but at least releases Tyluan. I turn to Inkie and we walk away.

After a while, Vinyl regains consciousness, at least judging by the fact that she tries to feel Inkie’s ass. Luckily, there’s a taxi stand nearby, so we just put her in the nearest taxi, sit next to her and, using our limited Ponytuguese abilities, explain the alpaca pulling it where we want to go.

The party, or rather a few parties in Trixie’s Funhouse are still in full swing. We trot upstairs. Inkie drops Vinyl on a bed in one of the rooms, then goes to sleep in another one, without even saying goodnight.

I go to my room, where everything seems normal – Ruby sleeps in the closet, Hexie sleeps in the hot tub with a glass of champagne in one hoof, surrounded by stacks of coins. There’s also a note left on my bed, written in Trixie’s elegant hoofwriting.

Ask that wrench-wielding scoundrel what did she do to Trixie’s slot machines. Trixie cannot fix this and she pretends she does not speak Equine.

Sincerely,
The Great and Powerful Trixie

Yeah, maybe tomorrow. Now, it’s time to sleep.

Tomorrow starts with a hangover, made even worse by Hexie singing something that seems to be Ponish version of a song about a drunken sailor. At least Ruby gives me tomato juice, which apparently helps for hangover. Well, the only help is that Hexie stops singing, thinking that I’m throwing up blood.

After taking a shower, I walk to Inkie’s room, where I meet her and Vinyl sitting sadly over a cup of tea. I sit with them, trying to gather my thoughts, but without any effect. Life has no sense, world has no colours... Especially for Vinyl, who didn’t say a word since yesterday.

Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. Before any of us stands up to open it, Hexie bursts in and immediately hides under the bed.

“If Trixie comes here, I’m in town,” she mutters.

I didn’t even manage to react, when Trixie dramatically kicks the door open.

“Hexie’s not here, especially not under the bed,” I say.

“To hell with her,” Trixie replies. “Daring Do just came here and she’s looking for you.”

“See? I told you,” I say. “What does she want?”

“See for yourself.” Trixie points at the corridor behind her.

Daring Do doesn’t look well. Her helmet is pierced by an arrow, she’s covered in mud, mosquito bites, tree sap, and leaves of something that is probably poisonous. Hell, there’s even a few little frogs hidden in her tail, as well as a dead piranha in her vest. Only after a while I realise that a pile of mud she’s dragging behind her is Lyra.

“We need your help,” Daring says.

“Vinyl, your turn,” I mutter, seeing that Vinyl really wants to say something.

I don’t have to say it twice. Vinyl walks to Daring Do, looking into her eyes. “Listen, you little shit,” she says. “You left us alone as soon as we came here... You went into the jungle to smoke weed with natives, while we had to drink, lose all our money, break up with our marefriends, fight lesbians bigger than a fucking really big something, and now you’re asking us for help?” She squints. “I think we’re not go–” Suddenly, she retches violently and throws up on Daring Do’s hooves.

“Perfect timing,” Trixie mutters. “Trixie is jealous.”

“Dumb luck,” Inkie says.

“And I thought monkey throwing shit at us were the worst,” Lyra whispers from her position. “But giant wasps and rapefruits also weren’t cool...”

“You mean grapefruits?” I ask.

“No.”

“I’m sorry...” Vinyl smiles sheepishly, staring at Daring Do. “The tea didn’t want to agree with me...”

Daring Do sighs. “Okay... If anyone still wants to listen to me, the jungle we tried to cross is currently uncrossable. There’s no place to land a plane there. The only way to get to our destination is the river.”

“There are a lot of boats here,” I say. “Why don’t you hire someone, like you did with us?”

“Ahuizotl was here first,” Daring Do replies. “Nopony wants to talk with me...”

“I wonder why,” Inkie mutters under her breath.

Lyra gets up from the ground and tries to clean some mud off her coat, almost causing Trixie to faint. “We found an old steamboat, but it’s currently not in a working condition. Where’s Hexie?”

“I don’t know but certainly not under the bed,” I reply.

Ruby walks in with a frying pan full of scrambled eggs. When I see it, I suddenly feel another wave of nausea coming. “Hello,” Ruby says to Daring Do. “Are we going on an adventure again?”

“I’d like to, but they don’t want to help me...”

Ruby looks at us and frowns. “Get up, lazy shits! Now!”

“That was low...” I mutter, piercing Daring with my gaze.

“We’re gonna sink low if we try to use it,” Hexie mutters, watching the boat. The only good news is that it still has an engine. However, the whole thing hasn’t seen water since Princess Cadance was potty trained. It stands in a dock that probably used to be dry, but now turned into a swamp. Almost eaten by rust, it didn’t sink only because the swamp is too dense to allow it.

Hexie climbs on the deck and checks everything, from the chimney to the keel. The paddlewheels seem to be salvageable, but I don’t have high hopes about anything else.

“Okay,” Hexie says. “I can bring it to perfect working conditions in two years, though I guess it’d be easier to just blow it up and build a new one.”

“Two years?” Daring Do asks. “We don’t have that much time.”

“Trixie won’t keep you in her house forever,” Trixie mutters. I have no idea why she went with us, but she seems amused by the whole situation.

“How about ‘not perfect, but will take us fifty miles up the river without falling apart’ conditions?” Lyra asks.

Hexie looks around and kicks some rusty pipe. “Give me two days...” she replies. “And lots of duct tape...”

“Does she know what she’s doing?” Daring Do asks, watching Hexie banging with a hammer into some pipe.

“Don’t worry,” I reply, sitting on a deck chair next to her. “She was born in a train depot. She knew how to dismantle a steam engine and put it back together before she learned to walk.”

“Row, row, row your boat, gently by the stream...” Vinyl sings, smashing something unimportant to pieces.

“Hexie, is it supposed to move?” Ruby asks, pointing at one of the pipes.

“No,” Hexie replies.

“Okay.” Ruby grabs the tape and sticks the pipe to another one.

“Use more tape.” Hexie grabs a metal sheet and tries to fit it into one of the holes in the starboard. “We don’t want it to melt when it all heats up.” She puts on a welder’s mask.

“Do you know that joke?” Vinyl asks. “A colt finds a welder’s mask...”

“Shut up,” Lyra mutters, arranging the tape in some elaborate pattern around a broken paddle. “Do you think it’ll withstand water?”

“No,” Hexie replies. “But we won’t need an engine on our way back.”

I get up from my deck chair, grab a piece of board and nail it to the paddle. “This should work,” I mutter. “You never know if whatever we meet there doesn’t make us go further up the river.”

“Do we have some yellow paint?” Vinyl asks. On the board behind her, I can see a sketch of Sapphire Shores with barred teeth, holding a knife and a fork over a plate with some terrified foal.

Daring Do stands up. “There’s no time to be artistic! It has to be functional! We only need a working engine and a hull that doesn’t leak!”

Trixie grabs a megaphone and yells, “We’ll make an engine work and the hull will not leak! And then we’ll put smaller engines around it and another hull, so the water won’t reach the first one!”

“Well, to make it work, I need coal,” Hexie says. “Or anything that burns...”

“I have weed,” Vinyl replies.

Daring Do flies to me and Lyra and sighs. “We’re going to go there in a floating brothel, aren’t we?”

I nod, watching as Ruby is drawing a pattern of dicks of various size and shape on the deck. “It appears so.”

“There’s no other way?”

“Hardly,” I reply. “That’s how my friends work.”

Daring groans. “How do you manage to put up with them?”

“I go with the stream,” I reply, staring at the river. “I go with the stream...”

Author's Notes:

In case you wonder, we'll finish this arc in the next chapter. Then, we'll have three more arcs.