As the cloaked figure crests the small ridge, she removes the covering over her muzzle and took a breath of the sharp, salty air. Gazing down at the shining decadence of the sprawling metropolis, beckoning to her as the last trip of her arduous journey neared its end. Letting the sea breeze fill the hood of the cloak and gently tug it from her head revealing a small charm centered over her forehead being suspended by a fine silver chain, she begins the descent to the city.

  With the city growing closer, she takes stock of her dwindling supplies left in her saddle bags, which have thankfully been lightened after her last stop at the Main Bank of Canterlot. Relief plays across her face, glad that they don’t ask too many questions about the owner of the safe deposit boxes. Sighing slightly, she quickly made a short list of supplies that she needed and wondered for the 100th time if she shouldn't have withdrawn a few bits from the account to cover everything she needs. Although in order to do that, she would have to disclose far more than she wanted to yet. Then were the… other concerns… that came from that.

  Giving a mental shrug she let her legs carry her towards the city, watching as the towering buildings grew larger and larger, reaching ever higher towards the heavens. The sounds of suburban life growing louder with each step. Taking a deep breath, she feels the pulse of the city hum within her. Unlike Canterlot, there are no gates or walls surrounding Manehattan. However, there was a battalion of the Royal Guard stationed here and currently, there was a small squad peering over the flow of traffic entering and leaving the city. With a sharp breath, she nervously approached the entrance, making it a point to appear non-threatening and attempting to blend into the crowd. Which is a bit hard to do with her blue and white striped mohawk of a mane, and the odd patterns on her face.

  Stepping nervously, she approached a guard, resplendent in brightly polished golden armor. A mohawk similar to her own pokes up from an opening in the top of the helmet. Noting that this and the other Royal Guards looked identical from the brilliant white coat to the vibrant blue hair sticking out from each helmet, she asks “Perhaps you have the answer that I seek / In this town that holds much mystique. How long of a walk / To reach the city dock?” Blinking with surprise, the Guard stammered “Umm… uh… Just head straight on in. You should see signs for it after a few blocks.” Smiling at the guard she enters the city, looking for the signs the guard had mentioned. Jostling against the crush of ponies surrounding her, the zebra struggled to make any headway towards the other side of the city.

  With a growing sense of unease, she slowly works her way through the crowd, jumping slightly as a large bell started to toll the hour. Counting the chimes, a slight sigh of relief escaping her muzzle, noting that she still has about 30 minutes before her scheduled meeting. Looking at the source of the chimes, she looks around, noting how much has changed since her last visit. With the rise of industry, Manehattan has started to feel… well… lifeless. Sure, the city is teeming with ponies, but it’s almost as if the soul of the city has been lost to the concrete and steel monoliths that fight for positioning and height.

  Looking down the narrow canyon of high rise buildings, the mare turns onto a small side street, following signs for the city’s waterfront and shipping district. With each step, the salt in the air grows more defined and the sounds of small waves lapping against pilings and quay walls grew louder. Moments later, she emerges from the shadows of the narrow passage and out into the bustling crowd of the port city’s dock area. Taking a deep breath, she smells the familiar smells of the tar used to keep hulls waterproof, the day’s catch sitting under the mid afternoon sun, the din of the fishmonger’s cries mixing with the various other dock workers trying to onload and offload cargo from the numerous ships moored  to the various piers. Smiling, she confidently heads off to the rendezvous point. She would not miss this meeting for anything in all of Equus.

  Retracing the footsteps she had taken so long ago, she quickly makes her way to the unassuming building nestled in between the Dock Master’s office and a shipping warehouse. Glancing up at the sign faded from years of sea spray and an unrelenting sun, she made her way into the cool, dark interior of the bar. Letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior, she notes two patrons seated at the bar, each lost in their own thoughts as the gazed into their tankards of cider. Three stallions are seated around a table, speaking in hushed tones, drinks untouched and all but forgotten as they discuss business. With a satisfied grin, she takes a seat at a booth near the back of the bar, facing the door to keep an eye on those entering and leaving. Nodding to the bartender, she waits for her cider to be delivered, fishing some bits out of one of her saddle bags for payment. Not but a moment later the front door opens and a brown stallion with a short spiky mane and equally short tail saunters in, hourglass cutie mark affixed to his flank. He’s followed closely by a grey pegasus mare with… are those bubbles as her cutie mark?. He grins lopsidedly as he and his companion trot over and join the already seated mare.

  “I was sure I would beat you hear this time!” he says with a roguish grin as he slides into the booth opposite the already seated mare.

  “I can’t say I find it strange / To see that you have not changed,” the Zebra replies returning his grin as the winged mare scooted in next to the stallion.

“Well, what did you expect? I could always go get my scarf like last time if you prefer,” the stallion mutters as he motioned to the barkeep to bring two more mugs of cider.

  “I’m surprised to find you with a new friend / Since last we talked there was much to defend.”

  “Well… I must say that it’s much better with a good friend by my side to help than by myself. And for the love of Celestia, please stop talking in rhyme.”

  “Oh fine. Stars this is nice compared to how everyone expects a zebra to be. But when talking in rhyme for so long, it starts to become natural,” the Zebra said as the bartender set a frothy mug of cider in front of everypony. Upon hearing the lack of rhyme from the zebra the bartender raises his eyes and before trotting off to collect some derelict mugs.

  Turning back to each other the zebra takes a long pull of the cider before her, setting a ½ empty tankard down and wiping the froth from oddly striped muzzle. Leaning forward, the stallions indicates to his companion “My friend, this is Derpy and she has been traveling with me for a bit now. I must say she manages to bring a fresh perspective on things.”

  Raising a hoof, the zebra extends it to Derpy who bumps it in return. “It certainly is a pleasure to meet you. Anyone who can stand this lummox is alright in my book.”

  With mock indignation, the stallion protests before all three devolve into a quiet fit of giggles.

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