It took many a donut and cupcake to sate our munchies.

     “So what do you do for fun?” I asked candidly.

     “Well I make dresses of course.”

     “No no no not work fun, real fun!”

     “Well, I’m not a hard partier, but I do enjoy an occasional rave when Vinyl Scratch is DJing. I also love taking the trip up to Cloudsdale to see the Wonderbolts. They’re magnificent. I really do hope Rainbow Dash gets into the group. She’s more than qualified – none of the Wonderbolts have ever managed a sonic rainboom! Plus,” she leaned toward me, a sure sign that a bit of gossip was about to come out, “I heard that Spitfire and Soarin had a falling out, so there may be a vacant spot sometime soon.” I didn’t understand half of what she’d just said but I love gossip.

     “Really?” I urged her on.

     “Yes, apparently Soarin can’t seem to control where he sticks it,” she giggled. I was surprised at this departure from propriety. Then again she was high as a kite.

     “More donuts?!” our conversation was interrupted the bouncing pink chatterbox known as Pinkie Pie, carrying a plate of fresh, heavenly smelling confections. She hadn’t even given me a second glance when we showed up at Sugar Cube corner, as if humans were as familiar to her as muffins.

     “Thank you Pinkie Pie dear, but I’m stuffed,” Rarity smiled and patted her stomach, her eyes as glazed as the donuts she’d just eaten.

     “I’ll have another,” I said, picking out a chocolate covered, crème filled pastry. I stopped short just before taking a bite. “Wait, I’ve got nothing to pay for this…”

     “Oh don’t be silly, it’s all on me,” Rarity cut me off.

     “Rarity you’re being silly!” Pinkie laughed, “for you it’s on the house! Well I mean it’s not on the house, it’s in your stomach…if it were on the house we’d have to get a ladder and I’m not sure I have one! What I mean is it’s free!”

     “Thank you Pinkie,” the white unicorn called as the loopy mare skipped off. “So,” she turned back to me, eyes full of curiosity again, “what is it that you do for fun?”

     “I drink,” I said flatly.

     “Is that all?”

     “Pretty much…”

     “Well no wonder you were in fits when I found you…I’ve seen what happens to Berry Punch when she goes without – she can hardly function. In fact, she drinks so much the doctors told her she could die if she stops!” She looked disturbed.

     “Well don’t worry on my account, I’m taken care of for now,” I patted the quart of apple whiskey that occupied the largest pocket of my coat. Applejack had been all too willing to give the stuff away. She’d filled my flask and given me a big bottle for good measure, assuring me I was welcome to the rest of it any time I wanted. At the thought of liquor I felt a familiar thirst and took a large pull from my flask. “You sure you don’t want any?” I offered it to Rarity. She gagged. “Sorry, just making sure,” I apologized before downing the rest of the admittedly harsh liquor. I lit a cigarette, settling comfortably into my renewed buzz.

     “My goodness, how many of those things do you smoke in a day?” Rarity asked in honest concern.

     “Umm…rough estimate…a lot,” I replied. I suddenly realized that I only had a pack and a half left, and no clue how long I was going to be here. I made a mental note to watch my supply.

     “So, you drink and you smoke, cigarettes as well as that green stuff we had earlier…are you simply intoxicated all the time?”

     I considered this take on my behavior for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose…”

     “What on earth for? Don’t get me wrong, I like to get a bit tipsy on occasion, but the world is perfectly glorious on its own!”

     “It is here. Not where I’m from,” I said darkly. Self-pity is a specialty of mine. “My world is one big…”

     “RARITY!” came a loud and mournful cry. A small white blur came running toward us and launched itself into Rarity’s lap, nearly tipping her chair over.

     “Sweetie Belle! What in the world…oh my!” The mare stopped her scolding when she saw the blood on her sister’s outstretched leg. “What in Celestia’s name happened?”

     “I was trying to use your sewing machine to make a new Cutie Mark Crusaders uniform for Apple Bloom since she accidentally set hers on fire and my hoof slipped and look!” Stitched to a pinched up bit of skin on her right foreleg was a small piece of torn, red-stained yellow cloth. “I tried to cut it out with scissors but I just cut myself more!” Sweetie moaned.

     “Well, let’s get you to the doctor…”

     “Hold on,” I said, “I’ve got this.” The filly hadn’t even noticed me but when she did she let out a yelp and hid behind her pink and lavender mane, face buried in her sister’s chest.

     “It’s okay,” Rarity cooed, “He’s a friend.” Then, turning to me she asked skeptically, “are you a doctor?”

     “Nope,” I admitted, “but I’ve done much worse things to myself.” I pulled out my pocket knife and snapped it open. Rarity balked and pulled her sister closer. “Trust me,” I said, “really.” I put the knife down on the table and reached out with both hands as Rarity gently handed me the filly, who had curled up into a quivering little ball. “Go ask Pinkie for some paper tow…” Pinkie immediately showed up with paper towels and gauze.

     “I got an itchy nose, then a tingly hoof, then chattery teeth! Did someone have a sewing accident?” she asked. I wanted to laugh but I had to concentrate. Ever so slowly I coaxed Sweetie Belle’s injured leg out and began carefully cutting the stitches one by one with my knife. Once they were all undone and the skin was no longer pinched I could feel the pony relax. She barely noticed as I pulled out the threads. Then I pulled out my bottle of apple whiskey and uncorked it.

     “Sweetie Belle?” She looked up at the sound of my voice, clearly still frightened, eyes wide and glistening. “I have to sterilize it so you won’t get an infection, but it’s gonna hurt a little, so just be brave, okay? Cutie Mark Crusaders are brave, right?” Rarity had told me about her sister’s little club. At the mention of it her face became stoic and she nodded. I poured a small amount of alcohol over her wounds. She winced and tensed up but remained silent. I wrapped her leg in a makeshift bandage made out of the paper towels, gauze, and some band-aids from my wallet, then set her on the ground. She looked at it, wiggled it around a bit, and then looked back up at me, a big smile on her face.

     “Thanks Mister…uh…what are you?”

     “I’m a human,” I laughed, on the verge of tears at how adorable she was.

     “Thanks Mister human doctor! I gotta go tell the other crusaders about this! Bye Rarity!” She scampered off just as quickly as she had come. I closed up my knife and stuck it back in my pocket, took a long drink out of the open bottle of apple whiskey, lit another cigarette, and turned back to Rarity. She looked astonished.

     “Where’d you learn all that? You were better with her than her doctor. He always makes her cry.”

     “I dunno,” I said, unsure myself – I was terrible with human kids, “some things just come natural I guess.”

     “Well I wish it ‘came natural’ to me,” Rarity huffed slightly, “Sweetie Belle is so fussy and whiny with me sometimes I can hardly stand to be around her. Ugh! And you should see the constant chaos she causes in my boutique!”

     “Ah, she’s just a kid,” I shrugged, “and a really cute one too. She might be as beautiful as you when she grows up.” Oops, that just sort of slipped out.

     Rarity batted her eyelashes and blushed. “Now aren’t you a charmer!”

     I took another long drink of apple whiskey. “So,” I tried to steer the conversation back to Sweetie Belle, “how come she’s always in your hair…er mane? Shouldn’t your parents be taking care of her?”

     “My parents are always ‘busy’. As if they think I’m not! I have a business to run! They just drift from function to function living off their savings drinking cocktails and socializing. Technically Sweetie lives with them but she wants to be a designer like me when she grows up so she follows me about. I try to teach her what I can when I’m not otherwise occupied but as you can clearly see it is not her forte. Ugh, and she’s always bringing Apple Bloom and Scootaloo – whose parents I’ve never even seen for the record – around. Those three together are a terror, especially when Scootaloo is zipping them around with that little scooter.” She rubbed her temples as if a headache were coming on.

     “Scootaloo?”

     “Sweetie’s little friend. She’s a Pegasus…sort of…”

     “How can one ‘sort of’ be a Pegasus?” I cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

     Rarity leaned in towards me. “Don’t repeat any of this,” she said in a hushed tone. I signaled that my lips were zipped. “It’s her wings. She should be in flight school…she should have been a while ago according to Rainbow Dash and even Fluttershy, but her wings aren’t growing in…at all. She idolizes Rainbow and has her heart set on being a Wonderbolt someday, but Rainbow says at this rate, barring some belated growth spurt, she may never even fly. Nobody has the heart to say anything yet, and for now we’re all just hoping against hope, but…” she trailed off.

     “That’s terrible,” I said. I felt sympathy for the little creature; after the forklift had shattered my leg I was told I might never walk again. It was only through intense physical therapy that I was able to get up and hobble about, and even then I was slow unless I had a cane, and movements that once came so naturally – running, jumping, dancing – were out of the question. I explained this to Rarity. “Still,” I said, “I’m just glad to be mobile, I was never an aspiring athlete or anything. But having all your hopes and dreams hinging on something that might not come to be, that’s…” I trailed off as well.

     “It’s worse than that.” Rarity shook her head, “Even if a Pegasus isn’t a Wonderbolt, she’s still a Pegasus. Not everypony can be a superstar…but a flightless Pegasus? She’d be unable to do the one thing her kind is born to do…she’d be forever a misfit. I don’t think I could live that life. Just imagining not having my magic makes me sick.” The whole idea made me sick too. I took another drink of whiskey.

     “Couldn’t she just be a late bloomer?” I proposed.

     “I’ve seen my fair share of late bloomers,” Rarity looked quite downcast by this point, “but even Fluttershy had almost normal sized wings for her age well before this point. Anyone can see Scootaloo’s wings are hardly any bigger than a newborn foal’s.”

     I shook my head. “C’est la vie,” was all I could think to say.

     “Indeed. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” She seemed eager to change the tone of our chat. “So, you know what I do, what do you do? For work I mean?”

     “Nothing as of now.” I confessed “After my accident I got a pretty decent settlement from my old job. That lasted for a while, but now I mostly live on disability while I look for a new job.”

     “Disability?”

     “Where I come from, the government gives money to people who can’t work, but trust me, it’s not as kind as it seems. Most people see us as leeches on society.”

     “Around here, if somepony can’t work, everybody is happy to help!” The unicorn said as if this should be the obvious solution.

     “Huh,” I downed the rest of the apple whiskey, “I wish I’d been born a pony!” I stared down the empty bottle. “Dammit, looks like I’ll have to go back and see Applejack sooner than I thought.”

     “Nonsense, let me take you to the bar,” Rarity cordially offered.

     “I appreciate it, I do, but aren’t I keeping you from your work?”

     “It’s Friday evening dear, I’m not working. If you want a good seat we should move along before sundown, it tends to get quite packed. All my friends will be there I’m sure.”

     “I assure you were it anything else I’d be a gentleman and not mooch,” I explained, “but I have this policy about refusing free drinks…”