The Rusty Bucket – the faded wooden sign hung above the door of Ponyville’s favorite dive bar. It didn’t look like anything special from the outside, but when we walked inside I could see that this place had a rich history. All of the bar stools were old and worn and wobbly from many a drunken reverie, the counter dented by the pounding of hooves. There were several well-used pool tables and a card table in the back. The dark mahogany wall panels were probably once quite beautiful, but most of their luster had been worn away and they were covered with stains – everything from vomit to blood from what I could tell – dents, and on one wall what I could swear looked like the remnants of a shotgun blast…did ponies have guns? The lighting was dim, except behind the bar, showcasing an impressive collection of all types of liquor. In short, this was my type of place.

     “It’s not much…” Rarity began.

     “It’s wonderful!” I laughed.

     There were only a couple of ponies up at the bar and two more playing pool. The bartender was none other than Berry Punch…the pony who was, according to Rarity, the town’s resident alcoholic. We sat down at the end of the bar and the magenta mare approached us.

     “What can I get ya?” Berry inquired cheerily, absent mindedly twirling a polishing cloth.

     “Do you, perchance, enjoy scotch?” Rarity asked me, looking hopeful. If I’d had to guess her drink of choice, scotch would’ve been at the bottom of my list.

     “Why yes, madam, I do!” I said emphatically, playfully mocking her accent and poise. Who uses the word “perchance”?! She made an attempt at looking incredulously offended, but it only held for a moment before she cracked an amused smirk.

     “Scotch it is then!” she declared.

     “Single malt or blended?” Berry asked.

     “Single malt. Bring two bottles and leave them both,” Rarity said nonchalantly.

     Berry Punch raised her brows, “Sure thing Rarity, but that’ll be sixty bits…” Rarity pulled a large, jangling sack from her saddle bag and dropped it on the counter.

     “If I remember correctly there are seventy bits in there, and you can keep the change.”

     “You’re a cool customer Rarity,” the bartender winked, “lemme go grab those bottles for ya. Back in a flash!”

     “I never figured you for a scotch connoisseur,” I said to the purple-maned mare, “I was thinking more along the lines of a cosmopolitan followed by tequila shots.”

     “Ugh,” Rarity huffed, feigning offense, “once again I am the victim of stereotype! Elegance and fabulosity aren’t just dress codes you know, they’re a way of life! Vomiting up syrupy girly drinks in a bathroom stall like some sorority filly is not fabulous!”

     “True,” I agreed, “but I have to say, being ‘fabulous’ seems to be expensive…I mean I’m by no means intimately familiar with your monetary system, but isn’t sixty bits a lot?”

     “It is, but I’m quite well off if you couldn’t tell,” she turned her head and cocked an eyebrow, “and it’s not every day that you get to spend time with a dimension-hopping human who just gave you the inspiration for a whole new line of fashion. Consider it my thanks to you for a wonderful idea and a wonderful day.” I couldn’t help but smile warmly; the usual hint of haughtiness had left her voice and she was speaking in earnest…I couldn’t remember the last time someone had said they enjoyed spending time with me. Maybe in this new place, this new context, I could be a new person – a better person. “Plus,” Rarity continued, “you saved me a hospital bill and a whole lot of fussing by tending to Sweetie Belle.”

     Suddenly I noticed two bottles and two glasses on the bar in front of us. It seemed Berry Punch had been kind enough not to interrupt our banter. Rarity noticed too. She lowered her head ever so slightly and both her horn and one of the bottles became enveloped in a purple glow. The cork popped and she poured herself half a glass, then poured me a very full one, much to my amusement.

     “Cheers!” I said holding up my drink.

     “Cheers.” She levitated her glass up to meet mine. I wondered for a moment how non-unicorn ponies managed to hold something delicate like a scotch glass…then again around Ponyville almost everything else seemed to come in a giant mug.

     As we drank ponies began filtering into the establishment. Every once in a while there was a small hubbub at the door as some underage colt or filly tried to get in and the bouncer had to put his hoof down. Probably the funniest was when Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon came armed with very fake looking fake ID’s.. We both had a good laugh at that.

     “Are those two really as awful as you said?” Rarity had told me a bit about the two troublemakers earlier

     “Worse,” Rarity deadpanned, “Sweetie and her friends may be a pain in the behind but when all is said and done they’re just kids being kids. Those two fillies…” she shook her head. “Diamond Tiara is vicious, spoiled, and rotten to the core. As for Silver spoon, she’s so in love with Diamond she might as well shove her head up her rump and spare the world another glance at her face.”

     “I also was wondering…you said cutie marks are supposed to be symbolic of a pony’s special talent…but how is wearing a fancy hat a talent?!”

     “Right?!” Rarity exclaimed, eyes wide, her forelegs up in the air. “Don’t tell anyone,” she leaned in – not that she had to considering the volume of the bar at this point – “but after having to console poor Sweetie Belle more than once after an encounter with Diamond Tiara, I’ve considered simply plucking that thing off her head and snapping it in two just to see her cry.” She snickered wickedly. I gave her the ‘not a bad idea’ look and smiled to myself; this slightly sadistic streak was a side of Rarity I’d not seen, and I liked it. I wondered what other secrets were hidden behind that well-honed mask of propriety. A sudden flash of pink and a bouncing commotion interrupted my pondering.

     “Hi Rarity! Hi human! I knew we’d find you guys here because I saw how much you like to drink and it’s Friday night which is the perfect time to drink so I went to Twi’s place and I was like ‘let’s go to the Rusty Bucket’ and then I went and found A.J. and Dashie and I was like ‘let’s go to the Bucket’ and then I went to Fluttershy’s and I was like ‘let’s go to the Bucket’ and they all came with me and we got here and I saw you guys and I was like omigosh I was totally right and so I came up here and I was like ‘hey Rarity’ and then I was like…”

     “Yes Pinkie, dear, we were here for that part,” Rarity took a large gulp of whiskey and rubbed her temples. Pinkie’s machine-gun style delivery amazed me…she must have the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer to say all that in one breath.

     “Well of course you were otherwise who would I be talking to, silly?” Behind her I could see Twilight, Rainbow, Applejack, and a nervous-looking yellow Pegasus wading through the crowd toward us. She was wearing sunglasses, her mane hidden under a scarf. I suppose Rarity saw me wondering at her accoutrements.

     “Fluttershy is still dealing with the repercussions of a brief modeling career,” she explained, “it’s not as bad as a few months ago, but all the crazies seem to come out at night, and there have been…incidents.” She didn’t elaborate further.

     The colts sitting next to us were gracious enough to give up their seats for Rarity’s friends, though they looked as if they’d been expecting more than just a few words of gratitude. One of them seemed like he was trying to make a pass at Rainbow Dash, but her thoughts were clearly otherwise occupied. Through the growing drunken fog in my head I suddenly remembered the hilarious circumstances of our last encounter and I had to work hard not to laugh. She was avoiding my gaze, as well as Rarity’s, her face bright red. Applejack was behaving in a similar manner; evidently she’d come down off her high and realized the implications of her little ‘slip’. “Well,” said Rarity, “it seems you’ve met all my friends in one way or another except Fluttershy here.” The timid mare gave me a gentle hoofshake. Her eyes remained obscured behind her shades but I could tell she wasn’t looking at me.

     “Um, pleased to make your acquaintance,” she mumbled, almost inaudible amidst the ever growing din of the bar.

     “Likewise,” I fired out my default response to any introduction. Berry Punch chose this moment to grace us once again with her presence, diffusing for a moment the various tensions among our little group. Applejack and Dash ordered whiskey sours and a plate of hay fries, while Fluttershy opted for an appletini. Pinkie asked for “the usual”. Twilight simply ordered a glass of water. She was looking at me with an unreadable expression, possibly trying to size me up, to analyze me, and I don’t think she knew what to make of me. The feeling was mutual.

     “Twi, Darling,” Rarity’s usually impeccable accent was ever so slightly slurred, “are you really going to stay dry the whole night? For Celestia’s sake, let your mane down for once!”

     “My mane is down, Rarity,”

     “Oh you know what I mean!”

     Twilight huffed and pulled a book out of her saddle bag. Rarity laughed and rolled her eyes. She leaned over to me again.

     “She’s just in one of her moods…all work and no play that one.”

     “Does she do anything but read?” I asked quietly, though I noticed the brooding mare’s ear cocked in our direction. She could probably hear me. I didn’t really give a fuck.

     “Oh Twilight can be lots of fun when she chooses to” Rarity spoke aloud, poking her uptight friend teasingly. Her levity went unappreciated.

     So, Twilight clearly either didn’t like me or was otherwise unsettled by my presence, A.J. and Dash were mortified after the “wrestling match” incident, and Fluttershy was, well, shy. Unfortunately this meant that my only potential conversation partner besides Rarity was Pinkie. She was sitting next to me rambling on about god knows what; I could only catch bits of the maelstrom of verbiage. She paused every now and then, looking at me expectantly for an answer to some question I hadn’t understood. I quickly learned that it made little difference whether I said yes, no, or just nodded.

     “…and so then I was like ‘this entire place is full of pamphlets!’ And then…oh drinks!” The pink pony bounced excitedly as Berry returned carrying three recognizable drinks, a plate of hay fries, and a giant “glass” that, were it lacking a stem, could easily be classified as a bowl. This…thing – some kind of hybrid between a cocktail, a fruit arrangement, and a beach party – went to Pinkie, and she immediately began sucking down the orange liquid and playing with the half a dozen tiny umbrellas and swizzle straws that accompanied it.

     “That’s called a ‘Pinkie Pie Special,’” Rarity informed me. I had already surmised that it was a drink of the loopy mare’s own design. I watched in amazement as Pinkie polished off the gigantic cocktail and gobbled up the fruits arranged around the rim of the glass, then carefully placed each of the tiny umbrellas in her mane as though they were flowers.

     “PUNCHIE I NEED A REFILL!” she bellowed, causing a temporary lull in the ambient bar noise as many of the ponies looked up from their drinks or games to see who could possibly be that loud. Most of them, upon recognizing the source gave an “oh, it’s Pinkie” shrug and continued about their business.

     “Just a sec Pinks, I’m kinda busy here!” Berry Punch shouted back. She was a magenta blur, scrambling about mixing cocktails, running back to the kitchen bring out plates of hay fries and other bar fare, keeping tabs and taking tips. She was also clearly drunk, but she made it work, swaying this way and that as she danced frantically about in a sort of intoxicated barkeep waltz. She made her way toward us, sweeping up empty glasses as she went, exchanging Pinkie’s spent drink for a fresh one, then hurrying off to the other end of the bar where a group of pegasi were having a drinking contest.

     “You should meet Berry when she’s not so frazzled, I have a feeling you two would have a lot in common,” Rarity told me. “Just…please don’t ever challenge her to a drinking contest,” she cocked her head toward the rowdy group of pegasi. “I’ve seen her drink all of those ruffians under the table…individually and all at once.” Having never been out-drunk, I decided right then I had to do exactly what Rarity told me not to. I’d catch Ponyville’s queen of crunk after the bar closed or when things quieted down. Until then I was quite content to sip the lovely scotch my new unicorn friend had bought me and try and get some of the other ponies to loosen up.

     Everything seemed cool for a bit. I was just about to excuse myself for a cigarette when I saw Twilight go rigid, staring across the bar. She elbowed Rarity and pointed.

     “Oh good grief,” Rarity groaned.

     “What’s up?” I asked.

     “Her.” Rarity pointed to the card table in the back. There sat two mares, one a cream-colored pony with long, two-toned pink and purple tresses, the other a mint colored unicorn with a shock of white through her short mane. The earth pony was shaking her head in what looked like severe exasperation, while the unicorn gestured animatedly in our direction. Obviously I couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, but it looked like the earth mare was trying to reason with the unicorn, and it wasn’t going well. I watched as the argument escalated – clearly they were yelling at each other – and then ceased. The cream colored pony banged her head on the table, seemingly defeated. The unicorn stared over in our direction again, a look of satisfied determination on her face.

     Then she stood up. Not on four hooves like all the others, she actually stood up on two legs. For some reason I still to this day cannot quite put my finger on, I found the sight quite disturbing. She began to move – to lurch forward, knees locked - wobbling back and forth using her forelegs to steady herself, making her way across the bar room floor. The other ponies watched her with expressions ranging from awe to disgust. Then I noticed something else: she was wearing pants. I don’t know where she’d gotten them but they looked as though they had been stitched together out of just about any scrap of fabric that could be found, the materials ranging in pattern from floral to plaid to pinstripe. They were flared like a pair of bell-bottoms; I have no idea why, but in my mind it just upped the bizzarro factor a few more notches. As she approached I could hear the uneven clomping of her hooves, yet though she staggered and swayed her eyes remained locked on us…no…on me.

     “Save yourself,” Rarity whispered urgently, “we’ll hold her up.” I wanted to act in accordance with this particular suggestion like nobody’s bisnatch, but something about the look in the minty mare’s eyes told me that our meeting was an inevitable eventuality. Resisting my urge to run the fuck away I took a long drink from my bottle of scotch, setting it down just as the freak show arrived. She stood in front of me, arms…or forelegs rather…dangling awkwardly at her sides.

     “Human!” she said breathlessly, her big yellow eyes wide with wonder, locked unblinkingly with mine, her voice betraying some macabre sort of hunger. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Okay, I thought, we have officially arrived in creepy town. Though I was almost afraid to take my eyes off her lest she accost me in some fashion I couldn’t help turning around to shoot Rarity a “what the fuck?” style look, to which she seemed to have no answer.