*This chapter contains offensive words that might make this chapter a rated M.

An hour later found Pistol Whip leading Lucky and me towards the southern part of the island. Lucky heard that I was going out and decided that she wanted to come along too.

“I'm not going shopping,” I told her as I magically tied the strings on my corset. It was cool in the morning, so a corset wouldn't be too uncomfortable.

“I need to get out more,” Lucky yawned while a whiskey bottle revolved around her head by her own magic. “I've been putting on weight, ya know.”

At first, I was going to try to change her mind, but then I thought better. Maybe having Lucky along might be for the best. She has a way of easing tense situations and things might become thorny once I find Cottontail's beau. “Fine, but you might change your mind when I tell you why I'm going out. And don't tell anypony else about this, okay?”

I told her about my intentions, but I left out the reason behind them. She didn't need to know that I was being put up to it by Ambrose and Madame Dove. Once I was finished, she looked . . . well, sober. She fixed me with a focus look that I had always believed was beyond her ability.

“Do you think that's wise, Sandy? You getting in between a mare and her stallion like that? That leads to nothing but trouble on all sides.” Lucky's whiskey continued its orbit as she spoke.

“I'm not trying to steal him away from her,” I said. “You were the one who wanted to help her yesterday. This is just further help.”

“Seems more like meddling to me.” Lucky flicked an ear in consternation and the tip flicked the edge of the whiskey bottle causing it to rotate like a planet around her head.

“Well, it's no-uh!” In my anger, my magic yanked on the laces too hard, and my waist was constricted too tightly. It took several tugs, but I was able to loosen it to the point where I could breathe freely. “Lucky, if you don't want to come, then don't.”

“I'll come along, just letting you know what I think.” With that, she lowered and tilted the bottle to her lips and took a swig.

We didn't go to Pearl Street as I had expected. It was where I had first met Barley Hay whose father had secured rights to open a shop. Once he left the island, his father couldn't run the shop himself and sold it. Instead we took a southern street and trotted towards the slums, where the homeless and the dregs of the island reside. I was ill at ease, not because of the scenery, but because it brought back memories.

Memories of which I refuse to delve into now. I focused on the matter at hoof and stuck close to Pistol Whip. I asked him, “So do you know how she met him?”

“I wasn't around then, but I think it was near Pearl Street,” Pistol Whip replied.

“So what is he like?”

“You'll see.” Pistol Whip took us along an empty street where graffiti and gang tags littered the buildings.

My stomach dropped as my suspicions peaked. We passed a group of youths lounging against a building smoking and bragging to each other of exaggerated exploits. Some of them leered at me and others eyed Pistol Whip carefully and decided that we wouldn't be easy marks for a mugging. Lucky lumbered along beside completely unaware of our surroundings in her drunken stupor.

Finally, we came to an empty building at the end of the street. It was once an office building, but the windows have since been broken and stained with graffiti. Above the doorway scrawled was The Buckers Stable. When Pistol Whip stopped in front of it, I stared at him not wanting to believe that this was the place. He caught my glance and gave me a firm nod. This was the place.

On the front stoop was a smoky colored foal playing with empty bottles and cans. When we approached, he stared at us with open mouth curiosity and then craned his head around and yelled inside, “Sonny! Ponies are here!”

There was some clopping, and a similar colored pony stuck his head outside and smirked upon seeing us. “Well, well! Looks like the Prancing Filly is doing home visits now.”

This was a mistake. What in Celestia's Divine Mane was I thinking in coming here!?

Pistol Whip cleared his throat roughly and said, “Get Trotter out here. We came to talk with him.”

“Trotter? But I don't see Cottontail.”

“That's because it wasn't Cottontail that came to see him,” Pistol snorted. “Stop wasting our time and get him.”

The youth glared at him before drawing back inside. It was several minutes wait before another pony came outside, and all of my preconceptions about who he was died. Barley Hay had been handsome and had a hunger for adventure and glory in his eyes. He had been clean coming from a stable home or as stable as one could be in these days. This pony was his polar opposite.

His coat was an ugly shade of grey and his dark mane was in terrible need of a wash and combing. He wore a denim jacket that needed to be cleaned more than his mane if that could be believed. And to top it all off, he had a cutie mark of a broken bottle. He leered at me and as he came closer I could smell the booze and drugs on him.

I glanced at Pistol Whip who gave me another nod. This was the pony that Cottontail was risking herself for? This was the pony that she had risked hiding caps and then was beaten for? Dear Sweet Celestia and the Sun!

“You brought me a different whore, friend?” he said to Pistol Whip.

“I'm not your friend,” our bodyguard spoke in a voice so full of cold fury it sent shivers along my spine and made Trotter falter in mid-step. “This pony is Sandy Topps and her friend, Lucky. They came to talk to you about Cottontail.”

The youth glanced at me, “So what is it?”

The speech I had practiced in my mind on the way here was as forgotten as the litter on the street tossed about by the wind. I tried several times to speak, to at least say something, but each time the words would die before reaching my throat. And Trotter was beginning to glare at me impatiently. Then Lucky spoke up for me, breaking the silence.

“Cottontail ain't doing so good,” Lucky said.

“Oh?” Trotter inclined his head his eyes giving off his boredom. As if what Lucky said was insignificant as pointing out that the sun was bright and water was wet.

It irked me. No, that isn't right. It pissed me off. A lot.

“She got a beating for hiding caps in her room,” I said.

He snorted, “Then she should have hidden 'em better.”

I gritted my teeth and scrapped my hoof along the street. “She did it because she has the impression that she's going to run away with you.”

He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck with a cracked hoof. “Yeah, I guess I mighta said somethin' like that, I guess. I wasn't being serious, just joking around. S'not my fault she's too stupid to know the difference.”

Time skipped on me. One second I'm standing there listening to this slime speak and then I was in his face. His hooves clopped on the pavement as he struggled to maintain his balance as my lunging forward had startled him. His unwashed hide filled my nostrils inflaming my anger more and I barely recognized the tight voice that flowed from my mouth. “She's not stupid, she's desperate. So desperate to get away from her life that she fooled herself into thinking that she was in love with scum like you.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a snarl, “Who the fuck do you think you are? You gonna stand here on the street and call me names!? I got names for you . . .”

“Nothing I haven't heard before.” I stepped back, giving him space and said, “But maybe you'll surprise me. Go ahead, and give it your best shot.”

“Bitch,” he snapped.

I looked at him incredulous. “Bitch? That's it? Just bitch?”

I heard Lucky giggle behind me and something sweet and sickly spread within me. I wasn't afraid anymore, I just. . . .saw the whole thing as hilarious and went with it. “C'mon! Try to be original! If I go a day without being called a bitch, then I wonder what I'm doing wrong!”

“Uh . . .” His ears laid back, and he glanced toward the dilapidated building where the rest of his gang was watching. He had painted himself into a corner and couldn't back down without saving face. “Whore!”

“Whore!?” Lucky squealed and stomped her hooves in mirth. “Sweet Luna! I think she meant insults, not facts about what we are!”

“Just whore? What about skank, slut, hussy, harlot, tart, or tramp?” I don't know why, but I was having too much fun right now.

“Strumpet.” Lucky drew up beside me. “Floozy, bimbo, poontang, twat, cunt, and plotter. Uh, let's see, when I was young the term flank swinger was popular. If you want to get nasty, I once heard the term cum dumpster from a colorful fellow.”

“Oooh, I once heard myself referred to as a set of holes one time.” I added.

By this time, we had drawn up a bit of an audience. The youths were snickering behind hooves and others were staring at us with wide mouths. Even the foal who had been playing on the stoop was peeking at us through the window with pink cheeks and large eyes. Trotter was red in the face and looked very confused. We were insulting ourselves, yet somehow he was the butt of it all. He was red in the face when he stammered, “Why don't ya get the hell outta here!?”

“We're not finished here,” I coolly replied. “We know exactly what we are and what we do. Better than you or anypony on this island. We're whores for hire, but we don't make empty promises. We deliver what we promise for a price unlike a manipulative shit like you. Here's the deal, you are going to break it off with Cottontail. Don't talk to her, don't meet her, don't even see her. Because the next time it won't be me coming down here, it'll be Ambrose.”

Trotter's eye's widen and his iris and pupil shrank in fear. Ambrose's reputation was well known on the island. I knew I was in no position to send Ambrose down here to beat up these youths, but Madame Dove might if she believed it would save her money. I turned around and led the way for Lucky and Pistol Whip to follow. From the corner of my eye, I could see a grin struggle to make it's way onto Pistol's lips. Funny, I didn't think he was capable of smiling.

* * *

When we drew close to Pearl Street, Lucky nudged my side and motioned down the street, “Let's stop for a drink.”

“What happened to the bottle you had?” I asked.

“Oh, darling, I polished that off before we met that Trotter fellow.” Lucky pointed a hoof at a bar with a neon sign in the shape of a pouring booze bottle. On the window was a painted sign, Hop Trop's Bar. “This place has always been good to me.”

“I don't have any caps to spend.” I spent all I had in Slappy's.

“Don't worry, my treat.” She wrapped a foreleg around mine and tugged me along with her.

I looked over my shoulder at Pistol to see if he would object to this detour, but he didn't seem to mind. Maybe he wanted to get a drink too.

The bar was empty with us being the only patrons. The stallion behind the counter was holder with white peppering his brown mane and tail. He had been stocking the back of the bar when we came in and when he saw Lucky he greeted her cheerfully, “Have a seat! I'll be with you in a moment.”

Lucky led the way to what was likely her favorite spot in the bar. It was a small table in the back with two cushion chairs facing. We sat down together, and Pistol Whip took a spot at the bar, taking off his hat .

“Hoo, that was so much fun.” Lucky smacked the counter with a hoof. “I thought the squib was going to cry he was so humiliated!”

“They could have mugged us.” I shifted a bit, the corset kept my back straight and didn't allow me much comfort. I wondered if I could undo the laces at the back to give me room to breath.

“Nah, we entertained them enough to keep the thought of mugging us away,” Lucky giggled.

The bartender came around and took our orders. Lucky requested a whiskey and I opted for an ale. When he came back with our drinks, my was served in a glass and Lucky had a whole bottle for herself. I stared and she said, “Ah, he knows when I ask for a whiskey, I mean a whole bottle.”

“One day you are going to drop dead from alcohol poisoning,” I told her as I sipped my ale.

Lucky snorted under her breath as she poured herself a drink. “Don't worry about your old Lucky. She has alcohol flowing through her veins instead of blood so I'll be around for a good long time.” She downed a shot and then quickly poured herself another. “Though, I am worried about Cottontail. Dealing with heartbreak ain't easy, and I think Trotter isn't going to let her down easy because of us. No stallion likes to be laughed at.”

“She'll get over it. I did, and I got it worse than she will.” I traced the edge of the glass with a hoof tip.

“Yeah, but you're stronger than she is. Cottontail isn't like us. She doesn't have the tough hide that you and I have,” Lucky murmured thoughtfully. “She didn't come from the same background as you and I. We signed into this life because we had nothing else, she got roped into this.”

I had never been interested in anypony's background before. We all came into this life for different reasons and it was nopony's business but our own. Yet, the way Lucky talked had me curious. “She told you about herself?”

“Yeah. After she arrived, I took her for a tour of Pearl Street and we came here to rest. She got a little tipsy and told me about her foalhood and about leaving home.” Lucky tossed back a drink and smacked her lips as she set the glass on the table.

“She had a home to leave?” I said incredulously.

“Yeah. Her family raised rabbits if you can believe it, in the mid-Equestria somewhere. And like any naive filly, she wanted to see the world. So she left home and went to Dise of all places.”

I already knew the ending to this story. I had heard it many times before. “And she racked up a huge gambling debt, and the only way she could pay it off would be with her body?”

“Bingo,” Lucky nodded. “And her previous pimp gave her contract to Madame Dove to settle a debt and now she's here trying to pay off her debt and get home.”

“Stupid,” I muttered and finished off my ale.

“No, just young and innocent which unfortunately for her is at the top of the menu for all the predators and manipulators out there.” Lucky took a quick swig directly from the bottle and said, “She reminds me of my daughter.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes widen. “You have a foal!?”

“No, she's not a foal anymore. She's a grown pony with a husband and has a foal of her own when I last saw her.” Lucky set the bottle down and looked at it somberly. “I haven't seen her for going on 15 years.”

I couldn't believe it. Lucky had never spoken of this before. Not having anything to say, I could only state the obvious, “I . . had no idea.”

“Yeah, I didn't exactly advertise it.”

Something in her began to wilt ,and she changed before my eyes. She was no longer the flamboyant, happy-go-lucky, drunk pony I had know for years. She was . . . sad now, even her hair that had some bounce to it seemed to hang like a loose curtain over her shoulders. Lucky gazed at the half filled bottle of whiskey not as a friend as she had before, but as much needed, but distasteful medicine. She took a long drink from the bottle and set it down on the table with a sharp thump as if it was too heavy for her magic to hold.

The change in her was unnerving, and I felt uncomfortable. I wanted the old Lucky back. For some reason, I felt that I was the one that caused this change, but I had no idea of how to get her to revert back to the happy drunk I knew.

As I pondered this, she spoke, “Her name was Charm. I came this island with my then stallion. It was back when ponies came to this island. Lots of opportunities and safety from raiders and monsters. It was good life back then. I worked in a shop, and he worked on a fishing boat. We had a small apartment together, and we were aiming to move into one of those houses in the northern suburb. Would have taken a us a few years to save up, but then we both knew it was gonna be worth it. Yet, two things happened to ruined everything. I got pregnant and my stallion got himself killed during a storm at sea.”

Again, I didn't know what to say. Saying 'I'm sorry' just seemed redundant. And fortunately for me, Lucky kept talking, saving me from having to verbally respond.

“Being a single mom with a foal isn't easy. No work, no caps, and I didn't know anypony here that I could leave her with. I tried working with her in a saddlebag foal carrier, but she was so little and needed so much from me. Not to mention a crying foal tends to drive away customers, and then I got the bucked.” Lucky paused to take a long drink, and finished off the bottle. She ordered another one, and I had a refill for my ale.

I didn't want to know, because this story didn't have a happy ending. Yet, I heard myself asking, “What happened next?”

“There was only one type of work I could do that paid well and didn't take me away from Charm for too long. I became one of the first street hookers of Sunny Days Island.” Lucky drew the edge of a hoof along the condensation on the bottle. “Eventually, Madame Dove came along and opened the Prancing Filly. She hired me on, and I signed a contract. I did it because more than once I would have a customer that either liked it really rough or didn't want to pay. More than once, I returned home with a bloody nose or a black eye. Madame Dove promised that I would be protected from all of that, and she kept her word on that at least.”

“And what about your daughter?” I asked.

“By the time I signed on with Madame Dove, Charm was old enough to get her cutie mark and become ashamed of me. She wanted me to quit, but the money was too good and we wanted for nothing. It must have been hard on her. Nopony came to her cute-cenera because her mom was one of the town whores. Then she got old enough to work and moved out. Met a nice stallion and left the island. I got a letter ten years ago saying she had a foal.”

I was quiet for a moment, and then I sighed knowing what I had to do. “At least she had a cute-ceanera. We couldn't afford one for me.”

Lucky looked up at me with a gleam of curiosity lighting up the melancholy in her eyes. I held the glass of ale between my hooves looked down into the brown liquid letting myself be drawn back to my foalhood.

I never knew my father, I don't even know his name save for that he had a cutie mark of a shooting star. My mother and I lived in one of the hut close to the southern beach. Mother was often sick, and often had to rest in the hut to recover from her regular bouts of illnesses. What money we could get was from selling the shells I found on the beach.

Not long after I got my cutie mark, Mother took a turn for the worse and this time she didn't get better. She spent the last few months of her life lingering, literally wasting away before my eyes. I shared her coloring, shale grey coat with soft pink mane and tail, and when she died her fur had drained to ashen grey and her mane and tail was limp like a wilted flower.

I was on my own for six months before . . .before Madame Dove found me.

And that was all that I was willing to share with Lucky.

“Your mother did the best she could,” Lucky said.

“Yeah. She did. I'm just . . . I'm just glad she died before . . .” I couldn't finish.

Lucky and I drank in silence until we left, returning to the Prancing Filly.

* * *

A week later, Cottontail tried to kill herself. She opened the window and simply jump out of it. When she hit the cobbled street, she had broken three of her legs, shattered three ribs, and fractured her skull. She left behind a large oval bloodstained that remained for several weeks until it was finally beaten away during a heavy rainstorm.

Madame Dove cursed up and down about it, upset that she was down one filly and would have to pay the extensive hospital bill to get her back on her hooves and that was without a guarantee that she could ever work again at that.

I never saw Cottontail again. My last memories of her would be of a weeping mare that could barely keep her head up as she made her way upstairs to have sex with an ugly brute of an earth pony. Lucky visited her in the hospital a few times and then stopped going. One night, I heard her sobbing and vomiting in the bathroom that last night she visited Cottontail and then in the morning she was back to her usual drunken self and spoke no more of the young mare.

Three days after her suicide attempt, I was in the kitchen staring into a mug of black coffee when a thick voice said behind me.

“s'not your fault.” It was Pistol Whip. He was at the doorway watching me. “That filly was gonna find a way out of here whether it was with a stallion or through a window. She opted for the window once the stallion didn't come through. And we both know he was rotten bastard anyway.”

“Yeah, I just helped her out the window is all,” I muttered. Then I sputtered, “And what makes you think I give a damn? Cottontail wanted to die, no fur off my back!”

“Then why have you been moping and not making eye contact with anypony since then?” Pistol inquired.

“Because Madame Dove has been in a pissy mood, and shit rolls down hill,” I snapped at him. “Is it my fault she fucked herself up by leaving home and got into debt in Dise!? My fault she put all her faith in the wrong stallion!? No, that's on her! I'm just pissed because of her stupid stunt fucked the rest of us, and I mean me mostly, have a bigger workload!”

I got up as I shouted and tossed my mug into the sink. It shattered, but I didn't care. Madame Dove would just add it to my debt. I shoved him aside and stomped upstairs to my room. I slammed the door shut behind me and stood there feeling empty, hollowed. It was unnerving.

Why couldn't I be sad like Lucky? Or feel guilty like Pistol Whip thinks I do? Or angry like Madame Dove? Or at least apathetic like Candy Hearts?

I just felt nothing...