Alkeyhall
"To alcohol! The cause of -and solution- to all of life's problems!" -Homer Simpson
Glados sighed, her gaze fixated upon a distinctive line of scarlet carved deep within her now-lacerated foreleg. The other, the one with at least a dozen fractures and torn ligaments, was slacked at her side like a dead weight.
Ignoring Applejack's abrasive gulps of cider, the pale earth pony shook her head. "I just don't get it."
"Git wha-holy cow! Gladis, yer leg!" Without a moment to spare, the farm pony slammed her half-empty mug unto the countertop and took Glados' freshly wounded foreleg into her own. "Oh gosh... what happened?"
“These stools were manufactured by thumbless cavemen.” She spoke as if the answer was obvious. “I mean, look at this craftsmanship.” Glados banged her hind leg against the cheap, splintery wood supporting the stool. It teetered off to the side, looking like it was about to collapse. “It’s horrid.”
“Hey, don’t blame me.” The cowpony muttered under her breath, distributing most of her attention to Glados’ wound. “Blame the Apples of ‘57. They made ‘em.” Applejack tilted the hoof a bit, surveying the wound’s depth from a different perspective. “Jeez, Sugarcube. Why’d ya do this to yerself?”
"Back where I come from," she replied in contrasting earnest, "Humans would cut their own wrists to make themselves feel better. I just tried that, and I don't feel any better. In fact, this really hurts. Ow... owie... in retrospective, this was a really bad idea. Owie." With her cries of pain completely moot and voiceless, it was hard to tell whether Glados was just being over-dramatic or she was in genuine agony.
Applejack went with the latter, just to be safe.
Sliding off her stool, the cowpony made her way towards a water trough and removed from it a washcloth bogged-down with warm water. “Here,” she murmured with the rag in her mouth, “lemme shee that.” Glados listlessly extended her scarred foreleg; Applejack proceeded to gently dab at it with the sopping wet towel. The water was lukewarm from sitting in the cellar, sending compulsory waves of indulgence down Glados’ leg.
“So,” she began with a heavy sigh, “is this what’s going to make me feel better? Getting drunk? That’s the solution?” Confused, Applejack silently rose a brow. “That’s what you said. ‘Hard cider’. That’s how you overcame the loss of your parents.”
As Glados explained, the farm pony exerted pressure on her wound to halt the bleeding, then said, “No... no. Ah was just tryin’ to lighten’ the mood, y’know?” A gentle laughter passed her lips as she gingerly flipped the washcloth on its other side. “Funny. Big Mac and Ah actually did... drink a ‘lil the night Pa died, but it wasn’t supposed to make us feel better. It was just... Ah dunno. Ah guess, back then, we were both just young and stewpid. Angry. We were just kids.”
Glados replayed that last phrase at least a dozen more times. ‘We were just kids’. For reasons that were both frightening and unknown, that line just sort of ‘clicked’ with her, struck a cord. It just sounded so... familiar.
CRACK!
‘Dammit Ca---ine! What in God’s name are we supposed to do now!?’
‘Mr. Johnson, please, calm down! We all do dumb things, but that’s what makes us human.’
‘That’s what makes us human.’
Glados froze; the hairs on her back stood on end. A woman has spoken, that much was obvious. But what puzzled Glados was that it wasn’t just any woman, for this particular human has spoken numerous times throughout her little ‘mind cracks’. Who the hell is she!? And that phrase...
Once more, Glados uttered that profounding term aloud under her breath. “It’s what makes us human...”
“Hm?” Applejack’s grunted query came accompanied by a long pause and a stare.
“It’s what makes us human, I guess,” she flatly replied with a shrug. “Drinking because you’re angry? Because your parents died? Because you were kids—what the hell do I know? I’m a scientist, not a philosopher.”
The sunset-colored mare laughed softly and continued to wipe up the last drop of blood running down her own hoof. “Maybe yer right, Gladis. Maybe yer right. But this... this is mah treat.” Applejack wrapped the cloth tightly around Glados’ pastern, just above her hoof. “There, that should hold until the hospital’s open tomorrow mornin’.”
The blonde grabbed her cider once more and smiled. “Now, enough o’ that depressin’ stuff. Let’s just drink and be merry, like friends should.” Her mug remained suspended in the air, anxiously awaiting Glados’ response.
What she did instead was stare at the untouched beverage sitting just a mere foot away, then looked off to the side.
Applejack frowned, dropping her mug with a defeated ‘clunk’. “Aw, come on, Gladis. Ah’m tryin’ mah best here.”
Glados turned her full body around to face the farm pony. The dim candlelight was just bright enough to highlight the fatigue in either mare’s face.
“Please,” the country pony petitioned. “Just one sip. And if you don’t like it, you can go wal-” Applejack stopped when realizing that Glados could not be trusted on her own as of right now. Instead, she recovered with, “Look, ah’m not gonna force you to do this. Just... just take a sip, and if ya don’t like it, we’ll turn in for the night. Deal?”
“Fine.” Glados agreed rather abrasively, then added with a growl, “If it’ll make you shut up and leave me alone.”
Upon taking the apple whiskey within her grasp, Glados winced at the sharp pain that shot through her wrist as the wound folded. She lifted the beverage toward her face, already smelling the strong alcohol wafting from the bottle.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Applejack persisted with a cockeyed grin, saying in a low voice, “Take a big whiff of it.”
The white earth pony scrunched up for her face. This is really dumb. I can’t do this, I shouldn’t do this! The moment those thoughts crossed her mind, images of a decimated Aperture Science Facility resurfaced like a bad taste in her mouth. Hmph... maybe alcohol is the answer.
The beverage was moved closer to her face, as did its repugnant aroma. Glados whispered under her breath, “Ah, dammit” and then reluctantly took her very first sip of alcohol.
To many, alcohol is the milestone that marks one’s passage into manhood; a beverage that was infamous on Earth for being connected to both human stupidity and depression. To many, this would truly seem like an achievement for Glados. On a spiritual level.
Sadly, she thought differently. At first, the taste was entirely nonexistent aside from a faint smoky flavor. Growing impatient, and instead of allowing the taste to settle, Glados tilted her head back and took another chivalrous sip of apple-flavored whiskey. The golden beverage slid down her throat, giving what she could only assume were goosebumps. She then allowed the aftertaste to linger for what felt like centuries, and it tasted... it tasted...
Horrible. Like a salty old bootleg that had been grilled on a burn-encrusted barbeque. It was the most horrid thing Glados has ever tasted since her contrived transformation into living tissue. She knew it would take weeks to get that aftertaste out of her mouth.
And why won’t the room stop spinning!? It’s giving me a migraine!
Suffering from a severe case of depression, both of her forelegs being damaged in some shape or form, and now forced to drink the nastiest thing ever concocted by man since ‘Mountain Dew’, Glados still found the humor to say, “Well, it tastes better than it smells. That’s a start.”
The comment was so unexpected, such a dramatic contrast to the dreary mood that was present just seconds ago, that Applejack burst into a hearty laughter. Slamming her hoof over and over against the countertop, the country mare proclaimed with an outgoing enthusiasm, “Yeah, that’s the spirit!”
Unusually unable to resist encouragement, Glados downed the rest of her whiskey in just three sips. Three sips. Slamming the empty glass with an audible ‘clink’, Glados was horrified with her sudden bestial nature. Dear god, I must be... oh, what was that mental disorder humans called? Ah, yes. ‘Drunk’. I must be drunk already. I am so drunken, drunkly, drunkel... drunk. I mean, why would I just down a beverage like I’m some kind of animal? Oh, right. I am. Forever. And ever... and ever...
And ever.
I don’t feel better. I need more.
Like a mind reader, Applejack took another uncorked flask of whiskey from behind the counter and slid it across the counter, coming to a stop in front of Glados. She herself placed her own mug beneath the tap and filled it to the brim with cider.
“Down the hatch!” the apple-bucker proclaimed with a wink, then proceeded to chug her cider with the grace of a barbarian. Glados, on the other hand, drank hers in silence, with Applejack’s boisterous gulps being the only ones resounding into the darkness.
The second round of liquor was drained in no less than a minute. Both mares looked into the dark wall of the minibar, recollecting in their gradually mystifying thoughts. Applejack snuck in a side-glance of her companion and noticed the slight blush growing in her face.
“You okay?” she asked with a smirk. “Ya look about as red as a t’mater.”
Glados made a sluggish bat of the eyes, taking a minute longer than usual to process the question. She was more concerned with why the minibar was looking a little... melty. “Well...” she began with a grunt, propping an elbow up on the counter. “The consumption of alcoholic beverages creates a sort of... ‘facial blush’... in some people, mainly due to ‘gymnastics’, er, ‘genetics’... genetics. You see... alcohol is made with ‘acetaldehyde’. To break this s-stuff down, a specific enzyme found in your body is used. But there are those, such as myself, with an inactive enzyme for some reason who may encounter trouble with breaking down the ace-eh-bleh. And thus, the blood vessels in my face dilate and the blood is brought closer to the surface, making me ‘red as a t’mater’.”
Applejack blinked. “Oh.” Several awkward moments passed by in pure silence, occasionally sundered by a creak of the ancient wood overhead. Even the drinking, while intended by Applejack to be a loud and merry activity, was trapped in an abated silence. Glados was taking her time, savoring her beverage and soaking in the atmosphere, whereas the cowpony was cleaning out her third serving. Now in a groggy state of mind, unable to differentiate the good and the bad, she rocked about in her seat and humming to herself whilst receiving the occasional foul look from her mute partner.
Finally, with a devilish smirk, Applejack leaned over towards Glados who, in turn, repelled back like a magnet. “Can I help you?” She snapped in a rather caustic manner.
With Applejack’s left eye struggling to remain open, she spoke in a rather peculiar drunkard-tone, “Ah can see yer the angry-type when drunk. Figures.” It’s as if she was speaking in conflicting tones of exhaustion and guile. With a shrug, she pulled out a black flask filled with a stronger apple whiskey and took a mighty swig. “Ah,” she said, smacking her lips, “That right there is good stuff. Dun worry yer pretty lil’ head, cheesecake. A couple more o’ these puppies an’ you’ll be singin’ on the moon!”
“Yeah,” Glados agreed in an overly-chipper tone of voice, “A couple more o’ these and maybe, just maybe, I can stand t’ look at you for longer than five seconds without my gag reflex acting up!”
Applejack’s face contorted into a strained display of anger as she carelessly waved her hoof in Glados’ direction. “Ah, stick it in yer ear!” Her companion let out a pleasant chuckle, deriving pleasure from angering the headstrong cowpony. “Say,” she began after a sudden break from her flask, sprinkling the countertop with drops of whiskey. “Ya never ackshly told us what happened to yer creators. The ones on the outside? Ah mean, there’s more o’ ya, right?”
Glados fiddled with her bandage-clad hoof while confirming in a dry tone, “The Combine happened. They’re just some big multidimensional empire bent on conquering th’ universe BECAUSE THEY’RE EVIL!” Glados’ spatting, bombastic remark bounced off the walls of the compact cellar, eventually dwindling into silence. “From what I’ve seen, they travel from dimension-to-dimension, planet-to-planet, conkherin’ any race they cross paths with and *twists* them, reshapes them into ‘nother cog in th’ machine.” Glados turned to Applejack with a thin smile. “The Combine: blurring the line between synthetics and organics, one race at a time.”
“That’s horrible.”
“No, it’s quite brilliant, ackshlly,” Glados countered rather quickly, the bags under her eyes outlined by the sparse candlelight. “The weapons they revert these squishy organics into are simply fascinating! Walkers, gunships, uh... groun’troops an’ even bioweapons. If it’s got tissue, they can weaponize it. Bioengineering is a lucrative business, you know.”
“Ya sound like yer praisin’ them.”
“No. I don’t praise no one. It’s just that I’ve never seen tech so advanced, an army so powerful... It’s like something out of a video game.” Glados turned her full body around, leaned her back against the countertop, and rested the elbow of her unbroken foreleg on its rim. “Y’know they found Earth because of a stupid race?” With that, her lighthearted attitude, though albeit faint, made a noticeable drop.
“It was Aperture vs. Black Mesa: who could make the first multidimensional portal?” She propped her one good foreleg on the countertop and rested her chin on it. “Black Mesa won, of course. Aperture Apes put most of their focus onna ship that vanished from the face o’ the Earth. Only humans can lose track of an entire ship.” She smirked, “Only humans. But—” Glados sat up, straightening her back with a resounding ‘crack’. “—the Combine came in, wiped out most of humanity in just under seven hours. Pathetic.”
The corners of her mouth made a slight upturn. “Good riddance. Those bilge rats had been begging to be exterminated for a long time.” Glados gave a heavy-hearted sigh, “Don’t... Don’t need to worry about them coming here. I’m sure of that. I mean, if they get their hands on the multiverse project in Aperture, then we’re all dead. But Wheatley’s likely to blow the place into Kingdom Come before that can happen.”
The rambling mare was suddenly hit with a punch of nostalgia as an old memory unexpectedly resurfaced. “You know,” she began, “They almost found us, once. When I was... dead, ever piece of hardware, every thing with a circuit board was shut down and I myself was trapped in a hyperlock that looped the last five minutes of my life. ‘Protocol #4801: In the event of the Genetic Life and Disk Operating System being no longer fit for duty, the facility shall be placed in a preservative state of hibernation until further notice’. They were right at our front door. Their scanners picked up no lifeforms, and radio-waves the facility intercepted from officer’s conversation made it appear like he detected nothing of value; no foreign technology they didn’t already have.”
“You know...” Her voice intonation turned gravelly. “That was probably the first time in my life I was scared. Or, a synthesized sense of fear, but fear all the same. The was... well... you know.” She shook her head, as if trying to physically forget the memory while half-expecting her equine companion to give some philosophical spiel about ‘fear is what makes you human’. When she instead remained silent, Glados continued. “Applejack, I don’t know why in the name of sanity I’m talking to you about this, but... I don’t know. Maybe sitting down and talking to someone actually does help, doesn’t it?” No answer. “Applejack?”
Glados turned to find her companion fast asleep, her snores muffled by the mug concealing her face. “Applejack!” Glados screamed, angrily slamming her hoof against the countertop and creating a thunderous clap.
The cowpony snorted awake, eyes darting around the room in a drunken daze. “Huh!? Wha!?”
“You’re unbelievable! I’m sitting here, spilling my guts out like a human, and you’re sitting there snoring like a fucking asshole! Come on!”
“‘Spillin’ yer guts out’? Gladis, ah don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout but yer no poet from Trodding Ham.” The cowpony paused to emit a wheezy laugh, almost falling back before catching herself. “Eh, b’t fer the past five minutes, after Ah called them Combiners horrible, you were jus’ goin’ on n’ on n’ on about fear an’ Appersure an’... an’... eh, I fell asleep.”
Glados silently turned back to the minibar, wrapping her hooves around the mug in a possessive manner. She took a small sip of her partially untouched apple whiskey, then another, and another, with each one progressively aggregated than the last until it was all gone. She reached behind the bar and grabbed herself another without a word.
Applejack made a callous snort. “Heh-heh, yer drunk as hail, lil’ filly.”
But she quickly noticed that Glados didn’t find it quite as funny, then grew sympathetic. “Look, a-ah’m sorry. I-I-I-It’s the alkeyhall. Makes ya— think yer talkin’ like some kinda~ genius, when in fact yer about as intelligible as a possum on poison joke in the middle of... in the middle of... aw, pony feathers. Ah fergot where ah was goin’ with that.” She lazily waved her hoof and took a large intake of cider. “Jus’ tell me when we’re *hic* sober.”
“Fer-get about it.” Glados muttered, indulged within her own mystified thoughts.
Applejack felt responsible, thinking she hurt Glados’ feelings when she in fact couldn’t care less about them. “Hey, Gladis, ah’m sorry. Ah truly *hic* am. Just... let’s just ferget about all that heartachein’ stuff.” The cowpony, once again, stood on her hind legs, reaching over the bar, and came back with two shot glasses.
As she did that, Glados looked through her own bottle for any loose traces of whiskey and then took notice in its label. “A.J.... this is one-sixty proof alcohol. This shit’ll kill me.”
Applejack smacked herself in the forehead. “Aw, shoot! Ah’m mighty sorry Apple Bloom!”
“That’s GLaDOS to you, meatbag! Don’t make me get the neuro-*hic*-toxin!”
“Whateves.” While the cowpony staggered over the bar to retrieve a lighter beverage, Glados couldn’t help but stare at the cider tap. It read in bold paint, ‘200 prof. Straight Cider’
‘200 proof’!? Is that even safe to drink!? Either Applejack’s a tank, or this really is Android Hell. For some peculiar reason, Glados suddenly felt concerned for her companion’s safety. Unusually concerned. So concerned it almost came off as clingy. Like a true friend, she took the time to warn her friend about the potential life-threatening danger she was now in. “Hey... Abba Jack...”
“Quit sciencein’! Ah’m comin’!” Applejack hunkered down with two flasks of whiskey in her grasp. “Here, this should be lighter for a cheesecake such as yerself.”
With a mighty heave, the drunk farm pony came back with a tall crystal bottle, unopened, and filled with a sharp green-colored beverage. She didn’t need to read the label aloud. Glados could see it plain as day: ‘Granny Smith’s Homemade Granny Smith Apple Vodka: For A Night That You’ll Forget To Remember!’ It read in bold print with a skull and crossbones at its header, ‘240 prof.’ Glados smiled, “This is perfect.”
Applejack uncorked the vodka bottle and filled the two shot glasses. Both mares took their respective servings and, without hesitation, awkwardly clanked their flasks together.
Applejack grinned, “Let’s drink like it’s our last!”
One Shot and a Nosebleed Later...
“Iz it bedder?”
Glados squinted close to the soggy, crimson tissue stuffed up Applejack’s left nostril. It was very hypnotic, almost coming off as fascinating. It wouldn’t take an RN with a doctorate to realize that this one scrappy piece of tissue wouldn’t be enough to halt a nosebleed with the severity of Applejack’s. But Glados, being the optimist that she’s known for, remained positive.
“Of course it’s BETTER!” she proclaimed with maddening levels of sincerity. “I’m a... a...” Her brain shorted out for only a moment until Glados remembered her profession. “A scientist! Yes, that’s right!” She cocked her head to the side with a dopey smile and a blush raging across her snowy-white face. The flask of cider held within her grasp was almost dumped onto the floor. “Yes, I am a scientist! I am good at these things, as well as... science and... books, machines and... science.”
Applejack made an effort to blink, almost falling off her stool when trying to follow the world spinning around her. “How’d this happen?”
Glados tapped her chin. “Well...”
One Shot and a Nosebleed Earlier...
Applejack grinned, “Let’s drink like it’s our last!”
They did. They drank one shot of vodka and completely lost it.
Glados then did a frantic double-take and flipped out. “Applejack! There’s afaceonyer-- nose!”
“GIT IT OFF!”
*Smack!*
One Shot and a Nosebleed Later...
Applejack shook her head, as if trying to physically purge the memory. Normally, she could handle her cider. For the most part, but not now.
The same couldn’t be said for Glados. She’s now smiling, swaying to and fro like a tilt-a-whirl, occasionally pausing for a spell to take in another disgusting gulp of cider. “Oh, A.J., this stuff is *hic* fan-TASTIC!” She stopped rocking around, putting a serious expression on her face.
She leaned towards Applejack until their snouts were smushed together, which didn’t bother the mare on the other end one bit. “Hey, Applejax? Are ya single, Apphajax?”
The advanced mare pulled away, giving a wheezy, drunk laugh. “Heh... heh-heh. Naw... naw... Not a stallion in Ponyville’s got their eye on me.”
Glados made her eyes incredulously wide, borderlining ‘Pinkie Pie’ levels of implausibility. “Shut. Up.”
“Ah’m serious.”
“No... No way! A strong, independent, purebred mustang like yourself? No suitors? None at all?”
Applejack shrugged, then tilted her head back to take another sip. “Why’s you askin’?”
Glados turned to face the minibar, whatever sober fragments in her mind working to forge an answer. Why do I care? “I guess...” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hoof. “I guess i’s b’cause... yer the oney ‘ne here that actually im-pressed me.” Applejack made a distinct twitch of her ear, showing that she’s in-tuned with the conversation. Then, without warning, Glados threw her foreleg over the cowpony’s shoulders and pulled her in. “L-L-Like, there is not a single human being on Earf that dids the kinda work that ya do. Not like they used too.The tech...” She reached for her mug, “...made work too easy.” and took a deep, prolonged swallow of apple cider. “I guess what I’mma tryin’na say is... there’re likely loads of men on Earth that’d kill for a sex toy like you.”
“Wha?” The other mare mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hoof. “Hey, y’know how we was talkin’ ‘bout... special some-ponies?”
“No?” Glados wasn’t sure if they were talking about that or not. Everything from five minutes ago was a complete blur.
“Oh, really?” Applejack’s enthusiasm fell, then picked right back up. “Well, did you know that...” She looked around the room, making sure that it was just the two of them. She then ushered her friend to lean in closer, who complied without question. The cowpony whispered intensely into Glados’ ear, “Rainbow Dash ain’t a lesbian!”
Glados pulled away, finding it near-impossible to believe what she is hearing. “Shut. Up.”
“Eeyup.”
“With that mane?”
“Eeyup.”
“And that shit attitude?”
“Eeyup-yup-yup.”
Glados leaned over the bar, exhaling a distressed sigh. “Wow, that’s... that’s-That settles it.” She placed her mug under the tap and filled it to the rim, not even caring that half of the drink was compiled of suds. “I’m drinking to that.”
“No mistake ‘bout that.” Applejack agreed with mutual energy, mimicking the action. “Y’know,” she began, resuming her seat and adopting a mellow attitude. “We shouldn’t make fun of her like that. Ah mean, yeah. R.D’s got an ego problem, no doubt about that. But... she’s always been there for me an’ Twi an’ everehpony else.” Applejack washed down the guilt with several chuggs of cider. “Y’know, she’s got herself a ha-yooge crush on Sorin. What about you? Any stallions catchin’ yer eye?”
The other pony answered in a heartbeat, with a dull, drawn-out, “Nope.”
“Ah well,” She poured another two shots of vodka. “Bottoms up!”
Nine Shots of Vodka (mixed in with some unrepentant acts of sin) Later...
“H-H-H-Heeeeey...” Glados slurred, “Yer my best friend, yanno that? Nom-m-m-many pornies can do that for a -sholid- -sheven- -shecondsh-, yanno.”
“Thatsh great, Glubos.” Applejacks’ speech, though not as horrendous on the ears as Glados’, was still a tumbling avalanche of syllables ungraciously meshed together to form what she perceived as ‘words’. “Nom m-m-many pony kin stand onna broken leg fer two anna have hours.”
“Yesh.” Glados beamed with intoxicated pride, holding her fractured foreleg that was now scrunched up like an accordion.
“Hey, yanno?” Applejack’s extended foreleg, clutching the cellar’s dying lantern, struggled to remain still over an open barrel of wine. “Itsh shooo dark in ‘ere. Right? Right Glabis? Right-right?” Her words came tripping from her mouth without any distinguishable syllables to be heard.
Glados felt the need to get up from her seat to answer, only to stumble around and finally come to a flailing fall that made her act like a fish out of water. Her flailing and grunts subsided as quickly as they came, and finally she answered Applejack’s question without so much as a hiccup.
“Alrigh’! I’mma doin’ it!” The cowpony, after numerous failed attempts, managed to drop the lantern into the wine on the fifth or sixth try. A roaring fire cartoonishly sprung from its’ ethanol-filled origin, illuminating the entire cellar in a brilliant orange glow. Even when absurdly drunk, Applejack couldn’t help but celebrate her monumental success. “Woo-hoo~!”
Glados, face still planted in the soily ground, rose a hoof into the air and let out a muffled, “Whoo~!”
Unable to stand no longer, Applejack collapsed on her back, pathetically reaching for her mug of cider way at the top of the bar. Now that she wanted it, it suddenly looked really far away. “Hey, Glabidus?” She spat, lightly showering herself with her own spittle.
Glados flipped herself over like a grilled patty, placing the one mobile foreleg on her stomach. “Yeah?” She didn’t even take in the fact that her makeshift rag-bandage’s surface was now completely scarlet; not a trace of white was to be seen, even under intense inspection.
“Are ya still goin’ to that Gran’ Gallopin’ Galer?”
With a submissive sigh, one that wasn’t conjured from her currently-drunk perspective, Glados muttered a slurred ‘I’ll think about it’.
“Yu’ll need a dress. An’ a song.”
“Singin’? Ugh... I hate—wait wait wait—despise singing.”
“Dun beat yerself up. Yer voice’s fine.”
“You wanna fight abou’it, hayseed?”
“Jus’ throwin’ it outta there, sugarcubie.” For no reason, Applejack started wasting what little energy she had left to raise her hoof up and drop it back down like a sack of flour in a repetitive cycle.
The notion was short lived, as Glados broke in with an extrinsic hint of nobility. “Hey, Abblejack?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks fer showin’ me dis. I hafta say, it’s probly the most fun I’fe had since I got here.”
Applejack couldn’t help but crack a wobbly smile. “Heh, no prob, s-sh-sh-sugarcube. Probly won’t ‘member it, though. But Ah can honestly say that i’s been alotta fun tonight. An’ that ain’t the alkeyhal talkin’.”
Soon after the heartfelt exchange, the two mares blacked out, considering each other as friends, only to reawaken as bitter ‘frenemies’ the very next day.
The Next Day...
The heavenly light supplied by Celestia beamed through the unclosed cellar entrance, illuminating the underground bar in all of its dank and dingy glory. Being far more appealing to look at in the dark is an understatement, but that was the last thing on its occupants’ minds. What was, however, was the tormentous pain pulsating throughout the ponies’ heads whenever the tweet of a bird or ring of a cascada outside passed through their ear canals.
“Oh my God...” Glados muttered, pressing a hoof on one ear and pushing the other into the wall, as her other hoof was still broken from last night’s horrific event.
Last night...
Glados finally took notice of her ‘good’ hoof, bandaged at the seam with a garish red washcloth. Her entire body was, too, in a state that would make Rarity fall into a coma. Nearly every square inch of her modest white coat had some smudge or smear in a grotesque palette of greens, browns, and yellows. She herself reeked of alcohol and vomit, her eyes were encrusted with, appropriately, eye crust, and her mouth had an unbearable and undefinable taste lingering within. What the HECK was I on!?
She then noticed the sleeping Applejack, hatless, with her blonde mane splayed about like a spiderweb. Her coat had similar markings as her drinking partner’s, though somehow worse to the point where it almost made Glados want to retch.
Still, she couldn’t help but writhe at the painful headache that never seemed to leave, instead growing worse as every moment dragged on. “A hangover... God this sucks.” Unable to leave the cellar and enter a world that would risk popping her head like a melon at every turn, Glados waited impatiently for her headache to subside. As she did, she slowly tried to recollect what had happened the night before.
All’s she was able to piece together was flipping out in front of the whole town, going to Applejack’s, and after that, nothing. Blank. Looking back at Applejack and then herself, Glados agreed that it’s best to be left in the dark with this one.
Even after piecing the night to the best of her ability, Glados still couldn’t get her mind off of Aperture, and the hopelessly bleak situation she has now found herself trapped in. Drinking, a human’s last resort, didn’t help. Harming herself was useless, as was harming others. The only other option is...
Ugh... okay, what did that infernal pony give me? The towering tyrant gave me a ticket to some ball, I gave her vile offer an appropriate response, then nothing... Applejack looks just as trashed as I am, so nothing good came of last night. Enough. I have more important matters to deal with.
Does it really have to come to that? She asked herself, as if her conscience itself had an answer. I mean, I know I tried doing that last night, but... that was before I tried a number of other methods. Maybe there is no other way, or maybe there is. I need to go home and think on this.
Acting on the fly, and with her hangover dissipating after an hour of waiting, Glados bolted out of the cellar, leaving a sleeping Applejack still in the cellar wallowing in her own filth. Outside in Sweet Apple Acres was like a breath of fresh air after spending a night in the confining, repugnant cider cellar beneath the barn. The air was lukewarm, fresh, and carried a strong but welcomed scent of summer wherever it went. Apple Bloom was heard laughing on the other side of the orchard, joined by the energetic yelps of the Apple Family pet, Winona. It all combined into a pleasant sense of youth and renewal that hardly hardly lasted as Glados made a quick three-legged gallop toward home.
Within her chest, a tight, clenching sensation enveloped her heart. She'd describe it as a battleground, with anger and despair fighting for total control of her emotions. This bleak train of thought was interrupted when she accidentally walked into someone, landing on her back with a painful 'thud'. Standing tall, the affronted pony lent Glados some assistance via an outstretched hoof.
As she rubbed her head, her gaze traveled up the owner's foreleg and locked with the dulcet glim of Big Macintosh. "You okay?" he asked in a mellow tone of voice.
Without a response, Glados wrapped her unbroken foreleg around Mac's as he pulled her up without falter. "Uh, thanks," she finally said. The hardy stallion replied through a simple bow.
Glancing over his shoulder, Glados took notice in the wheelbarrow stacked with anvils connected to Mac's yoke by a sturdy rope. Under better circumstances, she would've found the earth pony's incomparable brawn to be 'mildly impressive'.
Before she could continue with her aimless quest of suicidal thoughts, Big Mac asked, more curious than accusative, "Hang on, ain't ya one of A.J.'s 'lil friends? Gladis, ah think?"
'Gladis'. It's a shame the princess never even taught your family to speak properly. But nonetheless, she was certainly impressed that the faceless stallion was actually capable of conveying emotion through a raised brow and a faint, almost invisible, smirk. She answered into a meek nod.
Mac shifted the straw of wheat to the other corner of his mouth and said, "You ain't much of a talker, ain't ya? Ah should know. If ah got somethin' to say, I'll say it-unlike that chatterbox, Pinkeh Pah."
Glados nodded in laconic agreement, which suited the soft-spoken stallion just fine. He’s going to ask why I looked like the upchucked remains of Pinkie’s diet.
Instead, Macintosh was about to go his separate way, leading the smaller earth pony to step in his path and ask a very sudden, non-intrinsic question. Before she even opened her mouth, the hardy stallion huffed in mild annoyance, the hot air blowing from his nose tousling Glados' hair.
"Uh, Mac," Glados began, her voice cracked with emotion-thickened underuse, "You, uh... you enjoy your life here, correct?"
The question was unexpected, but not given a complex answer. "Eeyup."
"What would you do if... if it all went away?" Glados bit her lip, with Mac raising an inquisitive brow. "Wh-What I mean is... what if you were unwillingly pulled from your natural habitat? The routine way of life that made you get up every morning, not because you had too, but because you wanted too." As Glados spoke, her voice began to deteriorate. Big Mac took notice, leading him to rest a comforting hoof on her shoulder, the one connected to a broken foreleg that always hung an apple’s height off the ground. It was an act that Glados herself didn't mind one bit, as she was too caught up in her own moment.
She sniffled, quelling the overbearing urge to break down and cry. "Alright... I'm okay. Sorry 'bout that." Mac took that as a sign to remove his hoof, an act easier said than done considering how Glados was clearly not okay, but he knew better than to debate with an emotionally distraught mare.
"And let's say you were kicked out of this comfort, by someone you don't like. An enemy." The white pony's tone turned dark as the pink tint to her eyes slowly receded. "And he sent you to a world that was completely different to yours. Its people, its customs, beliefs and way of life. Completely different, and it's not one you could get used too. Even worse..." She swallowed the pang of despair, but it forced its way out in the form of a choked gasp. "And even worse... there's no way of going back. Ever." Glados felt humiliated. She just spilled her guts out in front of somebody she doesn't even know.
And yet, she still found herself looking up to the genteel stallion with a pathetic, trembling gaze. Big Macintosh turned his head towards the rising sun, now almost completely risen over the mountain heads.
“There was a meeting over in Town Hall with Princess Celestia.” Glados was mildly shocked and mildly offended that Macintosh completely ignored her confession, but was unable to object as he immediately followed up in his submissively captivating tone. “She was talkin’ about how ‘a new resident’ created quite a stir in the town centre last night, and that most of the folk are probably mighty frightened. Now, not tryin’ ta disrespect the princess at all, but we ain’t as scared as much as we was confused. Ah’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark and say that that ‘new resident’ was you?”
Glados made a slow nod in confirmation, keeping her jittery golden stare locked with the stallion’s mellow emerald one.
“Eeyup. Thought so. Most o’ the town didn’t even know who it was. We jus’ heard alotta screamin’ and yellin’ last night, followed by that statue crashin’ down. Oh, an’ don’t worry about that none. The darn thing was gettin’ ready to come down any day, now.”
With that, Glados finally broke away from the conversation, seeing as it was going nowhere. “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, pushing past the larger stallion with a moiling limp.
“Hold yer horses, ah wasn’t finished.” Big Mac had to stick out one hind leg and Glados froze without another word. She exerted a heavy sigh through her nose, never breaking her gaze from the dirt path horizon up ahead. “Look, ah know you think Ah’m gonna say ‘Ah understand what yer goin’ through’, but Ah honestly don’t. To be honest, Gladis, Ah can’t put myself in yer horseshoes. Life’s funny like that.”
“Yeah. Funny,” she said dryly, unmoved by the farmworker’s consolation.
“Gladis, Ah’ve lived for a long twenty-two years. While a whole lotta that time was spent kickin’ trees and towin’ carts around, Ah did lose both mah parents, and every time mah sisters hang out with their friends, Granny Smith an’ Ah spend every wakin’ moment wonderin’ if they’d return home in one piece. A.J. ‘specially.” Despite the bleak topic, Big Mac maintained an upbeat, or as upbeat as he can be, attitude in the conversation. After a momentary pause to soak in the information, he took a deep breath and continued. “Ah don’t like the dangerous stuff those girls do, but Ah don’t always hafta worry because they can take care o’ themselves.”
“Is this going anywhere? Because I have a suicide to plan.”
Big Mac sighed, unlatching the yoke from his neck and walking over to stand beside Glados. “Look, what Ah’m tryin’ to say is ya can’t spend yer whole life lookin’ on the bad side ‘o things. An’ nopony’s forcin’ ya to make friends. Ah haven’t had a friend in four years and this is the most Ah’ve talked since then.”
“What happened to him?” Glados asked, unable to resist the smalltalk-nature of her organic mentality.
“Mah friend? She moved to Manehatten, started a family with mah uncle, Orange Lite. They had a filly, by the way. Fergot her name though. Bad Seed? Bub Steed? Ah’ll hafta find the letter that mentions her name once Ah get back to the farm. Like that, right there. A family. Moving on. There’s more to life than just, Ah dunno, numbers an’ equations, y’know?”
The flabbergasted tone Mac unexpectedly took received an out-of-the-blue, but welcomed, chortle from his smaller companion. Yet, Glados resumed the conversation with her usual bitterness, to which the passive stallion had grown accustomed to from the moment he first met her. “Yeah, ‘friendship’. Princess Celestia has told me all about that.”
“Ah heard from mah sister that you’ve taken a liking to a couple ‘o ponies. That malemare, the deejay n’ her cousin from Canterlot? Good folk. And Ah’m glad to see Ditzy gettin’ back into the swing o’ things after what happened.”
Unable to pick up on that peculiar closing statement, Glados made an immediate yet diffident-sounding reply, “I wouldn’t call them ‘friends’. But... But they have been quite helpful.”
“What you do is yer business, Gladis. Ah ain’t a pony of philosophy, that much is certain. All’s Ah’m tryin’ to say is, just, make the best of a bad situation. Apply yer abilities into helping this town grow. I heard what ya did fer Rarity’s sister, an’ that was a good deed you done. This town needs somepony that’s smart like Twilight, but isn’t afraid to take risks like Rainbow Dash.”
As Big Macintosh’s words started to have a profounding effect on Glados, the last comment made her say “Don’t ever compare me to Twilight and Rainbow Dash ever again.”
Big Mac let out a hearty laugh. “Ah’ll try not to.”
After standing together, looking out into the horizon for what felt like hours, Glados finally departed and made her way toward home with a gentle limp from her three-legged trot. She stopped after several feet, turned, and looked at Big Macintosh with a gentle, heart-melting smile on her face. “I appreciate your time, Big Macintosh. And thank you. Your words have truly touched my mind in ways I never thought possible.”
Big Macintosh formed a faint smile that was noticeable over his ever-mellow exterior. “Yer a terrible liar, ya know that?”
Her cover blown, Glados allowed her face to face slink back into its iconic, deadpanned expression. “Oh well. I tried. But on the bright side,” she said in a lifted tone with her eyebrows raised, “You did convince me not to kill myself. That’s a feat in itself, since practically no one has ever made me change my mind ever. Congratulations, Mac. You’re definitely one of the smarter equines residing in this festering sinkhole of a town.”
Big Mac looked as if he was trying to object or simply accept the compliment, which managed to continue even as he bowed his head in disconnected appreciation.
As Glados began to make her way home, Big Mac called out her name. “Hey, Miss Gladis!” She stopped and turned with her usual, undecipherable expression. “Ah think it’d be in yer best interest to go to the hospital and wash up. Ya smell a ‘lil... mature.”
For once, Glados found no reason to argue with that. That being said, it doesn’t mean she’s going to do it.
Next Time:
A Blast From the Past, er, Future-Taking the first steps into forging a new life in Equestria, Glados becomes an official citizen of Ponyville, addresses the town in a public speech, and confronts Ditzy Doo on a personal matter. After returning home, she is unexpectedly greeted by a special someone from the near future who comes with a warning.
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Yes UPDATE
I laughed way too hard at this.
Ah, good drunken times with GLaDOS and Applejack never let me down.
So what if Glados could interface with the Combine tech, and take it over?
Please tell me the Combine won't be coming to Equestria. They wouldn't stand a chance, even less of a chance than the humans did against the Combine.
Seeing this story had a new chapter update just made my day. It was a great read.
Looks like season 2 has started. LETS DO THIS!
Alcohol makes everything better
Big MacinTALK. You see what I did there? Yes?... no?.. ok.
Update?
YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
yay new chapter reading now!!!
Woo! Update!
Drunken glados is yes!
Oh dear.
That was very entertaining.
Awaiting further releases, dear Author.
2200646
I like it.
2200558
Look out worlds, time to Optimize Scientific Experimentation!
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd awsome
O.M.G.
LOL!!! XD
So I see we have a potential partner in her future...
And then Equestria burns with the righteous fury of the combustible lemon.
derpicdn.net/media/W1siZiIsIjIwMTMvMDIvMjEvMDFfMTdfNDdfMjQxXzI1MDQxN19fVU5PUFRfX3NhZmVfcHJpbmNlc3NfY2VsZXN0aWFfZHJ1bmtfYWxjb2hvbF81MTI1NzVhY2E0YzcyZDk1YzIwMDAzN2YucG5nLnBuZyJdXQ/250417__safe_princess-celestia_drunk_alcohol_512575aca4c72d95c200037f.png.png
"Tags: Gore, Sex"
...
DON'T THINK ABOUT IT DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!!!
2200822 It's nothing bad. Like, at all.
Alcohol proof in the united states is double the alcohol percent by volume. Thus, 50 proof is 25 % pure ethanol. You cannot go above 200 proof as that is 100% pure. All your proofs are more than deadly, they are impossible.
2200831
And they're ponies.
I'm glad your continuing this story. Portal is a favorite of mine and you seem to grasp Glados's personally well.
FIX THIS
2200959
You have no idea just how much "continuing" there will be.
Nine Shots of Vodka
Have they not passed down yet?
200 proof alcohol is actually impossible. If you could manage to create 100% pure alcohol, it would instantly start drawing moisture in from the air, dropping it down to about 96% alcohol very quickly.
</antijokechicken>
2201024 that is kind of the joke x)
i love this story.
2200962
best.typo. EVER
Finally update!
Do tell, what those might be. Don' worry, I don't have problems with acts of sin.
Good Job Sir! 
....I think. 
To be honest while I read the cellar part of this chapter, I felt like I was drunk as well.
Erhm dude? The war with the combine lasted 80 hours. Alix's father said so before saying that if they come around again this time they won't last 8 h.
2201404 later im gona get drunk and try to read this chapter agan to see if it gets beter. i think reading about drunk people is beter when your drunk yourself. =D
Brillient! what else can be said!?
2201518 Dude, Eli said, "And then it will be the seven hour war all over again. But this time, we won't even last seven minutes."
...but I like Mountain Dew...
2201518
But that's wrong.
http://sectorw.wikia.com/wiki/Seven_Hour_War
Best part.
2201689 Glados doesn't think so.
I'm thinking that GLaDOS is getting too friendly and emotional...Bring back the grumpy sarcastic GLaDOS!
2201733 How would GLaDOS even know what it tastes like?!
2201767 She read the ingredients on the interwebs.
If you meet your future self during this test, do not make eye contact! Lab boys tell me that will wipe out time itself.
2201692 You obviously haven't played the game...