Red Raven; The bar was named throughout the city, but Spike could not understand why. The place was badly lit and ghetto, and everything inside it, from the long serving counter, to the circular seated stools, had been shoddily crafted using thick oak wood, which had eroded and chipped over the years. The constantly flickering lights covered the majority of the shoddily painted wall space, boldly displaying the bar's name and advertising various cocktail drinks, despite most customers sticking to the basic (and rather limited) selection of beers on offer.
Spike was no different. Now 29 years old, the dragon had developed his own specific taste for certain beverages. He enjoyed his beer as bitter as they come, with a thick frothy head and dark in colour. Ordering his pint of Bryston Ale had been a straight forward task, as although many customers were present in the bar, not a single group had gathered at, or even near to the counter. Spike wondered if his appearance was the reason the pony folk kept their distance - dragons were highly uncommon in this part of town, and a broody, ill-kept, mess of a dragon such as himself probably made them nervous. However, despite having only a singular pint to pour, the bartender was certainly taking his time.
Drumming his scaled purple claw upon the decayed wooden counter, Spike gave an irritated sigh and looked the tender up and down. He was an overweight stallion, with a thick, heavy brow and double chin. His coat was as dull as the interior of his working environment, and his mane and tail were dark, matching perfectly with the shadows surrounding him. He appeared exhausted, or angry, or both, with sagging eye bags and an unfriendly expression cemented upon his face. Spike was a little disgusted to note the large sweat stains under the bar tenders armpits; being a thick skinned, scaled dragon, sweating was something Spike could neither tolerate or understand.
"Why did I even come here." The dragon wondered to himself, "it's not like this is going to change anything."
"Move on. Blow out the flame, and start a new one."
The words of his oldest friend played through his mind, and Spike pictured her kind, purple face speaking them in a soft, soothing tone. Twilight's bright eyes were only a shade darker than her flesh, and they always glimmered delightfully, reflecting hope and optimism onto all who looked upon them. The smart, studious unicorn had been his light since the day he was born, as well as his guardian and teacher. Spike wasn't sure he would have made it through life without Twilight, but even she could not save him from this damning dark hole that absorbed every ounce of his enthusiasm and energy, and which he was helpless to escape.
And then it happened, just as it always did; Twilight's face altered in his mind. Her soft fur growing paler, her neat hair curling, and her eyes turning a deep shade of blue. Her voice changed too, becoming more upper-class, proper and prim;
"Moveee.... on....." The sound echoed in an almost hypnotizing manner.
Then all of sudden, it was deep and manly.
"That'll be three bits."
"Huh??" Spike shook his head, snapping himself back to reality.
Despite the bar tenders reluctance to fix drinks at an appropriate pace, he was rather impatient when it came to exchanging them for money. He held his chunky, shabby hoof out before the dragon, frowning in frustration at his lack of attentiveness.
"Three. Bits." He repeated, as though Spike was a complete moron who didn't understand how purchasing worked.
Spike gave a weak growl as he handed over the golden coins, tossing them carelessly into the hooves of the tender. The dragon was a little offended, but he didn't have the energy to act upon it, or even to convert it into any strong emotion. These days, he rarely had the energy to feel much of anything at all. He wasn't able to cry, or get angry, or even worry - he was nothing, but a heavy, yet empty shell, of his former self.
Spike was completely aware that his emotionless state was undoubtedly the only reason he had shown up to the Red Raven that night; rock bottom may have taken away any positive outlook he had on life, but it also made him numb to the circumstances of any bad choices he could - and probably would - make in his drunken state.
The dragon grasped the handled glass jug which overflowed with the dark copper beverage, and took a hearty mouthful. The beer wasn't as chilled as it should have been, but the taste was there; a delicate blend of hops, syrup, and almonds swam over the dragons long, pointed tongue. It was one of the only aspects of life that Spike could even mildly enjoy, and yet he was quick to finish his first pint, and order a second, and a third.
Determined not to allow his weak mind to trail off again, Spike began readying his bits before each order. The service was still slow paced, but it didn't bother him quite so much as before, and neither did the lack of atmosphere once he began to relax and absorb his surroundings. Ponies were chatting merrily around him, discussing everything from their hectic working lives to their families and relationships. Their numbers had increased over the past hour or so, but until that moment Spike had not so much as turned his head enough to notice. The place was now crowded, with not a single seat free. In fact many mares and stallions were standing, squashed together against the walls. A dart board near the far end of the bar kept one group of friends busy, whilst in the far corner, five earth ponies were gathered around a tiny, burning coal fire, telling stories and sipping their ales as they would hot cocoa in the middle of winter. Yet, to the left of the bar, an area remained empty. It had a small platform, velvet curtains, and a door.
Spike scoffed; the place almost seemed homely at this hour. Even the bar tender wasn't quite so difficult to look at, once he had a good few units of beer down.
"Forgive me for staring." The old stallion addressed him, in a completely unapologetic manner, "we don't really get dragons in here. Can't say I've seen a dragon in a damn long time in all honesty."
"I'm used to it." Spike didn't so much as make eye contact.
It wasn't a lie - most everywhere he went, the ponyfolk would give him cautious glares, as though afraid to venture too close to the scaled creature. It had once bothered him, but not anymore. There were some well known dragon hang outs situated in a grubby, ghetto area the other side of town- but Spike never been there.
"Any particular reason you choose my bar?" The tender asked. He tried not to sound too ungrateful for the custom, but Spike could immediately tell when he was not wanted.
"Don't worry, I'm just here for the show, then I'll leave." He answered bitterly.
"Oh... I... urh... I didn't mean...." the tender stuttered, sounding almost afraid for the consequences of his poor choice of words.
"Yes you did." Spike bluntly corrected him.
There was a long, awkward pause, then the tender cleared his throat.
"The shows starting in ten minutes," he stuttered a little, "but I'm not sure if you'd enjoy it.... wouldn't you prefer a hot firey dragon fight show or something?"
Spike scowled; he just wanted this conversation to end.
"I don't associate with dragons." He snapped in reply.
This didn't warrant another response, as the cautious tender seemed to take the hint. He turned his back on Spike and proceeded to organise some bottles upon the shelves behind the counter, acting as though the awkward conversation had never even happened.
This wasn't an issue for Spike. As upon reaching a claw into the pocket of his leather jacket, he realised that he was completely out of money anyway. Swaying a little, he gave an annoyed shrug, and turned himself around. Spike hadn't realised that he was drunk until it came to re-positioning his entire body to face the center of the room. Looking around at the low budget place, he did not have high hopes for the show, but Spike figured he may as well stick around, even if it meant no more beer. Besides, the entertainment had been recommended to him by one of his oldest, and closest friends.
Big Mac rarely spoke, but when he did, he was fueled with emotion. The stallion was happily married, with a foal of his own, and yet he seemed to know an awful lot about the nightlife in the town. Spike confided in Big Mac; the muscular red stallion knew more about his private life than even Twilight did. He knew all about Spike's past with Rarity, and had witnessed the dragons drastic change in personality over the past year. Big Mac assured Spike that he would eventually get over this crippling depression, but Spike had only gotten worse when he realised that Mac didn't understand him - no one did.
Visions of his past relationship swarmed his mind consistently, dominating every minute of every day, and tonight was no different. Spike once struggled to fight it off, but he had given up hope.
His claw was a blur. The counter was a blur. Everything was a blur. Then, there were strobe lights; reds and pinks, with white flashes. Smoke coated the floor and for a second Spike wondered if it had come from him; it hadn't. Music started. First a loud, thumping beat, which slowed to reveal seductive, harmonious singing. Lifting his weak, spinning head, Spike turned his attention to the area from where the lights and noises originated; left of the bar, above the small platform.
When the red velvet curtains began to rustle, the ponies stomped their hooves in applause. Spike found it incredibly difficult to look away from the stage. He became hypnotised by the beautiful melody, and then... she appeared. The most incredible creature he had ever seen.
"A dragon?" Spike gasped, then noticed her hooves. "No... a pony?"
Her slender body was coated n pale yellow scales, much smaller than those that made up Spike's bulky coat, and her hair was large, curled, and vibrant, like a soothing campfire. She had pony-like ears, but a dragons face, with piercing magenta eyes that matched her revealing lace corset and the tight skirt which barely covered her thighs. As soon as he laid eyes on her, Spike was captivated.
She didn't seem to notice him, and proceeded to sing. Her voice was angel and dreamy, and unlike any Spike had heard before - and he had known ponies with extremely strong vocal chords. Glancing around at her audience, the female appeared to take delight in the observation that the entire room already had their attention not only upon her, but dedicated towards her. The song she performed had no words, and yet it was almost contagious; a tender, hypnotic melody, which echoed through Spike's head, almost lulling him to sleep.
The smoke began to spiral and change colour, engulfing the customers and furniture, but no one seemed to care. She danced around them, visiting each table in turn, making eye contact with every pony in the building, swaying around them and delivering the beautiful tune as though meant for each one personally. Just like the rest of the observers, Spike couldn't take his eyes off her.... until he noticed something, or someone else, dancing among the smoke.
A silhouette of a slender, delicate mare, glimmering with light began dancing amidst the smoke. Her swirling mane remained perfectly in tact as she took graceful leaps, it appeared as though she was dancing on a cloud. The diamonds on her rear glimmered and changed colour in the strobe lights, as her body drifted along rhythmically to the music. Spike felt his heart thumping violently, as the mare turned to face him, adopting two large ocean blue eyes. She ceased her performance, and for a moment, simply stared. Spike felt himself being lifted from his seat, as the mare in turn took small, slow steps to meet him. She looked even more beautiful close up, Spike noted; he wanted her. And it seemed as though she wanted him too.
"Rarity..." He whispered under his breath, as they both leaned toward one another.
The mare pursed her lips, Spike did the same. For a brief moment, he had noticed the mares lack of a horn, but his mind was too far gone for him to dwell upon it. He closed his eyes, and the two finally made contact....
At that moment, the pony silhouette collapsed and disintegrated, and in it's place, a striking yellow skinned face. The ocean blue her eyes became a piercing magenta.
"Wha... what the..." Spike could barely speak; he was so woozy, so disorientated, and then....
*Thud*
~*~
Spike struggled to open his heavy, exhausted eyes, but when he did, hers were still there.
"Wake up, dragon."
Despite the sharp, strict tone, the seduction in her voice was still present. It took a moment for Spike's head to stop spinning, and his vision to fully return, but when it did, the dragon could immediately tell that he was no longer at the Red Raven. Instead of the rusty bar stool, Spike now sat in a wooden chair in a dark, cold room. It was rare that dragons felt the cold at all, being such warm blooded creatures, but it didn't take Spike long to realise why this time was an exception - he was naked.
Gasping, Spike attempted to stand, but to his horror the dragon discovered his claws had been tied tightly to the back of the chair with a thick rope that also trailed around his lower waist, just above his groin - he could barely move at all. Struggling in his bonds, he tried to identify his dreary surroundings, while the mysterious female continued to gaze at him silently. Almost everywhere was coated in shadow, and the only light came from a tiny window overhead; he had conveniently been placed in the path of this light. The faint sound of dripping could be heard in the distance, and he could vaguely make out the shape of storage boxes and other objects nearby, and perhaps a few pipes... but nothing more.
"Wh...where am I?" Spike asked, "what are you...."
*Slap*
Without warning, she struck him firmly across the cheek with her palm.
"Uhhh..." Spike was pretty good at taking pain, but in his intoxicated state, the force had made him feel rather giddy.
"I'll be the one asking the questions." The female replied with a twisted smile. "What were you doing at the Red Raven tonight? Seems a pretty odd place for a dragon to hang out. You almost destroyed me, do you realise?"
"D...destroyed... what? I..."
*Slap*
It was difficult for Spike to think, never mind talk, but he soon came to the realisation that he had little choice in the matter.
"I was... there for the show. It was recommended to me by...."
*Slap* *Slap*
"Ouch!" Despite his thick scales, Spike's cheeks were beginning to feel sore. What was worse; he had answered her question, and she had still slapped him. There appeared to be no way out.
"I know you were there for the show, stupid! What do you take me for?" The female snapped, as though he had just brutally insulted her intelligence. "You heard about me, didn't you? You heard what happened when I sang in Scorches, didn't you? You thought you'd check me out, you thought you could beat me?"
Spike opened his mouth, intimidated at how angry his capture was becoming, but decided against making a single comment. He knew very well that whatever he said would not be good enough for this woman, and would only warrant another slap. Scorches was a semi-well-known dragon bar located on the outskirts of town. Spike had passed it a few times, and it was definitely not to his taste. The exterior alone was unwelcoming and eerie, with a shoddy paint job consisting of the darkest tones of odd colours. The tiny windows had been positioned so high, that only a dragon or pegasus could see inside, and nothing but dead plants were scattered around the door.
"I almost lost tonight because of you. It took all of my strength to keep it together. I knew you dragons were going to come after me, you are never satisfied until you've completely destroyed someone for the sake of building your own selfish egos. I can't stand dragons! I hate dragons! I should just kill you right now."
The female reached into her skirt, and took out a weapon unlike any Spike had ever seen. Visually, it was a small dagger, but the blade was shaped and glowed like a blue flame. It was difficult to tell whether it was on fire or not, but either way, the sight of the object drove a flash of fear into the dragon's mind. It was almost instant, like thunder, and it confused him greatly.
For the longest time, Spike had not feared death. He had not been concerned with his health, his wealth, or his social status. In fact, there were times when he had almost longed for death, times when he came extremely close to taking his own life, with nothing stopping him but the tiny thought of inconveniencing others. However, here he was, in immediate danger, unable to move, unable to protect himself, trapped with a crazy, angry, female who hated dragons - and he didn't want her to kill him.
"I've always wanted to see what's inside a dragon." The female held the knife close to his neck, licking her lips at the fear in his eyes.
Spike felt his heart pound,
"No... don't!" He shook his head, as she trailed the blade down his chest, his stomach, and lower. "I don't know who you are! I swear! Don't kill me! Please." He panicked.
The dagger was now held at his lower abdomen, and the wicked female grinned as she ever so softly touched him with it. Spike gasped - the blue flame wasn't warm, it was ice cold to the point it was unbearable. It sent shudders through his entire body, and he couldn't keep from screaming.
"AAAhhhh!!!!" He tilted his head back and cried, as the flat side of the blade was slowly, torturously, stroking him.
Judging by the female's facial expression, the more he suffered, the more her anger seemed to subside. Her scowl lifted, her eyes softened, and her sharp mouth turned into a content - but still sadistic - smile. She continued to torment him, causing agonizing screams and wails from her prisoner, and then... fire.
Spike hadn't breathed fire in an incredibly long time. He was first told it was a symptom of his depression, but later came to believe the amount of alcohol and other substances he had consumed over the years was also a major factor. He had almost completely given up on trying. After all, why did a dragon who hung around with ponies need fire, anyway? However, now it had happened. He had done it, and in one huge, vicious wave. It was as though all of the fire inside him had burst out in one go, uncontrollable and unstoppable.
The dragon needed a minute to recover, mentally and physically, and try to grasp some understanding of what was going on.... but when he noticed the badly burned female lying flat on her back, twitching, he knew he didn't have the time. He had to escape. And call the police.
The weapon which had been used on him now lay on the floor, not far from the chair he was tied to. It's blue flames seemed to have died down a little now that it was no longer in the hands of it's owner. Spike began trying to force his feet and tail towards it, and attempted to shuffle the chair closer. It was heavy and awkward, and it wasn't long before the dragon fully toppled over and fell flat on his face, still attached to it. Grunting in exhaustion and frustration, he relied only on the strength of his jaw and toes to shuffle himself forwards along the cold stone floor. The dagger was now inches away from his nose, but no where near his claws.
The body nearby was making groaning noises as the twitching turned into full movement; she was starting to wake up. Using all of the strength he could muster, Spike opened his mouth and stuck his long, dragon-tongue out to reach the weapon. He managed to touch it, just about. One more thrust forwards, and Spike was able to curve the tip around the heel, and pull it closer to him, ever so slowly. It was a lot of work, but finally Spike had the weapon in his mouth, and was contemplating his next move.
Then.... her limbs began stretching, and her palms touched the floor.
Panicking, the dragon tried everything to maneuver his head in such a way that would enable him to cut the thick rope across his lower abdomen. He managed to graze it, but barely made a dent.
The half-human, half-pony creature began to lift herself. Her hair was singed, with some of it missing, and the scales covering the entire front of her body were coated in ash. She positioned her feet, and steadily rose, just as Spike was struggling to make contact with the rope a second time.
"You." She glared, more furious than ever, panting as though unable to contain her fit of rage.
Spike's heart pounded so heavily it caused pain in his chest; he was out of time. The female approached, and gave him a violent kick across the snout, forcing him to drop the dagger and his head to turn away from her.
Wasting no time, she picked up the weapon, and drew closer, casting a shadow over her poor, shaking victim.
Then, Spike realised something. Something he should probably have realised a while ago. The dragon opened his mouth, aimed it at the frame of the wooden chair, and cast all of his breath upon it. The entire thing immediately turned to cinders, along with the rope which once bound him.