The Olden World

by Czar_Yoshi


Blueleaf Bar

"Well... I guess this looks like a bar?"

Valey dug in her ear with a wing, standing on three hooves and holding Redshift with the fourth, staring at an ordinary, closed door in the wall. It was where the stallion had directed them, there was a sign proclaiming it as such, and a healthy din emanated from behind the barrier, yet... "Who leaves the door closed on a place like this?" she protested. "Bars are supposed to be inviting!"

"Remind me," Maple said tiredly, sitting beside her, "why are we going here, exactly, again? I mean, me and Starlight are exhausted and we need to rest, but is a bar really-?"

"Hey, relax!" Valey shrugged. "We're going to a bar because they're usually no-questions-asked with enough leniency that everyone will love it if we have to solve a problem by force, and because this is the middle of the day and most ponies will have finished their lunch breaks so there'll probably be a ton of room for us to sit around and rest. We can also get food, and places like these are notorious for having interesting characters so we might even run into someone cool. See? Watch."

She pushed the door open... and her ears quickly fell. "Oh. Wow. That's weird."

The interior of the bar was filled with warm, orange light, and even more filled with ponies. At least two dozen round tables were spread across the floor, each intending to seat six and some seating more, with few less than full. Behind the bar, a fat stallion polishing a mug gave them no notice, which was just as well as the bar stools themselves had no vacancies either. So little room was there that some ponies even stood or sat on the edge of a stage where a raggedy band was playing a poor harmony of a bagpipe, drum and accordion. A pegasus stumbled past them on her way out, muzzle dripping with foam, as a gray-bearded stallion raised a mug and shouted something obscene in her wake.

"Lunch break..." Valey's jaw stayed where it had fallen. "Not over yet, I guess. Huh. Maybe these all are slackers. Wow, there might be close to two hundred ponies in here. Wow. Oh well!" she chirped, perking back up. "Time to start some minor altercations until this place clears out a little!"


A pair of leafy ears rose from the ground like cute dorsal fins as Valey swam through the shadows, breath held and muscles loose, in search of ponies who could be persuaded to make themselves excusable. Maple and the fillies waited just inside, left against the inner wall rather than the doorway as it made them that much less conspicuous. Bits and bursts of speech floated through the batpony's head, and she snaked left and right, constantly waiting for it to make itself intelligible.

"Pwaaah! Your momma couldn't even keep down twenty of..."

"...so she said - urp! - she really liked my mane, and I..."

"...and that filthy cheater totally ripped me off! Can you believe it!?"

Valey slithered to a halt, her interest suddenly caught. Complaints followed trouble, and at the very least if some stallion was already having a bad day, it wouldn't make too much of a difference if she ruined it further. Not stopping to consider that that might have been a con, she took up residence beneath the offender's table, ears swiveling like radars, pleasantly noting that only three sets of legs dangled from the stools around her.

"So wait, where was this again?" a husky mare's voice asked, probably belonging to a pair of dark green legs that swung freely, not quite touching the ground. Valey sized them up, trying to guess what the rest of the mare looked like, and eventually decided they weren't worth ogling.

"It was just over in Copsewood!" the stallion's squeaky voice chirped back, in a tone that was a single note too high. "Cute place, thought it couldn't hurt to give it some business. Ohhh ho ho boy was I wrong. Tip from a pro? Mercenary work is garbage. We got into way more than we could handle and I had to bail, and now my moral fiber has been, like, stained. Feels like stepping in peanut butter, or something."

"Copsewood?" The mare's voice took on a note of disgust. "Mercenary work? You weren't messing around with the Spirit, were you?"

"Mweeeeh," another voice broke in, slurring. "Moral fiberr... Yyyou shays that while... Urp! While shharing drinks wif ush in... dish plashe! Heh heh hee!"

"Shut up, Randall," the mare droned. "Pickle Punch is enjoying his rant. If you're going to make fun of him, do it creatively. And go rain on your own parade, I want to hear this!"

Beneath the table, Valey resisted her urge to snicker at their names. Sosans got to pick new names for themselves if they ever earned a brand, which meant they might even have been deliberate.

"But Missh... Peanut b-butter! Have you ever heard shuch a bad anacrogy, eh? Eheheh?"

"Grrr... It's called a metaphor!" Pickle Punch broke in. "And you try making one that works, let alone isn't a stupid pickle joke! It's harder than it looks, you know!"

"Relax, Pickle, we're all proud of you," the mare reassured, possibly sarcastically. "Even Randall, when he's not drunk. Which was at least a week ago, but still. You've got a three-day streak going! Maybe some day, you'll stop being a stale joke."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," Pickle Punch deadpanned. "I really hate this name, sometimes. Like, thanks, Mom. Way to tell your kid you believed in him."

"Hhhey, Pickle Punshh..." Randall began, what might have been intended as a lecherous tone in his voice. "Dat'sh Lilac'sh wayy of shaying your pickle jokesh are sheckshy hicurrrrp! And shhe wantsh you to make more..."

"Put a pickle in it, Ran-" Pickle Punch's voice was interrupted by the sound of a forehead hitting wood, followed by the clatter of a mug tipping and a peal of uproarious laughter. "Not again..."

"Ahahahaa..." Lilac cackled, banging the table. "Sorry, Pickle. No more streak for you."

"Oh no..." Randall's voice drooped in disappointment as something golden and frothy began pouring over the side of the table, dripping its way to the already-stained wood floor.

Valey frowned up from the shadows. As much fun as the table's poor attempts at pettiness and humor were getting them, they had distracted themselves from whatever they were complaining about and were making poor progress getting themselves kicked out of the bar.

She shot a glance through the forest of legs to Maple, still tucked safely with the fillies by the entrance, and bit her lip. If the table of ponies wouldn't give her an easy excuse to get them thrown out, she would make one... or perhaps just invite herself and Maple as it was, and see who got awkward first.