It was a simple question.
“Hey, do you know any other good bars or clubs around here?”
Yet everypony in the Hole-in-the-Wall gave me a different answer.
“Check out Precipice Tavern. It’s on the edge of the platform and has some spectacular views.”
“There’s this place at the corner of Fifth Street and Blue Jay Avenue, best drinks ever, super cheap… Oh, what was its name?…”
“Gyroscope Lounge. The food isn’t the greatest, but everypony’s really friendly there and the DJ’s got great taste in music.”
“Mojo’s Dueling Piano Bar and Restaurant has… Do I need to explain it? Dueling pianos.”
I suspected that if I combined all my answers, I’d have every bar and club in Canterlot, including the illegal ones.
I’d tried to let her go, to forget about it. It’s not my business, I repeated to myself, over and over and over and over and over. I tried to ignore the nagging Why? She was scared of me, maybe paranoid I’d turn her over to the Guard; that was why she ran. Even if I looked, she’d be hiding from me.
But I couldn’t. I had to find her.
She’d be at bars, I guessed. Places where ponies came and went all the time, even after midnight, and nopony asked questions. Places with crowds, yet somepony on their own wouldn’t look too suspicious. So that was where I went, over and over, never the same place twice. Three or four a night, no alcohol. Alcohol would drop a blanket over my senses. For the most part, I didn’t miss it, to my surprise. Maybe I’d just traded one “hobby” for another. At each place, I checked the bar to see anypony watching in the mirror, checked ponies’ gaits to see if they had her tension, checked everypony who had another pony walk up to them to see if they left early. If I saw her, I didn’t recognize her.
It wasn’t because she noticed me when I stood out. As the small curiosity grew into an obsession, I began plotting out my route for each night, planning to fit in. Going to these nightclubs this night meant lapelled jackets and too much hair gel. Going to those pubs that night meant ratty flannel shirts and cowboy hats. Going to this lounge on that night meant you’d better bring some light, opinionless discussion. And always get yourself clean before going out at all. At every place, order something, like you’re not lurking around. Even if it was necessary to blend in and hide from her, I hated it. It required too much effort. I wondered how easy it really was for her.
I searched and searched. I combed Canterlot for… I don’t know how long. Three or four bars a night might seem like I’d be covering a lot of ground, but Canterlot was a big city. I dove into establishments I wouldn’t’ve looked twice at otherwise. Some nights, I found myself walking more than half an hour to look at places at the other side of the city. At the very least, those nights, I got home tired and fell asleep the moment I hit the sheets.
As the nights wore on, I began feeling stretched thin and listless. I had the energy of a light gem left running for a century. I didn’t could respond much to anypony outside of work. And that was why I did something I never thought I’d do: I let Lackaday speak to me again.
Hole-in-the-Wall. It was where I’d first seen her, maybe she’d be back.
Apropos of nothing, Lackaday dropped into the seat across from me. “Alright, Cobblestone, what’s up? Y’ain’t been ’round ’ere in, wha’, a moon? Y’look terr’ble.”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled. It was automatic from near-burnout; any other time, I would’ve forced myself to ignore her. I scanned the bar. Everypony was at least paired up.
“Y’sure?”
“Yep.” I wasn’t sure why she was talking to me after the way I’d yelled at her all those weeks ago. At least talking with somepony helped disguise me a bit better.
“ ’Cause it sure don’t seem like it.”
“Lackaday, don’t bother. I told you how I felt.” I regretted it, been regretting it for moons, but I couldn’t take the words back.
“Jus’ ’cause y’don’t care ’bout me don’t mean I don’t care ’bout you.”
It took me too long to realize what she was saying; that was a lot of “don’t”s. For the first time in weeks, I stopped looking at the bar and looked at the pony in front of me. I opened my mouth-
“And I don’t know if y’really meant it, anyways,” said Lackaday. “I saw you after. Y’been beatin’ yourself up ’bout it, right?”
I slowly closed my mouth. I nodded.
“I mean, you’re the ’motional type, an’ Risin’ Wind ’ad jus’ left you, an’ maybe I was a bit ’arsh. So: I’m sorry. Sayin’ y’just needed t’get over it like tha’-” She smacked her hoof on the tabletop. “-was way outta line.”
I looked at Lackaday for a long moment. It’d been too long, I realized, since we’d exchanged this many words. “I’m sorry,” I said suddenly. I hung my head in my hooves as the words cascaded out. “I- Just- There was so much sunblasted crap going on, I-”
“You’re forgiven.”
“-wanted to yell- at some… Huh?”
“You’re forgiven. I woulda said it earlier, but you… Y’know.”
“…Just like that? Really?” It was almost too good to be true. But then, Lackaday had been like that.
“I known y’for almost a decade, Stoney. Y’ain’t forward ’nough, y’keep too much inside an’ don’t talk when y’should. I know y’really mean it.”
“I do not keep too much inside.”
“Sure y’do. You’re doin’ it now, makin’ excuses to no’ tell me what’s up. An’ what’s up don’t seem ’ealthy.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Tipsy Trotter. So no-frills and drink-focused you couldn’t not fit in as long as you had a container of liquid in front of you.
“So y’jus’… think you’ll rec’nize ’er?” asked Lackaday quietly. She’d insisted on coming with me for the night. I couldn’t bear turning her away.
“From her walk, from somepony who’s at the bar alone examining other ponies. Maybe, I don’t know.”
“Kinda… I dunno. Unlikely.”
“It’s the only way I can follow her.”
O’Reinigans. The kind of place where you could get your bill waived if your bar fight was entertaining enough.
“I’m jus’ sayin’, y’don’t need t’spend every night followin’ ’er. Take a night off.” Lackaday ducked under a flying barstool. “Y’look like y’been run over by a carriage.”
“That sounds nice, but I-” I paused so I wouldn’t be drowned out by the sound of shattering glass. “-but I don’t know what I’d do. I’ve been-”
“We’re talkin’ again. Wanna jus’ ’ave a night out, you an’ me? Spend an hour conversin’?”
I was more pleased by the idea than I thought I’d be, but- “It’s not much. You’d be okay with that?”
Lackaday brushed some splinters from her mane. “It’s a start t’get us back on track, ain’t it?”
“…Alright, sure. When, tomorrow?”
“Sure. I got time. Hole-in-the-Wall?”
And it was set. In hindsight, maybe the timing was fate, but I think it was just a wild stroke of luck.