//------------------------------// // Hole-in-the-Wall, Part 2 // Story: The Many Faces of the Crowd // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// The meetup was entering its final minutes, and the last few frigid drops a gin and tonic dribbled down my throat. I’d had to branch out a bit in drink tastes during my search, since you couldn’t get away with ordering Buck Light everywhere. “So why do y’like alcohol?” asked Lackaday. She was a teetotaler, as she loathed the taste of beer in a way that made Nightmare Moon’s loathing of the day seem like the height of tolerance. “Dulls the pain, mostly.” I hadn’t needed its analgesic properties tonight, though; I just liked the taste of gin and tonic. I’d drunk it slowly. “So y’needed t’dull the pain while bein’ wi’ me? Thanks.” If I’d still been drinking, I would’ve choked. “N-no,” I spluttered in horror, “I- I didn’t mean-” “I’m kiddin’!” Lackaday said with a chuckle. “Sorry, jus’- I dunno.” “No, no, you’ve been great!” And she had been. Tonight, I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in moons: contentment. “Tonight was…” I swallowed. “Th-thanks for… for being here. Sorry about… how I’ve been.” “Ah, forget about it.” I didn’t think Lackaday could dismiss the way I’d wronged her so casually, but she did. “Jus’ lemme know if y’need ’elp wi’ somethin’. I wanna ’elp, now that you’re takin’ it.” Lackaday downed the last of her juice and pushed away from the table. “And, sorry, that time, gotta run.” “Yeah, no, that’s fine. See you, and thanks for coming out.” “Anytime.” Lackaday put a few bits on the table to pay for her drink and left me alone at the table. I twirled the lime dregs around the bottom of my cup. I’d forgotten how much she meant to me, and I hadn’t realized it until I’d driven her away. And once I went back to her, admitted I was wrong, she welcomed me with open hooves. She hadn’t even done anything besides talk, and I felt lighter than I had the past few weeks. Out of curiosity, I twisted around to see if Lackaday had gone yet- -and saw a mare enter with a walk that was almost-but-not-quite casual, just a little taut, like she was struggling against rubber bands. I’d never seen the mare before, but I knew that walk. I rapidly became incredibly interested in my empty cup. Figured. All that effort searching for her, and I found her again the same way I’d found her the first time: sheer dumb luck. I looked at the bar for a moment. She was looking in the mirror again; I couldn’t tell if she’d recognized me. Like all the other times, she was perched on the barstool, alone. But she didn’t look lonely. At least, I didn’t think she did. I fell back into waiting, the same way I had all those nights ago. I wallflowered and she sat. Somepony eventually approached her, words were exchanged in similar accents. I tensed. A few minutes later, she excused herself, just as I was expecting. For a second, I entertained the idea of finally dropping it, now that my life might be slowly reforming. But, no, I couldn’t do that, not now. I’d just go about it a bit differently: I’d go up to her, I resolved, and ask her what was up, and that would be that. Questions answered, no more problems. Drinks long since paid for, I exited the bar. The streets weren’t busy enough to hide in a crowd; she couldn’t’ve gone far. I looked ahead. Didn’t see her. Looked left. Didn’t see her. Looked right. Caught the last few hairs of her tail disappearing into a nearby alley. It wasn’t a long trot, and I soon rounded the corner. Nopony except a batpony lounging against the wall. I was glacial on the uptake. I was turning around to go back into Hole-in-the-Wall when something hit me on the side and pinned me against the brickwork. The batpony was in my face, fangs bared. “Stop following me,” she hissed. She tried to sound threatening, but some part of me heard her pleading. Maybe that was why I wasn’t as scared as I should’ve been. I managed to turn my head so we could see eye-to-eye. “Sorry?” “Leave me alone!” Maybe this was her real voice; it had more sibilance than her others, with too much emphasis on the esses and the effs and the vees. “Don’t play stupid! Half the nights I’m out, I see you somewhere, and I need to keep looking over my shoulder, and-” “I’m not gonna turn you in, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She blinked. Leaned away a bit. Her mouth slackened enough to cover her fangs. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. “Being a changeling’s not illegal. And I don’t think you’re hurting anypony. Anybody.” She wasn’t a pony; would she find “anypony” offensive? After a moment, she backed away, letting me go free. “L-look, I- j-just leave me alone, okay? I-I-” “Are you lonely?” She and I stared at each other. I wasn’t sure where the question had come from. My night with Lackaday, most likely. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was; maybe she didn’t, either. The staring match continued. When she spluttered words out, she was using my accent again. “N-no, i-it’s- I- I don’t-” She turned, ran a few paces, took off straight up. “You know where to find me!” I hollered into the night. Yeah, right, like she’d come back for my help. It was probably her demand that set things straight for me: she wasn’t my business. I should leave her alone. Well, for better or worse, I had a slew of free nights, now. I wondered if Lackaday was open the day after tomorrow.