//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Absinthe Makes the Heart Go Yonder. // by Tumbleweed //------------------------------// If, for whatever reason, my pension ran out, I suppose I could make a living teaching geography. I've traveled the length and breadth of the world, setting hoof in just about any kingdom you can name: Saddle Arabia, Neighpon, Griffinstone, and so on. On the other hoof, I imagine I would make a terrible teacher, as I doubt a first-hand account of where to find the best cocktails or the flirtiest fillies in any given locale is on the average school's curriculum. And yet, there's one place-- one strange, terrible, nameless place –that horrifies me more than the rest, even all these years later. It's the sort of thing that made my brief jaunt in Tartarus seem like a vacation in comparison. The irony is, I'm still not certain if the following account was something that actually happened, or if the whole thing was merely a strange, hallucinogenic episode brought on by my own vices.* Still, I find myself compelled to chronicle this particular episode, for posterity's sake, if nothing else. *According to Princess Twilight Sparkle, either option is possible. The trouble started, as trouble often does, in Ponyville. I thought I could while away a quiet weekend with Carrot Top, tucked away in her cozy little cottage. No missions, no murders, no monsters. Naively optimistic, perhaps, but for once, things were relatively quiet for both Special Agent Golden Harvest and Equestria's most celebrated coward. And for the first day, things remained that way-- that is, until a pink pony jumped out of Carrot Top's refrigerator during brunch. She caught me mid-sip of my coffee, and I nearly drowned myself as the piping-hot liquid went down the wrong pipe. Better than screaming in startled terror, I suppose. Carrot Top, however, did not spring into instant, murderous action, as one would expect from the Equestrian Intelligence Office's premiere hoof-to-hoof combatant. Instead, she calmly kept buttering her toast as the refrigerator-pony bounced around the room. “PARTY TIME!” the plump pink pony said. “And you're invited!” “What's the occasion, Pinkie?” Carrot Top smiled, and took a bite of her toast. “It's Twilight's Moved-To-Ponyville-To-Discover-The-Meaning-of-Friendship-Versary, duh! Didn't you mark your calendar?” “Must have slipped my mind.” “Well! Good thing I came by!” The pink pony pulled an envelope from a saddlebag and plopped it onto the table in front of Carrot Top. “Everypony in town is gonna be there! There's gonna be music, and drinks, and snacks, and balloons, and it's going to be great! And you can even bring your plus-one here!” The pink pony made a show of winking suggestively in my direction. “Thanks, Pinkie.” Carrot Top dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Should we bring anything? There's not a theme, is there?” “Nope! Just be there at six o'clock, and be ready to smile! I'll see you there, right? Right?” Her voice took on a slightly mad tone. “Of course.” Carrot Top said. “Great! I'd love to stay and chitchat more, but I've got a lot of work to do if I'm gonna personally invite every pony in Ponyville before the party starts! Byeeee!” And with that, she dove through an open window, and galloped off. “Who--” I wheezed, finally recovering from my coffee-induced asphyxia, “Or what was that?” “Oh, that? That's Pinkie Pie. She's always like that.” “That's terrifying.” “You get used to it.” “That's more terrifying.” “Sentry, after everything you've been through, she's what you're afraid of?” “She jumped out of your refrigerator. How did she even get in there?” “I've found it's best not to ask.” “That's ... probably a good point.” I admitted. “But are you sure you want to go to whatever bacchanal she's putting on?” “It'll be fine.” Carrot Top smiled. “Only about a quarter of Pinkie's parties end with something catching on fire. Which is probably better than your rate, now that I think of it.” “That thing at the Grand Galloping Gala wasn't my fault, and you know it. I was just the first one who saw that fireworks cart explode.” “A likely story.” Carrot Top leaned across the table and kissed me on the cheek anyway. “But this should be fine. Pinkie Pie knows everything there is to know about throwing a party. She sets up the decorations, bakes the food, mixes the drinks-- she's probably the best bartender in town, now that I think of it. You'll have fun, I promise.” “I'm holding you to that.” And for a while, Carrot Top was right. I did have fun. Princess Twilight Sparkle's castle was big enough to hold the entire population of Ponyville, and then some. Ponies laughed, danced, drank, flirted, and otherwise amused themselves. Carrot Top and I made our token hellos to Princess Twilight Sparkle herself, and then retreated to the periphery. Thankfully, the Princess had more than enough to keep her busy. If she spent too much time with me, Princess Twilight would no doubt fall in love with me (again) and/or send me off on some new and horrible quest so I could get myself nearly torn to shreds “for the good of Equestria.” Again. Thankfully, no such missions or assignations were in the making. At first, it seemed the worst I'd have to deal with was a blue pegasus who had an obviously-dyed mane, a damned impressive wingspan, and an embarassingly low tolerance for alcohol. “I don't get it.” The pegasus squinted at me, critical. “If you're so great, how come you're not a Wonderbolt?” “Rainbow!” Her friend, a frankly stunning unicorn with a posh accent, scolded her. “Don't be rude!” “It's a valid question!” The pegasus said. “No, no, it's fine.” I waved a hoof, airily. “She's right-- I'm not cut out for the Wonderbolts. I've always been more ... well, hooves on, I suppose. Which is how I got this scar--” I turned my head so the pegasus could see the dueling scar Carrot Top had given me when we first met.* “And this one--” I showed off the thin white line drawn down my right foreleg.** “And this--” I concluded the tour by stretching my wings out to show the slightly miscolored spot where a clump of feathers grew back after a flying monkey bit them off.*** *See: The Prisoner of Zebra. **See: Sentry at the Charge ***See: Carrot & Stick. “How ... devoted of you.” The unicorn said, looking faintly queasy. “Whoa!” The pegasus, in the meanwhile, marveled. “That's hardcore.” “All in the line of duty.” I said at my most heroically dismissive. That was the real key to banking on one's reputation-- a braggart can boast all he likes, but the real way to impress ponies was to act as if getting chewed on by dragons was just another day at the office. It's the sort of thing I like to trot out for free drinks, but it's also wonderful for taking the wind out of somepony's sails if they're being a prat. But, just to twist the knife a little more, I added on: “Though now that I think of it, I did fly with the Wonderbolts once-- Charge of the Flight Brigade, you know.” “Wait. You were there?” The pegasus said. “Leading the formation, actually.” I said, offhoofedly. “I think somepony even wrote a poem about it.” “That ... that's really ... that's wow.” The pegasus' suspicion morphed instantly to a more intrigued look. “So, uh ... you wanna like, race or something sometime?” “Rainbow.” The unicorn cleared her throat. “I think we've taken enough of the good fellow's time, don't you?” And with that, she none-too-discreetly started dragging her friend towards the other side of the party. “It's been a pleasure, Mr. Sentry!” the unicorn said with forced cheer. “Somebody's popular.” Carrot Top, who had remained silent through the whole conversation, looked up at me and arched a brow. “For the record, she was flirting with me.” I noted. “Rather badly, too. It's a lucky thing her friend was there to pull her away before she could embarrass herself further.” “Uh-huh.” Carrot Top rolled her eyes, and nudged me playfully. Her eyes may have been green, but thankfully she was hardly the jealous sort. “And that bit with the scars? It's a good thing I've got a good poker face, otherwise I would've died laughing.” “It's not my fault some mares find my scars attractive.” I said, even as the two of us made for a dark but cozy alcove behind a large crystal pillar. “I don't.” “That's because you're responsible for most of them.” “I'm also responsible for why you're still here to show those scars off.” “That goes both ways. How many times have I saved your life, now?” “I've lost count.” “So have I.” With each quip, Carrot Top and I edged closer and closer to each other, 'til we stood nose to nose-- and then lips-to-lips a short while after that. In retrospect, we quite insufferable, to be honest-- one of those couples, prone to devolving into flirty inside jokes and the like. Only in our case, our flirty inside jokes came from a career of espionage and mayhem. At least we had the common courtesy to keep our canoodling comparatively concealed. A short bit later, Carrot Top put a gentle hoof on my chest and pushed me away. “Easy, Sentry. We're supposed to be having fun.” “Oh, I am.” I said, and leaned in again. Carrot Top laughed-- a delightful sound –but turned her lips away from mine at the last moment. “There'll be time for that later. I didn't drag you to this party just so we could make out in the corner.” “No?” “My bedroom's more comfortable anyway.” “Ah.” “Just consider it ... incentive.” Carrot Top patted me on the cheek. “Now, I've got to use the bathroom-- try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone.” “How much trouble could I get into in the time it takes-- wait, no, don't answer that.” Carrot Top laughed again, kissed me on the cheek, and slipped off. I watched her go (quite the pleasant sight, I might add) until she disappeared around a corner. And so, with my date temporarily gone, I opted to get a drink. And so, I wound my way through the crowd-- I supposed I could have just flown over their heads, but I didn't want to attract too much attention. I skirted the dance floor, finally coming to the well-appointed bar set up in one corner of the hall. “Hi Flash!” The pink pony from before popped up from behind the bar, this time wearing a bow tie. “Want the special?” “There's a special?” I said. “Yup!” The pink pony immediately set about a complicated, practiced ritual involving a stemmed glass, a slotted spoon, a bottle of some ominous green liquor, and a sugarcube which she set on fire. She blew out the flame, stirred the sugar into the liquor, and then pushed the resulting concoction to me. “And ... just what is this, exactly?” “Absinthe! It's super special and hard to get and it's like forty percent alcohol by volume!” “Intriguing.” I said, and took a sip of the sweet-but-bitter liquid. It seared its way down my throat, and I licked my lips. “Not half bad, either.” I took another swig, drinking a good third of the cocktail in one go. With the amount of sugar in the cocktail, the absinthe went down pretty easily. Too easily. A proper drink is something you want to savor, not guzzle down like so much fruit soda. (Not that absinthe tastes anything like fruit soda, but you get the idea). “I knew you'd like it!” The bartender pony said, and bounced away, balancing a tray of pintglasses on her head. “Let me know if you start hallucinating!” She called out as she pranced off. “Wait what?” A familiar warmth spread out from my chest as the alcohol began to kick in. At least, I hoped it was the alcohol I was feeling. I'm no lightweight (indeed, carousing is one of the few things I'm actually good for), but the Absinthe-and-sugar concoction the pink pony foisted on me was potent stuff. I took a step away from the bar, only to find my footing far less solid than I would have preferred. The whole ballroom swayed, as if it'd been put on a gently rocking boat. Thankfully, that was the worst of it: no hallucinations. Yet. I glanced around for Carrot Top, but she was nowhere to be found. Still in the ladies room, I supposed. Which seemed like a good idea, once I thought about it. I'd already had two or three drinks before the absinthe, so a visit to the facilities seemed like a good idea. And so, I waited 'til the world stopped rocking before setting out down a side hallway. It was about then when I realized I had absolutely no idea where the bathroom was. You'd think somepony would have put up a sign or something for the party, but there were none to be found. I wandered lost for a time, and finally staggered into what had to be Princess Twilight Sparkle's famous library. For the most part, it was just what would expect-- every inch of wall space was taken up by bookshelves, which were in turn stuffed with books on nearly any subject you could name (and quite a few more you couldn't). A few tables and chairs were arranged about, each bit of furniture 'decorated' with a stray book-- Princess Twilight's latest research, or perhaps just casual reading. What I didn't expect, however, was the mirror. It seemed to be a more recent addition from the last time I'd visited Princess Twilight's palace, as I didn't recall seeing it then. It was a rather large affair, surrounded by odd brass contraptions sticking out from the frame. Modern art, I supposed. Though it seemed a bit uncharacteristic for the princess-- after all, wasn't the whole point of a library to stick one's nose in a book, rather than waste time ogling one's own reflection? Princess Twilight never struck me as particularly vain or conceited; the mirror must have been a gift. Still, I was glad to find it. The absinthe had me feeling slightly off-kilter, but thus far hadn't produced any hallucinations like that pink pony had warned about. But, just to be sure, I trotted up to the mirror, using it to take stock of myself. And, thankfully, I was still my own handsome self. There was the same strong jaw, windswept mane, and the faint dueling scars to add just a dash of dangerous mystery. No wonder that pegasus with the dye job had thrown herself at me. Better yet, my eyes weren't bloodshot, nor was my reflection talking back to me, so perhaps the effects of the absinthe were overstated. That, or my well-practiced liver was enough to filter out the worst the absinthe had to offer. Either way, I figured I'd be fine-- in fact, I resolved to get another drink (albeit something lighter-- a cool Chardoneigh, perhaps) once I got back to the party. By then, Carrot Top would likely be done with her business, and then the two of us could flirt and dance and otherwise be one of those saccharine-sweet couples you see prancing about on Hearts and Hooves day like they invented the concept of romance. I found myself looking forward to it. And so, with this in mind, I took a moment to make sure my hair was perfectly arranged, then winked at my reflection. “Good luck, you handsome bastard.” I told myself, and playfully rapped upon the mirror-- --which is when all the machinery sparked to terrible life, and the mirror pulled me in.