//------------------------------//
// Tequila and Chardonnay 
// Story: Lágrimas del Corazón 
// by Marcibel 
//------------------------------//

“Fuck! No-no-no!”

Berry Punch wiggled the lever of the beer tap, her mutter sinking to the bottom of the bar’s sea of noise from a packed Saturday night. The nozzle hissed like an offended cobra, spitting foam and air into an empty glass mug. She examined every part of the draft, from the tap to the keg, and nothing seemed out of place. Tightening the hose in places where she could, she pulled the nozzle again, uttering a small prayer under her breath. The nozzle coughed up a spurt of foam. 

“Fuck off!” she yelled, delivering a swift kick to the keg with her forehoof. Of course the damn thing had the audacity to quit during a busy! It had already been repaired once this month. Berry feared the old thing might be on its last leg. 

She returned to the stallion at the bar that ordered the glass. 

“Sorry, Caramel, the tap’s being…difficult. You want something else instead?”

“Just, uh, get me a bottle of Buck Light then.” 

She offered him a nod and grabbed one from the cooler nearby. The edge of her hoof wedged against the cap and popped it off with dramatic flair. The cap flew over her shoulder and landed into a trashcan by the back wall. She allowed herself a little self-satisfied grin; it was a little trick she picked up.

Berry slid the bottle to Caramel and caught the bits tossed in return, dumping them into the register with an exhausted sigh and slamming the drawer shut. 

Rubbing her temples with a hoof, Berry Punch trotted to the corner of the bar where it angled sharply, connecting to the wall nearest to the door. Vinyl Scratch, with her signature shit-eating grin glued where it usually is, sat on the other outside of the bar. She was popping peanuts into her mouth with her magic, with a half glass of rum and cola and ice sitting next to her. The various neon filtering through the bar reflected a rainbow in the fuschia lens of her glasses. 

Next to her sat a can of strawberry soda and a vacant bar stool. 

“You should probably hire somepony,” was the first thing out of Vinyl’s mouth as Berry reached the end of the bar. “You’re going to work yourself to death.”

“And who’s going to pay them? You?” Berry asked, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Her hoof found a half-empty bottle of tequila, the label still glossy and fresh, and a shot glass sitting atop a small, locked cooler. “The draft is broken again.”

“I saw. Your kick really showed it who’s boss.” Berry glared at her, and Vinyl donned a wry smile. “What’s wrong with it this time?”

“Oh, that’s the fun part—I don’t have a damn clue.” Berry unscrewed the cap and poured a shot to the rim. She took the glass by her teeth, and swiftly tossed her head back, letting the spicy golden ambrosia hit the back of her throat. The burn had never disappeared, but it had over the years twisted into a pleasant feeling, like dipping into a fresh tub of hot water. Her head leaned forward and dropped the glass onto the bar. “Probably going to have to call the repairpony tomorrow to see when I can get it fixed—if I can get it fixed.”

Vinyl’s mouth twisted into a frown. “You know, I can loan you—”

“No!” It boomed over the crowd and blaring jukebox speakers. Berry's eyes had an inferno inside them as she stared down Vinyl. “I’m up to my withers in debt already, and I’m not borrowing a bit more!” Berry poured another shot and inhaled, sighing as the buzz grew. “Ah, that’s better.” She glanced at the soda. “Where’s Strawberry anyway?” 

“Right here!” said a shadow passing over Berry. A pegasus mare settled into the empty seat. “Sorry, had throw up.” 

“Great, I look forward to cleaning that later,” Berry replied. “Did you at least get most of it in the bowl?”

Strawberry scoffed. “I always get—” 

Berry leaned against the bar, eyebrow raised. 

“Yes,” the pegasus sighed, “I got most of it in the bowl.” 

“Thank you. That’s all I ever ask for.” 

“Hey,” Vinyl butted in, “how come you make me clean my puke from the bathroom when I make a mess?”

“Three reasons: first, she’s my cousin. Family is important. Second, she let me stay with her when I was getting things settled back then. 

The mother-to-be cradled the slight bump protruding from her belly.

“You, on the other hoof,” Berry continued, her hoof drifting over and leveling at Vinyl, “have neither of those reasons and couldn’t make it into the toilet if it was the size of a swimming pool.” 

Vinyl sniffed. “Yeah, that’s fair.” Her eyes immediately brightened up, as if a dim lightbulb was lit behind them. “Hey, did hear about Wildfire?” 

Berry shook her head. “No, what is it?” 

“I heard from Pinkie on my way over here that she and Lucky were heading to the hospital because she was in labor.” 

“Oooohhh,” sounded Berry and Strawberry in unison. Berry uncapped her bottled and poured another shot. “How about a toast then, to the lucky couple?” She held up her shot glass, and the others their drinks. “Another one for Ponyville!” And they lazily slammed them together before two sips and a slam of glass against the bar. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Berry saw a pony approach the bar, waving her over. It was Flitter, one of Ponyville’s ever-popular pegasi twins. She looked like the bar was the one thing holding her up. This was certainly going to be her last one, Berry thought as she walked to the dizzy mare. 

“What is it, Flitter?” 

The mare slammed a hoof-full of bits. “Another round for me and my sis!” she yelled over the crowd. 

Berry sighed. “Sorry, Flit, the tap’s broken.” 

Flitter’s expression morphed into a glare—or least it attempted to. It looked more like she was falling asleep. 

“What do ya mean it’s broken?” 

“Means there’s no draft for the night, dumbass. Do you want that hard lemonade you like instead? I’ll charge you tap prices for it.”

Flitter nodded, and Berry trotted to the cooler, throwing it open and pulling out a couple of cold glass bottles. 

The front door swung open, announced by a howling gust of cold February wind. Berry raised her head, her eyes leveling across the crowd to the door, and was struck with curiosity. She raised her brow. 

It was an earth mare. 

An earth mare whose name Berry did not know; it was nothing short of an oddity for a mare who knew everypony in town. 

Despite the powerful neon that illuminated the entire bar, Berry could make out the mare’s colors. A pale yellow coat looking plush and silky smooth. A wine-red and strawberry-pink mane, curling like a spring and framing her smooth, round cheeks. Emerald-green eyes that matched the wool scarf twisted around her neck. 

Something about her, however, looked familiar. Felt familiar. 

Berry glanced over to Vinyl and Strawberry. Strawberry only regarded the new mare with a glance. Vinyl had her glasses down the bridge of her muzzle, exposing her red eyes, a rare occasion for the world. She licked her lips. Berry uttered a small prayer for the poor, unsuspecting mystery mare. 

The mare looked around for a moment, scanning the entire bar for something. She didn’t seem to find it, however, and donned a small frown as a she pushed through the fog of ponies. Berry dragged her attention from the stranger to let her disappear, realizing she had been staring, and took the bottles into a hoof. 

“I’m cutting both of you off after this,” she said as the bottles were sat on the top of the bar. The caps were popped off. They clinked onto the bar, next to the bits. “And for Luna’s sake, don’t fly home. I’d rather not have two pegasi coming from my bar pass out thirty feet in the air.” 

“Oh, come on!” Flitter protested. “When has somepony gotten hurt leaving your bar?”

“Never, because I make damn sure of it.” Berry slid the bottles over to Flitter, who caught them with her wings. “Good night, Flitter. I’ll see you and Chaser tomorrow night.” 

Flitter took the bottles and left. Berry sighed. She could only hope Thunderlane and Blossomforth were sensible ones and helped them home, just in case. 

After scooping up the bits and caps and dumping them all into the register, Berry gave a glance around the bar. She spotted the mystery mare in the back. She was seated at a booth, alone, in the electric blue glow of an overhanging neon sign. Her scarf was discarded to the seat beside her, and her head was propped up by a hoof. Her eyes were always searching for something, drifting from one side to the other like a metronome. They hit Berry and froze. 

Berry nodded to the mare, the dimple in her right cheek appearing with the half-smile she gave. 

The mare averted her gaze and found the bar’s front door to be more interesting. 

Berry flared her nostrils. Rude, she thought, as she spun around and made for Vinyl and Strawberry. 

Berry leaned onto the bar, looking back at the booth with the mare. “Have either of you seen that mare before that walked in?” Strawberry shook her head. 

“I would remember her if I had,” Vinyl stated. Berry could tell she was locked onto the mare. 

Strawberry laughed. “Oh, please. You don’t even remember the names of ponies you take home most of the time.” 

“Hey,” Vinyl said, pointing her glass at Strawberry, “not true. Forgetting it means I knew it in the first place. 

“That kind of behavior is what encourages ponies to spay and neuter their pets,” Berry said, pouring another shot of tequila. Strawberry snickered into a hoof. 

Vinyl shook her head. “Why do I hang out with you two?” 

“Because I helped bail you out of jail twice,” Strawberry replied. 

“And I own the only bar in town. And nopony else is going to put up with your antics.” Berry threw back her head and the shot. The glorious buzz intensified. 

Vinyl started off thoughtful. It looked foreign on her. She’s probably still thinking about the new mare, if not stealing a glance at her every second. 

That was part of the magic of Vinyl’s mirrored glasses; watchful while managing to be overlooked, looking like a space case. 

“Berry, what’s the most expensive wine you have?” she asked suddenly. 

Berry arched a brow at the question. “Uh…”—a mental check of every bottle she owned, in stock or privately—“…I have a seventy-year-old bottle of Domane I got from Granny Cranny. It’s worth about three thousand bits.” She narrowed her eyes and the unicorn casually took a drink. “Are you seriously thinking about blowing three-fucking- thousand bits on a mare that probably doesn’t even swing that way?!” 

Vinyl shrugged. “You know I’m good for it.” She waggled a brow. “And you get the bits for a new draft.”

Berry chewed her lip. Vinyl was good for it, there was no question whatsoever about that. The mare’s music career had soared in the past couple years, and now she was making bits hoof over pastern. 

And the bits. The amount made her breath hitch and her heart race. With that amount she could definitely install a brand new line! 

But…the bottle was a gift. A gift from her late grandmother, who lived in Prance for the better half of a decade. It was one of a kind. Unique. Irreplaceable. Even at her most parched, she would never considering drinking from it. It was supposed to be used to celebrate the birth of Berry’s first grandfoal, just as she was the first for Granny Cranny.

Except grandfoals weren’t in the cards anymore. 

“Fine,” Berry relented through clenched teeth, “but I expect you to show up tomorrow with a check or a sack of bits.” She trotted to the register, retrieved a ring of a dozen brass and silver keys hanging along the wall, and returned to the locked cooler by Strawberry and Vinyl. A simple brass key was stuck in and twisted, unlocking the padlock. The padlock was discarded onto the bar, and Berry slid open the lid. 

The deep-red bottle of Domane chardonnay sat alone in the top right corner. The gold label had a little fading to it, and one of the corners was starting to peel. The cork had started weathering. 

Berry grabbed the bottle and sat it atop the bar. “Are you one-hundred-percent sure about this? Because once I open the bottle, you are responsible for it.” 

“Sure,” Vinyl said nonchalantly with a shrug, as though a barista asked if she wanted creamer with her coffee.

“Alright.” Berry fetched the corkscrew from a drawer and sat it, the bottle, and the wine glass on a tray. She slid the tray onto her back, and careful as she could, trotted to the mare in the back. 

Confusion plastered itself onto the mare’s face as her eyes laid upon the bottle of wine being sat in front of her. She opened her mouth.

“Compliments of the white unicorn at the bar,” Berry said, pointing behind her in Vinyl’s direction. The mare’s mouth closed and became placid. Berry dug in the corkscrew, and with a twist and a pull, a three-thousand-bit pop fired. Berry took the bottle into her forehooves, balancing on her back hooves, and poured the mare a glass. “It’s a red wine from Prance. Very exquisite.” There was no use in telling her the nature of its price—it was impolite, and an easy way to put off somepony. 

The mare glanced past her, and Berry turned her head just enough to see Vinyl flash the poor mare a devilish smile and raise her drink in her magic. 

“Oh, um…thank you…?” It was a mouse of a voice, barely audible over the rest of the bar. 

Berry chuckled. “Nopony ever bought you a drink before?” 

“No. I’ve, uh, never gone to a bar before…” 

“Ah.” The grin left and returned to Berry’s muzzle in quick succession. “Well, I’m humbled that my bar is your first. Name’s Berry Punch.” 

“R-Roseluck.”

Berry failed to restrain the grin from widening. “You have quite the pretty name.” The other mare slumped in her seat, letting her curls mask her face. “Where you from, if you don’t me asking?”

“Canterlot,” Roseluck replied, fiddling with her hooves. 

And there it was: the thing that no doubt drew Vinyl’s eye. Vinyl had developed a certain fascination with the upper crust of Canterlot, and to Berry it was oh-so obvious why. 

“We get a lot of Canterlot folk around here. Are you visiting or just passing through?” 

“Oh, actually my sisters and I moved here a couple weeks ago. We moved into the old store on…Fifth, I think? We want to start a little flower shop there in the spring.” 

Berry knew of the place; it was an empty old building across the street from Sugar Cube Corner. It was the old Quill and Sofa shop before Davenport moved to somewhere bigger. 

“I see. Welcome to Ponyville, then. I hope you enjoy our…rustic little town. We ain’t got much, just our hospitality.” Berry nodded to the mare and started off, stopping a couple steps away. She turned her head back to Roseluck. “If Vinyl bugs ya too much, you have my permission to sock her one.” 

The mare mouthed an inaudible “Thank you,” and Berry returned behind the bar. 

A couple ponies were waiting to order drinks. Both wanted a pint of tap. Berry mentally sighed and explained the situation to both of them, afterwards serving them their alternatives of choice. 

She looked back at Roseluck. The wine, untouched, was pushed to the side, and she sat bored with an elbow sitting on the edge. Berry pulled her mouth to the side and stepped over to Vinyl and Strawberry.

“Real smooth, Scratch.” Berry poured a shot. “You bought an insanely expensive bottle of wine for a mare that hasn’t stepped in a bar before”—she downed it—“and doesn’t drink.” 

Strawberry guffawed, stifling herself with a hoof. Vinyl reacted by shaking the ice cubes in her glass. Berry rolled her eyes and took the glass. 

“And that’s not to mention,” Berry began, shoveling ice into the glass, “she’s Canterlotian.” 

“Of course she is,” Strawberry muttered into her can of soda. 

Vinyl gave her a sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, please,” Berry started, her head in the refrigerator nearby, “you think we don’t notice these things?” She retracted her head, a can of cola in her hoof. “Nearly every pony I see you raise your tail for anymore comes from Canterlot.” Berry popped open the can and poured it into the glass, adding a splash of Vinyl’s favorite rum. 

“I have a type. So what?”

Berry put in a fresh stirring straw and set the glass on the bar in front of Vinyl. She stared at the reflection in Vinyl’s glasses, and Berry was sure she was looking back. “I know what you’re doing, and replacing her ain’t going to end well.” 

“I’m not—”

“Yes!” Berry slammed a hoof on the bar, leaning inward. “Yes, you are! I’m saying this as a friend, Scratch: stop it!” 

“Hey!” Vinyl shot back. Her teeth clenched and she calmly continued, “At least I’m not drowning myself in liquor like you did.” She exhaled through her nostrils, and her jaw tightened. 

Berry’s hoof found the tequila. She sat it atop the bar, strangling the neck of the bottle. 

Vinyl hopped off the bar stool, levitated her drink, and passed through the crowd. 

Berry watched Vinyl leave, biting her tongue as firmly as possible with her ears pinned flat. Had it been anypony else, she would have thrown the bottle at them, yelled for them to leave the bar and that should they return, they would find another soaring at their head. 

But it was Vinyl. Even her face was red and steam shooting from her ears, she couldn’t do that to Vinyl. 

Berry poured another shot. Her eyes darted back, and she spotted Vinyl standing by Roseluck’s booth. It was still filled by her and her alone. Roseluck looked like she was being off-put by the forwardness. Vinyl slid into the booth, a hint of a wide smile showing slightly, as if nothing happened. 

Berry took the shot, and Strawberry slid over into Vinyl’s seat. 

“Mare’s a damn fool,” Berry said, giving the shot glass a hard stare. 

“I think it’s best for her to learn on her own. You know how hard it can be for something to actually stick for Vinyl. By the way, you got somepony wanting something.” Strawberry pointed over Berry’s shoulder to a stallion leaning on the bar. 

Berry sighed. “What is it, Driz?” 

“I want to buy you a drink, Punchy.” The blue and blonde pegasus produced a bunch of bits and laid them onto the bar.

Berry walked over to Drizzle. “I buy my own drinks, thank you very much.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I told you to never call me ‘Punchy.’” 

“Well then, how about a kiss?”

“Drizzle, I will bust a bottle over your head and feed you the glass.” 

An amused chuckle rolled in Drizzle’s throat. “Fine, fine. Just give me two of my usual then.”

Berry raised an eyebrow. “Two?” 

Drizzle grinned—heavens, Berry loathed that sleazy grin of his—and pointed to a table next to the jukebox. A light pink pegasus mare with a green mane sat straight in a chair. 

“I met up with an old college girlfriend the other day. Tryin’ to, you know, stoke some old flames, maybe get something going again.” 

“Driz, I’ll be honest: I think it’s going to take more than your shitty taste in alcohol to rope her back in.” 

Drizzle shrugged. “Stallion’s gotta try, right?”

Berry uttered a curt sound of disgust and trotted to a cooler on the other side of the bar. Tossing it open, she found the rack where Drizzle’s favorite poison sat, a Griffonstone cider she referred to as “sui-cider,” empty. She mentally facehoofed; she had forgotten to restock it earlier that morning. 

“I’m out of ‘em up here, but I have some in the back. Strawberry, watch the bar for me. You know where the bat is.” 

Her cousin nodded in affirmation, and Berry grabbed the lanyard of keys from behind the register and trotted off toward the old door at the back of the bar. 

As she passed Vinyl and Roseluck, she stole at look to her right at them. Vinyl seemed to not notice, with her eyes fixated on the poor mare in front of her, as her mouth flapped so fast Berry thought it was going to flutter from her face. 

Roseluck did, however, and her ears flattened when her eyes briefly met Berry’s before returning to bore a hole in the adjacent wall. 

Berry wasn’t quite sure whom to feel sorry for: the mare that’s having a midlife crisis, or the victim who has to bear it. 

Through a gnarled door and past the little filly’s room, Berry was in the back hallway of the bar. Her breath became visible in the yellow light from the lone lightbulb—the back was never heated. Only thing back here was the supply closet, the walk-in cooler, and the backdoor. Sometimes, bands would use it to unload and load equipment. 

She unlocked the padlock to the walk-in, pulled the lever on the giant slab of iron for the door, and pushed it open enough to allow her inside. The walk-in exhaled a breath of frigid air that pierced the warmth of the tequila and her temper, cooling her mood a bit. 

Now she only felt annoyed, which was better than being on the verge of throttling somepony. 

The last of the griffon cider was on a shelf above a mountain of cases of Buck. The bottles radiated a bright green; they looked like bottled smooze. Berry climbed a couple boxes to reach it, taking it into her hooves. She stepped down and placed it on her back. 

The cooler door was shut behind her, and the padlock latched in the same fashion. She pushed open the door, keeping the slate balanced, and the bottles rattled. Warmth blasted her. The cacophony roared. As she walked back, she stole another look; nothing had changed between either mare. 

Behind the bar, Berry shelved the cider on the cooler, took out a couple of bottles, and delivered them to Drizzle waiting by the bar. 

“Here, Driz, two bottles of shit cider.” Berry popped off the caps. “And if something happens to her, dump her in the creek and don’t get caught.” 

Drizzle let out another chuckle and took them into his wings. He saluted to Berry with his primary feathers, with that grin still stuck on his muzzle, and trotted off. Berry watched for a second as he gave the mare the cider. They talked a bit, and then she took swig. The mare’s face became as green as her mane, but it stayed down.

Berry humoured a laugh; at least the mare could hold it. She scooped the bits into her hoof, dumped them into the register, and slammed the drawer shut while making her way back to the cooler. Stocking: easily one of the most boring parts of running the bar. 

Bottles were passed from hoof to hoof to the cooler, laid flat on their side. They made them easier to stack that way. One six-pack became two, and two became four. Berry started on the last one, picking up the first bottle as a hellish screech ripped through her bar: 

“I SAID NO! NOW FUCK OFF!” 

The bottle of cider slipped from Berry’s hoof and crashed to the floor, spilling chilled green cider and glass along the floor. She raised her head to see the entire bar was still, staring at the origin of the outburst: Roseluck propping herself on the table with a hoof, the other holding the empty wine glass, sneering and towering over a jaw-dropped Vinyl. Her face and mane were soaked, her fur tinted pink, and drops of the chardonnay rolled down her glasses. 

The silence struck Roseluck. She looked up to see a few dozen eyes looking at her and Vinyl. She plopped down into her seat and shook her head, letting her coiled mane fall back in front of her eyes and her ears wilt. She muttered something to Vinyl. 

Berry looked to the crowd. “Alright, alright, quit your gawking and get back to your business.” 

Everypony turned, and a murmur flared through the bar. Berry looked over at Strawberry. The mare had an astonished look on her face as she stared in Vinyl and Roseluck’s direction, then slowly turned to Berry. 

Berry glanced back at the poor mare on the receiving end of Roseluck’s outburst. She was biting her bottom lip and swirling her glass with her magic. She got up and started through the crowd. She left her half-empty glass on the bar beside Strawberry. 

“Vinyl!” Berry called, stepping over the mess and over to the bar. The grave expression Vinyl wore was something that Berry only witnessed once on the mare’s face. And it hit right in the chest. 

“Oh, yeah,” Vinyl said, stopping just long enough to regard Berry, “I’ll be by later tomorrow to pay for the wine.” She licked her lips. “It’s, uh… It’s pretty good.” And with that, she stepped toward the door. 

“Hey, you want to at least clean up?” Strawberry asked. But Vinyl continued outside, unaffected by Strawberry’s words. 

“I’m going after her,” Strawberry said, hopping off the bar stool just as the door shut. “Going to make sure she doesn’t do something stupid.” 

Berry gave a lazy nod, watching as her cousin finished off the can of soda. “Yeah, that would be for the best.” 

Strawberry laid the can back onto the bar. Her wings flared and she jumped into the air, wrapping Berry into a hug from across the bar. “Love ya, cuz.” 

“Yeah, love ya, too.” The words almost lazily fell out of Berry’s mouth. 

“Don’t worry, Punchy. I’ll catch up with her. Set her right.” 

Strawberry released Berry and flew to the door. A gust of winter wind intruded the bar, blowing back Berry’s mane as she flew into the night after Vinyl. 

Berry heaved a heavy, tired sigh. She could feel a headache coming, thumping through the pleasant buzz of the tequila. A ping of loneliness washed over her; usually Strawberry and Vinyl would stay until closing, keep her company while she cleaned and stocked. Maybe even pitch in. 

She poured herself a shot. Filled the glass to the brim. A couple dribbles breached the sides and slid down to the bar. She effortlessly drank it. The buzz grew and the headache and feeling of loneliness shrunk.

Another sigh—out of relief this time. 

Berry looked up at the large clock glowing a neon blue. The hands read a little past ten o’clock. 

Another two and a half hours. 

Her head pounded again; this was going to be a long night. 


* * *


“Alright, mares and stallions, it’s closing time. You know the rule: you don’t have to go home, but get the fuck out anyway.” 

The bar was already mostly hollow when closing time came around. All that remained were a couple of old farts at the bar, looking like a spoonful of vanilla away from a blackout, and a mare making sorrowful eyes at her appletini. Most of the crowd had stumbled out shortly after last call. 

The trio of stragglers swallowed what was left of their drinks and departed. One of the old stallions had mistook the large storefront window for the door, gently pawing at it until his friend returned for him. 

Berry shook her head. Tonight was…something. Profitable, surely. Enjoyable, not as much. Vinyl did what she normally does, but she didn’t expect to be pushed back. She was going to have to stop by Strawberry’s tomorrow to see what was up. 

She turned and rounded the bar, stopping the moment she laid her eyes on the booth. 

Roseluck was slumped over the table, asleep on her crossed hooves. The wine glass was empty, set alongside the bottle of chardonnay. 

It was an odd affair; a mare that didn’t drink came to a bar and sat alone for three hours, never willingly speaking to anyone. It begged the question: why come here at all? 

An idea struck Berry. One of those that she got when she’s floating between in the middle of the bottle. There was a mystery afoot. And while she was never quite the pony to nose into another’s business—she was simply curious. She grabbed the bottle of tequila she had been working on—now down to a mere third—and a couple of shot glasses. She trotted out from behind the bar and placed them gently on the table in front of Roseluck. 

“Roseluck?” Berry whispered, gently nudging one of the mare’s hooves. 

The mare groaned. She raised her head slightly, and her eyes peeled themselves open to see Berry hovering over her. 

“You slept through the bell for last call,” Berry said. "That’s impressive.” 

“Oh…sorry.” Roseluck yawned, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?” 

“Closing time, sweetie.” Berry slid into the seat across from Roseluck. “But you ain’t going anywhere.” 

Roseluck paused the rubbing and glared at Berry. “Excuse me?” 

“A thing I like to do whenever somepony new moves into town is share a drink with them.” Berry plucked the bottle from the table and poured two shots, one to the brim and one only half. “Chat with ‘em. I know Pinkie has her parties, but I like to have something a tad more personal.” She pushed the half-full glass toward Roseluck. 

Roseluck eyed the shot glass. “I don’t drink.” 

“Hang out with me enough, and you will.” 

Roseluck craned her head, inspecting the drink from every angle her head could reach. 

“It’s a tequila from Dodge Junction.” Berry spun the bottle, directing the frontside of the label at the mare. Lágrimas del Corazón in a fancy typeface, was printed on the front. “My cousin Jubi lives there and helps me get it. It’s spicy and likes to buck going down.” Berry’s eyes darted at the calm golden drinks. “You, uh, know how to do a shot, right?” 

Roseluck raised her eyes to Berry, and a sheepish grin stretched across her face. 

“So, what you do is you take it into a hoof, put it to your mouth and throw back both your head and the glass. Most alcohol burns going down, so you gotta do it quick.” 

Berry demonstrated, deftly gripping her glass with her pastern. The following action was swift and practiced, and not a single drop of tequila was wasted. She slammed the glass onto the table and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. A short smirk appeared on her face. 

“Now,” she began, gesturing to Roseluck and her glass with a hoof, “you try.” 

Roseluck puckered her bottom lip as she glared at the tequila before her. Her nostrils flared slightly, and she took the glass into a quivering hoof. She attempted to mimic Berry’s motions, but misjudged the distance between her muzzle and the glass. The tequila splashed on her face, soaking the fur around her mouth and nose. 

Berry belted out a burst of hearty laughter before shoving the back of her hoof into her mouth to muffle it. She stood up and trotted behind the bar, grabbing a dry cloth towel. She passed it to Roseluck when she returned to the booth. Roseluck patted down her flushed face. 

“Okay, when you throw your head back”—Berry poured her another shot—“make sure you actually put it up to your mouth before you throw your head back.” 

Roseluck nodded and took hold of the glass once more. She pressed her lips to the rim of the glass. Her head tossed back. 

Berry had to admit, she was impressed. Roseluck drank it without flinching from the nasty burn. Although as soon as it passed through, she started hacking up her left lung. 

“You weren’t lying about the buck,” she mumbled weakly and returned to coughing coarsely into her hoof. 

A low chuckle rumbled through Berry. “It’ll take you by surprise less as you go.” She poured two more; Roseluck’s was increased to three-quarters of the glass. Seemed like a good amount for a mare still earning her sea legs. 

Both mares grabbed her respective glass. 

“A toast,” Berry said, “to new friends.” 

They clinked their glasses together and drank. Roseluck tooks her a tad more gracefully, but she was still sent coughing into her hoof—beautiful progress that put a smile on Berry’s face. 

“So, how about a deal?” Berry said. She poured another round. “For every round—shall we say?—we ask the other a question. Get familiar with each other.”

Roseluck licked her bottom lip and gave a small nod. “I guess. I don’t have much to lose.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Berry beamed. She loved when they played along without much needing convincing. “And since you’re my guest, you can have first question.” 

“Oh.” Roseluck rubbed the upper part of her left foreleg. Her glanced sideways. “Uh, how long have you lived in Ponyville?” 

“All my life,” Berry replied with a proud feeling swelling in her words. “Mama grew up here, as did Granny Cranny before her.” She played with the shot glass between her hooves. “Granny Cranny was a part of the group that founded of this town, and we’ve sort of just…made the town ours too.” 

A lull fell onto the bar before Berry spoke up again. 

“Alright, my turn.” As much as she wanted to jump to the big questions, she had to restrain herself. Start small, start curious. “You said you had sisters. What’re they like?” 

Berry saw something bright flash flash behind the mare’s eyes, and Roseluck smiled. It wasn’t the shy grin Berry had been seeing, nor the polite smile she would expect Roseluck to wear during business hours. It was wide, and glowed. 

“Oh, they’re great! Well, Daisy is great. She’s my older sister, and the one who actually knows how to run the business. She’s confident, handy, and smart.” 

“Sounds like you really admire her.” 

Roseluck nodded feverishly. “I do! She’s just the best. Lily, however, isn’t.” 

“Another sister, I take it.” 

“Yeah…” The mare’s ears flattened. “She’s my younger sister, and she can kind of be a…bitch, sometimes.” 

“Ah. I know that feeling pretty well.” Her mouth shaped into a lopsided grin. “I grew up in a family of six: Mama, Papa, and two older brothers and a younger sis. Feuding is a part of growing up with ‘em. Heavens, I didn’t get along with my oldest brother until a couple years ago.” She absentmindedly spun the shot glass in her hooves. “Sometimes, it just takes time.” 

“I suppose…” 

Berry and Roseluck simultaneously picked up their glasses and drank. Roseluck was sent into another harsh coughing fit. 

“I think that’s enough of the tequila for you for tonight.” Berry said, sitting up and taking away Roseluck’s glass. In its stead, she slid over the wine glass and chardonnay. “I think this’ll be more your style anyway.” Half a glass was poured and set in front of Roseluck, then Berry served a similar half-glass for herself. The bottles had just a sliver it in, maybe enough for one more. 

“So, another question, hun?” 

Roseluck looked around the bar, trying to get her eyes to settle on something. The tequila was starting to get to her, it seemed. 

“I guess…uh, how long have you had your bar?” 

“About…eight years now, I think?” Berry’s mind was a bit foggy—guess the shots were hitting her as well. “A long damn time, definitely. A lot has happened in this bar—good times and bad times, miracles and curses, get-togethers and break-ups.” She traced the edge of her hoof along the solid mahogany. “She’s my baby.” The hoof stopped, and returned to caressing the shot glass. “My turn now. Hmm…” 

Berry briefly considered another unintrusive question, but as she stared at the fuzzy shot of tequila, she might not have the time for it. 

“Alright, it’s not too much trouble, what did ol’ Vinyl do to invoke your wrath?”

“Oh.” Roseluck’s reaction was a stark contrast to having been asked about her sisters; the blinding smile didn’t return, her ears wilted, and her eyes looked for anything other than Berry on which to focus. 

“Feel free to skip over it, if it’s not something you want to talk about. It’s just that Vinyl is a long-time friend of mine, and she hurried out the door with her tail in between her legs. And I’m just curious to see what you said that riled her up.” 

Roseluck bit her lip and sighed. “Nothing bad, really. She said a pick-up lines, innuendoes…she really only talked about herself. I had told her a couple times to leave me alone, but she just kept talking and talking and talking—” 

As she recounted what happened, Roseluck’s ears splayed back. Her voice became somewhat gruffer, and her eyes and teeth clenched. Berry didn’t know if that was the alcohol or not. 

“—and then she asked ‘do you want to take this to your place?’” Roseluck mimicked Vinyl’s gravelly voice pretty well, given how her voice was naturally soft. “I excused myself, but she insisted and pressed on. Wanted ‘some good company’ as she put it. I told her I’m not cheap and that I had plans.” Her clenched teeth morphed into a bitter grimace. “After the third time, I just…exploded.” 

Berry entertained a gentle laugh. This wasn’t exactly a shocking revelation. “Yeah, that’s Vinyl for you. She’ll push you to the ends of your patience.” She spun the glass between her hooves, watching the tequila bob and wave. “She tries to be a good friend, though—nowadays, anyway. She used to be way, way worse.” 

Roseluck’s head fell to hooves and she slumped, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I really made…an ass out of myself, didn’t I?” 

Berry reached out and patted the mare. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, hun. When they wake up tomorrow morning, they won’t even remember that you were here.” She noticed that Roseluck’s sour look turned rotten. “I, uh, didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, I know what you mean. Still, most ponies have a tendency to overlook me.” 

“Shame. You’re a cute mare. I would expect you to turn quite a few heads.”

Roseluck giggled bashfully and tilted her head, allowing her bangs to fall in front of her face. She cleared her throat, swinging her head to move the bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t know why your friend approached me in the first place.” 

“Simple: Vinyl has a thing for Canterlot mares. Can pick ‘em out of a crowd. A while ago, she was engaged to one, but in her early career and young stupidity, she just sort of fucked it up.” Berry sighed. “Ever since, she’s been trying to ‘replace’ her.” 

Roseluck bit her lip. “That’s…sad.” 

“It happens.” 

Berry raised her shot glass. It was slow, solemn, and soft. The clink against Roseluck’s wine glass was barely audible over the hum of the coolers.

Berry drank hers, laying the glass back on the table, and perked an ear as a small hum of satisfaction hit it. She smiled. 

“Good, eh?” 

Roseluck gave a slight nod as she kept going. 

“Well, it should be, for three thousand bits.” 

Roseluck snorted into her wine, and she pulled away the wine. “I’m sorry,” she coughed, politely covering her mouth with a hoof. “How much did you say ?” 

“Three. Thousand. Bits. It’s nearly sixty years old, after all.” 

Roseluck regarded the glass in open-mouth awe before setting it down on the table. 

“Your friend—”

“Vinyl.” 

“—yeah, her, she spent that much money on a bottle of wine for me?” 

Berry picked the bottle of tequila. “Vinyl doesn’t do things halfway—it’s all or nothingwith that gal.” She poured the final drips of the tequila in her glass. Only half a glass. It’ll have to do. 

“But…that’s…a lot of bits. And on me. That’s…” She sighed and dropped her head into her hooves. “Now I feel like crap even more over it.”

“Look.” Berry placed a gentle hoof on the mare’s foreleg. “You did nothing wrong, okay? Vinyl didn’t respect your wishes, so you had every right to tell her to fuck off. Don’t let an expensive bottle of wine make you think you were anywhere but in the right.” 

Roseluck’s head bobbed in slow, accepting nods. 

Berry poured another glass of wine for the mare. “But while it’s here, and open, you might as well just enjoy it.” She pushed it back to Roseluck. “Now, I believe it’s time for a new trade of questions. And I have one on the edge of my mind: who stood you up?” 

Roseluck froze. The wine glass was cradled in her hooves, and she stared at the glass. Her ears flattened as she returned Berry’s questioning, expectant stare. “H-How—?”

“Honey, no sane pony falls asleep at a bar, doesn’t mingle, or drink unless they’re waiting for somepony who’s a no-show. And I may have been in your horseshoes before.” 

“Why does it matter to you?” 

“‘Cause I’d like to know what blind pony is leaving young mares out to dry. Just call it a mild curiosity.” 

Roseluck chewed her lip. “His name’s Lucky Clover.” 

Berry scrunched up her face. That didn’t seem right. “Lucky Clover? You sure?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s what he said his name was.”

“Grey coat, oily black mane, four leaf-clover cutie mark?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Uh, well…shit.” Berry propped her head up on a hoof and her jaw went slack. “That’s a real bummer.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“Yeah, there is,” Berry said matter-of-factly. “Lucky’s married. His wife went into labor earlier tonight.” 

Roseluck stared blankly at Berry. Her ears didn’t move, her eyes didn’t shimmer. She didn’t even seem to be breathing. She was a mare stuck in disbelief. 

And Berry didn’t quite believe it either. 

The joyous feeling she had since the news left, and anger quickly took its place. She ached to fetch the ball bat she kept for barfights, go to the hospital, and slug the bastard while he was in the waiting room. She had to will herself to stay, not just for poor Wildfire’s sake, but because she couldn’t leave Roseluck alone at the bar. 

“O-Oh…” came a sudden defeated sigh from Roseluck. She looked as though her spirit had just left with the breath. Her left idly tapped the wine glass. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“No way for you to.” Berry’s voice was even, despite the room slowly spinning and her eyes being fuzzy. “Sometimes, the shit happens and you just don’t know until it’s dumped into your lap.” 

“It’s not just that, actually,” Roseluck said, her face tightening and her brows bunching together. Something flickered behind those emerald eyes. Her ears pinned back. “When I lived in Canterlot, I was always snubbed, forgotten, paid no attention. Daisy was able to go to college. Lily was the baby and always got her way. I got nothing; every single pony that I showed an interest in either didn’t know I existed or had an eye for my sisters. Like I was just a ghost...”

Roseluck’s ears relaxed, and her expression flipped like a switch from loathful to relieved. “I was so elated when we all agreed to move here; start somewhere fresh. Maybe somepony would finally notice me.” And now, from relieved to sullen. Berry found it astounding how this mare changed emotions so quickly. “I met him a couple days ago. He was nice, respectful, and more importantly, he looked at me.” 

The final part of that sentence was said with a heavy marvelousness, as if she herself couldn’t believe it. Roseluck slumped.

“Ugh, stallions,” she sneered. “Why do they have to be such pigs?” 

Berry tried to bite her tongue. But as the comment hung in the air, she couldn’t let that hate fester. It simply wasn’t right. 

“Honey, it’s not just a stallion problem; it’s a pony problem.” 

Roseluck gave a quizzical glare. “What are you saying?”

Berry cocked a brow at the mare, and a whimsical, sorrowful grin appeared. “Would you believe,” she started, turning in the booth and fall to all fours on the floor, “that at one point in time I was a married mare?” 

“You? Married? That sounds like a joke to me.” 

Berry guffawed as her tipsy hooves, through an occasional sway or stumble, carried her behind the bar and to a filing cabinet. A hoof dug at the handle of the bottom drawer. It stuck at first, until two more tugs broke it free. As it rolled out, a wave of mint-scented nostalgia was released. Berry inhaled deeply, and her heart twisted. A lot of good and bad feelings came rushing back with that smell. 

“Well, I assure you it is nothing like that,” Berry said. A hoof dug in the drawer of memories, moving old frames and faded photos. A horn ring box was shifted out of the way. She eventually reached the back, and there it sat: a mahogany picture frame. It faced toward Berry, the photo inside clear and clean as a muggy summer day. 

Just looking at those eyes again—it almost brought the mare to tears. 

“I sometimes can’t believe it either.” Berry blinked away the beginning of tears in her eyes and exhaled the rush of emotions. She grabbed the picture and tucked it against her chest. “But I was, once. A long, long time ago.” Berry pivoted in place, walking back to the booth. 

Berry peeled the picture frame from her chest, placing it face-up on the table between their drinks. Roseluck craned her neck up, trying to get a good peek at the picture. Berry wordlessly waved a hoof, giving the mare the go-ahead. Roseluck pulled the picture in close. 

Berry spared a glance at the photo; white silk caught her eye this time. She chuckled. 

“I still have that dress…somewhere. I definitely can’t fit in it anymore.” 

“Wow…” Roseluck breathed, marveling at the photo. “You look so...so beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” Berry replied simply. She had heard those words a hundred times years and years ago. The sentiment dulled each time it hit her ears. But after so long…it brought a tiny flutter to her heart. 

“You both look so happy and in love.” Roseluck’s ears sank. She looked up at Berry. “I guess this picture doesn’t have a happy ending.” 

Berry replied with the tiniest shake of her head. 

“It started with a trip up to Canterlot—at least, that’s when I suspect that it started.” Berry crossed her hooves and looked at anything other than the photo. “I don’t actually know when, where, or why. As time went on, her trips to Canterlot became more frequent. ‘It’s just work stuff,’ she claimed. And I was so ignorant and believed her. 

Then one day, she left. And she didn’t come back.”

Berry sucked in a deep breath. She held it and exhaled shakily through her mouth. 

“It wasn’t until after two weeks of unreturned letters and nonstop panic that I finally get a letter. But not from her; it was from a divorce attorney.” 

Roseluck looked down at the photo she had been admiring before. Her brow was furrowed, and her mouth was shaped as if she had bitten into a rotten apple. She flipped the photo, exposing the cardboard backside of the frame to the world. 

“I was bewildered,” Berry continued, “and blindsided. I didn’t know what to do, so I sulked in my bar. Drank anything and everything I had, save for this wine.” She gripped the neck of the bottle. She spun it around, examining the label. “Everyday I didn’t drink myself to death was a miserable one. I don’t even remember the divorce precedings. I just remember hearing the shit she spat about finally finding ‘the one’ for her.” 

Another deep breath, spritzed with some good ol’ memories from before and after her.

Roseluck slid out of her side of the booth. She said nothing. Her face didn’t change. She circled around the table and, surprising to Berry, wrapped her hooves around Berry’s neck. 

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that,” she said, muffled by Berry’s mane in her face. 

A little hint of a smile appeared on Berry’s face. The hug felt pleasant, as unexpected as it was. She brought up her right hoof, the other supporting her on the table, tucked it around Roseluck’s barrel. 

“I’m not sure I’m sorry, honestly,” she said. 

Roseluck pulled away and directed a curious look at Berry Punch. “What do you mean by that?” 

“It was a valuable life experience. Sure, I hurt for years, but I learned something. Be more observant. Talk when there are issues. Of course, there’s no way for this to have gone any other way but to Tartarus. But I don’t think I would have given it up for the world.” 

Roseluck gave a nod, seemingly content with that answer. “But you got better.” 

Berry nodded. “Yeah, my cousin Strawberry and a few friends helped me get ahold of myself. Seeing everypony so worried about me—it hit kind of hard, y’know? I never got completely sober, obviously.” Berry held up her tequila with a half-shrug. “But I have it under control now.” She swallowed the shot effortlessly and pulled away the glass upside-down on the table. “And now you see what I mean that it’s not a problem with stallions. It’s a problem with ponies.” 

Roseluck responded with a singular large nod, her curls bouncing with the motion. 

Berry idly grabbed the bottle of wine with her left hoof. “Besides, you still got some time on your hooves—make the most of it! Have fun! Don’t be so quick to tie yourself down to the first stallion giving you the eyes and the smile.” She glanced at the bottle. Three-quarters were still left. And she wanted some. 

“Er, mind if I have some?” she asked with a sheepish grin. 

“Oh,” Roseluck said, visibly confused, “I guess? I didn’t buy it, after all.” 

“Fair enough.” Berry motioned outward with her hoof. “Can you let me out?” 

Roseluck muttered an apology and climbed out of the booth. Berry followed, and Roseluck climbed back in, sitting next to the wall. Heading around the bar, Berry retrieved a wine glass from behind the bar. She looked up to see Roseluck had taken interest in the photo once again while she idly brushed her springy curls. She trotted out, almost bumping into the bar before she caught herself. 

She was definitely feeling this in the morning. 

Berry slid in beside Roseluck and reached for the chardonnay, pouring herself a healthy glass. The scent was a concoction of sweet and tart, like heavenly cherries and grapes. She swirled the glass, savoring the frangrance. 

A little part of her, deep down below the sea of tequila and hazy memories, was saddened. Saddened by how she was going to enjoy this beautiful, old wine—drunk and reliving old nightmares. It wasn’t meant for this. It was meant to be for a celebration, happy and nostalgic. But it was never going to happen, never going to be used for its purpose, as pessimistic as it was to think. 

Maybe it was better this way. Rather than sit alone in a cooler for all time, it was being spent making a fellow lonely mare feel a little warmer and more welcomed. Anything that brings two ponies together with smiles was never a waste. 

Berry finally took a sip. It was a little bittersweet, with an underlying sourness that snuck up on her. She smacked her lips and went for more; the bitterness was much less apparent this time. 

It was a delightful chardonnay—Granny Cranny always had good taste. 

Beside Berry Punch, Roseluck’s intricate examination of the photo continued, with her tilting her head and making perplexed expressions. 

“You know,” Roseluck began, “she sort of looks like me, if I doll up my mane like hers.” 

Berry’s eyes shot open, and her drinking ceased. Realization of why Roseluck, upon first sight, looked so familiar struck her like a sack of bricks as a chill crept along her spine. They had the same chubby cheeks, the same saccharine smile. The same bright eyes that can make a pony, mare or stallion, get lost in them. Only major differences were the color, flowery reds and yellow instead of being drenched in blue, and the lack of a horn. Both of them were Canterlotian mares seeking life and love in the tranquility of a small town like Ponyville. 

So long had she tried to forget that face, only for it to resurface twice, in memory and in an uncanny doppelganger. 

Berry pulled the glass from her lips, looking the mare in the photo straight in the eye. She felt nothing. The disbelief eclipsed the swelling heartbreak. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “yeah, you do.” 

Roseluck put down the photo, turning it over. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t even notice it until you pointed it out.” Berry drowned her words with a glug of wine. 

“Why do you even keep it, if it holds so many bad memories?” 

“Mama always said that you should always hold onto memories, no matter if they’re good or bad.” Berry slid over the photo to her and flipped it over. “She always believed that they are what makes a pony themselves, and throwing them away is like throwing away a part of yourself.” 

She stared at herself, dressed in white, smiling like a dopey idiot. But she had never felt quite as beautiful as the day she spent blanketed in lace and satin. 

And then her eyes glided over to the other mare in the photo. She was in a black and white tuxedo. Handsome and smug, like she always was…. 

“And I already threw enough of myself away. I don’t think I have much left to spare.” Berry shoved away the photo to the other side of the table, out of sight and mind. 

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Roseluck said. “I think you still have plenty to give. You’ve certainly showed me more kindness than most ponies I’ve met so far. And I’m sure you took as much of her as she took of you.” 

“I guess.” Berry played with the glass of wine. “She won in the end, however. You can’t deny that.” 

“Have you heard from her since?” 

Berry shook her head. “Last I saw of her was when she came for her stuff after the divorce was finalized.” A dark chuckle rolled from her throat. “I remember burning the tux she bought for the wedding. It wasn’t as cathartic as I had hoped.” She sighed and chugged the rest of her wine. 

“Well, who knows? Maybe you actually turned out the winner in the end.” 

Another chuckle—this time it was mirthless—as she poured herself another glass. “I appreciate the sentiment, Roseluck, but she always the one with the brains in the relationship. I was nothing more than a strong earth pony with a head for how ponies think. Well, everypony but her.” 

Berry grabbed the bottle and freshened Roseluck’s glass. The mare had drunk through her glass during the conversation, off and on. “How about another glass for both of us before we call it a night? I’m getting tired, and I have to see about a new draft tomorrow.” 

“A what?” Roseluck asked. 

“A draft.” Berry pointed at the large oak-colored handle behind the bar. “It’s a machine that dispenses beer straight from the keg. This one stopped working earlier tonight, and I have to see about getting it fixed.” A wry grin appeared on her face, and she held up the chardonnay. “When Vinyl pays for this tomorrow—which she better—I may put in a new one. This one has been around since my cousin and I bought the place.” 

“Oh.” Roseluck’s eyes suddenly brightened up. “Hey, my sister Daisy is pretty handy. If I ask she’d probably help look at it for you. Maybe even fix it.” 

“That’s awfully kind, but I—”

“Don’t worry about paying—she’s always willing to help out when she can. And you’d get to save your bits on a repairpony.” 

It was a gracious and tempting offer. Berry figured that Roseluck wasn’t speaking fully on her sister’s behalf, but if she did convince her to come…oh heavens, the bits saved would definitely go a long way. 

“Alright, if you can get your sister here tomorrow to look at it, I’d appreciate it. I’ll even throw in free drinks for y’all.” 

“Awesome!” Roseluck cheered, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll bring her around when I can.” 

“Works for me.” Berry held up her glass. “One for the road.” And she sucked down her whole glass of chardonnay. A peek to the side gave her a sight that almost caused her to spit-take. Roseluck was mimicking her again, chugging her glass of wine in a single motion, just like Berry herself.

Berry finished first, setting her glass on the table. Roseluck polished off her glass not too long afterwards, having only a second’s reprieve before unleashing a mighty belch, straight from her gut. Berry burst out laughing, and it felt good. Heaven knows she needed it after her little trip down memory lane.

“Well, then!” she exclaimed. “That’s not something you normally see out of a Canterlotian mare. I think you’ll fit right in here in Ponyville.” Roseluck tittered. 

“S-Sorry,” she said drunkenly. “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“No worries. But I think it’s time you get home, you drunk.” 

“Me? A drunk? What about you?!” 

“Older and more experienced.” 

Roseluck puffed out her bottom lip. “Alright, fair.” 

Berry slid out of the booth, letting out the mare. But just as Roseluck’s hooves hit the floor, she stumbled and fell. 

“Easy!” Berry quickly grabbed her and held her by the barrel. 

“Sorry! Sorry…” Roseluck uttered a few more apologies as Berry righted her onto all four hooves. “Oh, boy, the room is spinning so fast.” 

“Yeah, that’ll happen when you’re drunk.” She held her body still, feeling Roseluck press into her side for support. “Er, you know what, Roseluck, how about I walk you home? Make sure you get home safe, and that you don’t end up passed out in a ditch.” 

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” Roseluck cooed. “And please, call me Rose.” 

Berry chuckled, leading her to the front door. “Okay, Rose, just sit over here by the door while I shut off the lights.” 

“Oh, um, I forgot my scarf.” 

“I’ll get that for ya.” 

Roseluck fell onto her plot, swaying a bit from the sudden motion. 

A number of switches clicked off as Berry rounded the outside of the bar. Parts of the rainbow of neon lights turned to black, letting the shadows of the night encroach. 

Berry reached the table where she and Roseluck were drinking. She found Roseluck’s scarf tucked in between the wall and the seat Rose was originally sitting. Berry leaned in and pulled it out, throwing it over her withers. Her eye caught the open wine bottle. Only a third remained. It would be a shame if it were to go to waste, and as much as she wanted it, it belonged to the mare to whom it was gifted. She grabbed the bottle, shoved the cork back in as best she could, and tucked the bottle against her chest as she continued her rounds. She moved behind the bar and turned off the giant collection of neon behind the bar. 

Most of the bar was surrounded in darkness, save for the neon sign in the front window. 

Berry returned to the front door. “Just got the outside light,” she declared, stepping on a switch in the corner. The bright pink neon, reading Cherry Bomb, blinked in split second before it finally died. 

“Where did the name come from?” Roseluck inquired. 

Berry tilted her head, as she approached Rose. “Pardon?”

“Your bar. Why did you name it name it ‘Cherry Bomb’?” Roseluck took her scarf and wrapped her neck in the wool. A gust of wind shoved against the door, rattling its hinges. 

“Oh, that was my cousin’s idea. She helped me buy the place and fix it up, and instead of a partnership, she wanted the right to name the place. So I obliged.” 

Roseluck hummed to herself. “That was very nice of her.” 

“That’s family for ya.” Berry paused. “Or at least in my experience. Big family in a small town and all that.” She passed a second glance across the bar; only thing left unattended was the mess of glasses they had made. But she’d tend to that in the morning. 

“All ready?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” Rose finally noticed the wine in Berry’s foreleg. “What’s the wine for?” 

“It’s yours. Figured you’d want to take the rest home.” 

“Oh. Don’t you want it?” 

Berry shook her head. “It wasn’t meant for me. It’s better that you have it.” 

Roseluck said nothing, silently nodding. Berry trotted to the door and pulled it open. The moans and groans of the zephyrs whipped by, like the howls of Windigos. Berry motioned for Roseluck to go ahead, and the mare walked out, slowly and carefully. Berry latched the deadbolt lock and passed through the door, pulling it close against the wind. She pushed on it twice to ensure that it was locked. 

The night was freezing and was made all the more bone-chilling by the wind. Allegedly—according to Drizzle when he came back for a second round of his cider and a bottle of beer for his lady friend—there was a surplus of low pressure winter systems or something from Cloudsdale that they were trying to expend before spring in three weeks. The whole next week was supposed to be bone-chilling and gusty. 

Berry shivered; the regret of no coat or saddle crept along her back and nipped at her skin. She turned to Roseluck behind her, sitting cold on the cobblestone street. 

“Fifth Street, you said?” Berry asked. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

Berry turned to her left and faced north. Her bangs were blasted over to the left side of her face. “This way then. And if you have to, lean on me to keep you steady, and walk slow.” 

Roseluck stood and pressed into Berry’s right side, and they both started up Mane Street. Lit oil lamps were positioned on every street corner, casting a soft orange glow over the blistering cold night. 

“Can’t wait for the week to be over,” Berry said. “I’m sick and tired of this wind.” 

“Yeah, it really blows.” 

There was a pause, neither awkward nor pregnant. Roseluck’s words hit her, and Berry turned and tilted her head at the mare. Roseluck had her chin up, eyes closed. “Did you just...?” 

The self-satisfied smirk that shone in the streetlamp’s light was answer enough. 

“Somepony’s feeling upbeat all of a sudden. What got you smilin’?” 

“I don’t know. I just feel...warm. And giddy. And like, I want to do something big!” 

“That’s the alcohol talking, hun. Don’t listen to its lies, or you’ll end up buying a tea cup for a hundred grand.” 

“Oh? Talking from experience?” 

“Second-hoof, I can assure you.” 

Berry and Roseluck hit the intersection of Mane and Fifth and made a right. Far down the street they could see Sugar Cube Corner looming over the other buildings at the crest of the hill. The left second-floor window glowed with a yellow light; late night for one of the Cakes, it seemed. 

And to the left of Sugar Cube Corner, on the other side of the fork in the road, was the supposed flower shop. Much of the shop’s features were overshadowed by its neighbor, except for the wooden sign swaying wildly in the wind. It was painted with a white and blue flower. 

“Are you ready to open up in the spring?” asked Berry. 

“Everything but the planting is set, and we just have to wait for the ground to thaw before we can do that. And Daisy and Lily are excited to finally open.” 

“But what about you?” 

Roseluck looked away. “I’m apprehensive, I guess? I’m scared we’re going to fail. We put so much money into it already.” 

Berry nodded. “I know that feeling. Felt the same when I opened the bar up. I’m sure you’ll do all right, though.” 

“I hope so...” Roseluck mutter lowly. 

“You don’t have any real competition here. Closest thing to a flower shop we have here is the fake flower section at Barnyard Bargains.” Berry offered a comforting smile to the mare. “I’m sure the fillies and mares of Ponyville will appreciate receiving real flowers on Hearts and Hooves and birthdays for once.” 

Berry and Rose started up the hill. All of Ponyville was quiet and asleep. The light in Sugar Cube Corner had vanished, and they and the wind were the only roaming the street. 

“Hey, Berry?” came Roseluck’s voice. 

Berry flicked an ear. “Yeah?” 

“Have you ever…thought about dating again?” 

Berry shook her head, saying with a tired feeling in throat, “Nopony wants a wrung-out mare like me, Rose.”

Roseluck made no reply. 

They peaked over the hill, and details of the shop came into view. Planter boxes, dry and empty, lined the exterior of the half-dozen windows in view. A fence stretched off to the edge of the yard before rounding the rest of it. A light on the second floor, with the curtains drawn, shone like the sun in the shadow casted by Sugar Cube Corner in the moonlight. 

Berry had to admit, it was nice to see the place fixed up. It looked so different, with a new front door and actual windows. There was certainty that come spring, the place was going to blossom into an aromatic island of beauty. 

“Tonight was…certainly something, huh?” Berry said as they arrived at the store’s front steps. She stopped and turned to face Roseluck. 

Rose idly rubbed one of her forelegs with the other. “Yes, it was. Thank you, for walking me home.” 

“You’re welcome.” Berry paused. “I’m sorry your date not only stood you up, but also turned out to be a married dick.” 

“Yeah.” There was a hint of sorrow in her voice. Roseluck shakily stepped up the front step and slowly and carefully turned in place. “I think maybe it was for the best that it didn’t come to pass. I don’t want to be a homewrecker, especially if there’s a foal involved.” She licked her lips. “I’m sorry I made you go down memory lane.” 

“You didn’t make me do anything. And I don’t mind a trip down it, every once in a while. It’s good for the soul in healthy doses.” Berry glanced down at the bottle still in her hoof. “Oh, right. Here’s your chardonnay, by the way.” She flipped it around and offered it bottom first. 

Roseluck accepted it into her hoof. “Thank you.” She awkwardly glanced behind her. “I would invite you in, but it’s almost two in the morning.” 

They shared a giggle that shortly died. 

“Some other time then,” Berry finally said. “But I guess I’ll be going. See you tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Berry took a couple steps toward her and pulled Roseluck into a one-hoofed hug. The mare had a rough night. Both of them did. She felt it necessary, especially after Rose gave her one earlier. And Berry was always in the mood for them. Rose reciprocated, wrapping her free over Berry’s mane. 

And as Berry started pulling away, she felt something hurriedly press into her lips. 

The first thing she did, by her own instinct, was lean into it. She had forgotten how nice it felt, how intoxicating it could be. It had been so long ago since her last time. The lips were soft and tender, but also a little dry. There was a hint of mixed flora wafting from Roseluck’s mane. 

But then her head, sluggish with tequila, caught up with her actions. 

And she found so much strange and clumsy about it. 

This isn’t right, she thought. 

Berry pulled away, and took several steps back. Her tail tucked itself between her hind legs. 

“No,” she said. “No,” she uttered. “No, no, no.” Over and over, “no’s” were spoken in rapid-fire, and Berry held her head with her hooves. She mentally chastised herself. She shouldn’t have pressed forward, shouldn’t have reciprocated at all. The mare was drunk. It wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. 

She sat a couple yards away from Roseluck, mentally trying to grasp what had happened. Her face was searing in embarrassment. 

“Mmm,” Roseluck hummed dreamily, with her eyes closed and her head swaying, “you taste like grape soda.” 

“What was that?!”

“A kiss,” said Roseluck so matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, no shit. But why?!” 

“Because…” Roseluck bit her lip her shaking bottom lip. “Because we had having a spark, m-maybe?” she squeaked, shrinking under the question. 

“Spark? What spark?!” 

Roseluck fell to her haunches on the doorstep, breaking down into tears. The bottle of wine was cradled and hugged close to her chest as she sobbed, loudly and uncontrollably. It was the only thing that echoed in the dead streets. Even the wind had shushed itself, as if to watch with interest how the scene before them would play out. Roseluck muttered “I’m sorry” several times in her mouse-like, quaking voice. 

The crying struck a blow to Berry’s heart. It sounded so broken, so sad, so lonely, like the shattering of stained glass. She heard the song before. Sang the same tune herself years ago.

And she was frankly sick of hearing it. 

Berry heaved a sigh. I can’t leave her like this, she thought, and dragged herself up to the stoop of the flower shop. 

“Roseluck,” Berry whispered, plopping down beside her. There was no response, no reaction. “Rose, please, calm down.” She reached out, gently rubbing her hoof in broad circles across Rose’s withers and back. 

Roseluck stopped her stream of apologies with a sniffle. “S-Sorry.” 

“I’m not mad, okay?” It felt like an important thing to point out. “You’re drunk, you’re emotional, I get it. I get it.” Berry retracted the hoof and licked her lips. “Roseluck, whatever it is that you’re feeling, I don’t think I feel the same.” 

“If you don’t, t-then why did you kiss me b-back?” 

“I…” Berry trailed off, noticing she was at a crossroads; to be honest, or spare Rose’s feelings? The healthier decision didn’t seem like the right one at the moment. “I got caught up in the moment,” she finally answered. “I haven’t been kissed like that since before she left for Canterlot.” Berry swallowed a little part of herself. “You kiss like her, too.” 

Roseluck turned to her, glaring bleary-eyed at the mare beside her. “Is that why? I remind you too much of your ex, don’t I?” 

Berry directed a bewildered squint at Roseluck. “What? No!” 

“I-I can fix that! I can redo my mane,” Roseluck wondered aloud, pawing at her tossed mane, “and dye it! I can do…something to change my face. Canterlot has some of the most talented plastic surgeons—” 

“Roseluck!” Berry grabbed the sides of Roseluck’s face by her blushing scarlet cheeks. “You are not doing any of that, you hear? Don’t you go through any drastic changes on my account. You’re perfect as you are.” She released the plushy cheeks and picked at her own hooves. “And you looking like her has nothing to do with it.” 

“Then what is it?” 

Berry had to fess up. It wouldn’t be right. 

She gazed into Roseluck’s emerald eyes. “I’m not over her.” 

“Oh. I see,” Rose replied coolly. She tore from Berry’s stare, fixing her eyes on the cobblestone walkway. 

“I’m sorry, Rose. If I led you on, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why?” 

Berry was taken aback at the response. Rose had looked up, her eyes fierce and shimmering in the dim moonlight. 

“What?” 

“Why aren’t you? She hurt you, stabbed you in the back. And you’re still in love with her?” 

“Rose, you don’t understand…”

“You’re right, I don’t. So how about you explain it to me?” 

Berry rubbed her eyes with her hooves. “She was only pony I’ve…felt anything for. And I don’t know if I can just let that go.” 

“She moved on, Berry. Fell in love with somepony else. Haven't you ever tried that? Have you ever tried dating anypony?” 

“Yes. I have. The last mare I dated called me ‘wrung-out’—that’s where I got that wording. And every time, they’re…” Berry stopped. She didn’t want to finish that sentence. 

But Roseluck seemed to know: 

“They’re not her.” 

Berry slumped. “Yeah,” she said. Being under the microscope for once was being a pleasant experience. 

“Why are you looking for somepony like her?” Rose stood, walking away absentmindedly as she spoke, with minimal swaying in the lazy breeze that remained. “You shouldn’t be looking for a stallion or mare who will toss you aside when they find somepony else. You should find somepony that’s different.” She spun around, wobbling slightly before correcting herself, and started back and the shop’s front steps. “Somepony loyal and appreciates you for yourself, and all those other dumb clichés, but you understand what I’m saying, right?” 

“Rose, I’ve already thrown in the towel,” Berry stated, standing up to meet the mare. “You don’t want somepony like me.” 

“Maybe I do,” said Rose firmly. “Maybe I want somepony who’s ‘wrung out.’ Somepony that I can trust.” She tilted her head at Berry. “And I think you need somepony like me.” 

Conviction burned in Rose’s eyes, and Berry could tell that her heart reverberated with her words. A common saying throughout bars is that alcohol was a truth serum. No drunk could ever tell a lie, including a flushed mare standing in front of her, proposing the impossible. 

“Rose, I don’t…” she trailed off, massaging the back of her head with a hoof. “This is crazy! You can’t be serious! You’re drunk—”

“You’re drunk!”

“—we’re drunk, we just met tonight. For heaven’s sake, just an hour ago, I was showing you how to do a shot of tequila! And now you want to be a-a thing!” Berry flailed her hooves wildly at the sky. “Tartarus, I didn’t even know you liked mares!” 

Rose shrugged, bashfully looking at the ground. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Alright, then answer me this: why are you attracted to me?” 

“You’re charismatic and charming and gorgeous. You know what you want to do with your life and where to go. I wish I had that.” Rose gestured to the shop towering over them. “The shop is my sister Daisy’s dream, not mine. This is just a start for me. I don’t know where I want to end up in the future, or how to get there.” She closed the distance, mere centimeters from Berry’s snout. “And you’re a pretty great kisser.” 

Berry chuckled. Hearing all of that set a sense of giddiness in her chest. And she didn’t know what was just an aggravation of her floaty mood from the alcohol. 

“You really think so?” she asked. 

Rose retracted and gave a minute nod with a tiny smile. “I do. I think you’re terrific.” She caressed Berry’s cheek with her right hoof. “This isn’t the wine lying, I swear.” She pulled back her hoof, and it found her other foreleg while her mouth donned a shy smile. “Is…is there anything that you like about me?” 

“You’re cute, definitely,” Berry answered. “I think you’re a good mare, with a good heart.” She kicked a pebble on the ground. “I’m not going to say yes, because this is something for two other ponies to decide on: Tomorrow-Berry and Tomorrow-Rose, who will be less tired, drunk, and in-the-moment. That okay?” 

Rose sighed and bowed her head. “Probably for the better.” 

Berry brought up her hooves to Rose’s cheeks again, gentler this time, making both mares giggle. She planted a tender kiss on Rose’s forehead. The giggling intensified, and they each wrapped their hooves around the other, squeezing. The warmth within Berry grew hotter as a little fire in her was poked and prodded to allow a breath, which caused it to flutter. 

The mares split. Rose walked past Berry and fetched the wine from the stoop. She climbed up to the door, and took the knob into her hoof. She glanced back at Berry, who was watching her, and gave a flick of her tail at her. 

“Good night, Berry,” she said, a heavenly smile gracing her features. 

“G’night, Rose.” 

With a chime of the bell, Roseluck disappeared into the dark shop. 

All was still in Ponyville. The breeze had died. The moon hung limply in the sky. Nothing but Berry’s own chest breathed the signs of life. 

She felt very, very lonely standing in the chilly moonlight. 

Berry turned and trotted back home to the bar. It was a much faster trip this time, not having to support a…“tipsy” mare and carrying a partial bottle of chardonnay in one hoof. Her fuzzy mind didn’t have time to wander anywhere past the desire for her apartment above the bar. 

When she reached the middle of Mane Street, Berry turned into the pitch-black alleyway next to her bar, and up the wooden stairs next to the bar’s backdoor. A hoof flipped over a corner of her welcome mat in front of a door, revealing a tiny brass key. After unlocking the door and returning the key to its little hiding spot, Berry ducked inside. 

To call it an apartment was generous; it was just a two-room loft that was built onto the bar after the fact. A large, overly spacious room that made Berry’s life felt empty every hoofstep that echoed in the large room. A leathery black loveseat sat crooked along where the floor jutted up in elevation for the bed. The room was poorly lit by a lamp sitting a table next to the couch. 

As much as she would love to pass out on her bed, the couch sang like a siren at sea. Berry dragged herself over and willed herself to go limp. The couch caught her and in no time at all she was out like a light. 

Come morning, Berry wouldn’t remember her dreams of a blue unicorn.