At the front gate to my house, I stop and turn to Chowder and Featherweight.
"You two know the ground rules. Don't feed the nutters. Don't linger. If they attack us, sacrifice yourself to save me." Chowder rolls his eyes, and Feathers scowls at me.
"Her friends better not try to shove my face in their flanks again. I don't need that, Pip. I'm not a piece of meat."
We walk to the front door and open it up. The house sounds like chaos, there can't be less than fifteen ponies inside, all in the living room and kitchen. I hear drunken shouting and screams of laughter, sounds of spilled drinks and hooves scrambling across wooden floors. When I pause, Featherweight pushes me inside.
"You're on point, dude."
Dick.
This should be okay. At the far end of the hallway, past the coat racks and unused chest of drawers, are the stairs. The doors to the kitchen and living room are halfway down the hall on either side. We slink towards the stairs, and the kitchen and living room doors are mercifully only open a crack. I walk past them and-
*WHUMP*
-Two utterly plastered mares burst through the door, grab hold of Featherweight and drag him into the living room. Chowder and I hurry on after to get him back. There are a dozen drunken fillies running around and a few smirking colts. The room is a wreck. There's a patch of vomit on one of the sofas, and ponies are just sitting either side of it. The dining table is covered in food, literally covered, no plates or anything. Somepony just took tubs of salsa and guacamole and dumped them straight onto the table, along with corn chips, pizza slices and oven chips. Peach Schnapps is there, just shoving her muzzle into the mess as a smug colt rubs her flanks from behind.
Pina Colada is standing on the coffee table, a broken Voltage/Wattage CD case under her hooves, chugging a bottle of sparkling wine. She belches loudly, and spots Featherweight having bottles of beer shoved at his muzzle by two fillies.
"FEATHERWEIGHT!" she screams, "SHOW US YOUR DICK!"
I nudge Chowder. "Chowder darling, you're the strongest and most patient of us. Can you distract them while me and Feathers get sorted?"
He nods, and I trot over to Featherweight and drag him from the hooves of the fillies. They protest, but Chowder comes between them and distracts them with something shiny. Well, I assume he does, I'm too busy hurrying Featherweight into the hallway to look and we are not followed.
As soon as we're in my room we both quickly get ready for the party. I go into the en-suite to wash my face and clean my teeth, pick out a light blue cotton hoodie from my wardrobe, stick my hip-flask in the pocket, comb my tail-
"Pip."
-dab a bit of wax in my mane, give myself a bedhead look, dab on just enough aftershave for a filly to pick up a hint of cinnamon and wood and sex as I whisper something filthy into her ear, trim my fetlocks-
"Pip!"
-spritz on a little manespray, set it in place with a manedryer, file down the rough edges on my hooves-
"Pip for fucks sake you've been getting ready for forty minutes, I was done half an hour ago!"
"I'm nearly done I've just got one last nick on-"
"Hurry up so we can go already, Chowder's trapped in the living room with a bunch of crazy ponies," he snaps. I love Featherweight to bits but he has no appreciation for good grooming.
"I'm nearly done nearly done - okay, I'm done," I say, turning to my wardrobe, "We'll get the bourbon and be on our way."
Next to my wardrobe is a large cardboard box with books spilling out the top. The books are a mere ruse, I move them aside to reveal several 2' by 1' wooden crates with 'Wild Pegasus' stamped on the front. Six crates, twelve bottles each, seventy-two bottles of bourbon total. The crates were a gift from Mulekick Brewing Industries to my mother after she spearheaded their Wild Pegasus marketing campaign. She's the reason it's what Blackjack drinks in the Fallout: Equestria television spinoff Project Horizons. I was mixing the drinks for everpony in the room when the deal was made. Everypony praised her for being so innovative, but mother and I were quite frankly shocked that nopony had thought of it before. When you think about it, bourbon and the apocalypse is possibly the most natural match-up in marketing history.
"Your mom lets you keep that stuff in your room?" asks Feathers.
"Hm? Oh, she gave it to me. Father doesn't let her drink it, it makes her rowdy. We're a gin family, really." I lift a crate from the box and pop the top off-
Ah. The crates are nailed shut and need a crowbar. A crowbar in the depths of a cluttered shed, after sundown.
"Wait, the lids are nailed on? Why would they do that?"
"Marketing gimmick, it's supposed to give them a wild-west-slash-post-apocalypse look," I sigh. Featherweight takes out a multitool and tries to pry the nails out. I stop him.
"No point doing that here, it'll take an age and a half. I've never not known Dinky to have tools of some sort on her, the two of you will get it done much quicker. We'll take the crate."
Featherweight looks wary. "You sure that's a good idea? Twelve bottles is a lot of liquor. That's a Rägtäg Bünch afterparty quantity of liquor."
"It'll be fine, we'll take two bottles out and hide the crate under a bed," I say, shoving the crate into a large backpack. Feathers shrugs, and we head out. Chowder is still in the bustling living room, sipping a bottle of beer and talking to a rather pretty and very drunk filly about her new hairdressing job. We take him and leave the house. Featherweight only gets groped by a few ponies on the way out.
Diamond Tiara's house is on the same side of town as mine, about twenty minutes away. Five minutes away is Beanburger Palace, and we set off towards it. The Ponyville Beanburger Palace looks like every other Beanburger Palace in Equestria. The lights are too bright, the food is greasier than Apple Bloom's workshop and the mascot looks like something an ancient society of clowns used to ward off foal molesters. None of that matters because the food is cheap, grease is delicious, they don't kick you out for loitering and they welcome drunk ponies with open forelegs.
We reach Beanburger Palace, and just before we walk in a voice calls out from behind us.
"Featherweight! Dudes!" It's Dinky and the rest of the smoking circle. She's wearing a battered grey saddle, covered in pouches bulging with Discord-knows-what. Spike is at her side, wearing a dark purple silk shirt - Carousel Boutique, one of Rarity's newer, more minimalist designs. Ruby Pinch, and surprisingly Twist, are both wearing rather nice-looking cocktail dresses. We greet each other, order some hay fries and a few beanburgers, and sit down to line our stomachs before the party. Spike pokes at my backpack.
"What's with the rucksack?" he asks.
"That's the bourbon. We couldn't get the crate open at home," I say as his jaw drops, "Don't worry, we're not planning to drink it all. Alcohol poisoning is nopony's friend. Dinky, you've got tools on you right?"
Dinky grins at me. "Hey, when don't I have tools on me? 'Sides, Spike here has crazy-sharp claws, he could probably just tear the thing off." At that, Spike poses and kisses his biceps.
We munch on the fries and burgers, which taste like grease and salt. Clearly we're too sober to appreciate them properly. When we're done, we set straight off to the party.
Diamond Tiara and her lot are proper minted chaps and Luna knows she acts like it, so it's always a bit odd seeing her house. Don't get me wrong, it's twice the size of the average house in Ponyville, inspired by neo-Pegasopolician architecture and has an expansive and well-manicured lawn leading up to it; but it's hardly the manor with the iron family crest above the front gates and servants at the door you would expect from the way Diamond Tiara walks around.
It's almost the perfect house for throwing parties- spacious enough to entertain a lot of guests and well-furnished enough to feel luxurious, but neither so large that gatecrashers could set a room on fire without you realising nor too full of the 'dignified' sort of furnishings that are painful to replace.
As we walk down her garden path, we can see ponies milling about in the darkened living room through the windows and hear the bass line thumping from the speakers. Dinky is first to the door, she buzzes the doorbell thrice and batters on the door hard enough to be heard over the din. Thirty seconds later, we see two figures through the frosted glass of the door, stumbling down the hallway towards us. The door swings open and Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon are standing in the doorway.
"Dinky Doo! My bitch!" Diamond Tiara is utterly, embarassingly sozzed. She nearly trips over herself bumping hooves with Dinky. There's a lazy, drunken grin spread across her face, and a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Pinchy, c'mere and gimme some love! Twist!" she squeals, "What the fuck are you doing here?" She throws her head back laughing and stumbles, falling back on her haunches.
Silver Spoon is next to her, half-amused half-weary, steadying her best friend from falling over completely. "Ignore her, she's drunk," she says warmly, "Twist, it's great to see you, I love your dress by the way. Come on in, the living room is the first door on the right."
Twist blushes and compliments her in return, and she goes on inside with Dinky and Ruby, Silver Spoon trailing behind. Spike and I start to follow, but Diamond Tiara stops us with a sharp jab to each of our chests.
"And where do you think you're going?" She's leering at us evily, a playful hint in her drunken slurring.
Spike smiles at her, wide eyed and innocent. "We heard there was a party here, miss. May we come in?"
"Maaaybe. Maybe not." She turns her head, her nose in the air. "Maybe I want a kiss from you and Pipsqueak before I let you colts in."
"No love for Feathers and Chowder?" I ask.
She pouts. "They're both from Ponyville, and that's boring, and besides Featherweight's still a virgin-"
"I prefer 'pure of soul,'" says Featherweight nonchalantly.
"-but you guys are like, from Canterlot and Trottingham, and Pipsqueak has that accent and Spike, you're a dragon, but not in a scary dragon way, you're like... a sexy dragon." Her eyes go lidded and she whispers: "A sexy dragon who's going to kiss me if he wants to come in."
They lean in for a rather asymmetrical kiss, with Spike trying to tastefully push their lips together and Diamond Tiara trying to swallow his face. Spike walks around her, still joined at the muzzles, and brings a front claw down hard on her cutie mark. She squeals and breaks the kiss, and Spike scampers off to the living room.
"Spiiike! I'll get you for that!" She 'hmphs' and turns to me. "Your turn, Pip."
I move in and open my mouth the moment our lips touch, giving her the sloppy snog she's looking for. Her tongue slips straight into my mouth, I taste well-made bolognaise and cheap red wine. I run a hoof through her hair and stroke the side of her neck, making her shiver a little and sigh into the kiss. I think she's about to break the kiss, but then she bites my bottom lip and drags me backwards down the hall like a terrier with a rope in its mouth.
"Ahhh! My hlip! Had touch had touch!" I yell. She trips over her own hooves and falls on her back, cackling madly but thankfully releasing me. She doesn't move to get up, she just rolls about giggling. I look back at Featherweight and Chowder, shrug, and then gingerly step over the writhing, laughing hostess. I beckon my friends to follow and we head to the living room.
The living room is three times the size of mine, and has ceilings high enough for Featherweight to loop-the-loop under. In the left corner of the room, away from the windows, there's a set of decks and lights with a unicorn behind them, probably Tootsie Flute. She's playing the start of a track, a low, thudding bass-line, and the multicolored, scintillating rays of light from her horn are the only illumination in the room.
The party is well underway but not yet thronging, all four sofas have ponies sitting on them joking and chatting, there's Twist, Ruby and a dozen ponies dancing in front of the decks, a few colts playing pool at the billiards table, and of course, a muddle of ponies slurping down punch, beer and wine at the drinks table. I recognise most of the ponies here, though not all by name. Rumble is joking with a few pegasus friends by the drinks table, his older brother is splayed out on a sofa with Flitter and Cloudchaser either side of him, Noi is sharing a spliff with Dinky and Spike, and Chip Mint is hoof-wrestling with Potato Chip.
I stow my backpack behind the curtains and head to the impromptu dance floor with Chowder. You can't just turn up to a dance floor without a friend, it's like going to a dinner party without a bottle of wine. The filly you're dancing with has friends, after all. Tootsie Flute sticks a new track on, something fast paced and lighter on the bass. I don't know the song but I vaguely know the genre, probably Hoofington progressive disco. The bass drops, everyone sticks their hooves in the air and I start dancing.
Now, I can't dance of course, but that's just fine because neither can anypony else. Besides, I'm well sexy which is half of dancing anyway. Nopony is bumping and grinding yet but who cares, right? There's a bunch of cute fillies and colts shaking their flanks and that's all I ask for. Chowder is macking on Ruby Pinch and some random plain-looking filly, and I see Twist nervously shifting from hoof to hoof, not yet into it. That simply won't do.
I take her hooves in mine and start dancing with her, going up on two hooves, spinning her round, dipping her down and nearly dropping, all that lark until she takes control and starts throwing me about the floor. I love dancing with Twist. I wouldn't say she's a good dancer (because like everypony else, she isn't), but there's nopony more fun to have a spin with. We drop back to four hooves, giggling like foals. She ruffles my hair and yelps as Chowder grabs her and starts dancing.
The song changes and I suddenly feel thirsty, so I head over to the drinks table and pour myself some punch. It's not insanely strong, just sangria, juice and spice, and that's the way I like it. I can spike my own damn punch, thank you very much. I down the cup, and hear a pony calling my name. "Pip, duude!"
It's Snips and Snails, still dressed in the same garish getup from earlier. They haven't even changed their accessories, for Luna's sake! "Hello chaps, how's the sexy magic working?"
"Pretty damn good," says Snips, smirking, "I got a kiss on the cheek from Diamond Tiara on the way in. Like a pimp dude, brohoof!" He bumps hooves with Snails.
"Very nice. Anypony else?"
He shakes his head and looks downcast. "Nah. We tried a few times after we saw you at the market today, but we didn't get anywhere with it. Hey, I've got a great idea!" he says, looking worryingly excited, "You're good with fillies, we could hang with you all night! That'd be awesome, we'd get so much poontang!"
"Yeah! We'd be like those guys, like, wing... wing-something..." Snails brow furrows as he thinks, "We'd be your wingboners!"
Oh. Oh no. No no no no no. No, no, no, no, nooo. Noooooo. I came out tonight to get drunk, have fun with friends, and maybe do some unspeakably pleasurable things with one or more licentious ponies. I did not come out to babysit a pair of lustful imbeciles who learned everything they know about mares from a professional misogynist. No.
"I, ah, don't think that would work," I say slowly, "The three of us flirting all at the same time might be a bit much, it might scare mares off." They look disappointed, and I see Snips trying to think of a way around it. "But I did see you doing your thing at the market earlier," I say, cutting off Snips before he can speak, "I saw you were having some problems, and I asked Shady Daze about it. He didn't explicitly tell me to pass advice on to you, but he hinted at a few things that could be useful..."
The duo lean towards me, eager to hear Shady's Secrets of the Clunge. "Like what?"
"Well... he said it's very important to be oblique," I say, desperately making up advice, "The moment a filly understands what you're talking about, that's an obvious beta signal and she'll play with you then turn you down."
Snips frowns. "I tried that earlier today, it didn't work very well."
"Ah, you tried it on Twilight Sparkle, it didn't work because she knows what words mean," I say, like I'm explaining a counter-intuitive bit of mathematics, "You want mares with smaller vocabularies. They're not here right now, but Pina Colada and her friends will be here later. You should try it on them, it'll work perfectly."
Snips and Snails almost look shocked as they take it in. "That- that makes a lot of sense, dude," says Snips, "Thanks, that's really useful. You're awesome, bro! Was there anything else? Anything at all?"
Something evil whispers words into my brain. "Yeah. You should be... Louder."
"Louder?"
"Louder. Say things louder, say them at a volume which is higher than you would normally say them."
Snips and Snails look at each other and speak as one. "Louder. Huh."
"Louder," I say firmly, "Not screaming loud, and maybe not quite yelling loud. Try just under shouting loud."
Snips thinks about this for a minute. "Louder... Thanks man, this is really awesome advice. We'll get right on it!" he says, smiling happily.
"Not a problem," I say, "Now run along and work your magic!"
"Will do, bro! Smell you later!" The two trot off in search of love.
I have done a good thing for ponykind.
Suddenly, the music goes way down and somepony taps the microphone. Diamond Tiara is behind the decks, being steadied by Tootsie.
"*bink* *bink* -this thing's working right? Hey everypony!" she yells into the microphone, "PARTY BITCHES LISTEN UP! GIVE A WARM PARTY WELCOME TO THE FUCKING KEG, COURTESY OF SWEET APPLE ACRES!" The living room door opens up, silhouetting Apple Bloom in the doorway, leaning on a barrel of hard cider twice her width. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle come on in behind her. With a cheer, the rest of the partygoers help set up the keg behind the sofas, tap it and start chugging down the cloudy nectar.
The party is back in full swing, the mood both euphoric and drunker than a pickled stoat. More guests are trickling in, the music is so loud that you feel the bass in your chest, and half the ponies are on the dance floor. I end up dancing in a circle with Ruby Pinch, Featherweight, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle.
I don't think dancing is the end-all-be-all of a night out, but tonight it's bloody good fun. Pinch is more moshing than dancing, floating a mug of cider one side of her head and a can of bitter the other, stomping about and slamming into Feathers and Scoots. Feathers is swaying about, oddly graceful. Sweetie Belle obviously took dance lessons from her sister at some point, and I have to stop myself from openly staring at her jiggling flanks. Scoots, though... that thing I said about nopony being able to dance? Does not apply here. Scootaloo can fucking dance. At one point she grabs me and takes me for a spin, having fun with my comparative flat-hoofedness, leading me into a trip before gracefully rescuing me with a devilishly impressive manoeuvre she just made up.
Some songs, some pints, and a few additions to the circle later, everypony bar Scootaloo and Apple Bloom is slowing down and dripping with sweat. By now the party is packed, the dance floor is crushing with ponies, and our circle is crunched into a small, sweaty squish. I can hear Pina Colada and her friends over the music, and I've seen a few of Shady Daze's lot about. One of them groped me by accident. Probably by accident.
Dinky appears from nowhere and starts yelling into the ears of the circle, one by one. A few confused nods and 'what?!'s later, she reaches me. "Pip, it's too crowded, we're going to a bedroom, get the bourbon and meet us there!" With that, she's off, taking the rest of the group with her.
Getting the crate is a task and a half. Moving through the crowd is like trudging through treacle. Getting to the door with a backpack full of spirits is no easier, and it's a relief when I finally reach the hallway. A few ponies are milling about out here, and down the hall I can see a group of ponies hanging out in the kitchen, downing shots and eating Diamond Tiara's food. The bass is still thudding through the walls, ceilings, foundations and probably most of the town, but the spacious hallway with the plush, burgundy carpet underhoof, warm cream walls wrapped with the fancy gold print, and prints of Cubist artwork is a welcome respite from the cramped living room.
After losing my way the second time, I find the rather grand spiral staircase and make my way upstairs. Rich ponies in Central Equestria have odd sorts of houses, aiming for imposing but tumbling mid-air towards ostentatious. Still, it's not as tacky as it could be. It's owned by ponies who named their first-born Diamond Tiara, after all.
The first door on the left upstairs is open, and my friends are already inside. It's a guest bedroom, oddly spartan - only half-again the size of mine. "Pip! Get inside and shut the door, bro!" says Featherweight, cheeks red, wearing a tipsy grin. He's sat on the floor, Dinky Doo sat on one side and Chowder on the other. The three former Crusaders are lazing on a pile of pillows, and Twist and Ruby Pinch are either side of Spike. Everyone is sat in a messy sort of circle.
I shut the door behind me, sit down, and take off the rucksack. "So what's the plan?" I ask.
"The plan is you guys try my new cocktail and then we chill and play Ring of Fire," says Dinky Doo, removing the rucksack from the crate. Between her magic, Featherweight's tools and Spike's claws, the crate pops open and three bottles are taken out. I move the crate to the side, and see Dinky shucking off her saddlebags before taking a few odds and ends from the pockets.
"What you ponies are about to witness is an advance in intoxication technology not seen since somepony first put morphine into needles." She lays out ten double-size shot glasses, cracks open a bottle of Wild Pegasus and passes everyone a shot. When Spike moves to down it, she stops him with magic. "Patience, dude," she says, taking out a smoking pipe and stuffing it with clover, "Ah, can you get this for me?" Spike snaps his fingers and a little flame appears between his claws, a neat trick he'll have got from Twilight. He lights her pipe. "Thanks Spike," she says, giving the pipe a little puff to get it smoking. "*fut* *fut* ...so this here's a Commander Hurricane. You take a hit from the pipe and hold it, stick a dose of salts on your tongue, take your shot, exhale. Watch and learn, kids."
She takes a long, slow pull from the pipe, then levitates a salts doser to her muzzle. It looks like a ceramic salt shaker with a button on the bottom. Press that button and it dispenses a single dose of salts from the top. With a *click* she drops a dose of pink powder onto her hoof, and then licks it off. She lifts her shot to her muzzle and downs it, and finishes by snorting a long stream of smoke from her nose.
She looks downwards and scrunches her eyes closed, then blinks a few times and looks up, a wry smile on her face. "That. That hit the fucking spot."
Ruby takes the pipe and doser and follows Dinky's instructions. Clover. Salts. Bourbon. She passes it on to Chowder, and the cocktail goes around the circle like the shisha earlier. Sweetie Belle doesn't smoke the pipe, but one by one everypony does a Commander Hurricane until it reaches me.
I take the pipe in hoof and suck down the strong, hot smoke, almost choking on it. Far hotter and rougher than the stuff from the water pipe earlier, it's a struggle to hold in. I push the button on the doser, drop a little pink powder on my hoof, then stick my tongue out and dab it on, cringing at the acrid taste. Dinky floats the double of Wild Pegasus to my muzzle and I gladly down it. It tastes like anger and bad ideas. Lungs burning, I finally exhale, coughing wildly as the hot smoke mixes with the whiskey fumes and sets my throat and mouth on fire.
The clover haze comes first, relaxed and giddy, followed by the thumping rush of the salts that play little trills on the strings of your fears and snap your eyelids wide as floodlights. After that, the bourbon drops a thudding mist over your thoughts and bursts into your skull, slapping your frontal lobes around, and bending your moral compass over and fucking it roughly until it gives in and squeals for more.
Then the cocktail kicks in. It's a veil dropping from my soul. My bourbon-fueled id dredges up every terrible, lustful and half-entertaining idea I can think of in this clover haze, and the salts give me the energy to act out every single one. I stop still, and realise why no one has spoken since the Hurricane. You can't help but soak it in.
Chowder brings a hoof down hard on the floor, snapping us to attention. "Another!"
So we do. I grab the second bottle of Wild Pegasus and we go round once more, anticlockwise this time. If anything, it's better than the first round, knowing exactly what you're getting. We can't help but have a third round, leaving us all twitching with energy and euphoria. Chowder had the presence of mind to nick some drinks from downstairs when we came up, and we're all sucking down orange juice. I'm gazing at Dinky Doo with newfound admiration.
"Holy toss, Dinks, how did you come up with this? This is - this is just – just good, it's very good. It's best," I say.
She's red in the face and grinning like a drunkard. "Read about some yuppies in, in, uh, Manehattan doing it with laughing gas and vodka instead of salt and bourbon. Gave it a twist, and when I read about Commander Hurricane in a medical textbook I just had to name it after him."
"You read about Commander Hurricane in a medical textbook?" asks Feathers, eyebrows raised. I think his eyebrows are raised. It might be his face.
"What? Yeah dude, Commander Hurricane was huge in medical history, he was a frickin' genius. You didn't know that?"
Feathers shakes his head. "I never knew he was into medicine."
"Oh yeah, total pioneer. There are entire volumes on healing injuries that he invented."
"Huh. I guess- Oh! Oh dudes! Dudes dudes dudes!" he says, fluttering off the ground excitedly. I yank him back down.
"S'matter?" I ask.
"I have the best fuckin' idea any's of us have ever had is fuckin' the matter, dude!"
"Spill," growls Spike, the whiskey fumes burning as they leave his muzzle. Giving dragons 50.5% spirits is both stupid and utterly brilliant.
"Okay okay okay," he says, catching his breath, "What we should do is we should make a movie."
An uncomfortable silence sets on the room. Brows furrow, eyes narrow and side glances are freely traded.
"Dude."
"Featherweight, that is-"
"-the best idea-"
"-I've ever heard."
"How did we not think of this before?"
"Well don't leave us hanging, Feathers, give us details!" says Dinky, nudging him.
Featherweight takes a second to shush everypony, pauses for a moment, and says: "Okay. We're going to make a romantic comedy about an orphanage. An orphanage for cats."
"Oh, this is good," says Spike, rubbing his claws together.
"Yeah, I'm liking where this is going," says Scoots.
"Hey, hey, not done here yet," says Featherweight impatiently, "Get this: The orphanage cats? They all have Asperger's syndrome. Asperger's cats. An orphanage of cats with Asperger's."
Jaws drop. Stunned silence.
"My best friend is a genius," I whisper.
Featherweight nods proudly. "I know. And you get to soak up the glory as my sidekick."
"Not even going to argue with that. Live action or animated?"
"Ah say both," says Apple Bloom, "We can have real actors and fancy cartoon cats. Ah can build sets like nopony's business an' ah'm sure y'all can figure out some unicorn illusion stuff for the rest of it."
"Hey, we've got the perfect team for making a movie!" says Sweetie Belle, "I can write songs, Twist can write the script, Spike does pyrotechnics-"
"Wait, pyrotechnics in a rom-com?" asks Featherweight, "Of course! The orphanage gets set on fire!"
Sweetie Belle grins and nods, "Oh you know it. Apple Bloom makes the sets, Pipsqueak does the advertising, Chowder caters, Featherweight directs, Dinky Doo, uh..."
"I make sure all the cast and crew are adequately cared for," says Dinky, licking a dose of salts off her frog.
"I can do the funding!" yells Ruby Pinch.
"You can?"
"Yeah! I'm gonna go downstairs right now and waterboard Diamond Tiara until she hoofs over the startup money! Come on ponies, you hold her legs and I'll do the yelling and dunking," she says, getting to her hooves and moving towards the door. Dinky's magic grabs her by the tail.
"Pinchy, we can't go running downstairs after three Hurricanes!" she snaps, "The party can't even handle us right now, we'd lay waste to the place! You've got to let it settle!"
"You're joking, right?" I say, "We've got more chemicals than a Beanburger Palace thickshake in our systems and we're just supposed so sit here doing nothing?"
Dinky shakes her head. "No. We need to temper the edge with alcohol, and not crazy bourbon that tastes like domestic violence feels. We're going to play Ring of Fire. Then we lay waste to the party."
She takes out a pack of cards and splays them out face-down in a circle. While she's doing that, I go to the pilfered drinks and make a bunch of vodka screwdrivers, for two reasons: First, I have a cocktail shaker on my flank, so it's sort of my thing. Second, Ring of Fire works better with drinks that are not bourbon. You can play Ring of Fire with bourbon but you will die.
I pass everypony the plastic cups and Scootaloo hashes out the rules with Dinky.
"So we're using standard rules, except fives and eights?"
"Yep. Eight is mates, you pick a pony, take a drink and they've got to drink double. Five is Fuckery Prime."
Scootaloo's face scrunches up in confusion. "What's that?"
"Fuckery Prime. The player to draw says 'six,' and every pony after has to count one higher, and say 'fuck you' if it's a prime number. First pony to get it wrong takes three drinks."
"Dinky my main bitch, there's a fine line between making a tricky drinking game and trying to get me wasted; and what you're doing right now is standing up, spreading your legs and pissing all over that line."
Dinky shrugs. "The alternative is Protect the Prince, and I don't want to get dogpiled by Chowder."
Scoots grudgingly agrees, and takes the first card. Three for me, she takes a drink. Scootaloo is next, she draws a nine and busts a rhyme. Knife, wife, life, strife; then Chowder slips up and takes a drink. Dinky draws six, Chowder, Spike, Featherweight and I drink. I draw two, and Twist drinks. Featherweight starts a waterfall. By the time it gets to Sweetie Belle, I have to top everypony up.
Sweetie slides a card from the circle, and turns it face up. A grinning griffon with a sword, a knave. Never-have-I-ever, Dinky's house rules: you can still say never-have-I-ever if you've done that thing, you can drink on your own turn, game ends when everypony has drank.
"I love this one! Um, never have I ever been caught masturbating." Sweetie, Spike and Twist all drink.
Featherweight turns to Spike, grinning. "Busted by Twilight, huh?"
"No. Celestia." Everypony winces at that.
Three down, seven to go. Apple Bloom goes next. "Never have ah ever fooled around outdoors." She drinks, as do Scootaloo, Chowder and Ruby.
"Never have I ever masturbated to a national hero," says Scootaloo. She drinks, I drink, and a pink-in-the-face Featherweight drinks, surprisingly early in the game.
"Never have I ever been spanked in the bedroom." Scootaloo, Twist and Ruby all drink, Ruby switching between her screwdriver and her can of Stoat's Stolid Stout.
"Never have I ever spanked somepony in the bedroom," I say, taking a drink along with Ruby.
"Never have I ever had a sixty-nine." Ruby Pinch and I drink.
"Never have I ever done it with a blindfold." Ruby Pinch and I drink.
"Never have I ever tried bondage." Ruby Pinch and I drink.
"Never have I ever done it with toys and another pony." Ruby Pinch and I drink.
"Never have I ever choked a pony or been choked in bed." Ruby Pinch and I drink.
"Never have I ever had a starfruit surprise." Ruby Pinch drinks.
"Never have I ever given a starfruit surprise."
"Look here, that was one night all-right?" I say, taking a drink, "One bloody night, that's all. Ruby, end this."
She looks at me, sips her stout and nods. "Never have I ever fooled around high." I drink, Chowder drinks, Ruby drinks and finally Dinky drinks, completing the circle and ending the game.
Sweetie Belle fumbles with her drink and nearly spills it. "Hey, do you guys want to try a game a little less drinky and a little more silly?"
"What you got in mind?" asks Dinky.
"Would you rather?"
"I fucking love that game!" says Ruby. "Me first! Dinks, would you rather have sex with Featherweight's dad or blow Snips and Snails?"
"Hey!"
"Your father is pretty imposing, Feathers," I say, "He's mostly steroids."
"You take that back right now! He's been randomly tested a dozen times and nothing ever came up!"
"He ate the testers." Featherweight's nostrils flare and it looks like he's about to hit me. I put my hooves up in contrition and I'm about to apologize when Dinky speaks up.
"Snowflake, no doubt about it. I like big guys anyway, and Snips and Snails?" She shakes her head. "Not my type."
"Did any y'all see them downstairs?" says Apple Bloom, "They were dressed all funny and acting a mite odd, like they had some extra..."
"Chromosomes?" I say.
"Pipsqueak!" says Sweetie, looking rather cheesed off, "Don't say things like that, it's horrible to Snips and Snails and to ponies with Down's syndrome. They're not a punchline."
That stops me in my tracks. Usually I'd play it off, but she makes me feel more than a little guilty. "My apologies. That was crass of me."
She gives me a small smile. "Good, I don't want you turning into my dad or something."
"All right, enough of that, my turn," says Scoots. "AB, would you rather bang your brother or your sister?"
"Yer kiddin', right?"
"Nope. Spill."
Apple Bloom's brow furrows as she thinks. "Do ah set the pace or do they just start ruttin'?"
"You set the pace, it just has to be sex."
"Big Mac, then. Seriously, ew. You got problems, Scoots." Scootaloo just laughs.
The game continues, and we find out many interesting things. Dinky would rather pull a tooth without painkillers than give up clover for a year. Twist would prefer to walk in on her parents than vice versa. Spike would rather be a griffon than a pony. Featherweight would break both wings rather than lick one of Pina Colada's used tampons. Chowder would be the centrepiece of a bukkake rather than give up butter.
Scootaloo asks me my question.
"Would you rather get head from your mom, or never get head again?"
"What is it with you and incest tonight?"
She smirks. "It brings out the best in ponies."
"Fine, head from my mother. My turn. Scoots, would you fool around with Apple Bloom and marry Sweetie Belle, or marry Apple Bloom and fool around with Sweetie Belle?"
Scootaloo puts a hoof to her face and looks thoughtful for a moment. "Marry AB and mess with Sweetie. Me and Bloom wouldn't drive each other crazy living together, and Sweetie's a great kisser."
My eyebrows go up. "Is that from personal experience?"
"We've made out a few times at parties, ain't we Sweetie?" Sweetie nods happily in response, and Scoots grins at me. "Why, you wanna see?"
"Hm? Yes. Yes I do. It would be the hottest thing to happen, ever and it's the best idea I've heard tonight. You should do it. You should definitely do it."
"Pip's right. This is a good idea," says Spike. Featherweight and Chowder both concur.
She leans over to Sweetie Belle, and they whisper things that I'm too drunk to catch. Then they sit back up, and Scootaloo clears her throat.
"Well, Sweetie Belle is cute, and we all know I'm awesome, so it would be pretty hot. But we've got a problem," she says, pouting, "See, us fillies have never seen two colts make out, and we're torn up about it."
"Totally torn up about it," says Sweetie Belle.
"We're so torn up about it that we wouldn't be able to put our hearts into making out ourselves, and if we can't put our hearts into it, there's no point doing it at all..."
"Say no more," I say, "We can sort that problem. Featherweight?"
He shakes his head. "Nuh-uh, I'm sworn to chastity. Ask Chowder." I snort and turn towards Chowder-
...and find myself face to face with Lickety Split.
"Lickety!" I say with a frozen grin, "You weren't here five seconds ago."
I'll admit, he's cleaned up nicely. His floppy blond mane is brushed just out of his eyes, he's wearing a navy cardigan over a pure-cotton shirt and an adorable knitted tie the same colour as his eyes. He's looking at me with hope and anticipation, his clear blue eyes almost glowing, though that might be the salt and clover talking. He leans in close to me and whispers:
"I'm totally not sworn to chastity."
This is an awful idea. I'm drunk and he is rather cute; but he's needy and terribly lonely. He'll tell himself that he can keep his feelings detached from the kiss and he'll be wrong. He'll be pining for me for weeks. It's like feeding a stray cat...
I press my lips against his, and he lets out a tiny squeak before sinking into the kiss. He smells of cheap brandy and expensive chocolate. He runs a hoof down my side to my cutie mark, and slips his tongue into my mouth as I gasp. We've done this before, he knows what I like. It was a bad idea then, too.
I break the kiss, and open my eyes. Lickety is breathing hard and blushing bright red. For no reason other than drunken cruelty, I dive back in and give him a soft peck on the cheek.
I turn and see Scootaloo doing a little golf-clap. "Very nice."
"Hey, I'm just that good," I say, "You're not going to back out now or anything, Loo-Loo?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, Squeaky. C'mere, Sweetie!"
Scootaloo puts a hoof on the back of Sweetie Belle's neck and pulls her close. They gaze at each other for a second with lidded eyes and ever-so-slightly parted lips, mere inches between their muzzles. They oh-so-slowly move towards each other, close their eyes, and then Scootaloo nips forward and presses her lips to Sweetie's. The white filly tenses up, then quickly melts into her friend. For a moment they hold the kiss, then they start snogging in earnest.
Their chests press tight together, almost grinding into each other, and their hooves roam over withers and through manes. Scootaloo's wings flutter and twitch as she kisses her friend deeply. An orange hoof strokes a songbird cutie mark, and Sweetie Belle lets out a whimper that turns to a contented sigh.
They've been kissing for a minute when Scootaloo breaks away, dragging her teeth over her friend's bottom lip as she does. Sweetie Belle is breathing hard, her cheeks are flushed and her pupils the size of bits. Her eyes are half-lidded and she almost chases after Scootaloo's mouth when the kiss breaks. Scootaloo is grinning and shooting her friend the most smouldering look I have ever seen.
“Uh, Pip? Ya got a lil' something...” Apple Bloom is looking at me and gesturing at my face. I put a hoof to my muzzle and it comes back wet with a strand of saliva.
Good Goddesses. I was actually drooling. I'm saved from embarrassment when I look around and see two colts and a drake doing the exact same thing.
"Heh. Y'all look like we did after y'all were giving us massages earlier."
"Wait wait wait," says Ruby, "You guys were giving massages to those guys but didn't give any to us guys? That's not fair. That's totally not fair."
"Hey, I'm feeling pretty tense..." says Twist.
Dinky Doo levitates a bottle of massage oil from her saddlebags. "Problem, meet solution."
Salts and massage go together like salts and more salts. Strong stimulants make all your muscles tense up, and having somepony press their hooves into you and work out every little bit of that tension feels like intravenous heaven. So we rise to the occasion and start massaging. First me and Chowder work on Ruby and Twist, then it spreads over the room like a yawn until everypony is massaging everypony and the whole room smells of clover, musk and eucalyptus oil.
Ten minutes later I'm getting my back worked over by Lickety. He's just found out that my ears twitch when he presses just to the left of my spine by the bottom of my ribs, and he's happier than a souse in a wine-cellar about it. He's gentle, almost too gentle, but he knows where to put his hooves. I just lie there and give a happy sigh.
I give him a soft little kiss on the ear when he's done, then Chowder puts him face down and starts rubbing circles across his back. Lickety starts groaning straight away, and he hasn't even had any salts. You've got to hoof it to Chowder, a pony can't spend that much time making pizza dough without getting very good at kneading things.
"Guys, the floor sucks, help me grab some blankets and pillows already," says Scootaloo. We strip the bed and raid the closet for linens, then spread them out on the floor. We're soon chilling on lush duvets, goose-down pillows and sheets with intimidatingly high thread counts. I grab the oil and ask Scoots if she wants a turn.
"Sure." She lays down, wings spread out at the sides. I straddle her lower back, drizzle some oil between her neck and her withers, and work it in. Then I feel out the hard and tense spots, and push into them until they're gone. She doesn't moan or sigh, she lays there with a contented little smile on her face.
"Squeaky, do you know how to do wings?" she asks when I reach her wing joints, "Like preening and stuff?"
"I'm afraid not. Care to give me a crash course?"
"Nah, got a better idea," she says, "Yo AB! Put that drink down and come do my wings." Apple Bloom chuckles and comes over, taking a wing between her hooves, gently rubbing circles at the base. "Only thing better than getting one massage is getting two of them." Apple Bloom preens and strokes her wings as I work her body. Now she's sighing and groaning, muttering directions to me and Bloom.
I finally reach her sleek, toned flanks. I dump a silly amount of oil over her cutie mark, three purple shooting stars. I can tell just by looking that her flanks, thighs and haunches are very tense, and I'm really going to have to put my back into it. The moment I push my hooves into her flanks, Apple Bloom nibbles one of her primaries. There's no moment of tension, no little squeak or whine, she just soaks into the sheets like melted butter.
"Hah. Ya lucky Winona ain't here, Scoots, she loves boneless chicken."
"...fuck you AB."
Scootaloo isn't half as tense as Apple Bloom was at the lake, so we're done a few minutes later. Apple Bloom and I flop down and cuddle up next to her. We're all still buzzing from the Hurricanes, and it feels so soft and sensual. Scoots reaches over me with a wing, grabs a sheet and drapes it over us. We cuddle even closer and start nuzzling. I run my hooves up and down Scootaloo's tight, taut frame. She runs a hoof over my cutie mark and her head is tucked into my neck. Apple Bloom is snuggling me from behind, her legs wrapped around my barrel and her warm, boozy breath on my ear.
Somepony lifts the sheet and peeks under. It's Lickety Split.
"Hey there Pip - oh, hey Scoot, Bloom." His face falls a tad.
"Hey Lickety, care to join us?" I ask. I can't quite place the look he gives me.
"Oh, no, it's cool. I just wanted to say I'm heading downstairs, I want to get a few more dances in," he says with a little smile, "You never know, maybe I can chat up some cute colt while I'm at it."
"If you're sure." I dart up and peck him on the lips. He blushes, and trots out the room. I stick the sheets back over me and squeeze myself back between the two fillies.
I suddenly feel something move in behind us, and a claw runs over my flank. Craning my neck I see Spike, reaching over Apple Bloom and having his neck kissed by Sweetie Belle. I clear my throat, and there's a moment of awkward eye contact as Spike realises whose flank his claw is on. I just wink at him, he laughs, gives my cutie mark a squeeze and then cuddles into Apple Bloom.
Three ex-Crusaders and a dragon OH FUCKING SCORE!
Stroking and cuddling turns into kissing and groping. Apple Bloom presses her lips to mine hard, as sloppy as Diamond Tiara and far rougher than Lickety Split. I kiss her back hungrily, and then yelp and shiver as Scootaloo sticks her tongue in my ear.
I turn over to Scootaloo and we pepper each other's muzzles with kisses, until Apple Bloom growls then bites down and sucks hard on my neck. I try to turn back to her, but Scoots bites my mane and drags me back towards her. Before she can react, I slip a foreleg under her side, and roll over, taking her over my belly and dropping her between me and Apple Bloom.
The two mares cuddle into each other, snug between me and Spike. I lick the back of Scootaloo's neck and then nibble her orange coat just to see her shudder. She arches her neck back and I bury my face in her messy purple mane, inhaling deeply. She smells of cheap shampoo, sweat and mechanic's grease. It's wonderful.
I lift my head and look at the three lovely fillies and dragon I'm lying with. We're all bright red and panting, damp manes plastered over faces, coats slick with sweat. It's not just because this is the sexiest thing since Princess Luna had a harem. Scootaloo is the first to speak out:
"Oh mare I'm thirsty, it's boiling in here."
"Do you chaps want some drinks?" I ask.
"Oh, yes please."
"Good idea, Squeaky,"
"Mighty kind'a ya."
"You're the dude, dude."
I wriggle out from under the sheets, and then take a moment to stretch out in the cool air of the bedroom. There's a giggling, wriggling lump under the bedclothes where my two best friends, Dinky, Twist and Ruby are. The door to the room is open a crack; Lickety Split must have left it open.
I head over to the pile of drinks and see we've drank all the orange juice. Hmm. Bourbon and cola should do nicely. I take out five cups and then nudge the lid off the crate. A cold shiver runs down my spine. You see, there were nine bottles left in that crate. Nine bottles. Three used, nine left over. Simple maths.
Except there are no bottles of bourbon.
I'm staring at a bare crate.