Cocaine isn't particularly healthy.
Mind you, this isn't to say that it's not fun—quite the opposite, in fact—and back-alley horrors like meth and heroin are, in all fairness, undoubtedly worse by comparison. But, from a purely medical point of view, cocaine is not a drug to be taken lightly. It's the sort of vice that one must indulge in cautiously, sparingly, lest they slowly devolve into a gibbering wreck.
And as his wild eyes shined in the neon lights of the Las Pegasus strip, Anon snorted a rail off Summer's crotch.
He hadn't the slightest idea where the stuff even came from—that night's barhop had taken the scenic route, so to speak—but couldn't bring himself to care, as he'd spent the better part of the last week between bottles of Saddle One. It was all a blur, really, a roiling mess of color and booze and mindless sex, and he was having the time of his life.
"That's ... Jesus, that's something else. You ponies have some awesome fucking coke, I'll give you that much."
Summer giggled and crossed her legs, a healthy blush painting her cheeks.
"Don't leave me on the edge like that, Non, you gotta finish what you started. Husbandly duties and all that."
He flicked her on the nose
"Horny little turd. Just gimme a sec, it hasn't really hit yet. Heh, reminds me of college, actually."
She stuck her tongue out.
"You went to college? Neeeerd."
Seeing as most ponies have their life's purpose emblazoned on their rear, universities and such were fairly niche institutions in Equestria, at least relative to Earth. Summer understood this, of course, but always took the opportunity to poke fun at his education, and it never failed to rile him up—the horrific student debt, it seems, left some indelible marks on his psyche.
"Fucking ... I was in frat, y'know, a fun one, not one of those 'I wear a suit to class' things that STEM kids join for business connections. I remember this one time we drove a Delt's car into the lake after they stole our TV."
"Bit overkill, dontcha think?"
"Probably, but it certainly makes a good story."
Faint whispers of sound trickled from the nightstand, and her ears swiveled to listen.
"The radio, uh, turn it up, a good song's playing."
There was a minute or so of relative silence.
"Is this ABBA?"
"I think so ... it's, um, yeah, it's the same band that did Trotterloo."
"Yeah, ABBA. I mean, I'm sure the name's a horse pun here, but potato, tomato or whatever."
His hand reached for knob, but she stopped him with a frantic yelp and a wave of her hooves.
"No, no, no, wait until ... ok, wait until I say, then we sing together, ok? You know the song?"
Summer furrowed her brow.
He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
"Ah, forgot that guys are the girls here."
"Buck off with that, mares are mares, stallions are ... ok, ok ... now!"
The knob turned, and music filled the room.
"DANCING KING, YOUNG AND SWEET ... "
Anon was many things, but he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good singer—his rare contributions to those heart-song musical numbers seemed proof enough of that.
"Heh, you, uh, you alright there, Non? I think a dying griffon just wandered in and started speaking Heshrew."
"You're just jealous of my mad skills."
"My mad skills. I'd spell it with a 'z', but that might be a little too x-treme, yo."
"Non, you're almost 30."
"Swag isn't a number, it's a lifestyle, homeslice."
They held it in for as long as they could, but quickly broke down, laughing and smiling and holding each other close.
Suffice to say, the negotiations with Haspone went rather well, and the couple left the table feeling quite satisfied.