//------------------------------// // The Mind That Knows Itself // Story: What I Failed to Recognise // by redactedandredacted //------------------------------// What I Failed to Recognise Caramel shut the door of his house and locked it. Most would say he was too young to be living on his own, but Caramel disagreed. Besides, he didn't really live alone, at least not technically speaking. The modest bungalow in one of Ponyville's nicer areas belonged to his father. His father just happened to be around... well, almost never. It was just after dark as Caramel strode down the path from his house to the street. He then made a left, heading towards downtown Ponyville. As he walked, his thoughts turned to his father, as they did all too often lately. Silver Shield was the only family that Caramel had ever really known. He had once had a mother, of course, but she had left his father when Caramel had been a newborn colt. Silver was on the Royal Guard, a high-ranking security officer in Canterlot. He oversaw the protection of experimental magical prototypes somewhere underneath Canterlot. And that was all Caramel really knew about his dad’s work. Caramel’s grandfather - Silver’s father - had been in the Royal Guard, and his grandfather’s father, and so on. As such, Caramel had been raised with what his father referred to as ‘traditional values’. His father was always going on about how young stallions should be obedient, respect their elders, and so on and so on. Caramel understood his father’s sentiment, and for the most part, he did as he was told. After all, Caramel loved his father. But over the past year, as Silver’s work afforded him less and less time at home, Caramel’s thoughts had wandered, strayed from the path his father had set. They traveled back to a certain experience he had with a pony at summer camp. A romantic experience. This normally wouldn’t have been any problem at all. The only issue was, the ‘experience’ was with another colt. That was something his father definitely didn’t approve of, and Caramel knew it good and well. His father often spoke ill of same-sex relationships, how they did no good for ponies as a species. How ponies just entered them for the thrill, for the experiment of it. And so on, and so on. At the time of his ill-fated trip to summer camp, Caramel had been too young to fully understand what his father meant. He just knew that if Silver said it, it had to be true. Right? Well, now he wasn’t so sure. Caramel was almost a mature stallion. He should have been jumping at every pretty mare he saw, like the other colts his age. Right? Except that he wasn’t. In the past five years, he’d never seen a filly that really excited him in any way. No, Caramel wasn’t too sure at all if what his father said was true or not. His thoughts kept going back to Big Mac. And every time they did, he mentally gave himself a backhoofed slap. It had been several months since his father’s last visit to Ponyville. The rumour was that researchers in Canterlot were approaching a magical breakthrough, the likes of which would change Equestria forever. Caramel didn’t know if that was true or not. What he did know was that without Silver around, he became lax when chastising himself for involuntarily staring at other colts. Every time he tried to tell himself it was wrong, it sounded weaker and more half-hearted than the last time. Caramel’s thoughts were interrupted by loud noises. He had turned onto a seedy back alleyway behind the Ponyville marketplace. Up ahead he saw a door open, light from within flooding the dark street. Shouts filled the night, and a single pony was thrown out into the street. The door slammed shut again, leaving the alleyway mostly dark. Caramel smiled as he approached the pony. It was an ancient and grizzled old stallion by the name of Bottoms Up. “You alright there, Uppey?” he asked cheerfully, knowing full well that the old one would have no idea who he was. Not only was Bottoms’ eyesight awful on account of his age, but if he was drunk enough that the Drunken Dragon kicked him out... Well, Bottoms likely wouldn’t recognise his own mother in that state. Caramel paid little mind to the incomprehensible noises that came from the dirty brown stallion, and instead trotted over to the door from whence the inebriated mess of a pony had been thrown. He knocked twice rapidly, then twice more slowly and deliberately. A small panel set in the door slid aside, revealing dark green eyes. “Who goes?” “Just on my way to slay a dragon, is all.” The pony on the other side of the door grunted appreciatively, and Caramel heard a deadbolt or two slide away. The door opened, revealing a mountain of a stallion by the name of Bruiser. He was the bouncer for The Drunken Dragon, one of Ponyville’s “less than licensed” establishments. “Evenin, Caramel!” he exclaimed happily, “‘aven’t seen ye in a while. We wuz worried you ‘ad reevaluated yer morals!” “Well, I tried. Can’t handle being on my own, it seems,” Caramel replied, and then in an undertone, “Misery always did love company...” Bruiser held the door for Caramel as he entered the pub. Caramel was technically underage, but only by a year or so. Besides, the management at joints like The Dragon didn’t pay too much mind to silly things like age restrictions. The Drunken Dragon wasn’t an especially large bar. Caramel trotted in, examining the occupants. There were the usual blue-collar workers from around the town, drinking healthy amounts of ale at the bar. A group of young mares giggled over fruity cocktails at some high tables, faces flushed. Other rag-tag groups crowded around greasy food on the restaurant floor. Caramel quickly found what he was looking for. He proceeded to make his way over to a green velvet table where a few fine gentlecolts were playing hold ‘em poker.   Gambling was one of Caramel’s few loves, and one of the pleasures in life that his father had never prohibited him from partaking in. He was a decent poker player by most standards, but really he didn’t play to win money. He just wanted to enjoy himself. It was a Friday night, and Caramel had brought fifty bits, a good chunk of the weekly paycheck he received from working retail at Mr. Featherstone’s Quill Emporium.  It was a dreadfully boring job, selling nothing but quills. But the majority of businesses in Ponyville were family-owned and family-run, so there were few places for him to find work. Caramel sat down at the table with a nod to the other players, and a smile to the dealer, Jack O’Spades. The other, older players regarded him curiously, each hazarding their own guesses at his age, no doubt. But they soon forgot about how young he was when they saw the coin he brought to the table. Caramel was used to this process. First they were skeptical, then they simply viewed him as an easy way to make some bits. Now it was time for the third step in the cycle: proving them wrong. Around a dozen hands later, Caramel was up sixty bits from where he started. The four older stallions sat around simmering. Another hand was dealt. Caramel looked at his cards - an ace and a king, both hearts! This hand was sure to make him some money. Himself and one other stallion called the blind, and one other was already in the hand from having paid the big blind. Jack O’Spades burnt one card and turned the flop. A queen of hearts, a five of spades... Caramel’s heart jumped as he saw the last card - an eight of hearts! Caramel couldn’t believe his luck. There were 9 cards out of the remaining 40 in the deck that would make him a flush - and there were still two cards to be placed on the table! This meant he had almost a one in two chance of making one of the best possible hands. However his jubilation was cut short by the menacing grin of a grey stallion across from him. Caramel decided to check and see what this pony would do. “To you, mister Slate,” declared Jack, speaking to the grey stallion. Caramel noticed that “Mister Slate” had accumulated the second largest amount of chips in the game - close to fifty bits - and had also started with more money than Caramel. The two combatants stared each other down. Caramel suspected that Slate had two hearts of his own. Either that or he was just bluffing. Either way, Caramel’s hearts were the ace and king, there was literally no way that slate could beat him if they both achieved a flush. Slate didn’t take his eyes off of Caramel for one moment, as he slid forward a dubious amount of money. Jack quickly counted it up. “Bet: ninety bits,” he declared. The other pony who had sat in on the round threw his hooves up in frustration. He folded, unable to match the bet without placing all his money on the line. Caramel was still staring at Slate’s dark, unwavering eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. He had one-hundred and ten bits at his disposal. Calling and losing would put him in the red for the night. But the numbers didn’t lie. Slate had to be bluffing, or running with a flush. His highest possible card was a jack, and he would still lose to Caramel. Grimacing, Caramel counted out ninety bits, and shoved them into the middle of the table. “Call,” Jack announced. He then burned another card and showed the turn - another five, this one of diamonds. Caramel’s faced showed no indication whatsoever of the discomfort he felt that he didn’t make the flush on the first card. He checked, as did Slate. Then came the river. Caramel didn’t hesitate to show the triumph on his face - it was the seven of hearts. He checked. Then, to Caramel’s complete astonishment, Slate bet another twenty bits. “Wha-?” Caramel’s confusion was obvious. But nothing had changed, he had still won... Hadn’t he? Without a second thought, he shoved the remainder of his chips into the pot. “Gentlemen, if you’d be so kind as to show your hands?” Jack O’Spades said with an air of elegance, for the benefit of the many ponies that had now crowded around the table. Caramel went first. He threw down his cards and looked defiantly at Slate, who’s expression was neutral. “An ace-high flush,” Jack announced. The crowd clapped appreciatively, rooting for the young stallion. Mister Slate put down his cards. A pair of fives. Caramel blanched as the crowd gasped. Slate had a four of a kind, one of the three hands that could beat a flush. Caramel, shocked by his defeat, rose from the table shakily. He stepped away from the table, ashamed that he hadn’t seen it. By not hiding his excitement on the last card, he had basically straight-up told Slate that he had a flush. Lost, he looked around the room. Sympathetic looks followed him as the gathered ponies began to disperse. Not knowing what else to do, Caramel trotted over to the bar and seated himself. The bartender, who had witnessed Caramel’s defeat - along with everyone else in the room - poured him a tall glass of whiskey, saying that it was on the house. Caramel mumbled his thanks, and then he sat, dejected, sipping the foul liquid and doing his best not to break down. He knew that the ponies around the room were still watching. He could feel their sideways glances; hear their whispers. And one thing his father had made sure Caramel knew was that real stallions don’t cry when they lose. Before long he heard snickering coming from the group of mares he had noticed earlier, sitting at a couple of high tables not too far to his left. He sighed. Surely they were laughing at him, a cocky young gambler who had just lost all his money. What better source of amusement? Caramel’s expression became bitter, and he took a more aggressive gulp of his whiskey. Then a mare walked over and cautiously sat down beside him. Caramel was not pleased. He looked the other way, wishing she would just leave... “Hey,” she began, in a voice softer than Caramel was expecting. “I’m awfully sorry about my friends... They’re being real bitches.” This wasn’t what Caramel had been expecting at all. Somewhat surprised, but mostly just relieved, he turned to face the mare. She was a pale purple pegasus with a blonde mane and tail. He had seen her around Ponyville, but didn’t really know her. “Uh... Thanks,” he told her with a weak smile, “But it’s not that big of a deal.” “No really, I mean it. You don’t deserve to have ponies laughing at you after busting out like that. I’m not a big fan of ponies adding insult to injury.” “Oh. Well, thanks!” This time when he said it, it was like a whole new word. He was glad at least one person in the joint actually cared about him beyond just a mere source of entertainment. “I’m Caramel” he told her. “Cloud Kicker,” she replied happily, “Hey, do you want to go somewhere... Not shitty?” The harsh words about his favourite pub were about to offend Caramel, but then he realised what she actually meant by the question. She wants to... Go on a date? After thinking it over, he decided that a little female attention couldn’t possibly do him harm. Besides, he could always just stand her up if things went south.