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// Blackout 
// Story: Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot 
// by Equimorto 
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She ordered something extra that night, the strongest they had, and the bartender gave it to her. She was out cold the next time they saw her, not an hour later. They did check on her, she was okay, just passed out. From the drink or from tiredness, they couldn't actually tell. She'd had bags under her eyes already when she'd walked in, and it was quite late. Evidently the club music was not enough to keep her up, neither were the flashing lights. They had a staff member keep an eye on her among other things, just to make sure nobody went and bothered her, but it proved to be unnecessary. Nobody did.
Late night slowly turned to early morning, and it became more apparent that she was at that point sleeping there, by all means. In quite the uncomfortable position, her face on its side over the table, but that would be her problem to deal with. She'd already paid, so her unconsciousness wasn't really an issue, and neither was it a concern on the practical side of things. The place didn't really ever close down, and while cleaning happened sometime before dawn she wasn't even the only customer there when that went down. The bartender told his replacement about her, and the staff member did the same.
The place looked quite a bit more formal during the day. The blinds open to let the sunlight in, the coloured lights all turned off, the thumping music replaced by classier jazz. She looked even more out of place passed out there, but none of the customers who came in to have breakfast there commented on her or gave her more than a brief look before going about their days. She was going through a rough period, they figured. For some of them it was far from the weirdest thing they'd seen, even just in that building. The morning bartender in particular recalled a day they'd had a crater in the floor from a brawl gone particularly wrong the night before.
It was well past mid morning and almost close to noon when she finally woke up. She saw the Sun through tightly squeezed eyelids, and sluggishly asked for the blackest, tightest coffee they had. She made her dislike for its taste very audibly clear when she drank it, but she downed the whole thing. She didn't come there often, the bartender recalled, she'd maybe been there just once or twice. It explained the brazen nature of her requests and the weight of their consequences.
When she was properly awake, the caffeine hitting her bloodstream, she had a better look outside, then one at a clock on the wall. She called out again, and ordered some food. More than just some. Something between a heavy breakfast and an early lunch. She paid for that as well, and took her sweet time eating it all. It still wasn't noon when she finally left, but it was not all that far off.