//------------------------------// // Order Up // Story: Uno Mas // by Some Leech //------------------------------// “Here we go,” Anon muttered, carefully plucking and setting a number of tankards and steaming plates onto the table before him. A pony, one of the septet of customers, scrunched his snout and peered down at the meal. “What is this?” “Your order,” Anon flatly responded. “But we just sat down,” the griffon, another member of the party, groused. With a heavy sigh, Anon walked around the circular table while distributing the vittles and mead. “I’m guessing you’re new, so I’m gonna make this really simple. There ain’t a menu, there are no options, and there aren’t any secret items to order. If your ass meets a seat, you get a tankard and a bowl of whatever’s being cooked in the back, then you pay when you leave - easy-peasy.” Most of the customers looked content enough or too weary to argue, though the single pony in the group wasn’t one of them. Watching the stallion, a unicorn, levitate a spoon to the bowl of thick stew, he held his breath. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get new customers, seeing as how they were the only watering hole within a day’s hike in any direction, although that meant they’d occasionally get uppity visitors who weren’t used to their particular brand of service. He straightened up, slipped the emptied serving platter under one arm, and surveyed the interior. The tavern wasn’t all that big, having a serving area that could comfortably seat about three-dozen patrons at best, but it was comfy - well, it was comfy most of the time. The promise of a hot meal, a cold brew, and a warm place, paired with the blustering winter winds just outside, had brought them to capacity as soon as they’d opened the door for the evening. Languidly turning his attention back to the horned equine, he cocked a brow. “We good?” “No,” the unicorn huffed, reaching out and pushing the bowl away. “No, I won’t accept this peasant gruel - for buck’s sake, I think there’s meat in it!” “Not sure if you caught what I said, but it’s this or nothing,” Anon grumbled, leaning over and sliding the bowl back to the pony. “Trust me, a little meat won’t hurt you - besides, equines of any species, if hungry enough, can have a bit of protein in their -” “I want to speak to the purveyor of this establishment,” the stallion demanded, slamming his hoof down. The room and everycreature in it went deathly silent - so quiet that you could hear some poor, wretched soul who’d had one too many tossing his cookies just outside. Anon’s expression hardened and his eyes reflexively shot to a door behind the bar. This was bad - this was really bad. Glancing over to a minstrel seated in the corner, he snapped his fingers. “Listen,” he hissed as the minstrel began playing his hurdy-gurdy again, “you really don’t want to speak to the manager. It’s fine if you only want the mead - hell, I don’t give a shit if you don’t want the stew, but don’t -” “Mead?” the unicorn scoffed, lifting the frothing tankard in his magical grip. “Judging by the smell, I’d say this swill barely classifies as -” Boom For a second time in what could have only been a minute, a hush fell over the tavern. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Anon cursed under his breath as thunderous hoofsteps drew closer and closer. He’d tried - god help him, he’d tried to stop this, but it was too late. Waiting until he felt a massive presence and heard a disgruntled snort beside him, he stood up and took a small step away from the table. Damned if he knew which god the little pony prayed to, but he hoped the unicorn’s patron deity was in a forgiving mood. “Which one of ya’s was it,” a hoarse, ominous voice intoned. Cracking one eye open and seeing the stallion’s face go pale, Anon swung his attention to his side. The mare standing next to him was nothing short of colossal, an order of magnitude taller and more heavily built than any other pony he’d seen throughout his years in Equestria, and it was as plain as day that she was in a less than sunny disposition. As she lipped and chewed her moldering cigar, billowing a bout of smoke from her flared nostrils, he fought the urge to back away. “I got this, Haggis,” he interjected. “I’ll call you if I -” He cut himself off the moment her piercing, emerald gaze flew over at his face. She was bigger than him, stronger than him, and to say she had a deficit of fucks to give would be an understatement - sure, she’d saved his life and given him a job, but the last thing he was going to do was press his luck with her. Ultimately averting his gaze, cowed into silence, he hung his head. Squinting down at each of the creatures seated at the table, she grunted. “Go on, out with it. If’n one of ya’s got something to say about the food or drink, by all means, let me hear about it.” “I…I w…was simply…” the unicorn gulped, visibly shaking and instantly drawing the mountainous mare’s full focus. “Is there no other -” “Did you try it?” Haggis pressed. Shaking his head, the unicorn glanced down at the bowl resting in front of him. “N…no, but I don’t -” “If’n ya don’t try it, I’ll have to fix you something else,” she mused, her grin and suddenly cheerful tone laying in stark contrast to her demeanor from moments ago. The stallion’s ears perked up, his eyes widened, and the faintest trace of a smile graced his muzzle. “So there is something else I can eat?” “Oh aye, of course there is,” she purred, trotting over and draping one foreleg across his shoulders. With all the warmth and tenderness of a wet nurse, resting no small amount of her weight on him, she lifted and shook one titanic forehoof. “If you don’t want the stew, you can have a hoof sandwich - fair warning though, some of them have a bit more kick.” Punctuating her statement by stomping her hind leg, an action so violent that it cracked a floorboard beneath her, she rubbed his shoulder and chuckled to herself. Anon stood just out of arm’s reach and watched the display with a combination of pity and amusement. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a scene like this play out, and he’d bet his bottom bit that it wouldn’t be the last, although it did feel a little bad for the pony. Smirking as the unicorn hovered a spoonful of stew into his maw, Haggis patted the stallion on the back. “There’s a good lad. Oi!” she shouted, "get back t’ stuffin’ your pie holes or get out! This ain’t no peep show, ya mongrels!” The music and din returned in the blink of an eye, with creatures of all sorts uneasily and loudly chattering and feigning merriment. Anon slowly exhaled, relieved that he’d neither have to drag a wounded patron to the town doctor nor clean up the splintered remains of another table. Though a small crisis had been narrowly skirted, there was still a full night ahead of him. “Keep an eye on those kirin,” Haggis murmured, turning and trotting past the man. Hastily shifting on his heel, he walked along beside her. “Got it.” “If that bat pony at table three isn’t paying to sleep on the table, get him out,” she continued, glancing sidelong at a slumbering, likely blind-drunk thestral. He nodded and, hoping to preempt any other issues. “Want me to cut off those yak’s before they get too rowdy?” Snickering and pushing her way through the swinging doors to the back of the establishment, she moved toward a bubbling cauldron hung over a fire. “Nah. S’long as they don’t start trouble, keep serving ‘em. Even if they do start trouble, I wouldn’t mind blowing off a little steam.” “R…right,” he stammered as she lowered her head and touched her cigar to the flames under the vat of stew.  Though he was compelled to ask her if she needed anything else, he knew better than to dally. The tavern was full, there were tankards to refill, and he had bills to dispense, so he snatched up a pitcher of mead and left without saying a thing. If she wanted him, she’d call for him, that’s how it was and always would be, and he took a small amount of pride from her trust in him. “Anon,” she shouted, making him flinch. Stopping in his tracks, having just reached the door, he peered over his shoulder at her. “Yeah?” “Do me a favor and make sure that little horn-head finishes his meal,” she laughed, dumping a mixture of crudely cut carrots, mystery meat, and just a pinch of cigar ash into the stew. He smiled back at her and gave her a thumbs up before returning to his duties. Haggis could be a crusty old battle-axe, but she kept things lively and ran a tight ship. While he moved from one table to the next, topping off drinks and taking payments when customers had had their fill, his spirits lifted. Living above a tavern with a giant, ornery mare had its ups and down, but the life he’d found was gradually growing on him.