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// Prologue 
// Story: Honest work and its consequences 
// by PegaTwister 
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PROLOGUE
It has been a few hours since princess Luna had raised the moon and brought out the night. While most ponies would be expected to go to sleep at that hour, the capital, Canterlot, was somewhat an exception. Its main streets were still relatively full with different citizens, mostly sitting at a restaurant table, chatting happily, maybe cherishing the last moments of the weekend that was bound to be over in just about an hour. It wasn't like the city was too loud, or that the rest of its inhabitants weren't able to ever sleep, even if most streetlamps in the center kept illuminating the streets 24 hours a day. No, it wasn't an issue to anypony, well, not really. 

In one of the many bars in Canterlot, maybe one that was considered a little off center and hence didn't have as many customers as some of the other places that were just a few minutes' walk away, there was a pony that was thinking about just that. 
He wasn't a Canterlot-ian (or however they're called), it's just that it being the capital, it was only natural to have visitors from all over the land to come and experience it for themselves, for the first time, 10th time, or maybe even monthly visits, depending on your circumstances. 

The pony was quite young, in his 20s probably, so it was quite natural that he'd be in the capital at least every once in a while. He himself hadn't visited it quite as often as others, from his city or its surroundings might have done, but he knew it well enough to have a favorite bar that he knew he would probably visit every time he swung by. And there he was thinking, about the bar, about Canterlot, about his life's purpose and what he's doing with it. He was so deeply in thought that he hadn't even ordered a drink yet, after the full half hour he'd been there. 
"You ok there, big guy?" The bartender asked the pony. He snapped out of his mind palace and scratched his head, looking around, before looking at the bartender and nodding. "Yeah, fine. Just thinking."
"Well, after thinking so much, you must be ready to order, aren't you?"
Right. He was at a bar, called "mugs's", and he was supposed to order something. He looked to his right. There was a trio of ponies sitting at the bar as well, just a few meters away. They were average looking ponies, unicorns to be exact, nothing really seemed to stand out. One was yellow with a sort of cyan mane, the second white with a pink mane, the third a light blue with a blue and silver mane. The kind of ponies you'd probably see in your day to day life, kind of blending in the background (unless of course you knew them.) They were happily chatting about something that the stallion across them wasn't paying attention to, and they all had the same mugs, with probably the same drink. The stallion turned to the bartender, who was waiting for his response. 

"I'll have what they're having."
"All of that thinking just for that?" The bartender chuckled. "One mug of hard apple cider coming right up, big guy.”
Some might be wondering about the whole “big guy” thing. Well, said stallion was, to put it lightly, taller than most ponies he’d seen. He’d often have to look down when talking to someone, and finding clothes that fit him was no easy task to say the least. If you’d ask him, though, he’d probably say that he’s used to it, even if sometimes he wishes he’d be at least a little shorter. His uncommon height also meant that he would get stared at pretty much daily, from confused foals to somewhat envious stallions. But no harm was really done. The fact that he was tall meant that he would probably be the first who’d get called to help when something needed to be lifted, moved, carried- any physical task that would require a “big, strong stallion”. And for as long as he could remember, he’d always oblige and be happy to help. It was nice, being useful, he thought. 

The pony finally took a sip from his cider. It was good, better than he thought it’d be. Obviously it tasted like apples, but there was also a hint of cinnamon (he wondered whether the bartender added it or was it just a part of the drink). It was sweet, but not too sweet, and not the kind of artificial sweetness he might’ve expected- the sweetness came solely from the apples that were used for the making. He took another sip and found himself to be slightly smiling. 
Even without any experience, he knew that making a good alcoholic drink wasn’t an easy process. It probably took years to find the right combination of ingredients, weather, time and even barrels to reach this taste exactly, and even more time to perfect the art and be able to produce a consistent line of the drink. 
The pony suddenly had a mini revelation and gulped down the rest of the drink in one go. “Say”, he turned to the bartender again, “who made this cider?”
The bartender smiled. “Why, it comes all the way from Sweet Apple Acres, in Ponyville! I hear the owners are acquainted with the new princess. A nice bunch, really, and their drinks sure do sell well!”
The pony nodded to himself, thanked the bartender, put down a couple of bits for the drink and just like that, left the bar. ‘Next stop, Ponyville’, he thought determinately.