Freeze Frame

by ToixStory


Episode 6: One Toke Over The Line

I woke up to find a squishy red ball occupying my mouth. It tasted like . . . well, it tasted nasty. It was all I could do to spit it out as quickly as I could and desperately wipe at my tongue.

“Gross, gross, gross . . . !” I sputtered.

With that matter finished, I was able to get a better look at my surroundings. I was back in me and Sterling’s hotel room, and in the big bed. Alone. The sheets were all crumpled up and strewn across the bed and floor surrounding it. There was no sign of the two unicorn mares from the night before.

I groaned as I felt a pounding in my head. Great, a hangover. I didn’t remember too much about the night before . . . I remember the bar, and then coming back to our room, but after that: nothing. Hazy fog and a wild heat and . . . Sterling!

I turned over the bed and the sheets on the floor in a panic until I heard a faint snoring coming from a lumpy figure beneath a blanket on the couch. Sure enough, my inventor was fast asleep; still dead to the world. I walked over and poked his forehead until one eye fluttered open.

“Huh . . . what?” he said.

“It’s morning,” I told him. “Today’s the day of the expo.”

He snorted. “What time is it?”

I shot a glance at the clock, then answered, “Quarter to nine.”

Sterling yawned and struggled off the couch to stand shakily on his hooves. His mane was in a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. He held his head just as I had: the hangover, part two. Like the first, but not as interesting since it was pretty much the same as the first.

“Ugh, what happened last night?” he groaned. “No, scratch that, why did that happen last night?”

“You were the one who was so eager once those mares entered into the picture,” I said without a single ounce of bitterness in my voice. Nope, none at all.

He laughed. “You didn’t hold out much longer, you know.”

I rolled my eyes and kicked out a couch cushion on the floor. It was covered in an indiscernible sticky substance that I was not going to look further into. “Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway,” I said. “They’re gone now, and today’s the day of the expo. Our big day. So we need to get ready, don’t you think?”

“I call first shower, then.” Before I could protest, Sterling trotted into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him.

I sighed and let him be, choosing instead to tidy the room up a bit. I piled the sheets onto the bed for the maids and left the couch cushions in one corner for them to--hopefully--clean very thoroughly. Maybe I should leave a note, I thought. I decided against it, though. Writing is hard.

Instead, I walked over to a mirror that hung over the nightstand and took a good look at myself. My eyes were bloodshot and my mane frizzy in just about every place and curled up where it normally wouldn’t have been. My clothes were gone, too, but that was expected.

I located my cheap outfit that I was now beginning to think as my reporting garb and put them on for me to look at. The red floral-pattern shirt and the floppy, wide-brimmed hat fit me, I thought. To help with my ungainly-looking eyes, I grabbed Sterling’s Wonderbolt shades and put them on. Much better, I thought.

Of course, looking the part wasn’t all of it. I had to act it, too. Really get into the reporter mentality. Recapture that feeling from yesterday: not giving a care to the world, using only the harshest of language . . . how I acted around Sterling. All of it. Because I would need all of it, I knew, if I were to survive the expo in one piece and come out on the other side with a story clutched in a deathgrip in my hooves.

Sure, this attitude wasn’t really me, but on the other hoof, me hadn’t really done anything of note, had she? So far, the old me had only stumbled into a photographer job I hadn’t wanted and had watched ponies die before her very eyes. This new me, instead, had taken a daring trip across the desert to Las Pegasus and had--I was fairly sure--taken a few very bold steps the previous night.

I reached for a brush for my mane and tail, but ultimately decided against it. The frazzled look worked in that way. It gave me the appearance of a mare thoroughly on the job.

When Sterling emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, however, I temporarily shed my clothes and gained a much-needed shower. Looking frazzled was one thing, but actually smelling like it was another thing entirely.

*        *        *

Sterling and I took the elevator down to the ground floor and emerged out into the bright, steaming sun that bounced off the blacktop of the parking lot and right into our faces. Being in a desert, Las Pegasus was prone to being very hot. What a shocker.

We located the Great Red Shark with little difficulty, and gave a parking attendant the ticket from yesterday in exchange for another before roaring off down the main road in search of the convention.

Not that we had to search for long, however, The expo was located in a large stadium-esque building near the edge of town that traffic congealed around. To some, Sterling told me, the Las Pegasus Inventor’s Expo was the Wonderbolt Derby, the Canterlot Rodeo, and the Ponyville Fashion show all rolled up into one package that reeked of low-grade formaldehyde and pocket protectors.

It took some explaining to convince the guards at the gate that the Great Red Shark was, in fact, our exhibit as well as mode of transportation, and it took some further wrangling to convince them to open the back gates of the stadium and let us roll the car in to its assigned area.

Registration, as they informed us, had been recommended to start a few hours before. They left us alone when Sterling informed them that we still had an hour to sign in if we so chose. The assigned area for the vehicle was near the back of the exhibit area. It was a round stage with a ramp that we wheeled the Great Red Shark on and was already set up with examples and charts and other such stuff on the ground around it. These had apparently been set up by somepony before we had even gotten there, which perplexed me until Sterling explained the deal to me.

Well, more like showed it to me. A unicorn mare wrapped in gunmetal grey with a splash of blue to serve as her mane and tail stood by the display, looking mighty proud of herself. There was an impish grin below her pale blue eyes. Sterling waved at her and dragged me over.

“Minty, meet Silver Cogwheel,” he said. “Cog for short. She’s my partner from Stalliongrad. We met when Starshine and I showed off her wings a few years ago.”

Cog nodded and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minty,” she said in a heavily-accented speech. “Sterling told me a lot about you while he and I put the finishing touches on the car.”

I cautiously smiled and raised a hoof. “Hi.”

“Cog agreed to help me after her wing prototypes ended up taking longer to develop than she thought,” Sterling explained.

Cog rubbed the back of her head. “Not really prototypes, even. Just some tweaks to the original design that you didn’t have the time to put in place for that Starshine girl.”

“Sure,” Sterling said with a grin. “Anyway, now that we’re set up, we can really get this convention going, huh?

“Just wait until the crowd gets a look at this,” Cog said. “We’re set to win this year for sure?”

“You can win an expo?” I said.

“Sure, but only in the grant money you get from investors. Which is what everypony here wants, anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

After that, we all spent a few more minutes exchanging pleasantries as ponies continued to filter in and set up their own exhibits. The mood was still relaxed, but I thought I could feel an undercurrent of . . . what? Jealousy? Was Cog jealous of me? No, that couldn’t be it, but I still somehow felt like the third wheel as the conversation continued to turn to more technical matters and leave me thoroughly in the dust.

A few minutes of that and I was asking: “Hey, uh, what time is your presentation, anyway?”

“In about half an hour,” Sterling said. “Why?”

“Well, I was wanting to know if you’d like to go take a look at some of the other exhibits. You know, have a little fun and check out the competition. What do you say?”

Sterling bit his lip. “You know I’d love to,” he said, “but I really think I should stay here with Cog and keep getting set up. I need to practice my speech, too. But by all means, you go check out everything; won’t you need that for your story, anyway?”

“Oh, right,” I said. “My story.”

With that, I turned and began walking toward the center of the massive stadium, away from Sterling and his “partner”. Now I suddenly knew where the slight hostility was coming from: It wasn’t from Cog, but from Sterling.

*        *        *

I reassured myself that so much worrying was ridiculous, so I consigned myself to continue on to the other exhibits and take in a little bit of the expo. Not that there was any shortage of interesting things to look at. Ponies scurried about wheeling carts with a hundred diffferent kinds of machines on them.

There was a hat that had talons like a griffons but unsharpened that could be used to pick up objects without hooves. A chubby mare advertised the smallest oven I had ever seen, and claimed the low power of the machine made it perfect for children.

There were, of course, a large assortment of weapons at the expo, too. I noticed however, that none of them were actually anything new on the market, or new to ponies in general. In fact, most of them were far older than what I had seen! Single-shot shotguns and rifles with wood stocks and dull metal barrels sat on large tables spread out away from the other exhibits.

It was not for a few minutes until I noticed the sign that read, “Fourth Annual Las Pegasus Gun Show.” These ponies were having their gun show in the middle of the inventor’s expo! As crazed as it was, there was something admirable in that. That they could carry on with their own purpose and duty, uncaring for the events that unfolded around them. None of them strayed from their own exhibits or tables; they remained content in their own endeavors.

So then I got bored and wandered back to the cool inventions. There were so many that caught my attention that it quickly became a blur: moving pictures unpowered by magic, radios only the size of a loaf of bread, and even a massive coil that spat electricity everywhere. That one was a favorite of the crowds, though I noticed none of the ponies in corporate wear paid much attention to it. No practicable use for it, I supposed.

As far as vehicles went, there wasn’t much there. A few, slightly-modified, steam engines and one pony who had taken it upon himself to make a steambike with one massive wheel in the back and a skinny one in the front. Overall, not much competition. For that I was happy.

Before I knew it, even, ponies around me were making a big deal about the “shiny, red car” and walking over in Sterling’s direction, so I decided the best course of action would be to follow them. By the time I reached the stage again, the crowd there was quite large and circled around the stage.

Sterling himself looked much neater than what I had left him as, somewhat to my resentment. He had donned a suit and his hair had been slicked back in a professional way, presumably by Cog. I felt a pang in my stomach. I liked his mane that way, and here she was going about and changing it.

I managed to shove myself to the relative front of the crowd while Sterling took a gulp and walked to the center of the stage with the Great Red Shark resting right behind him. It gleamed in the light coming down from above, and spoke of power and beauty at once . . . I really liked that car.

Sterling looked out at the audience and seemed to have a brief moment of panic before he cleared his throat and spoke: “Ladies and Gentlecolts, today I have brought you an invention that will revolutionize travel in Equestria!” I could tell that his voice shook a little bit, but he looked at me and smiled a little before continuing, strong and loud. “Today marks the end of the days of steam within this country, and an ushering in of the power of diesel!”

The ponies in the crowd whispered among themselves while they watched. It wasn’t hard to see that almost none of them actually believed him. I even began to doubt my own coltfriend’s grandiose claims a little bit. Then Sterling nodded to Cog, who was sitting in the front seat of the Great Red Shark.

She started the engine and, instead of the long, gentle purr of a steam engine slowly starting up, Sterling’s car roared to life immediately in a storm of strength and exhaust coming from a pipe in the back.

He reached over for a large metal cart and revealed another, separate engine like the one in the car, on display for all to see.

“The beauty of this engine is its relative simplicity compared to a steam engine,” Sterling said. He pointed to a rod with several cylinders poking off of it. “These are called pistons, and are arrayed on the crank shaft. Basically, the piston will move down on the crankshaft during its "stroke", pulling an air and fuel mixture into the cylinder. Then, the piston travels back up, compressing the mixture and a spark plug at the top of the cylinder ignites the pressurized mixture, releasing the energy and forcing the piston to travel back down, placing force on the crankshaft--on which this piston, or how ever many others in the engine, places force upon.

“The piston will begin the travel back up, because of intertia, since the crankshaft is literally a crank, so the reciprocal motion dictates that. As its moving up, it compresses the exhaust left by the combustion phase, and another shaft, usually a camshaft, which sits above the cylinders, operates a valve that will open as the piston moves up. The exhaust will exit the cylinder through this valve and proceed to the exhaust system. Finally, as the piston travels back down, it begins to suck the fuel/air mixture in, repeating the process.”

Most of the crowd stared blankly at him, though some of the fellow inventors looked at the engine with a new sort of curiosity born out of both wonder and envy. One pony near the back coughed and called out, “Okay . . . but what does it do?”

Sterling smiled a little as his face reddened. “My engine takes diesel fuel extracted from oil found out in the San Palomino desert and fires it directly into the engine in a controlled explosion to power it, as opposed to using simple steam.”

Explosions: that got the crowd going. To imagine a vehicle powered by the awesome-icity of explosions was an exciting thought and the crowd began to electrify in its excitement. Even the other inventors began to grow more jealous than interested.

One of my fellow reporters raised a hoof, and Sterling indicated for him to speak. “So you’ve got an engine that’s powered by explosions,” he said. “But how exactly is it better than a steam engine? How much can this new idea really beat the standard that has worked these past twenty years?”

Sterling smiled. “Steam engines, compared to my diesel engine, are woefully inefficient. For example, steam engines require two fuels: water and a thermal fuel such as wood or coal. Mine requires only one. Also, steam engines deal with a much higher pressures in the boilers, which can obviously be a problem.

“Steam engines are usually highly inefficient for smaller operations, since they are solely driven by heat, which in turn produces the pressures created in the steam which drives the pistons in a steam engine. Heat loves to conduct and radiate in accordance to gradients, which are simply differences in temperature or pressure. High to low, you know. So, steam engines are constantly losing energy just by radiating heat, and absolute insulation is impossible.”

I found myself whistling in admiration. Sterling sure knew his stuff. Sometimes, when it was just me and him hanging out and doing “normal” things, it was easy to forget that Sterling was, in fact, a literal genius. Much smarter than me, at any rate.

The reporter wasn’t done yet, and I realized that I should also be madly scribbling notes down. “Alright, fair enough,” he said, “but how long will an engine that is powered by explosions really last? Metal is metal, after all.”

“Oh, much longer,” Sterling said. “You see,  since steam engines operate on gaseous water, the constant contact with moisture will quickly degrade and rust metal components. A diesel engine, on the other hand, does not require water, except to cool it. Steam engines, as you all know, have never really been known for their reliability, except when they are designed into turbines, which create the electricity for power stations or energy for extremely large vehicles. Anyway, diesel engines last even longer, because they operate at the higher pressures like I said earlier, and because of this, they require stronger components and thick cylinder walls made of iron or what-have-you.”

Cog took over from Sterling’s monologue to sweep her hoof along the side of the car and proclaim, “As you can see, the diesel engine is superior in every way!”

A few of the ponies in the crowd started to clap at that, and I found myself doing it with them. It was nice to see Serling surprised at how vocal the crowd was, and he even took a small bow. Cog roared the engine one more time for effect, and then the show was over.

The crowd, sensing it was time to leave, gradually began to filter out and away from the stage, chattering away with each other. I trotted to up on the stage to find Sterling visibly sweating and breathing hard.

“H-Hey, Minty,” he said with a goofy smile. “How did I do?”

“Great,” I said. “I mean, I think I understood about a fourth of what you said, but what I understood was pretty good!”

Cog smiled and wrapped a hoof around his shoulder. “Great presentation, Sterling. I think we’ve got that grant money nailed for sure.”

“You really think so?” Sterling said.

“I know so,” she answered.

Sterling laughed. “W-Well glad you approve, Cog. I was really worried.”

So that was it. I watched as he looked at her for assurance and not . . . me. Suddenly, that pit in my stomach that had been growing  alighted in fire like a burning nightmare. That . . . that mare with her hoof around him. Oh sure, I bet she was a real friend of his.

“Hey, so, uh, what now?” I said. “Do we wait on the judges or something?”

“No, the judging won’t be until tomorrow,” Sterling informed me. “Today is the day it’s open to the public. Come tomorrow, only the judges, inventors, and press will be allowed in. That’s when I’ll have to give my presentation again.”

“Then why give it today?”

“Because the judges are probably here today anyway, and will be walking around to see the inventions most ponies are talking about or looking at.”

As I looked out past the stage, I did notice that more than a few ponies continued to watch the car and us that stood next to it. I felt like I was on a pedestal . . . it felt pretty good, really. Even if I knew I wasn’t what they were here to see.

“Alright,” I said, “so if you’re done for today, what do you say to me and you going to get something to eat?” I smiled. “You could even explain some of that egghead talk to me so I could get it down for my story.”

Sterling grinned, but not in the way I had hoped. It was a grin that came before an awkward statement that he really did not want to make. “I’d love to, Minty,” he said, “but Cog said she already booked a restaurant to go celebrate at. You can definitely come, though. I mean, if you’re done here with your story.”

Now that I thought about it, I didn’t really have anything of note to write down for the story. Then again, what did it matter? I could get it later.

“Nah, I’m done for today here,” I said. “We can all go the restaurant.”

Cog nodded. “Great! We can take my rental car, too. It’s not nearly as good as Red Bullet, but it’ll get us there.”

We followed after her to the parking lot just outside the stadium to a boring, brown steamcar that had enough room for four. I got in the back and scooted over to make room for Sterling, but he chose to ride shotgun next to Cog. I made a show of leaning out on the backseat and claiming it for myself, then, but they didn’t seem to notice.

As we pulled away from the expo, I huffed. Cog was certainly turning out to be annoying, that was for sure. Plus, Red Bullet was just stupid, anypony with half a brain knew Great Red Shark was the preferred term. I took the rest of the ride in sullen silence.

*        *        *

We arrived at a restaurant that was somewhere between fancy and droll, in a strange neutral area that I hadn’t known could exist. The walls were clean and adorned by formal light fixtures, while the waiters and waitresses were all dressed up and carried food to the tables in a practiced manner. Meanwhile, however, the patrons seated at the wooden booths were dressed in more “normal” ways and the food was deceptively usual with hay fries and daisy sandwiches dominating the menu along with a wide range of other confectioneries. The place was called “The Dive”.

Cog led us to a table near the back near a wooden stage large enough for a formal band that was currently shrouded in shadow. We sat down and ordered our food: Cog got an apple-glaze salad, Sterling a rose petal sandwich, and I grabbed--after happily finding out that they had it--a few, “real” Maneican tacos with lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese inside the hard shell. Joya had introduced me to them a few weeks before, and I had found them to be delicious. A wonder why they hadn’t caught on outside of the western areas of Equestria.

While the waitress in her black uniform carried away a paper with our orders on it, Cog grinned gleefully at Sterling. Like the booths at the club the night before, the seats were round and wrapped around the table, so there was no actual side to sit on. Sterling chose to be in the middle, however.

“So Sterling,” Cog began, “you like it here?”

He nodded. “Yeah, this restaurant is pretty great.”

“I agree, but don’t you think it could use some music?”

On cue, she clopped her forehooves together and suddenly the stage lit up from overhead lights and a band began to play. They were made up of unicorns and pegasi, and were much more informal than any I had ever seen. They had a large drum set in the back, but not arranged as an orchestra would, but rather in a haphazard fashion.

One of the unicorns held a guitar that was, for some reason, plugged in to an electrical outlet, while a pegasi held a similar instrument with only four strings. Finally, an earth pony with a large beard and mussy mane took the position of singer.

Sterling gasped as he watched them, and turned to Cog. “You . . . you got Jefferson Airship to play here?!”

Cog laughed and smiled at him. “Of course! My cousin knows a scheduler of theirs, and I found out they were going to be in Las Pegasus this week. It wasn’t so hard to convince them to play for one day at a bar, especially for the pay this place gives.”

“Wait . . . who’s Jefferson Airship?” I said. “Is he the guy on the microphone?”

“No, no,” Sterling said. “Jefferson Airship is a band. They’re from my hometown, San Flankcisco. I’ve listened to all their songs at least ten times . . . but I’ve only seen them live once, and that was a year ago.”

The pony on the microphone grinned in our direction before tapping it. “Alright, we’re gonna do a song,” he said in an odd accent. “Hope you all enjoy it.”

The guitar started up in a haunting wail as the unicorn held it and a pick in his magic to strum. When it had gone on for a few moments--and been joined by a tambourine--the singer started up: “Today, I feel like pleasing you more than before . . . today, I know what I wanna do, but I don’t know what for. To be living for you is all I want to do . . . to be loving you it’ll all be there when my dreams come true.”

Cog and Sterling both seemed to be enjoying themselves and swaying to the music with the rest of the restaurant as the band played. So maybe it was only me that noticed the lyrics . . . had Cog chosen them on purpose? Because it was a pretty blunt message, and one that neither she nor Sterling seemed to address. In fact, Sterling kept looking at her in amazement and laughing while I was, well, ignored.

I sat sullenly in the booth, then, as our food arrived and I scarfed down my tacos in silence. They were good. Dammit. The band started up another song about love and junk, so I started to hope that dopey love songs were all they played, so it wasn’t a move on Cog’s part. Even then, though, I kept a close watch on her from across the table. How she talked to Sterling . . . and how, in my studying of her, I didn’t.

Really, I went most of the time without saying more than a few words in the conversation as they drifted on talking about how they would use the grant money. Apparently up next was applying their new engine to all sorts of things. Sterling made the suggestion to install them into airships, but Cog said that they should think more out of the box on flight. Attaching the engine to wings, even. The conversation moved to the technical aspects of Cog’s new wings for Starshine, and I lost track.

Eventually, night settled again on the city. The neon lights blazed defiantly out at the stars, daring them to bathe Las Pegasus in darkness. Most of the patrons from earlier had left the restaurant, but we still remained. At some point, the members of Jefferson Airship had put down their instruments and moved into the booth next to us, and even talked to us. Well, more talked to Cog about them playing at the restaurant and saying a few words to Sterling who looked like he was about to faint.

I remained silent.

After a while of that, Sterling interrupted me from a reverie I had placed myself in by sliding next to me in the booth. “Hey, Minty,” he said. “You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

I shrugged. “Just letting you enjoy yourself and your time with Cog.”

“You sound jealous.”

“What? Me?” I laughed. “Sterling, you know I’m not jealous . . . I’m just letting you enjoy the time with your friend; we’ll have plenty of time later. Tonight, even.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “About that . . . well, you see, the band invited us to some party. I mean, you’re welcome to go, but I didn’t know if you would want to-”

“Nah, go on without me,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I need to get caught up on my story, anyway. You go and have fun with Cog and the band.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

His face broke out in a warm smile that did in fact help me feel a little better about lying. “Thanks, Minty, you’re the best!”

Sterling confirmed the information with Cog and they shortly left off with the band to some nightclub or whatever. Not that I cared. No sir, I was Miss Neutral. I was still Miss Neutral when a waiter came up and informed me that our esteemed guests had left without paying.

That was how I found myself still at the restaurant close to midnight washing dishes. My saved up bits had been able to cover most of the costs, but not all. I picked up a dish in one hoof and flapped it dry, because it was easier than using a towel.

The kitchen was a dirty little closet with grime covering the tile underhoof and walls, as well as the massive aluminum sink that some fatback grosero had set me in front of. Dish after dish came through. Rinse, soap, rinse again, dry, repeat. Rinse. Soap. Rinse again. Dry. Repeat. Just a pattern that went on as the minutes slowly ticked by and the resentment in the pit of my stomach rose to my head.

Resentment for that stupid band and Sterling for liking them. For Cog and Sterling liking her, and for not feeling like paying attention to me. Then resentment for myself for being so selfish to want him all to myself. But was that such a bad thing? To want my coltfriend for myself? Of course, wasn’t it worse that all the resentment revolved around Sterling?

A black feeling that settled over me couldn’t be denied for much longer: that at the root of problem was Sterling. Not that he was a problem necessarily but . . . but what? No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about the voice that kept trying to assert itself that our relationship was a sham. Don’t listen to it, don’t pay it any heed.

I was over my head. One toke over the line, Sterling had said. That was how I felt. I was too far over the line, I had crossed the threshold. I was going to a place that never led back into the light.

And I didn’t mind at all.

*        *        *

The restaurant eventually closed and the pig-faced manager sent me off with a stern warning to never show my face around the place again if I wanted to keep it. Somehow . . . that hurt. Paying the price and getting the punishment. Not fair, all of it. Those swine! Leaving without taking care of the bill!

Not that I couldn’t learn anything from them. As I trotted back toward the hotel I considered what exactly I was supposed to do. Judging from the carnage the night before, we had been running somewhere around forty bits an hour with the two mares, and had been doing so for eighteen hours straight. Ornate wasn’t going to pay for the room service, and I was now flat broke except for everything that Joya kept at her place for “safekeeping”. Around two thousand bits all told that I would have to dip into when I got back, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.

I decided, in the end, that there was only one thing I could do: leave the hotel without paying the bill. Make a mad dash out of the city in the Great Red Shark, all of my cares blowing away in the wind. I knew Sterling had to have an emergency stash of bits in the car, so I could use those until I got somewhere.

When I arrived at the hotel, my mind was already made up, though the only problem which remained was exactly how I was going to get out undetected, especially at such a late hour. I loaded up the luggage I had taken to the hotel--about two cases out of a set of twelve--and packed up Sterling’s things as a precaution. I’d considered an end to my idea if he had been back at the room, but he wasn’t so the notion soon passed.

I pushed my luggage cart back to the lobby, but it was there I lost all my nerve. To steal was something I did not take lightly, and having never had participated in such a grand endeavor before left me all shaky in the knees. Every sidelong glance from a staff member could be a confirmation of my deed.

But I couldn’t go back to my room now, oh no! If I stepped back into that elevator, they were sure to take me right to the basement. Question me about my tab, and when I couldn’t pay it . . . then what? They’d lock me up for sure! The swine!

I took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, Minty. You’re not some crazy reporter, you’re not Grapevine! No, I wasn’t Grapevine, and that was working to my disadvantage. I was stuck: too afraid to go back to my room and face the consequences, but not able to work up the nerve to get into the Great Red Shark and drive.

The hotel had a small casino on the ground floor and I wheeled my cart over to it and sat in front of a slot machine. For the hour, it was surprising to see how busy the place was. Ponies continuously played the slots and other games of chance, not caring one bit for the hour or the day. Just kept playing in the hopes that Lady Luck would shine down on them at one point or another, that they would hit that big streak at some point or another.

It was enough to take my mind off my current situation as I watched. Because, really, they reminded me a lot of myself. That belief held so close to ourselves: that Equestrian Dream. That any pony can make it big on one great stroke of luck and a small dose of magic. Every pony strived to be the next Pinkie Pie or Rarity or Applejack: small time mares who had gotten the attention of Her Majesty Lady Luck and made it big just like that.

So ponies like me and those sad fools at the slot machines held the interminable belief that, somehow, that same luck would find us sooner or later if we did the right things. I had chosen to come to Fillydelphia and had assumed that I had gotten a reporter job right off the bat. What a stroke of luck!

But no, I had to earn the position I had currently reached. The sad fools playing the casino late into the night held tight to their luck while I had somehow fought and clawed my way to Lady Luck’s throat and shouted, “Do you hear that, bitch?! It’s my turn!”

Inconceivable.

That was the moment, then, as I sat in a smoke-choked room with my flank resting on a worn seat in front of a slot machine at ten minutes to midnight, that I made my decision. It was time to leave the hotel, and this Celestia-forsaken city. Luck wouldn’t find me here, and neither would my work. I had no story, no writing done. I didn’t even know how the rest of the expo went, and I couldn’t write an expose on one invention. No, I had stories to cover, but they weren’t here. If I was going to make my own luck, it would be somewhere else.

I wheeled the luggage cart out front and an attendant pulled the Great Red Shark up to the curb. He was nice enough, and even helped me load the car while I slid into the driver’s seat. It was a new surrounding, but looked less complicated than a steamcar at any rate, so I knew I could make it wherever I went. That wasn’t luck: that was destiny.

I had some trouble while I was leaving, however, when the hotel’s late-night manager came over to the side of my car with a big, fake smile plastered on his nasty face under its beady eyes.

“Leaving so soon, Miss Flower?” he said.

“Yeah, just going for a drive,” I answered. Keep it cool, I thought. Be the reporter without a care in the world: take Ivory’s advice and be your Grapevine.

He smiled again, wider and--somehow--louder. “We just always like to be a, er, tab on some of our higher-spending guests. Wouldn’t want them wandering off, now would we?”

The bastard. He was on to me! But that didn’t mean he could win. “Yes, of course,” I said. “But, you see, I’m not the pony you need to talk to about the bills.”

“Oh, and then who should I speak to?”

My mind searched frantically for a name that wasn’t Sterling. “There’s a, uh, stallion by the name of Duke. Yes, Duke! He will be in charge of our finances, and you can speak to him about the bill.”

“Splendid!” the smile said. “May we speak to him now?”

“Oh no, best not to wake him. He’s an agitated sleeper, oh yes, and is hard to wake once he’s out. Call him in a few hours. If he doesn’t answer, wait another hour and knock on the door.”

For a moment, I thought the pony-shaped slime wouldn’t take the bait, but his eyes seemed to eventually accept my explanation and he stepped back from the car. “Very well, then. Enjoy your trip.”

“Right-o,” I said, and was off with a press of the gas.

*        *        *

The Las Pegasus Strip was deserted at night and I had nowhere to drive to but out. Out, out, out. I zoomed off down the road and out of the city into the suburbs where there was a mighty fork in the road like the one we had encountered on our way down.

One way led back to Fillydelphia and the East and all my problems still waiting for me back home. But the other . . . the other led to Los Celestias. Freedom. In a city on the coast in the center of weird, it was a safe haven for those deemed too Strange for a life in the cultivated and cultured East. Grapevine was from there, I knew, as were others that participated in life but didn’t play by the set rules.

There was a story there, I knew, and a thousand others if that one should fail. I didn’t have to be there forever . . . but I could at least take the chance. I had whatever emergency stash of money Sterling kept in the car--probably around one hundred bits--and a leather set of luggage that I could pawn off. Sure, he’d miss the car, but I’d call him in a few days. He’d understand, and I’m sure Cog would take care of him.

I shook my head. No need to think about him now, I told myself. If he was in the arms of another mare, then I need not interfere. No, just shoot down the highway and escape.

So I turned the Great Red Shark onto the road heading West and mashed down on the gas, sending the Great Red Shark into a fiery burst of speed and power out of the city and across the cold desert and a highway lit only by moonlight.

I was free.