//------------------------------//
// Bonus Chapter I: Max Rediscovers Alcohol (Part 1/2) 
// Story: Max Payne Stumbles Into Equestria 
// by CelestialScribe 
//------------------------------//

Thirty-four days.

It had been thirty-four days since I last experienced the wondrous joys of a hangover and it's amenities such as, but not limited to: broken glass in my hand, a splitting headache and projectile vomiting. I was missing that bitter, disgusting flavour in my mouth every morning. 

I was lying face down on the couch, wondering when I would be granted the luxury of actual accommodation, or at least a sleeping bag. The sun was seeping in the left side of my vision, and I heard Twilight enter the library. I decided on remaining still to enjoy a few more moments of nearly suffocating in the worn, dirty groove I had made. The knock of her hooves faded up the stairs and out of earshot. 

It must have been late, the sun was strong, the crisp air circulated through the open windows and my throat felt caked with cobwebs. I really needed a drink, and, if the smell of the pillow was anything to go by, a shower. My arm came unstuck from the material as I stretched it upwards, which was odd, as this wasn't leather. Just because I wasn't drunk didn't mean I couldn't have zero coordination and a complete lack of balance though; I fell onto the unkind wood of the floor with a dull thump. 

Staring at the ceiling from my helpless position on the floor, Twilight calling out to me was a welcome distraction before I could reflect on life as I knew it. I saw her purple head poking out from the stairs as she spoke. 

"Oh dear, are you all-right, Max?"

There was a stabbing pain in the back of my head and I couldn't feel my left ass-cheek, but that didn't seem all that appropriate to say. I rested my hands on my chest. It almost looked like I was on the floor on purpose.

"Just waking up. You think you could drag me to the bathroom?" She had been around me long enough to realise that dignity was a luxury I collapsed onto - like a cold, wooden floor. 







About twenty minutes, a refusal to pull my reeking body any further than the first step, and a shower later, I felt significantly more refreshed. Twilight informed me that it was three o'clock, subtly implied I was a lazy bum, and that she was actually leaving for Canterlot until later tonight. Something to do with Celestia and a review, she sounded excited.

While he may have been a baby dragon, Twilight still appeared to trust him with the responsibility of not misplacing the house or anything crazy. I only found out why today.

"I didn't know you had an owl." I remember seeing one at the welcome party, which felt like a millennium ago, but Twilight didn't seem like an animal person.

Twilight looked up at me as she closed her packed saddlebags, and then at the solitary, brown owl sitting on the window sill. 

"Oh, yes, Owlowiscious. He comes and goes, helps me where he can, guards the house..." The owl seemed to give a slight bow, and a thought flashed by that said everything in Equestria was smarter than I was.

"Watches out for Spike?" I suggested, and the scaly dragon emerged from the kitchen with a counter-argument. 

"Hey! I watch out for him!"

Twilight's rebuttal was a fast one. "That's not what it looked like when he saved you from that dragon." Spike looked at the owl and Twilight sourly, before grumbling back to the kitchen in defeat. 

"The owl saved a dragon from a dragon? An actual one?" I asked, pleased Spike didn't hear the partial insult. 

"And me," Twilight confirmed, smiling at Owlowiscious, and there was the proof that I was the lesser intelligence in Equestria. "Yep, but it's a long story, and my train'll be at the station in seven minutes and forty-seven seconds." She didn't even glance at the clock. "Can you find a way to keep yourself entertained for the day?" 

That was dependent on the strength of the drink.  

"In one of our interviews before.... you mentioned something about cider?"







And like that I was off on an adventure. Not the kind that Twilight and her friends apparently got up to, but a journey to the closest thing I had to a miserable, decrepit bar: Applejack's barn. According to Twilight, she was the only supplier of cider in Ponyville, but it's all made in a specific season. Not this one. Still, if she was my only chance for booze I wasn't about to give up just because of a mere impossibility. 

Spike was interested in joining me before I left. Said something about a 'guys night out'. After I explained that he was too young and I was too old, he was content with my plan to bring him back a souvenir, whatever that would be. 

It was still surprising to walk alongside ponies unconcerned by my presence. Occasionally I got a few questions about humans, myself, or my views on Equestria, but none lasted long, and my answers didn't appear to be incorrect. 

As I followed the directions further, I began to relive each and every downed drink as my mouth dried out. I didn't want to get drunk, I needed to. Only this time, not because of every self-destructing bone in my body that urged me to start stumbling through a busy highway and pick fights with thugs told me to. A refreshing, recreational drunken stupor was exactly what I needed to liven life up, and at least make it look like I'm enjoying myself. 

I was glad I left with just a shirt and my yet-to-be-washed pants, the sun was relentless in reminding me that Ponyville didn't have such a thing as a bleak day. As encouraging as the bird tweeting should have been, I couldn't help but feel there was a siren missing in the background, a gang of adrenaline-fused thugs who had forgotten their indoor voices, or a single bullet that silenced it all. I hoped this wasn't a symptom of being homesick - familiarity wasn't always comforting.

I saw the barn, and a hell of a long path to the actual thing. The dirt path wound up a slight slope, guarded either side by legions of apple trees. Looking past the first line of trees, another was visible. And past that, another. I wondered if any drunken escapades might lead me to get lost in there. It would be better than most places I ended up in under the influence. 

Then again, Equestria was one of those.

The trees thinned out and gradually cleared for a view of further agriculture as I got closer to the red, wooden building. I saw a bulky red pony a short distance away, tilling a rich brown field with a plough three times the size of him. Far behind him, and somewhat concealed by a grassy hill, was a large silo with a big picture of a carrot on it. Apples and carrots appeared to be Ponyville's equivalent of oil and coal.

For what you'd expect, the barn was surprisingly well-kept. The red paint glimmered in the sunlight, white highlights bordered the set of double-doors and high-placed windows, and colourful plants grew from hanging pots and window sills. Hay bales sat around it and a miniature tower extended from the top. There was also another entrance around the side to a different part of the barn, cut off from the main stable. 

Reaching the double doors, which were exactly my height, I had no idea if this was even the correct entrance. I knocked, received no answer, and walked in anyway. Inside was very spacious, crates of apples leant against the walls, farming equipment rested in barrels, and the floor was covered in hay, but no Applejack. 

I turned around and resolved to ask the red pony for help when, apparently, he had the same idea. 

"Needin' some assistance?" He asked in a very low voice, a strand of hay swirling around his mouth as he talked. He had the stature a bouncer might, crushing that little illegal tablet under his mighty hoof before kicking your sweaty ass out of the club. And I had broken into his home. The complete lack of expression on his face might have intimidated me if we were anywhere but Equestria. 

"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for Applejack. I'm interested in buying," ignoring the fact that I had no money, "some cider."

"Ah reckon you've come at a bad time fer that. Cider's got a while before it's in season." He thought to himself for less than a second. "AJ might have somethin', though. It's up to her." 

While I didn't understand what that meant, I did get that alcohol was a possibility. All I had to do was find Applejack. I chalked up his stoic behaviour to being a mind-reader, as he told me, "AJ'll coming back from selling apples in Ponyville soon enough."

"Alright, I'll just wait here then?" I noticed he had three white freckles either side of his face, just like Applejack, if I remembered correctly. While it did come to mind that freckles seemed like more of a human thing, so was speaking English. 

"Eeyup." I thanked him, he gave a slight nod, and went back about his business. He seemed the type of person that wouldn't care even if my existence wasn't publicized to Equestria and I showed up at his doorstep.

I rested against the barn wall and watched the intense sun voice its displeasure towards me. My skin already felt too much like a leathery hide to relay a concern back. My stomach tried to get my attention. Clearly every logical part of me knew getting drunk this early, with no proper food in a while, was a bad idea. Unfortunately for those logical parts, my brain wasn't keen to be a part of their club. 

I made a mental note to research local alternatives to meat, or the closest that I'd find, and pondered stealing an apple from inside the barn. Then, the stallion's impassive face flickered in my mind, and thoughts of petty criminal activities against him ceased. Equestria or not, he was bigger, stronger and younger than I was. 

Time trickled by, travelling down the back of my neck in the form of a bead of sweat. The red pony coped with it fine, refusing any moments of respite. And, while it felt like a century, I saw Applejack dragging an empty, wooden wagon my way ten minutes later. She waved at the stallion and then sped up upon seeing me, the heavy wagon hardly present around her back. 

"Well hey there, Max! You been waiting outside in this here heat fer me?" She asked, and I confirmed. "Mac shoulda showed you inside or sumthin'." She looked over to him, annoyed. I shrugged off his apparent crime nonchalantly, though I was eager for a drink, any, to stop the gradual dehydration I was experiencing. "Sorry bout that, Big Macintosh's mindset is that breath wasted talking is breath that coulda been spent workin', or sumthin' along those lines, so ah doubt he was up fer anything more than a greeting, if that."

She took off her hat, wiped her forehead with a hoof and fanned herself with it. "Gosh, listen to me ramblin' on to you in this swelterin' heat, though. Ah'm bettin you need a drink, huh?"

"That's what I'm here for," I said as we entered the barn and Applejack began parking the wagon in a stall, devoid of the apples she had been selling. "Twilight tells me you're the supplier of cider around here, and I'm wondering if you've got any left over from the last season or... anything really..."

Applejack's nose contorted a little as she responded. "All you gotta do is ask Twi and she'll tell ya: cider sure is popular when it's in season. Gets bought up mighty fast." 

I noticed she didn't answer the question, and I grinned as her face twitched. 

"So you're saying you don't have any cider at all?"

"Uh, well, ah didn't not say that... but ah'm, erm, ah'm also not confirmin'... or denying accusations which..." 
I was on the verge of laughing as her face betrayed every one of her thoughts.
"...May, uh, result in the storage of some commodities... in which... apples... oh, consarnit, this darn element of honesty got me again."

"Is that a yes?" I probed, reasonably satisfied with my achievement. 

She sighed. "Can ya keep a secret, Max?"

"Uhh..."

"Well, too bad. This has been buggin' me fer far too long. Being known fer honesty and then having this in the back of yer mind statin' otherwise ain't helpful, ah'll tell you that." 

She led me to an average stall, brushed away a section of the hay littering the floor, and revealed a dusty trap door with a circular handle on it. Pulling it up and ushering me into the darkness, I got a vague feeling that I was about to get more than I bargained for. 

A small set of creaky, wooden stairs was my only chaperone through hollow silence, save for Applejack's hooves echoing in the cold, unseen room. I let my fingers glide across an unseen wall, and the last remnant of light struggling through the trap-door's opening highlighted them, black and sooty. 

I wasn't left in the dark for long. 

A single, hanging light bulb stemmed from the ceiling, illuminating the room on Applejack's command. Amongst dirty, cold-looking tiles, and chalky, splintering walls, there was one other thing that stood out in an otherwise vacant room.

I knew Equestria occasionally had a cartoon-ish design to many of its wonders, but that was the biggest god-damn barrel I had ever seen. 

Standing vertical and proud was Applejack's terrible secret: a giant drum of, what I assumed to be, cider. Steel rims around the top and bottom of the sturdy, wooden barrel made it look like the most modern and intact thing here. The dirty, lustreless spout at the front was made insignificant by the storage unit itself. There was the slightest gap between it and the ceiling, with its monstrous radius only allowing two sets of high-stacked crates to fit snugly either side of it. 

"Hard to believe that's been sittin' under our noses, ain't it?" Applejack said, not taking her eyes off it. "Heck, ah only found out about it a little while ago... after a little cider fiasco almost cost us the farm." Looking around, she added to herself, "Woulda thought with the amount a' times the barn's been razed the ceiling'd cave in or sumthin'."

Meanwhile, I was soaking in the joy that alcohol was en route and simultaneously considering what a corrupting influence I appeared to have on the townsfolk. 

"This stuff's part of the collection Granny ain't keen on us sellin'. Apparently it's a mite stronger than the average yield, an' according to Granny this stash has been family tradition fer generations. Y'know there used to be a time where cider was illegal in Ponyville?"

Tommy guns, home-made distilleries and organised crime syndicates were fixed in my mind, and I wondered if the prohibition was a universal thing. 

"Anyway, that's what prompted this ol' beast. And then, when it was allowed again, my ancestors decided on keepin' her. Sentimental value more than anything else, ah guess. Though ah suppose it does give Granny that energy her pills can't, on them rare occasions." 

Applejack leant her head next to the leviathan and knocked on it. "It's full to burst, y'know, we don't touch poor Betsy no more, just those crates there that Granny makes," She indicated to the side of Betsy, where the ill-looking, aged crates sat. "Only makes more when she drinks any, an' she still won't teach me or Mac how."

Applejack seemed to get the secret off her chest, at least to someone, and finally turned around to see my admiration of the oversized keg. 

"You look like you done seen the inside of the Canterlot treasury, Max. Why's this that important to you?"

"Humans... we... need alcohol to function correctly..."

"Ya do?"

Well, kinda.

"No. I have no idea why I just lied. I guess I'm just trying to excuse the fact that alcohol is a part of my life as... apples are to yours."

She gave me an understanding look, and then took a crate off the stack before inspecting a bottle. Everything about the bottle was a grimy beige, down to the blank label. "Now ah'm not so educated on the matter maself, but you know there's some downsides to alcohol, right?"

"All too well."

"Just checkin'." She slid the crate between us, and I grabbed a bottle. The amount of dust made it impossible to get a grip until I wiped it on my shirt, leaving a lovely stain that once again showed my inability to do menial tasks without ending up looking like a guilty first-grader. It didn't help much either, the colour was indecipherable through the tarnished glass.

I didn't think cider was one of those drinks that aged, like wine, but I never usually had the time achieve the status of a connoisseur, just a basic-level drunk. Besides, it was fairly cold down here, and that was all the refrigeration I needed. 

"Y'see now, ah don't have a problem with this, Max," Indicating to the two of us with a bottle. We both had yet to take a drink and I thought it best to wait for her permission. "Heck, iffin ah could ah'd like to get my friends to try this stuff. This'll be the first time ah've tried it."

"Granny Smith ain't against me or Mac havin' any, but she sure was quick to warn me about how addictive it is, and to keep it out of as many hooves as possible. Fortunately, you don't have hooves, so..." She smacked the bottle's cap off the side of Betsy and took a swig, I was fast as lightning to do the same.

It didn't have the backhand to the cheek most of my preferred drinks did, which actually suited me fine. It was annoying being slapped around by a drink just before something crucial in life came up, namely, a hail of bullets. It was sweet, and didn't bite in the slightest. 

The bottle thinned out and thinned out, until the last of it swirled at the bottom elegantly. But it was too friendly to be alcohol, it went down too easy. I decided to ask Applejack about it.

"Affffppluh..." I stumbled, stuttered, coughed and tried again. "Ackfjaah..."

Oh. Maybe this was alcohol. I never had a problem with drunken speech usually, I was positive I was just getting used to it, though. 

Applejack was snickering at my face as I struggled to comprehend how words worked. Every government-shattering, body-trailing conspiracy that had plagued me in the past was nothing compared to the mystery of vowels. 

"N-No..." I managed. I wiped my face and cleared my throat. "I got this."

"You're slurring!" Applejack slurred. 

"Pfff," I dismissed intelligently. "A bottle of apple juice isn't going to do that. Even if this is the best damn apple juice I've ever had."

"Ah thought you looked to be able to handle your booze, Max. Doesn't look that way," She tried to jab at any surfacing notion of masculinity I had, and it worked. Not that I was particularly upset about this bottle doing more than I could apparently handle. I just expected to have built up a bit of resilience considering that I had gin in every morning cereal. Minus the cereal.

Applejack's head was dancing in a circle, which somehow prompted a brilliant idea in mine, and just as I was about to lose myself in what I was sure was going to be an unforgettably forgettable night, someone spoke.

"Well, lookee here, it's one of them illegal aliens," An aged, female voice said. We turned and saw her, wrinkly as a drowned prune.