When the morning came, Doc wasn’t exactly expecting where he was lying to be where he’d wake up in the morning; on the floor next to Screwball. He sniffed the air again, scoured his memories, even tapped a few sections of his pelvis, but nothing seemed wrong. He furrowed his brow, spotting several empty bottles of Deus Equis; of course, it always came back to the drink. What he wasn’t expecting however, was that god awful noise coming from the upstairs. Sighing from the headache/nausea one-two punch that came from a hangover.

“What in Celestia’s good name is that?” He asked, his throat was still sore from whatever had happened last night so the question came out as a whisper. Still, the noise continued, a high-pitched two note caterwaul with a single beat of silence before the noise started up again. In the back of the hurricane-scrambled wreckage that was Whooves’ mind, the survivors began cranking the wheel-operated back-up generators for his thoughts.

Loud noise coming from upstairs. Two noted, sounding strangely like an alarm clock. Did we ever buy an alarm clock?

And run he did, though the world constantly shifting thirty degrees to the right didn’t help him any. After a stumble, fall, a few broken... things that he’d no doubt have to clean up later, and the straightening of fancy bow tie, he was ready to go. At least, he hoped he was.

Despite his adventures teaching him much about medicine, psychology, and some nuclear physics on the side, he was always nervous on that very first day. The first day of using the TARDIS, first day encountering aliens, first day negotiating on No Man’s Land between Discord and Celestia, he’d done a lot... but the first time always got him.

Sadly, like most of his hopes concerning finding a bigger flat, or finding a proper mental institute that could handle Screwball for longer than five minutes, he was denied satisfaction as his stomach still felt like a trapeze act during the circus. A very bad one with plenty of falling off the rope, spinning around it, and- oh dear, getting dizzy...

With a quick shake of the head, he brought his vision back into focus, or whatever muddled haze could be called ‘focus’. He approached the counter and swept his mane back, taking a deep breath; first impressions, Whooves. These are your new colleagues... don’t make yourself look like an idiot.

“Hello, Doctor,” The nurse behind the desk spoke with an almost angelic radiance; Nurse Redheart, a surprisingly resilient and skilled medical practitioner... it made Whooves wonder why she wasn’t Doctor Redheart, the rumors about her certainly spoke volumes of her practice.

“H-Hello, Miss Redheart. I’m here for my first shift,” Whooves put on his best smile, which to him seemed more like a broken stallion’s smirk as he begs for money. Please, Celestia, don’t let that be reality...

“Right, of course. Your scrubs are in the locker room down the hall, get suited up and head over to Dr. Synapse’s office.”

“Well, yes. He’s a neurologist” Redheart blinked, raising an eyebrow; was that common knowledge?

“R-Right, of course... um, sorry, I’ll get suited up right away,” Whooves quickly nodded and trotted off through the double doors, Redheart’s concerned eyes burrowing into the back of his head; “don’t be nervous don’t be nervous don’t be nervous... this is no different than anything you’ve done, and you’ve handled far worse, Whooves. Focus!”

When he finally arrived in Doctor Synapse’s rather simple office, the silence of the walk and dressing up had unnerved the poor stallion even more; a stallion left to his thoughts on the first day of the job, never good.

The office barely looked the part to the brown nurse now walking in, and his eyes found nothing of particular interest, besides the three medical degrees resting behind the bearded stallion at his desk. “I suppose you don’t knock when you go into a pony’s house?”

Whooves turned, staring at the open door. He didn’t knock, did he? Just... walked right in. Magnificent work, you bleeding idiot!

The good Doctor. A whirlwind force to be reckoned with. Bringer of peace, savior of Equestria, and fabled Oncoming Storm stood with his jaw very slightly agape. Doctor Synapse stopped and eyed the chestnut stallion worriedly as the only clock in the room audibly clicked. Synapse decided to finally break the tension after a few minutes of statue like silence, clearing his throat and bringing Whooves’ files into his direct line of sight. What he read nearly gave the old stallion a heart attack.

“Mister.....Doctor. It says here that you had a stellar internship with our sister in Trottingham, have served two years within the Ponies of Goodwill Abroad nonprofit organization, and have been recruited as the Royal physician. I’ve...my word, I’ve even got a personal referral from Princess Celestia?!” He uttered the last segment with confusion, glancing down at the sheet in front of him in case he’d misread. But no, the altered insignia of the royal sisters stared right back at him. The old symbol had been the outline of a phoenix against a rising sun. Since Princess Luna had been reinstated as the diarch of Equestria however, it’d undergone a change. The sun, which had taken up most of the whole canvas or paper, had been sidelined. The new symbol was of the sun, already in high noon position with a rising crescent moon below it. The wings of both a phoenix and raven shot out from their respective positions left and right of the sun-moon combo. Questioningly, the old stallion turned to his inferior who was nervously tapping one of his hooves on the carpeting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is fake.” The old stated, obviously not buying the outstanding record and referral. Turning back to Whooves, he eyed the brown stallion up and down, finally setting on a staring contest. His beady little eyes searching deep into Whooves’ soul for an agonizing minute before the old stallion spoke, breaking out into a huge grin. “Welcome to Ponyville General sonny.”

“Hahaha! I’m just kiddin’ sonny. Me myself, I think you’re an imposter. Seeing as how you have all the right paperwork though, I’ll let it slide. Besides, the first five weeks should test whether you’re a honest to Celestia medical professional or a wannabe.” The old stallion got up, leaving a shocked Whooves virtually paralyzed on his hooves. Before he left the office though, the neurologist turned back “this town gets its fair share of brutal accidents, so I’ll be watching ya very closely. Happy first day!” And with that juxtaposition firmly thrown and sanded into the face of his newest employee, he left. Whistling a merry tune on the way out.

Well, that certainly didn’t go as expected. The narrator took a moment to sip on his martini. I wonder how the ladies are doing?

For maybe the first time in her life, Lyra felt at peace. The swinging of a hammer against nails, a metal plate slowly bending itself into place under each smash, a hole covering up over somepony’s house. A nice rhythm, a good, loud beat, not unlike the music she plays for fun. Of course, her lyre didn’t sound like somepony using a piece of steel as a bucking bag, but it was nice all the same. Without Screwball to mess up her day with another inane tangent, or Whooves around to drink away their money, she was able to go through her thoughts. After a good three hours of work, she stepped back, carefully keeping balance.

“Let’s see... job here was fifty bits for a repair job Bon wanted. Not a bad fix. Next up is Carrot Top and her rain-catcher, I think... bad leak? Then the Cakes want some work done on their walls, and-”

“Hey! I got some lemonade! Thirsty?” A voice from below called. Lyra merely grimaced and whipped her brow with a hoof.

“Look, its lemonade, it’s just lemonade. It’ll be fine right? ‘Course that wasn’t my original plan of ‘going, doing the job, grabbing the money, and getting out in one piece,’ but it works.” She mentally assessed, nodding to herself and stepping down off the ladder to the roof. Below, Bon bon was precariously balancing a silver tray on her back while looking up at the work-mare, her neck crooked at a strange angle. “Yeah, thanks. So, got the roof all patched up for ya.” Lyra started, taking the lemonade and downing it one go. The mare was anxious to get back to work. Sensing this, and with almost perfect feminine intuition, Bon bon called out. Right as Lyra began back up the ladder.

“Hey! Wow wow! Don’tcha wanna stay and chat for a bit? ‘Mean its hot out. Come on Lyra, a little chat won’t hurt. To this, Lyra simply deadpanned. “THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID AT OUR BREAK-UP WOMAN!” She wanted to scream. Instead however, she opted for a soft sigh as she slowly made her way down the ladder.

In the black void that was deep space, or at least what the being within thought it to be, the Narrator was positively laughing his ass off. “Oh this is positively rich! Looks like my little ponies all have some dirty laaaundrrry~” He called out as femininely as possible, taking the martini and downing it before frowning at the empty glass. “I wonder if we have vodka, or gin. Well, maybe not gin. Gin is more of a paint thinner than anything else,” He mumbled before turning around, or he WOULD have turned around if he wasn’t a spectral anomaly floating in a fixed point within... somewhere. Ah fuck it, he’s a classy alcoholic, on with the story! Ya protestant fuck-buckets

And with that, the camera shifted, with a flair and a backflip, back to the point in space it previously occupied before that no good narrator dragged it away. It stared at Lyra as if she were the most interesting thing in the universe. Why? Because she was!

The chat was going on, as expected, between Lyra and Bon Bon. One was having a touch of fun, while the other simply wanted to leave. Leave very quickly. What was the cause of her apprehension? Well, one would need to ask one of them, and they would likely say it was the other’s fault. A string of drunken nights, one too many emotional breakdowns, and maybe a sweaty evening or two with another suitor did it, but they would always point the accusatory hoof to the other mare. Or it would be both hooves pointed squarely at each other. And on some nights... well, that’s a story for a different time.

Currently however, there were two individuals that took it upon themselves - since the hospital was, at the best of times, critically understaffed - to nurse and heal the wounded and sick citizens of Ponyville. Sadly however, it’d been a slow day at the office, and slow days meant one thing, and one thing only for Redheart, though speaking of such a thing outside her office was... well, from a social standpoint, unacceptable. From a professional standpoint? It could simply be called medical examination, since she didn’t have her own doctor. And that’s what she constantly said it was whenever somepony came knocking, though luckily, she always chose the right time for her personal moments.

Though, of course, there’d always be that one new colt that comes knocking at the wrong time... could it really be considered a bad thing though? Her bedside manner was top notch, which left a lot of frustration when that one problematic patient managed to make her day bad, so one thing was made clear to nearly the entire staff of the hospital, advice they readily take:

Too bad Whooves never heard this advice, as he approached the one door in the hospital many gave a wide berth, marked with a red-crossed warning surrounded by four arrow-sharp hearts.

“Don’t worry, Whooves... you’ve followed your duties to the letter. So what if you spilled soup on Synapse? He brushed it off... after a lecture... yeah, this won’t go awry at all. You’re simply delivering forms to Nurse Redheart. Put on a smile, darn it!”

The nervous stallion knocked on the door, inciting a quick jump from somepony inside, the crashing of a few things, before a swift jog to the door. It opened a crack, revealing, quite honestly, the most wonderful diamonds the Doctor had ever seen... wait, were they moving? He blinked a few times, correcting his rose-colored vision, seeing that they were eyes. What mare could eyes like that possibly belong to?

He pulled his sight away, looking up to see a pink scruff that tried, quite badly, to disguise itself as a mane, a small nurse’s cap barely visible behind it. A quick cough drew his eyes back down to the mouth, the eyes pulling him back up. His eyes wandered, well, more so took in the sights than anything. Diamond irises that shimmered in the light of the hospital hall, a mane of silken pink, matted after hours of caring for others, a mouth that spoke so many truths and seemed so- dear Celestia I’m going crazy...

Screwball sighed and found herself walking up to the familiar redbrick building. “Stay strong Screwy. Make momma proud.” She recited to herself over and over as she tapped the wooden door. To say that she wasn’t looking forward to the meeting would be the understatement of the century. But, a job was a job. The door opened with the creak of hinges that hadn’t been oiled or looked at in well over a decade. Instantly, Screwball found herself coughing as the smell threatened to overpower her. It was something along the lines of honeyed cider, pine wood, sassafras, and spiced rum. She blinked once, trying to clear the tears that came with the smell when a familiar voice piped up from the doorway. The owner, a petite dark grape colored mare with an equally dark purple mane.

“Heya Screwy! Back in town? Damn, I thought I saw you slinkin’ around here you little rascal you!” As soon as her eyes cleared, the unstable mare found herself suffering from an acute, albeit familiar sensation: asphyxiation. The cause being the near iron-maiden like grip of the town’s resident Barhopper/owner extraordinaire: Berry Punch. “So, how’s life been treating ya girl? Hold up, where are my manners? Come in! Come in! We have a lot of catching up to do!” Nearly shouted Berry as she herded the unfortunate mare through the doorway. What she didn’t catch however, was Screwball muttering “Yup... sadly,” under her breath.

Back in the cold space, the narrator, almighty god of alliterations, allusions, infrastructure, climax, and storytelling, was getting shit-faced like nobody’s business. “This makes absolu-absulu-cthulhu? Ah fuck it. This makes some great T.V!” He boomed before knocking back a slug of Vodka and falling on his ass laughing.

“And so me and Carrot top were like; you can’t eat all ‘dose pancakes! Ya gonna have a stomach ache!” Bon bon laughed at her own joke. Currently, both herself and Lyra were situated on the plush couch in the living room. Lyra with an expression that could melt titanium, and Bon bon’s with one that could pass for that of an affable pony from the big city with lots of income to spend and lots of free time to kill. Most of which was spent boring others to tears.

“I thought she wanted to be a comedian? A pirate joke about pancakes? Nnnngh, I’m gonna have an aneurysm at this rate,” Lyra gratingly though, much like her teeth behind her lips. Many nights were spent with this mare, and nothing bothered her more than the decline of Bon Bon’s sense of humor; she used to crack jokes like the best of them, and be woken up in the night by Lyra’s insane laughter.

Now? It was hard not to burst out in laughter of how bad the jokes were. “So’s how’d you like it?” Asked Bon Bon, totally oblivious to her partner’s total discomfort. Her thick Manehattan accent grinding on Lyra’s nerves like Luna grinded on Celestia’s.

“Oh shoot, she’s asking for an opinion... quick, think of something believable!” Lyra racked her thoughts for any form of opinion that didn’t roll off the tongue like sludge, and didn’t feel like driving a stake through her spine.

“I-It was good... good, yeah. Ha ha ha,” Lyra weakly chuckled; oh Celestia, it was hard to lie. No wonder Applejack was such a good lie detector. As if completely unaware to the near total aura of death oozing off of Lyra, Bon Bon proceeded to tell another mind numbing joke.

“So, so, so. I heard this from a friend, and don’t tell anypony ‘cuz I wanna suprise everyone; but picture this. Two diamond dogs walk into a bar. They sit across and order two drafts when all of a sudden; they ask the bartender ‘why the long face?’ And the bartender was a pony!” She burst out laughing at this, as if it was the funniest joke ever told.

Lyra... had nothing. Seriously, she had nothing. The joke was so... something, her mind just blanked. Cleansed. She could not think a thing. A twitch came from her right eye, thankfully out of sight of her humorless friend, but nothing would come to mind. A few hoofsteps echoed in her empty head and a crank started turning, somepony mumbling about not enough pay, and her mind kicked back into gear. Her first response? Complete nausea, held down by utter willpower.

Bonbon took notice almost immediately, frowning before a small light bulb went off in her head. “Hold on hold on hold on. Lyra” she pronounced it Loy-ra. “Ya gotta hear me out on this one. So there was a clown, and he was all burned up when he walked into a bar. Somepony took notice, and they asked. “What happened to you?” He said “there was a fire at the circus. It was in-tents!” She nearly died laughing, falling to the ground with all hooves flailing in the air. She didn’t even notice Lyra as she laughed to her little heart’s content

Lyra broke her twitchy frown into a grin, and she tried a few laughs. Good, they’re easy enough to be real. It wasn’t a bad joke... it didn’t remind her of the good days, but it was a good try. “And now for the kicker: Why did the chicken not cross the road?” Bonbon asked, a wide shit-eating grin plastered all over her face and up to her ears.

“I-I’m not sure... why didn’t the chicken c-cross the road?” Lyra said, silently saying a prayer to every Goddess she could think of. “Oh, Luna’s moon, guide me by your holy starlight... I don’t think I’m going to survive...”

With that same grin, Bonbon answered: “It would have been a fowl proceeding.”

And that was it. Something just snapped in Lyra’s head, and her nose immediately spewed a bit of blood. Her pupils shrank, and every bit of frustration and anger broke out of its black prison and splattered all over the floor of her mind like a horrible sewage explosion in uptown Canterlot. Absolute chaos.

“Hey Lyra? You okay sugar?” Bonbon asked, putting a hoof to Lyra’s forehead only to come away with her hoof steaming. “Ohmigosh! You’re burning up! Hold on, I’ll get the low-fat non-calorie, completely all natural ice.” And with that, she got up, coming back with water and placing it on her ex’s head. “You know, I heard from a friend who heard from her uncle’s brother’s friend’s sister’s ex-wife that worked in a Water’s sanitation department that they put all sorts of things in the water! You should be careful! I mean, all those nasty things in the water like minerals and fluoride. Isn’t that the stuff they put in toothpaste? Yuck. You know I switched to a new toothpaste after Thunderlane said they put all sorts of drugs and germ killers in the toothpaste! I mean it’s totally abrasive to your teeth now-” Bonbon never got to finish that monologue as a sudden hoof stuffed her face-hole.

What pony could possibly describe what Lyra’s face looked like right now? That deep scowl, those tiny pupils, the strangely-shifting irises; she was a picture of Nightmare Moon a thousand years ago, if anypony could remember that far back. She figured if Princess Celestia saw her right now, she would be banished ‘for the sake of the country’, though right now, ‘for the sake of the country’ pointed to ending this ‘comedian’s life. This was worse than her period, for Celestia’s sake!

Her mouth formed words, her tongue working in tandem as they would with regular speech, but all that came out were a few enraged grunts. Her teeth ground together so hard her jaw muscles tore a hole in her cheek, and blood leaked out in a thin stream. She just couldn’t take her glare off that mare...

As if in a defensive measure to prevent an unholy bloody massacre in the room, Lyra’s mind fell back to when she would look at the target of bloodshed before her with admiration. How did things go so wrong? Every time they looked at each other, they couldn’t pull away, only it was with thoughts of what would happen at night than with thoughts of where to dump the corpse.

So many nights spent together; fancy dinners, a nice bed, a couple bottles of bubbly, and whatever happened after that was an incomprehensible blur of pink, blue, and that beautiful sapphire blue. Lyra couldn’t even remember what triggered it all, or whether the relationship was doomed from the start... all she knew is it caused a lot of pain, and made a lot of local headlines.

Her hoof fell away, that skull-crushing glare still plaguing her face. There was nothing left there... just hate. Hate for the declined sense of humor, hate for the changes in her behavior, hate for how Bon tried to control the relationship and change everything over to ‘natural’, no matter what the doctors said... the mare nearly killed herself with that Celestia-forsaken muck she called toothpaste!

Not a word could be said, not a word could barely be formed in that typhoon of rage. It took everything Lyra had not to just take her hoof, slam it in Bon’s mouth, and keep pushing until she heard something snap, then just push further for good measure. Again, with her feminine knack of knowing exactly what was happening, Bonbon furrowed her brows. For once, the stupid grin was gone, replaced by true worry. She put a hoof to Lyra’s chest as the lime mare’s hoof fell away. And in that soft voice that had becalmed Lyra, that had whispered in her ear the the very first night the two had met, she said; “you okay Lyra? Feeling down in the dumps? Oh! I know! You need another joke!”

“Leave. Leave now. Leave now or forever be locked in jail, because in five seconds I’m going to break this mare’s neck. Break it and never stop twisting until her head comes off.”

Unpleasant images of blood, screaming, and crazed laughter rushed through Lyra’s mind like a rampage of cows through the Ponyville streets... extremely unpleasant images. Lyra blinked, her scowl falling away... she shook as that black slime in her mind bended into some twisted image of herself, staring at her from behind Bon.

Fear. She was scared. Scared of what could’ve happened, scared of what will happen if Bon tells another joke.

“I-I... I have to go!” She stuttered, jumping off the couch and running to the door, “I really have to go!”

“Aww! and I was just about to tell another chicken joke! Oh oh oh oh! How about this one! Why did the chicken-”

Whooves glanced at the clock, another furtive glance. “Oh sweet Celestia. Please. Please. I know you’re having trouble with... near... everything... that isn’t pony related? Whatever, please, please let this last hour pass quickly, please.” He pleaded.

It had been only an hour ago when the stallion knocked on that cursed door and met those eyes. An hour ago when his mind was focused on work, rather than the mare before him. Thirty minutes when his mind was focused on those eyes, rather than lower down. Ten minutes when she didn’t bloody notice his staring.

And now... now it’s just an hour. An hour of tension that he hadn’t felt since negotiating a surrender between two planets. Sweat rolled down his face, over the burning welt left behind by Redheart’s swift slap, but his eyes simply wouldn’t leave hers. Was it fear of another slap? Was it some scrap of honor he still held within him to stare a mare in the eyes when she speaks to you? Or was it simply his imagination distracting him?

He couldn’t deny it, the mare before him was... pure. Attractive, yet unmarred by stallions in the past. That pink mane, bedridden before, had been organized back into a swift ledge over her eyes, a bun tied tightly behind her head. The nurse’s cap sat proudly upon her head, though tilted from the slap he’d received before.

Why did things have to start this way? Why did she have to bring him into her office to discuss the paperwork, papers he’d only had to deliver!? He was stuck there, forehooves in front of him, pushed further together than was comfortable just because he couldn’t stop his bloody mind! Stop wandering, Redheart! Stop moaning! Just bloody STOP!

“Is there a problem, Whooves?” Redheart asked, obviously enjoying the new stallion’s distress.

”Oh, cruel Princesses lording over Fate, why must you buck with me like this!?”, he thought in the creation of a hasty response, “N-N-No p-problem, N-Nurse Redheart! No p-problem at all!”

”Excellent work hiding it, you numbskull! She’s already suspicious, you’re making it worse by talking to her!”

“It seems to me” she started walking over with a slight sway to her hips. “That you’re having....a little bit of a problem. Thankfully, it’s something I can help with.” She moved up right next to Whooves, grabbing his crotch in one hoof and whisperied into his ear. Her other hoof traced lazy circles over his racing heart, a few giggles from the mare only serving to rush more blood to his cheeks and pelvis.

”Stop stop stop stop stop stop, stop dreaming, stop dreaming, stop dr- oh dear Celestia she’s really doing it. STOP STOP ST- stop freaking out Whooves! This is good! This is good, oh dear Celestia thi- SHUT UP, THIS IS BAD, VERY BAD! This isn’t professional in the slightest! J-Just push her away! But then she’ll hate you, any chance of a relationship will vanish like ashes after a fire! I DON’T CARE, MY JOB IS ON THE LINE! Buck your job, the mare of your dreams is, right now, giving you her ‘special bedside manner’, and you’re acting like you don’t swing for mares!” The mental war carried on in Whooves’ mind, each side warring for victory, and for a possible ‘happy ending’ that, when calculated by the stallion’s subconscious, would last about ten point eight five seconds. No, she wasn’t that good, it’s just things wouldn’t last longer than that before somepony bucked down the door and fired them both!

“I think both you and I have had enough of this little game. What’s say we end it here and move to a room? I know the perfect place. It’s at the back of the hospital, completely secluded. Just me, you, and a whole lot of lube.”

“You have no idea how good that sounds- that’s because it’s BAD, you idiot! Stop letting your sex drive take over! But you know it’s so easy to just let go, Doc! C’mon, show HER your ‘bedside manner’- I haven’t got any! That’s the point! Now go get her, tiger! Curse you, curse you to the black depths of Tartarus!”

“Well erm...” Whooves cleared his throat, looking back into the diamonds, the target of his affection. Though the mental war was waged with futility... he did have a point; if he denied her now, all notion of a relationship would vanish. Maybe taking the chance wouldn’t be that bad?

Maybe... Fate was such a strong word... but just maybe this was meant to happen?

“What do you have in mind... my dear?” Please don’t blow up please don’t blow up everything’s on the line here don’t be a trap don’t be a trap no whammies no whammies no whammies STOP!

Grinning like a madmare, Redheart sped away. She quickly returned with a two foot long, very large, male horse genetalia strap on. This was met with a few quick blinks, a furrow of the brow, and a focused glare.

“... So, she’s going to play it that way? Now it’s a war, my dear... and Doctor Whooves takes no prisoners.” He thought, and a demonic smirk joined the expression of determination on his face, which was quickly returned by Redheart’s own near-psychotic smile. The door was slammed shut behind her as she slowly walked up.

The staff of Ponyville General would, in about half an hour, have a brand new reason to avoid Redheart’s office. The reason would depend on who won this coming war.

~~~~~~~

“Holy- j-just what?! WHY’D YOU CUT IT OFF THERE?! Damn Authors, always leaving me hanging during a good moment! C’mon, what’s happening!?” A quick zip of the pants echoed through the empty space. “Wait, what was that? Never mind, get back to that scene! Camera, don’t disappoint me this time! Send me back! I wanna see Whooves score!”

As if some by divine phallic block, the camera shifted back over to Screwball, now feeling rather unlike her serious self in the past. A couple bottles lay tipped over next to her head, currently making intimate relations with the table, and a puddle of drool dripped off the edge. The table, as is expected, felt rather uncomfortable by this show of affection, but rolled with it as it didn’t have a choice.

Since it was a table. And tables can’t make choices. “I don’t- I can’t- I FEEL.” Screwball stated to nothing in particular, jumping up on the table and quickly falling off as the laws of inebriation simply stated “nope” and forced her back down, knocking her head painfully against the table. Berry Punch merely held her gut, falling over and laughing hard. The bar was still empty, with about half an hour till rush hour, or ‘till everyone with a job got off work. Fortunately, they all came to her bar to unload the stresses of life and the world; by slowly poisoning themselves to death.

“Hey, hey Screwy. C’mere for a sec, would’ya?” Asked Berry after a good five minutes of laughter. During this time, Screwball had recovered from her fall and Berry had recovered from laughing her ass out. “Look, look. I got a new brew I’ve been wanting to test on somepony. See, it’s not exactly EACA - Equestrian Alcohol Consumption Agency, just so we’re clear - approved on the grounds that it’s... well... to put it simply, it’s a drug as well as a drink. Now, I need somepony to go against that. And that’s where you come in.” She stated, giving Screwball a light punch on the shoulder.

“So so so so so, I’m going to...test that there?” Asked Screwball, pointing with a waving hoof to the bottle of green and strangely vaporous liquid in the shot glass in front of her.

Normally, with the news that an illegal alcoholic beverage with the ability to produce hallucinations and possibly kill her, Screwball would have at least been a tad bit apprehensive before trying it. Now however, with the power of being drunker than a skunk off Stalliongrad vodka, she simply saluted, took the three bottles all weighing in at around 20 Oz, and put all three necks in her mouth. With that brave slug of every drop, she sealed whatever fate was likely banging on the bars of her mental prison of liquid courage.

Watching with a mixture of admiration, shock, and mild disgust overpowered by the first two feelings. After a long silence with the only sound being Screwball’s Epiglottis going back and forth as it tried to ingest the liquid in copious quantities, Berry spoke. “Soooo.....how’re you feeling Screwy?”

As soon as all three bottles were finished, the mare let go. As all three shattered after their quick negotiation of surrender with the cement floor, the mare catatonically stared into the wall on the opposite side of the bar. “Screwy? C’mon talk to me here. You okay?” Berry tapped Screwball on the leg where she stood, completely upright on two hindlegs. Screwball slowly, very slowly turned towards Berry punch, and uttered the fateful words: “THE FUTURE. IS IN THE PAST. ONWARDS AOSHIMA!”

Sadly, without her faithful Aoshima being there in body as well as spirit, she fell forward onto her face. That however, didn’t even begin to slow the mare down as she flipped onto her face, and fish-flopped to the window where she slammed into the glass and miraculously landed on her hooves. She rushed back to Berry with eyes the size of pin-needles and demanded “WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE THE SMURFS WOMAN. I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM. THE LITTLE GREEN MEN TOLD ME!” She proceeded to flail around some more before running upstairs and jumping onto the cheap chandelier. Unfortunately however, that’s when Lyra decided to walk in, hoping to drown her sorrows in her favorite poison. As well all knew it would, the chandelier, tasked with holding Screwball’s weight, decided it had had enough of this shit, and promptly snapped, sending the mare who was in half swing, bounding across the room.

Life

by KillerSteel

Chapter 2: Doctor Doctor!