//------------------------------// // Chapter 41: Nothing Good Ever Comes Out of The Fire Hole // Story: The Private Scrapbook // by Cadabra //------------------------------// Chapter 41: Nothing Good Ever Comes Out of The Fire Hole Smithy wandered the streets of Canterlot in a drunken haze, angry at herself for stirring up so much trouble. She could only imagine what Lizza was telling Kizzy in an effort to calm her down, or the emotional turmoil her daughter was going through right now without her there to explain anything. Kizzy was a curious young lady, and was growing up so much faster than Smithy wanted to admit. Smithy leaned against a brick wall as she thought about all the wasted years she had spent not telling her daughter the truth. What kind of difference could it have made if she had? Could she have really been able to be the mother she had wanted to be? And would Filthy Rich have accepted Kizzy as a sister, or would that have been a shambles? She often blamed herself for how long it was taking to get her mother and son back home, but all she wanted was for them all to be a family. The longer it took for her to realize this ideal dream, the more it felt like just that: a dream. An idealistic, nonsensical, unreal, achievable dream. And it was all her fault for letting it fail. Across the street from where she stood was a seedy looking pharmacy. The pharmacy itself was called Quick Relief, but Smithy knew it was just a front for the speakeasy known as The Fire Hole. She remembered how her brother, Prairie Tune, would talk about playing in The Fire Hole when she was a filly, and how it was filled with a wide variety of depravity. Now it was fronted a pharmacy filled with over the counter remedies and cheap merchandise due to looming threat of prohibition, while doing its more lucrative business in the back. Smithy wasn’t feeling like the most upstanding pony at the moment, so she let her curiosity get the better of her. The floors of The Fire Hole were covered in sawdust, and already a fight between two bar patrons was in progress. Ignoring the macho display of hooves and bottles flying through the air, Smithy walked up to the bar counter and called for the bartender. “Gimme a drink!” she exclaimed as she dug a few bits out of her saddlebag. “I wanna get good and hammered. What’s yer recommendation?” The bartender looked at Smithy’s sad, bloodshot eyes, knowing that this would be an easy sale. “How about some cider?” he suggested as he grabbed a mug. “It’s sweet and goes down smooth, and you look like you could go for an easy going buzz.” Smithy shook her head at the recommendation. She’d made cider before, and she knew she wanted something stronger. The bartender brought out a bottle of whiskey, which seemed to be more her taste. He quickly mixed it with apple juice while he threw in a few ice cubes. “I call it an applejack,” he said as Smithy downed it, wincing at the slight burn it caused in her throat. She cleared her throat as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof. “Gimme a double,” Smithy said as she pushed her glass forward. “And keep ‘em comin’.” She’d downed four more drinks by the time the fight broke up. With the entertainment passed out on the floor, the spectators crowded around the bar for their drinks. Smithy watched a large stallion walk up to the bar with a pitcher in his hoof. She watched as he guzzled down the entire pitcher of cider while walking, only to throw it back up again into the same pitcher he drank out of before sitting right next to her. The vile stallion plopped the pitcher down, causing some of it's contents to splash out onto the bar counter. “Gimme another!” he bellowed out as he pushed the overflowing pitcher of vomit forward. Without hesitation, the bartender got rid of the gross pitcher and replaced it with a fresh one filled with cider, wiping off the counter where he saw it had spilled as if he'd done this more times than he'd like to admit. The stallion downed half the pitcher before spitting on the sawdust covered ground. He then looked at Smithy with a drunken smile. “Hey girl,” he flirted. “I haven’t seen you around here before. New in town?” Smithy smiled politely as she swirled her drink around in its glass. “I get 'round,” she said as she drank the rest of her applejack. As she set her glass down for a refill, the stallion took out a stack of bits to pay for it. “This one’s on me,” he slurred. “So what’s your name?” Smithy wasn’t too sure about this guy. After all, she’d just watched him go from puking in a pitcher while walking to flirting with her without skipping a beat. Who knew what other disgusting talents he had to offer, or where that kind of behavior was considered tolerable. “Oh, I’m…” she started, looking around for anything to use as a lie. “I’m… Applejack! Eeyup, Applejack.” The stallion bought the lie with gusto, letting out a good natured laugh before spitting on the floor again. “I’m Glue Stick,” he said. “You any good at pool?” Smithy had never played pool a day in her life. While she still wasn't so sure about Glue Stick, she was in the mood for some more distraction before having to go face reality again. She may as well enjoy living up to the alias of Applejack while it lasted. She followed Glue Stick to the pool table where a few other ponies were about to set up a game. They thought to argue with Glue Stick over interrupting their game, but their domineers softened at the sight of Smithy. Each one of them was eager to show off for a plump pretty pony, and Smithy was eager to soak up the attention. It wasn’t like she had a very special somepony to save herself for, so why not have some fun after everything she'd been through that night. When it was her turn to use the pool stick, Smithy could barely make out what she was trying to hit. The pool balls were going in and out of focus as she struck the cue ball into a pocket. The men all playfully teased her for her error, but Glue Stick decided to set it back in front of her in an attempt to impress her. “Let me guide you,” he said as he put his arm around her waist. He rested his head on her shoulder and held her hoof over the pool stick. Smithy could smell both vomit and alcohol on his breath as he breathed instructions in her ear. While it smelled disgusting enough, she couldn’t help blushing over the rush of attention she was receiving. With Glue Stick’s help, she was able to successfully hit another ball into a table pocket. One of the other stallions smirked at Glue Stick’s display of affection. “That’s all fine and good,” he said as he stood at Smithy’s other side, “but let a man show you how to get an angle on.” Smithy thrilled as she felt the other stallion throw his arm around her shoulders, which did not seem to make Glue Stick very happy. Glue Stick threw his opponent’s arm off Smithy’s shoulder as he stood to his full height. “Back off, Rage!” he bellowed, the muscles in his face tensing up as he snorted. "I saw her first! She's with me!" Rage threw a hoof in that tightened up face of Glue Stick’s. Glue Stick was quick to return the punch, which knocked Rage across the floor. Once again a fight had broken out at The Fire Hole, and the patrons were eager to place bets on it. The two stallions beat each other senseless as they rolled around in the sawdust. Glue Stick, being the stronger of the two, lifted Rage above his head and threw him out a window. Smithy didn’t care who won. She knew she was the cause of all this violence, and for the first time in her life she didn't care. For once she was happy to just sit back and watch the chaos she had caused go about its business without her sticking her nose into it. After a lifetime of trying to do the right thing by everypony, she liked not caring about the outcome of the two men fight over her. It was therapeutic in a way to sit back and enjoy the ride no matter what the consequences were. She followed the crowd as the fight made its way out into the street, cheering and hollering along with the rest of them. “Hot dang, I love a good fight!” she exclaimed, swept up in the crowd's excitement at the two men wrestling on the cobblestones. “Come on boys! Kick ‘em where it counts! Do it fer me!” She watched Glue Stick take a shot below the belt, which only made her laugh all the more as the crowd made a collective wincing noise. Her fun was cut short when she felt herself being yanked from the fight. Crab Apple stood before her, wide eyed in fear at the sight of his normally conservative partner in such a state of disarray. “Are you outta your mind!” he hollered over the rowdy crowd. “Dis ain’t safe! Street fights are against da law in Canterlot!” Smithy pushed him away and spat unladylike on the ground. “We’re against the law, remember?” she slurred drunkenly. Crab Apple could hear the Canterlot guards already breaking up the fight. “Ah crap!” he cursed as he shook Smithy. “It’s da guards! Run for it!” Smithy stumbled after Crab Apple, who was much faster than she was given how much she had to drink that night. She ran right into a row of trashcans as she attempted to follow him, falling down over the mess she’d just made. She tried to get back up, but was quickly thrown down by a guard. “Take a look at this!” the guard said as he shined a bright light from his unicorn horn on her face. “This looks like the Granny from the newspapers, doesn’t it?” Another unicorn guard rushed up to the detained pony laying in the trash. “Sweet Celestia’s sun, it is her!” he exclaimed, adding even more illumination to the pony in question's face. “I can’t believe we caught her! The royal guard has been after her for years!” The two guards hauled her to a pattywagon and threw her in the back. “Where’s the Granddad?” one of the guards interigated as he closed the door on her. Smithy shook her head before throwing up. “Go to… Tartarus…” she gasped between bouts of sickness. The other guard laughed at the pathetic display behind bars. “Let her be,” he said. “She’ll sing like a canary after she's had time to dry up in Foalsom.”