He came into the bar slowly, like he was nervous. The pony wasn’t any kind of formidable figure by any means, so perhaps he could have had reason to be afraid. But this was a friendly bar. The barkeep, Oats, ran a clean establishment. Patrons could run short tabs, but were cut off at a reasonable point. No drink was watered down, and the food was always hot. Everyone was welcome, young and old, and it created a friendly establishment. Families came and had dinner next to aged travelers, drinking and singing songs they had learned in their lives. Even with whispers of war lurking in the shadows, this one establishment maintained a positive, happy feel, and was renowned for its pumpkin ale. If ever there was a drink to take the edge off, it was Oats’ fresh brewed ale.
As mentioned, the stranger had no kind of real presence. He was not tall or particularly strong looking. He wore a slightly fading dark blue hooded cloak that concealed his face, but what was visible of his coat was a dirty mixture of brown and grey. The colors were not patched, but all mixed together like he was beginning to age and his whole coat was aging evenly. His tail was a long, flowing golden blonde, well-kept despite his humble looks. The far end of his cape covered his cutie mark no matter which way he turned in the crowd, as though its sole purpose was to conceal his flank. He wore a faded blue shirt that covered both his front legs, revealing nothing but his hooves. The only real thing that made him noticeable in the crowd was the click when he set his left front hoof down. It wasn’t the same sound as a shod hoof, nor would that have been normal given that no other hoof made the same noise as it touched the ground. After all, what sane pony would have only one shod hoof? Several ponies around the room looked at the hoof, but none could catch a glimpse past his shirt cuffs. He clicked his way over to an empty barstool and sat heavily, his frame sounding heavier than it looked in the well-worn seat. “One of your finest,” he muttered, throwing the correct change on the counter. His voice was low, but not gravelly, and sounded smooth and even. There was something in his dialect that set his voice apart from all the others floating about, but Oats couldn’t place it as he swept the change into a pocket on his apron, not bothering to check the amount. He spun lightly on one hoof to fetch the drink from the massive casket behind him. The chubby barkeep seemed far too agile for his build and age, but nopony could ever come up with a sound reason why. After filling the mug he spun back around, smiling broadly. His face was clearly accustomed to smiling and laughing, and he continued to do just that as he greeted his newest customer.
“One of the finest, as ordered!” he boomed. His voice was a powerful one, and could easily be heard across the crowded bar if he had the notion for it to be. “Can I fix or fetch you anything else this fine night? Our waitress has shared with me her recipe for a world class cold tomato and melon soup. Perfect for a warm night like this,” he advised as the stranger drank.
When he was done the nameless stallion set the mug down with a thud. His mouth, the only part of his face visible beneath his hood, screwed itself up in a grimace of pain as his right hoof moved to his shoulder. “Another,” he grunted, clearly in some distress. He moved to pull another drinks worth from a small pouch around his neck, but Oats boldly placed a hoof over his.
“You won’t need to pay for that,” he said kindly. “You’re obviously in a fair amount of pain to be favoring a shoulder like that. This’un is on me.”
The mouths expression changed from anguish to displeasure. “I won’t take any charity, especially not from strangers,” he stated, moving for the pouch again.
“”I’m Oat Alewood,” the big man stated proudly. He shook his shabby red mane out like it was supposed to be impressive. “I’m the owner of this bar. I’m not a stranger to you anymore, am I?”
The stranger sighed, but put his hoof back down on the bar. He turned in his seat and looked across the dim room. On the other side of the room, a pretty young mare slipped through the crowd, serving drinks and laughing. Occasionally she would stop for only a second to swat a groping, drunken hoof away from her flank, where a smiling set of cups rested. Even as she dodged drunken ponies she handed pieces of candy to foals from her apron pockets. She really seemed to enjoy her job. The stranger sighed and turned back away from the crowd of happy ponies, focusing on the happy barkeep instead. He knew he wouldn’t dissuade this pony from buying him a drink, and he was running a little low on funds anyways, with all the repairs he needed to make. “I suppose not. But only one.”
Oats beamed again, apparently proud of himself for giving away a drink. “One it is!” After serving him again, he restated his question again and proposed another at the same time. “Well now, here I’ve bought you a drink and I don’t know your name! I’d greatly like to know it, and I’d like to know if I can get you anything else?”
The stranger almost laughed at the atrocity of his grammar, but let it go. “I need nothing else. And I have no name.”
Oats lifted his eyebrows, surprised by the answer. “Well, come now, everypony has a name!”
“You are correct, I suppose. I do have a name. But not one I wish to share with anypony.” His mug fell with a thud, just as it had the first time. “I thank you for the drink, but I must be on my way. I simply came in for some refreshment before carrying on with my travels.”
“Where are you travelling to?” Oats was beginning to get a little curious about this pony, and he was a pony who did what he wanted. Right now what he wanted was to find out more about this pony, and he could only do that if he stayed in the bar.
“I’m travelling to someplace… further away than here from home.” He got up and sighed, visibly keeping himself from grabbing his shoulder again. “Hrrk… Uhh… Well, I suppose… you could point me to the nearest mechanic?”
Oats was startled again. Very few ponies ever needed a mechanic, especially due to the discrimination about them. Not mechanics, but the ponies that needed them. Oats didn’t put much stock in those ideas, but he was aware of them. “Well, son, the nearest mechanic is actually a little ways down the road. Take a left out the door, then one block down. Place always look like it’s on fire. Course, it is also the forge. Smithy sort of took it up when we first needed one. I don’t know how much he can help you or how much help you need, but he’s there.”
The stranger almost smiled at the news, but didn’t. Instead he reached back to his coin pouch and pulled two bits out. Throwing them onto the counter, he nodded in recognition of Oats. “Thank you. You run a fine establishment.”
He turned to leave, but was stopped halfway to the door. He was stopped by a much larger pony, very drunk and apparently angry about something or other. “Hey!” the drunken pony slurred. “You ran inta me!”
The stranger moved out of the way and continued, simply saying, “I did not. Watch where you step.”
He tried to move out of the way and continue out the door, but his comment further angered the drunken stallion. “I didn’t duh shit to yuh! Youse watch whur youse is going!”
The stallion reared up, preparing to deal a devastating kick to the stranger, but toppled over onto the waitress behind him. Just before he landed, the stranger recognized her as the waitress he had noticed before. They both fell, she with a scream and he with a sickening crunch as his body broke a table and what could only be assumed to be bones underneath it. The drunken fool didn’t move after he fell, save for the struggling mare beneath him. “Oh, Celestia, help me!” she sobbed. Several ponies moved to pull the unconscious form off of her, all the ponies in the bar glaring at the stranger accusingly. But when they saw the waitress’ broken leg, every eye turned to her.
She had been wearing a blouse that covered both of her front legs, but when the large stallion had fell on her, her right front leg had been broken. That wasn’t surprising though. What surprised most ponies was the leg itself. Where she should have had flesh, blood, and hair, she had a dingy piece of metal. Dingy wasn’t the right word for the mechanical limb, though. It was dirty, poorly kept, and now it was covered in blood. The workmanship was fine, the piece looked to be about the size and weight of a real leg. It had been attached to her at a few inches below the shoulder, the connecting piece being a heavy looking metal cuff. The hoof had been padded so that it looked and sounded like a normal one. It looked like the leg was a fine piece of machinery when it was working good and proper, but now it lay on the ground, useless.
She screamed again, bringing everypony’s attention back to the fact that she was still injured. The stranger pushed through the crowd, ignoring the glares and the few elbows that were thrown at him. He quickly knelt beside her, looking the wound over with a professional eye. “That’s a doozy of a separation,” he muttered to himself. “Though not much of a job on the upkeep, design, wiring… Hell, it needs a complete overhaul.”
“What are you talking about?!” she sobbed. “Smithy made this for me! He’s the best in the city!”
He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Well, he was until I walked in. Look here, he doesn’t even have a fail-safe power cutoff next to these nerves… What the hell did he do to-? Oh, I see. That needs to be fixed too. Well, there goes my budget.” She started to say something else, but he cut her off. “Never mind. Point is, you’re very lucky I’m here. This was about to fail on you anyways. I’m going to pick you up now, then we’ll go over to Smithy. Ok?” Without giving her a chance to refuse or even respond, he shoved his head underneath her and flipped her bodily onto his back. Somehow, the hood covering his head stayed in place, keeping his face shrouded in shadow and mystery. “Out of the way, injured mare coming through,” he grunted to the ponies in his way.
He was stopped at the door by Oats, who now wore a very serious and concerned expression. “Now look, son,” he started. “I don’t know who you are, but you don’t come into my bar, damage my property, and then leave with one of my waitresses on your back all busted up. I figure you have some explaining and some paying to do.”
The stranger tried to push past the barkeep, but couldn’t get past the girth of the older pony. Sighing, he adjusted the weeping mare on his back and looked at Oats. “The pony you should be taking pay from is the one lying in the remains of your table. He ran into me, became angry, and then tried to attack me. In his state, he reeled back into this poor mare. Now I intend to take her to the smiths shop and repair her damaged ambi-tech. And I suggest you get out of my way so that I can, indeed, help her.” As he finished talking he lifted his head suddenly, and a glint shone from inside his cloak.
Oats took a nervous step back as he saw the glint in the stranger’s eye. He suddenly believed the story he had been told, but also knew that this was not a pony to be reckoned with. He stammered something of an apology before backing away from the door, stepping out into the night. He looked at the pony as he moved past him and whispered some comfort to his waitress as she bounced past. A few ponies followed them a few steps out the door, but no further. One pony, one of the regulars, walked up to Oats, looking nervously after the figure like the others. “You believed that?” he asked.
Oats frowned, not sure why himself. “There was something in his eyes. They glinted, even under the hood. That pony is dangerous. He just needs to fix her up, then he’ll go. Just so long as he leaves…”