//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two 
// Story: Piano Pony 
// by PurpleRibbon 
//------------------------------//

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday,
Regular crowd shuffles in.”
The ironic thing about this line was that ponies who usually would have walked past were peering in at the sound of the music through a gap through the busted door that we had never got around to fixing. Waldo’s voice wasn’t like Filly Joel’s, though. Filly’s voice was light, even though the words he usually spoke were heavy, his tone low and passionate. He knew what he was singing about. However, Waldo also knew what he was singing about, after many a night out with many a pretty mare, sometimes more than one a night. He swore that he was faithful to me now, and I believed him. Or at least, I was too busy to ever question him about it. He always had mares coming in with him, giggling at his drunken jokes. Still, I wouldn’t think of him as the cheating type. He’s charming when he wants to be, but he looks a bit too strange for some mares, and is far too happy-go-lucky and annoying to win over a heart. However, he had won over mine, so perhaps I was wrong about that.
“There’s an old man sitting next to me,
Making love to his tonic and gin.”
With that line, he gestured to an elderly drunken colt. His name was Albert, and every regular at the bar was bound to know him well. Like all old ponies, when you ask him about his past, he goes off into long, detailed stories that most would forget the moment he said them. Not Waldo, though. Waldo loved hearing stories. He would often ignore his group of popular friends so he could chat with Albert, sharing memories and drinks. However, Albert didn’t drink gin and tonic. He was always more of a Guinness pony. His mane was once a dark brown, he tells us, though now it has gone grey from age, as happens to most elderly ponies. His eyes, however, were also grey, and his coat was greying as well, making for a very depressing image. However, whenever a pony came to speak to the grey, glum colt, he would always look up at them, smile and tell them whatever they wanted to know. In the end, he was a rather friendly pony. I suppose he was just lonely.
“He says ‘Son, can you play me a memory? I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger colt’s clothes!’”
Albert lifted his usual pint of Guinness at him, smiling as he toasted the young colt, and then proceeded to stare into the depths of it, deep into his thoughts. He took a large gulp, and then continued to sit in the sorrows only the old and wise know.
“La la la, de de da...la la, de de daaaa da da.”
Though Filly Joel often spoke with the tone of some pony deep in thought, Waldo couldn’t fake that, and therefore used the pure simplicity and skill of his voice to get by through that part. No pony was bothered by his lack of emotion except me. But, then again, who was I to criticise him? I knew nothing of singing. Not really...He moved onto the chorus, also singing that without half the emotion that Filly possessed, which snapped me from my critical thoughts. I loved Waldo, I truly did. I was just hard on him because I cared about him. I won’t have any slackers in this pub. Still, you can’t force some pony to convey and feel emotions that they just don’t.
“Now John at the bar is a friend of mine...he gets me my drinks for free. And he’s quick with a joke, or to light up your smoke, but there’s some place that he’d rather be.”
This part was always my favourite, as it was fairly accurate. There was a pony at the bar; however, ‘John’ was a mare in this case, who went by the name of Starshine, with beautiful, blonde, glistening locks for a mane. She didn’t have to use any special expensive shampoo; it just came naturally to her. Many a mare envied her for that, and many a colt tried to win her over. However, she was never interested in them...well; she wasn’t interested in any colt, that is. However, she wasn’t ashamed of it, and openly told every colt who flirted with her about her true preferences. More than often, they didn’t come back, having had their hopes dashed. Some others did come back, though, attracted to the quiet atmosphere. Starshine always tells me that they come back to listen to me play, and I don’t doubt that. I am a rather good player.
“He says ‘Bill, I believe this is killing me’, as the smile ran away from his face, ‘Well, I’m sure that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place.’”
That part, however, brought my thoughts from me and towards Starshine, who was chatting happily with a group of Waldo’s friends and taking their orders. Starshine had always seemed a charming and brilliantly happy soul but, in all truthfulness, she had once spoken to me about her discontent. It was a quiet night, seeing as it was a Monday night, and the only ponies that were here were old colts here to drown out their sorrows. Starshine was lightly cleaning the bar with an old rag, and we had just finished up for the night. We had become good friends over a few months, and soon we became like two young school fillies, telling each other about our crushes and our dreams. On that night, she decided to tell me her biggest dream when I asked.
“Well, as you can see, I’m no regular bar mare. Just look at my Cutie Mark.”
I had never wondered about her Cutie Mark before. I glanced at it, not sure what to expect, when I saw the usual symbol of acting; a happy mask and a sad mask.
“That’s why my momma named me Starshine. I was meant to be a star! Still, poor momma keeled over soon enough, and I was an orphan. Well, back in those days, kid, they didn’t have any of these nice homes for orphans, oh, no. If you had no relations, bam, straight out into the world! I was only about your age, sixteen, I think, when she died, and we were a poor enough family then, just momma and me; my dad had left years ago. I had to do a lot of things I aint proud of just to survive, and, before I knew it, I was thirty-six, pourin’ drinks at a bar in the middle of nowhere, living in a small, dirty apartment room. Damn, I used to have so much spirit. But life does that to the unlucky, kiddo. Guess, sometimes, you just gotta give up and move on to somethin’ reachable.’
With those words, she looked down at a puddle of beer on the bar, seeing her sad expression in it. She sighed and wiped it away with a move of her hoof. Soon, we were back to happy conversation, though I never forgot those words. Her story was touching, and I understood it well. Waldo probably didn’t know that story, but his words still struck deep with me, and they probably did with Starshine, who pretended not to be listening and carried on with her work, as always.
“Now Paul is a real estate novelist who never had time for a wife. And he’s talking with Davy, who’s still in the Navy, and probably will be for life.”
Two colts were sitting at a table on their own, in deep debate about the Navy. One defended it, while the other spoke against it. They seemed to be good friends, however, as they both loved to argue and sit down with a beer. I had never had the chance to speak to them but, according to Waldo, who seemed to know everypony, the one arguing against the Navy was Nimble Bolt, who had a bright blue mane and seemed to be an intelligent pacifist, while the one arguing for the Navy was Sparky Snap, who had a bright yellow mane, who was more the type to speak before thinking, and often enjoyed a good brawl. They were brothers; both were pegasus ponies and, though they took different paths in life, they still laughed at their same old jokes and took pleasure in their same old arguments, usually leaving the bar stinking drunk and singing their favourite songs.
“And the waitress is practising politics, as the business colt slowly gets stoned. Yes, they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone!”
There was, in fact, a very intelligent looking colt on a table at the back, in the darkest corner of the bar, taking drugs. Starshine turned a blind eye for enough Bits, so he was never an issue. He just kept to himself mostly, occasionally listening to Starshine ramble, as he never spoke himself. However, the pub couldn’t afford a waitress, so Starshine acted as both bartender and a waitress, occasionally stopping to speak to other ponies, but not as often as she’d like, as she was so busy. So, the strange business man was often left alone. I thought it was a shame. He looked like he could use a friendly waitress. Filly Joel was right. Anything’s better than drinking alone.
“It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday, and the manager gives me a smile. ‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see to forget about life for a while.”
The manager didn’t, in fact, give either of us a smile, as he was always too busy in his dusty old room that gave off the scent of strong whiskey, doing calculations. He was a smart pony and, with a bit more luck in business, he really could have made something of himself. He did, for a while. He was a famous business colt for a while, making loads of Bits in all kinds of deals. However, he made one big mistake, and it all vanished. His fame, his money, his wife. Soon enough, he dragged himself to this town, opened a bar and drowned his thoughts in alcohol. It sometimes seemed like all the unlucky ponies came here to die, or because there was nowhere else to go.
“And the piano, it sounds like a carnival! And the microphone smells like a beer! And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar and say ‘Man, what are you doing here?’”
At this point in a song, Waldo would always get over excited and start yelling the lyrics, while his friends cheered for him from their chairs, beer spilling on the floor in their enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes and tried to play over them. Soon, he had finished the last chorus, and my piano was the last thing to play for about ten seconds. Then, all of his friends came rushing up to Waldo, congratulating him on his singing. One of them pointed out that he could ‘pick his mares right, as well’, with a drunken slap to my flank. I ignored it, as that had happened many times before in this bar, but Waldo laughed along with his friends, succumbing to peer pressure. I wasn’t disappointed; he did this often. Dear Celestia, had I really sunk this far? To think that such a childish colt could be the one for me? Was I really that desperate? I stood from the piano as other ponies started to leave, the bar closing up for the night; Waldo always came late, then wondered why everypony was leaving so early. I said my farewells to Starshine, Albert, Waldo and all the others and made my way home. ‘Home’ was, of course, a mouldy one-room apartment, with cigarette marks on the toilet seat made by previous owners. I had gotten used to the disgusting conditions, however, and soon made my way to bed. I lay in bed on top of the covers, as it was a warm night, and tried to get some sleep. However, after an hour or so of restless struggling, I sighed and stood up, going to the fridge for a snack. On my way, something on the table caught my eye. My hairbrush. I moved towards it, and looked myself in the cracked and stained mirror above the table. I started brushing through my frizzy hair. But, then I stopped, looking down at the hairbrush. Then I started to sing into it. ‘Piano Pony’ was the first song to come to mind, and I sang the whole thing by heart, not realising beforehand how well I knew the lyrics. After it was done, I was panting with adrenaline. Then I caught myself in the mirror, and realised how ridiculous and childish I looked. I shook my head, put the hairbrush on the ground, and made my way to bed. This time, I fell asleep more easily, smiling as I was whisked off to my dreams, where everypony at the bar had no worries and was happy all the time, and so was I.