Chapter Three – Home Is Where The Heart Is
The sunny streets of a mid-winter Ponyville were beautiful, and the shining light of the sun shimmered off the swept-aside snow that lay at the skirts of the buildings and at the sides of the streets. Ponies walked all about beneath the midday sun, basking in the warm glow of the lone and bright shining beacon in the sky. Today was brilliant as a matter of fact, so brilliant it urged even the laziest of ponies to get outside and enjoy the lull in Winter, broken by the blue sky and the beautiful sun.
Mike trotted down the streets at a brisk pace, happy to be able to enjoy the wonderful sun, and happy to be out of the café. He was glad to have been granted his freedom, granted his happiness, because the day was simply waiting to be taken to its fullest. But Mike stopped mid-step and remembered why he was outside—to get food.
Looking left and right, he tried his best to spot a place that looked interesting to eat at. Sandwiches, burgers, cafés, pizza joints, it all seemed a bit disinteresting. Perhaps he could find an inn or another such place where he could get something nice and substantial—not to mention that there might be some pretty interesting folk in one of those places. On his new quest, Mike sought to find an inn, turning around corner after corner. But the more he moved about the town, the more confused and lost he felt.
Through the streets he went, until he finally stumbled upon a large, thatch-roofed building. It was definitely an inn, no question about it. Mike’s search had taken him close to half an hour, and already the sun was casting lower in the sky, the afternoon settling in. Quickly, he trotted up the short but wide cobblestone path and through the open door. A wave of warmth washed over the tall stallion as he walked inside.
There were plenty of ponies inside the inn, and there was a fairly loud amount of chatter going on between all the patrons, but beneath it all, there was a low hum of a bass guitar being plucked ever-so-quietly. There must have been some performers there to play for the night. He strolled inside, looking left and right. Ponies were sat at their tables, eating meals, drinking cider, mostly keeping to themselves and their groups.
Mike’s eyes scanned around, left and right to locate the source of the bass instrument. He strolled past the tables, making sure not to bump into anyone as he passed, carefully weaving in and out of the groups of customers that sat around as he searched for the sound. It didn’t take him long to spy a green pegasus stallion plucking the thick strings of the bass guitar and fiddling with the tuning pegs as he sat in a chair, right in the corner of the inn. The guy looked like he belonged doing what he did—untamed mane, strong build, and the overall vibe Mike got from him gave him the impression that he was going to like him.
The tall stallion trotted up to the pegasus and carefully took a seat close by, casually looking over to him. He was was sat tuning and strumming his bass. “So uh, you playing here tonight?” Mike asked with quite a relaxed tone, but as friendly as he could possibly convey at that very point.
The pegasus looked up from his guitar and up to Mike, nodding once. “Yeah, and we will be for a good few more. Why do you ask, though?” the green pegasus returned a question, looking right at Mike. The chatter in the inn was still fairly loud, and the both of them were inclined to speak a little louder than normal. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to do, and it certainly wasn’t going to make the pegasus stallion’s job of tuning very simple.
“Yeah, I was just asking because I don’t see any other part of your band,” he said, looking around a bit. “Are they just blending in or are they out or something?” Mike asked, looking back to the green pegasus after giving the room another look.
Realising that he may be in for quite possibly a longer conversation, the pegasus hefted his bass and pulled the strap off his shoulder, setting it down against the table before slowly looking over to the bigger stallion that had come over to speak to him. “Out,” he responded simply. “But if you want to see us play or whatever, we’re on at about eight, and uh,” he looked around for a place to tell the time—like a clock or something—but he couldn’t come to much conclusion. “But that ain’t for a while—hey uh, you don’t sound like you’re from here,” the pegasus said, loosely raising his hoof and pointing it at Mike.
“Oh, yeah, I’m not from Ponyville, and neither are you,” Mike observed. “But me, I’m from Manehattan, came here to visit a friend for a week or so.” The poor stallion only wished it were that simple. But there was no reason to delve into that subject, that would be stupid. Meeting somepony new, then essentially guilt-tripping them into giving him sympathy is not how he wanted to make friends.
“Right, accent set me off,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?” The green pegasus leaned back in his chair and reached over and grabbed a mug of drink on the table, something he’d been drinking beforehand. Cider, no doubt. He took a sip and waited for Mike’s answer.
“Oh, I’m Mike,” he said, shifting in his chair a bit to get more comfortable. “Handsome Mike,” added Mike with a chuckle. “Ignore the handsome part if you want, everybody calls me Mike anyway.” Funnily enough, he would usually be asked by all the ponies he introduced himself to about the origin of the name.
“Handsome Mike, eh?” he chuckled, taking another sip of his drink, then setting it back down on the table he was sitting at. “Name like that’s gotta have come from somewhere.” Mike immediately rolled his eyes as he was told.
To explain, Mike leaned in, then raised both his hooves lazily, shaking his left one. “My dad—Mikor,” and then shaking his right one. “My mom—Pretty Sally.” The stallion put both his hooves together, then said, “Handsome Mike. Make sense?” He looked up at the green pegasus, then laughed, falling back in his chair. “It’s a frequently asked question.”
The pegasus nodded his head and relaxed back in his chair. “Name’s Twister Forte,” he said plainly. Mike glanced down to his flank, and there was a cutie-mark that depicted a cassette tape, quite plain and simple. As Mike could assume, he had something to do with music. “Though most call me Twist or Twister—I wouldn’t really care what you called me.” He smiled at Mike with a friendly grin.
The chatter in the bar stayed the same, but was more prevalent in the coming short silence between Mike and Twister Forte. Mike simply couldn’t figure out what to say. After a few seconds of thinking, he looked up to Twister and tried to make conversation once more. “So uh, how about this weather we’re having—blizzards one day, then a sunshine paradise the next,” he said, obviously trying to resort to some form of small talk to get the ball rolling again.
“Uuuh,” Twister Forte hesitated, looking around for a window, finding one, then gazing out of it for a good few seconds. “Yeah, I guess. Me and the band got here about three days ago, and I can definitely see a change in the weather already. This inn’s pretty warm though, nice and cosy—good rooms, good beds, good cider,” he chuckled, lifting up his mug from the table and taking a deep sip.
“Yeah, uh, I came to Ponyville yesterday, arrived on a train ‘bout this time,” he said, glancing out the window with Twister. “Just it was a heck of a lot more snow and wind and such yesterday, nowhere near as bright and lovely as it is now,” Mike chuckled. It really was quite a pretty day, and he couldn’t get over the fact how different it was from where he grew up. Where he grew up it was bland and bleak and boring. The change of scenery was nice, and it felt right.
“Well, everybody’s got where they came from—place to call home,” he said to Mike warmly, smiling. Mike would have to disagree, he was more or less between homes at the moment, and it was honestly paining him.
“Yeah,” Mike responded, mustering a bit of a fake smile in return. “Yeah, home is where the heart is.” Mike put a hoof to his chest and pounded the left side gently. The stallion then let his shoulders and head sink a little bit, but nothing too noticeable. What had happened made him feel so broken, and he knew he couldn’t be put back together again—at least not soon. But he knew pain was only temporary, and eventually it would pass. Eventually.
But Twister noticed Mike's expression change dramatically—he didn’t mention it, but he noticed it—and it caused him to ponder as to why the stallion might be feeling that way. Regardless, he thought he seemed like a good guy. “Sure is,” he responded flatly, glancing over to his guitar that was propped against the wooden table. “Not to say you ain’t got a heart if you ain’t got a home.”
Mike nodded his head before looking back up to the green pegasus. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re right.” Still, Mike didn’t have much else to say, the conversation they were having halted again, and he had simply fallen silent. Mike couldn't believe he felt that broken up about it, he had always had a way of pushing through the most difficult obstacles and coming out relatively okay. Perhaps it was just the fact that building friendships when he had nothing wasn’t an easy thing for him to do. He had other problems that needed solving—his money situation, his job, the fact he needed to stop leeching off of Vanilla and find his own place to live. He did not want to burden the friends he had left, because he was simply afraid of losing them. Attaching himself to another pony bared the risk of losing them. And he was too damaged to be able to face something like that again anytime soon.
Handsome Mike heaved a sigh and looked up at Twister. “Look Twister, I gotta go,” he said, slowly trying to stand up out of his chair. “Nice to meet you, man, I might swing by later for when you get playing, but uh, see you.”
The green pegasus stuck out his hoof and stopped him. “Hey, hey, wait!” he said. Twister stood up and put a hoof on his shoulder. “Come by later, we’ll talk more, we’ll talk better.” With that, he gave Mike a pat on the back.
The earth pony stallion said nothing more, and simply gave Twister a nod before turning and navigating his way back through the tables and chairs and other ponies to get to the front doors and leave the warmth of the tavern, venturing out into the cold yet sunny streets of Ponyville. So he dawdled outside, trying to get himself oriented so he could make his way either back to the café or back home to Vanilla’s house.