I like dresses.
Yeah, go ahead, laugh it up – the big, tough Stalker likes girly stuff. Well, guess what. I am a girl, and even the Metro and Surface couldn't take away that one childhood dream of mine – to own a dress. Or, failing that, get to wear one for a while.
So I hope you'll understand why I was so excited to knock on the door of Carousel Boutique. Bourbon was less than enthusiastic, however. Then again, that was to be expected from that pessimist. Prepare and expect the worst, he always said.
In hindsight, I guess he was right. Rarity freaked once she saw his timeworn clothes – she freaked worse than she did when meeting me. And, as you can imagine, she chased him with needles and a measuring tape, and he was running around, spouting profanities. Sweetie Belle and I were trying to stop Rarity. Eventually, we did, with the help of manic cookware that had its second taste of pony blood.
Bourbon collapsed in the chair with a tired sigh as I deposited the unconscious unicorn on a free couch.
“Sweetie Belle, could you find me some ice or something? Your sister's going to have one hell of a headache once she wakes up.” The filly nodded and cantered off, while Bourbon regained his breath.
“Chyort poberi... She's only half as tall as me. How did Miss Squiggletail keep up with me?”
“Hell if I know, man. Same thing happened to me a short while ago. She looked like she'd just suffered aneurysm once she saw my clothes. Turned my arm into a damn pincushion before I managed to clock her with that same pan.”
“This place is fucking insane, Alyona.” That drew a chuckle out of me.
“Depends on one's point of view, but yeah. I get what you mean. Those faint of heart or serious of temperament will not fare well here.” The clip-clop of hooves marked Sweetie's return. She passed the ice-pack to me, and I placed it on top of the bruise forming on top of Rarity's head. “Sorry about this mess, Sweetie.”
“It's alright. It's not the first time she's gone loopy over 'treason against fashion'.” She air-quoted the last three words, making us chuckle. “So, what're you here for?”
“We got invited to the Gala, and, seeing as one needs a dress to attend the Gala, we decided to visit your sister for some formal apparel.”
“Ooooh, you got invited to the Gala?” The unicorn filly exclaimed. “Awesome! Rarity's going to be so excited to know that.”
“Can we expect her to react like this again, kid?” Bourbon groused, shooting Rarity a suspicious look.
“Well, I guess we'll find out when she wakes up, now won't we?” Sweetie Belle chuckled, prompting another groan from Bourbon.
Rarity took the news well. That is, if one's meaning of well equals going starry-eyed for the best part of ten minutes. She went on about Canterlot and its splendour and such, and how the highest of the high resided there. Eventually, she did take Bourbon's measurements, and gave me the clothes she'd taken my measurements for a couple of days ago. After declining any sort of payment from us – she claimed us wearing apparel designed by her was reward enough – we were off once more, with me showing my friend around Ponyville, deciding to take him to Sugarcube Corner and introduce him to Pinkie Pie, just for the heck of it. It would most definitely be hilarious watching him freak once the hyperactive pony popped out from nowhere.
I sat quietly on a chair, having just tasted the sour, sour taste of humble pie. Bourbon and Pinkie were at full steam in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled undeniably delicious. A small, time-worn book sat open on a counter, its age-yellowed pages covered in Cyrillic as Bourbon rattled off the instructions to Pinkie Pie before resuming a story of his.
“...after the bombs fell, me and my grandma took shelter in the Metro, twenty years ago. My parents, well... they didn't make it. But my babushka took care of me. She was an incredible cooker, and wrote down every recipe she knew in that book of hers. It's about the only thing I've got of hers, bless her soul. My fortunes may change at a moment's notice, but I've never even entertained the thought of parting with this here recipe book. Some things just aren't meant to be sold, you know what I'm saying?”
“Absotively, posilutely!” The pink mare chirped, depositing some more cooking ingredients on a vacant table. The noise would lead one to believe they were cooking up a hell in the kitchen. It would be, however, a very tasty hell, judging by the smell.
This was not a side of Bourbon I'd ever witnessed. I was honestly at a loss for words, or thoughts, even. I could just sit there and stare silently as the normally-gruff man bantered easily with the chipper pink pony. I didn't mind, honestly. It was better than him trying to pilfer anything of value to sell it somewhere else later on.
Not that I had any experience with that, mind you.
The bullet marks on my left thigh from a Hanza guard's Kalash also most certainly did not exist.
Ahem.
Aaannnyyywaays... Bourbon looked like he was enjoying himself, so I felt content to sit there and watch my friend relax and enjoy himself in what must've been the first time in years.
It did not make the humble pie taste any better, though.
I guess it was for the better – his close brush with death wouldn't have had a good impact on his mood, and cooking with Pinkie Pie had taken a load off his shoulders; there was a slight bounce in his step, he wasn't slouching as much, and seemed much cheerier in general, his smile no longer slightly sarcastic.
“You know I'm not going to let you forget this, right, Bourbon?”
“At this moment, I couldn't care less, Alyona.” He gave a low chuckle, hands in his pockets as we walked through the sunlit streets of Ponyville. “I'm not in danger, I actually feel happy for once, and the weather is perfect. What more could I ask for?”
“Yeah, it's definitely a step up from nosalises and whatnot, right?”
“I hear that.” He chuckled again.
A couple of days later
Rarity let out a delighted squee as I left the changing room, clad in a dark blue dress and holy hell did it feel heavenly to have it touch my skin – it was an otherwordly experience to someone who's worn patchwork clothes for most of her life. The unicorn fashionista had also procured a pair of high-heels for me. How, I didn't ask. I didn't feel like questioning this world's logic. Headache tended to follow.
“Oh, you look simply marvelous, darling!” She chuckled happily, but then her smile lessened slightly as her eyes briefly danced over to the scars that weren't covered by the fabric of my dress – the Demon-inflicted scar on my left shin, lacerations on my right shoulder, left by a grenade tossed by a particularly keen-eyed bandit. Giving a slight smile in return, I took a moment to examine myself in a nearby mirror – the dress was a perfect fit, and I loved it, although that may have been my fondness of dresses speaking. I spotted someone in the mirror and turned around to look, and my heart did a double-take.
It was Bourbon, but he no longer wore his old clothes, instead looking incredibly resplendent in a black tuxedo. His hair was neat and combed, although I suspected he'd gelled it up. A faint smell wafting from him indicated he'd even used some cologne. All in all, it took me a moment or two to recognize him. I honestly can say I'd never seen him so clean and gentlemanly ever before.
“How do I look, Alyona?” I blinked twice, shaking myself back to reality.
“You look great, man!” He snickered at that, brushing off an imaginary mote of dust from his shoulder.
“Well, that's good to know. If what Squ-er, Rarity says is true, we'll have to look good to impress the nobility.” The unicorn nodded, grinning brightly.
“Indeed! Me and the rest of the girls also shall be accompanying you to the Gala, so if there's anything you need to know about, you can just ask us. This'll be our second Gala, and I honestly do hope it goes better than the year before.”
“What happened?” She rolled her eyes dramatically at his question.
“Oh, nothing short of an utter disaster. Suffice to say, our preconceptions of the Gala were very different from what it actually was.” She grumbled to herself before perking back up. “Either way, give me a couple of moments to get my dress on, and then we can go to the train station to meet others.”
“Works for me.” I shrugged, giving myself a last once-over before sitting down, still slightly shell-shocked at Bourbon's pristine appearance. Apparently, he noticed that and laughed again.
“You should've seen your face, Alyona. You looked like you needed to scrape your jaw off the floor.” I grumbled at that.
“Yes, yes, you caught me off-guard with your dashing, manly looks.” I snarked back at him. “You've really changed, man. Thought you'd be all grumpy and shit no matter what.”
“Alyona, this place is nothing like the Metro. I don't have to worry about dying or trying to survive until the next day. The air here is breathable, there's aplenty of fresh food and water, and no one here has to worry about Nazis, Reds, or bandits, or anything else that may intend to gnaw their faces off.”
I felt inclined to agree, honestly. This world definitely was much more welcoming than Moscow or the Metro tunnels, always eager to claim lives of the unwary. Living in Equestria had mellowed us both out. No longer did I regard a pony greeting me with suspicion, and neither did I tense up and grope at my waist for a gun that wasn't there when someone approached me. Of course, I could've argued with Bourbon over it, but I didn't feel like it, honestly, so we just sat there in companionable silence as we waited for Rarity. A couple of minutes later, she reappeared, wearing an ensemble that easily revealed why she was such a sought-after clothes designer – she'd definitely gone all-out with her dress, no doubt.
Letting out a delighted laugh, she beckoned for us to follow. “Let's go! The Gala awaits us!” We nodded and followed her out of the Boutique, heading to the train station as day gave way to night.
I had seen Canterlot several times from the distance, hanging from the side of the mountain as a big middle finger to Isaac Newton, who may as well be turning over in his grave right now. But to behold the city as our train pulled into was an entirely another matter. The sight of the massive arches and buttresses hewn from the cliffside, shaped into impressive supports by craftsmen, er, craftsponies was impressive in its own worth as the locomotive trundled along the rails on our approach to Canterlot. Seeing the resplendent capital of Equestria up close was another matter entirely. It could easily measure up to the once-grand cities of Earth, magnificent as it was in its marble glory. The setting sun cast a golden glow across Canterlot as its lights winked into life to ward off the darkness – all in all, the seat of power of Equestria was quite something to behold, a testament to the prowess of those who built it.
Clouds of steam rolled around us as we disembarked, two humans, six ponies, and an adolescent dragon in total. Two jaws were hanging open.
Holy shit, this place was amazing! I had seen many pre-war photos of the great Earth cities – New York, St. Petersburg, Cairo, Los Angeles – the great, sprawling metropolises of steel and concrete, each and every one of them bursting at seams with history and art. I had seen Polis, the vast Metro station watched over by its Rangers, providing one with a sense of seldom-felt security. But Canterlot had a wholly different quality to it – the very air felt ancient, stately and majestic. The whole place seemed like something out of Ancient Rome, what with all the marble.
Twilight looked at me and Bourbon, chuckling at our shocked-slash-awed expressions. “I know, I know, it's quite a sight. When I first saw Canterlot, I felt the same way. If you're enjoying this, wait 'til you see the Royal Castle! Come on!” She beckoned for us to follow, and we did as asked.
There was more? To an old world nut like me, this was a dream come true and I trailed after our group, eager to reach our destination.
As it turned out, however, the Gala was the smallest of surprises fate had in store for me that day...