Strings

by naturalbornderpy


Chapter 4: A Pony Walks Into A Bar...

CHAPTER FOUR:

A PONY WALKS INTO A BAR…

 

1

 

Since leaving his home of ten years behind, Sombra had trampled nothing but snow underhoof. He kept his head down to cut out the wind, and also to give him ample time to ponder his heated thoughts and ideas. A reoccurring notion to the stallion had always been what he would do once he finally found his captor. (He knew he would—it was only the amount of time before that he did not know for certain.) How long he’d keep the unicorn alive was usually the other query that followed. Sombra would grin devilishly at that last thought. But always, even given everything he’d been through, his mind would always find its way back to his Empire. His home. How it had lasted so long without him. How it had all come to this, exactly—this sudden march through some twisted winter wonderland.
                
On the fourth day out in the snow Sombra felt something he hadn’t in a while. It was pain, stabbing him deep within his guts. For a time he had ignored it, sinking into his burning thoughts to help mask the sensation. Only now it had become far too much for any kind of meditation to drive off.
                
Gah!
                
One of his hooves scraped a rock buried in the snow, causing him to fall. Using his forelegs to pick himself up, he managed only a ways before sinking back down. Where had all that strength he felt before gone? he wondered. Could it have been another of the unicorn’s tricks?
                
The lower part of his face was now coated with snow. He licked the area around his mouth to remove it, and came away with the oddest of sensations. The melted snow had tasted wonderful. More so than that, it somehow edged away the cutting pain in his stomach. Rolling onto his side, Sombra tasted all the cold snow his head could reach, both drinking some and chewing some in his mouth. His stomach gurgled in return and soon he had the strength to stand and walk again.

So what did this all mean exactly?

Sombra wasn’t completely sure, but he surmised the need for water and food had by some means returned to him since building his body anew. With that knowledge in hoof he continued his march, stopping every little while to scoop up more of that delicious cold snow to eat. Sombra nearly giggled as he ate. He had completely forgotten just how fun it was to have cravings.
 

2

 

Twelve hours later and Sombra knew the snow had gotten him as far as it would. When he drank, the pain in his side would merely hide for a few minutes, before coming back with a force much stronger than before. And sadly, it was a pain Sombra had little knowledge of sating, for it was the very serious pain of hunger. And even he knew if left unchecked much longer, it could very well end his return before it had begun.
                
Damn you!

Sombra cursed a short time later, once he’d moved aside a branch in the faint hopes of finding a rabbit underneath. It turned out to be a rock. And Sombra had seen enough of those to last a lifetime… or several. Yet it seemed everywhere he turned he was mistaking another normal object as food. No rabbits or dear or fauna of any kind did he find on his path. Instead he had trees and bushes and more and more green things to keep him company. When the pain had gotten near its worst he had nibbled on something red from a branch. It had tasted too odd and too sour for him, so he cleansed his mouth out with snow and trudged along.
                
Darkness came and with it went Sombra’s best senses. In the light of day he had viewed for miles around, still making out little more but snow and trees in the distance. In the dark—and in his currently depleted state—he was lucky to see a few meters in front of him. Trees seemed to sway and his body tended to sway with them. The worry now was if he should loose his balance, would he find the strength to start up again. Swaying from hoof to hoof, he questioned whether he should have taken some of the berries with him anyway.
                
Then came a noise. A gaggle of them.
                
Sombra walked on and the noise increased in volume. It was the murmuring of ponies, a few dozen at least. Unlike the ponies of his Crystal Empire dream, these voices were subdued, genial. That was before a singular voice yelled out above the rest, cutting cleanly through. Although Sombra didn’t understand a single word that had been shouted, he doubted it was his weariness that was the problem. That pony in question had been drunk, Sombra knew. And where there were spirits, there must be…
                
A dim yellow glow finally fell upon his eyes, causing him to look up for the first time in hours. A large, square log house stood before him, its many windows frosted up from the frigid outdoors. Inside he heard the voices clearer, the sound of cups on tables and utensils on plates, as well as the sound from a lone violin playing softly from within.
                
As fresh snowflakes started to fall from the black sky Sombra smiled once more, painfully splitting his dry lips in the process. A miracle had shown itself to him. Either that, or the unicorn’s tricks never ceased to amaze. Without caring if it truly was a treat or some trick, he crossed to the other side of the building to enter its warm embrace.
                
He reminded himself he had ponies to find.
 

3

 

Cold Mug grunted loudly as he set the latest cask onto the bar. Somehow each one felt heavier than the last. Then, using a technique he’d learned from his father and the father before that, he rammed a silver spout into its side without spilling a drop. At a table close by a pony whistled in amusement. In return Cold Mug grunted again and took the empty mead barrel with him to the back.
                
While rummaging through the bar’s close-knit backroom, Cold Mug (for what must have been the hundred and twelfth time) thought of just why he’d taken up ownership of that loathsome bar. What quickly followed this (again for the hundred and twelfth time) was the blunt answer: because of my father. More than twenty years ago, Tall Mug had had two fillies—Cold Mug and Frosty Mug. Both, as they were told time and again, were destined to handle the family bar when that day would arise. Even before he was able to fully fly with grace, Frosty Mug’s only wish was to travel as far away from home as possible. With that brother gone, that only left—
                
Cold Mug! Where you at?”
                
A shrill voice stirred Mug from his thoughts and brought him back to. Before returning to the bar (and to the dozens of lush ponies that he knew would populate his place tonight) he once again cursed his father and his bar, for what felt like the hundred and twelfth time.

Then he got to work.
 

4

 

An hour later and the place had picked up. Of the twenty or so tables that filled the establishment, nearly half had already been claimed. Farmers, miners, travelers, beggars, aristocrats, and even ponies of unsavory character drank and ate in the glow of the bar’s many fire pits. Cold Mug had never been a harsh judge of character (and, truly, anyone in the service industry was better off trying not to be). Mug’s only concern was if they had coin. If they did, they could have his drink and stay in his abode, perhaps even share in a bit of his time as well, if they didn’t annoy him much.
                
Truly, with years already spent on the job, Cold Mug had figured he had seen most of what this world had to offer in way of ponies. Sadly that would change tonight.
                
While Mug was busy lifting yet another large cask onto the bar, he caught sight of the latest pony to enter his lodge. So what was that around his head? he thought briskly. And what was with that red cloth he wore—
                
“Oh horseshoes!”
                
Not paying much mind, Mug’s latest spout trick missed the mark and sent a small river of mead onto the floor. A few ponies took note and ironically clapped their hooves together. Mug quickly patched over his mistake and then returned behind the bar. What was it that had distracted him again? He tried to remember. A pony with a cape and some doohickey on his head? Mug gave his head a shake and looked at the doorway again. There he found the same pony from before, plainly dressed in a black rain slicker, busy kicking snow from his hooves onto the entryway carpet.
                
Despite the pain in his back and his neck, Mug gave his head another shake and chuckled under his breath. He thought grimly, If I ever have a filly of my own we’re going to burn this place down with marshmallows and sticks. Just like father and son… or daughter… or whatever.
                
The dark pony by the door took a long look around the room before approaching the bar. Once there he removed his hood, revealing a large wave of black mane nearly reaching his shoulders. Although most ponies that frequented Mug’s bar kept their hair short and neat (for work purposes mostly), Mug held his tongue and instead said: “Cold enough for yah?”
                
The black stallion placed both forelegs on the bar and regarded the bartender drearily. “I do not understand you,” he said.
                
Throughout his years on the line, Mug had always found a friendly smile could warm the most temped of customers. It was this smile he gave to his guest—for about five seconds at most. When he saw his costumer’s coal-black eyes his smile seemed to slide to the floor. It was then he started to babble. “You see… it’s cold outside and you just came in with the snow and—”
                
“You have food and drink here, yes?” the stallion cut in.
                
“Uh—yes. Yes we do.”
                
“Good. I will take whatever drink you serve to your rabble as well as whatever fresh meat you have hanging in the back.”
                
Mug licked his oddly dry lips. Did he just say ‘meat’? For the moment he chose to ignore that last statement. “What was that you said you wanted to drink?”
                
The dark pony regarded him for a moment as if deliberating which way he would proceed with their conversation, then he spun his head and nodded to a pony sitting at a table with a mare. “I’ll have whatever he’s drinking.”
                
“So mead then?”

Mug was looking for a way to end their exchange as quickly as possible.
                
The costumer nodded again, this time at the mare. “And whatever she’s drinking.”
                
“So hard-apple cider instead?”
                
Mug surprised himself with a cough. Just why was he so nervous all a sudden?
                
“No,” the dark pony said. “Both. In one glass.”
                
Mug instantly spun around to complete the order, when seconds later the knowledge of what had just been said finally came to him. He whirled around with his smile back in gear. So he had been pulling my leg this whole time! Mr. Tall, dark, and scary here! Mug regarded the pony warmly. “You really had me for a second there, mister!”
                
“I’ve had you since the second I stepped in this place, barkeep. Now do the only thing you have any right to do and get me my drink.”
                 
Mug felt what was close to a punch in the gut and began to make the pony’s weird drink of choice. When a single mug proved inefficient a drink picture was substituted. With both hooves he brought it up to the bar and set it down with a thud. Solemnly he said, “That’ll be three—”

“Your listening skills could use an honest retooling, servant,” the dark pony said thickly. “I asked for meat, along with my drink.”

And that was it. Mug had had it. “Listen here, friend! I’ve had it up to here with your tone! Ordering things that no sane pony would want is one thing, but when you start badgering me—” Mug then remembered what exactly had spurred this all on. “And now you want meat? Who eats meat anymore? This is a vegetarian place; always has been! You… you…” But by then Mug was once again staring into the face of his dark guest, hurriedly losing what little wind he originally had felt in his sails.

The dark pony slowly smiled. Unlike most, it did not light up the rest of his face. “Is it coin you are fearful of, barkeep? Do you think I lack the necessary funds for my meal? I assure you, good pony, that I can more than award you for your service.” The pony leaned in closer and now all Mug could see suddenly were his eyes, somehow much bigger than before, somehow filling every inch of his vision. “All you need do is believe, barkeep.”

And just as those few words tumbled out did Mug believe it all. How could he have been so stupid before? Of course the pony had coin to pay—he could nearly hear his bag of bits from here. And of course he could find some meat for his guest! But wasn’t there still a problem?

“I’m sorry, sir, but there really is no meat in the lodge.” Both of Mug’s hooves shook lightly; the left one nudging the customer’s drink in the slightest. The dark pony carefully slid it away from the bartender.

The stallion said, “Outside the backdoor of your kitchen you will find a tree with a hole near its trunk. Pull out whatever’s inside, gut it, and give it a lick over the flames. Then send it to my table in the back.”

“You don’t want a table by the fire?”

The stallion gathered his drink and gave his back to him. “I don’t feel all that cold anymore.”

Only when the dark creature crossed more than half the room did Mug start to feel a modicum of his senses returning. He had been given an order, he knew; one which he didn’t wish to do in the slightest. But given the direction each and every one of his hoofs were headed—and by the butcher’s knife he took with him out the back—he knew what he wished for and what were about to happen had suddenly become two very different things.
 

5

 

Sombra neared the table he had been eyeing in the corner and nearly stumbled into it, spilling a bit of his ludicrous drink in the process. He set it down with a clunk and then himself. Honestly he was surprised he had made it this far. If the trick with the rain slicker or the light hypnosis on the barkeep had not drained what little energy he felt he had, then his short walk to his table must have nearly soaked up the rest.
                
Sombra breathed deep and eyed his drink. To him it looked like nothing more than a giant heap of brown water, but after eyeing up the rest of the crowd, he decided he would trust his fellow gatherers. His first gulp told of a mistake. The second gulp (alongside a sudden fire which warmed his belly nicely) told him perhaps not all was yet lost.
                
Several minutes passed before the barkeep returned with his food. Without a word he set it down and began to trot off, before Sombra pulled him back.
                
“A moment longer, barkeep,” he said.
                
He could tell the bartender had been fighting to keep going, perhaps even gallop right to the exit and never look back. But his will would never prove a match for a King’s, so slowly he returned. When he drew closer Sombra noted the fresh tears streaking down his face. Obviously, the plate he had just been tasked to prepare was something the pony had never thought he’d need make.
                
Sombra looked up at him. “You own this place, yes?”
                
The pony hesitated only a moment. “My father did. Then he gave it to me.”
                
“And you hate it here, don’t you?”
                
“Yes.”
                
“And you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
                
“I don’t think I could, sir.”
                
Sombra paused before asking his last question. “One more question, barkeep, before I let you go: what is it you fear? And answer truthfully.”
                
The trembling pony thought for a moment, before saying: “Failure.”
                
“In your eyes, or the eyes of your father?”
                
The barkeep was about to speak before Sombra shushed him with a hoof to his lips. “Never mind. Sometimes it’s better to guess.” With that same hoof he made circling motions in the air until the barkeep spun around. Sombra said, “Now return to your bar and stay there the rest of the night. Whatever happens next is only normal, correct?”
                
“Of course,” the pony muttered, before calmly and steadily making his way back behind the bar.
                
With that bit of business out of the way Sombra finally concentrated on the mess of a plate before him. On a large silver platter the owner had served up a rabbit—so badly diced that Sombra could hardly tell whether it had been a single animal or more. Red flesh and several bits of fur and blood caked most of his plate—whatever bits of meat that had made it to the grill were either burnt or still raw. Still, Sombra ate it all with relish, spitting out bits of fluff all the while crunching on tiny bones. A single rabbit’s heart burst between his teeth like a ripe berry. This had been Sombra’s first real meal in over a thousand years. It was terrible, and yet amazing too.
                
When the plate of meat became a plate of nothing (he licked away the dripping blood congealing at the bottom, as well) Sombra settled back into his chair and pulled his tall drink towards him. A few more sips sent his head swimming. And what a good feeling it was.
                
And now to find out just how far we have come, he thought dreamily.
                
Since eating and drinking his fill he felt leagues away from the frail pony that had entered the lodge. With those tidings in mind he watched over the dozens of other ponies enjoying their night. He thought he would get to know them very well that evening.
                
As the night wore on and the drinks were drunk, somehow not a single pony noted the wooden bar along the door silently slide down and lock itself across the entrance. Neither did they notice the dark stranger sitting alone in the corner, slowly fade until all that was left of him was an empty table and chair.
                
Cold Mug, safety busy manning the bar, was the only one who took any of this into consideration. Too bad the only part of his body that was his anymore were his eyes, which swelled up with tears instantly.