Spitfire sighed as she stared at the glass in front of her. The amber liquid inside glowed against the polished wood and jiggled as she flicked her hoof on the rim. She snorted in amusement as some of it spilled from the sides, leaning back on her stool and glancing about the bar. A few frat ponies stood not too far away sucking down the contents of some brown bottles. She smiled at them for a few seconds before the weight of her head disappeared and she stuck out her foreleg to balance.
She snickered as she looked at the polished floor, matching the bar perfectly. Turning back to her drink Spitfire pulled herself forward before grabbing the shotglass and downing all the mystery contents in one gulp. She squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid stung her throat and left perhaps the best burning sensation behind. “Bucking unicorns,” she mumbled, her vision tilting. “Why does this taste so good?”
As the words left her mouth, her tongue felt dry and scratchy, like it was one of those annoying dead leaves that got stuck in her teeth when she did performances in the fall. She sucked on it, hoping to alleviate the sensation. Sadly, all it did was spread it to her cheeks and roof of her mouth. Glancing around, she tapped the glass on the bar. From the other side, a brown colored pony glanced over to her and nodded before trotting over.
“What’s up, missy?” he asked.
“Gimme ‘nother one of whatever this was,” she said, pushing the shotglass to him.
The pony nodded and turned to the back of the bar before Spitfire tapped the glass again. “Make it two, please,” she asked.
The pony threw a curious look to her before his horn lit and a bottle levitated into the air. “Planning on getting plenty juiced alone?” he queried.
“Nah,” Spitfire answered, waving a hoof at him. “I ain’t going to be alone for long.”
“Ah,” he replied, levitating two clean glasses from below the bar. “Got yourself a date tonight?”
“Eenope! Just got a feeling an ol’ buddy of mine will show up,” she said, cracking a sly grin.
The pony nodded sagely and the glasses filled up simultaneously as his magic split the single pour into two streams, one draining into each glass. Nodding again, the pour stopped as the pony backed away, the topper to the bottle squeaking into place. “There we go,” he mused. “Two shots of Golden Armor for you.”
Spitfire clicked her tongue as she reached for one of the glasses. “Seriously, who comes up with these stupid names? Sounds like some stupid book title,” she grunted before taking a small swig.
The pony shrugged his shoulders and turned around. “Comes from somewhere down in southern Equestria called Floralda,” he said, looking over the label. “Ponies down there are pretty weird.”
Spitfire shrugged as well, placing the glass back down and glancing at the clock hanging on the far wall. “Five forty-four,” she read, smirking a bit.
Turning back to the glass, she flicked it again with her hoof and giggled once again as it spilled a drop of liquor. No matter how many times she did it, the sight of the drink swirling about in its container was amusing, since it resembled the dumb science project she had made for her grade school science fair. By swirling a couple bottles taped together and filled with water, she could produce the conditions needed for a cyclone, the most useless bit of knowledge in the world until she needed to brush up on weather conditions as Wonderbolt Captain. Who’d have guessed watching towns feed water to Cloudsdale was part of the job?
She blew some raspberries at the glass, followed by a very girly hiccup and another quick swig of the stuff. The burn returned and she hissed before licking her lips, savoring the flavor.
“Wow, one drink, huh?” came a voice she knew all too well.
“Bout time you got here, blueberry,” Spitfire giggled, kicking the stool next to her.
“Okay, lemonhead, I’ll play that game,” Soarin said as he plopped down onto the stool.
Spitfire grabbed the second shotglass and slid it over to him, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Her head felt like one of her feathers; light and airy. She leaned back and stretched her muscles, moaning in pleasure as they strained a little. A snort came from Soarin and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“What’s so funny, pretty boy?” she asked as she sat upright, her back thanking her for the workout.
“Nothin,” Soarin mumbled before a slurping noise came from him.
Unable to restrain herself, Spitfire let out a laugh and pressed her forehead to the bar, descending into a fit of giggles.
“Now what’s so funny to you, lemonhead?” Soarin asked, his voice playful.
“Nothin,” Spitfire said, raising her head to show off her lazy smile. “Just you drink more like a girl than I do.”
“Oh, I’m so hurt,” Soarin said. “That’s it. We aren’t friends anymore.”
Both of them broke out into fits of giggles at that before Spitfire turned to him, glancing her foalhood buddy over briefly. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen many times before, but liquor made a few things stand out, like his “official” off-duty uniform and the hard, bulky muscles on his rear legs.
“Hey, buddy,” Spitfire said, causing Soarin to look at her. “Come down here.”
Soarin reared his head back, confused. “What? Why? I’m less than five feet from you,” he said.
“Not you, pretty colt,” Spitfire said, waving her hoof at him. “The barkeep behind you.”
Soarin turned around to see the barkeep walk up, his old and haggard yellow eyes glancing about. “Ah, so this is your friend?” he asked. “Can we expect all the Wonderbolts to show up?”
Spitfire shook her head and cracked a large grin. “Eenope! Just me and him today,” she said. “And we can use another round.”
“You sure?” the barkeep asked, turning to the liquor line. “This stuff is pretty potent. Knocked out a farmpony in four shots and you’ve already had two.”
“I’ve had two,” Spitfire said, leaning forward. “But this guy’s only had one.”
“Woah, easy there, Spitfire,” Soarin said, propping her up with a hoof. “If he’s is warning you, then you might want to listen.”
Instead of her calming down, Spitfire looked shot a drunken glare at him. “Oh, grow a pair already, Soarin!” she said a little louder than he would’ve liked. “Since when are you afraid to have a little danger in your life?”
“Hey, I started that dive today, okay?” he replied, tensing a bit. “I think that’s enough danger for one day.”
“Do you, or does Dewdrops?” Spitfire said with a sly grin.
Soarin’s face scrunched up. “Ever since you ‘n her got together, you became some snobby rule-follower. Where’s the Soarin I remember who got into the Wonderbolts by doing stupid stuff?”
“Stupid stuff is dangerous,” he said nonchalantly.
“It’s also fun, which that dumb pony is training you to not have!”
“Hey, don’t call her dumb! She’s the reason we’re not in loads of trouble when we do shows.”
“And when was the last time you rutted her?” Spitfire yelled.
“WHAT?” Soarin shouted, his own mind beginning to go numb. “Where the buck did that come from?”
The barkeep watched them with mild interest as he uncorked the bottle again, wondering if there was anything he could make a few bits off of here.
“Dang, buddy, she’s got you whipped good,” Spitfire mused.
“I ain’t whipped!” Soarin rounded back.
“Soarin, you don’t get any from her, yet she drags you shopping for clothes,” Spitfire said, placing a hoof on his chest. “You’re whipped more than the cream at the sweet shop down the road.”
“An’ what about you?” Soarin said, his vision starting to spin a bit. “You ain’t had a steady coltfriend for more than a week!”
Spitfire stuck her tongue out at him. “The only reason I don’t is because I can outdrink them.”
“Pssh! I bet I could outdrink you!” Soarin replied, inching closer to her nose.
“Bet you can’t!” Spitfire said, smirking.
With less than an inch between them, Soarin and Spitfire stared at each other. It wasn’t until the shotglasses slid forward did Spitfire reach out and grab the barkeep’s foreleg. “Leave the bottle,” she said, her eyes still glued to Soarin. “We got somethin’ we need to settle.”
“You got it,” the barkeep replied.
“Four shots, back to back,” she said. “You finish first, I’ll leave Dewdrops alone and have a single coltfriend for a month.”
“And if you win, what?” Soarin asked.
“If I win,” Spitfire continued with a devilish grin. “You either get some from Dewdrops or break-up with her for a month.”
“Why are you so concerned about me n’ Dewdrops?” Soarin asked.
A twinge shot through Spitfire’s chest. “Because, Mr. Hottest Stallion in Equestria. You need to remember what fun was like before she came along,” she said with a straight face.
Soarin watched her for a few seconds before grabbing a glass and muttering, “You’re on.”
“Go! Go! Go! Go!” the crowd chanted in unison as Soarin stared cross-eyed at the bottle protruding from his snout.
The sour apple taste he was chugging down stung his mouth and throat, leaving a slight burn his hazy mind could focus on. He squeezed his eyes shut and continued to gulp despite his stomach’s protests. Part of him knew there would be violent heaving and a splitting headache in his future, but for right now, there was a competition to win.
Soarin slowed his swallows and opened his eyes, glancing to his right. The entire room was a blur of obnoxious colors that spun slowly, but he could make out the familiar yellow silhouette of Spitfire, who was sucking on her own bottle of none other than lemon schnaps. Her head was back as far as she could tilt it and her eyes were squeezed shut, but what caught his eye was that her bottle was almost completely empty, the last bit swirling down the neck. Refocusing his efforts on his own bottle, he managed a few more gulps before a cheer rose from the crowd.
He pulled the bottle back and gasped for air as his head spun, forcing him to reach out a hoof to steady himself. A couple sets of hooves grabbed him and pushed him back into a standing position, where he swayed uncontrollably as the room did the wave. His front hooves gave out and he wrapped one of them around Spitfire to keep himself from falling.
“Hey! *hic* No cheatin’,” she shouted, weakly trying to push him off.
“Cheatin’? Whaddya mean cheatin’? I *ugh* drank almost all of it,” Soarin replied, trying to hold down the growing burning in his chest.
“Pfffft! Ha, lightweight,” Spitfire chuckled, waving an empty bottle above his face. “You lose again.”
Soarin groaned as pushed off her, stumbling to the wall of other ponies around them. “So? Whadda’s that make it? Three ta… uh, two?”
Even though the crowd was loud, Spitfire’s laughter rang in his ears. “Three to two? Closer to five to one!” she said before roaring with laughter again.
“Alright, alright! You got me,” Soarin said, his tongue feeling numb. “Ready for round… uh, what number is it?”
Spitfire grinned as the barpony walked over with two more bottles of liquor and set them on the counter, nodding approvingly. He backed away as she grabbed for the nearest bottle and bit the cork while Soarin fumbled around for his. As soon as she spit the cork away, though, an all too familiar gasp rang out from the crowd.
“Soarin! What are you doing?” Dewdrops shouted as she shoved past Spitfire.
Soarin’s eyes shrunk as he stumbled back, tripping over the ponies behind him and sprawling on the ground. “H-Hey! Dewdrops! I, uh… hi,” he said with a nervous grin.
“Soarin! What did she do to you?” Dewdrops cried as she wrapped a hoof around his foreleg and pulled him up. “I told you hanging out with Spitfire too much would be bad!”
“Hey, now! He came here to—” Spitfire began.
“Shut your mouth, you hussy!” Dewdrops yelled, throwing the nastiest scowl she could at Spitfire. “Can’t you just once think of somepony other than yourself?”
Spitfire spluttered. “W-What are you talking about! He came here on his own!”
“Sh-She’s right, sweetie,” Soarin mumbled.
Dewdrops scowl turned into a bright smile as she turned to Soarin. “Oh, shush now, Pooky. That’s just the liquor talking.”
A roar of laughter rang out at the name Pooky, causing Soarin to blush uncontrollably. “Dew, I really wish you wouldn’t—”
“No more,” she said with a giggle as she patted his snout. “Rule number one, remember?”
More laughter broke out as Soarin glanced to the frat ponies. His cheeks grew warmer as Dewdrops tugged on his leg and Spitfire shouted incoherently at her. Seeing Spitfire that upset triggered something deep in his memory as he looked at Dewdrops and scowled.
“No,” he said.
“What was that, dear?” Dewdrops asked.
“I said ‘no’,” Soarin said as he tugged his leg away.
Dewdrops blinked, her smile frozen. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sick of it,” Soarin said, pulling himself to his hooves. “The dumb nicknames, you telling me I can’t have fun.”
“Sweetie—”
“Telling me Spitfire is a bad influence when she’s my best friend.”
“Sweetie—”
“And now you’re making me leave this place like you’re my mother!”
“No, darling! I just—”
More laughter rang out around the bar as Dewdrops looked around, her legs starting to quiver. She smiled at Soarin again as he steadied himself on his hooves and grabbed the bottle on the bar.
“And you know what else? Nopony ever told me not to do risky stuff like that stunt today! Comet Chaser, Flashpoint, all of them! They never said ‘don’t try that at home, foals’ or stupid stuff like that! They didn’t—”
Soarin’s face contorted into one of shock as he hiccuped, his eyes growing wide. Dewdrops froze as the laughter died down and everypony stared at Soarin.
“Sweetie pie, are you—” Dewdrops began.
Soarin cut her off with a massive belch before a spray of fluid drenched Dewdrop’s mane and front. She screeched and scrambled back as Soarin burped again and groaned.
“Ew!” she screamed as she tried to wipe off the brown liquid.
“Nice one!” Spitfire shouted before laughing hysterically.
“Thanks,” Soarin said with a proud grin.
“Soarin! What the buck is wrong with you?” Dewdrops wailed.
Soarin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, but I’m thirsty again.”
A massive cheer rose from the crowd as Dewdrops pulled chunks of mystery food from her mane, wailing as the stuck to her hoof. She glared at Soarin as Spitfire staggered over to him, cheering and waving her bottle in the air.
“You’re a pig, Soarin!” she shouted. “We’re through!”
Spitfire’s yell rang in Dewdrops’s ears the loudest.
“Don’t bother coming back to the hotel room tonight! Drink yourself stupid! See if I care!” she yelled as she shoved her way past the throng around them.
“And good riddance!” Spitfire yelled as the door slammed shut, raising her bottle in the air before gulping down the contents.
The rest of the night was a massive blur for Soarin after Dewdrops left. Drinks and bottles flew around him as he struggled to put them all down, listening to Spitfire cheer with each gulp. Ponies shouted his name endlessly as he thought he stood on the bar with Spitfire, chugging something from the same bottle with her.
Massive portions of black blocked his view after that. It had felt like a long time had passed, especially when he realized something warm and wet was playing with his tongue. A very hazy Spitfire came into view as she stared at him with half-lidded eyes, blushing furiously and panting heavily. She leaned in again and more black followed.
The sheets of a bed was the next thing he registered, along with a large weight on his belly. Something was on top of him and snaking its way towards his hind legs, leaving a wet trail on his chest. A set of hooves prodded his thighs, massaging them and causing him to moan. He tried to raise his head, but only caught a glimpse of a bright orange mane before that warm and wet something stopped.
His eyes rolled back as the weight left, only to return seconds later with something even more wet and warm coming down on him. He groaned once before his world went black again.