I stumbled across a bar when exploring the city, and to my surprise inside I found the sharkpony that had snatched me from atop the deck of our ship. He looked equally bemused by the coincidence, and asked in raspy, accented Equestrian if I would join them for a spell.
“Does the drypony drink?” were his exact words, elbowing one of his comrades as he flashed his smile.
“I assure you, I can hold my own.” I did not find it necessary to mention my heritage. The Stouts have a long and storied tradition of brewing, and though my own talents manifested in a different manner--as my cutie mark of a valise can attest--I nonetheless grew up with plenty of exposure to both the finer and baser points of alcohol.
However, their drink of choice was new to me. It was a black, viscous liquid with a bitter taste and the burn of potent liquor. The sharkponies drank it as if water, carousing and mock fighting in equal measure, always in motion. I discovered that my grinning companion’s name was Sawtooth, and that he was the leader of a small gang of local pirates that had only happened upon our vessel because we were passing almost directly above the city.
I tactfully asked about the fate of the ship’s crew…
I inquired about the sharkpony Princess who was currently away…
Intrigued about my host, I pressed him for more details of himself...