Train to Appleloosa – Dining Car – Night
Schlunkkk! A sliding door between cars opened and shut.
At a cramped little bar, a stallion stood, wiping the counter. He looked over, squinting in the flickering overhead light.
"Ah!" He smiled. "Somepony here to wet their whistle?"
"Yeah, well..." Lyra hobbled over, still blinking thickly. "Six hours in the sleeping car and I couldn't even manage to wet the bed, so here I am."
"Take a seat," the stallion said with a smile. "Make yourself comfortable."
"To be honest..." Lyra slung the saddlebag over the counter's edge and squatted on a stool. "Kind of surprised you're serving anything at this time of night... er... morning."
The stallion shrugged. "This train runs at all hours of the day, and we're used to carrying hundreds of ponies at a time to and from Manehattan."
"Ah. That explains it."
"But you're the first pony to show up so late on this route!" the stallion said. "I figured everyone from the last stop would be used to the sleepy farm town way of life."
"Hrmmmm... you could cram me straight between the wheat cheeks of a farm," Lyra said, stifling a yawn. "But you still can't get the restless city out of me."
"Lemme guess. Trottingham born and raised."
"Hah..." Lyra rolled her eyes. "You flatterer you."
The stallion shrugged. "Could have lost the accent while bucking apples."
"The only thing I buck around the house is music sheets," Lyra said. "I'm a composer. Born and raised in Canterlot. Moved to Ponyville when... well... when I felt like feeling like it... I guess..."
"Say no more." The stallion pointed at his drink collection. "Your choice. Cider? Martini?"
"Just... just a soft drink, really," Lyra muttered. "A soda with a doctorate, if you catch my drift."
"Heh. Can do." The stallion reached into a mini-fridge. "Besides, where you're going, I hear the saloon is overflowing with the good stuff."
"Thanks... no thanks..." Lyra groaned. "I'd rather not pour anything into me that can catch flame."
"Then be mindful." The stallion winked as he slid her a glass. "You'll be in small company."
"I'll be in small company no matter where I go."
"Well, for the time being..." He popped a can of Dr. Pony and poured it into her glass. "I'm more than pleased with yours, no matter how small."
"Hmmmmf..." Lyra placed a few bits down and took a pleasant sip of the glass. "Now I know why Canterlot is full of jerks these days." She swallowed another gulp. "They wrung out all the good ponies through the train lines."
"Heh... perhaps so." The stallion disposed of the can and resumed cleaning things behind the counter. "Is that why you're off to Appleloosa? Because Canterlot is overflowing with a case of the grumps?"
"Nah..." Lyra shook her head. "I'm being coerced into attending some psychological therapy getaway."
"Oh really?" The stallion blinked. "In Appleloosa?"
"Yeah. Why?" The mare raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing?"
He shrugged. "I never really thought of it before, but it makes sense." He smiled. "Appleloosa's small, remote, quiet. It's got some pretty inspirational views of the local desert and canyons and traditional stampede grounds—"
"Stampede grounds?" Lyra winced. "What are we talking about, windigoes?"
"What? No! Buffalo..."
"Ahhhhh... buffalo..." Lyra nodded, then sighed into her drink. "'Windigoes?' Where did that come from?"
"They also bake some delicious apple pie," the bartender said with a wink. "I always like to sample some when passing through. I dunno about the spirits, but it should do wonders for the tummy."
"Oh yeah?" Lyra finished her soda. "Will a slice or two keep me from spontaneously murdering one of my foalhood friends while she's asleep in her bunk?"
"Huh?"
"Eh... never mind." Lyra stood up, slinging the saddlebag back over her shoulder. "Say... uh... a weird question..." She raised an eyebrow. "...anyplace in this train that's got good acoustics?"
Train to Appleloosa – Luggage Car
Schlunkkk!
Lyra peered into the dimly-lit compartment.
Rows and rows of wooden crates rattled with the jostling movement of the train. A narrow path led towards a moderately open area, sandwiched between stacks of luggage and saddlebags.
"Hmmmm..." Lyra closed the door behind her, cracked the joints in her neck, and trotted forward. "...it'll sound like I'm in the depths of an oaken submarine, but it'll do."
She rummaged around, found an empty bucket, then stood it on its lid. Sitting down, she leaned against a column of suitcases and stared up through the bars of an open window above. Starlight gleamed down at her, interrupted infrequently by tree trunks and mountaintops—growing fewer and fewer as the train route pierced the arid landscape to the south of Ponyville.
"Ah... empty," she breathed through a bittersweet smile. "My favorite kind of loneliness." Unzipping her saddlebag, she pulled out her lyre and started strumming the notes to a playful, upbeat song. "Ohhhhhhhh I..." She sang raspily. "...should have known better with a mare like you...