Manticores, Crushes, and Alcohol

by Hidden Brony

Griffon the Brush Off

“New rule,” Berry announced to Streak as he sat at the bar. “Don’t tell the griffon we exist.”

“Hello to you, too,” he said as he accepted his usual water. “Who’s the griffon, and why don’t we want her to know we exist?”

“She’s one of Rainbow Dash’s friends—” the barmare began.

“You’ve said enough,” Streak said. “I’ll keep my lips sealed.”

“Y’know, nopony really knows why you two hate each other so much,” she said.

“She’s an egotistical blowhard and I’m blunt and not intimidated by her?” he suggested. “I think she feels threatened by me, to be honest.”

“I find it hard to believe that Rainbow is afraid of anyone,” Berry said.

“I didn’t say afraid, I said threatened,” Streak said. “I don’t conform to the reality she built around herself, therefore I’m a threat.”

“Are you saying she’s crazy?” one of the stallions at the bar asked.

“Delusional,” Streak said. “She can’t seem to distinguish between her fantasy and the reality around her. She tends towards grandeur so far, though.”

“Don’t go calling somepony crazy without a whole lot of evidence,” Berry cautioned. “She could very well be, or—more likely—she isn’t. You might just make her angry.”

The blank scoffed. “I don’t much care if she’s mad at me,” he said. “What’s she going to do besides bluster?”

“She does know a griffon,” the stallion said. “They’re predators, right?”

“If they’re friends, she’s just another Rainbow,” the blank reasoned. “She wouldn’t keep anyone around that doesn’t reinforce her world.”

“Don’t base your entire opinion of her on that one sentence,” the barmare advised. “They very well could be very different ponies.”

“Meh,” Streak said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The doors of the bar were thrown open, and a peeved-looking Pinkie Pie appeared in their place. “We’ve got a party to plan. Berry, we’re going to need punch.”

“Pinkie, I can’t just close down my bar at a moment’s notice,” Berry said. “I have things to do here.”

“Berry, according to section three, article four, clause three-A of our agreement, you are required to supply punch to at least one official Sugarcube Corner function a month,” Pinkie said.

“Section four, article one, clause four-D: if I can’t afford to supply a required Sugarcube Corner function, you are required to compensate me seventy-five percent of market value,” Berry shot back.

“Deal,” Pinkie said. “It’s tonight at nine.”

“Got it,” the barmare said. Nopony saw Pinkie leave, but she did.

Streak articulated everypony’s thoughts. “. . . What?”

“Pinkie’s got agreements with all her suppliers,” Berry explained. “None of it is written down, and we just pull the numbers out of our plots. That’s just how she likes to do business. Says it makes it sound ‘more official’ or something like that.”

“That is very Pinkie Pie,” the other stallion said. Streak realized that he didn’t recognize him, which was odd after four weeks of being in the bar every day.

“I’m afraid we haven’t met yet,” Streak said, sticking his hoof out. “I’m Streak.”

A dark look passed over the other stallion’s face. “I’m Hoops, and I’m a friend of Dumbbell’s.”

“Aw, cr–hey, that could have hurt!” Streak yelled as he dodged the massive pony’s swing. There was a loud thunk followed by some lighter clatters as he slammed his hoof into the bar, causing the bottles and glasses on it to jump and rattle. He was easily the size of Big Mac, and like Dumbbell, he was all muscle.

“Stop moving!” the burly stallion exclaimed as another of his swings was dodged by the stallion. “I said stop!”

“I very much like my face as it is,thank you,” Streak said as he dodged another wild swing from the stallion. “How about we—WOAH!—take this outside—GEEZ!—so we don’t break any of—whoops—any more of Berry’s stuff?”

“How about you stand still!” Hoops growled as he went for another swing.

“Guys!” Berry exclaimed. “Take this outside! You’ve already broken a table!”

“Make that two, Berry,” Streak said over the sound of splintering wood. “Seriously, guy, let’s take this outside!”

“We’re not going to—” the angry stallion started, before being interrupted by a stool being broken over his head. He collapsed to the ground, moaning.

“Berry, get me another drink,” Change said as he tossed the leg he was still holding away. “I’ll be right back with this guy.” He grabbed one of Hoops’s legs and started dragging him out the back door. “Don’t follow me.”

Streak shrugged and decided to follow orders, sitting back down at the bar. “Looks like you’ll be needing something stronger than just your regular water, so what’s your poison?”

Streak paused in contemplation, before answering with a smirk. “Water.”

Berry rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to drink someday.”

“But that day is not today,” he replied.

Outside, Change was in the alley behind the bar about to have a very serious conversation with a dazed Hoops. “Hey, wake up,” he said, smacking the other stallion’s face lightly.

“Guh, wha?” Hoops elegantly stated.

“Good, you’re awake and semi-functioning. Maybe I rattled something back into place when I broke a stool over your head,” the drunk said. “Now do you know what you did wrong?”

“Ugh, my head,” the stallion groaned.

“Wrong,” Change said. “First, you attacked my friend as a means to defend your rapist friend. Then you refused to take your fight outside the bar and disrespected Berry, who is a mare I respect very much. Finally—your worst offense—you spilled my drink. Because I already knocked you on your plot, I’ll only give you a warning: don’t ever come back to Berry’s bar.” The angry drunk pressed Hoops’s face into the road and snarled, “If I ever see you back here, you’ll wish for death. I’ll personally see to that.”

“You–you’re crazy!” the stallion exclaimed from his position on the ground. “You’re nuts!”

Change laughed out loud. “I am!” he giggled. “It runs in the family! If you think I’m bad, you should see Dad!”

Hoops wiggled out from the drunk’s grip and scooted backwards, eyes wide. “There’s something wrong with you, man! Stay away from me!”

Change’s face became somber immediately. “Stay away from Berry’s bar—better yet, Ponyville—and we won’t have a problem, you understand?.”

Back inside the bar, Streak had gotten himself in a conversation with Berry about Change. “How often does he do that?” he was asking.

“Less often than I’d like, more often than is legal,” she replied. “Whenever he does it, they never seem to come back. It’s one of those unofficial bar rules that if Change tells you to not follow him out back, you don’t follow him out back.”

“Is it like one of those unofficial bar rules that these two seats are reserved?” Streak asked. “So it would be a rule of convenience and tradition?”

“Got it right on the head,” she said. “The first time it happened, we were all to surprised to follow him, and since then, we just listen to him.”

“Back,” Change announced as he sat at the bar. “That’s another plothole that won’t be returning.”

“What do you even do?” Streak asked as Berry hoofed a glass over to the drunk.

“Kid, that’s another one of those unofficial rules. If you can’t be there, you don’t ask,” Berry said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Change said. “I’m not telling, anyway. Suffice to say, I can be persuasive when I need to be.”

“Whatever, man,” Streak said. “I’ll take it, I guess. Another water, Berry, if you would.”

“Comin’ right up, kid,” she replied, moving to refill his glass.

The door slammed open again, and when Streak looked over, Pinkie was standing in the doorway again. She walked over to the bar and sat down to the left of the sober stallion. “Get me a punch, Berry,” she said.

“Pinkie, I have already told you that I don’t serve punch at my bar,” Berry said. “I only make it because you ask.”

“Get her a cider, then,” Streak said, tossing a few bits onto the top of the bar. “My treat.”

“Thanks, Streakie!” Pinkie said, giving him a hug. “Rarity was right about you!”

“Uh, what?” the squashed stallion asked. “What does Rarity say about me?”

“That you’re a gentlecolt and would be great with foals,” she said without skipping a beat. Streak choked on nothing and started coughing. “Are you okay?” Pinkie asked. “Was I holding too tight?”

“Fine,” Streak said between coughs. “No, you were fine. Just. . . what? Where did that come from?”

“Rarity, silly!” Pinkie said. “Don’t you listen?”

“Well, yeah, but—” he started.

“Kid, don’t try,” Berry interrupted. “Logic doesn’t work on her.”

“Thanks, Berry!” Pinkie said. “Oh, I forgot why I came in here!”

“Happens to the best of us,” Change said, holding back chuckles.

“No, I said that because I just remembered!” Pinkie corrected. She turned to Streak. “So, Streakie, could you come to Gilda’s party?”

“Is that the griffon?” he asked.

“Yep yeppy yeppers!” she said.

“Not a chance,” he replied.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why?”

“Any friend of Rainbow Dash isn’t generally someone I want to associate with,” he said.

Pinkie frowned. “But, Streak, I’m one of Dashie’s friends. So are the other girls. Fluttershy, Rarity, Applejack.”

“Maybe I spoke too fast,” Streak said quickly. “Look,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “how alike are her and Rainbow?”

“Pretty,” Pinkie said. “Gilda is like a meaner Dashie.”

“Then no,” Streak said. “If she’s worse than Rainbow, then I want nothing to do with her.”

“Aw, give ‘er a chance,” Change said. “She can’t be that bad.”

The blank sighed. “Look, if this party goes well and I hear good things about her, then I’ll think about it. As it stands, I’m not going near her with a ten foot pole.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Pinkie said slowly. “Except for to the ten foot pole. Don’t you think it’s tired of always being used to keep ponies you don’t like away from you?”

“I. . . guess?” Streak asked. “I don’t know, I never asked one.”

“Maybe you should,” Change said. “I hear they’re good conversation. Berry, another, uh, anything!”

“If you’re too smashed to even remember what your drink is called, maybe you should stop drinking,” Berry suggested.

“Meh, just get me a scotch, then,” he said.

“That’s what you usually get,” Streak said.

“See? I’m just that good!” the drunk said.

Streak shook his head and turned back to Pinkie. “Like I said–where’s Pinkie?”

“Gone,” Change said. “Left when you weren’t looking.”

“That’s not very polite,” the blank said.

“But very Pinkie,” Berry finished. “At least she took the cider. I trust she’ll return the cup, though.”

“Already did,” the drunk said. “Check your shelf.”

Berry looked back and saw the cup washed, rinsed, dried, and put back into place. “I will never understand that mare, I swear.”

“You aren’t supposed to, I don’t think,” Streak said. He looked at the clock. “It’s nearly eight and Derpy hasn’t visited yet. You think she’s okay?”

“She’s allowed to change her schedule once in a while,” Berry said. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“You’re right, I’m just worried about her,” Streak said. “I guess there’s no reason to be, is there?”

“No. She’s a big girl,” the barmare said, “she can take care of herself.”

—*~*~*—

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Two hours later, Streak exited the bar. On the walk home, he heard a commotion. He was less than happy at what he saw.

“Geez, what’s wrong with you, dweeb?” an unknown voice asked. He assumed this was Gilda, since the voice was attached to a griffon. A griffon that looked to be threatening a cowering Derpy.

“I said I was sorry,” Derpy whined.

“I don’t care,” Gilda growled. “I’ve been having a bad day, and you have the misfortune of being my punching bag, dweeb.”

“Hey!” Streak yelled. “What’s going on here?”

“Back off,” the griffon said. “This is none of your business.”

“I think it’s a lot of my business,” he said. “That’s my friend there, and I won’t just walk away. So I ask again, what’s going on?”

“All you ponies are so lame,” she whined. “Can’t I do anything without somepony getting on my case?”

“If you’re anywhere near Rainbow levels of plothole, no,” he said. “I ask one last time, what’s going on?”

“I ran into her while flying,” Derpy said, hanging her head. “I just don’t know what went wrong.”

“Wait, you aren’t one of Rainbow’s lame-o friends?” Gilda asked. She backed away from the grey mare, heading over to Streak. She held out a fist. “Name’s Gilda.”

Streak ignored her offered hoofbump. “I’m not a fan of bullies, Gilda. Why don’t you explain why Miss Doo bumping into you necessitated this reaction?”

“Look, I’m not having a good day,” Gilda said, dropping her claw back to the ground. “First the lame pink pony comes and wrecks my visit with Dash, then Dash throws me off for her lame pony friends, then this ditz tries to tackle me out of the air. Of course I’m going to be upset.”

Streak looked at her with an unreadable expression. “The last time I caught someone messing with Derpy, I dislocated his elbow and knocked him out,” he said levelly. “I suggest you skip town before I get mad.”

Gilda scoffed, “Whatever, dweeb. You’re just like Rainbow.”

She didn’t even get to spread her wings before a grey hoof slammed into her face, snapping her head to the left. “Don’t you even say that,” Streak hissed. “She’s a self-centered, self absorbed plothole. I am nothing like her.”

Gilda looked at him sideways. “You have some issues, dude,” she finally said. “I’m out, before you flip-flop again.”

As Gilda took off, Streak walked up to the still-cowering mare. “Are you okay, Derpy?” he asked.

“F–fine,” she said, standing up on shaky hooves. “I can’t believe that she was friends with Rainbow Dash.”

“I can,” Streak said, “though most ponies don’t have quite as strong an opinion about her as I do.”

“She’s not as bad as you think she is,” Derpy said.

“So I hear,” he replied. “You want me to walk you home?”

“That would be nice,” she said. “I should stop flying as much as I do, though. These dumb eyes ruin everything.”

“Hey, don’t be down on yourself,” he said. “You are you, nopony can change that. Embrace it. Those eyes aren’t going to change just because you want them to, you have to change your view of them before they stop bothering you.”

She gave him a demure smile. “Thanks, Streak.”

“No problem, just lead the way,” he said, returning the smile. He didn’t notice, but she was slightly red the whole walk back.

“Come in, come in,” Derpy said as they arrived at her house.

“I couldn’t,” Streak said. “It’s late and—”

“I’ll introduce you to Dinky,” she said, ignoring his protests and dragging him to the door. She let go and knocked on the door as she walked in. “Dinky! We have a visitor!”

Streak sighed, not being given a choice in the matter. He walked in to see a filly who looked like a slightly darker, slightly purpler, a lot younger Derpy. ”Hi, mister!” she said.

“Dinky, this is Streak,” Derpy said. “He’s the one that helped me at Berry’s.”

The filly’s eyes lit up. “Oh,” she said, “this is the stallion you haven’t stopped talking about nonstop for the past week?”

Derpy lit up bright red. “Uh, I think it’s your bedtime, muffin.”

Dinky groaned. “Mom, it’s only ten.”

“Listen to your mother, Dinky. it’s a school day tomorrow,” Streak said.

“Aww,” the filly whined. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, muffin,” the mare said. “Go now, you can talk with Streak some other time.” The filly kicked the ground lightly before heading upstairs, mumbling under her breath the whole time. Derpy turned back to Streak. “Heh, fillies say the darndest things, don’t they?”

Streak smiled at her. “Of course they do,” he said. “They don’t quite know how to engage a filter between their brain and mouth yet.”

Derpy’s blush had faded to a dull red that just barely dusted her cheeks. “Hey, I never thanked you for sticking up for me at the bar, and now I owe you again.”

“You don’t owe me at all, Derpy,” Streak said, waving a hoof dismissively. “I only did what any pony should have done.”

“Ugh,” Derpy groaned, slapping a hoof onto her face, “modesty. Streak, what any pony should do and what they actually do are two different things. It would have been easier to let him get away with spiking my drink and walking away when Gilda confronted me, but you didn’t. You did the right thing.”

“I can’t just. . . not help if I can,” Streak said. “It’s not anything special, it’s just the right thing.”

“That’s what makes it special,” Derpy said, flushing and giving him a small nuzzle. “You do the right thing, because you can’t stand not to. That’s what makes you different.”

“Eww!” Dinky said from the top of the stairs, making a face. “You’re going to kiss aren’t you?”

“Wha–no I wasn–Dinky!” Derpy sputtered, immediately becoming apple-red. “I told you to go to bed!”

“Dinky,” Streak said sternly, “listen to your mother. She only wants the best for you.”

“Fine,” the filly said, rolling her eyes. “But if you two do end up kissing, do it away from me.”

“Noted,” Streak commented, making Derpy lock up momentarily in surprise. As soon as the filly was gone, he said to Derpy, “I should get going. Thank you for your hospitality, and you have a beautiful daughter.”

“I think so, too,” the mare said, walking with him to the door and opening it for him.

“Takes after her mother,” Streak said as he left, making Derpy stop breathing. “Good night, Derpy!”

Two minutes later, Derpy was able to move again. She closed the door and rested her forehead on the inside of it. “Good night, Streak,” she whispered to herself.