Hard Chicagoat Nights: The Zebra and the Priest

by Brasta Septim

Chapter 1

The Zebra and the Priest

By BrastaAura17 and The Illusive Badgerpony

Chapter I

Coated in sweat, Ezekiel De La'Neighya, AKA Zeke the Zebrastafarian, practically flopped onto the bar top, giggling like mad and shaking his head wildly. What a set it had been, what a set! Escaping to the bar had been nearly impossible with all the hoof-bumps thrown his way.

Such was the nature of the coltcuddler crowd– They were always happy to have him, and it was always a joy to play a set for them. Sure, it was mostly instrumentals since there were hardly any MCs around that would play in a gay bar, but you couldn't win them all, right?

A few feet away, standing quietly by the bar, sipping on gin, was Brasta Sacerdo Aura, AKA Father Brasta of the new Equestrian see of the Church of Roama. He was the quiet kind of pony, for whom crowds this tightly packed were an annoyance and a cause for fear, due his claustrophobic nature. Ironically enough, he couldn't think of a better place to be. Noisy and wild as it may be, it was ‘his’ place. The place where he could be himself. Here, surrounded by coltcuddlers... like him.

The music had been certainly better than usual tonight, he thought, glancing over at the DJ who had just stumbled his way to the bar. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, a zebra? Certainly not unusual in such a diverse town as Chicagoat, but still unusual to him, in a strangely good way.

Zeke leaned back on the stool, heaving a massive sigh, hailing the bartender with a lazily raised hoof.

The bartender glanced up towards the semi-collapsing zebra for a moment. "Whacha want?"

"I dunno," Zeke chuckled. "Something that'll wake me up a bit I guess. Somethin' shocking or somethin', know what I'm saying?"

The bartender grinned. "I got a little something special called a Corpse Reviver. That sound shocking enough?"

"I'll give it a shot," Zeke chuckled, leaning on the bar with his eyes half-lidded. Come to think of it, his eyes always seemed that way...

The bartender disappeared for a few seconds before shoving a pale yellow cocktail across the bar. "Believe me, it tastes just as strong as it sounds."

Zeke raised the glass, watching the flashing neon lights reflect patterns and stripes of light against the clear glass, against the yellow liquid within. Smirking, he closed his eyes, and took a swig of the drink.

The bartender raised a satisfied eyebrow. "What did I say, eh?"

Zeke, at first, showed no reaction. Then his face contracted in a bit of concern. His lips pulled in, thin, his eyes beginning to water as he swallowed. And then it hit him.

His face clenched, his tongue shot out of his mouth, and he let out a loud whoop as shivers travelled down his spine. "Shit!"

Brasta glanced up from the gin he was nursing at the sound of a sudden expletive, wondering if someone was hurt, or had just had a bad drink.

"Whoof, sheesh, mmmh," Zeke murmured, shaking his head, raising an eyebrow at the tender. "Goddess, that was... Whoof."

The priest glanced at his own drink, before heading over to the source of the sound, the aforementioned zebra. "Strong drink?" he asked curiously.

"Man, strong drink is an understatement," Zeke said with a grimace, wiping his mouth with a foreleg. "Just... Damn."

Brasta visibly winced at the expletive, but shook his head and chuckled. "But I'll bet you're awake after that?"

"I hope I am," Zeke chuckled. "I'd hate to have to drink another one. Ech... Yo, barkeep, you got something for conversation?"

The barkeep didn't hear, as he had moved towards a herd of customers at the other end of the bar.

Zeke sighed, leaning back into the bar, shaking his head. "Guess I'll ask him later... Phew. Hopefully he doesn't try to poison me again. Mama did enough of that..."

Brasta nearly choked on his gin. "What?" He was hoping he was just joking.

Zeke chuckled. "If I wasn't so desperate for a wake-up call, I wouldn't have touched that glass with a ten-foot pole. Whoof..."

Brasta raised an eyebrow. "After that long a show, it looked like you needed it."

"Oh, for sure," Zeke murmured, the taste slowly receding from his buds and the tension visibly draining from his face. "But ya gotta love a good crowd, amirite? I just wish more of my brothers would come on down here. Good money to be made."

The last point was accompanied with a light chuckle and a shake of the head, and Ezekiel turned towards the other stallion. "Where are my manners? Name's Ezekiel. You can call me Zeke if ya like."

Brasta nodded. "Name's Brasta. Just Brasta- full name not necessary." He chuckled back dryly.

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "Ain't never heard a name like that before... Or an accent like that... Where ya from?"

Brasta fidgeted a bit. "Chicagoat. Mum's East Canterlot, Dad's Bitalian, came over from Roama. And you?"

"Dad grew up here, Ma's a shaman from Zebrica with all the rhyming and rubbish," Zeke chuckles.

Brasta looked at him curiously. "Wait, zebras actually rhyme everything, or is that just a shaman thing?"

"Just shamans," Zeke said with a chuckle. "I mean, I haven't been rhymin', have I?" He leaned back in his chair, shooting Brasta a smirk. "I don't imagine you get many zebras in here."

Brasta shrugged. "Not really. Germane, Eirish and Bitalian workers from the South side, a few griffins, the occasional Canterlotian trying to attempt slumming it, a couple Rusyns from Stalliongrad once- broke the window, too- but no zebras."

"So, I guess that makes me the local curiosity, right?" Zeke murmured, the smirk on his face widening.

Brasta shifted a little. "Not exactly the local curiosity- that applies to the couple of South Zebrican Springboks that wander in from time to time- I can never understand them through the thick Zebrikaans- but unusual enough. in a good way, of course," he said with a smile.

"Y'know," Zeke sighed, "It's weird. Whole town is named after goats and I think I've seen, like, three on the streets. The hell did they all go?"

"I heard they mostly all got a job as security guards for a seminar guy, a minotaur by name of Iron Will."

"Never heard of him," Zeke muttered flatly, tapping the bar to the beat of the song on the jukebox, which had replaced him as the background noise to the hundreds of conversations through the bar. It was all that poppy techno stuff ponies loved but zebras didn't care for, some DJ Pon-E or something. He didn't care for the music, but the beat gave his hoof something to do.

"You're dressed up kinda odd," Zeke murmured, raising an eyebrow.

Brasta glanced down, realising with slight horror that he was still in his black vest and white collar. "Ermm.. work clothes."

"So you're in business?" Zeke said, his voice with the slightest hint of excitement.

"Yes, you could say that..." His mother was fairly well off, as she had been a jeweler in East Canterlot, and had taught him business skills before his vocation became evident. Literally though, he was in the business of saving souls- not that such a profession was considered business from a purely Equestrian point of view.

"Ya know any music folk, maybe? I was lookin' for connections, y'know?! Get my name out there and stuff," Zeke blabbered. "Goddess, what I wouldn't give for that! Man, stumblin' cross you might've been the best chance I've gotten today!"

Brasta just raised an eyebrow, a bit sympathetic. "Ermm... I'm afraid not. I don't know any music people, I'm afraid. My mother's in the jewelry business, but that's it." Well, he knew a few music people, but all of them were employed by the Church, and their music would be a bit too... antique for the zebra's tastes, he thought.

Zeke's ears drooped, the wool of his beanie cap stretching to accommodate the gesture. Sighing, he took the garment off, allowing his silver-and-charcoal dreadlocks to fall over his shoulders like a waterfall. "Shit," he muttered, "Alright. Thanks anyways..."

Brasta's sympathy suddenly deepened. "You're welcome." Taking his eyes off the zebras, he started turning to go back to his drink.

Zeke still tapped the bar, patiently waiting for the barkeep to come back. Leaning over, his crimson eyes trailed over Brasta's drink, one of his eyebrows raising. "So, whacha drinkin'?"

Brasta glanced down at his drink, then back up to the zebra. "Just a bit of gin- the good kind, not the cheapie version you get out of backroom stills."

Zeke chuckled. "Shouldn't expect less from a joint like this, I guess. Thought coltcuddlers had like ‘tinis and shit, y'know? Flirtinis, appletinis, teenytinis, but I mean..."

His gaze shifted down the bar, looking over every drink. "Man, not everyone's drinking a cocktail! It's a shocker...

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Yeah, real shocker. Well, I suppose you're halfway right- half the crowd usually goes for the cocktail menu- I remember one that ordered something called the Princess's Ginger- the rest go for a proper drink."

"Ha! I bet they throw out the brother that asks for a lite beer! Hahahaha!" Zeke cackled, hooves at his belly to smooth out his laughter.

Brasta felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Only once; and he soon found himself walking back in, and reordered a pint of stout. Brave lad, that one."

Zeke smirked. "Brave indeed. How'd that turn out?"

Brasta barely suppressed a laugh. "He downed it, then slowly walked out of the bar and was never heard from again."

Zeke laughed, loudly, freely, almost unable to stop, raising a hoof to his mouth to shut it off. "I... Hahaha! Whoo!"

Brasta chuckled back. "Believe me, it was funnier to actually see it. And from that day, I learned... nothing." He chuckled to himself. "Except, of course, not to drink stout on an empty stomach."

"Do they serve food here? Like rainbow daisy burgers or something'?"

Brasta shrugged. "Not much- just the usual bar food. A few appetizers here and there- maybe sandwiches for particularly hungry customers. Why, you hungry?"

Zeke nodded. "Yeah, I could go for some grub right now..."

Brasta thought for a moment- and for some reason, he had a sudden idea that he knew he was going to regret, but somehow thought it was a good idea anyway. "Well, if you're hungry, wanna head somewhere with better food? I know a decent pub round the corner- pretty decent food, for Chicagoat standards."

"Sure, I guess," Zeke chuckled, getting up and out if his stool.

Brasta quickly emptied his drink, and left it with a tip on the bar, before leading the way out the door and into the chilly Chicagoat night.

Zeke followed, closely, chuckling alongside the formal-looking unicorn.

Turning the corner of the street, Brasta made his way past the few ponies still meandering around to get to a little beacon of cheer on the street corner- a little pub, which the sign in front declared was named "The Oak Garden", even though no oaks, or in fact gardens, existed in Chicagoat. It was a quiet place- tasteful, if a bit antique, and always had the smell of good food floating out the window.

Zeke raised an eyebrow, the eyes below them nervously shifting from left to right. "Oh, man, uh, I don't think I got the cash for this kinda place... I mean..."

Brasta groaned in frustration. "Mate, it's cheaper than it looks- just because it isn't a run-down McHeartattack doesn't mean it's expensive."

"Hey, shut up," Zeke growled. "McHeartattack is awesome, and easy on the wallet."

Brasta rolled his eyes. "If you insist. But I think you'll like the grub better in here. Besides, anything you can't pay for, I wouldn't mind covering." The minute the words were out of his mouth, he started regretting them. Blast his priestly sense of generosity!

Zeke shook his head. "Naw, man, I ain't a charity case, I'll pay for my own sorry ass. Let's go."

Brasta frowned, about to say charity cases were exactly what he specialised in, but thought better of it. He nodded. "Alright then." He gestured towards the door of the pub. "After you."

Zeke trotted in, nervously, tentatively, intimidated by the Trottish knots decorating the ceilings, his eyes widening slowly. "Oh... Man. Bad mojo, man, bad mojo..."

"What is it, Zeke? This is just my regular place..."

"Man... Zebricans, erm... How do I..."

Brasta's eyebrow went higher. "What? You're not making any sense."

"Man, just... Bad folk that like beat up zebras and shit thrive in there!" Zeke cried. "I'm not..."

Brasta looked at him like he'd just suggested the sky was turning green. "I've seen griffins, donkeys, and a couple elk in here before, and they were never harassed- besides, the owner's a griffin, out of the Germane protectorate."

"Nope," Zeke murmured. "Bad mojo... Bad place, where food is first-rate, but the walls are full of hate..."

Brasta could see the place was upsetting him, and quickly turned around. "Alright, alright! I can see you're nervous. On second thought, why don't we just get some grub somewhere else?"

Zeke swallowed, following his friend, repeating the mantra again and again. "Bad place, first rate, full of hate... Bad place, rate, hate..."

Brasta just sighed, heading towards the middle of town. "Do you wanna try somewhere else, or just head back to.. wherever you live? You're obviously a little unnerved."

Zeke snapped out of it, sighing. "Man, whatever you wanna do, I... Damn..."

"No, you look rather shell-shocked- besides, I don't know any other good food places around here."

"It's... Nothin'. Don't..." Zeke sighed, sitting on a bench. "It's fine."

Brasta sat down on the bench next to him. "It didn't look like it was fine to me."

"It's... Nothing. Forget it."

"Suddenly muttering about bad mojo and looking like a food place was about to eat YOU is nothing?"

"...Yeah."

Brasta breathed in sharply. "Sancte Michaele Archangelo, defende nos in proelio..." he muttered, before looking up at Zeke. "If you insist, I'll drop it, okay?"

Zeke sighs, shaking his head. "I... I don't know..."

Brasta cut him off. "Look man, it obviously bothered you- and besides, you don't look so good, either." In fact, he looked like he was about to pass out.

"I... Just..." Zeke slumped back into the bench, sighing. "I..."

Brasta leaned over him, concerned. "Look man, do you want me to just drop you off somewhere?"

"I dunno..."

Brasta lifted the zebra upright on the bench. "Come on... I'll drop you off wherever you want.."

Zeke sighed. "No... Give me a sec..."

"Fine, fine- I'll give you two, three, four- I'm in no hurry."

"I... I don't.."

"You don't what?"

"My mother was... Went into a place like that... Nice at first... She left with this dude... She came home beaten to hell." Zeke swallowed, sighing.

Brasta felt a hard lump drop into his stomach. He had heard of such things happening... never in places like the Oak Garden, but in other parts of Chicagoat, some around his own parish. It most happened to Bitalians who wandered into Eirish establishments, however, or vice-versa. Even a few of his own parishioners... he shook his head with a sigh. They may have had a religion in common, but the Eirish didn't like the Bitalians. And if the Oak Garden was a place unsafe for Zebricans... "Look, I'm sorry, mate- I didn't know. I just thought..."

"It's fine..." Zeke swallowed again. "It happened a long time ago..."

"That doesn't make it alright. I didn't want to bring up anything unpleasant."

"You didn't mean to, man," Zeke sighed, leaning back on the bench. "I... I lived in a pretty nice part of town... We all never thought it'd happen. It was pretty bad, but what can ya do?..."

Brasta's ears drooped. "Nothing. Abso-bloody nothing."

"Yeah. That's the worst part."
Brasta sighed. "Look, do you just want to head home? Sitting out here on a bench at night, with bad memories and a pr- err, local for company is not a good way to spend an evening."

Zeke sighed. "Let's... go to your place first..."

Brasta looked at him sideways. "Erm... okay." It'd be a bit difficult to bring him to his place without missing the giant Romanesque church next to it, but he didn't want to argue.

Zeke nodded, shakily dropping to his hooves and trotting alongside Brasta. "Alright..."

Brasta led him along the streets up to Bellhoof Gardens, one of the nicer neighbourhoods in Chicagoat, until his place came into view. It was modest, a small rectory with windows facing the street. But it was dwarfed by the large dome of the church next to it. Brasta ignored the metaphorical giant elephant on the street, glancing back to make sure the zebra trotting alongside was still alright, until he reached the steps of his home.

Zeke looked up at the massive church, an eyebrow raising. "Wow. What's that place?..."

Brasta glanced back for a moment. Should he act as if he wasn't associated with it, or just say what he did there? He was usually very cautious about mentioning his particular vocation, for fear of alienating those around him of a different faith. "The local Roaman Catholic church- St. Katherina's, I think."

"Catholic?..." Zeke tilted his head, looking up at the impressive structure.

"Yeah, err... religion brought in with the Bitalian immigrants. Popular with the Eirish, too." He lit his horn, levitating his keys to unlock the door of the rectory. He gestured towards the door with a hoof. "Now let's get you inside. It's not much, but it's home."

Zeke nodded, allowing his newfound friend to lead the way.

Brasta led him into the front room of his house. It was a bit sparse on the decorations side, but clean enough. There were small touches of luxury here and there- a nice crucifix on the wall, an old painting above the mantel of the fireplace, new upholstery on the old squashed armchair, a pitcher and bowl on a nearby washstand. All in all, it was comfortable- just the way he liked it. Flipping on a light switch, a lightbulb flickered to life, lighting the way to the door of the rectory's one guest room.

Ezekiel slipped calmly into the rectory, his eyes relaxing as he glanced about. "This is nice," he murmured. "Real cozy..."

Brasta chuckled. "Yeah. It's small, but it's cozy."

Zeke chuckled, sitting on his haunches and sighing.

Brasta glanced back at the zebra, gesturing towards the guest room door. "If you want to crash, there's a free room over there. The bed's never been made, ever, and the room's a little dusty, though."

"Can't be too bad," Zeke sighed, trotting over to the guest room door, a feeling of peace washing over him. He felt... Safe here. Secure. It was strange and wonderful at the same time...

Brasta smiled a bit. "It's not. I suppose I'll see you in the morning, Zeke."

Zeke turned around to respond, but Brasta was already gone. Sighing, the zebra turned around again, slipping into the spare room, and shutting the door behind himself.

On that note, Brasta headed down the hall and trotted up the stairs to his room. He closed the door, and slipped into dressing gown, offering his few evening prayers before heading to bed. For once, though, he couldn't help but feel... happier than usual. But he couldn't tell why...

Comments

[Vivid Syntax]

I've never seen a concept like this on this site. I look forward to reading more!