But You Also Get Some Sun

by Exilo

Chapter 6: Blueblood

Chapter 6: Blueblood

I take a train to Ponyville. I’m not entirely sure why. Not like there aren’t plenty of bars and taverns in Canterlot where I can get drunk beyond all measure. Not even like I don’t have a few bottles of fine spirits in my room. I just don’t want to be in Canterlot tonight, though. I know Aunt Tia isn’t going to be looking for me, but I have some silly thought if I stay in the city, we will stumble upon each other, and then we’ll have to talk, and I just don’t want that.

No one on the train recognizes me. Even if they think I look like Prince Blueblood, they ask themselves, “What would Prince Blueblood be doing riding on a train like us peasants? Surely he’s at the palace eating cake, drinking wine, and laughing about his aristocracy.” I don’t mind not being recognized. I just want some time to think, some time to ponder. I don’t want to talk to the mares who drool over me or the stallions who want to fight me to prove how tough they are.

Aunt Tia was probably right. I’m not “Hero of Equestria” material. But it would have been nice, just once, to have a parade in my honor, and ponies talking about me. In a good way, I mean. To live up to the legacy my father left behind. To be viewed by the populace as a legitimate heir to his name, rather than a drunken playcolt who leeches off their taxes.

As the train slows to a halt at the Ponyville stop, my weight shifts. The flask that is held in my coat pocket bops against my chest. For the first time, I realize it is there at all. I forgot I had it, or I picked it up when I was walking out of the castle without thinking, or it was already in the coat that I just decided to wear since the night might be cold. I use my magic to take it out and hold it in front of me. The polished metal reflects my visage like a genuine mirror. I look horrible. Before I drink all the alcohol my liver can take, I think I will go to the spa and relax. Maybe Lotus can work out some of the tension I feel in my shoulders.

“Prince Blueblood,” Lotus says as I step inside the spa. She had been balancing a cardboard box on her back, but seeing me, drops it onto her hoof and sets it down beside her. Completely unbothered by the late hour, she smiles in that warm way of hers and asks, “What can I do for you?”

Lotus is beautiful, like always. It is her mane I like the most. That bubblegum pink color reminds me of Aunt Tia in the books I used to read when I was younger. Her fur is also quite pretty, of course. I guess it reminds me a bit of Aunt Luna. It’s not the same dark blue as Luna, but it makes me think of her, and that makes me happy.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Were you getting ready to close up?”

“Yes, but it is no problem,” she responds. “What were you looking for, prince?”

I could answer with some needlessly philosophical answer about seeking true companionship, the truth about my linage, or a meaning for this hollow shell I call a life. I settle for, “Something to help me relax.”

Lotus smiles. I follow her into the massage room towards the back, and she gestures to a well-padded table/chair. I remove my coat slowly and toss it aside before climbing on. Walking to a table, Lotus covers her fore hooves in sweet smelling creams. If she walks on all fours, she will stain those hooves with the filth from the floor, so she hobbles to me and braces herself against the table. I look at her, and she smiles, before turning back to her work.

The touch of her cool, wet hooves against my back always makes me jump. I am not particularly fond of being touched, but she has always been professional and gentle. After that first shudder, I settle down and lay there mostly still. She moves to my shoulders she found some time ago, a spot that always makes me melt.

“How have you been, prince?”

“You can call me ‘Blue,’ you know.”

She giggles. “Prince Blue then, how have you been?”

I sigh. “Reliving painful memories, scolding and cursing those who love me the most, drinking far more than I should. Typical princely duties, I suppose.”

“Yes, I guessed you were going through some things. By the moon, you carry so much tension in your shoulders.”

I sigh softly as she leans a little more over me and gently presses her dainty hooves against my shoulder blades. It’s a pleasant feeling, how she makes little circles and rubs into the joint and bone. It does wonders to ease the tightness I have been feeling since I yelled at Aunt Tia. Finished with my shoulders, she eases down and begins to softly rub the middle of my back, kneading the muscles with practiced expertise. Oh, she is a genius, and the salves she has doused her hooves in leave cooling kisses against my short fur. It is heavenly, at least until I feel her hooves move to the small of my back. Nothing too odd about that. Without my ribs to block her, I can feel her dainty hooves pressing into my core. It’s just that she keeps going lower…

“Shoulders, Lotus,” I say. “Shoulders.”

She stops abruptly. “Oh, yes, yes. Forgive me. I am so sorry. I… was… uhm…”

“It is no problem, my dear. I am quite accustomed to mares hoofing at me. I really do feel some tension in my shoulders though, if you would not mind working out a few of the knots?”

Laying back, I set my head down. Lotus places her hooves carefully upon my shoulders and kneads soft circles into my supple fur. “You… you look… uhm… Quite good, prince.”

“Princess Sparkle has requested I tutor her in the ways of fencing. I have been trying to get back into shape.”

“Have you also taken up jogging?”

“In a manner of speaking. Ms. Rainbow Dash comes by the castle with some frequency, though I haven’t a clue why. She is such an energetic pony, I must race about just to keep up with her.”

“It shows in your… uhm…” A gentle hoof taps against my flank. “The first time I saw you, you were broken and burned. Now, you truly look like a prince, with your beautifully groomed fur, regal mane and tail, heroic build, and other assets.”

I just have to chuckle at that. Looking over my shoulder, I see Lotus is wearing a blush on her cheeks. Her fur is practically purple.

“Have the coffee burns healed?” she asks. Perhaps not the best question if she is trying to lose her blush, but I nod my head.

“I am happy to hear that, and I am happy that your magical burns have healed in full, and most of all, I am happy that you have returned to this spa on occasion. I was afraid I would never see you again after your first visit.”

“I dislike socializing in Canterlot. It is filled with gossipers and paparazzi. I must thank you, Lotus, for never speaking of me to the highest bidder.”

“I would never treat a friend like that,” she says in her soft voice.

“We are friends?”

“I would like to think so, yes.”

I smile. I would like to think so, too.

Feeling quite a bit refreshed, and quite a bit better, I help Lotus with the nightly cleanup. It is mostly just whipping off the beds or taking inventory of what supplies are running low. I talk to her. She talks to me. Once or twice, to get a box off an especially high shelf, she rises to her rear hooves and stretches as far as she can go. I am sure for no other reason than to keep balance, she stretches her tail out and up. I’m a little ashamed, but I do sneak a peek of her … uhm… assets.

It is in the cool, crisp night air that I recall why I came to Ponyville at all. Although the village is certainly not at a shortage for taverns, I recall hearing about a new place, the Core I believe it is called. I am not sure who told me, but it is supposed to be rather good, serving specialty drinks and concoctions. Ponvyille is… rather large for a village, but I do not mind wandering around for a bit in my pursuit of this new place. The air is clean here. Not that Canterlot’s air is “dirty,” but it is somehow cleaner here, and I rather enjoy breathing through my nose. Best of all, no one recognizes me. To all the earth ponies, with their long faces and yokel eyes, I am just a rather large unicorn. It helps that my coat stretches down to my flanks, so my cutie mark and most of my build is concealed. Blonde unicorns might not be common in Ponyville, but none suspect I am a prince.

It is after about half an hour of wandering that I finally spot the Core. It’s a rather quaint looking tavern, composed of red brick with white trims over some of the front. The doors are large and wide, painted brown and possibly made of wood. Superficially, it actually resembles a barn. The sign has a cute little outline of an apple with bites at either side of it, revealing the core. Oh! I get the joke!

Oh, yes, about the tavern. It is roughly thirty-two hundred square feet, I would say. A horseshoe shaped bar is in the center with two service wells at either side, a pair a speedwell at the left end, and several beers prominently displayed on the wall. I step inside and take a seat at the bar with empty stools flanking me. The bartender has his back to me, and he is rummaging through a box on the ground, meaning his rather large rump is my greeting. I chuckle at the sight: the scarlet buttocks, the golden tail wagging casually in the air, sometimes snapping to the side to take care of an itch on his flanks. Tilting my head slightly, I notice his cutie mark: a green apple cut in half, with the inner meat and seeds of the fruit facing the viewer. I have seen that cutie mark before, but where?

…

It suddenly occurs to me that Rainbow Dash told me about this bar. Her friend, Applejack, opened it with her family. With that in mind, I deduce just who is standing before me. Biting my lip, I am getting off my stool to leave when Big Macintosh turns around and notices me. “Howdy prince. What can ah do for ya?” he asks with a great deal of yokel drawl.

Turning back to him respectfully, I wave a hoof. “It is quite alright, Mr. Macintosh. You need not serve somepony like me.”

He gives me a befuddled look (though, to be fair, that might be his normal face.) “Whatcha mean?”

“I am aware I am not your favorite stallion in all of Equestria. To avoid any tension, I would rather just leave now.”

He sighs and shakes his large head. “Look, ahm sorry bout what ah said. Ye just hurt AJ’s feelin’s when ye bad mouthed ‘er cookin. I over’eacted though. I tho’ght we buried dah hatchet back at the acres though. Y’know, at ye party.”

With a groan, I rub my head. “Uhm… perhaps we did. I am afraid most of that night is a bit of a blur.”

He chuckles. It is as deep and earthy as one might assume a stallion of his stature would possess. I feel it in my very core. “Granny’s Mug-o-Moonshine ‘ll do that to ya. Ah told ya not to chug it.” He rests his foreleg on the bar and leans close. “Now, whatcha havin?”

“One Mug-o-Moonshine,” I say. “All the horrible things that have happened, I just want to forget. I want to drink until I can’t stand up. Let every memory of the past months, of my entire life, be drown beneath a flood of homemade liquor. I want you to serve me until my words slur, my eyes glaze over, and not a rational thought can be formed in my head. I want to drink, and drink, until I can no longer feel the slightest twitch in my soul.”

Big Macintosh stares at me for a moment or two, before nodding. “Water on the rocks it is.”

He places a glass filled with clear water in front of me. I glare at him. “Ah, forgive me prince,” he says, before dropping a blue bendy straw into it. I chuckle at that. The water does taste good. Better than the bottled water in Canterlot, certainly.

“So… you wanna talk bout anythin?”

I shrug, staring at my drink. “You brew the moonshine on your farm, do you not?”

“Uh… yeah, we do. Just like our cider.” He seems rather proud about that.

“The cider is not considered an alcoholic beverage under the Eighteenth Amendment to the Declaration of the United Tribes. Under said amendment, it is illegal for private citizens produce any beverage with an alcohol content exceeding five percent by volume.”

He gives me a puzzled stare. I probably should have used smaller words. Finally figuring out what I said, he leans over the bar and gives me a rather frightening glare. “You gonna have me arrested?”

“No, no,” I say quickly. “I would just like to offer my services. I am knowledgeable about Equestria bureaucracy. I can help you navigate all the paperwork to apply for a license.” I toy with my straw with the very tip of my hoof. “If you would ever like to come down to Canterlot, it shouldn’t take more than an afternoon. Perhaps we can also hang out a bit afterwards. See a show, have dinner. I mean, if you wanted to.”

Big Macintosh smiles at me. “It’d be ah pleasure, Blue.”

I smile to myself. I might even be blushing. Big Macintosh doesn’t seem that bothered by it though.

“HELLO PONYVILLE!”

I turn to see a cream colored mare trotting into the tavern. Her mane is blue, spikey, and worn over the right side of her face. Concealing her eyes are large sunglasses, dark purple in color but not at all reflective. Her cutie mark is a music note.

I do not know Miss Vinyl Scratch personally, but I have seen her in the news and at enough Discordian protests to recognize her. Typical plebian, bored with her life, so she spends her days protesting whatever is popular. When Aunt Tia ran away, Vinyl was no doubt at the head of the herd of twits and peasants, rallying them into blood frenzy. Of all the bars in all of Equestria, she had to walk into this one.

Considering how my life has been going, I am not too surprised when Vinyl Scratch takes the stool beside me.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince BLUEBALLS!? What ya doin all the way down here?”

Her breath stinks of cheap rum and she is practically screaming at me. I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything, Big Macintosh speaks up. “Leave ‘im alone, Scratch. He’s been through ah lot lately.” He places a cold glass of water on the counter in front of the cream colored mare. In true plebian fashion, Vinyl knocks it away.

“RUM!” she shouts.

“Vi, ye’ve had enough.” Big Macintosh shakes his head sadly. “Ye gotta stop putting ye’self through this. Turnin’ ye liver to muck ain’t gonna do no good for no pony.”

“RUM!” she shouts again, accentuating the order with a slam of her hoof.

Big Macintosh rolls his eyes, and pours her another glass of water. “There ya go, Scratch.”

“Dat’s better!” she spits, and drinks down the water happily. “Now prince,” she says, turning to me, head lolling side to side.

“Go away,” I say, trying to wave a hoof at Vinyl. “Leave me alone.”

She takes her water with her magic and pours most of the contents down her throat. Slamming the mug onto the table, she vulgarly wipes her mouth and stares at me. “Why so huffy, prince? Canterlot run outta of crumpets or something?”

“Go away,” I growl.

“Seriously Vinyl, ye ‘ave had too much ta drink. Mah sister ‘ll get you home.”

“HOME?!” she laughs. “Where would that be? And what’s ‘a lot’ for a prince anyway? I mean, when was the last time you actually had to work for something you wanted? When was the last time your meals weren’t handed to you and your drinks weren’t free? When was the last time you had to sleep in a cardboard box instead of on a featherbed?”

“Go away, you plebian brat,” I growl once more. I think my horn may be flickering with magic. A few knives and forks in the tavern are shivering. Oh, curse Twilight Sparkle. I’ve been practicing my magnetism spell so I don’t make a fool out of myself when I show her during her next lesson. The problem is I am inexperienced with magic, and I have some trouble controlling it. At the Point they taught me how, but the Point was a long time ago.

“Vinyl,” Big Macintosh says as he trots around the bar. “I’ll take ye home. Ye can crash at mah house for a few nights.”

“Hey! I’m just talking to the prince. Just want to see why he’s so blue. Heh, get it?”

Of everything offensive about Vinyl Scratch (and there is a lot), it is her sunglasses I find myself despising the most. I don’t even know why, but they make my blood boil. Using my magic, I yank them away. She is so drunk it takes a moment or two to realize they have been removed, but when she does, she tries to recoil from my sight.

“By the sun,” I say. “What are you, some sort of monster? No wonder you are ornery all the time. When I look in the mirror, I see the gorgeous visage of a prince. You must only ever see those ghastly crimson eyes of yours. Go away, Bloodshot. Go frighten some foals and make fillies cry.”

She reaches for the sunglasses I hold with my magic, but I lift them out of her reach. “You son of a-“

I wave a hoof. “Or perhaps go cry to that mud pony you live with, assuming she can still stand the sight of you.”

“Don’t you ever talk about Octavia like that!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I ask, leaning close. “I’m just the horrible despot, right? Just the little monster in groomed white fur. Why shouldn’t I talk like this, Bloodshot?”

Her hoof swings forward. It is a horribly sloppy haymaker. Effortlessly, I block her sailing hoof and swipe my elbow across her snout. Either I hit her harder than I intended, or she is too drunk to stay on the stool, but she tumbles to the ground. As she glares at me, I see crimson is dribble out of her nose and stain the pale fur just above her lip.

“Prince, leave,” Macintosh orders, putting his arms under Vinyl and hoisting her to her hooves.

“She tried to hit me,” I say. “I was just-“

“LEAVE!” he roars.

Just like that, I am once again just a prick prince. What was I even thinking? Help him legalize his alcohol business and he would invite me to poker night at the farm? That we would end up being friends? Without a word, without an apology, I trot out of the tavern and onto the street. For a few blocks, I walk as fast as my hooves will take me. When I am sure I have put enough distance between myself and the tavern, I sit down on the curb. It’s late. Probably close to midnight. The town is asleep. It’s quiet. With my magic, I reach into my breast pocket to retrieve my flask. Well, it’s my father’s flask, really. That P.H. so gorgeously engraved over the polished visage marks it as his.

“H-hey prince.”

I turn to my side to see Vinyl Scratch standing before me. A rolled up napkin is stuffed crudely in her left nostril to stop the bleeding I caused.

“Miss Scratch,” I say, bowing my head. “Are you alright?”

“Pfft, you… you hit like a filly,” she laughs.

“Next time, I will be sure to break your skull.”

“Hey, anytime you wanna go, prince! Just name it.”

This is what it would be like if I were the Hero of Equestria, isn’t it? Drunken fools constantly challenging me to dick measuring contests and fights? With fame comes a price. With recognition of your skills comes the demand for you to use them.

“I’m sorry,” Vinyl Scratch says. “I… I said some mean things, I guess. True things, but mean. Mac said how much of a jerk I was being. So, I-I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say. “You’re the plebian twat. Everyone expects you to act that way. I should act better.” I stand up and use my magic to straighten some ruffles in my coat. “Allow me to escort you home. It’s late, and it would be improper if I let a young, drunk mare to traverse these streets by her lonesome.”

“I-I’m thirty three,” she giggles.

“Well, regardless, I will take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that. I… uhm… I live in Canterlot. It’s a whole train ride, you know?”

I roll my eyes. “I do know how to read a train schedule, Ms. Scratch. I am knowledgeable about a great number of things beyond crumpets and wine, in fact. But I am certainly not going to beg you to accompany me.” I bow my head. “Have a good night.”

I trot along in the direction I think the train station is. After a pace or two, Vinyl comes alongside me. “I… uhm… I don’t suppose you could buy me a ticket, huh?”

“Blew your last few bits on beers?” I ask. “Of course I will buy you a ticket. It’s the least I can do after acting so brutish to you.”

We trot along in silence. I’m not exactly interested in small talk. I don’t know if Vinyl is intimidated by me, or simply using me for my wallet and doesn’t think me worthy of her words, or she is too drunk and she thinks she is talking when her mouth doesn’t move. I don’t care. It’s a nice night, with a full moon that makes me think of my dear aunt. A breeze sifts through my fur.

“Where do you live?” I ask, looking over the train schedule. Canterlot has four train stops: the four corners of the grand city. I have my suspicions Vinyl lives in St. Pegasberg with all the other Discordian twats, but better to hear it from her mouth than go with an assumption.

“Really prince, you buying me the ticket back to Canterlot is generous enough. You don’t have to walk me to my door.”

I shrug. “You have had far too much to drink. The press would have an absolute field day if you went missing and I was the last pony seen with you.” And that is the only reason, I can say for sure. “Where do you live?”

Vinyl Scratch whimpers. Seemingly from nowhere, she pulls out a flask with a music note engraving. Not her music note. It’s different, with a slender figure and more of a curve. The gulp of liquid courage calms her down enough she admits, “See, I’m sorta… sorta ‘between apartments’ at the moment.”

“You’re homeless?”

“Well if you wanna get technical. It’s no big deal though. I spent more of my foalhood on the street than at home. My dad and I did that whole-“ and her voice deepens in an obvious mockery of her progenitor “ -when you live under my roof, you’ll obey my rules dance at least three times a month. Besides, I just gotta snag a sweet gig and I can use that money to rent out a place. It’s no big deal. I was just hoping to just catch some z’s on the train, maybe find some dumb, drunk stallion to shack up with for the night.”

I am so going to regret this… “Allow me to put you up in a hotel.”

Her face contorts to a comical degree. “No, no, NO!” She trots in front of me and rises as high as she can. I am still taller than her, but it’s rather clear she is trying to get in my face. Uck, she smells repulsive. Not just the alcohol that stains her breath, but horrid body odor. “Look, you been super nice and all, but I’m not some little prissy filly that you gotta take care of. I’m not one of those twaty princesses who can’t-“

“Never speak ill of the princesses,” I say coldly.

She blinks a few times. Her movements are so exaggerated, I can tell she is blinking even beneath those obnoxious sunglasses. “My family owns The Three Crown Royale” I say. “It is no trouble to put you in one of the spare rooms.”

That’s a lie. The hotel is owned by Fancy Pants, but I am sure Vinyl is not smart enough to know that. Besides, Fancy Pants is a friend… I think. I mean, he was a friend of my father. He has known me since I was a colt. He took care of me when my father was on business. He will go along with the charade, and I will hoof the bill for Ms. Scratch’s stay, if he even wants to charge me.

The train pulls into the station. Ms. Scratch takes another gulp from her flask before returning it to the folds of her mane. Quite dizzy from the kiss of intoxication, she wanders back towards the village until I physically turn her around and give a pat to her rump. She giggles. “Guess… guess your balls ain’t too blue, huh?”

I roll my eyes. She kisses me on the lips.

It’s the abruptness that takes me by surprise. While I am standing there dumbly, her mind has raced to other things, namely the train that is insistently whistling at us.

Vinyl insists on taking the window seat. I don’t mind. I would rather her sit there so I can block her path to the aisle. As it turns out, my worries were unfounded. Before the train has even begun its chug, she puts her head on my chest and slips into sleep.

I still don’t like her sunglasses. Placing my hooves at her cheeks, I carefully lift her head and use my magic to tug them away. I fold them neatly and place them in my breast pocket, opposite my father’s flask. Her nose has stopped bleeding, so I tug the napkin out and use a dry spot to wipe some of the caked on blood. Vinyl is rather beautiful. Truth be told, I don’t have a problem with crimson eyes. My mother had red eyes. I think she did, at least. I never actually knew her, but the pictures my father kept showed her eyes as a shade of carnelian. My mother was a beautiful mare, so I have been told. Creamy white fur, with scarlet hair, and those carnelian eyes…

I wonder if she really is dead. Celestia lied to me about my father. Is it a stretch that my mother, upon giving birth to me, was so disgusted that she fled the empire and never looked back? Or perhaps she took a new name, and a new life, met a stallion and lived happily ever after.

I reach a hoof out and softly stroke over Vinyl’s face. She mumbles something in her sleep. It’s cute, at least until she lets out a revolting belch. Bleh, peasants.

She is pretty, though. She hides her beauty behind her sunglasses, and her mane that distorts half her face, but she is… she is rather…

The train grinds to a stop. We’ve arrived in Canterlot, and I give Vinyl a jostle and shake. With a yawn that blows her putrid breath into my snout, she stumbles to a standing position. I help her walk out the train and onto the platform, then physically guide to the street. I wish I had a leash or something I could tug to keep her near me. If I take my eyes off her for more than a moment, I am afraid she will go wandering off. Quite the contrary to Ponyville’s quiet twilight hours, Canterlot is still bustling. The Gala is tomorrow. The dress shops and the bakeries and the spas are all still catering to whoever is willing to pay.

Vinyl pulls a flask out and tries to take another gulp, but it is empty. In a huff, she tosses the flask away. “Can I have a drink?” she asks, looking at me.

I’m confused about that until I realize I have taken my father’s flask out of my breast pocket. With a drunken hoof, Vinyl reaches to pluck the flask from the air, but I lift it higher. “Can I have a drink, please?” she asks, batting her red eyes in seductive fashion.

“No,” I say passively. My horn sparks with deep blue magic. The flask is suddenly engulfed. The metal crunches into a miniscule ball and then expands so large and so suddenly, shards of silver dance through the moonlit air. The contents of the flask spill to the ground. I look to my side, at Vinyl, and have to laugh at the rather terrified face on her dull features.

“WHAT THE BUCK WAS THAT?!” she screams.

“Keep your voice down. This isn’t some flashy party where the quality of music is judged by its volume. I am standing right beside you.”

“B-b-but… what spell was that?”

“Magnetism,” I say.

“Huh?”

“I increased the atomic forces that constitute the flask’s structure, then generated a magnetic force around the sphere to pull it apart.”

“Wha?”

“I exerted magnetic force on the molecular structure, then I exerted the force in the opposite direction and overpowered the flask's molecular bindings.”

Her only answer is a blank stare.

“I made it explode, you plebian twit. I know a fair bit about magnetism and polarity, as you should be able to deduce from my cutie mark. Maps as well have always fascinated me.”

Vinyl uses her magic to pull my coat away off my flank. She spends a moment or two staring before looking back to me. “The fancy star? I figured that just meant you were good at being a royal jerk.”

“No, no, it’s clearly a compass rose. What are they teaching fillies at schools nowadays?”

Vinyl Scratch shrugs. “I’m the wrong mare to ask. Before I dropped out, I probably only went two days a week.”

“And now you’re homeless.”

Vinyl chuckles. She doesn’t seem bothered by the snark. “It … it’s not my fault. Octy usually took care of payin the bills.”

“Octavia Melody? The cellist.”

“Awe, she played way more than the cello. She could play, like, everything. Just sucked her shows were always full of snobby douchebags. And I had to be so damn quiet. I liked when she practiced though. Sometimes I would sit outside her door and listen. I… I really…”

She leans against me suddenly. I am confused about that, but realize she has simply lost her balance. Her breathing is starting to come in rapid pants. There are crystals forming in her crimson eyes. “I… I do really need a drink…”

No amount of nudges or jostles rouse Vinyl from her trance. If I take a step away from her, she will fall. Using my magic, I lift her into the air and carefully place her on my broad back. Rather than struggle against me, she buries her head in my mane. Uck. No doubt her face is plastered with snot and drool. In fact I hear faint crying and sniffles rumble out of her throat. I try to act like I do not notice and continue on my way to the hotel.

By the time we reach the Three Crown Royale, Vinyl has passed out, and I have been carrying her for about ten minutes. I’m not bothered by her weight. Sure, she’s a little on the heavy side, but I am strong. Besides, all the times I have passed out after a bender and Aunt Tia carried me back to my room, bathed me, tucked me in. Well, this is the least I can do for a fellow drunk.

The dimensions and design of the Three Crown Royale are reminiscent of the castle. It is a twelve story, vaguely box shaped structure, made of meticulously polished white bricks. Gargoyles and arches dominate the top most level, gazing down upon the populace. Quite different than the rustic feel of Ponvyille, Fancy Pant’s buildings always have the soul of a unicorn: grand, powerful, sharp edges and a polished visage.

I set Vinyl down in one of the lobby’s armchairs. The receptionist, a rather cute, sunny gold earth pony is happy to listen as I explain the situation to her. She’s young. This is probably her first job, and she’s afraid I will say something to Fancy Pants about her if she displeases me. I trot to the armchair to retrieve Vinyl, but she has disappeared from the seat. Turning to my side, I catch sight of her wide rump as she saunters towards the hotel’s bar.

“RUM,” she shouts at the bartender. He must not move fast enough, because Vinyl uses her magic to snatch a bottle of rum off the display. Snapping the bottle neck off with a hoof chop, she tilts her head back and gulps the brown drink as fast as she can. The bartender is baffled about what to do and is happy when I place a hoof on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Come along, Miss Scratch. I have your room in order. Put that down.”

Before I can stop her, she has put the bottle to her lips and gulps another mouthful. When I reach a hoof out, Vinyl spins and smacks me across muzzle. The metallic taste of blood dribbles onto my tongue. I am moments away from cracking her skull, but I catch myself.

She is gulping rum down from the bottle. When halfway through, she slams it onto the bar so hard, the glass shatters under the force. A dozen sobs rack her throat. Falling into me, she buries her face into my chest. Oh, the paparazzi are going to have a field day with this, I’m sure. Everyone in the hotel will have a different story about what I did to her.

After a few sobs, Vinyl passes out, and I am forced to carry her up to the room. The room is nothing enormous or impressive, but it has a bed, a lamp, a table, chair, window, and private bathroom. Certainly nicer than the street.

I draw Vinyl a bath and carefully set her in the warm water. Dousing my hooves in soap, I do my best to clean the accumulated muck and grime from her creamy fur. Every few scrubs, she opens her eyes and looks to me, but her head always plops down before she can say anything. Everything about this night has been unpleasant, but at least once I am done, Vinyl doesn’t smell as repulsive as before. And… like I said, she’s actually rather pretty. Even prettier with her mane down and wet and her eyes half lidded.

Drying her off is quite a challenge. The rum she gulped is hitting her hard. Considering how much she giggles and laughs, she must fancy this some sort of game. Once or twice she hip checks me and knocks me into the sink. If she tries running out of the room, dripping wet, I yank her tail with my magic and drag her back to the towel’s rub. Taking hold of her cheeks, I pull her lips wide and use my magic to grip a tooth brush. She must enjoy the tingle of the bubbles on her gums, since she giggles and mumbles happily as I scrub her mouth. She’s back to unconsciousness as I bring her to the bed and carefully tuck her in. Eager to put this whole night behind me, I am just leaving when she sits straight up. “WHERE YOU GOING?!” she shouts.

Oh, my head. I haven’t had a drink all day and yet there is a pounding behind my eyeballs like I have never felt before.

“Ms. Scratch, would you please keep your voice down.”

She giggles and attempts to get out of bed, but the sheets I had tucked down entangle her. Rolling my eyes, I aid her in getting up. She is not free for more than a moment before she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into a kiss. Thank the sun I brushed her teeth, or the taste of her rancid lips would have made me puke. “You been real nice ta me, prince.”

I shrug.

A hoof on my cheek forces me to look down into her crimson eyes. “I wanna… I wanna be nice to you.”

Aristrotle was right. Being good does suck.

“I… I wanna…” She leans her head down and dumbly nuzzles at my chest fur. “I wanna show you my appreciation…”

“Ms. Scratch, it is quite alright. I-“

“HEY! C-come on Prince Blueballs. What? I’m not prissy enough for you!” She gives me a hard shove. “I’m not good enough for you?”

“Ms. Scratch, you’ve had far too much-“

“Do it with Cadence if you could, wouldn’t ya? Bang her like Armor does. Come on. Show me what a prince can do.”

I glare at her, but do my best to calm my heart. “Ms. Scratch, you have had too much to drink. Best to just sleep it off.”

“Bet you’d do it to Cadence if you could,” she shouts again. I trot to the door, turn the knob, and open it. “Bet you’d do it with your whore aunt if you could!”

I stop opening the door and turn to look at her.

“Come on, Prince Blueballs. Show me what you got. Show me you’re a real stallion and not some snip-snipped colt. Or are you really so pathetic you can’t even get it up? Should I go out and find a real stallion? Not some snip-snipped blue balled prince?”

With my magic, I turn the bolt lock on the door, sealing it shut. “Alright Ms. Scratch,” I say slowly. “If you insist…”

Author's Note:

I think I should add the Sad tag.

Comments

[Raistlin]

4323428

I personally like the concept of German eske griffins, a race of proud people, with an high concept of honor and loyalty to the given word, maybe a bit violent (at least from the ponies´ perspective) as consequence of their nature as predators and past warrior culture.
Also, their relationship with the pegasi would be complex: both with a martial tradition, occupying and competing for the same ecological niches, with a past of conflicts and tenues alliances, yet with a grudging respect for each others which sometimes evolves in genuine friendship.

[Snow123]

I'm with Raistlin... and wow I am disliking Vinyl. Still, I have faved this, and shall follow it. XD

[Charzoid]

You tease me with big mac/blueblood and then throw in Vinylblue in the end you evil person!
Hope he just kisses her til she falls asleep or makes an illusion spell on a pillow. That way there won't be he won't give any the incoming headlines about him and her possible merit. I feel a bit bad for Vinyl for having to live that way but at the same time she seems to bring on herself.

[Exilo]

4531406 German or possibly Viking/Norse are definitely an influence for the griffons. In the draft of a fic I am working on, I was actually going to write the dialogue of the griffons in German. Aside from the fact that that has already been done, I also think it’s somewhat illogical. I find it difficult to accept that there are no translation spells in all of Equestria. Also, since the story is mostly Celestia and King Gilford (King of the Griffons), they both look rather stupid if they aren’t capable of speaking the other’s language, and Twilight Sparkle no doubt has learned like… twenty languages. It’s unfortunate though, since you can do subtle tricks with languages. I wanted to do a joke where Gilford speaks with very direct, and slightly hostile languages (having a Western “voice.) When the translator speaks to Celestia, she uses very formal and polite language. Celestia responds with formal and polite language, but the translator speaks to Gilford in a very direct and slightly hostile tone. But… it just doesn’t make sense in the lore that Celestia can’t speak the Griffon language, or at least fluently understand it. And, vice versa with Gilford.

4532042 You know, writing this, I was thinking: People are probably going to think I absolutely detest Vinyl since in this and Overture she comes off as a raging jerk. And she is. But, Vinyl is actually one of my favorite characters, because just beneath the bitchy visage is such an amount of tragedy. While in this chapter, it’s easy to see her being an abusive bitch to Blueblood (It’s narrated from his perspective. Also we’ve seen how much he’s going through, where as Vinyl’s tragedies are subtly woven in.) She is going through horrible things though, and I hope people can pick up on that stuff.

I love the idea of a thousand stories happening in one night. And, what I think would be cool, would be to have seen what Vinyl was doing this whole night, and how much Blue being so kind to her really meant to her, since at the moment, she’s basically at rock bottom. For Vinyl, this is probably the first time in a month that someone has been truly, unconditionally loving to her. Not nice, since Blue's kind of a dick, but he's very kind to her. She, like Blue, doesn’t know how to express emotions, and she tragically fails. I want to do more with her though.

4532943 I know this is in the Crack-Ship folder, but I didn’t put it there! I swear! I’m not trying to tease you with Blue/Mac. Or Blue/Lotus… Or Blue/Ditzy… Or Blue/Vinyl… Or, possibly Blue/Celestia.

I’m really trying to show Blue making friends. If I ever do ship Blue, it’d be Blue/Trixie. Won’t ever be Blue/Vinyl, since I have a fan theory she’s actually Blue’s half-sister. Blue and Mac though would definately work, since I think the ponies have very different views of love and sexual relationships, so it's not at all taboo for close friends to fool around just a smidge. Just a smidge! And it'd be tasteful! I may write porn, but by the moon, it's porn with a story!

I think Vinyl is very tragic, though. Even Overture… Octavia is the more tragic, but Octavia is definitely enabling Vinyl’s behavior. So, they are both to blame. Not neccassarily equally to blame, but Octavia is not completely innocent. This, being a stealth-sequel to Overture, has Vinyl really hitting rock bottom, and possibly had Blue not been there she’d have fallen even deeper. But, as the title of this fic might imply, eventually Vinyl will come out the other end, stronger, wiser, better.

And, wow I talked a lot here...

[Snow123]

4533096 for me, it's mainly that she's one of the bitch-cordians that bothers me. while this is typical Vinyl, party and crash hard, it seems, from my view, a bit cruel of her to be such an anarchist, especially with Discord himself running around content in canon.

[Exilo]

4533118 Well, I started my canon before Discord was redeemed. This is actually in line with the Return, where Discord is beaten a second time (not killed though). I mean... in broad strokes, this could actually remain in the main canon, but I don't get bogged down with the real stuff. I mean... since Discord isn't dead, it's possible this is lined up with the real canon. So, Discord might just be flattered that people are worshipping him, following his example, he has his own cult...

*shakes head* Right. I'm actually fascinated by your view. Thank you for making mention of that, since it really interests me how small stuff I add to a fic can be what someone focuses on.

[Charzoid]

4533096 I was kidding sortaabout the shipping thing but yeah I could see them as friends since neither are in the best of places.Last thing either needs right now seems to be sex as much as they need a shoulder to cry on and support the other. She seems to be okay with guys using her body just so she'll have somewhere to be for the night with someone by her comment about shaking up with a random guy. Thus why I'd like as a twist for her, him playing along with her taunts only to just rock her to sleep or something like that then leave.That way maybe she'll rethink her harsh views on royalty a bit. Of course check in on her in the morning.With the exception of him with his aunts/cousin despite be distantly related cause it still seems weird and bluetrixie(no offense cause I do understand some why people like it) I like prince blueblood shipped with anypony.

[Snow123]

4533168 I mean no offense. XD