Four Horse Men

Braeburn watched the elderly white mare in the seat next to him tap her hearing aid. He wasn't surprised – the train was very loud, and Pearl Prism did appear to be getting on in years. Maybe she'd misheard him.

Pearl cleared her throat. "You said... four stallions in one hotel room?" She gulped. "Drinking and 'fooling around'?"

"Yep!" Braeburn gave the wizened mare a smile. He was happy she was taking an interest in his colts-only weekend. It gave him something to talk about on the long train ride out to Neighagra Falls. "A lot of ponies say it ain't decent. Heck, a bunch of 'em would make it illegal if they could." Braeburn tried not to judge other ponies' ideas of what was right and proper. Gambling is a sin, after all, but what's a colts-only weekend without the traditional poker game?

Pearl narrowed her eyes at the impossibly gorgeous stallion. "I see..."

"But sometimes you just need some private time to bond with the colts. Friday night, everypony's itching to go. We all get so pent up after a while." Braeburn loved Appleloosa as much as the next pony, but it was still nice to get away and break the routine sometimes.

Pearl stuttered, "...b-because you miss fooling around with each other?"

"Uh-huh!" Braeburn frowned for just a moment. He didn't want to presume she knew about a colts' weekend – she was a mare, after all – so he decided to explain the poker game from the beginning. "We start off in a circle, and I usually take the lead." Somepony has to be the first dealer.

"...the lead?"

"Of course! How can I explain? Let's see... There's kind of a dance to it: there's the turn and the flop and–"

"No! N-no need to go into detail, deary. I-I think I... know what you're talking about."

"Oh, so I don't need to explain about the blinds, then?"

Pearl slowly, nervously shook her head.

Braeburn gave her a sideways glance and a little chuckle. "Aw, that's great!" He considered that maybe she did know more than he'd given her credit for. "Got some experience yourself, have you?"

Pearl clutched her purse tightly and bit her lower lip. "Not... with four stallions at once." She paused and looked down at the floor with wide eyes.

Braeburn shook his head. "Well, you can do it with any number, really. We usually go forty rounds or so."

"FORTY!?" Pearl's head whipped back towards Braeburn. "That's... q-quite a feat, isn't it?"

"Well, by the end of the night, I always want more, but our bottoms just start to get so sore, you know?" The seats at Lucky Buck's weren't particularly comfortable, but it was tradition to always sit at the same table.

"I... can imagine." Pearl shifted in her seat.

"It's somethin' else, I tell ya'." Braeburn turned and looked out the window. "Anything can happen, really. Last time, Soarin' downed most of a bottle of tequila and passed out right on the table." He remembered how they had been on their last round of cards, and nopony had wanted to quit. "We were all so close, so what else could we do? We just finished on his back!" Braeburn chuckled again, remembering all his friends trying to balance the cards on Soarin's wings. Soarin', of course, hadn't appreciated their ingenuity or the photos they'd taken. "He sure was sore in the mornin'."

Braeburn glanced back to Pearl, who stared at him, unblinking. He was proud of himself for telling such a captivating story.

Braeburn continued reminiscing. When Soarin' had awoken, he'd reached for the tequila and spilled the rest of the bottle on himself. "He was real sticky, too." Braeburn saw that his companion was hunched forward, shivering. "You cold?"

"N-n-n-no." Pearl cast a glance around the train, scanning every seat.

Braeburn looked around, too. "Wow, sure is a tight fit today! Doesn't look like there are any open seats at all!" He turned back around and reclined, gesturing with one hoof and continuing his story. "Of course, everypony's gotta be careful how much they drink. Nopony wants to be the guy with sloppy hooves." Braeburn wasn't the best at shuffling cards, but he'd gotten better since last year. "That's why we practice, I suppose."

The shivering mare turned back to her companion. "P-practice?"

"Of course! Though some of us need more practice than others. My cousin Big Mac, for instance."

"WHAT!?"

Braeburn couldn’t figure out why she was taking offense. Sure, Big Mac wasn't as dexterous as the rest of the guys, and he had trouble holding all the cards sometimes, but it never bothered anypony. "Nothing wrong with that, and I certainly don't mind teaching him a thing or two each time he visits. See, he's got big hooves, and, well..." Braeburn gave Pearl a quick wink. "I'm sure you know what that means."

Pearl Prism appeared to suddenly fall asleep.

Braeburn let out a small sigh. "Oh, not again! I swear, they always fall asleep right as I'm getting into it."

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Head hung low, Big Mac moved slowly around his room, gathering more supplies for his suitcase. He pondered bringing Miss Smarty Pants for the weekend to make him feel better, but he supposed she wouldn't really be welcome at a colts-only getaway. He packed an extra blanket instead, which left just enough room for one more thing. Looking over to his nightstand, Big Mac let out a slow breath as he saw the jar that held his saved-up bits.

Applejack leaned against the doorway, silently watching her brother wrestle with his thoughts, just like he always did before these trips. She wanted to comfort him, to let him know that it would be okay, but it always seemed like her words fell on deaf ears, like the guilt had seeped into his head and was keeping everything else out. Still, she cared for her brother, and she had to try. "You're frettin' over the money again, aren't you, big brother?"

Big Mac stared intently at the jar of bits. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. "Barn needs repairs."

Applejack stood up straight and trotted into the room. "Now, Mac, I told you already: you shouldn't be feelin' guilty. You work harder than any of us, and if any Apple deservers some relaxation, it's you, regardless of the circumstances."

Big Mac sighed but said nothing.

"They're not going to think any less of you." Applejack put a hoof on his shoulder and spoke as gently as she could. "The colts all know the situation, and they're just happy to have you there, okay? Nopony's gonna judge, and you know why? It's 'cuz they're your friends." She stroked him lightly, the way their mother used to. "Understand?"

The corners of Big Mac's mouth curled up, just for a moment. "Eeyup."

That was all Applejack needed. She knew he would be okay. Once Big Mac got his head on right, he always pulled through. "Good. Now you better get goin'. Caramel's probably wonderin' what's takin' you so long." She turned to leave, but stopped after half a step. "Oh! Did you remember your special bag?"

Big Mac's eyes widened when he realized he'd almost forgotten. "Nope."

"Well, don't forget it."

Big Mac sauntered over to his closet and grabbed the massive canvas bag that hung on a hook in the back. Solemnly, he walked over to his suitcase and nestled the empty bag inside. He paused and took a moment to look at the design: a light blue dollar sign with little wings.

The pang in his heart flared up again. He always felt guilty coming home with all of Soarin's money.

--------------------------------

"Ugh! I'm not gonna play it stupid this time." Soarin' took another big, dramatic bite of his hay burger.

Sipping his shake, Fire Streak raised an eyebrow. He swallowed another gulp and said, "Yeah, I bet not."

Soarin' knocked a hoof on the table, causing several of the other restaurant patrons to look their way. "Bet, huh? Wanna make it interesting, or are you yellow?"

Fire Streak rested his face against a hoof. "Bro, shut up. My mom is yellow. And no, I'm not betting anything with your cheating butt. How would I know when I won?" He lifted the straw to his lips, but then quickly set his cup back down. "Oh! Better idea: new drinking game. Every time you go bust and need to rebuy, take a shot."

Soarin' rolled his eyes. "Psh. Easy. You're on." He extended his hoof.

Fire Streak hoof-bumped him without a second thought. "Awesome," he said flatly.

"Wait..." Soarin' pointed a hoof at his friend. "You won't even be there to watch."

Fire Streak thought for a moment and let out a small laugh. "Don't need to be. Shouldn't you get going, though?"

Soarin' looked at the dirty clock on the wall. "Nah. I can leave in an hour and still get there first. Braeburn's train usually gets delayed, and I don't even know why Caramel and Big Mac are always late."

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"Why did I wait so long!? Why did I wait so long!?" Caramel, a flurry of hooves and panic, dashed around his small house, rapidly trying to take care of everything at once. The egg timer blared at him, and his heart and lungs considered an early retirement as he dashed to the kitchen. "Shoot shoot shoot! Please don't be burned!"

Caramel whipped the oven door open and saw his pie: golden and flakey and looking absolutely perfect. A few drops of raspberry juice leaked from the holes in the top. He'd considered making an apple pie, but after fretting for three hours about which kind of apple to use, he'd decided an apple pie would be an affront to Braeburn and Big Mac, anyway. This pie was supposed to be a symbol of friendship, after all. 'And then they'll eat it and they'll still like me and everything will be fine,' he thought to himself in a more-or-less coherent fashion. He breathed half a sigh of relief that he hadn't screwed up so far.

With his guard down for three quarters of a second, he reached into the oven and yanked out the pie pan with both hooves. "OW!" Instinct took over, and the pie pan flew through the air as Caramel tossed it away. "Wait, no!!!" He froze and prayed to Luna, Twilight, Cadence, Discord, Mayor Mare, his third grade teacher, and every other important authority figure in Equestria that he could think of.

Meanwhile in Canterlot, Princess Celestia felt a strange burning at the back of her head. She narrowed her eyes and added the word 'Caramel' to a long list titled 'Target Practice.'

The pie, quite anticlimactically, slid to a safe stop in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Caramel moaned as some of the tension drained from his head, but he tensed up again when he realized he still needed to pack. He practically flew to his bedroom and threw a bunch of random clothing and supplies into a duffle bag before running back to the kitchen. He stopped running only when his hoof landed in something that was both squishy and roughly a thousand degrees.

"Dang it!" Caramel jumped back and waved his hoof rapidly in the air, flicking raspberry juice all over himself and the kitchen. He wiped his hoof on his coat as he looked forlornly down at his pie. Fortunately, he'd only stepped on half of it, and he figured he could still save four pieces.

Caramel ran to the kitchen counter and grabbed a large cutting knife. He made the mistake of looking at the clock, and his heart sank when he realized that Big Mac was due in less than a minute. He ran back and worked rapidly on the pie, separating clean pieces from the part that he'd stepped on. "It's still good! It's still good!" He was sweating, so while he cut the pie, he absentmindedly ran a messy hoof across his forehead, not realizing that he'd further smeared himself with raspberry juice.

There was a knock on the door.

"Oh, sweet princesses!" Caramel's head reeled toward the door, and he tried to calm himself down. "It's okay. It's just Big Mac. They like pie. Soarin' likes pie. It's okay. It's okay." In the most even voice he could manage (approximately that of a grade school colt talking about how he'd been conceived), he declared, "Come in!"

As soon as he'd spoken, Caramel started kicking himself. "That's no good. I should greet him at the door. Friends greet friends!"

The door opened slowly with a quiet creak.

A red head with a dirty blonde mane poked in and tentatively said, "Uh... Caramel?"

Caramel rushed at the door, dripping with red raspberry juice and with the cutting knife in hoof. He gave his friend the biggest, brightest smile he could, his eyes wide and twitchy with excitement. "HI, BIG MAC!"

The door shut quickly with a loud slam.

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With flight goggles dangling loosely around his neck, Soarin' sang a little tune to himself as he pulled out a pack of cards. "Ace of Spades, King of Clubs, Queen of Hearts, Diamond Jack." He could barely hear himself over the din of activity in Lucky Buck's, the only gaming hall in Neighagra Falls. Famous for its late-night happy hour, the place was dark and dingy, and the neon signs got a bit obnoxious, but it was the same booth they'd played at for years. He felt right at home.

"Ace of Spades, King of Clubs, Queen of Hearts, Diamond Jack." He laid the four cards out in front of him face down, in order, on the gaming table, a well-worn installation with green felt and places to put drinks. He sang along again as he rolled up a few pieces of tape and stuck them on the backs of the cards. One at a time, he grabbed each card and stuck it under the table, left to right, with a loud slap. "Ace of Spades." Slap! "King of Clubs." Slap! "Queen of Hearts." Slap! "Diamond Jack." Slap!

Once he was done, he stuffed the now incomplete deck into his bag and pulled out a new one, which he shuffled until a waitress came by. Soarin's ears perked up as she sauntered over – could it be? It was! "Hey there, sweet chee–"

Soarin' was interrupted by a drink tray across the face.

"Ow..." He rubbed his cheek and met the waitress' gaze. He figured she was still mad about the last time. At least she remembered him, though now the side of his head was a little more concave. "Heh, looks like we both made an impress–"

Soarin' was interrupted by a drink tray across the face.

"OW! What was that one for?"

The waitress' voice sounded bored and nasally. "Self-defense. Puns are an act of assault in this province." Soarin' had temporarily forgotten.

The waitress smiled brightly and added some bounce to her voice. "Lemon Drop will be your server tonight. If you need anything from me, just write a note and stick it where the sun don't shine. Oh, and enjoy your drink."

"I didn't order–"

Soarin' was interrupted by a cold drink to the face.

He rolled his eyes and shook out his mane just as Braeburn walked up to the table.

"Careful how you flick yourself, Soarin'." Braeburn wiped the liquid off his coat. "You're makin' me moist."

"Hey, Braeburn! Yeah, sorry. Just... reconnecting with an old marefriend."

Braeburn set his saddle bag down next to the table and sat next to Soarin'. "Aw, heh heh. Chasin' an old flame, are you? No worries. I'm a bit of a flamer myself."

"No kidding," Soarin' mumbled, looking back at the door. "Oh, hey! There's Caramel and Big Mac!" Waving them over, he shouted, "Dudes! Good to see you! Ready to play?"

Big Mac hadn't said a word since Caramel's... greeting in Ponyville. He stared into the infinite nothingness, eyes locked onto some shapeless horror, unseen by pony or otherwise, a specter of fear grasping at his mind and bent on constantly reminding him of his own mortality while the uncanny image of a friend rushing at him with a knife locked him into a descending spiral of madness. Nopony noticed. "Eeyup."

Caramel slid into the booth, next to Soarin' and across from Braeburn. "S-sorry. It's my fault we're late. I was making a pie and–"

Soarin's eyes shot open. "WHERE. IS. IT."

Big Mac allowed himself a slight sob, questioning what it meant to be a stallion and whether he could ever look at dessert again without contemplating the abyss. Nopony noticed.

And since nopony was noticing, Big Mac decided there wasn't much point in moping. He shook his head a few times and sat down next to Caramel. "The hotel."

"Ugh. Fine. We'll get it later." Soarin' picked up the cards and began shuffling. "So, gentlecolts, we're all here. Hold 'em. Forty rounds. Thirty bit buy-in. You ready?"

"S-sure!"

"Eeyup!"

"Don't just sit there playin' with your deck. Let's go. Yee-haw!"

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Round 1
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Big Mac reached for his two cards, struggling to pick up the corners and peek underneath. The practice with Braeburn had helped, but he couldn't quite see what he had.

"All in!" Soarin' pushed his entire pile of 30 bits to the center of the table and leaned on one elbow. He raised an eyebrow and looked around at his friends. "So, you guys stallion enough?"

Caramel looked at his face-down cards, then back up to Soarin'. "But... Soarin', you didn't even look at your cards."

"Don't care! You in?"

"...No." Caramel pushed his cards into the middle without seeing that he had, indeed, been dealt a suited king and queen.

Soarin' turned his head. "How about you, red?"

Big Mac picked up his cards. "Hm..." He stared intently at the jack and nine of hearts and, in the blink of an eye, made his decision. 'Jack has value of six, add two for suited, subtract one for the gap, but add one for a gap under the queen, yields hand score of eight,' he thought. 'Tier four hand. 52 * 51 – 1 = 2651 random hand combinations. Tier four loss odds 32/2651 = 1.207% . Even odds at 14/2651 = 0.528%. Odds of winning against single other player with random draw: 98%. Recommend proceed.'

In a word, Big Mac just had a good feeling about his cards. "Call." He pushed all his bits into the center of the table.

Soarin' smirked. "Sweet. Braeburn?"

Braeburn whistled and pushed his cards away. "Much as I'd like to get a hoof on your bits, Soarin', I'm gonna let Mac take you this time."

"Alrighty, then. Let's see 'em." Big Mac turned over his cards, and Soarin' flipped his to reveal a pair of sevens. "Boo-yah! Scared yet, Mac?"

Big Mac ran through several additional calculations, but you didn't pay much attention to the numbers the first time around, so why should I even bother writing them down this time? This stuff isn't easy, you know.

Anyway, Big Mac shook his head. "Nnnnnope!"

Soarin' revealed the three cards, the flop. The first card was another seven, and Soarin' was ecstatic. "Ha! Not looking so good for you, big guy."

Soarin' didn't seem to realize that all three cards were hearts, so Big Mac just smiled calmly to himself.

Soarin' burned a card, flipped an eight of spades, burned a card, and flipped a two of clubs. "Sorry, big guy." He reached out a hoof "Looks like I finally–"

"Nnnnnope." Big Mac nudged his cards towards the center, piling them next to the other hearts. "Flush."

Soarin' stared at the cards for a moment, then slumped into the booth. "...Dang it. Rebuy!" Soarin' dug into his saddle bag under the table for more bits. "Oh, and I need a drink. Caramel, call the waitress over, would you?"

"Me?" Caramel was busy moving most of his bits onto the seat between his legs, where nopony would mistakenly think he was betting them. He didn't want to offend anypony by taking back a bet he hadn't made. "C-can't you do it?"

"Not making that mistake again."

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Round 2
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Caramel flipped the last card, the river, and the stallions paused their game as the waitress pranced up. "Hello, my name is Lemon Drop, and I'll be happy to serve three of you tonight." She took out her notepad. "What can I get you?"

They each took their turn to order their favorite drink: Big Mac quietly ordered a couple hard ciders, Caramel politely asked for a margarita, and Soarin' casually demanded a full tray of tequila shots with salt and limes. Braeburn asked for a beer, nice and frothy, since (as he happily noted) he likes it when the bartender "gives him some head." He innocently wondered why Lemon Drop gave him a strange look.

The waitress left, and Caramel turned to Soarin'. "You sure you want to drink that much? You know what happened last time."

Soarin' leaned back in the booth, pointing a hoof at Caramel and raising an eyebrow. "Hey, I already told you what happened."

Braeburn happily chirped in, "She came on to you, right?"

"Right. It's not my fault if she was finicky and couldn't handle..." he gestured along the length of his body. "...all this."

Big Mac chuckled. "I seem to remember her handlin' you just fine, right as she kicked your sorry butt to the curb. Also, 'she' was a stallion. And a cop."

"Hey, it was dark. He had a long mane. I was wasted." Soarin's companions gave unconvincing groans of approval. "Let's just play. Can anypony beat triple nines?"

Braeburn flipped over his pair of kings to match the one already on the table, taking the pot for himself. "Right here. Hoo-ee. Only the second round, and I've already got a stallion in each hoof. This is gonna be a great night!"

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Round 18
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Caramel stared at his cards, his heart beating faster and faster. He'd folded before the flop every round so far, and he worried that the other guys wouldn't invite him back if he never actually played the game. Sure, he'd lost a few bits on the blinds going around the table, but it didn't feel like he was part of the group.

The group. He stole a glance around the table. Big Mac took another gulp of his cider, his cards lying peacefully on the table. Braeburn flicked his cards over and over, rolling his head around and trying to make a decision. Soarin', a hoof pressed hard against his forehead, leaned heavily on the table. He took shallow, hurried breaths, careful not to knock any of the six empty shot glasses onto the floor.

Caramel looked back down, both at his bits and his cards. He took in a deep breath and puffed out his chest. This was his time. He didn't want to hide anymore. He would finally just be one of the guys, having a good time and playing what fate had dealt him. Besides, he figured his red two and black seven meant there were a lot of different cards that could help him out. "I'll, uh, raise three bits."

"Nope."

"I'm out."

"Foldsh."

Caramel blinked rapidly. "W... what?"

Big Mac drained the rest of his cider and slammed the bottle down hard onto the table. He rolled his head over to speak. "Caramel, you're the most conservative player I've ever met. None of us can remember ever beating you in a single round." He lifted a third bottle of cider to his lips. "It's obvious you only play when you've got some killer cards."

Caramel didn't know what "killer cards" were, or even which ones made you win. He'd just been faking it for years.

Big Mac gathered up the cards and started shuffling. "You really gotta work on your tells."

Caramel looked down at the bits that were passed his way. He resolved that, by the end of the night, he'd feel like one of the guys, no matter how many low-calorie margaritas it took. "...I'll try."

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Round 27
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Soarin' inhaled the smoky air. He leaned back into his seat. It felt wobbly, like it was full of water. He mumbled to himself, "Ace of Clubs, King of Hearts, Queen of Clubs, Diamond Jack." He let a hoof wander to the underside of the table and fondle his backup cards, but every time he thought about pulling one, he forgot which one he was supposed to take.

Big Mac perked up. "You say somethin', Soarin'?"

Soarin's hoof jerked away from the table. "Uh..." He sounded like he was ready to fall over, because he was ready to fall over. "Fold."

Caramel had folded like a champ, which just left Big Mac and Braeburn fighting over a large pot. The river had been flipped, and everypony could see the seven of hearts, three of diamonds, ten of clubs, and the pair of queens.

Big Mac's cards, pocket aces, were face down on the table. He knocked on them once for good luck before raising. "Ten more."

Braeburn held a hoof up to his chin. "Hm..." He pushed the coins into the middle. "I'll play with you."

Big Mac smirked and flipped his cards. "Two pair. Heh. You headin' for the hills yet?"

"I ain't goin' anywhere." Braeburn smiled and flipped over a pair face cards, showing off four-of-a-kind. "I’m feelin' right at home with these queens."

Braeburn raked in his bits just as Lemon Drop sauntered over with a platter of food and set it down in the middle of the table. The stallions' eyes went wide as they took in the mountain of snacks, piled high with loaded nachos, cayenne hay fries, mini oat-burgers, and fried onion rings, each dripping with enough cheese, gravy, grease, and salt to put a whole platoon of the Royal Guard into a week-long food coma. The stallions were on their third platter.

"You colts sure are hungry to–"

A horrible scarfing sound sent Lemon Drop cowering behind her tray as sauces flew in all directions. She shuddered, imagining that this was exactly what it sounded like to be a sheep in a wolf den. When she finally worked up the courage to peek over her tray, the food was completely gone. The only evidence of its existence was an empty platter, a brownish-yellow pony with blue eyes politely wiping his mouth, and three other stallions patting their bellies with a satisfied sigh.

"...Make it four?"

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Round 40
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Careful not to knock over his winnings, Braeburn finished dealing the cards out, a slightly giddy buzz to his voice. "Last round! Hope you colts are about ready to pack it in."

After stretching his stiff neck, Big Mac peered over his giant pile of bits. "Eeyup."

Caramel smiled to himself, proud that he was up twelve bits from where he'd started. He felt like going crazy on the last round, maybe even betting five bits! "Ready!"

"Ugh..." Soarin's right eye fluttered as he swayed back and forth, pawing at the last five bits from his rock-bottom secret last-chance stash. The room spun around him. His stomach felt bloated with liquid. His breathing was heavy, and he was pretty sure he was drooling. "I... yeah." His hoof bumped one of the knocked-over shot glasses, which rolled and bumped into a stacked pile of fourteen more. "What?"

Caramel spoke up, his chest swelling. "Last chance to win a round, Soarin'."

"Oh." Soarin' looked down at his bits and tried to take stock, but he kept losing count after banana. His words were slurred, and he made slow, wide motions with his hooves. "Wait... Hold on... I can't..." He held up a hoof and tried to rub his eye. Instead, he stuck his hoof in his mouth. It tasted like nachos, so he sucked on it. "Mmmm..." His body tingled, especially his mouth, and it felt nice to have something to su–

"Must feel nice havin' somethin' to suck on. Been there before." Damn it, Braeburn!

Soarin' set his wet hoof on the table and stared at his cards. "Oh. Wait. Wait! I got..." He tapped on his cards over and over again, but they didn't fly up to his face for him to look at like they were supposed to. His eyes grew wide, and he started beating harder and harder on the table. "Okay. Wait! I'm all... all in. Cards."

Soarin' felt incredibly happy and frustrated at the same time, and he wondered why the other guys weren't looking at their cards. "CARDS! Ace of... Queens and... Upside-down hearts."

Caramel reached over and deftly flipped Soarin's cards up for him. "Looks like you've got a five and a jack, Soarin'."

Soarin' looked around. "No! No fives!" He ducked under the table, hitting it hard enough with his forehead to get a shudder from his companions. He didn't notice. Soarin' sucked in some air and focused, grabbing the cards he'd so cleverly hidden under the table. His heart fluttered, but that might just have been irregular palpitations. In any case, he was winning this one!

Soarin' stood up and slammed all four of his hidden cards on the table, knocking his shot glasses all around. "HA! I got... I got... I got! I got three of a... I got... I got three of a hearts! Of SPADES!"

Soarin' felt ecstatic about his master stroke and shoved the cards to the center of the table. He was so pleased with himself, he didn't notice Caramel winking at Big Mac. Nor did he notice Big Mac slowly nod at Braeburn. Nor did he notice Braeburn holding a hoof to his face to cover his embarrassed, drunken chuckle.

Nor did he notice when all three of the other ponies reached into their bags and pulled out more cards of their own.

"I wins!" Soarin' threw his hooves in the air before collapsing back into his seat.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the happy, pained moans of a drunken pegasus. Caramel spoke up first, very gently. "Well, I'm sorry, Soarin', but I'm afraid this one's mine."

Soarin' sat bolt upright. "Huh?"

Caramel flopped a few more cards onto the table. "I've got nine aces."

Soarin's jumped up, rocking the table and sending piles of bits scattering to the floor. He stared in disbelief. Caramel definitely had at least banana aces.

"Nnnnnnnope!" Soarin' jerked his head over to see Big Mac's smug grin as he, too, put his cards on the table. "Twelve aces."

Soarin' started shaking. Twelve was more than hearts! Of spades! He looked down to his meager pile of bits, only to hear Braeburn speak up next.

"Aw, tough luck, colts." He slapped an unopened deck of cards onto the table. "Royal flush in every suit. Looks like I'm takin' everypony's last big load."

Caramel leaned over and put on a big, goofy smile. "Wow, Braeburn! You're really good at this game! Isn't he, Soarin'?" He stifled a snicker.

Big Mac had no inhibitions left. He whooped and laughed out loud and slapped the table, sending more bits clanking to the floor.

Soarin' blinked a couple times, looked down to see Braeburn swipe away his money, and was suddenly very, very aware. He looked over to the last remaining tequila shot, elegantly picked it up with a steady hoof, and toasted his compatriots. "Cheers, good colts." He swallowed the drink, set down the glass, and calmly walked out the door.

Naw, just playin'. Soarin' let out a sound somewhere between a scream and whinny. "AAAIIIYYYEEE!!!" He grabbed all the remaining booze at the table and chugged one glass after another, not stopping until everything was dry. He stood suddenly and stared into space, lip quivering and eye twitching, and said, "Aaaaand I'm done," before passing out onto Braeburn's shoulder.

Lucky Buck's was quiet. It was late, all the other patrons had left for the night, and the bartender was giving the four stallions the stink eye.

Caramel leaned over and checked to make sure Soarin' was still breathing. Satisfied with what he found, he stretched his back. "Wow. Can't believe that worked again. Think he'll learn his lesson next year?"

"Nnnnope!" Big Mac reached into his saddle bag and pulled out the sack with the blue dollar sign and wings. He gave it a hard flap and started scooping up his coins.

Caramel looked over to Braeburn. "Seems like he's made you into his bed! Think you can carry him back to our room?"

Braeburn thought about it for a moment. He was concerned for his friend's safety, sure, but there was a problem. He'd never say it to Soarin's face, but Soarin' had gained some weight since last year. "Hm... He's pretty big. Not sure I can take 'im."

Big Mac looked up from his wealth. "I'll get 'im. Better put him straight to bed, too." He finished stuffing the bits into his sack, and Caramel and Braeburn helped load Soarin' onto Big Mac's back. "Would one of you kindly grab my sack?"

"I'd love to!" Caramel shouted. Braeburn had been ready to volunteer, but he figured Caramel could have this one.

Big Mac nodded to his friends, then sauntered to the door with a drooling, moaning Soarin' draped over his back.

Braeburn and Caramel watched them leave before gathering up all the cards and bags. They left plenty of bits to cover the bill with a hefty tip for the waitresses, just like always, and headed for the door.

With the buzz of alcohol and friendship in his veins, Caramel felt totally relaxed for the first time in a long while. He'd had a lot of fun, he'd helped his buddies give Soarin' some friendly comeuppance, and the rest of the weekend only promised to get better. He let out a smooth sigh. "Good game."

Braeburn nodded to him, eyelids looking heavy. "Certainly was."

There wasn't much else to say, but Caramel just liked talking with somepony he trusted, and he didn't want the moment to end. "Did you have a nice train ride?"

Braeburn thought for a moment. "Hm... Mostly. Nothing eventful, but the old mare next to me seemed to take a mighty offense to our poker game. Must not approve of gamblin', I suppose." He reached out and held the door open.

"Really? Huh." Caramel trotted past Braeburn, out into the early hours of the morning. "Some ponies are just easily offended, I guess."

Braeburn followed him outside. "You got that right," he said, greedily licking his lips as he ogled Caramel's flank. "Imagine if I'd told her about all the sex!"

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