A human works in a tavern in Ponyville, and witnesses a variety of events unfold there within. First person perspective from a number of different sources.
Watson's got a new job, in a new universe, and a pessimistic attitude to boot. If only he'd considered he'd be serving ponies alcohol day in, day out, before accepting the position.
As a suggested form of self-therapy, he's keeping a diary of sorts for the bar that anybody is welcome to write in. This may or may not be a good idea.
It’s a tried and tested idea in science fiction. Humanity, since being able to hit two sticks together, has always dreamed of the stars and what lies beyond, and perhaps more so since we developed the ability to perceive the unknown. While the limits of the earth are finite, however large those limits are, the stars outstretched by the cosmos burns brightly into the infinite, and our insignificance in the universe leads to a desire to see more. Earth has been completely explored, so what else is there? A vast dark ocean of mystery and adventure and...
...look, it’s a bloody big place, alright? You get the idea.
I guess the point is, nobody knew what to expect. There were estimations on life in other galaxies, but it was like looking at the rest of the universe through the eye of a needle that’s being held at the other end of a football pitch. I always liked the idea of an infinite amount of universes stretching out across space and time, including one where I continued living a normal life, got married at twenty nine, had three kids, and died at a decent age of eighty five, maybe ninety or so if bionic organs were knocking about. Winning the lottery would be a nice bonus, enough to buy a nice house with a view over a lake, up in Scotland or something.
I guess if you’re reading this then you know that didn’t happen. Don’t condole me, I’m more likely to tell you to piss off than smile. Sorry, old habits die hard. Honestly, it’s fine. Oh, and don’t buy me a drink either, I’d end up hafting to work it off. The amount of times that’s happened lately...
Sorry, getting sidetracked. The point is I was the same. I didn’t know what to expect if and when first contact was made in my lifetime. A few people getting lost in the gap between dimensions doesn’t exactly count as first contact ‘per-se’, but making contact with an alien species counts, at least to those involved, even when everybody else back on Earth doesn’t know about it. Maybe I should be asking you ponies about that? How does it feel to meet a group of aliens from a different universe? Is it exciting?
I’m thrilled for you.
I think one of the most depressing things about having appeared in Equestria (and to save time now, no I still don’t know how it happened, don’t ask me), is how quickly things became normality, that is to say, after the initial arrival and being curled up in a ball crying for the better half of a fortnight. As you know, all of us were partnered up with some ponybody, and I ended up staying with Rarity. Really nice girl and all but she was a little, how do I put it, over-enthusiastic at having a house guest she could play dress up with. I swear I only ended up with her because we sound sort of similar. It took two months after that for everybody to convince me that I wasn’t dead, and from there on it was back to the grind.
I’m not even surprised I ended up working as a bleeding bartender, the only job I could hold down for more than a month back home. I don’t mind it as such, though the selection of drinks leaves a lot to be desired. The Ale is fine, but my heart pines for a double Captain Morgan’s and coke. You’ve all got a really unhealthy obsession with cider too, but at least your stuff lacks the impurities of whatever breweries were putting in our drink. I dread to think how you’d react to a pint of Strongbow; the stuff didn’t even taste like apples!
Everything’s sort of, I dunno, ‘shinier’ here, like the very ground I walk on is made of candy and primary colours. You’ve all been very welcoming and understanding, though it makes me wonder if you’d get the same treatment back home. You’d more than likely end up tied up to a government operating table and dissected in the name of ‘furthering science’. Humans, on a whole, are generally total bastards like that.
You could call this book therapy. As much as I moan and complain, I admit that I need to make more of an effort to be a sociable guy. I honestly don’t have anything against you all, but I guess I’m just still adjusting to standing out in the crowd all the time. It’s not my scene; I prefer to blend into the background. A few of you have mentioned I probably need it, so fine; here it is, as promised. Tankard Tipper’s Tavern’s guest book has arrived. I’m going to be leaving this thing on the porter end of the bar, by the coffee machine. Anybody is welcome to write down their own experiences in the pub, share stories of good times that they've had, or anything else that’s liable to make me feel nauseated. I’ll start off with the story of my first shift here to get things rolling.
Do me a favour and check with me before you start writing, and avoid adding notes to other people’s entries (I’m looking at you, Pinkie Pie). Cheers
I sat at the small wooden table, hovering on the edge slightly of the stool I’d pulled from beneath it. The size was fine, but they don’t make them with use of human backsides in mind, I guess. It was a warm summer’s day, warmer than most had been lately, and I had begun to sweat lightly in the new shirt and trousers Rarity had made for me. She’d done a really great job to be honest with you; only the third time she’d attempted to tailor for a human, and despite a bit of chaffing around the collar, everything was a perfect fit. I insisted on paying her back if the job interview came off favourably, but she told me not to worry about it, and that my thanks was payment enough. I must make a mental note to get all my clothes from her.
Across the table, my potential employer sat eyeing me almost suspiciously. His name was Tankard Tipper, the owner of one of the busiest cider bars in all of Ponyville. Standing at 16 hands high, he wasn’t that much shorter than me. That may not sound impressive but most ponies are at least a foot and a half shorter, if not more, though I am six foot after all. Overly sized compared to back home, but I guess they weren’t multicoloured or able of cognitive thought either. He had a brownish-tan coat with a jet black mane, and black stubble covered the majority of his lower face.
As it was, he hadn’t taken even a quick glance at the application I’d brought with me, instead opting for the ‘stare at my interviewee until he visible quakes in his shoes’ approach. Tough luck buddy, I’m wearing sandals.
“So,” Tankard Tipper began, not once taking his eyes from mine. I hadn’t seen him blink in at least the past minute.
“So” I repeated, staring back, and then nervously looked at the table as he furrowed his brow at me. I’m not sure how that even works with ponies.
“So...” he tapped his hoof on the table, the other placed up to his chin, rubbing in contemplation. This had been the sixth time he’d proposed a sentence with ‘so’, then failed to finish it.
“Look, if you’re too busy or-“I was cut off mid-sentence by his hoof rising to silence me. I swallowed and said nothing, staring past him to the open door leaking in a day far too bright and sunny to be seen back home. ‘If I point in the other direction and make a noise, maybe I can get a decent enough head start before he guts me’
After what felt like an hour, Tankard Tipper stopped staring attentively, and instead smiled. “I should be able to start you tomorrow at five, how does that sound?”
My mouth opened, about to ask him if he was really going to employ me based on the amount of sweat I could produce, but thought better of it and closed it again. “Right, well, thanks. Tomorrow at five then” We sat in a few moments of silence, him still beaming at me. “I’ll just, let myself out then? Okay, great”.
I stumbled as I stood up, half returning the smile that my new boss still wore across his face, and made my way to the exit.
“Wait!”
I stopped in mid-stride, turning hastily on the spot, and froze wide eyed to see his contemplative face return, complete with beady judging eyes. Tankard Tipper had stood and trotted over to me slowly, then walked straight past and grabbed an apron from a hook by the door. He came back to me and handed me my uniform.
“You’ll need this”
“Uh...” I paused, looking at the apron like it was going to bite my hand off, then slowly reached out and took it. I assumed it had been custom made, the fit looked tailored to a human of my size. He smiled again and went back to the bar, leaving me to look around stupidly before heading out the door.
Once outside, I backed up against the side of the tavern, breathing out dramatically, and wiped the sweat away from my forehead.
“That was weird”
Weird or not, the stress of being unemployed had been suddenly lifted, and the realisation that I’d be able to actually start making a living here edged its way into my mind. I’d gotten used to the idea that I was never going home again a good few months ago, and in some ways, I was okay with that. I’m an orphan and I didn’t have a girlfriend at the time of leaving, so there’s no family to mourn over, and I was pretty unsatisfied with life anyway. Not that here is necessarily better or anything, but it’s much of a muchness at least. Yes it’s a word.
Despite this, there were obvious differences that made life certainly interesting in Ponyville. Being constantly stared at and murmured about were certainly up there. As far as I’m aware, there are six other humans in Equestria at the moment. Helen and George I’ve met, both Americans so at least they have something in common; I think they actually grew up within fifty miles of each other. Nice enough people and only a bit younger than me at twenty two and twenty one respectively. No idea what they’re up to, but we’ve got plans to get a place when I’ve saved the money up. Then there’s Adrian and, um, Roberto, I think? Maybe it’s just Robert. Nick’s in his late thirties and from Amsterdam, but his English is pretty good. He’s a recluse for the most part, can’t blame him really. Robert (o?) is from Brazil and doesn’t really speak much English (or Equestrian I suppose. There’s a number of fundamental issues about that so don’t get me started), but he’s coming along. The other two have only just arrived and haven’t left Canterlot yet, but maybe they can shed some light on what actually happened for us to get here when they finally turn up. I’m not that fussed either way, but it’d be nice to know.
The other glaring thing that really seems to set ponies and humans apart is the ponies’ sense of purpose. Cutie marks indicate what that ponies special ‘talent’ is, like they’ve been set up to become great at something specific from birth. That’s great and all, but it seems a bit deterministic to me. That said, maybe it’s better than doing what we do, and fumbling about for the better half of our lives, not sure what to make of them, before resigning to a tedious inevitability of mediocrity. I’ve been playing piano since I was three and I still haven’t ever played a gig. Ten percent skill and ninety percent application, as they say.
My head descending from the metaphorical clouds, I realised I’d been staring straight up at the sky for the past five minutes, and a few ponies had stopped to stare at me and where I was looking. Some bore a look of concern.
I quickly cleared my throat and put my hands in my pockets, turning up the street and walking back to Rarity’s boutique. I claim that I’ve gotten used to the stares, but to be honest, it’s always difficult. I know they generally mean well, but how would you like it if you couldn’t go anywhere without being scrutinized by a dozen sets of eyes? Huge, sparkly, inquisitive eyes.
“....aaaatssssOOOOON!!!”
Oh bloody hell.
I didn’t need to look behind me to know who had come bounding up at a pace even Husain Bolt couldn’t hope to match. Pinkie Pie was the master of all things loud and excited, and today was to be no exception. She came hurtling past in a flurry of pink and merriment, so quickly that her skidding to slow down still left her several feet in front of me. Turning back with a wide grin on her face, she leapt up at my chest, her front hooves reaching to my upper torso, eyes alight with anticipation.
“...Hello” I managed.
“Sooo? How’d it go how’d it go how’d it go!?”
I took her by the hooves and lowered her back down to all fours, frowning lightly and continuing my walk. She trotted after me.
“It went” I said, rolling the sleeves up on my shirt as I went. The sun was unforgiving and unrelenting.
She giggled at me like a school girl. “Well of COURSE it went, silly! But how did it GO?”
I looked across to her, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to warrant Pinkie Pie’s enthusiasm, but she certainly had an invested interest in my well being. Nice of her really, I’m not sure I’d bother if I was in her shoes. Hooves. Whatever.
“Yeah, I got the job. Starting tomorrow evening so it gives me some ti-“
“WOOHOO!!” She leapt up at me again, this time knocking me back slightly, and caught me in a bone crunching hug. I still hadn’t gotten used to being hugged by a pony, and Pinkie Pie seemed to do her best to make it our personal way of greeting. “Way to go Watson I knew you could do it! You know what THIS means right?”
I looked down at her between my compressed arms, wincing slightly. “I can certainly guess”
“It’s time to celebrate! Oh I’ve got so much to plan!!” She released me from her death grip and paced backwards, plodding back and forth while mumbling to herself, no doubt creating a mental list of who to invite to an infamous Pinkie Party. Most may disagree with me on the infamous part, but I can’t say I’m a fan. Damn good cupcakes though.
“Um, I’m not sure I have time, what with wor-“
“RIGHT! YOU!!” She pointed an almost accusatory hoof in my direction, causing me to yelp slightly in shock, my words quickly cut off. I stared wide eyed down the bridge of my nose at her. “Head back to Rarity’s and yours truly will take care of the rest!”
Before I had time to utter any sort of response, she darted off, leaving a trail of dust behind her. I coughed as it came up into my face, making my eyes water slightly.
“That’s it then,” I said to nobody in particular “I’ve actually died and God is punishing me for being an Atheist. Brilliant”
-=-=-=-
The rest of the day followed uneventfully, spent mostly lazing around Rarity’s place. She’d greeted me with congratulations, and a mild scolding for not looking more presentable. Obviously the clothes are by her, so the issue is me. After a lengthy debate on the proper upkeep of human appearances, I compromised with a slight trim of my facial hair and head, as opposed to going clean shaven. It’s not a good look for me, and one that I haven’t worn since being nineteen.
Dinner was another reminder of how being forced into becoming a vegetarian can play havoc with the digestive system. My body had sort of started to adjust, but not a night went by where I didn’t dream of bacon in some form. I would bloody murder for a bacon sandwich sorry ignore that.
“Please don’t grumble about it dear, you look so much better now” Rarity motioned at my face, and then looked to her sister for confirmation. “Don’t you agree?”
Sweetie Belle looked back at Rarity, then to me and nodded in enthusiasm. “You really do! The old you was all messy, my friends always say you looked more like a grizzly bear”
I looked dismissively at the pair of them, running a hand around my chin. “I think that’s a bit excessive”
“By the way,” said Rarity “Pinkie Pie dropped by before you got back. I’m sure you’re aware since you’ve seen her, but she’s planning on throwing you a party to congratulate you on the new job. I suggested we do it after your first shift, on a day you’re not working. That way you can attend the whole thing”
She said this with a slight grin on her face, one that I returned a slight glare to. I don’t mind attending parties and standing in the background mingling, but having them thrown for me has always been something I don’t like. Even as a kid I hated having big birthday parties. Keeping it quick and quiet is preferable.
“Thanks…” I said sarcastically, finishing the last mouthful of my dinner and standing to collect the plates. “Who’s coming?”
“Well there’s me, Pinkie and the rest of our close friends, of course. Then George, Nick and Alison. I believe Ricardo is sick, the poor dear.”
“…Ricardo? No wonder he keeps looking at me funny, I’ve been calling him Robert this whole time”
She sighed while rolling her eyes, and took the plates from my hands via levitation. It still freaks me out every time I see a unicorn do that. I shrugged at Sweetie Belle, who giggled to herself. I walked over to the sink in which Rarity had put the dishes, and began to clean, Sweetie Belle leaving the room as we tidied.
“When you say the rest of you close friends, I guess that includes Applejack, Twilight and Rainbow Dash?”
She nodded in affirmation. “Of course, why wouldn’t they be?”
“Well they don’t like me, for one”
“And for two?”
I stopped scrubbing and turned to stare at her blankly. She smirked.
“Yeah I guess that’s it”
“They don’t dislike you, darling, you simply got off on the wrong hoof… or foot, in your case. I think they’re more under the impression that it is you that dislikes them” She smiled at me warmly, but I didn’t return the gesture, instead folding my arms in front of my chest.
“Applejack kicked me in the face the last time I saw her” I rubbed at my left cheek, the yellowish bruise still being slightly visible.
“Honestly dear that was an accident, and you were stood rather close to the tree she was bucking. Besides, she did apologise. You should really try and make more of an effort with those that are willing to be your friends”
I unfolded my arms, giving her a bemused look. “Friendship is so magical, after all” I shook my head at nobody in particular and shrugged at her. She frowned at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Alright, I’ll try and make more of an effort, I guess”
“Good” She smiled, nodding at me in satisfaction “Anyway you’ll see her and the rest before the party anyway, I believe we’re all making a stop in to your new place of work for a congratulatory drink tomorrow night” She winked and trotted past the table, her horn twinkling and bringing the tablecloth with her.
I shrugged again. “Sure, without me being able to...” I stopped in mid-sentence, a terrible realisation having just dawned on me, something important that had completely evaded my thoughts until now. “Um, when you say a celebratory drink, do you by chance mean alcoholic?”
Rarity turned, still smiling. “Well seeing as it’s the evening, I don’t think it’s off the cards, so to speak. Why do you ask?” She approached me, now with a more concerned look on her face. “Watson, what’s wrong?”
I leant back against the kitchen surface, eyes glazed over as if I’d been punched in the stomach.
“Drunk ponies,” I mumbled to myself, shaking my head in disbelief “I’m going to be surrounded by drunk ponies every time I go to work. I haven’t thought this job through”
-=-=-=-
Since it was my first shift, Tankard Tipper insisted on me only working out four hours, as a trial shift of sorts. After twenty minutes, I decided this was three and a half hours too long. My time so far had been spent scrubbing the tables, and cleaning out the restrooms. Toilets here are weird.
After finishing these two menial tasks I propped myself up behind the bar, serving the odd drink to the few ponies that had turned up this early in the evening. Seemingly, like any English pub, you had the locals that would be there every day come rain or shine, or heat wave in this case. They didn’t seem so fussed by a furless biped pouring their drinks, as long as they were being served.
About an hour in, sure enough, Rarity walked through the saloon style doors, followed closely by her pastel posse of ponies (alliterations are fun). She and Applejack approached the bar, with the others taking seats at the far side by the window, far away from the bar itself. This suited me fine.
“You look like you’re fitting in just fine, Watson” Rarity smiled at me, Applejack looking at the drinks on offer and otherwise ignoring my being there “We’ll take six soft ciders please”
“Mhmm” I grunted, setting out the glasses and pouring the drinks. The two of them talked between themselves, possibly attempting to involve me in the conversation at points, I couldn’t really say, I stopped paying attention after ‘ciders’. After pouring the first three, Rarity picked them up on a tray (I don’t think ponies would manage with more than two otherwise) and walked back to their table, leaving me to pour the other three and Applejack to look at me nervously.
After a few moments of awkward silence, she spoke. “Watson, look, ah’m sorry about the other day and, well, ya know...” she motioned at her own cheek, making a circle to imitate the mark on mine. I looked up at her blankly then returned to staring at the pour.
“S’fine”
“Ah can clearly see it’s not, ah just wanted ya t’know I’m sorry, that’s all” She sighed to herself as I finished pouring the last drink, setting it down on the tray for her to take. I looked over at the table of friends, Rarity glancing at me with a look of ‘remember what I told you about making friends’ aimed at me. I frowned, and then returned it with a look of ‘alright I’ll do my best but no promises’. It’s amazing what you can surmise from facial expressions.
“Hey,” I began as she turned. She stopped and stared back at me dubiously. “It’s honestly fine; it was mostly my fault anyway, seeing how I got in your way” I picked up a cloth and turned away from her, moving to clean the glasses behind me. “So, don’t worry about it”
I didn’t turn around again to get a response, and by the time I’d finished the cleaning, they were all sat at the table, chatting away about the day, I dunno probably about how grumpy I am. That’s fine, I didn’t want to leave an impression that I was getting all fuzzy and heart warmed anyway. Baby steps, after all. I rested my elbow on the bar, put my chin in my hand, and lazily stared into space.
If I’m being honest, it’s not all bad working in a pub again, even if it is full of plastered pony patrons (I’m sorry, I’ll stop). It’s easy enough work, and gives me a chance to interact a bit more. Hell, I could even end up making a half-honest living here and end up enjoying what I do again. Maybe it’s just the change I n-
“Watson!” Tankard Tipper appeared at my side, prodding me in the arm. I yelped in surprise, my hand slipped and I banged my head on the counter. “One of those toilets is still clogged, get to it!”
Ignoring the buzz of giggles around me, I grabbed the plunger from his outstretched hand and headed to the loo’s, my disdain for this career choice resurfacing two-fold. Shouldn't have second guessed it.