“Look, Shining, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to enjoy my leave.”
I look down at my hooves.
Golden Wheat comes up alongside me. “C’mon, man. You goin’ all gay on us?”
A cough draws our eyes. Argent Crown raises an eyebrow. “And you have a problem with that, Wheat?”
I can almost hear the earth pony roll his eyes. “No, and you know I don’t, ya cum guzzlin’ colt cuddler. Jus’ messin’ with ‘im, an’ ya know it.”
“Of course,” Argent practically purrs, his pleasant voice rattling around in my head. He’s looking at me, those eyes practically burning into my own. I look away. He knows it bothers me. He likes seeing me flustered. My “secret” is so obvious that it’s painful.
We’re walking down Bridle Street, in Tall Tale. It’s a seedy sort of place, old buildings, dirty cobblestone streets, not a few weird looks. I honestly don’t want to be here. I have no idea why I am. Mac told me not to. I should have stayed with him.
But the reasons I left Mac behind are the same that make me sort of wish Argent wasn’t here. At least Mac leaves me alone. I like Argent, but if he calls Cadance a “beard” again I’m going to break his face. As a friend, of course.
It’s a noisy place. Kind of busy. I’m sure we’re not supposed to be in the seedier parts of Tall Tale, but no one is bothering to check on us. So of course I let Cloudy Skies drag me through the seediest parts of the seediest town I’ve ever been in. That was really smart, good job Shining. Wonderful.
But where was I going to go? I’d rather not be alone. For one thing, I’d probably be lost pretty quickly. For another, I’m tired of being alone.
So I stop complaining. I said my piece already, and I doubt they are going to listen to me anytime soon. This is dumb. As I trail behind Golden Wheat, who grins at me like an idiot, I realize that we’re really going where I think we’re going.
Saddle street is in the southwest part of time, right near the docks. It kind of makes sense, when you think about it. Equestria has laws about this kind of thing, but... there’s some stuff you can never really stamp out. Or even regulate. Ponies do what they want to, and if they want to do something bad enough then I guess they’re going to do it.
Cloudy’s up there practically prancing. He’s the kind of guy who gets stoked about everything, and it’s usually why I like him. You got something fun planned? He’s your stallion. Need help with something that sucks? He’s still your stallion. Dude’s usually great.
What he isn’t is smart. Or principled. Don’t know what he’s even doing in officer training, really. I’m pretty sure he’s never had a good plan in his entire life.
Argent comes alongside me. I look away.
“Why so ill at ease?”
“I thought we were just going out for drinks,” I answer.
“And we are.”
“Yeah, but nopony said anything about Saddle Street or the Drag,” I say back, trying to keep my voice level. I don’t want to sound like I’m whining in front of them. You don’t whine in the officer corps. A guardspony doesn't whine. My ears flick, and I hear Sargeant Red’s grating voice.
“Weren’t you listening, Shining?” I glance over at him. Argent is smiling at me. Of course he is. “It seemed rather obvious.”
“I guess I wasn’t, no.”
“Busy... writing letters, I suppose?”
“Shove off,” I bark, and look back in front of me. It isn’t that far now to the docks. I swear usually I like Argent. He’s not that unpleasant.
“Simply asking, friend,” he says.
“Whatever.”
There’s a pause. “If you’re so anxious, I could escort you back,” Argent says slowly. I swear he gets off on this. I swear he does.
Escort me back. Like I’m some sort of fainting Canterlot socialite, some prissy sighing mare to lead around by the horn. Yeah, like I’m gonna turn around after that.
“Yeah, but no thanks,” I say, quickly gesturing with my hoof, a flat slash through the air. “I think I’m going to be just fine.”
In my peripheral, he shrugs without breaking his stride at all. Flawless. “Suit yourself.”
As we turn onto the drag, I’m thinking about letters. Letters written home, letters written back that smell of flowers and mother’s study, letters that have drawings from Twilight. But mostly I’m thinking of letters sealed with a kiss.
The Drag isn’t supposed to exist. On paper, it’s not even called the drag. It’s “Public Land.” From what I gather, the dirt road crowded with shady establishments is the child of poverty, necessity, and criminal genius. One of Equestria’s old, declining crime families two hundred years ago pulled some rather head turning acrobatics. It still looks like it did then, more or less. Just dirtier and worse.
“How long it gonna be? Gettin’ bored here,” Wheat grumbles.
“Eh, chill out mudpony. We ain’t that far,” Skies throws over his shoulder.
Me? Still thinking about letters. Thinking about Cadance’s hoofwriting. Well, her magic... writing? Whatever, it’s still really pretty. It’s beautiful, more like, graceful and gorgeous, just like her, and the letters smell so nice. Just like her, really. Maybe that’s just my imagination? I don’t know. No idea. If it’s just a memory, it’s a pretty rad memory and I think I’ll take it. Even if I can’t for the life of me remember what her last letter was even about, I’ll take that memory. It was something about Twilight, I think. Does Twily even know about us? She’s a bit clueless about things on occasion. Especially when she’s focused.
We cross the Drag. Our... business isn’t here with the dust and the bars with hole-ridden roofs but farther along the way, down another street. To Saddle Street, astride the port.
I feel my skin crawl, in this place. As we leave the Drag, I feel myself let a breath our I hadn’t realized I had been holding. Yeah, this street we’re on now sucks too, but at least I’m not on the Drag. I can feel the vibe of that place like grimy hooves all over, and I hate it. But it’s over.
We step onto the street. The famous—infamous, whatever—Saddle Street.
And then I remember what this place is all over again. It’s not over. It’s just starting. I don’t want to be here. This isn’t me at all, and as I see that first mare stepping out of the cabaret named Saddle Sore, I start thinking about letters. Think, Shining. Letters—oh, crap, what was her last letter about? Two pages. I wish I could remember what was on them, the actual words. One had a heart drawn on it with red colored pencil on the top right hoof side of the first pages. The mare sees us, and she waves.
Cloudy’s off. I bet he’s grinning like an idiot because he is an idiot. Somehow I’m there, walking in the door, that mare right in front of me whispering in Wheat’s ear, shaking her hips—Celestia—right in front of me, those legs taking their time, parting the air before them, see through black lace socks and—
Letters. Letters that have smiley faces all over them, happy little smiles. Ten, maybe? Celestia, look at her flank. Ten smiley faces. Ten. I’ll just go with that. I try to imagine them.
The Street outside is like a party that never, ever ends. Ponies are everywhere, behind us out in that street. Most of them are male, and almost everypony out there and in here are smiling. The door that I’ve passed is open wide, so as many as want to can come in. Red light is cast on the walls, and I get my first view of the place.
There’s a big bar full of ponies drinking. A few of them are alone, but several of them have a mare (one has a stallion with long hair and a nice stetson, and my eyes wander away). The barpony looks up, spots us, and though he doesn’t laugh, I can see some amusement in his eyes.
Argent passes me, then. He brushes my side briefly, and I can feel his coat against my own. The friction distracts me from the bar and from the mare Golden Wheat is whispering to. The air is thick, and it smells like sweat and alcohol and something I don’t recognize. I don’t want to be here. Argent is looking back at me with a smile. Dude’s just smiling at me and I know I’m gaping like a moron back at him, my eyes wandering around his face, my legs locked in place. I don’t want to be here. I feel like I’ve rolled around in the mud, dirty all over, and I don’t want to be here.
For a moment, I almost go back. I think about how easy it would be. I haven’t paid for anything here. There’s no reason to stay, really. I see that cutesy heart Cadance scribbled for a brief second.
And then I don’t leave.
Time should crawl. It doesn’t. It flies by, just slips away. Maybe if I just drink, I can get through this. Just staring down at the bar, not looking. But then I do look. I look around in curiosity, I watch Wheat talk to a mare in low whispers. I lose something, I think it’s my mind, and my eyes are full of the view of the mare with no shame on that stage over there and my tongue knows nothing but whiskey. My throat burns and my eyes water and I think it’s the perfume on the mare who sees me and moves in like a wolf.
She grins at me, white teeth shining in the dimness, green eyes like deep pools. I finish another glass and it burns my throat and I like it.
She’s close to me. I can almost feel her breath on my coat. My heart is racing, and my head feels heavy, but there she is grinning at me.
She’s saying something, I think. It’s hard to hear. I strain.
“Lookin’ a bit lonesome there.”
“A little,” I say. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s the truth, and so I let her have it. Might as well. It does me no good, keeping it.
“Would you like some company?”
“I would.”
“I could be that, y’know,” I swear to Celestia she’s practically purring, and it works. It shouldn’t. She’s so close. I know what kind of place this is, what kind of place it really is, and I’m still talking. My eyes are still open. My heart is still beating like a drum, fast and heavy.
“I-I know.”
My hoof shakes on the counter.
“Do you, now? I don’t suppose you’d want some company? Fine young stallion like yourself?”
I swallow. “I...”
She laughs. It’s like music in my ears. My whole body feels strange, like I’m sick. Like I’m on fire. Like I’m falling forward into something. It’s way too intense for me, and I almost tell her no. I almost say I have a girlfriend at home who writes me cutesy letters. But I don’t.
I’m so lonely.
Her face, her body, her hair. Feminine. It is like Cadance’s only in that, but it’s enough. I miss Cadance. I miss female companionship. I miss the taste of soft lips and hugs and long, soft hair under my hooves. I miss the way she smells when I nuzzle her cheek. I miss her.
My voice shakes.
“Y-yes.”
She’s grinning. She knows that I’m done for. I know I’m done for.
It happens so fast. One minute, I’m drinking a bit too much and the next she’s leading me away. She weaves through the crowd like it’s nothing. We head towards the back door. I think there’s some noise behind me but I’m a bit hazy and I can’t help but stare at her as she sways, every movement just for me.
It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t something I had to try at. It just happened. I say a single word and suddenly I’m down a hall and through a door and on a bed and she’s kissing me and laughing and I’m kissing back and I feel so warm. So very, very warm. When her lips touch my throat it sends amazing shivers down my spine and I can’t help but gasp a little. Her hoof is wandering over my body and it feels amazing, everything feels amazing. This is what I needed. It’s what I needed. Skies was right, he finally had a good idea.
She screams and suddenly she’s gone. I’m still looking up and she’s just not there. She’s angry at somepony. I have no idea. I’m confused and I lay there in my haziness.
And suddenly there he is. The naked bulb on the ceiling is blocked out by his head, like an eclipse. He’s just sort of staring down at me. His mouth is a thin line.
“Get up.”
“Wha?” It’s all I can manage.
“Get. Up.”
“Big Mac, what the hell, man?”
“Celestia help me, you’re gonna get up, Shinin’.”
And that voice kind of scares me. A little. He moves away and I sit up.
“Put your uniform on, Shinin’.”
When did it get off? I look down and realize that it’s gone. Dazed, my eyes slowly scan the room.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? He’s mine! You’re interrupting my business, you stupid...” her voice trails off. I know why. When I look over, Macintosh is glaring at her and she’s shivering against the wall.
“I’ll pay ya somethin’ for your trouble, ma’am. Jus’ lemme take my friend here an’ I’ll be out of your mane. That understood?”
She nods miserably.
I find my uniform at the foot of the bed, and almost trip putting it on. I know Big Mac is watching me. Suddenly, I feel sick. Nauseous, like any moment I’m just gonna hurl all over the place and pass out, like I’m a stupid college colt. Great.
“Hurry up, Shinin’.”
I wanna snap at him, but when I turn to do so he’s staring at me with those eyes. Stars, those eyes. They bore into you like they know everything and see everything, and suddenly I’m terrified of him. He’s almost a monster. No, that’s the wrong word. I don’t know what he is. It is not something I want to mess with, whatever it is.
With a grunt, Macintosh pays the whore. He leads me back through the crowd that parts before him and we’re out into the street. My head is much clearer.
We stand there in the street, staring at each other. My mouth is dry. I don’t want to be here, and I feel small.
“Shinin’... damn. Jus’ damn, Shinin’. I thought I knew ya better.”
“I...”
“No. Ain’t nothin’ to say right now. Go home, Shinin’. Just go back to base,” he says, and he won’t look at me.
“But... Mac, I... Mac, I’m so sorry—”
And that’s when he explodes. He looks back at me and I swear his eyes are about to light on fire. I shrink.
“Yer sorry. To me. Dammit, Shinin’, I ain’t the one that you should be sorry to! How about bein’ sorry to yer filly back home, huh? How ‘bout it?”
“Mac, it was just a second, I wasn’t...”
“You weren’t thinkin’. You weren’t thinkin’ at all, were ya. Oh, it ain’t your fault—you weren’t thinkin’. But ya were thinkin’. You were thinkin’ an awful, awful lot weren’tcha? All kinds of thinkin’.”
I have no answer. He’s in my face, inches away.
“And you followed that... that...”
He just ends up growling wordlessly. It’s the most he’s ever talked in one breath before in my entire time knowing him, while he worked on base as an MP.
And then suddenly, he pulls away. He looks away from me.
“I’m done. Go back to your bunk.”
“Mac,” I say, and my head hurts. “Mac, I’m so sorry.”
“Damn.”
And he walks down the street. I sit there in the middle of the road, and my legs feel like jello. He doesn’t look back at all. His eyes face forward the whole time. He has no reason to look back, I realize. As I look down at my own hooves, dirtied by the road, I realize that there isn’t any reason at all for him to look back. There’s no motivation. Why should he? Why should anyone?
I cry like an idiot child and when ponies look at me I can’t make myself care because I’m done, too, just like he is. I’m just done.
No one wants to look at dirty things.
Author's Note
Bluh.
Stuff and things.
I wrote this because it wouldn't go away. Sorry.
Like lashes, like Lashes, the brand of lust is on the fool's hide, like the lashes of hell--like the long lashes of a beautiful woman
stuff
