An Average scoop
I have written some pretty interesting stories in my time as a journalist: The Tyranny of Celestia, The Scandal of Equestria Daily, and Cottage Massacre. Sure, some of those stories may seem a little far fetched, but in my line of work you lie to receive the answers you want, and you stretch the truth to make the public see them. It may never stop making me laugh how the best story I may ever write lacks a single stretch in the plot, but it remains the most unbelievable yet.
It all started as a scoop: Local Ponyville alcoholic named Berry Punch, infamous for her massive consumption of alcohol, yet she is immune to hangovers. What secret does this mare hide from the public’s view, or does she really have a mind of steel? It’s always my job to get answers to these questions one way or another, and after asking a few well-informed ponies about Berry’s whereabouts. I found myself almost retching near the entrance of The Twisted Reality.
Standing at the doors alone made me sense an uneasy sensation in my stomach, but not one that I haven’t felt before. After the many times I've been inside of a bar to gather some answers or gossip, I learned that this sensation is my usual reaction to the smell of large amounts of alcohol; but something about this place still didn't add up: A late fall night in Ponyville, the princess had given one of her mandatory Nightmare Night safety speeches, and the strong smell of alcohol that emitted from the door suggested that quite a few ponies indulged themselves inside. I wondered why I could not hear a single sound coming from within the bar. My informant told me that at least one pony would drink there that night, but I knew for fact he would never tell me something so literal.
Pen’s Notes 1: Bits
A form of currency that may cause even the most educated and logically thinking ponies to march head first into a seemingly suspicious situation.
I held onto my suspicions and cautiously pushed the door open, and peaked inside. I could hear soft mumbling from within the bar and decided it might remain in my best interest to keep out of sight. I had only taken three steps inside when I heard a voice say something to me, making me jump. “You know, if the doors open and the sign says ‘come in,’ I think it’s pretty rude to sneak around.” I could feel my whole body tense as I looked to my right and saw a purple earth pony with a very dull look in her eyes, staring directly at me.
I cleared my voice so I could stall for time. Over the years I learned that those few extra seconds may define what makes your lie believable or ridiculous. “Sorry,” I said while coughing. “The fall air seems to have gotten to my voice. I’m just making sure that everyone here is passive, and not drunk enough to attack me.” The mare gave me a strange look at first, then chuckled. By the tone of her voice I could tell she found something I said hilarious.
“Does it really look like a pony here will attack you?” she said. “If you haven’t noticed from your brief inspection, you and I are the only ponies here.”
At first I wondered what she meant, but as I took another look around the bar I understood the meaning of her words.
Observations
I could see many tables, but not a single other pony sitting at them. Although I could also see that the tables had messy dinner plates and empty shot glasses on them. And unless the Twisted Reality had low cleaning standards—which remained a thought—ponies recently sat there. But the mare said that herself and I were the only ones there that night. When I thought about this a question formed in my mind.
The mumbling I heard had to have been from this mare, I thought. But who was she mumbling too?
The question and observations lingered in my mind for a moment as I tried to piece together what had occurred before I came, but when my mind came up with nothing out of the ordinary. It felt like the right time to start doing my job and get a few answers. The mare looked knowledgeable enough, so I thought I would start with her.
Interrogation
When I looked back at the mare, she had already turned herself towards the bartenders table and continued sipping her drink. I decided to rest my coat on the coat rack near the entrance and take the vacant seat next to her. I gave her the best smile I had and said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I just can’t stand drinking alone. Mind if we had a chat over a strong one?”
She looked me over for a moment, then shrugged her shoulder in reply. “Sure, I don’t mind talking, but I’m fine with the drink I have.”
I stared at the light-red drink at her hoof, fixated at the glass’ odd curving handle for a moment, and I could see that it had different fruits and vegetables floating on its surface. I’d seen it before, but the name escaped me. I soon found myself mumbling the first ideas that came into my head. “What did that pony call it? The Bobbi Berry? The Sunset cherry?”
When my rambling became unbearable, the mare decided to take it upon herself to end my guessing and give me the correct name of the cocktail she drank. “The drink is called the Bloody Mary. Would you like to try it?” she asked, shoving her hoof towards my direction.
I could smell the number of vegetables and fruits that made up the drink. I knew that I had no reason to drink while on the job, but something in my mind kept pushing me towards this one. I took the glass from her, placed my hoof in its curved handle, and took a sip of the cocktail. I meant to give it back to her after that, but I started enjoying how well the fruits and alcohol blended together. After ten seconds, the mare had to take the glass back herself. I felt my cheeks slowly turning red, and I knew I had to say something to apologize for my behavior. “I’m sorry… I just don’t know what came over me.”
She gave me a small smile while taking another sip from her drink. After she brought her glass down to rest on the table, she said, “Don’t worry about it. I can tell this isn’t often your scene. And I think the bartender adds something special to these when Nightmare Night’s only a few days away. He has to be one of the best in Equestria. Shocker if you haven’t heard of him or his drink.”
I looked at her as if she had told me some sort of joke, but I could tell from the look that she gave me she really meant what she had said. “So, a lot of ponies know about this place, huh? Then where did all the customers go?”
Instead of answering, she just looked away from me for a moment, and stared at three shot glasses filled with a red and black liquid. “Most ponies know this bar because of its signature Nocturnal Mix. The bartender invented it himself.”
She stopped talking and gave me a blank stare for a moment, so I motioned for her to finish answering the question. I assumed she thought that she fully answered my question, or maybe she didn't want to tell me the next part.
“The bartender made the drink ridiculously strong, and almost every pony that drinks it falls asleep. So to avoid having a bunch of ponies look like they’re dead inside a bar, he drags them outside where they can wake up later and go home.”
I gave her an inquisitive look that showed her that I did not believe a word she said, and I was just about ready to label her as a drunk and give up for the night. But then she grabbed one of the shot glasses and poured a few drops of the red and black drink into her Bloody Mary. She let out a low and guttural sigh, and said, “If you don’t believe me, try a drop of it in this.”
The glass made a slight scraping noise against the bar table as Berry slowly slid it towards my direction. I picked it up and closely examined the drink again, but nothing had changed. It looked like the same exact drink from before. Maybe she’s just joking around, I thought. And I’m sure she’s just exaggerating.
I thought of so many good reasons to deny that this drink could put a pony to sleep without fail, and I claimed to know that this would just be a poorly planned joke. But as I took a sip from the Bloody Mary, I could no longer taste the fruits and vegetables that made the drink so delectable before. Somehow the taste faded away and was replaced by something strong—no, bitter, unpleasant—and I began to feel slightly drowsy. My head felt as if it were throbbing and for a moment everything felt unclear. I had learned the hard way this mare did not joke about this alcohol’s effect, and I thought my mind would suffer for my ignorance.
After a few minutes I recovered, and I had even more questions to ask. I decided to ask the most important first. “Ponies willingly drink glasses of that stuff?”
She let out a heavily disappointed sigh and told me about how ponies lately only came in to challenge themselves with that drink. She watched as many ponies leave as ponies who had gotten in, creating the empty and dull atmosphere in bar. “I wish that more ponies like you could appreciate the taste of classics like the Bloody Mary, and not decide to constantly waste themselves over some stupid challenge.”
It took me a moment to notice that she had spoken, and even then my head felt like it needed another moment to process this new information before I responded. “Maybe I heard the bartenders’ voice earlier, and the reason I don’t see anyone else besides you here is because he dragged Berry Punch out?”
At first I didn't realize the huge mistake I made with my words, but I did notice her reaction. I could see her eyes lighten up when I said Berry Punch, and I could see what she did to cover it.
She slightly smiled, and said, “I take it you’re looking for her?”
When I saw her reaction I knew she had to have known something, and by the forced smile on her face I could tell that she wouldn't relieve her information easily. I did my best to keep up the persona I had during our conversation, but my head started to hurt and I could feel my thoughts slipping away from me. I would have loved to learn about this mysterious bartender and many other things, but I knew if this continued I would slip again. Therefore I thought of something quick to say while also pressing her to respond. “Yeah, I heard she would drink here tonight, and she loves drinks like those tall… thingies.”
As I finished speaking, I could see her eyes dart downward, and her flank shifted oddly in her seat. I was glad, of course, that I hadn't lost my sense of perception, but I truly started to feel sorry for making her so uncomfortable. It must have been the growing headache slowly starting to make me feel remorse for my actions, but my curiosity over what she hid overshadowed my kindness.
I still barely remember her response, but she must have said something along the lines of, “So I've heard. Just out of curiosity, any reason you might want to meet her?” What I really took notice of while she spoke was her hoof moving instinctively towards the cocktail.
In the past I've seen many other ponies do this when stressed or uncomfortable. Their hoof would slowly crawl towards whatever drink they had brought, and they would lightly sip or down it. What made her action so interesting, though, was her hoof slowly creeping towards the spiked Bloody Mary. Unfortunately, my mind had been severely slowed by the sip I had taken off the cocktail, so I sat idly and watched as her hoof tightly grasped the handle of the cocktail’s glass and raised it towards her face. When I finally realized what was happening she had already emptied half of the glass’s contents.
I waited for a moment, expecting her to faint. Instead, she stared at me, awaiting an answer to her question.
Pen’s Notes 2: Interrogations
If you think you have a pony figured out, just dig deep enough and you will discover that other ponies can lie and mask their identities as well I can.
Revelation
I couldn't figure out why she was so scared of me, but I knew I had the information—or at the very least, assumption—I needed, and I felt ridiculous for not jumping to conclusions sooner. If I had, maybe I could have asked more penetrating questions, but at the time I could barely even speak.
“I’m jus’ a fan that hear’ of her and wan’ed talk, but apparen’ly barman threw her. Well that such a disappoin’ing. Guess I’ll take my lead...” With those last few words slurring out of my mouth, I got up, grabbed my coat, and began to stumble hastily out of the door before the pony could say anything in response, or before I could say anything that would have given away my purpose for talking to her.
By the way, she acted so nervously I assumed she would have been someone close to Berry Punch, but when I saw her drink the cocktail and remain completely unfazed, I realized that I was talking to the pony I wanted to question the entire time, and that I hadn't asked her anything of relevance to my story. When I stumbled out of the bar and into the dimly lit road of Ponyville, I knew I had an identity and not much more. Although, I doubt any information I had would have mattered if that cart had hit me.
Author's Note
Pen's notes 1.5: Alliteration
The occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words.
