It was just supposed to be one salt lick. But everyone knows those are foals' toys. They get you in with a salt lick, and then you're thirstier than an Apploosan orchard. It was colt’s night though, so I wasn't even buying my own drinks. Probably a good two-thirds of the ponies in the club were mares, all either enjoying the music or grazing for a stallion to snag. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that unicorns were everywhere, and the few earth ponies there were all well-known or up-and-coming musicians. With another glance I could tell I was the only pegasus in the joint. Ah, well. That’s how it usually is in Canterlot. I turned on my stool, took a sip of my drink (some fruity thing a peach-colored mare had passed to me), and began to pony watch in earnest.
The Feathered Fetlock used to be a rather sketchy place, to say the least. Some aspects of the club reflected its former industrial nature, but it had been redone several years back. It was now a locale frequented by Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns graduate students, the “rebellious” children of the Canterlot elite, and grad students like me, from the other schools. Unlike the CSGU students who wore their blazers and ties nearly always, those of us who hailed from Canterlot Generalized Education, Luna’s Academy of Academic Excellence (a lovely school, newly founded, at which I study and work), or an out-of-town school tended to ditch them almost immediately after class. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a group of stallions trot in with the LAAE ascots around their necks. After I had moved beyond my initial surprise, I realized that these individuals were among my most bothersome and painfully inept peers. I quickly turned around and tried to pull my wings in as tight as I could to my body. In my rush though, the most brash of them -- a brown unicorn whose candy-blue mane was eternally in his eyes -- noticed the surprised flare of my wings, and along with his cronies beelined towards me.
“Well if it isn't 'Cicero' White Crayon!” he called out over the dance music. “I never figured you for the clubs,” he slurred, pulling up the stool next to me as the rest of those foals stood about nearby, showing themselves off to leering mares and subsequently following them to the dance floor.
“I do, on occasion, find them enjoyable,” I replied, an exceedingly false smile on my muzzle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to my drink.”
The already inebriated stallion responded, “Whatever suits you.” He turned and caught the eye of some pink unicorn who trotted over with a smirk on her face. Before he left to dance with her, he added, “Lighten up, Cicero. You don’t live forever.”
Sighing, I lifted my glass, only to find it disappointingly empty. The crowd had thinned by a bit, and I wasn’t too interested in entertaining a mare long enough to earn a free drink.
I caught the eye of the bartender, but as soon as I lifted my hoof, a blue-grey hoof pushed it down to the bar. I heard a mare's voice behind me and a little to the right.
"Maretini, shaken not stirred, and," she paused to glance at me, "something fruity for the gentlecolt." A lean mare, taller than me by a smidge, slid onto the stool that had so recently been vacated. “Hey stranger.” She smiled, a near-predatory look in her eye. “The name is Doe. Jane Doe.” The drinks passed from the bartender’s purple hooves into Jane’s cloud of deep blue magic. She passed me the ‘something fruity’ and tasted her maretini. “Can I bother you for yours?”
“Ponies call me Cicero.” I sipped the drink she had given me. Grapes and strawberries lent their sweet flavors to what was likely my best drink of the night; glancing at our barkeep’s flank, I realized it must’ve been her personal specialty.
“Cicero, eh? Can’t say I’ve heard that before. Sounds foreign.” She gave me a downright dazzling smile. The hunter’s glint hadn’t left her eyes though. The sound of the music around us dimmed, and that same dark blue glow returned as Jane Doe cast a Conversation in Loud Places spell. “How did you manage to lay claim to that?”
“It’s a long story that I would hate to bore you with.” I shot her a smile of my own. “Suffice it to say that it’s the masculine equivalent of the name of a truly astounding mare of history.”
“Oh, but now I’m fascinated.” She struck a pose of mock interest, head on hooves as she leaned on the bar. “A pegasus stallion such as yourself named after some long-forgotten mare?”
I played along with her game and affected my instructor’s tone. “Cicera was a mare known for her mastery of oration, and was a magnificent politician and philosopher. She overcame the disadvantage of being a pegasus in a largely unicorn-dominated point of history. The fact that so few know of her, let alone her accomplishments, points to a sad loss of historic interest among the common populous.” I took another sip, enjoying the concoction.
Her eyebrows shooting up in what appeared to be surprise, the ‘mock’ portion of Jane’s interest vanished after hearing Cicera’s name. “Marca Trottia Cicera! Of course!” She showed a genuine smile and continued, “Frankly, Cicero, when you said ‘truly astounding’ I figured you must have been one of those who thinks the only history worth knowing is that of the bloodlines of nobility. To think that there are still ponies who care about the Triumvirate Era is wonderful.”
It was my turn to be surprised. Rather than bumble over my words as I tried to process that this lovely mare even knew whom Cicera was, let alone identify her with the Triumvirate, I took a long drink and simply said, “Teaching will do that.”
Dimly, through the Conversations in Loud Places spell, we heard the tone of the music shift. What had been predominantly bass-heavy, typical club fare had turned to the haunting notes of an upright bass, with the electronica providing a strange accompaniment. Jane carefully lowered her spell, and we heard the music at full volume again. The bassist was tuning as she played, and the DJ worked well with her, turning up the music as the bass tuned, and backing off again as she played. The sound paused for a moment, and the bassist nodded at the DJ. They began to play in earnest. I smirked, downed my drink, and grabbed Jane’s hoof.
“Let’s dance.”
