Hitmare

The Cresent, which had stood in Ponyville for decades, once filled with a calm, friendly air, now existed as a place for those low on their luck to come and drink their sorrows away. Nopony civilised visited anymore as it was quickly turning into a haven for drunken morons looking for a fight.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The barkeeper shouted at a pair of drunken ponies who were trying to sit on a bar stool on their heads, and had subsequently broken one. "Get out of here!" The two glanced at each other momentarily before bursting into fits of giggles, the one who wasn't already on the floor falling over as well. "You're barred!" The barkeeper continued, jabbing angrily at the door. The two ponies stopped laughing and got up, mumbling irritably.

As the pair left the bar out into the cold night, the door was caught and another pony entered. I sipped my Bloody Mary as the figure sat down at the bar. Body language told me they were nervous as buck.

"You're-"

"Yes." I said simply, predicting their question.

"Oh." Their voice said that they had been waiting for this, but were now terrified. There was a quiet, papery sound that accompanied a photo sliding across the surface of the bar. "Umm... H-him, I guess. He's been a bit-"

"Don't need to know." I said sullenly, still looking into my glass. "25000."

The pony dumped a large, jingling bag onto the bar and left me with the picture and the money. I finished my cocktail, looked over at the photo and did a double take as my heart skipped a beat.

The crimson fur, the short cut, blond mane, the half-lidded eyes, white freckles, wheat stalk and yoke; there was no mistaking the work-pony.

It was Big Macintosh. And in that one transaction, that one moment, I'd made a binding agreement to take him out.