Generosity of a Mare

A white mare trotted under a starlit city night. Her once-perfectly curled violet mane hung down in long, careless waves, drifting in the air with every hoofstep of her exhausted body. Tall, glassy buildings towered above, cramping against each other to form the busy traffic of the labyrinths below. She weaved in and out of rambunctious street crowds, still somewhat blurry-minded. Sounds of laughter and shouting pierced her eardrums until she branched off into a dead-end alley, pleased to see a bar entrance. As she waltzed in, the scent of strong alcohol immediately blasted her face, burning her nostrils.

The string of bars and congested streets were packed with enough youthful energy and heat she wondered why the mild stench and humidity wasn't peeling paint off nearby walls. Ponies, packed like torrents of splattered paint, were of varying types: fixed up, casual, wasted and confused. Some were out on the hunt looking for dates, others were regulars and needed a couple of drinks, and some were just with friends or special partners. The bar labyrinths wreaked of youthful initiative, excitement and hints of despair. It was really just a regular night in the more social sections of Canterlot.

The frizzled mare cantered around the barely lit room. Rows of oak-crafted stools sat erected in front of a neon-lit drink bar, pony rumps rested on each one. From behind it, a griffon bartender took down drinks as the lone mare analyzed the bar's various alcoholic beverages. She could make out different flavors of lagers, ales, spirits, wine and cider.

"Hey!"

She jumped, nearly yelping. "Whaa-?" she suddenly noticed a caramel Earth stallion leaping out of his stool.

"You can have my seat!" he announced cheerfully.

"O-oh, well, why thank you, dear!"

"I was getting up, anyway," he smirked.

She thanked him once more before he walked off, blending into the desaturated blurs of the crowd, probably never to be seen again. I shouldn't have just taken it from him, the unicorn lamented, but it gradually left her mind.

She hopped up into the stool, now eye level with the other seated ponies as she wondered what to order, then her eyes re-caught the same griffon bartender from before, busy pouring beer from a tap. His light-grey head feathers complimented his burnt orange body fur, which took a radiant tint under the blue-lit countertop. After filling up the glass mug, he rushed for a customer when he accidentally spilled half of it on the marble floor, strangely ignoring it as he hurried back for a quick refill. Rarity once again looked back over her shoulder to make sure her saddlebags weren't disturbed, taking a minute or two to eye the bar space behind her.

The bartender got her attention just as she turned back around. His jovial tone matched the energy he carried as he spent the night jumping from customer to customer. His voice was thick with street-wise tongue. "Yo, you orderin' something?"

"Yes, hmm... umm..." She scanned the cabinet behind him filled with dizzying amounts of alcoholic beverages. He assumed she was going to have a bit of trouble choosing.

He chuckled. "Hard to choose, eh'?" He turned around, reached for a random bottle and faced Rarity, putting it on the bar. "You'll like this! I recommend it!"

She looked at its label, a pictorial displaying a bushel of apples with the words "Sparkling Zapple" above. She put down eight bits which the bartender took up in his talons.

"Y'ever tried that?"

The mare pondered, "Well, in a way. Back home, my apple farming friend produces bottled cider just like this, only it's not as... strong. They shouldn't know of my heavier habits when I'm out on the town."

"It's cool," he reassured casually. "We don't judge here, y'know. You want somethin', we get it, nothin' else. Ey, is Canterlot your home?"

"I'm from Ponyville, dear. I often give that impression. I just... eckh-” She held in a cough as she tried to fight the bar's intoxicating smoke. “Erm, ugh, I had some relatives who talked like this and I spent much of my foalhood around them.”

"Not many talk like that here, ya' see. Only tends to be near those fancier parts, like close to the castle, y'know? An' a bunch come from Manehatten, too."

"Oh, yes, just like my grandparents. I'm well aware, darling.”

“Say, what's your name?”

“You may call me Rarity,” she responded. “I run a boutique in Ponyville, you see, and I came here to attend a fashion show downtown, but complications occurred that canceled it before I arrived. I was lost for a couple of hours in the city until I showed up here.”

He crossed his arms. “Wow, geez that really stinks. You just had a really bad experience today, eh'? Sorry ta' hear that.”

She nodded.

“Yeah, by the way, you can call me Flicker."

"Of course," she confirmed. “Honored to meet you, Flicker.”

“Lemme know if you need anything else, Miss Rarity.”

The night progressed, and on she drank. The bar continued its regular activities which included incessant yelling and the occasional chorus of drunk singing. Rarity was not exactly a native to this environment but, after an egregious day of running around afraid of being assaulted, she learned to enjoy it.

A group of burly ponies eventually showed up and became the source of the bar's loudest section as they hoof-wrestled each other in a liquid-stained corner. It looked as if it was getting a bit out of control, but it was not on Rarity's mind.

"Excuse me!" she called over the drink bar, garnering the rushed griffon's attention. "Ohh, um... another one of-f those drinks, please," she smiled dumbly. "Th-the Sparking Apple."

Flicker turned around grabbing another bottle in his paw when he heard yelling far off in the arm-wrestling corner, followed by a table breaking over. Two ponies, drunk out of their minds, were beating the tar out of each other.

"HEY!" Despite it not being his job to break up bar fights, the flustered bartender took off running on his back legs when one of them landed on the night's earlier drink puddle, the very same one he forgot to clean. Subsequently, he slips and loses his balance face first as he falls into the bar's open cabinet, rupturing the balance of its various coveted drinks. A few bottles of ale and spirits fell to the floor, a dozen others threatening to fall in the same spot as he looked upon his mess in horror.

Out of the bar management's door came another griffon, her white head feathers forming into a fringe at the top. Her body fur, in contrast to Flicker's, was a fairly common beige with porcelain-white feathers. She glanced over at his mess as he clumsily tried to get off the floor, reaching for the ball cap that fell off his head while still being partially soaked in alcohol. Dumbfoundedly ignoring it, she approached the rough-housing drunkards.

"Get out of my bar right now! Both of you!" She shouted, though she wasn't entirely sure which one of them was at fault. "Get lost! Buzzout! Shoo!" Surprisingly, the two ponies who fought each other stumbled out the nearest exit with no protest. The irritated bar owner quickly returned to Flicker and his little mess.

"Okay, what caused it this time?" she asked as she eyed down the broken bottles and rustled positions of almost-doomed drinks. Flicker continued throwing the largest pieces of broken glass into a nearby garbage can as his female counterpart stood over him, her arms positioned at her hips like an angry housewife.

"I, uh... slipped on a puddle,” he murmured, avoiding direct eye contact.

"What did I tell you about cleanin' up after yourself?" she chided him, already convinced this was the cause. "If you're too busy to do it, get one of us to tend and mop up!" She seemed oblivious to the majority of the bar watching them as she continued barking at the downed bartender.

"Sorry," Flicker stated apprehensively. "But ey’, no worries, I'll get somebody in the back. Here, take this bottle here to the white mare over there, purple mane. Can't miss her."

After getting off the floor, he quickly disappeared behind the management's door. The bar lady approached Rarity, handing down the bottle.

"Here, ma'am, sorry about th-" but then she gets a good look at her.

White mare.

Purple mane.

The Elements of Harmony.

The party in Ponyville.

"Oh, NOT you!" she yelled.

Rarity's partially unfocused eyes opened wide. "Wha- wait, what?"

“Don't think I don't know what you and your loser friends are here to do!” She slammed both talons on the bar, leaning forward to impose her size. “This is my bar! It's been owned by our family for generations, and I'm not gonna take that level of disrespect! I know you and your self-righteous, goody-two-shoes friends had something to do with that accident earlier, as well, so use whatever senses you have left and stop gracing my bar with your Ponyville garbage before I kick you out, myself!”

Rarity's jaw hung open.

“Wh-what now? You're saying I'm planning something?” She asked, confused. “I just came in here!”

“Can't you hear? Or are you so wasted you can't get what I'm saying? Leave my bar. Now.”

Rarity's brows furrowed. If she truly had all of her senses totally collected the same way the manager mentioned, leaving would've been her first decision.

“Now you lis-sten here. I am a paying customer just like anypony else in this bar and I have no idea what you mean by me planning something!” she snobbishly raised her muzzle. “I've never been to this bar in my entire life, nor have I ever met you! You must be completely daft!”

“I'm counting down, bitch. Move it or lose it.”

“What?” Rarity's teeth gritted. She called me a bitch? “Well... f-fine! I'm leaving! Your customer service must be absolutely repulsive if you think everypony who comes in here is conspiring against you!”

The sound of another crash in the corner violently reverberates across the room.

The manager's head turns to the noise. “Hey!” Leaving Rarity as if they never talked, the griffin quickly made it across the room as she approached some drunken, uncleanly-looking ponies. “Don't you get when I say to quit? Scram, now!”

Rarity was enraged and fuming beyond her threshold. Out of a whole day of pointless traveling, disappointment, getting lost in the city, fearing for her life, her wallet and falling into water puddles, this was the top of it all. It was official: absolutely nothing had gone right today. Her anger continued to rise higher and higher to the point she appeared to everypony around her like she could literally explode. Light tears perspired from her eyes, not ones of sadness but of ravenous anger. She paid extra attention to her forearms as they fidgeted uncomfortably, her hooves scraping left and right on the edge of the bar as if she were trying to chip off paint.

What in the world did I do to her? she asked herself. I've never done anything to seriously hurt anypony, have I? Am I suddenly paying debts in the form of misery?

"This isn't fair..." she uttered silently, looking down between her hind legs as they hung off the elevated bar stool.

When I do something wrong, everypony hates me for it, but when somepony else does it, it's completely okay?

So that's how it has to be, then...

The manager was still busy in the corner. It appeared the situation was getting more and more out-of-hand, but Rarity could've cared less. Still, she knew if she stood her ground, she really would get kicked out. Either way, she had to leave. There really wasn't much else to do about it.

Except one thing.

Keeping an eye out for anypony coming through the manager's door, she leaned forward and picked up in her mouth the Sparkling Zapple. Watching the manager (who was still busy berating drunkards) Rarity backed up slowly towards the exit and turned around into a casual walk as she-

“Hey! You didn't pay!” One of the stool ponies pointed a hoof at her with rightful incrimination. Others around her looked on, as well. A dozen or so eyes bared down on her back. She could literally feel them judging her, like a wave of scarring heat bouncing off her shoulders and haunches.

She froze. A thousand pounds of guilt suddenly welled up in her stomach.

I'm stealing.

I'm STEALING.

Everypony in the bar was looking straight at her. They were waiting for her next move.

Put it back.

Put it back! This is completely wrong!

Put it back! NOW!

As Rarity looked back at the bar, her eyes unintentionally met in the far corner with Gilda's. The griffin's expression, she observed, wasn't specifically one of seething anger, nor was it one that promised a lifetime of bitter vengeance. It was helplessness.

Good enough for her, Rarity thought.

And she never looked back again as she raced out of the bar entrance, her hooves clacking on the stained carpet as she made her dramatic escape.

She had no idea if somepony was chasing her down or not and assumed that'd be the case as she made herself disappear into the crowd. But on she stampeded, with thin tears streaming out of her squinted eyes, running through crammed alleyways. She passed clumsily through outside restaurants, underneath dimly-lit streetlamps and almost crashed into a pony or two as she made a show out of her panicked running. The smoke never did dissipate, and clogged up her breathing passages as she heaved and coughed. After a few minutes, Rarity didn't feel like she was running from the bar owners anymore.

An infinitely deep hole, perhaps one that reached as far as Tartarus, formed inside Rarity's chest, tearing and sucking away anything close to it with a dark satisfaction. Running felt like the only way to satiate the ungodly horror that ravaged her body, to keep it from surfacing and truly hurting her.

Rarity ran into the main streets, home to the city's larger flow of traffic as her panicked rushing dialed down to slow, clumsy cantering. The cider still sat clamped down by her muzzle as she walked on. It felt like she was carrying her own guilt in a glass bottle.

Pure, unreserved tears poured down her muzzle as they threatened to become full-blown torrents. Her nostrils clogged up, forcing her to provide breathing gaps in her bottle-stuffed mouth. Ponies walking by looked upon her with sullen eyes, but none responded, as if this were (and probably was) a common sight in downtown Canterlot. Rarity didn't care enough to fight back. She had no drive or reason. Her composure completely deconstructed from the inside out. She was drunk and crying right in the middle of public and she didn't care.

The victimized look in Gilda's face wouldn't leave her mind.

"What have I done..." she lamented quietly, her voice low and scratchy.

She sat on a bench, staring mindlessly across the street. Details of high-class carriages, inner-city shops and shiny cobblestone sidewalks blurred in her vision. She recalled memories of herself walking up and down those streets with her cat Opal, acting just like she was a part of Canterlot's upper-class as she attended VIP parties and Wonderbolt shows by the virtue of others' generosity and interests. Rarity wasn't sure she could compare herself to that pony, anymore.

She sat there, allowing time to pass.

Who can I confess this to? She asked herself. Do I... no. I don't know. Who would listen to this and not become angry and disappointed with me? Even my own friends? How could I ever tell Sweetie Belle? Or my dear Spikey-wikey? If they understood the severity of what I did tonight, they'd never look at me the same ever again.

And I'm supposed to be the Element of Generosity...

The evening, be it wrapped in the veil of a starry night, was still young enough for Rarity to make one more decision. She raised her front legs off the bench, feeling tingly sensations in her muscles as she moved them for the first time in thirty minutes. Her back legs kicked her off onto the pavement, and as she shook out the stiffness, she continued down the streets by herself, just like one of the many strangers she formerly observed, and continued carrying the stolen bottle in her mouth.

As much as I wish to, Rarity thought, I don't think I'll be throwing this away just yet.

Minutes later, Rarity was boarding a late night train on its way back to Ponyville. She stepped out from Canterlot's station onto one of the carts, trailing behind a fairly small group when she found a lonely window seat inside. As the train started up again, she looked outside, eyeing the darkness that hid the details of passing buildings. No lights were on inside the cart, bathing it in a cool, monochromatic blue. Luna's stars graced the night above as the mountain peaks of Canterlot reflected their light.

Rarity stared up at them for the rest of the trip until she drifted off to sleep.

The bar manager stood outside in the suffocating chasms of Canterlot's alleyways, just a few feet in front of her dead-end bar. She stared up into the alley's limited view of the night sky, looking at the same stars Rarity gazed upon her train ride home, tapping a single claw on the un-homely pavement. Racked with pensive thoughts, the features of her feathered face scrunched and contorted, her eyes giving way to subtle twitching.

They came back... they weren't finished... and now they're watching...

From behind her, the double doors opened. Flicker emerged, standing with a drink-stained towel wrapped over his back and wearing the familiar reverse ball cap. He was no less perturbed than his opposing kind standing hunched in front of him, but for different reasons.

“Eya', Gilda,” he spoke in a thick street accent. “Uhh... everything's cleaned now, ya' see. Just finished puttin' the damaged drinks back in the store room. How ya feelin'?” he asked apprehensively, as if ready to expect more berating.

Long, awkward seconds passed.

“I... well, ey, look, umm... I know she shouldn't ah' done that an' all, but still... I heard that commotion as far back as the cellar, you know. An' am sure everybody else could hear it-”

“Go away and leave me alone.”

“Uh...” Flicker could've sworn he diminished in size. He heaved a nervous breath. “Gilda, I'm sorry, I just-”

The front half of the cruel buzzard's body shifted around, her eyes shooting straight into his. “GO!”

Flinching from her unnecessary hostility, Flicker defeatedly hung his head and turned around. He slowly walked back through the bar's double doors as he left the irrational griffon to herself. However, he remained behind the doors, keeping them open just enough to eavesdrop.

Gilda faced forward, addressing nopony. She looked back into the sky for a few more minutes.

“I know where you ponies live. Especially you, Pinkie Pie.”