“AJ! You… you wanna slow down there, cousin?”
Applejack paused slightly, glancing back at Braeburn. The colt gave a sheepish smile, sweat streaming under his hat and clinging to his vest. Braeburn twitched, shifting the weight of a heavy pack slung across his back.
“It’s just a bit farther, Brae. Hang in there for a few more minutes.”
Braeburn let out a low groan. “You said that last time we stopped!”
“And it’d be true if you’d stop stopping every few minutes!” Applejack turned, hefting her own pack and trudging over the grass. Braeburn grumbled to himself and followed.
The grass eventually gave way to smooth, reflective stone. The Crystal Empire was ablaze at this time of day, groups of ponies chatting amiably in the midday sun. A pair of foals, as reflective as everything else in the empire, ran past, tangling themselves in Braeburn’s hooves and nearly toppling him over.
Applejack stifled a laugh. However, it was not so stifled as to keep Braeburn from hearing it.
“Oh sure,” said the colt, trotting slightly to keep pace with Applejack, “laugh it up, cousin. It ain’t like I’m doing you a favor or anything right now. Last I checked, all this heavily lifting was your job.”
“And you’re a real gentlecolt for helping me, Braeburn. It’s just a bit further now.”
Braeburn grumbled under his breath, keeping pace with Applejack as they reached the foot of the central tower.
“You can leave your pack here,” said Applejack, dropping her burden unceremoniously, “the guards’ll be taking it the rest of the way.”
Braeburn carefully lowered his own pack. “Well, why didn’t they do that from the start?”
“Braeburn!” chided Applejack. “You should know better than that! It’s only right to offer a bit of help. Twi’s got the whole lot of us helping Cadance out, my friends and everypony who came in early.”
The colt gave her a look. “Then it ain’t just me?”
Applejack nodded. “It ain’t just you.”
“Well, that’s okay then.” Braeburn leaned against a side of the crystal tower. “Let nopony say that Braeburn skips out when everypony’s working.”
Applejack smiled at that. “Don’t you worry about it, cousin.”
Braeburn returned the smile. Then he took off his hat, wiping his forehead with a hoof before fanning at himself. “I just wish it weren’t so darn hot.”
“It ain’t all that bad.”
“Not to you, maybe, but I ain’t used to this kinda heat.”
“You live in a desert!”
Braeburn slammed his hat back on. “That’s a dry heat, it’s different. You can deal with a dry heat with a few bottles of water and a flask of cider. But this,” Braeburn gestured at his surrounding, “you can’t deal with this at all.”
Applejack shook her head. “Just go back to your team, Brae.”
“That’s not a bad idea. They’ll probably be nipping into my cider supply by now.” Braeburn tipped his hat. “I’ll see you around, cousin.”
Braeburn turned around, retracing his steps. The heat was even worse when he stepped out of the shadow of the crystal tower.
“Applejack!” called a voice from somewhere near the tower.
Braeburn turned, looking for the voice that called for his cousin. Three pegasi, two of them mares and one a colt, came to a smooth stop in front of Applejack. They all chatted amiably for a while, the colt perhaps a bit more than his companions, but it was a relatively short talk. Applejack eventually gestured towards the packs she and Braeburn had carried.
The mares worked together, balancing one of the packs in between them. The colt trotted over to the other pack, flipping it onto his back with relative ease. He looked up, making eye contact with Braeburn. The colt nodded a greeting.
Braeburn tipped his hat.
***
“C’mon Braeburn, go easy on me! My bit bag can’t take much more of this.”
“I didn’t think he could drink that much.”
The three colts sat in the corner of a rather busy tavern, a set of empty glasses ranging in front of Braeburn. One of the other ponies, a grey colt with a lighter mane by the name of Silver Star, sadly weighed his bit bag on a hoof. The other, easily the largest of the group and named Rail Road, forlornly counted the growing number of mugs around Braeburn.
Braeburn sipped at his drink. “I warned you two. You shouldn’t be taking my cider and thinking that you weren’t gonna pay for it.”
“We didn’t know it was yours!” protested Silver Star.
Braeburn gave him a questioning look. “Neither of you could read the ‘Braeburn’ that was printed on that icebox?”
“Rail Road never learned how to read.”
The bigger pony gasped in affront. “I did too! I’m the one who pointed out Braeburn’s icebox, remember?”
“Did you now?” asked Braeburn, lowering his now empty glass. Silver Star let out a chuckle.
“Uhhhhh.” Rail Road scratched at his mane uncertainly. “No?”
Braeburn pushed himself off of his seat. “Well then, I guess the next round’s on you, big guy.” He held out a hoof.
Rail Road threw Silver Star a dirty look, grumbling slightly as he placed his bit bag in Braeburn’s outstretched hoof. “This is your fault.”
“I know,” replied Silver Star with grin.
Braeburn chuckled, now six bits richer, and happily trotted to the bar. The bartender was facing away, adjusting some of the bottles on the rack, blue, non-crystalline wings poking out of the back of his vest.
“Pardon,” called Braeburn, taking a seat at the bar.
The bartender turned, a flash of recognition crossing his eyes as he saw his customer. “Evening. What can I get you?”
Braeburn reached into the procured bit bag, drawing out six gold coins. “Three ciders, please.”
The bartender nodded, taking the gold coins and filling three wooden mugs with cider. “Need some help taking them over to your table?”
“Ain’t a problem, I can get my friends over.” Braeburn turned around in his seat, lifting a hoof to wave his friend over. But Braeburn’s table was empty save for the mugs he had drained. Neither Rail Road nor Silver Star were anywhere to be seen.
“Those varmint,” muttered Braeburn, turning back to the bar, “running away like a bunch of cowards.”
The bartender slid four bits back across the counter. “Want me to take back two of those drinks?”
Braeburn waved a hoof dismissively. “Nah, I’ll keep them.” The four bits went right back across the bar. “The cowards are paying for it anyway.”
“If you say so,” said the bartender with a shrug. A pony at the other end of the bar waved him over.
Braeburn sighed slightly, stretching in his seat. He hefted Rail Road’s bit bag, weighing it in his hoof. There were a few coins left. Not much, but certainly enough for a few more drinks, current buzzing in his head be damned. Braeburn took up the first mug.
“They took my cider and ran,” muttered Braeburn, “and I’m gonna get my money’s worth.”
***
Braeburn waved a hoof dismissively. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine, I’m just gonna finish, gonna finish these drinks.” He reached for a mug of cider, but only managed to punch the bar.
The bartender arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’ll last that long, buddy.”
Braeburn was still grasping for his mug’s elusive handle. “It’s not ‘buddy’, it’s Braeburn. And I’ve drinked… drank… drunked…” He paused for a moment, then: “I’ve had more than this.”
“That’s impressive, but I’m still gonna have to cut you off, Braeburn.”
Braeburn looked up from the bar, staring at the pegasus in confusion. “How’d you know my name?”
“You just told it to me.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
Braeburn thought for a bit. “But I don’t know your name. Why would I tell you my name if I don’t know yours?”
The bartender sighed. “I’m Soarin.”
Braeburn stuck out his hoof with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Soarin. I’m Braeburn.”
Soarin laughed at that despite himself. He took the proffered hoof, using his free hoof to discreetly move aside the remaining cider.
The earth pony pulled on Soarin’s hoof suddenly, drawing him closer. “I’ve seen you before, I think,” said Braeburn, inspecting the other colt with a critical eye.
Soarin smiled uneasily, shying away from Braeburn slightly. “In the morning, I think. My team and I were helping out with the preparations.”
“You helped cousin Applejack!” said Braeburn excitedly, shaking Soarin’s hoof again. “Thank you for that, I really appreciate anypony who helps out my family.”
Soarin gave a mighty pull, finally managing to extract himself from Braeburn’s grip. “No problem. Everypony was helping out anyway.”
Braeburn grinned, swaying precariously on his seat. “That’s good, that’s a good attitude, Soarin. I’d say you were from Appleloosa if it weren’t for them wings.”
“Cloudsdale born and raised,” said Soarin with a smile.
“That’s a shame, ain’t no place better than Appleloosa.” Braeburn’s hoof played along the bar, looking for his drinks. He scowled when it came back empty. “Coulda swore that I had a bit more.”
Soarin’s eyes flashed down the bar slightly, to where the drinks sat just outside of Braeburn’s vision. Luckily, the earth pony didn’t catch the movement.
Braeburn climbed shakily to his hooves. “Well, I’m gonna go back to the hotel. Nice meetin’ ya.” Braeburn tried to tip his hat, but only managed to knock it off his head.
“You think you’ll be okay?” asked Soarin, watching as Braeburn put his hat on backwards.
“Yuh-huh.” Braeburn nodded. “It’s not too far from… from…” He swayed slightly where he stood. “Where are we?”
Soarin threw a glance around the bar. The last customers had long since trickled out. The two colts were the only ponies left in the building. “My hotel’s not too far from here. I can put you up for the night.”
Braeburn shook his head. “I’m fine, I can get back. And I ain’t gonna impose on somepony like that.”
“You don’t even know where your hotel is.”
“It’s somewhere out there,” said Braeburn.
“Listen Braeburn, it’s either letting you leave like you are and knowing that you’ll be arrested for public intoxication or that you’ll be probably be spending the night on the streets, or you can come with me and I won’t have to worry.” Soarin paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What do you say?”
“Your muzzle scrunches up when you’re annoyed.” Braeburn smiled. Then his legs gave out.
***
“Come on, just a few more steps.”
Braeburn groaned, his hooves next to useless as he tried to propel himself forward. Indeed, he wasn’t walking so much as being carried by the pegasus next to him.
“My room’s right there, Braeburn.” Soarin tilted his head, pointing with his chin for lack of access to his hooves. “Just a bit more.”
“No more stairs,” said Braeburn with another groan.
“No more stairs,” Soarin affirmed. “But just a bit more, Braeburn.”
Together, the colts managed to make it to Soarin’s room. However, opening the door required the use of hooves and neither Soarin nor Braeburn were currently in a position to use theirs.
“Alright,” said Soarin, “I need you to stand on your own for a bit. Can you do that?”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Soarin pushed against Braeburn, trying to dislodge the earth pony for long enough to get the door open.
The door next to Soarin’s room opened and a yellow pegasus with an orange mane poked her head into the hall. “Soarin, you alright out — Who’s this guy?”
“Spitfire!” said Soarin in relief. “Oh, thank Luna. Look, I need you to reach into my saddle bag and get out my room key.”
“Uh-huh.” Spitfire paused, taking in the scene before her. “Soarin, you’re not about to do anything to that drunk colt, are you?”
“I’m just trying to get him into bed!”
A beat of silence.
“That came out wrong.”
“Yeah.” Spitfire began to withdraw into her room. “I’m just gonna wait in here until this all blows o—”
Spitfire, come on!” said Soarin, perhaps a bit more loudly than intended.
Braeburn let out another groan, beginning to turn a sickly shade of green.
“Alright, alright,” said Spitfire, trotting out of her room. “Left or right?”
“Left.”
Spitfire reached into the left saddle bag, rummaging around until she found the small, bronze key. She got the door open and followed the colts as they trudged into the room. Soarin led Braeburn to the bed and helped him onto it. Braeburn let out another groan, this one a bit more peaceful, and the green in his face lessened slightly, though he wasn’t quite back to normal.
“Want me to ask the front desk for a bucket?” asked Spitfire.
“I think he’ll be fine,” said Soarin, stretching his neck slightly. “An extra blanket would be nice, though. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa tonight.”
“You could just crawl into bed with him.”
Soarin gave her a look.
“Just a suggestion.” Spitfire smiled, leaving the key to Soarin’s room on a nearby desk. “Do you know him?”
“Just met him tonight. Apparently, he’s Applejack’s cousin.”
“No kidding. He was at the bar?”
“Yeah.” Soarin sighed, trotting over and sitting on the sofa he’d be using that night. “I knew that helping Gem out would be a lot of trouble.”
“Hey, bringing him back here was your choice.” Spitfire eyed the colt on the bed. “And he’s kinda cute. That’s something to brag about.”
Soarin shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “He’s also a lot heavier than he looks.”
Spitfire laughed and began walking out of the room. “I’ll be back with that blanket.”
“Thanks, Spits.”
Spitfire paused at the door, turning back to look at Soarin, a devious smile on her face. “Oh, and you just said that you think he’s cute.”
“I never said that!” Soarin reddened slightly. “I just said that he’s—”
But the door had long since been shut.
***
Braeburn was rather used to hangovers. As much as he loved Appleloosa, it was still a town in the middle of the desert. The literal center of the town was its tavern and Braeburn was a frequent visitor and current darts champion, as illogical as it was to mix sharp things with alcohol.
However, Braeburn was not particularly used to waking up in strange rooms. He knew Appleloosa as well as he new his hat and he could stumble through the town half-blind and still make it home within an hour of leaving. Considering this, it is entirely rational that Braeburn awoke in a state of something very closely resembling panic.
A headaching, hungover panic.
Alright, thought Braeburn. I drank a lot last night. Now… Now I don’t know where I am. You did really well this time, Braeburn.
The colt mustered his strength and kicked off his blankets. The effort made his head throbbed, forcing him to stay in the bed for a time. I’ll just get out of here and make my way back to my hotel. It’ll be quick. No need to figure out how I got here, anyway.
Braeburn nodded to himself and, gathering his strength again, swung to his hooves.
“OW!” came a cry from under Braeburn.
“AH!” cried Braeburn, feeling something rather soft and very much alive tangled up in his hooves. He fell, crashing heavily onto the body of another colt.
Soarin struggled, trying to get to his hooves against the combined forces of Braeburn and his own quickly tangling blanket. He succeeded eventually, rolling away from the other colt and wrapping himself in his blanket in the process. Braeburn stayed on the floor, staring at the pegasus.
“Well,” said Soarin, “I guess you’re awake.”
“You’re… You’re that bartender. The pony that helped out cousin Applejack this morning.”
“Last morning, actually.” Soarin unrolled his blanket, throwing it aside. “Feeling any better?”
Braeburn looked away, scratching at his mane. “Depends. How bad was I last night?”
“Pretty bad,” said Soarin with a slight laugh. “You can’t remember it?”
Braeburn shook his head slowly, wincing even at that small gesture. “Guess I drank a bit too much.”
“It happens.”
An slightly uncomfortable silence fell into the room, both colts avoiding eye contact. Braeburn continued to scratch at his mane; however, his hoof stopped when he noticed that something was missing.
“Where’s my hat?” asked Braeburn. “I didn’t leave it at the bar or nothing like that, did I?”
“It’s over on the desk.” Soarin made a slight gesture to a small nightstand by the bed. Braeburn’s hat stood there, untouched, if a bit dirty from the previous night.
Braeburn got up and walked shakily around the bed, taking his hat and placing it back onto his head. Soarin watched him do so.
“Thank you,” said Braeburn. “For the hat. And I’m assuming that you brought me here last night ‘cause I was too drunk to walk straight.”
“A bit.”
Braeburn laughed. “Well, thanks for that. You probably saved my hide and kept me from doing something stupid.” A pause. “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”
Soarin shook his head. “No you did not.”
“Great.” Braeburn tugged at the brim of his hat. “Great.” Another pause. “Well, I’ll get out of your mane, then. Sorry for imposing on you for the night. I really appreciate it.” He made towards the door.
“Hey, Braeburn,” called Soarin. Braeburn turned.
“It’s pretty early,” the pegasus began hesitantly, “and, I mean, this hotel’s a bit out of the way, so you might just get lost if you try to get back from here.” Soarin rubbed at the back of his neck. “It might be easier if I get breakfast and I show you back to the bar after that.”
Braeburn considered it for a moment. “I’d hate to impose. And I could probably get back if you just told me what streets to take from here.”
Soarin laughed uneasily, a tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks. “Last time I tried to give directions like that, a friend of mine started in Cloudsdale and ended up in Las Pegasus.”
“Probably not the best course of action, then.”
“Nope.”
Silence pervaded the room again. It lasted only a few beats, though, until Braeburn’s stomach growled.
“What was that about breakfast?” asked the earth pony.
“This hotel has a pretty good restaurant. Complimentary to any guests staying here.”
“I ain’t exactly staying here.”
Soarin grinned. “Yeah, but they don’t know that.”
“Alright,” said Braeburn with a laugh. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Mister… uh…”
Soarin extended a hoof. “Soarin. Nice to meet you.”
Braeburn smiled and took the hoof. “Nice to meet you too, Soarin.”
Author's Note
This blame this story mainly on Auramane. I went into the OctaScratch skype chat and asked for a pairing that I'd be able to found coverart for that wasn't OctaScratch. Auramane was the first to respond and I set to typing out this Burnin fic. I rather like how it turned out and it certainly got a bit of the rust from my brief hiatus off of me.
If you've read my other stories, then you probably know how this part of the A/N goes. Please remember that all comments are read, appreciated, printed out, dipped in glue, and used to build a shield and sword to be used against any fallout that comes with writing an M/M fic. But not in that order.
