Berry Punch Celebrates St. Patrick's Day
Admiral Biscuit
Gerard Parkes rubbed his eyes as a mulberry head popped up above the bar. It was followed by a very inhuman body, which his tired brain identified as a pony. It was not the kind of thing he’d ever expected to see in his bar.
He'd chosen the location of his bar very well. It was far enough away from the university that the rent was reasonably cheap, and he had a good crowd of year-round regulars, rather than the feast-or-famine cycle that doomed campus bars. Most of the year, there wasn't much of a college crowd at all, which suited him just fine. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a bar full of horny, entitled college students.
But there were some special nights where he did get the college crowd; tonight was one of them. His bar was called "The Irish Pub," and that was good enough for college students. As it happened, he was Irish, but they didn't care about that.
Gerard frowned at the mulberry pony. He liked dogs just fine, although the health code prohibited them unless they were service animals. He was less certain what the requirements were when it came to equines; nobody had ever tried to bring one into the bar before.
The pony was flanked by two of his regular customers, so they hadn't brought it. Likely, it belonged to one of the crush crowd of college students who were celebrating St. Patrick's Day by getting drunk. It didn't have a leash, or a bridle, or anything else that implied ownership . . . but that kind of irresponsibility was par for the course from college students, as far as he was concerned.
"Shoo," he told the pony, flicking his rag at it.
"Is that any way to treat a paying customer?"
Gerard dropped the rag and stumbled back, rattling the liquor bottles on the back wall of the bar. He could do nothing but stare as the pony reached down and somehow produced a gold coin. It dropped it onto the counter with an authoritative thud.
He stepped forward on shaking legs and picked up the coin. It was about the size of a quarter, although much thicker, with a raised edge. It felt heavy in his hand, heavy enough that it might actually be gold. One side had a profile of a pony; the reverse was a castle tower with a sun rising behind it.
"I think . . ." he began, setting the coin back on the counter. He honestly wasn't sure what to think.
"Pony wants a drink," the regular on the right said. "Pony's got money. You oughta give the pony what she wants."
"Yeah." Gerard licked his lips.
"Better ask it for some ID," the regular on the left muttered. "Might be an undercover cop."
"Oh, for Celestia's sake. I'm Berry Punch. Look." She pointed down to a cluster of grapes on her flank. "See?"
"And I'm Richard Petty." The man her right slid up his sleeve and pointed to the number 43.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen," she said.
"That's—"
"Pony years are like dog years," 'Richard Petty’ said. "That makes her, like, a hundred. She's plenty old enough to drink."
"Hey, stop me if you've heard this one before." The man on her left looked over at her. "A horse walks into the bar, and the bartender says 'why the long face?'"
"Probably because she couldn't get a beer." Berry put her hoof over her coin. "I came here because I heard you humans know how to drink. Clearly, I heard wrong."
Gerard licked his lips again. While he had no way of knowing if that coin was actually gold, or just gold-clad lead or something, he might be passing on a fortune. And, if it turned out to be fake later on, he'd have a nice souvenir. With as crowded as the bar was, he wasn't going to go out of business if it ultimately turned out the pony was drinking for free.
"Just hold on a moment." He grabbed her leg right above her hoof. Any lingering thoughts that this was some kind of elaborate costume vanished as he felt the strange bone and muscle structure under his hand. "I didn't say no, not yet. I'm still thinking about it. Never had a horse come into the bar before and ask for a drink."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Alright. What'll you have?"
"Guinness," she said. "A pitcher of Guinness." She lifted her hoof off the coin, and Gerard slid it across the bar and into his apron.
"Coming right up." He kept his eyes on her as he began to pour. "Do you need a straw?"
She rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not a filly anymore."
"I just thought, with hooves, you know. . . ." He plopped the pitcher down in front of her and watched with undisguised fascination as she grabbed it between her hooves, brought it to her lips, and drained the pitcher in under twenty seconds.
"Another, please."
✥ ✥ ✥
Berry set down the empty pitcher and pushed herself off the bar. She carefully slid off the stool—it was too tall for a pony, but she was blessed with an earth pony’s grace. The place was more crowded than it had been when she came in, and she looked over the crowd with vague interest.
Lyra would like it here, she thought. What with her weird obsession with minotaurs. These things look pretty much the same, so she’d probably love them.
She made it two steps before a girl in a tight dress that barely contained her crouched down in Berry’s path. “Aren’t you cute?”
“Thanks!” Berry grinned. “You look pretty, too.”
“How come you aren’t wearing green?”
Berry shrugged. She had noticed that the humans really liked green clothing and accessories, but had just assumed that it was their style.
“You can have my hat.” She reached up and took a green felt top-hat off her head and plunked it down on Berry’s head. “You look so adorable.” The girl bent over and kissed her on the nose, then stood up, gave a little wave with her hand, and headed over to a bunch of other girls.
Berry reached up and tilted the hat just a little, so the brim wasn’t resting on her ear, and continued on her way, wandering towards the dance floor, since she felt like dancing. The music was nice, although so many people were talking, it was hard to hear.
She danced by herself for a short while, before a guy leaned over and lightly gripped her forelegs. Berry obligingly stood on her hind legs, draping one hoof over his shoulder and moving into him. He stood there dumbly for a moment, until she pushed her belly into him and forced him to begin moving.
He wasn’t very coordinated, but that was all right by her. It was nice to just have a dance partner for a little while.
For the next few songs, she was traded off between members of his herd. They were mostly male, which struck her as weird, although she’d read about bachelor herds before. According to the Max Brand novels in the library, they were common out West, and sometimes called posses.
The last one was the best of the lot, and when the song ended, she leaned in and kissed him. Then she headed for the little filly’s room, stopping on the way back out to check her reflection in the mirror. The top hat didn’t go with her coat all that well, but it was a gift, and she wasn’t churlish enough to reject it.
On her way back to the bar, she was stopped by an old man holding a folded-up newspaper.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice barely audible above the hubbub. Like everyone else in the bar, his breath reeked of alcohol.
“Yes?” Berry looked up at him politely.
“Could you give me a hint for the Kentucky Derby? It’s a horse race.”
Berry’s ears dropped back slightly. She didn’t pay much attention to the races; that was mostly a stallion’s sport. “Who’s racing?” she asked.
He held the newspaper in front of her muzzle. She squinted at the tiny printing. No pony would write that small, especially if it were meant to be read in such a dimly-lit place. “That one,” she finally said, pointing a hoof at the newspaper. “Full Mast.” She’d never heard of him—or any of the other stallions, for that matter—but with a name like that, he probably got good at running at a very young age. Some parents were downright cruel.
He nodded his head politely, and leaned back against the wall. Berry made her way back to the bar and climbed back up on one of the stools, plunking another bit down on the bar.
Overall, it had been worth sneaking into Twilight's weird new castle, making a few adjustments on her portal thingy, and taking a chance with a new world. The Ponyville tavern would have already closed and left her high and dry; in this bar, the party was just getting into full swing.
Even better, the beer was surprisingly cheap. She'd gotten ten pitchers so far, and they’d only cost her two bits.
Author's Note
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