Nakazaniye

There was a small nightclub set up in a former warehouse somewhere on Raduzhskaya Ulitsa. The street itself led right up to the Gare Du Nord, and the club itself was located only a few hundred feet away from there. It hadn't been too hard to find; even before I left town all those years ago, the Red Horse had already been established here. As far as I could remember, this dumping ground for public nuisances and angsty teenagers had always existed in a part of town that only consisted of dozens of empty and deserted factories.

I also remembered ending up here a few times throughout my high school years, dragged along by some other outsider fillies whom I knew from my classes. For some reason, I recalled the way to get here more clearly than I did with the route to what had been my family home. Back in the day, I only irregularly spent a few Friday nights in this place for various reasons, and I'd gone to its backyard once or twice for strictly explicit reasons. Still, I remembered the location pretty well, and the gigantic red neon ad above its entrance caught my eye from several blocks away.

Even though I arrived at three in the afternoon, the place had already opened up. It wasn't exactly bursting with customers, strictly speaking. But I did spot a small number of ponies upon my entrance, none of whom seemed very familiar at first. They were hanging around here and there, most of them lurking around in the back, playing billiards or something. A long counter occupied most of the main room's left wall, with a wide variety of liquor bottles and whatnot stashed on the shelf behind it. Directly opposite from it, there was a small stage with a lot of empty space right in front of it. That would be the place for any potential live acts to perform, obviously.

It really was a location designed for partying, mind you. But no loud, distracting music was played here until seven or eight. Hence the current lack of paying customers. Right now, the club was more of a bar, and not a very successful one at that. I couldn't tell whether the place always worked like this, but I had my suspicions.

The Red Horse was run by a bunch of crazy left-wingers, who had this kind of open-for-everyone-at-all-times attitude. Which is also where the name derived from, I guess. These ponies weren't so much into money, but that only increased their levels of acceptance towards me, since I rarely ever had any. That much I did remember, even from earlier. Everyone poor and desolate was always welcome in here, and they barely served anyone else. Except of course, weirdo teens like I had been, not so long ago. I wasn't so sure about anypony else, but whoever considered themselves above middle class tended to just avoid the place altogether. I once heard about the Reds guillotining rich ponies, whenever they got their hooves on one. That didn't seem very likely, of course.

I mean, it could be true. I just didn't believe it. And how much truth could there possible be to a rumor spread by some random kid in grade school? Because that's where I first heard about it. But the thought was kinda hilarious at the time. That, and a bit creepy. But mostly hilarious.

I didn't really have to think about what to do next. After a quick stop at the bathroom, I sat down at the bar. I needed something to help me forget everything that already happened today, and make sure nothing even worse would follow. Nothing I'd be able to remember, anyway.

Judging from my current exterior, the bartender probably needed a drink as well after looking at me. I could tell because I made the mistake of risking a peek inside the mirror while freshening up. And the undead apparition staring back at me seemed creepy enough, even if it hadn't been for the pair of reddened, bloodshot eyes. Maybe, I really was turning into a zombie or something. I didn't even mind it that much, I think.

In any case, that didn't matter so much to me, right now. Not after I sat down for a drink, biding my painful memories goodbye. Now, all I needed to do was pick my favored method of execution. Like I could have guessed from all the whiskey and rum bottles behind the counter, they served a broad variety of stuff in here. I really didn't know what to try first, but I think I eventually went with a Piña Colada. Why, I can't tell. Intuition, probably. The name had a nice ring to it, too.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be the drink's only aspect for me to enjoy. I shouldn't have judged the book by its cover, apparently. Especially in this city, a pony needed to act carefully and filled with mistrust when faced with a foreign term. Which probably sounded a bit racist, but I really wouldn't consider myself a xenophobe. Then again, I never really paid attention in any of my foreign language classes, either. Well, I never paid a whole lot of attention to most of my classes, to be honest. If I had, I'd probably know more about some things in life than I did, now. This way, I could only separate between what I knew and what I didn't know.

For example: I knew that I reacted allergic to pineapples.

I did not know that Piña Colada was pineapple-flavored. I really should have, though.

What happened next should be fairly obvious. I ordered and paid for the drink that I requested. It wasn't very expensive; that would be one of the advantages some of these leftist places have. The disadvantage tied to it was that the entire building looked like a dump that was about to fall apart at any minute. Which it probably really was. But price or not, I immediately noticed the mistake I made after one single sip of the cocktail.

I do recognize the taste of pineapples, even though I hadn't had any for years. The only time I ever tried them almost got me killed. It really did, literally. I remember something along the lines of not being able to breathe, passing out from that, and spending a week or two in the hospital afterwards. That isn't something lightly forgotten about. And if I ever did, there always remained this not very appealing scar on my neck. Enough of my coat grew back to cover it up, eventually. But that didn't erase what had happened from existence.

Whatever. I did face a certain dilemma, right now. And it was mostly about the taste, along with the liquid carrying it. Both of them already made their way into my mouth. A place where they really, really didn't belong. I couldn't swallow the drink, unless I wanted to repeat the unpleasant procedure described earlier. Which I didn't. Of course not. I mean, I couldn't even afford a hospital.

I also didn't want to spit it all out onto the floor or something. That would probably be a bit disrespectful. I did order the stuff, after all. Carefully, I leaned forward, and pushed the upper end of my drink's straw through my closed lips. Then, I carefully had the lukewarm pineapple juice flow back flow back to where it came from. All the time, my eyes darted around nervously, and I could only beg that nopony would realize the incredible stupidity that I'd just managed to pull off.

Apparently, none of those around did. By the time the last trace of pineapple had left my mouth, I brought myself to a sigh of relief. Only to slam a hoof into my face right after, when I realized I just wasted three bits on something that I couldn't even use for anything. And now, mixed with some disgusting traces of body scent and saliva, I was pretty sure I didn't want it anymore. I would have given it to somepony else, but I didn't think anyone around this place actually deserved that.

Of course, fate had it that I was proven wrong again in that very moment.

Said proof trotted up to me right then, pretty much out of nowhere. It did so in the shape of a cyan blue mare who approached me from the other end of the counter, grinning like an idiot as she did. That thing called a facial expression was probably supposed to be a smile, but I wouldn't have noticed without any second thoughts. While I told myself I shouldn't actually be surprised to find her around here of all ponies, I fought back the tendency to run away screaming with every new step this mare took towards me. That was pretty dumb of me; I should have just taken the opportunity and run.

I couldn't even remember that pony's name, and I hadn't heard it in ages, too. Back in school, everyone just called her Sonya, I think. Pretty sure her actual name did have something to do with that. Maybe I never even learned about her actual name, I don't know. I never really bothered to find out. Nopony did. Of course, no-one ever felt very compelled to find out anything about her in general.

We had our reasons to avoid her, too. Sonya had never been the brightest candle on the cake. But what she lacked in intelligence she sure did make up for in being obnoxious like hell. She never had any friends, but then again, neither did I. Not for long, anyway.

"Hey there, Berry!" I heard her say in a sing-sang voice that made me cringe by itself. Also, had she really just called me by my first name? I could already feel the convulsions run through my forelegs.

"'sup?" I replied with a nod, not even subtly trying to hide my lack of enthusiasm. Leaning forward, I wanted to take another sip from my drink to show I wasn't up for small talk, now. Luckily, I managed to notice the obvious mistake, and pulled back in time. Of all ponies, Sonya was among the least I wanted to give me CPR or whatever intimate bullshit would be appropriate in emergencies like these. Even after several years she hadn't yet lost that trademark stink coming from her muzzle; I could tell from a mile away.

If that wasn't enough already, she had to sit down next to me. Of course she did.

"When did you come back? I haven't seen you in, like, forever!" She put on a corny grin, hooves gently placed in front of her on the counter. Her eyes wandered downward, and widened all of a sudden. "Oh, you've got your cutie mark! That's...fantastic, I still haven't gotten mine, you know."

Well, of course not. She probably hung out here all day long, so how would anyone ever find out about any sort of talent they had?

"How did you get that, I wonder? I mean, what have you been up to anyway?"

How indeed? "Can't really remember," I replied with a snort. Sonya's pretentious smile vanished in an instant.

"Really? That's terrible!" She loved sounding overly dramatic. I didn't even mention that, yet. "But...but you have to remember what defines you! I think I couldn't stand not remembering that!"

I sighed, my gaze wandering down towards the counter in quiet resignation. I must have done something really horrible to deserve this.

"I don't know because I forgot," I said. Better to tell her the truth. It wasn't that much of an exciting story, anyway. "Went out drinking one night, like...like always. When I woke up the next morning, it was just there. And yes, of course I hate forgetting about it. But alcohol is one hell of a drug, I tell you. It takes your soul and body apart with all the possible strength and brutality there is, till there's nothing left of you. Intellectuals call that sort of thing killing you slowly. And there's literally no upside to any of it."

I reached forward and pushed the pineapple drink over to her. "Want some?"

"Huh? Oh, oh yes, of course!" she squeaked, after a short moment of hesitation. "Thank you so much! Nopony ever is that nice to me."

I winced, mildly gesturing with one hoof, while Sonya sucked through the straw like it was her mommy's teat or something. Before I even noticed, the Piña Colada was half-empty. As much as I tried to avoid her, this awkward silence that was only interrupted by her occasional sounds of slurping felt even worse. I figured it was me who needed to keep the conversation going, then. Even though it probably was a horrible idea.

"So, you're kinda holding up over here?"

"Oh, I'm doing good," she blurted out between slurps. "Pretty good, I think...uh...yeah. I mean, if you ever wanna hang out, I'm usually here all week, so..."

I waited for her to continue, but she left the sentence unfinished and went back to her drink...my drink, instead. Or to be more precise, her drink with my drool in it. I almost snorted at the thought. That wouldn't have been so good, I think. At least, I wouldn't have wanted to explain what was so funny, all of a sudden.

In any case, she hung out here all the time. I should have guessed so. What else was there in it for her, anyway? A loser like Sonya probably just needed this kind of pseudo-social hub to feel better about herself or something. I'm one to talk. She probably lived here, or whatever.

"But enough of me, how about you?" With some surprise, I noticed the Piña Colada to be emptied out completely, as she said so. "You have to tell me everything, and I really mean everything! Maybe we can even figure out what that mark of yours means. Just like old times, right?"

"Yes, of course," I hesitantly said with a weak giggle. "Just let me take care of one little thing, first. Waiter!"

Just as I yelled the last word across the room, a teenage colt from a few feet away quickly approached me. I never saw him before, but there really wasn't much to see apart from a freckled face, a disheveled mane, and the weird uniform he was wearing. A turquois shirt with a brightly yellow sort of scarf...thing. Really?

"You called?" he asked with a sort of childish enthusiasm.

I nodded off his request. "Yes, I did. And I'd like a bottle of Neighgermeister, if you don't mind."

His eyes widened in confusion. "P-pardon?"

"One whole bottle," I repeated, more slowly this time. "Twenty-four ounces, isn't it?"

The colt arched an eyebrow. "And you don't need anything to mix it with?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head. "If I'm gonna go braindead tonight, I'd at least prefer to take care of that myself."

The colt blinked a few times in confusion, then went fishing the bottle from the shelf behind him. He turned back around, and placed it down in front of me. I thanked him and immediately started unscrewing the top.

To be completely honest, I had no idea what I was doing, right then. It felt like the right thing, as well as an easy escape route, so I just went for it. To my frustration, Sonya never moved an inch, but instead kept watching me with a sense of silent fascination in her eyes. After what I just said, I'd hoped for her to just leave me in peace, I really did. And anypony but her would have gotten the hint.

Then again, Sonya never really got the hint.

I pulled the bottle up to my muzzle, clenching its neck between my teeth. With one last look around, I threw my head back and wished it all to hell.