Chapter One: An Ordinary Day in The Life of Carnegie Porter
Carnegie Porter was not necessarily a peculiar stallion.
Especially not at first glance.
Some even thought he looked somewhat normal. Plain, even. Like he had absolutely nothing special about him whatsoever. Besides the occasional remark calling him handsome, Carnegie generally did not receive comments on his appearance.
He had an ochre coat, and a dark mane and tail. His fetlocks were trimmed back, revealing his darker hooves; as was fashionable with the stallions of Equestria. Over his dark green eyes were a pair of very bushy black eyebrows, one of the more distinguishable features of Carnegie. And finally, upon his flanks was a cutie mark depicting a foamy mug of some brownish liquid.
Many assume this mark is that of cider. Of course, Carnegie Porter knew how to make cider. He knew how to make several hundred different brews. Because, you see, his mark did not tell him that he was the best cider-maker in the world. It did not tell him that he was destined to rule a kingdom or lead a revolution of sorts.
His mark told him that he was an alcoholic.
And Carnegie Porter was already infamous for being so. He had been the prized hoof-fighter of Canterlot for several years in a row, before he abandoned his fighting prowess to pursue his obvious talents in brewing. Throughout his fights, he was well-known for being absolutely wasted.
“Oi! Berry! Gimme anovver pint o’ mead, will ya?!” Carnegie bellowed across the bar in his thick accent.
The Punch Bowl Bar & Hangout was packed; it was the only place that sold alcohol in Ponyville. Unfortunately for Carnegie, the place was also run by Berry Punch. His ex-marefriend.
After his shouts cut through the noisy crowd, Berry perked her ears and threw a dirty look at Carnegie before nodding and shuffling over the kegs in the back. She was still a bit sour towards him, but he was one of her most prevalent customers and under no circumstances would she ever think of letting the idiot go spend his money elsewhere.
Also not to mention the fact that while she owned the only bar in Ponyville, he was the only brewer in the small town as well. So it was best to keep the filthy drunken bastard happy.
Meanwhile, Carnegie Porter was admiring Berry’s rump. It was round and had that light purple hue that made it seem to glow in the dim lighting. Her mark, a bushel of grapes, rolled around her flanks as she dug out a clean mug. Sometimes he would forget that they were no longer dating. Mostly because he was drunk, partially because deep inside he was saddened by the thought that he had lost her. Her and her amazing plot-
Carnegie shook any lingering thoughts about shagging from his head. I’m not with Berry anymore, he recalled, I’m dating… no, engaged to Roseluck.
He had proposed to Roseluck sometime in the spring. They had been courting for about a year, and Porter had decided to finally tie the knot. That meant business to Carnegie. No more late-night parties, no more getting blasted drunk. No more adventures in time with Time Turner or hoof-fights with random ponies in the streets. But it didn’t matter to this stallion, no. He was perfectly content with living the rest of his days with the one mare he loved more then anything in the world.
Well… besides beer, of course.
Berry bumped a tankard of alcohol before him, some of it sloshing into his coat. Carnegie mumbled a quiet thanks and began to nurture his drink when a presence beside him once again made him aware of his surroundings.
“Hello, Porter. It’s been awhile.” A hushed voice whispered into his ear.
Whirling around, Carnegie felt his eyes lit up in anger.
“Ya got a Hoppin’ Pot of bloody nerve ta sha up ‘ere!” He sneered. Then he took a deep swig of mead and glared at the perpetrator. The last time he had seen this pony was about five years ago in the streets of Canterlot. Shortly after, he had been dragged into one of the most ridiculous misadventures of his life.
“Darin’ Do. Bloody Tartarus, ya look like ya’ve had it rough.”
It was true. Daring Do, the amazing pegasus that she was, had a nosebleed and a black eye. She hid her tattered face from Berry while ordering her drink, a small martini. Carnegie Porter raised an eyebrow but didn’t elaborate. He was sure she knew how bad her injuries looked. Especially since several other bar patrons were giving her queer looks.
“Yeah, I know, dunderhead. Don’t look now but we’re being watched.”
“Wha’?” He struggled with the instinct to look behind him towards the door. Just as he heard it jingle as it opened, he realized he didn’t really want to look. Carnegie heard heavy hoofsteps and felt a growing sense of dread as he heard a rumbling greeting coming from the two, who Carnegie immediately partook to be a pair of very big and very mean stallions.
“Hey!” Berry Punch chirped, “Welcome to the Punch Bowl!”
“Afternoon.”
“Afternoon.”
The two thick accents, even thicker than Carnegie’s slur, synchronized perfectly. They sounded Northern. Very, very Northern. Carnegie hazarded a guess and assumed they were from Manehattan.
“Okay,” Daring whispered, “you can sneak a peek. Be quick about it.”
Carnegie tilted his head to the side and peered around his eyebrow with a cautious eye towards two virtually identical stallions. Both wore grey pinstripe suits with matching fedoras and dark sunglasses. Both were as huge as Carnegie had expected, bulging with muscles and towering over the other patrons.
Quickly, he sat bolt upright and stared ahead with wide, fearful eyes. He took a deep gulp of his drink and shot a look at Daring Do. The pegasus grinned sheepishly and Porter found himself hating life for a moment.
“Wot tha’ bloody ‘ell, Darin’. Why do ya always ‘avta drag me inta this sorta crap?” Carnegie hissed. Instead of answering, she chuckled. Then she gave him the smile.
The smile.
The smile that said ‘get ready for a fight.’
Carnegie knocked a hoof on the bar counter and coughed loudly.
“Gimme a gin, Berry.”
Seconds later a large glass bottle slid over to his waiting hoof. He popped off the cork with his teeth and started to chug. After polishing off the drink, Carnegie smashed the bottle’s bottom onto the counter. He whirled around in his chair and brandished his new weapon.
“Alrigh’ fancy prancy unicorns. Ya better piss off before I get real mad.” Carnegie snarled in a menacing tone.
The two suited stallions were not fazed in the least. On the contrary, they started to approach him. He leapt off the stool he had been sitting on and stood his ground.
“Get ready ta run,” he whispered to Daring Do.
She nodded and slunk her way behind the counter; she went completely unnoticed by Berry Punch, who was looking at the dangerous scene unfolding before her. The various patrons of the bar all moved to the side in unison. Fights were a regular occurrence at the Punch Bowl, and the nightly crowds knew how to react to them.
Many of them jeered at Carnegie, many of whom he had beaten in fights before. But most of the patrons egged him on. He adoringly called them his ‘fans’.
He jabbed the makeshift shiv menacingly. Deep inside, Carnegie hoped this would somehow dissuade them for attacking him. Deeper inside, however, Carnegie hoped he’d get to use his little glass weapon.
The stallions kept on their advance. Carnegie smirked and leapt forward with a war cry. The stallions paused as the crazy drunk pounced, but they quickly leapt up to counter his attack.
Meanwhile, Daring Do had grabbed the nozzles for the taps and began to spray down the floor. Berry was angered and started to smack at Daring with her hooves, but Daring delivered a swift kick to the purple mare’s head. Berry hit the ground with a thud.
With the floor slickened, Carnegie’s assault went one-sided. The two Manehattan stallions were stumbling and falling over each other as more and more alcohol spilled onto the floor. Carnegie merely leapt from table to table, tossing drinks and bar patrons at the duo.
“Hey! Put me down!”
THUD.
“OUCH! Not like that!!!”
The grimacing stallions charged at Carnegie, and he backflipped off of the table he was on and bucked it at the beer-soaked assailants. They both grunted in pain as they rammed face-first into the table. By the time they had shook themselves off and reoriented each other, Daring Do and Carnegie Porter were gone; behind the counter, the kitchen door was still swinging away with an unconscious Berry Punch lying beside it.
“So wot was tha’ all abou’, eh? Who were they? Friends o’ yours?”
It had started to rain. The clouds that had been threatening the sunny afternoon took over the night sky, leaving a blanket of wet and cold splayed across Ponyville. In the now-muddy streets, a staggering Daring Do and a tipsy Carnegie Porter made their way to his cottage at the edge of town.
Daring Do didn’t answer his question right away. He raised a bushy eyebrow in apprehension as he surveyed the pegasus, who was busy readjusting her pith helmet and her tattered vest.
“Well… it’s kinda hard to explain, Porter.” She scrunched her nose and looked sheepishly once more at the taller stallion. He snorted.
“Well, ya got all tha’ bleedin’ time in tha’ world ta figure out how ta explain it. Until then, we’re gonna be campin’ out at me an’ Rose’s place.”
“Rose? Who’s that? Your roommate?”
“My fiancé.”
Daring Do’s jaw dropped.
“You have a MAREFRIEND?”
Now it was Carnegie’s turn to scrunch his nose. Although this time it was mostly out of annoyance rather than guilt.
“Why is tha’ such a buckin’ surprise? Yea I got a marefriend an’ yea, we’re gettin’ married.”
Daring Do laughed and kicked at Carnegie’s shoulder playfully.
“Well, well, well. I never took you for a stud. My little buddy growing up,” she ruffled Carnegie’s mane after grabbing him in a headlock, “So how come I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding? I would’ve thought after all that stuff back in Saddle Arabia, I could at least have gotten a little measly letter.” She laughed again and continued to trot alongside Carnegie, limping slightly.
“I didn’t want ya ta come.”
“W-Wait. What?” Daring Do’s face was pale. Carnegie cringed on the inside, but on the outside he was stone-cold and apathetic.
“I didn’t want ya ta come. Get it?”
“But WHY?!” Daring demanded, stomping a hoof and bringing their progress to a halt. “I thought we were, like, best friends or something.”
“We’re not friends, Darin’. I’ve saved yer life more times than I care ta count. Bu’ tha’ fact tha’ I almost died each an’ every time, an’ not ta mention tha’ fact that what we did was completely illegal, I mean, let’s be serious. Saddle Arabia was where I expected whatever this” - Carnegie waved a hoof between them - “is was going to die out. Because tha’ was possibly tha’ most soul-wrenchin’ journey I’ve ever been in my bloody life. An’ I’ve time-travelled with Time Turner. So tha’s sayin’ a lot.”
Daring Do looked hurt, if only for a brief moment. She puffed out her chest and readjusted her hat. Carnegie felt a twinge of guilt, but everything he had said was true. His last misadventure with her had almost gotten him killed hundreds of times and resulted in his injury even more so.
They continued to trot side-by-side. Only this time, they did not speak to each other or so much as look at each other save for stolen glances when they believed the other was not looking. Carnegie’s cottage loomed before them; it glowed into the dark night like a lit lantern, casting rays of firelight across the shadowy streets. Carnegie led Daring Do into his home, knocking open the door without a care in the world.
“Rose? Roseluck? Are ya home, love?” He called into the house. The fireplace crackled with a warm glow and the floorboards creaked under his hooves. Daring Do made herself comfortable on the sofa before the mantel.
“Yeah, I’m home,” her voice echoed from somewhere upstairs, “hold on a minute.”
“We ‘ave a guest, Rose.”
Roseluck was downstairs a whole lot faster than a minute. Her red and pink mane bobbed as she greeted Daring Do.
“Hi! I’m Rose, if you couldn’t tell,” the slight yellow mare bubbled, her emerald eyes sparkling. She rapidly shook a stunned Daring Do’s hoof. The explorer looked warily at Carnegie, not quite believing that this was the mare that he was engaged to.
“So is there anything I can get for you, Miss…”
“Daring Do. And no thank you, I just got back from the bar.”
Roseluck’s face turned from one to delight to one of horror as she realized that Daring was covered in cuts and bruises.
“Oh sweet Celestia! What happened to you?” Roseluck’s eyes widened as she fussed, but that was nothing compared to when she saw that Carnegie too was covered in small minor injuries and splashed with alcohol. “CARNEGIE PORTER! Have you been fighting again?! You know that’s the reason I had to bail you out of jail three months ago. When will you learn to drink responsibly?”
“When my cutie mark changes from a skein ter a bloody NARC badge,” Carnegie snorted. Daring Do stifled a laugh, partially because she didn’t want to be rude and partially because it hurt to laugh.
Roseluck eventually calmed her overreaction, and decided to go into the kitchen to make some tea. While she was gone, Carnegie decided to confront Daring Do.
“So wot was aw tha’ about, at the bloody bar? Some random blokes decide to jump ya aw tha’ sudden?”
Daring Do hesitated, looking at the kitchen where Roseluck was humming away and banging at pots and pans. She beckoned to Carnegie from her seat on the sofa, and he leaned in the listen.
“Have you ever heard of… well, do you know what a secret society is?” She asked, her eyes wide and fearful, for the first time that Carnegie had ever genuinely seen them like that.
“Well… ain’t it one of those thingies where nasty blokes sit aroun’ an’ drink pints?”
“I… can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or serious.”
“I’m always serious, Darin’.”
“A secret society is an organization that controls things. Anything and everything from the government to where our food comes from. The reason why they’re secret is so noone can stop them or hope to challenge them. And I’ve found one, Porter. I’ve found a secret society, in Canterlot. No, not even in Canterlot! It’s spread all throughout Equestria! This is even bigger then Saddle Arabia, Porter! They’re everywhere, always listening, always watching…” Daring Do looked around, as if expecting to see some sort of spy crawling around on the brewer’s ceiling.
“Who’s always listening?” Carnegie breathed.
“Porter… Have you ever heard of the Illumarenati?”
