The city streets were dark. Rain crackled outside, but nopony heard the sound over the jazz band. Water droplets glimmered through the glass windows, but there was a screen of smoke born from suckled cigarettes. A donkey wheezed into the face of his friend and received a hardened punch to the jaw. Teeth fragments splintered his gums and alcohol rushed from his nose like an inebriating beer tap made from scarred flesh. The bartender gesticulated with her hooves and motioned for the bouncer, whose form stood tall and imposed an unspoken notion of dominance like any other bull in his prime. He rounded up the donkeys, one in each arm, and he gathered them outside in order to expel them. He returned to the bar with red horns.
“Buncha jackasses.”
“Oh, Biron. You didn’t kill em, did you?” The bartender placed a hoof on her hip. The bull huffed.
“Prolly should have. One of them came at me all tough and nails. Didn’t last too long.”
“And they’re alive?”
“Might need to call for a medic, but he’s still breathing. Left him in the street.”
“Oh, Biron. What the hay did you do that for?”
“Had to,” said the bull. The bartender shook her head and parted her fiery hair.
“We both know you didn’t have to make a scene. They just had a lot to drink is all,” she said.
“Hey, they started it.” He laughed and he said, “When you mess with the bull...”
“Yeah, I suppose. Well, stay put and make sure nopony loses anymore teeth, alright?”
The bartender left and disappeared through a door in the back of the establishment. The jazz band finished their song and nopony applauded. An albino dragon looked to the side of him and watched the bull that towered over him like some sort of monolith from another planet. The dragon sipped from his mug and kept his eyes fixated on the bull.
“You’re a big fella,” said the dragon. One might have mistaken him for an inquisitive child.
“You impressed or just plain scared outta your mind?” The bull turned his massive head and laid his gaze down upon the dragon.
“Why can’t it be both?” The dragon smiled in a careless fashion.
“I don’t see your type around here.”
“My type?” The dragon tilted his head to the side. His red eyes blinked in confusion.
“Yeah. You look soft. Like you just crawled outta your mother’s womb.”
“Oh! Well, you see, I’ve got a skin condition. I mean, a scale condition. My scales are white and, well...they shouldn’t be. I dunno what causes it, but I feel pretty normal otherwise. Is that normal?”
The dragon began poking at his own hide.
“You’d do well not to talk so much, friend.” The bull turned to look straight ahead. “Always best to let everypony assume you’ve got some sense in that skull.”
The bartender returned to her station and she grabbed a glass from the counter so that she could feel its insides with a dry rag.
“They said they’ll be here in ten minutes,” she said. “The ambulance.”
“That’s good,” said the dragon when he sat upright. The bartender paused and chuckled for a moment. She turned to the dragon and continued to clean her glass.
“Hey, there. Who’s your little friend, Biron?”
“Oh, you don’t remember me? You gave me a drink,” said the dragon.
“He’s not my friend,” the bull said. The dragon smiled and pointed up at the bull.
“Ah, well...technically, you did call me friend just a while ago.”
“Don’t look into it too much.”
The bartender set her glass down and she approached the two. The dragon gripped his mug with both claws and wagged his tail much like an overzealous dog.
“Any friend of Biron is certainly welcome here,” said the bartender. She popped her head and asked, “What’s your name, guy?”
“Oh! My name’s Fizzle. You really don’t remember me?”
“Honey, you know how many faces I see in one night? Anyway, it’s nice to meet ya, Fizzle. I’m Nana Funks.”
“I know,” Fizzle pointed behind himself with a claw. “I read the sign. I think it’s a pretty cool name for a bar.”
“Well, thank you. But we’re a lot more than just a bar.”
“Oh, yeah?” Fizzle sipped from his mug and watched intently.
“Yup. This here’s a 4 star hotel. Guess it’s kinda hard to tell with it raining outside and all.”
“Ohh, cool,” Fizzle said with another smile. “I thought this place looked pretty tall for a bar.”
“Mhm. 30 floors.”
“Woah, really? That’s a lot of stairs.”
“I mean, we just got this new elevator installed.”
“What’s an elevator?”
Nana Funks arched a brow. She used a hoof to part her fiery hair from her eyes and she said, “You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”
Fizzle opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the bar swung open. The pitter patter of petite feet slapped across the tile floor. Several customers twisted their necks so that they might see the newcomer. A baby dragon rushed for the bar and leapt for one of the tall stools. He grappled onto the soft padding with his claws and he kicked his feet into the air until he managed to hoist his belly onto the chair. Fizzle looked to his left and watched the baby struggle. The creature had its snout buried within its purple palms. His shoulders bounced erratically.
Everypony in the vicinity averted their eyes and retreated to their business. Nana Funks furrowed her brows, but she said nothing. The baby sniffed and gasped.
“You’re a little fella,” said Fizzle. The baby dragon flinched and lifted his face. He and Fizzle gazed at one another before the baby responded.
“So?”
“So, what’s your name? My name’s Fizzle.”
“Spike.”
“Hi, Spike. What’re you crying for?”
“Who cares?” Spike sniffed and brushed a forearm across his cheeks. Fizzle shrugged.
“Okay, that’s cool,” he said. After that, he looked forward and stole another sip from his mug. Spike took a moment to study Fizzle. He was relatively tall and possessed a lanky build that worked in tandem as a skeletal effigy, yet he was living and breathing. A genuine grin was permanently etched across his visage.
Nana Funks stepped up and she said, “Can I getcha anything?”
Spike snapped to attention and he blurted out the words, “Apple juice!”
Several hunched stallions snickered and sneered. Nana Funks smirked and folded her hooves. “Did you want a shot with your chaser?”
“Huh?” Spike’s eyes resembled calcified stones. Nana Funks laughed.
“Honey, where are your parents at?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh, Celestia,” Nana released a hefty sigh. “You an orphan?”
“I don’t know,” Spike lowered his nose to the ground.
“You got a home? You know, someplace to sleep tonight?”
Spike nodded and twiddled his thumbs.
“You lost?”
Spike shook his head.
“Runaway, huh?” Nana Funks wandered to the counter and whipped out her dry rag to run it along the hardwood surface in search of cup stains and lingering tracks of blood from the donkey brawl. “Lemme just say, kid. Anything you got going on right now, it can’t be all that bad. Little guy like you needs to spend a lot more time in Equestria before you start running off in the rain. I know it’s hard to see it right now, but it can always be a whole lot worse.”
“You think anypony actually listens to you?” The bull chortled. Nana Funks groaned and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Biron. We can’t all be the strong and silent type,” she said. “You wanna take this one to the station? Maybe call his folks and let em know where he is?”
“Nope. Off duty. From dusk till dawn, I’m just the bouncer.” The bull said this and cracked his neck.
Fizzle raised his claw above his head and he said, “I’ll take him.”
Nana cocked her head incredulously. She said, “You don’t say.”
“Well, I do say, ma’am.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“Oh, nothing at all. Little guy just reminds me of a younger me, I guess.”
Fizzle and Spike exchanged glances while Nana Funks shrugged her shoulders and said, “By all means, be my guest. Never thought I’d live to see a good dragon. In my experience, they’re sure hard to find.”
Spike gulped and swallowed the lump in his throat. “We don’t have to go now, do we?”
Fizzle directed his attention to the windows. He saw past the cigarette smoke and he looked beyond the howling drunks and he could see rivulets of rain streaming down the window glass. He giggled and he said, “Yeah, good call. Hey, Nana Funks.”
Nana whirled around and pointed her chin towards Fizzle. “Yes, sweetie?”
“Uhh, how much is a room here?”
“Two hundred bits for one night.”
“Oh, we can do that.”
Spike sprouted from his chair and he said, “We can?”
“Sure,” Fizzle assured him. “We’ll just have to find two hundred bits.”
Spike deflated and folded his arms.
“Sorry, little guy. I’m in the same boat as you.”
“Really? You mean you ran away, too?”
Nana Funks stepped in and she said, “Oh yeah, sure did. He probably came in about three hours ago. Didn’t have a single bit to his name.”
Fizzle squinted his eyelids. “Oh, so you do remember me?”
Spike rotated in his seat and eyed the mug within Fizzle’s claws. He pointed and he asked, “So how did he buy that?”
“What, that?” Nana Funks buzzed her lips. “Nah, that's on the house.”
Fizzle showed off the mug to the baby dragon. When Spike peered inside, there was only a translucent liquid which provided a dumbfounded reflection of Spike’s frozen features.
“Just water, dude,” said Fizzle. His grin was not missing.
“Rain’s dying down if you two intend to leave,” said the bull. Every soul who was present craned their necks towards the windows. The showers were lighter and the droplets were few.
“So it is,” Fizzle said. He pat the bull on the back and he said, “Good eye, mister Biron.”
The bull made a mental note. Nana Funks bent down and she pulled out an umbrella that she extended onward to Fizzle.
“I’d still feel better if you took this with ya,” she said. Fizzle nodded and he grabbed the hooked handle and immediately flipped the switch with his thumb. The umbrella released its wings in a single violent motion and nearly struck Spike, Nana Funks, and the bull. He laughed weakly and hoisted the umbrella’s stem above himself.
“Thanks,” he said before he stood up. Spike quickly followed suit and hopped down from his chair. The dragons left the bar and then they vanished from view once they stepped outside of the hotel. The sound of a delicate drizzle came and went. The door closed and the customers resumed their quibbling. Nearby, the jazz band started their next arrangement.
The bull stared at Nana Funks. “That white one said my name.”
Nana rolled her eyes and she whipped out her dry rag so that she could clean another glass. “What’s it matter? I say your name all the time.”
“That’s right. And now you’re stuck with me.”
Nana quickly discovered that there were no glasses to clean. She wiped the sweat from her brow and she said, “So you’re goin’ after all? After I went and asked you to take em to the station?”
“Keeping an eye on them,” said the bull. He rose to the ceiling and his horns tapped the drywall overhead. “Not for you.”
Two dragons were seen on the city streets of Manehattan under an umbrella during one rainy night.
“What’s your name again, little guy?”
“Spike. And stop calling me little. I’m gonna grow up someday and I’ll be bigger than you.”
“Fair enough. Spike, you wanna go back home?”
“No.”
“Me neither. You know where the station is?”
“Uhh...no.”
“Me neither. How’s about we ditch that plan and look for a place to sleep?”
“Okay.”
“My feet hurt,” said Spike.
For the traveling souls, the night brought only a punishing hike through the city wherein sleep did not welcome them. Somewhere along the way, the rain retreated and the umbrella’s use was deemed spent and Fizzle allowed the hooked handle to slip through his fingers. The city streets dampened the soft archways of the dragons’ feet. They wormed their way through alleys and they dodged the watchful eyes of the nightly patrol, which consisted of stallions dressed in navy colors with golden badges pinned to their chests. These guardians were a new breed in Equestria. Fathers and lone stallions alike were seduced by the prospect of power and they congregated to the nexus of the city where the stallions would shed their civilian skin. To this day, they stalk the lands in search of wrongdoers and they believe that this endless cycle of apprehension will someday give birth to a sense of purpose.
“They’re called cops, they are,” said an older gentlepony. His hair looked as though it was hiding behind his wrinkled head. He turned the key clockwise until the door’s lock clicked in response. “I hope you lads weren’t expecting to make a purchase tonight. I’m afraid we’ve just locked up.”
Through a glass window, Spike studied an assortment of toys and aged household items that were placed on display for passersby to take notice. A blue backpack aroused his interest. He tilted his head skyward and read the elaborate neon sign on the shop that said Alfie’s Antiques.
“Oh, no. We’re just going for a walk,” Fizzle said with a smile.
“Rather late for a leisurely stroll, it is.”
“Yes, sir. It is.” The albino dragon laughed and he looked both ways down the sidewalk to ensure that no eavesdroppers were present. He turned back to the shop owner and he said, “So, what were you saying? About the cops.”
“Right, right,” he nodded and he slipped his key into his coat pocket. “I don’t believe they were always here. There wasn’t much use for armed officials until recently.”
“No cops?”
“Indeed. None at all. Unless, of course, you count the royal guard.”
“Huh. Why do we need cops now?”
“I suppose the same reason I lock my shop at night.” He chuckled. “I’ve never owned a key in my life before this month.”
“Me neither. We don’t even have keys where I’m from,” said Fizzle.
“It’s quite a shame. You simply cannot trust anypony these days.”
“Sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Ah, we’ll survive. Don’t you worry.” The gentlepony buttoned up his pea coat and he said, “Anyway, I suppose I should be off. You and your brother keep warm, now.”
“Okay, cya.” Fizzle waved a claw towards the shop owner’s back and then he looked at Spike. The little drake had his snout pressed against the cold glass. Fizzle bent down and he brought his index finger up and he tapped a sharp nail to his reflection. He applied more pressure with his claw until he punctured a small hole into the glass and then he dragged his finger across the surface so that he made a circular incision. Finally, he took his other claw and he touched the center of the round carving with his palm and he pushed forward. A thin sheet of glass fell into the shop and presented an oval opening through which a small dog could enter.
“Hey, what are you doing,” Spike asked. He looked around himself and began to bite his nails.
“You said your feet were hurting, right?” Fizzle reached into the hole and removed a blue backpack from inside the shop’s display.
“Yeah, but...can’t we get in trouble for this?”
“It’s fine, dude,” he said before he stuck both arms through the straps of the backpack. “We’ll just pay him back when we get some bits.”
“Okay.”
“Here, hop in!” Fizzle faced away from Spike and he squatted low to the ground with each of his claws gripping the blue straps.
“You’re gonna carry me in that?”
“That’s the plan, man!”
“Really?”
“Yup! Go for it!”
“Okay.”
Spike poked a foot into the bag and then he carefully brought his second foot into the bag. After that, he sat with his legs crossed and he heaved a long sigh. Once he felt that the drake was safely contained within the backpack, Fizzle stood up and let out a grunt.
“You’re a heavy fella.”
“Maybe you're too skinny.”
"Fair enough."
The two ventured forth into the deeper intestines of the city. Spike rested on his back and he watched the sky. The clouds parted in order to showcase the stars and Spike allowed his eyes to wander from each crystalline speckle to the next. They shimmered back at him as though they were all dancing to win his attention.
“So, Spike. Do you feel like talking about what happened? You know, why you ran away.”
An answer was not given because Spike’s mind had begun to succumb to the lull of an intoxicating dream state. Fizzle’s voice melted into obscurity and resonated throughout the inner workings of his skull. Variations of colors became suddenly tangible and Spike laggardly groped them in an attempt to retain their surreal forms and commit them to memory. He stuck out his tongue and he tasted one of the colors and the buds which dotted his tongue sent forth electric signals directly to the brain and finally, a mental image was projected before him.
He saw orange flames licking the floorboards of a familiar house. His throat burned and tightened around his esophagus so that no words could be spoken. Another voice vibrated throughout his bones. The voice possessed a feminine intonation and it cursed Celestia’s name repeatedly without reprieve. Spike’s eyes were wet, but he did not know whether it was the fault of tears or blood. He rubbed the back of his claw across his eyelids and he examined his hand and he saw a chunky substance that looked of rotten milk.
Yet another nightmare, and then all was forgotten when the sun rose the next day.
A police officer stood at his post from behind the front desk of the station’s lobby. The doors swung open and the spotted stallion looked up from his magazine and he saw the bull.
“Morning,” said the spotted stallion. “Anything interesting happen at the bar?”
The bull approached and he said nothing. The stallion offered a weak smile.
“Rough night, huh? I made some coffee in the break room.”
The bull placed his hooves on the desk that separated the both of them and he said, “Two dragons headed this way.”
“Dragons?” The stallion squinted and scratched the peach fuzz on his chin. “Nope. I haven’t seen anypony all night except you.”
The bull exhaled and a rush of warm air grazed the stallion’s cheeks. He turned and departed.
“Oooh. Going undercover, huh?” The stallion’s tail wagged. “You want me to clock in for you?”
The doors closed and there was no sound, save for the incessant tick tock of the clock that watched from overhead.
