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                         Ponk Rock                         
                   -by Super Trampoline-                   
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Every Story Has to Start Somewhere, and This One Starts About Fifty Minutes Before Rarity Throws Up
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Every Story Has to Start Somewhere, and This One Starts About Fifty Minutes Before Rarity Throws Up
"Pinkie, you could never fucking do punk rock, darling."
My ears pin back. I'll never get used to Rarity cussing. The human world does strange things to a mare, it seems.
Even after six glasses, she picks up on my discomfort, looking puzzled for the slightest of seconds before realizing her (as she'd call it) faux pas. "Oh, oh, oh, how ever did I forget. My sin... sin-sin-sincere apologies, Pink one. I know how you don't like the naughty human words, as it were. Oh
Okay, but why punk rock?
I d-dunno. It's just so so so romantic!
Forty-five minutes later, Rarity throws up all over the floor about a yard from the bathroom. A patron rushes over to help her, and I steal a glance at the wall clock. 12: 52. I slide from my seat and find Twilight a few stools over, writing a to-do list on a napkin, because Cheese Crust, she's freaking Twilight Sparkle and no matter how fast things evolve in this brave new world of ours, she'll still always be a dweeb. I tap her shoulder and she whips her head up, startled by the prospect of social interaction at a bar. A bar we meet at every fourth Thursday, I might add. She sees that it's only me and leans in for a hug. I accept it, then point to the clock and then Rarity. She covers her mouth at the sight of her friend hobbled like that, and I watch with a bit of schadenfreude as her eyes grow big as she realizes the gravity of the situation. "It's before one. Pay up," I smirk.
Twilight groans and unzips a small hole in space with her magic. A wing reaches in and feels around for a ten-bit note, which is promptly winged over to me, accompanied by an exasperated sigh. "You would think Rarity would have learned not to drink too much by now. I swear this happens every time!"
She set this one up way too easy. Like a griffin (or a human, if the news is to be believed) I go in for the kill: "I would think you have learned not to bet against Pinkie Sense by now. Yet, here we are."
She laughs mirthfully, momentarily forgetting her security napkin. "Oh, Pinkie, never change!"
"Okie dokie!" I reply, and hop back to seat.
"Too late," I mutter under my breath once I get there.
I spend the whole trot home, all seven minutes of it, thinking about Rarity's words.