The Convention of Me and My Selves

Prologue - Thinking

Droplets of perspiration hang in the thick, soggy basement air, mingling with motes of dust falling off of the old ceiling fan that’s turning at a slow, steady pace. It’s a cold autumn night, not that you’d notice that in an insulated underground chamber with no air conditioning. At least one of us at had the forethought to open the door a sliver and get a little air flow in here. I’d imagine with that thing sealed, we’d eventually run out of oxygen, and by then we’d all be too tanked to notice.

“Call.”

The squeaking legs of one of our scrawny little chairs is accompanied by the groan of the floorboards as one player leans forward, pushing a few coins to the center of the round table that serves as today’s battlefield. There’s already a significant pile waiting there, the golden hue of the bits shining slightly in the soft light of an old brass candelabrum adorned with four half-melted candles. Matching their faint glow, the orange-coated mare to my right sneaks a peek at her two face-down cards. Looking up, she seeks out her opponents around the thick oaken tabletop, brows furrowed in scrutiny, chewing her lip as she decides her next move. Finally, she picks out three bits from her stack with the tip of her hoof and pushes them in as well.

“Call.”

It’s a bit funny, actually. Saturday night, and here we are in this cramped old bar basement, pissing away our earnings over a game of cards – throwing glances over our shoulders every few minutes as if the doors would be busted open any second by the long and hard hoof of the law. An odd concern, considering the age-old tradition of exchanging salaries by means of poker had no direct legal ramifications whatsoever. I suppose it might be a byproduct of the sleazy tavern atmosphere; if anypony were to come busting in here it’d probably be the proprietor’s daughter, mops blaring and dispensing a few choice words about her slob of a father.

Shrugging humorously at my own cider-fueled musings, I reach down below the table to grab one of the few bottles of fuel left in the crate we had brought in.

“Scott,” a black, golden-eyed pegasus stallion tiredly calls out from across the table, wetting his lips and throwing his deep red mane out of his eyes. “Grab one for me?”

I snicker, standing up to reach over the table, my free hand on the table edge to support my sleepy, stumbling legs.

“You probably should lay off, Misty,” I say in good humor as he snatches the beverage from my outstretched hand. The stallion snorts in response, biting off the cap and spitting it out in the corner in one swift motion.

“I’m not a light-weight, Scott.”

Looking at the almost half-dozen empty bottles of hard cider that litter his side of the table, I shake my head. “Obviously.”

“How many left?” asks the light gray earth pony in the chair on my left, bending down to look in the crate. “What, we’re almost out? Already?”

“Look who’s talking, Steam,” the orange mare points to the empty bottles by the colt’s seat with amusement. The accused squirms, his head bobbing back and forth as he tries to answer her.

“Well… it’s really hot in here, Summer. I think somepony messed with the thermostat.”

Misty shakes his head, eyeing his five empty bottles and muttering his assent. On his left, the sleek black form of my chitinous would-be-friend Janus smirks, throwing his hole covered hooves out dramatically before bringing them back in a clap.

“Then on account of our precious stash mysteriously evaporating, how about we step it up a notch?” he chuckles darkly before committing a considerable sum to the center. “Raise.”

There’s venom in the air as the other participants regard the changeling with a mix of fear, resolve and frustration. Summer shakes her head, pushing her cards back. “Fold.”

My mind starts occupying itself once again with pointless reflections as I inattentively watch the play continue, having backed out myself before it came to this point. It’s… pleasant, just spending some time like this among good friends. Even if money is involved, I find that I’m not antagonistic to any of my co-players in the slightest. Maybe it’s the warm feeling of the cider in my gut, telling me to throw away all of my worries and just have some mindless fun.

Playing mind games.

With a changeling.

Well, I’m probably going to be too hung-over to care about being bankrupt come tomorrow.

…This is a strange place. Since coming here, I’ve noticed myself beginning to change subtly, with every new step and every new strange creature I encounter. There is no feeling of stagnation here. Maybe it’s something about the clean air, or the good, kind people. Or, indeed, the assholes, I think with a fleeting look at the smirking jerkoff opposite me. Maybe I just needed a change of scenery. Maybe I just needed to be brought out of my comfort zone. I sigh pensively - it feels like I seldom get to lean back and just let my mind go about its business without any new strange events throwing me off course.

I’m not entirely sure how it came to this, but sitting in the basement of this seedy bar, going through progressively shittier hands, it seems my mind has finally caught up and has started trying to piece together my puzzle. Who’d have thought gambling and alcohol would facilitate enlightenment?

I’m brought out of my trance as I notice Janus collecting the pot, his wings buzzing gleefully as Steam grumbles – the grey stallion moping about his deposit being taken away by his arch-nemesis. A new round means a new dealer, and the changeling passes the button over to tonight’s only female player. I glance over to my right, and Summer seems to take to her new role with gusto, as she cuts the deck with a level of expertise I find baffling considering her total lack of digits.

The new hand she sends my way only serves to reinforce my prediction of leaving penniless tonight – two of spades and five of diamonds. And here I am, agreeably drunk and unable to bluff my way out from under a newspaper. I post the blind, but fold during the first round of betting to Jan’s great delight.

“Wussing out, humie? You gonna play some cards tonight or just admire the ceiling?”

I tiredly flip him off, and he gives a raspy chuckle at the glares shot his way by my two friends next to me.

“Oh, get over it. Here’s an idea; why don’t you gentlecolts try keeping an eye on your respective stacks of bits? I think I can see them dwindling even now!”

My stack of bits is actually nothing to scoff at, if for no other reason than for me repeatedly being dealt junk cards that I didn’t have any illusion of being able to win with – but leave it to the shape-shifter to possess the perfect poker face. Don’t know what he plans to do with the spoils, though; can’t exactly go to the supermarket and buy out their stock of pickled affection… and somehow I sincerely doubted changelings had any need or reason to accessorize.

Hey, maybe he just wants a plasma TV.

Anyhow; assuming I remember anything of this night come morning, I need to remind myself to never invite Janus to play hold’em ever again. Well, maybe if I get to be his manager.

“Check,” Steam decides with a tap of his forehoof, passing the turn over to a guy who we probably shouldn’t have invited either.

FINALLY, IT IS MY TURN!

The low rumbling of Z’s voice echoes throughout the room, carrying a weird, throaty undertone that never fails to make me slightly uncomfortable. And well, that’s really the term when it comes to Z; uncomfortable fits him like a freakish alien glove, and he’s troublingly enough proud of the fact.

CHECKING SEEMS LIKE A WISE MOVE, YES.

I don’t know what his accent’s supposed to be either, but I have the sneaking suspicion that he randomly changes it when you’ve just about nailed it down.

“F-fold,” Misty mumbles, downing a huge swig of his bottle.

Janus shrugs playfully. “Well then, I’ll just check as well. You may all enjoy the company of your hard-earned cash for just a little while longer.”

JUBILATIONS.

Wait, how did Z even score the dough to get in on this game? Does he even have a job?

I catch Misty taking another swig from his cider bottle as the flop comes up, and I finally remember I was just about to grab one myself. I take a gander at the crate, picking up a bottle and using its neck as an attention-getting poking device. Steam is not amused.

“Get a bottle opener, already. Holy heaven.”

“Isn’t opening bottles your special talent?” I tease him. “Come on, I’ll let you have a sip.”

“How depressing wouldn’t that cutie mark be,” Steam snorts before taking the bottle, cradling it between his hooves and biting off the cap. He takes a swig before hoofing it back my way. “I ought to take this out of your rent-“

“Raise,” Summer calls, Steam all but sent reeling as he sees the amount laid forward.

“Speaking of, I do want to have at least one figure on my account by then. Fold!”

UM. CALL.

“Call!”

Misty’s exclamation buys him a few odd looks from the others, Janus groaning almost inaudibly. Slowly noticing his co-players’ expressions, the black stallion nods sagely to himself before preparing another announcement.

“Raise!”

At this point Janus cradles his head in his hooves. “Misty for the love of plot.”

“Ha! Shouldn't have un- uh, underestimated me, h-huh?”

“Misty, you already folded!”

The pegasus looks around, eyes wide and blinking repeatedly. “Huh? O-oh, maybe, yeah.”

“Look- maybe you really should just-”

“I fold!”

The changeling sighs in defeat, patting his companion on the back. “…A brilliant move, my friend. As for me, I call the bet of the lovely orange lady luck over there.” He winks, and Summer gives him an eye-roll in return. This seems to be their typical back-and-forth – well, Jan’s typical back-and-forth with any mare, by my experience.

As Summer puts out the next card on the table, she takes a second to peek at her hand again, lifting them up with her hoof in that physically improbable way that ponies always do things. As she puts them down again, I get a weird tingle up my spine - turning to the other side of the table, I’m greeted with the sight of a freakishly long, emaciated hoof with tufts of peach-colored fur tapping the side of the table ineffectually.

“Z?” Summer asks with her muzzle wrinkled. “What are you doing?”

THE SUMMER PONY PICKS UP CARDS WITH ITS HOOVES!

“…and you wanted to try it yourself,” she finishes for him. He provides no acknowledgement, but the hoof continues to tap at Z’s cards for a couple of seconds without result.

…IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

TEACH ME?

“Mmaybe later, Z.”

The hoof retracts into a massive mahogany dresser in the far corner. Seconds later a thin, shadowy tendril snakes its way out of the opening and timidly lifts Z’s cards before again putting them down, slinking back inside without making a sound. Everyone just looks at the piece of furniture unblinking until it rumbles as the creature inside clears its throat.

WHY HAS THE PLAYING STOPPED? DID I MAKE YOU…

Oh, here he goes. You know how there are some frequencies of sound that are so low that the human ear can’t pick up on them, but they somehow make you feel nauseous?

Z does that sometimes.

I don’t hear what he actually says, but it’s not exactly difficult to guess. I rub my forehead as I’m buffeted by a brand new headache that I don’t think can be solved even with a hefty application of cider.

“Shut up, Z.”

OH; YES, AS YOU SAY. HUH HUH.

Traditional competitive banter is exchanged as the three players left play through the rest of the hand, everything coming to a head finally with Summer taking the pot to Jan’s displeasure. Z is finally eliminated, having played extremely poorly all night. He hung around pretty long for someone who’s never even seen a playing card before today, to be fair. With a few congratulations to the other players, he remarks that he will await the result of the game with great interest, then closes the door to his dresser and goes to sleep.

The round finished, Summer scoots over the dealer button to me, and I gather up all the cards from across the table and start shuffling the deck. I guess I don’t really have anything against Z, but he’s just… really weird. I simply can’t get along with him. Seeing him eliminated actually makes me feel a bit good, but then I feel really bad when I realize that this kind of makes me a jerk.

Finding an excellent excuse to leave my mind wandering, I start thinking about the people present. Steam is my good old buddy and roommate, taking me in shortly after I arrived. We share way more in common than I’d like to openly admit. A bit of a nervous, shy kind of guy, but get him talking about his stupid contraptions and the only way to shut his trap is to buy an automatic mechanical trap-shutter off of him. I see the light gray earth pony in my peripheral vision, swinging his cobalt tail in agitation. One new thing I learned about him today is that he sucks at poker. Also, he’s a sore loser.

Third, mix this with alcohol and the tinker becomes a tinker time bomb.

Yeah. Might not invite him to poker anymore either. I’m rapidly running out of friends to play cards with.

“Scott?”

Summer breaks my train of thought, and I realize I’ve been shuffling the deck for more than a minute. Poorly, I might add, compared to the girl who doesn’t have any freaking fingers.

“Uh, r-right,” I stammer, dealing the cards to all remaining players. The earth pony mare still looks at me with her brows furrowed, no doubt concerned about my current level of sobriety, or more aptly, lack thereof. She shakes some strands of her amber mane out of her face, looking at her cards, but she still shoots a glance at me every now and then as if I’d just keel over any second.

Lately, I notice she’s gotten into the habit of mothering me for whatever reason. I originally didn’t picture her as the worrying type, but then again my first impression of her happened to be just that – a quite literal interpretation of the term, one might say.

I shake my head, bringing up my cider for another swig. Women.

“What have you cursed these cards with?” the most heavyweight drinker in the room, also the least sober, suddenly exclaims. Misty bumps Janus in the shoulder, waving the cards in front of him. “How do you explain this?”

Janus blinks dumbly in response. “Uh, those are actually really good cards, Misty.”

“…I can feel your stink on them.”

“Excuse me?”

Janus swats away the pegasus’ persistent hoof, his face twisted in a grimace as he coughs harshly a few times.

“Gracious, you sure you didn’t just smell yourself?”

“Getting me these cards is part of your scheme, no doubt.”

“But I’m not even the dealer!”

Summer pounds her hoof on the table. “Misty, knock it off!”

“You should call it a night,” Steam concurs. “With that amount of cider in your system you’re liable to walk home broke.”

“Hear, hear,” Janus mockingly proclaims, waving his hoof. “You listen to Steam now, he knows what he’s talking about. Hay, he’d be liable even without the cider!”

“How about you clam it, fang-face.”

I roll my eyes as I hear the fake, shrill gasp, knowing what comes next.

“You wound me!”

Steam growls, putting his hooves on the table as he takes the opportunity to vent all of his frustration. “Sounds like a plan, insect!”

“Steam, sit down! Do I have to be the only voice of reason in here?”

“What’s all this racket?”

The disapproving gravelly baritone brings us back to the present. Looking behind me, I see that the door has indeed been busted open, but not by the long hard hoof of the law, nor by an obsessive compulsive avatar of cleanliness – but rather by the large, heavy form of the owner himself. His dark gray mustache wiggles as he takes in the scene, muscles tensing underneath his auburn coat – no doubt still judging whether or not he has to break something up.

Summer perks up instantly. “Dry Glass! Get over here, teach these boys some manners!”

“Hah!” Janus exclaims, clicking his tongue. “Well-mannered I am, my dear, but only when I care to show it.”

“Hm, hard to imagine,” the old earth pony stallion replies, his thick voice reverberating against the walls. Walking over to the table, he looks at our respective holdings before casting a gaze out the door. “It’s closing time, so ah’m gonna have to ask y’all to wrap up.”

Steam and Janus both groan like children told to go to bed. Apparently they can agree on something.

“It was just going so well, though!” Steam says, pouting. “Things were finally picking up for me!”

“In wh-what universe?” I hear Misty mutter under his breath, but Steam either doesn't notice or care.

“Well…” the bartender drawls, rolling his eyes and tapping a hoof against his chin in mock-thought. “Far am ah from somepony who’d let a changelin’ walk away from a game with more bits than when he en’ered…”

“See?” Steam agrees, his nemesis twitching in silent laughter, no doubt expecting to get a few more additions to his growing pile of conquests. He bumps me in the shoulder, and I blink blearily as I realize I’m somehow back in the conversation again.

“Scott, come on!”

“Uh? O-oh, yeah, sure.”

I can guess Summer’s having that same bothered frown on just about now, but I’m not going to turn around to find out. Turns out I don’t have to.

“Scott, maybe you should call it quits. You’ve been pretty out of it all night.”

“Worse than me, an' I-I have an excuse,” Misty chuckles in agreement.

Dry Glass looks at the fretful mare with an eyebrow raised, then back at me.

His mustache wiggles.

“Missin' somethin’ here, ain’t I?”

“Missing what?”

His eyes widen suddenly, before he shakes his head, pulling up a stool from a stack by the entrance.

“You mind?”

I rise from my seat and move down the edge a bit to give the enormous stallion space as he pushes his stool in between me and Steam, sitting down with a quiet groan.

“Deal me in. I think it’s about time you and me had a lil' talk.”

“Talk?” I ask, confused now. What was this all about? “Talk about what?”

He turns to me, some sympathy shining through his dull, dark eyes. “Look, we all get to this point sooner or later. Maybe this ain’t the best place, but…”

He glances at Summer, then at the mostly empty cider crate.

Hold on a second- Wait- don’t tell me he thinks-

“Yer all… greased up anyhow, so ah think it’s time ya tell us yer story from the top.”

Okay, so this isn’t that talk. I think.

Either way he takes my lack of response as his cue to elaborate.

“Yer in a strange place right about now, Scott, one we all get to sooner or later. Ah can tell you’ve done some thinkin’. So, tell us what yer thinkin’… and we tell you what we’re thinkin’. It’ll make life easier on ya, trust me.”

“Oh, gods!” Janus exclaims in realization, pointing an accusatory hoof in Dry’s direction. “You’re just joining up to turn this into group therapy!”

As per his usual response, the bartender regards him with polite indifference. “Problem?”

Janus is left with his jaw open, hooves on table, with no witty comeback in sight. Finally admitting defeat, he slumps back down. “…Whatever. Who would I be to dismiss the importance of gambling and booze as prime tools of psychiatry.”

Dry merely snorts at his antics. “That's psychology," he says tapping at his cutie mark, a spyglass. "An’ y’all’ve had enough.”

Not waiting to hear Janus’ response, he turns back to me. “What d’ya say? You jus’ start talkin’, then we fill in with a few of our own experiences. It’ll help ya get a grip on things.”

I shrug. “Sure, I guess.”

He turns back to the changeling, who’s occupying himself with repeatedly spinning a gold coin under his hoof.  “Well?”

“You’re the boss,” Janus answers with a sigh, “But I’d like for it to be on the record that this can only end in one great, massive circle-jerk.” He slams down on the coin, picks it up in front of his face, and then flicks it back down to the center. “…I just have a feeling.”

"Well, yer feelin' is duly noted," Dry says with a roll of his eyes. He pushes me lightly with his hoof, giving me a smile. "Don't let'em get to ya. He knows to keep 'is trap shut when he needs to, anyway."

Janus snorts, but doesn't speak up. I nod slowly as I try to put my thoughts into words. "I... was thinking," I say. "You know, about this whole deal. I don't think I've really had the chance to properly digest stuff until now."

I look to Dry, who nods in encouragement. "Why don't ya start from when ya got here."

I looked around the table. Steam and Summer were giving me their full attention. Janus was playing with a coin, but you never knew whether he was listening or not. Misty looked tired, but as curious as his intoxication let him be. A glance over at the big dresser in the corner revealed to me that the door was open a tiny sliver. Looks like I get to tell my story to the whole gang, then. I sigh, massaging my chin.

"Well," I begin, "I guess I started off not all that different from many of you..."