Night out with the Devil

by Golden Script

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Original Character
Length: 2328

A young, shut-in stallion goes clubbing. Though he expects a night of too-loud music and watching other ponies get lucky, he gets more than he bargained for.

Beazley, a young shut-in stallion, goes to a Manehattan club late one night with his friend, Jophiel. Though he was abandoned immediately, his plans of staying at his table all night didn't change much.

Of course, he wasn't accounting for her.

All credit for the inspiration for the story goes to Flogging Molly's Devil's Dance Floor.

Credit for cover goes to Flogging Molly for the theme and Rautakoura's "The Mane 6, Suited and Suave" for the pony.
I, Golden Script, vectored and assembled the two works.

Published 2017-01-10 21:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-01-10 21:00:01 UTC

The Devil's Dance

I didn’t want to go to the party. It was so loud and there were so many ponies. Too many, by my count. Well, my parents always wanted me to go out more. Said it would help my social… something or other. I’m not exactly sure what—and yet, here I am.

The clubs in Manehattan were legendary all over Equestria—known far and wide for great music and better shows. I had attended a few performances by electronic artists before, and I’m far from an expert on the matter, but the mare that was spinning records today was doing exceptionally well. I might even consider going out more often.

I was ripped from my thoughts by a pat on the shoulder. I followed the hoof back to its owner: a large, handsome stallion that was the only reason I was here.

“What’re you doing just standing around, Beazley?” asked Jophiel, the “friend” that brought me along.

“I don’t want to be here.” I looked up at him flatly, then returned my attention to the table in front of me, attempting to gain control over the thumping headache in my head.

“Oh, come on! Have some fun, meet a mare—or a stallion, for that matter—live a little!” He patted me on the back harder than he needed to, and walked away.

I looked around the filled dance floor, the thumping tune playing at that moment nearly knocked me over with each bass beat, and I caught a glimpse of a fiery red mane and a sun-yellow coat off to the side. She was beautiful. By far, the most attractive mare here. But, much like yours truly, she was off to the side.

I stood without thinking, only realizing my change in position moments later. I took pause as I planned the actions I was about to take. I took a breath before mustering my courage and making my way to her.

I was less than a ponylength from her when she noticed me—makes sense, someone with as little presence as me couldn’t be more than a carcolt* to her. Her eyes looked me up and down, and that’s when I noticed it. Her eyes were the strangest I’d ever seen. The most chaotic case of heterochromia iridis I’d ever seen. In one eye I saw orange and blue; and the other held black and white. They seemed to swirl hypnotically, and as I gazed into those pools of color and monochrome I was entranced. She took a step forward, nearly bringing our muzzles together, and let the air escape her lungs in the most animalistic way. It was an unasked question, but a question I understood.

‘Would you like to dance?’

The only response I could give was a greedy smile. One full of lust and hunger, new feelings to me. She returned it in full force, nearly pushing me out to the center of the dance floor. Ponies stepped out of our way as we walked, a circle forming around us as we finished our trip to the epicenter of dancing.

The music faded, coming to a complete halt. The only sounds present were the gasps for air from the ponies around us, the ringing in my ears, and the thumping of my heart with anticipation.

Just then, a quick, sharp sound permeated the near silence. It repeated in a steady rhythm—a quick and lively one, something a pony could dance to. My hoof started tapping in time and the mare took a step back to give me space. I was getting into this.

It continued, steadily, with a couple of trills here and there. A high-pitched whistle made an entrance with an equally fast tune. A jumpy one. My other hooves began to experiment with the tune. Left, right, back, front. I was dancing—something I’d only rarely done, and not in a setting like this, with so many ponies about. But I couldn’t see any of them, my eyes were still locked with hers. Something about the look she was giving me filled me with confidence and skill.

The drums gave a fill and an entire band entered. My hooves couldn’t stay still for more than a moment, and the rest of the crowd had begun their own dancing. Their attention began to drift from me.

Except her. She was still watching, now taking a step forward with every other beat. She was coming to me. When she stopped, our muzzles nearly touching once more, the band suddenly fell nearly silent again and a stallion’s voice came over the speakers. I was too caught in her eyes to pay that any attention, though. Especially with the way she was moving.

Her hooves flew from place to place, once again garnering attention from the crowd. I stood perfectly still, afraid to even breathe, lest it throw her off-balance. She tapped to the side, then the other, came back center and did a spin. Her hooves came to a rest and she took a quick bow before shooting me a challenging glance.

The music rocked me from my stone state, throwing me into a flurry of motion. I came to rest a moment later on all four hooves, though I suspect none of them had been touching the ground at some point, and then did the one thing I knew to do. As she stood upright, I flung myself towards her and took her forehoof in my own, pulling her into a quick spin. After a phrase, I let go, gave a flick, and grabbed her other forehoof, then continued my spinning. I repeated until the music died down again, that same stallion singing again, but I still couldn’t make it out. My attention was wholly set on her.

I flung myself backwards, balancing on my rear legs, and began kicking, bending, and tapping my hooves together. It was old-fashioned and more rural than this club was used to, but this song definitely had that feel. I think I read something about this artist spending time in a far-off settlement for inspiration? But there wasn’t time to think about that, I was on a roll.

She watched my movements with keen eyes, examining each part of the little dance I was doing. I didn’t even notice all the other ponies watching me from the side. I was later told that nearly the entire room was focused on me and my movements.

The band, once again, gave a fill as the stallion yelled something through the stereo and I fell back to my hooves. She gave a smirk and bent her forehooves down as she prepared for a similar jump. I couldn’t help but let the challenge boil inside me. The music fell quiet again, with the bass still thumping and the stallion singing more. We both leapt onto our hind legs and began the jig I’d just performed moments before. It was tiring a second time, but I wasn’t out of the game quite yet.

In fact, now that I had a partner, I reached my hooves forward now and then to give hers a light tap. She seemed to read my movements perfectly, tapping my hooves and keeping us both upright. We danced for another moment longer before the music picked up again and we fell to all fours. We hooked our hooves, much like I had last time, and began spinning. A brief glance to the rest of the room revealed the other ponies on the dancefloor had picked up on the pattern and paired off.

There was a key change and the song got faster, throwing most ponies off and forcing them to come to a stop—but not me and this mare. We took it in stride, as if we knew it was coming. We hopped and skipped, tipped and tapped along to the music, maintaining eye contact the entire time. My heart was racing, sweat drenched my coat, and my mane was getting in my eye… and I loved it!

The music fell away, letting the high-pitched whistle to return, playing its ditty repeatedly and allowing me and my dance partner a short rest before the next verse. We stood stock still, the beat enough to let us keep time with the song. We listened to that whistle for what seemed like hours; and, one by one, the instruments came back. It was a calm beat, now. Once we caught most of our breath we began nodding our heads and idly tapping a hoof to the song, waiting for it to really pick up again.

It was then that the stallion came back with what I assumed to be the chorus of the song. I took a moment to listen and try to make sense of what he was saying.

Dance upon the ground, upon the ground you’ll be sleepin’ in

Dance upon the ground, a little closer to me

Dance upon the ground, upon the ground you’ll be sleepin’ in

Dance upon the ground, with the devil by your side

He screamed the last part, the whole band returning in full, as the whole dance floor suddenly jumped into their own dancing; some trying to imitate me, others simply doing what they’re used to.

I, on the other hoof, stayed stock still. I no longer tapped my hoof, as I was trapped in my own thoughts, brought back to myself only from the mare’s hoof under my chin. She brought my line of sight back to herself and looked deep into my eyes with those chaotic orbs of hers. I was no longer trapped in my own mind, but trapped in her eyes… again. She nodded, bringing me fully back into the dancing spirits.

Another verse began, the band quieting down for what I somehow knew was the last time. From here on out it was all or nothing, and nothing wasn’t an option. I looked to my partner, recognizing the sweat beading down her face, and a few more drops on her chest and legs. Regaining eye contact, I pulled myself forward and reached a hoof out to her.

She gladly accepted. We began swinging around each other for the last time, but this last chorus was long, and we continued full blast the whole way. The singer began pausing between his words, denoting the end of the song, and we pulled away, looked at each other, and jumped in the air, slamming our hooves to the ground just as the band played and held a note, making a great bow to each other when the final chords were played and cymbals crashed from the band.

A stomping applause surrounded us. I stood once more, and looked around to the ponies who were all watching the center of the empty circle that had maintained the entire duration of the song. I looked to my partner who had a look in her eye akin to pride, something I suspect my smile also conveyed. I took one of her hooves and made a grand, sweeping bow with her. The crowd loved it.

And then, it was all as if it had never happened. The next song began and the circle collapsed in on itself. Some ponies jumped up on stage to begin their night, other stayed on to continue what was shaping up to be an incredible time, and others—myself included—stepped off to take a rest.

“Beazley! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I heard from just off to my left. “I honestly thought you’d be glued to that table all night, but not only did you get up and dance, you found yourself a mare! Mad respect!” He threw a hoof over my shoulder, shifting me to an uncomfortable angle.

I shrugged him off, nearly sending him to the floor—I recognized the scent of salt on his breath. He’d been drinking. I turned to him to tell him off, but he was already walking away. Probably going to hit on some poor mare (another poor mare, actually. He later admitted to me that he struck out with five different fillies that night). I returned to my table, where my ice water once sat; though now it was just water, as all the ice had melted while I was away. I sighed at the lack of decent drinking material at that moment and set my head on the table.

“That was impressive dancing,” said a somehow familiar voice from above.

I looked up and saw the mare I’d just been dancing with. Instinctively, I sat up straighter and puffed out my chest a little.

“I could say the same to you.” I looked her up and down again.

She did the same, and our eyes came to rest on each other’s.

“Where did you learn to dance like that? You don’t seem like the exotic type.” She said this as she took a seat next to me, setting down her own drink and keeping her gaze locked on me.

“It’s kind of a long story,” I tried to brush off.

My parents decided when I was young that I would become the next dance prodigy. They sent me to a faraway dance teacher that lived in the middle of nowhere to teach me all the great styles. Of course, I didn’t learn squat, and came back not much different than I had left.

But I wasn’t going to tell her, a mare I apparently had a chance with, that.

“Oh, I have time,” she said as she took a sip of her drink, a sultry tone in her voice.

‘Tonight is going to be a long night,’ I thought to myself as I began to concoct a much grander story than a failed family prodigy.

I smirked as I began.

“It all started in the Amarezon…”

Author's Note

A carcolt is like a busboy, referring to trolly or train cars instead of bus's for public transportation and such.