The Canterlot American Club
It was an early spring day in Canterlot. A few clouds hung in the blue afternoon sky over the city built at the foot of a mountain.
An alabaster castle surveyed the city from its position on the mountainside, providing a perfect vantage for Equestria’s government and leaders The castle could be seen from anywhere in the city, and particularly dwarfed the architecture of low-rise commercial and residential buildings. Some of the older structures went back several hundred years, though recent decades had seen unprecedented growth across the city. New buildings with sturdier materials and modern styles were going up everywhere.
The building at 44 Salutation Street was made of medium red brick with a theme of vertical rectangles. It was seven stories high and set back from the sidewalk far enough to allow for a row of carefully trimmed evergreen bushes to nestle below the first floor windows.
A driveway crossed the sidewalk, allowing passage into a courtyard with a circular turnaround. A yellow taxi, an imported Toyota Comfort, pulled in. The passenger that got out was a tall man with grey hair but only a few lines on his face. He wore a navy blue suit without a tie.
The stallion behind the wheel pointed to the meter on the dashboard of the taxi, which indicated ten bits. The man handed them over, and then said in Equestrian, “Thank you for the ride.”
The pony raised his eyebrows, but smiled. “You’re welcome. Call us any time.” He tipped his flat cap and pulled away from the curb.
The man turned towards the sliding glass of the automatic front door. Beside it was a sign mounted above the hedges. It had a royal blue background with a gold border and serif block letters that read:
AMERICAN CLUB
.
A square-shouldered man in a grey suit and sunglasses stood beside the door, hands clasped in front of him. His hair was short and his beard was carefully trimmed. He and the visitor traded nods.
The glass doors slid open automatically as the newcomer approached, not breaking stride. After crossing a black waterproof rug, the floor gave way to polished cream marble. Another set of doors opened a few steps later, completing the airlock that sealed out any unsuitable weather. The lobby lay just beyond.
The spacious room was two stories high. There was no point in trying to out-gilt the ponies, so the decor had taken a more subdued route to elegance. Rosewood paneling around the lower walls gave way to royal blue wallpaper with a simple diamond pattern in red and gold. The ceiling was paneled and the color of brushed brass. A central chandelier of crystal cast its glittering light around the room. Soft lamps set into the ceiling around the perimeter spotlighted the dozen paintings of United States National Park landscapes, as captioned by small brass plates.
The heaviest-traveled path across the center of the lobby was protected by a strip of carpet. It was blue, decorated with a subtle border of stylized leaves and branches. A dozen chairs upholstered in tan with carved wooden feet were positioned around the room in small groups with circular rugs of matching carpet between them. A brick hearth occupied the wall on the left, an artificial fire glowing within.
Directly to the right of the entrance stood a high rosewood desk, carved with conservative adornments and varnished to a shine that rivaled the glossy floor. Affixed to the front was an enameled metal crest featuring two flags, their poles crossed at an angle. On the left was the red white and blue United States flag. The Equestrian flag on the right was lighter blue, bordered by stars, and featured the likenesses of the royal sisters in the center.
A woman sat behind the desk. She wore a charcoal skirt and jacket over a white shirt and blue neck tab. Her medium brown hair was pulled back in a shining bun. The tag on her left lapel, brushed silver with blue letters, indicated her name was Kendra Slatery.
The man from the taxi stopped in front of her and took out his keyring, touching an inconspicuous black fob on it to a small electronic panel set on top the desk. There was a low chime.
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,” said Kendra. “Please enjoy your day.” She gave him the hint of a professional smile.
He nodded and smiled, “Thank you,” and continued on his way.
He walked down the strip of carpet to the other side of the lobby, turning right into a carpeted hallway. A few steps brought him to an intricate wooden door on the left, gold letters on the frosted glass panel in the top half spelling out Hemingway Lounge.
The room within was mostly wood, all of it varnished, and lit with low lights. There was the slightest trace of tobacco smoke, even as a small, new-looking brass plate beside the door directed no smoking. The ceiling fans looked more mechanical than electric, but were polished and turned their wooden blades slowly, barely stirring the air.
Low upholstered furniture around small tables occupied much of the room. Half a dozen people sat at them or at the brass and wood bar that spanned the length of the right hand wall.
Mirror panes occupied the whole wall behind the bar, a single row of bottles lined up in front of them. Brass beer taps with half a dozen choices were centered on the bar. A pale orange unicorn mare with a carefully styled off-white mane stood behind the bar and idly polished glasses with a soft rag. She looked up at the newest guest, putting the glass down, pocketing the rag in her white apron, and turning to pick up a bottle.
The latest customer to enter the bar spotted another man sitting by himself at a table in the corner. His hair was dark, but going grey at the temples. He wore a blue jacket and khakis, though carelessly, as if he wouldn’t have bothered if it wasn’t the dress code. As he was facing the door, he had already seen the newcomer and looked on as the visitor approached.
“The illustrious Dave Albany, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The single beer bottle in front of him, half finished and sitting on a felt coaster, was likely not enough to have affected his attitude for better or worse.
Albany placed his fingers on the back of the chair opposite. “Do you mind if I have a seat?”
The other man shrugged. “It’s a free diachary.” He picked up the beer and took a drink.
Albany sat, tipping his head to read the label on the beer bottle. The print was in Equestrian. “I see you’ve finally developed some taste, Rick.”
“It’s cheap.”
The bartender came over and placed a glass with scotch and ice beside Albany, setting it on its coaster without a sound.
He smiled. “Thank you, Marmalade; you’re a dear.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?” she asked, barely a trace of accent in her English.
“I’d like another dandelion ale for Mr. Gordon here,” Albany replied, smiling. His tablemate gave him a flat look, but said nothing. Marmalade bowed her head and departed the table as silently as she had appeared.
Gordon kept staring at Albany has he picked up his drink and took a sip. Satisfied, Albany put down the glass and folded his hands in front of him. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Rick.”
“I know.”
“I’m wondering when you’re going to come back to the embassy.”
“And do what? There isn’t exactly a lot of work here.” Gordon lifted his bottle and took another drink.
Albany nodded, though not enough to show he was satisfied with the answer.
Gordon sighed. “When was the last time you saw a place this quiet?”
“You’ve read my bio.”
“China, Ukraine, Bolivia, Mali,” Gordon recited. “Never nice places.”
Albany turned his hand palm up. “Though they weren’t Afghanistan or Iraq, as I’m sure you could tell me. What’s wrong with taking a break?”
“It’s just-” Gordon shook his head and sighed. He took the last swallow of beer. “Unnatural,” he finished.
Marmalade appeared like a ghost, replaced the bottle with a full one, and disappeared.
“Not having anything to do doesn’t mean you should be wishing things would happen,” said Albany. He sipped his drink.
“So if I come back, are you going to give me something to do?” Gordon said.
“I didn’t have anything in mind,” Albany admitted.
“So why are you here?”
“Lots of people are looking for you, Rick. What happened?”
Gordon took another drink. He set the bottle down. He considered for a moment, and sighed. “We’re the worst thing that ever happened to this place.”
Albany’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Have you ever seen a place this good?”
“Well, like I said, you read my bio. This is the nicest place I’ve ever worked.”
“It’s better than home.” Gordon stared, as if daring Albany to challenge him.
“I don’t know about that,” replied Albany, picking up his glass and looking at it. “It’s a little hard to get a decent steak around here. The club is probably the only place.”
“It’s not about that,” Gordon insisted. “This isn’t some third world shithole. Not even the US compares. The Equestrians are the most purely decent people I’ve ever met. It makes me question what I’m doing with my life.”
“The ponies have this expression, it translates to ‘friendship is magic,’” said Albany. “It’s who they are. They literally have to be nice.”
“Well, what’s stopping us from trying it? Why don’t the Taliban just try being nice?” Gordon’s lip curled.
Albany considered it. “Well, anything is possible in time. The ponies have been a civilization for longer than any human country has been around.”
“I don’t think they will be much longer now that they’ve been exposed to us.”
“This isn’t like the environment, with pollution,” said Albany. “And like I said, pony attitude is deeply ingrained. It’ll take more than a few of us to change that. The Princesses-”
“The Princesses aren’t infallible,” Gordon reminded him.
“I was just about to say they’re a lot more competent than any other head of state I’ve ever met,” said Albany.
“So you agree with me?”
“About what?”
“That Equestria is better than home?”
Albany tried to smile and didn’t quite make it. “I didn’t say that. In fact, as a US Federal Government employee, I’d better not say anything of the kind. Besides, Equestria isn’t perfect. They don’t have steak.”
“Fuck the steak!”
Everyone in the room looked in their direction, save Marmalade. Her ears didn’t even twitch and she pretended she hadn’t heard the outburst.
Gordon lowered his voice, but his tone didn’t change. “I’m tired of bad guys. I’m tired of murder. I’m tired of rape. I’m tired of corrupt politicians. I’m tired of people being nasty to each other over money. I’m tired of seeing starving kids on the news. I’m not going back.”
Albany’s eyes were lost in his glass again. He folded his hands on the table. The silence stretched out.
“You know what this is going to cost you,” he said, finally.
“I don’t care about my clearance,” said Gordon. “Do whatever. I don’t need that here. In Equestria, they don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut about things I’ve seen.”
He pushed his chair back and stood.
Albany looked up. “I’ll grant you, Equestria is a beautiful place. But it’s not home.”
“Well, it’s going to be.” Gordon finished his beer and put the bottle down.
Albany remained seated. “Loyalties aren’t built on making the better of two choices. Loyalty means sticking with the lot you have, not the one you want. I learned that from a pony, by the way.”
Their eyes met. Gordon looked away.
“Thanks for the drink,” he said, and walked out.
Author's Note
Just an exercise in scene description. I took inspiration for the setting from reading about various social clubs around the world.
I attempted to write this to be interpreted by everyone differently. For one example, a Toyota Comfort is a right-hand-drive car. Does that change how you visualized the scene?