All Things In Moderation

The drinks are strong here. The bar: dingy place out of the way, full of burnouts and old-timers swapping miseries over a glass of one thing or another. Smoke and old lovesongs that nobody listens to anymore fill the air. But at least the drinks are strong. I tell myself I'm not like the other patrons. I haven't given up. I just like strong drinks.

The girl is pretty. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes, lips that want to be kissed. Shapely. Her outfit is tight. Leaves little to the imagination. Her name . . . "Rose," I think she said. I'm drunk, should go home. Something about her makes me stay. Or something about me. Loneliness.

I tell her my name is James. She says something. I think it was supposed to be funny so I laugh. She smiles. Guess that was the right reaction. She leans in close. That dark hair smells like something I can't name but it makes me want her. She promises things. I want the things she promises. Says she can take me somewhere. A good place. She leads me and I follow.

As I stumble after her swaying hips out of the bar into the cold air, does some part of my mind, some voice buried behind desire and a drunken haze protest that this is too good to be true? Maybe, but I'm not listening right now. I have a condom in the pocket of my worn old leather jacket. Wishful thinking when I put it there probably but it seems to have panned out after all.

We walk down quiet well-lit streets, I doing my best not to trip over my own feet while I chat with her about nothing of consequence and try desperately to tell a coherent joke, she the very image of a graceful young woman in the prime of her beauty. Her smile is dazzling when she laughs.

The streets are darker now, fewer streetlights and it's been a couple minutes since I saw so much as a passing car. I don't know this part of town. Does Rose know where she's going? She kisses me, suddenly, chasing the thought from my mind, along with any objection I might have been able to conjure. I follow again, stupid grin plastered once more on my face.

We turn down an alley. It was dark enough before but now the shadows seem more oppressive. Menacing. That voice in the back of my head pipes up again but Drunk and Horny shout him down. Rose stands in front of a door, knocks a sequence in and turns to smile at me as it opens.

"The House of Dreams and Shadows," she says, both an introduction and invitation. I can't think of anything to say, so I nod and enter. The interior is lit by candles and shaded lamps. I can make out the shapes of the people that lie around a large central room in languid repose, sucking long drags on hookahs and talking in hushed tones. Rose takes me by the hand. The smoke is cloying, my senses clouded further.

"Come and share your dreams," Rose says. I nod. Not thinking anymore. Too hard to think here. Too hard to focus on anything but the strange statue of what I think is a horse at first, before it resolves into a woman, holding the moon above her. I'm not sure why I know that the featureless cut stone orb in her hands is the moon but I don't question it.

Rose kneels, pulling me down beside her. The conversations around the room stop, their constant murmur deafening in its absence.

"Weaver of dreams, moon-mother goddess, this one comes to know you and your gifts. Take him in and share with us all the dreams his waking mind conceals."

I'm about to ask what's going on, or at least, slur out a confused grunt, but suddenly a bolt of ice and pain spears into the center of my forehead and into my brain.

Around me, I hear what my suddenly very, VERY sober brain realizes have got to be cultists chanting together; "Take him . . . show us . . . take him . . .show us . . . take him . . .show us . . . ."

I never find out if they get their show because the pain intensifies as the statue suddenly flashes bright and someone, Rose I think, screams in confusion. A woman's voice, not Rose this time but an older voice, infused with calm authority speaks to me.

"Come into my garden child. Do not fear."

I black out.

The memories flooded my mind as I opened my eyes. I looked around me, trying desperately to get my bearings as I cursed my own stupidity. "Dammit dammit dammit," I snarled, my blurry vision clearing to reveal that I was sat up against a stone wall beside a large black-iron gate, with lengths of ivy twisting up and down the surface.

I had to figure out where I was, and what those freaks had done to me, swearing for what had to be the ten-thousandth time in my adult life that I would never get that drunk again. "Come child, there is nothing to be afraid of. You will not be harmed here."

The voice from before, the one that came . . . okay, could not possibly have come from the statue and was now coming from beyond the gate. The one that Rose led me to . . . okay so recent events taken into account, trusting the voice of a woman I didn't know seemed just slightly idiotic at the moment.

"I'm fine right where I am, thank you," I replied as I pushed myself up to a crouch, my back against the wall. I wasn't about to just walk into an ambush. I'm not stupid when I'm sober, although the distinct absence of what should have been a massive hangover was a bit disconcerting. At the time however, I was willing to take the small mercies I could get.

The voice on the other side sighed. "Very well, I understand. We can talk like this if you prefer. I felt you in pain and afraid, and came to help you. I can't see you, which is unusual here."

"How so?" I asked, stalling for time.

"When I walk in dreams, there are few that can hide from my gaze, and fewer still that will refuse me when I offer an audience."

That gave me a moments pause. "When you walk in . . . okay, who are you?"

"My name is Luna," she said.

"And we are currently in . . . ?"

"A dream, correct," she told me in a tone that suggested a stifled giggle.

I thought about it, running my hand across my shaved scalp, an old nervous habit. Now that she mentioned it, the sky was purple and that was the third time it had changed color. Also the sun was winking at me. Wait the sun? How long had I been out? Of course . . . I was still out.

Perhaps noticing my hesitation, Luna spoke again. "Your sleeping mind was in turmoil. It is my duty to guard the realm of dreams, and offer aid where I may. What troubles you?"

I grimaced. "I . . . think I'm in big trouble. In the . . . waking world I mean. I was drunk. There was a girl . . . I followed her somewhere, some kind of cult. It was stupid. I got hit from behind. I'm probably still lying unconscious in front of that weird altar of theirs." I moaned in despair as I followed the thought to its logical conclusion. "Who knows what weird shit they're doing to me right now."

Luna was silent for a moment. "I do not sense you are in any danger right now."

I sighed. "If you weren't a figment of my alcohol soaked imagination that would be an immense comfort."

She snorted in amusement. "I am no such thing, though I suppose you are free to believe that if you wish. So long as you are well, and no nightmare threatens you, I do not mind how you choose to interpret this encounter. At any rate, I think you will be waking up soon. Perhaps it will not be so bad as you believe."

I nodded. "Good. I need to get home before I'm late for work." I think about the long and winding walk with Rose and grimace. "I don't suppose you could guess where I am out there?"

"Hmmm," Luna hemmed in contemplation, "It is difficult for me to say exactly where your physical body lies. But fear not my little pony, you are most definitely within Equestria's borders, so help can not be far away."

"That's a relief," I replied as I struggled to my feet, feeling the world around me drop away as my mind returned to consciousness. Then what she said struck me. "Wait what did you mean by-?"

My eyes snapped open and a wide-eyed light blue pony with what can only be a small, stubby horn jerked back in surprise, before pressing its face back in close.

"What," she asked in an clearly female voice, her tone perplexed and haughty, as though offended that I dare bother her with the mystery of my existence, "are you?"

"Fucked," I replied firmly, before rolling onto my side and vomiting profusely.

At least my hangover was finally where it was supposed to be.

Author's Note

This is my attempt to get back into the swing of writing fanfiction. Still doing the HiE thing.

Here's hoping I haven't completely lost my touch. Of course, reviews and criticism are always welcome.

And for any old friends that see this . . . I'm back. And I missed you guys.