Bikers in pleather jackets, construction workers in denim overalls, and laborers in work shirts swigged from their beer steins and cider mugs as one of the few mares, a light blue pegasus, sat on her favorite stool with a bottle of Reinier, an ashtray with a half-smoked Fetlock, and a bound stack of faded, yellowed papers.
"What'cha got there, Delta?" The bartender peeked over the counter as he polished the mug in his hooves.
"Just a college thesis," Delta sighed as she flipped to the next page and read the inked notes written in the page's margins.
"Ah," Uninterested, the bartender moved to the sink as Delta rubbed her watery, bloodshot eyes.
The thesis alone was one of Delta's finest works she had ever made with her former colleague. While her colleague had displayed his exceptional skill designing the airfoils, she had demonstrated her stellar ingenuity designing the engines, the components of which had even baffled her former colleague and other engineers now working at his corporation.
While the printed text outlined a potentially lucrative R&D project, his muzzle-written notes, however, discussed somepony important and far more precious to Delta. She took a swig from her bottle with each page she turned and before long she was down to the last few drops. She sighed, closed the report, and began staring idly at the cover.
The front door rung and the bartender turned around. The newcomer stepped up to the counter.
"What can I get you?"
The tall, slender, gray pegasus sat next to the mare. The train of his black long coat draped over the back edge of his stool. "Give me a Shirky Trample, please."
Delta briefly glanced at the newcomer. He was clean and shaven, and he had just ordered a soft beverage, a stark contrast to her own hygienic state and choice of drink. He was a rare bird visiting The Desert Oasis.
The bartender briefly shot a funny look at the stallion, but nonetheless began mixing his order.
The newcomer glanced around, discreetly listening to the regulars, observing their movements, and sampling their emotions. The strong malaise of the mare next to him caught his attention. "And another cold one for the lady."
The bartender hoofed the citrusy soda to the stallion and uncapped another Reinier for Delta, who had no problem accepting the mysterious stranger's gift. "Thank you, sir."
Taking a sip from the straw, the stallion eyed the cover page, then glanced at the mare sitting beside him. "Excuse me. Did you write this?"
Delta tilted her head slightly and shifted her eyes towards the other pegasus.
"Do you mind if I look?" the stallion asked gently.
"Knock yourself out, kid." Delta frowned as she took a gulp from her second bottle.
The gray pegasus skimmed through the pages, only gathering a sense of what the mare knew and what she was capable of from the discourse and diagrams. The co-author's commentary, however, painted a much bleaker picture that the stallion could understand.
By the time the bartender had flipped the light switches on and all the other customers had gone, Delta was close to finishing her fourth bottle while the gray stallion had a few sips of his fizzy drink left. Delta took a puff from her second cigarette.
The stallion reverently placed the report in front of its greater contributor. "This is amazing, ma'am."
"Thanks, kid," Delta sighed.
The stallion browsed the shelves stocked with liquor and cheap booze alike, occasionally glancing at the middle-aged mare. He opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. "What happened to you, Delta?"
"Do I have to answer?" Delta groaned.
The stallion's Prussian blue eyes shifted back and forth and frowned. "You never wanted to have child, did you?"
Delta remained silent and tried to avoid eye contact.
"Neither did my mare," Delta's ear twitched as the stallion reached inside his coat and pulled out his wallet. Flipping the case open, he placed it in front of Delta.
She couldn't read his ID with the stallion's foreleg in the way, but she had a clear view of a photo of him posing on the right with two yellow unicorns with long, wavy, red manes.
"The mare on the left, that's Beauty Brush." Her magenta eyes stared back at Delta's. "And the filly in the middle is my daughter, Nebula Brush. I haven't seen them in years."
Delta snorted and sneered, "What'd you do? You got her drunk and screwed her in bed?"
"No, we used protection but it failed," the stallion answered calmly as he pulled away his wallet and stashed it back in his coat.
"After that, our relationship was all but sexless," the stallion chuckled, "and if it weren't for Nebbie, Beauty probably would have left me so much sooner."
"How long were you two together?" Delta inquired.
The stallion hesitated, "Two... three years."
Delta stared at the stallion, "How old's your kid?"
"She's at least eight. I wish I could be there for her, but Nebbie's with her mother and she doesn't want anything to do with me. So, here I am, just looking for ways to make myself useful." The stallion slurped up the last of his Shirky Trample.
"What's your name, kiddo?" Delta tucked the college thesis safely in her soiled work shirt.
"Blackheart. 'Blacky' if you want," he replied.
"'Well, 'Blacky', care to take me home?" Delta pressed the smoldering end of her Fetlock.
Blackheart snorted, "I'd be happy to, ma'am. It is dark out."
"You can call me 'Vee'," Delta gently smiled back.
Delta opened her eyes as the sun greeted her outside the window and she sat upright. She groaned and raised a hoof to her forehead as it throbbed uncomfortably, but not painfully. Taking a deep breath, she could still smell the faint citrusy notes of the stallion's musk on her body.
Delta blinked before shifting her eyes around her bedroom. All the cigarette butts were gone, her clothes were airing in the wardrobe, and loose items had been arranged neatly. Her thesis and more importantly her missing wallet were sitting next to her bedside lamp. She grabbed the folded case and inspected it frantically despite her headache. Nothing had been taken, but the stack of banknotes in the main pocket seemed somewhat bulkier than she remembered.
She threw off the bedsheets and walked into the kitchen. She noticed her once dirty dishes on the rack next to the sink, which was just as spotless as her camper stove. The trash had been emptied from the bin next to the table, and that also had been wiped clean.
Delta grabbed the calling card next to the rose on the table. It had the angular outline of a black heart with inner jags at the cusp, drawn in black ink. On the back is a phone number and a short message.
"See ya, Vee."
