The Price of a Drink
B_25
Spike stared at the bottle; the reflection in the bottle stared back.
He plucked it from the shelf, caring not for what kind of drink it was, seeing as the purpose of them all as the same. It was quite a hefty bottle, two and a half litres to be exact, precisely what was needed to get him through the cold, winter night. In a few moments, he standing before the counter, his claw shaking as he was forced to give the clerk the bottle.
"Whoa! Good choice dude." The clerk's voice almost squeaked, and for a moment, Spike wondered if he was even old enough to drink himself. "Just how big of a party are you and your friends throwing?! Can I come?"
Spike chuckled, digging a claw through the pouch strapped around his waist. "Party of one, I'm afraid." He withdrew some bits and dropped them on the counter, a brown paper bag offering itself to him afterward, something he didn't hesitate to grab. "But I hear Princess Twilight Sparkle is throwing her doors open to everypony tonight. Why don't you check that out after your shift?"
"Totally wicked dude!" The clerk scooped the bits off the counter, letting them fall into the open drawer of the register. "A party with royalty, now that got a ring to it!" He slammed the drawer and looked back to the drake. "Say, why aren't you—"
The customer had already left.
]
The winds were frigid against his scales, their howl hissing into his ear fins, but the drake didn't mind as he stumbled forward, head tilted back, bottle pressed against his lips: the warmth of liquid spread throughout his body, helping him to forget about the coldness. Then, after a mighty chug, he pulled the drink away from his lips, laughing like a filly at the white fog that enveloped the street he was on.
"Quite a night to be outside, wouldn't you agree, Mr, Bottle?"
He stretched the claw with the bottle out, tilting it left and right, applying a mock tone as he did so. "It sure is, Mr. Spike! You have plenty of my brothers and sisters back at home, yet you still went through this storm just to bring me home."
Spike laughed, stumbling to the right. "What? A dragon isn't allowed to leave his house once in a while?"
"Not through a snow-storm," the voice of the bottle was high-pitch. "Maybe to attend a party or go to a bar, something you have other ponies keeping you accountable for!"
Spike laughed even harder, jolting forward as his body now decided it was the direction it wanted to go in. That was always the best part of drinking to Spike: of losing control and just letting go. Of not thinking and not worrying, just laughing and feeling merry.
He continued to laugh without reason. The blanket of snow was pleasant to his feet, sinking an inch with every step he took, emitting a pleasurable crunch. The howl of the winds soften, becoming but a mere hiss, accompanied by a strange, whiny undertone.
Spike suddenly stopped laughing, stopping in place, and staying like that for a little while. He sighed, anything five feet below a white blur to his eyes, coming to realize just now he was alone in this cold hell. He lifted the bottle to his lips, kicking back a few good gulps, and before he knew it, his giggles were back.
"That was a close one, Mr. Spike!" The bottle sang. Spike vigorously nodded his head. "The cold is starting to get to your head! C'mon, the streets aren't meant for dancing, and besides—" its tone became angry "—one of them may see you."
The drake nodded his head, except this time, less vigorously.
So the drake and the bottle trudge on, through the winds and the snows, past the fogs to where the distant hills were now within their sight. The drake took longer and straighter sides, periodically glancing over his shoulder, not sure exactly what he was expecting other than the same snow.
And then, he heard it, a voice over the winds, but weaker over their currents.
"Did ya hear that, Mr. Spike?" Spike down at his chest, where he had the bottle clutched against. He traced a digit along his lips, not feeling them move an inch. "Someone else is out here! Quick, let us hurry home before the evil Princess catches us!"
Home wasn't too far away. His mind could be in a haze, but Spike's body always knew the way home, past the train track and up the small hill, where the home he had built for himself stood before a very large cave. It would only take him a few minutes, now that his feet had found the right path.
"...please...somepony...help me..."
Spike's blinked as his feet came to a stop, the tracks of the railway before them starting to shake, but even as he looked both ways, he saw no train. It wasn't just the tracks, but the ground, but building surrounding him—everything began to tremble when he set his eyes upon them.
"Mr. Spike? Where are you going?" Spike brought the talking bottle before his eyes, watching both it and the world behind it sway in opposite directions. He tried shaking his head but to little avail. "You and I can't be seen together around these parts, don't you know that? Didn't the girls make that apparent when they—" The bottle was silenced upon meeting the scaly lips.
Spike drank, to consume enough of that mind-numbing liquid to silence that tiny little voice, the one that lurked dark recess of his mind, the one that never seemed to stop talking no matter how many times he gripped his head in frustrations. There were only two things he could do to silence it.
"That's it, Mr. Dragon," the voice whispered. Spike's throat burned as he couldn't take much more. "Let me inside you, to quell that which dwells deep inside of you." It giggled. "Just remember! My treatment isn't permanent." Then it laughed. "And doesn't fare much better in the long run."
Spike pulled the bottle away, panting, the intake of cool air chilling his burning lungs. Even with the bottle half-empty, he was unable to escape his mind. He turned around, coming to face the wall of white fog he'd just escaped, still hearing the faint cry from within the town.
Spike stopped panting, standing up straight as he approached the wall of fog. Step one had failed, and because of that, he stepped back inside the town, and began step number two: find something to keep him busy.
"...anypony...please..."
The voice was getting louder, but so too were the winds. It kicked snow and fog into the air, blinding the drake more than it should, shielding his eyes with the claw holding the bottle. "It's getting colder, y'know," the voice said, the bottle shaking in his grasp. "Just take another sip of me and let's head home."
Spike ignored the voice, seeing a silhouette behind the fog, lying on the ground and not moving an inch. The drake paused in his quest, settling upon the sight with a bated breath, coming to glance left and then right, as if this was all some sort of trap, but all he found was the same snow and fog. He continued towards the voice.
"...h-hello? i-is someone..."
The voice stopped, sputtering something out.
The silhouette became more define the closer the drake got towards it, still haze through his eyes even as they cut through the fog. Before he knew it, the drake was standing over the figure, his head hurting and body wobbling more than it should.
"...w-who's there?!" the voice whimpered. "...please, I-I've already given you all that I have..."
"Now ain't that a shame," the bottle said. The drake looked from the body to the glass. "If he had a wallet then we could've gone back and got my second-cousin. C'mon, Spike, we should just—" it was silenced again by a pair of lips.
"Ahh," Spike sight, left eye shut as he enjoyed the momentary bliss that came with every sip. He fell unto a knee, giggling as he did so, blinking his eyes in the hope of clearing his vision; the body still a muddled mess of black to him. "L-Looks like you had one too many, buddy." He snorted in glee, amused by the sound of his silly voice. "If you're still thirsty, though, you can sip mine if you like."
He brought the bottle before the muzzle of the stallion, only for it to be lazily swatted away by a hoof. Spike yanked it back. "Hey, what gives!?"
"Please," the stallion said, his green eyes glowing through the haze as he looked up at the creature, "you have to help me."
"Geeze," Spike muttered to himself, hunching over the body as he slid both claws under his frame, "you really are wasted." He sighed. "Okay, I'm gonna lift you now, but try to sit up on your own as much as you can." He stared at the stallion, trying to both look intimidating and to break through the dammed haze the enshrouded the other's identity. "And if you're going to vomit, do it in the other direction."
Spike began to pull.
"...no wait—" the stallion cried, he screamed and he yelled, and some other word for the combination of the three. Something spurted out of his mouth, covering the drake's chest with the liquid, who let him fall in a jerk reaction.
"What the hell!"
Spike wiped the grime from his chest, taking another swig as he did so, and bringing whatever was on his digits to his eyes. His fingers floated in the air, a couple of blinks required to making them still, and when he saw what the stallion had finally threw up, his claw fell back to his side.
The stallion had coughed up blood.
"What..." Spike muttered, falling to both his knees and gazing down at the body. "What the hell happened to you?" He didn't receive a response other than the stallion wheezing for air. He sighed, hunching over the body, and placing his claw on the stallion's side.
"What...what is that?!" The stallion began to shake, hysteria running rampant in his tone. "No! You are not touching me again! You are not harming me again!"
The stallion's convulsions caused for the claw on his side to puncture his light-green jacket, something that made the drake recoil upon happening, though he sighed as his digit had gone no further. "Buddy, calm down!"
The stallion did no such thing, kicking his hindlegs widely—one of them even striking a scaly chest.
"You won't take me away from them!" the stallion screamed, accompanied by wails of pain. "Take whatever I have left, but you won't take my life!"
Spike's eyes narrowed; the slits in his eyes becoming sharper.
"Listen," he growled into the stallion's ear, his claw holding him more firmly to the ground. "I'm not here to hurt you but I'm close to doing so. Something is wrong with you, so I'm going to have a closer look at you, but be warned—" he snapped his teeth over his ear, the sound making the stallion jolt "—I won't hesitate to knock you out if my patience wears thin."
The stallion whimpered.
"I planned on drinking myself to sleep tonight, and I'm already half-way there." Using his other claw, he undid the buttons to the coat, each stained with something, for which, his eyes could not make out, but that detail didn't matter once the coat became undone, and its source had become found.
Spike's face froze, his lips becoming parted and his eyes stuck on stallion's midsection. He fell back, sitting once again on his knees, turning his head around and looking for any others nearby—only to find the same fog and snow.
He looked back down on the stallion, his tone having lost any anger. "You're...bleeding."
The stallion coughed, his spit colouring the snow red. "H-How bad?"
"Very," Spike replied, gulping. He rose his claw, more importantly, the bottle; its label made a blur by the shaking of his claw. He tried holding the claw still with his other one, only to have them tremble at the same speed. "Your entire lower body is covered in blood."
The stallion started to pant. Then, he looked up, the glow of his eyes now dimmed. "Y-You...gotta help...me..."
"I...I-I can't!" Spike replied, his claws falling to his side. He shook his head, but the only made the world shake even more. "L-Look, I wasn't kidding about being wasted. See these?" He hovered the claws over the eyes of the stallion, but the stallion didn't seem to notice. "They won't stop shaking."
The stallion let out a breath, and Spike's heart stopped, wondering if it was his last.
"C'mon, Spike, use that dumb head of yours and think!" He squeezed his eyes to bypass the sway of the world, using whatever was left on his head to focus on just helping the stallion. He then snapped his fingers. "Here, the nearest hospital is just on the other side of town. Now, I don't quite trust my step either, but we don't have too many options here."
He slid his claws underneath the stallion once, but before he could lift, he heard the creature scream out. "Please don't!"
Spike pulled back his claws in fear of doing further pain.
"E-Every time you touch me, the pain feels worse," the stallion said between pants, groaning all the while. "...when I try to sit up, my wound feels like its splitting apart, and I'm afraid it actually might."
Spike rubbed a claw against his face, sighing into his palm.
"What you feel and what might be the case are two separate things," Spike said, lowering himself to the stallion, and placing a claw on a side to his jacket. "I'm gonna take a better look at your wound, and we'll go from there." Just as he was about to pull back the jacket, Spike noticed that stallion's breaths were becoming shallow, and his eyes beginning to close.
"Hey hey hey!" Spike snapped his claws before the stallion's muzzle, who's eyes snapped wide as he drew a sharp intake of air. "The streets aren't made for sleeping—there's many who take offence to it. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, maybe what the hell happened to you?"
The stallion coughed, every heave of his chest like bearing great weight, but one that he carried as stoically as he could. The drake pulled himself back to the stallion, sneakingly throwing the coat over the stallion. He saw the wound once again, and, for a moment, he was worried he was going to puke.
'C'mon Spike,' thought to himself, gripping his right claw with his left. 'There's no one around else to bail you out if you screw up. It's just blood—you've seen worse, so get a move on.'
"Just so you don't get any funny ideas, I'm not down here because I want to," Spike said, bringing his claw to the stallions coat. It was cold to the touch. "And I'll be personally insulted if I'm paid for this deed."
The stallion laughed, or maybe he coughed, but he was silent after that.
"Come on dude, things will get awkward if I'm probing you in silence," Spike tried again, his tone unsure of itself. "What will the ponies walking by think if they just see this? I need to hear some words so I know I'm not operating on a dead client."
The stallion groaned as something was working down before, his hind hooves aching as all the muscles in his body were tense. It was hard of him to speak, the world so blurry past his eyes, but he had to stay alive, and that meant staying awake.
"...the name's Regal..." the stallion said, the words barely above a whisper.
"Regal? Not bad at all." Spike's claws became colder as they came in contact with the blood, frigid and slick to the coat, covering the midsection in a thin layer. "Looks like you didn't hit your head when you fell." Spike glanced up the body, noticing the rises and the falls of the chest were becoming smaller and more spread out apart. "Say, let's pretend I'm secretly a big fan of yours, and I set this all up to write a book about you. Can you give me some more details about your life, anything at all, so I don't feel like this is all some big waste?"
Author's Note
Wrote this three years ago.
I wonder if I wrote better then?
