Ground Coffee

by Celefin

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, Profanity, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character
Length: 6927

Manehattan late night radio calls for a special kind of pony that knows a thing or two about life. That's me. Ain't that great.

The newfangled FCEMFMW ('enhanced focus-crystal emitted magic field modulation wave', we pros call it FM, because... seriously?) is a brilliant invention meant to 'carry the magic of friendship everywhere'. Or so I'm told. It definitely carries something.

It enables ponies from all over the Manehattan area to call me late at night and chat about whatever they like with thousands of others listening in. Obviously, this never goes wrong. But I'm the kind of pony needed for this job. Probably.

Anyway, forget about all that. I've got a dorky technician. This is about him. Mostly. And Coffee. And Jazz.

Pre-read and approved by Candy Canine.
Stand-alone character study but marked incomplete for now, as more chapters may or may not appear

Contains various sexual misadventures and copious amounts of swearing and coffee

Published 2021-03-23 16:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-04-03 17:43:05 UTC

Slow Jazz

Ground Coffee
by Celefin

“Alright all you lovesick, miserable, lovely, plain drunk, daft, or mysterious nighthawks. Thank you to those who chose to bother me and my coffee maker. And thanks to all you other people who just listen to this station in the forlorn hope to get some entertainment or titillation.

“It’s almost 3am, so have some quality music to round off the night. Here’s Tom Hays with Nighthawks at Joe’s. May Luna hold a wing over you while you slumber in peace - or alternatively do unspeakable things to you in your dreams. I know which I’d prefer. Remember, I hate you all, but I love to hate you. This is Dark Roast on Manehattan FM, signing off.”

I wait until the red on wave light goes dark and only the cold glow of the ceiling crystals remains. Tom Hays does his usual stellar job of ending the night.

...there’s a rendezvous
of strangers, around coffee and donuts tonight
Pony thieves, local griffin chiefs…

I sigh and pick up my mug between my fetlocks. The coffee is lukewarm, but it’s almost strong enough to defend itself. I finish it off in a few gulps and close my eyes for a second.

...it’s cold coffee in a tobacco cloud
Now the touch of your hooves
Lingers burning in my memories…

Back up on my hooves with a shake of my head and a heartfelt yawn.

“Ey, I can almost see your tailhole down that gullet,” the technician calls from the door.

“Shut the fuck up Ozzy and fuck off.”

“Hey, I love you too, Dark Roast,” he says with a grin.

Oscillate Blue does all the tricky magicky stuff needed to run this station. He keeps-

“Care for a real coffee down at the Marerabian?”

-inviting me on what he thinks should be a date. No idea what he sees in me, but I sure as fuck don’t see it in him.

“Thanks Oz, but no thanks. Gonna head home and hit the hay.”

“Come on Dark, they’ve got Marerabian highland and Prench cream brandy on special offer tonight.”

Going by his hopeful smile, he thinks that’ll sway me. Well… he’s not wrong. Sleep is overrated anyway. I give him a long look and a brief smile. “Okay. But you’re paying for the brandy.”

Ozzy’s grin is brighter than Celestia’s cursed morning sun when her breakfast tea’s been bitter.

“Great! Let’s get going!”

...I’m in a melodramatic scene
I’m a refugee from a disconcerted affair
As the lead pipe morning falls…

***

It’s almost 3:30 when we step out into the street. A moonless night, cloudy and with a cold drizzle. If it weren’t for the streetlamps, it’d be pitch black. It’s the kind of feeling where you just don’t say anything. Lonely small hours of the night, wet hooffalls echoing between the buildings. Blinking rain out of my eyes and wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

Two ponies reflected in a dark shop window as we walk past, a blue and purple unicorn and a slate grey and orange earth pony. Both washed out and distorted in a wet sheen on black glass. That earth pony mare looks like shit, even when out of focus.

Should be heading home to sleep. Instead I’m letting myself be dragged on a date with a mediocre unicorn stallion, trudging through this damn rain. Reciting Tom Hays in my thoughts doesn’t make me feel less shit. It’s just… a more classy kind of shit. Good enough.

The Marerabian Dawn is little more than a glitter sprinkled hole in the wall with a bored bouncer who hardly even looks at us. You’d have to be a very determined troublemaker at this time of night in this part of Manehattan. We duck past the soft greenish glow of the two swamp gas lights over the low door and go in.

It’s one of those impossible buildings that appear at least three times larger on the inside than when viewed from the street. This place isn’t a dump, but it’s not upmarket either. It’s 24/7 and it kinda just is.

It’s been a while, but the Zebra behind the bar gives me a nod. I’ve forgotten her name, but she remembers me. “If it isn’t Dark Roast, looking like a wet ghost.”

She’s always here at this Celestia forsaken hour. One day I’ll put in the effort to try and get to know her. Maybe. Anyway. “Hi. I’ll have-”

“Two highland coffee, one sweet and one black and extra strong, and a double Prench cream,” Ozzy cuts in happily.

Oh, right. I’m on a date.

The bartender raises her eyebrows and looks back and forth between me and him. Her gaze lingers on me for a second and I feel very disapproved of. What the fuck have I done? A moment before I get annoyed she gives me a small smirk and goes to do her job.

Whatever I’m apparently doing, probably all my life choices, she knows and understands. As opposed to me. Fuck, this is too complicated right now. Zebra voodoo or some shit.

We head over to the cloakroom to drop off our saddlebags. They’ve got a unicorn mare and stallion at the ready to dry off wet customers with towels held in their fields so they don’t ruin the upholstery. I remind myself these are professionals who don’t give a shit about touching cutiemarks or tails. They’ve most likely seen it all.

That done, Ozzy, head held high, leads me into the bar again. Only to find all the few separees occupied already. Small blessings, I guess. There are free seats in the open Silver Cloud Lounge area though. Close to the stage and there’s live music tonight. Slow jazz.

Just loud enough to make conversation difficult. Suits me fine. Not here to flirt. Ozzy deflates a little but it looks like he’s determined to make the best of it. That’s not going to be a whole lot. With a sigh I remind myself that I shouldn’t be a complete ass to a pony who is paying for my drinks.

True to its name, the Silver Cloud Lounge is mainly meant for pegasi, with no walls, and the seats and even the tables made from cloudstuff. Somehow there’s glitter in them that reflects the stage lights.

At least there are a few ordinary cushions as well, just in case one of the smug bastards wants to hang out with us groundpounders. It’s not racist when you actually ...like... the sight of wings, is it?

Most of the small clouds are pretty translucent, as if they’re about to dissipate. One of them is honest to Celestia raining, with a little puddle on the floor underneath it. I wonder what would happen if there was an accidental stormcloud. I lean forward and scan the floor. Sure enough, there’s a small scorch mark under the cloud table next to me. That’s fucking ridiculous.

Our drinks arrive on a tray held in the Zebra’s mouth. A black and white striped tray. Seriously? Come on. But damn, that coffee smells amazing. Guess the brandy bottle is too heavy to put it on the tray, so she’s carrying it on her head instead, balanced between her ears. Neat.

There’s some of the glittery stuff on the underside of the tray as well, and when she puts it down the cloud table solidifies. Charged crystal powder then. Neat again. I look at the product name printed on the tray. ‘ØpdraftTM’. Ah. One of those.

The brandy bottle takes a spin in the air when the Zebra flicks her head, after which she catches it in her teeth. In a fluid motion, she pours a generous measure of the yellowish liquid into my waiting glass. Oh yes. Now we’re talking.

“That’s a pretty cool move. Reminds me of one of my last sessions of O&O.”

I blink. “Of what?”

“Ogres and Oubliettes,” Ozzy explains. “We had this Zebrican mage who…”

Oh right, I forgot. He’s totally into that. Well, it sometimes actually makes for fun stories to listen to, even if I’m really not into it. I mean, I tried it once. Jester might have been the wrong character choice though. Anyway, he’s happy with telling me a cardboard war story. There’s Manehattan east side jazz to listen to, and I’ve got magnificent, free drinks. Life could be worse.

Two coffees and three brandies later life is actually pretty good. Ozzy is on his second White Stalliongrad and we’re talking about that loser who called in tonight, after his wife had left him and his marefriend dumped him the same night. Only to find out the two mares were now dating each other.

Life comes at you fast sometimes. You don’t have to make a fool of yourself live on wave afterwards of course, but I thought it made for rather good entertainment. Some ponies. Don’t know what he expected, but he should’ve known I don’t specialize in giving comfort to tragic idiots. Half drunk and overtired, this is far funnier than it has any right to be.

Somehow I didn’t notice Ozzy scooting close. I realise he’s actually quite nice in his dorky way and anyway, it’s way too early in the morning now and, honestly, who gives a shit? In any case, I’m all out of shits to give, and so I lean against his shoulder. Successfully arrived at non-sensible station. This can only end well.

The band has changed and now it’s a group of batponies playing Horseshoe Bay Blues. Ah, that takes me back. I’ve got the fuzzies. Ozzy excuses himself and leaves for the little colts room and my flank is suddenly cold.

A group of off-duty Royal guards is being rowdy somewhere behind me. Careful lads, the bartender is a martial artist and I’ve seen her in action once. She doesn’t need the bouncer. There’s a thud and a pained yelp from the bar. See? Not my problem. Now if she’d time the kicks with the Blues rhythm, that’d be perfect. Gotta work on that.

I’m debating with myself the choice between getting up to give her that sage advice or lying down and talk Prench to Mr Brandy when a buff pegasus comes by.

He lazily swipes a wing through the cloud table and it instantly solidifies, just like the by now wispy cushion when he sits down on it. Pegasus magic is kinda cool. He nods at me and turns his head to the stage, tapping a hoof to the slow rhythm.

The bartender arrives to bring him his drink - in ornately decorated reddish brown earthenware that softly bobs on and in the table. Tea. Really? Huh. Yeah, well, I guess a place like this has to serve Zebrican lazuli. But no alcohol at this time of the night in a place like this? Despite being a lonesome night owl? Nobody has the right to do that. That’s almost offensive.

I look over my shoulder to flag down the Zebra -who’s name I really need to ask for, she’s cute- but can’t see her anywhere. Probably in a separee. I do spot Ozzy though, talking with another unicorn stallion in an honest to goodness wizard’s hat. Oh great. He’s found a larper. This… might take a while.

I turn back and can’t help but look at the pegasus. Tall. Light grey coat that turns into a muted brown down his legs. His cutiemark is a red circle with a red line down the middle. Wings that turn the same brown towards the outer edge in a soft gradient. Pretty, cropped straw and peanut coloured mane and tail. Mmm… that’s some nice muscles down his back, and that flank is something to behold. I really need another drink.

“Like what you see?”

Oh. He’s looking at me and I didn’t even notice. Awkward. “Uh…” That’s some nice green eyes.

He rests his chin on a fetlock and gives me a slow blink. “Most mares do.”

Woah woah woah. Okay. He’s not lacking confidence. Mr. Brandy is pretty confident as well though and does the talking for me. That’s nice of him. “Yeah. What about it, flyboy?”

“Just checking, coffee girl,” he says with a smirk and his eyes linger on my mark. Flank.

The room’s suddenly gotten a lot warmer. And it’s neither the blues nor the alcohol. I brush my bangs from my eyes with a fetlock and tilt my head. “You always so direct?”

“Only with pretty mares with beautiful, smoky yellow eyes.”

Okay, now he’s pushing it. “Look mister, I’m not that kind of filly, okay?”

He gives a deep sigh. “You hurt me. Here I was, a simple, honest stallion, merely hoping to show a pretty mare a good time. Seize the moment, if you will. Why deny it?”

I swallow. There’s something about this cutting through the standard macho pickup bullshit that’s quite refreshing. Also he’s just sitting there looking delectable, not trying to come onto me like the usual creeps at this time of the night. Must be the tea. Thank the tea.

“I appreciate the offer, handsome. But how about you fuck off? I’m kinda on a date here.” There, I said it. Case closed. I point over my shoulder to where Ozzy is nerding.

He looks where I’ve pointed. “Oh. Well, aren’t you lucky.” That’s some pity-flavoured syrupy sarcasm right there.

Now I want to defend Ozzy’s masculine credentials. Fuck my life.

“Right.” He smirks again. “I’ll fuck off. But hey, if you ever need another free cup of specialty coffee, don’t be afraid to stop by. He flicks a gorgeous wing and a little piece of paper lands in front of me. “Though I’m sure I could figure out some other ways to wake you up.”

Let’s hear it for the overused clichès. “That almost sounds like a threat, big guy. Colour me intrigued.” Hello Mr Brandy, still at it, I see. I can’t keep a straight face here and chuckle. What an idiot. “May have to take you up on that. Oh and… strong, dark, no sugar.”

Again that smirk, followed by a low chuckle. “Call it what you want, sweetheart. As long as I have your interest, I’m satisfied. Don’t worry, I’ll make you the strongest cup of coffee that you’ll be tasting for weeks… I’ll guarantee you satisfaction.”

I brush my bangs out of my eyes again and lick my lips. “I’ll be looking forward to that… taste experience then.” Did I really just say that? This is like, cringy dirty talk in bad romance novels. On the other hoof, good way to pass the time.

Thankfully, Ozzy choses this moment to come back. I give the pegasus a long look and put my tail and foreleg around Ozzy’s back. “Hey Ozzy, ready to head home?” I drawl.

The pegasus looks from me to my companion and back. “Well, nice meeting you…?”

“Dark Roast,” I say without thinking and curse myself a second later.

“Dark Roast… now there’s a pretty name. Hope you have a… satisfying early morning.” He winks at me and gets up as well, spreading his bloody beautiful wings to their full span for a moment. He folds up again, nods at me, gives me a slow blink, and leaves without another word or look.

Ozzy hasn’t digested yet that I’m holding on to him. I sigh. Oh well. My eyes linger on the scrap of paper when we get up to leave. Damn.

I’m not entirely sure why, but I swipe it and hide it in my mane. Just, you know. Yeah.

***

It has stopped raining and the dark sky is visible through the patchy cloud cover. It’s the almost but not quite black of pre-dawn, still with most of the stars visible. It’s stupid o’clock, the air is cool and damp and it’s nice to walk side by side with my nerdy studio technician.

Not necessarily in a straight line, but we’re heading in the right direction, regularly leaning on each other. If only I could shake these damn green eyes from my mind. The alcohol and caffeine is leaving my system, but that memory just won’t.

Half an hour later we’re at the door to my apartment and about to say goodbye. Smalltalk. It’s painfully clear what’s going through Ozzy’s mind (and other places) and also that he has no idea how to do anything about it.

Aw shit. It’s another half hour from here to his place, he’s been real sweet, and I actually enjoyed myself. Also, I’m feeling, like… don’t know. I lift a hoof and touch his cheek to shut him up. “Hey Ozzy. Wanna crash here?” Guy clearly can’t believe his luck. Neither can I.

“What? Sure! I’d love to!”

“Bet you do,” I say with a smirk and give him a kiss on the nose. Ah yes. That’s how I’m feeling. Tired and horny. Meh. Not really for someone like Ozzy, but… I like him a lot better after tonight. He’s surprisingly good company. And that’s really good enough right now.

I rarely have visitors and mostly work at night. And it shows. “Yeah, sorry about the mess. Cleaning isn’t exactly my strong suit.” When you mainly live on haychips, sandwiches and coffee, there’s not that much reason to keep the kitchen functional. One day I might buy a third plate, mug and set of cutlery. “Can I get you something?” I say over my shoulder.

He answers with a dismissive head shake but doesn’t say anything. Probably because he’s preoccupied with looking at my flank. Right. Can’t fault him for that, he’s worked so hard for the opportunity.

“Ozzy?” I say and swipe his chest with my tail before turning around to face him. I take a step forward and nuzzle him on the cheek. “I really enjoyed myself.” The truth, funnily enough. “How about we call it a night and go to bed?”

“Uh… huh? Yeah, sure!”

I turn around, take a few steps and nudge open the door to my bedchamber with my forehead. At least here it’s, like, almost clean. Even I can keep four square meters semi-tidy. I even made the bed this week. In the flickering light of the candle Ozzy is carrying in his field, it almost looks cozy.

Fuck me sideways... I’m tired, and my pillow is way too alluring. But I’ve committed to something here. So I turn around again and wait until he’s set the candle down on my nightstand. I take his head between my hooves and kiss him.

His eyes go wide. “Oh wow, Dark, that’s like, uh, wow.”

Yeah, no kidding. Believe me, I’m just as surprised. I kiss him again, more forcefully this time. He opens his mouth and tilts his head and lets me in. So I tilt my head in the other direction, lock him in with my forelegs around his neck and play with his tongue. He seems to really enjoy that.

I have no idea if he’s into smaller mares that take charge, but so far he hasn’t complained and I’m on a mission. When I let go of him, we’re both breathing faster and there’s a faint smell of musk in the room. “Come here,” I murmur and nudge him toward the bed.

He complies, and as he takes the few steps I can see something dangling under him in the dim light. Yep, that’ll do nicely.

As soon as he’s lying down I push him until he turns onto his back and gives me a goofy grin. I kiss him again, then give him soft bites down the throat and to the chest. He’s breathing quickly now and his breath hitches when I touch his cock that should be pretty hard now.

Operational word is ‘should’. Brewer’s droop. Of course. He still shudders when I touch him though and even moans a little when I take him between my fetlocks. But we’re not really going anywhere here, are we. In the meantime I’m burning up down there. Fuck. Or not, which is precisely the problem.

So I keep on stroking him a bit more and nipping him on his belly and throat, and it’s all very nice and he’s definitely enjoying it. Hmpf. I suddenly remember something a friend of mine once told me about unicorns.

We’re in the last chance saloon here, I haven’t had anything to drink yet and the bartender has just called for last orders. I scoot up to his head again and give him another kiss. Then I aim a bit higher.

“Mmm… sorry, Dark. Not sure I- ooohhhhh!”

I give his horn another lick, following the spiral. Ah-hah. And here I thought horn-jobs weren’t really a thing. Turns out they are and that they’re fun. Keeping an eye on my prize, I work my way up to the tip of his horn, which is glowing unsteadily.

He’s groaning and something’s definitively happening down there. I take the tip between my lips and hum a little against the smooth surface. His breath hitches and… result! I give him another lick but I better hurry. That quick flick of the tongue apparently gives him a jolt and he almost pokes my eye out with the damn thing.

“Oh shit! Sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah, you missed,” I lie and give a fake giggle. No need to dishearten him. “Desperate measures - plus five to dodge.”

He grins like an idiot at that remark. Oh Ozzy, you’re kinda cute.

Ignoring the slight pain under my right eye, I give him another kiss and clamber on top of him. Oh yes, now we’re talking. I slide back and forth a few times on his dick, noticing his rather pronounced medial ring. That promises to be fun. He’s moaning now and starts moving against me.

“Wow, Dark Roast. You’re wonderful…”

Well, thanks. Doing my best. He could do a bit of the work as well but I’ll cut him some slack. I raise my rump, go down on my knees and bend my head back under my belly so I can just about reach his dick with a hoof. I succeed in almost cramping up, but also pushing him up and into position.

Luckily he isn’t especially big, so I get it right where I need it on the first try. Also I’m not exactly a big pony so I’m rather happy I can just slide down on him without having to ease him in.

He lets out an almost shocked gasp before he bucks his hips just as I try to get a rhythm going, and I have to start again. We both have to laugh, but then I put both my forehooves on his chest and he gets the hint. I’m clearly the more competent of us two and he stops moving. Good. Can’t risk any of his blood flow being diverted away to supplying unnecessary things like muscles.

Now if only I could get into it myself, which should have happened by now. Dammit. Maybe stop concentrating on making this work and just, like, let it happen? Things appear to be sufficiently functional now. I grin in the semi-darkness, close my eyes, mmmm, a little moan from Ozzy, then from me, then from him and then… green eyes. Gorgeous wings.

What’s that guy doing, invading my thoughts right now? But now that he’s there… like, that muscular back, those strong fetlocks, that rough yet handsome jawline. Oh yes. Now that feels good. Okay, he can stay.

I begin to move faster, and yeah Ozzy’s medial ring is fun indeed, but I’m kinda somewhere else. Green eyes. Wings. Those pronounced pegasus canines nibbling on my ear, and…

...and Ozzy shouts my name and bucks his hips wildly, ruining my rhythm and my fantasies.

Sweet Lady Luna dammit. But, well, I guess it’s been a while for him since last time. And it was okay. So I wait to get my breath back after doing all the work and crawl down off him, his flaccid cock making a sad slurping noise as it leaves me. It made a valiant effort after a long night and two double White Stalliongrads.

But we’re not done here yet, I want a bit more out of this too. I kiss my way back up his chest and throat and- and he’s relaxed and fallen asleep. Well, fuck. Seriously. Great. Just great. Now I’m extra tired, with a hungry pussy like a teenager in heat and also my bed is a fucking mess. Literally. As am I.

Grumbling, I roll down off the mattress and drag myself to the bathroom to clean myself up, trying not to drip on the way. At least a forehoof doesn’t suddenly go limp in the middle of proceedings. So I lean back against the bathtub and get to work.

My own juice and Ozzy’s cum sticking to my tail, my hoof and the bathroom floor.

Green eyes in my mind. Wings quivering and spread out flat against the floor as I ride him. Pulling me close with those well toned forelegs and nibbling at my ear.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck YES. The dark princess’ darkest moonlight ruts YES.

It takes me at least a whole minute to come down again although it feels longer. That’s the best one I’ve rubbed out in a long time.

When I finally open my eyes again, I’m still on the same old yellowish bathroom tiles. Just a little stickier now and with a beginning cramp in my neck.

Snoring from my bedchamber.

Oh, and no hot water at this time of the day, two hours or so still to go for that. I look up at the cold, flickering crystal light with its historical layers of cobwebs and sigh. I guess a used towel from my laundry basket will have to do for now. There’s a headache coming on.

Ugh. I need coffee. Scalding hot, real black, and, most of all, delicious. Lots and lots of it. Sleep is still for the weak. And for Ozzy, apparently.

When I finally get up onto my tired hooves to stagger into the mess that is my kitchen, a little scrap of paper falls from my mane.

It takes my mushy brain a moment to recognize it.

I didn’t even get his name. Just an address.

Fuck.

Afternoon Blues

Ground Coffee
By Celefin

Guess I passed out at some point. Nice and dark, until now.

The blessed darkness is replaced by two narrow, blurry images that can’t quite decide if they want to merge into one or circle each other. “Urgh,” someone pronounces to this shitty world in general. I think it was me.

There is an irritating noise in the background, stuff clinking and doors being opened and closed. Whatever time it is, it’s too early for that, so I close my eyes again. That lets me concentrate on the smell of the room. Stale sex and stale coffee. Or maybe that’s just me.

“Urgh,” I repeat, with more emphasis on the ‘urgh’ part this time. I can feel my pulse in my skull, my neck has locked up and, judging by the taste, I think a squirrel has died in my mouth tonight or something.

A careful touch to my shoulder. “Hey Dark, are you okay?”

Oh right. Oscillate Blue is still here. Brilliant question. I force my eyes open and look up from my position on the table. Yep, the table. Ah. With my muzzle in a little puddle of drool. Explains the parched throat and pain in the neck.

There he is, looking a little worse for wear and honest to goodness concerned. Why is he even still around? I’d prefer to die in silence, with no onlookers. “Gnrf.”

“I cleaned up your kitchen and I found the coffee. Should be ready in a few minutes. Extra strong.” He’s sounding hopeful. Hopeful.

I turn my head a little so I can see the room, still tilted ninety degrees. My flat is tidy. What, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck? I lift my head and wipe my sticky muzzle with my fetlock. That fetlock still smells of taking care of myself. Yuck.

“Uh, thanks?” That somehow doesn’t cover it. “I need a fucking shower.”

Don’t know what he expected, but he looks a bit taken aback. “Oh. Right.” And a little ashamed. Eh? “Do you need any-”

“No.” Can’t deal with this conversational shit right now. Warm water first. Talk later. I heave myself upright and stagger towards the bathroom. Fuck, I’m filthy.

May have kicked the door shut behind me with a little too much force. Fucking hangover. Ow. that bang was loud. Anyway. Shower. Now.

***

Of course the warm water runs out just when my neck muscles are about to relax again. Oh, and right after I’ve finished shampooing my mane. Of course. Fuck. I swear, my stingy bastard of a landlord is cutting down on the heating every month.

At least I cleaned my tail first - what a fucking, disgusting mess. Even though I wiped most of it off right after. Like, ugh. Must have been fucking ages since Ozzy’s been laid last time. No wonder he passed out.

I finish as fast as I can, but I’m already freezing when I’m done. Dammit. At least I’m awake now, so there’s that. The disheveled mare that looks back at me from the mirror still looks like shit. But not undead anymore, so that’s an improvement.

I drop the wet towel on the floor and go back into the kitchen. Try and see if I can achieve breakfast.

“Hey Ozzy, I think I’m alive again. Thanks for tidying up my mess,” I say with a smile. I mean it.

Ozzy is nowhere to be seen, neither here nor in my bedchamber. Instead there’s a note on the table, next to a cold cup of coffee and a soggy strawberry jam toast. Oh.

I’m sorry about last night. But thanks. Maybe see you? -Oz

How poetic.

He got the coffee right at least, and I’m not going to complain about edible food I didn’t have to prepare myself. Still tired, but actually beginning to feel like an equine again. Now all I need is a real bed for a few hours and I’ll be back to my sparkly self.

I pause at the doorstep and shake my head. The kind idiot even made the bed. What did he expect? A proposal? I scratch myself behind an ear and yawn. For a moment, my mind meanders to the bottle of brandy in the drawer of my bedside table.

Nah. I have no idea what time of day it actually is, but it’s not the right time for that. I let myself sink down on the mattress. The bedsheet smells of cheap detergent and laundry room, matching my cheap shampoo.

Actually wouldn’t have minded the scent of another pony beside me right now. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Nope, still only cheap detergent, no Ozzy. Well, more bedspace for me. I yawn and stretch out, my right shoulder and both knees on my hindlegs popping.

Hello dear pillow. I’ve missed you. And even with only myself in it, the bed’s gonna be nice and warm soon enough.

***

The grey light of a rainy afternoon fills my flat when I wake up again several hours later. Distant thunder. I feel… pretty good, actually. I roll out of my bed and stretch, one leg at a time. Even my shoulder muscles aren’t complaining anymore.

I ignore the overflowing laundry basket in the bathroom and splash some cold water in my face. “You could have been nicer to Ozzy, he didn’t exactly do anything wrong,” I tell the mare in the mirror.

She bites her lower lip for a second but shrugs. “He wasn’t exactly great either.”

“Mmm. Fair enough.”

That settled, I go and look for coffee. Luckily, Ozzy made a lot more than necessary, so I can just warm it up again. The signature sour and slightly rubbery taste of reheated mediocre coffee goes well with a single piece of dry toast and a small bowl of even drier haychips. I’ll call it breakfast.

Some music would be nice, so I flick the switch on my wave box and the room is filled with an energetic, upbeat song from the newly popular Amber, Birch, Bracken & Alfalfa Quartett. I switch it off again. Guys, if you insist on making that crap, at least find a shorter band name.

Through the half open bathroom door, I spot that little scrap of paper on the floor. Hayseed Lane 26. Actually not quite sure why I’ve hung on to that. Even memorized it. Gripping my lukewarm mug with one fetlock, I close my eyes, drag the tip of my other hoof down the length of my muzzle and sigh.

Green eyes. Wings.

I blink. Where the fuck did that come from again? Strangely vivid as well. Shaking my head, I get up and stretch again. I need some air.

The staircase is murky as always, due to the cracked light crystals on the lower flight of stairs. Been like that for months now. It makes for a stark contrast when I open the door, with late afternoon sunshine glistening on the wet street.

So someone has decided the city’s been hosed down sufficiently by now. The council doing it on the cheap again, waiting for a wild weather system to move in from the sea and only paying to have it dispersed before the drains overflow. Good thing too, a week or so more and we’d have to hire a pegasus to remove the dust from the wave array. The charged wires seem to attract the stuff. And pigeon shit.

Taking deep breaths of the clean, fresh air, I make my way down to Mignonette Market. It’s only some twenty minutes over the cobblestone streets of old Manehattan.

There’s the little bronze pony in the fountain, forever dipping her glittering leaf gold cloth into a marble vat. Behind it, the three storey Manehattan FM building.

I look up at the towering crystal array of the wave transmitter. The nodes pulse with a soft pink glow, and every now and then a drop of water explodes in a miniature rainbow halo when it hits the array just right. Pretty.

Too bad the actual program being transmitted right now is a bit shit.

Oh well. I turn my back on my place of work and head over to The Dyer’s Den on the opposite side of the plaza. The Den was already here when this was the actual dyer’s quarter. Good old-fashioned Equestrian food. And, most importantly, also take-away. I see no point in paying extra just to sit inside.

Unfortunately, it’s the time of day when most craftsponies have packed up their tools and realise they can’t be bothered to cook dinner. There are three painters in front of me, bickering about whose turn it is to pay. One of them is carrying paint containers on both sides of his barrel. The right one is slowly dripping white paint onto the cobblestones.

I carefully step around the splotches.

Now it’s their turn and they haven’t even decided on what to eat yet. Sweet fucking Celestia. Me and the pony behind the counter share a look. Good thing that isn’t me. I’d be fired after one day for violence in the workplace. I already know I’m going to have the garfish on meadow sweet and spring onions. Need a real meal after last night.

They are taking their sweet, fucking time.

There’s a noticeboard next to the menu. Best place to force anyone to look at it to preserve their sanity while waiting for ponies like those three. Hm. A lost horn ring (family heirloom, yadda yadda), somepony selling a sofa (cat not included), a job advert for the Power Shower roof cleaning company (only pegasi, preferably with good pressure manipulation skills and experience with tornado dissipation). Huh. What exactly are these ponies doing?

Oh... A missing pony notice about a young mare. Pretty little thing, yellow coat and blueish green mane and tail. Pale yellow eyes. Daffodil Dawn, last seen two days ago at New Harvest Hill bus station. She’s wearing a big spring green bow in her mane. If you can give any information as to-

-and it’s my turn. Finally.

I decide to eat my meal at one of the tables around the fountain, although it’s still too wet to sit down. The Den rarely disappoints. It’s a small mountain of food and it’s bloody delicious. The garfish is prepared to perfection, the big green bones easy to remove from the white, firm meat. Even when only using your lips. The spring onions are a dream and the meadowsweet is still just chewy enough to be filling. The deep fried rapeseed flowers are a nice touch as well.

I bring back the empty container to collect my quarter bit, but decide against it. “Give it to the chef, that was perfect.” Damn, I’m generous today. Will you look at this good mare?

This good mare needs some good coffee. I think I’ll check the Marerabian and see if the cute zebra is working. Get some distraction.

***

Of course she isn’t. Probably too early. Sweet Luna, I’m bored. I hate days off.

The barkeep is an ash grey unicorn stallion with a pale orange mane. A washed out version of myself, looking even more bored than the original. He’s got the coffee making down pat though, and that’s really all that matters.

Lake Hwassan Red. Deep chestnut, bordering on black, with a dark red oily sheen on top. Peppery, almost spicy, fine mineral notes, no acidic aftertaste. A hint of smoke. Way above standard amount of caffeine, like a friendly punch to the muzzle. Good stuff. I think I’ve found a new favourite.

I take a slow sip, rolling the divine liquid around in my mouth. “Hey, you’re good at this,” I say to the grey stallion, without looking up from my mug.

“Thanks,” he replies without looking up from the newspaper he’s reading.

I already like him.

A little while later, I push the empty mug in his direction. “Can you make me another?”

He gives a little sigh. “Sure thing.” Coffee, grinder, spoons and kettle dance in his field and move into position. A poker stokes the coal fire with lazy thrusts. He doesn’t even look up more than once. Neat.

I look over my shoulder. There’s only a few other customers, two of them students with lots of books and stuff spread out on a table. Tired but busy. Poor bastards. Good thing I dropped that bullshit years ago.

The last golden orange rays of the setting sun bathe half the room in their warm glow, while the soft light of the crystal lamps slowly comes on in the darker half. The smell of coffee drifts past me. I smile.

“Got any Zebrican brandy?” I ask while propping my chin up on a fetlock. Feeling adventurous here.

The stallion levitates my coffee and sets it down in front of me without so much as a ripple on its surface. I think I’m in love.

He finally looks at me, with the ghost of a smile on his muzzle. “Yeahhh… what are ye after?”

“Something with fruit, not too sweet, like, match the minerals of the Hwassan?”

Now he’s actually smiling. He slowly walks along the shelves, pulling a couple bottles out with his field. They float down in a little loop, each one stopping in mid air before him while he inspects it. A Ferris wheel of fine spirits.

The last one appears to be what he’s looking for. “This one might be to yer liking.” It floats over to me, uncorks itself and tilts so I can get a good look at the label and a sniff.

Tokara 10, South Zebrica. Huh. Never heard about it. The bottle has the shape of a raindrop and its contents are a dark, honey amber. Smells enticing. “Well, I trust you.”

“Five bits,” he says with a smirk.

Holy shit. Well. “Make it a double.”

He nods in appreciation. “Coming right up.”

Mmm. Vanilla, peach, and raisins… and a slightly peppery, spicy finish that leads right over to the next sip of coffee that has those same undertones. If I ask him now, would he marry me? Doesn’t have to be good in bed.

Which reminds me of something. “You have a city map by any chance?”

“Yep. Plans tonight?”

Was that a hint of disappointment? “Maybe.” What are the chances a perfect guy like this isn’t either taken or gay?

Ugh. Hayseed Lane is on the northern outskirts of Manehattan, along the coast. The last bus station is at least a twenty minute walk away from there. Of course, when you’re a ...gorgeous… pegasus, that doesn’t mean shit to you. It’s a daytrip for me.

Well, fuck. I take a sip of my brandy and give a slow sigh, pushing the map away.

“Mind if I smoke?” The barkeeper gives me an adoring and adorable look.

I shake my head. “Just keep it away from my drinks.”

“Sure thing.”

I look from him to my brandy and coffee. Who needs sex anyway?

Nah.

Not tonight.