Only Human

Stephen Pike groaned as he raised another Painkiller to his lips, the sweet whitish yellow dribbling down his mouth as he sloppily slammed it onto the faux bamboo counter. It wasn't his first drink of the night and he truly doubted it'd be his last. Not only was this one of several drinks, but this was also one of several visits this week to this particular establishment. Before the whole 'conversion war' he would've seen this as a disturbing course, a waste of time and potential. At that moment, well he had nowhere to really put that potential besides down the gutter. After all what was an Archeologist specializing in Persian and Bactrian history to do when every unexcavated bit of both was probably vaporized along with a large portion of the world. If Stephen bothered to turn around, he'd notice quite a few other Archeologists, Anthropologists and Historians in attendance, doing the exact same thing. That too would have been normal, this was the unofficial 'explorer's club' after the one in New York became a photo op for techies but even then, it never reached this concentration in what he and many of his colleagues humorously dubbed 'the Before Times'.

Now destruction of artifacts during wartime wasn't anything new, museums and ruins got caught in the crossfire, sites got bombed, sometimes artifacts were purposefully smashed. All that was normal expected even, they mourned for a bit and moved on and tried to dig for replacements. This was different though, according to Physicists despite the general derision they faced among Stephen's crowd, there was nothing left. Even the deepest tombs, the most innocuous megalithic structures had vanished. Yes, there were still things in museums to be analyzed, documents to be compared, collections to be scoured to look for a treasure carelessly unrecorded but it wasn't the same. There would be no more Elamite seals, they never would find Aratta, and you could kiss any chance of figuring out just what the hell was going on at Nan Modal goodbye.

Still as bad as it was for Stephen and his ilk, he knew the anthropologists had it the worst. Not only were they bereft of material, but almost all of them were mourning. He could even tell them apart from the rest by how much they were crying after one drink. As he gazed at the tongue of the Maori mask above him, now a much rarer commodity, he wondered just how many hunter gatherer communities were annihilated. How many groups who didn't even know about the outside world let alone why they were being attacked by alien equines, who they probably didn't even know existed. How many were saved? Were planes even sent to the Sentinel Islands to evacuate the locals? Or were they too busy getting as many people, out of Sri Lanka and Nadu to care? The latter seemed much more likely given what he knew about history. It seemed even in a war of the words type scenario, non-industrialized groups still got the short end of the stick.

Stephen's dark musings were cut short as the door opened, another lost soul wasn't really all that shocking, but this one seemed to have hooves. The entire place went quiet, sardonic laughter and bitter complaints evaporated like water on hot cement, only to be replaced by murmuring and muttering. Normally people in his area of the academic woods prided themselves on tolerance and sensitivity, all in the name of peace and understanding among mankind. But this visitor was once against mankind, and the alcohol was making them even less sympathetic. It was a surprise the pony didn't get jumped the minute she walked in.

It was a bigger surprise that with a great deal of effort the pony, who Stephen could now tell was a mare decided to sit next to him. Her body contorting and struggling as she jumped and clawed her way up to the stool with heavy breaths. Her hair was dark, her fur an unremarkable tan for a race that seemed to pride itself on technicolor tones. Not only that but her fashion sense was abysmal, dressed in a way Stephen could only describe as a mix of Dracula and a Cartoon Grandma. With big broken looking red glasses just to make her look even worse. If Stephen was in a jokey mood he'd ask if wearing this was some form of punishment.
After a couple minutes of shocked mumbling by the bartenders no doubt questioning if serving her would be a mistake one of them finally came to serve her. A blonde stick of a girl, shaking like a shaved polar bear with every step. The Bartender's voice hitching and stumbled over every syllable of her greeting, as she no doubt sensed the eyes of half the people of the establishment on her. The mare cleared her throat still somewhat winded from the hike up the bar stool, her voice was rough but still pleasant, anyone listening could tell she was uncomfortable "I'll have a Maretini."

"IT'S MARTINI YOU FUCKER!", Slurred one of the customers, no doubt an anthropologist judging by the state she was in, her friends having to shut her up and physically restrain her. He questioned why anyone or anypony would go into a Tiki Bar and ask for a Martini but judging from his experience with most ponies' knowledge about earth, he doubted she knew what a Tiki even was. Not that Stephen felt like explaining at the moment. Admirably the Bartender nodded telling her that she'd see what she could do clearly relieved she no longer had to face the crowd.

"So." The Mare said awkwardly, clearly aware of the general mood yet still smiling in a conciliatory fashion, "I Heard this is sort of THE spot for human archeologists.". Stephen didn't respond instead focusing on his drink, he wasn't the type to get violent, but he wasn't going to be her friend either. Sensing the silence, the mare continued to speak, "I can really see why though I mean it's really... uhh. cultural." Yes, decor planned out by white guys in the 60s who couldn't even point to Tonga on a map sure was 'cultural'. Stephen still didn't respond, "You know I'. uhh actually used to be an archeologist myself.". That was, well that was shocking, he didn't even know ponies had historical sciences. He always just sort of assumed Celestia pulled a Kim Jong Un and dictated what history was.
"Really?" He asked with forced disinterest, eyes boring into hers as he continued to chug his drink. Normally he wanted as little to do with most ponies as possible, but he was curious what Equestrian archeology even was? Were they still at the Victorian level? Was it mostly looking at the craniums of other races on their planet to prove why it was ok that they let them all go extinct, all while saying they couldn't craft their own history? Insisting a race of Ponies obviously made up the ruling class? He remembered that one of their archeologists seemed to be a fascist Indiana Jones, as oxymoronic as that statement seemed to be. If he remembered rightly her name was Daring Drew or something like that, point is she was on all sorts of propaganda. Posters of her bucking human soldiers seemed to be an entire genre of art in Horseland, and 7supposedly she even gave lectures on historic reasons for Human inferiority. She seemed to be decently high up in Celestia's inner circle so she probably knew exactly what was going on. The fact that someone dedicated to a field that some dedicated to preservation and truth could support this stuff knowingly and with a smile made him sick to his stomach.

"Yeah." She said, tapping her hoof against the countertop, "It's even my Cutie Mark.", a blush present on her face. The words sat in Stephen's head before something odd hit him. Why exactly would a Mare desperate to be acknowledged as a Shovelbum hide her Archeology tramp stamp? Usually ponies were ass naked, and almost always eager to brag about how easy finding a career was when the universe itself gave them help. Stephen grunted, that was another thing he hated about most ponies, how easy they had it. Not only did they seem to get everything handed to them on a silver platter but they despised other races because they had to actually struggle to survive.
To think there was a whole planet full of new cultures out there and the only ones left were the spoiled narcissistic brats who did the rest in. Calming his anger for a moment Stephen tightened his face and let out an equally disinterested "Uh huh.". His eyes now away from the pony and glued onto the amazing sight that was empty space.

"Listen I.. I get why you don't want to talk to me." She said dejectedly, "If things had been on the other hoof I'd feel the exact same way. I can't even imagine what it's like for you guys. I mean I'm lucky there's still a few Griffin and Minotaur sites in Equestria."

Griffins, "That's odd, I always figured a pony archeologist would be mainly interested in ponies." He decided to leave that he assumed she was a glorified propagandist out. It was rare for anyone to really focus on studying the history of a group seen as inferior or the enemy who didn't at least feel some sympathy for their objects of research.

"Oh no, Pony material culture is honestly my weak point. It just seemed so, so boring after Clover the Clever." She laughed to herself slowly realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Stephen didn't let her see it but a small smile began to form on his face.5

"You know they say here that those who don't learn their history are doomed to repeat it." There was still a bit of edge in his voice but it wasn't the only component.
"Yeah, and if you knew how Celestia had us teaching it almost seemed like we'd repeat it every week." The smile got bigger, not only was this mare not a lost cause nationalist, but she was actually funny.
"You know what, can I give you a piece of advice?" He asked as her Martini was popped down in front of her. She nodded eagerly, "Don't order drinks that aren't on the menu."

The mare shuffled around awkwardly though with a shy smile, "Yeah I know, but we don't really have places like this where I come from... So I'm not really sure what to get."
"Well." Sighed Stephen taking a last swig of his painkiller, "I guess I'll just have to order your next drink for you." He scanned the menu debating on if he should fuck with her and advise on a scorpion bowl.
"So... uhh, what culture do you specialize in?" She asked, as if imbibing more alcohol was now the last thing on her mind, her Martini served in a comically large glass still untouched.

"Why do you think I'm an archeologist?" Stephen asked, his tone getting just a bit more inquisitorial as he pushed his drink aside towards the head of a guy already passed out.
"I can just sort of tell." She said, her muzzle now looking about as red as a tomato, before beginning to lap up her Martini in an admittedly rather dog like fashion.

"Central Asian mostly, a bit of Mesopotamian and Indian just for context. But Iran and Afghanistan are really my bread and butter."

"Oh." Her tone grew more somber, "Those places are gone right?". Stephen simply nodded his mood also soured, especially as she didn't seem to apologize. "C-can you tell me about them?"

Stephen pondered this for a second, on one hand this was a perfect opportunity to tell her off, really drive that guilt in. On the other hand, it was rare that he got to talk to another person in his business now about anything besides the state of misery they were in. Besides, maybe she wasn't that bad... for a pony. "You know what?" He said, "Buy my next drink, and I'll tell you all about it." He turned to her, their eyes meeting for the first time in a non hostile manner, "By the way, what's your name?"
"A.K.. A.K Yearling."