Cider Strider has been around the block a few times in his life.
He was born to earth pony parents in a town so out of the way that he wasn’t sure if it really had a name. When he grew to be an adolescent, he and a bunch of other ponies left to make their mark on the world. He’d met a lot of folk in his time – some who had grown to be quite famous, and others who had faded away to nothingness as time marched on.
As a result of this, he knew exactly when someone was trying to get one over on him.
“Listen, mister. I don’t intend to cause any problems here, but do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
The meeting was taking place in a dinky bar in the bowels of Canterlot, since the sprawling alleyways of the city held a hell of a lot of them. The stallion sitting across from him looked a bit too greasy to be considered handsome, and a bit too gaunt to be considered healthy. He had a seemingly never faltering smile, and he had a habit of tapping his right hoof on the table whenever he spoke. His name? Cider had already forgotten it by the time they sat down and ordered scotch.
“My word, sir. I would never insinuate such a thing – I’m stating my terms, that’s all.” His voice was just as greasy as his mane, and yet those deep gray eyes held a striking cunning – he was out for blood. Cider wished that there were more people to go to for matters like this, but going through the legal channels would take far too long.
“You cannot tell me that that old rickety building is worth more than a few hundred bits. It looks like it was hit by a raging bull – and trust me, I’ve seen enough to know what that looks like. To ask for more than that is absurd, especially 1,500.” Cider’s voice is low and irritated, but it does little to faze the salesman.
“You think so, huh? Allow me to explain the specifics of the cost…”
Canterlot had become a cutthroat place in modern times. Business owners clamor and backstab to have their goods put on display, the elite rule the roost, and it leaves rough and tumble ponies like Cider feeling out of sorts. If he had really wanted to get a solid (and overpriced) deal, he’d have to spend who knows how long trying to solicit an agent to secure a space for him – that’s exactly how criminals like the stallion across from him make their cash.
Cider couldn’t say he cared too much about the specifics – not when his dream was at stake.
From a young age, the pony had found a mug plastered on his flank – the mark of a bartender. He’d always idealized the position, and he would probably feel that way even without the guidance of his cutie mark. Being able to treat someone he’d never seen before to a drink and conversation seemed delightful to him, as hearing their woes and victories fulfilled him like nothing else could. This led to him flitting from bar to bar, getting employed and then leaving just as easily when he felt the tap had run dry.
This was his opportunity to provide something solid for himself, and to anyone else who sought a similar satisfaction.
“Sir? Are you okay?” A note of concern wormed its way into the salesman’s voice – even he has some semblance of emotion other than the apparent lust for bits, it would seem.
“…1,000.” It felt like somepony was pulling Cider’s teeth.
“1,200?” The stallion claps back immediately, his smile widening.
“1,100.”
“Deal.”
From there, the process was about as smooth as his great-grandmother’s apple butter. All he had to do was sign a few documents and fork over the bits – almost half of his savings, damnit – and the pair exited the bar.
The air smells like smoke and meat down here, which makes both Cider and his unfortunate companion wince. This alley was affectionately known as the Butcher’s Block, due to the heavy griffon population in this part of the city. In recent years, while ponies with all of the glitz and glamor dominate the main streets, it’s left everyone else to slowly seep into the cracks left behind. You could knock on five different doors and find five different people, with none of them being ponies. It’s exactly the kind of place that Cider thrives in, even if that aspect comes with a bit of danger.
I mean, come on. Who wants a roughhousing diamond dog next door at three in the morning?
After a quick glance to the suited stallion, Cider nudges him and begins moving down the street. There are tall rowhouses that are pressed so tightly together that they feel like prison blocks, with many people moving about as inconspicuously as they can. A few street vendors are littered around, eagerly hawking their wares to bystanders. It’s rare for them to have someone take the bait – anything made down here has a good chance of being second-rate, since alleyways like this have the consequence of fostering people that the royal guard might not take kindly to.
That was none of Cider’s business, though. The salesman begins talking when they’re fully out of sight.
“This will be the best decision you’ve ever made, Mr. Strider. You seem like a stallion of character – ponies are attracted to places with character!”
“I’m well aware of that, sir.” Cider chuffs, stamping his back right hoof against the cobblestone in an attempt to draw attention to his cutie mark. “I’ve been in this business for a long time.”
“I see, I see. I understand that far too well!” The stallion laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Cider glances at his flank.
A piece of paper and a quill. How on-brand.
It’s about thirty minutes until they break out of the labyrinthian alleys and into a slightly more navigable section of Canterlot. The buildings here don’t look nearly as run down, and the paved stone roads don’t have cracks sprawling like webs throughout them. The pony population is a bit higher here, although they’re still easily dwarfed by others. In fact, Cider notices a light-blue mare being mean-mugged by a group of griffons. How unfortunate for her – it’s just what happens when you’re that loud in a place where people really prefer solitude.
“Just around the corner, now! I deeply apologize for not picking a better venue.”
“No worries. I’m used to walking – you the type to take a carriage wherever you need to go?”
That gets the first genuine laugh Cider’s heard from the stallion. It sounds pleasant enough – if only he could bring that and not a slimy demeanor to his business deals.
“I certainly wish I could afford to do that, sir.”
When they turn the final corner, Cider is greeted with a dead end – and that dead end is the building he’s looking for.
The building is still just as weathered as it was the first time Cider laid eyes on it. It’s a multistory building with a wooden front, which stands out amongst the stone and marble ocean of Canterlot. The only problem is that the wood looks like it’s been through a few too many sand blastings – not to mention the broken windows or the way it smells like zebra piss. Even the salesman winces as they approach it, and hell, Cider notices a few people are eyeing them as they get near it. Cider hadn’t been inside the joint yet, and at this point, he’s almost reluctant to.
“Well, this is the place, as you know!” The grey eyed stallion is trying his damndest to sound upbeat as he swivels in place, gesturing his forelegs to the place. “The newest bar in Canterlot – in your hooves! A lot of people come here to get a new start, you know. Maybe you’ll be the one known far and wide!”
“Give me the keys and the deed, sir.” Cider’s voice is as cool as ice, and the stallion immediately acquiesces as soon as he looks into the older stallion’s pale red eyes.
“R-Remember the name Slick Styles, and be assured that I’ll help you with whatever you need!” He reaches into his well-tailored suit and passes a yellowed business card before hot-hoofing it down where they came from.
So that was his name. Not the most impressive thing in the world, but at least it fits with his shitty veneer of casualness.
Cringing to himself, Cider creeps forward and puts the key into the doorframe, noting just how rusted the hinges and handles look. With a look of trepidation, he turns the key.
CRACK!
Did…the key just break off in the mechanism? He rests his head against the aged wooden door out of irritation, before spinning around and slamming his hooves into the center of the two doors. The powerful blow not only fixes the problem, but sends them off the hinges and into the depths of this abandoned building.
He exhales a sigh of both irritation and relief, only to sheepishly glance over his shoulder at the people who were either on the road in the first place or came out because of the ruckus.
“Sorry about that, folks.” His voice is a lot calmer than his expression. “Carry on.”
Cider disappears into the building before they can say anything back. He’s already embarrassed himself twice in one day, he doesn’t want to make a further ass out of himself.
The building understandably reeks more in here than it does from the outside. The alleys of Canterlot can no longer save him from the cruel reality splayed out before him – this place looks like Tartarus blown over.
The wooden floors have holes in them, and the places that are still somewhat solid have decayed to the point of looking like skinned bark. People have obviously been in here despite being prohibited, and it sure does show – there is broken furniture scattered across the floor, along with graffiti splayed across the back wall. A stairwell is in the backmost right corner of the room, stretching up into the unknown second floor – Cider can see from here that two of the steps have been practically decimated.
“This…isn’t ideal.” Cider says aloud to himself, sitting on his haunches and surveying the room. Things don’t look too good, but he can see the potential once the shit has been cleaned up. A long counter in front of that back wall, tables in the remaining spaces, maybe a fireplace to keep the place warm in winter…
The vision of what it could be is almost enough to block out the sound of the creaking floor above him as gentle hoof steps creep across it. Cider’s eyes open, and he immediately stills.
Squatters. Lovely.
Thankfully, the source doesn’t take too long to reveal itself. Cider can see mottled green hooves poke down from the top of the stairs, followed by a mean looking set of dark brown eyes. When their eyes lock, it takes less than a second for the pony to saunter down the stairs, never taking his eyes off of Cider.
“Hey there, buddy. Whatcha doin’ in my house?” His voice sounds slurred, likely from a lingering hangover. “I know it looks like shit, but that don’t give you the right—”
“This place is under new ownership. Leave.” Cider cuts him off with a glare, grinding a hoof into the floor.
“Excuse me? I live here, buddy—”
The pony stumbles forward, his hooves coming very close to breaking the fragile floor. As soon as he gets within a leg’s length of Cider, he goes to put a hoof on him.
Cider slaps it away promptly.
“I have the paperwork here. Don’t touch me.”
“Paperwork don’t mean shit in these parts.” The green stallion reels back and spits on the floor, causing Cider’s teeth to grind. “How about you go find somewhere else to park your old ass? This is my spot.”
“I’m trying to solve this nicely, sir. Please—”
Cider is then shoved with a surprising amount of strength, sending a back hoof through the floor and the rest of him against the front wall. It causes pain to ripple across his body, but he quickly smothers the expression of pain as he bristles and rips his hoof out of the floor.
Something that Cider had tried to prepare himself for was interactions like these. Canterlot is the capital of Equestria, and yet it hides the underbelly of the city as easily as someone draws breath. For every nice pony that exists, there is one who’s as mean as can be. Cider had seen more than a few in his time, flitting from home to all reaches of Equestria.
People like this green stallion only listen to one thing. Plus, he was the one who laid a hoof on him first.
With that in mind, Cider lunges forward and drives a hoof into the boy’s core, causing him to emit a yelp of pain. Knowing damn well that he’s still working off a hangover, Cider uses his other to bonk him on the side of the head, before wrapping a leg around his neck and forcing him to the ground.
“You started this, buddy. Want to continue it?”
“Go fuck yourse—”
He doesn’t have the chance to finish. With all of the strength in his body, Cider reinforces his leg around the stallion’s neck and places one hoof on his hindquarters, picking him up and heaving him through the now empty doorframe and onto the cobbled road. Still feeling the stinging in his leg, he curses silently and moves outside, leaning against the wall and looking down on the now prone stallion.
“You started this. Feel free to get the guard – I have every right to not only remove you, but to defend myself. Don’t come back unless you want a repeat of this.”
The green pony sneers, pulling himself up and spitting in Cider’s eye, before turning on his heel and stumble-running through the crowd of people who have now formed.
That’s…a lot of people. Before Cider can pull himself back into the building, a rose-colored mare speaks up.
“…good on you.” Her voice reminds him of birdsong, and as nice as that is, what’s even nicer is the fact that a few more people in the crowd nod along with her. “He’s been an issue. Thanks for getting rid of him temporarily.”
“…no problem, miss. Have a good afternoon.”
Cider hobbles out of sight, setting up a chair without legs and sitting on it as he stares at the bottom floor of his new establishment.
Broken floors, a horrid smell, destroyed windows, graffitied walls, and now broken doors.
What a good way to start a dream. If he knew it’d go like this, he might have stuck to simple bartending.
Author's Note
First time writing on here, despite being here for ages. Hope you enjoy.
