Canterlot Academy Trials

Meanwhile, in a nearby bar on the same street as the farmer’s market, just one door down from that club…

A certain, golden-brown monkey man was drowning his sorrows in an alcoholic beverage that he was sipping from a hollowed-out coconut.

The bartender, an abyssinian lynx tom with an eyepatch and a voice that was nearly gone, would speak to him while drying a glass, “...you usually order that particular blend when you’re upset. Want to talk about something, Mr. Zi--”

The primate merc cut him off, “...Bullet is fine. Call me that instead.”

“Ah, I see,” the lynx man replied, “Looking to keep yourself on the down-low, huh? Fair enough. What’s on your mind today…Mr. Bullet?”

“Nothing important,” the primate replied as he ran his index finger around the rim of the coconut-cup. “Just…thinking about what I want for myself. And my future.”

“You’d do well to act sooner rather than later,” the lynx man went on, “Unlike me, you’ve got a fairly lengthy life ahead of you. Me? I’ve given up my entire life back home just to end up here in this dump. Don’t end up like me, son.”

Bullet scoffed at the bartender’s words. While they were nice to hear, a part of him was visibly annoyed at how the older tomcat leapt at the concept of him having a “lengthy life” ahead of himself. For all intents and purposes, Bullet considered his life over, as noted by the defeated look in those hazelnut eyes of his.

“Argh…” he sighed after taking a sip of his cocktail, “...you wouldn’t understand the shit I’ve gone through, old-timer.”

“...I believe I can kinda make a guess or two. I’ve seen your posters in the Wukong Territory, kid.”

Another scoff as Bullet looked off to the left. “...gonna rat me out, then? You could probably use the money to fix up this trash, anyway,” he quipped off-handedly, causing the abyssinian to laugh.

“Well that’s not very nice,” said the bartender after a quick chuckle, “Nah. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Literally. What those corrupt noble dickheads want ain’t got nothing to do with me. Don’t worry, son.”

“Fair enough,” Bullet finished his drink and started to chew the inner white flesh of the coconut. “I just…one part of me wants to go back to her and see her again. But the other part of me is fully aware that I’ve got no place in a society like that. It’d be a waste of time for me to go back.”

“Hrm…” the lynx paused for a moment. As he figured, their situations were in fact rather similar to each other.

‘He knows what it’s like to be cast out from a place that treats him like trash. Guess I judged him too quickly.’

Just then, a jet-black changeling mare with holes in her hooves would take a seat next to Bullet at the bar and make an order. “The Blackhawk, please.”

“Mm-hm. Lemme see if we have any left,” the lynx man would stop for a moment and leave behind a nearby door to the storeroom.

With the bartender gone, the changeling mare sought to make her move on Bullet. “Oh hey you…come here, often?”

“No.”

“I see…hey, I think I’ve seen your face before,” she went on while leaning over to get a better look at him, “...yeah you’re one of those merc guys I’ve been hearing about. I’d love to get a taste of you.”

If it was a plot, Bullet wasn’t about to fall for it. “I thought changelings didn’t need to hunt love anymore. Or are you one of those rogue ones that still force themselves onto people?”

“...let’s not get into semantics,” she dodged the question as she turned into a voluptuous female monkey lady, “I could show you anything you want. Maybe a bit of this…” She then morphed into an abyssinian puma she-cat, a diamond dog Labrador girl, a well-endowed minotaur woman, before returning to her neutral changeling state.

“Not interested. One-night stands aren’t my thing,” he muttered through mouth filled with coconut.

“Ah, I see…you’ve got someone back home that you’re worried about cheating on, huh?” she leaned over and put one of her holey hooves on his thigh. “...she won’t know, whoever she is~”

Click.

With a flick of his left hand, he aimed the gun at the rogue changeline’s forehead, tapping the cold steel of the barrel against her. “Don’t.”

“...I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Click-click-click.

Just then, a rag-tag group of similarly colored changelings would morph into anthropomorphic versions of themselves, dressed as suit-wearing gangsters with their own handguns raised and pointed at Bullet, causing the other patrons of the bar to simply roll their eyes as if it was just another Tuesday.

But when the lynx bartender came back to witness the scene happening before him with the bottle of Blackhawk, he simple sighed as he set it down, and picked up a shotgun. “...ah shit, here we go again.”