Uno Mas

Chapters

Order Up
Last Call
Cold Shoulder
Slow Night
Happy Hearth’s Warming
Out of Sorts
Trivial Pursuits
Second First Impression
Hoof It

Order Up

“Here we go,” Anon muttered, carefully plucking and setting a number of tankards and steaming plates onto the table before him.

A pony, one of the septet of customers, scrunched his snout and peered down at the meal. “What is this?”

“Your order,” Anon flatly responded.

“But we just sat down,” the griffon, another member of the party, groused.

With a heavy sigh, Anon walked around the circular table while distributing the vittles and mead. “I’m guessing you’re new, so I’m gonna make this really simple. There ain’t a menu, there are no options, and there aren’t any secret items to order. If your ass meets a seat, you get a tankard and a bowl of whatever’s being cooked in the back, then you pay when you leave - easy-peasy.”

Most of the customers looked content enough or too weary to argue, though the single pony in the group wasn’t one of them. Watching the stallion, a unicorn, levitate a spoon to the bowl of thick stew, he held his breath. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get new customers, seeing as how they were the only watering hole within a day’s hike in any direction, although that meant they’d occasionally get uppity visitors who weren’t used to their particular brand of service.

He straightened up, slipped the emptied serving platter under one arm, and surveyed the interior. The tavern wasn’t all that big, having a serving area that could comfortably seat about three-dozen patrons at best, but it was comfy - well, it was comfy most of the time. The promise of a hot meal, a cold brew, and a warm place, paired with the blustering winter winds just outside, had brought them to capacity as soon as they’d opened the door for the evening.

Languidly turning his attention back to the horned equine, he cocked a brow. “We good?”

“No,” the unicorn huffed, reaching out and pushing the bowl away. “No, I won’t accept this peasant gruel - for buck’s sake, I think there’s meat in it!”

“Not sure if you caught what I said, but it’s this or nothing,” Anon grumbled, leaning over and sliding the bowl back to the pony. “Trust me, a little meat won’t hurt you - besides, equines of any species, if hungry enough, can have a bit of protein in their -”

“I want to speak to the purveyor of this establishment,” the stallion demanded, slamming his hoof down.

The room and everycreature in it went deathly silent - so quiet that you could hear some poor, wretched soul who’d had one too many tossing his cookies just outside. Anon’s expression hardened and his eyes reflexively shot to a door behind the bar. This was bad - this was really bad. Glancing over to a minstrel seated in the corner, he snapped his fingers.

“Listen,” he hissed as the minstrel began playing his hurdy-gurdy again, “you really don’t want to speak to the manager. It’s fine if you only want the mead - hell, I don’t give a shit if you don’t want the stew, but don’t -”

“Mead?” the unicorn scoffed, lifting the frothing tankard in his magical grip. “Judging by the smell, I’d say this swill barely classifies as -”

Boom

For a second time in what could have only been a minute, a hush fell over the tavern. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Anon cursed under his breath as thunderous hoofsteps drew closer and closer. He’d tried - god help him, he’d tried to stop this, but it was too late. Waiting until he felt a massive presence and heard a disgruntled snort beside him, he stood up and took a small step away from the table. Damned if he knew which god the little pony prayed to, but he hoped the unicorn’s patron deity was in a forgiving mood.

“Which one of ya’s was it,” a hoarse, ominous voice intoned.

Cracking one eye open and seeing the stallion’s face go pale, Anon swung his attention to his side. The mare standing next to him was nothing short of colossal, an order of magnitude taller and more heavily built than any other pony he’d seen throughout his years in Equestria, and it was as plain as day that she was in a less than sunny disposition. As she lipped and chewed her moldering cigar, billowing a bout of smoke from her flared nostrils, he fought the urge to back away.

“I got this, Haggis,” he interjected. “I’ll call you if I -”

He cut himself off the moment her piercing, emerald gaze flew over at his face. She was bigger than him, stronger than him, and to say she had a deficit of fucks to give would be an understatement - sure, she’d saved his life and given him a job, but the last thing he was going to do was press his luck with her. Ultimately averting his gaze, cowed into silence, he hung his head.

Squinting down at each of the creatures seated at the table, she grunted. “Go on, out with it. If’n one of ya’s got something to say about the food or drink, by all means, let me hear about it.”

“I…I w…was simply…” the unicorn gulped, visibly shaking and instantly drawing the mountainous mare’s full focus. “Is there no other -”

“Did you try it?” Haggis pressed.

Shaking his head, the unicorn glanced down at the bowl resting in front of him. “N…no, but I don’t -”

“If’n ya don’t try it, I’ll have to fix you something else,” she mused, her grin and suddenly cheerful tone laying in stark contrast to her demeanor from moments ago.

The stallion’s ears perked up, his eyes widened, and the faintest trace of a smile graced his muzzle. “So there is something else I can eat?”

“Oh aye, of course there is,” she purred, trotting over and draping one foreleg across his shoulders. With all the warmth and tenderness of a wet nurse, resting no small amount of her weight on him, she lifted and shook one titanic forehoof. “If you don’t want the stew, you can have a hoof sandwich - fair warning though, some of them have a bit more kick.”

Punctuating her statement by stomping her hind leg, an action so violent that it cracked a floorboard beneath her, she rubbed his shoulder and chuckled to herself. Anon stood just out of arm’s reach and watched the display with a combination of pity and amusement. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a scene like this play out, and he’d bet his bottom bit that it wouldn’t be the last, although it did feel a little bad for the pony.

Smirking as the unicorn hovered a spoonful of stew into his maw, Haggis patted the stallion on the back. “There’s a good lad. Oi!” she shouted, "get back t’ stuffin’ your pie holes or get out! This ain’t no peep show, ya mongrels!”

The music and din returned in the blink of an eye, with creatures of all sorts uneasily and loudly chattering and feigning merriment. Anon slowly exhaled, relieved that he’d neither have to drag a wounded patron to the town doctor nor clean up the splintered remains of another table. Though a small crisis had been narrowly skirted, there was still a full night ahead of him.

“Keep an eye on those kirin,” Haggis murmured, turning and trotting past the man.

Hastily shifting on his heel, he walked along beside her. “Got it.”

“If that bat pony at table three isn’t paying to sleep on the table, get him out,” she continued, glancing sidelong at a slumbering, likely blind-drunk thestral.

He nodded and, hoping to preempt any other issues. “Want me to cut off those yak’s before they get too rowdy?”

Snickering and pushing her way through the swinging doors to the back of the establishment, she moved toward a bubbling cauldron hung over a fire. “Nah. S’long as they don’t start trouble, keep serving ‘em. Even if they do start trouble, I wouldn’t mind blowing off a little steam.”

“R…right,” he stammered as she lowered her head and touched her cigar to the flames under the vat of stew.

Though he was compelled to ask her if she needed anything else, he knew better than to dally. The tavern was full, there were tankards to refill, and he had bills to dispense, so he snatched up a pitcher of mead and left without saying a thing. If she wanted him, she’d call for him, that’s how it was and always would be, and he took a small amount of pride from her trust in him.

“Anon,” she shouted, making him flinch.

Stopping in his tracks, having just reached the door, he peered over his shoulder at her. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and make sure that little horn-head finishes his meal,” she laughed, dumping a mixture of crudely cut carrots, mystery meat, and just a pinch of cigar ash into the stew.

He smiled back at her and gave her a thumbs up before returning to his duties. Haggis could be a crusty old battle-axe, but she kept things lively and ran a tight ship. While he moved from one table to the next, topping off drinks and taking payments when customers had had their fill, his spirits lifted. Living above a tavern with a giant, ornery mare had its ups and down, but the life he’d found was gradually growing on him.

Last Call

“Come on, you’re almost there,” he wheezed, steadying and guiding an unsteady griffon to the exit. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the inn?”

“Hah!” the cat-bird guffawed, dismissively waving a clawed hand. “This? This ain’t nothin’. There was one time I flew all the way across the Celestia sea in the middle of a typhoon; if I could handle that, I can handle a little bit of snow and wind.”

“Uh-huh,” Anon groused. Stopping just outside, he squatted down and pointed over at a three-story structure not a hundred yards away. “Just walk in a straight line and you’ll be fine ~ alright?”

Listing to one side and overcorrecting, the griffon lurched against him. “Got it. Thank Ms. Naggis for the hospitality.”

“It’s Mrs. and it’s Haggis - not Naggis,” he lamented, instinctively looking back and half-expecting to see her looming over them. “Safe travels.”

“Same to you,” the pickled chimera hummed, hobbling off into the night.

Pushing himself up, Anon lingered by the door until he saw the griffon reach the inn, take a tumble, get up, and eventually see himself inside. He’d always assumed that workin in a bar and dealing with customers who’d had one too many drinks would be a nightmare, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought it would be. Stepping back and into the tavern, he closed and bolted the door behind himself.

“That everyone?” a familiar, gruff voice called.

“Yup,” he shot back, glancing to the side, “except for Dovah.”

Not getting an immediate response, he strolled past several tables to the far corner of the room. While Haggis would only allow customers to sleep in the tavern under extraordinary circumstances, there was one exception - Dovah. Seated with his back to the wall, the monstrous effigy of a dragon had sat unmoving for the entirety of his time in Equestria. He’d only asked about the gargantuan statue a single time, but his savior-turned-host’s answer had been cryptic and stern enough to keep him from inquiring a second time.

‘Don’t mess with Dovah ~ got it?’ Haggis had told him.

Ever since then, he hadn’t questioned Dovah’s history, significance, or why the stone it was hewn from was always strangely warm. Stopping before the great carved wyrm, he patted its thigh and brushed a bit of dust off its crossed arms. Honestly, regardless of where Haggis had picked the thing up, he thought it was a pretty nifty aesthetic choice for the place.

Turning in place, he examined the interior of the tavern. Most of the tables were already wiped down, all the tankards and plates had been bussed to the back, and the only thing left to do was to place all the stools and chairs into their proper places. As he went to wrap things up, attending to the final details before he hung up his apron, the sound of heavy hooffalls caught his ear.

“Everything alright?” he asked, knowing just who’d trotted in on him.

Haggis drifted to the bar and came to a halt. “Aye, everything’s fine, lad. Care for a drink?”

The question piqued his interest and derailed his thoughts. Haggis wasn’t much of a drinker, nor was she one to socialize much, which made the offer exceptionally uncommon. Strolling over to her and pulling up a stool, he eased himself down and placed his trusty dishrag on the bar.

Having to practically lay down to reach the lower cabinets behind the bar, she reappeared with a dusty bottle in her hoof. “Ya drinkin’ or not?”

He hastily nodded and shifted in his seat. “Sure. Special occasion?”

“Something like that,” she noted, somehow managing to lip her stogie and uncork the bottle with her teeth.

As she twisted and plucked two relatively clean glasses from a shelf behind herself, his eyes wandered to the wall behind her. In spite of the tavern being stocked with all sorts of spirits, he was left to believe that most of the liquor she had was mostly just for show. Many of the bottles hadn’t been touched in what had to be years, and he’d always been curious about them.

“Here, lad,” she huffed, sliding a shot glass filled with amber liquid over to him.

He lifted the small glass to her and smiled. “What’re we toasting to?”

“Today,” she began, nodding to a shattered executioner’s sword perched above the front door, “that.”

Looking over at the sundered weapon, he knit his brow. “That have a story behind it?”

“Aye,” she somberly replied, knocking back the slug as if it was water. “Aye, it does…”

He waited patiently for an explanation that didn’t come and watched her pour herself another drink. “Care to tell it?”

An amber glow bathed her face as she took a long draw of her cigar. “You know the deal…”

“Fine,” he lamented, “I’ll cut wood tomorrow.”

One of the most infuriating things about Haggis was that she was remarkably tight-lipped about her past. In the months he’d spent under her room and in her employ, he’d gleaned perilously little about who she was and what she’d done with herself prior to saving him from an unfortunate fate - that said, the few details she had given him were enthralling to a fault. She’d apparently been an adventurer for most of her life, but that’s about all he knew.

A grin split her muzzle and she seated herself opposite from him. “That’ll do. So that blade,” she continued, peering into her glass, “almost took me head.”

“Almost?” he hesitantly parroted.

Smiling all the broader, she pulled at her collar to reveal a bare line of scarred flesh just above her shoulder. “Almost…”

He gulped, taken aback by what had to have been a grizzly wound. “So what happened?”

Her brow lifted, she flashed her teeth, and smoke billowed from her snout as she snickered. “Full of questions tonight ~ aren’t we?”

Moments from asking her how he couldn’t have more questions, he stopped himself. She seemed to be in a decent humor, neither bitching about the till from the evening or having had to deal with any ornery customers, but that could change in an instant. Strumming the fingers of one hand on the bar, he downed his shot and gave her a moment.

A burning blossomed in his throat, made all the worse by the plumes of smoke from her stogie, yet the warmth which radiated in his belly helped to stave off the chill in the room. “If you wanted to oblige me with a story, what would it cost me?”

“Hmmmm,” she thoughtfully mused, stroking her chin. “I reckon washing the linens would be a fair trade.”

“But it’s the dead of winter!” he groused.

“Aye, and what of it?” she countered, staring him down.

Not wanting to deal with her laundry but wanting - no, needing to know how she’d skirted death, he resignedly sighed. “Alright, I’ll wash ‘em this weekend.”

Rocking back and looking more smug than ever, she took her cigar in one forehoof and tapped free its cap of ash. “So there we were, right in the -”

“We?” he urged.

“Don’t interrupt, lad,” she tutted, waving her leg to a vista only she could see. “So we were all lined up and ready to meet our makers. We tried everything to get ourselves free, but they were a crafty lot - had us all shackled and trussed up like Hearth’s Warming hams. There ‘aven’t been many times when I feared - truly feared for my life, but feelin’ the cold touch of the chopping block against my neck was definitely one of ‘em…”

He subconsciously leaned forward and over the bar, hanging on her every word and waiting patiently for her to take another puff of her cigar. He’d had little doubt that she’d been through a good number of scrapes before, bearing the scars of old wounds and a temperament one could only earn from a hard-fought life, although he wouldn’t have guessed that she’d actually faced execution at some point. Waving away wisps of smoke, he held his breath and forced himself to stay quiet.

“I swear, the headsmare could barely lift that thing,” she chuckled, making a small motion to the shattered sword, “but she got it up clear enough. Swear on me mum, I don’t know what came over me, but a bit of quick thinking was the only thing between me and losing a bit off the top.”

Another long draw and another shot left him in suspense. Had he had the slightest inkling that she’d regale him with one of her tales, he would have brought his journal to write everything down - alas, with hindsight being twenty-twenty and having had no time to prepare, he envisioned the scene unfolding. As she set her glass down, her grin faltered.

“You know what I did, lad?” she breathed.

He slowly turned his head from side to side, keeping his eyes on her all the while. “No…”

“I told the bugger I was pregnant,” she snickered, “and she believed me - yeah, it was only enough to make her pull her swing for a second, but that second was all I needed.”

Imagining the great, hulking mare turning the tables on what would have been her executioner, he swallowed hard. “And then what happened?”

“I broke her sword, beat the everliving tar out of her, and freed my crew - easy as,” she proudly proclaimed. “Ended up taking that splintered piece of scrap as a souvenir.”

He yearned - oh how he yearned for more details, to learn who she’d been captured by and why, but she was finished. Corking the bottle and stashing it back under the bar, she twisted and lazily plodded away. This was how it always played out - she’d only barely reveal some gleaming gem from her past, giving him a fleeting glance of some grand adventure she’d had, and conclude as abruptly as she’d begun. As infuriating as it was to be taunted by her exploits, he held onto hope that someday, perhaps if or when he was lucky enough for her to warm up to him, she’d give him a fuller picture.

“Funniest part is, even though I didn’t realize it at the time,” she noted, stopping with one hoof on the door to the kitchen, she peered back at him, “was that I actually was pregnant…”

And with that infuriating tease, leaving him on the mother of all cliffhangers, she disappeared from sight. Badering her would prove counterintuitive, goading her to keep even more reserved than she already was, so it was all he could do to get up, walk around the bar, and grab the first bottle of liquor he could place his hands on. Someday - god help him, someday he’d finish hearing the rest of that particular story…

Cold Shoulder

“Oi…” a gruff, unfamiliar voice cut through the darkness.

Awakening with a start, Anon bolted upright. The smell of fire assaulted him, his limbs felt numb and heavy, and he gasped frigid air into his lungs - nevertheless, in spite of the unsettling circumstances, it was the silhouette of a hulking figure beside him that filled him with dread. The moment he went to scramble away, the creature reached out and trapped his shoulder in an iron grip.

“Easy, lad - easy,” it - no, she murmured.

His eyes adjusted as he peered up at her, yet what he saw didn’t make a bit of sense. Instead of a person, the creature was a pony - a huge, concerned looking pony, but a pony nonetheless. Rubbing his face in disbelief, knowing he had to be imagining things, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

The last thing he remembered was going out for a walk to pick some blackberries on the hills behind his house, and now he was sitting in what appeared to be a cave next to a gargantuan, talking equine. If he had somehow died, which was a possibility he wasn’t going to rule out, he was suffering through one of the most vivid dreams he’d ever had.

Relenting, the great creature rocked back and gave him a bit of space. “Are ya hurt, lad?”

Glancing down at himself, seeing he was still wearing the clothes he’d gone out in, he quickly shifted his focus back up to her. As big as an actual horse, if not slightly beefier, the mare made him feel small in comparison, although her size wasn’t what struck him as odd. Not only had she spoken, but she was adorned in a tunic and dress - furthermore, her fiery mane was pulled back and fashioned into a ponytail.

Looking into her glistening emerald eyes, he gave the smallest of nods. “No…”

“Good,” she huffed, shifting and getting to her hooves. “C’mon, we need to get goin’.”

He braced himself on one arm and winced. Fuck if he knew where he was, how he’d gotten there, or why he was holding a one-sided conversation with a talking pony, but a part of him had wished he hadn’t woken up. The bitter cold around him was only barely kept at bay by the small fire that crackled several feet away from him, and he was certain that the temperature outside the small grotto would only be worse.

“W…wait,” he croaked, pushing himself up.

No sooner did he get his feet under himself and flex his legs than he tumbled forward and onto his face. The pain of impacting against frozen, unyielding stone made him cry out and writhe, shocking his system and reminding him he was still among the living - if only for a time. As he attempted to push himself up, seeing crimson droplets fall from his nose, he was unceremoniously lifted from the earth.

The transition was jarring to say the least, yet the soft, warm surface he found himself placed upon gave him some comfort. He turned his head as he felt himself moving and peered over to one side. The mare, whoever she was, had placed him on her back and was trotting to the mouth of the cavern.

“Don’t die on me,” she growled.

“I don’t plan on it,” he groaned, watching the wind and snow whip outside. “Thank you…”

She snorted and glanced back at him, her jaw set and brows furrowed. “Thank me if you’re still kicking once I get you indoors.”

Fighting through the aches in his protesting arms and legs, he forced himself to turn and lay lengthwise over her. Whoever she was - whatever she was, he owed her dearly. While he may have been physically intact, barring the self-sustained injuries of the tumble he’d just had, he couldn’t remember ever having been so cold in his life. He clamped his eyes shut as the first burst of blustering wind assailed him and prayed that wherever she was going wasn’t far.

Unlike her, he didn’t have a thick coat of downy fur to insulate him from the elements. The simple t-shirt, shorts, and sandals he wore were completely unbefitting of his surroundings - a fact that only compounded his confusion and dismay. When he’d left the house, his house, it had been only barely cool outside - now it felt like he was on the side of a mountain in the dead of winter.

She slowed to a halt as she trudged through several inches of snow on the ground and shrugged her shoulders. “Get off.”

“B…but…” he stammered, his teeth beginning to chatter.

“The quicker you get off, the quicker we can get moving again,” she barked.

Her tone was unyielding and harder than the climate, prompting him to move without a second protest. Awkwardly swinging one leg over her rear, he clung to her back and dismounted her. Even doing something as simple as standing was a trial, leaving him to lean against her to support himself.

“There’s a button above my dock,” she instructed. “Take off my skirt and wrap yourself in it.”

Nonplussed, he looked to her flicking tail. “Your what?”

“My dock,” she repeated. “The base of my tail!”

He faltered, finally understanding what she meant. “I…I could never -”

“I wasn’t asking, ya daft twat!” she seethed. “Either ya do as I say or you can freeze to death - your choice.”

Though her words bit, the promise of an untimely demise stung worse. Doing as she’d asked, willing his trembling fingers to work, he unfastened the back of her skirt and carefully guided it down her hind legs. As he held the flowing garment in his hands, taking care not to let it fall to the snow, she stepped forward and out of the article.

It felt wrong to rob her of one of her only pieces of clothing, but he had no real choice in the matter. Between the inhospitable environment and her order, he slipped the voluminous cloth over his head and donned it like a makeshift cloak. Though the material of the dress was relatively thin, it blunted the cold and gave him a small measure of comfort.

“You need me to get you back on?” she asked.

“No…No, I think I can do it,” he muttered, placing his hands on her back.

Had she not been considerate enough to lower herself, he may have struggled to mount her - fortunately for him, she bent her legs and allowed him to pull himself up with relative ease. The moment he seated himself behind her shoulders, barely giving him any time to get situated, she continued onward. Leaning forward to steady himself, he squinted into the distance.

Gone were the suburbs and empty, grass-filled lots of the town he’d called home, replaced by craggy mountains, rolling hills, and pine trees. As hard as he tried to rationalize what was happening, the thought of this being a dream grew more and more distant with every passing second. The air smelled different, he was riding a sapient mare, the landscape was a far departure from anywhere he’d ever been, and there was a pervasive sense of wrongness to the world - a chilling sense of unfamiliarity that he couldn’t shake free.

“Since ya can talk, ya got a name?” she grunted without looking back.

He started, unprepared for the question. “Name?”

“Name, aye, it’s what folks’ve been callin’ ya for your whole life,” she brusquely clarified.

“O…oh - it’s Anonymous,” he answered, “but almost everyone calls me Anon.”

Lumbering past a particularly large boulder, she continued trotting downhill. “And you were out here without any gear because…?”

“I…” he trailed off, trying and failing to remember anything out of the ordinary. “I don’t know. One minute, I was taking a walk by my house - the next, you woke me up.”

“Hmmph,” she snorted, spitting to the ground. “Well you’re either a loon or there’s dark magic ahoof.”

“Magic?” he croaked.

Twisting her head and glancing up at him, she scowled. “Dark magic. It doesn’t help that I’ve never seen one of ya before, not in all my travels, ‘s I suspect some mage or god-forsaken fool may’ve been behind this.”

The matter-of-factness in which she spoke made a knot form in his stomach. Magic? Mages? Talking horses? Dream or not, something weird was going on. Going to pull his improvised shawl tighter, he unintentionally listed to the side and lost his balance. The world spun, he heard a shout of dismay, and then everything went dark, yet that wasn’t the end of his journey - no, it was just the beginning…

Knock Knock Knock

“Wake up, ya sorry sod,” a familiar voice blared. “That timber ain’t gonna chop itself.”

“I’m up,” Anon groaned, wrenched from his sleep and the evaporating memory of his dream.

Swinging his legs out from under the covers, he stifled a yawn and rubbed the crust from his eyes. He would have loved to stay in bed, to bask in the warmth and comfort beneath the sheets, but he had to earn his keep. Quickly but unsteadily donning his trousers, shirt, and his care-worn apron, he shuffled to the door of his room and pulled it open.

Haggis glowered down at him, already dressed and ready to start her day. “Took ya long enough. I swear, I’ve seen foals that don’t sleep as much as you.”

“Sorry,” he halfheartedly apologized, sidling past her and patting her neck. “I’ll work on it.”

“I doubt it,” she scoffed, turning and trotting up to his side. “The day you’re up before me is the day I’ll be put in a grave.”

Despite her gallows humor, he smirked over at her. She was rough around the edges, almost always had an attitude, and could easily kick down a fully grown tree, but beneath her hard exterior beat the heart of a mare who cared - the very mare who’d rescued him from the wilderness. As he moved down the stairs and to the kitchen, from the living space above the tavern, his hand ran back and forth over her shoulder.

“Ain’t tryin’ ta get frisky with me ~ are ya?” she chided, leering sidelong at him.

“Nah,” he snickered. “I’m just thankful that you’re here…”

Slow Night

Bursting into the tavern, Anon slammed and threw his weight against the door. “Haggis!”

“Hmmph?” An inquisitorial grunt from behind him, somewhere near the bar, let him know that the mare had heard him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and spotted her wiping off one of the tables. Given the hour, the place should have been a hotbed of activity, bustling with townsfolk and travelers alike, although the establishment was, save for himself, Haggis, and the dragonic effigy perpetually resting in one corner, completely vacant. Turning and placing his back on the door, he used his legs as a brace.

“Slow night ~ eh?” she huffed, glancing across the cavernous chamber at him.

“Slow night?” he dumbfoundedly parroted. “Slow night?!? Haggis, we need to leave!”

Straightening slightly, she tossed her rag over her shoulder and gave him her full attention. “Why?”

“I’m not sure if - Nnnnph,” he growled, biting back his frustration and stopping himself from making a somewhat disparaging comment about her age and apparent obliviousness. “Have you looked outside in the last hour?”

“No,” she flatly responded, steadily moving over to him. “Don’t tell me another bar opened. I swear on my father’s grave, it’d be a shame if another mysterious fire made sure I’ve got the only tavern in town…”

The implications were nearly enough to divert his thoughts from the catastrophe at hand - almost. Shaking his head, he stepped over to allow her to peek through the door’s peephole. He’d seen some pretty wild stuff since he’d been in Equestria, including a knock-down-drag-out brawl between a draconequus and an abyssinian sorceress, but the scene outside may have taken the cake.

Squinting through the small opening with one eye, she snorted. “Looks to be snowing pretty hard.”

“Does anything else catch your eye?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

She withdrew and shrugged. “You mean the ursa major?”

Gobsmacked, he mutely flapped his jaw for a moment. “Yeah…yeah, the ursa major…”

It was no secret that she had a number of adventures under her belt, having hinted at confrontations with ponies and beasts alike, but for her to brush off a rampaging, humongous beast was too much for his panicked brain to process. Stepping over to her, he grabbed her cheeks and stared into her eyes. Since the entire village was about to be demolished, he figured there was only one reasonable course of action: get the hell out of dodge and hopefully convince her to come with him.

“What are you doing?” she rumbled as her brow steadily furrowed.

“Haggis, listen, we have to - Mmmph,” he mumbled, cut short when she pressed a massive forehoof to his face and pushed him away. “We have to get out of here,” he pleaded, taking the hint and giving her a bit of space. “For all we know, that thing could head this way!”

“And?” she countered.

“And? And?!?” he raged. “Haggis, it’s an ursa major - an ursa major! We wouldn’t even be an appetizer for something that big - hell, it could turn the tavern inside out without even -”

“Hah!” she harshly laughed. “It could try.”

Frantically waving his hands, he shied away. “Wait wait wait - are you drunk?”

Again she shrugged. “I won’t deny having a draft or two ~ why?”

“You aren’t seriously thinking about trying to fight that thing ~ are you?” he bleated.

She was tough as nails, he wouldn’t question that, but there way in hell she was bat-shit crazy enough to take on an ursa major. For starters, while she was pretty damn big for a pony, she was downright tiny compared to the monstrosity making a mess of the village - secondly and even more alarmingly, she was no spring chicken. She may’ve been able to pit herself against a fucking kaiju if she was in her prime and with an elite, highly skilled team, but even that would be a stretch.

Languidly turning away, she groaned and moved to the back of the bark. “Come on…”

His eyes lit up and a glimmer of hope washed over him. As shitty as it would be to flee, forsaking his home, place of work, and the townsponies who only annoyed him on an occasional basis, making a tactical retreat beat the alternative. Following after the mare, he froze when he saw her wander behind the bar, stoop down, and reappear with a full helm on her head.

“You’ve got to be shitting me…” he murmured to himself.

“Don’t think I can take on a measly ursa major,” she grumbled, glancing sidelong at him while she trotted to the front door. “I’ll show you a thing or two.”

“I’m not about to stand around and watch you get murdered,” he insisted as she nonchalantly stepped outside.

Standing just beyond the threshold, she peered back at him. “Nah, you’re not going to stand around or watch me get murdered - what you are going to do is learn how to deal with one of these brutes.”

Though he was confused and more than a little concerned, he drifted to the doorway and poked his head outside. Utterly unperturbed by the titanic nightmare laying waste to the township not two hundred yards away, she strolled over to the ramada sheltering their firewood. He initially thought that she may be going for the ax resting by the stacked timber, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Grabbing one of the structure’s support beams, she wrenched the wooden pole free and tossed it over one shoulder.

“Step one,” she growled, whipping around to face him, “big critters need a big beating.”

He slowly nodded, taken aback by just how easily she’d broken and lifted what had to be several hundred pounds of lumber. Earth ponies were renown for their physical might, but the casual ease with which she’d armed herself with a gargantuan makeshift club was jarring to say the least. Given the aches and pains she periodically bellyached about, not to mention her age, he shuddered to think how powerful she would have been in her prime.

Moving past him and toward town, she blew a gout of steaming air from her nostrils. “Step two: you gotta hit ‘em where it hurts.”

Numbly trailing her, he considered her words. What she’d said made sense, since every being in existence had at least one weak point, but he couldn’t fathom how she could do any appreciable damage to something so huge - even if she was armed with something so sizable. As the earth trembled under his feet, he lifted his gaze and felt himself go pale.

The ursa major shifted its tremendous weight and stared down at his approaching foe, the only pony brave or reckless enough not to go running for the hills. Its lips curled, revealing fangs the size of saplings, while ropes of saliva hung from its chin. It was anyone’s guess as to if it had feasted upon townsfolk or merely raided larders and the general store - regardless, a savory morsel had just presented itself with what was effectively an oversized toothpick.

“Oi!” Haggis bellowed, squaring off against the beast. “Get outta here - go on, git!”

With its eyes set upon her, the monster roared and charged. Any creature with an ounce of common sense would have shit their pants, screamed for their life, hightailed it, or some combination of the three - the problem was Haggis wasn’t just any creature. Breaking into a full gallop, she howled in challenge and rushed headlong at her enemy.

Anon stared in disbelief at what he could only describe as a clash of titans. Haggis spun and slid across the snow-covered ground on her flank, narrowly avoiding a swipe by one of the creature’s immense, clawed paws, before leaping back to her hooves. Sprinting beneath the beast, she reared onto her hind legs, held the pole in her forehooves, and swung the wooden pillar with so much speed and force that it became a blur.

The ursa major’s roar raised an octave, it threw its head back, and it went rigid, as what had to be at least a quarter ton of lumber nailed it squarely in the groin. Just like that, all but literally in the blink of an eye, it took off and abandoned the town, Haggis, and any thought of continuing what should have been a one-sided conflict. Creating small tremors as it loped away, he crested a hill and dashed into the distance.

“H…how’d…” Anon sputtered, wheeling around to face his two-fold savior.

Breathing hard and steaming the air around herself, Haggis smirked and dropped her club. “Hit ‘em where it hurts…”

Realization dawned on Anon. While he hadn’t paid any attention to the ursa major’s sex, it was made abundantly apparent that Haggis had. There wasn’t a beast, living, dead, or otherwise, that would fancy a blow to the family jewels, making him wince in sympathetic pain. Reflexively covering his crotch, he flinched when she barked a laugh and slapped him on the back.

“You can fix the shed tomorrow,” she chuckled. “With any luck, now that we got that issue sorted out, we’ll get some business tonight…”

Gawking at her, he blinked. He’d always had the sense to stay on her good side, but now he knew exactly why. She’d felled something that could have - should have taken a small army to deal with like it was something as trivial as tossing an unruly patron out of her tavern. Seeing her look back at him, he rushed up behind her and hoped the ursa major was smart enough not to seek revenge…

Happy Hearth’s Warming

“Oh come on,” Anon halfheartedly pouted, “it’s just once a year! Don’t you feel the Hearth’s Warming spirit?”

“Fah!” Haggis harrumphed, spitting into and wiping out a tankard. “I ain’t wearing it…”

Holding up a red and white stocking cap, he stuck out his bottom lip. “Please! The customers will love it.”

She slammed the container down hard enough to jar the bartop and leered over at him. “I ain’twearing it! For Pete’s sake, you should be lucky I’m being this festive!”

Watching her reach over, grab a lump of coal from a sack, and toss it into the tall, wooden mug, he grimaced. “I don’t think giving patrons coal on Hearth’s Warming all that jolly…”

“Jolly - Bah!” she grumbled, filling the tankard with ale and sliding it down to a pony at the end of the bar. “You ain’t even from Equestria. How would you know the first thing about Hearth’s Warming?”

Adorned in the ugliest green sweater he could get at the local thrift shop, Anon defiantly crossed his arms. “I’ll admit I don’t know much, but the holiday is very similar to one we had on earth called Christmas. People would visit their families, there was almost always a big dinner, and folks of all ages exchanged gifts - it was really nice!”

“Aye, and I bet everypony has a grand old time and enjoys themselves,” she groused. “Let me tell you, not all of us are so lucky…”

He leaned on the bar and did his damnedest not to roll his eyes at her. “Who dropped horse apples in your cereal? Can’t you see everyone’s having a good time?”

Nodding, she rested on the bar and cocked her head. “The only thing I see is that nopony here knows the dark side of Hearth’s Warming…”

“Dark side?” he repeated incredulously.

“What do you think the coal is for?” she quipped, lifting and tossing one of the black rocks into the air. “Wards off evil spirits and brings good luck.”

Waving away her claim, he snickered. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“I ain’t and I can prove it,” she seethed, her tone hardening. “Mind the bar. I’ll be right back.”

She whipped around and stormed into the kitchen before he could say a thing. He really hadn’t meant to upset her, even if she was full of bologna about some dark side of Hearth’s Warming, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. Stepping around and behind the bar, he picked up where she’d left off by cleaning and putting lumps of coal in unused tankards and tending to any customers.

It definitely wasn’t what he’d call a busy night - then again, given the holiday, he wasn’t all that surprised. Most ponies were home with their families or friends, leaving only a few steadfast drunks or loners in the tavern. Impassively listening to heavy hooffalls from overhead, hearing Haggis moving back to the stairwell, he expectantly looked over to the kitchen.

“Alright,” she growled, “you wanted proof? Here’s your proof.” Tossing a bundle of threadbare linen onto the bar in front of the man, she contemptuously spat on the floor.

He stared down at the bundle for a moment, both anxious and a bit curious. “What is it?”

“Unwrap her and see for yourself, since you don’t think Hearth’s Warming has perils,” she insisted, waving over to him.

Nervously reaching down and unfolding the cloth, he discovered what appeared to be a gnarled, broken horn or tusk. Dark as pitch and thicker than his wrist, the unsettling object had an air of wrongness about it - making him all the more hesitant to actually touch the thing. He lowered his head while turning the fabric, cautiously inspecting the item.

“And this is…?” he let the question hang, hoping she’d give an explanation.

“That,” Haggis began, inching closer to him, “is a horn…”

Quirking a brow over at her, he straightened up. “A horn of what though?”

Glancing to each of the windows and the door, she brought her muzzle to his ear. “The Krampus…”

“Oh bull shit,” he squawked, rearing back. “The Krampus isn’t - Hmmf?!?”

“Ssssssssh!” she hissed, clamping a forehoof over his mouth. “Are you daft? Do you want him to show up?!”

Haggis was many things, surly and unmovable most of the time, but shaken wasn’t one of them - making the look in her eyes, one of genuine concern, extraordinarily disconcerting. Relenting, he gently guided her forehoof away from his face and peered down at the fell item on the bar. As insane as it may have sounded, he was inclined to believe her.

Grabbing a bottle of hooch and two glasses from behind, he poured each of them a drink. “I hope you know me well enough to realize I wouldn’t demand details, but I think this warrants it.”

She snagged the bottle from his grasp mid-pour, brought it to her lips, and took a swig. “I fought it…”

“You fought Kr…” he fell silent under her baleful gaze. “You fought him ~ really?”

“Aye, and it weren’t easy, I’ll tell you that much,” she snarled, helping herself to another liberal gulp of spirits. Shifting her weight and turning her back to him, she hiked up her skirt. “See this?”

Shielding his eyes, he waved a hand. “I don’t think -”

“Not my arse, ya ninny!” she blurted. “Above my fetlock!”

He peeked through his fingers and peered down at her lower leg. Sure enough, just above the furry joint, was a jagged patch of bare, scarred skin that circled her limb. “The scar?”

She gave a solemn nod and rubbed the old wound. “He did that. Nearly took my leg off too.”

Gazing off into the distance, her eyes glazed over with some distant memory. Delicately moving the bottle away from her, he pushed one of the two glasses in her direction and held his breath. There’d been a number of stories she’d glibly mentioned in the past, but he could tell that this one might just be one of the most terrifying.

“We weren’t even trying to find trouble,” she whispered, “but trouble found us - oh did it ever find us…”

She shivered, struck by some imperceptible chill, and downed her glass in an instant. While he was reluctant to pour her another measure of liquor, he wasn’t above loosening her tongue with another drink to hear the tale. Staying quiet, he turned the bottle up and offered another two fingers. Considering the late hour, how slow it had been, and her apparent discomfort, maybe she actually needed something to relax.

With a trembling hoof, she reached for her glass. “There was a blizzard, the worst Yakyakistan had seen in generations, and it caught us completely off guard - rolled over the mountains like an avalanche of driving wind and frigid cold. Phalanx had spotted a cave earlier, so -”

“Phalanx like a formation?” he softly interrupted.

Continuing to pay him little mind and keeping her voice low, she shook her head. “No, we just called him Phalanx. We made our way to that cave, the one he’d noticed along the ridgeline, but…”

He waited in abject silence, as did a patron sitting within earshot for her to continue, before he nudged her glass. “But…?”

“The cave,” she muttered, tossing the shot of alcohol back. “The cave wasn’t right. There were chains and sacks hung from the walls, the place stunk of leather and burnt wood, and we were tempted to leave as soon as we’d set hoof into the place. It was like trotting through the gates of Tartarus…”

As much as he wanted to urge her to keep talking, he reigned himself in and bit his tongue. Whatever had happened in that cage had done more than just leave a physical scar - it had haunted her for years or even decades. Taking a sip of his drink, discovering that he’d grabbed what seemed to be a rye whisky, he tried not to cough.

A single bead of sweat rolled down her brow while she shifted her gaze to the window and the gale outside. “Setting up just inside the cavern, close enough to the exit to leave if need be, we hunkered down for the night around a small fire. Hours passed with only the sound of wind outside to keep us company, but then we heard it - a snarling that came from the bowels of the earth itself…”

“What was it?” the customer, an older unicorn stallion asked.

Her eyes shot to him, staring him down so hard that he flinched. “A demon, a creature that clawed its way out of the abyss itself. Faster than we could think, moving in ways that shouldn’t be possible, it was upon it. Tooth and talon and horn and rage - pure spite and death itself, that’s what it was. We…we barely made it out alive…”

Shifting uncomfortably, Anon poured himself a generous dose of liquid courage to steady himself. “Well at least you bloodied his nose…”

“No…” she breathed. “No, all we did was anger it, I’m sure of that much. We only found out later that it’s been around for as long as time itself, a terror that stalks many worlds and brings woe wherever it treads, and that wasn’t the first time somepony, be they pony or not, had tried to slay it. Everypony who’s sought to end it has failed, even though it’s been brought low on a fabled occasion or two. Somehow it comes back - it always comes back…”

Anon knocked back his drink and quickly refilled his and Haggis’ glasses, but not before depositing a lump of coal in their cups. Hastily taking her proffered shot, she took a draw from her cigar. He couldn’t say if the thing she’d encountered was actually Krampus, the Krampus he’d heard about as a child, but that wasn’t important - what was important was that he was going to double-lock all the windows and doors before going to sleep that night. Seeing her wander away while murmuring to herself, he gulped. All he could do was try to forget about the horrifying concept that Haggis, the strongest, baddest, most intimidating pony he’d ever met, was actually scared of something.

Unseating himself, the customer who’d listened in unsteadily trotted to the exit. “I’m going to head home, Anon. Put that on my tab.”

“Sure,” Anon dully responded.

Though the merriness of Hearth’s Warming still lingered, the joy he’d felt was tainted - stained by the notion that something truly nightmarish existed. Chimeras, dragons, cockatrices, hydras - those could be fought, those could be slain, but monsters, at least real ones, may just lurk in the night. Peering out into the cold, he rubbed his eyes and did a double take. It may have been his imagination, but he could swear he saw the silhouette of something tall, lanky, and with a sack hung over its shoulder lurking in the distance…

Out of Sorts

“Two flagons of mead and an ale,” Anon announced, stopping at and placing the drinks on a table surrounded by a motley crew of creatures. “Just pay before you - No!”

The sound of a phlegmy cough and a sniffle told him who’d just wandered into the tavern, evoking his ire for the third time that evening. Wheeling around, spying Haggis shamble out from the kitchen, he glowered. In spite of her immeasurable constitution, indomitable strength, and an attitude that made even the hardest look soft in comparison, she’d fallen prey to something so trivial that he could scarcely believe it - the common cold.

“Don’t you - Achoo - no me again,” she slurred, leering over at him. “This is my bar and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit on my ass being useless.”

Her appearance wasn’t terribly surprising, given that it was the third time she’d disobeyed common sense and come down to supervise, but the silence that fell over the room was. Each and every creature seated went quiet as they looked over at her. It had been a few hours since her last appearance, shortly after he’d opened the tavern for the evening, so he was the only soul present who’d seen her that afternoon.

Wiping her snout on her foreleg, she drifted behind and leaned heavily against the bar. Her mane was disheveled, dark bags hung under her eyes, and she was none too steady on her hooves - in short, she looked like shit and it was painfully obvious that the last thing she should be doing is serving patrons. Seeing her fumble for a bottle, Anon slipped the serving tray he’d been carrying under his arm and rushed over to her.

“Haggis,” he whispered, coming to a halt by her side, “please go back upstairs and get some rest. For fuck’s sake, you’re -”

“Bah,” she grunted, shoving him away and almost knocking him off his feet. “I never missed a day in my life and I’m not about to start now. If I - Cough - could get through cockatrice pox and serve drinks, I can handle - Hack - this.”

Pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, he frowned. “You’ve got a fever…”

“And?” she spat.

“And a runny nose,” he observed, seeing a rivulet of mucus creeping from her nostrils.

“And?” she weakly growled.

He liked to consider himself a patient man, but enough was enough. “And you might get someone sick!”

Batting a hoof at him, she sneered. “Might - mights don’t count for much, lad - ‘sides, nopony here is worried about a cold.”

“Are you sure about that…” he muttered, letting the question hang.

All conversation had stopped and every eye in the room was on her, though she was either too hard headed or ill to care. While he saluted her work ethic, he couldn’t in good conscience let her work through the rest of the shift. Inching closer to her and resting a hand on her shoulder, he tried and failed to turn her to the door.

“I promise I’ll keep an eye on things,” he firmly stated. “Just please go get some rest and -”

“Soup!” one of the customers, an overweight griffon chirped. “The lass needs soup. Back when I was a chick, me mum used to make me soup when I was feeling under the weather.”

A unicorn mare who’d been sitting in the corner steadily got to her hooves and pulled back her cowl. “Some medicine couldn’t hurt either. If you’ll permit me, I’ll fetch a few herbs from my room at the inn and concoct a simple elixir to alleviate some of her symptoms.”

“Lad,” a small voice began, causing Anon to look toward his feet. Gathered around his ankles were a group of breezies with a caped one standing at their head. “Do you have enough firewood to keep the place warm? The last thing she needs is to get chilly.”

“I - um…” Anon hummed, glancing to the window. “I think we have enough for a day or two? I was going to chop some in -”

“We’re on it,” the fairy-like creature exclaimed. Turning to the rest of his kin, he flitted into the air. “You heard him!”

To Anon’s abject disbelief, patrons started unseating themselves - not all of them, but nearly a dozen. What had been conversations about the weather, the adventures they’d been on, or their woes shifted and unified to the best ways to treat common maladies. A small number of the creatures were residents of town, regulars who came by for a stiff drink and to socialize, though the overwhelming majority, as always, were those simply passing through - making the development nothing short of mystical.

Haggis’ scowl deepened as a number of her customers filed out. “Oi! You better pay for -”

“We’ll be back,” a kirin shot back, cutting her off. “I’ve got a spare blanket in my pack that I’ve been lugging around for months - as far as I’m concerned, you can have the thing.”

“I don’t need a bloody blanket, ya huddy,” she feebly protested.

Undeterred, the equine lifted a cloven hoof to the gratuitous fluff around his neck. “Do you have a kirin fleece blanket?” he inquired over the soft din of the tavern. Not getting a reply, he snorted and saw himself out. “Thought not…”

“Remind me to teach that one some manners if he shows back up,” Haggis snarled, ignorant to the snot running from her nose, “and - Hey!”

“What?” a massive dri quipped, stopping as she went to enter the kitchen. “Creatures ordered soup.”

“So what?” the ordinarily imposing mare wheezed. “You think you can just go into my kitchen and help yourself to -”

“No myself,” the yak quickly corrected. “Herd taught Sarlag to help when help needed. Sarlag will serve soup for sick pony.”

Presuming the shaggy beast’s name was Sarlag, Anon smiled. “Just don’t get any hair in it.”

“Will try,” the dri declared.

“You,” Haggis barked, breaking into a coughing fit as she drove a hoof to his chest. “I don’t know - Sniff - what sort of funny business you’re up to, but I don’t appreciate it.”

He threw his hands up in surrender, though his grin remained. “You think I planned this?”

“I could see one or two wanting to - Cough - do something to butter me up, but not the whole bloody tavern -” she griped, “that means somepony put ‘em up to it.”

Rubbing his temples and closing his eyes, he hung his head. “Haggis, I did not put them up to this. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you did pull me out of the snow when you found me ~ right?”

“Aye,” she flatly answered. “What of it?”

“This is the same damn thing,” he explained, waving over as the yak appeared with the entire cauldron of steaming stew hanging from one horn. “I hate to tell you this, but you look like shit. Anyone can tell you’re not feeling well.”

She pursed her lips and surveyed the suddenly lively tavern. “Doesn’t mean I have to sit around and be a good-for-nothing…”

“Listen, I’ll put it to you like this,” he whispered, bringing his face to her ear. “Either you march upstairs, get in bed, and trust me to keep this ship afloat or you stay down here being miserable and making a colossal ass of yourself - your call.”

Her expression wavered, if only for a moment, and she shifted uncomfortably. “You’re going to twist my leg on this ~ aren’t you?”

“If I have to, yeah,” he affirmed, withdrawing and crossing his arms over his chest. “If this really, truly ruffles your feathers, I’ll jot down who helped out with what so you can give them a discount or thank them later.”

It wasn’t like he was going to lord a moment of weakness over her, but damned if it wasn’t gratifying to see her cave under the pressure. Her shoulders went slack, she wiped her snout, and she knit her brow as she trudged past him. She’d bounce back to her normal surly self after a few days, interrupting brawls and flinging troublemakers through the door with the vim and vigor of a mare half her age, but that wouldn’t be until she’d recovered.

“Anon,” she called, looking over her shoulder at him, “a word.”

Following her into the kitchen, he stopped when she turned to face him. “Yeah?”

She looked past him and the swinging door at his back before her eyes settled on his face. “In all seriousness, did you tell them to do this?”

Pressing a palm to his bosom, he held up his free hand. “I swear I didn’t.”

A weary smile graced her lips, her eyes softened, and she sighed. “Just…just thank any of the useful ones for me…”

“I will,” he breathed, giving her a hug and a pat on the back. “Just go get yourself some rest ~ alright? If that unicorn comes back with some medicine or the griffon somehow scrounges up some soup for you, I’ll bring it up to you.”

“Heh,” she faintly laughed, wandering to the stairs. “Hope you know this means I’ll have to do the same for you if you fall out of sorts.”

Straightening up, he beamed over at her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way…”

Trivial Pursuits

“Well that’s unfortunate,” Haggis uttered.

Standing beside the colossal mare, Anon watched as smoke drifted out the windows of the Tavern. “Bit of an understatement, but yeah…”

Their afternoon had been going smoothly - that was until some jackass of a traveling magician had decided to do a few tricks to entertain patrons. What was supposed to be a smile disappearing act had turned into a comedy of mishaps. A disappearing act spooked a kirin, which set off a small fire that then led to an ashtray being tipped over and set off a series of colorful smoke bombs that the performer had carried with her. While there’d been no real damage to the building or anyone therein, the tavern had been vacated and left to air out for the evening.

“Since we’ve got a few hours to kill, got any plans?” he inquired, looking over to her.

Peaking a brow over at him, she took a puff of her stogie. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Wish I could say I did, but I don’t,” he sighed. “I guess I could go for a walk or -”

“I thought you’d go see that jenny you fancy,” she interjected, lifting and tapping the ash from her cigar.

He balked, completely thrown off by her declaration. “I’m sorry ~ what?”

“Whatshername, the kind of plump one who lives down by the creek,” Haggis asserted.

“Agnis? Agnis the donkey?” he scoffed.

Nodding and shooting him a wink, she smirked. “Aye, that’s the one. I seen how she looks at ya - figured you two’ve been cozying up.”

Genuinely at a loss for words, he swallowed hard. Agnis was a fine equine in her own right, but she was not in any way what he was looking for in a romantic capacity - furthermore, she had all the charm of an amorous bridge troll. While he’d done his best to ignore her advances, basically ignoring the moments when she’d playfully slap his ass or offer poorly veiled promises of sharing a bed with her, there wasn’t enough hard liquor in the world to convince him to give her anything other than polite service.

“No -” he grunted, “actually hell no.”

Taken aback, she pursed her lips. “So who are you dating?”

“I’m not dating anyone,” he firmly stated.

“Then what’ve ya been doing with yourself on your days off?” she countered.

“Hiking, reading, fishing - honestly whatever suits my fancy,” he replied. “You don’t need a special someone in your life to be happy - actually, since you mentioned it, why aren’t you seeing anyone?”

She turned to face him, giving him her full attention, and took another draw of her stogie. “Been there, done that, and I’m not looking to get back into the dating game. I’m too old, too fat, and too tired to deal with some stud in my life.”

“Oh please -” he groaned, “you’re not that old, you’re hardly fat, and you’re one of the better looking mares in town - besides, having a boyfriend could -”

“Don’t you go making this about me, lad,” she interrupted, kneecapping his attempt to turn the tables on her. “You’re young, capable enough, and I presume decent looking for your kind. Seeing as how you may not be getting back to that Earth place you mentioned any time soon, you may as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he hung his head. “If, and that’s a damn big if, I was trying to get into the dating scene, where would I even start?”

“Easy, you just find a mare who catches your fancy, give her a nice smile, and ask her out,” Haggis flippantly answered.

“Ask her out where?” he countered. “It’s not like there’s much to do here in town!”

Brushing away his concern, she waved a hoof at him. “It’s just an expression, you don’t have to go anywhere to ask a mare out. You make a nice meal, maybe dance with her a little, and treat her right - I tell you, you’ll have her swooning in no time flat. There was this one time when Scotch, bless the big, simple bugger, tried making me…”

He motioned her to continue as a silly little grin played across his face. “Go on…”

“Bah - I said you weren’t making this about me and I meant it,” she grumbled, ignoring or ignorant to the slight blush that had crept into her cheeks. “Point being is that you don’t need much to woo a mare.”

Holding up one hand and making a mental note about the name Scotch, he began counting off on his fingers. “I can’t cook worth a damn, I don’t know the first thing about dancing, and the pickings are kind of slim around here when it comes to females of any persuasion.”

She shook her stogie over at him and scowled. “Now you’re just making excuses. Anypony can learn how to cook, dancing ain’t as hard as it looks, and there are plenty of fine mares that wander through these parts.”

Turning and motioning to the sleepy little village behind him, he frowned. “And who’s going to teach me how to do any of that?”

“I could - heck, if I could teach a lout like Scotch how not to burn water, I could teach you…” she abruptly trailed off and looked away, averting her gaze.

Her second mention of what he could only assume was some past lover piqued his interest like few things ever had. She wasn’t one to talk about herself often, typically only after she’d had a few drinks to loosen up - even then, she never gave too many details. Sensing a rare opportunity, he stepped back and extended a hand to her.

“How about this -” he mused, “I’ll let you teach me how to do all this stuff, if you tell me about this Scotch character you mentioned.”

Warily eyeing his open hand for a moment, she squinted over at his face. “That’s a tall order, lad…”

He didn’t budge, though his smile broadened ever so slightly. “Think about it though. If this works out, you might just get me out of your hair - that and I could probably help out more in the kitchen.”

Barring the exceptional instances when she’d let slip particulars of her past, one of the only reasonably successful ways he could get information out of her was to barter. He’d exchanged hard labor to hear some of her stories before, and he’d more than likely end up doing the same thing in the future, but the payoff was worth it. If busting his ass by chopping firewood, reshingling the roof, or scrubbing the floors meant getting to hear about a lover she’d had, it’d be a small price to pay.

“On one - no, two conditions,” she muttered. “Firstly, if you try to sandbag me, the deal’s off - secondly, you don’t breathe a word of any of this to anypony.”

As she lifted a foreleg, he clasped and firmly shook her hoof. “You’ve got my word. What happens in the tavern stays in the tavern.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not the case,” she grouched, “but it better be when it comes to this.”

As he looked over and noticed the dwindling amount of smoke rolling out of the bar’s open windows and doorway, he freed his hand. “You think the place will be cleared out by tonight?”

“Probably, though it’s just as well that we keep the place closed until tomorrow,” she remarked, turning and lazily making her way back to the structure.

“Worried about complaints?” he asked, somewhat surprised that she’d voluntarily turn down a night’s business.

“No, ya idget,” she clucked, peeking over her shoulder at him. “I just told ya that my little tutoring session was going to be kept private.”

He nearly stumbled over his own feet as her words sank in. “Wait ~ we’re doing that now?”

“I don’t see why not,” she indifferently responded. “The place is empty and I don’t reckon we’ll have any complaints if we shutter the place for the night. Like my pappy always told me, ‘strike while the iron’s hot’.”

Though he was thankful for the potential chance to unearth a bit more of her history, he hadn’t anticipated doing so right away. Rushing up to her side, he rubbed his chin and thought. Mucking about in the kitchen wouldn’t be all that difficult, but finding adequate space for dancing may be a trial.

Reaching the front door, she surveyed the interior. “I’m going to give you an hour.”

“An hour? An hour for what?” he inquired, sidling past her and to a nearby window.

“An hour to impress me,” she noted. “When I come back downstairs, I expect the best you’ve got to offer.”

Using a set of blinds as billows to get some fresh air into the place, he stiffened. “So you want me to make you dinner, tidy up the place, and get ready for…?”

“Our date - well a mock date,” she clarified, trotting a way and quoting the air with one hoof. “Hope you don’t disappoint me, because I’d hate to have you dig a new latrine for the outhouse…”

His stomach practically backflipped at the thought of dealing with outhouse duty, giving him all the more reason not to blow his chance with her. “Give me an hour and a half.”

“Nah, I think an hour will do,” she snickered, disappearing into the back. “Hope you know what you signed yourself up for…”

He gulped realizing he may have made an egregious error. She’d outplayed him, it was as simple as that. Regardless of how things panned out, she was going to get a meal and some entertainment at his expense at best - at worst, he’d end up shoveling dirt and having to suffer through a literally shitty job on top of cooking for her and cleaning the tavern. Knowing it was too late to back down, he steeled his resolve and hurried off to the larder…

Second First Impression

“Fuck,” Anon cursed, precariously carrying a pot of boiling pasta over to the sink. “Just gotta - Damn it!”

“You’re not burning the kitchen down ~ are you?” Haggis called from upstairs.

Shooting a glance to the stairwell, he wiped his brow. “Not yet! Just give me five minutes!”

As he rushed back to the stove with the strained spaghetti, nearly tripping in the process, he glanced over at a saucepan of simmering tomato sauce. Being put on the spot and expected to whip up a meal for two had been no easy task, not for the least of which reasons being the sparse selection of ingredients he had to work with, but he’d somehow managed to throw together what he hoped would be an adequate, albeit simple meal. Mixing the pasta in with the closest thing to marinara that he could make on such short notice, he shifted the pan to the counter and bolted to the stairs.

“You better be in your room,” he yelled, dashing past her door.

A small mercy that Haggis had given him was that she was supposed to be staying in her chamber until his time was up. With the food dealt with and some crusty garlic bread in the oven, he ran into his room and to his closet. While he didn’t have an expansive wardrobe, he couldn’t face her in a dirty apron, kirtle, and braes. Grabbing a fresh blouse and vest, he threw the articles onto his bed and hastily disrobed.

Though it took him a scant few minutes to get changed and comb his hair, every second had to count. Haggis may have been lenient at times, but she’d meant what she said; once his time was up, she’d come marching downstairs to judge both him and his efforts mercilessly. He gave himself a final once-over in his mirror, ensuring he was as presentable as he could be, before rushing back downstairs.

He wasn’t normally one to rush much of anything, but damned if he hadn’t managed to pull everything off. The tavern had adequately cleaned with most of the tables dragged to either side of the cavernous seating area, the dinner was made and ready to be plated, and, all things considered, he didn’t look too shabby. Just as he finished shaving what he hoped was something comparable to parmesan cheese over the pasta, the sound of heavy hooffalls from upstairs crept to his ears.

With a steaming plate of spaghetti in each hand, he scurried out of the table. While the bar may not have been what he’d call a romantic venue, he’d done the best he could with the resources he had available. The dining area was lit by a number of candles, the door was locked to prevent any would-be customers from barging in, and he’d even managed to find a bottle of wine for the occasion - in short, things were as ready as they were going to get.

Setting the plates down at the table, he turned as he heard the kitchen door swing open. “I hope you’re ready for an unforgettable…”

The words died in his throat and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, as he gazed over and spotted an unfamiliar figure strutting toward him. The logical part of his brain realized whom he was looking at, yet she stood in stark contrast to the mare he’d known for the better part of a year. With his mouth going dry, she casually made her approach and smiled over at him.

Her eyes were like twin emeralds, her fiery mane and tail flowed almost preternaturally around her, and the jade dress she wore, while simple, accentuated her curves phenomenally. Haggis may have been a surly, burly, intimidating pony most of the time, yet she’d prettied herself up into a downright bombshell. Coming to a halt just before him, she looked him over and grinned.

“Not bad,” she noted as her eyes settled on his face. “Not bad at all…”

“Y…yeah…” he sputtered, tearing his focus off her flank.

Sweet, mother of mercy - he had not been expecting this. Compared to himself, looking like he may have been ready for a job interview, she wouldn’t look out of place at some fancy-pants ball. He remained motionless as she circled him, though he turned his head and eyed her from top to bottom.

Everything about her was a far departure from the norm. The longer he looked, the more details he picked up on. He’d thought he was imagining things at first, but she’d actually anointed herself with a touch of makeup - furthermore, he could detect the subtle scent of what had to be perfume on her. He straightened up when she wandered around him and eased herself into one of the two seats.

Leaning in over her plate, she drew a deep breath through her nostrils. “You didn’t put anything funny in here ~ did you?”

Her offhand question sundered his enthrallment, allowing him to shake his head and gather his thoughts. Turning and seating himself opposite of her, he slid his chair up to the table. He’d gone into this expecting to eat dinner with Haggis - not some enchanting, comely lass who he was having a hard time not ogling.

“Oregano,” he softly noted, picking up his fork, “and some basil - other than that, nothing too crazy.”

She paused and lifted her head, sniffing the air. “I thought I smelled garlic.”

“I - fuck,” he coughed, scrambling from his chair and toward the kitchen.

The garlic bread - how the fuck had he forgotten the garlic bread?! Skidding to a stop before the oven, he hastily donned a pair of mitts, threw the door open, and snatched the baking tray of crispy, buttery bread from inside. A deep sigh of relief escaped him, realizing he’d managed to prevent the side dish from being cremated.

Transferring the bread to a serving platter, he carved the sizzling half-loaf into bite-sized slices and proceeded back to his date. “Sorry about that, I -”

“Mmmph nph pffffnnph mmph!” she unintelligibly noted through a mouthful of spaghetti.

While her appearance had been stunning to a fault, her table manners had remained unchanged. Almost half of her pasta was gone, with a portion of the other half plastered on her cheeks or hanging from her chin. Gone was the alluring, demure creature who’d practically had him wrapped around her hoof, replaced by the boorish mare he’d grown so close to.

He bit back a chuckle as he set the garlic bread on the table between them and took his seat. “Glad you like it,” he mused, inordinately pleased with himself.

All things considered, things were going much better than he’d hoped. Intended or not, her messy eating habits had leveled the playing field - add to that the fact that she liked his cooking and he was as pleased as punch. As he plucked a slice of garlic bread for himself, she straightened up and peaked a brow over at him.

“Not gonna offer me any?” she quipped.

“I - uh - sure?” he uneasily replied, extending the piece of bread over to her.

Fully prepared to deposit the morsel on her plate, he was taken aback when she closed her eyes, leaned forward, opened her mouth, and extended her tongue. Not content to continue glutting herself, it was painfully obvious that she wished for him to feed her - a notion that was somewhat alarming and just a touch provocative. He hesitated for only a moment, unsure of how to proceed, though she wasn’t beholden to such compunctions.

Like a striking serpent, her head shot toward him. The move was blindingly quick, far too fast for him to react properly, and he was woefully unprepared for it. She groaned softly as she wrapped her lips around the bread and his fingers, tainting his dismay with something all the more bone-chilling - exhilaration.

The sensation of her pouting lips and soft tongue upon his digits send a thrilled shiver up his spine. Touching her was nothing new - hell, he’d given her more pats on the back or shoulder than he could count, but this - this was something toeing the line of intimate. Caught at an impasse, relishing the feeling of nibbling the bread from his fingers, he only pulled his arm back when he felt a distinct twitch of something within his slacks.

With her heavily-lidded gaze upon his face, she withdrew and swallowed the morsel. “Gonna need you to teach me how to make that.”

He stared down at his slickened digits and dwelled on the fleeting sensation of her lips around them. Her mouth had been warm, far - far warmer than a human woman's temperature, leading a long-suppressed portion of his psyche to activate. Setting his jaw, he forced unwanted, insidiously lecherous thoughts from his mind and collected himself.

“It’s easy enough,” he murmured, twirling some spaghetti around his fork. “If you want, I can show you tomorrow.”

What the hell was happening?! He’d presumed the evening would be a disaster, an awkward attempt to kill some time, yet things had gone off the rails in a way he would never have predicted. Instead of being raked over the coals and teased, he found it increasingly difficult not to look at Haggis in a new light.

Quietly eating his food, risking the periodic glimpse over at her, he gave a mute prayer to any deity who happened to be listening for strength. While he was happy that he’d made a good impression thus far, his concerns gradually shifted to other, far more shameful matters. She was hot - actually hot, and she’d unintentionally turned him on by eating the bread from his hand. If things took another even remotely sexual turn, he might be in real trouble…

Hoof It

“Lad, that hit the spot,” she groaned, reclining and patting her stomach.

Nodding, he pushed himself up, gathered up the emptied plates, and turned away. “Glad you liked it.”

The good news was that their meal had gone off without incident, barring when she’d virtually fellated his hand to eat some garlic bread - the bad news was that the dinner was only the first hurdle he had to clear. He looked over his shoulder as he passed the bar, ensuring she wasn’t looking at him, and grabbed a bottle of booze from one of the shelves. Though it may have been unnecessary, having a bit of pot-valiance sure as shit couldn’t hurt with what he was about to do.

He didn’t bother to wash the dishes, simply tossing them into a sink of soapy water for the time being, but he did help himself to a swig of the spirit he’d snatched. He didn’t know the first thing about dancing, let alone dancing with a massive equine, so he couldn’t see things going smoothly from here on out. Stashing the bottle in one of the many cabinets, he wheeled around and strolled back to his awaiting date.

Though he’d only been gone for less than a minute, Haggis had made herself busy in his absence. Not only had she dabbed the marinara sauce and most of her makeup off her face, but she’d shoved the table they’d dined at over to the side and cleared the floor. Standing beneath a hanging lantern, bathed in warm light, she lifted a forehoof and beckoned to him.

“Shame we don’t have any music,” she halfheartedly lamented, smirking over at him, “but it shouldn’t matter too much.”

Unable to contain his smile, he altered course and sauntered behind the bar. Many months ago, shortly after she’d saved and employed him, he’d discovered a phonograph in the loft while exploring the place. The piece of equipment was dusty, beaten to hell, and he’d only managed to find two intact records for the thing, but it was more than capable of fulfilling her little request.

Lifting and blowing the contraption off, he set it on the bartop. “So did you forget you had this?”

She eyed the machine for a moment and shrugged. “Where’d you find that?”

“Up in the attic,” he snickered, carefully slipping one of the cylindrical records in place before winding up the device.

“Honestly forgot I had it,” she groused. Watching him work, she stiffened. “What else did you find while you were snooping about?”

Setting the needle down, he flicked a switch and walked around to her. “Nothing much. There were some boxes, but I didn’t go through them or anything. That,” he explained, nodding back at the phonograph, “was just sitting out and covered in cobwebs.”

Looking slightly more relaxed than she had moments prior, she nodded. “Good.”

Making a mental note about her reaction, wondering if she had something stashed away she didn’t want him finding, he smiled and seized the initiative as the room was filled with classical music. There weren’t many things in the world that Haggis respected, but confidence seemed to be one of them - as such, giving her no warning, he wrapped an arm around the back of her neck, pressed his chest to her, and lifted her foreleg in one hand.

Her reaction to the brazen act was priceless. She went rigid, her eyes shot wide, and the barest hint of a blush crept into her cheeks, though she composed herself in an instant. Pulling her foreleg free, she brought her hoof to the small of his back and held him close while her expression hardened.

In a flash, she turned the tables on him in the most spectacular way. All it took was a small shove from her to send him reeling, knocking him off balance falling back against her foreleg. She stepped forward and leaned over him, smirking down at his aghast face as she held him in her iron grasp.

“Think you can pull a fast one on ‘ol Haggis ~ eh?” she tittered.

Managing to keep hold of her neck, he threw his head from side to side. “N…no!”

Stepping back and slipping her hoof to his arm, she spun in place and flung him to the side. His legs went out from beneath him, he yelped in shock, and the world became a blur of motion as she twirled and held onto his wrist. It was at that moment, whirling around and trying not to scream, that he realized he’d fucked up.

She stopped as abruptly as she’d begun, wrenching his arm and pulling him back to herself. Snagging him in her foreleg, she threw her head back and stepped to the right, then the left, as she began to actually dance with him. The slow, gentle movements stood in sharp contradiction to the absolute roller coaster she’d just put him through, yet his thundering heart and racing thoughts were immeasurably thankful for the change of pace.

“Move your hand lower,” she instructed. As his palm glided down her neck, she draped her head over his shoulder and hummed. “Can’t say I’ve ever done this with a biped before.”

“Same,” he thoughtlessly responded, peeking over at her.

She looked up at him with a single eye and grinned. “Guessing you meant you’ve never danced with a pony.”

Rubbing her upper back, he looked away from her. “Anyone really. Never had the chance to -”

“Bollocks,” she interrupted, continuing to lazily move from side to side. “You can’t tell me you’ve never done this with anypony before. Fine young lad like you surely had a lover or two in your day.”

He hung his head and sighed. “To be honest, I haven’t.”

With a small snort, she closed her eyes and tightened her grip on him. “Well I’m sure you’ll find your special somepony, lad.”

Following her movements and listening to the lilting, somewhat tinny tune coming from the phonograph, he rested his face against her neck. Though the opening moments of their little jig had been utterly pants-shitting, the comfort of being held, of basking in her warmth, were undeniably soothing. It had been years since he’d had so much as a hug - even then, it had been one from his mom, so he steadily succumbed to the soothing moment.

One track from the record bled into the next while they slowly danced their way around the room. At first, shortly after he’d arrived in Equestria, he’d yearned to return home to the world he’d been cast from, yet the urge to leave was growing progressively weaker. The land and its denizens, while colorful in more ways than one, were stimulating and genuinely fun to be around - moreover, he’d fallen into a supremely capable pair of hooves.

Pulling away ever so slightly, he lifted her head and ran his cheek up her neck. Haggis may have had her faults, but the same could be said for anyone; given the life she’d had and the bullshit she had to put up with on a regular basis, anybody in her situation would be excused for being a touch ornery - for fuck’s sake, he was already growing calloused to some of the usual drunkards’ hijinks. Staring over at her, he lost himself in her eyes.

Her breath washed hotly over his face, they went still as the final song faded into silence, and his heart skipped a beat. She could easily crush him in any sort of combat, she was grumpy more often than not, and she was infamous for her stoic disposition, which made the tender moment of vulnerability with her all the more magical. Maybe he’d been wrong - maybe him ending up in Equestria hadn’t been some cosmic mistake.

“Looking awfully hard,” she whispered as her hoof slipped lower.

With one hand wandering up to her jaw, he drifted closer. “Yeah…”

Their faces drew nearer to one another in the quiet stillness. He’d both heard about and seen scenes like this portrayed in film and books, junctures when a couple gave themselves to one another and their true feelings, though he could have never fathomed he’d experience one himself. Leaning in, he pursed his lips and yielded to his instincts.

With a hair’s breadth separating them, she faltered, darted to the side, pecked his cheek and released him. “Not this time, lad - not this time…”

Straightening up and looking over at her as she nonchalantly trotted to the kitchen, he scrunched his nose. The last thing he’d wanted to do was upset her or jeopardize the friendship he’d worked so hard to cultivate, so he was left torn on if he should follow her or stay where he was. Pushing open the door with one foreleg, she peeked back at him with a smile.

“Next time?” he repeated, unsure of the meaning of her words.

“Next time,” she quietly stated, “if you’re lucky…”

And with that nebulous promise, letting hope dangle from a gossamer thread, she was gone. In a word, he was speechless - not purely because of how she’d acted, but because of what he’d nearly done. He looked around himself at the tavern as he struggled to process everything that had happened. It was pitch black outside, all the furniture would need to be moved back where it belonged, and there were dishes to be cleaned - still, an inexplicable glee overtook him.

“Well,” he huffed, moving to and grabbing the nearest table, “no time like the present ~ right?” he asked, looking over to Dova’s stony countenance.

Unmoving, the draconic effigy looked on as impassively as ever as he began tidying up. In the grand scheme of things, it probably didn’t matter if he ever got back to Earth. People were boring, the world of man was disinteresting, and his life had basically consisted of distracting himself when he wasn’t asleep or working - all told, he’d only truly started living once he’d gotten to Equestria. Craning his head and looking up at the ceiling, hearing Haggis trotting overhead, he dwelled on her final words - ‘if you’re lucky…’