A Drink Between Friends

In the heart of Ponyville was the historical district, District 1. A few of the original homes still stood here, but that was about all that remained of the little village. Even Sweet Apple Acres had been modernized and expanded with roads, tractors, and processing machines. The town was numbered in a spiral with 1 at the center, Sweet Apple Acres directly south of it being 2, and the rest following counterclockwise. Save his own home, which was at the height of ‘one of my wife’s best friends runs the government,’ the rest of the inner ring was where all the money was. Towering skyscrapers, luxury hotels and malls, massive apartment complexes that made buying a house look cheap by comparison. The richest of the rich fought for real estate here, and even having a billboard would set you back tens of thousands.

That, of course, also made this the easiest area to travel to. Multi-lane roads made in tandem with businesses and the local government, easy paths for ponies just driving straight through, and an entrance and exit to all the highways in every district. The next ring over, however, was not so affluent. A mix of commercial and residential areas, Districts 10 through 25 house most ponies and schools. Here, single family homes became common and relatively affordable.

There was, however, a very sharp contrast between the edges of these rings, not counting the raised highway that kept them apart. One passes through a tunnel and all the bright lights and glass walls are replaced by brick buildings, moderately well-kept lawns, and varying degrees of homelessness. Some things looked nice and other things looked like they’d been there for twenty years and not in a good way.

The building they were headed toward had absolutely been here for twenty years, even though it wasn’t actually that old.

“Is… is that the place, Pa?” Whiskey asked.

“Yep, go on and park right there by your uncle’s truck.”

Whiskey narrowed his eyes in the summer dusk. “Huh. So it is.”

Despite the distance between Mac’s family and theirs, about six miles to be exact, there had never been a straight path. It’d become even more crowded as the years went by. Because of this, Tipsy Wings has served as their meeting place for decades now. Some of Fin’s more expensive cigars, which he absolutely should not have bought, are stored here. It was a rundown old red brick building that had been stained by time. A bright neon sign spelled the name in cyan letters with a green martini glass between a pair of feathers ‘animated’ into a spilling martini glass every few seconds. The windows were all closed and covered by blackout curtains, so without the sign, you’d never know this palace wasn't some two-storey home.

Whiskey parked the truck next to his Uncle’s, and both stallions exited the car. To be completely honest, the young stallion was a little nervous about his first foray here. In spite of what might be assumed based on his common companion cousin Malus, Whiskey was as straight an arrow as there ever was. No bars, no mares, no alcohol without explicit permission, he wouldn’t even smoke without going to Pa first. (Mostly because Ma’s answer was never no but always some rebuke about the negative side effects.)

Fin moved toward the door and Whiskey followed like his shadow. A chime rang as it opened, an old-fashioned bell on a hanging arm.

Alerted to their presence, the bartender looked up from the customer he was talking with to greet them. “Good evening, Fin!” Then, confused, he tilted his head over and upward to get a good look at Whiskey. “You get some new muscle on the force?”

Fin signaled Whiskey to stand next to him, then threw a hoof around him. “This is actually my son and DD for the night, Whiskey. Say hi to Loop-de-loop, or Loop-de as we call him.”

Loop-de was an older pegasus with a dull periwinkle coat, a dull seafoam green mane, and bright magenta eyes behind small square glasses. Whiskey guessed he could’ve been old enough to be his grandfather, or maybe more. He was clean and well-kept, and in spite of the exterior, the whole bar seemed to be. A polished wooden counter with a brass lip, lights under the tables to keep the lights on the ceiling low, dark velvet seats and booths, a stage at the back where a couple ponies were sitting with acoustic guitars. Not a whole lot of customers right now, just them and a trio at the bar with Loop-de.

Whiskey dipped his head. “Evenin’, sir.”

Loop-de whistled. “You’re a biggun’ ain’t’cha? Why don’t you come here and put this on for me.” He took out a bright green lanyard from under the table and held it up for the young stallion. It had a tag on the front that read ‘DD.’ Truly, there was no chance of him getting a drink tonight. “I can’t believe it’s been twenty years already.” Loop-de said as he put the lanyard on him.

Fin sighed. “Oh, don’t remind me.”

Loop-de shrugged, then went under the counter to grab a box with Fin’s name on it. “You’re the one who brought him. I still remember the night he was made. You two had nearly drained the bar. I had to restock just about everything. Speaking of, what are you having tonight?”

Fin took the box and thought for a moment. “It was a good night. You know what? Make me a caramel apple, just like back then. I’ll think about having one of these after I talk to the guys.”

Loop-de nodded and put the box back under the counter. “Yessir. I’ll bring it up since the rest of your buddies are already upstairs, save the noodle.”

Fin chuckled. “Careful, he has a thing about names.”

“Oh, I know the rules. I’ll be up with this in a jiffy.”

“Thanks, Loop-de.”

The duo made their way to the staircase at the back. Carpeted and lined with yellow lights under large framed posters of bands and movies, it was a little space filled with a history of customers. Whisky stopped at one of the signatures on the wall. “Pa, does this signature say ‘Drum Roll?’”

Fin stared at it, and yes, it did indeed say that. “I think so. Do you know him or something?”

Whiskey was aghast. “Pa, that’s the lead singer of Food Fighters!” He pointed to a long-haired stallion in a poster above the signature. “This guy!”

Fin raised a brow. “Huh. I wonder when they were here? Well, Loop-de has collected a bunch of signatures over the years.”

And so he had. The further up the staircase they went, the more signatures and ponies Whiskey recognized. Food Fighters was a band that often found its way into the CD player in the truck over the years, and Whiskey had played a rhythm game long ago that featured one of their songs. He’d been a fan since childhood, and to think, the band had been here of all places. Familiar names and faces passed by, and Whiskey was more and more awestruck with each step.

“What kinda place is this?” He asked.

“Somewhere people can disappear without being bothered. If you see somebody you know, mind your own business, alright? If they wanted to be accosted by fans, they’d hold an event somewhere.”

They reached the top of the stairs where the second floor opened up to several booths in a dark, narrow room. The only occupants were ponies Whiskey knew, so he figured that somepony might show up later. Given that the signatures were anywhere from small bands to A-list stars, Whiskey could only imagine who might appear.

Upon seeing his nephew, Mac covered his mouth. “Son of a bitch, he ain’t twenty-one already, is he?”

Fin raised a hoof as he approached his usual table. “I know, I know.”

Soarin rubbed at his temples. “Good Goddess, I was still dating Dash when you were born.”

“Well, you know how it is,” Cheese said. “Put a few pies in the oven one day and the next they’re asking you to go to college in a sky city hundreds of miles away.”

“You could even be trapped in stone for a thousand years between blinking!” Discord said, appearing only after the sentence had filled the air.

Taking their seats, Whisky and Fin joined the rest of the stallions around the big circular booth.

“Everybody ordered drinks already?” Fin asked.

Mac shook his head. “Ah didn’t think Ah was gonna need one, but now… Goddess, twenty-one years.”

Whiskey frowned. “Ain’t Malus older than me?”

“Sure, but Ah didn’t meet him til he was already fourteen. Ah saw you an hour after ya were born. Discord, would ya mind sendin’ me home later?”

“It’ll cost you a raspberry pie.”

Mac and Discord shook on it. “Deal.” He let his head fall into his hoof. “Goddess, twenty-one years…”

Discord snapped twice. The first time, nothing visible happened, but the second time, he transformed into an eerily familiar looking stallion. He had a dark gray coat, a slicked back jet-black mane and tail, his usual white beard and eyebrows, and bright, almost glowing red eyes. He’d become a unicorn with a discolored blueish horn, but everything else about him screamed to Whiskey that he’d become a historical figure, but who, he couldn’t say.

The fanged stallion smirked and winked at him. “Don’t think too hard, boy.”

Whiskey looked around for help, and eventually settled on Soarin who simply shook his head. “It’s better to just ignore it. ‘Can of worms’ does not even begin to describe this.”

Discord put an elbow on the table. “Oh, please, ‘can of worms’ certainly does begin to describe it. Could you imagine what ponies would do if they knew my real name? I might get crucified!”

Cheese crossed his hind legs. “Well, it’s not like it’s an open wound or anything. Didn’t you say it was like waking up in another world when you first came to? I can’t imagine many ponies even remember your name, let alone know what you did.”

Soarin sighed. “Mom sure did.”

Whiskey thought back to Downy Snow and her introduction to everyone a few years ago, but couldn’t imagine how she would’ve known Discord, especially not in whatever form this was. He was in a history textbook, wasn’t he? Ancient Equestria? “Were ya before or after the princess—”

“Before. I knew them when they were children!”

Whiskey frowned. “Oh. Maybe Ah am thinking of somepony else.”

He nodded. “You are. Sombra was my son.”

Whiskey nodded, thinking back to the history books about the ‘lord of shadows’ who had nearly conquered Equestria before the princesses appeared to liberate the ponies from slavery and form a new society and free the country of the wendigo plague. Then he thought about it again. “Wait, what?”

“None of that is true, by the by,” Discord added. “What you’re thinking about, that is.”

Whiskey blinked again. “Ah have so many questions.”

Soarin nodded. “We’ve all been there. Like I said, can of worms.”

“And to avoid letting that conversation happen again,” Fin said, “what was that about going off to college hundreds of miles away, Cheese?”

For all his life, Whiskey had known Cheese Sandwich as the smiley father of the Pie family, the only pony who could possibly match Pinkie Pie’s absurd bubbly energy, and the two were something like an infinite dynamo, continually pushing each other along to new heights. They did everything and anything together, and the kids were either dragged or pushed along. Only Cotton, the second child, could really keep up with them, and unlike the rest, Cotton was a pegasus. Cotton was also not known to be a very good person either, and he and Fin had a tenuous relationship. If there was trouble in the Pie family, the source was usually very easy to find.

Cheese was not smiling. “My dear detective, would you be so kind as to share a cigar with me?”

Fin stroked his beard. “It’ll cost ya, depending on what you want of course.”

Cheese pressed his hooves together. “A dozen cupcakes for something strong?”

Discord threw a hoof around the yellow stallion. “Double the order and I can send you home.”

He let out a breath. “Deal.”

“I am, of course, open to more free confections in the event you’d like to share a drink with your son here.”

Whiskey turned and clasped his hooves to his father, who looked at him apathetically. “No. This is his punishment for inviting himself to the bar.”

“Aww, come on!”

Fin crossed his forelegs. “You agreed to the terms. Accept the consequences.”

“Damn it.”

Mac put a hoof on Fin’s shoulder. “Oh, come on, cuz, ya ain’t on duty.”

“No, no…” Cheese interjected. “That’s what a good father does. He sets examples, puts down rules and sticks to them. A bad father bends things more and more until consequences are never followed through, then things turn out the way they do. This is how we got to this point.”

Mac pulled the hoof away and chewed on it. “Well, shit.”

“In that case,” Soarin stepped in, “let’s call Loop-de, and after we order, you can tell us what’s up, Cheese.”

“Ah, the ever reasonable Soarin,” Discord said. “Then call him we shall. Loop-de, dear!” He waited a second then clapped his hooves. In a puff of pink smoke, Loop-de appeared by the table with a pen, paper, and a single drink which Fin had ordered earlier.

“That one’s yours…” he set the whiskey glass down, then took up his pad and paper. “And what’ll the rest of you be having this evening, boys?”

Whiskey scratched his cheek. “Y’all must be here a lot fer him ta be ready like that.”

“It’s a give-and-take relationship,” Loop-de said. “He likes to pretend he’s unpredictable with all his chaos talk, but really, he’s not so different from any other long-time customer. He even helps out for free drinks at times.”

Discord rolled his red eyes. “Come now, you mustn’t ruin my image. That aside, give me an old-fashioned and one of Fin’s good cigars.”

“What are you paying for that with?” Fin asked.

He pursed his lips. “One I owe you.”

“Two and it’s yours.”

He huffed and fell back into the booth. “Very well.” Discord’s horn lit up in red magic and two red notes with the glowing white letters ‘I O U’ on them slid across the table.

Fin snatched them and slid them into his lanyard wallet. “I’ll be redeeming one of these Monday morning.”

“Not very sporting of you to be cheating at work.”

Fin sipped his caramel apple. “Well, I don’t consider kidnapping fair, either. We’ll talk about this later.”

The dark stallion narrowed his eyes. “So we will…”

More often than not, Fin would discuss cases he’s having trouble with at home with Whiskey and Applejack. While he solves a lot on his own and with the department, their perspectives help shed light when things simply aren’t going his way. When he’s truly stumped, the ultimate solution is going to Discord, which doesn’t happen often.

“And you, Cheese?” Loop-de asked.

“I need a double black Manehattan with cherries, and also one of Fin’s good cigars, please.”

Loop-de lowered his brows. “Something gotcha down, lad?”

“The cliffnotes version is that my oldest son wants to go to college on the other side of the country.”

Loop-de’s brows shot up. “A strong double it is. Wonderbolt?”

“Just a beer. You can keep them coming, too. Dash is at this birthday party tonight, and Craft is gonna be there, and I don’t really wanna remember her complaining about being lectured by a fourteen-year-old for the umpteenth time.”

“The terror at her usual work. And for you, Mac?”

“One of my cigars and a strong, stout tall boy.”

Fin nudged Mac. “Come on, do you really wanna settle for less?”

The red stallion glared at the green one. “Only got one pie ta go around. It’s either the beer or the cigar, and Ah want the beer more.”

Fin nodded. “Alright then. I’ll also have what he’s having, but one of my good cigars, of course. Whiskey, you want a juice or a soda or something?”

The young stallion sighed. “Sure, Ah’ll take an orange juice.”

Loop-de finished compiling the order and nodded. “I’ll have it all up in a bit. Discord, if you would.”

Discord clapped his hooves, and Loop-de went back to where he’d come from. With the dark room back to just the six of them, Discord rubbed his shoulder against Cheese. “So? What started this?”

Cheese’s eyes went wide. “Probably him being born.” The stallions chuckled, which made Cheese relax a bit. The yellow-orange stallion leaned back in the booth and crossed his forelegs. “Well, I say that, but it’s not totally off base. You understand, don’t you, Soarin?”

The pegasus draped a wing over his friend. “Yeah, I getcha. Now that he’s an adult, he wants to go do pegasus things, yeah?”

“Yeah.” A vein rose on Cheese’s forehead. “Except he isn’t an adult, and he’s barely even well-mannered enough to be left unsupervised. He usually isn’t! And yet, this is probably my fault in the first place, since he’s so much like me. I’m even his argument for it: I wandered around the country in my twenties for about four years until I finally ended up in Ponyville.”

“Oh, lemme guess,” Mac began, “‘Me bein’ out in Las Pegasus or Cloudsdale ain’t gonna be any different than y’all bein’ Goddess knows where when y’all were my age.’ Somethin’ like that?”

“That exactly! But without the accent.”

“Of course.”

“Anyways—” Cheese took a deep breath “—Pinkie is trying her best to convince him to go somewhere closer to home, and I think it would work if it weren’t for the fact that he runs deliveries for us and everypony in the area knows his name and face. He can’t get away with much unless he goes far out, which is why he does go far out, and exactly where he continues to get into trouble. Speaking of, I have a tip for you.” He nodded at Fin.

Fin frowned. “He’s gonna get caught screwing around with these gangbangers one day.”

“I know! I keep telling him that. and he just thinks it's funny because it hasn’t caught up to him yet. He’ll play a trick on the wrong guy one day and get himself hurt or worse, and he wants to go up to Las Pegasus to get a math degree. Pinkie and I both know it’s a blatant lie and he’ll either join or scam a casino or two before he gets caught, except in Las Pegasus, you’re not there to go clean up after him. I don’t know anybody in Las Pegasus, we don’t have family in Las Pegasus! It'd be one thing if we could at least monitor him somehow, but that’s the point of him going there in particular; we can’t!” He laid his forelegs on the table then put his chin on them. “The worst part is that there’s little either of us could do to stop him. He seems to pull money out of thin air, he’s an above-average flier, and he’s just smart enough to think he’s too smart for everybody else, the punk.”

The notorious Cotton Pie was a semi-known entity to everypony within the old elements of harmony circle. Never make a bet, never play a game, those are the rules. Cotton’s talent is quite literally sleight of hoof, and he’s as slippery as he is fast. Of course, he’s not the fastest or the slickest, and more often than not, he’s not as smart as he thinks he is, either.

Guilty of knowing this, Fin has sent Cotton to play with dangerous individuals before because, just like his parents, he’s very easy to talk to. They’ve all got the high energy and infectious smiley faces that attract people to them, except, unlike his parents, Cotton takes advantage of that. Too clever by half will end up on his tombstone one day, and if he didn’t talk to his parents about his exploits, one or two of his ‘pranks’ would’ve gotten him killed by now. Now that he’s eighteen, he’s about ready to take the first step in that direction on his own.

However, Whiskey had been around him long enough to know most of this. Cotton scamming a scammer was a common occurrence, and though scamming gangbangers was another level, it was just the next logical step. He was an adrenaline junkie with a superiority complex. What was surprising to Whiskey was the ‘he’s like me’ part.

“Did ya… did ya used ta play tricks on ponies, Mister Cheese?” Whiskey asked.

The green-eyed stallion sat up, then tilted his head at the young one. “Didn’t you know that? Oh, wait, you don’t know!” Perking up, Cheese reminisced: “This is a much better topic than my delinquent son. Whom… you don’t have regular contact with, right?”

“Nah, Ah only see him when he makes deliveries or if he’s with the twins doin’ Goddess knows what.”

Cheese’s lips straightened. “That… doesn’t happen to imply any more reasons for me to be disappointed in my son, does it?”

Fin eyed his son. “You don’t know something I don’t, do you?”

Whiskey did know something his father didn’t, but he was not to be the one to say anything about it, per Mom’s orders. Cotton, however, was not involved. “Ah’m sure Ah know lots’a stuff ya don’t, Pa, but that’s not what Ah meant. They’re all troublemakers. And, last Ah heard, they were all at the bakery together.”

Cheese shook his head. “Poor Pinkie. I’ll have to make it up to her later.” Then he let out a breath, letting his eyes sink. “I worry about that sometimes, though.” He patted Soarin’s wing on his shoulder. “I expect our lines to cross eventually with the way Prism and Cheesette are, but the older two… I suppose, if Maud can find somepony, anypony can, but I figure Croquette will move in with the grands and work the rock farm for the rest of her life to end up forty and alone like Limestone, and Cotton… hasn’t seriously shown interest in mares much over the years. They tend to hit thirteen or fourteen and split their focus a little as mares start to be more on their minds, but Cotton sticks to his schemes and his friends, and unlike the younger kids, his friends are all colts. I’m not sure what I would do if he goes off Las Pegasus and comes back with a stallion or something.”

You could tell who had suspicions and who didn’t by the way they all moved. Discord made a face like this was a foreign concept to him. Soarin patted Cheese’s shoulder since one of his sons was in a relationship, and the other was not exactly shy about trying to start one. Mac also looked like this was a foreign concept to him, but more like he realized that the possibility of something like this happening existed. Fin, however, was thinking. Possibly intuiting what Whiskey knew.

Luckily, just then, Loop-de flew up the stairs with a tray full of drinks. “Alright, gentlecolts, I’ve got your orders here.” He paused after seeing them, looking at the distant and confused faces of all the stallions gathered. “It, uh… seems like ya need ‘em.”