Tipsy Meeting

by AutoPony

Rating: teen
Tags: Profanity, Random, Anon, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Narcotics, Princess Luna
Length: 3640

An excuse to get plastered for the hell of it leads to a chance encounter and conversation.

Another night, another party. It seems like an endless cycle, but this one is different, being in Canterlot. For Anonymous, it's a night to cut loose, indulge in more than a few strong drinks, and embrace the freedom of inebriation. He's not here to meet ponies and take in meaningful conversation... but fate has a silly way of manipulating wants and needs.

Not much to say about this one. It was a short scrap I had that never really went anywhere and was meant more for comedy. Still has a bit of that I suppose, but it's definitely got more meaning than that now.

Rated teen for alcohol and language.

Published 2024-10-01 12:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-10-01 12:20:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Man, parties here in Ecke... Erque... alright, fuck it, Pony World— the parties they host suck. The first problem with em is there are so damn many – I swear every other day is some silly gala about a trite little accomplishment. I have no idea what tonight's festivities are about, and frankly, I don't care.

However, this one is a big shindig in Canterlot – in the freaking castle. I'd never been here until tonight, and the thought that this party might be something more fun with it being in such an important place spurred my interest. So when Twilight mentioned it in passing early last week, I was set on the idea. Maybe they'd have something other than veggies and hay to eat. Maybe they'd have proper booze on tap.

Of course, in retrospect, I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking. A gathering in the capital city of... eh, pony land, in the castle where the rulers preside... that should have been a red flag. This is a stuffy, uptight affair tonight. Posh, snooty ponies milling about with their noses held high. The only thing that doesn't make me want to find the nearest ledge to jump and end my misery?

Booze. Real, proper, strong alcohol. Granted, the spiked punch is a no-go, as it always is whenever Pinkie Pie is invited to a gathering; apparently, everything has to be sickeningly sweet, so Pink's first move was to pull a bag of sugar out of her mane and dump the entire contents into the bowl.

I've stopped questioning how she does that – after enough instances of seeing what she can dig out of there in a time of need, I'm never surprised. Twilight is apparently a big deal to the ruler of this place, but why the rest of her ragtag group – particularly the hyperactive self-dubbed party pony – are here too, I don't know why. I ditched them for my own brand of freedom and fun tonight.

They have a bar here... and I've made sure to visit it often. A change of pace, drowning out the sickening, happy, childish vibes of this world. Seems like a bizarre thing to dislike, but even after months of living here... it just feels foreign. It's nice to be welcomed, but everything just feels too... perfect. After a while, it just starts to gnaw at me how boring that is. It gnats at me how innocent everything and everyone is.

The drinks are working wonders – I'm not sure how many I've had now. What I do know is my brain isn't doing well with words and thoughts, and the damn floor in here keeps swaying underneath me. The walls are spinning now, too... and the air in here, god damn, did they turn up the heat?

I need out. I need fresh air. Through my self-inflicted haze, I start looking for a balcony or a window – anything to at least poke my head out. And now I'm realizing... oh goddammit, where the hell did my glasses go?

Whatever, I'm too sloshed now... hopefully they turn up. So now fighting through the fuzziness of alcohol and astigmatism, I stumble forward through this broken sea of uppity ponies. I think I see curtains on the far end of the room here – that's gotta be a window, at least.

Unsteady as I am right now, I'm not— Well, I almost fell there. But I'm not bowling folks over, at least. Not until my balance decides to shift dramatically to the right, anyway.

"Oops, sh— sorry," I mumble to the fellow I bump into. The grey stallion takes stock of me with a dour expression, only to double down on it and return back to his group after a moment.

Alright, screw you too.

Behind the curtains I have to fight my way through – a door! A balcony! Oh, thank the lord. Now beating back the heavy drapes with one hand and fumbling this the stupid handle... oh, it's locked. That's why it's not opening. Slipping the bolt out of plac—

I fall outside onto the cold snow-covered stone. Apparently, I was using the door to support myself. With night fully in force, the gnawing cold bites into my body that much quicker.

"Who the hell ordered all this white bullshit, anyway?" I mutter, trying to brush myself off and stand up simultaneously. Not exactly a clever play when I've already demonstrated my coordination isn't in good shape – I end up on my ass now.

"Hm. Quite the graceful one, I see," a rich, feminine voice speaks up off to my left...

...and above? I dunno, I guess it doesn't matter. I'm not thrilled to have had an audience for that sequence, even if it sounds like my mystery guest got some amusement from it.

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," I crow, standing up and leaning forward to grab the railing. No answer to my lame little remark comes, and with the balcony railing steadying me, I start to look around...

The darkness of the night right off the bat hinders my search, even with a pale crescent moon lending its silvery light to the castle's structure. But beer goggles and lack of glasses compound the difficulty... I give up. I didn't come out here for company or discussion anyway. Maybe I'm so sloshed I'm hearing shit now.

But... well, I'll try once more, just for the hell of it. "It's, uh – quite the party in there, huh?" I blubber.

Again, silence. A slight breeze tries to cut through me again, but the alcohol in my system lends its warmth – a false feeling, but I don't really care.

"I suppose it is quite the gala," I hear her comment, still seeming to be off to the left and above. "I must admit, such gatherings are not my forte."

"Aww come on, don't you know how to party? You just put your lips together and drink!"

"Ah, that explains the lack of balance and difficulty in fine motor control," the unseen mare comments, followed up with a short hum of amusement again.

"Nooo... that's gravity and the ground underneath my feet playing practical jokes on me," I argue in jest. "They really have it out for me tonight."

"Oh, is that it? My mistake."

"Eh, that's alright. I'll let it slide this time."

I get a little more for that retort – a short but proper chuckle. But the murmurs of conversation and the trickle of music from inside start to ease back into the forefront of my consciousness with the lack of further interaction.

I really don't know why I care. I'm trashed and I don't have shit to bring to a conversation right now. But...

"Kind of a cold one out here tonight, huh?"

"It makes for the proper beginning of the winter season, no?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm guessing that's what this big shindig is all about tonight with that little tidbit," I float back to her.

"In essence, yes. The proper name for this event is the Winter Moon Festival, the longest night of the year, which coincides with the beginning of winter," she explains.

"Seriously This party is just for that? Seems retarded to me."

"I... beg your pardon?" Judging by the shocked tone and raised voice pitch, my word filter decided to quit at an inopportune moment.

"I mean it sounds silly. Look, I get you ponies have your customs and celebrations that mean something to you. I'm not really criticizing that," I piece together, unsure of specifically where I took a misstep.

"Go on," she goads. It's a comment with less emotion behind it, but the tone makes it feel like I'm walking a fine line from here.

To be fair, it is pretty stupid they're celebrating the season and the night... while inside a brightly lit ballroom. That might be the most idiotic thing about it. And maybe the night has some sort of meaning to her...

Worth a shot. I guess it really doesn't matter either way, I've pissed off ponies before without worry. "What's the point of celebrating the night when you're just shutting yourself indoors? Yeah, it's cold, but if it means something... well, brave the cold. You know? That's the stupid thing about it. That's what I meant."

Since it's the topic of discussion, and with no luck in my cursory search for my companion, I let my eyes drift out from the balcony... and up toward the sky. While I have never been one to pay attention for more than a passing glance in the world I'm from, the moon here is substantially larger. I never really noticed that till now.

"With further explanation, it seems our sentiments are shared," the voice announces... with what sounds like a reasonable skepticism considering I just pulled that out of my ass at the last second. "But I suppose that is the bitter irony – the longest night tends to be among the coldest of the year. I cannot harbor a grudge for their reluctance to mill about outdoors."

"Apparently means enough for you to brave the weather. I'm just getting a breath of fresh air, but I'm gonna guess you were out here before me, wherever you are," I comment, doing another quick, unbalanced scan around. "Unless you're on night watch. I guess that's a possibility."

Another chuckle, this one more pronounced and longer in nature ensues. Perhaps more interesting, I hear the slightest rustling sound accompanying the laugh, as well as another sensation of air movement.

"Ah, your brazen naivety is both astonishing and entertaining to me," the mystery mare speaks again, just as the sound of hooves faintly touching down beside me on the balcony reaches my ears. "Yet I must admit, there is truth in each of your deductions."

Once again, I turn my head to catch a glimpse of this mystery mare, certain that I will catch her this time. I'm not disappointed, though the power of booze and my lack of corrective lenses combine to give me a surprisingly tall, blurry shape endowed with a navy blue coat and expansive mane – or is that clothing?

Be it a trick of the light or part of the attire or armor she's wearing, I think I see a horn on her head, but I dismiss that. I'm too drunk to make sense of it. It's really not that important to me.

"Damn, I didn't know Cloudsdale grew pegasi as tall as you, nightingale," I quip, tacking on the first name that comes to my mind.

Through my haze, I can make out her mouth agape, pausing before a reply as turquoise eyes widen just a bit. "I had not expected your eyesight to be so... compromised," she finally speaks.

"High-strength booze goggles tonight," I chirp, tapping a finger to my temple. "Also, I normally wear glasses – I'm assuming they're still inside somewhere."

"That would certainly explain matters."

"You act like I'm missing something. What should I be seeing?"

"It is a trivial matter, to be quite honest," she dismisses me. "I am enjoying the candid nature of this idle conversation, and I would rather not spoil it."

She definitely has the posh talk down, but not the snooty nature I would have expected from the high-class folks gathered for this occasion. In a way, it's amusing to me. But I'm still left with a question I need answered.

"You got a name so I'm not constantly tripping over myself? I'm already doing that enough in a physical manner."

"It seems you have already given me a name. Nightingale has a nice ring to it," she hums.

"You aren't on Canterlot's Most Wanted list or anything like that, are you? Seems odd you'd prefer my stupid passing comment."

"I don't believe so at this time... but while I believe I know who you are—"

"Well, that's not a hard one to figure out. I'm the only one like me," I chide.

"—I believe fair is fair. What is your name?" she finishes, not missing a beat despite my interruption.

"Well, if fairness is the game, shouldn't you be naming me?"

"An excellent point," she crows. "Hmm... how about... Al?"

"Coholic?"

"I'm surprised you made the connection in such a swift manner," she laughs.

"Like I said before – I'm a man of many talents, even while blitzed," I boast. Trying to take a bow to sell the facade, I nearly topple over – but Nightingale's quick reactions steadies me with the lending of her foreleg for support.

"I have no argument against that, but I am surprised you are out here this evening," she speaks, helping me to stand straight up again and guiding me back to the railing for support once again. "For someone so enamored with the idea of partying and liquors and an aversion to this so-called 'white bullshit,' why are you out here tonight?"

"Ah, like I said before, a breath of fresh air. It's stuffy in there, and I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed," I rattle off, all things that are true.

"Is that all?"

"Alright, I may have gone over the top on the booze, too. Figure if aim gonna blow chunks, I probably shouldn't do it on the polished and freshly waxed wood floors in there."

"I see..."

The conversation stalls after her inquiry and ensuing open-ended response. I feel like I sort of fucked up with the whole interaction here now, and I don't know how to restart it. So I resort to leaning on the railing and looking out into the world again. With the snow on the ground, I realize everything seems to glow by the light of the moon, a silvery light that makes the whole world feel bright and dark all at once.

A world full of life, and yet seemingly so empty.

"Does drinking bring you satisfaction?" Nightingale asks.

"It's a nice change of pace," I answer, chuckling at the notion.

"That does not answer the question I put forth."

Alright, so she actually wants a serious answer out of me. Is this going to turn into a scolding? Maybe I ought to just bail now. The booze is starting to lose its warming qualities anyway...

And yet, I can't. There's a somber tone in her voice that I can't escape. It doesn't feel decisive or disapproving. It's a feeling of melancholy, but welcoming me in to ease a burden. I have to exhale while my inebriated mind tries to put forth an effort to assemble a competent response.

"It's a distraction, I guess. A way to feel satisfied temporarily," I admit. "It sounds dumb but this place... I never asked to get dumped here. I'm assuming you've heard my tale of just appearing in your world."

"I have."

"It's... yeah, there was a culture shock at first. But everyone's happy – this is a far happier place than where I'm from, much more peaceful too."

"That is a good thing, yes?"

"Yeah, obviously."

Silence. Whether that's due to my response being blunt and unyielding for further questions or waiting for me to go on, I don't know. Better out than in though at this point.

"As much as this should be a haven, it grates on me. Maybe I'm just a miserable person deep down, but I can't... I don't understand that kind of happiness. I can't replicate that sort of whimsical nature inside of me that everyone else seems to have. Even though I shouldn't have a care in the world, I'm still... I'm grounded, I guess. I'm capped out."

"So you feel like you're an obstacle in the world. You still can't fit in how you think you should, an inadequacy that haunts you, so you drown it out."

"I guess. I didn't really come out here for therapy."

"I understand. I understand your reluctance and your position," she adds.

"How? I'm not being a dick, I just don't know how you could understand... like, it doesn't make sense. I get irritated over time because people – well, ponies – are happy. That sounds nuts."

"Perhaps on the surface. Let me preface this by saying I understand your term 'culture shock' personally, and let me add to that it will take longer to adjust than you think. It's hard to be supplanted from a world you know to one that is vastly different from anything experienced before. That sort of adjustment may take years."

"Can I ask how you understand on a personal level?"

"That remains my little secret for the time being. It matters little to the conversation as it stands right now – I just wanted to let you know you aren't alone in that struggle."

Alright, that's not really reassuring... but one thing stands out to me. Nightingale feels more... level. While the whole world here feels like they're high on happiness more often than not, this mystery mare comes off more... normal. Reserved. It lends an air of genuineness to her claim that I can't ignore or dismiss.

"I will also say it is unfair to gauge your happiness based on others, particularly on such a superficial basis as appearance," NIghtingale continues. "Nopony likes to share their struggles; indeed, we are all keen to hide such a thing. Vulnerability is not a good feeling, but it's a necessary feeling. To share that is what makes us realize we aren't alone. To share that and ease your burden – you may be surprised to know that may ease somepony else's weight that they carry. Suddenly, they do not feel so alone."

"Or I end up as a buzzkill. Folks love the party pooper," I scoff.

"While I don't condone the partaking of drink, tell me, has your solution to fit in with alcohol done you favors? Has that temporary happiness allowed you to connect with others beyond just that fleeting moment?"

"...no."

"I am not here to scold, I am giving you something to consider moving forward," she reiterates. "I am also not suggesting you be a 'buzzkill,' as you say. But the lack of happiness... there is reason for that. Only you know why that void exists, or perhaps you do not at this point in time. But talking about it is the only way to move forward I'm afraid. It should not be a burden to bear for eternity, and I am certain ponies would be willing to lend an ear to help if they knew you were struggling. Never think you need to remain quiet, Al. There is a time and place perhaps, but don't fall into the trap that you speaking about your problems burdens others."

Good lord almighty, who did I run into tonight? The drunken part of me wants to laugh about the overwhelming mountain of information fit for a self-help book, but...

She means it. Everything Nightingale just said, is... I didn't ask for help tonight. I didn't need help. At least, I didn't think so.

I don't know what to say. The fact she's willing to lend advice to a drunken stranger who will probably wake up and forget it all is astounding. But... well goddammit, hopefully I remember most of tonight. I better cut the bar visits starting now.

Another light breeze picks up and wisps past me, bringing not only another chill but a touch of powered snow from the ledge.

"As much as I enjoy the night, even I must concede the cold is beginning to get to me," NIghtingale remarks, slipping off the railing and back to all fours. "Just as well, I suppose I have items that require my attention."

"So you are a night guard?"

"In a certain way, you are correct," she answers.

"Playing coy to the end. Fair enough."

"Ah, but that is part of the magic in this meeting between us, is it not? This sort of casual conversation is hard to come by in my personal experiences. I hope you can excuse my lack of clarity for that reason."

"I can let it slide if you promise to reach out to me again at some point in time. This was kind of a trip for me, but... well, you've given me some entertainment and something to think about."

"I believe I have just enough pull in my position to arrange for that at a future point in time. Perhaps I may indulge in a drink or two to even the score on that occasion," she chuckles. "For now, I bid you a good evening, Al."

"Take care, Nightingale, thanks."

Even though she just dropped to all fours a moment ago, Nightingale rears up and plants her hooves on the railing again. With a firm thrust, she propels herself forward and up over, into the night sky before her wings unfurl and carry her swiftly aloft. Even though I do my best, my sluggish movements leave me unable to track her, and she disappears without another sound.

I guess the good thing about being unique is there's no doubt she will be able to track me down. Though I find it hard to believe a guard could have enough clout to get me back here for a meeting with her again. Hell, I don't even know her real name.

But it's whatever. Regardless if I get to meet her again, at least she's given me some food for thought. If nothing else, I do feel like give been able to relieve some of my burden... for a mysterious stranger to bump into while trashed, she's given me a better perspective that I think I'll try to follow.

No more booze tonight, to start.