Let Me Have Something To Remember You For
The mare entered the saloon with a silence stolen from the night itself. The batwing doors swung behind her like a butterfly’s sigh. She waited a moment, ears cocked. Nopony noticed her, or moved to greet her. She’d entered as a stranger and appeared happy to continue that way.
It was hard for Cherry Jubilee to let her. The red glasses, gray cloche, and mulberry cloak were hardly a match for the fit Dodge Junction natives wore, Cherry included. But what really grabbed Cherry’s attention were the mare’s eyes. They were a harsh raspberry-red sticking out like violent searchlights from a dark-khaki face. As the mare wandered through the saloon, her eyes swept over the other patrons and the empty stage to the right. They lingered long enough to evaluate and left before they were questioned. They reminded Cherry of dogs bred to be guards and nothing else, who, when forced into the confines of domesticity, ended up as anxious messes, forever alert to threats real and invisible.
It was almost a shame how intense they were. They were very pretty eyes.
The mare cleared the floor and wandered up to the bar. There were three seats available and she took the one at the far end. Cherry was busy finishing up a customer’s order, and when the mare sat down, she turned to her and gave a quick, “I’ll be with you in a minute” smile.
The mare did not meet her smile, but she did nod. Cherry quietly finished ringing up the customer and gave him his change. He nodded, smile crooked and shy, before stumbling out the door. She watched him pass the rest of the saloon’s patrons. A handful were asleep, slumped over tables, murmuring themselves into peaceful dreams. Those that were not yet asleep sat content with their backs against seats and their eyes fading over into memory. Compared to them, the mare who sat patiently at the far end of the bar stood out like an un-preened feather.
Now that she was up close, Cherry could see that the mare’s cloak was worn, its threads slightly frayed. Dirt clung like a bad habit beneath. There were a few misshapen lumps under it, at least three. The mare shuffled in her seat, trying to get comfortable. She seemed oddly conscious of the cloak, pulling it up to avoid dragging it, but in doing so, she let out a pained hiss.
“Tough roads?” Cherry asked, smiling.
The mare’s head snapped up. Her eyes flashed with momentary suspicion and surprise, it seemed, at having been addressed sympathetically. Then the mare sighed. “Something like that.” Her voice was rough-edged. She spoke cautiously, like conversation was a luxury she’d forgotten.
“Eeyup,” Cherry said, nodding, “I hear the roads outta Dodge are ’bout as rough as a cragadile’s backside.”
“That’s… not an inaccurate statement. You been on them recently?”
“Can’t say I have, hon.” Cherry grabbed a glass from under the counter and took a moment to polish it with a washcloth. “But then again, I can’t say I’ve left as of late.”
“Left the saloon?”
“Left Dodge. What’s your name?”
The mare raised an eyebrow. “Are we friends now? Thought the opening line for you barkeeps was ‘What can I get you?’”
“Normally, it is. But I’m just being proactive.” Cherry waved a hoof across the saloon. “You came in at a good time, but I can guarantee, in a few minutes, it’ll be as crowded as an Iron Pony competition. That’s on account of Tad and the Tulips, our band. They’re just getting set up in the back.” She pointed to the empty stage. Behind it was a curtained opening. “I don’t mean to pressure you. But if I get a name, it’ll be easy to serve you if you want another drink.” She unconsciously stressed the “if.”
The suspicion remained, but it abated slightly. The mare glanced away, back to the stage. Cherry busied herself with placing the cleaned glass on the rack.
A few minutes later, as predicted, the batwing door swung in quick succession, and the saloon began to swell. A few ponies came up to the bar and ordered something quick and dirty. They ignored the mare, or the mare ignored them, and Cherry served them all with a smile, never quite letting the mare out of her sight.
Tad and the Tulips exited the backroom and crawled up to the stage to set up their instruments. They wore silver jackets with shiny black buttons and looked proud of it. The sleepy patrons were roused from their restless dreams and blinked blearily at the performers. The others turned in their seats and waited with polite eagerness.
As the saxophonist finished assembling his instrument, the mare said, “Akira.”
The lie was as subtle as a tarantula on a plate, but Cherry accepted it anyway. “Nice to meetcha, Akira. I’m Cherry Jubilee. What can I get you?”
“Rye whiskey.”
“Coming right up, hon.”
Cherry grabbed a glass. The band’s drummer did a soft countdown and the rest began to play. For their first piece of the night, they chose a crooning tune about dirt-back roads and homes left behind. More and more ponies streamed in, took up seats, losing themselves in the song.
Apparently so was Akira. She was watching the band, her face drawn into contemplation. Her eyes had transformed. Though still intense, now they were filtered through the lens of nostalgia, turning inward towards a memory. They did so with the same kind of aloofness that Akira had carried coming in, distancing herself from herself. It was an aloofness that attracted, that counterintuitively invited rather than repelled. Cherry wondered if she was playing a colorful memory behind her eyes.
When the band finished playing and polite applause had followed, Cherry finished preparing the drink and brought it to Akira. The mare looked at her, surprised, and Cherry smiled. “Rye whiskey, hon.”
Akira took the glass and brought it to her lips. She nodded satisfactorily, then fished around a pocket for a couple of bits. Cherry stopped her. “Whoa, nelly. First one’s on the house. Plus you look like you could use a drink.”
Akira raised an eyebrow, then took her hoof out. “If you say so. It wouldn’t be right of me to turn down your generosity. You sure you can afford it, though?”
“I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Got a whole saloon to make up the difference.” Cherry winked good-naturedly.
Akira glanced back at the rest of the establishment, which, by that point, was mostly full. Tad was taking a couple of questions and comments from the audience while the band prepped another song. Other night-goers were still entering and the batwing door was working overtime. Most were quiet and dutiful to their drinks. But there was a group of stallions in similar-looking letterman jackets hunched over one table nearest to the stage, and they were the loudest of the bunch. They didn’t look familiar to Cherry.
“Is this your place?” Akira asked.
“You mean, do I own it?” Cherry shook her head. “No, I just work the evenings. Sour Grapes owns the saloon. You might meet him tomorrow,” Cherry tilted her head, “if you stick around.”
Akira dodged the comment with another sip of her drink. “Sour Grapes. Not quite the name I’d peg for an owner of a watering hole.” Akira’s gaze turned to her. “And Cherry Jubilee.” She said her name with a deliberate tone, and Cherry thought it sounded nicer in her voice. “How’d you end up working here? You don’t strike me as a bartender-type.”
“What gave it away? The hair? The scarf?” She pointed to these items on her with a smile filled with mild laughter.
Akira’s gaze remained steadfast, serious. “The attitude. You’re not like other bartenders, who seem weighed down by all the sob stories that come their way, or by the dreary atmosphere, or anything like that. You’re…” She chewed on her lip, locating a word. “Brighter, I guess. A bona fide southern belle, rope, harness, and all—or I guess without that sort of stuff.”
Cherry’s smile softened. She was hardly aware of the slight redness pulsating in her cheeks. “You think so, hon?”
Akira gestured with her glass, her question repeated without needing words. After a moment, Cherry sighed, tilting her head back. “Well, you’re right. But just to warn you, it’s not really a happy story.”
“Wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last. Let’s hear it.”
Cherry took a moment to compose herself. Nearby, the band chose their next song: a slow, melancholic blues piece better suited for city dive-joints and one that was about lost loves, as all blues songs are in some way about. She wondered if the choice was intentional.
“I used to be a traveling vaudeville performer, for one of those Wild West shows that seem to be every frontierpony’s fascination. I was good, too,” she added, almost unconsciously, the admission made as a murmur. Akira raised an eyebrow, but she let Cherry continue. “I did that for a spell, traveling all around the southern hook of Equestria. You ever hear of a character called Calamity Mane?”
“The name sounds familiar. I’m guessing you played her?”
“Played her? Honey, I was her. If you looked up the definition of ‘Calamity Mane’ in a dictionary, why, I’d bet you a whole bushel that my face would be smack-dab in the middle.” To accentuate the effect, Cherry threw herself onto her hind hooves and spread her arms wide, miming the lasso-throw of a cowgirl. For a moment she was transported four years into the past, with the scent of wig powder in her nose and the sound of raucous applause in her ears.
She came down from her stance. Her smile also slid away. “I was a real firecracker back then.”
“Nothing’s to say you aren’t still one now.”
She laughed a little, caught herself, then looked away from Akira. “That’s kind of you, but I’m not sure the sentiment carries.” She took another moment to reorient her thoughts. “Anyway, I did that for a time, enjoyed it for a time. But things have to end, I guess. My manager had… an idea, let’s just say. I had another. We disagreed. One thing led to another, and I ended up being dumped here.” Cherry paused, then smiled apologetically. “I’m sure you’d say that sounds awfully vague. Trust me, I know it is. But that’s the thing about history, sometimes. Vagueness is the only way you can approach it.”
“Especially if it’s painful?”
“Especially then.” Cherry’s voice took on a musing quality. She looked past Akira to the saloon’s entranceway, imagining the night just beyond.
“Did you ever think about leaving?” Akira asked.
“Oh, I certainly gave it much thought.” Cherry huffed, thrusting her chest out. “You get your world turned upside-down and end up in some place you never thought you’d be, why, first thing you start looking for is a way out. There are always wagons and caravans coming and going through Dodge Junction, so naturally I tried to hitch a ride on ‘em. But nopony would let me. Said they were always full, couldn’t take on an extra mouth, that sort of thing. Eventually I just sort of gave up on leaving, and started tryin’ to see what was left at my feet. And it turns out there was a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“Land. You came from, what, the north?”
“West, actually, but it all looks the same.”
“West is good enough. You must have seen all the undeveloped land on the outskirts, right?”
Akira gave it a moment’s thought, then nodded. “Yeah. I did think it a little strange for such a small town to have so much open land around it.”
“The mayor’s actually real generous about zoning laws and land ownership. I don’t quite get all the specifics, but I understand enough. One morning in the middle of all my moping, I went for a jog to get my mind off things, and I found an area just shy north of town. And let me tell you, it seemed to glow with promise. I thought, ‘This is where I could start over.’ So I signed off for it, and now that land is ceded to me—provided I can plant something on it, make it my own, but that’s to be expected.”
“And what’ll you plant?”
“Cherry trees.” Cherry hummed pleasantly. “A whole orchard of them. I imagine it’ll be small at first, but I don’t mind. It’s like that one sayin’, about seeds and the like. Naturally, I’ll grow a whole bunch of cherries. Then I’ll make those cherries into Celestia knows what. Cherry winks, cherry cheesecake, cherry tarts—”
“Cherry pie?”
“Of course!” Cherry’s smile returned. “And whatever else you’d want, hon. You or anyone,” she added.
Akira nodded. “It’s a nice dream. They”—she pointed to the band—“ought to sing about it.”
“I can put in a request. Or you can.”
“Doubt they’d care about me. I’m just a stranger blowing in from town.”
“Well,” Cherry said slowly, “for a stranger, you’ve certainly made quite the first impression, if ya don’t mind me sayin’.”
Akira blinked. Then her features softened, and she smiled as well. It was still a ghost smile, but it lasted longer and was not quite hidden by either the shadow of her hat or the rim of her glass. Held within it was the magnetism of heartbreak, the opiate for the chronic and lonely romantic, and Cherry knew at that point she was fated to become an addict. She could not help but want to drink a case of it.
“Anyway,” Cherry said, realizing that a silence had briefly settled between them, “the initial down payment cleaned out most of my funds. So I’ve started working here to save up on bits. Once I get enough, I’ll buy a tractor and enough seeds to get me going for a season.”
“Your boss isn’t upset?”
“Naw. Sour’s sweet, funnily enough. He just asked that once I get my business going, I send him a complimentary basket of cherry-baked goodies.”
“Sounds like you’ve pet the koi, as it were.”
Cherry blinked. “That’s a new one.”
Akira laughed. She laughed like it was a secret, the sound raspy and entertained. “Sorry. A strange phrase I’ve picked up on the road.” Predictably she didn’t elaborate. “What I mean is it sounds like you’ve made the most of a tough situation.”
“Well, I’m told I’m a tough gal. But I tried. It was either that or just give up, and for my money, I don’t see that as an option.” She tilted her head, smiling curiously. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”
Another long drink interrupted their rapport. The band took up another song, this one slower, more soulful. The saloon was almost full, and throughout the conversation nopony had asked for a drink. Cherry realized she would likely not make many tips tonight. She also realized she didn’t care.
“Travel writer,” Akira eventually settled on. She paused, adding, “Starving travel writer, I suppose, considering there’s not been much money in it yet.”
Cherry hummed sympathetically. “Books not selling?”
“They sell. But right now, I guess you could say I’m palling around for my next subject.”
“Is that why you came in here? Looking for a story?”
Akira shrugged. “Why not? There are worse ways to go about it.” She glanced past Cherry at the plate-backed clock ticking away above the drink shelf.
Cherry caught that look. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Long enough for a drink. But after that? I’ll be gone in the morning, most probably.” Akira’s gaze hung on Cherry’s for a breath, before she looked down at her glass. She swirled it around, the liquid sloshing against the sides.
“That’s a shame,” Cherry said. She meant it, too, and did not care if Akira knew. “I think you’d get a lot more material if you stayed a while longer.”
Akira prodded her glass. “There might be some truth in that, Cherry. But a mare’s gotta keep moving. Can never stay in one place too long, else her editor will want to drop her.” Her voice had shifted again. The rasp was still there, but a hint of pained honesty glinted like a midnight beacon. Her eyes, meanwhile, stared ponderously at the counter that Cherry had polished before the customers strolled in. Her reflection stared back. It looked tired and haggard, burdened by something more than the red markings of an editor.
Cherry sensed she’d touched upon something sensitive, and could see Akira withdrawing into herself. She reasoned that nothing short of the princess could pull her out against her will. So she resorted to the oldest trick in the bartender’s book: she said nothing.
The band finished the song. The crowd applauded. Then a harsh voice rang out, “You call that performing? I was too busy snoring!”
It was one of those letterman-jacketed stallions. They were young and brash-looking and brash-sounding, and wore their outfits with the arrogance and bravado of youths. They were all earth ponies. The one who had spoken pretended to snore, but it sounded like he was doing a falsetto impression of a donkey. It was a relief that none were in the saloon to be offended.
Tad started to reply, but was drowned out by the braying. The stallions laughed and jeered. The other barflies glared at them, but they ignored the judgments and kept going.
Cherry sighed. “Excuse me a moment.” Akira nodded, one ear flipped up.
Cherry stepped around the counter and marched up to the group. They didn’t notice her until she was behind the stallion who’d begun the impression. She put on a bright smile she didn’t really feel. “Are you gentlecolts having a good time?”
The stallion whirled around. His jacket had the letters HS attached to the chest. They hung crookedly, as did his head.
HS looked at her through bleary eyes. His gaze traveled up and down and her body, did not care if she noticed, wanted her to, in some way. Cherry tried not to grimace. He licked his lips. “Heh. I’d say we are now. You the barmaid?”
“Bartender.” She looked at the singer. “Everything all right, Tad?”
“Yus, Ms. Jubilee, but this pony here—”
“Hey, I got a name, y’know,” the stallion sniped. “Name’s High Spirits. You’d better remember it.”
“Tad,” Cherry said, “why don’t you head into the back to take a breather?” After Tad and his band had vacated the stage, Cherry fixed High Spirits with a smile and only put so much effort into it. “So sorry if the night hasn’t been up to your standards, hon.”
“Hon. Heh.” He nodded. His pupils resembled black beans dancing on a hot white stove. “I like that. I’ll let you call me that.”
“I’d ask if you and your friends need a drink, but I’d say you’ve had more than enough already.”
“Wassat mean?” one of the other stallions said.
“It means that it’s clear as day that you and your buddies are bar-hopping, and doing a poor job at it. You stumbled in here like a flock of drunk seagulls. My bet is you’ve been kicked out of everywhere else.”
“So?” High Spirits protested, remembering that he still had a stallion’s pride. Some of it, anyway. “That ain’t a crime, now, is it?”
“Oh, no,” Cherry said soothingly, “it’s not a crime. No crime at all. It’s also not a crime to heckle our entertainment, I guess. But it’s generally bad manners.”
High Spirits leered up at her. He showed all his teeth, which were yellowing slightly under the banner of inebriation. “Hmm. Ya got a nice mouth. But it seems to me you’re wasting it on your soapbox. I got a few ideas how you might make better use of it. Hell, if you’re good, I’ll throw in a couple of bits—that’ll be my drink, how does that sound?”
The other stallions around him laughed. He laughed. No one else did. They were all busy looking at Cherry, uncertain of what to do.
Cherry heard someone approach. Turning slightly while the laughter continued, she saw that Akira had come up to them, carrying her drink. She raised an eyebrow and gestured with the drink towards the stallions, then nodded at the glass. Cherry understood.
She turned back to Spirits. “You and your friends new in Dodge?”
“We sure are. You wanna give us a tour?”
“How about some free advice?”
She put a husky lilt in her voice that made High Spirits stiffen like an electric current had been fed through him. His beady eyes betrayed his confused excitement. He licked his lips again. “All right, sure. What’ve ya got for me?”
Cherry smiled and leaned down so that her lips were next to his ear. “If you’re tempted to make an ass of yourself, don’t do it in front of the pony who pours the drinks.”
Before he could respond, Akira suddenly flicked the glass forward. The frothy liquid flew out and splashed High Spirits from head to waist. He cursed and whinnied, stumbling backwards out of his seat. At the same time, Cherry kicked the edge of the table, ramming it into the stomachs of the three other stallions. They wheezed like old chew toys being crushed, falling with just as much dignity.
High Spirits glared up at her, whiskey rye and embarrassment dripping off. “Y-you…” Something escaped his lips which Cherry knew he’d never say in front of his own mother.
“You oughta be happy we serve beer at this hour and not coffee,” she said. “Otherwise you’d be walking out of here two bits less.” She glared down at him. “Now I’m feeling mighty generous tonight, so here’s my offer. You take you and your pals outta this saloon before I start losing that generous spirit. And trust me, if that happens, it won’t be just me you’d be dealing with tonight.”
High Spirits stumbled to his hooves, glowering at her. The effect was lessened by the sopping wet mess dripping down his legs, and by the groans of his compatriots. Behind Cherry, the rest of the saloon’s customers rose and turned to face them down. High Spirits’ eyes glanced away from her at them. She saw calculations being made, could practically hear the blood pumping through the vein in his neck, attempting to fuel what was left of his brain.
Then he spat at her hooves. “Whatever,” he grumbled. “This joint blows anyway.”
“Your opinion is noted. Git.”
They left, hooves holding stomachs, and Cherry fixed the kicked table’s position. Tad stuck his head out of the backroom. “Are they gone, Ms. Jubilee?”
“Yeah, Tad, they’re gone. Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. We’ve faced worse in Manehattan, believe you me.”
They started to return to the stage. Cherry let out a breath. “Well. Thanks for the assist, Akira, but sorry it had to come at the cost of your drink.” She turned, smiling. “How about I get you a new one, once again on the house?”
But she was speaking to an empty space. She stared at it, at first not comprehending. Then she looked back at the batwing door. It was swiveling gently. A frown crested her lips, and something else crowned her heart.
She did not dwell on it for long. Shaking her head, she trotted slowly back to the counter. A line began to form, perhaps heartened by the display. Soon she was busying herself with conversations. They didn't keep her from missing the one from earlier.
***
Darkness lapped at pockets of light when Cherry at last left the saloon. A collection of scattered voices went with her before heading down in a different direction. The dusky aroma of distant flowers weighed heavily in the air. The stars were spread out on a canvas of indigo twilight like somepony had splattered them across with a wide brush.
Cherry was tired. The exchange had drained more of her than she’d expected, and staying late for another round of drinks had further compromised her. She was thinking of her bed, a single unit with a cheap wooden frame, and which was at that hour as enticing as a lover.
She went up the street, the other voices becoming increasingly inarticulate and incomprehensible. Some buildings began to wink off and the sparsely lit road darkened into mismatched shades of brown and gray. Street lamps kept her to the path, but she was operating largely on intuition and memory. Recollections of other lonely nights spilled past her like somnambular companions, leading her up the road as it disintegrated into dirt without her having to notice either how much time or distance was kept. What she was conscious of was that she was heading north.
She thought about Akira. Wondered if, perhaps, she’d said too much or too little. Ah, well. So it goes. She was a stranger passing by, and now that that had occurred, Cherry could go about her life. She had a feeling she would, regardless of what she wanted.
In the distance, a dark form stepped out from a narrow alleyway and stood in the middle of the road. Cherry slowed. The movement looked intentional and suspicions sprouted in her head. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she saw another figure step out next to them. Hoofsteps sounded behind her, heavy and spiteful. She did a half-turn and saw two other forms approach her. When they were within ten feet, she recognized the letters HS on the closest figure’s letterman jacket.
There was another sound, something being dragged in the dirt. Cherry looked past High Spirits and saw the pony behind him wielding a bat. She didn’t need to turn around to guess that the other two carried similar implements.
High Spirits’ face looked uglier under the pale glow of the street lamp. The whites of his jacket had browned in the last several hours like he’d spent them rolling in manure. “Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who we have here.”
Cherry stilled. Four was not ideal odds. The weapons further stacked them against her. She looked past High Spirits towards Dodge Junction and realized just how far out her home was. She turned back to the north-facing path. She couldn’t make out the outline of her home, let alone the empty orchard.
“You’re not planning on running off, are you?” Spirits continued. He spoke like somepony who enjoyed the sound of his voice.
“The company don’t exactly make me inclined t’ stay,” Cherry muttered.
Spirits grinned. “A nice mouth, like I said. Shame you waste it on one-liners and chewing out a stallion.”
“The stallion had it coming.”
“Maybe he didn’t need that. Maybe not in front of his buddies, or the entire town.”
“If your feelings are hurt, it’s your own darn fault, and you know it.”
“Yeah. My feelings are hurt. That’s why we’re standing here in the middle of the road talking.”
She looked at him straight, gauged his age and his manners. Of the former he was maybe somewhat younger than her. Of the latter he truly had none. Cold fear sprang in her chest, but she tried to hide it. “Why don’t you lose the bats and we can keep talking?”
He shook his head. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. The bats are, how you say, ‘arbitrators’ to this here ‘conversation.’ We keep ‘em, till we don’t need ‘em no more.”
“Whatever you think you’re doing, you’ll regret it in the morning.” But her fear betrayed her voice, shaking it.
“I’ll regret it then. Best not get ahead of myself.”
He advanced. Cherry’s body tightened.
Something whizzed in the dark and brushed past Cherry’s face. It made a solid thunk, and one of the stallions behind her let out a grunt. A moment later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a body falling, and his companion uttered, “What the—” That was all, before something else collided with his face and sent him sprawling. At their unconscious hooves were two iron horseshoes.
“The hell?” High Spirits whipped around. The stallion next to Spirits also turned, his bat clenched in his teeth. “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”
Somepony tsked. A raspy voice cut through the dark. “Now, now, it’s rude to make demands of a lady.”
Akira stepped into the light, grinning. Her cloak billowed behind her like a cape. The one hoof she’d used to peg the two stallions pointed outward in an accusatory manner. She seemed an entirely different mare than the one from the bar.
“Who the hell are you?” High Spirits demanded.
She lowered her hoof. “Just some restless wanderer, I guess. Seems I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d take a little stroll.” Akira peered past the stallions at Cherry, as though gauging if she’d been hurt. Cherry slightly shook her head, and Akira returned her focus on the stallions. “Guess the night’s full of us wanderers.”
Spirits sneered. “Did you follow us?”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit. You’re not that interesting, buddy.”
High Spirits made an exasperated noise. “I swear, all you Dodge broads talk too much for your own good.”
Akira again flashed a grin. Her eyes shone like two dogs alert in the darkness. “Not a Dodge mare, sunshine. But I can see how you’d think us all the same.”
Then she tilted her head—an odd motion, but Cherry understood it meant she was telling her to run. Again, Cherry shook her head. Akira’s brashness faded for a moment, a frown creasing that smile into a flat line.
High Spirits noticed. His gaze swiveled back to Cherry, and his lecherous grin returned. “Heh. Guess you took a shine to the barkeep, too. Suppose now’s the part where you tell us to walk away, leave her alone, before anypony gets hurt?”
“You read too many pulp magazines,” Akira said. Her voice, however, had slightly lost its barbed-wire edge. The threat was still palpable, but along it ran a current of worry. It caused her to hesitate a second—which was more than enough.
Faster than one would have expected of him, High Spirits spun around and charged Cherry, easily clearing the five, ten feet between them. The other stallion was at his side, the bat poised and ready. Cherry scrambled backwards, caught off-guard. Then Akira shouted something, and in another second she tackled Spirits and led him off-course.
Cherry didn’t have a chance to thank her. The other stallion’s bat came crashing down, aiming for her head. She managed to twist out of the way. The bat grazed her skin; it didn’t hurt, but it left her dizzy.
She fell backwards, tripping over one of the unconscious stallions. A rock buried itself between her shoulders and air dove out of her lungs like sailors gone overboard. Stars flickered in and out of the edges of her vision, and between them she caught a crazed nested play depicting Akira brawling with Spirits. Akira’s hat had fallen off, revealing a monochromatic gray palette that swept and darted around Spirits’ attacks with the grace of a ballerina and the ferocity of a viper.
Cherry hardly had time to appreciate the poetry of the image. The stallion attacking her followed up with another downward swing. With a burst of adrenaline aiding her, Cherry rolled out of the way, and heard the bat collide with the rock that had taken her breath. It made a harsh, ringing sound that matched the high-pitched whine quickly generating somewhere in her head.
The stallion reared back to attack her for the last time.
Out of desperation, Cherry struck out with her hind legs at random. It was enough to dissuade an immediate attack, and the stallion was momentarily put off-balance. Once he was, she changed her position and kicked up. Her foot contacted something soft and crushed it. He whinnied, the bat tumbling out of his mouth. He bowled over, allowing Cherry to stand. Before he could try anything else, she turned and bucked him in the snout. She tried not to take too much satisfaction in the feeling. He was out before he landed.
She wheezed like a smoker. The sound of her battered lungs, as well as the other fight, thumped dully as though she was underwater. It briefly crystalized when a hoof collided with a jaw. Looking up, she saw that Akira had landed a devastating blow to Spirits’ face. Her eyes flashed dangerously, her grin cocky and triumphant.
But the blow hardly mattered to a stallion as bulky as Spirits. He was at least a head taller than Akira and with three times the body weight. Recovering almost immediately from the attack, he bellowed and changed tactics. Lowering his head, he bull-charged her, too close and too big for her to dodge.
Akira took the blow in the chest and her face contorted. She flew backwards and landed on her back. Her glasses sprang off like frightened frogs. Her cloak was pulled up, revealing her body beneath.
She was not naked; she wore a green safari parka of some sort. But what caused the blood in Cherry’s veins to cool over was seeing that Akira had wings—and they were covered in restrictive bandages.
Spirits spat to the side. “Thought you moved too smoothly for an earth pony. Looks like someone already tried to clip your wings, though.” His smile glinted evilly beneath the street lamp. “Least I can do is finish the job.”
Too disoriented by the fall, Akira simply groaned. The sound broke through Cherry’s dizziness like she was breaching the surface of water.
“No!” Cherry shouted. Without thinking, she grabbed one of the bats and ran at Spirits, fear coursing through her as makeshift adrenaline. But he was ready, and she was not. When she swung, she swung wildly, and all he had to do was lean back. “Wait your turn,” he growled. Off-balance and with her side exposed, Cherry could do nothing but attempt to brace as he kicked her in the side. The bat and her body flew back, and she fell next to the other stallions. Stars swam in front of her eyes. When they cleared, one of the iron horseshoes Akira had thrown appeared in front of her. She saw herself struggling to fit it.
She pushed herself up. Spirits had returned to Akira, holding the bat that Cherry had dropped. “Teach you to mind your own business,” he muttered around it.
Akira wasn’t moving. Cherry desperately struggled to get the horseshoe on.
Just as he began to swing the bat down, Akira’s arm snapped up. It undid the clasp holding her cloak, and, continuing the motion, she threw the cloak into Spirits’ face. He stumbled back, blinded and dropping the bat. The cloak became unattached and flew out into the night. In a fluid motion, Akira rose and brought her front hooves to the side of Spirits’ head, and the sound made was like hitting a hollow bell. She followed through with a knee to the jaw. He stumbled backwards, cursing, still standing.
“Get him!” Akira shouted.
The command was unnecessary. The horseshoe fit like a glove, and as soon as she had it, Cherry surged forward with a powerful leap. Spirits whipped around, exposing his head at a perfect angle. The haymaker Cherry threw hit like a missile. It resulted in a satisfying crunch that knocked Spirits’ voice out of him for the rest of the night. He fell, eyes rolling backward, and was still.
Both Cherry and Akira stood, breathing heavily. Cherry, recovering first, lowered her head slightly. To her relief, Spirits also breathed, as did the other stallions. With any luck they’d still be breathing tomorrow.
“Nice trick with the cloak,” Cherry said, once her breathing had somewhat stabilized. “Where’d you learn it?”
“Baltimare. Where’d you learn that haymaker?”
“Vaudeville show. Had a particularly insistent ‘fan’ wander up to my wagon after a performance, so I had to lay him out flat. Guess you don’t forget how to throw a punch.”
Akira laughed. She regretted it immediately, wincing, a hoof coming up to her chest. “Gah. I’ll definitely be feeling that in the morning.”
You and me both, Cherry thought.
Akira looked at the four unconscious stallions. “Not that I don’t enjoy a good scrap every now and then, but I can’t imagine your town looks too kindly on a public fight.”
“Considering how they were acting tonight in the saloon, I doubt anypony’ll raise a fuss. Speaking of.” She regarded Akira, crossing one front leg over the other in a demure expression. “Thank you. For that.”
Akira’s gaze lingered a moment too long on Cherry’s. “Don’t mention it. You mind giving me that horseshoe now?”
Cherry had almost forgotten she still wore it. She slipped it off and handed it to Akira, who then limped past her to retrieve the other. She dug around her jacket for a moment, before procuring a small, unknotted bag. This she placed the horseshoes into, and afterwards, she audibly let out a sigh of relief.
“Do you just carry those around?” Cherry asked.
“Only recently. Dug them out of a buried tomb a couple miles west of here. Damn near lost my wings to a firetrap doing so. Crosscut the Cunning used them, but that was a long time ago. Word is she also could throw a mean right hook.”
Cherry pursed her lips. “A buried tomb? I thought you were a travel writer.”
Akira gazed at her, and Cherry gazed back. Something flickered in the pegasus’s eyes. Whatever it was, it caused her to appear closed-off again.
Then pain sparkled in Akira’s chest. Her face twisted up, and Cherry approached her. “He really got you good, didn’t he?” she murmured.
“I’ve had worse. He’s lucky I couldn’t use my wings. Luckily, hooves work just as well in a pinch.” She saw Cherry’s concern and shook her head. “I’ll just sleep it off. Be fine in the morning.” She went to trot past Cherry, but she didn’t get far. The pain froze her movements.
“Where exactly are you staying?” Cherry said.
“I prefer to be on the road, for the most part.”
“So you just plan on walking outta Dodge in this state?”
“Walked in not much better, did I?”
“Stow the tough gal act,” Cherry said, and she was just as surprised at the sternness in her voice as she was at how Akira’s ears turned downward with dismay. “You’re badly messed up, hon, and if you think I’m gonna just let you walk away when you’re liable to collapse long before you reach the edge of town, well, you got another thing coming.”
Akira was quiet at that. Cherry softened her voice once again. “My place ain’t that far from here, hon. You can rest there. For a while, at least.”
Akira’s tail flicked. Cherry looked past her, towards Dodge. The fight must have roused the sleeping town enough for them to start turning on the lights, and if she strained her ears, she could make out worried voices growing closer.
Akira let out a sigh. “… Fine, Cherry. First things first, though.”
She bent down to grab her displaced glasses and cloak, but her pain prevented her from doing much. Cherry bent and grabbed them both. She fixed the glasses and gently attached the cloak again. When she pulled back to regard her work, she saw Akira looking at her strangely. Cherry allowed herself a secretive smile. She managed to refrain from winking.
“Let’s get going, then.”
***
When Cherry came out of the bathroom with fresh bandages and a bottle of painkillers, Akira was sitting on the small brown settee, a glass of water in her hooves. She was looking at the photograph on the coffee table. It showed a young Cherry Jubilee in full cowgirl get-up standing next to a tan stallion with an orange mustache and mane, his face partially obscured by the distinct brim of a Stetson.
“Who’s he?” Akira asked when Cherry approached.
It took a moment for Cherry to find her voice. “My manager. Buffalo Bill.”
“What was the idea he had?”
Normally Cherry would not have wanted to answer, but tonight her tongue had been looser than change. “Marriage. He really thought he and I could get hitched.” She chuckled. The sound was bitter and short-lasting. “Stallions, I guess. Always with the strangest of notions.”
“Hmph. Ain’t that the truth.”
Cherry placed the roll of bandages and undid the cap on the painkillers, placing two on the table. Akira nodded. She swallowed the pills and swished the water around. “Thanks, doc.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s look at those bandages.”
Up close, they were dirty, with faded red splotches. Akira hissed as Cherry carefully undid them. Underneath, the wings were bruised, and a few feathers had been torn off, exposing raw skin. There was no doubt this wasn’t an accident. Cherry applied a healing ointment to the wound, Akira wincing but otherwise keeping still.
“I had no idea travel writing could be so dangerous,” Cherry murmured.
Akira laughed soundlessly. “You should see the other guy.”
Cherry gently wrapped the fresh bandages around Akira’s wings. To do so she had to get in close, and she could hear Akira’s heartbeat, feel her steady breath fall on face. When she was done, she leaned back to admire her work, and she realized just how close they were sitting.
“How do you feel?”
“Awful,” Akira said. She smiled. It was small and shy. “But marginally less so.”
They were quiet. A distant clock ticked and tocked. Some bird called out in the night like a prophet of fate.
“I won’t ask about the outfit,” Cherry said. “I get the sense you’re a mare of secrets. That’s fine. We all have some.”
Akira looked at the photograph. She didn’t need to say anything.
“Just answer me this. Akira—that’s not your real name, is it?”
“Thought you were a bartender, not a detective.” The quip contained none of the energy it might have warranted. The mare’s voice was low. There was a tiredness in it. It was then that Cherry saw bags under her eyes. Bags, and a whole lot of something else, something heavier than exhaustion.
“I still am. I’m just off-shift. But you? You’re something else entirely.” She paused, then figured she’d just ask directly: “Why’d you lie?”
Another silence followed. Cherry’s tail swept anxiously across her side of the couch. She didn’t move, didn’t dare interrupt it.
“Old habits, I guess,” the mare answered. “You travel by yourself for a while, under different names… You get used to pulling that card.” She cocked a half-smile. “Akira. It’s my second most-used pseudonym.”
Cherry didn’t ask what her first would be. “What’s your real name, then?”
Suspicion again flashed in the mare’s eyes. But it was weak, not real; born out of habit, without the substance to back it up. “Not sure why it matters if you know it or not, Cherry.” She experimentally lifted a wing. “Thanks for patching me up, but I still intend on leaving.”
Cherry almost said, You don’t have to, but she knew immediately she’d be rejected. The mare had the eyes of a wanderer. Keeping her to any one place would probably be like hogtying her wings down.
“In the morning,” Cherry murmured.
“What’s that?”
“That’s what you said. You’d leave in the morning. It’s evening right now.”
“Yeah.” The mare glanced out the window. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Cherry leaned forward a little and put a teasing lilt into her voice. “Come on, hon. I did save you, didn’t I? Don’t you think turnabout’s fair play?”
The mare snorted. “Only after I saved you.”
“Yeah. About that, though… Why did you?”
The mare looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. Cherry continued: “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. Doubt I’d have taken them all on my own. But it’s probably not a coincidence you showed up when you did.”
“It could be a coincidence.”
“Suppose that’s true… But you don’t strike me as a mare who believes in them. Am I wrong?”
The mare said nothing. She averted her gaze, looking down at the floor. Cherry also kept quiet, satisfied. The dim light the ceiling lamp offered fell upon the mare’s head and made her profile suggestive and enticing.
“You were fun.”
Cherry shifted slightly in her seat, giving her a questioning look. The mare sighed, running a hoof through her gray-toned mane. “Yeah, I know, it sounds lame. But, look. When you’ve been on the road as often as I have, and when most of your interactions with folks usually involve threats of bodily harm, you… kinda forget what it’s like to have normal conversations.” She shuffled her wings, a reflex she regretted with a noticeable wince. “I stopped by the saloon because I needed a drink and someplace warm. It just so happened you were there and I guess I needed that, too. That reminder.” She looked at Cherry. Her brown face was vibrant at the cheeks. “It’s good to keep perspective. To remind yourself that for everything you gain, you lose a little something, too.”
“Who says you have to lose it?”
“This life.” She pointed at her chest. “I do what I do because I’m good at it. But that means there’s a lot that I can’t have. I made that choice a long time ago. I won’t go back on it now.” She closed her eyes. “Even if it means losing out on a few creature comforts. A warm bed. A partner. A stable home life. Most ponies dream of that, or of orchards,” she added, somewhat cheekily. “But not me. Can’t afford to. Gotta keep moving.”
Cherry was quiet for a time. The mare fiddled a little with her bandages to make sure they were in place. Then Cherry said, “Haven’t you ever wanted otherwise? To stop moving? To settle, even for a little bit?”
The mare’s silence pronounced her private guilt. Cherry felt her cheeks blossoming, and she struggled to maintain control of herself. “One night won’t take you away from the life you’ve chosen.”
The mare looked at her, her own cheeks darkening. Cherry reached out to touch her shoulder. She looked directly into her eyes. “It might, if I enjoy it too much.”
“But you’ll be gone in the morning. That’s the future. Now, though?” She was aware of how soft the mare’s lips looked. “One night to remember, before you go.”
The mare’s lips parted, but no answer followed. “It’s up to you,” Cherry whispered. “But if you do stay, I’d only ask one thing.”
“And what would that be?” the mare said. Her body radiated heat and history. She smelled of dirt and country, of wind and rain and adventure. Of places so remote they may as well not even be real. The exoticism tingled Cherry’s senses.
“Leave your name at the door. Let me have something to remember you for. Something that isn’t a fight.”
The mare took Cherry into her mouth, and Cherry sighed into her; with relief, with desire, it was hard to tell. Her hooves found purchase along Cherry’s body, knowing exactly how to touch her.
Somehow they left the couch and stumbled towards the bedroom, unable or unwilling to stay apart for long. Their hooves roamed and teased, their breaths mixing. Cherry opened the door and they tumbled towards the bed, the mare landing on top of her. The cheap wooden frame groaned in protest at its limit being exceeded by two. Cherry didn’t care.
The mare’s lips left her mouth and trailed her jaw, then trailed further down to her neck and played with the fur there. Cherry reached up and slid her hooves over her neck, her fur, her parka, then her sides. “I’ll be gentle,” she said.
“Can’t promise the same,” the mare growled. Cherry shivered. She reached around and pulled down the parka’s zipper, slipping the clothing off slowly. The mare was less graceful. She undid Cherry’s bow and pulled out her headband, throwing them on top of the other discarded garment.
The mare left Cherry’s neck, traveled down her torso, down to her belly, lower still. Cherry threw her head back and gasped. The mare kissed and tugged with a desperation akin to survival, and Cherry thought: she needs this. They both did.
When the mare was low enough, Cherry thought, with no small flush of guilt or pleasure, that she needed it more.
***
She was gone in the morning, before Cherry had even woken up. But she’d been nice. Made the bed, as well as she could have while Cherry slept, righted the furniture, cleaned up after them. Her heat remained and kept Cherry company as she returned to the world. It more than made up for the slight soreness. It almost made up for the coolness that followed.
Her bow and headband rested on the vanity. Her companion had seen fit to place them there. Cherry rose to retrieve them, and stood, for a moment, looking at the mirror. Her disheveled appearance served as the only evidence of that night, which was already fleeing into melancholic memory.
She slowly exited the bedroom. Against her better judgment, she explored the house’s other rooms as though hoping for some sign that the mare had not left. But of course, it was just her again.
Just as she was finishing up, though, something flittered in the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw a slip of paper resting next to the photograph. She went over to read it, the photograph spying over the edge. The hoofwriting was a little rough—the writer was no doubt more used to a typewriter than a pen—but it was clear enough in the slowly ascending sun.
Thanks for the reminder. Grow a nice orchard for me, won't you? Here's an advance on the next batch of seeds.
Daring Do
There was something behind the note: a small pouch. When she opened it, she found a sizable collection of bits. She would have laughed—it made her seem like a lady of the night—but a lump took her laugh and kept it shaded behind an alleyway of loss.
Cherry folded up the note. She glanced at the photograph, then reached out and turned it around. She went to the window and looked through it. Something broke behind her eyes like a capsule. Her chest ached with something more poignant than soreness. She’d known it was going to happen, but there wasn’t any comfort in knowing.
Dodge Junction spilled out before her in a blurry collage of half-dreams and memories. The illusion resolved itself once she blinked, and the familiar ranches and cottages and dusty trails and wagons materialized like they themselves were dreamers coming awake at last. She thought, for a moment, that there was some trail of gray sketched into the horizon, but her eyes, brimming with tears, forcibly corrected themselves, and she saw there was nothing but clouds and sky.
She breathed it all in, her throat tightening for a moment, then relaxing. Morning was on its way.
