Sunny Days

by writer

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance, Comedy, Adventure
Length: 13827

Brofic, four friends and a little bit of magic.

Caramel is a shy pony. He has friends that aren't shy ponies. The four of them arrive in Ponyville as poor student backpackers in need of jobs. Caramel finds work, and falls head-over heels with a mare… Only problem is, it's his boss' sister, and he has no idea how to approach her.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-02-05 15:00:33 UTC

Chapter 1

It was a good spring that year for Equestria. Particularly vivid and warm, it was fantasic weather for going on a holiday, and that particular afternoon was no exception. The sun had passed its zenith several hours ago, and all about them the world began to obtain that rosy golden hue that signals the beginning of evening, though the fiery globe itself had yet to touch the horizon.

For the four stallions, it was the last leg of today’s travelling. They had been supposedly been making up for lost time, or so Frederick had said, but it had been a few hours trotting steadily over the rocky road amidst the rolling grassy plains, and they had all grown a little weary. It was about four when they lay down to have a rest beneath the boughs of a very tall and thick fir tree.

For almost the whole day they had walked they had been amidst scrubby grassland, and so the lone shade was a welcome respite from the sun and the heat. Upon arriving, Pilsner immediate fell asleep at the tree’s base, snoring loudly.

Freddie had also taken refuge in the tree’s shady luxury, and sat in a small nook that its thick roots provided, but instead of sleeping had produced from his pack a small sheath of music notes. He scribbled away incessantly and silently, occasionally glancing up, only to stare into the evening sun thoughtfully.

Clover lay on his back in the sun, his cowboy hat over his face. It didn’t belong to him, and he was no more suited to wear it than Pilsner was, but he had acquired it in a game of cards several weeks ago from a Stallion called Canary, and had worn it doggedly ever since.

Caramel did not particularly feel the need to rest. He had been to bed relatively early the night before while the others had stayed in the bar drinking, and was more anxious than tired. Instead of sitting down, he circled the tree’s giant roots, stopping here and there to look up and down the splintering trunk, wondering how old it was.

“What time is it?” Yawned Pilsner, stirring as Caramel passed him for what must have been the tenth or eleventh time.

“Six,” came the languid reply from the grassy knoll to his right.

“Six?! It’s still pretty light out.”

“The days are getting longer. It won’t be fully dark till about eight or nine.”

Pilsner struggled to all fours, shaking pine needles and twigs off of his coat.

“Well, let’s get going then?” He asked, half questioning and half pleading with the group at large.

The four agreed slowly that it was probably for the best, and they began to ascend out of the one tree valley up a steady slope. A solitary cloud came over the sun. It cast its lonely shadow where the four stallions walked, its white fluffiness igniting to a light orange. Despite being towards the evening, it was still incredibly hot and stuffy, and Caramel was thankful for the extra shade. It seemed to escort the four of them as they began climbing the hill in front of them.

“Anypony got any plans for tonight?” Lucky inquired, glancing around at his fellows.

“Maybe we could wait a little before going out,” Caramel replied quietly. “I wanted to have a look around the town first.”

Pilsner did not seem to notice Caramel, clapping his forehooves together excitedly.

“Oooh yeah! Can’t wait to have a good, cold, drink.”

Freddie gave an audible snort.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were an alcoholic, Pilsner,” he said stiffly.

“I am a connoisseur of fine beverages,” Pilsner replied, momentarily imitating Freddie’s accent. “And besides, this is what we’ve been looking forward to for a while now, right?”

Frederick nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

Pilsner turned his head, giving him a strange look, which he then shot sideways at Lucky.

“Freddie? Giving up on an argument?”

Lucky simply laughed, turning himself to face backwards for a bit as he walked.

“Yeah! What’s gotten into you?” he inquired to the musical stallion.

“He’s been quiet all trip,” Pilsner added, in a half whisper. “It’s because he’s been cooped up.”

“Cooped up?” Caramel inquired from behind them.

“Yeah, he’s been staying away from the ladies,” Pilsner replied, looking over at him. “Haven’t you noticed too?”

Caramel shook his head. “Can’t say that I have,” he said truthfully. He then peered over to examine his good friend. “What is he, sick or something?”

“He’s come down with a terrible fever,” Lucky said. Pilsner’s grin grew, and Caramel recognised the prelude to a joke. “I think it’s called ‘whipped-itis’.” This caused both him and Pilsner to break into peals of fresh laughter. Even caramel could not help but join in a little bit.

Freddie snorted and shook his head in disgust.

“Just because I don’t want to screw everything that moves,” he replied pointedly, glaring at Pilsner, “does not mean that I’m whipped.”

“Steady, Freddie, that’s not what I meant,” Lucky said. “That mare last night was all over you and you didn’t even bat an eyelid.”

“So what? I didn’t like her.”

“Well, you should have sent her our way.”

Freddie scoffed, his pale cream mane falling over his brow as he chuckled in surprise. “What, you two needed help?”

Lucky turned back to face the correct direction on the pathway, his cheeks a little red.

“Well… Not really,” he began to say, but Pilsner cut him off.

“Who, us?” He said, with a disarming smile. “No way! The waters were just a little icy.”

“Uh huh,” replied Freddie with an air of disbelief. “I’m sure you two fine gentlemen weren’t at fault at all.”

“We weren’t getting at you, you know,” Lucky added, a little hurt. “No need to get so sensitive about it.”

“Yeah!” Pilsner piped up. “It was just crazy how you held out so long. If she’d been sending me those kind of signals, I don’t think I could have done as well.”

Freddie, satisfied that he had won the argument, did not attempt to chase the subject. Instead, he just brushed his almost white hair out of his eyes.

“I think not being a sleazebag has a good part to do with it.”

Pilsner clutched his chest with a hoof, a pained expression forming over his rugged features.

“Argh!” he said, slowing his pace as he staggered, wounded. “Y’got me!”

“He has got a point,” Lucky said, and his friend straightened up.

“Oi!” The draft horse glared at him, now slightly indignant. “What, you too?”

Lucky shook his head.

“No, no – I  just think you’d probably do better if you lost the adjectives at the end of every sentence. Some girls just don’t like being called stuff like 'gorgeous'.”

“It is a tribute to their beauty,” Pilsner said, sticking his head up in the air and assuming what he thought was a heroic stride.

“No, it’s a tribute to how many drunk mares you’ve slept with,” interjected Freddie from behind him. "It's sleazy and stupid."

Pilsner sniffed a little. The heroic pose had obviously not given the effect intended.

“In any case, I dunno how you stick with Octy like you do,” he said a little sorely. “She’s so stuck up.”

“I look past it,” the musician replied. “She’s smart and attractive. And that’s not something you run into very much these days, is it?”

“True, true,” Pilsner hesitantly admitted, his bottom lip turned out as he nodded sagely.

Caramel was well aware of Frederick’s relationship with Octavia. It had lasted about as long than he’d known Freddie and Scratch. Octavia and he were almost exactly alike, so it made sense to him: both were lovers of classical music, both loved stuff like the Grand Galloping Gala, and both, though he would never admit it, were more tightly strung than the instruments they loved to play. At least while his friend was around, Caramel thought, Octavia was a little more down to earth, but around Pilsner she acted as all mares with a hint of self respect might act. Very, very coldly.

“And what about you, mate?”

It took Caramel a little while to realise that he was being talked to. He had phased out of the conversation, as it were, and it took Lucky dropping back and poking him with a hoof to come back to his senses.

“Hel-lo?” Pilsner said in a sing song voice. “Earth to Caramel, anyone home?”

“Huh?” Caramel replied, looking around. The other three were watching him.

“We were talking about which mare was to our liking last night.”

“Oh?”

“So what about you?” Pilsner asked.

It was not a particularly cornering question for Caramel. He liked a lot of girls. But he just couldn't chase them in the same way Pilsner did. He didn’t exactly enjoy talking about them by their looks, either, or being put on the spot.

“Um,” he said after a moment of thought, “I thought that white Unicorn with the blue mane was pretty good looking.”

“Really?” asked Pilsner, surveying him with some surprise. Lucky was similarly bemused.

“What?” asked Caramel, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Nah, nothing,” replied the tall brewer.

“She looks like Scratch,” Lucky blurted out suddenly.

Caramel's stomach surged.

“For the last time, I don’t like Scratch." He fidgeted uncomfortably. "I mean, um... Not... Not like that.”

“You know she said you were pretty cute, right?” Pilsner said, his eyebrows rising a little bit, the same tentative look on his face as before.

“Yes, you’ve told me that before.”

“Mmkay. Well, you know, I was just saying.”

“No.” Caramel said more emphatically. “I dunno, I just don’t.”

Freddie was Caramel’s relief. He sped up his pace a little bit, and meandered between the flustered stallion and Pilsner.

“Hey, come on, fellas,” he said. “If he doesn’t want random bar fillies, then he doesn’t have to have them.”

“Scratch is a random bar filly?”

“No, but she's his friend.”

Caramel pawed the ground uncomfortably. Pilsner tried to peek over Freddie’s shoulder to look at him, but Freddie blocked his, drawing himself up to equal height to obscure his dismayed friend. Pilsner responded by craned his neck even higher – but he overdid it by trying to walk sideways, tripping over his hooves and stumbling forward. A spray of loose stones were sent showering back down towards the two stragglers, and Caramel winced as one bounced off his forehead. Freddie also copped a share of the rocks and dust, and he snorted.

There was a snorting laugh from nearby, followed by a voice.

“Nice moves!” it said.

Lucky turned his head away from the carnage to see who had spoken, imagining that the voice had come from somepony in front of them. He couldn’t see anyone, though, and he spun around once, looking confused. Caramel rubbed his forehead, and averted his eyes skyward to the single cloud that hovered above them. Freddie followed suit.

“I thought it was odd that the cloud was following us,” the musician said. By now, Pilsner had got to his feet, and was staring up at the source of the voice angrily.

“Hey!” he yelled back up at the cloud, shielding his face a little bit against the sun. “Who’s there?”

The laughter came again, though this time there was a guffaw thrown into the mix.

“You guys are funny,” the voice said again. It sounded a little grainy, almost high pitched in nature.

“Nopony likes an eavesdropper, pal,” Lucky called back. “Why not come down here?”

Caramel had to squint to see the outline of the cloud, but he could have sworn that a head had peered over the side. Then, as quick as a flash, a bright, multicoloured something landed next to Pilsner. Another small nova of dust billowed out from the road, and it was some time before it cleared, and they were able to get a good look at the pony who’d been listening to their conversation.

“A filly?” Pilsner said, surprised. Caramel had been rubbing the dirt out of his eyes from where Pilsner had kicked it, but he opened them as soon as he could. There before them stood a cyan Pegasus.

The most notable thing about her was her mane. As the wind escaped it, and it settled down, one could see that it was all the colours of the rainbow. Her forelock was orange, but then there were other colours. Yellow and red ran in streaks atop her head, and as it trailed down her neck, they turned a verdant sea of green and blue. At its end, the mane turned into a marvelous, dark violet colour. Her tail was decorated similiarly, and with her pale aquamarine coat and deep pink eyes, it gave quite the first impression. Her build was lithe, sleek and nimble, and Caramel thought she was definitely an athlete of some kind.

“You were expecting a guy?” The Pegasus quipped back. Pilsner glanced from her to us, and back again.

“Err… Yes, I was, actually.”

“Nah,” the Pegasus said, ruffling her wings a little so they fitted better against her lean body. “You guys just disturbed me back at the tree. Or rather, he did,” she said, pointing an accusing hoof at him. “Him and his snoring.”

Pilsner looked upset.

“I don’t snore...” he murmured, but his voice trailed off. He had been ignored by the filly,  and she stuck her hoof out, announcing who she was in a very loud and impetuous voice.

“The name’s Rainbow Dash. Nice to meet you,” she said, and Lucky smiled back, exchanging the greeting.

Caramel felt it was a bit less than nice to meet her, but he shook her hoof amiably all the same. It struck him as a little odd that she was so forward. Most of the ponies he knew wouldn’t have simply stopped and started stalking a bunch of random strangers for no reason.

“Sorry to have woke you,” he said as he released his grasp. Dash shrugged.

“Eh, it happens. Anyway, did I hear you folks saying you were going to the Bannered Mare?”

She looked around for approval, and the four of them nodded.

“Well,” she said, glancing back at Pilsner, “I’m a local. I could show you around town if you wanted.”

Strangely enough, Caramel was the first to speak. The other three were a little too unsure of what to say. The Pegasus appeared to be oblivious to her own forward nature, and Caramel liked that. He thought it was rather nice of her.

“Really? Thank you, we’d love it.”

“Hold on a minute,” Pilsner interjected. “Around town?”

Dash looked at him queerly.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just right over there.”

Lucky, who had by now come to his senses, swiftly trotted his way up the road to the top of the hill. He laughed at what he saw.

“Guys, it’s right over the hill,” he said. “We didn’t even need to rest.”

There was a mixed response. Caramel grinned. Frederic snorted. Pilsner sighed and clapped a hoof to his head.

“What, so you mean we just lazed around down there for like, an hour, when we could have been in town?”

“Yep!” the Rainbow maned mare fielded his question happily.

With the brief agreement that they would walk and talk, the four of them joined Lucky at the top of the hill.

As he reached the hill’s apex, Caramel saw what Lucky had seen, and his smile broadened. He loved country towns, and this quaint little village was no exception.

The tops of the buildings were easily visible from the hilltop where they stood, and in fact, the town itself couldn’t have been more than half a mile away. It looked like a thriving metropolis, but it carried with it all the country charms that he loved. It was nothing like Canterlot, where the city centre was made of glass and concrete. Ponyville was a vivid mess of all sorts of colours – white, red, yellow, green, brown...

In the far distance, he could see rolling fields of hay, wheat, and corn, and orchards of fruitful trees, with barns and farmhouses jutting up out of the landscape like great red cathedrals with pretty little wooden cottages next to them. What impressed Caramel more was how tranquil the sight before him was. The town was set in a swathe of leaves, and trees adorned the road towards the town, with lush, green grass growing either side of the path. It was a gorgeous sight, made all the more beautiful by the ever darkening sky, which was now dimming, coming close to a shade of red.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Stunning!” Frederick uttered.

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” said Pilsner, surveying the scene with indifference, before turning his attentions back to the filly. “Now, which way to the Bannered Mare?”

“Woah, you’re keen!” Dash said, her rose eyes widening in surprise. “I guess you’re not all bawdy talk.”

“You’d be surprised,” Frederick added sardonically. This made dash giggle.

It was a wonderful giggle, Caramel thought. Quite different to the lazy snort he’d heard before, it sounded like the briefest tinkling of wind chimes - high pitched, yet squeaky and grainy at the same time.

“Alright,” she said, glancing around at us. “I’ll show you there first. You guys just staying the night?”

“Ehh, we wander,” Pilsner replied. “Depends how much we enjoy it here.”

“You’ll like it here, then,” the Pegasus said. “If I’m right in saying, you guys are looking for some fun, right?”

“Yeah!” Pilsner cried. For once, Caramel didn’t actually mind his friend’s enthusiasm. He wanted to know a little more about this strangely attractive place.

“Well I’ve got a couple of friends – two of them are working, but I’m pretty sure I could get at least another two, plus myself.”

Pilsner appeared crestfallen by the news. “Aw. You couldn’t find a third?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course, but she’s just a total shut in and a bookworm, so it'll take some effort.”

“Should go well for Caramel, then!” He glanced over at his honey coloured friend, a big grin on his face. Dash glanced between the two of them, and Caramel said nothing, trying his best not to appear too indignant.

“You two brothers or something?”

“They might as well be,” Lucky answered.

“Old friends,” Frederick added.

“He’s my brother from another mother,” Pilsner said, winking at Caramel.

Caramel smiled, but continued to say nothing. Freddie groaned.

Dash laughed again at the stupid expression.

“You know, just listening to you, I thought you were a total asshole, but you’re alright!” she exclaimed.

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself, for a crazy stalker,” replied Pilsner. The two then began to trot down the other side of the hill, all the while keeping up a steady conversation. Lucky followed quickly after, but Frederick and Caramel stayed a while, watching after the trio as they walked towards the town.

“Is it just me,” Caramel began, “or is she a lot like Pilsner?”

“It’s not just you,” Freddie said with a groan. “There's actually two of them. Celestia save us all.”

Not wanting to be left behind, they readjusted their saddlebags and cantered down the hill.

Chapter 2

“Wait a second.” I cut Pilsner off mid-speech.

“Huh?” He looked a little startled about me pulling him out of his narrative.

“You said that it wasn’t about fillies. I don’t wanna hear it if it’s about your… exploits.”

“It’s not!” Pilsner blurted out indignantly.

“So who is Rainbow Dash?

He grinned sheepishly.

“Uh, that’s… a friend of mine.”

“A friend?” I sarcastically repeated.

“A new friend. Just met her that day, but we stayed good buddies.”

“Good buddies.”

“That’s right. Real good buddies.”

“And nothing more?”

There was an awkward pause. I tried to burn through him with my gaze. It was one of the few things he reacted to, actually, and I knew it well. His eyes tried to roam the space around me as he resisted momentarily, but it wasn’t long before he gave out, locking his stare with my own. It only took a few seconds for him to break.

Fear me, for I am Vinyl, master of the death stare.

He shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?”

Ding ding ding ding!

“I should have guessed," I said wearily, getting to my hooves.

Pilsner’s Attitude. Frustrating, infuriating, maddening… whatever. It made him hard to get to know, and it made him hard to know as well. It was why I didn’t really consider him when it came to stallions. Sure, he was attractive, but seriously, he was totally defunct when it came to sensitivity. Actually, now that I mention it, that’s another reason why I was surprised he got on so well with Caramel. Maybe that was just a bro-thing though.

That’s what guys do, right? Go around talking about beer and girls? I dunno, whatever.

I know I wouldn’t go around talking about the last pony I’d shared an intimate moment with. Particularly with anypony else who I’d… erm, shared an intimate moment or two with in the past.

I mean, Celestia, it had only been like six or seven months since we’d had stern words, and we decided that under no circumstances would we have a relationship. And nor would either of us flaunt our exploits at eachother. He agreed entirely. It was kind of like a break-up. Except that there wasn’t anything to begin with! And it was mutual.

It was more… precautionary. For both of us. I mean, what we had was good, and there was no need to ruin it, so it made sense, Right? We were committed to being friends.

Unless I was desperate.

Then, we’d be friends, just… with benefits. But that’s cool.

...

…What? I have needs and wants too.

…

Don’t smile like that, you perv.

Anyway. Casual flirting and talking about girls I could do. Hell, I even enjoyed it. It even made me feel a little giddy to know that I was his go-to friend when he had problems. But detailed and in-depth monologues of how he’d hooked up with some little country filly? That’s too much for me.

“Hey, hey!”  Pilsner arced up, glaring at me. “Whether or not I… did that… to her, is beside the point.”

I wasn’t sure whether that inclination on his last words was meant for my benefit or not. Usually he had no problem discussing it with anypony who would listen. Even though he was nice enough to censor himself, I didn’t really want to talk about it, and I let him know.

“So why mention her at all?” I said. I was ready to go back inside. He could bring his own luggage in.

“She’s kind of important. She’ll come up later.”

“…Do you swear this isn’t one of those stories?”

He looked at me sadly. And I mean sad. It took me a little off-guard, naturally, but I dismissed it. He was probably just trying to make me feel bad.

“Scratch, I swear it's not one of those stories. I wouldn’t talk about that in front of you," he said.

Well, that was a lie. Wait, was he serious?

“Huh?”

“I wouldn’t. You’re dear to me, and… well, I’m not that pigheaded. And you know it.”

I couldn’t help myself. My eyes widened.

“Since when did you care about the feelings of others?”

He winced a little at the remark. It stung him badly, that was plain to see, but he held his tongue.

A sincere statement, a compliment, and no snappy response, all in the space of ten seconds. Clearly, something was very wrong in Pilsner’s head.

He gestured to the blue and white deck chair once more with a brown hoof.

“…Can you please sit? I want to tell you this story.”

My mouth fell open. I think my sunglasses might have fallen off of my ears, but I was too stupefied to care. Did he just say please? No way. No way was this real.

I took my seat again. Maybe I was just still reeling in the aftershock, but I felt a little light-headed. He put his hooves together in his lap and kneaded them, trying to avoid my eyes.

“Look, it’s not about me. Or you. That’s long gone, and, well… we’ve moved on since then.”

I felt the blood flush to my cheeks.

…Hey! I’m not jealous. I was just a little hung-over at the time, that's all.

“Yeah, well… Can we just not talk about the other girl?”

“Um, I don’t know if that’s do-able.”

“Well I don’t know if I want to hear your story then.”

“Well you might have to put up with it, because she’s my mare-friend.”

I paused.

“Your what?”

“Yeah!” Pilsner was the one who looked a little admonished now, though he was still indignant. “Yeah, well, we got on a little better than I might have thought.”

I was… stunned. Really. That’s all I can say about it. I just kinda sat there and looked at him for a moment.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I guess. We’ve been together about… two-and-something months now.”

Pilsner. The Pilsner. College frat-boy and all-star hoofball player, suckered into a sweet relationship with some country bumpkin.

If you live in Canterlot, I just want you to take like, five or ten minutes. Put this down right now, go outside, walk your flank straight up to the Castle, and ask Celestia how on god’s green earth she managed to make a girl that will put up with him for longer than four seconds, let alone four months.

“Okay, Scratch, the look is freakin’ me out now.” Pilsner said with a grimace.

“Oh! Sorry,” I muttered, glancing around on the ground. With a burst of telekinesis, I retrieved my shades and put them back on my head. “But, uh, a relationship? Wow.”

“Not what you were expecting, I take it.”

I smiled timidly.

“No, not really.”

He let out a great sigh, and sunk a little further back into his chair.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he said, a stupid grin forming over his face.

“Are you… in love?”

“Um... Just a little.”

Great Luna's Moon. He even admitted it. Here I was trying to get my head around the fact that he’d had a proper relationship at all, and he just keeps pushing the boundaries.

“All right,” I said resignedly, slapping my hooves on my calves. He looked up at me in surprise as I levitated his empty saddlebag in front of me, turning it upside down and shaking it. A few apples fell out, and I caught the weights before they hit the ground, but there was no tape recorder.

“Come on, Pilsner,” I pressed, tossing the leather satchel to one side.

“W-what?” he clamoured, startled by the sudden upset of his possessions.

“Where’s the camera. Come on, I know you’re out there somewhere, Clover.” I panned the garden in front of me for a moment, but there was no telltale snicker or giggle that would have given him away. It could only be clover that would play second fiddle in this particular prank. Caramel would have already given up out of guilt, bursting out of the bushes and begging me to forgive him while sobbing wildly, and Freddy wouldn’t even have considered the big brewer’s request.

“Scratch, I’m serious.”

        I looked back. His expression had not changed. I really had to focus hard to tell, but, sure enough, there it was. Pilsner in serious mode, right before my eyes. There wasn’t even a twitch of a smile on his face when I peered closely at him.

“Sorry if I have a hard time believing you,” I replied, feeling a bit stupid.

“That’s ok, I guess.” He picked up an apple from the ground and bit into it thoughtfully, leaving me to continue reeling in my disbelief. “Anyway, can I get back on with the story now?

“Ok.”

“Alright, well –”

“One more thing.”

He gave me an impatient look.

“What is it?”

“You can talk about the girl if you want. I thought she was just another mare. Sorry I overreacted.”

Pilsner’s eyes bugged out.

“Really?”

“Go ahead. You actually like a girl beyond the sex - that’s a world first.”

He looked slightly shocked, but his cheerful smile soon came back.

“No way. Vinyl Scratch admitting to being a drama queen? That's a real world first.”

I threw my apple core at him. He ducked, and it missed, spinning off into the garden.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said playfully, trying to hide a grin of my own. “Get on with the story.”

Chapter 3

“Ok, where was I?”

“You were telling me about Ponyville.”

“Oh, right…”

_______

The curious little town was nestled between two distinct valleys, over which the fields ran far and green. The three fore-runners were joined by Caramel and Freddy at the bottom of the small hill, and they set off at a steady pace for Ponyville. The turquoise mare talked to Pilsner incessantly all the way down the hill, though the brewer didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, you guys should have a nice time here!” she said, grinning at all four of them in turn. She had descended to the ground out of courtesy, for none of the four friends were Pegasus, and she lazily hovered just a few inches above the dusty path.

“What’s the regional speciality?” Caramel inquired.

She gave him a queer look. “Huh?”

Pilsner simplified Caramel’s request for her. “What’s good eats?”

“Oh! Uh, it’s mostly farming stuff, so it’s just the usual - pies and cakes. Usually vistors are more keen to drink, though - we have a pretty awesome brewery nearby!”

At this, Lucky’s face cracked into a beam, and he rubbed his forehooves together in anticipation.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the drinks at the Bannered Mare are fantastic!” He said excitedly. “This place must be known for beer, right?”

“Nope.”

“Barley?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Sugar cane?”

“Wrong again!” She said, pointing at the town. “Look!”

“…At what?” Pilsner said, squinting at the rustic country buildings that were slowly coming into view.

“Look over the town.”

The four did as they were bade, trying to spy the mysterious ingredient. Pilsner scratched his head.

“Huh? I just see trees.”

“They’re not just any trees,” Rainbow Dash said exasperatedly, as though it was painfully obvious from miles away. “They’re apple trees.”

Pilsner let out an ‘oooh’. Caramel looked on, nonplussed. Lucky’s grin doubled in eagerness. Freddy remained Freddy.

“Apples!” repeated Pilsner, his eyes glossed over in a dreamy trance. “So I guess it had to be…”

“Cider!” Dash interjected. “Oh, man, the cider here is sooooo good!” A look of sheer joy travelled briefly across her face, making her cheeks perk into an ecstatic grin.

“How good is it?”

The mare somersaulted in the air, her excited jabbering speeding up to the point where it was almost unintelligible.

“It’s so sweet! It’s like lemonade, except made of apples, and just a little alcoholic, but not too much - just the way cider should be, and the fruit is so tasty, oh man oh man I wish I could have a mug right now—”

She began to drool slightly, and she licked her lips, providing a break in the conversation. Pilsner had caught her infectious enthusiasm, and jumped in, keen to get a word in edgeways.

“Yeah, I like a good cider. I know all about brewing a good drink.”

Freddy, who had been looking at the surrounding countryside instead of paying attention to the conversation, rolled his eyes and snorted.

“You're tanked that often, I’m not surprised.”

Lucky chuckled quietly, and even the shy Caramel could not help but smile at the joke. But it was Rainbow Dash who was the most amused – at Freddy’s observation, she exploded into long peals of grainy laughter. So lively was her mirth that to any outsider, she might have been choking.

“Hahaha! Man, you guys are funny!” she said, pointing at Freddy with a spare hoof as she wiped tears away with the other. The musician did not seem to take the compliment, his naturally self-satisfied look in place.

“I wasn’t joking,” he mumbled under his breath. Nopony heard him except for Caramel.

Pilsner appeared to have missed the fact that the joke was at his expense, and held his head high with pride, increasing his stride to a majestic canter.

“Yeah, that’s me! Best drinker in Equestria, coming through!”

A dark blue hoof shot out and caught him by the tail, dragging the unfortunate brewer back and onto his rump. Lucky sprang ahead.

“Ignore him. I’m far better.”

Before Pilsner could reply, a rainbow-coloured streak fizzed by him, shooting a small way up the road before coming to a grinding halt. A cloud of dust erupted from the landing sight, and as the wind slowly wafted it away, there stood Rainbow dash, her face stern, her wings flared, one hoof held high in a majestic pose. Somehow, the sun seemed to shimmer and dance off of her mane, casting a rainbow into the air as the gentle breeze caressed it.

“Nopony, and I mean nopony can out-drink The Dash!”

Pilsner, who was still on his hindquarters, sat looking at the mare with a mixture of admiration and pleasure, his eyes wide and shimmering with tears.

        "I think I'm in love."

Lucky merely scoffed.

“You’re on!” They cried in unison, the three began to run as fast as they could up the road, racing towards the town in the distance, leaving Caramel and Freddy in another small maelstrom of dirt. The shy colt coughed violently, waving a hoof around to clear the air.

“I – ahem – think that they should slow down,” Caramel said, his words stuttered by the choking dust.

Freddie’s unamused look had evolved into an indifferent frown. A blond strand of his immaculate mane had fallen out of place. Slowly, he raised a hoof to his brow and ran it through his immaculately-kept blonde mane.

“Quite,” he replied briskly, before cantering after them.

___

The Bannered Mare was as the rest of Ponyville was – brightly coloured, full of country cheer and charm, and utterly ancient. Caramel fell in love with it almost instantly. It was a dark cream in colour, with green wooden trimmings around its base and walls. Two stories high, it was roofed in a mossy grey tiles that trailed down onto a sheltered balcony, where there were small, circular tables. Many ponies sat at them, the hum of their chatter floating down to passers-by in the street. It looked inivitng, and cosy - the front-door was rather small, bisected in the classic stable style, and above it was a long, black metal pole, from which there hung both a lantern and a wooden plaque that flapped in the breeze, and the picture of a rearing golden pony, with gold lettering beneath it:

The Bannered Mare

Est. 1884

“Looks like my kind of bar,” Lucky said as the ever-straggling duo joined them.

“Where are the other two?” Inquired Caramel, looking about for his tall friend.

“Well, she went off to fetch her buddies,” Lucky said, pointing beyond the pub and into the depths of the small town. “And he went into the bar to have a look.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, about five minutes ago. I thought I’d wait for you, so you didn’t get lost,” the stallion said, grinning cheerfully from underneath the black ten-gallon.

The three of them swiftly entered. If it had appeared charming from the outside, then the inside was beyond compare – a low-slung roof was slatted with long, horizontal beams, and rough white-washed plaster walls were adorned with trophies and memoirs. The blast of noise that struck the three was also present, for the pub was packed to filling point – customers sat upon wooden benches and ornately-carved settle-seats, some at the bar, and some at large, polished hardwood tables.

        A small fiddle played over the top of the rabble, and as Caramel looked around, he spied the source of the music – A long, black-haired mare with a pale grey coat. It was the perfect Irish pub, in every way, even down to the floorboards, which were of a dark, rich cherrywood. Closer to the bar, there were flagstones of olive green and white, and as the trio stepped to the bar to order food and drinks, they were met by a pretty barmaid, with a neat, flowing mane of fuchsia-coloured hair to match her plum coat. Upon her flank was a bunch of deep purple grapes, and a solitary red strawberry.

“Welcome!” She said. “How’re you doing?”

“Not bad, thanks,” Freddie said, squinting at the small blackboard behind her careful. “I’ll have a glass of wine, thanks. I think I can see a bottle of vintage Notre Mane back there – I’ll have some of that.”

Lucky gave the musician a strained look.

“We’re in apple country. Why don’t you order cider?”

“Because I feel like wine,” Freddie said nonchalantly, putting a few golden bits on the counter. “What, you think apples are the only thing they grow out here?”

“Fine, be a fussy pony,” Lucky said defiantly, slapping a fistful of bits onto the counter. “Two tankards of cider for me and my chestnut friend!” He grinned at Caramel, who returned the look somewhat sheepishly.

“Uh… Sorry, we’re flat out,” said the barmaid apologetically.

Lucky did a small double-take.

“A-whuh?”

“You heard me,” The mare said, reaching for a small bottle of Beaujolais wine and uncorking it. She sniffed it briefly to check for corking. “A very nice choice!”

        The pianist smiled wryly in response.

“I have… a little bit of experience with wines,” he said, modestly playing the matter down. “I mean, I've sampled a few."

        "Is that right?" The barmaid looked at him curiously as she poured the dark red liquid into his glass. "...You're not from around here, are you?"

        Freddy coughed a little, clearing his throat and smiling politely.

        "No, actually, I'm from Hoofington. Did my accent give me away?"

        The mare responded by leaning into the bartop, propping her chin up with a hoof and fluttering her eyelashes.

        "A little."

“Hey!” Lucky butted in, snapping his hooves together. The barmaid gave him an irritated look.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” he said indignantly. “No cider? What gives?”

“It’s very popular, and sold out at the moment, for your information,” the barmaid said matter-of-factly. “The apple bucking season starts tomorrow, so we’ll have more then.”

“Well, I’ll just have a glass of beer then,” Caramel said quietly. The barmaid nodded at him sweetly, before shooting an irate look back at Lucky.

“And for you?”

“Err… Whiskey, I guess. Single malt.”

The barmaid gave them one final cursory glance before taking some of their bits and trotting away. Caramel noticed that she gave a small smile to Freddie before she left. He wasn't sure, but he thought she had passed him a wink. Freddy smiled to nopony in particular.

“Well that stinks,” Lucky said sulkily.

“I don’t really mind. There’s always tomorrow to try it,” Caramel said.

“Jeez, Cara, do you ever mind anything?”

The honeycomb-brown stallion smiled a little.

“Not really, no.”

“I mind things sometimes,” added Freddy, gesturing to Lucky’s ten-gallon. “Will you take that ridiculous hat off?”

Lucky’s sea-blue eyes flashed.

“Why don’t you take that collar off?”

Freddie’s hoof went to the white ruff around his neck. When he was not on-stage the top button was undone, so that he looked somewhat like a rather poor vicar – but when he was performing, it was always done up with a red bowtie. Today, it was stuffed with a tan cravat, the same colour as his coat.

“Because my attire suits me, as a performer and a composer,” the pianist replied. “Yours looks like you shot a man in Reno and stole it.”

“Nopony takes the hat,” Lucky said defensively, drawing it on even tighter with one hoof.

“He’s got a point, partner.” admitted Caramel. “You ain’t really Billy the kid.”

“I was born in the country!” he replied indignantly

“You were born in bloody Cloplin, Clover,” the musician said. “If anyone, Cara should wear the hat, because he grew up in Dodge Junction for years.”

Lucky surveyed his four-leaf clover stamp with chagrin.

“I was not,” he said. “It just looks like it. And my name is Lucky, Frederic.”

“I don’t mind being called by my proper name,” the musician said, tracing his sleek mane back with a spare hoof.  “I think it’s quite dashing.”

At this, Lucky scowled.

“All right,” he said sulkily. “Cara can wear it then.”

“Huh? No – wait, I don’t really want to –” Caramel began to say, but before he could do anything, the hat was jammed onto his head.

“Huh,” Lucky said as he took a step back to admire his handiwork. “You know, he doesn’t actually look half-bad with it on.”

Freddie made an amused expression before turning back to the bar, taking a sip of his wine.

Caramel felt a little awkward wearing the hat, but it was comfortable, and it didn’t drape too much over his eyes. He re-adjusted it so that it wouldn’t bother him, and reached for his beer.

It was at that point that a hoof tapped lightly him on the shoulder. He turned idly, and nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, for mere inches from his face was a bright pink face, round, smiling from ear to ear, and bursting with life.

“Hi!” the mare said, her voice high-pitched, loud, and energetic. “I’m Pinkie Pie!”

She was about as tall as Caramel was, though at least a good half-foot of her height was consumed by an almost impossibly bright pink swathe of frizzy hair. It fell in curls either side of her face, and on top of her head formed a large, rose-coloured puff. It was not messy, and appeared well-manicured, but all the same, such a hairdo was… Crazy!

“Cool hat!” The mare observed, in the same hyperactive tone as before. “You look just like my friend Applejack wearing that!”

“Uh, wha, uh, I,” Caramel stammered, a little unsure of how to reply. He took a step back in surprise, but he could fully size the pony in front of him there came a groan from nearby, followed by a voice.

“Pinkie!” it said sternly. Caramel glanced around, and spied a figure making their way towards them. The speaker was a violet-coloured unicorn, with a swathe of long, immaculately straight purple hair. It was so well-groomed that Caramel wondered briefly if she might have been an authority figure of some sort – indeed, she carried around her the air of somepony who is eternally busy. She wore an exasperated look, and the pair of dark-rimmed glasses perched atop her nose made her look slightly bothered. She gave an apologetic glance at Caramel before yanking her friend away by the tail.

“Sorry about that,” the purple mare said, as her hot-pink friend burst into a fit of giggles at Caramel’s stunned expression. “She’s totally incorrigible.”

“Uh, right,” Caramel replied. He would have asked who exactly they were, but his eyes then fell upon two other ponies approaching them.

One was Rainbow Dash, looking as casual as ever. The other was somepony he didn’t recognise. She was cream-coloured, with a deep, night sky-blue mane, and pretty aquamarine eyes. The effect would have been rather posh were it not for the fact that through the well-kept, curled mane was a stripe of vivid pink…

Chapter 4

Caramel swirled the last few dregs of beer in his glass. It had only been his third or fourth, and as he peered into amber-brown depths of the bottle, he sighed a little.

The night had gone swimmingly. He had subconsciously picked out one of the girls, bought her a drink, started chatting her up... nothing he hadn't done a million times before. It was really just a matter of routine - a pre-planned formula that'd been taught to him by Pilsner and Lucky, with snide additions by Frederick.

Bonbon - that was the introduction Rainbow Dash had given him. She'd been pretty much the girl he'd been expecting. She'd drank fancy spirits at a rate of knots, and done a huge amount of talking. Most of it was fairly trivial - who she was, and where she worked, nothing unexpected. As he took a sip of his beer, he wondered if that was something Rainbow Dash and her friends had in common. They all talked incessantly.

She'd talked to him for so long that hours had passed before he took stock of time again. A hoof tapped him on the shoulder to snap him out of his bored trance, and he turned.

It was Pilsner. As expected, he spoke with a slight slur. Dash didn't stand at his side so much as hang off his neck unabatedly, laughing over the chatter of the crowd and the background music.

"Hey, we're all going to a club a couple blocks over! I hear Tiesto is opening!"

To be honest, it was the last thing he wanted. Caramel hated clubs, and he had a headache. Noisy, smelly, messy sties.

"Oh, Bonbon, wait till you hear this - did you know these guys room with the DJ PON-3?" Dash yelled, her crimson eyes snapping wide with excitement. Bonbon's own pale blue eyes doubled in size, and she let out an excited squeal.

"Oh, my, GOSH! Caramel, you didn't tell me!"

That little outburst pretty much decided their next move, but all the same, Caramel had felt apprehensive. He peered past the tall brewer, and saw Lucky and Freddy getting to all fours. The purple unicorn who had so sternly reprimanded Pinkie Pie had vanished. The party mare was talking animatedly to Lucky, who appeared to be enjoying himself.

"Where'd Twilight go?"

"Ah, her? She didn't want to go, so she left."

Silently, Caramel cursed. Why didn't he choose to chat her up instead?

"Too bad for her!" Bonbon said excitedly. Before Caramel could protest, she put a hoof around his foreleg and dragged him out of the bar.

__

He'd returned to the comfort of the Bannered Mare several hours later, feeling irate. His ears rang, and his head swam from the thudding of the music and the flaring of the strobe lights in the club.

The bar was by now almost deserted - those who had not been there to drink themselves silly had left, and those who had were long gone elsewhere. He checked the clock on the way in.

One o'clock. Christ, the night had hardly started and he was already sick of it. He wondered what Pilsner had made of him leaving so early. The brewer had caught him sneaking out, after all.

He had hoped to slip out unnoticed, as Bonbon had now attached herself to Lucky, and didn't show signs of repenting. He hadn't particularly cared about that, as Bonbon had continued to drink at an astounding rate. She appeared to be determined to keep her forehooves wrapped around the neck of at least one stallion. The fact that he hadn't made an advance on her despite all her sultry hints was all the signal she needed to pass him up.

As he exited the dingy club, Pilsner followed, trying to coerce him to stay. the neon lights above their head blared, only barely illuminating the two figures as they broke out into the fresh air.

"...You're really leaving?" asked Pilsner.

"Yeah. I'm just feeling a little sick."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"...I dunno. I'm just not in the mood at the moment."

"Dude, the chick-to-guy ratio is like, three to one in there."

"Yeah, I know."

"And you still don't want...?" Pilsner raised an eyebrow.

Caramel sighed.

"Nah, not tonight."

There was a long pause. The beat of the music was still audible from indoors, but other then that, silence reigned outside. The bitter cold sent an unpleasant feeling shooting up Caramel's spine - but maybe that was because he feared the ridicule of his friend.

To his surprise, though, Pilsner's silhuoette nodded.

"You know, that's okay."

Caramel stared in disbelief.

"I'm sorry?"

A hoof permeated the darkness, clapping onto his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. Everypony gets cold feet sometimes."

A warm prickle of heat flushed into his face.

"It's not that!" He said hotly.

A soft laugh reached his ears. Caramel squinted closer into the darkness, and saw the white flash of Pilsner's broad smile.

"I know dude, I'm just messing with you. See you tomorrow, bud. Hope you feel better."

Caramel stood, stunned, as his friend turned and re-entered the club. He had not been expecting a reprieve from the eternally wired jock. In fact, he'd been expecting never to live it down at all, or at least be on the end of some criticism.

Now, as the cosiness of Bannered Mare encroached on him for the second time that night, he felt a grin pass over his face. Thank Celestia for Pilsner. At the moment, all he wanted was a nice place to sit and mull over his own inadequacy with mares, and the tall, oak barstools that now lay empty in front of the almost-empty bar was the perfect place to be.

The barmaid had eyed him curiously as he drew the small chair up and ordered a beer, and as he slowly drank it, she continued to watch him.

"You're back so soon?" she asked, breaking his unpleasant reverie. Caramel looked up.

She had a glass in one hoof and was drying it off with the other, watching him with half-interest. Nearly all of the customers had gone home, save a few diehard old stallions in the corner making love to their glasses of whiskey. Presumably, he was worth talking to.

"Howdy. Yeah, I am." He couldn't help but sound depressed, and he removed the borrowed ten gallon from his head, depositing on the bar and running a hoof through his brown mop of hair.

"What's up?" the barkeep asked, as if she were attuned to his thoughts.

"Nothing."

"Well tell me all about it, then."

Caramel drained the rest of his beer, wiping a hoof across his mouth.

"Why should I tell you anything?"

She smiled sympathetically before taking the empty bottle. The magenta barmaid turned momentarily, stooping low and out of sight below the counter. He heard two small clinks of metal, and when she returned to full height, she had with her two frosty beers. One she set before caramel, and the other she took a long pull out of - her lips seperating from bottle with a melodic twang.

"I own a bar," she said after a moment. "I listen for a living. Now talk."

Her request was not so much pleasant as it was an order. Such nerve! She didn't care who he was, or where he came from, she just wanted to talk.

He liked her almost instantly.

"I'm Caramel," he said, feeling a small smile curl across his lips for the first time that night.

"Berry Punch."

For a moment, the two sat in silence - or rather, Caramel sat while she slouched against the counter.

"I'm rubbish with mares," he said lamely. Berry Punch snorted in amusement.

"Pretty lame thing to be bummed out about," she said.

Caramel's spirit fell to a new low.

"Yeah, I know."

A brief silence fell.

"Those guys you were with earlier were your friends?"

"That's right."

"They seemed alright," she said, after a moment of reflection.

"They're wonderful," Caramel said. Defending his friends was a gut reaction, but the emotion was well-placed. He felt immensely grateful to Pilsner for not laughing at him. Berry smiled in response, brushing the magenta mane out of her way with a hoof.

"The English stallion was pretty cute. Whatever his name was."

"His name's Frederick. He's also got a girlfriend."

The dreamy expression fell from her face.

"Yeah, shoulda guessed."

"Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Don't apologise. All the good ones have mares already."

Here, Caramel glanced up from his beer bottle. Berry wore a tired, unamused expression, and was mulling over her own drink with some relish, rolling the brownish liquor around, and causing a small whirlpool to form amid its murky depths.

"Yeah, it sucks missing the boat," she added.

"Well at least you can find ones you like."

Berry laughed.

"What, Bonbon wasn't good enough for you?"

He winced at the sound of her name.

"No, I just don't..." He paused, thinking of how to express his dislike for her. "She's better than good. I'm just not really into the whole one-night stand thing right now."

"Ah. You want a real girl?"

It shamed him to admit it, even though it was true. The alcohol within his system battled with his temptation to simply not reply, and in the end, he simply nodded his head.

"Well, don't you worry a bit about that."

"Huh?"

Again, he forced his eyes up from his drink. This time, she was staring at him, a small smile on her face.

"Plenty of nice mares out there. You just gotta get to know em' a little."

"Huh?" he repeated blankly. The door creaked open behind him.

She did not reply to his inquiry, but instead shifted her gaze to just over his shoulder.

"Oh, hey."

Caramel turned his head to glance over at the new arrival as she sat on a bar stool, a few seats away.

She was a fairly young mare. How young Caramel couldn't quite guess, but he knew she must've been at least a year or two younger than him. She had a straw-like mane tied up in a long, rough ponytail that ran to her shoulders, and atop her head sat a brown, wide-brimmed cowpony's hat that shaded her face. Her coat was a dusty dark orange, and from underneath the hat's brim were two pine-green eyes, as deep as two pools of emerald water.

"Howdy, Berry. Jus' here for the pickup."

Berry Punch gave her a warm smile, turning away from Caramel.

"Sure thing." she surveyed the bottles on the wall behind her for a moment before letting out a small, dismayed noise.

"Oh, I put them in the back room. Bear with me a sec."

She made her way away from Caramel, past the taps of cold beer and bottles of dry whiskey that hung on the walls, turning sharply right and pushing her way through a small door. A brass plaque on the door's front read employees only.

"No problem," the newcomer said to the now empty bar.

She spoke with the slight drawl of a southerner. Perhaps that was what made him do a double take. The mare saw the movement out of the corner of her vision, and glanced over at him, catching Caramel looking over at her. Her emerald eyes flashed with a glimmer of irritation.

"What?" she snapped at him. "Never seen a girl wearin' a Stesson before?"

Caramel flustered for words.

"What? Oh, err, no..."

"Well quit gawkin', then!"

He turned away immediately, feeling immensely stupid and admonished. He said nothing, but looked at his beer morosely until Berry returned from the back room, carrying a small crate.

"Here you go," she said, folding the top of the crate closed before planting it onto the tabletop with a loud, clattering thud. "Empty bottles."

"Thanks, Berry." The southern mare's voice sounded a little less fierce. "I'll see ya tomorrow, alright?"

"See you," Berry replied cheerfully.

There was a brief pause before Caramel dared to look up. He did not want to attract the attention of the irate mare once more. He was slightly relieved when he heard the clattering of the door as it opened and closed behind him, and when he looked up, he found Berry resuming her lounging boredom in front of him.

"Wow, what's her problem?"

Berry blinked at him.

"Pardon?"

"That mare. She nearly bit my head off for just looking at her."

"Ah, right," Berry said. "don't mind her." She waved the hoof that wasn't wrapped around the beer bottle casually. "She's nasty when it comes close to that time of the year."

Caramel's eyes widened in shock. Berry saw his reaction and, after adding two and two, nearly sprayed him with amber fluid as she snorted, struggling to halt her laughter.

"Oh, Celestia, no! That's not what I meant.." She wiped a hoof across her mouth and nouse, recovering slightly from her accident. "She's an apple farmer. Applebucking starts in a few days, so this is her busy season. She's up all hours of the night these days, making deliveries."

"Ah, right."

Berry hastily changed the subject.

"So, you in town for long?"

"A few days, maybe," Caramel replied. "We're just backpacking around."

"How long you been doing that for?" she asked.

"Hmm..." Caramel scratched his chin with a spare hoof. "About four months now. It's been pretty good, but not so much recently." He shrugged. "Guess I'm over this whole travel thing already."

The barmaid nodded, jutting her lower lip out thoughtfully before speaking.

"Well, have you ever thought of staying in some place for a while?"

"Nah, I don't have the money to hang around for too long. I'm going home in about a month."

"So get a job, and stay here."

It was an enticing idea. He liked the quiet town and its curious little houses and shops that could have fallen straight out of a storybook. He liked the countryside, too - that much he had to admit.

But the comfort of home, or at least his shared house in Canterlot, seemed like a far more real prospect. The thought of seeing his friend Scratch and his own room were things he could definitely look forward to - guaranteed by their very nature. In fact, they were the only things that had kept him in a good mood for the last week or so.

When he added all this to his ever-growing weariness of traveling, the quiet serenity of his own warm bed seemed like a hard offer to beat.

"I dunno," Caramel replied with chagrin. "It'd have to pay well, and there'd have to be room for my buddies. A deal that good seems pretty damn unlikely."

Berry grinned.

"Well, I have good news. I know where you can get jobs. Four of them, in fact."

Caramel blinked. Was she serious?

"Hell, maybe he needs more help." The mare said lazily. "I reckon the more, the merrier."

He ignored her last statement, pressing her swiftly.

"...Four jobs? Do they pay well?"

"Oh yeah," the barmaid said, her eyes widening in emphasis. "I've had friends who've worked there. It's hard work. The manager's a bit of a quiet guy, but a real nice soul. A great friend of mine."

Home was pretty tempting. So was Scratch. But the proposal that lay before him was doubly so. He leaned forward in anticipation.

"Tell me about it."

Prologue

It was a long hike from Canterlot. About two hours by train, I said, but there was no way they’d train around the countryside. That’s the whole reason they walked, anyway. They wanted to be free, out in the open air, drifting without a care in the world, working and resting where they pleased. “Life roaming,” they called it.

What the hell does that mean anyway? Why didn’t they just call it ‘backpacking around Equestria’ or something far less goofy?

I think Caramel had intended it to really mean something. But then again, so had Pilsner, and that explains why they stopped at so many inns and taverns along the way. You know, to 'enhance the experience of travel'.

That was just Pilser code for lot of fillies and cheap booze. Pretty standard guy stuff.

I should warn you first about Pilsner. You know the kind of stallion that says dumb shit, but never backs it up? Well, that was Pilsner. The big, tall, jockish draft stallion. Hoofball player, blah blah blah, drove the ladies crazy. Or so he said. He was a brewer’s son, if the name didn’t tip you off already, and usually I wouldn’t have anything to do with guys like him...They all tend to be the same, if you know what I mean.

But Pilsner was the exception to the rule (aren't the most conspicuous ones always?). He might look like a jerk, and he might act like a jerk, but at his heart, he's actually quite a nice guy. Pretty honest assessment. And despite what I just said about him being a big mouthed idiot, he never really means what he says, he just doesn't think. I recall being chased out of a couple of bars because he 'accidently' offended someone as big as he was. Usually such catastrophes would involve a repair bill, and they started with what we called, ‘I oncses’.

That was our name for them. All four of us would be there, plus myself on the odd occasion to make five. Pilsner would be sitting at the counter, taking a sip of beer, and he’d turn to us and start a story by saying ‘I once’.

He loved a good story as much as the next pony, and his heart was in the right place. He loved the laughs they got, so I guess he was just an entertaining kind of stallion. Except sometimes, somepony listening would call him out on it. Maybe the story had something to do with drinking, or mares (Those were Pilsner’s usual topics of conversation), and that was usually when the trouble started. Not that he wasn't telling the truth, of course! Pilsner would never lie. He'd just get hammered, and somepony would get a little upset at one of his offensive jokes, or they'd tell him to shut up.

And then he'd respond in classical Pilsner fashion... By telling them to buck off. And THEN we’d all have to drag him and the stranger apart while Freddy tried to smooth things over. So you get the picture. A nice stallion who liked a good story, but he had a big mouth. And he was pretty stupid sometimes.

Alright, most of the time.

...

Alright, all the time. And he was an an absolute horror for women. Oh, and he even worse when he was drunk.

But really, at his heart, he's a nice stallion.

Nice-ish.

All that said, I wish you'd been here to listen what he told me the other day. He and I shared a house in Canterlot at that stage, and the day I heard it was the day he was due to return home after about four or five months abroad. I'd received a string of intermittent letters from Freddie, so I was able to keep track of their whereabouts.

The story starts when I was out on the veranda one day watering the pot plants. It'd been a crushingly hot summer, and they needed the drink. I was just about to go back inside when Pilsner himself strolls through the garden gate, brown saddlebags slung around his back, beaming at me.

“Well, if it isn’t the love of my life!” He said to nopony in particular. I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t start with the sweet talk,” I said. We hugged hello instead, and I couldn’t help but take a deep whiff of his mane.

Now, if you've ever been crushed by a big brother hug, then you know how close I got to him. And he reeked. He probably hadn't showered in a day or two. Combined with the usual Pilsner mix of cologne, sweaty and musk... It smells like, like...

Oh goddesses. I need to go and vomit now.

“Ew! Get off me, you’re revolting,” I gagged, wriggling away. He released me, and waggled his eyebrows.

“All manliness, angel.”

“Don’t,” I growled warningly. His ears drooped a little. I guess he could see I wasn’t really in the mood for playing around. Luckily for me, he wasn’t that predacious. Not as much as you'd expect a guy like him to be, anyway.

“Oh, alright,” he said, shaking some dust out of his amber brown mane. “But you are never gonna believe me when I tell you what we got up to.”

“Uh huh,” I said, rolling my eyes. "Tell me after a shower." Pilsner, Clover, Caramel and Freddy. Honestly, between those four, I couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of stuff they’d been up to, or what they’d done. Or, I thought with a shudder, who they’d done.

He gave me a look of mock hurt at my indifference, and began to try and push by me.

“All right,” he said with a shrug. “Well, I guess if that’s your attitude, I guess I can’t tell you about it then.”

“Tell me what?” I said, leaning a little in front of him to cut him off.

“The news.”

“News?”

“Oh yeah.” At this, he paused, sitting back onto his flank and drawing his forehooves in a large, imaginary arc above his head. “The big... news.”

He leaned forward again, and tried to walk past me once more. I had to fight to not to let the smell of goddess knows

what bother me as his tail whipped me in the nose, but I bit onto it, yanking him back.

“News? What news?”

“Sorry,” Pilsner replied, waving a forehoof back at me as I tugged gamely on his tail. “Can’t tell you. Gotta shower.”

“What?” I insisted. “Come on, tell me!”

I hate having secrets kept from me. He knew it, of course, and looked back at me with a sly grin. I should have known better. I spat out his tail and surveyed him with disgust.

“Ugh, some filly?”

“No, no, no,” he said with an eager shake of his brown head, reading my features. “It’s about Caramel…” He glanced around the garden and veranda furtively, as though he thought someone might hear him.

Hmm, I remember thinking at the time. That was quite odd. Usually, Pilsner’s stories began with himself, or on the odd occasion Clover or Freddy. Caramel wasn’t a good starting point.

Caramel was pretty much the opposite of Pilsner. He was that sweet and kind of shy colt that most mares would be into if they gave him a chance. I don’t know how he knew Pilsner, but they sort of looked alike, and they treated each other like brothers, though more than often Caramel was on the receiving end of his jokes. Caramel was a little smaller than Pilsner – just a regular earth pony, and he had a chocolate brown mane, a little darker then his friend. I'd find him cute if he was a bit more open, but as it was we were just friends. I think he preferred it that way.

To complete the image of him, he was never really into the whole womanising thing like Pilsner was. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He liked fillies a lot, and he used to talk a little bit about how he went out with a filly. Though maybe that was just the impression I got from him when he was hanging around the other guys. Y'know how male bravado can be sometimes. Whenever he and I were alone in the house, he was a lot calmer and... I dunno, nerdier? Is that even a word?

Not that that's a bad thing. I liked him better when he wasn't trying to emulate Pilsner.

I guess he's just one of those guys who's more himself one to one. Certainly when a lot of ponies were around - say during a house party or something - he didn’t speak a lot. Not that that made him weird, though. Usually it was Pilsner or Clover doing all the talking for him, and he just sat and drank it in, occasionally adding a quiet piece to the conversation. He liked to listen, he told me, and judging by the way his rooms were packed with books, he liked to read.

Sometimes, I’d walk into his room to ask for something (usually money to buy food) and he’d look up, inked quill in hoof, startled by my appearance. I never knew what it was he was writing. He never let me look, really. I thought it might have been a diary at one point, but he was defensive about it. In the end, I gave up trying to see what it was. I ended up just assuming it was one, just because the very act of writing your thoughts down was a pretty Caramel-esque thing to do.

But unlike Pilsner, who you had to strap onto an operating table to make him focus, Caramel was serious all the time. Maybe it was just the impression that those oddly blue eyes of his gave. Oh sure, he smiled and liked jokes, but he wasn’t even in the same league as Pilsner. I guess that’s why I called him ‘sweet’ before. Because Pilsner is disgusting.

The stallion in question had turned to face me.

“He won’t be back from Ponyville for a little. And, come to think of it, neither will Freddy or Lucky.”

“Clover,” I corrected him.

“You know he has two names, right?”

“No, he just has the one name, and it’s Cloooooooooveeeeeeer.”

“That’s just what the fillies call him. Colts call him Lucky.”

“Fair enough,” I replied indifferently. It took me a second to realise the innuendo. “Double ew. You’re a bit too randy today.”

“Oh!” Pilsner said, surprised. “No, that’s not what I meant, but that is pretty funny.” He grinned happily to himself, and I had no doubt that he'd be repeating it to Lucky later.

Clover (or Lucky, if you are so inclined) was an old friend of Caramel’s and Pilsner’s. Come to think of it, he might be the answer to the question of how those two met. Clover had gone to school with Caramel, and all four of them had ended up attending the same university. He was keen and eager, a slender bluish grey stallion, with a slick of a mane so dusky black that you’d wonder if somepony had dropped a pot of paint on his head. He held the same height as Caramel, but his frame was more filled out than his lightweight friend. He was a good deal bolder, too, and he loved jokes and games. He was studying to be a businesspony, and he knew a lot about finance and the stock market too, though we often cracked that he’d lose it all before he was thirty.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” he would ask, as he laid down another round of cards on the table.

Now, I’m not saying Clover had a gambling problem. Everypony has their vices. Mine happens to be loud music and strobe lights. I crave the clubs like he craves a good roll of the dice every now and again. He said it wasn’t a problem because he never lost, and that was true enough. Wherever he went, and whatever he did, he turned out to have an extraordinary string of good fortune.

It must have been some weird luck though, because it wasn’t like he was just lucky all the time. Oh, no way. The guy was absolutely and almost absurdly out of luck sometimes, so much so that you’d wonder if his nickname wasn’t ironic. He would always seem to bounce back after a dip though, and that’s why I liked him a lot. His attitude was optimistic without fail. even when things looked beyond bleak, he'd always be the one with a smile on his face. I often wondered which came first... Was his good luck caused by his happy go clover attitude? Some ponies say you’re supposed to make your own luck, so maybe that was true.

At any rate, it wasn’t a problem for me. Sometimes he bought cute friends that loved my music around (Yes!). Usually that'd been when he’d been out trawling for tail with Pilsner and hadn’t found anything. Except for other stallions.

“What’s our friend with two names doing anyway?” I asked.

“Uhhh…” Pilsner tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He definitely told me he’d be along a bit later. Helping Caramel with something.”

"What about Freddie?"

"He's doing... Freddie stuff."

I actually knew exactly what that “Freddie stuff” would be. But all the same, I didn’t like the way he said it so sarcastically.

“You got something against musicians?” I said testily.

“Nah,” Pilsner replied, his face instantly cracking into a winning smile.

Freddie, like me, was a graduate of the Canterlot Musical Academy. That's the place up near the palace. Well, technically I should rephrase that. I didn’t graduate there. Instead, I transferred to… Err… A full time job. I started working the club circuit when my first few remixes went alright, and I really hadn’t ever bothered to go back and finish my degree in Music Business. To be honest, it wasn’t really the kind of place for me anyway.

It was the kind of place for him, though. Galas, balls, concerts and opera, and a musical academy for the best and the brightest. That was the stuff ‘Frederic Horseshoepin’ was into. He was the refined soul of us all. I guess if you’d never met him, you’d say he had rich taste, because he loved nearly everything sophisticated and social. He played the piano for an Orchestra, and was pretty wealthy, I think.

But if he was, why he lived with *us of all Ponies was beyond me. He certainly didn't find us receptive to his subdued, intelligent lifestyle (except for Caramel), and he could have afforded to live on his own if he wanted to. I guess the social part of him kept him around, and he liked us regardless of our differences.*

He spent about as much time as I did being revolted by Pilsner, though his attitude was more one of *'meh' than tired disgust. Usually, he'd just go and play the piano in his room whenever stuff annoyed him. I enjoyed listening to that. I liked his violin practice too, and secretly, I thought he was amazingly dedicated.*

He'd spend hours and hours coaxing a soft, sweet melody out of his music, and it was... really lovely. The soothing sounds of his bow on the strings of his Stradivarius, or the rolling notes of the piano. On a hot day like today, it would just reverberate around the house, penetrating that awful heat with the coolness of a gentle breeze. Even Pilsner couldn't help but shrug and say it was nice, and from *him that was like winning a medal from the Princess. Doubly so when it came to the fine arts.*

But unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual. Whenever I played *my music, Freddie would bang on my door and yell rude things at me. Pfft. So what if it was three o'clock in the morning? I'm nocturnal. It's a requirement of my job. He should know that. Bass up to eleven*

But yeah, he and I shared a few mutual friends – namely Octavia, and it was through her that I met him.

You wouldn’t imagine that a guy like that would be trolling bars for tail, but there you go. She was sitting at the bar with him, giggling and blushing while he chatted her up, the two of them sipping clear spirits. He'd caught her eye, and bought her a martini.

Grrrr.* I had no idea who he thought he was, or how he knew her favorite drink. I just kinda sat on her other side looking annoyed, every single awfully cheesy line causing me to grind my teeth a little. His voice was what really irritated me at the time – he sounded like a total snob, and I thought he was putting it on for Octavia. She lurrrrves that kind of stupid accent. I called him out on it once. Turns out he was just from Hoofington, and 'that’s how they all sound there', or so he told me dryly. *Yeah, real smooth, Scratch.

Maybe he had her picked as a hopeless romantic. He certainly carries a few hearts around with him, though I don’t think he pays too much attention to the girls, which is weird. I fantasized about him being a playboy millionaire once. Instead, he’s more of an eccentric genius. He gives off the impression of being well manicured and orderly, but I’ve looked around his room before. There’s music sheets and half written sonatas and all sorts of notebooks EVERYWHERE.

'A perfect harmony of chaos,' he calls it. I call it crazy. Octy thinks he's *divine. Her words, not mine.*

I think he just loves the attention, because he’s not a huge womaniser like Pilsner is. One’s enough for him. In fact, by the time he’s done, he’ll usually have a filly wrapped around his hoof, plus a cute friend or two that's hanging around. That's how I met Pilsner. I *was the cute friend. He hadn't exactly succeeded in picking me up. I was just sitting there and feeling very cranky that my night out had been ruined by some greaseball with a cravat. But all of a sudden, this big, dumb (yet sorta hunky) jock walks up to me and asks me how my night’s going.*

You can imagine what I was like. *Oh, yes, thank you, Cadence. An idiot who thinks he's your gift to mares,that’s exactly what I wanted. Even with my glasses on and me looking away every five seconds, he can’t even tell that I don’t want to talk to him. That doesn't deter him, of course, so he just makes clever small talk for half an hour, drawing me into the conversation. Sneaky git.*

I soon found out he wasn’t drunk(!) and that he knew Freddie quite well. He even introduced me to his friend Caramel. I was surprised. Like I said before, who would have thought Cara and a guy like Pilsner could have been friends?

Turns out he was actually pretty nice as well. Or, so I was led to believe at the time. Knowing him much better now, I can testify that he’s pretty much the lazy slob you're picturing, albeit slightly less stupid, and a little bit funnier.

I guess that’s what makes Caramel so different to the rest of them. He’s not any kind of rogue, devil, jock, suave bastard, slob or smooth operator. In fact, outside of the odd, redfaced blush with some drunken thing hanging off his neck, I’ve never even seen him with a filly before. Like Clover, he was from a bit to the south of Canterlot. It wasn't as far south as Ponyville, but it was certainly down that way. You could hear it a little in the way he talked wasn’t an overdone drawl, but it was definitely a Southerner’s accent. Come to think of it, maybe that's why he's so quiet.

Anypony ever noticed that country stallions don't talk much?

Clover was a city boy, and had been for a long time, but Caramel had attended boarding school, and loved the land more than any town. I think it might have been his idea to travel down to Ponyville, though it was definitely Pilsner’s idea to make a booze cruise out of it.

“So, come on, tell me about it," I said, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. Caramel’s in trouble?”

“Well, not really.”

“Sooooo… what is it?”

Pilsner looked doubtful.

“Alright, I'll tell you," he said. "But you’re gonna wanna take a seat. This is a long one.”

I pushed the still half full watering can off into the garden, and levitated a handful of deckchairs over to us, snapping them open and taking a seat on one. Pilsner sighed happily as the massive saddlebags slid off him, landing on the decking with a loud *thud.*

“What exactly do you have in there?” I said.

“Oh, just my essentials,” Pilsner said dismissively. I used my horn to flip open the top of the satchel, and I upon seeing the bag’s contents, looked at him dumbly.

“Weights?”

“For lifting, of course," he replied, apparently unbothered by their huge weight in his pack. "And, fruit,” he added, leaning his neck into the other bag and withdrawing a rosy looking apple. “Here, catch.”

He tossed it to me, and I caught it halfway with my horn. I slowly levitated it before my eyes, turning it this way and that, inspecting for any obvious filth. Pilsner sighed as he looked at me.

“Am I *really that dirty?” He said.*

Instead of answering, I simply looked over at the watering can. Immediately it sprang to life, shooting above his head and turning upside down, and dumped the remainder of its icy cold contents onto him. He didn't even flinch, but the smile fell from his face, and he snorted unhappily.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said, parting his now drenched auburn mane with both forehooves. I smiled at him.

"You needed to cool off, anyway," I replied, taking a bite of the shiny red apple.

I'm sorry for going off on another tangent, but I'm just gonna rant for a second. *Man that was a good apple. It was crisp and sweet, almost tangy, and my eyes almost watered from behind my glasses as the flavour hit my tongue. It wasn't overpoweringly sour or bitter, and the perfect green white flesh of the fruit was beautifully ripe and juicy, just enough to make your cheeks sting a little bit in protest, but not enough to make it intolerable. It was like sex in your mouth.*

...Except... Not literally. *Ew. You're gross for even thinking about that.*

“Oh wow,” I said, losing track of the fact that I was being impressed by fruit. Pilsner did not seem to mind my strangeness, though, and he took an apple for himself, slumping down onto the other deckchair.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” He said, taking a bite.

“Mmmf,” I mumbled back in agreement. I swallowed, and tried again. “So what’s wrong with Cara?”

“Oh, right!” Pilsner said. “The story.”

He leaned forward, an eager look in his eyes. That was a very familiar pose, but he lacked the beer in his hoof that so often preceded such tales.

The sun beat down from beyond the veranda's shade, and I settled in to hear his story.