The Badlands

Vierrin didn't really know why exactly she threw that first bottle; she always unwillingly took the role of peacekeeper in situations, but a barfight? That was way out of her comfort zone. And why she got so angry at Nimble? She didn't really understand that either. Sure, he was drunk and making a scene, but she didn't have to throw him into the bucking floor! She never would've done that, not to Nimble, not to anypony! Although.....maybe it was the cider? After all, that was her first time actually drinking; she occasionally drank at parties or get-togethers, but she never asked for more than one cup. Yeah, maybe it was the beer.....

She ducked back down behind the counter, temporarily pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind. Breathing a sigh, she wiped a bead of nervous sweat from her forehead, pausing to cast a very nervous glance at Nimble, who rested behind the counter as well, swigging from a bottle of beer. Igniting her horn and throwing the bottle over their cover, she lay on her barrel, slowly crawling her way to her friend's half-sober figure.

As Nimble turned towards her, he noticed that she had placed her free hoof over her mouth, silently telling him to be quiet, lest they bring attention to their secret hideout. Nopony had seen them dive behind the board, giving them a long time to ready themselves for the hell that was the rest of the very spacy room.

Nimble felt nervousness slowly creep into his thoughts himself, and as he waded through his warbled thoughts, he felt atop his head, not feeling the comfortable, warm fabric of his Stetson. His Stetson!

"Psst. Vierrin!" he asked, shifting over to his right. The unicorn shushed him again, but Nimble had to retrieve his hat, "Vierrin! Get my hat!" he said, hushing his voice as told.

With an annoyed look and a facehoof, she lit up her horn again, feeling around for the lost article. Nothing. Groaning in annoyance, her magic felt further down the counter, still no hat. Nimble, who had spent the time with his forelegs crossed like a foal would while pouting, noticed the lingering wait, and huffed loudly, blowing a loose black hair out of his eyes. A glass bottle, five chips in its glass casing, flew over the counter, landing on the crouched Vierrin. As she gave a yelp of pain, they both heard the fighting escalate, seemingly because it was the first actual blood of the evening.

As Vierrin winced, she rubbed her back feeling a growing bump. Dammit. Gonna have to check that later.. She thought, focusing back at the task at hand. Looking back over at Nimble, she found him glaring over the top of the counter, his tail twitching in unnatural ways.

Half-knowing what the issue was, she gulped the large lump in her throat, "Nimble? Are you alrigh-"

"You bucking son of a bitch. You bucking son of a bitch!" With a loud war cry, he flared his primaries, preparing to launch himself over the counter. Swallowing yet another lump, Vierrin peeked sheepishly over the counter and saw what he was mad about; a light brown pegasus with a jet black mane and a firework as a Cutie Mark was vaulting over a small wooden table, a dark brown Stetson in his teeth.

"Uh oh....."

Nimble launched himself at breackneck speed, his black and white mane flaring in the fan breeze. Eyelids closing shaprly over his sockets, time itself seemed to slow for him. All around his slowly flying body, mayhem ensued as ponies around the bar sluggishly bashed, threw, or even drank beer bottles by the dozen, shards of glass flying everywhere as each one hit its target. Unconscious bodies of ponies lay still on the floor below, occasional blood drops appearing here and there. Five bottles gradually flew over and under him, struggling to reach their respective targets across the wartorn room. Thrusting his wings a second faster, time came back as he tackled the stallion with his hat, knocking the headgear off and into the wall. Turning around, he fired his hindlegs into the Pegasus' muzzle, a loud CRACK! soon following. Growling menacingly in his face, Nimble flew off towards his Stetson, leaving the mahogany stallion to lie on the floor and contemplate his drunken ideas.

Breathing a still raging breath of relief, he found his hat on top of an unconscious mare, who looked as if she were dead. Not wasting time, Nimble lowered is head down over the brim, and clenched it tightly with his teeth. Flipping it over in his mouth, he raised his head yet again, letting the Stetson go as it hovered over his poll. Nimble allowed his nerves to calm down, knowing that the storm inside of him had passed. Turning around, the "dead" mare's beer bottle in his teeth, he asked:

"Who's first!?"