Drowning the Sorrows [END-CLOSED]

(( I spent way to much time trying to think of a perfect drink for Claire X(  I hope I got her personality right ))


Low Key had encountered many interesting customers over the few months that he had been employed. While he had a fair number of unnerving conversations with gangsters and pimps, he also had a great opportunity to get to know the art scene in this town.

The moment this mare walked in, he could tell something was wrong. She had the high-society look all about her, and the way that she looked at everything - the dusty neon signs, the sketchy customers, and especially the music - drove it home to him that she was not here for fun.

As she took a seat at the bar, Low Key greeted her with the obligatory query of her drink preference. Her answer was exactly the one that he dreaded - she wanted a cocktail. Any cocktail.

In other words, "you pick".

Since the first time it happened to him, Low Key always considered it a figurative slap in the face. Whenever somepony did that, he always made to sure keep his professional attitude, grab a mug, and fill it with the lightest beer he had on tap.

A beer was obviously out of the question in this situation, so he really had to think. Trying to find the right cocktail for a single individual was easier than it seemed: Just think of all the adjectives that describe them, and then run that list alongside the list of all the cocktails you know. If one of the adjectives happens to be the name of a cocktail, then you have a winner!

In this case, Low Key had reached under the counter and produced his shaker along with a martini glass and ingredients: Stalliongradskaya vodka, cranberry juice, triple sec, and lime juice. After filling the shaker halfway with ice, he introduced all the ingredients and proceeded to shake. Properly mixed, he poured the mixture into the glass.

Voila! A Classic Cosmopolitan.

All of that was almost 30 minutes ago. After her third cosmo she had started ranting about who she was, including a rather interesting and theatrical introduction that made everyone in the saloon laugh. Low Key admitted he was giggling a little bit, but he had tried to hide it as best he could.

Now, as he looked at her, he felt a certain pang of pity for her. With what she had said, it seemed like she had a successful job and a good life living amongst high society. So what was she doing here?

Low Key had stopped putting away most of the ingredients as he once again began mixing. For the past 30 minutes, he made her martini after martini, naively thinking that each martini would be her last. This time, however, he wasn't content to just sit idly and watch her drink herself unconscious. There was something wrong with her, and he was going to help her. He silently hoped that she still had enough of her wits about her to engage in a conversation.

As he measured out the ingredients, he began to speak, "So, Miss Dupont, I never said this before, but I don't believe I've seen you around here before. How are you?"

Low Key put his forehooves up on the counter and looked Claire straight in the eyes. Nowhere in his job description was it mentioned that he would end up being a therapist, neither was he exactly qualified. Still, as much as he had a disdain for alcohol, he had to admit that it opened ponies up. Things that would normally be kept locked up ended up spilling out as the drug naturally breaks down emotional barriers, and Low Key couldn't help but use this to his advantage.

He couldn't really put his finger on why he was so enthusiastic to help this mare. He barely even knew her, not to mention that her ego was so inflated, it was a wonder she was able to keep herself from going airborne. So why was he so keen to help her instead of just minding his own business? The best answer he could come up with was that it gave him some satisfaction, perhaps vindication, that he was doing good in his life.

Low Key leans forward, his face completely unreadable. Despite the eye-burning stench of alcohol and citrus on her breath, he queried in a soft, level voice, "If you're willing, tell me about your problems. I'll listen."

Low Key closed his eyes.  While his face remained impassive, behind it, the gears started working. Alright, so he just got Claire to tell him her entire life story. Wow, he suddenly just realized how under-qualified he really was for this. Even his own problems paled in comparison to hers; at least he had two parents who loved and cared for him as much as they loved each other. He couldn't imagine living his entire childhood being groomed by parents who treated him like a trophy, or even a show animal. These ponies...how could they do this to her - depriving her of joy, of happiness, of the innocence of childh-

Yo, settle down or your mascara's gonna start runnin', bro.

Low Key took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Only a few seconds had passed, but ideas started popping into his head.  He could cry for hours with the ammunition Claire had just given him, but he needed to focus.  She was the one who needed help, not him.

When he finally opened his eyes, they were slightly glassy.  As he spoke, his voice was calm and level as before, but there was a slightly shakiness to it, "Have you tried finding your parents.  Do you know where they live?"

Low closed his eyes again and stopped to absorb. By the time she had finished, he found that he was gritting his teeth hard enough to risk chipping a molar. Sweet Celestia, her parents were such assholes.  No interest in their daughter, no interest in each other, no words in his mind could accurately describe his rage.  Oh, if he could only get his hooves on them, he'd-

Yeah, like you'd eva hurt a fuckin' fly.

Ok, he was getting a little out of hand.  He took another deep breath considered what else he could.  So her parents were out of the picture, that didn't leave much of an option.  Only one in fact, and it was a bit of a risk.  He wasn't sure how she would take it, but he'd be damned if he didn't give this mare everything he had.  Even if he failed and Claire left the saloon just as broken as she was when she came in, he'd at least be able to sleep that night knowing he did everything he could.  Maybe.

Breathing in deep, Low Key says, "Right then, have you ever tried moving on?  You're a grown mare with your own life and you've done very well for yourself.  You don't need to keep living in the shadows of your parental units."  He quite nearly spit those last two words out.  He sensed he was starting to lose control and did his best to reel himself in, but his emotions started leaking out around the edges of his impassive face, "Go out and try a cookie!  Hell, just a bar of chocolate, it doesn't matter!"  He taps his right forehoof to accent his thesis, "The point is they're not going to show up and yell at you.  They're out of your life and they're not coming back."  As he finishes, his breathing, which had been increasing in intensity since the start of his tirade, slowly began to subside.  His face as well, which had contorted into a snarl, slowly began to melt back into a mask of impassiveness.  He lets out another deep sigh and "Doctor" Low Key is back on duty.

"S-so, what do you think?"

"I...am not at liberty to say." Low Key had plenty of ideas why they wouldn't want her, but what Claire didn't need right now was for somepony to tell her she was most likely an accident. Just like Low, she needed vindication, and he took a few seconds to formulate where he should take this discussion next. He eventually settled on another question, this one a bit more risky especially knowing her current situation.

"Do you have any other family members that you are on better terms with? Siblings? Aunts? Uncles?"

Suddenly, Low Key realized he had a breakthrough. His eyes lit up and his lips slowly bent into a smile. This was it, the coup de grace (The good kind).

The moment Low Key had heard that Rowdy lived in Appleloosa, he knew that there would be some friction between the two of them. No doubt the thought of a high society city girl going to visit her half-sister out in the country brought an endless list of amusing thoughts to his head.

"Well? Pay her a visit! You both lived through the Hell your parents put you through, so I'm sure that if all else fails, that can serve as your connection. I know it may sound inconvenient, but if you just give her a chance, you may learn something."

And like that, the euphoria was gone. Low Key's smile slowly dropped back down, the radiance leaving his eyes as the weight settled back down on him. Well, he was right back where he started. Situations like these reminded him of laying under some heavy object and failing to lift it off him - at first, as he start making progress, he could finally breathe again and felt like he was going to make it out of this entire ordeal. Then, the rope snaps and it all comes crashing back down, only this time it has a velocity. Considering this situation was all figurative, Low Key's physiological response was limited to a tightness in his chest and the whole "blood running cold" syndrome.  Having excessive amounts of empathy really sucked sometimes.

He was so close! He felt like he was on to something, but he made the one fatal mistake he thought he had programmed himself never to make: he became emotionally invested. He went all in and simply tempted fate to throw him through a loop.

Serves ya fuckin' right.  How many times is it gonna take for ya to figure it out - the moment ya reach for the golden ring, it's gonna turn into fuckin' dust, ya fuckin' idiot!


Low Key sighed, his inner critic was right.  He was a failure, and a pretty glorious one at that, too.  Why did he even try to help her?  Not only was he not going to be able to sleep tonight, but now she was going to feel led on, as if the past few minutes that he had spent talking to her were an utter waste of time, that she was hopeless.

That last word echoed around inside Low Key's head, as the full emotional impact registered.  Physically, he gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow in a deep frown.  Mentally, he stamped his hoof in defiance.  This mare had borne her soul to him, and he refused to believe that she was hopeless.  Until he could get a hold of that golden ring, he was not giving up on her.  Society had already given up on him, he was not about to welcome her to join his fate.

His eyes flashed open with a new determination as a new idea came to mind.  He knew that he couldn't help her, but he knew somepony who could.  As he spoke the words, he silently begged her not to refuse.  He was out of ideas, and this was it.  If he had been in a less desperate state of mind, he would have chewed himself out for becoming emotionally invested again.  He'd also chew himself out for being an utterly pathetic twat.

"Have you considered seeking a professional?  A therapist?  Someone like me, better than me, who wants to listen to you, wants to help you?  You may not like the idea, but he won't tell anyone you're seeing him, and he won't tell anyone what you say!  Not that I'll tell anyone either, but..."  Low Key turns his eyes downcast, "It's obvious I can't help you.  You can't go on living in the past, Miss Dupont.  You need closure."  As he resumed eye contact, his eyes were glassy and puffy, "Please, help me help you."