Sprocket tucked her baseball cap more firmly on her head, cocking it at a deliberate jaunty angle. Most of her face was hidden if she kept her chin down, and those intense gold eyes swept the lobby surreptitiously. It was uncomfortably plush, and just starting to really get moving since night had fallen and ponies were gambling. She trotted up to the front desk and braced her front hooves on the counter. "I won the Lucky Pony competition," She muttered. "Gimmie my room key."
Las Haygus wasn't her style. But it was far away from Ponyville, she'd give it that. And...oh, hello, what was that? There was an enormous clock in the middle of the lobby, silently counting down the hours, and she felt a little more comfortable. Clocks were delicate, breathing things, full of complex machinery and deep, resonant sounds. Clocks were infinitesimally precise. Sprocket took her room key and tucked it into her saddlebags.
The short, freckled orange pony hopped up on a seat in the bar, and rapped the counter with a hoof. "Cider, twist of lemon," She said to the bartender. About three seats away, there was a pale-blue pony who looked oddly lithe and slender. It didn't matter. Sprocket didn't intend to rub any shoulders in this contest.