Separate names with a comma.
"Stallions' mane products are a joke when you live to beat and bruise. I'm not afraid to admit this."
"Marél, leave-in. A boutique owner in Ponyville introduced me. You know the owner, I'm sure."
"Why thank you. I use that conditioner to keep the hairs from exploding every time I punch something."
It was soft enough. A little worn, having seen countless fights, but it seemed to be holding up thanks to... smelled like mares' conditioner....
"Mine certainly is, too. But it's not this neat by any means."
"Very soft. I enjoy this."
"Yeah, sure." Maya poured him a cider. "Tell me." Azrael examined Blackened's mane. "Is this all natural?"
"Please. He took forty just to find one. But he'd probably be pissed off."
"Because you wanna watch me suffer and push out a baby? I dunno."
"Anyway. Did you think about Asmo much?"
"Sabe. I'm gonna have to pull an Asmo and be brutally honest." She sighed. "They're probably dead. And you'd be better off talking to Az than...
"Problem being you were away 33 years?"
"What.." Maya blinked a few times. "What?!"
"How long is a bit? Like... a year?"
"Not that. Your eyes. They look... older?"
"This." Maya poured her a glass of cinnamon whiskey. "And I gotta say... you look different."
"Oh, hey." Maya nodded. "Good to see you back, hon."
"I couldn't tell," Azrael confessed.
"Guess I wasn't. Judging that by the awkward silence," Maya shrugged. "What can I get you fine gentleponies?"
Azrael nodded. "Perfection."
