Rarity's Here (Apparently)
Sunday was particularly brisk today. All colors of people walked, drove and rode outside, seeming somewhat important. It looked like a very nice day for a walk, or perhaps even an adventure.
Geoffrey hated that. He didn't even want to get of bed. To him, the world was simply nagging him to accomplish something productive. With the one eye uncovered by his sheets he stared blankly at his copy of Crime and Punishment that he had committed to reading. While doing that, he wondered about other unfinished projects like some drawings lying on his full, cluttered desk, driver's textbooks that needed to be studied a second time this year and various bathroom items that needed renewal immediately.
In other words, Geoffrey was a procrastinator. However, it would be unfair to call him lazy. No. What work he does accomplish is often quite impressive. If you call pouring cement all day impressive. (which you should) Don't be mistaken, Geoffrey is not a grump. He tries hard to be creative to give his life meaning, but he just... can't. He'd say he's a victim of monotony, making him rather irritable on most humdrum days.
This Sunday was especially terrible because he was having some vague memories of a stressful dream and then unintentionally applying uncertain responsibilities in the dream to real life, only to have himself realize again and again, that these concepts and problems don't exist here and there is no reason to worry. He was in a trance, and sort of sick, but not really. Only feeling sick out of heat and stiffness in bed. In addition he couldn't remember any of his dream anymore, only that it was bothersome. And he was certain that if had remembered it, he wouldn't at all be satisfied in resolving the mystery. So he didn't.
Geoffrey's toast popped up. He spread jam on half a slice, then took a bite, spread more on the rest, and repeated. He sat down with his laptop in the living room to check various pony news sites, looking to see what other people had done that he had ideas about creating himself months ago. Nothing really came up. Not even the internet could fuel his self-destruction today. He closed the lid on his computer, left the almost half eaten plate of toast on the seat and looked out the window. Busses and pedestrians filed through the streets. Nothing there either. He checked the tv lineup. Trucking shows, so called critics patronizing celebrities in their daily lives, the childrens' animated cartoons he WASN'T interested in, and yet another documentary about how wonderful it is to live on planet Earth and why we're so lucky to be here in the universe. Oh, and comedy re-runs they've been playing for the past 8 weeks. Well he could always go back into bed with his laptop and-
The telephone rang. Unknown caller. It couldn't be one of his friends. They were out the night before without him and probably all had worse mornings than he did. But instead of continuing wondering or ignoring it, he gave it an answer.
"Yes?"
"Oh, good morning. Well, almost. About quarter after eleven now. How are you?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, how are you, dear?"
It was no one he knew, alright.
"Uh... dear?"
"Rarity, darling. You remember my voice."
"Uh huh. Yeah, I... do."
He had no idea who could be making this joke with him. Or at least who could be pranking him this well. He wasn't bemused, in fact he was rather impressed. Her voice was accurate. So apparently Rarity the unicorn from My Little Pony is, at least, an acquaintance with Geoffrey. That's the idea.
"What... do you need?"
"I was thinking of having a visit later on. Does that fit into your day?"
Geoffrey's smile left his face. Now he was really curious. This mysterious instigator knows where he lives. He supposed he ought to continue humoring the situation for more information, so maybe he could gather some sort of testamony later if he needed to call the police. If it did get that serious. He didn't REALLY know why he kept going, but that's what he told himself to fight the notion of the pony on the other side really wanting to just have a friendly visit with him. You know.
"Oh absolutely! Got the place fixed up and everything! Feeling marvolous today!"
Geoffrey stuffed some dirty dishes into an empty and out of the way cupboard. Maybe the individual involved was indeed, really coming.
"Whenever you're ready, I suppose. Come on down!"
"That's so nice to hear from you Geoffrey! Glad you could be ready, and it's such a nice day too!"
"Yeah. Well uh, come on to my place.
Through my door.
So we can meet.
In person."
In 'pony', maybe?
"Mm hm. Yes. That's right."
"Alright then. No problem. Any time now."
Of course you already know the whole thing is not really a joke and that it actually is Rarity the unicorn from My Little Pony on the other side of the conversation. How is she there? Well you don't know that. And I wouldn't divulge anything that wasn't clear from the story in the appropriate moment. (meaning I'm making this up as I go along and I have no freaking idea yet) But I'll just step back behind my little wall and continue writing a bit more properly.
Geoffrey put down the phone. It was time for the waiting game. His least favorite game. He really does hate waiting for people. Particularly people that don't exist. He didn't get the information he was expecting, and he was beginning to wonder why he didn't call their bluff outright. There's no way to call them back now. He just has to keep on appearing ready for visitors. All this happened in just about two minutes and now he was bemused.
Nothing notable or funny happened while waiting.
By what he saw on his watch, it was 12:36 when Rarity was at his door knocking. Alone. Geoffrey told her to come in. So the door swung open. Rarity came through very nonchalant, commenting on the foyer rug and brushing past Geoffrey, who was just standing there with almost the same expression from before she stepped in. Not even turning his head.
He said out loud quietly,
"Whaaat...?"
"The rug. It's very colorful. It ought to be in the living room. It's nice."
Geoffrey looked over to his cartoon marshmallow-esque figure making small talk.
"Oh come on Geoffrey. You said you were feeling exceptionally chipper today. Don't look at me like that."
Geoffrey slowly opened his mouth,
"...Physics..."
Rarity blinked a few times. Then she closed the door for him.
"You know what we need? Some drinks- could you put some water on, dear?"
She went over to the living room and sat up on the couch.
Geoffrey got out a pan and gazed over at Rarity, looking happily spacey on her large seat, humming quietly and peering up at the ceiling. She had obvious 2 dimensional traits, but had 3 dimensional shadows and other lighting features. It's as if it was done in an Adobe program. Except of course it was real. Just a reminder.
Geoffrey wondered where she might be living now. She seems to be fully acquainted with the differences of his "world". But more than that, Geoffrey wondered why he was chosen, if that's the case, to be her friend, and why it should be so obvious to him that he is. It's almost... Geoffrey had this incredibly painful feeling just then. His hand was under the hot tap instead of the pan.
"AUGH!"
Geoffrey restrained himself, but dropped his pan back into the sink. Rarity looked over and he spoke before she could tell what happened.
"Sorry! Just slipped over a bit!"
He had the pan refilled and set it on the burner to fully boil.
"You don't have a kettle?"
Geoffrey didn't. He doesn't even have much tea. Chamomile, for social reasons exactly like this one and that's it. And he never uses it himself. More of a coffee person.
"Well... No."
When that tea was done and served, Geoffrey sat down across from her. Geoffrey just had to say something.
"So... Tea."
He got a surprisingly swift reply.
"Mm-hm."
"You like... tea."
"Well, Yes?"
Geoffrey added some fake confidence,
"I do too. Isn't it great?"
"Definitely."
Her eyes shifted over back and forth out complete and total awkwardness.
"I hate to ask, but... What brings you here today?"
"Why, I'm here to spend time with you. Of course."
Naturally.
Of course, indeed.
Yes.
Of course.
Damn it.
