The Usual Day of a Lazy Thunderlane
Morning.
The sun shone through the thin fabric of his window’s curtain. The golden rays, in the course of an hour or so, slowly made their way up, firstly passing by his soft, but strong, legs, then by his cutie mark, a raincloud with a lightning bolt descending from it, then his belly, also catching a small area of his right wing, which was lazily folded and open at the same time, the tangled feathers creating a visual mess similar to a bush made of long and thin leaves, then his tongue, which was hanging from the side of his mouth, then his eyelids, and finally his blue and silver mane, which needed some very good combing due to all the knots and twists caused by the pillow. His amber eyes were refusing to receive the sunlight. He made an effort to open them, but to no avail. His muscles were completely relaxed and trying to move them was only making him uncomfortable.
He gave up trying to wake up. He knew he should get up soon, but he didn’t want to. It was a Sunday, after all. And he would keep on sleeping if it wasn’t for that itch under his left wing. It started as a numbing sensation, but quickly evolved into something very uncomfortable. Unavoidable. With all his current strength, which was nearly zero, he moved his right hoof under him to reach the base of his left wing.
That had been enough to kick start him. His right eye was the first one. Then his right leg, followed by his tail. His left arm unwound to the right side of the bed, leaving him turned belly up. His left eye was the next. With a poorly performed backstretch, he noticed that his mouth was arguably dry. And open. With some difficulty, he began spreading some saliva over his lips and tongue to moisturize them. Using the power of his arms and wings, he lifted himself from the warm and comfortable mattress. Leaning to his left side, he got out of bed. Right leg first, as always.
Taking a look around his room, you could see that it was a very simple and ordinary room. It had a window, a closet and a desk. On the desk you could see all sorts of office materials, manuals, diagrams, a light, etc... The closet doors were slightly open, and you could barely see the white lab coat that he wears to go to work. The bed sheets were very messy, purple with little cloud stamps on it. A poster could be seen on the wall, portraying him and his little brother when they were younger.
After ensuring that his hooves were firmly planted on the ground, he began to walk on the soft carpet floor, which was warm due to the sunlight. Barely being able to see, and still with the effects of sleeping inertia, he, with uneven steps and sometimes leaning to the sides, headed to the door that was near the end of his bed. His throat met the stuffy air once again, his yawn making a loud and damp noise.
Finally reaching the bathroom door, he, instead of using the door handle, just kept on going, opening it with his own head. The cold floor conflicted with the warmth of his hooves, sending a new pulse of energy through his body. His eyes opened a little bit more. Reaching with his left front hoof, he turned the lights on. The bathroom was as he left it the night before. The towels were neatly folded and ready to be used. The bathtub was stocked with all sorts of cosmetics. The comb and hair gel had a special spot on the black marble surface of the sink counter. Right next to it was the toilet. Its lid was already open, so it didn’t take him any effort to let the yellow rain pour.
After flushing and closing the lid, he headed towards the sink and gave himself a good look in the mirror. His face looked like it was melting, because his facial muscles were still warm and relaxed. Opening the cold water, he went head first in the sink, letting the cold hit his face and wake up his muscles. He then proceeded to wash his front hooves and his eyes. The refreshing sensation was horrible, but at least his face was more acceptable, being actually able to move and feel the stuffy air from the room.
He was almost completely woken up. The only thing missing was some breakfast. Now, steadily moving his legs and arms, he headed towards the room door, entering the corridor. To his right was the guest room. A little bit further ahead, to his left, was his little brother’s room. He was still sleeping; nopony that young wakes up early on Sundays. He wished he didn’t have to, but it was necessary. After reaching the end of the corridor, he turned right and entered the kitchen. As usual, he went for his ordinary breakfast: a nice bowl of cereals and a glass of juice, orange this time. He sat on the chair, grabbed the spoon, and began eating his breakfast. The crunchiness from the cereal was audible; it was possible to notice a very slow sound of things being crushed. The orange juice was welcomed by his dry throat. His mind was empty. His only focus was to channel his energy to his mouth so that he could chew and swallow.
Hm… The bowl was too small for his stomach. Or maybe his stomach was too big for the bowl. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have infinite cereal and his brother was still asleep. After taking a deep breath, he got out from the chair and walked to the living room, making soft and low noises every time his hooves hit the light brown wooden floor. All the windows were closed, but the sun shined strong and warm. Heading towards the nearest window, the breeze gently caressed his face when he opened it. It was cold and refreshing. The stuffiness from the house began to be replaced by fresh air. Sitting on the couch, and sinking a foot in after, he grabbed a small notebook and a pen that were lying on the table next to him, and began scribbling while waiting for his brother to wake up.
The Usual Day of a Lazy Thunderlane
Clouds
Half an hour and no sign of Rumble. Thunderlane figured he would go and take care of his mane meanwhile. Jumping out from the couch and walking back to his room and then his bathroom, he grabbed the brush from the counter. Closing his eyes, he began to put his whole mane to the right side of his head with fast and violent strokes. The knots were broken as they met the resistant metal of the comb, allowing his hair to flow freely and straight. After a few minutes of the process, Thunderlane's mane looked just like Fluttershy's, only a lot shorter. His soft blue mane, with a hint of silver, was like that naturally. He just didn't like the way it looked like, which was a shame, since Rumble always preferred his older brother with a loose mane rather than the mohawk that he worn. Speaking of mohawk, Thunderlane grabbed the hair gel and squirted a little bit on his right hoof, and with the help of his left hoof he began molding his mane in the well-known shape. That was the part that took the longest. After spending a good 15 minutes on that, Thunderlane looked at himself in the mirror, examining his reflection. There was no round spots on his mane after the gel treatment, which was exactly what he wanted. The thing is, his mane was hard from all the gel that he put on his mane. To fix that and make it soft again, he grabbed a spray can from under the sink and began spraying his mohawk. It was a hydrating spray, and it left his mane nice and moist. After that, he put the spray can away and grabbed the hair blower. Aiming it upwards as to not dismantle the mohawk, he began blowing his mane dry. When the wind became really hot and hard to endure, Thunderlane knew he was done. Turning the device off, he put everything back in place and washed his hooves thoroughly. He ran a hoof through his mane. It felt really soft, but it wouldn't budge. That was the secret of keeping his mohawk intact. Happy with the results, Thunderlane then decided to wake up his little brother.
Thunderlane started walking to his little brother's room, right next to his own. He knocked three times on the smooth surface of the wood. Receiving no answer, he slowly opened the door. "Rumble?" he asked, putting his head through the gap between the door and the wall. The room was filled with sunlight. Fully opening the door, Thunderlane noticed that the striped black and blue comforter on top of his bed didn't look like it had someone underneath it. He then looked at the bathroom door, which was closed. Walking towards it, he opened the door. He would feel bad for forgetting to knock if Rumble actually was in the bathroom. But instead, the only thing he found was a bathroom that looked pretty much like his.
Thunderlane eyes became a little bit derp. He had just remembered that Rumble was staying at Featherweight's house for the weekend. He had just wasted a little bit of his Sunday morning apparently. It wasn't his fault. His job was really complicated and tiring. Well, that was his excuse, which isn't a lie. Working as the cloud engineer of Ponyville wasn't exactly easy. Of course there was Rainbow Dash to keep the skies clear and all, but the sky couldn't have no clouds all the time. It was him who determined for how long a certain cloud, with a certain shape, volume, altitude, speed, density, and all properties that a cloud can have, would be needed to keep the humidity levels of Ponyville in the right range. And since one little mistake could mean a flood-inducing storm or it snowing in the summer, he had to be really careful to perform perfect calculations when ordering clouds from Cloudsdale.
Well, what was he going to do? Rumble wasn't home and he would only return the next day. That meant Thunderlane had the whole day for himself. Putting a slight smile on his face, Thunderlane headed to the window and opened it. He didn't allow Rumble to go out the window, but he was too lazy to walk all the way to the front door. Thunderlane then proceed to jump to window, landing in the grass patch outside of the light blue house. He looked up to the sky, trying to spot the thing that he found earlier that day. And there it was. Opening his wings and stretching them, he let them get hit by the sunlight. The could feel the blood vessels pumping the blood to all the parts of his wings. Taking a deep breath, he began flapping and performed a small jump. Flying was easy, but it required attention. Getting a wing cramp while flying wasn't exactly pleasant, and Thunderlane wouldn't want to experience that again. He straightened his body, pointed it upwards and began flying towards his destination. The cold wind hit his eyes, making him blink a lot to keep them moist. It flowed around him, tickling him in the weirdest places of his pony body. But it was nice. Thunderlane loved the sensations of flying. Never a flight was the same as another one. Each one was unique.
