Uninterrupted
Button walked home silently after a long day at school, pondering what his night had in store for him. Would he become Chris Redfoal and join the fight against bio-terrorism, or would he set out on a quest to stop King Allant the twelfth. Nopony knew - mainly because nopony bothered to talk to him or get to know him. Nonetheless, he'd enjoy himself tonight, regardless if he was accompanied by a peer of his. Frankly, Button was terrified of his peers, but that didn't stop him from making an effort, even if it almost always ended in defeat. Almost.
He climbed the steps of his average suburban home to the door only to find a note pinned under the glass outer door. He plucked it from its tack and read quietly, only saying every five or so words to himself. ". . . brother is sick . . . be back tomorrow . . . love Mom." Button crumpled the note and stuck it in his pocket as he pulled a key from his saddlebag and unlocked the door. The door unlocked with an audible tak, granting entry into the Mash house.
The mudroom was a small nook with nothing more than a coat rack, a closet to the right, and a washer and dryer pressed against the back wall. A wall clock ticked away as he began to remove his saddlebag in complete silence with only a few grunts here and there to express his frustration with the difficult time he'd had getting them off. He proceeded to the kitchen to fetch himself a well-deserved after school snack - a bowl of black cherry chocolate ice cream. His favorite.
His kitchen was painted a baby blue color with white trim and light gray marble counter tops to tastefully match. He dabbled with the idea of becoming an interior designer after helping paint and furnish his home, but was soon dropped after he found another hobby, and then another. He wasn't thinking about interior design or metal working at the time though, he was thinking about his ice cream. The fridge beckoned to him as he gathered a spoon and bowl, ready to be filled with delicious ice cream.
After several minutes of pure bliss, Button placed his spoon and bowl into the dishwasher. He walked out of the kitchen up to his room, the place where he could be somepony else other than a dorky colt who liked anime and went on occasional dates with his right hoof. In there, anything could happen - nuclear wars, zombie outbreaks, changeling carnage, the list goes on but the gist is he didn't have to be the real Button in there. Maybe that's why he spent so much time in there . . . alone.
His Pony-Station beeped to life as he assumed a position in his well-worn swivel chair. The lucky game tonight was Dead Space 3. He admitted is wasn't as good as the others, but it'd kill him not to finish this epic trilogy of carnage. Leaning back in his chair, he could reach the nightstand across his rather small room. The drawer opened with a light pull and revealed its contents - a pack of Marelboros, a chrome-plated Zebro lighter, a bottle of cheap vodka, two issues of Playcolt, and a sandwich bag full of sleeping pills. Taking the lighter, cigs, and booze, Button was ready to party.
