He slammed at the keyboard, the casing of the ancient typewriter creaking under the force. It had held under furious torrents before, it would not break this time… If the writer had a mind to think this he may have, but he was too busy showing all of his teeth in a gleaming grin, his mind making the closest equivalent expression it could.
Coming to a stop, he reread over the last sixteen lines, nodded slowly, and typed out the last six letters, two words. Allowing his grin to become much less manic, he rubbed a hoof over his face and looked out his window, horn flickering as he parted the curtains upon a blood orange sunset. The clouds parted fetchingly over and around the orb sinking into a golden forest, and the writer allowed himself a satisfied smile.
“She always seems to know, doesn’t she,” he rasped to himself, reaching over to the glass beside the machine on his desk and pouring once cold water down his parched throat. Watching a pegasus swoop through air like warm soup, he took in the lazy loops for a while before gathering the stack of paper, clipping and adding it to the rest, eyeballing it at a good seven hundred and fifty pages, or close.
That was something for his editor to worry about though, and he stuffed the stack into a small box, only slightly too big for the pages. Taping the thick cardboard closed, he appraised the seal and sat it on his back, carrying it through the house and down the stairs, into his kitchen. He tossed it into a basket by the back door, the one he used for shopping.
Standing on his back legs and opening the low cabinets, he discovered he’d have to use it sooner than he’d thought. Either that, or eat the horrible canned foods he stockpiled whenever he wrote. Food was food while he was immersed, but right now canned cheese ravioli just did not seem appetizing.
Gathering his cloak and throwing it over his back, he fumbled at the clasp with his horn before sitting and using his forehooves. Back on his feet, he grabbed his basket in his teeth before opening the door with a hoof.
Shutting the door behind him, he closed his eyes and turned around, inhaling cold air that carried the smells of crunched leaves and earthy grass, mixed with spices baked into breads downwind at the pastry shop. As he turned, there was also an surge of mint. Opening his faded blue eyes, he stared into a pair of bright gold rings, black pupils seeming to be crossed.
“Hullo neighbor Lyra. Is my nose very interesting?” he asked, most of the rasp gone from his voice, but never all.
“No Comet, just very grey,” she chirped, taking three paces back and smiling. “I saw that you were leaving, I assumed for food, and wanted to know if you would like to…”
She had motioned to the basket when she said ‘food’, and drawn her own attention to the singular parcel within. Eyes widening the slightest, she gave Comet Seer a questioning glance and a tiny smile. Her gave a small grin in return.
“Yes, Lyra Heartstrings, this is my newest. And no,” he said, raising a hoof in front of her recently opened mouth, “you cannot read it before I send it off. I would hate anyone to see any atrocities I pay my editor to obliterate, and beside that it’s unfair.”
With a scowl marred with a giggle, Lyra nodded.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to have a meal with me, maybe, instead of alone?” she asked. “I was thinking of going to a restaurant, either the café or the Hay Burger. Would you care to…?”
Giving a smile and a nod, Comet pulled the book from his basket and shelved it on his back again, as he opened his door and replaced the basket onto the counter next to the door. “Maybe the Moonlight Sonata, that place Ms. Melody performs at? They’re slightly more upscale, but the food is excellent.”
Lyra’s face fell, and she drug her hoof through the dirt. “That’s a little out of my bit range, Mr. Seer…”
“Oh, shush Lyra,” Comet said, frowning. “I’ve just finished this new doorstop, and I feel a bit like celebrating. Don’t worry about the coins, I would’ve paid for you anyhow. Now, get your coat, maybe we can get there outside of the rush.”
Pushing her gently towards her house with his head, being very aware of his horn, he ignored her stuttered protests until they reached her door.
“Lyra,” he sighed, “how many of my books have you bought?” She mumbled some number under her breath, but he caught it. “Hmm, and how much did those eighteen cost you?”
“But it’s not the same at all!” she laughed, finally reaching for her door.
“M’dear, you and people like you have fed me for the last twelve years, the least I can do for you is treat you to a nice dinner. Your coat now, please.”
Giggling and protesting much weaker, she went to her hall closet and fetched a large, fancy jacket only to be sent back for something practical. Returning with a dark grey sweater, she was deemed fit for travel, and the two headed out into the twilight.
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
“And then that scandalized look when I tried to order a hay-burger with my red wine,” Lyra sniggered, walking down the dark lane next to Comet.
“And her eyes when I asked if they served breakfast all day,” he chuckled, “I’ll have to remember that look next time I feel too cheerful, need to feel some ice in the veins…”
“And then, her look when,” Lyra started, snorting, before falling into complete giggles. “When I ah-asked if they had fried cheese s-sticks…”
Lyra leaned into Comet, giggling and out of breath. He shied away, receiving a strange look from a sobering Lyra. He smiled at her, warmth saturating his eyes, and she eventually returned the grin.
“Well, with the book in the mail, my stomach full, and warm company, tonight turned out pretty well,” Comet said, looking up at the starts through his breaths. “I think that this is the end of our night, though, here’s your house.”
Startled, Lyra looked around at her front door, then up the wall as though it had just appeared. “Goodness, so we are…”
Looking around, she subtly blushed as she looked at Comet. “You know, I have some coffee I could make, this doesn’t have to be the end of our night…?”
The unasked question hung in the air, a blank face meeting a suddenly shy one. Lyra’s ears drooped as she looked away, stammering out something, before a gentle hoof guided her eyes back up. Comet briefly touched her nose with his own, sharing a smile.
“I’m very fond of you Lyra, I promise. It’s not a good idea right now, though. Maybe another time?”
She nodded, then gently kissed his nose and ran into her house, shutting the door gently for how quick it closed. Smiling and touching the tip of his muzzle, he walked across the street into his own house.
He didn't discover he was dead until three days later, when the knife wouldn't draw blood.
Author's Note
I don't know where I'm going with this, or why I'm doing something new instead of trying my hand at one of the old stories, but here we are, eh? Comment if you'd like to see more, even if it's just a Q I'll count it.
