Who Can Blame Her, Drinkin' Her Fill?
Dear Princess Celestia,
Today I learned
Twilight glared at the parchment. Why couldn't she think of what to write? Surely she had learned something new today. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't recall anything she might have learned today. It's not even like she had tried: her entire day was spent lying on the ground reading books she had already read at least thrice over.
Finally a fact came to her, one that she had "technically" learned since she had forgotten it before her rereading session.
Today I learned that the family of Termopsidae had originally been grouped in the superorder Exopterygota before being reclassified as belonging to the Dictyoptera clade. Intersting, isn't it?
Your Faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle
Twilight facehooved. The letter was pathetic and she knew it as well as anyone else. She practically threw the scroll at Spike, who had opted out of scribing it because of its Latin jargon. Twilight climbed the stairs to her room and jumped face-first into the bed. Ughhhh, what a horrible day, she thought. Twilight wanted to go to sleep right then and there, but her thoughts kept nagging at her. If letters to the Princess were supposed to summarize her day, then that means her day had also been pathetic. The last few days had been pathetic then too, she realized, since she hadn't been able to write a valuable letter since Wednesday (it was now Sunday). If she kept slipping like this then days would turn into weeks, then into months, then her whole year would turn out pathetic.
The word repeated itself over and over in her head. Pathetic. Twilight was actually starting to feel down about herself; sure she was the Princess's most esteemed student, but did that really matter when her whole recent life had been conflicts? Fighting Nightmare Moon, Chrysalis and the changelings, Discord, Sombra... All for what? To go back to her treehouse in Smalltown, Equestria and write a letter about it? Or to keep the world safe until next week's nearly guaranteed attack?
Twilight couldn't stand just moping around in bed. That wasn't like her. She'd much rather mope in a bar, she decided.
"Spike, if I'm not back by morning, look for me in the alley behind Tall Order's. If I'm not there, inform the police." She closed the door behind her rather loudly as she stepped into the cold nighttime air. She got goosebumps almost instantaneously. Turning around to get a coat, she discovered that the door had locked behind her. "SPIKE, OPEN THE DOOR!" she yelled, knocking loudly. To her dismay, she saw his silhouette already on the second floor. There was no way he would be able to hear her from up there, at least not in the current winds.
After trotting for a few blocks, she arrived at Tall Order's, her favorite local bar. The lights were out, but she didn't think anything of it. She couldn't wait to be greeted by warmth. However, it appeared as if she would be forced to wait, as she walked straight into the locked door, giving her a bruise. Twilight reeled in horror upon examining the work schedule posted on the window. "Horseapples! They're not open on Sundays?!?!" She couldn't really blame Tall Order for taking Sundays off, though, given his position as the bar's sole employee, working 60 hours a week. She imagined this revelation as her next letter: Today I learned that Tall Order's is not open for business on Sundays. It wasn't much worse than her other recent ones. She'd have to remember that for tomorrow night when she would be out of ideas on what to write... again.
