I Kinda Want to Strangle You
Chapter 1:
Cassie
I'd never really liked Tuesdays.
I mean, at least on Monday you've still got the remnants of that weekend thrill hanging in the air. You're back at work, but it's still fresh coming off of the two day break. You're still excited to be there.
All of that is gone, however, by Tuesday.
Tuesday is when reality sets in. You realize that ponies are stupid, and your job entails dealing with ponies. You realize that angry customers suck. You realize that you're going to be dealing with a constant stream of these angry customers for as long as your work that job. And that just makes you want to quit. But then you realize you won't be able to afford your apartment, or to keep your refrigerator stocked. And so you stay. You stay and put up with the customers. The dumb, angry, depressingly boring masses who are screaming at you because you put the wrong price into the cash register.
Oops.
“I'm sorry, sir, if you'd just calm down...”
“Calm down?” he's bending down so that he's right in my face, breathing heavily through his snout. “Calm the buck down? You just tried to charge me 55 bits for my cereal!” He holds up the box. “Does this bucking look like 55 bits worth of cereal?”
I weigh my options. True, I had mistyped on the cash register, but did he really have to scream like that? These cash registers are freaking hard to use. The buttons just aren't big enough for my hooves, okay?
“I'm sorry I entered the wrong thing into the register—”
He exhales in my face. His breath smells vaguely like garlic and old sneakers. “You're sorry,” he sneers, making a rather unbecoming face. “Well, bucking fix it! That's your bucking job!”
My first instinct is to start yelling back, but I figure that, for the sake of professionalism, I probably shouldn't. That and the fact that he's probably about double my bodyweight. I try to stop myself from rolling my eyes, knowing it will only antagonize the situation. Key word: “try.”
“Don't you roll your eyes at me, Missy,” he shouts. “I have half a mind to talk to your supervisor right now!”
“Go right ahead.” I point him to the door at the back of the shop, managing not to append an extra “see if I care” on the end. With a final death stare, he turns and storms towards Hard Luck's office, muttering expletives under his breath.
After a few minutes of muffled, angry voices, he reappears, looking disgruntled. He hustles out of the shop, his cereal still sitting on the register, while I try not to smirk. Again, note the 'try.'
There’s a brief lull for a second after the customer storms out. My eyes drift over towards two anorexic pegasi looking at weight loss products, my brain disengaging. That little, niggling feeling began to well up inside of me, like the helpless anticipation you feel when you’re flying totally out of control and you know you won’t be able to stop yourself from crashing. You can tell shit’s coming, and you just have to brace yourself and let it hit you.
“Cassie, please report to the manager's office,” Hard Luck's perpetually bored voice comes at me over the intercom.
I suppose I should mention my name. My real name's Cassette Play, but most of my friends just call me Cassie. Well, pretty much everypony calls me Cassie, although some ponies take a couple of hoof jabs to the stomach to figure it out. I shoulder open the office door, trying to look innocent and vaguely angelic.
As I slip through the door, Hard Luck turns a weary eye in my direction and motions for me to sit. The only chairs in his office (other than his overstuffed chair that sits behind his desk) are those hard plastic-and-metal elementary school chairs. The kind that make you feel like you're missing recess.
Behind his desk, Hard Luck clasps his hooves together. A grey earth pony with a thin frame, he's always tolerated my screw-ups reasonably well. Despite his name, managing a Pony Nutrition Center in the middle of Manehattan isn't a half-bad job, and he's fairly well off, even if he is getting on in years.
“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie,” he starts in his low, “this is serious” voice. “What are we going to do with you?”
I shrug. I know the deal. He talks at me, gives me a lecture about how it was really my fault, and the customer was completely in the right. I nod and shrug a lot, act really remorseful, and hope that something interesting goes on outside the window.
“Cassie, you blew up at a customer.” He pauses, peering over the thin wire frames of his glasses, trying to add emphasis. “Again.”
“Look, I didn't blow up, okay? I just messed up the cash register and he—”
Hard Luck holds up a hoof, cutting me off. “You antagonized him, Cassie. You chose to make the situation worse than it was.”
I shrug again. “Hey, he was an idiot.”
Hard Luck pauses, looking back at me for a second. “Does that justify it?” he asks quietly.
“Maybe I just thought he'd be too stupid to notice.”
Hard Luck sighs. “Cassie, that's the problem. Right there. You think everypony's beneath you.” He pauses. “I don't think I can keep you on staff after this.”
I look up. This is a break from the usual script. Hard Luck usually just adds another strike to my file and tells me to get back out there. “What?” I ask, my voice catching slightly in my throat.
“The store itself has been getting complaints, Cassie. There's really nothing I can do at this point.” Hard Luck sighs, rolling his shoulders back. He closes his eyes as though he can't look at me. “I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, Cassie, but this is just one time too many. I have to ask you to leave.”
“So... I'm fired?” My voice sounds slightly foreign issuing out of my mouth, as though it were coming from somepony else. I can't really believe it.
“I'm afraid so.” He motions me towards the door with a flick of his hoof. “Bye, Cassie.” He offers me a sad smile as I pass from his office.
As I exit the shop, a couple ponies push past me in a hurry to get to the clothing store next door. I turn the other way and start walking against the flow.
It's all that stupid customer's fault. One minute I was just ringing up protein shake powder and power bars, and everything was fine. And the next minute? I mistyped the price of his cereal and he blew up in my face. I kick my back hoof at one of those stupid metal trash cans, wincing as it makes contact. A few ponies glance at me, but they continue on with their business.
I mosey down the staircase and towards the mall’s front doors, contemplating where I should be going. The reality of losing my job hasn't really set in yet, and I don't really want to face Vanilla Bean, my apartment-mate, so I turn the other way at the door.
I know this path well, probably a little better than I should. Down 45th, where it intersects with 8th Avenue, is my favorite bar. I push roughly past two tourists and make a rude hoof gesture at a taxi carriage that tries to cut me off.
The Silver Lining is a small place, but one where no one is overly friendly and the bartender minds his own business. Sure, it's a little bit grungy, but the atmosphere is exactly what I want in a bar: a place where you can get plastered and nopony gives a flying feather.
I sit roughly down on the bar stool and tap the bar irritably. The bartender hustles over and gets me my usual, a strong pale ale which I'm particularly fond of. I ask him for two.
Vanilla Bean's going to be pissed at me for not calling. I mean, my shift would have ended in 45 minutes anyway, she’s always been a worrier. I guess she thinks I’ll get kidnapped or raped or something if she doesn’t keep constant tabs on me. She doesn’t like it when I go to my 'pessimist-loser bar,' as she calls it. Funny, despite how most ponies view bars, she doesn't really seem to consider this one a good way to meet potential coltfriends.
I sigh. That's just another part of my life I’ve always struggled with. I’ve dated a few stallions before, but none of the relationships ever lasted too long. “Insufferable” is the word they tend to use. I've also heard “Crazy Cassie” thrown around a few times.
On Tap sidles up, his lopsided grin encouraging me to order another beer. I oblige him, burying my face in my hooves as he fills the glass again. He can tell there’s something wrong, but he doesn’t encourage me to talk about. He just lets me stew. That’s why you come to the Silver Lining— no one gives a buck about you. You’re just another pony on a bar stool with a generic, bucked up life.
After a few more beers— I stop at five— it's getting dark out and it’s way past the time I told Bean that I'd be home. Whatever. She can worry if she wants. It's not my problem.
The trek home seems unusually quiet. Maybe it's that I'm too caught up in losing my job, but I could swear there were usually more ponies out at this time. Maybe it's later than I thought. I quicken my pace, but slow down again when I trip over the curb. Buck.
My apartment swims into my vision, and I trot up the stairs on unsteady legs. I probably should have stopped after the first three drinks. I knock on the door.
Bean opens it immediately. “There you are!” I see a vague blur of green fur as she pulls me into a bone crushing hug. “I was getting worried about you! Do you have any idea how late it is?” She holds me back at hoof’s length and eyes me over, like a mother taking stock of a child.
I shrug. “Sorry.” At least she didn't comment on my drinking. I was sure she could smell the alcohol on my breath.
“You shouldn't have scared me like that! Especially on tonight of all nights.” She presses a mug of coffee into my hooves. I don't remember her making any, so she must have done it before I got here. I guess she knows me too well.
“I thought they might have gotten you.”
I look up at her. “Wha...?”
“The… things?” I shake my head and shrug. ”Wait, you haven't heard?” I shake my head again. The only things I’d heard today were “you’re fired,” and some college foals talking about some sci-fi movie in the bar.
She gets up and looks around for the remote, finally pulling it out from between two sofa cushions. She flips on the TV, revealing a disheveled anchormare.
“— the shocking revelation of a portal to what appears to be another universe. The princesses have revealed that vaguely bipedal creatures that are somewhat similar to minotaurs populate this planet. A statement issued today has revealed that these creatures, called ‘humans,’ at least have a working knowledge of our language, and that there has been prior contact between them and the princesses.” A fuzzy, pixelated picture of something vaguely pale and tale appeared on the screen. “Tune in after the break for an exclusive interview with blogger and internet personality Lyra Heartstrings: 'I knew about humans all along.'”
Bean shuts off the TV. I just sit there with my mouth hanging open. Finally I manage to gain control over my muzzle. “What did I just watch?”
“From what the newsreels have been saying, it seems like some sort of portal has been discovered linking our universe with another one… or something.” She looks just as shaken up as I feel. “I don’t really understand it myself.”
“Are you sure that's not a comedy show?”
She nods. “Celestia herself issued a statement. Apparently she's been in contact with the princess of these... humans. I guess. Most ponies don’t really know anything about what’s going on.”
“But... why? Shouldn't the princesses have just closed up the portal thing or whatever?”
“Well, since we’ve been able to communicate with these creatures basically, the princesses have decided that they aren’t inherently threatening. And apparently...” she pauses. “Apparently, since the connection is really stable, there's talk of... well, trade and tourism. Since these things can understand basic speech and they don’t seem particularly threatening, the princesses think this could be a great opportunity for Equestria. Research, bits, all that jazz.” She yawns. “It's a little too crazy for me. I'm gonna hit the hay. Maybe things will have settled down a bit by tomorrow morning, or it’ll all be a hoax or something.”
I consider telling her about me losing my job and the rest of my day as I watch her retreating to the bathroom, but I figure that the whole portal thing had probably hit her pretty hard. My news can wait for another day. Or another week. Besides, I’m pretty tired too. It’s not like I’m putting it off… right? I’m just being considerate of Bean’s feelings. That’s it. I follow her towards the bathroom and off to bed.
Author's Note
Hey!
Thanks for checking this out. Feel free to leave feedback/whatever. I only read over this myself, so I'm sure other sets of eyes will find a few errors along the way. But yeah. Here's the collab I promised people a while ago, only it turns out that fell through; I'm probably just going to do both halves myself. 
I might ink and color the cover image (as well as take a better photo of it- or even scan it in) if I feel less lazy, but, well, I was feeling lazy.
