Prologue - Less Than Happy
Whatever it is you may think of me - whatever it is you may want me to be, that's not for you or anyone else to decide. I was born this way, and I'm probably stuck this way. And after all these years, that's okay. Name's Troubleshoes. My luck is bad.
Very bad.
Fate has been a little kinder as of late, but my luck remains the same. I have a job now; that counts for something, right? Even if I'm scraping to get by and living in a trailer, at least I'm having fun at the rodeo. Sometimes, though, the sun sets on the rodeo, and I'm back at home without my suit or a smile. The trailer is a bit cluttered, I suppose, but that's neither here nor there to matter. I've lived with clutter for as long as I can remember. Hell, I've lived with hostile clutter for as long as I can remember!
Just tonight I was making a small stew (which usually fails anyway, Celestia-damn my luck), and I banged my head on the ceiling. But no, it wasn't the ceiling, of course, it had to be my shelf. Again. Object after object fell onto my head after the shelf broke: a picture, a book, a bucking anvil. My head aches, but the next object - a squeaky chicken - makes me giggle.
Then of course a pepper shaker fell and sent a whole load of the stuff into my throat, sending me into a coughing fit.
Just my luck.
And when I turn back to the stew, it's strewn all about the stove top. Normally, I would bang my hooves on the hot stove because I'd forget that it's on, but that's one mistake I've learned from.
Tonight was a bit worse than others in the way that I couldn't stop thinking about whether I was happy or not with my job. No, not my job, my life. Was I happy with my life? No, not really. Not depressed either. Just a little... upset that this is who I had to be.
I can still recall the old days of my youth, when my friends would laugh with me at my mistakes, and we could all have a good time until I actually got hurt (because let me tell you; I got way too many scraped knees and minor concussions to count). We'd mess around in the fields, sipping our juice boxes and telling jokes or singing and dancing. That's the kind of life I want back.
The air starts to feel different as I lie in bed, stomach empty, stove and lights off, and everything back in its place. I don't cry like I used to many years ago. One thing's for sure; I'm grateful. Not happy, again, but grateful for how far I've come since being an "outlaw." I owe it all to those three little fillies. Now there's somepony that can make me smile while I drift off to sleep.
A cold draft blows on my face in the middle of the night, taking me away from dreamland. Poor me, I was dreaming of the sweetest, most enthusiastic pony I've ever met! Just my luck that it was cut short.
It's raining. I know because I can feel the slight rocking of the trailer, and I can hear the drops of rain hitting the top of the trailer. The proof for my assumption comes as a bit of rolling thunder comes from nearby. Too close for comfort, that's for sure. It makes me jump up from my bed and bang my head on the ceiling. "Better than a-"
*crack*
I look up. "-shelf." At least I'm fast enough to cover my head this time. The impacts instead hit my forelegs. I'll take care of it when I'm done getting rid of the draft. The door to my trailer, oddly enough, is what's causing it. It's open. Broken, probably. "Just my luck," I mutter. I get out of bed and walk to the door. Before I finish closing the door, something catches my eyes. That's not rain.
I hop down from the entrance, bringing me to the close ground of wet grass. The green ground is soaked with brown; that same brown is falling from the sky. I resist hopping back in my trailer and going to wash my hooves until they're spotless. "Is this sh-"
"Yay! Chocolate!" somepony shouts.
I swivel my head from side to side to find whoever that was, but it's way too dark to see much of anything. "Who's out there?" I ask carefully.
"I'm over here, silly!" the feminine voice replies, coming closer to me. "Golly, you're awfully tall for a rodeo clown!" She steps into the light enough for me to make out her front. Her coat is a bright tone of pink, and it practically bubbles with the enthusiasm as a young filly. However, this is clearly not a filly; she's far too big. Her mane has an appearance like cotton candy - complete with swirls, twirls, and curls! If I didn't know any better, I'd have put her in a county fair right then and there. Her eyes gleamed with jubilant joy in their light blue color. Down from her mane dripped drops of apparent chocolate. One particularly big drop slid down her muzzle and towards her mouth. Seeing this, her eyes crossed, and she licked it up with a smile. "Mm, milky!"
I freeze up for the bigger half of a minute as I take in her appearance. She looks... familiar, though I can't quite put my hoof on it. It's as if I've seen her a short time ago, but I just can't remember. Memories of romance novels read during another time and place come rushing back. This is the part where the stallion takes the wet mare into his house for protection against the storm, as if he were a hero.
Perhaps it's my turn.
"So... what're ya doing out around these parts? Rodeo closed for the day," I inform. "Well that 'offer' certainly didn't come out right."
"I came to see you, mister Troubleshoes! You have a problem, don't you?"
"Huh now? I don't follow." "Galdarnit, Troubleshoes! Just offer to take the young mare inside!" "I mean, err... do you wanna discuss this inside, where it's dry?"
"Sure! Is this your house?"
My ears flop down. "Heheh, yep... it's a bit of a fixer-upper, but-"
"It looks GREAT!"
"Yeah, try saying that when you've seen the inside."
I move out of the way so that she can pass by and get inside. In the meantime, I slip on a particularly wet patch of ground and fall face first into the grass. I hope to Celestia that this is chocolate.
Surprisingly, I feel her help me up from the ground and dust off my back. She flashes me a smile of bright teeth and makes her way inside. I follow close behind, being sure to close the door behind me to stop the draft. Funny, that's what my first intention was when I got out of bed. One leaves; two enter. I expect the mare to laugh when she spots all the messes, but she only happily trots to the closest stool and takes a seat, beginning to rock back and forth like a foal in its highchair.
"Sorry I don't have anything for y'all to eat right now," I apologize. "Figures that the night I get company I mess up dinner."
The strange mare hops off the chair and excitedly trots in place. "I know how to make some great cupcakes if you want!"
I turn and walk over to my cluttered bed. "Well, I'm not sure if I have all the stuff, but you're welcome to-" When I turn back, she's already pouring flour into a big bowl. She's fast. "-try."
As I begin to put my shelf back on its holder and put my stuff back on it, I can hear her ask a question: "Ever heard of the Pinkie Sense?"
