As always, you are Anon in Ponyville.
Yada yada mysterious arrival,
yada yada kindness of strangers. *Cue "Gone With The Wind* music
You've been here for some time, now, and have gotten to know your way around town. Princess Twilight Sparkle allowed you to stay with her until you found a place of your own.
Luckily, with some regular work at Sweet Apple Acres and some assorted handyman jobs around town, you've managed to rent a room in a house with Bon Bon the local candymare and Lyra, the mint green musician pony.
You spend most of your mornings at the farm, prepping bucking bushels and repairing chicken wire and wooden fences.
The Apples are generous enough bosses to provide you with a few apples each day and fresh water to stay hydrated.
The work is demanding but rewarding and not overly taxing. You've even managed to shed a few pounds from your sturdy frame. Coupled with the fresh air and clean water, your new life in the land of bubblegum-colored horses has actually been a healthful choice for you.
After your morning job you usually head out to the river and enjoy a lunch of apples, cheese and bread. You find the pastries at Sugarcube Corner to be overly sweet and bread and cheese are cheap, costing only a couple bits each. This lets you stash away quite a few bits to eventually buy your own house.
When you finish your lunches you most often travel to visit one of your regular customers. The Cakes at Sugarcube corner often need oven cleaning or plumbing work. Pinkie Pie, their counter mare, seems to have a knack for clogging the pipes with confetti.
Every Tuesday you visit Derpy, the local mailmare. She always has broken windows and doors. One week you found yourself repairing the pony-shaped hole in the thatch on her roof.
Today, however, you had no such appointment and decided to take the rest of the day off.
You open the front door to you home and enter. The tiny dwelling is comfortable and welcoming, the scent of chocolate and sugar lingers in every corner.
Cracking your back and stretching your arms you yawn before heading up to your bedroom. A nap sounds just perfect after a busy morning on the farm.
"Hi, Anon." You startle as the minty green face of Lyra peaks from the kitchen. "You hungry, I'm just having a hay sandwich for lunch?"
"Thanks, Lyra, no. I've already eaten, and hay doesn't tend to sit well," you rub your stomach and scrunch your nose to drive home your point.
"Oh, right. Sorry, I always forget that you don't ... eat ..." The pony trails off and stares at you, entranced by something.
"Uh, Lyra?" You nod your head to the side and cock one eyebrow. "Hello?" You wave your hand in front of your face.
"Oh, right, sorry. Hehe, must have just gotten lost in thought, or something. Do you want a hay sandwich?"
"No. Thanks. I'mm just going to take a little nap," your reply and head up stairs quickly, shaking your head in mild exasperation.
You'll never understand these ponies, they seem to get distracted fairly easily.
You enter your rented room and close the door behind you, taking a deep breath as you do.
You lay on your bed and kick off your shoes, cracking your toes and getting comfortable on top of the thick mattress and blankets. The warm air of Spring caresses your face and arms. You fluff your pillow and close your eyes, thoughts of the day, your new life and daily chores give way to the deeper more existential questions of your existence on this alien world.
You sigh to yourself several times before feeling sleep finally creep into your body.
Focusing on the soft breeze on your skin, you begin to slip away into dreams of warm days and cool shade beneath the apple trees.
You are stirred by a light knocking on your door and the quiet voice of Lyra calling in to you.
"Anon?"
You sigh and roll out of bed, stepping the short distance to your door.
Opening your door you see the big, golden eyes of Lyra staring at you.
"Yes, Lyra?"
"I know you were trying to nap, but ... um ... I wanted to go out and leave you alone, and I was going to go down by the river and practice a little bit but I broke a string and, well ..."
She offers up her lyre, showing your the broken string in the center. You have taken to repairing the instrument on an almost daily basis and want to ask her just how hard she's playing in order to break so many strings, but you're afraid it will come off as dickish.
"Alright, lemme look," you say a you take the instrument from her.
She floats you a new string as you sit on your bed to examine the break.
Always in the middle, you think. How is it always in the middle?
You're familiar enough with the design of the lyre that you work quickly; fingers stretching the string, loosening pegs, tightening and turning.
Lyra's eyes glaze over and she stares at your hands as they work.
You strum the strings before handing the lyre back to her.
"Good as new."
"No worries, Lyra, just go a little easy the next time you rock out," you wink, causing Lyra to blush lightly.
You lay back down and find your spot again, sleep comes quicker this time and you soon nod off in the midday air.
You stir in your sleep, rolling to your side you notice drool at the corner of your mouth. You lift your arm to wipe it away only to find it falling back to the edge of the bed.
You let out a light grunt and shift your arm to your side only to feel a light tug on your wrist.
You open your eyes slowly, frowning to yourself. Just what is going on?
You wait cautiously, trying to keep a slow, deliberate breathing pattern.
A warm tingle on your wrist and fluff beneath your fingers has you confused.
Your body rolls over quickly so that you are able to see over the edge of your bed.
Following your arm you can see mint green hooves waving about slowly, and a mint green horn, glowing with magic.
Your arm is being moved slowly over her tummy fur. She is soft and fluffy with just a slight jiggle. Not an unpleasant experience, but still unwelcome as she should have asked permission before violating your hand.
The green pony's eyes were half-lidded and low moans escaped her lips along with a stream of drool droplets that reminded you of morning dew on a spiderweb.
"Lyra," you say loudly enough to frighten the birds outside of your window into silence. Perhaps the shock will loosen her mystical grip.
Her horn glows brighter as her grip tightens. She furiously moves your forearm.
"Rub it, damnit, rub it!"
Fucking Flutter ... sorry.
Goddamnit, Lyra!
