The Ramblings of Artessa Trap

A tiny bit of smoke gently rose from a cup of tea, tickling and swerving around the snout of a staff worker, making him sniff. He shrugged his shoulders to his co-worker, taking a careful sip of his tea using both hooves. He let the warm drink gently trickle past his dark teal lips, savoring the taste before placing the mug back down on the cafeteria table.
"I heard her rambling again last night," he explained to his co-worker, "Can't imagine why she'd want to leave the asylum. We treat our ponies pretty well here. You'd think she wouldn't want to leave like some of the other ones, our hospitality considered."

His co-worker gave a hearty laugh, having to adjust her red-cross hat to re-focus. "Oh I'm sure we do, Hotch Pot" she smiled, chugging down gulps of coffee in between sentences, "maybe she wants something to eat that isn't a salty burning porridge from hell, haha." She chugged again.

"Hey!" he retorted, almost dropping his teacup so that he could point a hoof at this coffee-fueled machine of a mare, "I'll have you know my porridges are some of the best porridges in this hospital. Ponyville, even." He flicked his short brown mane stylishly, returning to his mug, unable to take a sip as he lowered his eyebrows, getting offended even more as she had to slam her coffee-mug on the desk to let out another big fat laugh in his face.

"Oh Hotch Pot, your ego over your ability to make porridge never ceases to amaze me," she giggled, trying not to spit her next gulp of coffee all over his face. Hotch Pot blushed angrily, looking down at his mug trying to hide his embarassment. He didn't want to look at her, and decided to look at his own reflection on the surface of his tea instead. He saw his two small patches of brown hair peeping out from the right side of his cap, revealing his baldness on the other side. It didn't make him feel any better. "Anyway," she said, noting how the sunlight started sneaking onto the otherwise empty cafeteria walls, "It's almost morning, it's time to wake up the patients." She planted her mug onto the table with a loud bang, bouncing up from the desk. "And I've had enough coffee to work overtime so you won't have to work alone tonight."

Hotch Pot looked up at her as she left, leaving him to continue sipping his tea in peace. Small bags were clearly starting to get visible under his eyes from the night shift. He was still upset about how she insulted his porridge making skills. "As if she's any better", he thought to himself aloud, "her cutie mark is literally a smiley face. A smiley face! The only reason our nutcases smile is because they've forgotten how to do anything else, and all she does is take credit for it. Petty. Just petty." He leaned over on the table, stretching his aching hooves out. No doubt he disliked her, but he couldn't stop thinking about her either. How her spherical pink and white mane blended into her ponytail in smart white and pink streaks, her mane looked like a big lollipop swirl attached to the little violet-furred mare. Of course, she was about 27, and he wasn't much older either, but her frame always got the shorter end of the genetic stick. It was no surprise that the other staff members nicknamed her Lolly Stick.

Hotch Pot wasn't his real name either, but he had to just deal with it. He shook his head, trying to forget about his train of thoughts. He knew he had to get up and prepare food for the patients. This was always an extremely annoying and messy task.