The first thing that Twilight Sparkle noticed upon waking up at 6:55 AM was that her alarm clock sounded wrong. Higher pitched than it should have been. Louder than normal. Like it had been given a new lease on life and was hammering its bells like it would in its younger days, before time and use had riddled its springs and gears with arthritic rust. For a moment, Twilight listened to the mid-life crisis of her alarm clock, smiling to herself at the thought. Until the extra volume and frequency began grating on her ears, and her magic reached out with practiced ease to silence to the oldtimer playing at youth.
Only to miss the button, knocking the poor senior over. Its ringing accompanied now by a low rumbling as it flopped around on the bedside table, unable to right itself.
She looked over, and realized that this was not, in fact, her trusted companion of many mornings, but an imposter. A crude lookalike that had replaced her old friend and was doing its best at imitation but clearly falling short. Not least of which because the ‘off’ button was in a different spot.
Adjusting her aim, the whippersnapper fell silent, and Twilight frowned at it.
The shopkeeper who sold it to her had been very kind, though his patience had clearly worn thin by the second hour of letting her listen to each alarm in his shop. He must have thought she was insane, but it would still be a while before her belongings arrived from Canterlot, and she had to make due in the meantime. An alarm clock, the very first thing she would hear every morning, ought to be just right.
Shaking the thought, Twilight pulled herself out of bed, stumbling slightly. The floor was closer than she remembered. Rather, her bed was just lower than the one she knew - something she’d just have to get used to. Apparently shipping a fully furnished room in its entirety from Canterlot to Ponyville was prohibitively expensive, given that the library was fully furnished.
And the furniture was… fine. Really! Perfectly functional. Just…
The desk had too many drawers. Something she grew annoyed with as she struggled to find her checklist. Once that had been found, she still needed a quill, and a vial of ink.
She made a note to schedule some time for re-organizing the thing, and to find a use for those empty spaces. A drawer without contents was a drawer without purpose, and there were few fates worse.
Twilight checked the box next to ‘wake up’ and moved to the next task.
Thankfully, most morning tasks were unaffected by the peculiarities of her new environment. Toiletries and personal care products were among the things she’d brought with her. She couldn’t imagine using a different hair brush - what if it left her mane parted funny? Or if she used a different soap that interacted poorly with her coat and left her fur bleached or, worse, falling out entirely.
How would she be able to show herself in a new town, filled with new ponies, if an unfamiliar toothpaste rendered her teeth a ghastly shade of yellow?
It was through a thick, foggy haze of such thoughts that Twilight worked down her list on autopilot, filling in boxes with checks. Only occasionally tripped up by unfamiliar nuances.
The streak held until she was faced by her greatest challenge. Her next task read ‘make coffee’, and before her, in the oddly-shaped kitchen, was something that purported to be a coffee maker. Though it shared only a few commonalities with the one she was used to. The buttons were much larger - built with earth ponies in mind - and had almost alien-looking symbols on them. The pot underneath was normal, but she didn’t see where the reservoir for the water was.
Frowning, she examined the thing from all angles. The top obviously flipped to accept coffee grounds, but still nowhere to add water. There weren’t any other obvious hinges or openings along the top. Was this some kind of new model that didn’t need water? Did it somehow extract the sweet, sweet caffeine straight from the grounds to drip into the pot?
Did it even take pre-ground coffee? Had she bought the wrong kind of coffee at the market? The mare selling it had given her a strange look. Did this machine somehow-
Oh. There was a flap on the backside that opened and allowed the reservoir to be taken out and filled.
Twilight thought that was dumb.
With the coffee maker primed with water, she wasted no time in pulling out a filter, then hesitated. The previous difficulties left her questioning even the most basic of her assumptions - did this thing even use filters? It looked like it did, but it also looked like it didn’t use water, and that notion had been blown out of the proverbial water.
Twilight chewed her lip, glancing around anxiously. She felt like she was being silly, but what if? What if she screwed it up? What if she broke it, had to buy another one, and when the nice stallion at the shop asked her why she needed it, she’d be forced to admit to not knowing how to use a coffee maker. She’d be a laughing stock by the end of the day!
Should she just try and make it work? Should she ask one of her new friends for help? Should she just give up and never drink coffee again?
She didn’t know, and the spiraling thoughts of embarrassing herself in front of strangers or ponies she’d only just made friends with or having to stealthily dispose of a broken coffee maker in the dead of night sent her sinking to the floor as tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
“Twilight? What's wrong?”
She looked up just enough to see Spike crouching down next to her.
“I… I can’t make coffee,” she sniffled. “I miss the one at home."
