Brunklesbourge, U.S.A | Reedhouse Complex, 6th Floor, Apartment 623

The paced, rhythmic sounds of a knife thudding down on a cutting board are drowned out by the television loudly playing in the background, some daily show serving as white noise while Lyonel focused on the task at hand. Dinner, in the form of pony-friendly vegetable spring rolls, getting the last of ingredients ready before it's time to bundle them up, and send them to the oven. Her diet wasn't too hard to work around, mostly just making sure she's getting a varied pack of whatever she needs, and... hay. Hay was the only weird one. Fresh bundles of the stuff weren't often readily available, and he wasn't even that sure of what to do with it. They sold processed bricks of the stuff you could cook with, but for the most part, it really wasn't that complex.

Lyonel sighs loudly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve as he pauses for a quick break. He's making good time, and since she usually doesn't like to eat quite right away, it should be ready once she's had time to shower and get comfortable. Thanks to her, they can comfortably afford this place, nestled deep in the city nice and close to her work.

The door slams shut with a heaping hoof-full of kicky back-hoof, her hooves on the wood flooring announcing her arrival. Well, the door already did, but God he loved those little clicks on the floor and how they'd slowly get closer.

"Honey, you will not believe this asshole at work!" He hears, her jacket getting slung onto the couch, her purse joining it a moment later before she slips into the kitchen with him, watching from the doorway. Her raven mane is a barely contained mess, the tight, well-handled ponytail he set up for her this morning now completely undone as it sweeps down past her neck, several bangs obtrusive in their facial presence.
"Guy starts asking about our premium packages, right? Like I didn't just spend the last hour talking to him about the other fourteen that we offer. And --" She stops, leaning through the kitchen doorway.
"Are those spring rolls? Oh, buck yes! You're too good to me, Lynnie." She hums in contentment, pressing up against his leg as she looks up at him. A little on the shorter side for a pony, she presses against his thigh, cheek smushing against his pants.

He reaches down, palm to her cheek as he smiles down at her, meeting her loving gaze. Words don't even find their way out of him, simply enjoying taking in her visage. It didn't feel like home until she got back.

"You... didn't happen to get sugarcubes too, did you?" She asks slowly, a playful smile slipping onto her face, creasing her pale-furred cheeks.

"Maybe. Those are for after dinner, though. I'll have these in the oven soon... and maybe I'll get a cube or two for you while you wait." Lyonel gives her cheek a squish, squatting down to kiss her forehead before resuming his cutting. She pouts about it, but the giddiness of the promise of a treat still has her excitedly hoof-tap out of the kitchen, off to the room to get undressed and into something more comfortable. Namely, her fur.
"What were you saying before?" He calls after her, wrapping the last few of the rolls, setting them out piece by piece on the tray.

"Oh, this guy, just kept going in circles!" Lyonel hears her call back, as he settles into listening to her recount the days efforts and bullshits. She worked in retail as part of the managerial branch of one of the local grocery stores. Also where Lyonel shops thanks to the family discount, but her position often put her directly into the path of conflict, meaning she always had some kind of story to tell. Like Lyonel could ever get tired of hearing her voice. Today's particular flavor was some guy being a dishing about an old deal they didn't offer anymore, and the string of pony-based slurs he tried throwing her way.

While she's gone, Lyonel quietly reaches up into one of the top shelves, taking a tucked away jar, and plucking a few errant cubes of grainy sugar from it's contents for later.

By the time he's got the tray slid into the oven, set to slowly cook over the next half an hour, a much more natural looking mare comes strutting out of the bedroom, sighing loudly as she continues the story. Gone is the skirt and dress-shirt of her uniform, her nose and tongue piercing back in place now that she's not corporately conformed. She's wearing an oversized t-shirt with some kind of Equestrian band logo as it's graphic across the front, most of the shirt already slipping off her shoulder.
"...Some shit about not bringing his business around here anymore. Like we want it." She scoffs, saddling right up beside him again the moment he's away from the oven. One of her hooves curls around his leg, holding him tightly.
"...I missed you, Lyonel."

He kneels down, wrapping his arms around the most important creature in his whole word, holding her close.
"I missed you, Rockette Road."

Not quite like the ice-cream. She was a little odd, but he loved her for it. Twenty years of working at a records store in Equestria while being in a punk-rock-metal multi-genre band, only to start working a nine to five retail job when she got here. The place she used to work at closed down a couple years ago, and her best bet for work was the inter-portal work program. That's how Lyonel met her, actually, while shopping for groceries. Despite the numerous piercings that sit in her ears, she wears a lot fewer of them than she did when they started dating. She used to dress like something right out of a mosh pit the moment she didn't have to obey a uniform, the memory of her in fishnets and the like still quite vivid. Probably because she wore them for him last night, but whatever.

From the punky, new-age and opinionated cool-mare working at the low-rules record shop, to the upstanding managerial mare of their local mart.

It wasn't a smooth transition, and still isn't. Rockette has spent a lot of time trying to re-find herself, and has gone through a few different phases that some might call hipster-ish. Dyeing her hair, varying her piercings, trying to push the dress code at work...

She even had a goth phase. Lyonel doesn't complain about that one.

There's a little bit of an age gap between them, with Rockette having a few years on him. Though Lyonel isn't exactly bothered by that little part of their relationship. She's also the one who brings in most of the income to the household, Lyonel handling the housework and such while he pursues his own hobbies on the side. They don't bring in as much money, but 3d printing has taken off recently, and some people are just clamoring for things to get printed for them. It brings in some pocket change for the pair.

"What about your day? Anything exciting?"
She prompts, the pair taking to the living room while dinner prepares itself.

"Nothing more than the usual, besides printing a few more knock-off models for Reggie."

"That sounds like take-out tomorrow." She leers, back-stepping towards the coffee table, grabbing the remote.
"Do you mind if I put on one of my records? Were you watching.." She trails off, looking at the program. Some new-age all-age friendly show that tries to incorporate both pony and human actors.

"I was using it for white noise. Go for it." He slowly sinks into the couch, making sure he's positioned to see the timer on the stove, craning his neck.

Rockette, under Lyonel's entirely pure and innocent gaze, flicks off the TV and heads to the corner of the living room, where a record player, and an entire bookcase full of records lay. True to her dated interests, she refused to listen to anything that wasn't scratched into a disc, and played with a needle, despite absolutely adoring music. Something about the vintage aspect of it or something. Still, an elaborate speaker-system nudged into the corner underneath the table holding the player offered some good quality sound, as she slowly perused the various discs she's collected. That collection is nearly as old as she is, a mixture of both Equestrian and Earth artists.

She eventually decides on an old favorite, something Lyonel sees her produce ever now and again. Something from Equestria, from a band called Sharpened Crystals, which was supposedly composed entirely of ponies from it's northern neighbor.
"I remember when we did covers of these guys... it's been some time." She hums, carefully settling the disc into place, closing the lid, and clicking play.

The slow, dull thrumb of guitar begins to eminate throughout their house. It's almost comical, how she treats her collection with the reverence one might approach classical or classic music, but metal or rock pervades their shared abode instead. They've had a few noise complaints before, and they're probably going to get a few again, though Lyonel keeps the piece with tactically-gifted baked goods.

As she turns, humming to herself and bobbing her head with the music, she pauses, staring at him.

A single sugarcube sits between Lyonel's teeth, waiting and on a display. He raises a brow, smiling as it's presented. In a single leap, she nearly clears the table, landing roughly on his lap as her hooves dig into her chest, ever-exuding her youthful energy despite her senority.

And her weight. Heoufh, his hips hurt.

"That wouldn't happen to be for me, would it be?" She hums playfully, trying to play off her sub-par landing as she adjusts herself, sitting on him and using him for support.

"Mebbe." He mumbles, the pair cracking a smile at his attempt.

Tentative hooves work their way up to his shoulders, gaining confidence as she begins to straddle him, nose to nose, staring at the other. Then slowly, carefully, she leans in to press her own lips to his, softly encapsulating her prize.

She quickly pulls away, grinning as she chews on her fairly-taken treat. Until Lyonel produces a second, placing it right back between his teeth, awaiting another lip-borne assault.

"...How many of those do you have?" Rockette gives him a playful look, still chewing.

"Wabba fide oud?"

She grins, one hoof looping behind his neck as she closes in again, eager for the bait.

Author's Note

Another short one, been playing rogue trader