***
He leaned forward in the chair, hooves up to his mouth in concentration. He read over me, as if I was a book that he couldn't seem to open.
"Looking for something?" I asked in an irate tone as his eyes traced my body up and down.
"You're unique," he said.
I snorted. "That isn't very much an answer."
"I suppose. I just can't wrap my hoof around you."
I leaned forward in my seat, placing my face close to his. "I assure you I am one to be trusted, and I assure you I am one who can finish what she starts."
He laughed. "I wish I could count the number of ponies who have said those exact words to me."
I grabbed his necktie and pressed his forehead to mine. "I'll do it for you: one. Now, we both know what I want, so unless you're going to oblige, I have ways of going around you," I threatened, eyes beating down into his.
He didn't quaver, but instead unraveled my hoof from around his tie and slowly leaned back into his chair. "You've got spunk, I'll give you that, little filly. But as you may have noticed, I am a stallion who follows the rules. So we'll start with the basics, shall we? Background, go."
***
"Mom, I'm bored," I whined, my head resting heavily on a toddler's coloring table.
"I don't exactly know what you want me to about that, honey. Why don't you color some more? Make mommy a picture for the fridge," said a pink unicorn mare while washing the family's dishes.
"I don't wanna color anymore!" I squeaked, rolling a colored pencil around the table with a hoof. "I've been coloring all morning."
I saw my mother glance at the fridge and wince slightly in defeat, for like I said, the refrigerator was so cluttered with scribbly creations that the handle was barely even visible.
"I guess you got me beat there..." she said slowly, never losing her smile. "No problem, sweetheart. How about you go find your sister?" she suggested.
I slid slowly off the table until I reached the ground, rolling onto my back to feel the chill of the kitchen floor as a relief from the hot summer air wafting in through an open window. "She's at Caramel's house," I moaned.
"Again?" said my mother in a slightly irritated tone. "Thats the third time this week! I doubt any extra credit project could take such time. For Celestia's sake its summer!"
Mother levitated the last bowl into the cupboard before hustling out of the kitchen and into the mudroom adjacent the door. I stood and trotted after her, even if the heat did severely slow my pace.
"Where ya goin' mama?" I asked.
"To go find you sister!" she said somewhat angrily as she plopped a large sunhat atop her head. "I'm hoping this won't take long, but if anything happens, your father is taking upstairs taking a nap."
"Can you get me some candy on the way home?" I asked with a large smile and pleading eyes.
"Oh ho ho no, darlin' darlin'. You had enough sweets last night to last you a lifetime. Why don't you try writing a story and I'll proofread it when I get back? Then you can show it to Ms. Cheerilee on the first day of school?"
"Ok!" I said excitedly, never missing a chance to write a new story. I cantered back to the kitchen to get my supplies, and by the time I had turned to say goodbye, mother had already left in search of my rebellious teen sister.
"What should this one be about, Rosie?" I asked to my imaginary friend, a zebra-slash-alicorn who had the power to do anything she wanted.
"I don't know," I answered for her in a disguised voice.
My ears flattened at the response, even though I had created it. "I know!" I exclaimed. "I'l write one about you!"
"Sounds like a great idea," answered 'Rosie'.
****
"What does this have to do with your request?"
"Patience, sir. You asked for background, and you're going to get it."
"I'm starting to wish I never asked."
"Shut up."
****
I smiled down at the papers in front of me, reflecting back the crudely scribbled words of an aspiring writer. Besides a spilled juice box and a few broken crayon tips, the small table remained in relatively good condition, or at least fair enough that I wouldn't be receiving a lecture on cleanliness. My ear perked as the bell above the kitchen door chimed, and eight hooves shuffled in.
"I can't believe you would embarrass me like that!" yelled my sister, refusing to look at my mother. I shrunk down low, knowing full well how heated these arguments could get.
"Don't use that tone with me, missy! I'm not about to let my young girl slut around!" screamed back my mother, her temper boiling.
"Why do you always have to overreact!?"
"Why do you disobey me?"
"Because you're the worst!"
"To your room!" cried out my mother, and with nose high and tears rushing, my sister galloped up the stairs. I shuddered as the house shook at the pressure of her slamming the door.
Mother stood in place, eyes closed, heavy breaths shaking her body. With a small flare of her magic, her loose hairs situated themselves back into her clipped bun, all while I stayed hidden.
"Ah-choo!" I cursed slightly under my breath for letting my allergies get the best of me.
"Honey, is that you?" rang out my mother's voice. I heard her suck back a few sniffles, and as I slowly crawled out of my hiding place, I saw her toss a tissue into the trash bin.
"Mommy, why are you mad at sissy?" I asked naively.
"Well," she paused, looked at the sink, and back to me, "she was being a bad girl."
"What did she do?"
She exhaled. "Things that are against the rules."
"Oh, oh! Like drawing on the walls? Or did she break a glass? She didn't do her chores did she?!" I guessed excitedly.
My mother clapped her hooves together loudly. "My little pony!" she interrupted, quickly drawing my attention, "How about that story?"
A wide grin erupted on my fact, and I quickly grabbed the papers off the table to give to her so they could be corrected in time for school.
Mother opened the kitchen's somewhat tacky swinging doors, leading into the formal dining room; from the second level, I could faintly hear Papa's snoring and my sister's dramatic cries. Two candlesticks sat in the middle of pre-set placemats, decorating the otherwise bare mahogany table; my mother pulled out a seat, wide enough that a full grown pony could comfortably lay, but small enough to not take up too much room. I never felt very comfortable in the dining room, probably because we usually ate dinner in the living room in front of the television, much to my mother's dismay. Several family portraits hung about the walls, along with several of my sister's artwork and a shelf holding my papa's ceramic frog collection.
Positioning her glasses carefully on her nose and squinting slightly, Mother began to silently read my latest creation, red pen in hoof, ready to point out errors for future correction.
For the first minute I stared intently at her, reading her facial expression for anything that might hint whether my work had turned out good or bad.
I learned that day that my mother has an excellent poker face.
Minute after minute I waited for her eyes to glance in my direction, and after an insufferable four minute delay, I resorted to rolling around on the floor just to stay awake during the agonizingly long wait.
Sure enough, however, she finally called me over to her, and I hurriedly jumped up on the seat to join her.
"Well, I must say I am rather impressed!" she exclaimed.
Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach, because I had always been scared of criticism for my work. "Really Ma? It's good?"
"Why yes! For your age, the vocabulary is superb, there were few spelling errors, and the story plot was interesting and engaging!" Mother nuzzled me softly. "I say we might have a writer in the family. I'm going to run upstairs and wake your father so he can have a look." She kissed me gently on the cheek before slipping off the seat and trotting upstairs.
As soon as she was out of sight I started racing around the room in a fit of excitement. My stuff was good! I may have a future in something I loved! I was so excited, so high on this one simple accomplishment, that it wasn't until I walked down for breakfast the next morning that I realized a paper and pen had emblazoned themselves on my flank.
I was a writer, and nothing could make me happier.
Author's Note
Much more in store. This story is going to be epic I promise
Aftermath of a Perfect Day
***
"So what happened?" asked the stallion behind the desk.
I shrugged, looking at the pony sitting beside me, his bright blue eyes staring into mine. "I guess I grew up a little."
***
The loud clatter of symbols and heeled horseshoes overwhelmed my ears. Dozens of ponies stood in an unorganized line, carrying whatever their backs could hold; may it be a guitar, a suitcase of lyrics, or even a full drum set. However, that was not the first thing I had noticed. The absolute first sight to amaze me was the color of these ponies. The looked as if they had just had their coats dyed by foals. Behind me in the line stood a husky mare with a dark brown coat, an enormous curly fro of a mane, and lips pursed and painted black. The striking element, however, were the red zebra-like striped that stood on the brown. Never before had I seen something so outrageous. But she wasn't the only one; only a handful of ponies were a solid color; there were pintos and paint and skewbalds and appaloosas; ponies had their legs dyed green to clash with their yellow body, or had rainbow spiked manes.
Trombones, microphones, drums, and musical notes were painted everywhere, but the mighty pen would stand above them all. Stuck in my daydream of possibly getting discovered tonight, I gasped when a hoof nudged my flank.
"Um, could you like, you know move?" said the mare behind me in a snarky tone.
"Oh, um, I'm sorry." I quickly shuffled a few steps forward before I bumped into the chest of another pony.
A tall Arabian looked down at me, eyes angry and leather jacket smelling of some overpriced cologne. "I think you're in the wrong part of town," he said, lowering his head to my height with a large scowl across his face. His breath clearly indicated that he had smoked a few cigarettes before getting to work, and the small bruise on his left cheekbone showed some troubled home life. I took a deep breath and mustered up an airy voice, mimicking what my sister would do in tight situations.
"Well dear sir, I am waiting for my turn to enter and, how you say, strut my stuff!" I beamed, flittering my eyelashes a few times. He looked me over with a quizzical look before bursting out in outrageous laughter. "And whatsoever is so funny!?" I said, stamping a hoof.
"No mismatches allowed," he said, gesturing to a sign stuck messily to the sleet grey brick wall, barely visible under the numerous band advertisements.
"Are you suggesting my talent is not pure?" I demanded.
"Kid, I know it. Why don't you try the library down the street? They're always hiring mares to work the desk," he joked.
"How rude! Just because I may excel in writing does not mean I don't have any less talent than these blokes!" I yelled, trying to make myself look taller and intimidating by stretching my legs, but to no avail.
He rubbed his head with a hoof. "Look, kid, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do. This event is for serious artists only, not for every wanna be singer who one day decided that's what they wanted to do. We got talent scouts from all over Equestria in there, and they sure as hell aren't gonna pick a pony to be a famous singer who doesn't even have the mark for it. Maybe in the next life." I stood there with my jaw touching the ground as he turned to help other patrons, not able to believe I had been turned away.
My eyes scanned the scene for any loophole, any way I could wriggle myself through the crowd and onto the stage, but security was tight, and last time I had tried to sneak onto a concert stage I had been giving a warning by authorities. I turned to leave, my light pink mane draping over my eyes in sorrow, obscuring my view so I couldn't see where I was going until I bumped into somepony.
"Sorry," I grumbled before he had time to berate me.
"It's OK," he said somewhat cheerfully. He seemed like the type of pony to want to start a conversation, and Celestia help me I was not in the mood for talking at that moment, so I pressed on to the one place where I could relax and wash away my sorrows.
The bar.
Two lefts, one right, a few blocks down the street, and McWhinny's crappy neon sign lit my face with its green glow even in the darkness of the approaching night.
A young couple with wide framed glasses and fedoras stood in front of the bar's door, pushing and pushing to try and get in. The mare looked familiar; she had the same yellow tinge to her coat that my best friend had had while growing up. Her hair was bundled up under her hat so I couldn't see the color, and the few loose strands were covered in the sickenng green glow of the neon 'OPEN' sign in the window.
"You have to put your weight into it," I said. The stallion turned around to look at me, as did the mare. Turning away from the neon sign the streetlights showed dark blue hairs falling out from beneath her hat. I had been mistaken.
"We've tried," said the stallion. His voice wasn't necessarily rude or condescending. However, it also wasn't begging for instruction. It said 'show me, don't tell me.' It was the type of voice you would hear from a pony who didn't have a lot of time, but was still trying to prove to himself that he could be adventurous. Manehatten?
"Manehatten?" I asked aloud.
Yes.
"Yes, how did you know?"
Because I'm good at reading ponies.
"Just a hunch, the hats aren't as superfluous as the ones around here."
"Oh," the stallion chuckled touching his hat.
"You have to throw your shoulder into it," I said, moving in front of him to the door. Instead of using a hoof, I walked into the door while slamming it with my shoulder to dislodge it from the uneven floor. The door reluctantly swung inward, and the couple gave me their parting thanks and went inside. I lingered outside for a little bit longer so it didn't look like I was following the two ponies. The autumn air was crisp, but not bad enough that I yearned for a coat or a hat, but not nice enough that I would suggest spending time outside as an activity to do with friends.
The ally was quiet; the drug store had already shut its doors, most ponies had already left for a night out, and the streetlamps flickered with failing magic that needed to be refreshed. I could do it, but what would be the point? I don't owe this town anything.
A pained, strained scream rang out, riding on the air and into my ears. I closed my eyes, quiet begs for mercy filling the empty night. I was the only pony outside, but I knew where the screams were coming from. Behind McWhinny's there was always something going on; whether it be a husband beating his wife after she flirted with someone at the bar, or a mare who had come in alone hoping for an innocent hookup being raped by a charming stallion who had turned hostile. I listened for a little bit, the screams dying into whimpers, until they started back up again when the back door of the bar reopened. I sighed and shoved my way through the front door entering the bar, leaving the scene outside to unfold for itself.
Like I said, I don't owe this town anything.
The regulars were already sitting in their reserved seats along the bar counter, while newbies took to the booths to hide or go at each other either sexually or argumentatively. I trotted over to my seat at the corner of the bar counter, and no eye contact was made between me or another patron, as per usual. The seat to my left was empty, that regular claiming he had business to attend to in Ponyville all of this week. A young stallion approached the stool, charming smile on his face and hair slicked back. He placed a hoof on the stool to hoist himself up, only for every patron at the counter, including myself, to give a nasty stare until he slinked off. Our seats were reserved.
We don't talk at the bar; the bar is a place to drink the troubles of the past day away. If we wanted to talk, hell we would have gone to one of those hoity-toity cigar clubs or to a bar that served little margaritas or something. No, we all found this place by some bad luck of the draw, and we were all here to drink some strong liquor that would silence our thoughts long enough for us to realize there was more to life than what we had at the moment; but then we would sober up and memories would come rushing back, and we'd drink more to silence them until we were numb everywhere like every other night.
But if there was one soul to make even the toughest of stallions sob out their life story, it was Keeper. No, he wasn't the bartender like in every stereotypical movie or story; our bartender was Crook, and for the way he swallowed up our money with his low grade yet expensive malts, he definitely deserved that name. Crook could make you go blind just by looking at his ugly face for too long; his eyepatch did little good to cover up his crappy surgery scars, and his white hair was always covered in slick grease from too few showers, but he always did well on giving everyone the creeps.
Keeper, on the other hoof, was gentle enough; a little bit of a con man if you weren't from the area. I wouldn't say we had struck up a friendship, on the account that friends tie you down so I have no use for them. We had a mutual understanding of what our relationship was; we would talk out the day's frustration, maybe grab some dinner if we were both hungry, and have some good sex to end the night. But we both knew there was nothing more.
He was currently chatting up some young mares, just under drinking age, who were sitting in a booth and trying to ignore his advances. He was suing big gestures, so I assumed he must be telling the story of how he met Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash once in the Crystal Empire. It was a complete lie, of course, and by their eyerolls they either knew that too or he wasn't 'cool' enough for them. That never bothered Keeper though, mainly because he knew he was attractive and didn't have to worry about a couple of random opinions. I couldn't lie, he was quite attractive with his slate grey coat and blue and green striped mane. He looked like a pony who I had grown up with the sibling of crossed with Shining Armor of the Crystal Empire.
It was painful to watch him strike out, trying to pull any tricks to at least get some messy kissing in the bathroom. I considered helping him out, but I only help him in dire circumstances, even though I love being owed. He left the mares who immediately left the bar afterwards after realizing there were no apple-tinis in a place like this.
"Bad luck?" I mused.
"You try getting mares in a place like this. God its so much easier by Main Street," he said, tapping the counter for a whiskey to be slid over.
"I don't know, I've seen a couple walking down by 3rd Avenue."
"Not my type," he said with a snort. "How did your music thing go? Wait, let me guess, it didn't."
I snarled, eyes ablaze, and remained quiet. He didn't pry.
"I'm going home," I said with a snarl, and he didn't follow.
***
"So you don't have any allies? Do you understand that you need ponies to rely on if you're going to go through with this?
"I know," I replied to the pony behind the desk. "And I promise I have made many 'friends' to help me out." I looked to the pony sitting beside me.
He spoke for the first time, even though I made him swear not to open his mouth. To my surprise, his tone was dark and mysterious, not like it usually was. "I've made some connections in her place. She has friends, she has allies, and she has the ability to pull this off."
"Very well," said the pony behind the desk. "Continue."
Author's Note
Ok, I'm excited to get this going again.
