Anonpencil Writes Drunk: Building Trust (oneshit)

>It may be a bright and sunny day in Ponyville, but you couldn’t give a fuck about that. You only have one thing on your mind today: Fuck pony furniture. It’s a mantra you repeat over and over again as you work.
>You’re interrupted from your incessant hammering by the sound of a gentle, southern cough from behind you. You don’t turn around, already knowing exactly how this conversation is going to go. Maybe she'll just go away, you think, but as usual, you aren't that lucky.
“Uh… Anon… Sugarcube… what in the hay are you doing in my barn?”
>You heave a slow sigh, then turn around and spit the nails you’re been holding between your teeth onto the ground. Yeah, someone will probably step on those, so that was a pretty shortsighted decision. But right now you just don’t care. That’s what tetanus shots are for, right? Right now, you need to deal with this Apple pony, and you do not have time to deal with this pony’s shit today.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you growl. “I’m borrowing your tools. For a project. A project that requires tools.”
>Applejack looks at your sweating, scowling face, then down at your magnum opus, then back up to you.
“Well, I can see that much,” she says with a gentle frown. “I just… don’t rightly know what this project is.”
>You feel rage bubble inside you. She’s messing with you. You know it. You know how beautiful your furniture is, you know how clean the lines are, how artistic this piece is, even to the untrained eye. You've stained the wood, partially with your blood, but that just adds character. You’ve sanded it down so finely that it’s broken in places and needed to be replaced, that’s how thorough you’ve been. You've also learned that hot glue is not how you lacquer wood, but hey, that's how you grow as a person.
>She says she doesn’t know what she’s looking at, this bitch wouldn’t know woodworking if it bit her on her oddly attractive ass.
“Don’t give me that,” you snap. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“…er… no.”
>You give a scornful laugh.
“Fine, if you want to play that way, I’ll go with it. It’s a chair. And a damn fine chair at that.”
>Applejack’s face twists up like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She bites her lower lip and again looks from your masterpiece to you in quick succession.
“Y-you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure! I built it after all.”
“But… doesn’t that part go… actually, I’m none too sure where that part goes. If it’s supposed to go anywhere.”
“You’re just jealous,” you spit in her general direction.
“Jealous?” she says with a little cough. “Pretty sure I’m just being honest. Like usual.”
“Right, like you were honest with Granny Smith about who knocked you up last year?”
“Hey,” she says with a glower. “That’s between me n’ my brother. But that’s neither here nor there right now. I just don’t see how that thing’s a chair.”
>She points to the back of it.
“Aren’t those supposed to be legs? And how does it stand up? Pretty sure your legs would have to bend in the opposite direction for you to even sit in that proper.”
“Shows what you know,” you say, puffing up your chest. “It’s actually ready for me to kick back in right now!”
>Applejack smirks and gestures with one sweeping hoof towards the chair.
“Okay then,” she says gently. “Have a seat.”
>You both stare each other down for a moment, then you slowly rise and position yourself over the chair.
>Carefully, you fold one leg under you, wrap the other around the side and bottom, being careful to hook your ankle under that rung so you don’t tip over. Your other foot, you position with the tip of your toes on the ground, right next to the second of three legs, the one shaped like a beached whale. You throw one arm in a falsely nonchalant gesture around that jutting piece of wood to keep your body upright, and position your weight over one hip so you don’t crush your nuts between those two boards.
>At last, you gingerly lift the tips of your toes off the ground and teeter there for a second, finding your balance, before you again look at Applejack.
>You beam at her, triumphant and defiant, and wait for her to admit her defeat.
>After a moment or two, she shrugs.
“Huh, guess I was wrong,” she says. “I suppose I don’t know human anatomy that well, after all. You sure do look comfy.”
“You suppose right,” you say cooly.
“Well, then I’ll leave you to it!” she says with a smile. “Happy building!”
>You wait until she’s far enough away not to see or hear you before you let out your first whimpers of pain. Dear god, human bones are not supposed to bend in the middle! You didn’t even know you had a muscle there! And... is that your spine you're staring at? How on earth are you staring at your own spine right now?!
>You weep openly as you slowly unwind yourself from the accursed contraption, and collapse, trembling to the ground.
>Maybe pony furniture isn’t so bad after all.

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