A Very Special Case (Hiatus)

[==PART 01==]
>Be Anon.
>Be a handyman.
>Wood, plumbing, interiors, exteriors. You had a lot of experience working with your father back on Earth.
>When you were little, he let you help him in his shop by the house. Taught you how to saw boards and nail them together.
>You loved building things. He'd always have some scrap wood left over from the workday for you to play with when you came home from school.
>You made toys, furniture, and even whittled when you got your first pocket knife.
>Your ma still has the hemlock heart you carved for her for her tenth Mother's Day. You have the faintest scar on your thumb to remind you of the journey.
>Your dad gave you a block of wood, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as you refused to tell him why you wanted it, only that it was for "something special".
>You'd hide it inside of your winter coat's pocket, hanging in the closet, where ma would never find it.
>You even laid out a rag to catch the wood shavings and dumped them in the fire pit. You wanted it to be the biggest surprise of her life.
>Well, it was, for at least another fifteen years of her life. Then a talking unicorn-pegasus thing recruited you to fix up an apartment block.
>She popped out of a mirror in an abandoned property you were putting the finishing touches on. She said her name was Celestia, a princess, and that she chose you for your attention to detail and expert craftsmanship.
>She assured you that you could return home at any time, and that she would compensate for your work.
>You had to take a couple weeks to process that. You talked to your doctor about it, then a therapist. You took one of the few people you knew, your dad, to the home with you. You even paid for his flight.
>Sure enough, this Celestia appeared from the mirror when you called for her.
>Your old man confirmed that you were not crazy, and that this was something that happened.
>He confirmed that sticking your head through the mirror would not decapitate you.



>So, you decided to listen to Princess Celestia's offer. She was, apparently, something like a goddess? In charge of raising the sun every day, ruling over Equestria, and keeping its subjects safe. Or something. Being honest, you were mostly going with the flow. The specifics were lost on you.
>The apartment block she wanted you to begin repairing was condemned. It was in remarkable shape, compared to the buildings you condemned back home. But, Princess Celestia was embarrassed regardless.
>The rat problem wasn't even that bad, really. Only a few broken windows, and the water damage hadn't yet gone past the top floor. You could get this old girl ready for habitation in a few months.
>It was three stories tall, five rooms to a floor, giving it fifteen total apartments for rent. You bite your tongue to keep from commenting on all the wasted space.
>The apartment block was built many years ago for ponies to move into, but there was little interest in it, for whatever reason. Minimal occupancy killed it, and the owners left the property to sit.
>It's not like it was in a bad location, either. Situated on the underdeveloped outskirts of Portsmule, with easy access to a lovely lake and forested hills, perfect for outdoors-man activities and watching the stars.
>Princess Celestia wanted it for subsidized housing, but she refused to have anypony, as she put it, live in such squalor, again, as she put it.
>These ponies had really high standards. And a thing for horse puns.
>Princess Celestia was going to pay you double your normal rate, with real American greenbacks to boot. You were more than eager to take up the job at that point.
>Your old man threw his back on the first day, so you renovated the place by yourself.
>For the best, really. He took care of selling that property you fixed up. He was much better at the customer side of things than you.
>Quiet types like you were workers, not businessmen.



>When all was said and done, Princess Celestia gave you the opportunity of becoming the property's manager.
>Working in Equestria was pretty nice, you had to say. Pegasi controlled the weather, so you could work rain and shine into your time budgets. And having the door to it, a standing mirror on wheels, be in your home made it very convenient to come and go as you pleased.
>Working with a country's royalty also meant you never had to worry about customers or subcontractors stiffing you, too. And you're pretty sure this money would be tax-free by Uncle Sam's laws, should the IRS ever inquire.
>Being a quiet man whose life was his work didn't give you many opportunities to make friends, either. Your co-workers were temporary, and there aren't many chances to meet a nice girl when you're laying brick.
>Not that you're into ponies, of course.
>That was how complete your social isolation was.
>It really didn't bother you, though. That's what you told yourself. Besides, your old man and ma offered you plenty of social interaction when you visited them.
>You took Princess Celestia up on her offer. She beamed in delight. She laughed when you shielded your eyes.
>"Forgive me. I'm excited that these ponies will have the opportunity to befriend such a dependable and hard-working person."
>'These ponies', she failed to mention, were living in subsidized housing for a reason. None of them had managed to live on their own.
>Some needed help with daily routine, gentle reminders to wake up, eat a good meal, and go to bed at a reasonable time. The Case sisters were like this, and needed you to plan their days for them.
>Others were retired. They valued their independence the most, and took yours for granted. Dusty Roads could tell stories from sun up to sun down, even if he had to make them up on the spot.
>It's been half a year since you first came to Equestria, and you know almost all your fourteen tenants.
>All but one.
>Floor Bored.



>Floor Bored never left her room. Ever.
>The one time you saw her was when she came into your apartment/office to get her key. She reminded you of your first, and last, job at a trailer park.
>The odor was the same. A musty, overwhelming envelope of filth accompanied her as she snuck in thrugh the door. She pressed herself lengthwise against the counter, hiding beneath the overhang with a hoof held up to receive her key.
>The hoof was covered with black grime and white pus. It smelled like roadkill. You looked at it, stunned.
>She was the last tenant to arrive. She only spoke her name with the raised hoof, Floor Bored.
>You dropped the key into her hoof and regretted it immediately. The soft flesh inside was swollen, and they key landed point-first. Floor winced in pain with the contact.
"Are you okay?"
>You didn't get a reply. She ran out of the room as soon as she got her key.
>You didn't even get to see her face. She had a hoodie on, drawn tight over her head. And... shorts?
>First time you saw a pony wearing bottoms of any sort.
>You felt your heart sink into your stomach, doing flips along the way.
>Ma always said you were a kind soul. Every year, you were trying to save orphaned or injured wildlife that you found on your family's property.
>Most didn't make it, despite your care. Ma always hugged you when you cried over them. Every time you asked her why you couldn't save them.
>"Shhh. It's alright, baby. It was just their time."
>And every time you asked, why did it have to be their time?
>"Only God knows, baby. But maybe he brought them to you so you could give them all of the love they needed to get into Heaven."
>You'd dry your eyes on your arm, choked up.
>"There you go. There you go. They're up there in Heaven now, singing and playing and eating all the mot scrumptious berries and acorns because you loved them."
>It didn't occur to you back then to ask what happened to the baby birds, possums, and squirrels that didn't get love.



>You never thought about it later in life, either. You weren't even in kindergarten when Ma consoled you like that. You grew up and had forgotten about it by the time you took up your first apprenticeship.
>You knew now.
>It's been a long time since you took anything under your care.
>You think it's time to change that.
>Floor made it impossible to even try, though. She lived in the flat directly over yours, and you knew she was there. You could hear her stomping around inside every so often. And yet, every time you knocked on her door, trying to deliver her mail or just to check up on her, she refused to answer.
>You thought about using your own keys to let yourself in more times than you want to admit, but you couldn't bring yourself to barge into any of your tenant's rooms.
>You're sure it'd destroy any hopes of becoming close with her.
"I just don't know what to do, Miss Celestia. Everybody else more or less will invite me in with open arms, but she won't even answer the door."
>Princess Celestia had come in for the first quarterly review. You told her how you'd ask the other ponies if they knew her. Only the Case sisters said they knew her, and that was as the shut-in neighbor at their last apartment.
>They mentioned the shared vent between the two flats would also leak... odors. They covered the vent with thick cloth. They were quite proud of that solution.
>You asked them why they didn't inform the landlord. It hadn't occurred to either of them to do so. This was how lacking their common sense was.
>Princess Celestia thoughtfully sipped her tea before giving you advice.
>"Floor Bored is a very special case, Anonymous. She needs someone who will work with her at her pace."
"I'm beginning to lose hope, Miss Celestia. I don't know how I'll work with her if she won't even acknolwedge my existence."
>"I selected you for this project for a reason, Anonymous. Take it to heart that I, Princess Celestia, believe in you."
>You'll just have to trust her.



>That brings you to today. Almost six months you've been here. Princess Celestia will be coming next week for the second quarterly review.
>You're on a first-name basis with everyone else, and yet still haven't made any in-roads with Floor. Every day, you gave everybody a wake-up call. Floor never responded.
>She didn't answer when you made sure everyone had eaten by lunchtime, and ignoring your reminders for bed went without saying.
>She never joined the others when you took them on nature walks or had a picnic at the lake. Every day and every night, she stayed inside.
>But fortune came to you today.
>You had a legitimate reason to intrude upon her sanctuary.
>You woke up to water dripping on your face from the water stain over your bed.
>Normally, you would investigate the cause right away, but a nagging voice told you to let it go until it couldn't be ignored.
>It couldn't be ignored anymore.
>You knocked on her door and informed her that you would be coming by that night to investigate a leak coming from her apartment. You slid a letter underneath the door just to make sure, in case she was asleep. With that, you went about the rest of your day.
[---]
>"Yup, the rails put me out of a job for a while, but you know somethin'? It was the best thing that coulda ever happened to a vagrant colt like me. All I knew was the wind on my flanks and the sweat on my brow before I met the love of my life in that parched outpost where the rails met the waves. Ah, the ocean! I remember how I used to take ol' Fillys down to the beach..."
"Ah, it's gettin' to be that time of night. Time to put the soup on for dinner."
>"Horsefeathers, 'Non! The night's still young, and I haven't been able to taste anything since that day."
>Dusty Roads grumbled to himself as he wheeled himself over to the kitchen. He lost his hind legs long ago, although he hadn't shared his story yet. You wouldn't pry.
>You left Dusty's first-floor flat and got your toolbox. Time to visit Floor.



>You stand outside of Floor Bored's flat, the nickel-plated plaque reading 201. The peephole on the door was about level with your waist, so you kneel down to knock.
>The ponies here were about as tall as a guard dog, and their architecture was sized to fit. Your head always inches from the ceiling, your knees up to your chest when you used one of their chairs.
>The cramped conditions didn't bother you except when you had to wriggle your hands into tiny spaces for tightening, moving, or replacing wires, plumbing, or fittings. That made your job harder than it had to be.
>However, thanks to the smaller size, you could save a good deal on human-made materials for repairs. With everything undersized, a dollar stretched further than it had right to in Equestria.
>It's been at least a minute now, maybe two. You knock once more, and again receive no response.
>You try the lever. The door's locked. You sigh and fish out your key ring. She should know you're coming, right? She's had all day to see the letter. You heard her stomping around when you woke up, so she should be alive.
>You insert the correct key, push the lever down, and pull the door open.
"Oh, Lord."
>The interior is lit only by light that makes it past you into the flat. The basic layout of each flat was the same. The door opens into the den, with the kitchen against the back wall, separated from the den by a counter. A short hallway on the right wall would lead you to the bedrooms, opposite from each other, and the bathroom at the end resting between them.
>You couldn't see the floor in the den. It was covered with trash. Bagged, strewn about, overflowing cardboard boxes and oates sacks.
>Flies flocked past you into the dim night. It was like a manic, buzzing, black cloud broke upon you.
>And then came the stench.
>Oh, Lord, that stench.
>It almost made you pass out.
>A wave of nausea overcame you.
>You turn around and lean against the railing, coughing, desperate for clean air.



>You take a long time to recouperate before you're ready to brave Floor's apartment again.
>You try the lights next to the door, but they don't turn on. Strange. You weren't a great electrician, but everything worked when you put the place together.
>You pull a high-power torch from the toolbox. You leave it at the door, holding your nose as you hold the torch high. It's immediately beset with buzzing insects. You shake it and sweep the room.
>There's no sign of a pony anywhere in the dump. Your eyes follow the web of footpaths. A T-intersection at the hallway to the bedrooms leads to the kitchen and into the den. The one in the den forks at the couch, the longer path leading to your feet. The couch has a pony-sized area cleared, the white cushion stained and molding yellow.
>You look down at your feet, and sigh. There's no letter. So Floor did know you were coming.
"How...?"
>You're at a loss for words. How could anyone live like this? Even the meth head's mobile home you fixed up wasn't this bad.
>You take a deep breath. You pick up your toolbox and wade inside, closing the door behind you. You didn't want anyone else seeing this. You can't imagine how she must feel knowing that you're in here.
>You turn the lock to ensure privacy.
>The rot of garbage is overpowered by urine and... musk... when you tip-toe your way to the couch fork.
>Can you do this?
>Did you even have a choice?
>Arching steps take you to the hallway intersection. The torch shows every door is closed. No light leaks from the corners.
"Floor...? I'm here to fix the leak."
>No response.
>She must be hiding, With good reason. Honestly, the state of this place...
>There's no way you were cut out for this. Princess Celestia made a mistake.
>Floor needed rehab, therapy, social workers... not a general contractor/amateur caretaker.
>You advance on the bathroom door.
>You cover your face with your shirt and mentally prepare yourself for what comes next.
>You open the door.



"Aw hell."
>You didn't like to swear, but this...
>This bathroom used to be white.
>Drain flies flitter through the torch's beam, squirming masses of larvae in the hair-clogged sink.
>The mirror was cracked, a hoof-shaped imprint in the center.
>The toilet was broken, water pooling in an indentation around its base. Water trickled from the shattered bowl. So this was what she was doing while stomping around?
>You didn't look in the shower.
>You could smell what she had been doing since she broke the toilet.
>The shadow of the pile and the skittering of insects across the frosted pane was more than enough to let you know what Floor had been doing in here.
>There's a loud, metal crash as you drop your toolbox. You run away.
>You rush to the door, bags of garbage clinking and crinkling as your feet kicked them aside.
>It unlocks as you turn the lever. You duck outside and slam it shut behind you.
>You're coughing, badly. The nausea in your stomach is just getting worse with the fresh air. It felt like spores were growing in your nose.
>You sink down, back pressed against the door. You prop your head up with a plam to your forehead.
>You have never, ever seen something like that before.
>The images pervade your mind for the next five minutes. When your stomach calms down, you get up and go down to your office.
>You still need to fix that leak, but you needed the proper equipment to deal with that... biohazard. You had a respirator in the storage closet, but you didn't have any disposable coveralls.
>Princess Celestia had the mirror secured. Only your touch would activate its magic, breaching dimensions. You press your palm against the floor mirror. Stepping through was cold and smooth, like frost on glass covering your body.
>You fished your car keys from your pocket and made your way downstairs to the garage.
>Wait. First, you start up a fresh pot of coffee.
>It was going to be a long night.



>You turned off the water to Floor's toilet. That was trivial.
>Replacing the toilet, tearing up the tile, and replacing the soaked wood was another task entirely.
>It was a long and loud night. You made a mental note to buy some treats to make up for disturbing everybody's sleep.
>You made another mental note to get a couple gallons of bleach and a steam cleaner. This flat needed a deep, thorough washing.
>Floor never came out the entire time you had worked. It was about 2AM, and you hadn't heard so much as a peep.
>You wipe off the most offensive grime clinging to your coveralls and stand, walking to Floor's door.
>You knock, loudly.
"Floor? We need to talk."
>No response. You press your ear against the door. You heard the pling of bedsprings. Floor shuffling around on her bed.
"I don't need you to open the door." I don't want you to.
>No, no. Be calm, be patient. Whatever you're feeling must be Lord knows how much worse for her.
"You can leave the door closed, but I need to talk to you. So, please, say something."
>You adjust your respirator, worrying that it's making your difficult to understand. But you can't take it off. Not after letting all of the crap in the bathroom get into the air.
>Ear strained, you hear more shuffling on the bed.
"I know you're in there, Floor Bored. I can hear you. Just... come over to the door. Please."
>You wait. She's stopped moving. The seconds drag by. Sweat forms into beads in your forehead and rolls down into your eyes. You put your hand on the lever.
"I'm coming in, Floor."
>You pull down and push inward. Something blocks the door.
>You hear a muffled shriek. It wasn't a shriek of surprise. It was pain.
>The world enters slow motion. You push against the door in fright. There was a pile of junk in your way. Garbage. Furniture. Chairs. Books. A desk. Floor shrieked in pain again.
>You back up. Raise your foot high. Drive the heel.
>Your boot breaks through. Flimsy door.
>You pull it free.
>Keep kicking.



>The door gives. You scramble over the splintered mess.
>Floor is on the bed. There's a knife in her mouth.
>She's stabbing herself.
>In the chest.
>You feel yourself getting closer, hands outstretched.
>She stares at you, wild-eyed and bloody.
>The knife drips. The bone of your palm strikes her nose.
>She screams.
>The knife drops.
>Your other hand flies out.
>It pushes the knife away.
>You're falling.
>You're going to crush her.
>You push your hand past her head. Both hands splay out. You catch yourself on the sheetless mattress.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?"
>There are deep punctures in her chest. There's a lot of blood.
>She's shrieking. Her hind legs rear back. You push yourself up off the bed. Her hind legs shoot forward. The wind is knocked out of you as you spill backwards.
>She's scrambling for the knife on the other side of the bed.
>You stagger to your feet.
>You lunge.
>You catch her around her hocks and yank.
>She's screaming.
>You can't understand her.
>You reel her in.
>She's kicking you.
>You fall onto the bed.
>You hold her down, wrestling to get her under control.
>You had to get her help.
>To a hospital.
>Ponies are strong. She's thrashing.
>You get a strong grip with one hand around her hocks, her throat in the crook of your elbow.
>You bend her hocks backwards, compressing them to your side.
>Screaming. Crying. You fight your way over the pile. Out of her room. Out of her flat.
>You don't have time to lock her room up.
>God, you wish you had the time.
>Floor continues to struggle. You nearly fall down the stairs for it.
>On solid ground, you run.
>Portsmule. They had a hospital.
>You ran faster.
>You sprinted.
>You had to get there in time.
>In time to save her.
>To save Floor.
[---]
>You're lying down on the floor in the Portsmule Hospital's triage. You're covered in Floor's blood.
>The doctors took her to the emergency room right away.
>All you could do was wait.