Volare

>you are Anonymous
>and let's be honest, this is going exactly as well as you thought it would
>you heft another huge roll of fabric onto its holder in Carousel Boutique, spinning it so it feeds out just the right amount of fabric
>seventeen more bolts to go
"Rarity why did... ugh, never mind."
>you grunt and heft another huge spool upright
>it takes all your strength, but you manage to get it through the door upright
>"Hmmm? Why did I what, dear?"
>the white unicorn mare pokes her head from the adjoining room, watching as you awkwardly shuffle across the display area
>puffing with exertion, you set the roll down, wiping your brow
"...Why do you need seven bolts of blue fabric? I thought you complained that blue was unfashionable this year."
>"Out of vogue, darling, but certainly not unfashionable! And besides, I didn't order any blue fabric."
>you blink slowly
>look over at the enormous roll of blue fabric you were hefting
>then over at the other four identical batches already in their holders
>then back to her
>"Oh honestly Anonymous, that isn't blue, that's Winter Ocean. I'll be using it with the Midnight Sky bolt for creating my new Winter in Griffonia line!"
>IT'S ALL FUCKIN BL--
>you arch a single eyebrow
>then wordlessly start working on getting the thing into its holster
>who cares, don't think, just move
>you chant the mantra in your head as you heft the damn thing up and over your head, then set it in
>as you trudge back towards the cart for yet another spool, you hear the unicorn sigh
>"Anonymooooouuus~!"
>oh no
>whaaaaaaat
>you turn around and see her looking imperious, if a little regretful
>"Dear, I would have sworn I told you... the bolts need to roll over, not under!"
>her magic casually flips the one highest up, setting it in place effortlessly
>"If you would, darling, before you leave."
>she offers you that smug, patronizing smile as you look at the nearly two-dozen rolls you'll have to flip
>without magic
>you hate this job

>well THAT was an extra half hour of your life well-spent
>your everything aches as you give the last spool a spin, smoothing out the fabric and letting it drape over
>FUCKING OVER
>the rest of the roll
>if there's any silver lining to the fucking storm cloud that is this delivery, it's that it's the last of the day, so the only one pissed at you being late coming back from it is you
>your boss Time Turner is ruthless when it comes to adhering to schedule
>then again, that was why you'd quoted Rarity this time for delivery instead of morning like SOME doofy grey mares do
>as you count out the bits Rarity proffers you
>(purely formality, she always tips generously, y'know being the living embodiment of charity and all)
>you look down the road that leads to central delivery
>gotta get the cart back before you can punch out
>payment checks out, and a nice handful extra
>you offer Rarity a thank-you that's something reminiscent of sincere and set off
>"Do come back when you're off the clock, dear, I'd love to try out some new minotaur designs to see how they fit on you!"
>you mumble something noncommittal over your shoulder
"Yeah, I'll be sure to... mmhm, right..."
>two miles to freedom
>'ten-hut soldier, and march!
>you set off at a decent clip
>it's almost easy now that you're not hauling what was probably a literal ton or two of product for diamondass
>as you crest the third hill, you scout out the area below
>nopone on the road, good
>you really shouldn't do this, you think as you sit on the edge of the cart
>but dammit you've been busting ass all day
>you deserve a little fun
>you lift your legs and let gravity do the work
>the cart inches forward, gravity quickly building up its momentum as you ride down the hill
>and up the next one, much smaller than the last
>you actually catch a slight bit of air as you clear the top of it
>...rut roh
>you see a pink mare in the path at the bottom of the hill
"Oy, watch out!"

>you see her lift her head at your voice, eyes meeting yours and shrinking to pinpricks
>uh-oh
>you set a foot down, kicking up dust as you try to bring the thing to a stop
>no dice
>shouldn't have started this from the top of the tallest hill in town
>all it does is make the cart bounce wildly, now hopping frantically as you try to keep it from tilting over
>she doesn't even try to move, just ducks and cowers as you barrel down at her
>oh god
>you're going to be responsible for the first cart crash in the history of Equestria
>because you were lazy
>suddenly, idea!
>you lift your leg, swinging it up and completely into the cart
>the mare seems to more or less have accepted her fate
>but you haven't
>with one fortuitous bump, you feel the cart rock slightly left, and you throw your weight in that direction
>the whole thing goes up on two wheels, the mare passing unscathed underneath you
>you land with a crash on four wheels a second after
>you think you see her pat herself down in disbelief before she looks over her shoulder to scowl at you
>but all you have time to do before you arc over the next hilltop and roll towards the center of town is look back and shout
"SORRRRYYYY!"
>and then you're scrambling to bring it to a stop before you drive the damn cart straight into a fountain

>"Then what happened?"
>you cross your arms and look determinedly at anything other than your pegasus coworker
"I, uh... managed to steer myself away from the fountain and... into thopnermrkt..."
>you grumble
>"Where?"
"The open air market, okay? I wound up crashing into BP's stall, ruined a whole batch of her wine grapes."
>you glare at her, but you're only mad at yourself, and your expression softens to reflect that
>your coworker just looks even more confused than before you started your story
"Which is why I'm not allowed in the liquor store for the next month."
>the walleyed pegasus lets out a soft 'oh'
"Which is why I'd really appreciate it if you'd buy a bottle or two on my behalf, Ditzy."
>she smiles sheepishly at you, blushing as she realizes what you were asking
>"Er... sorry, Anon, I'm not allowed either, not 'til next year. I knocked over a display last time I was in, and..."
>she trails off
>uuuuugh
>okay
>well, you could ask Time Turner if he'd mind doing you a solid
>your manager didn't hate you, despite how much he harped on you
>he was just that much a stickler for schedule
>but owing that stallion a favor...
>maybe you'd be better off just trying to brew your own booze
"Dang... alright, thanks anyway, Ditzy. How's the daughter, by the way?"
>she smiles as she tells you all about how Dinky's doing, how her friends come over sometimes, and how glad she is that her daughter's doing well in school
>you keep up the facade of interest, secretly wondering how you're going to get your hands on some goddamn happy-juice
>you can't really stand being around some of these ponies
>oh, they're all kind, but some of them are just sickeningly saccharine sweet and innocent
>"...multiplication tables!"
"Mmm."
>"So, Anon, I don't want to pry, but... you've done a few deliveries for Rarity now, what do you think of her?"
>the question sends a physical bolt of discomfort down your back
>four
>dozen
>bolts
>that's as many as 4 twelves
>and that's terrible

"She's... uh, certainly an... interesting individual?"
>you missed your calling as a politician, anon
>Ditzy looks kind of disappointed in your answer though
"Why?"
>her expression shifts quickly from shock to mock ignorance
>clearly she's said something she shouldn't have
>"Oh, just wondering. I'd heard she was busy, but she usually has time to spend with ponies she likes..."
>you nod
>makes sense, she's always gallivanting off with Twilight and those other mares
>Derpy continues unbidden
>"...And I hear she's single at the moment..."
>...no
>noooope
>absolutely not
>you scowl at the mere notion of dating someone like her
>"What, don't you like her?"
"Hey, she's a great pony, I'm sure. But I'd sure as hell not envy the stallion she eventually catches."
Ditzy fairly gasps at that
>"She's so pretty! And she's nice, and generous, and-- and--"
>you nod, holding out your hands for emphasis
"Yes, absolutely she is! Ditzy, please, don't take my disinterest to mean she's not nice, she's just not my kind of mare."
>the blonde cocks her head to one side
>pony-sign for confusion
>"Er... nice mares aren't your type?"
>you shake your head
>that's not it at all, nice mares are fine, it's just...
"Ditzy, have you ever heard her talk about her 'dream stallion' before? Because after last month, I can tell you everything she wants in a pony."
>"Ohhh... well I think you could be that pony if you wanted, Anon! I bet you could do anything you set your mind to!"
>you chuckle and ruffle her mane, standing up as you try to find the right way to express this
"Thanks, Ditzy, and I think so too. It's just that I don't want to, is all. I don't mean to disparage, but I'm not that person, deep down. She's too starry-eyed, too innocent, I can hear it when she talks that she's the pristine, flawless gem she looks like she is. Ditzy, I need someone closer to earth. Someone not so... perfect and optimistic. Someone who's made a mistake or two!"
>she looks all the more puzzled

>you don't have the heart to break Ditzy's by informing her how terrible life can actually be
>you can tell deep down that she's a dreamer, she thinks things are going to get better someday
>it's just how she is, and you don't want to take that away from her
>but at the same time, you need to express just what you're looking for
>because having this conversation twice a week, trying to play matchmaker with a bunch of ponies like Rarity or Applejack?
>no thank you ma'am
"No no, Ditzy, no wide-eyed, eager, wholesome, innocent mares for me. Mares like that, they spin webs not even a starspider could-- look..."
>you try to take a different tack, one that sounds less accusative
"Mares like that, they're so prim, they've got such purity, I'd have to trade my independence for their security."
>you hook your arm in an imaginary other's, making a great show of it as you mime it out
"The only affirmative she would file, refers to marching down the aisle!"
http://youtu.be/jpfGK8NXodY
"No golden glorious gleaming pristine goddesses, no ma'am. For no Diana will I play faun, I'll tell you that right now!"
>you turn back to the mare, who seems to be bobbing her head along subconsciously
>you rake the sky with your hands
"I snarl, I hiss, how could ignorance be compared to bliss?"
>your demeanor changes all at once as you imagine this hypothetical mare's polar opposite
"I spark, I fizz, for the lady who knows what time it is! I cheer and I rave, for the virtue I'm too late to save!"
>you make a show of 'lamenting' said virtue, before taking Ditzy's forehooves in your hands and dancing an impromptu little jig with her
"No, the sadder but wiser girl for me!"
>her look is one of confusion mixed with excitement as you swing her between the breakroom tables
>you set her on top of a table as you list off the qualities you're looking to avoid
"No bright-eyed blushing breathless baby-doll baby, no ma'am! That mare would tie knots no sailor ever knew..."

"I prefer to take a chance,"
>you lean in close, one hand holding her forehoof, the other on the small of her back
>the barest hint of a blush begins to form before you start up again
"on a more adult romance! No dewy young miss who keeps resisting,"
>you hold the pegasus' body as far away from yours as possible
"all the while she keeps insisting!"
>and pull her in tight, before coming back to a comfortable distance somewhere in between
"No wide-eyed wholesome innocent female-- no ma'am!"
>you bring your hands (and Ditzy's hooves) together over your head and cast out an imaginary line
"She'd be the fisher, and I'd be the fish, you see?"
>you hold the mare out in front of you, mock-cowering behind her body as you sing
"I flinch and I shy, when the filly with the delicate air goes by!"
>you switch positions with her, standing in front of her cockily
"But I smile and I grin, when the gal with a touch of sin walks in!"
>you come to your knees, bringing you just about eye-level with Ditzy when she's on all fours, and clasp your hands together
"I hope and I pray for Hester to win just one more 'A'!"
>well outside Ditzy's frame of reference, but oh well
"The sadder but wiser girl's the one for me!"
>she joins you in the chorus as you finish it out
"The sadder but wiser girl for meee!"
>"The sadder but wiser girl for youuu!"
>the pair of you laugh as you do a few more twirls between the tables, before finally settling into two chairs
>"...I think I get it. A little? But I don't know any mares like that, Anon!"
>you shake your head
"Don't worry, Ditzy, I'll find one, I'm sure. Thanks for thinking of me enough to ask about Rarity, even if the answer is an emphatic and repeated no."
>she giggles and the two of you finish off your respective breaks, before dividing up the deliveries for the afternoon
>you get saddled haha, saddled with a delivery to the Rich Mansion, one to the library, a residential stop, and then end at Sweet Apple Acres

>you stare up at the quite-frankly-ridiculous monstrosity that is the Rich Mansion
>you never understood why it was built where it was, personally
>Stinkin' or Ungodly or whatever his name was apparently had it constructed right in the center of the town
>with a fine tin roof and real wooden floors below
>(but that's another story)
>probably, as with most things, as a demonstration of just how goddamn true to his namesake he really was
>delivering here first was necessary
>both because the lamp you were carrying here was marked "FRAGILE", and because there was a good chance nopony would be home to make more demands
>you lug the thing over, setting it gingerly down on the front steps
>okay
>ring-ditching was not your favorite practice, but occasionally it had to be done
>and... GO
>you hammer the doorbell a couple times, wait for the chime to finish, and turn to bolt for the cart
>you make it a grand total of three steps before you hear the door swing open
>"Who's there?"
>dammit, you were almost home freeeeeaaagh!
>you turn to face a small pink filly, her face covered in thick green goop
>a cucumber over her left eye, and mane tied up in curlers
"Dammit..."
>you mutter under your breath
"Pony Express delivery company, I'm here to drop off... invoice says a lamp?"
>"Oh good!... Daddy said you were going to be here at 10, you're late."
>Tiara scowls at you as you march dutifully up to the box and lift it delicately to bring it in

...

>what a horrible little bitch
>you glower as you make your way back out to the cart, kicking the gate closed behind you
>she wasted an hour
>AN HOUR OF YOUR GODDAMN LIFE
>adjusting just where that stupid hoof-shaped lamp was on the table
>like, seriously by a matter of inches
>gaudiest thing on the planet, too
>when she signed the receipt, she was even kind enough to leave you a tip
>"Next time, show up earlier" is a tip, right?
>insufferable little shit
>you grab the cart handles and make your way to the library
>well, if you weren't late before, you sure as hell are behind schedule now
>you break into a sprint as you pull away from the mansion
>you can probably shave a couple minutes off your time if you cut through the residential sector
>left, left, right, left, straight, right, left...
>the cart leans dangerously a few times, but with the weight of the books and other assorted items, it levels itself out quickly
>"Hey! Hey wait! My item--"
>you hear a mare shouting behind you as you barrel past
"Pick-ups must be scheduled in advance at the home office we apologize for the inconvenience THANK YOU COME AGAIN!"
>you shout as you bank another turn
>you see Twilight stepping out of her treebrary just as you make the last turn out of Hayseed Estates
"Delivery for Ms. Sparkle!"
>you shout as you lean back, putting both feet forward as you drag to a stop
>this works particularly well for stopping you
>it even works great for stopping the cart
>some of the items IN the cart... less so
>you let out a strangled cry as the books piled at the front topple over from the momentum, burying you in tomes of literature and mathematics
>to her credit, at least Twilight has the decency to be concerned
>"Ohmygosh! Are you alright?! That was a terrible spill, is anything wrong?"
>she gallops up to you, magicking the grimoires off of your crumpled form
"Ghhk... I think I'm okay... mostly..."
>you say
>you actually see her concerned eyes shift from the books to you and widen a little bit
>as smoothly as she can, she shifts her attention from the books to you
>"...Oh thank goodness! I was so worried!"
>the blush in her cheeks betrays her
>so you're secondary to the stuff you carry for her
>thanks a load, bookhorse
>"I waited for you at the appointed time, but you never showed, I thought our delivery was postponed, I'm sorry Anon."
>you shake your head
"No no, my fault, really. Well, Tiara's fault. But ultimately my fault. Kind of."
>giving you a bashful smile
>"So... uh, I kind of had plans to go visit Fluttershy at the spa about now... could I trust you to put those books away in their proper places?"
>you let out a defeated sigh
>"...pleeeeease?"
>you're not allowed to say no, actually, company rules
"Sure Twilight. is there anything I should know about your organization system?"
>she waves a hoof, already halfway across the plaza to the business side of town
>"It's very elementary Anon, I have every confidence you'll get it in no time!"
>Spike just gives you a pitying look over his shoulder, shaking his head as he follows behind the purple mare
>universal sign for 'you poor bastard'
>oh
>goodie

>you arrive at the residential stop
>and gee, you're only an hour and forty-five minutes late
>Twilight was about to leave when you showed up on her doorstep, and she inadvertently made you even more late
>confound you Dewey, your decimal system was of exactly zero use
>what are the odds this pony will actually be home too?
>you knock on the door and check your watch impatiently
>Time Turner is going to have your fucking head
>nope
>nope nope nope, not waiting for this
>you've still got a delivery to make at the farm, and since Sweet Apple Acres' roads are all dirt, they turn to mud when it rains
>which it looks like it's going to
>you're not getting caught hauling all this farm shit up to the barn through acres of mud road
>you scribble the details onto a slip of paper
Sorry We Missed you!
Due to:

[ ]Nonpayment for Delivery
[ ]Hydra Attack
[ ]Parasprite Infestation
[ ]Magical-based Malady
[x]Nopony Answered to Sign
[ ]Threat of Eternal Heat, Night, Frost, or other Weather
[ ]Other:______________________

We could not complete your delivery. We will try again between the hours of:
_12_ and _3__
__Tomorrow__

>alright, let's get this shit show on the road
>your legs can't take a sprint all the way to Sweet Apple Acres, so you set off at a jog
>as you trundle along, you spot an earth pony mare with mustard-yellow hair scowling at the ground
>jeez, looks like she's having just as bad a day as you are
>moving over to make room on the street, you notice she looks vaguely familiar
>where from...?
>eh, it'll come to you
>she looks up from her walk and sees you, and you give her a smile and a wink as you jog past
>maybe that'll perk her up some
>as much as you bemoan naive cheerfulness, nopony deserves to be completely dejected
>well, except you apparently
>least if today's any indication
>then it's back to the grind
>Sweet Apple Acres' iron gate looms over the next hill as you hear the first rumbles of thunder
>shit, maybe you do have it in you to sprint

>"An' the industrial corer an' slicer can go up in the rafters, won't be needin' them 'til March,"
>Applejack points up a ladder that you're more than a little distrusting of
>it might hold a pony, but you and that piece of machinery?
>you bite your lip
>at least you made it into the barn before it was coming down too hard
>the bags of fertilizer are damp, which considering the source, is doing a number on your nose
>you'll take what you can get, at this point
>"Now you think you got all, Anon? Ah know it was a lot, an' Ah can't thank you enough fer makin' this delivery after sundown. Most other folk woulda just blown us off an' done it tomorrow."
>even as run ragged as you are, that brings a genuine smile to your face
>AJ was mad at first, and you didn't blame her
>but after you explained things, she cooled off a bit, even offered to have Macintosh help you out
>an offer you regretfully turned down, both out of legal obligation
>(if he were to hurt himself helping you, the company would be liable)
>and because you knew Mac well enough to know he probably had a harder day than you
"I think I remember it all, now it's just a matter of making it happen. Oh, but if I could get you to sign off on me getting it all here, that way I don't have to bother you about it when I'm done?"
>she tips her stetson and scribbles her signature onto the receipt
>you get to work hefting all the tools and supplies out of the cart

>welp
>that was... almost anticlimactic
>you'd gotten through about 90% of the delivery with no issue
>if it hadn't been for you putting your foot through one of the more rotted out steps up to the barn rafters
>you might've even been able to call this an unqualified success
>you wipe the dirt from your hands and hop that step going down, before making a quick stop over at the farmhouse
>Granny Smith takes your message about the step being busted, and gives you a hard look of dissatisfaction in reply
>but AJ waves you off and assures you it'll get fixed
>she even tosses you a couple bits for your hard work
>definitely not as many as Rarity
>and probably not as many as if you'd showed up when you said you would or done your job without breaking her property
>but at this point, the fact that anyone even acknowledges that your work is hard is better than monetary compensation
>you wave goodbye and start off down the mud-slick road towards the office
>free at last, free at last, thank Sun Pony, you are free at last

>you shamble into the office yard, dragging the empty cart like it weighs a thousand tons
>it's at about this point that you realize you haven't had anything since lunch, and you're--
>you check your watch
>almost two hours past expected close
>you park your cart between Ditzy's and Highstep's
>you can hardly wait to grab a portabello burger when this is over
>as you unlock the door to the main office and pull out your bit collection for the day, you see a hastily scrawled note on the register

Anonymous,
We need to talk. My office. 6AM sharp.

TT

>the word "sharp" is underlined heavily
>god dammit Turner, this fucking day was not your fault
>blame the customers
>or if you can't do that, at least blame the shitty policies that force you to spend so long with their deliveries
>your teeth grind as you seethe over your boss's unreasonable crap
>but dutifully as ever, you dump the sack of money out and count out what you owe the register
>your day's pay is... well, "paltry" is a nice way to describe it
>but the tips turn it into a tidy sum
>nothing fantastic, but enough to live on
>you finish your documentation, file it away, and lock up
>thank Allah, praise be unto him, today is done

>"Welcome to Hayburger's, home of the hayburger! Can I take your oooorder?"
>the mare behind the counter flashes you her best customer service smile, complete with braces
>you wish there were some signal you could give her to let her know it's safe to act like a norml person
"Yeah, I'll have a Number 9."
>"Will that be all for today?"
"Oh, sorry, and a medium drink."
>she beams another plastered-on smile at you, sets the cup down, and looks over your shoulder at the next in line
>you make your way to the drink selections and the script starts over, and the stallion lists off his order for the family
>at least, you hope it's the family
>you don't think one pony could seriously eat two number 9's, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip and two number 45's by himself

>you look over from your meal, eyes slowly scanning the ponies eating their own deep-fried monstrosities
>people-watching has always been a hobby of yours
>why should pony-watching be any different?
>you've always imagined yourself an amateur Sherclop Pones, trying to puzzle out what a pony does for work or is like personality-wise through what you could observe
>or was that making parody videos?
>you'll go with the observational genius one
>your eyes rove over the group
>that unicorn stallion does something in the accounting or business sector, you gather by the pencil behind the ear and lack of dirt on his hooves
>that tan mare recently visited the Crystal Empire, or lived there
>you can tell from her mane style, most ponies in Ponyville don't sweep theirs over their eyes
>the guards that are eating are off-duty, and one's married, you surmise from the salad he's eating
>(or he's an exceptionally whipped boyfriend)
>that pink mare in the corner... hm
>you squint at her
>...is she the same mare you passed earlier?
>she's still frowning, and writing something in her journal it looks like
>she looks up, and you look away before she catches you staring
>wouldn't want to be rude
>you chance a peek after a few seconds
>she's back to writing, now at a much faster pace
>and angrier, if her frown's any indication
>eesh, touchy
>you polish off the last of your fries in silence and grab a refill
>as you walk to the door you'd swear you feel someone staring at you
>but when you turn to look, nopony seems to be looking
>hm
>weird
>well, if you're going to be up at six in the fucking morning, guess you'd best get home
>hopefully your alarm doesn't wake Bon-Bon up, the walls are paper-thin in the house where you two room
>you can't shake that feeling like someone's watching you though
>c'mon, Anon, quit worrying
>besides
>what've you done to make anyone mad lately?

>BZZT! BZZT! BZZT! BZZ--
"Agharghlkhfff"
>you fumble for the alarm clock
>the only thing stopping you from obliterating it from your bedside table is the cost of a new alarm clock
>you smack the off button and drag yourself out of bed, acutely aware of the need to get your ass moving
>a triple-S and a handful of clothes later, you're dressed and almost ready
>you wolf down a bowl of Chocolate-Coated Sugar Bombs and a glass of OJ
>twenty minutes to get to the office
>off you go
>Time Turner better be paying you for this shit

...

>"Sit down, Anon."
>you obediently sit in the tiny plastic chair across the desk from Turner, fighting off the urge to lay your head back and doze off
>"I'm not happy, Anonymous. Not. Happy."
>what a shocking revelation
>"Ask me why."
>you can hardly guess
"...Okay, why."
>that's not a question
>"Why what? Be specific, Anon."
>uuuggh
"Why are you unhappy."
>he points a hoof at you
>"Because your customers MAKE me unhappy."
>this conversation is reaching new levels of obnoxious
>"Specifically, Anon, I learned from two customers yesterday about your tardiness. Two out of four! You were over an hour late to Ms. Sparkle's delivery!"
>he called them
>you know he did
>because that's the sort of over-the-top customer-service-y thing he does all the fucking time
"Sir, all respect due, I had no choice but to--"
>"And worse! A mare came down to the office specifically. She said you've been terrorizing her, ignoring her, and even taunting her!"
>...what
>no, seriously, what
>you've been busting ass to get these ponies their stupid crap
>helping them get it set up in asinine ways
>what the fuck is this about
>"She said she'd be in at 6:20 to pick up her item, since you apparently skipped over her delivery yesterday-- ah, Ms. Berry, right on time. (Glad someone is...)"
>his demeanor shifts so fast you have to blink to make sure you didn't miss something
>then you look over your shoulder
>there in the doorway is
>wait
"You!"
>"You!"
>it's that pink mare from earlier at the restaurant, the one with the yellow hair!
>wait, what's her beef with you?
>all you did was smile at her
"Turner, what's this all about, actually? You know I wouldn't--"
>you hear him begin to clear his throat, but the mare cuts him off, glaring at you as she points an accusing hoof
>"Wouldn't what? Wouldn't try to run me over with your cart for a cheap laugh?"
>uh?
>you didn't-- wait, the day before yesterday
>shit
>"Or maybe you were going to say you wouldn't ignore me when I was trying to get my package?"
>she trots up to you, apparently having taken all the wind out of TT's sails by doing his job for him
"I thought you were trying to--"
>"You went RIGHT BY my house at the scheduled time, and completely ignored me!"
>she continues her tirade, cutting straight over you
>"Then, almost two hours late, you pin a note on my door in the 15 minutes I'm out buying groceries, and have the nerve to smirk at me about it!"
>aghpawoi;lkjer
>you struggle to regain some of your indignity
"I had a full schedule, I couldn't--"
>"But not so full you couldn't stop for a burger on your way home, huh?"
>she's practically nose-to-nose with you as she stares into your soul
>you sit in stunned silence for a few seconds
>eventually the rage drops out of her face and all that's left is exhaustion
>"Look, if I had the time, I would love to sit here and watch you get fired. But in all honesty, I don't care. You aren't worth my time. Just... just give me my book so I can get on with my life."
>...
>oh no
>your face goes pale
>there were no books the back of your cart when you pulled in last night, Anon
>hell, there wasn't ANYTHING in your cart when you pulled in last night
>Cherry Berry's watching you with something akin to hope
>but after a bit of silence, her face hardens in a grimace
>"...You don't have it, do you."
>ffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu
>you shake your head
>she lets out something between a sniffle and a laugh as she facehoofs
>Time Turner takes this moment to pipe up
>"But you know where it is, right?"
>the word 'right' could put manticores to shame, it's laced with that much venom
>there is only one right answer
"Y-yes. Well... yes. Approximately."
>you bite your lip, wondering how long it's going to take to find one book in the multi-story athenaeum that is Twilight's house.
>probably at least as long as it took you to file yesterday's shipment in the first place
"I'll... go get it for you. Right now."
>Turner seems
>placated?
>what's a word that means "pleased but not happy"?
>you stand up and make for the door, only to feel a tug at your jacket
>"I'm coming with you then,"
>Cherry grumbles, trotting after you
"Ma'am, you don't have to do that, it was my screw-up, I'll make it right."
>Turner nods along vehemently, not wanting to piss off the 'valued customer' any more than you already have
>she lets out a derisive snort
>"Given your track record, I'll get a bag of ashes and a Sorry We Missed You card on my front porch a week from now. At midnight."
>that actually makes her snort to herself
>"Hell, I should write that down."
>jesus mare, it's not like you meant for this to happen
>sometimes bad things just happen
>"So?"
>she pushes the door open
>oh, right
>you should probably lead the way, since you know where it is
>"Let's go, monkey boy. I don't have all day."
"My name's Anonymous,"
>you clarify
"Not monkey boy."
>"Mmm...hm."
>oh, you have a nickname now
>hip hip hoo-ray

>as you march to the library, you let out another barely-concealed grumble
>if it weren't for this utter horseshit, you'd probably be waking up... twenty minutes from now
>your companion, to her credit, looks every bit as disheveled as you lead the way
>maybe you can smooth things over a little?
"Listen, I'm sorry about, uh... misplacing your--"
>"Don't."
>it's not a command
>actually it's more of a suggestion, the way she says it
>"I get it, you screwed up. It wasn't out of malice. Most bad things that happen aren't."
>she trots along in silence after that
>weird
"...That doesn't excuse it though. The fact that it was accidental doesn't mean I didn't fuck up your whole day."
>she nods at that
>welp
>speak the truth, get the truth back
"Alright, it should be here, I'll go in and get it for you."
>she actually pushes you out of the way to get through the door first
>"No, the sooner we find it, the sooner I can get to my job. I told my manager I'd be late, hopefully he doesn't mind a half hour one way or... the... other..."
>she halts as she gets into the treehouse and sees the collective knowledge of a civilization crammed onto shelves all over the estate
>"You... you left my book in--"
"Sssh!"
>you shush her almost reflexively, pointing up to where you can still hear Twilight snoring lightly in her bedroom
>if you'd known you were going to be doing this, you'd have sent word ahead, but there's not much you can do at this point
>other than try to be as quick and quiet as possible
>doesn't stop the mare from glaring at you though
>"You're an idiot."
>she hisses at you, at least being conscientious of the purple unicorn
"...Look, I had exactly one hundred and seventy-two books that Twilight ordered to put away yesterday, according to the most arcane organization system on the planet. I don't expect you to be happy about it, but you can at least see how it happened."
>she fumes, but doesn't snap at you
>probably too tired to give a damn at this point
>with that you grab your copy of the invoice for Ms. Sparkle's delivery and start going through them
>at least you know where to start looking now
"Which book are we looking for, exactly?"
>the mare starts from the bottom of the list, checking the rightful book's spot to see if you mixed it up with hers
>"A Practical Guide to Mechanics and Aeronautics,"
>she whispers over her shoulder
>nope, the advanced trigonometry is right where it's supposed to be
>"Seventh Edition. W. Leviosa."
>apparently it was a very specific book she was looking for
>you nod and cross another book off the top of the list
>Foal's Guide to Chemistry, right where you left it yesterday
>the pair of you work fairly quickly
>you're both about a third of the way done before either of you makes more than an exasperated sigh
>but you break first
"So. Aeronautics."
>her face is going to get stuck like that if she keeps that expression up
>"Yes, aeronautics. No, I'm not confused. Yes, I know I'm an earth pony. No, I don't want a book written by a pegasus instead. No, I'm not adopted, genetics just hates me."
>wow
>"Any other questions?"
>you shake your head and get back to work
>A Brief History of Time, right where it belongs
>dammit, the thing would be right in the middle of the list, wouldn't it
>you're nearly done with your half of the list when you hear the eerie shimmer of magic against the door upstairs
>"Spiiiiike! Please start s-- oh!"
>there's a faint poof sound, and Twilight's down next to you, looking over the list
>"Morning Anonymous!... er, you already delivered these yesterday, remember? Oh, did you come to make sure you cataloged them correctly?"
>no, book horse
>no you didn't
"Actually, I think I may have mixed in another book delivery with yours, Twi."
>"Nope!"
>she sounds awfully goddamn chipper for effectively telling you you just wasted forty five minutes
"What do you mean, 'nope'?!"
>"What do you mean, 'nope'?"
>you and the pink mare ask in unison
>"I checked your work after I got back from the spa, Anon, it was pretty good! You mixed in the theoretical xenobiology with the terrestrial botany, but that's an easy mistake to make, even Spike mixes those two sometimes."
>you stand there slack-jawed
>the fuck does she mean it's not here
"So you're sure?"
>"Positive!"
>you are going to kill someone after this
>since you have nobody else to blame, it may well be yourself
>the mare who followed you along is sitting on the floor with both hooves over her head in defeat
>no
>this is not how you roll
>you hate this job, you hate most of your customers, you hate the hours, but you will not be that asshole
>the one who fucks up your order and doesn't care
>the dickwad who takes your information down but never follows up
>the asshole who loses your shit and does nothing
>you are not that fucker
"Twilight, let me use your phone."
>"Huh?"
>did you fucking stutter?
"Your phone. I need it."
>you don't wait for an answer, going straight to the solarium where it should be
>it only takes a couple rings before a maid at the Rich Mansion picks up
"Hello, this is Pony Express Deliveries. Yes. I'm looking for a book. No. Yes, yesterday. No? Thank you."
>thank god
>if you had to deal with Tiara two times in as many days, you really might kill yourself
>which means
>Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call! Phone call!
>"Eeyup?"
>herewefuckingo.wav
"Hey Mac, Granny tell you I was there yesterday?"
>"Eeyup."
"She complain about me being late?"
>"Eeyup."
"Bring all those cookbooks into the house?"
>"Eeyup."
"You in the kitchen right now?"
>"Nnnope."
"Mind going in there and looking for a book?"
>"Nnnope."
"Thanks Mac, should be one on airplanes and mechanics."
>"Eeyup."
>...
"Found it?"
>"Eeyup."
"Going to be there in the next half hour?"
>"Eeyup."
"Great, I'll see you then."
>"Talk to you soon."
>wait what?
>click

>"You're absolutely sure that you know where my book is, this time."
>the mare grumbles at you as you march through town towards Sweet Apple Acres
"No, I know for a fact that there's a book at the farm that involves flying and mechanical forces. But unless Applejack's decided to start airdropping her apple deliveries, I'm reasonably certain it's yours."
>that actually gets a chuckle out of her
>you walk on in silence for a couple more minutes, but pause when you notice the yellow-maned gal's stopped at a nearby bench, a journal spread open on it as she flips through the pages
"...Whatcha got there?"
>she arches her eyebrow at you and makes a quick mark in the book, before closing it and putting it back in her saddlebag
>"Just some notes. It's how I keep score, mostly."
>keep score of what?
>you blink a couple of times and she sighs
>"Don't worry about it. It's just something I do in my spare time."
>...
>well alright
>you continue towards the farm, and after a few minutes come to realize that something was off about that last exchange
>she almost sounds more tired than angry
>maybe some of her rage is finally subsiding?
>there may be a faint glimmer of hope for your job yet
"So, you said you told your boss you'd be late... are you like an airplane mechanic or something?"
>oops
>well, there's that scowl again
>"A what? No, I'm a cashier for Mr. Rich at his general store. Not everypony gets to grow up to be a princess, Anonymous, some of us have to do real work for a living."
>preaching to the choir, sister
"Yeah, like hiking all around town without pay to make up for a fuck-up you only made thanks to your customers' dickishness."
>that earns you another glare
>"Don't blame your mistakes on me, monkey boy."
>ugggggh
"I wasn't, jeez, you think I can blame you for something when I didn't even know I'd fucked up until this morning? I was talking about my other customers."
>"The hell do you mean, you didn't know you screwed up?"
"...Wait, you really think any of this was out of malice?"
>she looks at you with an expression that epitomizes the words 'well duh, obviously'
>that actually earns a laugh
"I passed by your place earlier not realizing it, because I was trying to get back on schedule. If I'd realized, I would've saved myself the time doubling back and just given you your book then. And I smiled at you because you looked like you were having a shitty day, I didn't know I was making it worse. I don't have a vendetta against you, I'm just--"
>"Sort of an idiot?"
>uh
>well, not exactly how you'd phrase it
>but sure
"...yeah, I guess. A sleep-deprived idiot with a boss that hates tardiness and a job that makes him late to everything. But I'll concede to being a bit of a prat. Sorry."
>you actually have to stop and look back at her
>the pink earth pone's frozen in place from the shock
>she shakes it off quickly, but when she's back even with you, she seems to have cooled off considerably
>you're actually past the wrought iron gates before you speak again
"Again, I really am sorry about all this."
>she shakes her head this time
>"It's fine. Well, I mean, it's not fine, this has been a huge pain in the ass. But... you're not an asshole like I thought you were."
>you make your way up to the farmhouse door
"Just an idiot. And you don't know that I'm not an asshole, either... but I promise I wasn't an asshole to you. On purpose."
>holy shit, what's that facial expression?
>the way her lips are curled up, you could almost confuse it with a smile
>or at least a smirk
>AJ comes to the door a second later, book in her mouth, and promptly hands it off to you
>"Ah'm real sorry 'bout this, Anon, Ah told Applebloom to grab our books, but Ah guess she jus' went and grabbed all of 'em. Hope it weren't too much-- oh, Cherry, this'un's yours? Well shoot, then Ah'm double-sorry 'bout that then!"
>dammit, as mad as you are about this whole morning, you can't be pissed at the Apples for this
>you pass the book to Cherry, who absolutely hugs the shit out of it before putting it in her bag
>shit, now THAT'S an unmistakable smile
>good to see someone's happy
"No worries, AJ, mistakes happen. Wish they didn't, but we got it straightened out now. Thanks for the help."
>"Shucks, weren't nothin'."
>she blushes a little and kicks at the floor before saying goodbye
>"Y'all come back sometime when ya ain't workin', though, huh?"
>you nod noncommittally, actually tapping your companion on the shoulder to pull her from the reverie of the opening pages
"When I'm not working? Alright, fifty years from now I'll give you a ring."
>the two of you make your way back out, the blonde-maned pony barely able to keep her nose out of her long-awaited book
>hm
>you have a couple bits to spare, and Turner's not expecting you back until after lunch
>time to get your munch on
>you make your way over to the Hayburger in relative silence, not wanting to break the mare's concentration
>to your surprise, she follows you blindly, not even looking up from her book
>this continues all the way through the line
>"Welcome to Hayburg--"
>shut the fuck up, we've done that bit already
>you order for her, figuring you can't get much safer than what she had yesterday
>you're actually sitting in a booth and about to take a bite of your portabello burger before she realizes there's food in front of her
>"Huh? Wait, when did we-- I, wait--"
>heh
"Double-hayburger with cheese, side of horseshoe fries, small drink. It's what you ordered yesterday."
>"...Whuh? How do you know that, you some kind of creepy stalker?"
>rude
"No, I'm just observant."
>she just stares at you sardonically
"...Sometimes. When I try to be."
>"Mmmm hm. Well, uh, thanks for lunch, I guess."
>she doesn't turn down the food, even if she is reading the whole time as she eats
>you let her get most of the way through lunch before you clear your throat
"So, why did you think I was being an asshole to you? That's not most ponies' first expectation."
>she could literally be a statue from the Ming dynasty of China, that's how jaded the look she throws you is
>"Anon, I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. I'm Cherry Berry. You might've heard of me."
>...
>mmmmm, nope
>you shake your head
>that seems to take her off guard a touch
>"Wait, really?"
"Yeah, really. Why, are you basically kind of a big deal or something?"
>she scowls
>"Not exactly, more like someone should've warned you before they sent you to deliver to my place."
>you slow down your eating, noticing that she's lost a lot of that bubbling happiness from reading her book
>"Anon, the ponies in this town hate me."
>huh?
"Huh? How do you figure, AJ seemed to like you well enough."
>she shakes her head
>"Right, in front of you. But trust me, ever since that Twilight girl moved to town, this place has had it out for me."
"Yeah, I'm calling bullshit."
>she blinks
>"You can't call bullshit on a true fact."
"Too bad, because I totally just did."
>"Then you're wrong."
>you sigh
>okay, elaboration
"Look, I won't claim that I spy on ponies or anything, but I like to think I'm a pretty attentive person when I know what I'm looking for. I've dropped by Twilight's place a few times, and she's... I mean, she's a librarian. I don't think AJ's physically capable of being violent, and certainly she's not capable of hiding it if she were."
>you take another bite of your burger
>rather than answer you, Berry pulls out a book
>oh hey, it's that journal she was writing in yesterday
>she flips the pages until she hits whatever it is she's looking for
>then slides it across the table to you
>frowning in confusion, you read through a few entries:

[ ]Pinkie's party cannon backfires and hurts somepony
[ ]Rarity's fashion show causes a riot
[x]Pinkie's baking makes me sick
[x]Overcharged for food
[?]Pegasus ruins my balloon
[ ]Sold out of my type of apples
[x]Book lost or destroyed

>you flip the page and see the list goes on and on
>it's worrisome how many have been marked
>you look back up at her as she chows down as well
>so... this is...
>"Pre'y innereshting, huh? For a town tha' doeshn't have anyfing againsht-- 'scuse me, for a town that doesn't have anything against me, it's interesting how that book has 72% of the predictions I make come true, huh?"
>she takes a long slurp of soda
>"I can't predict everything. My house being dragged across town by a lovestruck stallion? A surgeon trying to put a cupcake in where my appendix was? You can't write that sort of thing."
>you nod, dumbfounded
>"But yeah, I'm not psychic or anything."
"Then how--"
>"I just see patterns. 'Nopony is perfect', remember? However someone could screw up to make my life worse, I just write it down. And lo and behold..."
>she polishes off the last of her burger and gestures to the book
>you let that digest a bit
>along with all the food you just ate
>you really can't keep coming here for every meal, Anon, you're going to get fat
>...well, fattER
>you close the book and scratch the back of your head
"That's... impressive, I guess? I mean, obviously it's bad, but I still don't buy that it's on purpose or anything."
>Cherry lets out a little sigh
>"Of course you wouldn't believe me. Nopony ever does."
>you tap the book's cover as you slide it across the table back to her
"No, I mean, I believe that you're pretty good at predicting bad things happening to you. I bet I'd be pretty good at it too."
>you cut her off before she can interrupt you
"You know what I mean. I could come up with probable bad things that could happen to me because of things beyond my control."
>heh, got her
>she closes her mouth and smirks at you
>"So, what, you think I'm cursed or something?"
>but you continue on regardless
"No, I think you've got a good old-fashioned case of confirmation bias going on. I mean, I bet I could've told you a week ago most of the problems I ran into yesterday, if you asked me."
>you count them off on your fingers
"Diamond Tiara getting all pissy? Sure. Twilight's sorting system fucking me up? Probably. Something in AJ's barn trying to kill me? Does that even count as a prediction?"
>your tone softens as you think about the things that went right
"But I also could've predicted good things, like AJ tipping me in spite of me being late. Getting to know where Ms. Sparkle keeps her books on history and geography. Making my delivery before the rains hit."
>you let that sink in
>hell, now that you say it out loud, it does sound pretty logical
>maybe part of why you've been having such a disastrous week is because you've been looking at it through a negative lens
>ooooor maybe it's because Time Turner a shit and customers a bigger shit
>...it can be two things
>you look around for a second, then go grab a pen from one of the younger mares working at the counter
>"What's that for?"
>you hold it up in two fingers and point it at her
"A challenge."
>"What kind of challenge?"
>you smirk back at her, glad to finally have the upper hand
"I'll go buy a book tonight, like yours. You come up with everything bad you think will happen to you for a week, and I'll come up with everything good that could happen. At the end of the week, whichever book has more things right, the author of that book wins."
>you can tell by her expression that she finds the idea dubious
>"...What're the stakes?"
>heh
"If you're right, I'll be your workhorse for the week, so all the bad shit happens to me instead of you."
>"Deal."
>she holds out a hoof to shake on it
"BUT!"
>you hold up a finger
"If you lose... hm... you'll have to... ah! You said you have a hot-air balloon, right? You have to take me on a tour through whatever area of Equestria I pick."
>that earns a laugh out of her
>she pulls her hoof in to pretend to weigh her options
>"So, either I get you to do all my dirty work for a week AND admit I'm right, or you get a free balloon ride?"
>she extends the hoof again, and shakes your hand
>"Pretty obvious you don't know me at all, monkey boy. You got a deal."
>any annoyance caused by her calling you that again is washed away the moment you hear her accept
>this'll be fun, you think
>a chance to stretch your imagination in a way that might benefit you and her
>you were looking for some way to cheer her up yesterday, after all
>you can practically feel the breeze against your face as you imagine looking down at the Gryphonian landscape
>you check your watch
>shit, you really need to get back to the office
>hm
>you backpedal your thought process a bit--
>as much fun as this was, and it really is turning into a good time, you should probably get to your work and let Cherry get to hers
>as you're getting the table cleared off, a thought occurs to you
"Oh, one minor thing before we do this."
>the pink-coated mare smirks at you
>god does she have a cocky smile
>"What, adding provisions and conditions already?"
>you roll your eyes
"Yeah, just enough to put us on a level playing field, though. I want to get at least a quick tour around your house."
>she mulls the idea over in her head
>"Maybe... explain why."
>you grab a refill on your soda while you talk, then step aside so she can do the same
"Two reasons. One, we can meet up tonight to write tomorrow's list, and neither of us can accuse the other of cheating."
>she shrugs her shoulders as you hold the door open for her
"And two, you've got home field advantage as it is. I at least want a glimpse into how you live, so I know what to predict. Sound fair?"
>she seems to turn the reasoning over in her head a few times, looking for any flaws or holes in it
>apparently it passes inspection
>"Yeah, I guess. Not that it's going to matter, you're still going to be catching the flak headed my way for a week."
>the subject may be pessimistic
>but she says it with a faint hint of happiness in her voice
>or maybe that's schadenfreude
>look, Anon, take it where you can get it
"Yeah right. Get your cold weather clothes out, it's supposed to be cold up in gryphon lands."
>she lets out a snort of derision
>"We'll see."
>you wave goodbye as the two of you part ways
>gotta keep yourself employed and all that
>but as you take off at the jog that seems to be your default speed these days, you look over your shoulder
>Cherry's walking a little more upright, not her usual world-weary trudge
>best to send her off right
"Have a good daaaaay~!"

>"Look, just... don't touch anything, okay?"
"Yeah, I know."
>Cherry unlocks the front door and pushes it open, leading the way into her humble abode
>very humble, from the looks of it
>you have to scoot in sideways through her front entrance, it's so crowded
>careful not to actually lay a hand on any of it, you lean over and check out some of the baubles and doo-dads she has laying around
>they range from intricate glass chambers attached with metal wires, to vials of green and purple liquid, to gears and chains strung together in a jumble of jointed parts
>pointing at a large glass tub, you arch your eyebrow
>"I don't know, I think Berry's doing something with that still. She said something about it needing to decant and then she could ferment it."
"You live with Berry Punch?"
>"She lives upstairs, I get downstairs. We share the entrance way, obviously. S'why I said not to touch it, who knows what she's cooking up. Or do, I've got a prediction that someone breaks it and she blames me."
>how someone can be so cavalier about that sort of prediction is beyond you
>but nonetheless, you refrain from disturbing it
>as you follow her into the living room, you do your best to shift mental gears
>detective mode, go
>you take in the layout of her house, how the couch faces away from the entrance towards the kitchen
>dishes in the sink, two pans, spatula, stew pot
>radio on the far table, next to the phonograph
> strewn over a couple of chairs in the living room, pieces of what looks like the back rotor for a helicopter
>small oven, full-sized fridge
>you stock all of that away as you wander over to the phonograph
"S.A.W.S. and the Valley? Does that stand for something?"
>you look at the record jacket, four stallions standing around a fifth
>"They're the seasons, Anon, geez. Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring?"
>she shakes her head in disbelief
>apparently they're her fuckin' jam or something
>"Anyways, yeah, this is my place. Bathroom's on the right, my room on the left. I'm serious, look don't touch."
>she nods in each direction, and you cautiously make your way around a pile of drawings stacked on top of each other
>you hazard a glance at them and are surprised to see fairly detailed schematics for a modified hot-air balloon
>huh, looks like a zeppelin, actually
>interesting
>as you make your way into her room, you're almost slapped in the face with the drastic change
>not just in color, though the rest of her house is an almost industrial grey and this room is a warm cream color
>but in organization, too
>everything else around her place seems almost completely utilitarian, any flat space a candidate for occupation by her work
>but the dresser (what does she even wear? Most ponies don't wear clothes) only has a couple of pictures of who you presume to be her family
>her mirror is deliberately placed beside the wardrobe
>bed neatly made
>the wood floor covered with a simple but tasteful throw rug
>hmmm
>a mystery
>you don't pry for too long
>(your sensibilities won't stand for poking around a lady's private space without her present ...heh)
>but when you come out, your mind continues to puzzle about what that sort of harsh contrast means
>"Find what you were looking for, monkey boy?"
"Probably, at least for the moment mustard-mane."
>"H-hey!"
>haw
>it's a perverse pleasure, especially under the circumstances, but you just love when ponies make that little scrunched-up face
>you pull out the journal you purchased earlier today at the stationery store
>heck, the stallion selling it even did free leather-binding and emblazoning
>"'Don't Panic'?"
"Figured every good book should have a title. I tried to get it in a font that looked unthreatening, how'd I do?"
>"...Eh."
>you pull out the pen you'd brought with you
"So, we understand how this works, right?"
>"Yeah yeah, I write down my predictions, you write yours, we compare notes to see who's right more often."
>you nod
>with a flourish, you write out your first predictions

[ ]Don't have to work overtime for Mr. Rich
[ ]Tips!
[ ]Dinner tastes good
[ ]Enough for leftovers for lunch tomorrow
[ ]Finish another chapter in new book
[ ]Berry makes it upstairs without help
[ ]Get enough time to work on ideas to make some real headway

>you continue on for a few more pages
>and a couple more after that
>it's a decent amount, that's for sure
>but you can't help but feel like it's really generic
>anypony would be happy with most of these
>things like "Nobody runs me over on the road" are almost cop-outs
>you can list page upon page of things that would be bad if they did happen, but would be good if they didn't
>but... ugh, you don't know this pony well enough yet to come up with anything super-specific to her
>you tap the pen on the table rhythmically as you think
>it goes on longer than you realize
>"Heh, tough, isn't it?"
>her snark pulls you out of your reverie
>you narrow your eyes at her
>"Don't worry, when you're catching mud to the face that's meant for me, you won't have to think near so hard."
>...lightbulb
>you smile deviously, and write a few more entries before snapping the book back closed
>then, as casually as you can, you sneak to her fridge and take a peek while she's off rummaging through her things
>ho-ho, perfect
"Say, as thanks for hosting this little kick-off, how about I treat you to dinner?"
>she leans around her pile of stuff and Costanza's the hell out of you
>"What, another dinner at Hayburger's?"
"No no, you've got all the ingredients for this dish I know, if you don't mind me using your pans."
>she considers it for a second
>"Uh, sure, I guess. If you're just aching to do some cooking, I won't turn down the offer..."
>you pump your fist and get started
>boil the water for pasta
>dice and season some tomatoes
>a little olive oil in the frying pan
>crack a couple eggs for the wash
>you cut the eggplants, thin enough to cook quickly but thick enough to still be substantial
>grate a touch of cheese
>yes
>it's all coming together
>hehehe
>hahahahaha
>MWUAHAHAHAHA
>as the pasta cooks and the eggplant bakes, you set to work on the dishes in the sink
>before the timer goes off, you've got all the pans scrubbed
>by the time the pasta's done boiling, you've got the soup pot scoured
>and by the time everything is strained and rested, you have them all dried as well
>you plate up two servings of eggplant parmesan and set the table
>Cherry, meanwhile, has managed to get something of hers halfway assembled
"Hey, need a hand?"
>"Urrgh... no, I need this... ugh, chain to be about three links longer, is what I need."
>she grumbles, but you rattling around her cabinets for glasses seems to pull her attention away from her work for the first time
"Glasses?"
>"Second cabinet on the left from the stove. Wait, what'd you make?"
"Eggplant parmesan."
>you see the look on her face and wince
"You're not allergic or something, are you?"
>she lets out a sigh
>"No, but I was going to use those tomatoes for a dish tomorrow, now I've got to go out to the market for more."
>dang
>you should've mentioned what you were cooking before you made it
>but the look on her face when she spots the sink makes up for it
>"Did you do my dishes for me?"
>you put on a show of looking confused and shrugging your shoulders exaggeratedly
"Oh, those? I needed a pan to cook with, and I guess I just sort of got on a roll."
>with as much sarcasm as you can muster, you grin and add
"Oops."
>it takes her a second to catch on
>but then she picks up the book you left on the table
>and she scowls when she reads a couple of the entries
>"...And let me guess, there just so happened to be enough left that you had to package some up for tomorrow, too."
"How did you know? I guess I just got carried away. Weird how that worked out."
>"Yeah. Weird."
>you'll need a team of scientists to figure out how those words managed to squeeze past lips pursed that tight
>she grudgingly marks a couple of your predictions
>and then worryingly marks a couple of hers as well
>as she takes a couple of bites, you gently scoot her book over and read what she'd marked

[x]Extra chores because someone else messes with my stuff
[x]have to eat leftovers again
[x]Anon tries to cheat at the deal we made

>you look up, indignant, as she wipes the corner of her mouth
"Aw, c'mon, that wasn't cheating! Dirty pool, I fully acknowledge, but not cheating."
>"It's supposed to be something good outside our control, Anon."
"No, out of YOUR control. We never said I couldn't do nice things to help boost my chances."
>she lets out a frustrated sigh
>"Fine. But this better not become a routine thing!"
>you chuckle
"Cherry, even if I wanted to, do you really think I'd have the time and money to win this wager based just on me being nice?"
>that seems to settle her a bit
>go for broke, man, no sense not to
"And maybe if you like it well enough, you won't count eating leftovers as a bad thing?"
>she snorts
"Okay, okay, worth a shot. Don't like leftovers. Noted."
>she looks down at her dish as she takes another bite
>you just barely hear her mumble something over the clinking of your utensils
>"Srlygd."
"Huh?"
>"I'zrlygd."
"Sorry, I..."
>"Ugh, it's really good. You should... give me the recipe or something."
>she blushes furiously as she says it, refusing to look you in the eyes
>hahahaha
>the conflict between her enjoying your cooking and her wanting to win the bet is fucking delicious
"I'm glad you like it, I'll write it down but it's really simple. Secret's the rosemary in the sauce, mostly."
>ah, this is going to be a fun week

DAY 1

>BZZT! BZZT! BZZ--
>you let out a grumble and debate smacking the snooze button yet again, but if you did that then you really would be late
>not even the fastest triple-S can save you at that point
>though... maybe just two more minutes...
>BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!
>"Anooooooon!"
>you hear Bon-Bon whine from the other side of your barely-even-sheatrock wall
>okay, okay, you'll get up
>this time for realsies
>you struggle out of bed and head to the bathroom for your daily ablution
>god you hate Mondays
>and your job
>and--
>you physically freeze, one leg in the tub, brain trying to slow the momentum of your hate and redirect the thought process
>you can't... wait... to go out and earn that paper
>you practically wince from the effort of forcing your head around that thought
>but dammit, you need every edge you can get if you're going to win this bet with Cherry
>and if that means pretending you don't hate working for Turner with every fiber of your being
>so be it
>besides, you checked the itinerary for the day at EOB yesterday
>it all looked fairly innocuous
>no problem customers, no absurdly heavy or bulky items
>the only thing that might take some work to get done is the delivery of records going to So Good it Hertz
>maybe you can convince the owner to culture you a bit or something while you work?
>not that he'll probably take much convincing
>record store owners always seem to have strong opinions on their customers' choice in music
>and they don't typically hesitate to share what "real music sounds like," either
>the rest of the day will be time to come up with more predictions
>or, y'know, just enjoy running around town
>not like everything revolves around this bet, right?
>oh shit, right, work
>might want to be clothed and on-time when you show up
>you towel off and throw a shirt over your head, still slipping one shoe on as you jog out the door
"Yada-dadaa, morning in Ponyville shimmers... morning in Ponyville shines..."

"Right, just sign here, Mr. Patina, if you could please?"
>the stallion nods sternly as you hand over the clipboard, then double back to grab the last box of
>you peek inside
>mustache wax?
>who orders a BOX of mustache wax?
>there's like 20 tins of it in here
>weird
>you set it down inside, and he hands over the now filled-out form
>admittedly, that is a goddamn impeccable handlebar
>you fold up the paper and put it with the others
>alright, quick trip through town and off to the music store
>as you round the corner, you see Mac hauling a cart almost twice as big as yours, full to the brim with bushels of apples
>how the hell do they even get them to grow year-round like that?
>you watch as the collection leans precariously
>aw shit
>can't let him lose all that product like that
"Mac! Hey, Mac!"
>the stallion looks behind him, that same doleful expression as ever
>"Ee...yup?"
>you set your cart down and jog up, climbing up and shoving one bushel back into line
>that'll keep it stable 'til he gets it where it's going
>you give him a thumbs up and he gives you a nod
>some guys can say volumes without uttering a word
>good deed for the day: check
>now to get these records delivered

...

>"...But their '72 tour? Awesome, man, just awesome. I mean, Great White Hope was like butter for your ears, y'know?"
"Mhm."
>you nod absent-mindedly as Mr. Perfect prattles on about Styx, putting two more copies of "Greatest Hits: Chicacolt" in place
>when you actually schedule this shit accurately, it's not nearly so bad
>and you actually kind of knew where some of these went
>horse puns could be obscure, but when you saw what was obviously supposed to be an MJ homage, you knew where to put it
>same with the Stallion in Black
>as you grab the next record, you notice a familiar group of faces
"Hey, Pitch, you know these artists, by any chance?"
>"Hmm?"
>you hold up a different record of S.A.W.S. and the Valley than the one Cherry had at her place
>he pulls a face as he recognizes what you're holding
>"Oh, them? Eugh, unfortunately. Can't fault them too much, they're mad famous... but that don't make 'em good, you know what I'm sayin' m'man?"
>you nod
>can only imagine what Berry might have to say about that response
>probably would count as another tally in her book
>but your curiosity's piqued now
"You mind throwing it on, just so I know to duck out when I hear them start playing?"
>"Rather not, dude..."
>you give him a look
"C'mon, one song. They've gotta have at least one song you can stand."
>the bearded stallion taps his chin a couple of times
>"Ehhhh... well, I guess that one off their last album wasn't bad..."
>he trots over and grabs another record further back
>oh hey, that's the one CB had on her phonograph
>cool
>he flips it over to the back, setting the needle down and listening for the right section
>he gives it a little nudge, skipping a couple of songs

Biiig giiirls doooon't cryyy! Biiiig giiirls doooon't cryyy...!

>your brow furrows as you listen to the stallions' croons fade out
>"Ugh, hate that one. This one here's not bad though."
>you'd swear you recognize that voice from somewhere
>I mean, jeez, how many falsetto stallions do you know?
>drumkick, cymbal, kick-kick cymbal
>wait
>no way, seriously?
>the piano comes in, and the pieces click together like magnets in your head
"...Oh. Oh my god, dude, yes!"
>Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
>the fucking Four Seasons
>and Valley
>aw shit son
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL_vYpRUwYU
>you can't help it
>you join at the chorus, head bobbing along as you sing
"As I remember, what a night."
>you spin, pulling a stack back far enough to drop the records in your hand into place
>grab two more
"Oh what a night, late December back in '63! What a very special time for me, oh what a night!"
>you jam along, ersatz Dolly Parton and Daft Punk albums slipping into their rightful places as you try to match pitch with the Valli knockoff
>(you can't, Anon, nobody can)
>doesn't stop you trying though
"Y'know I didn't even know her name? But I was never gonna be the same... what a lady, what a night!"
>you let the stallion on the record take the next verse, just letting the groove take you over as you sort records in a fugue state
>that funky little breakdown in the middle with the guitar does nothing to calm you, either
>goddamn, you might have to smack the shitty taste right out of Pitch Perfect's face for insulting these ponies
>you're easily two thirds of the way done by the time the song fades out
"Dude, don't lie to me again, huh?"
>you joke as you put another couple vinyls away
>"Whuh?"
"That song. That was rockin'!"
>"Pfff... some people, man."
>you smirk as you continue to work
"Beats that duo, what, Haul and Oats?"
>"Don't you talk shit about them, man, Rich Girl was a masterpiece."
>pfffft
>no
>no it fucking wasn't
>but you're close enough to done that you won't bother proving how right you are
>you put the paperwork on the counter for him to sign while you work on those last couple records
>hmm
>might have to come back here to spend some tip money
>if they've got tunes like that, you could spare the cash for a record player

>you come into the office, soaked with sweat just like always
>no matter how well you plan, there's always something that makes you bust ass to even try to get done on time
>but y'know?
>as far as days go, there's been a hell of a lot worse than today
>if you're being honest, 10 minutes late is like a personal record for you
>you jangle the keys in your pocket, grabbing the right one and unlocking the office door
>of course Turner's already long gone
>you sigh and pull the sack of bits out, counting out the sum that you owe the business
>time to get over to Cherry's place
>"Hey."
>...or not?
>she's standing at the door, pawing morosely at the ground
"Uh, hey... what's up?"
>you put on your best smile, hoping your mood might be a little contagious
>maybe?
>she just deadpans you until you drop the smile
>okay, obviously not
>"Let's get this over with now, you mind if I come in?"
>she pushes by you without an answer
>yeesh
"Sure, sure. Is everything okay? You sounds... stressed."
>she narrows her eyes at you even more
>they're practically closed
>gooby pls
>rather than answer, she flops out her book again
>oh man
>that is a lot of checked off shit
>and... oh god, are those singe marks?
>eesh
>you read through a page or two

[x]Party cannon malfunction
[x]no break at work
[ ]have to work Sunday
[x]have to work Saturday
[x]monster attacks Ponyville
[ ]apples out of stock again
[x]weather team can't keep skies clear

...

>ye lord
>you put your book down as well, but don't bother to flip it open
>instead, you go back into the office proper and grab the first aid kit
>poor gal
>you dab some alcohol on a cotton ball as you walk back out to the public area
>she's engrossed in your predictions
>not that too many of them apparently came true, given how few check marks she's made so far
>but at least a couple of them make her chuckle
>she lets out a hiss of displeasure when you dab the cotton on her forehead
>"Owowww..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's good for you though."
>you wipe up the cut, then put a bandaid on over it
>TT was a cheapskate and got the kid's bandages because they're cheaper
>so in addition to being injured, now your favorite pessimist mare has a sad-looking cat saying 'ow' on her temple
>cute
>but you'll let it pass without comment, though, she looks like she's about ready to murder someone
>you do earn a couple of check marks on the later pages
>still not enough to even put you in league with her guesses, but every little bit counts
>"We good? Good. I want to get home."
>she practically spits as she closes the book
>you let out a sigh
>how're you going to fix this?
>dinner's probably out, and you can't come up with much more you could do to cheer her up...

>"You don't have to do this, y'know."
>you shrug your shoulders and continue on your way
>t'ain't no trouble, hell, it felt weird showing up as close to on-time as you had
>"This doesn't count."
>you nod resolutely and shift the weight on your shoulders
>you've carried heavier weights in your cart
>hell, she doesn't weigh near as much as three boxes of vinyl records
>"Seriously, I'm not checking any boxes in your book because of this."
"Mmhm."
>she glares over the side of the cart as the scenery rolls by
>jesus mare, can't you just enjoy a fucking free cart ride?
>you roll your eyes as she lets out another exasperated sigh and redoubles her efforts to not enjoy a goddamn thing
>no no
>reframe that shit, c'mon man
>you can totally understand why she feels that way, even though it's stupid to do so
>ugh, no
>it's completely valid to be upset when things don't go your way, and sometimes you just need someone to listen to you vent?
>yeah
>that sounds plausible
>you stroll along and take in the route to her house, for once focusing on the ponies around rather than the road that leads there
>it's actually not a bad neighborhood, even if the houses are a little samey
>you recognize a few ponies that you've made deliveries to, at various points
>like Mr. Davenport
>god, you hate delivering when he orders couches--
>er, you're thankful... for the times... he orders batches of quills?
>sure
>that'll work
>"I'm serious, I could just walk."
>you look back over your shoulder
"Are you uncomfortable or something?"
>"N-no... I just... "
"You don't want me to win because I'm being nice to you?"
>"..."
"It's cool, don't count it then. It sounded like you legitimately had a bad day, so relax. Tomorrow will be better."
>she just sits in silence as you plod along
>it's got precisely fuck-all to do with winning or losing the contest
>sometimes, people have bad days, you reason to yourself
>and there's nothing quite like having someone take care of you when things go wrong
>you pull up to her house, setting the cart down and walking around to let the tailgate down
>she doesn't let you get it undone before she hops over the edge and onto the street
>rude
"You've got everything, right? Still enough leftovers for dinner, you want me to grab you something from the store or something?"
>"Anon, seriously, I'm fine."
>cool, sounds good
>doesn't stop you from walking her to her door, but it's good to hear she's feeling better
"I'm serious, if you need some bandages or something, just give a shout."
>she just rolls her eyes and unlocks her door, slipping inside without much chance for you to follow
>just before the door closes, you manage to slip in a last word
"So, same time tomorrow?"
>there's just barely a crack that you can hear her through as Cherry pauses and turns back
>"Yeah, sure, sounds great or whatever."
>literally could not be more sarcastic
>you stand there for a longer few seconds than you're totally comfortable with, waiting for the click of the door closing that signals the end of your conversation
>and eventually you get it
>but before you do, you also get the one word you were hoping for
>sure it's quiet
>sure it's said so fast you have to take it on faith that it happened at all
>but that one little word makes it worth it
>"...Thanks."
>welp
>time to get the cart back to the office
>it's a long-ass way from here back to there
>and even longer back to your place
>plus you have to come up with another list of good shit that could happen to your newly-favorite angry mare
>...worth it, though


Day 2

>okay, new day
>c'mon Anon, let's get on this shit
>you sit down at the breakfast table, shoveling Scootal-O's into your face as you ponder how you're going to win this bet
>(geez, why are you so dead-set on winning this?)
>oh right, all-expenses-paid trip to a cool foreign country
>plus you want to prove Cherry wrong
>reframe, man
>you want to prove Cherry wrong when she says that bad things are destined happen to her, specifically
>better
"Wings, clouds, and horseshoes, pinions and blue moons..."
>you sing to yourself as you tap the pen on the page
>hrm
>you flip back a few pages, looking for inspiration
>...well that's interesting...

[ ]good service at diner
>fat chance, I hate going to the diner unless Hayburger's is closed
[x]mail delivery is early
[ ]time after work to work on designs
[F]nopony bothers you before bed
>I don't mind visitors in the evening, as long as they're not interrupting my work
[ ]....

>she's gone and annotated your guesses
>why would she give you that kind of advantage?
>you frown
>is this supposed to be a trick?
>dammit Anon, think positive
>even if she's just griping in the margins, you're going to trust it's to your benefit
>with that in mind, you try to build a bit of a profile on the mare you're dealing with
>good with visitors, hates interruptions
>tidy and calm bedroom, messy living room
>knows plenty of ponies by name, relatively few friends
>...
>she's a living contradiction, is what she is, you muse to yourself
>still, you scribble another page or two worth of predictions, aided by her notes
>as you set the book aside, you thumb through the paper
>blah blah blah, catoblepas stampede in Trotston, blah blah mostly cloudy with lows in the 70's, blah blah--
>ooh
>ooooooh, that might be good
>Celestia bless you, Namby Pamby, with your doubtless-unrewarding fluff pieces about local events

>"Ahhh, ohmigosh Anon, I'm so happy!"
>you kick your legs in a futile gesture, trying to squirm yourself back into a position that lets you breathe
>Ditzy has you in a bear-hug and is nuzzling her cheek against yours, giggling to herself
>this would normally not be an unenviable position, if it weren't for two things:
>one, as previously mentioned, that whole breathing thing
>two, both you and and the Ditz have been working all morning
>if she's not completely rank, you sure as hell are
>she finally releases you when you let out something between a gasp for air and a gag
>"Eeeee, I hope she says yes!"
>you suck in air after your impromptu stankboarding
"Wha-- what the hell're you so excited for? I mean, you can come too, no law against it."
>she blushes hard at the suggestion, seeming to ponder it for a second before shaking her head insistently
>"Anon, that's, I mean, no! You can't take me on a date with Berry, that'd be--"
>WHOA whoa whoa
"Wait, who said anything about a date? This is just a little concert in the park, it's not a date!"
>she cocks her head to one side, which actually seems to fix at least one of her eyes in your direction
>"But Anon... I thought you liked mares who weren't happy?"
"Well, okay, yeah there is that--"
>"And Cherry Berry's the unhappiest mare in town!"
>are you going to have to report shots fired by Derpy of all ponies?
"Right, but--"
>"But she won't be for long, because now she's finally going to have a special somepony and you're going to be so good for her and aaaaaaahh!"
>she does another of those back-obliterating hugs
>seriously, you depend on that spinal column to carry things to the ponies who sometimes pay you
>besides, this truly isn't a date
>it's just two people who might have somewhat similar musical tastes enjoying an evening together
>but, looking at the clock, you're going to have to rush
>CB seems to like about two hours to work on her machinery before she knocks off for the night
>gotta ask before then

"Excuse... ghh, excuse me."
>you huff into the face of the stallion at the customer help desk
>to his credit, he hardly grimaces at all
"Can you tell me... if Cherry Berry... is working right now?"
>instead, he redirects all that customer-inspired hatred into his efforts to help, leafing through the schedule under his register
>good on him
>"Ah, she's supposed to be back in cosmetics, it looks like. Back of the store, on your left."
"Thanks, man."
>you make your way past the shitty low-end clothing, shitty low-end cookware, and... surprisingly high-end lighting fixtures?
>Rich-Mart is weird sometimes
>where is she...?
>c'mon, Turner's going to get bitchy if you're too late back to the office to start the afternoon shift
>ha, there she is!
>looking as sunny and jolly as ever
>her glare sweeps over you and it actually takes her a second to recognize you
>c'mon, you're literally the only human in Equestria, it's not like she can confuse you with "that other guy"
>"Anon? What're you doing here? Scoring's not until this evening."
>you nod along as she talks, eager to get to the goddamn point
"Right, right, and we totally will this evening, yes, but hey I've got a question for you."
>pulling the folded-up paper out of your back pocket, you open it up to the Local section

Come Enjoy a Weeknight Under the Stars with The Crooning Colts' Band!

The delightful sounds of the Crooning Colts will be filling the air in Ponyville's Palomino Square tonight, covering such well known artists as SAWS and the Valley, Preen Martin, and the Ponytones! These young but brilliant stallions will be sure to wow you with...

>she looks back up at you
>well, at least it's not a glare anymore
>instead, her other default expression of confused disbelief surfaces
>"Anon, I thought we agreed you weren't going to try to win by pulling this sort of crap."
"Yes, but--"
>"No buts. I'm not doing this."
"Cherry, c'mon, it'll be fun."
>"No! This is not how you're winning, Anon!"
"Okay, so don't count it, then."
>"Uggggh... Anon..."
>this is happening, you've decided
>you just have to find the right tack
"I said I wouldn't be ABLE to win just by me being nice. Not that I couldn't use it to my advantage."
>"Stop rules-lawyering, Anon, it's unbecoming."
"But you'll have a good time! C'mon, Cherry, is winning really worth not enjoying yourself over?"
>"...Yep."
>god dammit
"I thought the whole point of this was that your perspective was supposed to determine whether you had a good day or not."
>"Yeah, so? What's your point?"
"So... shouldn't my trying to be nice be part of the game, since all I'm trying to do is inspire you to change your perspective?"
>"Anon, I'm going to get back to work now."
>dammit, this really should've worked
>she turns her back to you and starts to trot away
>fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuu
>okay, here goes nothing
>you bring your voice up to what might generously be called a high-pitched whine
>hope you can match pitch with someone who practically sings in the castrato range, 'cause you've only got one chance to nail this
"Chee-eeee-EEE-ee-e-r-r-y baaaaaaaby...!"
>the pink mare freezes in place as the stallion working in paint echoes back, and her ears perk up and twitch in the direction of your voice
>"Cherry baby!"
"Che-e-e-rry, can you come out to-night?"
>"Come come, come out toniiiight!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AapxXRlsdwA
"Che-eeee-EEE-eee-rry bay-ay-by!"
>"Cherry, baby..."
>you smirk as you see her tail sway ever so slightly in time with the song
"Chee-eee-rry, won't you come out tonight?"
>the one thing you've gotta love about horseplanet
>even if you can't carry a tune, you'll still get more than your fair share of backup singers who can
>true to form, the deep-voiced stallion from the customer service desk pops his head around one of the particle-board walls
>"Why don't you comeout?"
>"Come out?"
"To this twist party!"
>you pat her shoulder lightly, swaying as you sing
>"Come out...!"
"Where the bright moon shines..."
>"Come out..."
"We'll dance the night away..."
"I'm gonna make you m--"
>god dammit, you can't get record-scratched out of your own goddamn song
>Cherry's shaking her head
>is it like Guitar Hero or something, did you fuck up too many high notes already and fail the song?
>when she turns around, though, you can see she's doing her damnedest not to laugh
>all that effort for naught though, apparently, as she cackles at your rendition, wiping a tear from her eye
>"Pffft, hahaha, I-- I haha! Oh my Sweet Celestia, really?"
>you look over your shoulder at your impromptu back-up singers, but they're at least as befuddled as you are
>sonofabitch
>"Okay... okay, that was--"
>oh snap, did she think that was as awesome as you thought it was?
>"--terrible, Anon. Just... just terrible."
>you raised my hopes and then dashed them quite expertly, madam
>"But... ugh, fine, I might show up at that thing in the park this evening, if I get the design sheet for the ornithopter done."
>you break into probably one of the first genuine smiles you've worn all week
>"MIGHT."
>she emphasizes
>"And only on the condition that you promise to never imitate SAWS ever again."
>oh no no no, that's not happening
"...Fine, you'll never hear me sing it again."
>she rolls her eyes when she catches your meaning, before turning back to organize the rows and rows of eyeliner
>"Oh, and I'm still going to win our bet. You know it's not as easy as embarrassing yourself in front of me once, right? That doesn't make the universe hate me any less."
>uh huh
"I'm telling you, it's all in your head, it's this thing called confirmation bias. See, if you--"
>"Don't you have a job to do, Anon?"
>FUCK
>if Cherry had anymore to say, it was said to a dustcloud shaped vaguely like you as you sprint for the exit to get back and start your evening deliveries

"So, Frankie Valli, Dean Martin, some a'capella group..."
>you tick off the the artists the Crooner Colts will soon be imitating, trying to draw a conclusion
"Big Band? Like, Swing? What's the connection?"
>Cherry sighs beside you, looking around as if for an exit
>you didn't anticipate the line being this full, or you'd have suggested getting here earlier
>in retrospect, even if the shower after work was necessary, you could probably have avoided this if you'd not opted for your more formal attire
>not like most ponies would know the difference between semi-casual and slob-tier garbage
>now you're in the back half of a long-ass line
>shit's first-day-of-cider-season long
>like, Trixie's-first-performance-in-Ponyville long
>it's fuckin' long, alright?
>"They're all good artists, is all, Anon."
"Right, but what makes them good artists to you? I like some artists that make songs out of the noise coming off a construction site."
>she rolls her eyes, probably not believing you
>hey, Hardware Store was good, if a little longer than it needed to be
>"I don't know, they just sound... real, or something. It feels personal when they sing, not like it's mass-produced garbage to sell records."
>you nod, thinking over some of the songs you know in that vein
>maybe she'd enjoy a bit of Sinatra?
>any of the Rat Pack, actually
>you probably don't want to step into any of the Beatles, but it's feasible she might like some of their lesser-known stuff
>maybe go back to some earlier artists like the Mills Brothers?
>she leans out of line a bit to see what's taking the ticket-checkers up front so long
>"Ugh... let me see if this counts..."
>she pulls out her book and flips through it to today's predictions
>by the way her scowl deepens, looks like she didn't count on this
>you'll have to be spontaneous more often, she can't seem to postulate pessimistic predictions without prior preparation
>oh hey, while we're on that subject
"You want to do our check for the day now?"
>"Sure sure, let's see all the music- and concer-related predictions you have..."
>you hand over the book, smile widening as she flips through pages looking for something that isn't there
"I've been doing some thinking,"
>you explain as she hits the end of the pages you have written and looks up at you, eyebrow arched
"You're right, it's not fair of me to make specific predictions and then try to fulfill them, that's just a challenge for me to see how many good deeds I can do."
>Berry's ears swivel to you, to show she's listening even as she goes again through your predictions
>this time a bit more critically, since she's not hunting for signs of your obvious bias
>"Then... why'd you invite me out to see these stallions sing?"
"The point of the challenge was for me to show you that if you look for them, good things happen. I think it's fair for me to make good things happen, and if they happen to coincide with what I've written, then we can count it. Sound good to you?"
>she doesn't answer right away, still making notes in the margins of a couple of your predictions and checking off a couple more
>"I... guess that's okay..."
>she finally cedes, flipping the page
>"But how am I supposed to tell if you're doing something to be nice or to get points, then, huh?"
>her eyes jump up to meet yours in that uncomfortably intense stare
>pick your words carefully, Anon
"You don't seem adverse to putting in a lot of thought to whether each of my predictions happen,"
>you point out, nodding to some of the notes she's scribbled in
"So if you think I was doing something just for the points, make a note of it and don't count it."
>she holds her gaze a few more seconds, before returning to the task at hand
>hoof
>whatever
>"I guess... that's fair."
>you do a little fist-pump, and walk forward a few feet as the front of the line crawls past the ticket-takers
>getting closer, anyway
"So how'd the designs go, anything cool I should be looking overhead for?"
>she lets out a snort
>"Not even remotely, every time I stabilize one section of the wing, another part falls out of whack. I hate it, I've been studying pegasus flight physiology for months now, and even on paper I can see that there's no way to rectify all the internal stresses without using, like, magical polymers that can stretch or go taut like muscles do."
>she mimes out the way the wings are supposed to move
>or, as best she can without dislocating a shoulder
>wings and arms are physiologically pretty similar, if you're remembering right
>the idea of CB essentially tar-and-feathering her arms for aerodynamic purposes makes you chuckle
>huh... actually, that'd be an idea to suggest to her
"Have you tried any designs like a batsuit or something?"
>judging by the way she's staring, you guess the answer is no
>the second answer is what the fuck are you talking about who would make a suit out of bats?
"Sorry, I should explain. There are these suits back on my world, basically just modified parachutes, but they attach between the arms and legs,"
>you point from your wrist to your ankle
"and they use the increased air resistance to glide. I know it's not actually flying, but you might be able to use it if you have to, like, bail out of your balloon or something."
>you look down from all the pantomiming you've been doing to see your favorite grump scribbling notes furiously in the back of her "bad things" notebook
>well, guess that'll be a project for her to look at tomorrow
>without warning, she grabs your "good things" book out of your hand with her teeth, flipping through it impatiently
>when she gives it back, you've got another check mark:

[x]inspiration for a new invention

>not entirely sure that that counts, but if she's willing to give you credit, far be it from you to take it
>after a couple minutes, she seems to exit her fugue-state
>which is lucky, because if she'd taken too much longer she'd have been holding up the line
>you've had your jacket draped very carefully over your arm the whole time
>now it's time to see if your little gambit paid off
>you hand the ticket casually to the mare as you walk up, already moving past the braces-clad girl
>"Er, sir? I'm sorry, if you could just--"
>she waves you back
>doesn't she work at Hayburger's?
>you let out a groan and turn around
>"Sorry, sir, if I could just see your jacket a moment, I need to search it for disallowed items..."
>she seems really apologetic
>you hang your head and shift the from one arm to the other
>you almost got the six-pack through security without anyone noticing
>even Cherry looks pretty surprised as the periwinkle mare trots up to you
>"I'm sorry sir, no outside food or drink is allowed, I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate these."
>let's give this a shot
"Ma'am, I understand completely,"
>you start in, gesturing to the container as you talk
"But seriously, it's just soda, and I was kind of hoping I wouldn't have to shell out three bits a drink for a six-pack that costs six bits at the store. Is there any chance you could maybe let me carry in just two?"
>the pegasus mare looks conflicted, at least until you chance a glance over at Cherry
>after she sees that, the ticket-taker seems to piece it together pretty well
>"...Oh, alright, just... don't tell anyone, okay?"
>she whispers under her breath as she takes the container, now two sodas lighter, out of your hand
"Yes ma'am,"
>you whisper back as you shift the jacket carefully back over the bottles to conceal them
"And please, since I know you ponies are working hard, go ahead and drink those others; someone should, after all."
>you wink to her, and her smile brightens a bit as you rush over to meet Mustard Mane past the gates
>"You were trying to sneak sodas in?"
>she shakes her head incredulously at you
>as you walk to the row of seats on your ticket, you flash her a smirk
"No, the fact that we managed to get past with two bottles of soda is a bonus."
>as you scoot past ponies already seated, you pass one of the two Sparkle Colas back to your companion for the night
>"Huh?"
>as you sit down, you very carefully take your jacket from your arm and reach into its pocket
"They 'caught' me sneaking sodas in. Which means..."
>you pull out a small flask of rum that you managed to talk Berry into selling you
>the hour of work hauling barrels of whiskey around the back end of her shop was worth it
>how you'd manage to face pony-world sober, you still don't know
"...they didn't catch me sneaking in what I actually cared about keeping."
>you give it a shake for emphasis, hearing the alcohol slosh around inside
"Want some?"
>she looks around cautiously to make sure nopony else is listening in
>aww, is she actually worried about getting caught?
>it may be Ponyville, but this is still a concert silly filly
>you'd be surprised if you could swing a stick and hit somepony who WASN'T doing something "against the rules"
>she seems satisfied with her sweep and sits back down, still leaning in as close as she can to avoid letting anyone hear her
>"Absolutely."
>you pour a healthy dose into the bottle she's taken a few sips from
>then chug down a good third of your soda and pour a healthier dose in your own
>clinking the bottles together, the two of you sit back and watch as the lights dim and the Crooner Colts trot onstage
>"Y'know Anon,"
>she mutters, not taking her eyes from the stage
>"you're... not a completely terrible person sometimes."
>you make a mental note to get that emblazoned on a plaque to hang on your wall
>one day you may even get the coveted title of Not a Douche
>...one day