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- > Like lightning, your eyes bolt open.
- > You can almost feel it - a surge of adrenaline hitting your system all at once.
- > Muscle memory causes your arms to flail outwards tossing the covers of your bed off.
- > Unfortunately, your spinal cord can’t seem to remember just where that FUCKING ALARM CLOCK IS. FUCK.
- > Flailing your hand across the small table like a spastic, you finally get lucky after what feels like an eternity.
- > A little to the left, little more right – series of small plastic bumps… AHA!
- > With your initial panic subsiding, you gaze at the red, magically-discharged light.
- > 0531.
- > It’s been a minute. One whole minute since it was told to go off. Fucking hell…
- > With a sigh, you swing your legs around and sit up.
- > Looking back over, you grumble and wipe a small amount of sleep from your eyes.
- “Fucking thing gets closer every time, I swear.”
- > Getting up, you stretch – a series of popping sounds from your spine greet your ears.
- > Exiting your somewhat-small, almost-Spartan room, you head immediately to the kitchen.
- > With speed born from memory, you quickly replace the old filter and add in water. A few scoops of ground coffee beans… and press.
- > Yawning a little, you head back into your room.
- > While waiting on your coffee to finish brewing, you take a mat out of your closet and place it on the floor.
- > If you hadn’t been at this so long, you’d honestly debate why you’re about to do this. But you have been at this a while, and so it comes naturally – a few basic stretches to start with, a few sit-ups, a few push-ups. Just stuff to help you stay somewhat fit.
- > Completing your routine, you wipe a thin amount of sweat from your brow.
- > Stuffing the mat back into your closet, you head over to your accompanying small bathroom and perform the morning triple S.
- > Well, your hair is still a bit wet… fuck it, it’ll be fine.
- > Finished toweling off, you don a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and proceed back into the kitchen.
- > Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you hear a distinct *click* and the sound of a door opening.
- > Casually turning around, you spy a magenta unicorn brushing a lock of her violet mane off her face.
- “Morning, Ammy.”
- > Following an almost exaggerated yawn, she speaks.
- > “Morning, Anon.”
- > “Morning, Ammy.”
- > Upon hearing that, the muscles of your mouth start to form a slight smile.
- > Instead, you force a yawn, exaggerating the movement and disguising what would’ve been a smile.
- “Morning, Anon.”
- > You are Amethyst Star, currently flat-mates with Anonymous the human.
- > “So, want me to get something going for breakfast or…?”
- > Using your magic, you pour some coffee into a random mug. As you do so, you consider his rather generous offer, and, with a tired smile, reply as you always do:
- “Sure, sounds great.”
- > Grabbing a frying pan from one of the cupboards, Anonymous begins his work – eggs, bread, milk…
- > It’s fascinating to watch, really. Like a moving piece of artwork.
- > As his hands dexterously crack an egg into a bowl, you trace your eyes across the musculature in his arm.
- > Artwork indeed.
- > Yes, you’re looking – not touching. Big difference. Even if the other mares joke about it being otherwise.
- > A bachelorette, an unclaimed colt. One house, no one else.
- > Oh, but a mare can dream, can’t she?
- > And so, you sit. Like always, fantasizing while nursing your coffee, just watching while Anonymous works.
- > What a catch. So close, yet so far. You could just…
- > “...Ammy? Ammy. Amethyst. Amethyst Star, you in there?”
- “Huh! Oh, I, just uh – “
- > Giving a good natured chuckle, he turns around to wash his hands. As his short laugh quiets he throws his head over his shoulder to speak
- > “Hey, relax, I’ve been to college. Trust me, I know what sleep deprivation ‘s like.”
- > Quickly drying his hands, he sets down two plates on the table
- > “And, voila, French toast with a twist. Whaddya think?”
- > Levitating a fork you cut off a bit of the bread and skewer it.
- > This… this is actually pretty good.
- > … Who the fuck are you kidding, his cooking is always good.
- > If only you could find a colt that’s – one, interested in you, and two, cooks this well – you’d be a happy mare.
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