Tenderheart
Dinner with Rose
Chapter 1: Tenderheart
Admiral Biscuit
I was laying on the couch in Tenderheart's office. I know she thought that was strange—especially since it was too short for me—but I'd been doing it since our first meeting. She'd asked me about it once, about two months in, and I'd told her that that was how it was done on Earth. At least, that's how it was done on TV.
And it did kind of help. I'm not sure why, but it was easier to open up if I wasn't looking at her. I could just concentrate on the cracks in the plaster ceiling and pretend that I was talking to myself.
"It was a little scary, but liberating . . . I think."
"Did you stay unclothed?"
"No." I let my eyes trace over the longest crack. It gave me time to think. If she ever re-plastered the ceiling, I was going to be in trouble. "I—I couldn't do it. I wanted to, but there were too many ponies there. So I put my panties back on before I got out of the tub.”
“What did Rose say?”
“Nothing.”
It was true, she hadn't said anything. She hadn't had to. She'd watched me pull my shorts over my soaked panties—which I'd towelled dry as best as I could, but of course it wasn't enough to really dry them—and she'd given me a few sympathetic looks as we walked back to my house, especially when my underwear soaked through my shorts.
We'd said our goodbyes outside my front door, and then I'd gone inside and stripped down, put on my robe, and started dinner. I probably should’ve invited her to stay, but I'd been just a little too stressed to deal with company for any more of the day.
There hadn't been any time for us to get together since then. I'd spent the next few days working with Holly, sweeping chimneys, then a back-breaking day of work at the mill, filling in for a sick pony. I'd be going back there after our session was done.
“It wasn't like we were mad at each other,” I said defensively. Tenderheart had an unnerving way of sometimes just falling silent. It was undoubtedly a trick to get me to fill the vacuum, and it worked every time. “I had to work, and so did she.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I could hear the scratch of pencil against paper.
“Maybe I should invite her over for dinner.”
“Or drinks—a lot of mares like that.”
“It won't send mixed signals, will it? She won't think I'm coming on to her, will she?”
“Are you?”
“I don't . . . no.”
“We're almost out of time for today,” Tenderheart told me. “You can sit up if you want to.”
I smiled at that. Tenderheart had some kind of sixth sense when it came to time. I don't know how she did it. Maybe she had a clock hidden somewhere in her desk.
As I struggled upright, the town clock began chiming.
She came around her desk and nuzzled my cheek; I automatically brushed my hand lightly against hers in response.
• • •
The mill was a great place to think, because it was repetitive. I carried bags of flour down to the store-room and put them on shelves. It was sorted three ways—if a customer in town had ordered it special, it went along one wall. Most of the restaurants and the hospital had their own marked bins; on any given day, there were a few dozen ponies who made specific orders. Each of those bags had a cutie mark drawn on them.
Across from that, taking up two other walls, was where the bulk of the flour went. One side was for flour to be sold locally, and the other wall was flour to be exported to Canterlot. It was easy to know which was which: sacks went on the Ponyville side, and barrels on the Canterlot. Fortunately for me, the Canterlot order had already been filled, so I didn’t have to worry about moving barrels.
Twice a week, a pair of stallions would bring a large wagon, load up the barrels, and cart it off to the train station.
I thought about what Tenderheart and I had talked about as I made my careful way down the curved ramp into the basement, a sack of flour over my left shoulder. She'd hinted that my desire to cover myself wasn't dissimilar to any mare's discomfort with having a stranger under her tail.
I got that. I totally understood it. I didn't want anyone I didn't know very well running their hands or hooves around my crotch, after all. But there was a missing piece to the puzzle, one that was just out of my grasp.
I mulled over it all day—I didn't have anything else to think about, after all.
As usual, by the end of the day I was soaked with sweat. One thing the ponies had plenty of was physical labor. I took my pay, accepted a small loaf of freshly-baked bread, and headed home.
After putting the bread in my breadbox, I grabbed a clean pair of pants, along with my soap and washcloth, and set a course for my favorite secluded bend in the river. I was going to have to come up with a different solution soon; it was getting towards late summer, and before too long, bathing outside was going to be impossible.
If I could get a week's worth of work for the cooper, I could probably convince her to make me a tub at a decent price, but thus far I hadn't been able to sell her on my usefulness. I'd seen an episode of Dirty Jobs where Mike Rowe made barrels, but I couldn't remember any helpful details of the process, just that Mike wasn't very good at it.
Why couldn't he be here instead of me? He'd love the place. Nothing but backbreaking labor.
I took a quick look up and down the street, to make sure that there weren't any ponies nearby, before ducking along the small trail that led around and under the bridge. I didn't know why it was here—I'd first thought it was some kind of access path to inspect the bridge abutments, until I'd seen a pegasus checking out the underside of one of the bridges in town. My current guess was that it was a make-out spot.
Fortunately for me, those weren't popular until around dusk. Or at least, that was the case back on Earth.
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Damnit, you soggy excuse for a naval commander! Something this short doesn't satiate my hunger!
Are there any stories on here about a Mennonite dude or something getting dropped off in Equestria? Imagine what a good whittler or woodcarver could do with the customer base and local competition in a place like Ponyville to work with.
Walk in on some bow chicka wow wow.
5554945
Fear not, it will be updated in short order.
I haven't seen one yet, but I'd read the heck out of such a story.
So, only shorts? No bra, no shirt?
5555272
Correct, due to impracticality. It's hard to keep up with the costs and effort needed to maintain a proper wardrobe in a world where clothing is a rarity (and without machines to ease the burden), so she eventually caved. Bar protective clothing, leggings and bathrobes seem to be all she typically uses by this point.
Speaking of Dirty Jobs, Sam, be happy. At least you're not working in the sewage inspection business cleaning up Muffin Monsters.
5555272
Too expensive. Imagine having to start over in a world where your only possessions are literally the clothes on your back and whatever skills you possess. She can't even beg used clothes from the ponies, because those wouldn't fit her.
5555888
I remember reading a fic where the human got stuck cleaning out a sewer at one point. It might have been Hands.
I know she doesn't appear in this story but the Celestia of this world seems to be much less generous to a stranded alien than the Celestia of OPP who spares no expense to house and support two humans. Sam seems to work very hard just to make ends meet.
5573359
Several of the major reasons why Princess Celestia is so generous in OPP are that Dale and Kate were brought accidentally, possibly because of an error in the spell she gave Lyra, they were both injured, and Princess Celestia is interested in opening up diplomatic relationships with Earth eventually.
You might want to look into winter clothing, too
Ahh, Mike Rowe. A true hero, that man. Made a career out of his inability to hold any job
Remarks and corrections:
> I was laying on the couch in Tenderheart's office.
Should be "lying", not "laying". I wrote a blog post on this mess, once
> before ducking along the small trail that lead around and under the bridge.
"trail that [led] around". Interestingly enough, I covered this in that same blog I just linked to
5778362
Better him than me. I've seen a bunch of episodes where my first thought is "Nope!"
That was deliberate. Since it's a first-person POV, I feel that the narration ought to be what the character would say, even if it's not actually a quote. For what it's worth, one of my pre-readers didn't agree.
And that one is a mistake I should have caught. It has been corrected.
5779055
I disagree as well, on grounds of I saw you/her getting it right earlier in the previous stories
And, in my opinion, keeping alive common errors in the written word is never a good thing. It's not as if anyone will see it as character quirk; people will either be unaware of it and horrendously assume it's right, or will spot it and conclude you made an error.
I'm rereading these stories for the umpteenth time because they are absolutely wonderful, and now that I'm thinking more about the ambiguity of Sam's gender in the first one, I can't help but see some here. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but I love how you can imagine so many different words after that "I don't..." "I don't like mares", like she said earlier? Maybe "I don't think so", or "I don't know", because she's confused about her own intentions and/or whether or not she does, in fact, like mares/women? I mean, I didn't have a firm grasp on my sexuality until fairly recently, so I don't think the notion is completely ridiculous.
Plus I know a lot of people who have a strong preference for one gender, but also have exceptions for those very close to them, and Sam is pretty close with Rose...
But I could very easily just be having a case of The Confirmation Bias BluesTM, since my lesbian heart yearns for some romance between them
.
9607056
I think some of it is just her voice in general, but you’re right, her statement can be imagined in a lot of different ways--what’s going on in her head. Like you say, it could be some confusion--we don’t know what her normal preferences were, or if she’s willing to experiment. Maybe she doesn’t like Rose like that but sort of wants to hook up with, I dunno, Daisy; maybe she isn’t sure if she does like mares like that because she’s never really had to think about it before, maybe Tenderheart’s question implies tacit approval of a relationship between her and a pony, something that up until now she’s figured is completely taboo--really, there are any number of possibilities.
Yeah, and I could see acting on that preference or not would depend very much one one’s social situation. I mean, to give a personal, non-sexual example, I’m in a couple of theatre groups, and in one we tend to all be pretty huggy/touchy, etc., whereas in my day job as a mechanic I’m not gonna go up and hug one of my co-workers if he’s having a bad day, y’know?
Also of course thus far Sam and Rose have had many--by Earth standards--relationship-type experiences with each other, things which in American society at least would basically mean they were a couple even if they were denying it, whereas by pony standards it’s just normal friend stuff.