//------------------------------// // You Have: One(1) Unread Message... // Story: Strictly Professional // by nameundetermined //------------------------------// It was a quiet day in the peaceful Washington suburb. The sun was out, with hardly a cloud in the sky. The wind was nonexistent, the air still and quiet. As he parked in his driveway, he could not help but think that this was excellent weather for washing his car. The man did fancy his vehicular ablutions, after all. But that could wait for a while. For now, he still had several obligations to tend to. First and foremost, he needed to check in on his son. The poor thing had been getting worse as of late. He seemed to have taken to drawing on the walls in his room again, all over his favorite movie posters, too. The man did his best, but sometimes, children were just not easy to deal with, no matter how much he loved them. As he opened the door, he stepped into the living room and looked around with a small, quiet huff. The fire was roaring, as it was at almost all times. A fireplace, after all, is just not the same without a fire, much as a refined millionaire is just not the same without a cane or a monocle to accompany his smug posture and demeanor. He looked to the urn sitting atop said fireplace, silently wondering what the occupant of the receptacle would say to him if she could see what he was up to these days. The man strolled past the fireplace and into the kitchen. he had prepared a bowl of cake mix this morning, to be baked when he returned home now, and retrieved it from the refrigerator. Set the oven to preheat before he liberated the bowl of the saran wrap clinging to its open top and set it down, taking a pan from the cabinets nearby. Once he had that in order, he poured the batter slowly into the pan, looking down at the thick, slightly lumpy concoction wistfully, eyeing the red spoon on the box with a slight grimace. He missed making them from scratch, of course, and would sometimes do so on weekends and the odd afternoon off. But ever since his son had decided he no longer enjoyed the activity, it just had not been the same to do it by himself. Baking was a much more enjoyable activity with a partner, as was sharing in the results. he supposed, perhaps, that he kept going simply out of habit, or nostalgia, or perhaps a bit of both. Once the oven had reached the appropriate temperature, he slid the pan in and closed it, setting a timer after which his oven, a fairly high-end appliance, would deactivate itself and begin venting the excess heat to cool the pastry to an acceptable handling temperature. With that taken care of, he proceeded to see to his son. He made his way back to the living room and up a flight of stairs, to the second story of his home, knocking on the door to the boy's room firmly but not excessively loudly, In a way that said "I am respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority by coming in anyway" before opening the door. He was asleep, as was not too terribly uncommon for him to be after school. He took a moment to walk over towards his son in his bed and look them over with a small smile on his face. They were already twelve, and growing up so fast. he looked more and more like his grandparents every day. The glasses, the black hair, the notable but to be frank, adorable overbite. He was sure to grow into a fine young man by all accounts, as far as his father could tell. He left a small note under his sons' pillow to let them know that there would be cake downstairs when they awoke if they wanted any before making his way back down to the kitchen to keep an eye on his pastry. After all, just because the appliance was supposed to do most of the work was no excuse for negligence. It would be very unfortunate if something were to malfunction and he was not there to react. About fifteen minutes later, the alarm to indicate the cake was finished sounded, and he slipped on a pair of oven mitts just in case. One could never be too careful, after all. He gingerly pulled the cake from the oven, liberating it from the pan onto a flat dish to be iced. It was, by his standards, somewhat of a quick and dirty affair. He simply used a spatula and a tub of pre-made vanilla, delicately smearing it evenly across the entire exposed surface of the cake before taking a quick minute to wash all of the dishes he had used. He then took a moment to cut himself a slice onto a small plate and headed upstairs to his study. Five years ago, he would have been appalled to see himself eating at his work desk. It was quite uncouth, he might say to himself, and he should have higher standards. He right now, however, would probably simply tell them to give it five years and see how they felt then And to grab him a cup of coffee while they were at it. As he chowed down and booted up his laptop, he gave his tasteful Bing Crosby animated wallpaper a small smile before setting to work. He had a few people he had to inform as to goings-on at the office that they may have missed while they were on vacation. He had to send his supervisor a few reports that he had finished but had not had time to send while he was still in the building. And of course, he had to take just a bit of time for himself to check his messages and see what the fellows online had been up to while he was away. Once the former tasks had been completed in a timely manner, he set forth on the latter task with a notable fraction more enthusiasm, which, considering how much he enjoyed his job, was certainly saying something for the mild-mannered gentleman in question. He closed his word processor and his email application and instead opened his messaging application. it was a rather plain, grey affair, simply called "Serious Business", a place where like-minded business-oriented individuals could gather together for a bit of casual watercooler chatter and glean useful office place tips and tricks of the trade. He went by the handle "Pipefan413", incorporating his hobby of collecting tobacco paraphernalia as well as his son's birthday, and was generally, so he felt, a reasonably well-respected member of the middling, dedicated online community. He logged in, and after a quick look over the feed, he could not help but allow his eye to wander over to the corner of the screen where he saw the icon indicating that he had unread private messages was flashing in shades of grey to get his attention. he found this quite strange, as he seldom if ever engaged in any sort of one on one conversation privately on the internet, save for business correspondence. He certainly was not conducting any sort of business correspondence on this particular website. As appropriate as it might seem to some, the man was of the opinion that one should not eat where they shit. Nonetheless, someone had taken the time to reach out to him. And assuming it was not one of those awful little messaging programs that tried to get him to buy their sub-par discount wholesale pipe tobacco that he still had not managed to finish, he supposed it was only polite to make a bit of small talk. After all, he was here to do that anyway, wasn't he? Surely just a bit of casual conversation with a stranger could not hurt. He opened his private messages and saw a rather unusual sight. It seems that his user had incorporated some personal flair to their username, the text being a rather striking and somewhat jarring pink that stood out quite a bit against the stark greys that surrounded it. After his eyes had adjusted from the assault, he squinted to read the name. PrettyPinkPartyPlanner6913 It certainly was...refreshing to see someone outside of his normal realm of comfort amongst the sea of middle-aged salarymen and women casually debating which technique is most appropriate when ironing one's ties, as invigorating as those debates could often get. He took a moment to look over their profile. The entire profile page was a sea of custom-tailored CSS. Pinks and blues and yellows, custom fonts and there seemed to be confetti sprinkling from his mouse cursor even. She claimed to be female, but there were no pictures of their face. That was not terribly uncommon. Though he did raise an eyebrow at her listed height of four feet, five inches, and her hair color choice of "pink, with a pink coat." What did her coat have to do with anything? It was not part of her hair, it was a garment for keeping warm. Nonetheless, being a gentleman, he felt obligated to at least give them a chance to prove that they were worth speaking to. he made his way back to the private messages section of his page and clicked on her username again to see what she had sent him. it was, much as he expected, a single word. Hello! He looked at the single word for a lengthy, long-suffering moment, before finally convincing himself to do the right thing, typing out an equally simple message in response. Yes, hello. It was only a matter of moments before he could see them typing again, despite the fact that the first message seemed to have come in over an hour ago. Oh, wowie! Someone actually said hi back! I guess this thing is working after all! Followed immediately after by a GIF of confetti being shot out of a canon. Charming. He followed up again, typing quickly. Indeed, your device seems to be functioning quite capably in the realm of sending and receiving messages, Was there something that I can do for you? Straight to the point as always. He never was one for mucking about with an excess of meaningless chatter. If it was not something that could be said in the amount of space allotted by the back of a business card in 12-sized Courier new Bold Font, it was probably not worth saying. With the obvious exception of heartfelt father-son talks by the pond over a fishing pole, of course. They were just as quick to respond as before. Certainly a lively one at least, and punctual. Well, actually there is! This app was on the computer thingy when I got it, and I was hoping to use it to make some new friends. You being my friend would definitely help me lots and lots with that! What's your name anyway? Mine is Pinkamena Diane Pie. But my friends call me Pinkie! The sudden flurry of three messages takes him a bit by surprise, but he takes a moment to read them one by one before responding to her once more. I would prefer to keep my personal information off of the internet, I am afraid. Even in private conversation, one can never be too careful. Though I suppose that if my username will not suffice, you may call me J.T. Awwwe, alright, I guess. Oh! I'll Call you Mr. J, how does that sound? He pauses for a moment to think about it before replying to her I...suppose that that would be an acceptably professional moniker to use, Miss Pie. You may call me that if you would like. Please, call me Pinkie! : 3 ...I would really rather not if it is all the same to you. Not very much in line with my style, you see. Hmph, fine then, Mister Big Professional Wet Blanket, be all aloof and formal and mysterious then ;P He cannot help but crack a small smile at her childish antics. She is certainly not the usual sort of person he would find himself talking to on this website, that is for sure. It is a tad grating, sure, but it is much more so a breath of fresh air, so to speak. She honestly reminds him of his mother a bit, back when she was a spry thirty-something running her Joke Shop and he was still too young to shave. Perhaps it might help you to alleviate some of that sense of mystery if we talk about ourselves a bit. I gather you plan parties for a living if your username is accurate? Yep! You are chatting with the number one party planner in all of Ponyville, Maybe even in all of Equestria! While geography was not his strongest subject back in high school, he was almost certain that those were not Real Places that Definitely Exist. But he was not confident enough to say so definitively in this instance and did not want to come off as ignorant. Well that certainly is quite something to be proud of by the sound of it. My own job is not so exciting. I work in middle management for a large multinational that specializes primarily in the sale of baked goods and ready-to-eat premade meals. Oh, but that does sound exciting! You sound really professional so you must be really really good at your job. Do you like to bake? A small tinge of pink crossed his cheeks for a swift moment before fading again, his lips twitching upwards just a tad more as he continued the conversation. As a matter of fact I adore baking. I actually just finished a cake earlier this afternoon for myself and my son. Now why did he go and tell her that? he thought he said he was supposed to be keeping his personal information off of the internet! he gave a small sigh, making a mental note to be more careful in the future. Ohhh, a career stallion who bakes and is a father? Your wife is one lucky mare to have such a catch! He would probably be blushing again if he was not mulling over her strange word choice. perhaps English was not her first language? or perhaps it was simply a cultural thing, a sort of symbolic phrasing relevant to her country? or maybe she had a screw loose. He was leaning towards the third, but she was still quite nice so he kept talking to her anyway. He might as well continue down this avenue of conversation since he had already given her a snippet. I actually...do not have a spouse. I adopted my son and have never been married, sadly. WHAtT!? A single father? Really? I can't imagine how tough that must be for the both of you with you having a full-time job and all. Your concern is appreciated and noted, Miss Pie. Sadly, it seems that it is about time for me to log out for the evening. I have some chores I was hoping to do, and on top of that, my son should be waking up from his after-school nap soon. Even if it was partially to get away because this conversation was getting a bit too real for his comfort to be doing during his leisure time, there was still some truth to that statement. He was a busy man with a lot of fatherly responsibilities that needed seeing to. Awwwwwwe :( Alright, Mr. J, I'll talk to you later! Y-you will come back and talk to me again, right? <:3 As she asked this question, he could not help a small, soft chuckle under his breath as he replied once more before signing out. Miss Pie, I think I would enjoy that very much.