Anon kicked the ground and gave a soft curse as he stormed out of the shithole of a Denneighs that constituted his former sole source of income, backpack slung over his shoulder. He now had precisely zero sources of income, but that was a problem for future Anon. A much smaller problem than the one he would have had if that fat bitch Shepards Pie tried to cop a feel on him again. He had been telling the manager about it for months, even going so far as to file several formal complaints, but apparently, being the Kitchen Manager in a third-rate franchise-driven rathole like this made her important enough the molesting the bipedal bus-boy didn’t warrant any significant disciplinary action.
Well, now it had cost them an able-bodied pair of hands, a pair that the management seemed keen to get back. The mare acting as General Manager, a tall, skinny number of a unicorn with an auburn coat and a sunny bright yellow mane and blue eyes stumbled out of the door. She allowed her horn to glow to life to try to stop him before she cursed softly at a lack of results and trotted after him to catch up. “Anon, wait! You can’t just leave in the middle of a shift. Who’s going to wash all of these dishes!?”
“Why don’t you get that fat hash slinging slut in the kitchen to lick em’ clean, since you need here in there so much more than you need me might as well get your bits worth out of her.” Anon snapped back firmly, clearly in no mood to cooperate as he kept right on walking. “I’m tired of her shit, Punch Card. it’s gonna be her or me.”
Punch Card winced at hearing such foul language come out of a stallion's mouth. “L-look, if you come back, I promise it won’t happen again, I’ll give you a weeks paid vacation and I’ll talk to her about her...bad behavior.” The mare’s ears flattened on top of her head as she said this last part. Clearly Anon was not the only one who found talking to her unpleasant. “I can’t fire her without another cook lined up for the job...”
He snorted at this derisively, looking down at her with mild disdain written all over his face, His own piercing green eyes meeting her pair. “That’s hilarious, Punch. You’re really going to say that to my face when I Applied as a cook?”
To be fair, he could have told her to stuff it day one, but when the Princess’ two-year “Refugee Stipend” had dried up, there weren’t a lot of places willing to hire an alien anyways, much less a male one who acted so mareishly. Apparently, it was inappropriate for a man to act like he had a pair of balls that weren’t cradled by garish frilly support undergarments for mares to ogle at in these parts. He could still remember the day he came in and applied and Shepards Pie had told him to his face that “The only kitchen a stallion should be working in is his Alphas.” and offered him work as a busboy.
It had been a major wound on his dignity, but he had taken it and regretted it every day since. But today was the day, he was through with taking it. He continued before waiting for her to respond. “I could cook circles around the potbellied ball fondling goblin calling itself a mare that you let run your kitchen, and you let her stick me in the back pushing porcelain so she could have free reign to grab my goods and make the same joke about how good I look in a wet t-shirt at least fifteen times a fucking day. I’ll take your week off, but I’m going home now, and if that slag so much as looks at me when I come back, I’m going to throw her out of a window and never come back.”
Punch Card seemed taken aback by his crass, colorful tirade. So much so that she didn’t even have the teats to object. She swallowed dryly, eyes wide with terror as she nodded and stumbled backwards towards the entrance of the restaurant before bolting back inside.
He stared hard at the building for a few long moments, making sure she was gone before sagging with a soft sigh, running a hand through his messy red hair. As he calmed down, a few threads of regret began to needle their way through the fabric of his conscience, but he pulled them out as quickly as they were stitched. Even if Punch Card wasn’t a bad mare, she was a pushover and an enabler for his molester’s bad behavior. As much as he preferred for everyone to just be able to get along, enough was enough, his foot was down and it was staying down this time.
The only human in Equestria walked down the slowly darkening streets as Celestia’s sun gradually dipped down below the horizon. The magically fueled streetlamps flickering out for a moment each time he passed within a few feet of them. It was always an annoyance, especially at night. But the Princess’ Pet Protege had concluded that he was from an alternate universe where the frequency of ambient magical energy happened to be at a wavelength that neutralized the wavelength of magic here.
Anon had personally been of the opinion that magic did not exist where he was from, but that was a whole can of worms he could leave on the shelf for now. Since he was the only wellspring of that sort of magic in Equestria, and it was canceled out constantly by the ambient magic all around him it was a moot point.
Eventually, he made his way back to his apartment complex in the -ahem- multicultural part of town. An awfully tidy, clean way of saying the part of town where the crown dumped all of the undesirables. Griffons, Minotaurs, Donkeys, even the odd Moose or Zebra all packed away in poorly gentrified slums with the barely hidden purpose of keeping the nice pony majority parts of town free of the exotic rabble.
He walked through the lobby, where his landlady was sat at her desk. A big Yak woman, beige in coloration with a white mane and golden eyes. She scowled at him firmly as she sat up, leaning forward a bit. “Hoo-Man-thing! Where is Ivanna’s rent for month, is due today!”
He did his best to put aside his intense displeasure to address her respectfully. He smiled at her apologetically and nodded, reaching into his backpack to pull out a bag of bits and placing it on her desk. “S-sorry Miss Smashalot. I forgot to drop it in the box on the way out this morning.” God, she was scary. And kind of hot tbh. Most of the mares in town had this sort of smug complacent sort of assertiveness to them, where they felt like the world owed them dominance, but Ivanna seemed to know she was a bonafide bad bitch, and damn if Anon didn’t appreciate a woman who could break him in half. He was nothing if not a man of culture.
The massive Dri gave a satisfied smile after weighing the bag in one hoof, nodding to him and waving, suddenly much more friendly with a wide smile. “Yes, very good. Thank you Hoo-man-thing.” She took a moment to look him over properly, humming as her smile slowly fell to a mildly concerned frown. “Hm..why Hoo-man look angry? Usually so nice, calm. Something happen?”
He shook his head and waved her off gently “Nah, nah, just stuff at work flaring up again like usual, no big deal.” You said, trying to play it off. No need to get the old girl worrying about you more than she already does.
Her nostrils flared and a few puffs of steam ejected from them as she scowled. “Is Fat Sow from work grabbing ass again, Anon? Should Ivanna break legs?” She asked, her face totally serious. She may be serious about running her ship tightly, but she does care about her tenants. Sometimes maybe a little more than Anon was comfortable with. Like now, now was an excellent example of her caring more than he was comfortable with, as a matter of fact.
“No! Nono, there is uh,...maybe..., I mean, No. No thank you, Ivanna. It would be cowardly of me to let you fight my battles for me.
Ivanna smirked at this, clicking her tongue slightly. “Hah! Colt fighting own battles, he says. Ivanna never seen you throw single punch in life!”
“Trust me, it’s a never-ending battle every day not to punt that bitch out of a window,” he said cheekily, admittedly getting in a slightly better mood just by ragging on her to someone, a genuine smile flitting across his face as the older Dri howled with laughter at this, slamming her hoof on the table.
“Ivanna sure struggle is real, Hoo-man-thing. See you at cards tomorrow?” She asked him, getting an affirming nod from Anon who walked backwards towards the stairs leading up to his floor.
“Of course, gotta get some of that rent back from you somehow.” he said, giving a mock salute before dipping up the stairs, leaving the landlady chuckling loudly as he headed over to his apartment.
Apartment 404, where he always went when he didn’t want to be found. He chuckled softly at this little joke, the same as he did the last several dozen times he had thought of it since taking up residence here, fumbling for his key when suddenly-
Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Anonymous? Address 69420 Yakoff Street, Apartment 404?
Anon paused, turning his head to see that a rather plain-looking white colt with a black mane and grey eyes was looking up at him, a package on his back, and a little blue delivery boy ht perched on his head with a vest to match. “Uh, yeah, that’s me. What’s up?”
The colt beamed at him and bumped the package off of his back towards anon, who fumbled a tad before quickly catching it. “Special delivery, no return address for Mr. Anonymous, have a nice day, thank you for choosing Speedy’s Delivery,” He said chipperly, flicking his head forward to make his hat fall before catching it open side up with his teeth, looking at Anon expectantly.
Anon sighed softly and dug a bit out of his pocket for the kid, tossing it in at which point he flipped the cap back onto his head without spilling the coin out and trotting away back down the hallway.
He pulled his key out again, unlocking his door and walking into the first of the four rooms in his apartment. There was the sitting room, the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen, all fairly small, even by pony standards. Not being three feet tall, anon found the accommodations less than adequately roomy. The human-sized furniture he had bought when he first moved in had set him back quite a ways since it came from a specialty dealer for Minotaurs, but it made the arrangement at least tolerable. He walked through the sitting room and into his kitchen. He grabbed himself a glass of milk, taking a long draft that took half of the cup before he set it down and plopped down at his table in a chair, opening the package.
Inside were a number of items. The first he saw was what looked to be a rather professional-looking black velvet carrying case with polished, ebony handles and a stainless steel clasp.
The second thing he noticed was an all-black outfit. A turtleneck, a pair of black suede shoes, some gloves, slacks, even a bowler hat... Atop the hat was a note, folded in quarters and notated on the outside. “To whom it may concern.” Anon unfolded it and quickly began to read.
“To Whom It May Concern,
If my associate has calculated correctly, this package should have arrived at your doorstep at the same time you arrived home to ensure a smooth transition with no chance of the package being reappropriated by some of your more scurrilous neighbors. This same associate has also assured me that according to all available data, today will likely be the day you are most susceptible to accepting the offer we are about to provide you with in this letter.
You see, it has come to my attention that you are in possession of a unique set of abilities that would render you an asset to the goals of my organization. As to what I am able to offer you in return, well...glory, notoriety, companionship, and obscene amounts of monetary rewards are among the less notable things we can offer should you thrive within the structure of our company.
Should you wish to accept this offer, Meet us at the location written in the scarp of paper hidden under the sole insert of the right shoe at midnight tonight. If you prefer to refuse simply toss the contents of this package out of your window into the dumpster below and you will not hear from us again. We look forward to your answer.
With Warm Regards,
Maestra
Anon swallowed dryly as he read the note, setting it down and yelping as a rune lit up as soon as it got a few feet away from him, the paper combusting to ash in a flash of light. This entire package and its instructions had “bad decision” written all over them.
But hey, when had he ever been known to make a good decision.
It was looking like it wouldn’t be tonight, that’s for sure.