Nothing is still happening. I have been here for... well I don't know how long but it's been too damn long. And let me tell you, you know you're dangerously bored when you start playing board games with yourself. With imaginary pieces. And lose.
How ironic is that? I mean, how ironic is this whole situation? A brilliant artist, left to rot for eternity in the single most boring purgatory possible. I mean don't get me wrong, I love Mancala as much as the next pony, but holy SHIT does it get dull fast. And it's not like my opponent's very lively, pun not intended. All he does is tell me how much of a loser I am and how much I failed as a pony. And you know what, call me crazy but he's starting to sound pretty convincing.
Now I was never the kind of kid who compared himself to others. My pap used to tell me it bred contempt and jealousy, so I kept to myself and focused on what was most important: me. Now that worked wonders on my artistic abilities. If I were lucky, I might've gotten into the big leagues before I hit half my pap's age. But I wasn't, so I didn't. It took me thirty years before they'd even feature me in the amateur outlets, and you can imagine what kind of bile was sloshing about down there. Not to be rude I guess but it's true, some of those paintings could've been done by a drunk turtle for all they were worth. I think one of the artists was actually a yak. Poor girl, no thumbs, no fingers, and worst of all, no magic. She essentially had to stomp the paint onto the canvas, and I don't know about you but fingers painting was so last recess. Ugh.
And while thinking about myself and only myself was good for improving my art, you can imagine what damage it did to my social life. Few people talked to me, and even fewer actually did so more than once. I think I might've had some friends if I tried hard enough, but every time one of them opened their notebooks and showed me some stick figures shooting each other, I couldn't help but gag. Loudly. Maybe that was what drove them off, or maybe it was something else. I'm not very attractive, conventionally I mean. I don't have that defined chin or nice flowing hair. I mean, I wasn't Quasimodo or anything, but I certainly wouldn't do a portrait piece of myself, y'know?
So there I was, an aspiring artist in the big city, freshly moved out of his parent's house and ready to take life by the non-existent horns. There was of course only one problem, and that was getting a house of my own. Now I mentioned that I didn't kick off my artistic career until my thirties, so try and imagine what some wannabe Rembray might get for a career.
Yup. Service clerk. Of course.
Should it have come as a surprise? No, absolutely not. But was college age me surprised that my limitless talents were being put to use stocking soup cans and mopping floors? Yes, absolutely. I didn't mind it all that much though. Sure, living in Canterlot was expensive, and noisy... and rife with muggings, but Finding a cheap apartment wasn't too hard. The manager and the wages were both pretty good. I managed for a few months, painting here and there. Y'know, the works. And ya wanna know the weirdest bit? So one day, and it's like five months into my job by now, one day some new hire walks in, right? She says her name's Rainfall, Traditional kirin name I believe. And let me tell you she was, well I assume is, pretty. She was probably the best looking mare i'd ever met, though that might've been because I'd never seen a kirin before. Either way she starts working as a service clerk as well. Our schedules didn't really line up too often, and of course I wasn't going to try and make them align. Remember, I was still an antisocial recluse at this point, so my response to seeing a cute mare I might've had a chance with was to make excuses.
"She's probably already got a coltfriend. Maybe she's gay. She's probably gay. She'd turn gay if she looked at you too long," and other similar excuses were all I thought about whenever I managed to stumble across a wayward bout of misplaced confidence. But I guess Celestia was looking down and laughing at me again, cuz maybe a month into her job she goes up to the manager and asks for a pay raise. Now don't get me wrong, I loved Steel Wool, he was a great guy, but damn if the whole store couldn't hear him laughing when she said that. So she explains that she can't afford her apartment, Canterlot rates and all, and Steel Wool shrugs his shoulders, says there's nothing he can do right now, and walks off.
You see where this is going?
Now I must've gotten another one of those undeserved flashes of confidence, cuz I go sauntering over to her and say "Hey, I've got an apartment. If you want, we could share rent and you can get some of the rooms for your own." I don't think it went exactly like that. I probably stammered a lot more, and maybe cried a little, knowing my social skills.
But none the less, she's wiping a tear away from her face and gives me this look like i'm about to abduct her. I don't blame her, My face doesn't exactly scream trustworthy, with my rat's nest of a hairdo and unkempt facial hair. So she stands there for a second, and I could've sworn she was gonna punch me in the head, but instead, no joke, she turns to me and goes "Do you mean it?"