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// Some sleeping dogs just can’t lie 
// Story: My Roommate, Pinkie Pie 
// by DatZigga 
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Avon sat in Sugar Cube Corner’s main lobby. Celestia steadily dragged the sun beneath a he horizon. Like a mother smothering an unwanted child beneath the waves of a kiddie pool.

“Woah, that was kinda dark.” He remarked to himself in a low mumble. He couldn’t help the intrusive metaphors and similes. It was a cope, a means to letting some air out of the tires. Only, it also serves the dual purpose of reinforcing those same tires. Cest la vie.

“Uh oh.” If Avon had ears like the ponies, they’d have perked up and swiveled to the bubbly bartender of his milkshakes. “That’s your ‘I’m bein’ a real grumpy grump pants today’ face.”

Pinkie slid into the seat in front of. Despite this, Avon didn’t meet her gaze. We’re this a few years ago, Ponk would’ve bounced around the store, cracked a ton of jokes, perhaps even fired a round out of the party cannon. Anything to try and get a smile out of him.

However, they’ve since developed a system between the two of them.

Pinkie reached a good over the table, lightly pushing Avon’s head backwards so that she could look him in the eyes. She met his distant gaze with her baby blues, batting her eyelids a couple times.

“Come on~! You can tell your Auntie Pie what’s wrong.” She teased. Avon’s brow furrowed.

“You aren’t that’s much older than me, ya know.” He replied, only met with snickers and snorts.

Pinkie has learned, through trial and error, the quickest way to get Avon to open up. Paradoxically, by teasing him with little things like age difference or how he sits or what faces he makes. It disarms him, forces him out of his comfort zone of seriousness and malaise.

“I don’t know.” Avon said, letting the heat from his cheeks simmer down. “Have you…” The question sputtered dead, before suddenly coming to life again. 

“Have you ever felt like it’s too late for you?”

Pinkie cocked her head to one side, like a puppy confused as to why his master thought it was a good idea to use a belt as a necktie and a ceiling fan for neck support. Sorry, unwarranted asides again. 

“What are you too late for?” Pinkie asked thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. I guess, a lot of things really. Too late to be an artist. Or too late to make friends. Or too late to find a purpose in life, like a reason for existing.”

“Nonny, it’s not too late for any of that!” Pinkie waved the thought away. “You’ve already made friends with the girls and I-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Avon cut her off. “But no. I mean that I think I’ve given up already. I have arbitrarily decided that this is as far as I go. No new friends, no new dreams, no new nothing. This is where the road ends. With me sitting in silence, left to the sounds of the clock ticking away until my heart stops.”

“I don’t think any of that is true at all!” Pinkie objected, striking the table. “You haven’t given up! You’re still here doing…uh, things!”

“Yup. Things. Lots of things. Many, many things. Things done purely out of obligation. To you, I might add.”

“Well, I think doing things for thing’s sake is a good thing. A noble thing! Wow, that’s a lot of things.” She contemplated the air, as though she could read the very text of the conversation.

“Mhm.” Avon rubbed the table with a finger, tracing circles into the surface. Pinkie, meanwhile, tapped a hoof to her chin. Then, a lightbulb illuminated behind her wide eyes.

“I got it!” Pinkie exclaimed, slamming the table a second time with more force. “Maybe the things your doing now should be different things!”

“Are you still on the “thing” thing? That joke has been played out.” 

Pinkie put a hoof to Avon’s lips. “Hush. What we need is to bring you back to your roots! To show you that these things have meaning and you’re not too late to find them!”

“And what exactly are my roots, Pinkie?” Avon questioned, his interest having been piqued by the curious mare.

Pinkie rhythmically tapped her hooves together, making an ominous “clop” each time. This was made the more unnerving by a Cheshire grin. “I’ve got a few ideas…”