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// Chapter 2: Job Hunting 
// Story: A Fresh Start 
// by QuilliamPenn 
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Sketch was awoken by the feeling of Celestia’s sun warming his face; its rays beaming through his round bedroom window. He stretched his front legs above his head arched his back, receiving a satisfying “Pop” as he did so. Sketch laid there in his bed, staring at the ceiling in thought; the fuzzy sort of thought a pony could get after a dream they didn’t quite remember.
It had been two days since Sketch had seen Lyra last; Much to his dismay, and he still hadn’t managed to process everything that had happened that night he first met her. Why Lyra had been crying on the hill, why he had told Lyra so much about his parents, why he found himself so comfortable around her, the fact she hadn’t been criticizing Sketch’s every word.

The experience of these things were very new to Sketch; after all, he was used to the silent; constant, criticism of his father weighing down on him whenever he voiced his opinion; a feat that happened rarely. The fact he had become so comfortable with somepony so fast was a new experience as well. Normally Sketch wasn’t able to say much to his parents because it would end up being turned against him in some way or other.

But what Sketch had found the most strange, is that he had told some mare he barely knew; albeit a very understanding mare, about his parents and their marital issues.
Sketch never; EVER, talked to anypony about his parents, His mother was to thank for that. Sketch’s mother had made it very clear that the punishments would be severe if he ever spoke of the family issues with the few friends he had while he lived in Cloudsdale. Sketch’s mother had a terrible fear of being embarrassed, and would go to insane amounts of trouble to avoid anypony thinking she was anything but perfect; a fact she would wholeheartedly deny.

Sketch sat up and rubbed his eyes; effectively erasing any remnants of sleep from them. He stared at the rays of sunshine that shone through his window; his eyes watching the tiny particles of dust float around the illuminated air.

He looked over at the wall clock his grandfather had given him, it read 10am.

In his still sleepy state, Sketch managed to make out the very faint “Tick” of the clock as the small red rod that stood for the seconds made its way around. The ticking off the clock reminded him of his baby brother; Gears.

Sketch shook the thought out of his head; running a hoof through his mane and sighing. As if these actions would help him clear his head. He practically rolled out of his bed and slinked onto the floor; Stretching his wings after his sleep.

Sketch stretched a bit more before trotting into his living room. After he had returned home from his outing with Lyra, Sketch had decided to unpack a few of his things, however a few things turned into everything, and Sketch ended up sleeping through most of the next day.

Calling the living room “Modest” would have been an understatement. The area in front of his fireplace consisted of an overstuffed chair, a floor rug, and a small table, along with a small bookcase filled with books he owned. Other than that, the room was empty; devoid of any other decorations.

Sketch strode into his kitchen; a sight not much better than his living room, and found a bagel, he turned to put it in his toaster, only to realize, he didn’t have a toaster. Life on his own was turning out to be harder than Sketch had thought, and over past two days, had made him realize how much he really; truly owned.

Sketch had heard of ponies around his age always talking about independence from their parents; how they would do so much better on their own, how everything would be easier when they had no parents to boss them around.

That was all lies.
Independence sucked.

Sketch frowned at where his toaster should have been, taking a large bite out of his bagel as he did so. As he chewed Sketch ran through a mental list of the things he needed to get done that day. He added “finding a way to get a toaster” to the end of this list.

In reality, Sketch really didn’t have much to do at all that week, save find a job and figure out a way to make his home look more like a home, and less like a haunted house.

Sketch finished his bagel and sat down in his overstuffed chair; the seat making a slight “sssssss” as the air pushed out of it. He huffed as he thought of something to do at that moment. Sketch wasn’t accustomed to being alone at home, He usually would play with his little brother when he was home, trying to avoid conversations with his parents as much as possible; as they would usually lead to fighting even if they started out as something as simple as a joke.

Sketch had no want to get straight to job hunting or furniture hunting, yet he didn’t want to simply sit in his house all day doing nothing. His eyes came to rest on the small glass window on his front door, only seeing a mess of colors and light through it. Sketch thought of the flowers and trees that lay on the other side of that door, the warm breeze, the cool grass.

“Wait”

“That’s it! That’s what I’ll do!” Sketch said aloud.

“I’ll trim my…grass.”

An annoyed look befell Sketch, he was getting excited, over trimming…grass.

Sketch sighed and got out of his chair; and audible “Pssshhh” emanating from it as it sucked air back into its seat.
Sketch trotted up to his door and pulled it open, the smell of the air rushing into his nostrils with the power of a tsunami. He let out a happy sigh as he took in the scene around him. Birds chirping, a gentle breeze making its way through the few trees on his street, the very soft sound of the grass blades moving as the wind bent them. Once again, Ponyville had produced a scene like that of a storybook.

Sketch stepped out onto his small stone floored porch and looked at the grass beneath him, it was almost as high as his knee and there were weeds that had grown to frightening sizes; one weed almost as tall as Sketch himself, its spiky leaves threatening to stab him if he got too close.

Sketch managed to find an ancient grass mower around the side of his house; its blades old and rusted slightly, however it got the job done. He ended up simply mowing over the gigantic weeds; deciding to dig them up at a later time.
Eventually the grass had been trimmed, and Sketch stood back; admiring his handiwork. He sighed at the fact he had done it in only fifteen minutes; leaving the rest of his day free.

“I really need something to do…”

Sketch sat on his front steps, wishing that he could have seen Lyra again; at least then he would have somepony to talk to.
“I guess I might as well go into town and look for a job…” He thought.

Sketch stood up and trotted back into his house. He took his saddlebags from their place by the front door and returned outside to begin his job hunting.

Sketch, really, really didn’t want to work on the weather team. It seemed like everypony who could fly worked on the weather team. A fact he had been constantly reminded of by his father; who thought any real pegasus should work there.

Sketch had managed to find his way to Sugarcube Corner. During the afternoon the shop was still bustling. He had hoped that maybe Lyra would be there, but alas, she was not. He looked at the different food carts around him, each one with a different vendor selling a different item. There was a cart selling carrots and other vegetables; mostly carrots though, whit a pony who’s mane color almost matched that of the orange produce she was selling. There was a bread cart, selling loafs of bread and rolls; run by a rather grumpy looking stallion, and among a few other carts, there was one that sold literally nothing but apples and apple related products.

Sketch trotted over to the apple cart, his eyes fixated on a certain green apple that reflected the light of the sun beautifully. His mind seemingly under the control of this shiny apple, Sketch almost took a bite out of it, had he not been stopped by a sharp southern voice.

“What the hay do you think your doin?”

Sketch snapped out of his trance and looked at the pony who had snapped at him. It was Applejack, one of the one who represented the Element of Honesty.

“Oh uh, hey Applejack. Umm sorry about that. I kind of spaced out for a second.” Sketch said, slightly embarrassed.

“Ahh, you’re fine sugarcube, ‘taint the first time somepony has done something like that. "Say, what was your name again?”

“Sketch.” He replied, once again he had become entranced with this apple.

“So you going to buy it Sketch or just clop to it all day?” Applejack said in a rather loud tone.

Sketch was a bit surprised at Applejack’s word usage, and gave her a strange look.

“Oh umm, yeah I don’t have any bits to spare on snacks, I’ll pass.”

Now it was Applejack’s turn to dawn a surprised look.

“Spare bits? What ‘cha mean spare bits?”

From what Sketch had heard about Applejack, she had a tendency to take it upon herself to see that everypony she met was well cared for; a trait she was now showing.

“I’m trying to save my bits until I get a good; solid, job. So until then I won’t be buying any extra things.” Sketch said with a fake chuckle.

“You ain’t going to work on the weather team?”

Sketch let out a real chuckle this time.
“Haha, no I don’t intend to work on the weather team.”

“Oh, mind if I ask why?” The curiosity in the cowpony’s voice was almost tangible.

“I’d rather not get into it…” 

“Oh, alright then.”

Sketch stood there for a moment, not knowing quite what to do next. Applejack however, was eyeing him all over, making him a bit nervous.

“You got strong legs?” Applejack asked abruptly.

“Wait, what?”

“I said, do you got strong legs?” Applejack repeated.

“I… I guess so…why?” Sketch replied, unsure of Applejack's motives.

“Tell you what, how about tomorrow, you come down to the apple farm and we can see about getting you a job. Sound good?”

Sketch was a bit surprised.

“What? Really?”

Applejack dawned a wide grin, nodding her head.

“I been lookin for a helping hoof around the farm, we just planted a new apple orchard and Big Mac ‘n’ I are working our flanks off, ‘taint easy harvesting all those apples by ourselves. As much as I’d hate to admit it, we need another hoof to help out round there. And I reckon you might be a good help. If you’d like to of course.”

Sketch processed what Applejack had said, and realizing that he had essentially landed a job, was overjoyed.
“Yeah! I would love that! Thanks so much Applejack!” Sketch was emanating so much joy it could have been bottled and sold.

“Great! Show up round the farm ‘bout noon tomorrow, and I’ll show you around.”

Sketch replied with another “Thank you” and turned to trot off, overjoyed he had managed to find a job that didn’t involve the weather team.

“Hey new guy!” Applejack called out; stopping Sketch before he could get too far.

Sketch turned around to see Applejack trotting up to him, carrying the large green apple he had nearly eaten earlier.
“Consider this your first paycheck.” Applejack hoofed Sketch the apple.

“Wow, thanks Applejack!”

“Think nothing of it sugarcube. I’ll be seeing yah tomorrow then!” Applejack said as the trotted back to her apple cart.

Sketch turned away from the cowpony as she strode off; putting his apple in his saddlebag. Since he had managed to find a job so soon, he decided to head to the park and eat this divine looking apple.

After a short walk Sketch found the park, it was larger than he had thought, multiple different paths winding over hills with trees and bushes on them. The park was completely empty, save an old mare; seated on a bench, throwing crumbs of something on the ground for a few colorful birds.

Sketch absorbed yet another one of Ponyville’s amazing story book settings.
“It really is the perfect town.” He thought to himself.

Sketch; not wanting to sit on a bench, opted for a shadier seat, and found his way under a large tree that had grown on a hilltop. He pulled the apple out of his saddlebag, admiring its gemstone like shine before he took a large bite out of it.
The apple was one of the sour ones; Granny Smith apples if Sketch recalled the name right. It wasn’t anywhere near as sour as the drink Lyra had given him a few days back; an experience he would never forget. Rather, it was an almost soft sour, a pleasing taste that left him wanting more.

Sketch against the tree trunk; taking another large bite of his apple. Sketch enjoyed this kind of having nothing to do, knowing he had gotten done what he needed to do, being able to relax without things like worrying about a job hanging over his head.

Sketch finished his apple and set the core aside, he turned around to see the old mare was still on the bench, feeding her birds. Sketch saw how nice the scene before him looked, staring at it for a moment before remembering he had a talent for drawing.

Sketch reached around and pulled his notebook and pencil out of his saddlebag. He set the book down on the grass and flipped to the page after the one he had drawn of Lyra on the hill.

Sketch got a good look at the scene in front of him, then his mind took over the rest. Sketch wasn’t quite sure how he did what he did, and how he did it so fast. It was just something he couldn’t explain, it just kind of happened. The ability to copy things he saw with such detail was a mystery to him; a mystery he didn’t much care to solve.
Sketch finished his artwork, an exact replica of the scene before him, only sketched in pencil.

Sketch; happy with his work, placed his book back in his bag and laid back against the tree. He closed his eyes as the sounds of the area around him filled his ears. The birds singing, the sound of the gentle breeze through the trees, a shrill and distant screaming.

“Wait, What?”

Sketch opened his eyes and sat up, the screaming seemed to be getting louder.

“LOOOOK OOOOOUUUT!”

Sketch looked in front of him to see three rapidly approaching red carts, each one carrying a small filly clad in full protective gear. They were heading straight for him. Sketch yelped and jumped out of the way and tumbled down the hill, his descent came to an abrupt stop as he smacked headfirst into another tree. There was a crash, followed by two more.

Sketch righted himself and found it painful to open his eyes, his head was in a tremendous amount of pain. He brought a hoof up to where he had smacked into the tree; to his relief. He found nothing but a rather large bump. 

Sketch sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to make the swirling feeling in his brain go away.

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh”

A tiny voice penetrated Sketch’s brain.

There was a gasp.
“Oh no! Scootaloo do you think he’s……..” Came a second voice.

“Oh no! I don’t want a cutie mark for ponyslaughter!” Came a third voice

Sketch opened his eyes slowly to see three fillies standing before him, each one an extremely worried look plastered on their face.

“I’m fine” He groaned.

A white unicorn filly with light pink and purple hair trotted up to him.
“You don’t look ok…”

“No really, I’m fine.” Sketch said again, lying through his teeth.

Sketch sat up and shook his head, getting a good look at the fillies that had nearly squashed him.
“What about you three, are you hurt?”

“Nah we're fine, Cutie Mark Crusaders are resilient you know!” Said a small orange pegasus with a purple mane.

“Besides, we wore our protective gear we made!” Said a small yellowish filly; with a large bow in her mane.  Her accent reminded Sketch of Applejack’s.

Sketch realized that the “Gear” was in fact no more than a few pillows and other soft objects the fillies had strapped onto themselves.

“What were you doing anyway?”

“We were trying to get our cutie marks in go-cart racing…” The yellow filly said.

“What do you mean?” Sketch asked.

The three fillies instantly changed moods; as if a switch had been flipped.

“My name’s Applebloom!” Said the yellow filly.

“And I’m Scootaloo!” Said the orange pegasus filly.

“And my name’s Sweetiebelle!” Said the unicorn filly.

“And we’re. THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS!!!!” They shouted in perfect unison, sending another wave of displeasure through Sketch’s skull.

“Been practicing that huh.” Sketch said, trying to hide his pain.

“Yeah! Isn’t it awesome! We practice it all the time!” Scootaloo said.

“It was wonderful.” Sketch said with his best smile.

“As Cutie Mark Crusaders, we try to find ways to earn our cutie marks!” Sweetiebelle said.

“Today we found out Go-Cart racing isn’t going to be our special talent…” Applebloom added.

“I can tell” Sketch looked over behind the fillies to see a pile of broken go carts.

“We’re really sorry…” Sweetiebelle said.

“It’s alright I guess, but you three could have gotten hurt, you should be more careful you know.”

“We will…” Applebloom said in a VERY unconvincing tone.

“Are you sure your ok mister?” Scootaloo asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You three should probably do something about that mess you know…”

At once a look of sheer joy dawned on the three fillies, they looked at each other and without even taking a breath.
“CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS CLEAN UP CREW!!!!”

The trio bolted off towards the wreckage, leaving Sketch alone by the tree he had smacked into.
“Why would you want a cutie mark for cleaning up go-cart wreckage?” He thought to himself.

Sketch stood up and walked a bit up the hill to get his saddlebag; which had fallen off of him during his tumble. The Crusaders did not seem to notice him as they happily went about their business.

“You guys want some help?”

Scootaloo looked up from a tire she was pulling out from under the side of a bent cart.
“Nope! We made the mess we should clean it up, thanks though mister!”

Sketch nodded and chuckled to himself.
“If only more fillies could be like those three…”

Sketch looked up at the sky, the sun looked as if it would set soon; he had spent more time out than he had thought. Sketch looked over at the three fillies cleaning up the go-cart wreckage, yet again his mind drifted to thoughts of his little brother. Sketch hadn’t thought he would miss the little colt so much when he left his parents home, but now he realized how wrong he was. Sketch’s little brother; Gears, never really understood what had been going on with their parents, only that every so often they would get angry and fight with each other. Other than that Gears kept to himself, preferring either solitude, or being with his elder brother. Sketch began to feel bad for leaving his little brother, but a voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Mister you alright?”

Sketch shook himself out of his thoughts and looked down to see a very concerned looking Applebloom in front of him; he simply stared at her.

“Mister, you’re kinda scarin me…”

Sketch once again shook himself, trying to push the thoughts of his brother out of his head.
“Yeah…uh…sorry Applebloom, I was just…thinking…”

Applebloom’s concerned look stayed plastered on her face.
“You kinda…spaced out for a bit, you’ve been standing there for like a full minute.”

“Yeah, sorry…I’ve been doing that a bit lately…” Sketch’s voice trailed off.

“Hey you wouldn’t happen to know Applejack would you? You just seem to remind me of her a bit.” Sketch asked, trying to change the topic.

Applebloom’s concerned look was replaced with one of happiness.
“Of course I know Applejack, silly! She’s mah sister after all!”

Sketch wasn’t surprised.

“I thought you might be. Well I gotta go Applebloom, I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye Mister!” Applebloom waved a hoof at Sketch as he started to walk off.

Sketch grinned as he turned away. As he trotted away however, the cacophony of thoughts, yet again pushed their way into his head. He really did feel bad for leaving Gears, the poor little colt having to deal with that all by himself. The more Sketch thought about it, the more he hated himself for what he had done. How well would Gears deal with the fact that his parents were in their current relationship state; when he became old enough to understand it? Would he hate Sketch for leaving him by himself in the middle of that?

His entire trot home Sketch could not help but think of Gears; mentally beating himself up over the realization of what he had done, he felt horribly guilty. Eventually Sketch found his way to his doorstep, the small glass window still as useless for looking through as ever; due to the engravings on it that resembled the sun.

Sketch strode in his house and looked around at his smallish house. The overstuffed chair, the small table in front of the fireplace, the little kitchenware he had. Sketch only felt guilt and self-hate as he thought of how he got to move into his own home, have his own things, not have to deal with his parents fighting. While his little brother; his best friend, he had left by himself to deal with the disaster that was his parents’ marriage. However as much as Sketch was upset with himself, he knew there was nothing he could conceivably do about it at the time. 

There was a growl in Sketch’s stomach, reminding him that all he had really eaten all day was a bagel and an apple, he knew he should eat, but didn’t feel like eating at all, Sketch just wanted to lie down, try and get control of his thoughts, maybe figure out a way to make things right someday with his brother.

Sketch trotted into his bedroom, slid his saddlebags off onto the floor and climbed in his bed. The sun was just starting to set, but Sketch didn’t care, he wanted a rest, from these thoughts of his parents and brother, all of it.
Sketch let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes; falling into a deep sleep