//------------------------------// // Closets // Story: Because Ponies Are the Size of Cats and They Love to Cuddle // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// I wake up to the chime of my alarm. Maybe it was a good dream, or perhaps the fuzzy remnants of one. Whatever the case, I'm smiling. I numbly slap my hand out and turn the alarm off, then sit up with a sigh, hugging my knees to my chest. It's morning, and I need to go to work. I feel a stab to my heart, a very familiar prodding that's ailed me most of my life. And yet—on this occasion, like many mornings as of late—I don't let it depress me. It's so quiet and lonely in my apartment. It's been this way for as long as I can remember. But I can take all of it in stride. I have a hard time understanding how I ever once couldn't take it in stride. What was so bleak and abysmal about my life that I used to surrender to these very same shadows? I glance over to my vanity. A dark blue hoodie lies draped over the edge, plugged into the wall. I sigh. With stiff legs, I swing myself off the bed and shuffle to the bathroom. It's an hour and a half before I go to work. I'm going to need every damn minute of it. The shower is a momentary slice of heaven... until the hell of managing my hair that follows afterwards. By the time I've become dry and presentable to the outside world, my stomach is gurgling. I wander into the kitchen to process myself some toast. I don't realize how tired I still am until I catch myself attempting to slide a right glove on my left hand. With a groan, I flicker forth a holo-board of the morning news. There's a light meteor shower scheduled for the northern hemisphere this afternoon. That's alright. New legislation is attempting for the twenty-seventh consecutive time to outlaw clone bordellos on Venus. Good luck with that. Apparently there's a new incursion of pro-Centauri forces along the Vegan starfront. I guess not all news can be cheery. Breakfast is done, and I wander back into the bedroom to fetch my shoes. Out of the corner of my eyes, I spot a lump in the hoodie's pouch. My heart skips a beat. I practically leap over the bed and yank the article off the vanity. Fidgeting, I reach into the pouch and pull out a wad of paper. Unfolding it, I scan my eyes across the page, holding my breath. Then, I exhaled through a sad face. It's the fourth day since Applejack last visited. Since then, she's only provided letters explaining how busy she is. Between bucking apples, helping Granny Smith with a cross-country delivery, and one or two lunches with her friends at a place called "Sugarcube Corner," the mare simply hasn't found the time to spare for... well... the usual. Such is to be expected, and I should be very, very glad that she's polite enough to keep me updated. Even still, I'm starting to feel winded. I know that this whole thing is just an experiment that she and I are both lucky to be a part of. That doesn't the change the fact that every time I reach into the pouch and grab a letter that conveys the same old thing, my day ends up feeling grayer and grayer. It isn't until my third sigh in a row that I realize how much time I've wasted by just standing here with the hoodie and Applejack's letter in my grasp. As much as I enjoy busying myself at work and earning my beijings, I really can't stand the thought of languishing for another nine hours at a place far from home while pondering over whether or not I'll get to hear anything affirmative from her by the time I get back. So, a spontaneous idea strikes my mind. Looking into the far corner of my bedroom, I grab a satchel. The hoodie is far too small for me to wear, though that is a delightfully silly thought. There's no rule against taking this thing out in the open. After all, I'd never have taken Applejack out on city strolls, if that was the case. Still, I don't want the quantum capacitor causing any adverse effects on the transportation while I head towards work. So, for safety reasons... I give the tag a firm tug, holding it stretched out from the hem of the article. After exactly three seconds, the thing vibrates, and the lights in the sweatjacket's seams go dim. The article is now in standby mode. Good. As it should be. I fold it up neatly, smiling to myself. I then slide it into the satchel, slip on my shoes—and it's out the door I go. The sky this morning is a shiny purple. I couldn't have asked for any better. A nice song plays over the speakers of the bus ramp. My ride on the hovertransit is relatively uneventful. I prefer it this way, gazing out the windows as the spires of the Sprawl bend and undulate around the soaring craft. At last, I reach my destination, then traverse the glossy lattice towards the broadcast tower where I work. From there, it's two elevators and a gravishaft leap to my office floor. I check in at the holoscreen, sharing a smile and a joke with the security unit. His servo motors are clicking smoothely today, and I compliment him on it. As I stroll towards my cubicle, I see many faces—but very few of them see me. I'm not exactly a big name at my job, but that's fine. Aside from Aynrandy and a few of the girls down in public affairs, I've made few friends at this place. It's not that I'm antisocial; I just prefer a simpler, structured life—free of clutter. This is evident in my desk—a relatively Spartan arrangement of keyboards, Neptunian digirigs, and sparse storage shelves. I made sure in the first year to invest most of my income in acquiring my very own Carpal Communications Array. As a result, I carry all of my important resources on me at all times. Work, I believe, should be a nebulous thing that is tackled from all angles and at all hours. That way, there is no stress—only existing. I'm almost proud enough to smile, but that's not what's on my mind right now. The ride here took a little over half-an-hour. I wonder if maybe... just possibly... Applejack could have sent me a letter in that time? I glance out from behind my cubicle. None of the other workers are glancing my way. Stealthily, I unhook my satchel and open it. I reach in, unfold the hoodie, and lay it across my desk. Then, with casual hand motions, I plug it into an outlet beside my chair, then pull on the tag. One second. Two seconds. Three. The thing vibrates, and almost immediately— "Gah!" I wince, for a mountain of notes has poured out... then another mountain... then a veritable deluge of sheets. "Shit!" I scramble down onto my knees, struggling to scoop up all of the hastily scribbled pony words. "Shit shit shit!" Whimpering, I flash worried, sweaty looks over my shoulder. A passing employee blinks curiously my way. A secretary or two cranes their neck, eyebrows raised. I smile nervously, waving back, then scramble to unfold the first of several sheets. The scant streaks of words flicker before my eyes: "Howdy! You doin' anythang at the moment?" "Hello? You there?" "I know it's been a long time, but I was wonderin' if you'd like to hang out?" "Didja receive my first few notes?" "I can't wait to tell ya about what happened to me this weekend! It's a real knee-slapper!" "Sugarcube? Everythang alright?" "Oh shucks, I'm botherin' ya somethin' awful, aren't I?" "I'm so sorry. I must come across as a silly lil' filly." "I'll stop now. I hope y'all have it in yer heart to forgive me." "Oh no... oh no no no no Applejack..." I hiss, feeling the sore crackle in my throat. "Applejack, it's okaaaaay. Oh jeez... oh jeez..." I fumble through the pile of notes, my hand slapping across random spots of the desk until I knock over a plastic case of business cards. I grab one of them and hastily scribble across it with pen: "Five minutes. All good. Don't—" "Uhhhh... is everything alright?" "H-Huh?!" I look up, shivering, pale and wide-eyed. I know this face. It's Michaelmoore, from marketing. His synthetic pupils whirr as he focuses in on my predicament. I see a worried co-worker or two huddled behind him. "Did you fall down or something?" "No! I'm just... good and f-fuzzy!" I say, eyes twitching. "Nothing to cuddle—er... see here!" "Well, alright." He smiles awkwardly and nods. "Just checking..." With a shifty glance, his implants change colors and he walks off, relieved. I gulp. I stare down at the last line written on the business card. Without thinking, I finish it: "—panic." Then, in one fell swoop, I shove the card into the pouch and send it on its way. With a breath of relief, I stand up straight, hug the hoodie to my chest, and peer around the edges of my cubicle. Nobody's watching. Swiftly, I dart out, pitter-pattering on rapid feet. It feels like crossing an astronomical unit on a sea of burning coal. Nevertheless, I reach the closet on the far end, open it to the smell of disinfenctants and cleansers, and shut the door to the cramped compartment behind me. I breathe out, slumping against the door as I feel my heartbeat pacing back to normal. A minute passes. A second. I knead the hoodie with my fingers, wondering if enough time has gone by or not. Screw it. I unfold the hoodie, flip a bucket over, and slide it to a stop in front of me. Flicking one of my gloves, I summon a holo-lamp, levitating it in place above me. I squat before the bucket and lay the hoodie over it. Then, with a contemplative breath, I grip the neck of the article and swiftly loosen it. When Applejack ports in, she does so upside down. "Whoah!" She lands awkwardly on the bucket, her legs and tail drooped over it like a limp cat. Her head cranes back, her freckled face staring at me upside down while her golden mane spills out beneath her. A blink, and the muzzle that goes with those sparkly green eyes curves brightly. "Why, there you are, darlin'! I was startin' to get worried—" "It's fine!" I wheeze, clear my throat, and smile anxiously. "Everything's okay!" "Ya sure, sugarcube? Nnngh! Guh!" She fidgets and fusses with her hooves, then finally uprights herself, sitting squarely atop the bucket on folded legs. "Y'all didn't respond to me. Granted, I was a might excited-like... eheheh... but that's 'cuz I've missed ya somethin' awful and I couldn't wait to tell ya about my weekend—" "I know, AJ! I r-read every letter! You must believe me. Please—" "Whoah... simmer down there!" She waves an orange hoof. "T'ain't no insurrection!" "'Inquisition.'" "Whatever. Y'all understand me." She then stares down at her squirming hooves. "I-I just hope I didn't anger y'all with all of my scribblin' words—" "Oh no, AJ. Never." I smile and lean forward, engulfing her in a hug. "I could never be mad at you. You hear me?" She chuckles in my embrace. "Well, dun be too sure. Nopony's perfect. Whatever the case, it sure is nice hearin' yer voice and seein' yer face again..." She pauses, blinking as she stares at the dark closet around us. "Uhhhhh... darlin'?" "Yes, Applejack?" "Uhm... where in tarnation are we?" "You... uh..." I blush slightly, leaning back as I smile awkwardly to the shelves surrounding us. "You sort of caught me at work." Applejack blinks. "You work in a closet?" I haven't laughed so hard in days.