The common room is simplistic, but made into looking as if it is not so.
In layout it is a simple square of white walls, one of which is made entirely of glass and overlooks the gardens. There are numerous circular tables screwed into the floor by the walls, each hosting three chairs but easily able to accommodate twice the amount. A dartboard hangs on a wall, but in the same way as there are only circular tables and chairs the game consists of throwing small balls that stick to the board rather than sharp darts. The only furniture even remotely resembling something with edges are several armchairs randomly scattered among the tables, and those are so padded they have to be both astonishingly comfortable and about as dangerous as a party balloon.
What contrasts sharply with the idea of this place being safe and peaceful is a bar, completely stocked with various colourful bottles, an earthpony bartender cleaning a wooden mug with a cloth that could likely kill any bacteria as well as dragons, tall bar stools, also padded, and a pegasus mare sitting on one, hunched over a glass of yellow liquid and a melting ice cube. As she stares gloomily into her drink, I give her a short glance, careful not to offend in case she notices me watching. Her coat is sort of light blue-ish grey and fights the midnight blue of her mane and tail. As I look lower to check her cutie mark, the door I came through closes and she turns her head my way. I quickly look away.
She and the bartender aren't the only ponies around. Two more patients and a warden are doing their business, looking fairly busy. There is a young-looking unicorn in shades of red and orange playing with something small on the table. He hides away whatever his toy is when he accidentally looks my way. The warden is occupied with grunting and pulling large potted plants from place to place. Even as an earthpony, he seems to be having problems. I know the feeling of having to lug something heavy with my mouth. It's not the weight that's the problem, it's the friction between the ground and the thing you're pulling. The warden would do much better if he brought a little cart or something. My theory is reasserted when he pulls a little too hard on the flower pot's handle and the thing tilts over, scattering dirt and leaves everywhere. Thank heavens the floor is tiled, and not carpeted. That would be ridiculously difficult to clean.
Heh, I know my improvised mechanical stuff.
The final occupant is a unicorn completely absorbed in his work, sitting in a corner with two pinboards overflowing with pictures and articles, and reading apparently three thick encyclopedias at once, all open on his table. The mumbling and quiet 'ah-hah!' coming over and over from him don't fill me with any reason to bother him in his effort.
So, what to do? Everypony seem busy with their stuff and I really don't want to push myself onto them. I'm not too good with the talky stuff, but I sure as hay can lug things around, so I approach the warden, sitting exhausted on the floor, back against one of the oversized flower pots.
"Ken Ai help yoo?"
"It's -huff- fine..." he gasps for air, sweating a storm.
I examine the flower pots the size of half a pony. The warden must have made somepony really mad to have to do this on his own. Probably the hydra.
"Eez d too heded nurse mad at yoo?" I ask, sweeping the dirt strewn all around from the toppled decoration into a neat pile using my tail. The dirt is completely lost in the purple hair.
He furrows his brows. I give him time to work through what I said.
"Two headed nurse?"
"D hed nurse end d hed worden. Shee'z a haidra!"
His laughter makes the unicorn in the corner look up from his newspaper clippings in annoyance and scowl at me. I wave at him, he grumbles something, and returns back to his business.
"She totally is," the warden finally controls himself and just snickers, "You're right. She wants me to move these damn things," he thumps the heavy ceramic pot with his hoof, "to the hall so the gardeners don't have to come inside and bother the patients. She's mad at me because I gave Pyre there the trick matches."
He nods towards the teen unicorn toying with a small package which lights up every few seconds and instantly hisses out in a tiny puff of smoke.
"Ai ken help. Ai ken kerry stuff."
"You are a patient, I suppose."
"Yes. Ai hev a tolking plooshee end Ai set maiself on fair."
"Uhhh," he shifts uncomfortably and tilts his head to see Stitches on my back, "Did the plushie tell you to do that?"
"Nou, a gard deed."
"That doesn't sound right. Anyway, suicidal patients aren't usually allowed to walk around unsupervised."
"Ai em weiting for mai room. Ai knou wot Ai deed wos for no reeson. Ai deed not burn d barraks so its okey."
He stands up and unbuttons his white shirt, an article of clothing common to all asylum employees. It stands out against his dark blue coat and brown mane, and he is careful not to make it dirty as he takes the dirt I swept and shoves it back into the flower pot.
"Alright. I really shouldn't, but I'll take all the help I can get since I've got a lot on my plate for today."
The pots are equipped with two handles, meaning they are either meant to be carried by a minotaur or at least two ponies. The warden looks about my age, but is a little bigger and much less scrawny, definitely earthpony genes at work. With two of us, we easily carry all the plants out of the common room.
"Thanks," he wipes his brow, "My name is Watchful," he raises his leg.
I look at his cutie mark of an eye overlooking several featureless pony silhouettes.
"Nou problem, meester Washfool."
He lowers his hoof.
"And you are?"
"A payshent."
"I mean, what's your name?"
"Greyscale."
"Well, have a nice day, Greyscale."
"Yoo too, ser," I bow and return back to the common room. I must admit carrying all the heavy things made me thirsty, so I pull myself up on the bar stool and look around for a list of beverages and how much they cost. Then I realize I have no money. I haven't seen my boxes or my money pouch since I passed out on fire.
I sigh.
"What'll it be?" the bartender comes, smiling politely.
"Noteenk. Ai hev no monee," I pout. He chuckles.
"That's normal for patients. Just tell me what you want and I'll pour it for you. I can bring you a list or you can take it by colour, that's more fun. All of these," he waves towards the shelves stocked with bottles of most colours imaginable, "are mostly either juice or flavored water. It's not like serving alcohol to mental patients would be a great survival idea."
That makes sense.
"Ail teik d green uan den," I point towards an exotic curved bottle of thick green something.
"One kiwi juice, coming up," the dexterous earthpony makes a show of juggling bottles, shaking shakers, and adding ice cubes to my drink.
One thing has to be said. For a fake bar, an overzealous bartender, and this being an insane asylum, the drink is delicious.
"Ken Ai hev anoder uan, plees?"
"Sure, you can have as many as you can stomach," he explains while the bottles in his hooves turn to blurs, "We have snacks here too, but those are limited to three a day. Once you get your collar you're free to come here any time and have one."
"Tank yoo," I bury my muzzle into a green glass again. The bartender nods and returns to cleaning the glasses.
"Well hello there, strong guy," a husky voice near my ear says, "Care to buy a thirsty lady a drink?"
I turn my head to see that the pegasus mare moved two bar stools closer, and is now sitting on the one next to mine. Up close, I can identify that her two-toned coat is not really like that, but light grey punctuated by tiny but numerous droplets of white, the entirety looking like a sky during a rain. Her dark blue mane and tail are still the same, though. She is leaning so strangely close that I can smell sweetness of oranges on her breath. Her lidded grey eyes and confident smile make me tilt back under the pressure of her personality.
Still, she looks like a nice mare and she must be new here.
"Yoo can get as many as yoo wont, mem, d bartender sed so," she blinks several times and moves away a little. I must have offended her, so I wave at the bartender, "Ken yoo brink mis -umm-"
"Drizzle," her smile returns and her wing runs over my back.
"Ken yoo brink miz Dreezle d oranj uan, plees?" I point to what I noticed she was having before.
"Sure thing, Cassanova."
"My name Greyscale, ser," I correct him. He rolls his eyes and brings the orange juice mere seconds later. It must be pretty boring working here.
"What a gentlecolt," Drizzle's wing reaches my 'lower back', "and a strong one. I saw you carrying the huge pots with the warden. That just made me so... wet," she breathes in my ear.
"Dey were heavee, Aim steel sweting too."
"No, no. Strong hunks like you make me want... cock... so much," she licks her lips.
"Aim not a farmer, mem, Ai just kleen stuff."
"I want you to eat my pussy like there is no tomorrow, Greyscale."
"Das dis pleis allow pets?" Cool, I have my plushie, but if I'm going to be here a long time I could get a cat. I heard you didn't need money to get those because the pet shelters are always full during winter, "But Ai dont eet dem, Ai em not a greefon."
"I am a dirty ho'," Drizzle leans in and licks my nose, "Fill me, knot inside me, and let me taste your sticky, hot, milk."
Oh, her glass is empty, and the bartender has bundled his cleaning rag and shoved it in his mouth for some reason.
"Doo yoo hev hot chokleet heer, d uan meid from meelk, not woter? End... end...," Drizzle is very confusing. She must have an identity crisis or something, thinking she's farming equipment. But hey, everypony is here for a reason, "sum rope for nots, dou Aim not det good wit mai huufs."
The bartender's eyes bulge and he starts choking. I'm not really sure why he shoved the thing into his mouth in the first place. Falling under the counter, he coughs the rug out and croaks:
"Gimme a second, please..."
I shrug. The stuff probably needs time to prepare.
"Hee will hev eet readee een a moment," I smile at Drizzle, who is grinding her teeth. Patience isn't her strong side, apparently, "Ummm... end yoo r not a hoe, yoo r a mare. Preety pegasoos laydee."
"You're funny," she thaws a little and points to her flank where a cutie mark of two wings wrapping around the universal symbol for males, "Why do you think I'm here?"
She's confused, thinking she's something she is not. Plus, there is the thing about eating meat.
"Yoo tink yoo r a greefon. Em Ai rait? Also, kets r pets, not fuud. Not shure about d roosters."
The bartender happily gurgles and froths under the counter.
"You know, let me show you," she leans too close so I close my eyes. Surprise transformation incoming?
The soft hair on her muzzle touches mine, her warm and sweet tongue enters my mouth, and both her wings and front legs run over my body, kneading and massaging.
Owww, she pushed Stitches off me. I should pick him up when she's done poking me.
"Alright, that's enough," I hear the bartender, now alert and firm, "Hey, warden, Drizzle's at it again."
Few moments of her licking my tongue and teeth later, she goes limp and starts mumbling to herself. A new warden pulls out a needle from her neck, slings her over his back, and carries her away. She must have been super hungry to fish for food this hard in my mouth, especially when I haven't eaten anything today yet.
Sadly, the whole food thing made me realize how hungry I am. I know I'm not a patient yet, but I must ask.
"Ken Ai hev a snek, plees? Ai will bee a payshent soon."
"I really shouldn, but here," he throws me a chocolate bar, "for the hilarity value."
The ponies here are super nice and friendly. I like this place.