Lost of thoughts

by CraftAids

Slick

“Okay, there has to be a way to get him to say ‘I outrank you.’”

“Yeah that should be easy; he's a second in command.”

“What if he is on a fleet vessel and there is an enemy ship and he's like, ‘Full speed ahead. Ram them.’, and some guy is like, 'Sir, that doesn't sound like a good idea-’ 'I outrank you!’”

“No way. He should just tele-choke him. That's what he would do to anyone who questioned him, actually…”

“What if it was the new guy?”

“He kills him.”

“Like, the new guy doesn't know how things work.”

“He’s fucking Sladick Zaeder. He doesn't care.”

The door creaked open and then closed and Feather Whistle just kept talking. “So, the new guy is like, 'Sir, that doesn’t sound like a good idea’ - ‘I out rank you!’” Feather giggled and wiggled.

“...Okay then.”

The sofas sat on the floor, the quills sat in their jars, the open sign sat in the window, and the employees sat behind the counter. The bathroom door slowly swung itself closed. At least three ponies were lounging on the same cushions as hundreds before them.

“I outrank you!”, he repeated, much to his continued amusement.

“You do a really bad Zaeder impression.”

A nearby customer let out a low “Oooo, right in the heart.”

He was in the bathroom. It was small, with one toilet, a sink, a roll of toilet paper sitting on the toilet back, and bar soap. In the mirror, his pale, grey horse-face viewed him with dull gray eyes. Darker gray patches rested under the eyes. His ears were cut and pierced through. Drying and scabbing over, streaks of blood clung to the surface of the two broken, black head-sticks from the invisible creature.

He turned the faucet on and tried to turn his hoof over to cup the water. His shoulder was not built for that. Water fell through his hooves and down his legs and cycloned down the sink. He kept bending himself farther to the side. His head was upside down as he stood on three legs and stretched his other leg up, upside down. He got his hoof into the basin and wedged his hoof under the faucet.

The water ran out of the back of his hoof and down his leg, running over his body. He slipped on his wet hoofs and was left dangling by his arm in the sink as the faucet head dug into the soft part in the center of his hoof, spraying water everywhere. He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped through clenched teeth as the round faucet dug into him. He struggled and yanked and his leg popped free. He dropped on his back. “Pain. Yup, that's pain. Aah,” he breathed.

When he was done flailing and smearing red on the linoleum floor, he stood back up and shoved his whole head under the running water. There were no paper towels, he realized only now.

He spent well over a half an hour sticking squares of toilet paper to his hooves and rubbing himself. There was no trash can. He was very tense when he finally flushed and very pleased when the mound of toilet paper successfully went down the drain. He was still covered in faint red patches, but the sticks were wiped clean. It was good, even if he was damp and his nose was smeared.

He nodded reassuringly to himself and then turned to the door. He pushed down the handle and pulled it open. As he walked through the doorway, his fur became dry and the pale blood stains disappeared.

“You don't win! They are too old, and they have seen basically everything before. A grandmother will always win at negotiation and little social family confrontations. When your mother-in-law comes over you put away the sulfur hexafluoride and stop doing fun things. I don't care if you’re Sladick Zaeder; if you go out there with a gas induced deep voice, you will have to deal with her politely implying things about how you are childish and irresponsible and not good enough for her daughter.”

“Well, just ask. ‘Are you calling me childish?’”

“That's the thing. She would just make you look bad for having accused her.”

“Pull out a mana-beam and go, ‘You insult my honor. Duel.’”

“Now you get to look aggressive and rude and you just threatened your wife’s mom.”

“Then just pull out a toy, plastic sword instead.”

“Now you look childish again and she gets to go talk about how you were sarcastic at her.”

He approached the counter.

Feather smiled but scrunched his face while laughing.

“See? You don't win. You just eat your dinner and wait until she leaves.”

“Hey, uh-”

“Ah, yes. Hello. Welcome to quills and sofas. Are ya here for quills or sofas?”

“Um... no…”

Feather opened a drawer and started rifling around. The other employee smiled. “Alright then, we just got a bit of the good stuff in. What's your number?” Feather pulled out a binder in his mouth and opened it, dropping it on the counter.

“...Number for what?”

The two stared at him for a moment. Feather swept the binder back into the drawer and closed it before staring at him again. They were both sweating bullets. The other one opened his mouth. “So, how can I help you sir?”

He asked them if they knew of any place that sold soap.

They told him.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

Where/How did you come up with the chapter names?

[NoCreativeNames]

6905085 Take a really close look at em