Five Crazy Trials to Date Pinkie Pie

by B_25

V - Cleaning Up

~ V ~

Cleaning Up

“Ain't this just grand?” I sighed. “First job where I have to pay to work.”

I was mad. I was upset. I felt cheated and abused, disgusted with myself yet strangely proud at the same time. Everyone had left, of course, leaving me alone at the till with nothing but thoughts to keep me company. It was no different from being in my room, really, except for not being allowed to sleep on the floor.

Why the hell was I doing all this anyway? The silly game with Pinkie wouldn't work out. She was my marefriend. Marefriend! That word didn't make a lick of sense—didn't even feel real. Because it wasn't real. It was a fake word put onto her for the sake of a game.

Why wasn't I at home? Finally, free for a few days, and how do I spend it? Losing money while working for someone else. It got me outside, sure, and interacting with others, sure, but that hadn't done me a whole lot of good. Big Mac and all them were wrong—I'm better off doing my own thing.

So I debated about leaving. It was a jerk thing to do. I'd be leaving Pinkie high and dry, the store unattended, and further consequences I couldn't care to think about. But on the flip-side, I would be at home, in my room, safe, alone, trying to enjoy myself.

But isn't that what you always do?

“Oh c'mon!” I shook my head. “You again? Why can't my thoughts leave me in peace?”

Because humor is your escape from responsibility.

“You kidding?” I muttered to myself, not caring how crazy I looked—I'd given up on how I looked a long time ago. “That crystal castle wouldn't be standing if it weren't for me! All the cleaning and paperwork I do for Twilight. C'mon, get real!”

You take responsibility only when you are without choice. It wasn't often my thoughts took to spoken words, things said in my own voice, which was darker and harsher and never pleasant. You meet the favors of friends well, but is the same true when it comes to favors to yourself?

“Because I don't need any favors to myself!” I said in a hushed whisper. “I do what I wanna and don't do what I don't wanna do. There's nothing else to it. No one keeps me accountable for useless stuff like that.”

Convenient excuse, my thoughts said, but good has that done you? The little things mattered as much as the big things, or rather, everything means nothing in the end.

“We're going for a debate now?” I closed my eyes. “I swear, the only way to beat depression is to outwit it.”

You're depressed? Is that what this is?

“I... don't know.”

How about you take accountability for your behavior, you useless dragon.

“I've already paid them all off!”

I meant for this job you've taken unto yourself. No one forced you into this, as much as you like to blame others—you offered, and now, you desire to back out. Your responsibility ends when no one forces accountability onto you.

“It's Twilight's fault then!” I clenched my fist, debating about kicking my own butt. Maybe that would shut him up. “She didn't show me enough guidance me—“

Guide yourself, Spike. The voice faded. It's your responsibility to take accountability for yourself. No one else will, or should, do that for you.

That crappy voice came around when everyone else was gone. The world felt barren whenever it showed up, like I was in a different, absurd world, where ponies were near but never close. Lonely. I was alone. But I didn't know why.

I looked around the shop to see the empty seats, dirty tables, and dusty floors. I arched an eyebrow at the low stock of treats on display, then to the messy papers on the table behind the counter. No sounds came from the kitchen—nothing was cooking.

I then looked back to the door, the sweet closed door, able to me away, back to my home, then inside my room. It was easy and free, no effort required, no responsibility to be handled, no accountability forced on me for what may or may not have happened early.

I could also ignore this silly challenge with Pinkie until we both forgot about it.

“But that isn't an option, is it?” I said to myself, walking over to the table, staring at a record player on top of it. “You'd just give me trouble all night. Saying I have no one to make me accountable when I have to listen to you all the time.”

There was already a record in the player, a country tune given from Applejack. Country music wasn't really my jam but, looking around, I didn't have any other scores to go with. Shrugging my shoulders, I put the needle down, picked up a nearby mop, then got my butt to work.

I saw a big ol' dragon in the mountains! The music played from the player, loud enough to waft across the store, but not enough to carry upstairs. Oh he was big and mean, scary too, holding a cart bigger than me!

“Come on you stupid mop!” I ducked the mop into the trolley and chemically mixed water. “Get wet already! I got cleaning to do!”

Afraid and scared, not knowing my fare, or if he was fair. The mop took to the water. I lifted it, heavier than it was a second ago, dropping against the wood and well... mopping. He let out a roar, and I wanted to soar.

“When was the last time they washed these floors!” I groaned as pushed the mop hard enough to almost scrape the ground. “They almost of a layer of filth coated into the wood!” I scraped harder and fast. “Damn it and damn you!”

But my wings were broke and unable to work. I went to step past a set of table, my foot catching on the trolley, knocking the bucket, and all its water, onto the floor. There would be no escape from that cave, oh how could I have been so naive?

“I will never drink water for as long as I live!” I cried out as I took a step back, my foot slipping on the liquid, my head and back slamming against the ground. I yelled with my mouth closed, striking a fist into the air.

The dragon took me in his claw, and I thought of all my flaws, as I faced his deadly maw. Biting my bottom lip, I returned to my feet, picking up my fallen broom as I did so and, choosing not to give up despite the bullshit, mopped the floor once more. He blew his flame, which I couldn't blame, all over my frame.

“Aha!” I cried in a victory. “Smells like bleach and ammonia mixed into one!” I looked across the floor of the store, slipper signs placed all over the floor, which shined all over. “Pain in the butt, though.” I cracked my head left and right, looking back over to the counter: a spray-bottle and cloth awaited me. “Aw heck. Why didn't I offer to do Pinkie's sleeping for her?”

When I opened my eyes, I found I was alive, and very much surprised. I sprayed the top of the tables, flinching when crumbs shot away, closing an eye when my cloth touched the hardened remains of a milkshake. My fur around but my wounds nowhere to be found.

Table. Spray and wipe, making it clean. Another table. Another Spray. Another wiping. Over and over until those tops shined in the sunlight. The scent from the floor waned from my nose. The store was starting to feel a bit more alive—and that, for some reason, motivated me to keep cleaning the filth.

The dragon set me on the ground, without a second thought, making me bound to cart he had found. I stood behind the counter, breathing heavier than I should, looking out toward the store. There were a glint and a shine to every thing, a scent and scene of cleanliness that I made happen.

The cart was broken, but if I wasn't mistaken, it didn't have to be forsaken.

“Just a shame I'm not getting paid for any of this,” I muttered to myself, placing my claws on my hips. “But I guess helping out is the greatest reward. Or, something like that, I think?” I shook my head; no point in thinking when work was to be done. “Aw, screw it. Let get that kitchen boiling.”

So that dragon and I, together as one, worked ourselves the bone. I flipped open the cookbook sitting next to the player, opening to a page that had a sticky note attached. A plethora of treats stared back at me, but only a few possessed pink circles around them. A broken cart with tools inside; everything it needed to be fixed, except for willing friends.

“Alright, chill out. It's like cooking for Twilight.” I breathe slowly, standing inside the kitchen, staring at all the pots and pans, foods and ingredients, and a hanging portrait that spoke of quality and customer satisfaction. “Only you're cooking for other ponies who, y'know, could get sick from your cooking, call you the worst chef to have ever lived... and other things.”

Well let me have a board, and a saw, and I'll cut it. I poured the flour into the bowl, mixing it with sugar whatever else the book told me to do. I stirred it, wiping my brow as I did so. Give the dragon a nail, and he'll nail it.

“Alright, it's an oven. No big deal.” I gulped, putting the tray on its top shelf. “You have one at home as well... only it doesn't have a million buttons.” Closing its door, I covered my eyes, and let my claw click the keys randomly. “Here goes nothing!”

The big ol' wheel, bigger than me, stood up so free. Loud beeping came from the oven as I rolled the dough straight, my nose sniffing the smoke in the air. I yelped, covered my mouth, and made a run for the burning cookies. The dragon the cart up, its side hinge free, as I kneed the wheel into its slot.

“Part two!” I said as my chest pounded. I put the tray inside the oven like both were set to explode. “And just time, hopefully, with less fire!”

No matter, any weather, we're together! I straightened the dough, baked the cookies, and has a few eggs sizzling from a distant pan. Probably wasn't the best idea to cook the day's order in an hour, but I was set to impress Pinkie and the Cakes for whatever reason. Dragon or pony, it don't matter, as long as we're together!

“Easy now!” My claw balanced the try of cookies, not needing the mittens, enjoying that I had scales for once in my life. “Rows of four. Sixteen in total for display.” I blinked as I smelled something smoking again. “Aw crap, the eggs!' I rushed toward the stove and nearly dropped my tray in the process.

We worked together, put that cart back to together, hopefully forever.

“Just slide you in, and that is it!” I stepped back from the display, sliding the thin wall behind it shut. The treats were on show, illuminated and kept warm by an overhead light. “Didn't get them all done, but... that should be enough for now.”

Now on my way home, my problems none, my eyes focusin' on the sun. The song repeated a few times, bits sometimes making it past my eyes, but I finally found time to listen to its ending properly. Behind me was a wagon, further than that was a dragon, a friend indeed, for all the ponies to see!

I squinted my eyes. “This song was about a dragon?”

A beast but not a foe, a dragon to call my own, a dear friend to my soul. The song faded as the needle lifted. A dragon and a friend, a friend and a dragon, a wagon for us both.

And the song ended.

“Celestia that song sucked.” I shook my head. “What does Applejack even see in that kind of music, much less Pinkie?” I sighed. “Oh well. Better go stack to papers and—“

A chime sounded from the door. “Pinkie? Are you here? We're home!”

Comments

[Viper Pit]

So spike is doing better if only a little

[Bookeater_otaku]

That was a crappy sonGood thing he didn't touch the paper, some people have their own filling system and there could have been sensitive information for a non regular employee.

Now let's see if he can explain the situation with the Cake or if he will blew it.

I can see Spike is still as well coordinated has he was in his youth. He still end up sprawled on the floor a lot isn't he? Oh well, more chances for Pinky to pouce on him.

[lightningman]

Oh crap, Mr and Mrs cake are home. But what happened to the cake twins?

[J-TBone]

This is my morning story fix. Thank you ^^

[Nopetrain]

You take responsibility only when you are without choice
Ah, hits close to home. Strange that, sometimes you have no choice for so long that you forget. You forget to take your choices again, with the weight of the responsibility they bring.

[OmniFox]

I agree that song sucks.