01
Gentle rays of the waking sun pokes through the tiny gaps of the window blinds, washing the gloomy room with soft and serene—
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—ting!
A brown hoof lifts up from the now-quiet alarm clock.
A tired and heavy groan soon follow.
And then sounds of shifting under the blankets.
A brown stallion groggily rolls himself out of bed, weakly blinking the sleep off of his heavy, sleepy eyes. He opens and closes his muzzle, and licks the inside of his mouth as he drags himself towards the tiny bathroom of his tiny apartment.
Standing in front of the sink, he turns the faucet on, his ears twitching to the sounds of running water echoing in the dark, tiled room. Sitting down on the cold tiled floor, he washes his front hooves and his sleepy face.
Turning the faucet off, he grabs a towel from the rack and dries his face off. With that done, he brings the towel down, his gaze turning to the shower.
He blinks, contemplating.
A loud thud then resound in the entire bathroom. His ears twitch, his sleepy mind now registering the muffled and angry noises of his neighbor.
He closes his eyes and sighs. Reopening them, he faces forward and stares at his frowning and sleepy reflection. He wipes his messy black mane with a damp hoof.
He looks somewhat presentable. That'll do, he thinks to himself with a tired nod.
He stands up, hangs the towel back on the rack and walks out the bathroom, passing by a basket full of dirty towels.
It's still Thursday. He has a few more clean towels left until the weekend arrives.
He looks at his messy bed, and then to the alarm clock sitting on a small nightstand.
He has enough time to have some breakfast.
He turns and approaches a small fridge by his small apartment's door. He opens it and frowns. He forgot to buy some cereal last night. At least he still has some milk left.
He grabs his last bottle of milk. Only a fraction is left inside.
He closes the fridge, takes the cap off of the bottle and drinks the remainder. He finishes with a sigh.
He puts the cap back on and places the bottle on top of the fridge, right next to the other empty ones.
He'll get those to the recycler, after he throws his towels to the washer this weekend.
Like usual.
He approaches and opens his small wardrobe, and grabs and wears the only article from inside.
A scarf, and it's itchy, but bearable.
Closing the wardrobe, he takes his saddlebag hanging on his apartment door and wears it.
He closes his eyes, takes a breath, grabs the doorknob, opens his eyes, and finally exhales.
He opens the door.
More noises hit his ears. He ignores them as he closes and locks his door, and moves to the stairs.
His ears twitch when he walks by the door of his noisy neighbor. The young couple are arguing again. He ignores the other sleepy and annoyed tenants by their open doors as he approaches and walks down the stairs.
Reaching the ground floor, he quietly walks toward the small counter, where the old landmare is happily humming as she crochets something.
The stallion quietly puts his key on the counter.
The old mare looks up and smiles a wrinkled smile at him. “Oh, good morning, dearie,” she says as she shakily takes the key. “My my... You're awfully early to go out today.”
“Yeah,” he quietly replies with a shrug. He usually doesn't do small talk, but he answers short and simply replies to the landmare, to lessen the chances of him getting kicked out.
Thinking their small talk is over, the stallion turns and trots toward the door.
“Seeing any mares yet?” the old mare suddenly asks.
“No,” he replies as he grabs the door's handle.
“Well, that's a shame,” she adds.
The stallion pulls the door open, walks out and closes the door behind him. The cool and dusty city air greets him.
He doesn't greet back.
He walks through the small front lawn of the apartment building and joins the traffic of ponies walking down the gray street.
Up ahead, the pedestrian signal light turns red. Ponies up ahead stop and wait, watching the ongoing traffic of taxis, carriages and the occasional wagons.
He continues walking, approaching the waiting ponies. He walks out of a tall building's shadow, the rising sun's golden rays almost blinding him.
He stops and blinks his sleepy eyes a few times.
The signal light turns green. The pony traffic resumes moving.
The stallion shakes his head and continues on his way. Reaching the block, the stallion takes comfort under the shadow of the grocery store.
Eyes forward, he follows the traffic of ponies, passing by the store's entrance—
A young mare bumps into him, her small bag of groceries falling on the ground. “I-I'm sorry,” she says as she takes a step back. She bows an apology, and grabs her bag, but when she looks up, the stallion is gone.
He continues on his way, ignoring the little and harmless accident as he mentally prepares himself to walk under the sunlight again. No point wasting his time to a complete stranger anyway.
It's not like she hurt him.
Although it would have been nice if he said anything.
He pushes the thought aside and joins the waiting ponies.
The light turns green.
And the sea of ponies start moving.
The stallion finally reaches the block where he goes to work, but his gaze lands on a lone hotdog stand on the side of the street.
The stallion manning the stand waves a hoof at him. “Well, good morning, Gold!” he greets the stallion who's now standing in front of his stand. “You're early today.”
He nods his head, his eyes on the menu on top of the stand. “Had nothing for breakfast today.”
“Oh, well, that's unfortunate,” he says as he grabs a hot, steaming carrot and a bun. “You want the usual?”
He actually doesn't, he wants something different for a change.
Just a little bit of change.
But the stallion's already working on it. Best not to waste his work and effort. Gold shrugs. “Sure.” He fishes out the bits and hoofs it to the stallion, who takes it with his magic.
“Here you go,” the stallion says as he levitates the hotdog to his customer. “Say hello to that cute boss of yours, will ya?” he says with a wink.
He rolls his eyes in amusement, a feeling that doesn't really last, but he cherishes it anyway.
He turns around and walks up the steps to his workplace's door. Ignoring the ‘Close’ sign hanging behind the glass, the stallion pushes the door open, jingling the bell up above.
“Oh!” a soft voice resound from somewhere in the sea of dresses. “I'm sorry, but we're not open 'til—” a pale-white mare walks out from behind a line of dresses, her cyan mane bouncing behind her as she suddenly stops. “Oh, it's just you, Mister String.” She smiles a soft smile. “Good morning.”
The stallion stops himself from smiling. He nods instead. “Morning, Miss Pommel,” he greets her back as he closes the door behind him, jingling the bell once more.
It's better to greet her back, to lower his chances of losing his job.
...And maybe throwing a little joke wouldn't increase that chance.
He gestures at the door with his head. “Mister Hotdog says hi, too.”
The mare blinks, and chuckles. She's cute, and now cuter when she chuckles. “That's not his name, you know.”
The cuteness would be enough for him to last for a day, he thought as he walks toward the backroom.
“You're here early,” Coco remarks. Suddenly, her eyes light up. “Oh!”
“Hm?” he blinks a curious blink.
She looks elsewhere with a small smile. “I-I was wondering if you're busy this weekend?” she asks, occasionally glancing at him.
He blinks another blink, and slowly replies with, “...yes.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
He takes a breath, sighs, shrugs, and walks onward. “I'll try not ruin any of the fabrics while I eat.”
“I'm sure you won't,” she quietly replies as she watches the stallion walk inside the backroom. Sighing, she returns to her work.
Entering the backroom, he ignores the towers of stacking fabrics and threads, and a few of his early co-workers as he walks to his station. He takes a seat on his little stool, leans his free hoof on his sewing machine and takes a quiet bite of his hotdog.
After a few bites, he turns around and leans his back on the table, looking outside the small window, his gaze on the sunlit brick wall of another building.
As he continues eating and staring, he thinks of how weird his morning is going.
He ran out of food. That shouldn't have happened, as he usually buys enough to last until the next Saturday.
He wanted to try a different hotdog, but he's probably extra hungry today.
...and then Miss Pommel.
He closes his eyes, takes a breath, sighs, reopens his eyes, and takes another bite.
He blinks when he notices a weird green bulb, barely poking out from below the window.
With a shrug, he finishes eating his hotdog and prepares himself for another day of work.
The shop's front door swings open, jingling the bell above.
Gold String trots out of the establishment, and the city night air greets him.
He greets back with a tired sigh.
He adjusts the scarf around his neck, turns to the door, grabs the handle and pulls it—
“Mister String?” Miss Pommel calls from inside the shop.
The stallion pokes his head inside and sees her folding a dress or two.
And smiling a small smile at him. “Have a safe trip home.”
He nods his head, pulls his head back out and finally closes the door, his ears twitching to the jingle.
He quietly thanks the stars for mastering the art of the poker face.
He turns around and sees a small number of ponies standing around the small hotdog stand, the delicious smell finally reaching his nostrils, making his stomach rumble somewhat.
It reminds him of his apartment's lack of food. He needs to go to the grocery store tonight.
He blinks, thinking of how strange the day has been for throwing changes his way.
He pushes the thought aside as he trots along the flow of pony traffic, heading towards the store.
He wonders how his food diminished so quickly. He bought the same amount of cereal and milk last Saturday, which should have lasted for a week.
He scratches his neck.
He probably calculated wrong.
The light turns green as he reaches the waiting ponies. He reaches the next block, eyeing the brightly-lit entrance of the store, where many ponies trot in and out.
He enters the store, and quickly pulls a shopping cart from the rack. He pulls the cart with a hoof as he trots toward the cereal section.
Reaching the aisle, he stops and wonders if he should get enough to last until this Saturday, or until next week's Saturday.
A second or two later, he decides on the latter as he can't eat one box of cereal in a day anyway.
He searches and finally picks the cheapest ones. He grabs three, places it on his cart, and trots toward the milk section.
Reaching his destination, he grabs eight cheap bottles of milk, places them on his cart, and trots toward the self-checkout machines, ignoring two young foals who cheerfully gallops by, with their angry mother hot on their tails.
Reaching the machine, he scans his items, deposits his payment, puts his items on a plastic bag, and finally trots out the store.
He turns and trots toward his apartment block.
The light turns red just as he is about to trot on the road. He takes a few steps back as carriages and wagons run through the road, and sighs at his bad luck.
No matter, he thinks to himself. It'll turn green soon.
As it always do.
A minute or two later, the light turns green.
He trots through the road, heading to the next block, feeling a little weird at the thought that a large number of ponies are following him from behind, and that a large number of ponies are approaching him from the other block.
He tries his best to ignore it.
Finally reaching the block, he sighs, the little nervousness inside him finally dying down.
He reaches the apartment building, trots through the front lawn and ignoring a few ponies hanging around there—
“Went shopping, eh?” a mare suddenly asks, eyeing the stallion with bored-looking eyes as she takes a drag of her cigarette.
He hates the smell of cigarettes, so he is thankful for the city wind for not blowing the smoke to his direction. Ignoring her might tick her off, so he gives a simple shrug as the mare blows a puff of smoke, hoping that's good enough of a reply for her as he moves to the door.
Reaching the door, he grabs the handle and opens it. He trots inside and closes the door behind him.
“Good evening, dearie,” the old landmare greets the stallion without looking up nor stopping her crochet.
“Good evening,” the stallion greets back as he approaches her.
Setting her work down on the table, the old mare turns around on her seat and grabs his key. She turns around once again and hoofs it to him. She notices the bag of groceries. “Ah, so that's why you're a little late today than usual.”
The stallion shrugs as he takes his key. “Just food.”
“Picked up any mares while you were there?”
The art of the poker face. “...Just food.”
The old mare sighs and returns to her work, the clicking of the hooked needles echoing on the old walls. “You can't stay young, you know. If you're having trouble picking up a mare, I know a friend who's dying to have her daughter taken.” A moment later, she blinks and slowly looks up at him. “...Unless you're into stallions?”
The stallion simply shrugs, climbs up the stairs, and enters his apartment.
He takes a deep breath, a small smile appearing on his muzzle as he relishes the safety and familiarity of ‘home.’
He places his bag of groceries by the small fridge, hangs his saddlebags on the door, takes off and puts his scarf inside the wardrobe, puts the cereal boxes and milk bottles inside the fridge, takes a quick bath, dries himself off, smiles a tired smile at his tired reflection—
—he forgot to get something to eat for dinner.
Groaning, he throws the towel in a basket of other dirty towels, grabs a bowl, pours cereal and milk, and sits down on the bed, staring at the small amounts of light seeping through his gloomy apartment from the small gaps of his window blinds.
Maybe he should start saving to get one of those weird box-with-moving-images that's becoming popular. Television is the name, if he recalls correctly.
And he finally recalls why he ran out of food so soon as he quietly eats and listens to the muffled sounds of his arguing neighbor.
She sets her crochet aside. “You're early again, I see,” the old mare remarks as she takes the key.
The stallion holds back a sigh. “Yeah.”
He turns and approaches the door, leaving the old crocheting landmare behind the counter.
The stallion pulls the door open and walks outs—
“Wait.”
Blinking, the stallion looks over his shoulder.
The old mare's waving a hoof for him to come over.
Holding back a sigh, the stallion closes the door, turns around and walks back to the counter. “Hm?”
“Here,” she hoofs him a scarf, the one she was crocheting for days now. “Feels like it's gonna be extra cold today. Don't want my good-paying tenant to catch a cold or something.”
“I'm fine, thanks,” he says, scratching his itchy neck. “I already have a scarf.” He never liked receiving gifts anyway.
No, that's a lie. He likes gifts, but he hates the thought that he now owes those who give him gifts.
“Keep it,” he adds, hoping the conversation's over.
The old mare's furrowing brows tell him otherwise.
With a defeated sigh, he accepts the scarf. “Um...thanks.”
“You know, you shouldn't turn down gifts, especially if the giver sincerely wants to give them to you.” The old mare chuckles as the stallion puts his old scarf inside his saddlebag. “And besides, it looked like you needed a new one.” She smiles as she watches him wrap the new scarf around his neck.
He blinks as he thinks of a good response.
The old mare smiles. “Looks good on you.” She picks up her needles and starts a new crochet project. “Take care now.”
His neck feels weird. He also feels weird.
It's not an unpleasant kind of weird.
And his neck isn't itchy anymore.
He nods a thanks and heads out of the building.
A cool and dusty gust of air greets him. Closing the door behind him, he walks on the grassy lawn, ignoring three or four smoking tenants standing around.
A mare eyes him and blows a puff of smoke in the air. “Nice scarf.”
He stops long enough to say, “...Thanks.”
The mare shrugs.
The stallion walks down the street, joining the pony traffic.
The pedestrian signal light turns red. Ponies up ahead stop and wait, quietly waiting for the signal to turn green again.
The stallion approaches them. Walking out of the tall building's shadow, the early morning's rays hits his sleepy eyes.
He flinches and hisses.
He hears a chuckle beside him. “Vampony-wannabes.”
He blinks and continues on his way.
The signal turns green.
He walks along with the traffic, mentally thanking the building's shadows shielding him from the bright sun.
He mentally prepares himself for another sunlight attack as he approaches another pedestrian lane.
The signal turns red. He didn't make it.
The stallion quietly stands there among the crowd.
A stroller stops beside him. He ignores it.
Small hooves starts reaching for his hanging scarf. Giggles soon follow.
The stallion blinks and looks at the baby foal inside the stroller.
“Sorry,” the mare behind the stroller says, smiling an apologetic smile at him. “I hope we're not bothering you.”
The baby giggles, smiling a large and innocent smile at him.
He can't help but smile back—
The signal turns green. The pony traffic starts to move.
The stallion walks—
He feels his scarf being tugged back.
He stops, blinks, and looks back in time for the mare to pry her baby's hoof away from the scarf.
“Sorr—” she says, but is interrupted when her baby starts crying.
He blinks and stares as the mare tries to calm her baby down, ignoring the pony traffic passing around them. Another blink. He then realizes his hoof his holding his scarf.
Should he give them his scarf? Maybe he should.
He doesn't want it anyway.
But—
With the baby calm now, the mare apologizes and hurries along.
The stallion shakes his head and continues on his way.
Reaching the next block, his stomach grumbles as he approaches the hotdog stand. He didn't eat earlier today to compensate for last night.
“Early again, I see,” the stallion manning the stand smirks at him as he grabs a bun. “The usual?” he asks as he—
The brown stallion shakes his head with a small smile. “I'll have the one with cheese hayfries, please.”
“Oh?” the stallion arches an eyebrow with a curious smirk, but produces his customer's order without further questions. He hoofs him the hotdog and collects the bits. “Oh hey, that's a new scarf.”
He pauses from taking a bite to nod at him. “Yeah...”
He smiles at him. “A day of change, eh?” he asks with a smile. “Well, I hope good changes are coming your way, pal.”
Pal. Are they friends?
He waves him off. “Well, don't let me keep you.” He winks at him. “Don't forget to send my regards to your cute boss.”
The brown stallion rolls his eyes in amusement as he approaches the door to his workplace.
He pushes the door open, the jingle of the bell up above ringing through the quiet shop.
“Good morning, Mister String,” Coco greets him from an aisle of hanged clothes. “That's a lovely scarf you're wearing.”
“Morning,” the stallion greets back as he closes the glass door behind him. “And thanks.”
The mare turns around and opens her purse on a chair. “I know you said you're busy tomorrow, but...” she fishes something out of her purse, her smile growing a little wider, and turns around. “...if you're—” she cuts herself off and blinks.
The stallion is no longer there.
She lowers her hoof and sighs.
Inside the backroom, the stallion greets back a few of his early co-workers and replies a simple reply to those who comments about his new scarf.
Taking a seat on his station, he turns around and leans his back on the table, staring at the very same sunlit brick wall.
He takes a quiet breath and exhales through his nostrils as he fights the urge to frown.
Things aren't going to be constant, he realizes.
Things change...eventually.
He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath.
Maybe he can handle small changes, like last night's unplanned grocery shopping, and earlier's scarf gift.
But Miss Pommel...
He slightly shakes his head, reopens his eyes, stares at the wall outside the window, and takes a bite—
A glint of yellow catches his eye.
He looks at it.
He stares at it.
It's the green bulb from yesterday, only this time, petals of gold are poking out from the embrace of its green bud. It peacefully waves a little; a breeze must have passed by.
Such an odd color. Yellow, of all colors.
So out of place in a city of gray.
Shaking his head, he looks down on his food and takes a bite, looking at the hints of orange on the reddish carrot. Still chewing, he blinks at how ... sad the yellow color are on the cheese hayfries sitting around the carrot.
He shakes off the sudden heavy feeling and takes another bite, looking around the room, his chewing slowing and slowing as he suddenly realized how ... not gray his workplace is.
He noticed before, of course, but he just now realized how colorful the place is.
The colorful fabrics. The colorful spools of threads. Even his and his co-workers' workstations have colors, too.
His neck suddenly starts to itch. He scratches it. His hoof brushes against an alien feeling of fabric around his neck.
He blinks, looks down, and stares at his scarf. It doesn't have more than two colors, but they complement each other quite nicely. He slowly slides his hoof on it, feeling the little bumps of two threads going over each other.
With a smile, he closes his eyes and takes another bite as he realizes that his line of work requires him to pay attention to color, but he snorts at his own amusement of how he just now realizes that fact.
As the clock strikes seven, he finishes his meal, glances at the out-of-place yellow outside the window, and starts his work.
Friday is always the most tiresome, with so many clothes to make and so many deadlines to catch.
As the clock nears six, customers inside the shop becomes less and less until the pale-white mare waves the last customer goodbye and flips the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Close.’
Folding the latest dress he sewed, the stallion tiredly places it on a box and puts on its lid. He sticks a sticky note with the customer's name on it, and with a tired smile, he nods his head for a job well done.
He leans back and sighs, hearing his co-workers talking to each other as they start to leave.
Thank Celestia that it's finally the weekend.
Tomorrow, he can get his towels and scarf—no, scarves clean, deposit the bottles to the recycler...
...and sleep in.
Still holding a tired smile, the stallion slowly stands up and stretches.
With that done, he grabs the box, turns and—
—notices the glint of yellow petals outside the window.
“Oh!”
Somewhat startled, he looks to where the voice had come from.
“Mister String, I'm glad you're still here,” the pale-white mare says with a small smile.
She pulls something out of her purse; they're tickets from the looks of it.
She stares at them. “I know you've said that you're busy tomorrow, but um...” She looks back at him, blushes, and looks elsewhere. “I-I was wondering if maybe you have some free time for, um...”
Colors.
Colors everywhere.
Shining and twinkling.
But they are simply background colors, their only purpose is to enhance the vibrant colors of the mare standing by the opened door.
The background darkens all too suddenly. The shine and glimmer and twinkles vanish.
It's too big of a change, the stallion thinks to himself. But...
Clashes of colors, all bright and dark.
Twinkles and shade.
Thankfully, the stallion has mastered the art of the poker face over the years.
Why not, right?
He smiles and shrugs. “Not pretty—” he quickly bites his tongue, the box falling off of his hoof.
Well, talking properly isn't included with the mastery of the poker face.
She blinks at him in mild surprise.
“I mean, not busy! And you're pretty but ah wait and—”
He shuts up, closes his eyes and slaps a hoof over his face, groaning.
He takes a calming breath and sighs.
Such bright, colorful, and confusing colors.
The mare chuckles.
His ears twitch. He looks at her.
She hides her smiling muzzle behind a hoof.
He smiles at her and chuckles as well.