>You couldn’t believe you were still doing that shitty job. 
>Well, it paid pretty decently, or, at least, it gave you enough to pay your half of the rent.
>But it entailed menial and pointless tasks, with no real gratification.
>“Just like home.”
>You laugh mirthfully and steps out of the cab, right outside your apartment. Carrier bag clutched in one hand, the other deeply lodged in your pocket.
>You take a look at the apartment building, The windows were well clean, the apartments big while not being huge, (and affordable), and the 
>‘Not too shabby.’
>Those were the only good things that could be said about the building. The paint was peeling in places on the outside alone, graffiti stained the lower walls (and even the roof, bloody Pegasi), and the landlady,
>Lets just say you wanted to avoid her for today.
>You fish your keys out of the pocket of your jacket and walk up the steps to the door, still clutching the carrier bag.
>For all of Equestria being colourful and bright, this city was a half grey and mopey place, half run down.
>And the pun in the name you could never forgive.
>‘Manehatten’, it still sets your teeth on edge.
>You shake your head, pushing the thought away No use lamenting the naming choices of this world. As you slide the key to the building into the lock, and head for the stairs, eager to relax, a voice makes you stop dead.
>“Anon?! Is that you?!” 
>Shit. You hoped she would be at bingo, or line-dancing, whatever it was that old people, or ponies, do.
>Your landlady—or landmare—comes out of her ground-floor room slowly, eyeing you like one would a pile of dog-shi—
>“I got sommit to say to ye ‘bout your lil’ miss!”
“Lil’ miss? Th’fu-”
>“Language!” she hits your arm with her old hoof. Despite it looking like it belonged in a Neighgyptian (grr!) Museum it still carried enough weight to make you grasp the impacted area with your other hand.
>Ponies and their unnatural strength. 
“Sorry, but, who?”
> “Umbra!”
>You sigh immediately and rub your eyes.
“What has she done this time?” you begrudgingly ask.
> “Her music is what!” she vehemently states, with a hoof pound to the floor.
“And what’s wrong with it?”
> “It’s loud! I can’t watch my stories with her playing Tchaitrotsky!” (GRR)
>You can already feel a headache coming on. You idly wondered if Umbra had any painkillers left in one of her seemingly-bottomless boxes that she had in her room.
“I’ll let her know to keep it down, okay?”
> “Best you do that, sonny!” and with that, she turned and slammed the door on you.
> You shake your head at the senile mare and began trudging up the stairs.
> Her door opens again. “Oh! Another thing?”
>You roll your eyes and turn to face her, wordlessly asking what she wants.
> “Don’t tread mud into the carpets next time!” she scorns you like one would a puppy, or a child. She doesn’t give you a chance to respond as she slams the door once again.
>You roll your eyes and decide to act like one, too. 
“Yes, MOM!”
>You turn and almost run up the stairs. When she gets angry that mare can be scary, despite the fact that she was probably around for the founding of Manehatten.
>You get through the door to your apartment and sternly shut the door. More out of fear of the mare downstairs actually getting off her decrepit flank, and chasing you for your, rather loud, quip.
>Now THAT would be terrifying.
>You smirk to yourself and dump your keys in the bowl beside the door. You then hang your coat up on the hook, and turn on the light. It was dark and Umbra had the lights off? Crazy mare.
>Kicking off your shoes, you walk into the apartment proper. The lights were off in the kitchen, too.
>You shake your head and switch on the lights in there as well. You know how much Umbra doesn’t like the dark.
>You throw the carrier bag onto the couch.
>You always found it hilarious when she would refuse to sit with her back facing a dark room because of the fear, though.
>And you found it funny how a batpony could be afraid of the dark.
>Doubly so when you learnt she was an Astronomer.
>You go to the most likely spot she would have been since sundown, and thus, unlikely to have been able to turn on the lights.
>Sure enough, outside the screen doors that led to a balcony, sat a pony wrapped in a thick layer of wool, and with a mug just inside the doorway of hot chocolate. No doubt long cold by now.
>You shake your head as you hear her mumble to herself as she takes her eye away from the telescope and jots something down on a roll of parchment.
>You take gentle steps towards her. Thinking you could have some fun with the pony. Unfortunately, your foot lands on something which squishes underfoot.
>Bloody Umbra and her grapes!
>No surprise that there lie grapeskins on the floor. 
>Her ear twitches and she turns around sharply, pencil in between her teeth
> “Mm! Hwy Anwn!” she spits out the pencil sheepishly as you shake your head, stepping out there with her.
“How are the skies?” 
>That same cheesy line that you've always said .You cross your arm and wait for the customary reply.
> “Changed. Again,” She throws you off with that.
>Not even a joking response, or an overly flamboyant one.
> ‘Oooh, she must be pissed,’ you think to yourself.
“Ah, working from home, then?” you prod gently.
> “You could say that. On my weekend as well!” she almost snaps.
>A period of silence settles between you, broken only by the scribbling of the pen
“Mrs Whiney wanted me to tell you to keep the music down,”
>Not even a chuckle at the mispronounce of Mrs Whinny’s name. Man she was focused tonight.
> She blinks, however, and turns to look at you incredulously. “What?! It’s Tchaitrotsky!” (Those puns again)
“I know, but she likes her TV, you know?” you shrug.
>Umbra scoffs. “She was probably around when it was composed! She should like that sort of music!”
“Yeah well obviously not as much as TV,”
>She groans and goes back to the telescope. “Fine, I’ll turn it down twenty points, but that’s it!”
>You smile. Umbra, always the aggressive negotiator. 
>You take a seat next to her on the cold stone. Once again, you envied the pony’s coats, doubly so for the extra thick (and fluffy) coat of batponies. The cold was already making your ass go numb.
>You idly read what she’s jotted down. A mess of coordinates and names of stars. It was all Prench to you. You couldn’t make head nor tail of it, and, frankly, the numbers were giving you a headache worse than Mrs Winnie.
>After a few minutes you clear your throat.
>“Sorry, Anon. I just really want to get this done tonight so they don’t have my flank at the observatory tomorrow,”
“It’s fine, when you have to work, you have to work,”
>“How was your day?” she asks, almost on reflex. Her hoof adjusts a lens as she looks through it.
>She’s clearly more focused on her work than you, but you decide to answer, regardless. 
“Oh you know, writing memos and all the junk an assistant does,”
> Uh huh” she murmurs, making another adjustment.
>You click your tongue and lean forward. 
“We had a giant Pegasus fly through the window and start eating the office plants,”
>“Sounds nice”
“You want a hundred bits?”
>“Yeah… wait what?” she finally snaps back to the present.
>You laugh and she blushes gently at being wrapped up in her work. A red-cheeked batpony is never a bad thing.
>The same red as...
“Oh! I got something for you,” you say, getting up and grabbing the carrier bag from earlier you deposited on the couch, coming back and taking your seat again.
>“Whassat?” she asks curiously, and you fish around in the bag and pull out a carton of red grape juice.
>Her pupils dilate and before you can even react, she snatches the carton from your grasp, stabbing through the cardboard with her fangs, and beginning to drink.
>You stare at her as she freezes, sheepishly looking over at you.
>You burst out laughing. Your SIDES.
>She hits you and you fall onto your back.
> “You brought me this just for that didn’t you?” she asks, feigning annoyance. The sight of her with red dripping from her fangs is an oddly macabre sight.
“Well, yes,” you admit sheepishly.
>You did know how much she loves red grapes and grape juice. It was rather funny how she would go all vampiric and instinctual around the stuff.
> “You’re a jerk,” she chides you. Nevertheless, her fangs sink into the carton again and she continues drinking.
“And yet you still live with me,” 
>You wink at her playfully and she pushes you as you try to get up.
> “Because you can be a nice jerk sometimes,” she admits.
>You take the compliment and turn your gaze skyward to the stars. They were pretty tonight. With the streetlights below flickering on soon, however, most of them would be gone.
>Umbra drains her carton of juice and throws the empty container aside. 
“They have straws, you know,”
> “They’re not as fun,” she smiles and places both hooves on the telescope, mumbling about parallaxes, or some other astronomy-related jargon that makes you zone out as soon as you hear it.
“Are you just gonna sit out here and watch the stars?” you ask her, watching as she clicks her tongue against her fangs.
> “Well, I kinda have to at least until I finish my work,” she looks at you and smiles, flapping her wings once.
“Well, we can make a night of it,” you decide, standing up and going back indoors.
>You look for a blanket, or a duvet, anything you can wrap around her and you to stave off the encroaching cold for a long night of stargazing.
>It won’t do much in the long run, but you manage to find a scratchy, thatched blanket. It’s better than nothing. And there is no way you are lugging either one of your duvets out onto the balcony.
>Bundling up the blanket in your hands, you walk back onto the balcony and wrap one half around your roommate, sitting down beside her and draping the second half over you. Already the cold is disbanded somewhat.
“So, what have we got up there tonight?”
---
>Halfway through stargazing you found yourself going in to get another blanket. The thatched one was laid out much like a picnic blanket, and the second one used as a proper cover.
>You both decided to forego the telescope and just watch the sky without one. Eventually you found yourselves laying next to each other on the balcony.
>Now, however, the soft rise and fall of her chest signalled a sleeping pony. Snuggled up into the crook of your arm somewhat, using your chest as a blanket.
>Every now and then her ears would twitch at some nightly noise, and you had long since wrapped your arm around her back, idly stroking your fingers up and down between the wing-joints.
>’A bat sleeping at night.’ you laugh gently to yourself and just watch the sleeping pony.
>Eventually the concrete proves unforgiving for you and you scoop the mare up into your arms to carry her inside.
>Immediately you realise the error as she was much heavier than you anticipated, and you almost drop her right onto the hard stone.
>Persevering, you manage to haul the heavy pony (how is she so heavy?!) back into the apartment, before walking into her bedroom and depositing her onto the bed.
“G’night, Umbra.”
> “Mmm!” came the reply, as she grabbed onto a pillow and hugged it to her chest.
>You walk out of the room and close the door, not fully, leaving just enough open for a sliver of light to creep through and land on the mare’s bed, should she wake up during the night. You know how she can get in the dark.
>Walking out onto the balcony, her work still lays under one of the legs of the telescope. It wouldn’t do to just leave it there, waiting for it to fly away into the night on some errant wind.
>Just another day clearing up after the absent minded bat roommate.
>Ah, you can’t complain.
>You smile to yourself and decide to leave the blanket. No loss if that scratchy abomination Umbra called a “birthday present” flew away. You do, however, pick up the parchment and telescope, carrying them indoors and shutting the screen door to block out the cold.
>You should probably think about going to bed as well. You don’t have the luxury of having the actual weekend off, your ‘weekend’ actually begins on Thursday and ends Friday afternoon. These brief periods of interaction are all you really see of Umbra.
>As the telescope goes away, and the parchment goes on the table for the ditzy bat to remember to take in tomorrow, you sigh and collapse on the couch.
>With nothing much do but think, your thoughts turn to the mostly-monochromatic mare.