A Guy, A Lyre, and a Park Bench -Chapter 1-

>The water from the sink was making your hands a bit soggy as you washed the dishes from tonight's meals.

>Luckily for you, ponies hadn't figured out the glory that is the man-which, so the most you were cleaning up were salads and flower sandwiches.

>Such is life as a bus boy in Ponyville.

>The day was grinding away slowly, but your shift would end pretty soon and you had plans.

>Well, what could pass for plans, anyway.

>You look over your shoulder at the sketch pad on the counter behind you.

>You couldn't wait to get out of here and just relax.

>Another hour passes, and your morning shift finally ends.

>You wipe the soap and suds from your hands and onto your apron, which you then toss off as you grab the sketch pad and pencils you had brought.

>As you leave you give your boss a wave and make your way to the park.

>It was a beautiful day, that couldn't be argued with.

>You make your way through the park, the sun shining high in the afternoon sky.

>No clouds out.

>The Pegasi must have moved tomorrow's shower further down the week.

>Spotting a lone bench, you sit down and open up the sketch book, your pencil in your mouth.

>What to draw.

>What to draaaaaw...

>You had countless still lives of trees and shops, even a few sketches of various townsponies.

>You'd call what you do "people watching" but, well, ponies.

>You spot a few bluejays singing in a tree nearby and decide that they would be your muse for the day.

>You get the basic shape of them down, and start to flesh out the picture when you hear someone clear their throat next to you.

>When you pick up your head, you're met by a pair of gold eyes staring back at you.

>"Hey."

"Oh. Hey."

>She's a unicorn, that much is evident from the horn on her head.

>"You uh... you're kinda..."

>She keeps looking from the bench to you.

"What?"

>"Where you're sitting. It's kinda my... I mean I usually..."

>Oh, you thought you recognized her from somewhere.

>What with her mint-green fur, you're embarrassed for not recalling her sooner.

"Sorry, sorry. This is your spot, right? I mean, you come to this park often."

>She lets out a sigh of relief and nods.

>"Yeah, that's me. The bench-sitter."

>You laugh and get to your feet.

"Well I didn't mean to take up your space."

>She looks at you confusedly.

>"Uhm, you don't have to, you know, leave or anything. Just... like, scoot over, man."

>Oh.

>Right.

>You scoot down the bench and make room for the unicorn, as she hops onto it and sits down in an... unusual, fashion.

"Heh."

>"What?"

"Hm?"

>"You laughed."

"Oh... no I didn't."

>"You going 'heh' isn't laughing?"

"...uhm..."

>"Because I'm pretty sure that 'heh' sounds an awful lot like laughing."

"No I just-... what I mean is I... you sit like me."

>"What?"

"You, you sit like- I mean most ponies lie down when they-... you and I sit like each other."

>"Oh."

"Yeah."

>...

>You quickly look away from her and bring your attention back to your sketch pad.

>The unicorn shrugs and lifts a small lyre that she brought with her onto her lap.

>Okay, you got most of the basic form down, now on to the feathers.

>You look back to the tree, but to your disappointment the bluejays are long gone.

>Crap.

>Now what?

>You start to contemplate leaving the park, when your attention is drawn to a sound next to you.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYQmJM3r3Bs

 

>She's playing a song.

>You don't know what song it is, hell maybe she made it up on the spot.

>But it's pretty... calming.

>She plucks each string with her right hoof, you don't even bother asking how ponies do these things without hands, and has a serene expression on her face while doing so.

>As you stare at her while she plays, an idea pops into your head.

>You turn towards her a tad and ready your pencil, starting our slow.

>With each stroke you capture more and more about her form on the paper before you.

>The music seemed to move your hand as you fleshed her out on the pad in your lap.

>Her song ends, and she glances over to you.

>You were in the middle of trying to draw her mane, so you're both now staring at each other.

>"Were... were you drawing me?"

"What?"

>"Were you drawing me?"

"Uh... no?"

>She stares at you, deadpan.

"Maybe?..."

>More deadpan.

"Yes."

>She looks at you quizzically, then down to your sketch pad, but you tilt it towards your chest so she doesn't see.

>She cocks an eyebrow at you, and you give in.

>You flip the pad and show her the drawing.

>"Why am I bald?"

"Excuse me?"

>"I'm bald, in the picture you drew me with no hair. I have hair."

"Well I'm not DONE yet. I was actually about to draw your mane when you caught me... staring."

>"Oh."

>...

"You're good."

>"Hm?"

"The lyre. You're good at playing it, I mean."

>"Oh. Thanks."

>She smiles at you, genuinely thankful for the compliment.

>"I'd say the same for your drawing of me, but... well, not bald."

>The two of you laugh and you nod.

>...

>"Sooo... you gonna keep drawing me, or are you too embarrassed to keep going?"

"Oh. right. Sorry."

>She giggles and shakes her head in bemusement before continuing to play her lyre.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LACZaf3zT_I&feature=plcp

 

>Time passes, and the two of you have been sitting in the park for some time.

>The sun starts to make it's may West, and the sky begins to darken ever so slightly.

>She never stopped playing, and you never stopped drawing, for that matter. Two whole pages are littered with doodles and sketches of this one mint-green pony.

>As she plays, she looks up to the sky and sighs.

>"Well, seems like it's getting late."

>You nod, leaning back on the bench and massaging your wrist.

"I should probably get back home before it get's late."

>"Mmhmm."

>The two of you look to the gold and bronze sky, and let out a collective sigh.

"Damn if that's not gorgeous."

>"Yup."

>...

>"Lyra."

"Hm?"

>"My name."

"Oh. Anonymous."

>She hops of the bench, the lyre hovering next to her in a soft aqua glow.

>"Well, 'Anonymous,' I think this is where we depart."

"Seems that way. Here."

>You carefully tear out the page that has your original drawing on it and hand it to her.

>"Huh. Thanks."

"Anytime."

>She smiles.

>"Okay, how's next week?"

"What?"

>"You, me, the park bench. Next week. We could make this a 'thing.' You know, just a sit and make art sort of thing."

>You fumbled it over in your mind, then smile back at her.

"Deal."

>"Cool. Well uh... see you next week?"

"Yeah. Yeah, see you."

>She waves, then trots off out of the park.

>You sit up, crack your back, then head in the opposite direction to your apartment.

>Today had been a pretty good one.

>Sure, work sucks, but you had a great evening if that meant anything.

>And you made a new friend, to boot.

>Weekly meet ups, huh?

>A grin cracks across your face.

>Things were looking up.

>Then you find the eviction notice on your apartment door.

>Oh.

>Well.

>Shit.

 

~END~