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# Sunshine - Prose

By: mothpone on Feb 20th, 2014 | syntax: None | size: 5.53 KB | hits: 55 | expires: Never
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1. It was a bright cold day in October, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Clockwork, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of his new home-sweet-home, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of fallen leaves from entering along with him.
3. A pastel pink unicorn sits behind the reception desk, smiling as he enters. It's refreshing, he thinks, for somepony to begin an encounter with generous gestures as opposed to being confused at the existence of a moth pony. He trots up to the counter, and words leave him immediately.
5. "Hello sir, welcome to Seer's Hall. Can I help you with something?" The unicorn's tone is as polite as could be.
7. "Uh, yeah, I'm uh..." Clockwork blinks a few times and scratches his mane, pausing a few moments before having a revelation. "Right! I live here now. I'm Clockwork. Flat number two, seventh floor?"
9. After flipping through some papers, the mare behind the counter nods. "Identification, please?"
11. He drops his bags and opens the front left one, rifling through notebooks and compasses and inordinate numbers of popsicle sticks. Eventually, he pulls out a faux-leather cover attached to a lanyard, and flipping it open, tosses his ID to the counter. "Ready and accounted for!" He stands enthusiastic and proud.
13. "Right, that'll be... t-t-t... just a momeeeent..." The nameless unicorn takes a turn sorting through papers before sitting a clipboard and pen before Clockwork.
15. "What's this?" He nudges the pen mindlessly.
17. "A form to sign," Her polite tone becomes droning, as though she delivers this speech dozens of times a today, "stating that you agree to house rules, we aren't liable if you burn to death in a fire, so on." She does, however, have a giggle at the end of her statement.
19. "Right." He begins reading the sheet, and the two remain in silence for the next five minutes as he does so before signing, at which point the keycard is relinquished to him.
21. Social interaction out of the way, Clockwork silently picks the key up in his mouth and proceeds towards his destination.
23. The hallway smelled of old books and freshly cleaned carpet. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted the school's mascot at more than a meter wide: a cheeky and bright-eyed stalk of broccoli, with brawny arms donned in boxing gloves. Clockwork made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the campus maintenance staff was busy preparing a new section of the grounds for student use- a grand new observatory. His flat was six flights up, and Clockwork, who was 19, is all too eager to carry himself and his bags up to prepare his new room, hopeful to be the first to claim one.
25. At the end of his journey upstairs, Clockwork has lost all eagerness and crawls through the door into the hallway in which the entrance to the four flats are found. The navy carpet underneath him is rough, and if he were a few tinges darker he'd blend right in. Crawling and grunting are now the name of the game as the distance is closed to that sought-after gateway into safety. Despite this being primetime for students to enter campus and settle in before classes start, the stairs and halls have been empty thus far, and remain to be so as Clockwork drags himself upright against the door. Catching his breath, he drops the saddlebags down and lets them fall their short journey to the floor, now happy to relax. There he sits for nearly fifteen minutes before sharply exclaiming "Oh!" and scrambling to his hooves, snatching up his bags and carelessly bursting through the door into his silent apartment. He turns and closes the door quietly behind him.
27. "Hello?" Clockwork cries out and trots down the hallway: three doors on the left and one on the right. He quickly discovers the door out of place is the lounge and kitchen area. Leaving it for time being, he knocks on each of the three bedroom doors, and receiving no reply, excitedly trots into the forem
29. It's dreadfully bare and that's taking it lightly. The walls are just barely off-white, the desk and table are clean and cleared, no knick-knacks on the shelves, not so much as a blanket upon the bed, not even the window has a curtain! Once more, Clockwork drops his saddlebags to the floor. Opening each of the four, he first takes it upon himself to dress the bed and provide a warm, orange focal point for his new room. The desktop becomes the new home of his calculus textbooks; the better part of the hour finishes itself out with quiet and calculated shuffling of Clockwork's belongings from bags to drawers, ending with Clockwork collapsing face first into the bed as the clock strikes fourteen.
31. The day has been long and strenuous so far, so Clockwork reasons to himself that it can't get any worse, resolving to go prepare himself some coffee and get a jump start on studying. Heading straight to the living room, he opens the door- not noticing just how synchronized with the opening of the flat's entrance it is.
33. Making the mistake of turning to see before jumping through, Clockwork is stunned like a squirrel before a stampede. Before him is, coincidentally, yet another moth pony; this one, however, radiates beauty from every square inch. A sleek and delicate white mare trimmed with gray, sporting wings spotted with reds and grays. She pays him little mind, sparing only a smile, sure to be attending to her own agenda. She trots past him to the far door on the left, and exits the stage as gracefully as she entered.

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It was a bright cold day in October, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Clockwork, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of his new home-sweet-home, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of fallen leaves from entering along with him. A pastel pink unicorn sits behind the reception desk, smiling as he enters. It's refreshing, he thinks, for somepony to begin an encounter with generous gestures as opposed to being confused at the existence of a moth pony. He trots up to the counter, and words leave him immediately. "Hello sir, welcome to Seer's Hall. Can I help you with something?" The unicorn's tone is as polite as could be. "Uh, yeah, I'm uh..." Clockwork blinks a few times and scratches his mane, pausing a few moments before having a revelation. "Right! I live here now. I'm Clockwork. Flat number two, seventh floor?" After flipping through some papers, the mare behind the counter nods. "Identification, please?" He drops his bags and opens the front left one, rifling through notebooks and compasses and inordinate numbers of popsicle sticks. Eventually, he pulls out a faux-leather cover attached to a lanyard, and flipping it open, tosses his ID to the counter. "Ready and accounted for!" He stands enthusiastic and proud. "Right, that'll be... t-t-t... just a momeeeent..." The nameless unicorn takes a turn sorting through papers before sitting a clipboard and pen before Clockwork. "What's this?" He nudges the pen mindlessly. "A form to sign," Her polite tone becomes droning, as though she delivers this speech dozens of times a today, "stating that you agree to house rules, we aren't liable if you burn to death in a fire, so on." She does, however, have a giggle at the end of her statement. "Right." He begins reading the sheet, and the two remain in silence for the next five minutes as he does so before signing, at which point the keycard is relinquished to him. Social interaction out of the way, Clockwork silently picks the key up in his mouth and proceeds towards his destination. The hallway smelled of old books and freshly cleaned carpet. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted the school's mascot at more than a meter wide: a cheeky and bright-eyed stalk of broccoli, with brawny arms donned in boxing gloves. Clockwork made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the campus maintenance staff was busy preparing a new section of the grounds for student use- a grand new observatory. His flat was six flights up, and Clockwork, who was 19, is all too eager to carry himself and his bags up to prepare his new room, hopeful to be the first to claim one. At the end of his journey upstairs, Clockwork has lost all eagerness and crawls through the door into the hallway in which the entrance to the four flats are found. The navy carpet underneath him is rough, and if he were a few tinges darker he'd blend right in. Crawling and grunting are now the name of the game as the distance is closed to that sought-after gateway into safety. Despite this being primetime for students to enter campus and settle in before classes start, the stairs and halls have been empty thus far, and remain to be so as Clockwork drags himself upright against the door. Catching his breath, he drops the saddlebags down and lets them fall their short journey to the floor, now happy to relax. There he sits for nearly fifteen minutes before sharply exclaiming "Oh!" and scrambling to his hooves, snatching up his bags and carelessly bursting through the door into his silent apartment. He turns and closes the door quietly behind him. "Hello?" Clockwork cries out and trots down the hallway: three doors on the left and one on the right. He quickly discovers the door out of place is the lounge and kitchen area. Leaving it for time being, he knocks on each of the three bedroom doors, and receiving no reply, excitedly trots into the forem It's dreadfully bare and that's taking it lightly. The walls are just barely off-white, the desk and table are clean and cleared, no knick-knacks on the shelves, not so much as a blanket upon the bed, not even the window has a curtain! Once more, Clockwork drops his saddlebags to the floor. Opening each of the four, he first takes it upon himself to dress the bed and provide a warm, orange focal point for his new room. The desktop becomes the new home of his calculus textbooks; the better part of the hour finishes itself out with quiet and calculated shuffling of Clockwork's belongings from bags to drawers, ending with Clockwork collapsing face first into the bed as the clock strikes fourteen. The day has been long and strenuous so far, so Clockwork reasons to himself that it can't get any worse, resolving to go prepare himself some coffee and get a jump start on studying. Heading straight to the living room, he opens the door- not noticing just how synchronized with the opening of the flat's entrance it is. Making the mistake of turning to see before jumping through, Clockwork is stunned like a squirrel before a stampede. Before him is, coincidentally, yet another moth pony; this one, however, radiates beauty from every square inch. A sleek and delicate white mare trimmed with gray, sporting wings spotted with reds and grays. She pays him little mind, sparing only a smile, sure to be attending to her own agenda. She trots past him to the far door on the left, and exits the stage as gracefully as she entered.