The town of Ponyville was no stranger to sunny days, and this day was no different. The market was bustling with townsfolk, be it a stallion running late for work, or a housemare gawking at expensive jewelry. One living there would describe the day as routine, but there was one thing happening that nopony took notice of.
 
Two stallions were moving into a vacant house on the outskirts of town. One was Butterknife, a chipper pegasus whose hometown wasn't far from Detrot. He found his special talent by making his first pb&j, and while the others laughed at his seemingly meaningless calling, he had never felt happier when he made a sandwich. And Celestia be damned if he didn't make the best sandwiches to grace Equestria. The other was...well...the other was Azazel. Azazel was strange, to say the least. He was always three or four steps ahead of the other unicorns in magic kindergarten. Smarter and more magically inclined than most, he was a teacher's pet. A social butterfly, he made friends easily. This made it all the more shocking to the teachers and his peers alike when Azazel's cutie mark came in; A pentagram. And while a pentagram may not be an icon of evil in and of itself, his dark grey coat, black mane, and red eyes did not help his case. After that, he was ostricized and ignored, though he was never made fun of. This societywide shunning eventually took it's toll on Azazel's psyche, and he became bitter and withdrawn, indulging in more questionable schools of magic. His appearance was so much darker than the others that it was almost like he was destined to be an edgelord. The two met in a high school course that neither could be bothered with. Art. While most would prefer to avoid Azazel, Butterknife decided to take his parents' advice, and not judge a Necronomicon by it's cover. The two made quick friends, despite their polarized personalities, and soon decided to live together. Maybe “friends” was a strong word. It was moreso a “one hates the other with every fiber of his being, and the other is either too kind, or too stupid to even realize it” kind of relationship. Azazel had a firey hatred for Butterknife, so much so that he was willing to invest his savings into buying a house for the two of them just so he could "deal with" him. He even let Butterknife pick the house, as long as it were in a low population area. Of course, Butterknife was not aware of these things, and decided to use it as his own window of opportunity.
 
 “A bit of a fixer-upper, huh?” Said Butterknife, nervously trotting towards the wooden front door, Azazel following suit. “More like a piece of shit.” snapped Azazel,  focusing on the boarded up windows. Butterknife's ears folded back in disappointment. "What about the rose bushes? Don't you like roses?" He asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I like roses!" He added. "They're so beautiful. Almost... romantic." Butterknife began to drape his wing over Azazel's back, but before he made contact, he felt a restricting, tingly feeling engulfing his wing. Azazel had held it in his magic, staring at Butterknife with death in his eyes. Butterknife turned his head to face Azazel, but widened his eyes in horror as he realized what was happening. "Do that again, and this wing's coming off. Understand?" Azazel made his point even more clear by tightening his grip on the wing and twisting it harshly. "YESIUNDERSTAND!" Butterknife squealed in pain, collapsing on the dirt pathway.  Azazel remained steadfast in his expression, but gave a resonse, rather than take the risk of hearing that voice again. "And I dont 'like' roses, I use them for alchemy, you fucking moron." Butterknife, now having fallen on his back from the pain, ignored the insult and tried to remedy the situation.  "I know it's different, but I you'll like it when you come inside, I promise!" "We'll see about that..." Azazel said, turning the knob and entering the once seemingly condemned house.
 
While Azazel would like to make a remark about how shitty the house looked from the inside, he couldn't do so without turning the light on. After hearing "That's not supposed to bend that way..." from behind him, he searched the wall for a lightswitch, and eventually found one. Switching it on, he was pleasantly surprised by the decor and condition of the living room. "So..." He heard from behind him. "What do you think?" "It's fine." Azazel replied. "Does that mean you like it?" Butterknife asked, a cautionary tone still present. "Did I say 'I like it'?" Azazel rhetorically asked. "No..." Butterknife sighed, his eyes glued to the ground. "There's your answer."
 
Azazel slumped on the couch, ignoring Butterknife's reaction to his apathy. "This thing got a remote?" Azazel said, gesturing to the TV. He waited for a response; or better yet, for the remote, but neither came. "Hello?" He asked, but still no response.