>you are walking home after a particularly long day of working the Carousel Boutique's front desk
>you swear, the language is so ingrained to your head first and foremost, that you cannot fathom speaking in any tone otherwise
"Well, it could be a lot worse than sounding like a British socialite."
>you stroke your slim mustache that Rarity asks you to wear
>it was beginning to grow on you
>suddenly, a noise is heard from the bushes at your door
>you drop into a boxer's stance, dukes up as it were
>you hear "ROUND ONE, START!"
>Fluttershy bursts through the foliage with a spinning back kick, wearing a red headband
>you give her a cross counter, and an uppercut
>you see her hit the ground, out for the count
>you spin around, no longer facing her
"Fluttershy, street fighting isn't my fetish"
>she doesn't respond
>you take a rose out of your bush, and throw it over your shoulder
>it lands perfectly on her torso
"Gutter trash."
 
Fucking Fluttershy