>Anonymous's log, stardate dingdangwallawallabingbang 00,33,00-44-44
>Day 1838 in Equestria.
>Your back hurts. A lot.
>And it is this pain that stirs you awake.
>Ever since you moved back into the Library, the sofa of the reading area has served as your bed.
>Unfortunately, an old tough sofa does not a bed make. Your back fucking kills thanks to this unyielding piece of furniture.
>The pain comes with a bitter irony; there were many a day you could crash on a friend's sofa and be both phyiscally and mentally fine with it.
>This is implying you had friends to crash with, though.
>There were a couple of bros, right? Anon and...what's his name...Anon.
>You can't even remember. Stupid sugary horseland is overtaking your memory banks.
>Well since you are awake enough to perform inner monologues, you reckon you are awake enough to get out of sofa and start the day.
>With a groan, you slowly open your eyes, preparing to start the day with a good five minutes staring at the wooden ceiling of the Library.
>That is, you would stare at the ceiling, if it were not for the round green eyes filling your vision.
>You blink. They do not blink.
"Spike."
>"Anon."
>He says your name with a breathy sigh. It seems to hover between the two of you for a few seconds.
>Uncomfortable under the reptilian gaze, you wiggle down the length of the sofa and sit up.
>Morning daylight streams through the Library windows. Somehow, despite your back pains, you had slept way past dawn. Score.
>Twilight pops her head around the living area door.
>"Oh good, you're finally awake Anonymous! I asked Spike to wake you up minutes ago, but I guess he had some trouble. Pancakes are on the side in the kitchen for you."
>Her head disappears again.
>You turn slowly to look at Spike, who takes up a whistling tune and tries to inch away.
"You were told to wake me up."
>You say it as an accusation despite your calm demeanour.
>"I didn't." Spike replies with equal calmness. He has inched perhaps a foot away from you.
"I see. So, why didn't you?"
>"Uh, no reason." Two feet now. His eyes keep trailing to the front door.
"You were watching me sleep, weren't you?"
>At this, his eyes snap to yours and his resolve breaks. He is through the front door and gone in a second.
>With a sigh you get up and go for those pancakes in the kitchen.
>You eat them in silence, alone. Twilight is probably too busy upstairs to want your company.
>As you sit there munching slowly, you consider what to do today.
>After several minutes, you have come up with nothing.
>Although, you could practice more with the rubber ball.
>No wait, you lost it yesterday. It had struck a shelf instead of the wall and bounced off. You had given up looking for it some time later.
>There must be something you can do, something to make each day that passes at least worthwhile to someone-
>That's it.
>No, you can't. You're not ready yet. It wasn't long ago that you dragged your sorry hide out of isolation. Nobody's pressuring you to do it.
>But you need to do it. You need to get back into the swing of things.
>With the pancakes settling down in your stomach, you head out.
>A man with a purpose. A human with a goal. A sentient being on a mission. This is what the ponies in the streets see as you walk by.
>Inside your head the doubts and anxieties swarm and pollute your thoughts. Somehow you keep walking, your eyes set and your task firmly at the front of your mind.
>It is time to make possibly one of the hardest decisions of your life.
>From this point forward you will be shedding the comforting husk that years of steady provisions and loneliness had built.
>Life will become unpredictable, risky, perhaps dangerous. Danger can happen, you know.
>Yes, you know, and you will face it. You are set on this path now.
>There it is. Sugarcube Corner.
>It is not a particularly hard to miss place, what with the gingerbread architecture and the smell of cooking confectionaries in the air.
>You push through the swinging doors and march to the counter.
>You had not been here since the party. Surprisingly, the place cleans up well.
>It's now or never. Release the floodgates, let the adrenaline and confidence surge through you.
>A yellow angular pony behind the counter looks at you with a mixture of interest and fear.
>What was his name? Come on come on. Tall, cakes on his butt, married. Cakes...cake...
>For a long time you both are standing there.
>"Hello there...Anonymous". He finally speaks.
>It somehow pleases you to know that he also had difficulty placing your name. Luckily you had just remembered his.
"Hello Mr. Bake."
>"Uh, that's Mr. Cake." He says with a raised hoof.
>Fuck.
"Right. Sorry."
>"It's ok."
>More pauses. This will not do, you need less pauses. You need to do things.
"Can I, uh, help you with anything today?" He ventures.
>In probably a rash move, you slam a palm down onto the counter and look him dead in the eye.
"Damn right you can help me today, Mr Cake."
>An awkward pause follows. Your palm realises you just slapped it onto a hard surface and proceeds to sting your nerves.
"I'm gonna lay this on the table for you, plain and simple."
>"Uh, well, we have a table in the back, if you need it." He says with a straight face.
>What is with these ponies having to correct you at every turn? Do they find it funny? You press on regardless.
"Here's the deal. You run a business here. And at the minute, you're holding out fine. But you know that there's a problem."
>"T-there is?" Mr. Cake asks, leaning closer. He's hooked. Bingo. Hook line sinker. Leading him by the nose. Like a-
>Enough idioms just fucking go already
"The problem is that you currently only have three employees. You, your wife, and Pinkie when she can be bothered to show up. Correct?"
>"That's correct, yes, but-"
"And you know that not every day is easy going. Many days, this store is packed full of hungry customers, right?"
>"Well, I guess we do get-"
"And with the limited manpower that you currently have, you cannot satisfy them all yourself, right?"
>"True, but then-"
"A lot of ponies have to sample your wife's cupcakes instead, right?"
>"I-hey now, you-"
"They get to have those nice rosy cherries, right?"
>"Anonymous, that-"
"You need someone to handle your pastry bag, don't you?"
>"What? How dare-"
"You need someone to rub your dough balls in flour."
>"You-"
"Spread your marzipan."
>"How-"
"Butter your biscuits."
>"But-"
"Put a bun in the oven."
>"Disgus-"
"Then it's a good thing I came here today."
>The baker is at a loss for words. His eyes are bulging, his hooves are stomping, his cheeks are burning red. He is virtually on his seat for your proposal.
"Because today, Mr. Cake, I am looking for a job. And I think I may have found one, right here, at Sugarcube Corner."
>You give it a minute to sink in, flashing the biggest smile you can muster. You are pretty sure ponies love a smile.
>Gradually the spluttering and twitching dies down, and the yellow pony appears ready to respond.
"If you take me on right now, then I begin straight away. What do you say?"
>You casually wipe a hand on the back of your clothes, ready to shake hooves. Hand with hoof, that is.
>"No."
"Thank you for-no?"
>"No."
"No no?"
>"No no. No."
>You study his face, noting the hard line of his jaw and bunched shoulder muscles.
"May I ask why?"
>"We don't have enough room."
>A quick glance around confirms your suspicions.
"You have plenty of room."
>"We don't have enough room for you."
>You throw a look into the door behind the pony, noting the very wide open space around the appliances and cooking table.
"Looks like enough room for me to work in there."
>"We don't have enough room for you to stay."
"That's ok, I'm staying at Ponyville Library, no need to for me to move in."
>"We don't have enough room for you to stay overnight for work the next day."
"It's a fifteen minute walk here."
>"We don't-"
>He seems to stop himself, before starting again."
>"We don't have any job vacancies open."
"May I ask why?"
>His eyes narrow. So do yours.
>"No." He says with finality.
>You straighten.
"I'm getting the impression that you do not like me, Mr. Cake."
>In response, the pony raises himself and places his forehooves on the countertop. His face is now almost on a line with yours.
>"You should leave." He says slowly.
"Do you treat your customers like this?"
>"See yourself out."
"You know, I'm on good terms with the Princess. Very good terms. Would be a shame if she heard-"
>His yellow hoof slams down on the counter.
>"Get out!" He yells into your face.
>Well.
>You turn to go, but quickly turn and lean over the counter at him.
"In that case, let me ask you something, Cake."
>He does not respond, yet his glare seems to intensify.
"This lack of job vacancies here. Would it be because you don't want any competition over Pinkie's cooter?"
>His red furious face is the last thing you see before his hoof swings up and connects with your jaw. The blow sends you spinning, causing you to crack your head against the nearby cabinet.
>Darkness fills your vision.
>And then, nothing.
>When you finally come around, you are lying outside next to Sugarcube Corner.
>Judging by the nearby trashcans and poorly kept ground, this is the back of the building.
>As you sit up, you begin to feel a headache start trampling around your skull and the side of your jaw swell. >Brilliant.
>You stagger to your feet and walk around the building to the front door.
>By the time you approach the swing doors, Mr. Cake is hanging a sign in the inside of the window. He flashes a brief glance at you before disappearing.
>Holding your head in an attempt to quell the rising pain, you read the sign.
>We Do Not Serve Humans Here
>A couple of ponies walk closer to read the sign.
>"You know, I'm glad they made this decision." One of them says loudly.
>Blood begins to pound in your ears as your temper rises. Does Anon need to slap a-
>"I wouldn't want to eat human anyway" the pony continues, "I don't think it would taste very nice on a cake."
>The other pony seems to have finished reading the sign, for they suddenly say "Wait, does that mean they served human here before? Gross!"
>At this point you turn and stagger away. Time for home.
>Upon entering the Library, you see Twilight seated on your sofa-bed skimming through a couple of books. She looks up as you walk through the front door.
>"Hello, I was just thinking about a place for you to dear Celestia what happened to you?"
>Shaking you head, you make for the kitchen and grab a towel.
>The soft clop of hooves are heard behind you as you cup the towel and begin shovelling icecubes from the fridge into it.
>"Anonymous, did something happen to you while you were in Ponyville today?"
>You cannot help but snort as you twist the towel ends together.
"Yes."
>On impulse, you press the icebag to your head. A second later, you switch to your jaw. You keep alternating between the two.
>Twilight moves forward until she is standing in front of you, worry on her face.
>You shake your head again, this time accompanying it with the rustle of icecubes.
"Let's just say that Sugarcube Corner are no longer serving humans."
>The unicorn cocks her head at this.
>"But wait, wouldn't that mean that they-"
"No. It means they are no longer serving me."
>"Ohh. Wait, why?"
"Long story. Too much pain. Will tell later. Must rest."
>You stagger past her into the reading area and collapse forward onto the sofa, willing sleep to come.
>As the floating feeling is almost upon you, Twilight's voice cuts through.
>"Oh, by the way, Spike came back some time ago. He left you something, you'll find it on the sofa."
>Groggily you realise that there is a cold hard pressure against your stomach. You manage to pull the offending object out and look at it.
>It is a flat grey stone. Upon closer inspection, you notice that a picture has been carved into one side.
>The picture consists of two crude stick figures holding hands. One of them has a tail and horns, or the equivalent thereof for stick figures.
>You carelessly drop the stone and close your eyes.
>"To be honest, I would have thought Spike was beyond those drawings of his. It's not like he's a baby dragon anymore..."
>Twilight's voice slowly fades away as you begin to drift into sleep.
>Just before the comforting blankness overtakes your mind, you think.
>Spike made you a shitty drawing.
>How does it make you feel?
>...good, maybe?