Title:           Handyman in Equestria CH 5
Author:          blubbins
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/rwLXQ3tH
First Edit:      Friday 26th of July 2013 05:22:48 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 26th of July 2013 05:22:48 PM CDT

>You stir in your recliner, ripped away from the bliss of sleep's sweet embrace by more knocking at your door.
>What you wouldn't give for 5 more minutes...
>Seems this was becoming a recurring theme in your life, being woken up by loud knocking at your door.
“CLOSED!”
>You pray it's enough to send them off.  After the morning you had, today was a day off.
>”Slacking off, Anon?  When did you go soft on me?”
>You painfully open your eyes to the raspy, tomboyish voice.
“Door's open. Dash.”
>The door swings open, Dash stands staring at your lifeless corpse.
>”Wow, Anon.  You look terrible.”
>She smirks as you take a look at the clock.
>Late afternoon already?  Even for you, this was a late start.
>You pull your recliner upright looking back to Dash.
“Nice to see you too.  What's up”
>You stretch yourself into a yawn, mustering the strength to come to your feet.
>”I thought I'd come by to pick up that book before heading back home.  My bad for waking you up.”
“No worries.  Bout time I got to it anyway.  Wait, weren't you guys supposed to leave a few hours ago?”
>”Yeah, the rest of the girls took the train home already.  Soarin and me decided to get lunch before I left, though.”
“Oh.  Right on...”
>Another yawn.
>”Yeah.  So, about that book.”
>You pull one of the drawers under your workbench open, pulling the book out and holding it up.
>Her smile grows wider at the sight of it, flinging herself in your direction, hooves reached out to collect her prize.
>Quickly, you swing the book back around and behind your back, giving her a deadly stare, recalling the 'other' thing she left behind.
>She winces a little, scratching one of her forelegs with a hoof.  She took the hint.
>”I.. promise to use the bucket next time...”
>You close your eyes and sigh.  You don't know what it is about these confounded ponies, but you just can't stay mad at them for some reason.
>You bring the book back to her as she smiles meekly, taking it close to her chest.
>”Thanks, Anon...”
“No worries Dash.  So Soarin wasn't mad you spent the night?”
>It takes her a second to see where you were going.  A smirk soon follows.
>”Nah.  He was cool.  As soon as I told him I spent the night at your place, he seemed to calm down.”
“Oh?”
>”Well, yeah.  He said something about you being the only one in Canterlot he didn't have to worry about, or something.  'Busy playing with your wood'.”
>Your eye twitches at the comment.  Et tu, Soarin?
>She giggles at your reaction to the jab.
>”Don't take it so hard, Anon.  He was just kidding.”
>She pats the side of your shoulder with a hoof before making her way to the door.
>”Well thanks for taking care of my book, Anon.  I'll see you...”
>Seems something caught her attention.  She stops mid aid and turn to your counter.
>”Hey!  Is that Gentle Jack?!”
>You notice you failed to put Barley's little present away last night.
“Yeah, a gift from that bartender I introduced you too.”
>She turns to you with a devilish grin.
>”Well?”
“Well what?”
>”You're not going to offer a mare a drink?  Jeez, Anon.  I thought you were the well mannered type.”
>She turns her nose into the air in playful annoyance.
>You decide that one more dig wouldn't hurt.
“Aw, come on, Dash.  I just got my floor cleaned up!”
>You smile in superiority.
>Seems the sarcasm wasn't lost on her.  She scrunches her nose in frustration while blushing slightly in embarrassment.
>”Get over it will ya?  We're having a drink!”
>She tosses her book on the counter with a loud thud and makes for the kitchen.
>She returns shortly with 2 rocks glasses, ice included.
>What the hell?  It was almost evening, anyway.
“One drink.”
>”That's the Anon I know!”
>You grab the bottle and pour a glass for you and dash, taking a seat at your work bench, Dash claiming the recliner.
>”You know, Applejack's family makes this stuff.  You should come to Ponyville when you have some time to check out her farm.”
>That's right...  You always loved Applejack Daniels whiskey. You're surprised you didn't put two and two together when you met her at breakfast.
“No shit?  Maybe I will.”
>”Cool.  They all seemed to like you.  I'm sure they'd love to have you around.  Just let me know.  Pinkie will probably want to throw you a party.”
>You swill a little of the whiskey.  This stuff really was good...
“Right, Miss 20 Questions...”
>Dash chuckles at your jab.
>”Yeah, that's just Pinkie.  She's a lot of fun though.”
“What about that Fluttershy, character? I didn't hear a peep out of her the entire time we were at breakfast.”
>Seems you caught her with a tough question mid swig.  She coughs a little before wiping her foreleg.
>”Yeah...  Fluttershy isn't really the talkative type...”
“That much I could tell.  What's with the staring though?”
>She scratches the back of her head a little, turning her head away from you for a second.
>”How should I put this...  She has a... Thing for animals.”
“I don't follow.”
>”I mean she has a THING for animals...”
>Her inflection is all the hint you need.
“Oh.  Oooh!”
“Wait, are you calling me an animal?”
>Dash giggles.  Returning to her drink.
>”Well you're not exactly a pony, Anon.  I'm sure she was just curious.”
>Well, you weren't expecting that.  You make a mental note for future reference.
>”Yeah.  My advice, try not to be caught alone with her.  She's super nice.  Just a little...”
“It's always the quiet ones right?”
>She chuckles again, a little more nervously.
>”You could say that.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
>The two of you continue to enjoy the drink before Rainbow Dash takes on a more curious look.
>”Hey, Anon.  Mind if I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
>”Earlier at breakfast.  It looked like Princess Luna was a little ticked off at you.  What was that all about?”
>You almost spit whiskey all over your friend.  It would serve her right for the stunt she pulled the other night at the tavern, but you hold back to a loud snort.
“Uhh.  Yeah.  She was just a little pissed about something.  Every thing's fine, though.  No big deal.”
>You pray to the powers that be that she gets bored of the subject and moves on.
>”Anon...”
>You curse the powers that be.
“Yeah?”
>She looks at you with the look of a mother who knows when her son done goofed and wants the full story.
>She picks up her glass and holds it firm, slowly beginning to tilt it to the side.
“Dash...”
>She tilts the glass more and more.  She's made it abundantly clear that she's willing to empty the glass all over your prized chair.
>You're favorite chair.
>The alcohol would ruin the cloth.  You'd have to have it reupholstered!  It was perfectly broken in, too!  
>You curse this land of Laffy Taffy ponies for ignoring the clear superiority of leather.
>You slowly get up from the bench.  Taking light strides towards dash, hands out in front, negotiating for the life of you precious recliner.
“Dash, let's just talk about this...”
>The action causes Dash's hoof to jerk a little, almost sending a drop over the edge of the glass.
>This stops you dead.
>”Yes.  Lets.”
>Her eyes are cold as ice.  She means business.
>You throw your hands up in defeat while sitting back on the bench.
>”You were saying?”
>...
“She was jermmph.”
>”I didn't catch that.”
“She was jealous that I scrrmfrehrmm.”
>Dash's expression becomes even more stern.
>”Anon.  Celestia as my witness, I will do it.”
>She tilts the glass even further, only stopping once the liquid was as the sbolute edge of the glass.
>In a fit of panic, you allow the cat out of the bag.
”She was jealous that I scratched your head at breakfast!"
>You wince heavily at the outburst.  Only turning back to make sure that Dash hadn't done the unthinkable.
>She hadn't.  She slowly places the glass onto the small table at the side of your recliner and continues to stare at you with wide open eyes.
>A brief pause continues before you see the bottom of her eyes start to raise a little.  The corners of her mouth follow suit.
>Here it fucking comes.
>”BAAHAHAHA!”
>Dash is now rolling around on your, albeit, dry chair.
>You move to refill your glass.  You start to wonder if the chair would have looked better in another color.
>One laugh tantrum later, Dash finally remembers how to form a sentence.
>”...Oh man, Anon! …That's rich.”
>You you drown your frustration in another swig.
>With friends like this, you're glad you didn't have any enemies.
>”I mean.  I knew you two were chummy, but I didn't know you actually went for it!”
>You do your best to initiate some damage control.
“Whoah!  It's not like that.  We're just friends.”
>”Haha!  Yeah, sure.  Whatever you say, Anon...”
“Seriously Dash.  It's not like that.”
>She's almost at tears by now.
>”Totally...  So is she still mad?”
>You lean back on the bench, your back pressing against the table as you down the rest of your drink.
“I don't think so.”
>You pull out a cigarette and light it on the nearby lamp.
>The smoke does little to unrustle your jimmies at this point.
>”What'd you do to get back on her good side?”
“I invited her to a show at the amphitheater tomorrow.”
>You expect something from Dash, but she's oddly quiet.
>You turn to look at her.  She's staring at you wide eyed and slack jawed.
>”You're going on a date?  You... Anon... Are going on a date?!  With Princess Luna?!?!”
“It's not a date, Dash.”
>And she's back to dead pan.
>”How is this not a date?”
>You open your mouth to respond, stopping before words have a chance to come.
>The little shit had a point.
>”That's what I thought.  Man, Anon, you're like a colt sometimes, you know that.”
“At least I can make it to the sink.”
>She shoots you an annoyed glare, softening it only to continue her interrogation.
>”So what are you going to see?”
“A musician friend of mine.  She's doing a midnight show, so I thought Luna would be be able to come along.”
>Dash raises an eyebrow.
>”She?”
“Lyra.  You met her once a while back, didn't you?”
>Dash sighs heavily, rubbing her face with a hoof.
>She finishes the rest of her glass, her face growing stern again.
>She picks herself up and drops off the chair, making her way to the door after grabbing her book.
“Hey. where are you going?”
>”This is about all I can handle for one day, Anon.  Have fun tomorrow...”
>You're curious what brought this about.
“Alright, I guess.  Tell Soarin I said hello.”
>”Sure thing, Anon.  Let me know if you ever want to come hang out in Ponyville.”
>She shoots you a quick grin before exiting the workshop and flying off out of sight.
>That blue cunt is going to be the death of you...
>You finish the last drag the cigarette would allow before turning your attention back to the pile of wood spread across the workshop floor.
>You figure you've had enough of this subject.
>It's about time you got started on the dining room set.  You'd slacked off enough as it is and the night is still young.
>You mull over the sketches and measurements before beginning to pencil out the cuts.
>As you start to make the rough cuts, bringing boards and blocks to more manageable sizes, something pulls your attention away.
>What Dash had said seems to be weighing on your mind.
>You hadn't intended it to be a date, but the everything seemed to point to that being the case.
>You wonder what Luna thought of all this.
>It's doubtful someone like her would take the gesture so seriously.
>But then why did she take the thing with Dash so seriously?
“Aurgh...”
>You shake your head, as if the to somehow jostle the thoughts loose.
>With no success, you bring yourself away from your work and make your way to the record player.
>Music was always good for helping you get into the rhythm.
>You pick out an album that Dash lent you a while ago.  You hope she's forgotten about it by now.
>Some DJ from Manehattan is on the cover.
>As you drop the needle, the workshop becomes flooded with the heavy beat of house music.
>You let the music replace any thoughts you might have about what you and Dash chatted about.
>As the music takes hold, you start to find your groove.  Continuing where you had left off.
>The music is accented with the pounding, sawing and scraping of tool on wood.
>You're finally making some head way.
>Hours seem to fly by as you continue your progress.
>The sun continues it's decent as you work.
>It's close to 10pm by now.  You're satisfied enough with your progress that you feel you've earned your dinner.
>You dust yourself off and kill the record player, pulling out another cigarette as you make your way to the kitchen.
>Just before you're hand reaches the refrigerator, another series of loud knocks pulls your attention.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me...”
>Since when did you become Mr. Popular?
>You pocket the cigarette and answer the door.  Annoyance is coursing through you by now.
>One day of uninterrupted work.  That's all you were asking for...
>You open the door to see who it was, being greeted with a set of beaming, golden eyes.
“Lyra?
>She smiles ear to ear.
>”Hey, Anon!”
>You turn back to the clock.  Sure enough.  10 motherfucking o'clock.
“What brings you hear so late?”
>Her smile becomes a little more sheepish, a faint blush appears, but is barely noticeable in the night.
>”Well.  I was working on a song for tomorrow night and wondered if you wouldn't mind giving me your opinions on it.”
>Why now?  Why you?
>”I promise it won't take long.”
>Her eyes grow a little desperate.  No way you were getting out of this one.
“Sure, what the hell.  I was about to take a second to get some dinner.”
>She squees in excitement as she rushes past you and into the workshop, her saddlebag emitting dead plonks and plinks, probably from her lyre.
>It was still mad cute, though.
>This fucking mare always did manage to put you in a better mood.  You warm up to the idea of taking a little break.
>The door closes behind you as you walk back into the workshop.
>You think back to what Barley has said.
>Something about having someone around not being so bad, or some sappy silliness.
>Come to think of it, Dash was the only pony who ever hung out while you worked.
>You pause for a second and look over to Lyra, who is now sitting on your chair, tuning her lyre.
>She returns your look with a smile.
>"Something wrong, Anon?"
>You smile a little.
"Nothing."
>Maybe you could do with the company tonight.  Besides, what could one song hurt?