Title:           Paying It Off
Author:          Anonymous
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/rrZx3647
First Edit:      Tuesday 16th of February 2016 05:50:19 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 16th of February 2016 05:50:19 PM CDT

>You sheepishly look to your phone, checking the time.
>Jesus, when will this be over?
>Locking it and shoving the phone back into your pocket, you sigh.
>This date was going horribly.
>You try start a conversation with the girl sitting across from you, but get quickly shut down in a midst of stutters and a rather mean glare from her.
>Another sigh.
>You're never gonna trust another one of those online dating sites ever again.
>A few minutes of silence later, she whips her bag around her shoulder and stands up.
>"I need to go to the bathroom."
"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'll uh, be here."
>With another piercing look, she leaves the table and walks to the bathroom, high heels clicking all the way there.
>Again, you check your phone, looking for any way to get out of this nightmare.
>Maybe you could tell her you have an emergency?
>Nah, that's not gonna work.
>Way too cliche.
>She's pretty bitchy as a person, but using that excuse is just rude.
>You could just tell her you're not having a good time and call it off, you suppose.
>It doesn't seem as if she's enjoying her time here either, so it's not like you'd be breaking her heart.
>That's a bit too much of an alpha move for you, though.
>Gotta hand it to her, she's intimidating to boot.
>You swing back in your chair, biting your cheek and looking up to the ceiling.
>This place is fancy as hell.
>One of those girls, huh.
>Well, good thing you two aren't seeing each other after this if this is where she comes to eat.
>There ain't no way you could afford bringing her to places like this for every date.
>Pretty sure she had a designer bag, too.
>You accidentally stare into a light fixture, quickly turning your head away and down to blink the white spot out.
>Something hits the table and you look to the seat across from you expecting the woman you were with to sit back down.
>No, not her.
>You look down at the table.
>Oh, it's the bill.
>"That'll be £134.95, I hope you enjoyed your meal!"
>You nod, and the waitress walks away.
>£135?
>Ffuuuuaark.
>That's just extortionate.
>There's no way in hell you're paying for all of this.
>Splitting it would be alright, you suppose, as long as you kept a tight budget for the rest of this month.
>Christ, you shouldn't have come.
>You sigh again, getting out the half you're paying.
>You slide the bill across the table so that when your date gets back she knows what's up.
>She's taking a mighty long time in there, though.
>The waitress comes back asking if you'd like anything else, to which you instantly decline.
>You can't afford what you already got, much less any more.
>To be fair, you didn't even order the expensive crap.
>You look to the bottle of wine, which in itself cost about 20% of the bill.
>That was all her idea.
>You've got every right to tell her to pay for that, but oh well.
>Some tables clear out and others fill in as people come and go, with you just waiting for your date to step through the bathroom door.
>She'lll finish paying, you'll both lie about having a nice time and that you're glad you met, and go your separate ways.
>Might as well delete her off your phone now.
>The waitress comes back again, asking if you've paid the bill or not yet.
>You apologise and she leaves.
>This is... slightly worrying.
>Whipping your phone out again, you check the time.
>So, according to this...
>Your date's been in the bathroom for about 30 minutes.
>You bite your cheek again.
>That's not //too// long, is it?
>It's not like she just like, ditched you or anything.
>People don't //actually// do that, right?
>With every minute that goes by, the internal paranoia starts becoming very exernal.
>By the 45th minute, you're sweating up a storm.
>Shit shit shit shit shit.
>Did that chick just up and leave?
>With a bill like thi-
>And that's when it hits you.
>She couldn't afford to pay this shit either.
>That's why she ordered everything on the goddamn menu.
>You just got played.
>The waitress comes by again, looking a little more worried than she did any previous time.
>"Is- is everything alright, sir?"
>You sigh.
"No. No, I really don't think so."
>Again, she leaves, probably with an idea of what just happened.
>Over the next 15 minutes, you occasionally make eye contact as she serves other tables.
>She smiles at you, but something tells you that it's more out of pity than anything else.
>Craaap.
>At the one hour mark, the waitress comes back one last time.
>"Sir, would you like me to... check the bathroom, perhaps?"
>How nice.
>She's just trying to be helpful.
>Ugh.
>Part of you doesn't want her to, because that's the one part that hasn't yet faced the truth.
>After nearly half a minute of silence, you nod and thank her.
>She walks off as you look around you, looking at all the other customers.
>There's barely anyone else in here.
>They've all packed up and left.
>Now it's just you and a few drunk folks.
>This is, by far, the worst way to spend a Sunday night.
>You see the bathroom door creak open again, the familiar waitress stepping out.
>The two of you make eye contact on her way over, and she shakes her head ever so slightly to give you the message.
>"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't find anyone in there."
>You nod again.
"Yeah, I figured as much."
>"I'll leave you alone a while, I'll - uh - come back later."
"Thank you, uh-"
>You try look for a name tag somewhere on her uniform, but she interjects.
>"Pinkie."
"Thank you, Pinkie."
>
>It's that feeling.
>That weird fight or flight one.
>As far removed as we are from our ancestral hunter-gatherer race, that's something that seems to have stuck with us.
>You can literally feel the epinephrine running through your system, telling you to just bolt straight out of this seat and never look back.
>It's almost making you feel sick.
>You look at the bill again.
>Fuck.
>There's no way you can pay that.
>You don't even have that much money on you.
>Can't use your card either.
>What can you do?
>There's-
>You're totally blanking.
>What-
>Someone appears at your side suddenly, startling you.
>Didn't hear them over the sound of your own thoughts.
>It's not the waitress.
>"Is there a problem here, sir?"
>Oh, God damnit.
>Is this the manager?
"I, I don't think so, I just- I don-"
>"You've been here alone for more than an hour, sir. Everyone else has left, we're closing up."
>What?
>Since when?
>You didn't notice any of this.
>"If you'd ever so kindly pay your bill and be on your way, I would appreciate that very much."
>Your heart sinks into your feet before shooting back up again into your throat, almost causing you to gag.
"I- ...."
>You trail off to just barely a mumble before you're able to finish a sentence.
>"I'm sorry, come again?"
"I- I don't think I can..."
>The woman pauses and clears her throat.
>She snatches the bill off the table, sighing at it.
>"Why'd you order all of this if you couldn't pay for it?"
>You try respond, but it's like your mental state had regressed completely.
>You've never been in this situation before, you have no idea what to do.
"I- I didn't."
>"Excuse me?"
>Oh crap, she really doesn't sound amused.
"I- I just... There was someone else here with me, I didn'-"
>"Ma'am, it's not his fault."
>You recognise that voice.
>It's the waitress.
>Uh.
>Pink... Ponk... Pontie?
>Shit.
>The waitress takes her manager aside, talking in hushed tones with her.
>About you, no doubt.
>You sigh again.
>This is without a doubt the worst night you've had in Ponyville so far.
>After about a minute, the manager comes back.
>She thinks over her words, probably trying to come off as nice as possible.
>"I understand what's happened sir, but the fact of the matter is I can't let you not pay, even if the circumstances are... unfortunate."
>You nod.
>"If you leave us your phone number and address, we could send you the receipt there, and you will just need to pay us once you're home."
>You shake your head.
"I don't have the money, ma'am, It's impossible for me to pay for this. I simply don't have the funds."
>Under her breath, you hear her swear before continuing.
>She puts her hands on her hips and clears her throat, sounding pretty damn annoyed.
>"It looks like you're going to have to work it off then. For £70, that's going to be four days of work here, four hours on each day."
>You look up at her, not sure what to respond with.
>She continues.
>"You might as well start now, with all the washing up. Pinkie, show him what to do."
>Pinkie, right.
>Off to the side, she responds.
>"Will do, ma'am. Thank you."
>The manager leaves, and now other than the sounds of the kitchen, everything is silent.
>Damn, they even shut down the speakers in here.
>They really were closing around you.
>"Come on, I'll show you what we need to do."
>Pinkie reaches her arm out towards you, helping you up and out of your seat.
>You stumble over, almost falling on her, but you manage to catch yourself before you do.
>"Did your legs fall asleep there? Makes sense, you were sitting there for like 3 hours."
>has it really been that long?
>Damn.
"Yeah, I suppose."
>Pinkie's smile slightly fades, probably in an effort to sympathise with you.
>"I promise it won't be that bad here. You'll be done before you know it, and hey, maybe you'll learn a thing or two, right?"
>You look at Pinkie, the smile back in full effect.
>You'd be lying if you said it wasn't at least slightly contagious.
>Mustering up everything you can to smile back, however weakly, you reply,
"Don't see why not."
>With a nod, Pinkie opens the door into the back of the restaurant, as the warm yellow lights of the floor change into the white fluorescents in the kitchen.
>Stainless steel railing and counters extend for a good 20 meters into the room, with all manners of apparatus dotting the spotless room.
>This really is a fancy place.
>At least you're not going to be stuck working someplace shitty.
>Well, if it was someplace shitty, you'd have been able to pay the whole bill.
>You try drive those thoughts from your mind.
>No use in dwelling in the past.
>"Follow me."
>Pinkie takes your hand in hers and pulls you through a rather tight spot, making you dodge a few hanging pots and a mop.
>You hit one with a resounding clang, causing all the other workers in the kitchen to turn towards you.
>Again, they don't look very happy.
>Pinkie's the only one in here with a smile.
>You wave at them in an effort to alleviate the situation before Pinkie carts you off into another room, facing you with a tower of dishes as tall as you are.
"Wow."
>She giggles.
>"It's something, isn't it?"
"You can say that again."
>She points at one specific pile, just as high as the others.
>"That's all from your table."
>Christ.
>"Looks a whole lot bigger when they're all stacked up, right?"
"Sure do."
>Pinkie drags you to the sink, patting you on the back and picking 20 plates off of one of the piles.
>"We'll start with the large ones."
>She places them in front of you, taking another stack and placing it in the sink next to yours.
>Turning the water on, she gets to rinsing them.
>"If you don't start you won't be able to pay Mrs. Cake back, silly."
>Oh, right.
>You turn the faucet on, rinsing off the plates and scrubbing them down.
>Pinkie gets around three dishes done it takes you to do one, and she starts on her second pile by the time you're finished with half of yours.
>The two of you work in a rather awkward silence, with you really not being able to process everything that's happened in the last few hours.
>So you got stood up with a massive bill, couldn't pay, and now you're washing dishes in the back of this restaurant to pay it all back.
>How did you get yourself into this, Anon?
>You catch Pinkie glancing over to you ever so often as she's doing her work, maybe trying to talk about something. Anything.
>You'd be trying the same, but after all the emotions you've gone through today, conversation isn't coming to you easily.
>"Don't let it get you down, you could do better than her, anyway." Pinkie remarks as she plops another pile down in the sink.
>Oh Christ.
"I- I'm fine, I don't need a pep talk or anything."
>"I wasn't tryi-"
"I just - don't wanna talk about it."
>She huffs, but obliges.
>"Alright then. We don't need to."
>Silence ensues amongst the two of you again, with you just getting your piles done as fast as you can.
>If you don't think about anything, you can get through them pretty quick.
>"You know,"
>Oh, boy.
>Something tells you Pinkie isn't the type to be quiet when she's around people.
>"I got stood up once."
>You stop.
"You really don't need t-"
>"Well, it wasn't like your situation, really."
>She squints her eyes.
>"Nothing like it, actually. It was in middle school, with a guy I had a crush on at the time. He promised to meet me at the movies on a Saturday morning, but he didn't ever show up."
>You glance over at her, still continuing with your share of plates.
>"I was so excited for it, too, looking back. I got up a whole hour before I needed to, just to make sure I was ready and perfect. I even tried to straighten my hair."
>Pinkie chuckles to herself slightly as you look to her hair, the massive globular poof almost staring back at you.
>"It didn't work out. Anyway, I got to the cinema early and got the tickets, sitting down and waiting in the lobby until he showed up."
>She turns off the water and carries her plates out of the sink, laying her pile out to dry before getting another one.
>"But he never did. I waited and waited, until of course, the movie started. I waited a little longer after that and once the movie was 15 minutes into running, I decided to just go inside."
>She turns the water on and begins her next pile, but cringes and laughs before she can start.
>"Ah, I even asked the guy at the front to tell me if he saw a boy coming in for this movie, so that I could get him if he was just late."
>You try to stop yourself from smiling at Pinkie's obviously very embarrassing memory.
>"So I get into the movie, constantly checking behind me to see if he was coming in, always thinking the movement at the corner of my eye would be him. In my imagination, he would have a grand excuse as to why he was late, but it would still turn out to be the perfect date, and we'd kiss and hug and get married, you know, like middle schoolers do."
>A chuckle escapes you, something that you really didn't think anyone could do for you in your current state.
>"But as you can probably figure out, that didn't happen. 30 minutes into the movie I just started crying. It wasn't even a sad film. I'm pretty sure it was Shrek. But boy, did I cry. The tears couldn't stop."
>Damn, now you feel bad.
>"You should've seen my sisters when I came home and told them what happened. I thought he would be dead the next time I saw him."
>Pinkie pats you on the back, finishing another pile of dishes.
>"But that's all in the past now, just like this'll be. Maybe you'll be able to tell it as a story and laugh about it, even."
>You nod.
"I'd like that. Thanks, Pinkie. That was surprisingly... uplifting."
>She clicks her tongue, pointing finger guns at you.
>"All in a day's work."
>You continue your work just like before, albeit now with a little more optimism.
>The silence that ensues between the two of you isn't even awkward.
>It's pretty comforting.
>You wonder if Pinkie does this to everyone she meets.
>You've known her, at least formally, for around 20 minutes.
>But you already feel somewhat like friends.
>Conversations come easy with her.
"Hey, so I wasn't gonna ask, but my curiosity is getting the better of me."
>"What's up?"
>You finish putting another stack of plates away, content with your pace.
"Don't you guys like, have dishwashers for this sort of stuff? Surely a big place like this can afford them. It would take way fewer man-hours, too."
>Picking up your next stack and placing them in the sink, Pinkie answers.
>"I think it's just faster to do them by hand, instead of waiting on a machine to take an hour cleaning a set amount of dishes. You can prioritise what you need right then, depending on what people order that day."
"Oh, right. Can't really take out a bowl if you really need it mid-wash."
>"Mhmm. And it's probably cheaper, too. Running them constantly like that takes a lot of power."
>She finishes up her side of dishes, washing off her hands and drying them.
>Woah, she's actually done?
>There were more on her side too, that's why you took this one.
>"You better hurry up, it's almost midnight. You'll still be here at three if you continue like that."
>Ugh.
"Is there that much more?"
>She laughs.
>"Oh, you don't know the half of it."
"Aauuugh."
>You feel a slap on your back.
>"Fine, fine. I guess I'll help you out, since it's your first day and all."
>She takes a few plates from your pile, sitting them down in her sink.
>"But don't expect me to carry you forever!"
"I won't, I won't."
>Again, she starts finishing up her stacks faster than you can do yours.
"Thanks, though."
>She just smiles in response.
>After a few more stacks and a few more to fit on the drying rack, you dry your hands and turn off the running water.
>That took...
>An hour.
>Wow.
"So, what did we need to do next?"
>Pinkie wipes down the counters of any excess water and shows you out.
>"Ho ho! No whining for a break? You're exceeding expectations already!"
"I'm not that bad, you can afford to raise the bar just a little."
>She raises her brows at you.
>"We'll see about that. //This// is our next job."
>You look around, unsure of what she means.
>It's the kitchen.
>What is she focusing on?
"Wh- where's the job?"
>"Here!"
"Yeah, but which part?"
>"All of it!"
>All of...?
"Alright, you can lower that bar back down again."
>Out of seemingly nowhere, Pinkie shoves a bucket into you, already full with soapy water and a sponge.
>"Let's do this! Lemme hear some enthusiasm!"
"Woo."
>Pinkie wrings her arm around your neck, squishing her face up to yours.
>"Wow, you're almost as bad as Fluttershy."
"Who?"
>"Shoot now, ask questions later!"
"Yes ma'am."
>You take the sponge out of its bucket, wringing it out and wiping on the counter-top.
>From what you swore was about 10 meters away, Pinkie appears in a blur right beside you, instantly barking commands.
>"I want these counters looking like mirrors when you're done, is that understood!?"
>It almost makes you drop the damn bucket in surprise.
"Jesus Christ! You just scared the shit outta me, Pi-"
>"Is that understood!?"
"Wh- Yes, yeah - uh - understood."
>"I can't hear you!"
"Understood!"
>Pinkie chuckles to herself, hopping off in the opposite direction to do her job.
>That took the energy right out of you.
>How can she still be so upbeat at midnight?
>From across the room, you hear her humming a little tune while working, deciding to just carry on with your job.
>Wipe with soap, wipe with water, dry with cloth.
>Repeat.
>Wipe with soap, wipe with water, dry with cloth.
>Repeat.
>Wipe with soap, wipe with water, dry with cloth.
>Repeat.
>
>Ah, shit.
>Almost fell asleep there.
>You look to your right, back at all the countertops you've done.
>Almost there.
>Not too many more to go.
"Say, Pinkie. Is this your job, usually?"
>"Hm?"
"The washing up, I mean. I saw that there were a few other guys in here before, do they not stay behind with you?"
>She looks up to the ceiling, recollecting her thoughts.
>"Uuh, not most times. Usually I stay behind to do it."
"Alone?"
>Pinkie just shrugs.
>"Yeah."
>You almost smile.
>Pinkie doesn't seem like the type of person to be fine on her own.
>Well, you'll be joining her for the next few days, you suppose.
>Might as well make a nice time out of i-
"Oof!"
>Something large and wet pelts you in the side of your head, jolting you back into being alert.
>The fuck was-
>You look down at the object at your feet.
>A sponge.
>How did it get- Oh.
>Quickly, you scan the room for any visual confirmation of Pinkie.
>Nothing, nothing, nothing.
>HA.
>A pink tuft of hair stick out from behind the fridge, leading you to know exactly where she's hiding.
"I know you're behind the fridge, come out so you ca- Oof!"
>In a mere few microseconds, Pinkie dashes out from her hiding spot and hits you again.
>Square in the face.
>All you hear are laughs, cut up every so often by a breath.
>Alright, fine.
>We'll do it that way.
>You take both sponges she threw at you and douse them in water, holding them ready and primed to throw.
>A pink blur in your peripheral vision is all you need.
>You throw a meter in front of it and hope for the best.
>Quickly ducking behind some cover, you hear the resounding slap of wet sponge against human skin.
>Silence ensues.
>You peek your head out from the countertop, looking for your target.
>Still have to pay her back one more time.
>Nothing.
>No tufts of hair, even.
>Looks like she wizened up.
>You hear the slap before you notice the wetness on your back, growing as the water runs down.
>Pinkie giggles from directly behind you, squeezing the sponge to ensure maximum soakage.
>Okay then.
>You turn with the sponge, keeping it in your hand and aiming right for her.
>It makes contact with her left arm, the water running down and off her elbow.
>Pinkie runs away again, as do you, preparing for the next bout.
>It's a good thing you two are the only ones in tonight.
>You doubt any manager would approve of this behaviour.
>Sponges fly and clothes are ruined as minutes ride on into the night.
>Pinkie manages to find around sixteen new sponges, you have no clue where from, but she put them to good use, that's for sure.
>You lay with your back to a counter, sitting and listening for Pinkie's next move.
>If you listen just right, you can hear her before you can see her.
>To your right.
>Just after you hear her, pink eclipses the light over you as she hops over the barriers, sponge in hand.
>If you're going down, you'll be damned if she's not coming with you.
>You rise up, the wettest sponge of them all dripping from your palm, aiming right for her face.
>As she does the same.
>Pinkie lands, two wet sloshes are heard, and your worlds goes dark.
>The wet and now familiar texture slides off your face, splatting onto the floor, and you look to see where you hit Pinkie.
>Her...
>Shoulder.
>Damn.
>Amongst her pants, she manages to get the last word in.
>"I - win."
>You hold your arms up, admitting defeat.
"Alright. I admit it this time. It's your win."
>Changing stance, she defiantly puts her hands on her hips and brings out her chest.
>"What does that make it now? 12 to 7?"
>She's mocking you.
>Maybe you could just...
>While she's not looking?
>No.
>She's too good.
"12 to 7, my loss."
>She smiles widely, doing what you can only describe as a sort of jig.
>You smile back, leaving her to relish in her victory.
>Walking across the kitchen floor, you pick up the multitudes of sponges left over from the intense battle, wringing them out and stuffing them back into a bucket.
>You lay them out next to the sink to dry out and go back to Pinkie, sitting on one of the countertops.
"So, what now?"
>"What, what now?"
>You tilt your head.
>She tilts hers.
"I mean, what are we gonna do. We wasted a good hour and some, and wasn't there a ton more?"
>"Like what?"
"I don't know, you said we had a lot to do."
>"We did."
"And? We only washed the dishes and then started chucking stuff at each other."
>"But we finished everything."
"Washing dishes is all we had to do?"
>She tilts her head towards the room around you.
>"Look around. We did everything."
>Did everything?
"What do you mean by- ..."
>Looking to your left and right, the stainless steel and marble room is spotless.
>The metal gleams like a mirror, the marble as white as the day it was purchased.
>All grease stains and scratches have seemingly vanished, as little sense as that makes.
"H- how did we?"
>Pinkie shrugs.
>"No reason you can't work and have fun while doing it."
>You take another look around the room, stopping at Pinkie, sitting there with an all too wide grin.
"Well I'll be damned."
>20 minutes later, you walk with Pinkie out of the restaurant through the back door, one that's very much less posh than the front.
>It's just a large metal door, as opposed to the illustrious and expensive looking wood engraved entrance.
>Pinkie steps inside for a second to check all the lights are off, and locks the door with a loud click.
>"Achoo!"
"Bless you."
>She sniffles, wiping it with her coat.
>"Thanks."
>Looking down, you watch as the cold air freezes the water in your breath.
"Yeah, January was the worst time to do what we just did."
>Pinkie sniffles again and walks down the steps, joining your side.
>"You can say that again."
>The two of you walk out of the alleyway the back door is located in and onto the sidewalk, taking steps like you've both got something up your arse.
>You're still dripping wet, so Pinkie must be pretty much the same.
>You both stand there a minute, fully taking in just how much of a shitty idea this was.
"S- so. How're you getting home?"
>Pinkie shivers before quietly responding.
>"I usually t- take the bus, but I mi- might as well t- take a taxi this time."
"I don't blame you."
>"How about y- you?"
"I can walk. It's not th- that far away."
>Pinkie does a few hops and rubs her hands together for warmth, to little avail.
>"Y- you sure? I kinda feel bad, now. Wanna g- get dropped off, at least?"
>It takes you a moment to think, but in the end you shake your head.
"Nah, really, it's fi- fine. I live pretty much 200 meters aw- away."
>"Okie d- dokie. I'll see you tomorrow then, I g- guess."
"What time should I b- be there?"
>"F- four would be good."
>You nod, quickly regretting it as water drips off of your hair down your neck.
"Yeah. I'll see you then, Pinkie."
>"S- see you then... uh."
>You stand there a few seconds, watching as Pinkie slowly... heats up?
>Her face goes red, the water almost visibly evaporating from her as the seconds tick by.
>"I- I just realised... I never go to know - your name."
>Half expecting her eyes to suddenly bluescreen on you, you try calm Pinkie down from her ensuing panic attack.
>"Aah! I can't believe I didn't know your name all this time, I never even remembered to ask you! I-"
"P-"
>"Oh no, did I already ask you!? That means I forgot it! I don't forget names, I never forget names! How di-"
"Pinki-"
>"I'm such a terrible friend! I can never make friends again! What will I tell my grandchildr-"
"Pinkie!"
>She settles down, still grabbing her hair in large clumps, a weird kind of mania in her eyes.
"It's fine, I never told you my name. It's Anon, by the way."
>Slowly but surely, Pinkie stops hyperventilating and calms herself.
>"Anon. I'll remember that."
>You stand on the sidewalk a few moments longer in silence, just smiling to yourselves.
"I'll see you tomorrow then, right?"
>"Right! Don't be late!"
>You raise both your arms up from your sides, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head.
>She gets the message and raises hers too, the two of you wrapping them into a hug.
>
>
>And you immediately regret this decision.
>The water from you and her just dripped down your everything again.
>You and Pinkie both jump back from each other, shivering uncontrollably again.
>"Bad idea, bad idea."
"Shouldn't have done that. Noooooo sir."
>As Pinkie does, she starts giggling to herself through the cold and shivers, which you soon do too.
>It's contagious as hell.
>She sticks her arm out, holding it out in front of her.
>You chuckle.
"That seems like a better idea."
>Reaching your own hand out, you shake hers goodbye before she walks in the opposite direction and across the street to a taxi parked on the curb.
>Time to walk home and get these clothes off.
>On the way back you get a few funny looks from passer-by, probably wondering if you just swam out of a damn lake.
>Might as well have.
>Shivering all the way back, you finally make it inside and endure the long haul up the stairs to your flat.
>With shaky fingers and a many failed attempt you get the key in the door and turn, thankful that the journey is finally over.
>As soon as you step inside you throw off all your clothes and chuck them in the bathroom, going to your dresser drawers and taking out the fuzziest, warmest winter clothes youve got.
>Pretty sure all of your toes are frozen stiff at this point, honestly.
>Got a lecture tomorrow, damn.
>Can't start skipping them this close to exam time, either.
>You dry off your slightly wet phone and check the time.
>Looks like you're getting 5 hours of sleep tonight.
>Oh well.
>Hitting the bed with a thunk, you try get to sleep as fast as possible.
>
>
>...
>The alarm digs it's way into your subconscious, an ominous ringing echoing through your dreams.
>Finally, you wisen up to the sound and wake up, groggily shutting it off.
>Oh, what you would give to skip class today.
>Maybe you could ask Flash to take notes for you.
>Nah, he barely writes anything down.
>You sigh, rolling out of the bed and flopping down to the floor.
>Still wrapped in your blankets.
>Fuck winter.
>You fly out from inside the covers and put your clothes on in 0.6 seconds for maximum body heat preservation, sliding into your slippers.
>Wiping sleep from your eyes, you turn on the kettle and get breakfast ready.
>At least you aren't late.
>Once out the door you pull on the handle to make sure it's locked before walking off.
>Is it worth driving to class today?
>Yeah, screw walking in this weather.
>Unlocking the car and hopping in, you shiver as you come into contact with the seat.
>Somehow, it's colder in here than outside.
>The hell is up with that?
>You start the car, turning on the seat heating as you drive off.
>It cost a hella lot more, sure, but you're really glad you fished out that extra cash.
>Winter wouldn't even be so bad if there was snow everywhere, but the few days of snow you get don't make up for the bastard cold.
>The drive isn't long, so sometimes you just walk up to campus, but you did not get enough sleep to warrant that much energy wastage today.
>You manage to find a parking pretty easily, since basically no one had classes this early.
>Just your luck you had class this early on a goddamn Monday.
>You walk in through the glass sliding doors, relishing in the heated interior.
>It's at least 20 degrees warmer in here.
>Campus is warmer than your apartment.
>Hell, you should just sleep in the library.
>It would probably take them a week or more to notice, considering some students stay here for days doing their essays.
>Up the stairs, across the hall, and to the right.
>You enter the relatively small lecture hall, some students already here before you waiting for the professor.
>Some are fast asleep, while others are waiting patiently, all of their study materials out and colour coded.
>Fuckin' nerds.
>You sit down next to your friend and take your stuff out, the noise not stirring him from slumber.
>With a quick hit to the back of the head, he rouses from sleep, taking a second to recognise you.
>"Oh, hey Anon."
"Sup Flash."
>"You look like shit."
>You sigh.
>Seconds.
>It took him literally 20 seconds to tell you had a shitty night.
"You don't know the half of it."
>"What do you mean? Ooooh shit, you had that date yesterday, right?"
>You nod, preparing yourself to go over all the embarrassing details.
>"Did you get some? That why you so tired? Anon, my man, I didn't think you had it in you!"
"I don't."
>He looks puzzled.
>Being the typical testosterone controlled male he is, Flash doesn't understand many of the thing you say or do.
>There's a pause between you as you think, trying to word this in the most delicate way possible.
>Eh, screw it.
"I got stood up with the bill."
>You watch as the gears in Flash's brain turn, breaking down and analysing every word and syllable of your sentence, putting together a picture of what happened.
>At the same time his face lights up with one of the largest smiles you've seen from him yet, with his eyes only showing pity.
>It takes you concious control to not punch him in the face.
>"Dohohohoho. Where was this?"
"You know that resturant with the glass walls down the street from mine?"
>He takes a second, but after Flash realises what you're talking about the smile just grows more.
>"Oooh shit, you know what that means right? That means she planned it! Oh my Gooood."
>Flash puts his face in his hands, trying to hold back his manic laughter.
>Laughing out loud this early in the morning would make everyone in the room hate you.
>"Dude, holy shit, was the bill like 100 quid? That's screwed up, man. Wow."
"Try more like 130."
>"HA!"
"Shut up."
>Flash reels again, breathing in and out amidst short bursts of laughter.
>"Duuuude. You don't even have that much money in your spendings account. What did you do?"
"I..."
>The door behind you slides open, the heavy and lumbering steps of the professor echoing throughout the room.
>All the groans responding to the noise key you in on who's hungover to hell.
>You whisper to Flash, getting your notes ready.
"I'll tell you later."
>He nods, smiling in anticipation of how you got the hell out of your mess.
>Class begins and class ends, the professor dismissing everyone as you pack up.
>Flash leans over, eager for you to finish your story.
>"So, what'd you do?"
>You both walk out the room, talking along the way.
"I had to work the money off."
>He stops and keels over.
>Well now it's just overreacting.
>"Oh my God, I literally cannot believe this. I would chop off one of my balls to have been there."
"It wasn't very pretty."
>"And so? You workin' for them now? For how long?"
"Rest of the week."
>"Daaaaaaamn son. No pay?"
>You furrow your brows.
"Of course not. Not paying was what got me into this mess."
>"Right, right."
>You continue walking through the hall and down the stairs as he processes everything.
>"You ever worked in a restaurant before?"
"Nah."
>"What'd they make you do?"
"Just some dishes, and then cleaning the kitchens."
>"Damn, all by yourself."
>You smile, albeit lightly.
"Nah, I had some help. That's the good part about this story."
>He raises a brow, waiting for you to continue.
"There's a chick that works there, really nice. She stayed with me the whole time, helping me out."
>"Aaay. You gonna hit that?"
>You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue.
"Gross, man."
>"I'm only kidding, bitch. What's she like?"
>You think about her most defining features, easily picking it out.
"Her name's Pinkie. She-"
>"Wait."
>Flash stops in his tracks, looking very confused.
>"Pinkie? Does she have big ass pink hair?"
>Now it's your turn to look confused.
"Yes? How did you-"
>"Dude I went to highschool with her! She's there now? And you're trying to - hm. Good luck."
"Good luck?"
>Flash shrugs, shaking his head.
>"I 'unno man. She was asked out by a crap-ton of guys and turned down every single one. I don't know if she's even into men."
"Seriously? How do you know this?"
>"She was pretty popular back in the day. She was best friends with this girl I liked, too."
"You actually held feelings of affection towards one of your girls? What a different Flash you must have been."
>"Whatever, she turned me down anyway. Still though, I never thought I'd ever hear of Pinkie again."
"Why's that?"
>He bites his cheek, looking away.
>"She dropped out in senior year. No idea why."
>Dropped out?
"So she never graduated?"
>"Nah. I heard that it had something to do with her family, but nobody really talked about it much."
>Hm.
>As you get to the doors, Flash takes a right as you go left back to your car.
>"You going to work now, pal?"
>You groan.
"Not yet. Going home and sleeping first."
>"Good luuuuuck."
"Fuck you."
>Stepping through the revolving door, careful not to clip your heels on the advancing glass, you walk out into the biting cold air to your car.
>At least it isn't raining.
>A bit of sun shines its way through the cloud layer above, the gap of blue expanding as the day chugs along.
>Too bad it's gonna set and go dark at like 4.
>You throw your bag into the passenger seat of your car and chug it to life, driving out of the parking lot and back home.
>Stopping the car, you grab your stuff and head up into your flat.
>Technically it isn't 'legal' to park right in front of your flat, since it's reserved for drop offs and handicapped parking, but they only do checks on Wednesdays so you're good for now.
>The only other place to park it is like 500 meters up a bloody mountain.
>You fumble with your keys, clicking them hard into your door to get the withered thing open.
>Dropping everything on the ground and making a B-line for your room, you don't even get your boots off before your face makes direct contact with the bed.
>Whatever, you'll just dangle your feet.
>Why does three hours of sleep feel so shitty?
>Back in high school you'd get less than three hours a WEEK.
>Not dwelling on it much, you close your eyes and try get as much sleep as you can, before the inevitable.
>
>Clenching your hands up into tight fists, you shove them into your coat in an effort to keep warm.
>Fuck winter.
>As the sun sets behind the city buildings, leaving a dark blue dusk in it's wake, you head down to the restaurant.
>Do you get sick days?
>You should take a sick day.
>Ugh.
>After this, you've got three more shifts to do.
>Just three more, Anon.
>As soon as the restaurant doors open, a gust of heated air smacks you in the face, akin to when you open an oven.
>Oh, that's nice.
>Before you're even seconds into the building, a familiar face pops up in front of you, frantic and loud.
>No time to bask in heated bliss, you suppose.
>Without a word you're dragged by Pinkie, currently balancing around 15 plates on various parts of her body, to the back of the restaurant.
>In the kitchen, she unloads all of the dishes she's carrying, the one currently washing them sighing as his pile gets higher.
>You can at least empathise a little.
>Once unburdened, Pinkie lets go of you and walks into an offshoot room, a supply closet of some kind.
>Fabrics come flying out from it and you instinctively catch them, missing and picking one up from the floor.
>This is...
>An apron?
>"It's a uniform!"
>Oh.
>"We don't have any extra pants or shirts though, so you'll just need to wear the ones you have on right now."
>You nod, putting your head through it and trying to tie it around your back.
"Do I really need this, though? I mean, it's great for stain prevention, but if I'm just going to be in the back the entire time I don-"
>"You're going to be working tables today, mister!"
>Ebuh?
"W- what?"
>"We're totally understaffed, it's actually a miracle you came along."
>She steps behind you to tie the apron, pulling it tight like a corset.
"B- But I've never waited tables before. Don't you need to do a whole training thing with new staff? Isn't there a procedure? You can't expect me to go out there and expect me to know wha-"
>"Alright, you're good to go! Just act like you want to be there and write fast, it isn't that hard!"
>You feel yourself sliding towards the kitchen doors as Pinkie pushes you ever closer, your shoes skidding on the soft tiles.
"Are you even listening to me? I told you, I ca-"
>You're flung out the doors and into the restaurant, a handful of patrons already glaring at you.
>"You do this side I'll do that one, hurry!"
"Pi- I don't know what t-"
>"Ey waita'!"
>Crapbaskets.
>You sheepishly walk towards the very Italian-American male at the table, a few compatriots of his sitting at the table with him.
"Yes? Uh, Sir."
>He looks you up and down, seemingly uninterested before scanning the restaurant floor again.
>"Eh, any chance you could get that pretty dame oer' here to serve us, my friends an' I want somethin' to look at while we order, if you catch my meanin'."
>Wh- Gross.
"Uh- Sorry sir, that isn't possible right now. We're terribly understaffed, so I will have to be your waiter tonight."
>Look at you Anon, already getting into the role.
>Again, the good customer looks uninterested in you, putting the menu down quite forcefully.
>It takes more patience than you usually can muster to not smack him in the head for being such a child, but you manage to calm yourself without bursting a blood vessel.
>Him and his friends order enough alcohol to burn the building down and get back to chatting as you walk away back to the kitchen, hoping for some peace there.
>At least enough to mentally verse yourself on just what you've been thrust into.
>Before you can make it, you're stopped again.
>God damnit.
>This time, it's a suburban family of four.
>The mum looks like she has a minivan.
>As the family lists off their orders, you become increasingly aware of the infant child burning a hole into the side of your head with his vision.
>Ceaseless, fish-eyed staring.
>The table bickers lightly upon what drinks to get, the children pleading the mother to let them get soft drinks.
>The  cone of vision of this child sticks firmly to your body, it's eyes following your every step and fidget.
>An unending hell-scape of void extends past the blank stare, opening doors into oblivion itself, and all that comes with the abyss.
>Thankfully, the family finishes their order before you feel your soul enter the nothingness beyond, and you make your way back to the kitchen with your orders in hand.
>You push past the doors, the heavy air of the kitchen embracing you.
>A few cooks look over to you as you come in, focusing back on their craft after a glance.
>You look down at the orders in your hand, unsure of how to tell the cooks.
>Is there like... a rack?
>Or a slide- thing?
>Fumbling around for a few moments, you feel a hand on your shoulder, immediately relieving a bit of the tension.
"Hey, Pi- Oh."
>That's not Pinkie.
>"Just leave 'em on that thing there. They'll slide down and the cooks will see them when they're not as loaded up."
>He glances over his shoulder, patting you twice.
>"Better pick up some platters and head out there, 'less you wanna deal with some real pissed off customers."
"R- right."
>Standing over the counter of food, you look at the numbers on the trays indicating which table they go to.
>At least it's pretty straightforward.
>You take what you can, making sure not to over-encumber yourself.
>Nothing worse than dropping everything.
>Using your hip you pry open the kitchen door, feeling someone pull it open from the other side.
>Once your line of sight travels from your cargo to the person, you see Pinkie and thank her for the help.
>She nods and winks, sliding past you.
>You get a few customers that openly admit how dissatisfied with the speed of service, but most listen to reason when you gesture to how full the floor is.
"There's not much we can do ma'am. With the tourist season in full effect, and the increasing demand of indoor seated restaurants, we're packed."
>"Well that's just a wasteful use of staff. You need more people taking and giving orders."
"And have less cooks? Then the food would be even slower."
>"Then hire someone, students always want jobs!"
"Ma'am, I am a new hire."
>She sighs, waving you off and going back to the people she's with.
>Something tells you she feels as if she won that exchange, but it doesn't bother you all that much.
>You take a few more orders, and give out a few more, finally getting into the routine of things.
>You notice that Pinkie actually has an electronic pad, letting her input orders quicker and probably have them instantly delivered to the kitchen.
>Those probably take training to get used to, looks like you'll just have to use paper.
>At least you're picking up the pace.
>Hours slowly tick by, second by second, minute by minute.
>Patrons come and go, the Italian-Americans still giving you a harsh glare on the way out.
>Hopefully you aren't on the mafia watchlist now, but what can ya' do.
>You wipe down their table, cleaning up the riht mess they made.
>Flinging food and drink around, disturbing those near them.
>Hope they aren't regulars.
>You stop, recoiling slightly.
>...
>Well, it's not like you//need// to worry about that.
>It's not like you actually...
>Work here.
>You sigh.
>Admittedly, this is just a bit more fun than you thought it would be.
>You got to Ponyville in the middle of the summer, expecting your life to be radically different now that you were living alone.
>But...
>Within two months, you just became a recluse.
>No job, not all that many friends.
>In class you'd hang out with Flash, work and study with him during breaks.
>But at home, you just...
>Stayed.
>That's part of the reason you started going on all those dates.
>Just to get out of the house.
>Granted, none of them worked out.
>At least one led you here.
>Hm.
>Finishing up on the tables, you push into the kitchen and throw your cloth in the sink.
>Looks like Pinkie's still out there with her own customers.
>Should you go help her?
>You think for a moment before a hand rests on your shoulder again.
>"Hey man, nice work out there. Peak hour's over."
>You nod lightly.
"Y- yeah. Glad I made it."
>He shrugs, smiling.
>"Ya did better than me on my first day, I'll tell you that. C'mon outside, it's your break time."
>He walks down across the kitchen, expecting you to follow.
>Something inside you tells you to wait for Pinkie, but then again...
>It would be a good idea to socialise with people other than Pinkie.
>And you wouldn't want to disturb her, or make her feel like she needs to babysit you.
>Whatever, might as well join him.
>Getting your hoodie and coat back on, you step out the back door, same as yesterday.
>The cold hits you in the face like a truck, forcing an instinctive shiver through your body.
>You step out into the alleyway you were in yesterday, locking the place up with Pinkie.
>Looking to your coworker out here, you notice that he's only got a thin hoodie on over his normal clothes.
"How are you not freezing? It's cold as tits out here."
>He chuckles, looking at the cloud covered sky.
>"You get used to it. I take you you're not from around here?"
>Tip tapping down the steps, you join him against the wall as you answer.
"No, I'm not. How could you tell?"
>He grins.
>"How could I not? You don't sound like you're from Equestria, much less Ponyville."
>You shrug.
"Where do you think I'm from, then?"
>He bites his cheek, squinting his eyes.
>"Griffonia?"
>It makes you laugh.
"What? Are you serious? Damn, where did I pick up that accent?"
>He takes out a pack of cigarettes, flipping it open and taking one out.
>"I dunno' man, but you sure as hell ain't from here. You smoke?"
>He holds the pack out to you, and you feel yourself hesitate.
>Why not, right?
"Yeah, thanks.... uuh."
>"Indigo. Indigo Wreath. N' you?"
"Anon. Anon Y. Mous. Can I borrow your lighter?"
>He tosses it to you, and you manage to catch it without making a fool of yourself.
>You turn away from the wind to light the tip up, almost burning yourself.
>Tossing it back, you take a drag as Indigo speaks back up.
>"So, what brings you here, Anon? Mrs. Cake said you had to work off a bill."
>You click your tongue, knowing that you would have to answer this question sooner or later.
>No reason to lie, though.
"I took a chick out to dinner here. She 'dine n' dashed', you know? Left me with the bill, which I obviously couldn't pay, so here I am."
>Indigo chuckles a bit, but doesn't laugh out loud like Flash did.
>"How long's your sentence?"
>This is your second day, so you suppose...
"Two more days, I think."
>He nods, taking another drag.
>"You're doing alright so far, just keep it up and you'll be set."
>You shrug.
"Yeah, hopefully."
>Indigo stubs out his cigarette against the wall, dropping it to the floor and stepping on it to make sure it's out.
>Lifting himself off the wall, he stretches his shoulders and neck, seemingly amping himself up to go back to work.
>Just as you stub your own cigarette out and start to follow him inside, the door slams open with enough force to almost make it fly off it's hinges.
>"Anon?!"
>Ah.
"Hey, Pinkie."
>She smiles upon seeing you behind Indigo, who greets her and steps inside.
>"I've been looking for you everywhere, jeez! Hey, you've already got your coat on, that's great!"
>You raise a brow.
"Why?"
>"Mrs. Cake let me go early for the day, and she's letting you go too! Isn't that great?"
>It comes to you as a surprise, but you're not going to complain.
"S- sure."
>Within the next second, Pinkie gets her own coat on and steps out, closing the door behind her.
>"So, what're you gonna do now?"
>You scratch your head, unsure yourself of what you planned to do after this, walking to the end of the alley with Pinkie.
"I don't know, really. Maybe head back home, sleep a while."
>She elbows you lightly in the side, giggling.
>"That's no fun. Sleeping's for nighttime, dummy."
"Well, when you have to stay up as much as I do, daytime's a great time to nap."
>Walking along the road to a bus stop, Pinkie halts and looks at the times.
>After scouring the board a minute, she sighs and facepalms.
>You walk up behind her, trying to see what got such a reaction out of her.
"What's wrong?"
>"There isn't another bus for a whole hour."
>You suck air through your teeth.
"Damn, that sucks. What're you gonna do?"
>Pinkie does a small pouty-cry, throwing her head from side to side.
>"That's so looong. It's all because I got off earlyy."
>Her mini-meltdown is amusing to watch, as the hope slowly wanes from her eyes, but you manage to come up with an idea.
"Hey, you know, I've got to do a shop for food anyways, so if your bus isn't for another hour... I don't know."
>Pinkie stops her pouting and looks to you, looking around your face as you look away, scratching your neck.
"Wanna come waste some time with me?"
>Again, you look to the floor, unsure of what to do with yourself until you have a reply.
>It's not like you're asking her out, Anon.
>You're just... trying to be nice.
>Wait.
>But she might not.
>Crap.
>You have to find a way to let her know you're not asking in that w-
>"C'mon, silly, let's go!"
>You look back up, shooting your head back at the voice.
>Turns out Pinkie's headed off to the town by herself, waiting for you 10 meters away and waving you over.
>You shake your head, jogging your way up to her.
>Both of you make your way to the town centre, talking about whatever comes to Pinkie's mind at that particular moment.
>Pinkie stops walking once you get to the centre of town, a circular open space surrounded on all sides by buildings, shops of every nature.
>Ponyville isn't large enough to have it's own mall, but this is the closest thing it's got.
>If anyone ever want to do proper high-life shopping, they go to Canterlot.
>Which you haven't been to yet, funnily enough.
>"So, what do you need to buy?"
>You look to Pinkie, and then all around you at the various doors.
>Crap, what //did// you need.
>You really should have gone upstairs and looked at what you had.
>But then again, you weren't planning on going shopping.
>Or taking Pinkie with you.
"I'm sure I'll remember when I get inside."
>You walk in through the large glass doors of the building in front of you, coming face to face with the largest grocery store Ponyville has to offer.
>Now you just gotta find a way to get enough food to last you till the end of the month, and keep it under budget.
>Again, your mind travels back to Sunday night, the fateful evening at which you were robbed of all you were worth.
>A sigh escapes you as realisation hits you in waves.
>At this rate, you can probably only afford pasta and rice, maybe some frozen chicken.
>"What's wrong?"
>You look up, Pinkie holding a basket in either hand, placing one in yours.
>Walking with her, you go straight to the dry foods aisle, not wanting to tempt yourself with other foods.
>Budget, Anon.
>Ah, there it is.
>Your lifesaver.
>A kilogram of pasta, a bag big enough to last you the month.
>You won't enjoy it, but at least you won't go hungry.
>You place it in your basket, and for once it's Pinkie that gives you the quizzical look, not the other way around.
>She has her own food in her basket, various little trinkets, some of which you can't recognise.
>Damn, she's got fruit too.
>How long has it been since you've had a fruit?
>There was that tomato like two weeks ago.
>That's all you really need, right?
>Looking down at your basket and then glancing at Pinkie's, either she's over-buying, or you're under-buying.
>A part of you thinks it's the latter.
>Ah well.
>While waiting in line for the customer in front of you to pass, Pinkie chimes in.
>"Is- is that all you're getting?"
>She points down at your basket in confused disbelief.
"Yeah, pretty much."
>She scratches her head, probably wondering if you're playing a joke on her or not.
>"Didn't you say you had no food at home?"
"It's not like I had //nothing//. I just needed some base essentials, you know?"
>She still looks confused, but drops the subject once you start laying your items out on the conveyor.
>You pay with your card, feeling a little part of your soul leave as the digital money escapes your grasp.
>Who designed humans to require sustenance in the form of food? And so much of the damn stuff?
>That was a very bad idea.
>Pinkie takes about 8 times longer to lay all her items out and pay for them, just due to the sheer bulk.
>You shove your food in with her bags to save space, offering to carry everything at least to the bus stop.
>She insists that you don't need to, but you ignore it.
>Might as well do arm day this way, right?
>You leave the store, cold air re-introducing itself very quickly.
>"That didn't take too long. How many minutes do you think I have left?"
>You guesstimate.
"Thirty?"
>Pinkie checks her phone, seeing that she's still got a good 25 minutes until the bus comes.
>With the weather being the way it is, you'd hate to just leave her sitting out on her own at a bus stop.
>And you sure as hell don't wanna wait outside in the cold to keep her company, either.
>What could you do?
>Go back in into the-
>Oh, right.
>You live here.
"Pinkie, wait."
>She stops walking and stands in front of you, listening.
"Would you mind if I went up to drop my stuff off before we wait for your bus? We're right here, anyways."
>"You live here?"
>Craning your neck to the side, you motion over to an offshoot road across the street.
"Right past there."
>Once she realises where you're vaguely motioning, she trots off in that direction without a second beat.
>This girl...
>She waits for you across the road, and skips around down the smaller street towards your apartment.
>Skipping her way right past it, you have to call her back towards you as you unlock the door.
>"Right here? No wonder you didn't need a ride back yesterday!"
>You shrug.
>Now for the hard part.
>This apartment of yours is on the third floor, and there's no elevator.
>It's hard enough with just you doing it, but now that you're carrying 20kg worth of foodstuffs...
>Here goes nothing.
>You let Pinkie go first, telling her that it's the third floor on the left.
>Going up two steps at a time, she's gone by the time you manage to get everything into your hands.
>Don't make yourself look weak in front of a chick, Anon.
>Making it up one flight, you carry on the second without rest.
>Maybe you can do it all really quickly and then you won't get tired while still do-
>Alright, nooope.
>You stop at the bottom of the third flight, trying to control your breathing.
>These stairs wouldn't be all bad, really.
>But they twirl, and whoever built them must have been damn cock-eyed.
>Each step is a different height.
>It led to a helluva lotta near faceplants back when you first moved in.
>You're just shocked Pinkie didn't fall.
>Speaking of, while looking up, you see Pinkie leaning over the railing down at you, a big gleaming smile on her face.
>"Come on Anon, what's taking you so long?"
>You shake your head, rolling your shoulders and making your way up the third and final flight of stairs.
>Which are the worst ones, in terms of height fluctuation.
>Just your luck.
>Steadying yourself a few times, you make it up and try gently lower the bags to the ground, relieved at the freedom you feel on your shoulders.
>"Glad you made it up here soldier."
>She makes you chuckle amidst a few heaving breaths.
>Controlling it, you dig for your keys and unlock the door, pushing it open and picking up the bags again.
>As soon as Pinkie walks in, she looks into every room you've got.
>Not that you've got many, considering it's a pretty small apartment.
>Pulling all of the bags onto your kitchen counter, you hear Pinkie's voice come from your living room.
>"I gotta say Anon, I didn't expect you to bring me back to your place so quickly."
>As soon as your brain registers the comment, all your joints lock up and you feel yourself suddenly get very heated.
>Shit.
>Not now, spaghetti.
>Please, any time but now.
>Merely about half a second before you short circuit, blowing all the anti- spaghetti fuses you've cultivated over the years post the dark ages of puberty, Pinkie sticks her head around the corner with a sheepish grin on her face.
>"Juust kidding!"
>An invisible load leaps off your back, and you breathe in the scent of non- spaghetti.
>Today is a good day.
>You start to put away your groceries, opening various cupboards and drawers in your kitchen.
>After you put the frozen chicken away, Pinkie startles you as you close the freezer door.
"Jesus, Pinkie, you terrified me."
>She just giggles.
>"So,  did you get everything you needed?"
>Not really.
>But you wouldn't want to complain.
"I suppose. I'll just do another shop when I've got the money."
>"Got the money?"
>She looks confused.
"'Cause uh... The whole dinner thing."
>Her face doesn't change expression until a good three seconds later, when she starts nodding with a loud "Oooooooooh."
"Yeah."
>Suddenly she rests her elbow on your shoulder, which is odd to say the least, considering the height difference between the two of you.
>Craning her arm up like that can't be comfortable.
>"What'cha got in here then?"
>Pinkie throws open the fridge door, spying at everything inside.
>Not that there's much to look at.
>And you think that she's thinking the same exact thing.
>"W- wait. Is this... everything in your fridge?"
>This is more embarrassing than you thought.
>Dropping her arm off of your shoulder, Pinkie ducks down and opens drawers and cupboards checking them all for some secret food stash.
>She grows increasingly impatient with every one, hope seemingly waning.
>After she gets to the last cupboard she stops, glares at you in a craze-addled confusion and starts again, this time going backwards.
>As if it was all an illusion and she just missed the mountaintops of food that you have hidden away.
>The reason you would have hidden your food?
>No idea.
>But Pinkie seems keen on finding out if you did.
>Again, she finds herself at the end of the cupboards, finishing with the freezer and fridge.
>You lightly close them, feeling zero resistance from her hand as you do so.
"Find what you were looking for?"
>There's no response.
>"Anon..."
>Is it possible to physically //see// mental instability?
>It looks kind of grey.
>"Where is your FOOD?!"
>Pinkie glares at you with the last word, shooting daggers at you.
>What is she freaking out for?
>It's not like the restaurant debacle has had //that// big of an impact on your budget.
>Sure, you can't go out with Flash and have a few pints, and you can't order out, but everything in here is pretty much the same.
>You will admit though, she is damn scary when she wants to be.
"I don't know what you mean."
>Pinkie stands frozen, processing your words.
"P- Pin-"
>Running her hands through her hair, scruffing the poof to be extra poofy, she sighs.
>"When was the last time you had something other than pasta?"
>Hm.
"Well, technically on Sunday when I was wi-"
>"I mean at home. When was the last time you made something other than pasta."
>Now that one's gonna take some thinking.
"I ma-"
>"Or rice."
>Silence.
"I got nothin'."
>Pinkie glares at you again, this time more out of pity than confusion or anger.
>Hopelessness.
>"Tch."
"Oi."
>She places one of her hands on your shoulder, grasping it firmly.
>She places the other on her forehead, unable to retain eye-contact with you any longer.
>"I- I'm sorry, Anon. I didn't realise that you- you lived like this. Is this a cry for help? Is that why you called me up here?"
>She continues monologuing in hushed tones,  but you can't find the energy to listen to the rest of it and just zone out until she's done.
>"We can help you Anon, but first you have to admit that- that... That you have a problem."
"Who's 'we'?"
>And with that, Pinkie crumbles to her knees, defeated.
>"I'm sorry Grandma Pie, it looks like I've failed. I couldn't help this poor soul, forgive me."
>You stare at her, hunched over with her head in her hands, speaking with her 'Grandma Pie'.
"If you wanna start communing with the dead I'd rather you didn't do it in my apartment. I want the full deposit back."
>Another couple moments of mumbles from Pinkie and she shoots up, almost upper-cutting you in the process.
>"I've got it!"
>Got it?
>"Don't worry Anon, I'll help you!"
"Again, I don't need help."
>Her grin is back, along with a new-found fire in her eyes.
>"We'll see what you say about that once I'm through with you!"
>She boops you on the nose quite hard and rolls up her sweater sleeves.
>Dramatically cracking her knuckles, she begins.