Anon, Underwater Ceramics Expert


                                            (By DishWasherAnon)


                                            >Ponies simply hate doing the dishes.

                                            >This has extended to the horse restaurant industry.

                                            >It's gotten so bad to the point of where instead of actually washing them in-house, it's all either disposable utensils & plates, or all of the dishes are sent out to be washed elsewhere to private companies.

                                            >Usually the places that are big enough to afford it do so, but a large majority of restaurants in Equestria lack the money to do it.

                                            >This is due to the "Mom & Pop" nature of establishments of areas outside of Canterlot.

                                            >Those who WANT to do the dishes, are few and far between, and there are even less so who excel at it.

                                            >Thus, dishwashing is seen as a job for those who are struggling and have no option.

                                            >In pony land, unless your business was big, you were forced to do the grueling task of handling dishes every night.

                                            >Pony dishwasher turnover is the worst out of all industries in Equestria.


                                            >You are Anon, and you're looking to get a job.

                                            >Back in homeworld, you've been working in restaurants since you could even remember.

                                            >God damned job markets forcing your college-aged ass to cook.

                                            >Unfortunately most places here in pony world just won't hire line cooks right off the bat, so your options are somewhat limited.

                                            >"Sorry, we already have enough cooks!"

                                            >Fucking ponies doubting your skills of deep frying and grilling shit.

                                            >This time, you're back to square one. You have to wash dishes.

                                            >You're not completely adverse to the idea, you've always been good at it.

                                            >But you shudder to imagine the lack of bluetooth speakers blasting obscure 80s synthpop to keep you company.

                                            >But a man must do what a man must do.

                                            >You found a somewhat busy establishment in Ponyville, called "Dinny's!"

                                            >As you approach the door, a sad, wet, and angry pony storms out, brushing by you in a huff.

                                            >"I'm never going to wash dishes again! This is poo poo!"

                                            >Looks like a job is now available.

                                            >You walk in with a grin, knowing that you guaranteed have a place to work.

                                            >You've been in this strange land for a little while now, and now it's time for you to engage in participating in society.

                                            >The place is currently in a lull between the lunch and dinner rushes, so the place isn't particularly busy at the moment.

                                            >You walk up to the counter, and encounter a mare running it.

                                            >"Hi! Welcome to Dinny's! Are you going to be dining in with us today?"

                                            "No, actually. Can I speak to a manager?"

                                            >The color drains from the mare's face.

                                            >The mare is clearly worried that she did something wrong.

                                            >"Did I do something wrong? Am I a bad pony?" she squeaks.

                                            >You laugh.

                                            "No, I'm looking for a job here."

                                            >The color quickly regains in the mare's face, as she lets out a massive sigh.

                                            >"Phew! Okay!"

                                            >She clops her two hooves together.

                                            >"Let me go get my manager!"

                                            >You appreciate that in this world, there are no such things as "online portals" because there's no internet, and meeting people face to face is a whole lot more straightforward.

                                            >The mare runs to the back, and a minute later the manager walks out.

                                            >"Hello! You must be the human in town, what's your name?"

                                            "Anonymous."

                                            >"Is it okay if I call you Anon?"

                                            "Sure."


                                            >The manager is a mare that's somewhat pink with a light blue mane & tail, and you notice some grey hairs mixed in there.

                                            >There's definitely a wrinkle or two on her face, and her little pony body is definitely in the stages of transitioning between normal mare and old hag mare.

                                            >"Oh, how rude of me! I haven't told you who I am. My name is Palette Dinny!"

                                            "Like the name of this place?"

                                            >"Yes sir! This restaurant has been in my family for quite some time now, and I'm the current owner."

                                            >You take a peek at her rump and see what appears to be a printed out schedule for a cutie mark.

                                            >Guess management runs in the family.

                                            "That's neat! So this place has some history in it. I've worked in family owned restaurants before."

                                            >"Oh, really?" Palette says.

                                            "Yeah. I've been everything from a busboy to a line cook."

                                            >"That's great to hear! Unfortunately we don't have any cook positions open at the moment..."

                                            "That's okay. I couldn't help but notice what I think was your dishwasher walking out. I'd like to wash your dishes for you."

                                            >Palette is shocked.

                                            >"Are you in a bad place at the moment? We would love to have you but we understand if it gets too tough for you... a lot of ponies can't handle it more than a few days."

                                            >Seriously? A few days? It can't be THAT bad, can it?

                                            "I've washed dishes for some busy places in my life, how bad could it be?"

                                            >"W-well, if you think you're up to it, Anon, you're more than welcome to work here! Would you come to my office so I can give you a proper interview?"

                                            "Alrighty then."

                                            >You and Palette go to her office, a small little room with a desk and a filing cabinet.

                                            >On the desk is what appears to be some accounting information, and an employee schedule.

                                            >There is a garbage bin in the corner with what appears to be multiple employee files in it.

                                            "So, uh, how many dishwashers have you had come through here?"

                                            >Palette scrunches her nose, and puts a hoof to her forehead and starts rubbing slowly.

                                            >"We, uh, have had about 30 come and go in the past six months."

                                            >Your eyes widen at this information.

                                            "You're kidding me, right? 30 in the past six MONTHS?"

                                            >"You see, Anon, you see, dishwashing is not for the faint of heart. Most ponies do it because they have to while they're holding out for a better job."

                                            >"We've actually got the lowest turnover rate in town, so we're doing pretty fine!"

                                            >The LOWEST?

                                            >IN TOWN?

                                            >Palette explains that working for a living is tough!

                                            >She interviews you, asks about your experience, and seems pretty happy to have you there.

                                            >"Anon, you seem to be qualified for a position as a chef in Canterlot! Why are you coming here to work for us?"

                                            >You're a college age fast casual cook.

                                            "The dishes beckon, and I am their reckoning."


                                            >Palette swallows.

                                            >"Would you be okay starting out as a part time dishwasher?"

                                            "How many hours would that bring me?"

                                            >"I don't know if you know this, but part time here in Equestria is a max of 8 hours a week, silly!"

                                            "Only 8 hours?"

                                            >Palette looks confused.

                                            >"What do you mean only?"

                                            "Part time where I'm from is a max of like, 30 or 35 hours depending on the location. Anything above that is full-time."

                                            >Palette somehow trips, and catches herself yet standing still.

                                            >"T-that is just crazy, Anon! You can't tell me that you came from a place where part time is TWICE what full time is here!"

                                            >Seeing ponies get exasperated brings you much joy.

                                            >You lean in.

                                            "Can I start full-time?"


                                            >One thing led to another and here you are in the dish pit.

                                            >You said you could start today and finish up whatever's left.

                                            >The pay isn't glamorous, but it is what you'd expect from such a job.

                                            >You're also surprised to learn that 15 hours is considered full-time work.

                                            >You agreed to 20 hours because money is good, and only washing dishes for 20 hours isn't bad at all.

                                            >You look at the dish pit to notice that there isn't a whole lot.

                                            >It's a standard 3 sink system, with soak, rinse, and sanitize.

                                            >The middle sink has the traditional sprayer used for knocking shit loose.

                                            >All in all, a good setup, and good for what you do.

                                            >Pony size stuff pisses you off however, and the sink is lower than what you're used to.

                                            >You ponder, and come to a quick solution.

                                            >You look around for a bit and find a milk crate.

                                            >You put the milk crate down in front of the sink.

                                            >That's right, motherfucker.

                                            >Sittin' and dishin' like no one else has done before.

                                            >You let your pony coworkers know to just throw the dishes in the wash sink.

                                            "I don't care if you think it's mean, throw 'em in there!"

                                            >Soon, the soak sink is full and it is time for you to begin your journey.

                                            >You grab the first dish in the left hand, a typical pony entree-sized dish.

                                            >Good for one human slice of cake.

                                            >Easy.

                                            >It begins.


                                            >4 hours later, and the business is closed.

                                            >Apparently restaurants close at eight.

                                            >You thank the heavenly gods above for putting you in a land where 24/7 restaurants isn't even a concept imagined by any living being.

                                            >It's also a nice thing being an average height human in teeny tiny pony land, because everything is within reach of you.

                                            >You rarely have to get up at all, you find.

                                            >You simply put the dishes on the rack as they're washed.

                                            >You don't even think you broke a sweat.

                                            >The dinner rush came and went, and you were never behind.

                                            >It's a Friday, for christ's sake!

                                            >There should have been more trouble than this, but no!

                                            >"Hey Anon! You're doing a great job so far!" Palette says.

                                            "This isn't bad at all! I don't know what you were talking about."

                                            >Palette giggles.

                                            >"Well, at the rate you do dishes, we should be able to be home by nine! Fantastic!"

                                            >The final bit of kitchenware and other ceramics are placed in your soak sink.

                                            >"This is the final bit! After this, we're all good to go!"

                                            >Palette starts rambling on about how nice it is to have such a fantastic worker under her command, or some shit nobody cares about.

                                            >It only took you 5 minutes to clear the sink and put everything on the drying racks.

                                            "I think that's it."

                                            >You interrupted Palette.

                                            >"-and I think you have a shot at being the first dishwasher to last for more than- hey! It's rude to interr- huh? You're done?"

                                            "Look at it yourself. Sinks are empty, and cleaned. Got all the particulate through the drain, all the dishes put up. I think we are good to go."

                                            >Palette is shocked. She looks at the clock on the wall, looks at you, then back to the clock.

                                            >"I, uh, w-wha? Huh? It's only 8:07!"

                                            >You turn to her.

                                            "By the way, when's payday?"


                                            >Day 3 of washing dishes in Equestria.

                                            >You're getting into the groove now.

                                            >You are supposed work 5 days a week, 4 hours a day.

                                            >And you're making a living wage!

                                            >And you get 2 whole days off!

                                            >2 DAYS OFF!

                                            >The ponies in this town have long since gotten used to having you around.

                                            >Some even are starting to respect you a little bit more now that you're contributing to society.

                                            >No more crashing at shelters and shit, you think you should be able to have a place to call your own soon enough.

                                            >Your coworkers are slightly afraid of you.

                                            >Who wouldn't be afraid of a being that is capable of doing menial dishwashing?

                                            >One of the server mares comes up to you, 2 hours into your 4 hour shift.

                                            >You don't know her name but she sure is kind of yellow.

                                            >"Hey Anon, how come you're able to stick your..."

                                            "Hand?"

                                            >"Yes! Right! Hand in the soapy water? It's too hot!"

                                            >You look at the soak sink.

                                            >"Whenever it's just been filled, I'm so scared to even put stuff in because sometimes it just makes a splash and then I get that super hot water on me!"

                                            >You raise your hand.

                                            "It's simple, really."

                                            >The soak sink is freshly filled up.

                                            "I just take my hand,"

                                            >You aim your hand at the sink.

                                            "And..."

                                            >You dive your hand in with a movement so quick, not even making a single splash. A perfect dive.

                                            >The yellow serverhorse flinches.

                                            >Your hand is submerged in the somewhat hot water.

                                            >The yellow serverhorse is now breathing quite heavily.

                                            >"Y-you don't even have any fur! H-how?"

                                            "I dunno, man. I'm built different."

                                            >The day continues.

                                            >...

                                            >And now the day is ending soon.

                                            >Yellow serverhorse brought some of the other staff along with her.

                                            >You now have a small group of ponies watching you as you're blazing through dishes like nopony has done before.

                                            >"I haven't seen anypony work that fast!"

                                            >"How is he able to do that?"

                                            >"...good thoughts, no bad thoughts, good pony... be a good pony..."

                                            >Yellow serverhorse speaks up to you.

                                            >"Hey Anon, show everypony what you showed me earlier!"


                                            >You lazily put your hand in the hot soapy water sink.

                                            >You get a few surprised gasps, and then some cheers.

                                            >"Wow! He sure is tough to be able to do that!"

                                            >"I'd hate to mess with him!"

                                            >"Hey Anon how'd you do that?"

                                            >Yellow serverhorse turns to her fellow horsey workers.

                                            >"See? He just tells me he's built different or something like that! It's amazing!"

                                            >This praise leaves you feeling content.

                                            >Another pony speaks up.

                                            >"So, Anon, when are you going to quit?"

                                            >You freeze.

                                            "What do you mean, quit?"

                                            >"W-well, we haven't had a dishwasher go at it like you have, so you must be feeling pretty burnt out, right?"

                                            "What do you mean? I haven't even got started."

                                            >You get a couple more gasps.

                                            >Exasperated ponies leave you much joy.

                                            >"You're not going to be leaving us?"

                                            "Not until someone starts paying me more to go wash their dishes, no."

                                            >You get a couple of cheers from that.

                                            >"Yay! We have a dishwasher that's good at his job!"

                                            >This is laughably easy.


                                            >You finish up for the day, and head off to wherever it is that you reside.

                                            >You figure this is the part of the story that talks about how you live when you're not currently working or interacting with technicolor horses.

                                            >You go to your hobo spot under a bridge.

                                            >Since coming here, you haven't had much opportunity to do much and you've made yourself a cozy little campsite under a bridge that goes over a small stream.

                                            >This bridge is located on the outskirts of the town that is called Ponyville.

                                            >It's big enough for you and a tent, plus a campfire for whatever flammable needs you may have.

                                            >You've been living like this for a couple of months now, and it's surprisingly comfy.

                                            >Since this is a land of magical horseshit, there's no such things as unpleasant nights.

                                            >You can't even remember a time where it rained at night here.

                                            >Must be something about how pegasi control the weather or some shit.

                                            >You strip, wash up in the stream of brilliantly clear water, and cosy on up in your tent for the night.

                                            >You wake up in the morning, an easy task set forth in this pony land.

                                            >Birds are singing, sun is shining, and brother,

                                            >You hurt people.

                                            >Not really, you haven't been able to perform your acts of moderate human violence in this world.

                                            >Mostly because you don't want to be put in prison, and end up brainwashed like the rest of them.

                                            >At least, that's what you think goes on.

                                            >You don't know much.

                                            >All you know is that ponies here are childish, and that your pubes are growing a considerable amount.

                                            >You make a mental note to find a sharp object of some kind so you can tame the jungle one of these days.

                                            >You splash water on your face from the nearby stream.

                                            >You also have to handle your clothing situation sooner or later.

                                            >The only things that came from your world were the clothes on your back.

                                            >Washing the same set of clothing gets tiring after a while.

                                            >It may be the morning, but with your work schedule you only go in right before the dinner rush starts.

                                            >Every time you enter the establishment you are greeted by the sight of dishes piled up haphazardly.

                                            >There are no morning dishwashers in that place.

                                            >That's probably because you're the only dishwasher.

                                            >You're just glad your hands haven't melted away from the constant submersion, but they're still there due to the short length of your shifts.

                                            >You figure that's enough sitting around on your ass, and you also figure it's time to head into town to get into some Anon debauchery.

                                            >You don your white t-shirt and jeans, buckle your belt, slip on your socks, and then put on your shoes.

                                            >It's go time.


                                            >The shitty morning part of the story is now over.

                                            >You are strolling at a leisurely pace.

                                            >Just as luck would have it, there is now a pony behind you.

                                            >"Move faster, please! You're interrupting my trotty time!" the pony cries out.

                                            >The path is wide enough for two living beings to walk side-by-side.

                                            "Can't you just pass me?"

                                            >"No! You have to get out of the way!" the pony says.

                                            >Judging from the tone and pitch of the voice, you assume that it is a mare.

                                            >This may be the same mare that's been harassing your ass every time you take this path.

                                            "Look, missy, there's more than enough space for the two of us here. Just pass, please."

                                            >"NO! I WANT YOU TO GET OUT OF THE WAY NOW!"

                                            >Excuse you?

                                            >You stop and turn around.

                                            >Your towering height over the little pony becomes obvious as you notice your shadow completely covering the little shit.

                                            "You overtake on the left."

                                            >"I want to go faster!"

                                            "Then just pass me!"

                                            >"No! I want this side!"

                                            >Jesus Christ.

                                            >You scratch the back of your head.

                                            >This is always the deal with this one.

                                            >You wonder if this were Earth, this would be the asshole always tailgating you in the slow lane.

                                            >You figure the best option at this point is the simplest one.

                                            >You do a pose, arms reached out.

                                            "Boo!"

                                            >"T-that won't work on me this time! I know you're just a slowpoke who wants to ruin my morning routine!"

                                            "Screw off, then."

                                            >The mare starts babbling incoherently at this sign of aggression, clearly not used to such foul language.

                                            >You continue your jaunt as normal.


                                            >Fast forward to working time, you show up to Dinny's for your usual bout of washing the dishes.

                                            >You duck your head before walking in.

                                            >Pony doors aren't as big as human doors.

                                            >As you walk in through the front door, you are greeted by a couple of your coworkers.

                                            >There is a certain mare sitting at a table nearby...

                                            >Is that?

                                            >The ass-riding mare?

                                            >She notices you, and her expression sours.

                                            >Not your problem.

                                            >Wanting to avoid conflict, you head into the back to start working.


                                            >Washing dishes

                                            >Washing dishes

                                            >Washing dishes while on the clock, yeah!

                                            >You find yourself in your peaceful state of mind, the new dishes to be washed coming in, the clink and clank of the dishes...

                                            >There's a simple beauty about it.

                                            >Too bad you just ran out of dishes to wash.

                                            >It's a Monday now.

                                            >The restaurant simply isn't as busy as other days.

                                            >Days like these make you thankful you have a nice little milk crate to hunch down on.

                                            >Instead of wasting time and energy standing, you're chilling in front of the dish pit.

                                            >You miss restaurant-grade dishwashing machines from your old world.

                                            >Those were cool as hell.

                                            >Oh, would you look at that!

                                            >It's yellow serverhorse!

                                            "How's it hanging, yellow serverhorse?"

                                            >Yellow serverhorse looks concerned.

                                            >"I have a name, Anon! My name is-"

                                            >You didn't hear her name as new dishes are tossed in your soak sink.

                                            >Some hot water splashed up, and just as it was about to splash yellow serverhorse a tiny bit, you raise your arm to block it.

                                            >The water harmlessly drips off your forearm.

                                            >Yellow serverhorse looks flushed.

                                            >"Wow, Anon! That was quick! Thank you!"

                                            "Call it reflexes, I remember you telling me about not liking the hot water."

                                            >Yellow serverhorse is breathing a little heavier than usual.

                                            >She forgets about telling you her name, and then goes back to the front to go about her duties.

                                            >You hear Palette requesting you to grab something from the back and bring it up front.

                                            >You go and grab said thing, silverware, and put it where it's supposed to be.

                                            >Out the corner of your eye, you see that ass-riding mare is still at her table.

                                            >You notice that she has some dishes that are empty in front of her.

                                            >Time for some uncomfortable helpfulness.

                                            >You approach ass-riding mare with a smile on your face.

                                            "Hey, mind if I take these dishes off your hands... hooves for you?"

                                            >Ass-riding mare sits there, wide-eyed, looking at you.

                                            >Her cheeks are somewhat red.

                                            >"S-sure. Okay. Go ahead." she says.

                                            >You take the dishes, and go back.


                                            >The rest of the night passes by uneventfully.

                                            >The final bout of dishes and kitchenware hits you right at closing time, and you knock that out quick.

                                            >Palette approaches you.

                                            >"You know, Anon, we haven't had a dishwasher as good as you before! I just wanted to give you my praise before you go!"

                                            >Aw, shit.

                                            >You're getting complimented.

                                            >You're a good worker.

                                            >Atta boy.

                                            >Spirits are officially raised now.

                                            "That means a lot, Palette! I'll see you tomorrow."

                                            >Palette smiles.

                                            >"Oh, right. Anon, I'm not here every day! There are going to be some days where you won't have me here. There is another manager that works here, and I'm sure you'll like him a lot!"

                                            >Another manager you say?

                                            "Another manager? Who is he?"

                                            >"Why, he's a pony that takes his job very seriously! A hard worker like you would love him!"

                                            >You've heard that line too many times before.

                                            >A manager that takes the job seriously.

                                            >You're positive something's going to happen despite your eagerness to wash dishes.

                                            "By the way, when's payday?"

                                            >"Tomorrow! We're closed tomorrow, but I'll be here in the morning handing everypony their pay. I assume you'll be coming by?"

                                            "Yup."

                                            >You decide to worry about this other manager later, and head back home to your troll bridge.

                                            >Everything is like you had it before.

                                            >Nobody's man enough to touch your stuff, let alone take anything.

                                            >Not like you have anything of value anyway.

                                            >As you drift off to sleep under that tent of yours, you ponder about how you're going to spend your money.


                                            >The next day, you head straight to the restaurant.

                                            >Apparently, since Tuesdays and Wednesdays aren't the busiest in this part of town, the restaurant is closed.

                                            >Gives the poor souls some time to rest from their jobs.

                                            >You ponder how anyone in this land even keeps their job.

                                            >Probably communism or something.

                                            >You are now at the restaurant!

                                            >You walk right in through the front doors, or at least try to.

                                            >You bumped your head on the door frame.


                                            >Ouch!

                                            >You can feel a slight bump in your forehead, but it's nothing too bad.

                                            >You've hit your head before.

                                            >However, this was unknown information to the ponies currently inside the building.

                                            >These ponies were your coworkers.

                                            >Right as you hit your head, everyone gasps.

                                            >"Anon! Are you okay?" yellow serverhorse yips as she runs close to your side.

                                            >You're rubbing the spot on your head.

                                            "Yeah, I'm fine, just a bump. Gotta watch out for those doors."

                                            >Yellow serverhorse is on the verge of tears.

                                            >Everyone else is on the verge of tears.

                                            >Palette is on the verge of tears.

                                            >Palette speaks up.

                                            >"Oh, Celestia! Anon, you don't have to act tough, we've all had booboos before!"

                                            >Everyone in the room surrounds you, hugging your legs, talking of "Ouchies!" and variations of "Are you okay?"


                                            >The next thing that happens leaves you really confused.

                                            >You're now trapped in a horde of ponies hugging you, saying it's going to be okay.

                                            >Everyone but you is crying.

                                            >Why...

                                            >Why is everyone crying?

                                            >"NOT ANON! NOT OUR POOR DISHPONY! HE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS PAIN!" you hear one of your coworkers shout.

                                            "G-guys, I'm, uh, fine."

                                            >A symphony of crying and wailing surrounds you.

                                            >"We feel your pain, Anon! Let it out! It's okay! Do you need a doctor?" yellow serverhorse says, huffing from the tears flowing down her face.

                                            >The only reason you hear her at all is because she practically shouted that at you.

                                            >You'd have to raise your voice to get heard over the crying.

                                            >What a strange sight!

                                            >Ponies cuddled up to your legs, crying because you got hurt, and you're stuck here because there's about 20 of them here.

                                            >The floor is a crying mass of technicolor.

                                            >You think of what your dad would say if he saw you in this predicament.

                                            >After a few minutes, ponies still sniffling, the group of miniature horses let go.

                                            >Palette, recovering slightly, makes an announcement.

                                            >"Alright, everypony. I'm so proud of you for showing your support to Anon. Let's give him his first pay!"


                                            >Cheers fill the room, with somehow everyone forgetting that they were just crying moment prior.

                                            >What's the deal with groups in this world and cheering at everything?

                                            >You're standing there dumbfounded.

                                            >Palette hands you a pouch with a bunch of gold coins in it.

                                            >"Anon, you've earned this! Thank you for what you're doing for us!"

                                            >The crowd of ponies nod and "uh huh!" in agreement.

                                            "Uh... thanks. I'll be back to wash dishes for you when we're open."

                                            >Everyone is happy now.

                                            "Guess I better get going, then."

                                            >"Where are you going Anon? Don't you want to hang out with us for a little while? Payday's my favorite day because I get to talk to my coworkers and not worry about my duties!" yellow serverhorse says to you.

                                            "I'd love to, but I need to get home and count this out."

                                            >Palette speaks up.

                                            >"If you need anything Anon, just let us know! And be sure to stop by the doctor to get your booboo checked out!"

                                            >Heh, booboo.

                                            "I'll be sure to."

                                            >As you turn to walk out the door, there's a burning question in your mind that must be answered.

                                            "Oh, before I leave, Palette?"

                                            >Palette turns to you.

                                            >"Yes, Anon?"

                                            "When's payday?"


                                            >You get home after confirming to your manager that you don't have memory loss from hitting your head.

                                            >You just keep forgetting when payday is.

                                            >And names.

                                            >You're not good with names.

                                            >You sit down in front of your tent, and start counting the coins.

                                            >Yup, these are golden bits, alright.

                                            >You're not sure how valuable they are compared to the superior currency (USD) but you assume they're close to a dollar from the times you've used them.

                                            >After counting, you find that you have earned 300 bits.

                                            >Not bad, for like, 4 days of work?

                                            >Wait a minute...

                                            >This appears to be the highest paid job.

                                            >You think you're making close to...

                                            >Fuck

                                            >300 divided by four...

                                            >That number divided by four...

                                            >ALMOST 19 BITS AN HOUR?

                                            >THAT'S LIKE, A GOOD JOB AND SHIT.

                                            >Can...

                                            >Can you afford a new home?

                                            >No more living in a tent under a bridge?


                                            >Hell no!

                                            >Bridge life is the best life!

                                            >But, you do miss having a floor to walk on.

                                            >You also miss having a sink...

                                            >A washing machine...

                                            >Basic utilities...

                                            >Time to go find a place.

                                            >You might be able to rent a room somewhere, but you're not too keen on living with room mates.

                                            >You think you'll just have an easier time piling up your money for now.

                                            >You jerry-rig the pouch of money to your belt, tying it to your hip's belt loop.

                                            >First, before you even consider moving in somewhere, you're going to find some fucking luxury.

                                            >Luxury like a bar to drink in.

                                            >You know of one place...


                                            >You travel a distance across town to a location.

                                            >You're pretty sure it's a saloon-type thing, you walk in and are greeted by the sight of a bar, stools, and a relatively empty room.

                                            >There's a couple of ponies here and there sitting in booths by the walls, and there isn't anyone at the bar itself.

                                            >Perfect.

                                            >You take a seat, and the bartender pony takes notice of you.

                                            >"Welcome to our bar! I haven't seen you around. What can I getcha?" the bartender asks.

                                            >You examine the bartender.

                                            >Male, grey coat, black mane, and an older gentleman.

                                            "What's the strongest stuff you got?"

                                            >"The strongest stuff? We do have some Sweet Apple Acres cider."

                                            "Cider? How strong is it?"

                                            >"A single mug is usually enough to get somepony a buzz, if you're up to that."

                                            >Might not be that bad.

                                            "Yeah, I'll have a mug."

                                            >"Comin' right up!"

                                            >You look away only for a second, to be startled by a mug being placed right in front of you.

                                            >This...

                                            >This is only like, 10 fluid ounces by your estimate.

                                            >Still, alcohol is alcohol, and you must scratch that itch.

                                            >You take a sip.

                                            >And are immediately disappointed.

                                            >You're not even sure this is alcohol.

                                            "Hey man, you sure something isn't off about this?"

                                            >The bartender looks at you funny, then chuckles.

                                            >"Why? Too strong for you sonny?"

                                            >You take another swig.

                                            "This isn't strong at all."

                                            >The bartender's face goes neutral, and then concerned.


                                            >"Well, that can't be right. This is fresh from the barrel."

                                            >The bartender pours some out in a small glass from the barrel mounted behind him, and pours himself a little bit.

                                            >He drinks from the glass, and then looks at you.

                                            >"Son, I don't know what you're on about, but this is perfectly normal."

                                            >What?

                                            "You're telling me this has alcohol in it?"

                                            >His eyes widen.

                                            >"A-alcohol? What kind of place do you come from where they serve that cleaning stuff in a drink?"

                                            "When I said strong, I meant stuff that's supposed to get me silly."

                                            >"This does getcha silly! It's got the tang that gets ponies crazy about it!"

                                            "What?"

                                            >"The flavor is so strong that it gets folk worked up about it! Why would anypony ever drink that awful a-alcohol stuff?"

                                            >You down the entire glass.

                                            >Goddamn it.

                                            "I guess you wouldn't know. How much do I owe you?"


                                            >Fucking horses and their lack of alcohol.

                                            >Of course they wouldn't have that stuff.

                                            >You had paid a pretty hefty price for such a drink, 9 bits for a glass that small?

                                            >The bartender told you some bullshit about how it's not cider season and the stuff is premium.

                                            >You stopped caring the second you sat in front of your ashy campfire spot.

                                            >Probably going to figure out how to make moonshine under this bridge.

                                            >You're sure if any fuzz show up you can give some bullshit about how you're making a strong cleaning agent for a friend.

                                            >Your thoughts are interrupted by someone calling out to you.

                                            >"Anon? Hey! Anon!"

                                            >You look up.

                                            >And the face looking down to you is none other than yellow serverhorse herself!

                                            "Hello, yellow serverhorse!"

                                            >"MY NAME IS NOT- uh, what are you doing under the bridge?"

                                            "Chillin'."

                                            >Yellow serverhorse runs down around the side of the bridge to get closer to you.

                                            >"Wow! Are you camping here?"

                                            "Yeah, don't have a house or apartment yet so I'm out here til' I get the money to get a place of my own."

                                            >"T-that's terrible Anon! You know, I have a spare room in my apartment you could crash in!"

                                            >She dares to ask you?

                                            >This wench dares to ask you to leave your troll bridge?

                                            >Your troll bridge that you didn't work that hard for?

                                            >Fair enough.

                                            "Hey, yellow serverhorse, I appreciate the offer, but why would you let some stranger into your home?"

                                            >"I know you're no stranger, Anon! I'd be happy to help somepony in need!"

                                            "Yeah, that may be true, but aren't you worried about... fishy business going on?"

                                            >Yellow serverhorse pauses.

                                            >She looks clearly puzzled.

                                            >This thought had clearly never occurred for her.

                                            >"What kind of fishy business?"

                                            >Oh boy.

                                            "You know... some random guy, coming in your home, taking stuff?"

                                            >"S-stealing? You wouldn't do that, Anon! That can lead to jail time!"

                                            "No, I'm saying I wouldn't steal from you, but I have only worked at Dinny's for like, a week tops probably? We hardly know eachother."

                                            >"But Anon! We're friends!"

                                            >Oh geez.


                                            >One thing led to another, and you are now packing up what possessions you have (haphazardly) to head over to wherever yellow serverhorse lives.

                                            >You don't have too much stuff, the tent rolls up nice and you're able to carry most everything with both arms.

                                            >You feel like Paul Bunyan holding two trees in each arm.

                                            >How silly!

                                            >"Come on, Anon! My house is this way!"

                                            >You follow yellow serverhorse, possessions in tow, to her home on the other side of town.

                                            >"Hey, Anon, how are you able to carry all that stuff? We've been going for 10 minutes now and you don't look like you've broke a sweat!"

                                            "I told you before, yellow serverhorse, I'm built different from ponies."

                                            >"Who built you?"

                                            >Seriously?

                                            "I'm not a robot. I was born like a normal person."

                                            >"Really?"

                                            "Yeah."

                                            >You and yellow serverhorse are walking at a comfortable pace.

                                            >"Hey Anon, you're smart, right?"

                                            "As smart as your average Joe."

                                            >"Joe?"

                                            "Just a thing we say back home."

                                            >"Well, do you know WHERE babies come from?"

                                            >This question catches you off-guard.

                                            >You blow a small amount of air out of your nostrils.

                                            >That's silly.

                                            "You're telling me you don't know?"

                                            >"Yeah! As a filly, I kept getting told I'd know when I was older! Between me and the other servers, we've no clue! I thought you might know."

                                            >What?

                                            "Where did this come from all of a sudden? You're telling me that full grown adults working a job don't know where babies come from?"

                                            >"Well, yeah!"

                                            "You gotta be fucking with me, man. That's just funny."

                                            >"A-Anon! Watch your language! You don't want a police officer hearing you talk like that!"

                                            "Come on man, you can't be serious. Is this a joke?"

                                            >Yellow serverhorse stammers.

                                            >"N-no."

                                            >You can't believe what you just heard.

                                            >Ponies don't tend to lie, and when they do, they're certainly not good at it.

                                            "Earlier, when I said born, do you know what the word means?"

                                            >"Yeah! It means to... appear!"

                                            "In a sense, yeah."

                                            >The conversation was cut short.

                                            >Why?

                                            >You're now in front of yellow serverhorse's home.

                                            >By the looks of it, it's an apartment complex alright.

                                            >Multiple apartment buildings placed by each other, looking about pony-sized.

                                            >You hope the ceiling is high enough.

                                            >Establishments like restaurants have ceilings high enough for you to walk comfortably in, but you're unsure about pony dwellings themselves.

                                            >You're pretty sure this is your first time entering a pony's home.

                                            >"We can finish this talk when we head inside and get you situated!" yellow serverhorse says.

                                            >Luckily for you, you won't have to be carrying your stuff up any stairs as yellow serverhorse's apartment is on the bottom floor.

                                            >You head in, ducking your head under the door frame, to be pleasantly surprised.

                                            >The entire apartment is quite roomy!

                                            >And the ceiling is high enough for you to be comfortable!

                                            >...

                                            >This is suspiciously spacious.

                                            "Heh, this apartment is pretty big! My friend made a decent bit of money back home, and his wasn't this big!"

                                            >Yellow serverhorse blushes.

                                            >"T-that's real kind of you Anon. I know it's not the biggest but you don't have to flatter me like that. It's all I can afford!"


                                            >The fuck does she mean by that this is all she can afford?

                                            >Does this mean that low income housing for ponies is the equivalent to VERY nice apartments from middle of nowhere U.S.?

                                            >You notice how nice the entrance is, a marble floor leading up to a carpeted living room with lots of space and a rather comfy looking couch.

                                            >Where there would normally be a TV back on homeworld, there is a magical fireplace of some sort on placed in the corner.

                                            >The kitchen and dining room are kind of merged, but the dining table shares an open space right by the living room.

                                            >You could have sworn that the building was smaller on the outside.

                                            >Must be pony magic fuckery.

                                            >It's like a whole-ass house in here!

                                            "Does this apartment span the whole ground level or something?"

                                            >"Well duh, Anon!" yellow serverhorse says, as if saying that it was extremely unusual for there to be multiple apartments on the same floor or something.

                                            >You find yourself quickly accepting of this fact.

                                            >Nice digs.

                                            "So, yellow serverhorse, how much does this place cost you?"

                                            >"T-thats rude Anon! You can't just ask somepony how much their home costs the second you come in! And my name is Lemon!"

                                            >...

                                            >Okay, maybe you were being a little rude, even by human standards.

                                            >Wait... Lemon?

                                            "I'm sorry, ye-Lemon, back where I'm from we don't have places as nice as this. From the way you were talking, it seemed like that this very nice place is low-income housing."

                                            "More importantly, is your name seriously just Lemon? No last name?"

                                            >Lemon is now blushing profusely.

                                            >"W-well, that's just my first name..."

                                            "What's your whole name?"

                                            >Lemon is now physically shivering, face becoming redder by the second.

                                            >"Lemon... i-in the..."

                                            >Your full attention is now on this little yellow horse.

                                            >This does not sit well with her.

                                            >She is now struggling to get words out.

                                            >She tries, and tries again, but nothing comes out.

                                            >You find yourself bewildered, and slightly amused by this.

                                            >"My. My name... is Lemon, in the.. Glass."


                                            "Lemon Glass?"

                                            >"N-no. Lemon in the Glass."

                                            "Like... a title?"

                                            >"No, my full legal name is Lemon in the Glass."

                                            >You almost laughed, but the smile on your face managed to appear.

                                            "You're telling me your name is Lemon in the Glass? Even by pony standards that's just stretching it right there."

                                            >"P-please don't bully me. I had to go throughout the entirety of kindergarten with this name! I barely survived!"

                                            >Oh, you think this is just adorable.

                                            >Like naming a spaceship "It's Not a Bug, It's a Feature" or something like that.

                                            "Don't worry, I may be big and tough, but I'm no bully. I'll, uh, just call you Lemon."

                                            >Lemon in the Glass calms down.

                                            >"Thank you for being so nice to me, Anon. I get really nervous when ponies ask me my name! And then they just start asking questions about it and I just don't know what to do!"

                                            "Yeah, that sucks. I knew a guy with an unfortunate name too, but I don't think you'd understand the reference behind it."

                                            >Lemon seems content, and happy now.

                                            "So, like, your name is like putting a lemon in a glass of water or something?"

                                            >She starts getting red again, with an angry undertone this time.


                                            >After calming Lemon down and assuring her you weren't just trying to get under her skin, she finally lets it go.

                                            >She gives you the tour of her home, and shows you her spare bedroom that she conveniently had.

                                            >Sure does feel nice to have a place to store your coins.

                                            >You ponder how pony taxes work if there's no fragments of bits.

                                            >It's a pretty nice little room, not too big, but with a bed that is just barely your size.

                                            >It's a little like a twin bed, but slightly more awkward.

                                            >You'll make it work.

                                            >Other than the bed, there's a nightstand, lamp, and drawer.

                                            >You put your things down.

                                            "Thanks again for letting me crash here, but I'm sure going to miss being a bridge troll."

                                            >Lemon's eyes widen.

                                            >"Y-you're a bridge troll?"

                                            "No, I'm not a monster. I'm just a regular human dude."

                                            >Lemon lets out a sigh of relief, and then looks at the clock.


                                            >"Goodness! it's dinner time already!"

                                            >You sure do feel a little hungry.

                                            >"Since you're my guest, Anon, I'll be the one serving up dinner tonight!"

                                            "Aww, how nice of you. What's on the menu?"

                                            >"My specialty! Eggs and cereal!"

                                            "Sounds... delicious."

                                            >"And while we're enjoying dinner, you can tell me where babies come from!"

                                            >This ought to be good.


                                            >You sit at the dinner table, and Lemon serves you a bowl of what looks like Lucky Charms and a plate of scrambled eggs on the side.

                                            >Honestly, it's not the worst meal you've had for dinner.

                                            >You remember having sleep for dinner once or twice when you were a kid.

                                            >Interesting choice by Lemon for this meal.

                                            >You guess it's quite refined by pony standards, but then again, you remember the restaurant and how there's actual ponies who can cook real food there.

                                            >You assume this is how everyone else gets by.

                                            "Thank you for the meal."

                                            >You and Lemon dig in, enjoying the nice ambiance of the magical fireplace nearby and her little pony gramophone playing antiquated music at a reasonable volume.

                                            >"So," Lemon swallows. "Where do babies come from?"

                                            >You figure the only way through is honesty, as your old man taught you.

                                            "Where do I start..."

                                            >Lemon's full attention is on you.

                                            >You can feel a slight bit of metaphorical pressure being pushed on to you.

                                            "I'm no biologist, but I'll give you my understanding of it. So, uh, basically, when a boy and a girl love eachother very much..."

                                            >Lemon's eyes widen.

                                            "Well, see, here's the thing, girls have vaginas."

                                            >"Ba-ginas?"

                                            "VA-ginas."

                                            >"VA-ginas."

                                            "Yeah, vaginas. They're located under your butthole."

                                            >Lemon snickers.

                                            >"Haha, you said butthole. I am so glad we are inside my home!"

                                            >Lemon refocuses.

                                            >"VA-gina. Is... that my special place?"

                                            >Good lord, this is difficult.

                                            >"I pee out of there! How does that work?"

                                            "Shit."

                                            >Lemon winces at the curse, but her attention is still there.

                                            "Well, it... doubles as something called a reproductive organ."

                                            >"Reproductive... organ?"

                                            "Right. Males have the counterpart to the vagina, called a penis."

                                            >Lemon furrows her brow.

                                            >"THAT'S the thing colts have?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"Do you have a penis?"

                                            "Yes."

                                            >"Does everypony have a penis?"

                                            "Only the guys do."

                                            >"Oh, ok."

                                            >Lemon looks contemplative.

                                            >"I don't see how this explains where babies come from."

                                            >You continue.

                                            "You see, the boy and girl both start to feel hot and flustered."

                                            >Lemon looks down, presumably at her own vagina.

                                            "The male's penis... heheh, expands and elongates."

                                            >Lemon looks somewhat disgusted.

                                            >"That's weird!"

                                            "And then he sticks it inside of the female's vagina."

                                            >Lemon lost a little color.

                                            >"H-how..."

                                            "Then he goes back and forth a little bit with it, in and out, until he reaches a thing called an orgasm."

                                            >Lemon is slightly mortified.

                                            >"O-orgasm?"

                                            "Imagine the best feeling you've ever had. Multiply that by a thousand or so."

                                            >Lemon is simultaneously losing color and blushing profusely.

                                            >You think you can feel her heartbeat reverberate through her chair, through the floor, and now in your chair.

                                            "And when the guy orgasms, his penis squirts out a slimy liquid."

                                            >Lemon is having trouble coming to terms with reality.

                                            "And all that stuff goes inside the girl."

                                            >Lemon is shivering.

                                            >"H-how does..."

                                            "Then something happens inside the female, and from the liquid, there's these things called sperm cells."

                                            >"S-s-s-s-sperm c-cells?"

                                            "Yeah, little microscopic swimming things."

                                            >Lemon looks like she's on the verge of losing her shit.

                                            "There's millions of them inside the liquid."

                                            >Lemon faints.

                                            >Lemon falls out of her chair, and flops on the ground.

                                            >You're sure that may have hurt for her if she was awake enough to register the pain of thudding on the ground like that.

                                            >You're just sitting there, both surprised and not surprised at the fact that you just made a pony faint.

                                            >You look at the clock, seeing that it is indeed night time now.

                                            >Well, you figure that she was going to go to bed soon eventually.