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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Quills and Sofas
“Daven … port, I--” The librarian's assistant – Spike, I think his name was – throws the door open, panting, leaning on the frame for support. As I turn to face him, something deep within me flares to life. Before me stands a pony (dragon) in clear need of some quality rest and relaxation!
I stand up straight and don my warmest smile. “Welcome to Quills and Sofas, Sonny!”
This is my calling, my passion, my mission since I was just a colt! “We've got the widest selection in town. Everything from futons to love-seats, even a few couches!”
Bringing comfort to tired hooves, aching backs, and weary souls wherever I might find them – what could be more important? I wrap a foreleg around my customer's shoulder and direct him onto a plush chaise-lounge. “Got just what you need, friend. A fresh shipment of fainting couches arrived just last--”
“I'm actually just here for a quill, Davenport,” Spike interjects, having caught his breath, “and I need it quick, before--”
My smile now feels a little forced. “Sorry, Junior. All out of quills 'till Monday.”
I can't help but allow a drop of hope to bleed into my voice. “Need a sofa?”
The dragon left after that. "But the store is called Quills and Sofas," he said as he stormed out of the door.
I finally allow myself a sigh as I descend the stairs leading to my basement warehouse, flipping the light switch as I enter. Walking towards the back, I pass by row upon row of shelves laden with fresh boxes of quills, many still sealed with strips of shining packing-tape. All of these arrived last week and will be replaced the next; the stationery market in Ponyville is a lucrative one, due in no small part to the town's most recent arrival, and I make a good living.
Yet, a part of me feels empty as I gaze toward the end of the room: dozens -- hundreds -- of pieces of faded furniture, pushed up against the back wall, left to gather dust. Sadly neglected, but never forgotten. "Quills and Sofas," the silent crowd says. An accusation.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Everypony needs a place to unwind after a long day's work, to chat with friends, to read a book. Everypony needs quills and ink and paper, to write letters, to take notes. How could a venue that made all of these available in a single, convenient location not be a success? Yet, excepting the regular patronage of the local drama-queen, this store might as well have been named...
No. I stomp a hoof. Quills and Sofas. It didn't seem a good idea. It was, still is, and always will be a good idea. A perfect idea. Ponyville's citizens need me, whether they realize it yet or not, and I shall not fail them.
I look to my flank.
They'll come around.
Quill and Sofa
Some day.
I stand up straight and don my warmest smile. “Welcome to Quills and Sofas, Sonny!”
This is my calling, my passion, my mission since I was just a colt! “We've got the widest selection in town. Everything from futons to love-seats, even a few couches!”
Bringing comfort to tired hooves, aching backs, and weary souls wherever I might find them – what could be more important? I wrap a foreleg around my customer's shoulder and direct him onto a plush chaise-lounge. “Got just what you need, friend. A fresh shipment of fainting couches arrived just last--”
“I'm actually just here for a quill, Davenport,” Spike interjects, having caught his breath, “and I need it quick, before--”
My smile now feels a little forced. “Sorry, Junior. All out of quills 'till Monday.”
I can't help but allow a drop of hope to bleed into my voice. “Need a sofa?”
The dragon left after that. "But the store is called Quills and Sofas," he said as he stormed out of the door.
I finally allow myself a sigh as I descend the stairs leading to my basement warehouse, flipping the light switch as I enter. Walking towards the back, I pass by row upon row of shelves laden with fresh boxes of quills, many still sealed with strips of shining packing-tape. All of these arrived last week and will be replaced the next; the stationery market in Ponyville is a lucrative one, due in no small part to the town's most recent arrival, and I make a good living.
Yet, a part of me feels empty as I gaze toward the end of the room: dozens -- hundreds -- of pieces of faded furniture, pushed up against the back wall, left to gather dust. Sadly neglected, but never forgotten. "Quills and Sofas," the silent crowd says. An accusation.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Everypony needs a place to unwind after a long day's work, to chat with friends, to read a book. Everypony needs quills and ink and paper, to write letters, to take notes. How could a venue that made all of these available in a single, convenient location not be a success? Yet, excepting the regular patronage of the local drama-queen, this store might as well have been named...
No. I stomp a hoof. Quills and Sofas. It didn't seem a good idea. It was, still is, and always will be a good idea. A perfect idea. Ponyville's citizens need me, whether they realize it yet or not, and I shall not fail them.
I look to my flank.
They'll come around.
Quill and Sofa
Some day.