A Sleeping Rose
One
Admiral Biscuit

Even after months, I never quite got used to waking without an alarm. I'd always been a heavy sleeper, and had used my cell phone's ability to set multiple alarms to my advantage. Each had been a more annoying sound than the previous, and I'd even resorted to putting my phone face-down so I had to perform an additional step to shut it off.

Not that that was a flawless technique; it turned out that the human body can adapt to adversity pretty easily. More than once I'd had to rush in the morning to make it in on time, multiple alarms be damned.

But now that I was in Equestria, there were no cell phones. Alarm clocks, yes, but most ponies didn't care for them. Nothing, I'd noticed, got between a pony and her sleep.

The only exception to this rule was Twilight Sparkle, and her nocturnal habits were the subject of much discussion among other ponies. Some said it was because she was a Canterlot Unicorn, and therefore not in touch with the earth; others felt that Princess Luna had somehow laid a curse on her as she defeated Nightmare Moon—and there were other ideas, as well, but those two were the most popular. Not surprisingly, she'd been the one that had found me an alarm clock, and it was proudly set on my dresser, just out of reach of my arm.

These days, it was never set, but I kept it just in case. Old habits are hard to get out of. Plus the stupid thing had set me back two days worth of bits, and that was really saying something. I could have bought a wagon-load of produce for what that damn alarm clock cost.

No, it wasn't an alarm clock that woke me. Fact is, I'm not sure what actually woke me. Based on past experience, it was probably either the town clock or one of the free-range roosters that wandered through town. Normally, I liked to keep an ear cocked to determine which it had been—roosters kept crowing, while the town clock chimed and then was done for a half-hour—but this morning I had more immediate concerns.

The first was that my left arm was asleep. I could feel a vague, tingling sensation in my fingers, but that was about it. More interesting was the scent of perfume which assaulted my nostrils.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that that perfume wasn't my own, nor did it take any real effort to locate the source of both of my issues: there was a pony asleep on my arm.

I assume she was asleep, anyway. She was breathing slowly and shallowly, which was quite easy to ascertain, as my right arm was draped across her.

For the longest time, I just lay there, trying to remember how this had come to pass.

“That's all of them,” Rose said, looking down the neat row of roses in her greenhouse. She'd taken a while to warm up to me: from the gossip I overheard, she was afraid that I'd eat her or her roses—and I'm not sure which she considered to be worse. Eventually, though, she'd warmed to me, based on no small part how useful other mares had found my hands. While it was undeniably true that earth ponies were quite capable with hooves and mouth, there were plenty of tasks which a pair of hands made short work of.

While they were willing to hire unicorns when needed, I'd learned that the farmers—broadly applied to any earth pony who primarily grew things—wouldn't let a unicorn near their crop unless they had no option. Interestingly, they had no objection to a dragon like Spike or . . . well, myself.

Rose had led me back into her house, but she hadn't counted out bits with which to pay me. That wasn't unusual; most of the ponies I'd worked for before had insisted on getting a meal in me first. They felt it was their obligation to serve anypony who happened to be in their home around a meal time. I didn't mind; it helped stretch my bits that much further, when I didn't have to buy my own food.

She looked at me critically once we were inside. “You're covered in sweat,” she observed. It was true; I was. Not that weeding the beds had been that difficult a task, but a full day in the sun had been tasking. On the other hand, I had a great tan.

“You can use my bath, if you want,” she offered. “While I make dinner.”

She eyed me critically. I've never considered myself that much to look at, but of course to the ponies I was a unique specimen, and even after months they still hadn't really gotten accustomed to me.

It didn't help that I always wore pants. I'd given up on shirts not long after I found myself in Ponyville . . . it turned out that while Rarity was more than willing to make clothes for a human, they didn't come cheap. I'd toyed with the idea of going around nude, but just couldn't quite bring myself to do it. They wouldn't have cared—in fact, I might have gotten fewer odd looks if I had, but too many years of mental conditioning made it uncomfortable.

I usually slept nude, though. No point in wearing clothes to bed, especially in a world without washing machines. My grandmother would have been proud at how adept I'd gotten at the washboard.

“The tub's probably a little too small for you,” she said apologetically, “so if you want to wait until you get home, I understand.” Rose slid a hoof awkwardly across the floor. “Uh, what do you like to eat for dinner? Sam.”

She mangled the pronunciation of my name, but I'd come to expect that. It was just as well that I'd first introduced myself by a nickname, rather than give the ponies my full name. Heaven only knows what they'd have butchered that to.

“I don't mind,” I said. The only tub in town that was comfortable for me was the one at the spa, and while I'd treated myself a few times, it was expensive if I wanted to reserve private time. For routine bathing, I usually just went to the stream under one of the more-remote bridges. Their soap was biodegradable, after all.

I'd emerged clean enough that my sweat-soaked shorts were a real psychological problem, but I'd be damned if I was going to go without until they dried. Rose had whipped up a salad and casserole while I was in the bath, and I spared no time in getting a plate and tearing into it.

Once the meal was done, I insisted on doing the dishes, while Rose bathed. That was no easy task; like any matriarch I'd known in my life, the kitchen was sacrosanct, and guests were Not To Touch anything therein. It was only when I convinced her that she was paying me to help that I won the battle.

“Before I pay you,” she said, “I wonder if you'd like to share a glass of wine?”

This was another part of the ritual. Nearly all the farmers brewed their own alcohol, with their crop as a primary ingredient. At first, I'd refused, but the sad looks on their faces as I turned down their pride and joy was heartbreaking. I'd learned that nearly any crop could be turned to alcohol with enough ingenuity, and Rose's rose wine was no exception. At first, the perfumy scent of her wine turned me off, but after one glass it had begun to grow on me, and I didn't refuse as she pressed a second glass into my hands, and then a third. Before too long, we were sitting in the living room—me, with my legs folded under me on the couch, her playing the part of perfect hostess.

It was well after dark when we finally finished going through all the different varieties of wine she had in her cellar, and my head was spinning.

“I ought to be going,” I mumbled, setting the empty wine glass down. “It's getting pretty late.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Hold on a minute; I've still got to pay you for your work.” She trotted out of the room, swaying slightly on her hooves, returning a minute later with a coin purse. “Let's see, ten hours at two bits per hour.” Her hoof moved slowly as she counted out the coins. I couldn't tell if that was because she was reluctant to part with so many bits, or if it was an effect of the alcohol. Maybe a combination of both—but judging by the size of her coin purse, twenty bits was hardly going to break her.

She watched with undisguised fascination as I put the bits in my pocket. I'd seen that before, too. First, pockets in pony pants are rare—and with good reason; they'd hardly be useful. Second, ponies hardly ever covered their hips. I had always assumed that it was because they didn't want to cover their cutie marks, but I'd never asked anypony. Still, the fact that I always wore pants had led to all sorts of curiosity about what my cutie mark—if I had one at all—was, and any time I drew attention to that part of my body, it drew pony eyes like iron to a magnet.

“I—“ I began

“It's raining,” Rose said quietly. “Pretty hard, too.”

I looked out the window, but of course didn't see anything, since it was dark. I mentally kicked myself anyway. I'd looked at the weather schedule in the paper, but of course I had made the very human assumption that the weather report was possibility, not certainty. You'd think that after half a year in Equestria I'd have figured it out, but nope.

“You can,” she began, and then bit her lip. “Stay here,” she finally decided. “Ah, if you want. I know your house is all the way across town, and I'd hate for you to get wet and ruin your clothes.”

I didn't want to ruin my clothes, either, but I knew a little rain wouldn't do it. Still, not having to walk home after dark in the rain would be nice.

“That's awfully generous of you,” I said. Already I was sizing up the couch, and coming up a few feet short. I could maybe rest my head on one end, and hang my feet of the other, and it wouldn't be too uncomfortable. I started to move toward it, and Rose caught the motion.

“We can . . . share. I've got a big enough bed,” she said, and her cheeks were slightly red. “I don't mind.”