Laundry Day
A Sam and Rose Story
Chapter 1: Laundry
Admiral Biscuit

This isn't fair, I thought. Even after a night of sleep, my whole body ached. I’d spent a whole day working with Holly Sweep, and while the chimneys in Ponyville had benefited from our work, I hadn’t. I'd washed myself off as best as I could with cold well-water—back on Earth, a hot shower would have been the cure for the soot and aching muscles, but I didn't have indoor plumbing, and it was too late to go to the river.

I'd skipped dinner, deciding instead that the bed was a more pressing priority . . . but I'd had trouble falling asleep, and then I woke up way too early to a charley-horse in my left leg.

As I lay there trying to massage my calf and relax the aching muscle, a rooster began crowing. My body had decided that a rooster meant it was morning, and I knew I wouldn't be getting any more sleep, as much as I wanted it.

Stupid sun isn't even up yet. I slid out from under the covers, the morning air chill against my bare skin.

I put on my robe and made my way to the kitchen, getting the fire in the stove going again. The convenience of having a coffee maker was yet another thing I'd taken for granted; now I had to do it the old-fashioned way.

I used the outhouse while the water was heating up, and and by the time I got back, the kettle was already whistling cheerfully to me, and the stove had made the kitchen a good ten degrees warmer. The morning was beginning to look a little brighter.

I put the grounds in the French press and let them begin performing their magic upon the water, while pondering my morning plans. I didn't have to work today, so I could get caught up around the house. Breakfast would be a good way to start my day off.

By the time I'd laid out my supplies, the coffee was ready and I poured a mug. I'd stopped using creamer when I was introduced to the cow who provided it. The ponies didn't think that was weird, but it crossed a line for me.

At least the chickens can't talk, I thought as I cracked an egg into the cast-iron skillet. Two slices of bread went beside the pan, directly on the surface of the stove. I'd burned multiple loaves of bread before some pony took pity on me and showed me how it was done.

I had just enough time while breakfast was cooking to fill my stockpot and put it on the stove. Some homes have stoves with built-in water boilers, but I wasn't so lucky.

I stood at the counter to eat my breakfast. I had chairs, but they weren't terribly comfortable for me. When I could afford new furniture, I'd have a carpenter make some to my dimensions.

When I finished eating, I washed my plate and fork using the hot water left in the kettle, then put them in a drying rack.

I got the laundry tub out, put it on the counter, and filled it with a little cold water and soap, before carefully transferring the water from the stockpot into the tub. I threw my dirty clothes in, pushing them around until they were soaked through, and then refilled the pot and put it back on the stove.

I reset the dampers, and tapped my foot impatiently, looking at the clothes on the counter. They'd want to soak for a while to loosen up the dirt before I finished them. I could wipe down the kitchen counters . . . but up in my bedroom, there was a half-finished Daring Do book, and I could read a chapter or two, then attend to my laundry.

I hung my robe neatly on a peg in the bedroom, put my comforter on the floor, and sat Indian-style, with the window at my back, letting the early-morning sunlight warm me, and began reading about Daring Do's latest conflict with Dr. Caballeron.

I was wringing out the last of my shorts when I heard a knock on the front door. All of my clothes were being washed—laundry was a once-a-week proposition, and I didn't have any extras. My robe was still in my bedroom. I wasn't expecting company, so. . . . “Just a min—“ I started, before the front door opened. It wasn't locked, because there were no locks.

“Morning, Sam,” Rose said cheerfully as she stepped inside. “I came by to see how your flowers were doing.”

I heard her hooves clopping across the floor, coming closer and closer to the kitchen. Instinctively, I looked around for something to cover myself with; aside from an oven mitt and soaking wet clothes, I had nothing.

“Lily and Daisy are working at the shop, and it isn't a market day.” She stepped into the kitchen and looked at me brightly, just as I moved to put the counter between us. She probably couldn't see anything that she normally wouldn't, but I felt extra naked knowing that I wasn't wearing my shorts.

“Laundry time,” she observed, spotting the washboard leaning in the tub and my shorts and underwear sitting on the counter in a wet lump. “Do you want help?”

“I've just got to hang up my clothes,” I said a little too quickly. “Outside, so they can dry.” Chill out. She's seen you naked before. It's no big deal. It still didn't feel right.

“O-kay?” She stretched the word out, her ears drooping slightly.

“I guess I could—“ I turned to look at the door to the backyard. “I'll just—“ I needed some excuse to go up to my room and grab my robe. Unfortunately, while I was dithering, Rose came around the counter and opened the back door.

“They won't hang themselves,” she said brightly.

I took one more look through the living room, where I could just see the bottom few steps of the staircase. I could pretend that I think the clothespins are upstairs. I turned my head to face Rose, my excuse on the tip of my tongue, but she already had the box of clothespins in her mouth. Too late I remembered I'd already set them on the counter.

“I can't just go out there like this.” I motioned down at my nude body.

Rose furrowed her brow. “It's just your backyard; who's going to care? You don't wear your clothes when you sleep, do you? Don't you go to the outhouse like that at night?”

No. I put on my robe. “You're right.” I took a deep breath and began transferring my laundry into a wicker basket. It had been a gift for spending a week out in the willow beds, cutting and bundling for White Withy. It was also, when held in front of my body, a bit of a shield for my nakedness.

Crossing the threshold from my house to my backyard was one of the hardest steps I'd ever taken. While I'd had months to get used to being unclothed around my own home when nobody was there, and I'd managed to get over it at Rose's—helped by a lot of wine—this was a different animal. Every bit of conditioning I'd received as a child was screaming at me to not do it, that I would be arrested or stared at or worse. When my left foot came down on the dirt path, it was like stepping on lava, and if Rose hadn't been looking back curiously, I would have bolted back into the house and slammed the door behind me.

But after that first step, nothing changed. I took a second step, and the birds didn't stop their singing, nobody jumped out from the bushes to take advantage of me . . . the world just kept on turning, completely oblivious to my mental crisis.

I wasn't ready to go frolicking around the backyard, though. It was obvious that the only way through this little episode in my life which I totally wasn't ready for was to hang up my clothes as quickly as possible, and then get back inside the house where I would be safe. With that thought in mind, I hastily covered the rest of the distance to my clothesline, and began hanging up laundry with a vengeance.

Rose pointed to a pair of panties. “How come you never wear just these? They look kind of nice and satin-y.”

“They're meant to be hidden,” I said. “Don't you have, um, underdresses?”

“Yes, to make the outer dress keep its shape,” she said. “A lot of fancy dresses are like that.” She skeptically regarded my panties. “But I don't see how those would help make your pants look more . . . filled out.” I had to remind myself that the way she was looking at me and my underwear was no different than a child’s innocent curiosity, but it was still awkward.

“It's a human thing,” I said. I wasn't going to get into a conversation about underwear with her. I'd already done that once with Rarity, who at least was kind enough to not ask why, once we'd established that I was adamant about the need. I picked up the empty basket, shielding myself once again, and made tracks back into the house, Rose trotting along on my heels.

Eschewing my usual rule of not sitting in my chairs naked, I primly crossed my legs, took a couple of deep breaths, and regarded Rose silently. I could tell by the way she had her head cocked and her ears pointed that she knew I was upset, but she didn't know why. I waited until the third tail-flick, running my hands absently through my hair as I tried to figure out how I might explain it to her.

Had it been a child on Earth, it would have been no problem; I could have either used my 'adult voice,' or perhaps given a more detailed explanation, but how to explain it to a pony who was more or less my own age? I tried to remember what I'd told her before, but I couldn't remember what we had and had not discussed.

“It's nothing you did,” I said lamely. “It's just kind of the custom where I come from to not go outside without clothes. Anywhere. Ever.”

Her ears turned in my direction. “That . . . that's dumb.”

I gave her a half-shrug. “We just have different rules on personal privacy than ponies, that's all.”

“Tailors in your world must be rich.” She put a hoof over her mouth, blinked at me, and then changed subjects. “Who braided your mane?”

“I did.”

“Really?” Her eyes brightened. “All by yourself?”

I nodded.

“How come? Are you going to a party tonight?”

“No, I just do it before sleeping if I washed my hair. It helps to keep down the tangles.” If I hadn't been distracted by Daring Do and laundry, I'd have brushed it out by now. “And it gives it a bit of a curl.”

She moved around behind me, taking a close look at my handiwork. It wasn't anything fancy, just a plain three-strand plait.

“It's really pretty.” She moved alongside me, and gently nuzzled my thigh. “Do you think—“

“Would you like me to braid yours?” I reached out and put my hand in her silken mane.

Rose nodded eagerly.

“All right. Wait here; I'll get some combs and hair ties.” I climbed out of my chair and headed upstairs. All my beauty supplies were in my bedroom, neatly stowed in a vanity. Not that I had too many of them. All the things I'd taken for granted in my apartment, gone in an instant when I was thrust into a new world completely destitute. I was fortunate I had what I did.

As I gathered up my grooming tools, I looked over at my robe. I could put it on, claim I was cold . . . but I just had a feeling that I would lose whatever slow progress I was making if I did. She’d see through the excuse anyway; I hadn’t been wearing it in the kitchen. Hopefully, when I was doing something inside my own house, I'd be able to put it out of my mind.

“Sam?” Rose called out tentatively from downstairs. How long have I been staring at that stupid robe?

“I'm on my way.” My eye went to the comforter, still spread across the floor where I’d been reading. There was my salvation; I could put it on the floor and cover myself with it. She’d understand that I didn’t want my butt to get cold.

Author's Notes:

A One-Shot-Ober fic