Post by thetinkerer on Feb 27, 2011 2:29:46 GMT
---A small, rickety building was bought out the other day. You can't imagine anypony who'd want it. Rumors flew around as to who bought it. Some swore they saw Mafia ponies meeting in there. Others claimed that Celestia herself bought it, so she could send her alleged spies to live in Ponyville. But most agreed it was just somebody who was low on cash and a bit stupid when it comes to buying things.
The latter was proved correct, as Starshine Tinker had moved in
The door took a mighty shove to open. After Tinker had a battle with the rusty hinges and a seemingly useless doorknob, she found herself in a dim, one-room shop. She drops the last box onto a table, and flicks on the light. It's really no help, even as the sun blasts through the dirty windows.
Tinker, feeling to acts of remorse for a shoddy purchase, begins to unpack. She throws a jumble of her creations on assorted and mis-matched shelves. Clocks, toys, knick-knacks of all types. In the far left corner, near a window, she shoves a huge bench littered with tools. Her new workbench. And, underneath that workbench, she pushes a mattress into place; her bedroom was in place.
It then dawned on Tinker: How would people know this is a shop? It was in a shopping district, sure; but it was rickety, falling apart, and didn't even have a sign.
Mustering up all the strength she could find. Tinker galloped outside. It was a busy day for the marketplace, filled with chatter and bartering.
"PONIES OF PONYVILLE!" Tinker bellowed, prompting the large crowd to quiet and stare at the purple unicorn before them. She certainly didn't embody the grace most unicorns were renowned for; she had a shorty, choppy mane and tail. Her cutie mark was an orange wrench, which matched her orange eyes. In turn, her eyes were covered by thick, brass0framed goggles; the types you'd see in a steam punk novel.
Tinker smiled to the crowd. "This...um...wonderful addition to your marketplace is my new shop. The Workshop is open for business!" Tinker viewed the confused stares from the crowd and gulped. "I...I sell toys, clocks, and other assorted hand-crafted goods. And if you bring something, I'll fix it!"
"Why don't you fix the building!" an anonymous pony called out, and a few snickers were heard among the crowd. Tinker was aghast.
"Now just you wait. The Workshop may be old, yeah, but age brings out the best in things! Aged wine, aged cheese, aged...ponies. This building is stronger then any of the buildings in town!"
Almost on cue, the aged window behind Tinker shattered for no apparent reason.
The latter was proved correct, as Starshine Tinker had moved in
The door took a mighty shove to open. After Tinker had a battle with the rusty hinges and a seemingly useless doorknob, she found herself in a dim, one-room shop. She drops the last box onto a table, and flicks on the light. It's really no help, even as the sun blasts through the dirty windows.
Tinker, feeling to acts of remorse for a shoddy purchase, begins to unpack. She throws a jumble of her creations on assorted and mis-matched shelves. Clocks, toys, knick-knacks of all types. In the far left corner, near a window, she shoves a huge bench littered with tools. Her new workbench. And, underneath that workbench, she pushes a mattress into place; her bedroom was in place.
It then dawned on Tinker: How would people know this is a shop? It was in a shopping district, sure; but it was rickety, falling apart, and didn't even have a sign.
Mustering up all the strength she could find. Tinker galloped outside. It was a busy day for the marketplace, filled with chatter and bartering.
"PONIES OF PONYVILLE!" Tinker bellowed, prompting the large crowd to quiet and stare at the purple unicorn before them. She certainly didn't embody the grace most unicorns were renowned for; she had a shorty, choppy mane and tail. Her cutie mark was an orange wrench, which matched her orange eyes. In turn, her eyes were covered by thick, brass0framed goggles; the types you'd see in a steam punk novel.
Tinker smiled to the crowd. "This...um...wonderful addition to your marketplace is my new shop. The Workshop is open for business!" Tinker viewed the confused stares from the crowd and gulped. "I...I sell toys, clocks, and other assorted hand-crafted goods. And if you bring something, I'll fix it!"
"Why don't you fix the building!" an anonymous pony called out, and a few snickers were heard among the crowd. Tinker was aghast.
"Now just you wait. The Workshop may be old, yeah, but age brings out the best in things! Aged wine, aged cheese, aged...ponies. This building is stronger then any of the buildings in town!"
Almost on cue, the aged window behind Tinker shattered for no apparent reason.