You’re sitting in front of a computer. Look it up, you slovenly git.

Completely disrespectful.

This is becoming familiar…

I forgive you.

If you look far enough back, you’ll see that I used to pronounce my own name wrong!

While probably not the best time to think about it, your mind can’t help but wander to lockpicking! Your master knows how, and you’ve brought it up before, but he seems hesitant to teach the subject. Which isn’t very nice. You’re responsible! Maybe a little too easily influenced, but on a whole you’re a good pony from an honest upbringing! You’d never abuse such an important skill!

What he would tell you, though, is that proper lockpicking requires a whole set of tools. Tools you don’t have.

Your nervous energy gets the better of you and you start to wave at the shadowed figures and babble about ghosts, which you totally don’t believe in. Two ponies emerge with perplexed expressions, a pegesus and a unicorn. You note that they also have saddlebags and seem a little disheveled, as though a little weary from traveling. The unicorn seems a little more tired than the pegesus.

You’re still shouting distance away from the pair, you’re just pretty good at noticing these types of things.

I… don’t?

You shuffle forward uncomfortably a little ways; ruins aren’t exactly known for being safe. Not that you’re worried about its structural integrity so much as the possibility of monsters or ghosts.

Not that you believe in ghosts! I mean, who does that really? Ah haha…

…

As you squint your eyes, you see that there does appear to be some things inside the building. You can clearly make out what appears to be a large table, complete with chairs. Also, possibly two or three living entities. You definitely see movement, but have no way of telling what’s causing it.

Past experience glancing outside during daylight from within dark enclosures suddenly smacks you with the realization that whatever is in there more than likely already sees you!

In case anypony feels like continuing that and keeping track of the posts for it.

R-Really?! Oh wow!

Thank you, Mister Cake!

But I’m not your mother.

I know you do, Strawberry.

And I love you too, in a family sort of way. But that’s not the love I usually think of when somepony is talking about love.

Uh… Thank you?

It’s nice to see you around again, but I don’t think you know me well enough to say that.

Surprise makes a very convincing argument. I might have to change my answer…

Sounds to me like you need to get in contact with your local water treatment facility.

That or a time machine.

…

…

That loaf is just floating in a public bathroom somewhere, isn’t it?

…

…

…

Am I missing something?

I’ve heard that when you’re decapitated the head lives on for a few seconds before you die.

Think about how much time slows down when you’re terrified; how long a few seconds can be stretched out.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I wouldn’t kill anypony just for hurting Sweetie Belle. I imagine disciplinary action would be enough.