Pinkie Pie’s sense of happiness exploded as the next customer stepped to the counter just as the last took her bag of delicious baked goods and exited Sugar Cube Corner with the playful ring-a-ling of the brass bell that hung on a spring above the door. Excitement coursed Pinkie’s veins and she broke into a fit of giggling that nearly impeded upon her ability to greet the next pony.
“Welcome to Sugar Cube Corner, valued customer! I’m Pinkie Pie and how MAY I HELP YOU?” her voice rose uncontrollably and rattled with the inability to control her enthusiasm. Her smile felt as if it may split the corners of her lips. She couldn’t contain herself, but she was doing tolerably well today.
“Hi Pinkie, … umm, I want three of the lemon drop bars. I just love them! I’m so glad you talked Mrs. Cake into making them as a regular item.” The customer, a mare, complimented and Pinkie smirked gently.
“Actually,” she pulled the white and green mare forward into the crook of her foreleg and looked around secretively before continuing, “Mrs. Cake doesn’t know. I make them especially for you, Knick Knack, because I know how much you like them.”
The mare, Knick Knack, was the town whatnot, glass menagerie, and miniature creator but, to Pinkie, she was just another customer to help. Pinkie treated her as any other customer. They were the most important thing to Pinkie Pie and she enjoyed seeing that little bit of energy flicker in their eyes, there smiles radiantly beaming, the pony really coming alive for even the tiniest moment each day. That was what Pinkie lived for, to make the ponies of Ponyville happy and to see them experiencing life.
Pinkie hadn’t exactly been silent or casual in her explanation; all of the other customers were bound to have heard but she knew that it didn’t really matter. She smiled, released the figurine manufacturer, and fetched her order from the display case.
The lemon drop bars were easy enough to customize. They were really just blondies with lemon icing and the extra effort was minimal compared to the smile it placed on Knick Knack’s face. She juggled the three confections into a bag, rang them up, and took the money owed, gladly returning change to the mare before wishing her a wonderful evening.
“Pinkie,” the mare began, “thanks. I mean it. You do so much for everyone and only because you are such a good-natured, caring pony. If everyone was like you, Equestria would be a perfect place. I’m just glad that you live here in Ponyville.” The mare’s expression was genuine and she dug one of the square goodies from her bag and snacked as she left.
The pink mare’s heart fluttered and her day was made at that moment. She just wished there was more she could do for the ponie of her town. She didn’t know what it must be like to be like them, never experiencing life the way she did. Her outlook was bright and shiny most of the time. If anything, Pinkie knew she was a living, breathing creature in this world and just drawing breath gave her a kind of joy that others seemed remiss in experiencing. It wasn’t their fault, she reminded herself, they couldn’t help being how they were.
Pinkie hopped happily, counting in her head how many playful bounces she could acquire before she could greet the next customer. “HI!!! I’m Pinkie Pie and welcome to Sugar Cube Corner! Do you know what you would like or do you need a sample?”
The day was nearly over and Pinkie Pie helped the final customer with his order before escorting him to the door and cheerfully wishing him a goodnight while turning the open sign over to painfully express, “Sorry we are closed. Come back tomorrow!”
The night’s final customer had seemed bland to Pinkie, as if something weren’t quite right with him. She ruminated upon his flat tone and hoped the carrot cake that she had fetched for him would vivify his senses, if even for just a moment. Every pony had a right to become more than they were and feel how Pinkie felt each day, all day.
The mare locked the door and watched the sun disappearing over the mountains in the distance. The cascading light dispersed in soft, dancing light and warmed her soul. She hated closing time but the sunset reminded her that it was just the end of another wonderful, helpful day and she could look forward to giving her smiling, joyful gifts of happiness the next day.
“Don’t worry, Ponyville. Pinkie will be here again tomorrow,” she whispered to herself and turned to begin cleaning the front end of Sugar Cube Corner. The sounds of baking pans clanging, steel wool swishing, and running water coming from the kitchen signified that the Cakes were busy cleaning in the back.
Pinkie eagerly went about her routine and made sure the business was fit for her customers, sweeping, mopping, and making sure everything they may need was stocked and full. It was a labor of love because Pinkie cared for each of her customers completely. She pitied them and their seemingly dull, empty lives. She couldn’t quite understand why there weren’t more ponies like her but it was something she lived with on a daily basis and she wanted to do everything she could to help all of those poor, blank ponies.
“Pinkie Pie, I’m sorry to ask this,” Mrs. Cake stepped from the kitchen with a dish towel resting on her shoulder. She looked haggard and unwell. “Can you finish up for me in the kitchen? Mr. Cake has already went upstairs to put the foals to bed and I’m worn out.” Her eyes were opaque pools of melancholia.
“Of course, Mrs. Cake! I’m always more than happy to help in any way I can!” Pinkie exclaimed, taking note of the dreary, blank look in her employer’s eyes. She tried to cheer Mrs. Cake up with her enthusiasm.
“You’re sweet, dear. Help yourself to anything you might want.” Her tone was off, as if there was something eating at her from within. Pinkie noticed and wondered what could be bothering Mrs. Cake. She could usually read the ponies she interacted with on a personal level but there was something she couldn’t place in Mrs. Cake’s eyes. It wasn’t fatigue that was wrong with Mrs. Cake. It was something else, something more personal and difficult to bear.
Pinkie quickly finished restocking the napkins into their silver containers and skipped in the kitchen where a few pans remained soaking in the sink. She dunked them in the bubbly water a few times and giggled to herself as the foam took shapes that reminded her of a thousand different things. She swiped some of the suds that rose higher than the rest and made a beard out of them, pulling a pan from the water and looking into the reflective surface at herself. She broke into laughter, barely able to regain control of herself before tumbling on her back.
She scrubbed the baking sheets quickly and set them aside to dry. She began to wonder about what had been bothering Mrs. Cake. Pinkie remembered how her expression had changed slightly and the tonality of her voice had cracked before she retired to the upstairs. It was as if viewing Pinkie was causing her some sort of malady. She thought about this and drained the sink.
The bakery had a separate broom for the kitchen than for the front and Pinkie fetched it while she continued to ponder. She enjoyed a short break from conscious speculation while she played a game with herself, she was often finding ways to entertain herself, as she swept. Her subconscious mind thought on a primal level and began pulling apart the pieces of the puzzle while Pinkie finished cleaning the kitchen. It had worked out the fundamentals by the time the party pony had constructed a sandwich so large that it leaned dangerously to one side and had to be propped by a pair of bananas resting on a thick slice of strawberry shortcake. It nearly fell to the floor as Pinkie gasped and spoke to the empty room, “Mrs. Cake was upset because of me!”
She couldn’t fathom why Mrs. Cake would get upset at the sight of her. She pondered the problem, pushing the plate of food away; her appetite had died. The bubbly mare had a problem understanding other ponies and found herself sometimes imitating their emotions in order to convey what she thought they deemed appropriate. She had been given strange, awkward, and even mean looks by others for finding the humor in almost any situation. She wondered if she had said something that had hurt Mrs. Cake’s feelings. It wouldn’t be the first time she had done so and it almost always confounded Pinkie.
The mare took her plate of food to a random table in the front of Sugar Cube Corner and sat alone, looking out of a window and trying to place the situation in which she had joked or acted in the wrong way. Pinkie was almost always happy and that led to her misunderstanding others. For some reason, they just never saw things in the same light that she did. She struggled to produce a scenario where she would have acted incorrectly but, she supposed, Mrs. Cake would let her know soon enough what she had done wrong. Switching gears rapidly, the sandwich was pleading to be eaten. Literally.
Pinkie Pie had toothpicked a pair of cherry tomato eyes onto the top.
“Hey! Pinkie! Stop moping and eat me.” The sandwich said, aided by Pinkie’s hooves working it like a mouth and her voice, deeply toned, speaking for it.
Pinkie couldn’t help but laugh heartily before she could reply. “Oh, sandwich. I’m not moping.”
“Well, you sure seem like it. I think you’re a frowny filly,” the sandwich implied that she was acting like a foal.
“Hey now, sandwich. I’m not a frowny filly! You sound like a sour sandwich!” she retorted.
“Oh yeah? If you’re not sad, tell me a joke.”
Pinkie thought for a moment and then smirked and replied, “What do you call two pieces of bread filled with the erosion of siliceous stones?”
The sandwich didn’t need to hear the punchline and seemed to stare at her nocuously for the poor joke. “Just eat me already.”
“Okey dokey lokey.” She tossed the sandwich into the air and swallowed it in one gulp. The bananas barely managed to shed their peels before she had consumed them and the shortcake never had a chance.
Pinkie washed her dish and checked one final time to make sure everything downstairs was taken care of before she retired for the evening. She glanced over the drying dishes, peeked into the batter cabinet, and snooped at the icing bags. Finding everything ready for the next day, Pinkie went upstairs and, finding the bathroom free, took a short shower.
Her frothy hair slicked down the sides of her face in straight locks that reached nearly halfway down her body. The hot water felt good and she felt her taut muscles releasing. Her body was wound like a spring in response to the unusual, impromptu moments of gymnastics that she was known to frequent.
She watched the water roll across her coat and she imagined that each drop made a note of music. As the drops fell, Pinkie imagined the music that they played and she began to hum a tune that was quixotic and catchy. She was nearly lost in the song that played in her head when there was a knock at the door.
“Pinkie? Dear? When you finish up, would you join us in the den for a minute? We need to talk to you about something.” Mrs. Cake’s voice was mostly normal but Pinkie couldn’t help but note tinges of sorrow at the edges. She brushed the almost-purple mane from her eyes and forgot about the beautiful music that was surrounding her.
“Sure thing! I’ll be right out!” Pinkie hopped from the shower and was dry as a bone in less than a minute Her mane was puffed like so much cotton candy and seemed to defy gravity and physics. Much of Pinkie’s life seemed to correlate to this same individuality and she exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam. She idly wondered if she was going to be talked to about what she had done wrong.
The bouncy mare entered the den and smiled mirthfully at her employers. They sat together on the couch, leaning on one another for support with their forelegs crossed. Their eyes, Pinkie noted, told that they were unhappy. She didn’t quite empathize with them, emotions were often confusing but she had learned to recognize their demeanor even if she couldn’t quite grasp why they were unhappy.
“You wanted to talk to me, Mr. and Mrs. Cake?” Pinkie asked, her voice as bubbly as her nature. Pinkie watched their movements closely, attempting to decipher what they were feeling while her mind raced with jokes that may erase their frowns. She took a seat in a comfortable chair directly across from them. “HEY!” she nearly shouted, “What do you call a pile of cats?”
“Pinkie, I … this isn’t really the …”
“A MEOWntain!” Pinkie giggled and kicked her legs while holding her sides. She fell inward for a moment from her own joke and snorted a couple times between laughs. She recovered slowly and realized that she had been the only one laughing. She thought it had been funny and it left her confused to see the blank, concerned looks the couple gave her. She just didn’t understand how they could be so dead after a hilarious joke like that.
Mr. Cake patted his wife’s hooves as they shared a glance and he sat forward to speak. “Pinkie, we have to terminate your employment here.”
Pinkie’s smile remained but her feverish mind stopped cold as she processed what had just been said. Her rich, blue eyes searched the faces of the Cakes and she suddenly began laughing again, rolling into the floor below the chair and bumping against a long coffee table that separated the Cakes from her. She couldn’t believe how funny the Cakes were. She was glad that she worked for them.
Mrs. Cake let out a sigh and expressed, “Pinkie. It’s not a joke.” The pink pony popped her head up from behind the table, the laughter having completely ended as if it had been sliced off. Her face was screwed up with confusion and her eyes flickered from husband to wife questioningly.
“You want me to go? You don’t like me anymore?” she tried to comprehend the situation and worked to pinpoint the error she had made. “Was it because I told Old Mr. Plumpington that he shouldn’t be sad that his dog died because that just meant he could get a new one? Or because I make Knick Knack lemon drop bars every day especially for her? Or because I told Blue Bell that his marefriend must enjoy company because she had come into the store three times last week with a different stallion each time? OOH! OOH! I KNOW! It’s because I didn’t charge Twilight for that cake that she ordered and then I ate! THAT’S IT! RIGHT!” The entire time, Pinkie had been growing more excited and less confused, treating it like a guessing game and forgetting the significance of the conversation.
The Cakes shook their heads and Pinkie smiled softly at them as Mr. Cake spoke again. “No, Pinkie. You’re the best help we’ve ever had here in the shop. It’s just that ever since Pumpkin and Pound were born, but we have had to start thinking more about the future. We can’t afford to keep extra help.”
Pinkie was having a tough time understanding. The words made sense but she couldn’t help but feel strange. She kept looking at the floor and then back to the Cake’s as she continued to search their features to gauge their emotions. She felt dismal, her chest felt heavy and she tried to see the humor in this situation but it was difficult, even impossible. “What if I work for free?”
Pinkie saw Mrs. Cake’s frown as she shook her head. “Pinkie, you know we can’t do that. If you were family, maybe, but we would get into trouble if anyone ever found out.”
Pinkie’s chest heaved rapidly and she began to feel faint. She felt as if a bear were laying on her chest. A few warm tears spilled from her sparkling eyes and she wiped at them. “You want me to leave?”
Pinkie watched Mrs. Cake look away and rub her eyes as Mr. Cake answered. “We don’t want you to leave, Pinkie Pie. We just can’t afford to keep paying you. Look, we want you to stay here until you find somewhere else you can go. We’re not throwing you out,” he continued, “You’ve been here for what, five years? You know the ins and outs of baking and you have been throwing the best parties of anyone in town. If you were to actually charge money for your services, I’m sure you could have a very respectable business.” His eyes were serious and Pinkie knew that her occupation in Sugar Cube Corner had ended. She fought the emotions welling within her as Mr. Cake finished. “You’re always welcome here. We love you, Pinkie. We’ll give you the rest of this week’s money and give you a little bonus to help you get on your hooves. We know you will do well.”
Mr. Cake stood up and helped his wife to her hooves. Mrs. Cake looked back over to the pink mare, “I’m sorry, Pinkie. If you need anything, you come right back here, okay?”
Pinkie, stunned to silence, barely registered Mrs. Cake’s words. Staring blankly into nothing with wild, wide eyes, Pinkie grunted an unknown reply. She mechanically stood and retreated to her room in the attic. She felt empty, rigid, and cold. She didn’t remember crawling into her bed as her brain pulsed and ached with thought.
For hours she lay awake, the moon’s rays cascading across her still body. They drifted from the top of her head to her back hooves before she began to register consciously again. Her eyes were dry from staring at nothing and her chest ached. A lump filled her throat painfully and the fur of her cheeks lay flat in two streams where tears had flowed.
Pinkie had been part of Sugar Cube Corner for as long as she had lived in Ponyville. She didn’t know anything else except parties. Where would she go? What would she do? Her mind burned with questions and sleep was a fleeting dream. Suddenly, the question that burned red-hot in the midst of all this pain came to her lips, “How will I make all the other ponies smile if I’m not here?”
Her whole body felt cold and a shiver ransacked her spine from top to bottom at the thought of not being able to brighten everyone’s dull life on a daily basis. Without her they were just husks, empty shells. Without Pinkie Pie they weren’t real.
Her brain swarmed with thoughts like angry hornets and it was nearly dawn before Mr. Cake’s words finally reached her. She suddenly popped from her bed and grinned happily, throwing her forelegs up towards the sky in revelation. “I can open Pinkie Pie’s Party Planners!” She realized when Pound cake began crying that she had celebrated a bit too loud and she bit her lip and hopped back into bed, hoping the Cake’s didn’t come upstairs to complain. She relaxed after Pound fell back asleep on his own within the minute and she lay on her back, facing the stout beams of the roof.
Losing her job may not be so bad after all.
