Matters of Lesser Interest
Flapjack Dreams of Pancakes
Every night, they were consistent. For certain, the dreams were not always the same, but they were consistent.
For long after the Battle of Canterlot, it was wondered by many if changelings dreamed, and what they dreamed of. The few books that were written on the subject were filed by many a librarian as speculative fiction, containing more editing mistakes than facts. At least two cinema reels were produced with plots centered around what happened in the mind of a sleeping changeling, and what secrets might be found there.
Whatever secrets were to be found (or found lacking), the simple truth was that, regardless of what ponies thought, changelings did dream. And just as changelings dreamed, so did the changeling known as Flapjack dream. His dreams were never the same, but they were always consistent, always about the next day. He would dream of eggs in every style he knew, of potatoes just the same, of muffins and toast. He would dream of omelets when the chickens were in high spirits (as frequently as they cared to) and sausage links when griffons and diamond dogs passed through (as infrequently as they dared to). And one night, he dreamed of them, perfectly shaped, perfectly proportioned, perfectly light, and perfectly delicious.
On that night, Flapjack dreamed of pancakes.
The next morning, when Gertrude Von Griff stepped through the door of Jack's, she found herself compelled to stop and examine the chalkboard declaring what the day's special was. "Jack?" she called after a moment. "I think there's a small problem with the board out here. All it says is 'pancakes'."
"There's no problem with it, then."
Again, Gertrude had to pause and consider this, and then she made her way to the kitchen. "I don't think I understand," she said, announcing her intention to clarify. "There's no fruit on them? Or whipped cream or nuts?"
Inside the kitchen, she was unsurprised to find the earth pony Flapjack, whom she had not yet, after the two years she'd known him, decided was an eccentric genius, or simply 'out there.' As expected, he was preparing the griddle, carefully adjusting the well-kept gas taps until it was at the perfect temperature. Exactly as he did every morning.
"None of those things, Gert." Flapjack's response was, as always when cooking was concerned, direct. "They will have pats of butter and a precise drizzle of maple syrup. Nothing else."
"At all?" the griffon felt compelled to ask. "Is there any particular reason that today were serving...."
It was, of course, only seconds that passed in between Gertrude's trailing off and her answering, but they were seconds that felt like hours as her mind raced. Never, in any span of time she could imagine, would Flapjack serve 'ordinary' pancakes. By the end of the first second, she had further ruled out 'plain' and 'simple,' each for seeming inadequate in describing anything Flapjack would decide to cook. By the end of the second second, she had convinced herself to move beyond 'regular,' which was certainly accurate, but struck her as rude. Relief came just after the third second, with the appearance of the right word.
"Traditional pancakes?"
At that moment, Flapjack determined that the griddle was at the perfect temperature and turned his attention from it to regard Gertrude.
"I dreamed of golden pancakes, with a pat of butter and precise drizzle of maple syrup."
Flapjack turned his attention to the creation of the first batter to be made that day. Gertrude turned her attention towards preparing the till for that day. Not another word was spoken of the pancakes. Flapjack had dreamed of them, and that was that.
When customers finally began to fill the diner, their reactions upon entering were similar to Gertrud's. They paused for a moment to wonder what 'pancakes' might mean, and then were seated. The orders that Gertrude took were not usual; many ordered what they usual did, or simply weren't up for pancakes. Those who did eat Flapjack's pancakes, however, all sat for a moment in stunned silence after their first bite, needing a few moments to understand what had just happened. Eventually, all of them contended that what had experienced in those moments was the feeling of a miracle, and they resumed eating.
It was two hours into serving that the front door burst open to let in an earth pony, green-furred, flaxen-maned, and gasping for breath. Before any diners could properly react, Gertrude was at his side, a glass of water in her talons. "Mayor Bigwig!"
The mayor all but collided with her, unsteadily taking the glass in his hooves, and after sucking in a deep breath, taking a large gulp to calm himself. "Du liebe Zeit, why are you in such a hurry, Mayor? What's happened?"
"I was, in my fields," Bigwig stammered in-between breaths. "My daughter..."
At once, every pony was on their hooves, ready to spring into action. Bigwig drew in another deep breath, and continued. "Met a mare at the gate. A food critic. From Canterlot! And she's coming here!" The diner's occupants settled down, but they were still very concerned about the possible implications of the situation. A Canterlan taking an interest in their humble diner had not happened for...
Truthfully, the last time had been not two weeks ago, when a peculiar gent in a capotain had taken an interest in Flapjack, and turned out to be from the Midland, but nothing else had come of it. This fact, naturally, did nothing to stem the concern felt at that moment, for at the moment, no one recalled it. The ponies were, at that moment, very much concerned.
Not included among the concerned was Gertrude von Griff, who calmly responded, "Oh. Is that all?" As soon as she'd said it, everyone around her calmed down even further, and Bigwig visibly shrank and blushed through his green fur, suddenly feeling very silly for making such a big deal out of what should have obviously been nothing. "Nopony told us, though, so it's good to hear it early. You sit down and rest, Mayor, and I'll tell Flapjack so he can decide what to do."
And that is what happened. Bigwig sat on his haunches by the door and drank his water while pretending he did not run clear across Oldenburg for no good reason. The diners sat down and resumed their breakfast, although their conversations turned uniformly to the mystery mare. Gertrude retreated into the kitchen, and emerged a few moments,to say, to the surprise of nobody, "Jack has decided that we should all carry and not worry about it, and that he will deal with it when the time comes."
That was good enough, and the conversation in the diner returned largely to normal, with only casual speculation about what would happen when the critic arrived.
Ten minutes passed. That stretched into thirty minutes, then an hour. Despite the length of time, hardly anyone had left, even thosethat had only come in for lunch, so interested in seeing the outcome of the critic's arrival and evaluation. None were more strongly affected than Bigwig; as time had done on, he'd grown more and more nervous, to the point where Gertrude was constantly refilling his water glass, cold liquid being the only thing preventing him from shaking.
Two hours passed since the mayor had first run in, and finally the door opened to reveal a pony that had never before been seen in Oldenburg. As soon as she entered, all eyes were on her, and everyone in the diner knew imediately that this was the mare they had heard about.
The first, most obvious, and really the only necessary indication that this mare was from Canterlot was the fact that she looked very smart, wearing a dress that was best described as elegantly simple, an affair of violet and deep blue that served to compliment her fur, which was colored much like a flan or crème brûlée. What her mark was was a guess for anybody, obscured by fabric. Her mane was a deeper red-orange and was done up. She was in no way dressed for walking, and it was clear that part of the delay in her arrival was doubtlessly spent making herself 'presentable.' Despite these efforts, she still seemed somewhat plain, and was not at all the visage of culinary retribution that most of the diner had made her out to be in their minds.
But plain or not, she had come all the way from Canterlot. This was the moment of truth. The opportunity to make a good impression on a visitor from the Midl-
"Willkommen!"
Before Bigwig, or indeed, anyone else had an opportunity to begin irritating the visitor, Gertrude chimed in noisily and all but bounced up to the unicorn. To say that she was caught by surprise would be fitting, given the height that she jumped to.
"willkommen. Welcome, welcome. We don't see many fancy ponies here. There's a rumor that we'd have a visitor from Canterlot. Dare I guess that it was accurate?"
To the mare's credit, she recovered from her surprise in short order. "Yes, you would be," she said, voice ringing in a rich Canterlot accent. "Crème Custard, food critic for the Canterlot Tribune. I take, from your exuberant greeting, that you are employed here?"
"Ich bin. Yes, although I'm not the one you're looking for, probably."
For a moment, Custard regarded the griffon with a mixture of caution and interest. "Is the chef here today?" she asked. Gertrude answered with l
No more than a nod of her head.
"And, is the chef currently available?"
Gertrude nodded a second time. "I'll let him know you're here. I'm sure he'll want to speak with you himself. A moment, please." The griffon turned and went back into the kitchen, and before long, an earth pony emerged and approached Custard promptly.
"I'm Flapjack. I understand you asked for me, and have heard a rumor you've come to review my cooking," he said.
Crème Custard bristled, just slightly. "Mister Flapjack, I don't 'review' anything. I critique food, and do so based on a number of traits."
"Well, I'm very happy for you, then."
Custard quirked an eyebrow. It was not any of the number of responses she had expected. Brushing the remark aside, she continued on as undaunted as she could manage. "Yes, then. Please, tell me about today's, pancakes."
Flapjack did not hesitate in the slightest. "They're a stack of three pancakes with a pat of butter and a drizzle of maple syrup."
There were a few seconds that passed before Custard realized that there was no further explanation forthcoming. "That's, that's all?"
"That's all."
Another few moments passed before Crème Custard spoke again. "I've been a critic for some time. It goes without saying, I think, that I've sampled more dishes than I can easily recall. That includes pancakes in almost any style you can imagine. And yet, I'm not sure how I should feel today."
This time, it was Flapjack who quirked an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't understand what you mean," he replied.
"Nopony, Mister Flapjack, has ever served ordinary pancakes for a critique. The objective is to show skill and imagination. What can you hope to show me with ordinary pancakes?"
"Have you had my pancakes, yet?" Flapjack asked, suddenly.
The question caught Custard quite off-guard. "Well, no, of course not-"
"Then how can you claim to know what they will or won't show you?"
Crème Custard did not like this stallion one bit. Or perhaps she did? Never before had a chef facing one of her critiques been so antagonistic, or so certain. Of course, many had said they were 'certain' their food would be to her satisfaction, but here was one who either knew it would be to her satisfaction, or didn't care. It was a bit exciting, in all truth.
"Very well, Mister Flapjack," she said after a moment. "Pancakes." With no more than a curt nod, Flapjack guided the critic to an open table- which was, if nothing else, spotless- and then returned to the kitchen. A moment later, Gertrude reemerged and brought the unicorn a mug of hot, black coffee, asked if there was anything else she needed at that moment, and when the answer was in the negative, departed to attend to the other tables.
The several minutes that passed- several minutes longer than what seemed necessary to prepare a stack of three pancakes, two eggs over easy, and toast- were not marks in Flapjack's favor. But Custard kept quiet and waited, sipping her coffee, which was surprisingly good considering the general quality of coffee berries available in the Provinces. Finally, Gertrude went to the serving window, lifted a plate in her talons, and brought it to Custard's table, saying, "Guten appetit," and once more turning to the other tables.
The only word that Crème Custard had to describe the presentation was 'good.' It was honestly nothing special, and to her expert eye, even seemed amateurish, although she could not deny that the pancakes looked as perfect as pancakes could ever hope to. With a light sigh, she levitated her utensils into the air, cut a small wedge from her stack of pancakes, brought it to her mouth and began to chew.
After swallowing her first bite, she paused, and for the first time she could remember, it was not to contemplate the flavor or texture or her food. After several seconds, the corners of her mouth turned in a gentle, warm smile. She finished her meal in silence, and when she had finished, caught Gertrude's attention and asked for another moment of Flapjack's time. The griffon vanished into the kitchen, and a moment later, the earth pony appeared. Upon reaching her table, Flapjack asked casually, "I trust everything was to your liking?"
Quietly, Crème Custard rose from her seat and quite suddenly seized Flapjack in a tight embrace. "You've done a wonderful thing for me. Thank you," she whispered. She then stepped back from the stallion and, wearing the same warm smile she did during her meal, left far too much money on the table and departed from the diner.
After she'd left, Mayor Bigwig approached Flapjack and asked, a bit too anxiously, "What did she say?"
"She said 'thank you.' I believe she left extremely happy." And without another word of his own, he turned about and returned to the kitchen to relieve Gertrude.
For the rest of the day, ponies came, ponies ate, and ponies left. Finally, the diner closed, the till was counted out, the kitchen was cleaned, and the diner's remaining two occupants returned home to sleep.
On that night, Flapjack dreamed of cream custard.
Author's Note
Here it is, because it was demanded by some number of you. Don't expect updates here to be any regular; some of these side-stories will tie in to the main A Matter of Interest plot and so will be carefully controlled to avoid confusion and spoilers.
Interestingly, I seem to get the most written for Flapjack stories when I have Iron Chef playing in the background. I cannot begin to explain why. Although it might explain why this was like, way longer than I had thought it was.
Matters of Lesser Interest
The sun was just beginning to set when Fluttershy of Ponyville entered Whitetail Wood. A pegasus pale yellow of coat and strawberry pink of mane, she strode through the trees with all the confidence of a clothing model suffering from stage fright. She turned her head nervously this way and that to look at shadows that seemed to stretch and loom, even though the sun was still high enough to prevent them from doing so. Birds perched on branches without a song, and solemnly followed her as she moved past them. Most critically, however, she felt slow and weighed down, as if her stomach were filled with a chunk of ice.
Of course, she was not nervous because Whitetail Wood was by any means dangerous. Even if it was, with the abundance of birds following her, and squirrels and foxes watching from the branches and bushes, she would have ample warning of any danger that might stray too close. She was not nervous for her own safety at all.
Her nervous start would naturally have been understandable all the same, given these factors, when a hummingbird suddenly zipped in front of her, chirping frantically. “Oh, please slow down,” Fluttershy pleaded after taking a moment to calm herself. “I can’t understand you when you go that fast.”
Rather than slow down, the hummingbird flew twice through a short loop-the-loop, curtly chirped once more, and then flew off into the woods, Fluttershy quickly galloping after and the rest of the tiny flock not far behind. The chase continued for only a short, few minutes before Fluttershy slowed to a canter, then a walk, and finally stopped at the entrance of a small glade in the woods. The hummingbird returned to hover in front go Fluttershy’s face, then gave a sharp — but not painful — peck on her nose and flew off. Although she wasn’t hurt, Fluttershy nonetheless rubbed the spot where she’d been pecked, resolving to have a chat with him about his behavior at a later date.
Moving on from that issue to the immediate one, she took another look into the glade, but didn’t see what had her hummingbird friend so wound up. Not, at least, until after she heard it; an almost imperceptible sniffling. She walked quietly forward into the glade and looked briefly around, and then she saw. Almost within arm’s reach and curled up near the roots of an elm tree was a filly with a blueberry coat, cherry red mane and no mark yet, looking to be barely school-age and weakly crying.
“Sugar Song?”
The filly immediately jumped up when she heard her name, spinning to face Fluttershy and retreating into an even tighter ball, her teary eyes wide.
“Oh, you don’t have to be afraid, little one, I won’t hurt you. My name is Fluttershy. I’m a ranger,” she said soothingly.
Sugar Song uncurled just a little bit. “Are you r-really a ranger?” she asked meekly.
Fluttershy nodded. “I can show you my badge, if you’d like,” she offered.
Sugar Song didn’t even wait until Fluttershy had finished, galloping over in what was more of a swift leap and latching onto the ranger’s arm. “I wanna go home,” she whimpered, burying her face into fur.
“There, there, sweetie. That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Here.” Fluttershy settled down onto her belly. “Climb onto my back, and we’ll be out of here before you know it.” The filly pulled away from Fluttershy just long enough to wipe her nose, and then climbed onto the mare’s back as directed. Once Fluttershy felt certain Sugar Song would not fall off, she carefully stood up again, turned about and began walking back the way that she came from.
The walk out was vastly different from the walk in. The shadows no longer seemed to stretch and loom, even though the sun was nearly set and the shadows reached further than ever. The birds that had solemnly followed her in and perched on branches now flitted about excitedly, chipping happily. Most importantly, however, the chunk of ice in Fluttershy’s stomach had melted, now that she knew Sugar Song was safe. As she moved back towards Ponyville at a sedate pace, she could feel the bundle of nervous energy riding on her back slowly relaxing as it became more and more obvious that neither of them would be staying in the forest. After a few minutes, Sugar Song began to timidly ask questions about the birds following them, which Fluttershy answered happily. By the time they reached the edge of the woods, Sugar Song was hanging on Fluttershy’s ever word as she talked about the other animals that could be found in Whitetail Woods, when a cry of, “Sugar Song!” pulled both their attentions away from each other and to the pair of ponies that came rushing towards them.
“Mommy! Daddy!” replied the filly as she jumped from Fluttershy’s back to the ground and hurried over to her parents. In short order, she regretted her decision as she was swept us and fussed over.
“Oh, why did you run off like that? It’s dangerous for a little filly to be alone!” her mother said. “Oh, we were so worried!”
“I just wanted to see the animals!” Sugar Song protested, trying to squirm out of her mother’s arms.
Fluttershy didn’t wait another moment before she stepped in. “Your mother’s right, Sugar Song,” she said sternly, drawing the attention of both the filly and her parents. “It’s true that nothing bad happened to you this time, but something bad could have happened, and I might not have found you in time. I know you really wanted to see the animals in the woods, but even a brave filly should never go into the woods without a grown-up.”
Sugar Song’s ears flattened against her head. Mommies didn’t know anything about the woods, but rangers knew everything about them. “I’m sorry,” she said feebly, tears welling up in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
“Oh, you’re not bad, sweetie,” said Sugar Song’s father as he took a step forward, nuzzling his daughter’s cheek while her mother held her even tighter. “You just made a mistake, that’s all. Mistakes are to learn from, remember?”
“I just wanted to see the animals,” Sugar Song said again.
“Well, Sugar Song, if your mommy and daddy say that you can, maybe before your vacation is done, you can come see all of my little animal friends,” Fluttershy said with a smile. An instant later, she shied away from the other ponies, gaze turned towards the ground and hooves shuffling nervous. “If, you know, it’s alright with them.”
Sugar Song sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Can I, mommy?” she asked.
“After what you did today? Absolutely —” Sugar Song’s mother wasn’t able to finish before her father interrupted.
“Mommy and I have to talk about it tomorrow, sweetie,” he said, ignoring the glare he received. “But you have to be extra good and mind your manners, and we’ll see. Ok?”
“Yes, daddy. I’ll be super good!”
Sugar Song’s mother interjected with a heavy sigh, finally releasing her daughter. “Let’s go back into town. With everything that happened, we’ve all missed lunch and it’s almost supper time,” she said, not even waiting for a confirmation before she turned and started down the road.
Sugar Song didn’t follow her immediately, looking to her father instead with an expression of concern. Her father gave her a smile in return, and then turned to Fluttershy. “We really can’t thank you enough, Madam Ranger,” he said.
“Yeah!” Closer to her original level of excitement, Sugar Song bounded over and squeezed Fluttershy’s leg tightly. “I love you, Miss Fluttershy. You’re the best!”
Fluttershy blushed and turned her head away with a sheepish smile. “Oh, I-I was only doing my job,” she said
Sugar Song’s father chuckled briefly and started back towards Ponyville. “Come along, Sugar. We’d better not keep your mother waiting,” he said.
“Ok!” Sugar Song hurried after him, trotting just to keep up with his brisk walk. She stopped briefly and waved back over her shoulder. “Bye, Miss Fluttershy!”
Fluttershy waved back. “Goodbye,” she said, and then Sugar Song and her father were gone. Breathing a contented sigh and wearing a small smile, Fluttershy began the trek back towards her home. There was work yet, to be done, of course; one did not simply recover a filly from the forest in an official capacity and call that the end of it.
But that was work that could be done in the morning. For the rest of the evening, she would make her memory of the day not the tense moments going into Whitetail Wood nor the growing peace coming out, but of a foal’s innocent sincerity when Sugar Song said, ‘I love you,’ and meant each one of those three words.
Author's Note
The Ranger Corps is often thought of as an organization for professional adventurers, although this is not correct. Rangers serve as wardens and a kind of “pseudo-sheriffs” on the edges of Equestria’s wild places. A ranger's primary occupation is to monitor the wilderness for signs of disease in animal populations and in plants, watch for invasive foreign species, act as a guide for anyone that needs to trailblaze to some other destination (oftentimes research groups), function as search and rescue for lost individuals, and watch for poachers. Although they are provided combat training and some equipment in order to deal with armed threats such as poachers or bandits, normal procedure for rangers (per the guidebook known plainly as “The Ranger’s Guidebook”) is to immediately report poaching and banditry to a sheriff or sheriff’s deputy, except when failing to intervene personally may result in injury or loss of life to themselves or another, or in serious ecological damage.
Fluttershy is, as we see, a ranger, although she is not required to regularly patrol the Everfree due to the level of risk involved, while her talent with animals makes it very easy for her to monitor Whitetail Wood without having to actually patrol it; when she acts in an official capacity, it is usually for search and rescue.
