"Sheesh. You ask a simple pony to do a simple job and he almost sets the whole sugar house on fire."
The owner of this sugary establishment (the syrup pony) was staring disapprovingly into his assistant's eyes. Since the syrup machine had to be refilled every hour with dry tree wood to keep the fire going, the syrup pony had ordered his assistant, Cinnamon Sticks, to do so as he carefully crafted each drop of sticky, sweet, and expensive maple syrup.
Well, Cinnamon Sticks had done that all right, but put too much wood in every half hour. The fire grew bigger and bigger without even a single speck of realization from Cinnamon. Cinnamon had just kept overstuffing the fire with large amounts of wood until a ginormous pile of wood was sticking horizontally out of the fireplace (if that). Cinnamon had shoved the last piece of wood into the overfilling pile spilling out of the fire. He trotted away, a smug little look on his face. He was about to tell the syrup pony that he successfully put all of the wood into the fire when they both heard a loud FOOM!!
The wood was scattered all over the foyer, with small fires sparking out from them. The syrup pony's eyes boggled and his mouth dropped agape. His mouth moved, but absolutely no sound came out. Cinnamon understood this, for he didn't speak very often. The syrup pony mumbled some gibberish to himself for a minute, then turned to Cinnamon. "Cinnamon. Get the extinguisher." The fire was almost reaching the syrup pony's craftshop, mainly because the two stallions were just standing there a full five minutes, watching the small, yet roaring, fire in silence. "NOW!!"
Cinnamon absolutely hated getting yelled at, so he ran up the hot, splintery, and creaky steps up to the cramped second floor.
He grabbed a hammer from a toolkit in his room, for he liked building things. He raced across the hall to the syrup pony's bedroom. Everything about the syrup pony's bedroom was a delightful golden brown color. Cinnamon turned to a little shelf in one corner of the room. The syrup pony had evidently been interested in syrup all his life. Every single syrup from all over Equestria, he had them individually in those little glass containers maple syrup always comes in. Maple syrup from Fillydelphia, pine syrup from Los Pegasus...Cinnamon's eyes caught a transparent purple syrup container with what looked like luscious honey. He looked towards the door, hoping the syrup pony would not come clambering up the stairs in the next 40 seconds. He carefully lifted the lid, and put his hoof over the open container. He used the very tip of his hoof to dip in the container. The honey felt rich and amazing around his hoof. If only he could get a big bowl of the thing, slowly pouring it over his body...
Cinnamon immediately dismissed the thought. He revoked his honey-coated forehoof from the delicate container. All the while, he was wondering why the syrup pony had a container of honey with all of his syrup. He assumed it got put there by mistake, until his soft tongue ran over his honeyed hoof...
It wasn't honey at all; it was the most richest maple syrup he had ever laid tongue on. It was just so indulging.
He checked the back of the easily-breakable container: Manufactured in Canterlot. This from Canterlot? More like beyond!
"CINNAMON APPLE STICKS!!! This is the 14th time I've called you! WHERE IS THAT FIRE EXTINGUISHER?!?!"
Yep, that was the syrup pony all right. Wait, did he say...the 14th time?! Cinnamon was so carefree that he didn't even notice.
He grabbed the hammer and raced across the syrup pony's room. There, a fire extinguisher was in a glass box. Cinnamon cracked the box open with the hammer. The break was so violent that a little key that was on top of the box fell off, thus making Cinnamon catch it quickly by habit. He checked the shattered pieces of the glass box he just broke on the shaggy carpet. He located a lock. What idiot would take the time to unlock this in the middle of a fire?!
He grabbed the fire extinguisher and raced down the steps. He didn't get far because the fire had reached the middle step. He frantically looked for the syrup pony, who was engulfed in the flames. "HELP ME!! HELP ME!! Oh dear Celestia, HELP ME!!" He was crying out. "Ok, here!" Cinnamon tossed the extinguisher to the syrup pony. "YOU FOAL!! PUT IT OUT!!" He gasped, and nearly clocked Cinnamon in the head throwing it back. Cinnamon slammed his hoof on the handle and out sprayed the white fire-putter-outer. He aimed towards the syrup pony first. The giant flames reduced to a few measly sparks. He continued to put the rest of the fire out.
After a wide range of putting out the fire, Cinnamon collapsed on the steps, gasping. He remembered the syrup pony and trampled over the floorboards getting to him. His entire body was charcoal-stained, and he lay there, still.
Absolutely still.
Cinnamon sobbed, "No! You-You can't be gone! No!" He flopped on his back and cried himself to a short nap, then woke up. His eyes were crusted with dry tears, and he had a pounding headache from crying. He looked over at the syrup pony, whose eyes opened slightly, ever so slowly. "M-Mentor?" Cinnamon stuttered. "Cinnamon, I must tell you..." The syrup pony rasped. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sprang up. "...YOU HAVE TO BE THE STUPIDEST MENTEE EVER!!!!"
All of that flashed into Cinnamon's mind like a cheetah, then gazed back into his syrup-making mentor's eyes. They were blazing angry fire, but had the most microscopic twinkle of mischief and sympathy. After all, he rarely held a grudge. Then, I closed his eyes, looked away, and heaved a loud sigh. "All right...let's see here..." He looked around the sugar house, or at least the burnt remnants of it. Then he finally rested his gaze on Cinnamon. "Cinnamon, I have four words for you." Cinnamon's heart slowed down. You couldn't really yell at someone harsh enough to only have four words to say.
"You. Are. An. Idiot."
These words stung Cinnamon's body. Sure, the syrup pony had called him that before, but this time, it seemed, he really meant it. The syrup pony gazed towards the syrup machine and mumbled some cuss words, then turned his attention, once again, to Cinnamon.
"I don't get it. I just don't get it! I ask you to do ONE thing, and look what happens! The entire foyer is burnt, my craftshop--" His pupils shrunk to the size of ants, then he raced to his craftshop. Any proof that the craftshop had any syrup in it was gone. Completely. Well, except for one bottle. It lay, only slightly singed, on the very edge of the half-burnt shelf. Cinnamon strolled toward it, only to be shoved away by the syrup pony. "DONT TOUGH ANYTHING!!" He shouted. He gently picked up the fragile syrup. On the tag, it said, "For Sunny Rays and Trixie".
Sunny Rays. The mare of his dreams. He had always had a crush on her since the 5th grade, but she was interested in mares in that grade, and so forth. He was devastated, and his heart had been broken ever since her 19th and final rejection on January 7th, at precisely 2:15 pm and three seconds. Not that he was counting or anything.
His heart practically burst when she started going out with Trixie Lulamoon, whose boasting ways started to recede shortly after their third date. The syrup pony was determined to win Sunny Ray's heart by making her a gift. He knew Sunny Rays had a serious sweet tooth, so what better gift to give her than a delicious glass bottle of luscious, sticky-sweet maple syrup?
