Chapter One: EARLY MORNING
Chapter One: EARLY MORNING
Winter in Ponyville. Frigid by anypony’s standards. Needless to say, James would not have been willing to make the journey if something extremely important had not been at stake. Important to the plan. He had been walking since yesterday afternoon, following the main roads as best as he could manage, but travel was difficult this time of year. Every mile seemed two in winter. His hands shook visibly, completely numb, yet still they managed to grasp the black violin case at his side. Besides this, James carried no other belongings.
A burning, icy wind blew from the north, and he wrapped the cloak tighter around his slender frame, covering his face so that not even his chestnut hair suffered too much. It was small though. The ill-fitting cloth better suited a quadruped than his lanky figure, and bits of him stuck out in odd angles, unprotected. His ankles, left barren, turned blue in an instant, yet James’ only reaction to the pain was a slight tightening round the corners of his mouth.
‘Ponyville,’ he said to none in particular, his voice soft and clipped.
The village remained quiet and still as James approached it, his hand-made boots crunching into the snow. It was still dark, but not for long. Silently, the early morning’s thinnest sliver of light appeared, and the town was cast in winter sunshine.
James stepped lively, the thatched rooftop buildings parting like schools of fish as he strode into the main square. Nopony was awake yet. Good, he thought. No witnesses. He didn’t like making a spectacle. Humans were very rare to come across nowadays—unheard of in most places. Whenever he entered a town there was almost always a scene: ponies staring, the muttering, the fearful gaze mingled with a pinch of curiosity.
What is that? Who is he? What does it want? I’ve never seen anything like it.
He didn’t want to deal with it. At the moment, James needed to set himself up without drawing too much attention. His plans, more often than not, required the delicate touch of anonymity—a thing that was, unsurprisingly, difficult for a non-pony to acquire for himself.
James walked on, passing the impressive composition of timber and stone that was Town Hall with barely a glance. His eyes darted for a particular building, searching for the tell-tale sign hanging on a doorframe. Usually, he reasoned, a town like this would be a hub for trade: traveling merchants and vendors passing through on their way to the more civilized conurbations like Manehattan or Fillydelphia.
Which means…
His eyes scanned the rows of houses. There. Hanging on the door of a rather odd-looking establishment was exactly what he was hoping for: Vacancy—Room for rent. Whenever a salespony would set up temporary shop in the market, some ponies would have the foresight to see an opportunity. These wandering gentlecolts needed a home, right? So in an order to raise an easy coin they would put up boarding, allowing these merchants a warm bed to sleep in for a small fee. It was simple, quick, and very much to James’ liking.
He made a beeline to the structure. His violin case jostled at his side, a suspicious metallic clink emerging from it. As James neared, he took in the sight of his target. It was certainly a strange building. Like a four-year old’s fantasy come to life, a candy house stood before him. Gingerbread roof tiles, candycane columns, frosting-laced gutters, and liquorice window-boxes sprung out with gusto against the snow-sodden village. The sight alone left James feeling ill.
From aside, a little sign was posted into the dirt. Sugarcube Corner, Confectionery, it said.
James glanced at it and groaned inwardly. The irony of a candy-coated confectionery was not lost on him, but perhaps this was taking things a little too far. If there had been any other house, James would not even consider a place as this. Any house at all. James did another sweep of the area. There were none.
As another cold chill swept into him, James turned resolutely toward the door and walked. He knocked three times, trying to ignore the fact that he was knocking on pink wood, and composed his thoughts. He put on his best face. James had performed this act many times and he found that sincerity was crucial in getting through the front door.
Be cordial, he told himself, cordial but not overly friendly. Humble, yes, but with a warm smile. Head up, shoulders a little slouched. Needy, but not pitiful. You are a kind soul in need of help. Good. Deep breaths now.
He heard steps approaching the door: and then a voice
‘Is somepony there?’ spoke somepony from behind the door, definitely female. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re still closed for a few more hours.’
Showtime.
‘Actually,’ said James, sounding every bit the kind soul in need, albeit a cordial and humble one. ‘I am here about the vacancy. The room for rent? That is still on offer, I presume?’
‘Oh!’ There was an audible note of recognition hanging on the word. ‘Oh, of course! Nearly forgot about that sign out there. We hardly ever get tenants, don’t you know. Hold on...’ There was a click as the sliding lock was pushed to the side. A blue mare with a shockingly wavy-pink mane stood in the frame as the door opened. ‘Well Pinkie Pie and the twins are sharing the loft, but there is a guest room on the second floor that I suppose you could … could...’
Mrs. Cake’s voice petered out. She had finally realized that she had been talking to something very un-ponylike: something that she had never seen before in all her years. Her eyes widened in mystified silence as the human entered her home, white snow falling off his shoulders. James was wearing a kindly expression on his face, as though he had already known what her first reaction would be.
‘Good morning, Miss.’
Mrs. Cake appeared quite flabbergasted. ‘Is it?’ she replied, dazed. The creature was two or three inches taller than herself, and it gave the impression that something very big was taking place in the little store.
‘I hope you will excuse me for my appearance. I’m a human, you see,’ he explained. ‘I only say this because I take it you’ve never seen a human before?’
Mrs. Cake shook her head, mouth still slightly agape.
‘I understand. There aren’t many of us left, unfortunately,’ he replied, and for a moment James looked momentarily disheartened. The way his shoulders slouched made Mrs. Cake feel a bit sorry for the boy, which came as a great shock as she had only just met him. It was just...there was a sort of silent desperation emanating from the human. It made her feel for him—not in the way that one feels for a pitiful creature, but rather as one feels for another in need.
‘Normally I would not ask,’ began James, ‘since I seem to be rather an oddity in these parts—’
Mrs. Cake silently agreed. There could be no doubt that this was perhaps the strangest thing that has ever walked through the door. The human continued.
‘But it is very cold outside. And...I have no place to call my own, as it were. Forgive me if I sound rude, but did you mention that you did in fact have a room for rent?’
‘Well, I…’ Mrs. Cake hesitated.
In truth, she had reservations. There was definitely something wrong about this scenario. A very odd and sentient creature—human, she never would have guessed—had arrived on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning and asked for a room. Normally, she would say no. A thousand times no. But...something about the way he was looking at her…the way he held himself…she couldn’t just kick him out, could she?
‘I can pay,’ he offered suddenly.
Mrs. Cake’s expression brightened. Not by much, but enough. They had entered some familiar territory: business.
‘Usually I charge three bits a night,’ she began, still wary, ‘but you seem to be…’ She had noticed his too-small cloak and rather hand-me-down clothing.
‘I’ll give you five.’
Mrs. Cake nearly choked. ‘Five? Dearie, I think you’ve gone and went the wrong way on this. I only asked for three.’
‘I insist. You’ve never had a lodger like me.’ And Mrs. Cake could have sworn he gave a wink. ‘I guarantee it.’
He then knelt down and began fumbling with his violin case. Within moments, he drew out a small bag of coins from its recesses and produced the five bits. James held them out and Mrs. Cake took them feeling a little overwhelmed.
‘My name is James, by the way,’ he said.
‘Mrs….Mrs. Cake.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cake.’ James looked around expectantly. ‘Err, where did you say the guest room was again?’
‘Second floor. First on…on the left…up the stairs.’
James nodded. He threw the bag of coin back into his case and proceeded up to the next landing. Before he was halfway up, however, he looked back, a smile on his face.
‘Thank you, Mrs. Cake. You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll try not to be too much of a bother. Again, thank you.’
James disappeared then, leaving a rather mollified Mrs. Cake alone to sort out her thoughts. ‘I must be losing my mind,’ she said aloud. In truth, she never did explicitly say that she had agreed to the deal, but that hardly seemed to matter now. The noisy creak of the guest room door somehow told her that decision had already been made.
‘Oh dear…Pinkie’s going to get a nice surprise in the morning.’
Chapter Two: FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Chapter Two: FIRST IMPRESSIONS
James closed the door with a smirk on his face. Beautiful, he told himself. In another life, it was very possible he might have been an actor. Or a politician. The guest bedroom in which he found himself was squarish and small. From the corner, a writing desk gathered dust motes—the fine, grey specks floating adrift above its wooden surface like flies of neglect. Feeling curious, James blew off the dust and took a peek in the drawers. What he found surprised him.
‘Balloons?’
Inside was a large supply of uninflated rubber balloons. Every color of the rainbow seemed to inhabit the small, wooden desk. He closed it again, feeling slightly perplexed, and wandered around the rest of the room.
A stout green bed rested under a window overlooking the square, and upon peering out into the winter wonderland that was Ponyville, James could already see some early-risen ponies trudging through the snow on their way to work.
No commotion. No staring. He had made it into town without causing a huge scene. A brief peace before he plunged into his grand design in earnest. For a few moments, he contented himself by simply watching as the ponies below went about their lives: going to the store, fetching groceries, perhaps, he speculated, looking after their offspring on such a snowy day as this…
After a time, James turned away, shaking himself out of his daydreams. Time was precious at the moment and he couldn’t waste any of it on such trivial luxuries. His presence being unknown to the public would only last for a short while. They would find out soon enough, perhaps as early as this afternoon. There was plotting to be done.
Grabbing the black violin case, he hoisted it up onto the bed and clicked open the latches. Instantly, it sprung open to reveal an ornate, golden-brown violin. It was a very handsome instrument but James’ eyes moved past it. Stuffed inside along with the artful piece of woodwork was a cornucopia of papers and tiny metal devices. They appeared thrown about with no apparent order—a living mess of glinting brass and complicated, hand-scrawled notes. Seeing them again was enough to arouse a fire in James and send goosebumps along his skin. They were the tools of his trade: picks, dummy locks, schematics, smoke pellets, pocket klaxons (for those noisy distractions), more picks, safe diagrams, notebooks, journals, profiles of high-class targets, bottles and bottles of stoppered ink wells and a store of writing quills.
Of course, to the outside eye, the notes were just a bunch of papers with gobbledegook scribbled on them. Everything was written in code. A nonsense language he had invented a few years back. Totally unreadable to anyone other than him, and that was the way he preferred it. Sometimes it was better to keep things between oneself.
James unfurled a blank scroll from the mess and unstoppered one of his ink wells, taking out a notebook that had a little crown drawn on the cover. He turned feverishly to a page which he had bookmarked previously, a box-check list of the many things he had to do before the big night. With satisfaction, he checked off the first box.
‘Step one. Complete.’ His face bent down to examine the next item. ‘Step two,’ he read aloud, ‘Find out where the Princesses’ protégé is staying.’
Ah, it was coming back to him. That wonderful moment when he had learned of the exact method to which he could gain entry to the Grand Galloping Gala. At first, James had considered merely sneaking into the gala and by-passing that annoying ticket procedure, but he tossed the idea away almost immediately. It wasn’t as if he could blend in, being a human. One slip and the guards would spot him for certain. And then it would be off to the moon for a millennium or two, just like Princess Luna.
No. He needed authentic access, but this proved a huge problem as well. James knew that it would be a dramatic set-back if he were to acquire entry the normal way—not to mention dangerous. Those wishing to attend and receive a golden ticket needed proofs of their high status in society: background checks, criminal records, family history; everything would be examined with the microscrutiny of Canterlot’s elite. He was good, but not good enough to forge an entire ancestry of James Seniors out of thin air. Again, to the moon. So what to do? And that was when James remembered.
Twilight Sparkle.
The Princesses’ hand-picked student to study all that magic had to offer was residing in this very town. She would be his ticket in, and there wouldn’t be any need for protocol or sneaking or anything of the sort. To some, this might be a stretch of reasoning, but he knew better. James had a clear memory of the reports of last year’s Gala.
Princess Celestia had provided Twilight Sparkle, as well as all of her friends, very important, a ticket to the Gala without any screening whatsoever. No red tape. No background checks. Scot-free in the door without so much as a second glance.
Unsurprisingly, their bumbling façade through the aristocratic party resulted in the Grand Galloping Gala literally being destroyed that year, however, instead of being punished the Princess apparently enjoyed their antics so much that it was rumored she would be inviting Ms. Sparkle and her friends back again this year.
To the upper echelons of Canterlot’s citizens, this sounded like a terrible idea, but to James it had been music. A brilliant idea was formed that day, and its first step was right here.
James picked up his quill and dabbed it into the ink. There was still much to consider.
With furious, erratic gestures, James began to sketch out an outline onto the scroll. The room faded around him. He was already somewhere else. A familiar electric buzz was crackling over his skin. This was the beginning of something. He could feel it.
***
The very first thing that Pinkie Pie did when she woke up, and saw the dusty beams of sunlight streaming in through the curtains, was somersault out of bed.
It was at the core of her beliefs that every day be started this way: with a smile and a spectacular gymnastic foray into the unknown tomorrow. Today she figured she would try something a little different: a 720 degree forward curl with a twist mid-second revolution, and a dual-hoof landing with her hind legs. A bit tricky, but nothing says Good Morning, Equestria like spontaneity in the morning.
The twins, at least, seemed to enjoy her acrobatically enhanced exploits. From across the wide, well-decored loft the baby unicorn and pegasus cheered and burbled with infantile pleasure as Pinkie Pie slipped into a dazzling cartwheel.
‘Today is here! Today is here!’ she sang happily. Pinkie Pie was bouncier than usual. She couldn’t help it. Today was a very special day.
‘Only three more weeks until this year’s Winter Wrap-Up! You know what that means…’ said Pinkie Pie.
The twins bubbled. Pound Cake looked especially lost, drool slipping conspicuously out the side of his lip.
‘That’s right!’ continued Pinkie Pie unabated. ‘It’s Freeeeee Hot Cocoa Day! This is going to be so much fun. Everypony’s going to be here. There will be cake, and hot chocolate, and then we’ll have a party…Oh!’
Pinkie Pie suddenly looked alarmed. ‘We still need to set up the balloons and party decorations! Can’t have a party without decorations. Gotta go, see ya later,’ she said, taking off down the staircase three steps at a time.
Mr. and Mrs. Cake were already up and waiting in the kitchen. They were huddled close, whispering to each other feverishly when Pinkie entered through the archway.
‘Hiyaa, Mrs. Cake. Good morning, Mr. Cake,’ she greeted. Mr. and Mrs. Cake whirled about, startled.
‘Oh, Pinkie. Dearie, we didn’t see you come in,’ said Mrs. Cake. Her face was much more tense than usual, as though she had been up the whole night.
Mr. Cake seemed equally stressed. ‘You’re up early.’
‘Yep!’ piped Pinkie Pie. ‘Chipper as a spring chicken. Or is it a winter chicken, since its still snowy? Do chickens change color when its a different season? Oh! Remember when I was a chicken on Nightmare Night? Best Nightmare Night ever!’
‘Pinkie Pie, there’s something we need to talk about,’ said Mr. Cake, looking nervous.
‘Is it about Free Hot Cocoa Day? Because I just can’t wait. We are still doing it at noon, right?’
Mrs. Cake broke in. ‘Yes, Pinkie Pie, we’re still doing it, but…something has…come up.’
Excitement filled Pinkie Pie’s eyes. She loved it when things came up. ‘Yay! What is it? Are relatives coming over? Did we win the lottery? A trip to a volcanic island?’ Suddenly, Pinkie Pie gasped with exhilaration.
‘Did we get commissioned to bake a wedding cake for a Grand Duke pony in Canterlot, but the order is so mindbogglingly huge that we’ll need to recruit the whole town to finish it, so we’ll call in someponies to help but they actually end up making things much worse, which means that we’ll have to close down our shop and live the rest of our lives as hermits!’ She seemed positively keen on the idea.
Mrs. Cake just shook her head. This was the third time this week Pinkie Pie had suggested that scenario.
‘No, dearie. Actually—’ Mrs. Cake fought for a way to phrase the seriousness of what had happened to her that morning, ‘we…we have a guest staying with us.’
‘Pfft, well duh!’ replied Pinkie Pie. ‘I already knew that.’
Mrs. Cake goggled at the her. ‘Y-you did? You already know who it is?’
‘Well, of course, silly. It’s me! I’m the guest!’
‘It’s…you?’ Mrs. Cake said slowly.
‘Umm, yeah.’ Pinkie Pie rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve only been here for, like, a super-duper long time. Who else could it be?’
‘No, Pinkie,’ said Mr. Cake. ‘We have a new guest staying with us. Somepony…something new. He’s rented out the second-floor guest room, although how I have no idea.’ He then looked sharply at Mrs. Cake, who shrunk away.
‘Couldn’t just leave him out there in the cold—’ she muttered under her breath, her cheeks red and flustered.
‘You could have at least woken me up,’ Mr. Cake returned. ‘Who knows what he wants or what he is for that matter.’
‘He’s a human, darling.’
‘Well, what is that? We have babies, honey. What if he’s dangerous?’
The couple began to bicker amongst themselves for a time, but Pinkie Pie wasn’t listening. She had a far-away look in her eyes; a twinkle that was rarely ever seen was glowing in her big, round pupils.
‘You mean…there’s somepony new staying here?’ she whispered softly. Mr. and Mrs. Cake immediately stopped talking. They both looked at Pinkie Pie.
‘A new…tenant?’ she continued, her voice so quiet it was as though she were exhaling her words. Mr. Cake looked scared. Mrs. Cake looked terrified. The last time a tenant had stayed at the Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie Pie nearly blasted apart the restaurant from sheer joy. In total, she destroyed three ovens, a half-dozen windows, and broke two of the guest’s legs from hugging him too hard. It was why they weren’t a popular option for boarding in the first place: the Pinkie Pie hugs.
‘Now, Pinkie,’ eased Mrs. Cake with the same demeanor as one addressing a child jumping on top of an atomic bomb. ‘Let’s just think about this for a moment, dearie.’
‘Yes,’ chimed Mr. Cake. ‘Let’s just take a breather.’
Pinkie Pie’s lip began to tremble. Her tail began to waggle.
‘We—we still have a lot to do before the twelve ‘o’ clock party, remember?’ urged Mr. Cake desperately.
‘Absolutely right, darling! We still need some—some—decorations! Yes, decorations, Pinkie dear. How about we finish that first, okay? Please? Okay?’
Pinkie Pie looked like she was getting ready to explode. Her body was dancing like a mexican jumping bean. Her eyes were erupting with fireworks, tail shaking with the intensity of an earthquake. And just as it seemed she was reaching the apex of her transformation, and her little pony body seemed unable to contain any more excitement or pleasure, did something amazing happen. She stopped. Pinkie Pie was her normal self again, as though not a moment had passed.
‘That reminds me. We need some balloons for the party. Mrs. Cake, do we have any left lying around?’ she asked plainly, not a hint of exploding joy in sight.
Mr. and Mrs. Cake sighed with relief. They had diffused the situation. It is very sad, therefore, that in her moment of solace Mrs. Cake let her guard down. She did not even think about the question at all and answered Pinkie Pie with the blatant truth.
‘I think there are some in that desk in the guest room upstairs,’ she said, and immediately put her hoof over her mouth in horror. Her husband stared at her in shock.
‘Okey-dokey-lokey. Upstairs it is then.’
Pinkie Pie trotted up the staircase with a happy smile on her face. A perfect foil to both Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s looks of miserable, despairing fear.
For a moment, there was silence. Then there was a knock and the sound of a door creaking open. Another suspenseful silence. Voices echoed down into the kitchen like scurrying mice and Mr. and Mrs. Cake glanced at each other. Their thoughts were the same, and their faces expressed each others as in reflection.
But what they expected to hear never came. They waited and waited, but aside from the uniform tick of the wall clock, no sound could be heard.
Eventually, Pinkie Pie came down from the stairwell—looking cheerful. She had balloons in her teeth and was humming something jaunty and upbeat.
‘Pinkie, dear,’ asked Mrs. Cake in wonder. ‘What happened? Did you meet him?’
Pinkie Pie blew up the first balloon and tied it onto a chair. It bobbled aloft, bereft of gravity’s tug.
‘Yep,’ she said. Suddenly Pinkie Pie turned and glowered at them. ‘What are you ponies doing? We’ve got a party to get prepared. Let’s move it!’
Mr. and Mrs. Cake looked at each other in confusion. ‘But Pinkie, what—’ began Mr. Cake.
‘Move it, Mister!’ demanded Pinkie Pie. Mr. Cake jumped in spite of himself. Pinkie could be very intimidating when she wanted to be. ‘That hot cocoa isn’t going to brew itself. We’ve got a schedule to keep. Only two hours until we open up for business and everypony's going to want some chocolate, and I don’t want to see a pony without a mug in her hoof for miles. Do I make myself clear!’
‘Ma’am, yes, ma’am!’ shouted both Mr. and Mrs. Cake in unison. There was a scramble for cocoa powder and mugs. The boiler was fired up and steam surged through the kitchen with its white, wet smoke.
Pinkie took her parties seriously. It was her craft—her art. Today, however, she was marshaling Mr. and Mrs. Cake as though they were preparing for the arrival of royalty. The first batch that was produced she poured down the drain. ‘You call that hot cocoa?’ she said to them. ‘I wouldn’t even call it toilet water!’ The next batch fared no better, nor the one after that. Pinkie had turned full-on dictator of the Cakes, issuing them ridiculous demands for specific chocolate-to-milk ratios as well as setting up elaborate, back-breaking decorations all across the floor space, which soon turned Sugarcube Corner into an explosion of paper streamers and rubber balloons.
She accepted the fifth cup that was brought to her, but only just: ‘It’ll do,’ she said. ‘But I got my eye on this cup.’ She stared at it threateningly, as though daring it to taste even the slightest bit mediocre.
Mrs. Cake was perspiring heavily. ‘Pinkie,’ she asked. ‘What’s going on, dear. Surely there isn’t a need for all this…this nitpicking is there? I mean, it’s just free hot chocolate—’
‘Just free hot chocolate?’ said Pinkie Pie with enough force to blow a hole in the roof. ‘Just free hot chocolate? No! It’s not just about the free hot chocolate. It’s about making the best hot chocolate this town has ever seen—that all of Equestria has ever seen! Why? Because ten minutes ago, I just made a new friend: James; and I don’t want the very first party that he sees, one of my parties nonetheless, the one he agreed to come to when I mentioned that the whole town would be there, to be anything—I repeat—anything less than the most super, spectacular, splendiferous, superlative, supreme, sensational, nonpareil free hot chocolate party that he has ever been to. That is why, Mrs. Cake, we must have all this nitpicking. And don’t call me “Shirley”! Is. That. Understood?’
It was. Pinkie Pie had finally lost it…again.
***
By the time noon rolled around, the outside of Sugarcube Corner was packed with eager ponies waiting for their first taste of the Cake’s famous free hot chocolate. They gave it away only once a year on the three week mark before Winter Wrap-Up, and the first one in line every time, without fail, was none other than Rainbow Dash herself. True, in the past she was always bested by Pinkie Pie when it came to the Apple family’s cider sell, but now the shoe was on the other hoof. Nopony was faster, or cooler, or more radically rad than her and since Pinkie Pie was out of the equation, nothing was going to stop her from getting a first taste of that delicious, creamy hot chocolate.
Rumor had it that this year’s batch would be to die for, and as Rainbow Dash stood waiting at the door, a crowd of ponies behind her, she couldn’t help but pace giddily back and forth. The others were in the mass as well: Applejack the closest to the front besides Rainbow Dash, followed by Twilight, Fluttershy, and Rarity. Spike was still sleeping. It was widely known that dragons slept much longer when it was winter than in any other season.
‘And you say he’s just too tired, Twilight?’ asked Rarity in regards to Spike. ‘Even though its noon, he can’t even manage to get up?’
Twilight Sparkle made a face. ‘This time of year, I’m lucky if I can get Spike to take a bath everyday, much less go out for hot cocoa.’
‘He doesn’t bathe everyday?’ Rarity appeared revolted at the very thought. ‘Oh Twilight, I don’t know how you manage.’
‘Nose plugs,’ she returned simply.
‘Ah, of course. Err—Twilight?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you even able to see with that book in front of you like that?’
For the past few hours, Twilight’s face had been buried in a large, leather-bound book that she had recently required from over the mail. Her eyes were currently tearing across the pages at breakneck speeds, as though she were trying to figure out how fast her eyes could move before popping out of their sockets.
‘Sorry,’ she replied, not taking her gaze away from the text. ‘It’s just that I ordered this book a while ago and I’ve been itching to read it ever since I learned what it was about.’
‘And—what is it about?’ asked Rarity.
‘It’s called “The Oddly Specific Guide to Rare and Odd Equestrian Oddballs and Oddities”,’ she said, ‘by Emmesy Squire.’
‘How…erm, odd.’ said Rarity. She honestly didn’t know what to make of the book if that was the title. ‘And that made you want to read this book?’
‘Of course!’ said Twilight. ‘I mean, isn’t it fascinating to learn about how many wild and unusual plants and creatures live in Equestria? It’s like exploring a whole different world! Here. Take a look at this.’ Her horn glowed and the pages of the book whisked by in a whirlwind of black and white. They stopped on an illustration.
‘Goodness, what is that!’ shrieked Rarity.
‘The Crevatious Three-Spotted Grass Worm’ said Twilight brightly. ‘Check this out. It lives only in the most remote areas of forests, eats nothing but fertilizer, and makes its home in the rotting carcasses of—’
‘Stop it! I don’t want to hear!’ said Rarity, her hooves over her ears. ‘For the love of all that is decent and civil, please don’t continue that sentence.’
‘I was only going to say “trees”,’ snickered Twilight.
Rarity opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly the crowd around them shifted and started to cheer wildly. Startled, the two whipped their heads about to locate the source of the commotion, but after a moment it became obvious. Pinkie Pie had just opened the door.
She was standing in the frame like the gatekeeper to all the world’s riches, her face shining and bright amidst the cheering faces and soft, winter sunshine. A megaphone rested in her hoof, and in a sweeping motion, she brought it to her mouth. Those closest to the door backpedaled as fast as they could. Immediately, her voice was magnified and her words boomed out for all to hear.
‘Welcome everypony…to this year’s mid-winter Free Hot Cocoa Day at Sugarcube Corner!’
Everypony cheered louder. Some stomped their hooves in excitement. Rainbow Dash did a loop-de-loop in the air. In the middle of the crowd, a timid Fluttershy let out a demure “Woohoo” which went about completely unheard.
‘Are you ready for the most tastiest, chocolatiest, hot chocolate ever?’ Pinkie Pie teased over the megaphone.
‘Yes!’ cried back the crowd in compliance.
‘Are you sure?’ she played.
‘YES!’ they chanted louder. Rainbow Dash was getting impatient. ‘Let us in already!’ she called out. Pinkie looked up and spotted her.
‘Oh, hi Rainbow Dash! How are you?’ she asked, clearly sidetracked. ‘Are you first again? Wow! That’s like twelve times in a row! I mean, you should get a medal for all the times you’ve—’
‘Pinkie!’
‘Whoops! Right, almost forgot,’ Pinkie Pie turned back to the crowd. ‘Alright everypony just a few quick rules before we go in! Just like last year: only one mug per pony. Don’t push or shove, there’s plenty for all of you. We have some tasty treats to go along with your cocoa and you’re free to stay as long as you like, but do leave in a timely manner. We can’t have all of you in here at once or else the store might explode or something like that, and nopony wants that to happen. Also, this party is to welcome my new friend and Sugarcube Corner’s most-recent tenant, James, so be sure to say “hi” or “how’s it going?” or even a “what’s up?” to him before you leave! Okay, everypony ready?’
The crowd of ponies whipped into a frenzy. They cheered and stomped their hooves loudly, and Rainbow Dash landed back in her place at the front of the line with deep, longing thirst in her eyes. Her wings quivered excitedly. From the back of the crowd, however, Twilight was glancing uncertainly at Rarity.
‘Who’s James?’ she asked. ‘And did she say “new tenant”?’
Rarity shrugged. ‘Must be some poor pony who hasn’t heard about the Hugging Incident. Shame really. We’ll have to warn him before we leave.’
‘Okey-Dokey then!’ shouted Pinkie Pie through the megaphone, now only barely loud enough for the excited townsfolk to hear her at all. ‘Let’s go get our Cocoa On!’
The townsponies cheered one final cheer and Pinkie Pie opened the door.
‘First! First! First!’
Rainbow Dash rushed into the store the instant Pinkie Pie had allowed enough space for her to pass. Her moment had finally come: when she would drink in Ponyville’s most sought-after hot chocolate before anypony else. She practically glided over to the counter, where rows upon rows of steaming mugs sat perched on the wood, just waiting for somepony to relieve them of their precious, chocolatey cargo. She took one, holding the warm mug to herself with triumph and glee. Another year of being number one.
She took no notice of the extravagant decorations around her, or of the very nervous looks of Mr. and Mrs. Cake, or even of the human sitting patiently and calmly in one of the chairs laid out for the party guests with a half-emptied mug in his hand. All that mattered in that moment was her prize—her reward for getting up before anypony else—for being both the fastest and the best: her hot chocolate.
She raised the mug to her lips and tasted her first sip of the wonderful brown nectar. It was the greatest sip of hot chocolate that she had ever tasted, and the only thing that made it better was the fact that she had been the first to do so. For a moment, she imagined that this is what heaven tasted like if it was boiled down into chocolate form. The world had become like a warm, comfortable cloud.
‘You look like you really needed that,’ said James lightly in observation. He sipped his own mug, the liquid almost touching the bottom already.
‘You have no idea,’ Rainbow Dash sighed blissfully. ‘Feels good being numéro uno, ya know?’
‘Oh?’
‘Yep! No doubt. Being first is definitely tops.’
‘I see.’ James swirled the dregs of his hot cocoa around in his mug. ‘Well—what about second?’ he asked.
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. ‘Pfft. Second-shmekond. Crown champion is where it’s at. Take this event: twelve-time first taster right here. Well, thirteen if you count today—’
‘Uh-huh.’ James drank the last of the hot chocolate he had been given before Pinkie Pie opened the doors and placed it gently onto the end table, listening politely.
‘Oh yeah—first is definitely where it counts. But enough about me I guess, even though I am super amazing and all. I’m guessing you’re that new tenant Pinkie was talking about … err, what was your name again?’
She turned her head, expecting to find the face of a pony staring back at her, smiling ever-so politely, but instead a human one greeted her with its toothy grin. Her mouth went slack-jawed and her eyes went wide.
‘Well, considering all that has happened,’ said James, an amused smirk playing on his features. ‘You,’ he nodded, ‘can call me, First.’
Rainbow Dash continued to look dumbfounded, as if she had been hit over the head by something very large and metal and not fully realized what had just happened to her. A number of ponies were silently streaming in behind her, getting their own mugs of hot chocolate. Those who weren’t solely absorbed in their objectives were already beginning to stare and gape at the creature with bedraggled clothes and a polite face, sitting in a wooden chair and holding an empty mug of free hot chocolate between his fingers without a care in the world.
‘I assume, therefore,’ he added with a rather charming smile, ‘you must be, Second.'
