Pinkie Pie's Lurve Eatery

“Good morning! We’re having a great morning here at SugarCube Corner! My name’s Pinkie Pie! What can I get for you?” I ask instinctively from below the front counter as the bell’s ring alerts me to a new customer. “We’ve got a special goin’ on for… uh, I think twenty-something percent off… hm,” I continue, glancing at the mark-down sheet taped to my register.

“Come now, Pinkie. You know I am none too fond of sweet baked goods,” replies a voice I know all too well. It’s not a happy-smiley-face voice, and no matter what I try (and I’ve tried everything that I and all my friends could think of!) I can’t change it. “And besides, eating anything even remotely unhealthful would be a grossly irresponsible act on my part,” the voice goes on in that distinct scratchy tone that I can pick out even in a super-big crowd of excited party ponies.

But Inky Jay isn’t talking smack about Mrs. Cake’s cooking, so it’s easier to keep my smile on when I look over to him. And to my biggest, bestest surprise, Inky is actually smiling back at me! I never would have thought I’d live to see him doing that, and just seeing a normally sad pony smiling makes my own grin grow a bazillion times more genuine. But even as I notice how much more lively Inky seems, I realize he’s not alone. There’s another pony with him, and this time it isn’t Spike or Twilight. He’s a Changeling I’ve never seen in town before.

“Morning, Miss,” he says to me tentatively. I giggle a bit. He’s so much like Twilight was when she first showed up in town.

“How ya doin’?” I ask, perking up at the prospect of helping the Changelings. Mr. Cake told me he would handle the realty-thingamabob for my new restaurant as long as I took care of hiring the staff, and, well… it hadn’t been going so well for the past two weeks. Finding bus-colts, dishwashers, and even a potential barkeeper hadn’t been tough. So many ponies had been moving to Ponyville (so many in fact that I kinda had to throw mass Welcome-to-Ponyville! parties; the horror!) that just about everypony was willing to take a new job while they got settled in. My problem happened to be a lack of the one pony a restaurant couldn’t run without: my chef.

I interviewed several whenever I got wind of chefs coming off the Friendship Express, but either they were stuck-up-celebrity-I-have-too-big-of-an-ego chefs, or their interest died when I got to the part of helping the Changelings. Eventually, I had stopped my proactive search. Coming away from those ponies always made me mopey, and I figured I wouldn’t be able to help other ponies smile if I couldn’t even do it myself. So instead, I asked Mr. Cake to hold off on his search as well, put an ad in Ponyville’s newspaper, and went back to trying to help any Changeling brave enough to come into town for anything other than business.

Only, there weren’t many new Changelings doing that, so the sight of someling different really boosted my mood.

“I’m doing reasonably well,” the Changeling answers me. And that’s it. Doctor Nemb is always more talkative, and even Miss Anz likes to make small talk with me while I get her order ready. I guess Changelings are even more like ponies than we all thought. Just like at a great party, it takes all kinds. But it looks like he’s trying to as boring as can be. His mane is gray, and his eyes are a earthy brown. I know if I were a Changeling, I’d have at least five colors in my mane and two different eye colors.

“We avoided being pelted with small flower pots anyway,” Inky says with his characteristic cynicism as he struggles to move alone in his wheelchair. The Changeling with him moves to help, but Inky is already over at the menu on the wall before he can. “I saw your call for a chef in the newspaper Twilight reads every morning,” Inky continues on, still staring at the menu. “It was certainly the most vibrant piece of advertising I have yet seen…”

“Doesn’t seem to be helping much though,” I say with a casual sigh. “I really thought more ponies would be interested.”

“Why?” the Changeling asks. I am about to answer when the realization hits me intolerably late. This Changeling is new in town! I don’t know his name or anything interesting about him, and I didn’t even think to ask! Losing steam on my Lurve Eatery must be messing with my brain more than I thought. Of course, I can’t let something so major go, so before answering the Changeling, I whip out my rubber chicken, put him up to my ear, and give myself a good honking reminder.

“So! What’s your name?” I ask right then. No point in giving myself reminder if doesn’t work.

He looks at me with a confused tilt to his head, which I don’t understand. It would be rude to keep calling him ‘Changeling’ in my head and I’m sure he has a rubber chicken. Everyone has a rubber chicken, except maybe Twilight.

“My mother named me Hahlex, but I honestly prefer the name Rainbow Dash gave me,” he says.

“Bwahahahahaha!” I burst and sputter in amused laughter. “Sppppffffttt! Hahaha! Dashie is calling you all different names! So typical of her! Well what is it? Come on, I’ve gotta know!”

“She just calls me Holland,” Holland tells me, after what looks like wincing. Weird. “Ponies seem to like it, and everyling in the colony doesn’t mind. My brother even used it yesterday. But, back by my first question… why did you think ponies would want to help us?”

“Um… I do. And Princess Celestia and Princess Luna do. All of my friends do. Why wouldn’t more ponies?” I ask, puzzled.

“Because… well, I suppose that sentiment is neither here nor there,” Inky says, turning to eye me.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I question him. “Ponies help their friends, and even if they’re not your friend, you help them anyway, because they have friends too and if you help one pony, they’ll want to help more ponies and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger and better and better and then everypony is always helping everypony else and everything works out great and everypony laughs and parties and can really enjoy all the good moments,” I take a mega-big breath and go on, “and so why shouldn’t we want to do the same for Changelings so they could laugh and party too?”

“Not everypony is a bastion of Harmony, Pinkie,” Inky says. “Suffice it to say, your advertisement worked, just not among the target group.”

“Rainbow Dash warned me you would be this way,” Holland says to Inky, apparently mildly peeved. “Yes, Miss Pie, Rainbow thought she would try to lend you a helping hoof and brought us in the colony the ad. And, to be as blunt as Mr. Jay over there… I’m a chef. Not much to really do in a colony that’s struggling just to get by. And honestly, your method’s the best I’ve seen so far to help with integration. So, if you’ll have me…”

I can’t believe my ears. My dream is standing right there if front of me just waiting to be taken up in a super-duper-thank-you hug! I can feel the excitement building in me like the best sugar rush ever! And eventually, I can’t hold it in any more; I jump right across the counter, squealing like a filly and wrapping my hooves around Holland’s neck. I feel him flinch a bit, but I can’t bring myself to let go of the saviour of my dream. “Oooooooooooooo! You’re the best! Thank you so much!” I let go of him and step back a little to see his face. “You. Are. Hired! This is gonna be the best restaurant for ponies and Changelings for miles! Just you wait! Between my dining-know how, your meals, and sweets from SugarCube Corner, there’ll be enough love for the whole Changeling colony!”

“Well… I hope I can do so well as you think,” Holland says to me, smiling somewhat apprehensively and scratching his gray mane.”

“Oh, pfft,” I say with a wave of my hoof. “We’re gonna be the best team! Just you watch. Besides, shouldn’t you know how good of a chef you are? I know I didn’t become a premier party pony for nothin’!”

“I hope you don’t mind if I bring the rest of my kitchen staff with me,” Holland almost whispers. “I’d hate to ruin an opening night because I’m unfamiliar with a new sous chef.”

“Of course you can silly!” I giggle. “Whatever you need, just ask!” Sweet Celestia, PDP, you’ve got yourself one stickler of a shy Changeling on your hooves, I think to myself. Definitely going to have to work on that. If he’s a good enough chef to come with Chrissy, I just know ponies are gonna ask to see him after tasting such good grub. Chefs should be confident and proud ponies! Huh… he talked about Dashie a bit. Maybe he knows her well enough that I can get her to help…

“Well, before you two go off on this merry adventure likely frought with mires of disappoint and depression,” Inky says to me, amused, “Twilight asked if I would bring her ice cream cake back to the library.”
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“So, this is the place! Whadya think, Holland?” I ask with a nice bounce. I’m hopping up and down and up and down in front of my new restaurant. Actually, Mr. Cake told me it’s technically his restaurant since it’s his signature on the mortgage, but whatchya gonna do? It’s a bit on the boring side - nothing but plain ole’ red bricks and shingled roof - but it’s nothing a bucket of yellow paint can’t fix! Or maybe pink, dunno yet.

But Holland certainly isn’t helping me make the decision, and I stop bouncing to look at him expectantly. He’s as plain as always, and I keep thinking of how well that poofy chef’s hat and apron I bought will cheer him up. “You said Mr. Cake from SugarCube Corner picked the place out?” he asks me, and I notice an odd blank stare in his eye.

“Yeah,” I answer, walking up to him and waving my hoof in front of his face in concern. Twilight and Rarity are the only ponies I know that can space out and I know there’s nothing wrong. “Do you not like it?”

“Oh no no no!” Holland blinks and shakes his head a little too fervently. “It’s great. I was just thinking was all.”

“About what you’re going to serve on opening night?” I ask expectantly, leaning forward on front hooves until I boop my nose on his.

“Ah… a little,” Holland replies, averting his eyes from mine. “Could you… um… give me some space.”

“Sure!” I say, bouncing up to the door. “We should check out the dining room and kitchen! There’s always neat stuff in these old places.” I can’t imagine what somepony would think if they bought SugarCube Corner. They’d probably jump to conclusions and think a crazy pony had lived there! So silly. Just because there are cupcakes, balloons, and rubber chickens stored away in the floorboards doesn’t mean the pony was crazy.

“How old is the building? Or wait… how long has the place been for sale?” Holland asks me as we step through the door and into the dining room.

“Couldn’t tell ya!” I answer, ceasing to bounce now. Every time I do, clouds of dust fly up from the carpet.

“Not that you need to now,” Holland mutters, followed by some terri-bad coughing. “By the Seven Sons!” I hear Holland swear as I carefully pick my way through some pretty hardcore cobwebs in between the tables. The spiders here have definitely learned how to party without anypony to stop ‘em. In fact, now I can see little shapes in the cobwebs that look like balloons! I have to remember to let Mrs. Cake know that spiders like parties too, so she shouldn’t be so persistent with that dust broom.

And as I continue to make my way to what must be the entrance to the kitchen, I feel my hooves starting to get wet. “Did somepony leave jello on the floor?” I ask nopony in particular, bringing up my hoof to check. “EWWWWWWW!” I shout, funky-surprised and grossed out at the same time. “Pinkie Pie, this is not jello. I don’t even think it’s old cream cheese!” I tell myself, wiggling my hoof a bit to try to get the nasty black and white gooey stuff off. I jiggles a bit, and some comes off, but the wobble opens up my stock of laughter, and I can’t help but giggle a bit.

“Oh for the love of…,” I hear Holland say, and as he gets closer, I can also hear his the rustle-buzz of his wings. It’s such a weird sound, but Dashie helped me get used to it and I think it sounds pretty neat now. “You’ve stepped in wet mold, Miss Pie,” he says dejectedly. “And most of the dining room is just as bad. I’m afraid to go into the kitchen now. It’s bound to be worse.”

“Aw! Come on. Keep your chin up!” I say, squishing my hooves back into the mold and trying to resist laughing at the goopy sound it makes. “It sure is a yucky, dusty mess; but trust me, it’ll work out.” I say the words, but inside I’m starting to get a little teensy bit panicky. I’m a party pony, and the aftermath of a good party is always less than pretty. The smell is almost unbearable if you take a breath of outside air then go back inside, food is just about everywhere (and I mean everywhere), there are dishes and spills to clean up, and if don’t find signs of two ponies having had a really good time, I know it wasn’t a really great party. But Holland’s insisting on drawing my attention to all of the nasties in this place. I’m not too shabby when it comes to cleaning up, but I’ve never dealt with any of this stuff before.

But Holland isn’t really leaving me time to think about it. He said he was too scared to go into the kitchen, but at the pace he’s flying, I think he was just being sarcastic. Yeah, he was definitely doing that. I can feel the mold coming off my hooves and leaving them feeling kinda damp as I follow Holland through the doors to the kitchen, but before I can think about the icky stuff anymore… I see the kitchen.

I think my mouth drops onto the floor, but there’s so much great super-duper-great things happening right in front of me, I can’t really figure out which one’s causing me to be so surprised; or even if it’s everything all at once. Maybe that is it! Yeah! I’m sure of it. I glance to my side where Holland had been hovering, and where my flabbery open mouth is now a great big grin, his mouth is hanging open with his cute little fangs showing! But I can’t forget what’s giving us such great goofy faces. “You girls are the bestest, greatest, most betterthanthemostdeliciousestchocolatycupcake friends ever!”

The kitchen in front of me and Holland is sparkly clean - I can even see the twinkle like there’s a bunch of stars all over the place. Which is weird to think about since Twilight says stars are flaming balls of compressed gasses, and since I’ve seen fire and it’s orange and red and sometimes blue and green when it’s from Spike - not white like stars; so I think some of the ponies that write Twilight’s books might just be making a bunch of underbaked cake up. Twilight and the rest of my best friends are all giving me smiles, kinda half-guilty smiles, but real, genuine, happy smiles. Twilight and Applejack have buckets next to ‘em, and both have some icky-looking rags on their hooves. Rarity and Fluttershy look a little flustrated, and judging by all the empty and open boxes around them, they’ve been changing out all the cookware and things. Spike’s being a big help to everypony like always, and half his body is sticking out from under the sink with what looks like Big Mac’s toolbox. And of course, Dashie isn’t doing anything right at the moment except comparing her glossy-Changeling-shell to the sparkly new countertops.

“How’d you girls get in?” I think I squeak as I bounce into the kitchen. “How’d you know where the place was? Did Mr. Cake tell you? I hope it wasn’t too grossy-nasty in here. Can’t tell now though! So shiny! You’ll help me with the dining room right?”

“Pinkie, slow down,” Twi chuckles to me, stopping me with a hoof and levitating her rag with that funky-purple-colored magic of hers. “Hooves please.”

“Oh… sorry,” I giggle, offering my hooves one by one for Twi to clean off as Applejack wipes up my hoof print stains. “Still! It’s fantastic-sugared up in here! Somepony told you about the place. Who was it?”

“Mrs. Cake, though she di’n’ ask us to nothin’,” Applejack tells me. “I jus’ kinda overheard ‘er and Mr. Cake talkin’ ‘bout what a disaster to tidy up the inside was.”

“AJ came to me, asking if I knew anything about deep cleaning,” Twilight says, “and that’s when I decided we should just get the whole gang together to help you out.”

“It’s a wonderful you’re trying to do, dear,” Rarity compliments me, “and it would be just plain rude for us to ignore your plight, both as your friends and good contributing members of our communtiy.”

“We didn’t think you’d show up though,” Fluttershy says, and I can’t be sure if she’s upset or just midly disappinted.

“I think it’s a good thing I did!” I exclaim for her. “Dontcha think it would be kinda off for me to just sit back while everypony else does what I’m supposed to do? I mean, this is like a great big, long, every-night party. It takes a lot of work, but everypony has a good time in the end. But if I didn’t want to do anything and just let everypony else do stuff, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that party or any other party! And I don’t think I could live without enjoying parties!”

“Hey, more power to ya Pinks,” Dashie says. “The more hooves we have, the faster we can get this place movin’.”

“Uh huh, and we’d have that extra pair of hooves if ya could stick to one thang Rainbow Dash,” Applejack reprimands her, and I burst out laughing at Dashie’s grinning wince.

“Excuse me, Miss Pie,” I hear Holland’s voice from over where Rarity and Fluttershy and the cardboard boxes are. I’ll have to remember those. They’re good for so many things; making secret hideouts is just one. Holland has his head underneath one of his prep-tables, and he emerges with a whisk in one hoof and a grater carried by his green magic. “Could you tell me what these are?” he asks, and I can tell one thing for sure-sure… he isn’t trying to be funny. I feel my lips go slack, my eyes shrink, and my eyelid twitch. This… this… this is not good. No, not even that. This is bad…