Pinkie Pie's Lurve Eatery

by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch

Rating: mature
Tags: Mrs. Cake, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Romance, Changelings, Original Character, Pinkie Pie, Mr. Cake, Sex
Length: 6379

Pinkie sets out to create a whole new dining experience for both ponies and Changelings.

An Inky Jay Story

It's been six months since Aurora Streak fled from Ponyville. And true to form, the town has been recovering from the disaster with not a fair amount of speed. In the midst of it all, Pinkie Pie notices an ever growing gap between ponies and the new Changelings from the Everfree colony. Not content to let anything go the day without being able to smile, Pinkie sets out to bring them all together with one experience everyone loves... dining out. Romantic nights, love, feeding Changelings, and upwelling new feelings are all part of Pinkie's latest escapade.

A Marksverse story.

Published 2013-10-09 13:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-11-03 14:45:40 UTC

Chapter 1

Six months today! Has it really been six months? It’s hard for me to think of it being such a long time. I’m a born and raised Ponyvillian (which looks kinda like a goofy bad pony name from a comic book when you write it), and I’ve seen my fair share of the crazy. Hehe, I’ve even had my hoof in some of the wacky stuff this town’s had to go through. But what happened six months ago wasn’t just a silly loony event. Equestria was invaded, and poor, old Ponyville was destroyed in a mega-big battle. Lots of ponies and our new Changeling friends died trying to save everypony, and I think they did a pretty spectacular job. I’ll miss them.

But enough of all that sad, mopey-dopey stuff! It’s been six whole months, and we Ponyvillian’s are back on our right hooves. Everything’s been rebuilt better than ever, and everypony is starting to live life again. I couldn’t be happier unless I was singing a catchy new tune. Everypony’s got smiles on their faces again, which tells me that I’m doing my best job as the official Ponyville Party Planner. I think Gummy’s happy too, but he’s been giving me the cold shoulder lately for some reason. I still haven’t sat down to figure it out, mostly because sitting down is way too boring.

But even though everypony’s doing great, I’m not smiling because not everyone in Ponyville has that nice big grin I want to see. Queen Chrysalis was really nice to Princess Luna and Princess Celestia, wanting to help rebuild Ponyville and everything. And it was good luck that some of the Changelings wanted to stay to build the first Changeling town in Equestria! I was all for it, since it meant new-Changeling-Dashie would be able to stay with us, and I told the Queen and Princesses so. Twilight tried to explain to me later why they were sorta unsure at first, but I don’t remember everything she said. There were too many big words.

But anyway, they agreed, and I got to show all the Changelings that stayed how good cupcakes were. I couldn’t believe some of them didn’t even know there were such things as cupcakes! It was… it still is a travesty! Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about all of the poor Changelings back wherever it is they call home not knowing what a cupcake is. That’s when I have Spike send a letter the next morning to Princess Celestia about needing to send them some. She’s never gotten back to me for some reason, so I think I’ll have to go to Canterlot and tell her myself at some point.

Unfortunately, even with the glorious salvation of ponykind that is cupcakes, the Changelings that I see around town aren’t smiling like they’re happy. They aren’t frowning, which would really have me worried, but they sorta just living their lives without any real joy. And as Pinkie Pie, official Party Planner of Ponyville and Element of Laughter, it is my duty (sworn over a stack of fifty party invitations) to make anypony and everypony in Ponyville smile. And by the Balloon Party in Baltimare, I’m gonna see to it!

“Pffbblllltttt,” I sputter, my eyes half lidded. See, the problem is, I’ve run into a tiny issue. Nothing I can think of seems like it would work! And that’s a weird thing for me. Most of my ideas seem like they’ll work if I think about them for long enough. I look down at my notepad. Page after page of ideas all crossed out, x’ed out, and just plain old scribbled through. I toss it and the pen over my shoulder, realizing that at the moment, there’s nothing for it. Besides, I’m ‘on the clock’ as Mr. Cake likes to say; but I think I’ll just call it ‘working.’ It is what I’m doing after all.

I bend down behind Sugar Cube Corner’s front counter, taking a minute to admire my goofy-looking face warped by the glass, and begin counting what’s left of all the treats. It was a pretty tame rush this afternoon. I’m sure Mrs. Cake will want to keep some of the muffins out. They still look good. The cupcakes… eh, not so much. The icing doesn’t look so scrumdiliupmtious any more. The cookies have all been cleaned out like usual: darn, I was really hoping to have some of the left-overs. Same empty space for the donuts, but I kinda know to expect that. All of those tasties go in the morning. So I grab Mr. Cake’s clipboard and pen and start with all of the math-y stuff. How many are left, how many batches were sold… on and on. I know a lot of ponies complain about it, but I don’t think it’s boring. Especially since I get to eat anything that needs to go to make an even number! Really, your brain is so busy with all the numbers it doesn’t really have time to be bored.

I’m about to make the last check on the clipboard to take back to Mrs. Cake in the kitchen so she knows what we need for the evening when the door jingles open. “Hi! Welcome to Sugar Cube Corner! I’m Pinkie Pie. Anything that catches your eye, I’ll pack right up!” I say before even wheeling around to the counter.

“Afternoon, Pinkie,” is her reply, and I recognize her voice immediately.

“How are you, Miss Anz?” I ask the Changeling lady coming in the door. She’s a regular now, and I think she’s a lot like Rarity. Her bright orange mane is always styled like Rarity’s and her shell is kinda sparkly. I think it has to be a special shampoo. If I’m honest with myself, I’m glad my mane and coat don’t take anything special. “The usual I’m guessing? My guesses are pretty good by the way.”

“Very good,” Miss Anz replies. “Some of my friends don’t believe me though. I really need to bring them here sometime just to prove how good your guesses are. And yes, my usual would be nice.”

“Okie-dokie, just a sec. I’ve gotta check in the back,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. We have a tame rush, and Miss Anz’s favorite cupcakes (chocolate cake, chocolate icing, and chocolate sprinkles with chocolate filling) are still out of stock. I don’t think I ate any today… huh, they must be just that popular.

“Mrs. Cake!” I shout once I’m back in the kitchen. I’d shout anyway because all the ponies in other restaurants do it, but Mrs. Cake likes to listen to really, really loud classic music on her turntable when she bakes.

“Yes, Pinkie, dear!” she shouts back to me.

“Are there any Quadruple Chocolate Sugar Rush Heart Attack cupcakes back here?!” I ask, this time squinting my eyes for good measure. I’m sure it looks good when a pony is yelling.

“Already done! I’ve put the stock back in the ice box! Get what you need for the customer!” Mrs. Cake replies.

“Thank you!” I say with my biggest smile, prancing into the shivery-cold store room and opening one of the store boxes for the deeply rich, mouth watering cupcakes. Grabbing an entire tray for good measure, I balance it on my back as I return trot to the front. Miss Anz is still waiting patiently smiling, and she looks so excited to get her order today, I put the chilled tray up for her to see. “Go ahead. Your pick of the ones fresh off the presses!”

“Many thanks, Pinkie Pie,” she says, eyeing the delicacies with as much anticipation as I would. As I do, actually. “These four,” she waves her holey hoof over the set. I nod approvingly and offer her a friendly-regular-customer wink as my practiced hooves sweep her choice of cakes into the waiting take-out box.

“Twenty-five bits please,” I say, Miss Anz with the money already in her hoof. “Annnnddd here you go,” I continue the transaction, sliding the bits onto my side and the box to hers. “Enjoy!”

“I definitely will,” she answers, taking the box in her magic and turning for the door. I watch her leaving for a moment, my semi-permanent smile growing a little at seeing her so excited to have her treats; before diving behind the counter to change out the cupcake tray I had brought out front.

I’m not sure what made me ask the question just then. It wasn’t my Pinkie Sense, but I guess she was just so much happier than most of the other Changelings. She was definitely doing something differently than the others, and maybe that something would help me put smiles on everyling’s faces. “Miss Anz, I hate to hold you up, but can I ask you a question?” I practically blurt out. Ah, whatever. Better than stuttering.

“Of course,” Miss Anz replies, though her voice is leery.

“Why are you always so much more cheerful than all the other Changelings?” I ask, as a straightforward question is always easier than beating around the bush. I want to be sincere anyway. This is important stuff! “Ponyville is a happy place, and I don’t like seeing anypony or anyling without a smile. But I just can’t figure out how to make the other Changelings smile.”

“Oh,” Miss Anz’s giggles. I cock my head in bewilderment. “Pinkie, I’m a journalist for the local Ponyville newspaper. I write a column about the goings on in the colony so everypony here knows how we’re doing. The paper is a little thing, nothing like the war department’s magazine headquarters back home, and it’s run by the sweetest pony couple. Those mares are so open-minded, they don’t mind me feeding on their love for each other. And… well, not everyling is as fortunate as I am.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I say, determination already leaking into my voice. “I’ll solve the problem or my name’s not Pinkamena Diane Pie.”

“Good luck, Pinkie,” she replies genially before stepping out of the shop. I can tell she doesn’t think I can help. She appreciates me wanting to do something for all the Changelings, but doesn’t think a lone pony can do much. I’m gonna prove her wrong. Now… heh… I just have to figure out how.
______________________________________________________________________________

“That’s something of a broad question, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake said to me as he walked and I bounced through Ponyville to get our weekly flour supply. It was the next morning in my still recovering town, and I had done some goofy thinking last night. It was so silly, I wasn’t even able to go to sleep (which usually only happens when I eat too many donuts before bed). I had my black coffee with me since Twilight always talks about it when she stays up late working on a project for the princess, and with Gummy trying to help by nibbling my ear, I tried to sort through a way to help everyling in Ponyville get enough love to be happy.

My first idea had been to just tie up cute couples in Sugar Cube Corner’s basement and make them eat rainbow frosted cupcakes together. They always make me happy, so I figured it would work with other ponies; but something told me kidnapping wasn’t really the best idea… Just for starters, I’d be giving the Changelings what they needed to smile, but taking away any reason for the ponies to smile. I think I’d be happy just to have rainbow frosted cupcakes, but I’m not exactly everypony. So, as hard as it was, I tried to think from Rarity’s view about romaance. I could feel my brain getting all icky and sticky, but I persevered. Everypony and everyling deserved to have what would make them smile.

I don’t think I can really blame myself, since I was thinking like Rarity after all, but even in all that gooey, lovey-dovey… stuff… I couldn’t get anything to stick. Nothing made any sense, and I eventually stopped trying to walk in somepony else’s horseshoes. It wasn’t doing me any more good than I had with my own ideas. I was out of coffee and probably would have just fallen asleep at my little desk, but like it always does, my Pinkie Sense saved me from utter disaster!

I got a Wobbly Tummy, which I learned always meant two special someponies were together and whispering to each other. I knew it couldn’t be Mr. and Mrs. Cake since I would have heard them and the Pinkie Sense wouldn’t have picked up on anything. So I did the next logical thing. I jolted up, eyes as wide as I could make them to see in the low light, and tore open my window. Like I was veteran spy (which nopony seems to believe, huh), I inched my head out the window to peer into the street. The Pinkie Sense doesn’t lie, and sure enough, a mare and stallion were snuggling and giggling like silly fillies as they walked past Sugar Cube Corner. I leaned my head out farther, tilting my head to try to hear what they were saying. “... so tasty,” I heard the mare say. “You really do know how to pick the best spots to eat…” I only just caught the end of it, her voice going all dream-boaty there at the end. I waited to hear how the stallion would answer, but he didn’t say anything. And I couldn’t hear the gentle clopping of their hooves either. But when I turned my head back around, they were just standing there in the street looking at me like I was the weirdo! Ha ha ha! There faces were so goofy, I couldn’t resist laughing on the spot.

They edged away, taking nervous glances back at me, but I shouted to them, “Thanks for the super-duper-big help!” Now, with morning bright and ready to be filled with funny jokes and laughs, I waited as patiently as I could for Mr. Cake to answer my question.

“I mean, starting your own restaurant isn’t so simple as starting just a little shop,” he says to me, and I can see in his eyes that he’s doing his best to find the right words. “And you want to have Changelings there too? I won’t claim to know everything about the treaty, Pinkie Pie, but I’m not sure what you’re proposing is even legal.”

“Oh sure it is!” I say happily, glad that something so teensy is his biggest worry. “As long as everypony coming in knows Changelings will be there for love, there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, don’t you see how perfect it is! Pony couples come in on cutesy dates, and on top of the love and happiness they have from being on a date, they can add more knowing they’re making the Changelings smile!”

“I mean… uh…” Mr. Cake sighs. “It sounds great as a concept, kiddo. And you know Cup and I would do anything to help our oldest foal, but investing in a brand new restaurant with an unproven dining experience is just… well, I’ll say it bluntly… it’s very, very risky, Pinkie.”

“Rainbow Dash is risky,” I say, pointing a hoof at Mr. Cake. “This is just a little unsteady. I guess it’s like a cupcake that has a lot of frosting and you have to find a way to keep it up!”

“Hmm, good analogy, but a better one would be deciding how to pipe the icing on in the first place,” Mr. Cake says, winking at me and continuing with a question. “What do you think you could do to help bring ponies in?”

“It’s a restaurant!” I giggle as we step into the warehouse. “HIYA and good morning Mr. Burlap!” I interrupt myself to give the warehouse clerk a tight hug, which he’s ready for this time and returns. “Ooh! You remembered and you’re in a good mood today!” I exclaim, bouncing excitedly in front of him.

“Profit’s been good this month with all the workers in town eating up store wares and the stores needing to replenish their stock more often,” the pony says, more to Mr. Cake than me; not that I mind. I’ve already started thinking about what Mr. Cake meant as they banter about prices and things. At first, I’d have said that since my place would be a restaurant, good food would get me good reviews from those stuffy, picky food critics (why anypony pays them so much to tell them what they could find out themselves makes no sense to me!). But I think that’s a bit too simple. Mr. Cake’s probably worried about ponies not coming just because Changelings are coming as well—meanies—and isn’t sure I’ll have any way to convince them to dine at my place.

But as I struggle to think of a solution (this idea will work), Mr. Burlap’s husky voice cuts into my thoughts. “And it must be gettin’ pretty serious from what I hear. ‘parently, the princess is preppin’ to take a trip down there to negotiate out of the issue.”

“THAT’S IT!” I burst out, unable to contain my glorious moment of super-stacular epiphany (I’ll really need to thank Twilight for teaching me that word). Mr. Cake is looking at my eager and grinning face expectantly, and Mr. Burlap has the goofiest mouth-open-in-shock face I’ve seen in a long time. “The princess!” I breathe out rather dramatically. “Don’t you see? If Princess Celestia comes to my new restaurant on our grand opening night, everypony and their sister will want to see what all the fuss’s about. Good food can take it from there!”

“Of course that would help any restaurant,” Mr. Burlap chuckles, “but I don’t think the princess comes to a place jus’ because somepony asked. It’s a matter of a reputation you’ve already got.”

“Oh don’t worry about that silly,” I say, waving my hoof. “The princess and I go way back. Cake and… other things.” Mr. Burlap makes that ridiculous face again, which only sets off more giggles in me as I turn to Mr. Cake. “So! You and Mrs. Cake in?”

“If you really want to do this, Pinkie, we’ll do our level best to help,” Mr. Cake says, a small and proud grin creeping onto his face. “Besides, what’s life without a little risk, eh?”

“Mm!” I agree. “Now to assemble the troops!”

Chapter 2

“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.”
______________________________________________________________________________

“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…