Twilight Sparkle Eats a Peach
Admiral Biscuit
It was nearly noon on an average day in Ponyville—not a Tuesday, thank Celestia. Twilight was sitting in the main room of the library, studying a book on Griffon mythology which had arrived with the morning’s mail.
While the general themes of the myths were similar to pony myths, the Griffons tended to have a more . . . bloody storytelling style. It certainly wasn’t a book which was suitable for foals, and she resolved to put it in the adult section, regardless of its intended audience. She could only imagine the Cutie Mark Crusaders trying to re-enact one of the stories presented in the book.
“Hey, Twi?”
“What is it, Spike?”
“We’re out of food for lunch.”
“Huh?” Twilight looked up from her book. “How are we out of food?”
“Well, the cupboards are empty.”
“I just—” Twilight looked over at her calendar guiltily. She’d meant to go shopping yesterday. But then there had been an . . . incident with centipedes, and after cleaning the lab, she’d not had time. She’d planned to go earlier in the day, but Rarity had had one of her ‘emergencies,’ and then the book had come. . . . “I suppose it would be a good thing for my Number One assistant to go shopping all by himself, if he wanted to.”
“You’d trust me to do that?” Twilight could hear the grin plastered across Spike’s face. “I—of course! I’d love to go shopping.”
“My coin purse is on my nightstand,” she said, turning her attention back to her book. “Don’t go overboard.”
“No, ma’am!” She heard Spike scamper up the stairs, rush back down, and bolt out the door.
~ ~ ~
Within ten seconds, Twilight was lost in her book again. When the library door banged open, she jerked her head up in surprise.
“I got food!” Spike declared proudly. He was balancing a sack in each arm, waddling awkwardly under the weight. “I got great deals at the market, too. Everypony was so nice.”
“How much did you spend?” Great deals was not Twilight’s experience. Most salesponies loved to haggle, setting their prices absurdly high and waiting for the customer to make an obscenely low counteroffer. How would Spike have dealt with that? Did he just pay the full price without question, or was he a drake of hidden talents?
“Only about twenty bits,” he said proudly, setting the bags down with a loud thunk.
That’s ten bits per bag . . . too low. Maybe he didn’t get fresh produce; maybe they foisted the spoiled stuff on him. Worried, she snapped the book shut and trotted into the kitchen to see what he’d gotten.
As he began sorting out the contents on the counter, her bafflement increased. It was all good-quality, just the kind of thing she would have picked for herself . . . there was a bundle of fresh timothy, a small bag of oats, two loaves of bread, a bunch of carrots, cucumbers, apples, and—
“What’s this?” Twilight held the unfamiliar fruit up in her aura.
“That?” Spike glanced over at her. “I got it from Peachy Keen. I asked her the same thing. Never seen one before--never ate one before. She gave it to me for free, so I could try it.” He put a bundle of asparagus into the icebox. “In fact, I got a lot of this for free.”
“Spike! You didn’t . . . steal it, did you?”
“What? No way. I just asked real nice.” Twilight glared at him. “Well, I might have . . . kinda suggested that you didn’t feed me much.”
“WHAT?”
“Ok, at all. I might have said, just once or twice, that you never fed me and I had to subsist off scraps that I found on the floor.”
Twilight narrowed her eyes. “I should just send you to your room without dinner, mister.”
Spike paled. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I . . . I just got confused, with all the haggling. Yeah, confused. You can’t blame me; Berry said that her wine was the nectar of Bacchus. I don’t even know who that is, but it isn’t Bacchus’—she makes it herself. I helped her stamp the grapes one time, remember?”
“And you got purple footprints all over the library.” Twilight smiled. “I remember.” She ran a hoof across his scales. “You did well, Spike. Thank you.”
He blushed. “What do you want for lunch?”
“Make whatever you want,” she said generously. “I’ll even treat you to dessert at Sugarcube Corner.”
~ ~ ~
The day ended, as days do. Spike went to bed shortly after sunset, after asking Twilight one last time if there was anything more she needed. She just shook her head—she still had her Griffon mythology book to finish.
It would be nice to have a cup of tea, she thought, carefully marking her place. She stood, her joints cracking, and walked into the kitchen.
As she was filling the teapot, her eyes happened to wander over to the fruit bowl. Arranged on top of the apples was the peach.
She set the pot on the stove and tapped her hoof impatiently. It took forever for water to boil, especially when she was in a hurry. She was briefly diverted as she sorted through her collection of Teas from Foreign Lands, but quickly settled on a nice dark Edinburro blend. And the water still hadn’t boiled.
Her eyes drifted back towards the peach. Its golden skin called to her, promised her wondrous things.
She lifted it in her aura and brought it close to her face, turning it this way and that. It had a strange furry coat . . . fruit shouldn’t have fur. Otherwise, it looked edible.
Twilight examined it for a few more moments before finally moving it to her mouth, where she took a small, tentative bite . . . .
~ ~ ~
The knocking at the door was loud enough to wake the dead. Peachy Keen rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glanced over at the cuckoo clock on the wall. Two a.m.? Who in Celestia’s name would be knocking at this hour?
Author's Note
Inspired by Obselescence's blog post.
MarineMarksman's followup story Twilight Sparkle Shares a Dangerously Large Peach with a Dashing Black Man.
