He's having a bad, bad day.
"Nephew, do you know—" Celestia stopped, recoiling as she stepped into a puddle on the carpet. Looking around Blueblood's lounge, she observed broken bottles, more puddles, and many, many half eaten pieces of cake. She shook the residue off her hoof, and shuddered. "Let me rephrase. Do you have any conception whatsoever how many bits you spent last night?"
Blueblood was stretched out on an ornate fainting couch with an ice pack on his forehead. "Auntie, please, if this is that whole speech about my potential, and responsibility to the nation, and blah blah huge disappointment, can we do it later?" He adjusted his cold compress and gave her a weary look. "Or never? My head is killing me."
Celestia glowered. "I took the liberty of tasking our best mathematicians to sort through your receipts and calculate how much it costs Equestria, daily, to maintain your lifestyle." She summoned a scroll from the ether. "And when they gave up, I asked Princess Twilight."
"Princess Twilight? We have more princesses?" Blueblood moaned, staring at the ceiling in horror. "When did that happen?!"
Celestia blinked. "Years ago. You were at her coronation." She frowned. “You fell in the chocolate fountain.”
"Heavens. You and auntie Lulu will let anyone join the club these d—"
He hit the carpet with a wet thud, ice pack flying into the air as his shocked muzzle went straight into a particularly green looking puddle. Coughing and sputtering, he did not notice Celestia magically return his silk pillow back to his fainting couch.
She cleared her throat and read from the scroll. "Daily: over three hundred bits spent on pastries. Five hundred and fifty seven bits, plus tips, to keep private carriages on call. And over a thousand spent on..." She squinted at the writing. “This can’t be right. Tropical punch?”
"Kiwi?" Blueblood frowned, wiping the green liquid off his muzzle. "What madness is this?”
She rolled up the scroll and sighed. "I'd like to think I've been understanding over the years. But now I think I have been cruel by being kind.”
Blueblood muttered, "I don’t remember ordering kiwi flavored pu— ow!"
A bop on the nose from a rolled up scroll shouldn’t hurt anypony, but Celestia was the one doing the swinging. And she was miffed. “You are a royal slob, a shameless, despicable layabout and a disgrace to all hardworking ponies everywhere."
"Slander!" Blueblood drew himself up to his full height. "I am NOT a slob!" He scowled as he shook the punch off his mane. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a morning cake tasting."
"No more morning cake tastings for you." She flicked her head and her magic slammed the doors shut. "No more morning cake tastings... ever."
"Auntie!" he wailed.
"Don't." She picked up one of the plates with dried, half-eaten cake and gave it an even glance. "You've failed at every royal task given to you, which means that you have effectively been stealing your salary for your entire life. You owe Equestria over four-and-a-half billion bits.”
He opened his mouth to protest, and froze mid-shout. The anger in his eyes faded to genuine bewilderment. "Billion?" he whispered. "With a 'b'?"
"Indeed." She floated the plate over to a dust bin and dropped it. "It's time to pay for what you've done."
He swallowed. "Prison?"
"What?" Celestia blinked. "No! No. This isn't Saddle Arabia. We don't put ponies in jail for not paying their debts."
He sighed with relief.
"No, nephew. You’re going to get a job."
Blueblood looked at himself in the mirror. Around his neck, where there once was a brilliant blue Coco Pommel bow tie (#4, naturally), a crude orange and white pinstripe atrocity stared back. Mocking him.
"Lookin' good, Bluesy!"
He turned and saw a smile that seemed to violate all of the Neightonian laws of pony physics. Ms. Pinkie Pie, his new employer.
They were standing in the pantry of Sugarcube Corner, where an old mirror gave the room the double purpose of also being a changing room. After giving him a crash course in serving, which seemed to literally involve Ms. Pie crashing into tables and walls showing him where everything was, they were moments away from opening. The last touch was the uniform.
The horrible, horrible, uniform.
"Isn't it peachy?" Pinkie finished tying her own bow tie in the mirror. "It was Mr. Cake's signature style."
He gave her a look that could chisel stone. "Yes. Peachy."
"Even though they're out in Las Pegasus now, I like to remind ponies that this is still the corner that the Cakes built." Her smile faded for a moment. "The new Sugarcube Corner at the Filliagio may be bigger, but we're the original.”
Blueblood rolled his eyes. "So no Canterlot style pastries here, I presume?"
Her smile returned. "Of course not, sillycolt! Ours are better! So saddle up, because we’ve got a busy day! We’re going to make tasty things for ponies to eat, and then Princess Twilight is going to judge a cake-baking contest for Principal Cheerliee’s senior class! Ooh, today is going to be funnerific! Now, the final touch—"
She slammed something on his head, and he felt his mane constrained. He turned to look at his reflection in the mirror. A flimsy paper hat, designed in the same manner as his bow tie, rested on his head.
The horror.
"Perfect! You're Sugarcube material now, Bluesy! Let's go!"
He moaned and followed her out of the pantry. He had only known this mare for a few hours, and he already wanted to quit. But Celestia’s threats echoed in his ears…
Remember. This is the only pony willing to hire you in any non hoof-labor intensive work under an assumed name. Make it work, or you’re on the next train to a rock farm. And somepony WILL be watching.
“Ms. Pie, I'm sure Auntie told you... my identity must remain secret while I am in your—" He shuddered. "—employ."
"Ab-so-lutely! I hear you. While I'm the boss, no one will know you are a prince of Equestria. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a cupcake in my eye!"
He briefly pondered how bad life could really be on a rock farm.
"That's why I'ma call you Bluesy! Short for..." She blinked, then produced a white card from her vest which bore the Royal Canterlot seal and scrutinized it closely. "Bluebell! Aww, that's a sweet fake name Princess Celestia gave you!" She put the card away and turned to the front door, hoof resting on the closed sign. "Ready? The sun's rising, which means we open in thirty seconds."
"What?! I haven’t had any proper training! I have a million questions!”
"A million? Gee. Well, we only have twenty seconds. Just pick one, I guess"
"Well, what do I do if a peasa—I mean, if a customer asks—"
"Too late!" Pinkie switched the sign, unlocked the door and stood back. "Here they coooome!"
Prince Blueblood once endured a six hour theater piece called a 'rock opera' that involved loud noises, bizarre instruments and as far as he could tell, no opera whatsoever.
It was still a more pleasant experience than staffing the register at Sugarcube Corner.
There were the ponies with ridiculous orders—
“Quick!” panted a light brown earth pony, “I forgot my marefriend’s birthday! Which is also our anniversary! I need all the blueberry muffins you have!”
“Um– so, a baker’s dozen?”
“All of the muffins!”
––there were the regulars—
“Come now, citizen, I’ve been patronizing this establishment for years. You named a sandwich after me for goodness sake. I will just have the usual.”
“Madame, it is my first day. Assume I do not know you, or what a 'usual' is.”
The older tan pony squinted at him over her glasses. “Aren’t you the pony who builds our birds’ nests every year during Winter Wrap Up?” She frowned. “I thought you were a mare. And had purple hair. And a... cat.”
—and some ponies were just infuriating—
“I want something… inspirational.” The stallion tapped his hoof on his chin. He had a blue coat, music notes on his flank, and a maddening case of pastry indecision. “Flaky, but not too flaky. Something that says, ‘yes, now I can write my greatest symphony.’ Plus powdered sugar.”
—but the worst was the Tartarus-borne beast named Harshwhinny—
“You’re not Ms. Pie.”
He blinked. She was a middle-aged orange earth pony wearing a freshly pressed business suit. Her face looked like she was born frowning.
“I am not,” he said.
She arched an eyebrow. "I usually place my order with Ms. Pie."
"Hi, Miss Harshwhinny!" Pinkie poked her head out from the kitchen. "It's Bluesy's first day, so go easy on him? Thanks!"
Harshwhinny didn't smile so much as frown slightly less. "Very well, Pinkie." She turned to Blueblood and glared. "You're going to want to write this down."
"I was briefly tutored by the smartest minds in Equestria, Madame Whinny. I think I can remember a breakfast order!"
She cleared her throat. "One double half-caf caramel latte with sugarfree sprinkles, no foam. Next, two soft boiled eggs on rye toast with non-dairy Swiss cheese, pepper only. And a side of oats with cherries, but only if they're Dodge Junction cherries and outer Manehattan oats. Otherwise, cream of wheat with cinnamon."
His jaw hung open.
“To stay,” she added.
“Y-yes,” he said, magically reaching for a pen while maintaining eye contact. “Very good. Right away." He looked behind her. A bunch of teenage fillies and colts had just entered with their cakes for the contest. And their Principal. A line was forming. He licked his lips. "If you could just repeat part of that order...”
“Which part?”
He coughed, pen floating next to a pink order pad. “Everything after the coffee… with sprinkles.”
She narrowed her eyes.
"Bluesy?" Pinkie knocked on the pantry door. She could hear muffled sobbing. "Are you okay?"
"Fine! Just fine. Misplaced my hat, that's all."
"Are you crying?"
There was a pause, then more sobbing.
"No."
Pinkie slowly opened the door. She found Blueblood curled up in the corner of the pantry, next to his suitcase.
"Oh, Bluesy..."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Pie, I can't, I just can't!" Blueblood wailed.
"There there, it'll be alright..." Pinkie offered a kerchief.
"I thought peasant work would be easy—after all, peasants do it—” he blew his nose loudly, “but I can't do anything right!"
"It'll be okay..." Pinkie took the (much heavier) kerchief with a pair of tongs and threw it away.
"Too many orders! Too many customers! Too much math." He narrowed his eyes. "And that mare, Harshwhinny––"
"Oh, she isn't so bad! Once you painstakingly earn her begrudging respect, she stops yelling at you. Just never screw up her order."
He stared at her. "How, Pinkie? How do you keep such a positive attitude about such thankless work?"
She laughed. "There's a lot of thanks, if you know where to look. Usually it's in a pony's eyes when they bite into a fresh muffin, or a nice piece of—" She gasped, and defied another Neightonian law by staying in the air. "The cake tasting! Princess Twilight hasn't shown up yet, has she?"
"I don't think so... there was the pegasus with the crossed eyes, but––"
"Horsefeathers! Okay. Okay. I'm going to delay as long as I can, and you go find Spike!"
Blueblood blinked. "Who?"
"Spike, you can't miss him, he's only dragon in town. Pretty tall. Tell him we need Twilight! Without a royal to judge this contest, we're going to be disappointing a lot of students... oh, Twilight, where are you?"
As Pinkie ran off with a pained face, something shifted inside Blueblood. Something new and uncomfortable. Later, his royal psychologist would tell him it was a bizarre phenomenon known as 'sympathy.'
He opened his suitcase. Sitting in its case was his pride and joy. The Coco Pommel #4. The Royal.
So far nopony had caught on that Bluebell was Blueblood. Pinkie had kept her word. But she looked so sad.
He looked up at his reflection in the mirror.
"For you, Ms. Pie."
Pinkie took a giant breath, "And that's how Ponyville was made!"
Silence.
"Everytime she tells this story, it just gets weirder," Scootaloo whispered to a bored-looking Sweetie Belle, who nodded.
"Anyway folks, I'm sure Princess Twilight will be here real soon..." Pinkie trailed off. "My assistant went to go fin—"
A high-pitched stallion’s voice rang through the air: "Princess Twilight is not coming!"
There was a chorus of gasps and cries.
"But fear not, Ponyville! Your Prince has arrived!"
He kicked open the door. Head high, bow tie crisp, and mane the best he could manage under the circumstances, he strutted in to the middle of the room.
No pony spoke, although many had open mouths.
"I hear there is cake to be eaten! And judged. My subjects, you are in luck. I am an expert in eating and judging cake. In fact some days..." his voice faltered a little, "...that's all I do." He shook his head and rallied. "Which means no pony is more qualified to rank these pastries! Now, whose cake is this?"
A smart-looking, red-maned teenage mare in glasses eventually raised her hoof. "Mine, uh... your majesty? It's my senior project."
"Excellent. Bring forth the cake, and sample me!"
He held out his hoof expectantly. Nothing happened. He heard a harsh whisper that sounded like Ms. Pie: "Go on, Twist, sample him!"
Twist gulped, cutting off a thin slice of her pink cake. She put it on a paper plate it and passed it to Blueblood.
He focused his magic and broke off a tiny piece. Popping it in his mouth, he chewed carefully. "Yes... Yes... Exquisite! Strawberry with a hint of mint, a little buttercream but not excessive..." He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "A little too much focus on making the cake fluffy as opposed to flavorful, but excellent frosting. Well done, Miss... Twist, was it?"
Twist gawked. "Er... Yes, prince." She was nudged by her principal, and added, "Thank you, prince!"
She was smiling at him. In fact everypony, save the Harshwhinny, was smiling at him.
A warm feeling enveloped his body. He did a little bow. "You are welcome, my friends."
"Try my cake next, prince!"
"No, try mine! It's blueberry!"
Pinkie whispered in his ear, "Looks like you're a hit, Bluesy."
Blueblood laughed. "Yes, yes! One at a time, my little ponies. I will try all of your cakes!" He threw his hooves into the air. "Another!"
As one, everypony watched the plate with Twist's cake sail into the air, crest by the ceiling fan, then arc downwards and land right on Harshwhinny's face.
Several hours later, Blueblood and Pinkie were still cleaning. The contest has been cut short with Twist declared the winner by default. After Harshwhinny's expletive-laden tirade and the food fight that ensued thereafter, Principal Cheerilee and three teachers couldn't restore order. But the fillies and colts seemed to love him, especially Twist.
But especially Pinkie Pie.
"Oh, my sides, the expression on Harshwhinny’s face!" Pinkie giggled. "The swears she used, I had never heard some of them before!"
"Colorful, yes." Blueblood sighed. "I'm sorry I made a mess of things, Ms. Pie. I'll understand if you don't want me back tomorrow."
"Are you kidding? Today was great! The foals loved it!" She wrapped a hoof around his shoulder and gave him a hug. "You're a riot! Blueblood or Bluebell, I'd have you on my staff any day."
He blinked, and his muzzle broke into a disbelieving smile. "My eternal gratitude, Ms. Pie."
The clock tolled six and she crowed, "That's that! We’re closed. Same time tomorrow?"
Blueblood exhaled. "Same time tomorrow." He undid his bow tie and headed for the door.
"Bluesy, wait!" Pinkie said, running towards him. "You forgot your pay!"
"Ah yes, of course! That is why ponies work, after all." He held out his hooves expectantly. She dropped in fifty-four bits. He blinked.
"... That's all?"
She nodded. "Six bits an hour, ten hour shift, minus ten percent in taxes. That's fifty-four."
He was shaking, "That's all?!"
Pinkie frowned. "Yeah. I told the princess how much this job paid after taxes. Didn't she tell you?"
He collapsed on the ground and started bawling. "No, no! It can't be!"
"C'mon Bluesy. Six bits an hour is more than I made when I started..."
"You don't understand, I owe Auntie four-and-a-half billion bits!" he sobbed.
Pinkie stopped. “Ooohh…”
He threw his head back and wailed, "I'll be paying this off for foreverrrrrrrr!"
"I think he's learned his lesson, don't you 'Tia?"
Celestia stared through the Sugarcube Corner window, shrugging. "I suppose so."
Luna gave her a look. “You know you’re going to let him come back eventually.”
“I know.”
Neither princess spoke.
"Of course, we could let him work just one more day, to make sure he—"
"Excellent idea, Lulu!" Celestia said, a devilish smirk on her face. "Now, let’s go pick up Twilight and get some 'punch'.”
They flew off together. As they glided over Ponyville, Luna glanced at her sister. "Twilight is going to be upset when she finds out you gave her the wrong date for the contest on purpose.”
"Twilight will get over it. After all, it's 'Free Pastry Day' tomorrow."
Luna blinked. "...At Sugarcube Corner?"
"Of course. The crowds are supposedly quite intense. But I hear their service is excellent."
“Oh 'Tia…" Luna was trying not to laugh. "Blueblood will never forgive you."
Celestia winked. “Let him eat cake.”
Author's Note
Thanks to Sharp Spark and Space Commie for helping me tame the beast that is an under 3k story (I know the meter says more, but I tested it on Word, and it's 2919.)
And to Phrraell Williams, because this song rules:
