Say Goodnight, Pinkieby scoots2ChaptersPinkie PassesThere's No Accounting For TasteGoodbye Doesn't Mean ForeverPinkie PassesCheese had woken up early and waited patiently. Soon the sun would rise, and Pinkie Pie would wake up. He’d kissed her for the first time last night, but for months, when Dawn had come and the sky was filled with pink, he’d seen only her and felt her magic, welcoming her as though she were coming towards him, greeting her and telling her how beautiful she was. Now she was really here, and he didn’t know what to expect, but he had the feeling it would be something very special. He was wrong. It wasn’t just special. It was stunning. It was one of those perfect sunrises, when the sky is streaked with dark gold and rose that gradually become lighter and more brilliant as the sun slowly slips above the horizon. At the same time, perhaps because the sunlight was falling on her face, Pinkie turned in her sleep so that she was facing him. Her eyes opened, and Cheese caught a glimpse of irises the same pure blue as the sky, framed in curly black lashes. Then she sat up and yawned, and the morning sun illuminated her from behind, so that her coat was radiant and her mane blazed with pink, and Cheese had to shade his eyes. Laughter Herself was awake, and day could begin again: fresh, new, and happy. Then the sun climbed a little higher, and she was just Pinkie again, but she could never be “just Pinkie” to him. To him, she still glowed, because . . . . . . well, because he loved her. “Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured. She didn’t say anything. She simply smiled and held out her front legs towards him in a gesture that even foals know means “I want to be held, please.” He scooped her up before she had to ask again. The nice thing about second kisses is that there are usually a third and a fourth. “Good morning, Cheesie,” she said at last, and giggled. “Did you know you look funny sleeping on your back?” He laughed. “No, I didn’t. I don’t usually watch myself when I’m asleep.” “Oooo, good point,” she said. “I guess you never know how you sleep unless somepony tells you. Rainbow Dash sleeps all sprawly, too, only her legs don’t stick straight up in the air and she snores really, really badly, and you don’t.” “Of course I don’t snore,” he said indignantly. “You talk in your sleep and I don’t want to miss anything. You were curled up like a ball of yarn,” he added, pushing away a bit of unruly pink mane that was falling into her eyes. “It was . . . .” Adorable, he thought. “Cute.” He kissed her on the nose, because it obviously needed to be kissed, and then so did her forehead and both cheeks, and then he had to kiss her eyes, because she’d closed them. He realized with some surprise that tears were brimming up from under her closed eyelids. Was he making her unhappy? “Pinkie? Are you crying?” She nodded, but her eyes were still closed, and she didn’t say anything. “Why?” She opened her eyes, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Because I know you’re going to have to go away,” she quavered. She’d never been upset about that before that he could remember. “But Pinkie, I’ll come back. You know I always come back.” “I know,” she said, nodding, her eyes downcast. Everything about her was slightly wilted: her mane, her tail, and definitely her smile. She even seemed to have become a bit smaller. Pinkie was deflating like one of her own balloons. “Because of the way our magic is connected. You come back because you have to.” I come back because I have to? Does she really think that? He was horrified at the idea, but he only had himself to blame. If he’d only been more honest with her and with himself all along, she could never have thought such a thing. “No, Pinkie!” he exclaimed, and lifted her chin with his hoof so he could look directly into her eyes. “That’s not true. I don’t really understand how or why the magic works between us. I just know it does, and I’m glad it does, but that’s not why I come back. I come back for you. I have for a long time now. Maybe I always did. I don’t know. But you know that every time I go away, I always come back to you.” She sniffed. “I know you do,” she said. “But this time, it’s going to hurt.” She leaned her head against his chest and burst into tears in earnest. It was true, he thought, as he folded his front legs around her. He’d have to leave her, maybe as early as tonight, and suddenly he felt the sick certainty that this was exactly what would happen. Tonight, when the party was at its peak, his Cheesy Sense was going to kick in and send him off where somepony else needed him. That happened a lot. Sometimes the Cheesy Sense let him go, his muscles relaxed, and he knew he was free and it was time to leave, but sometimes it hit him in the middle of a party and didn’t allow him any breathing space at all. There had never been a problem with that before. He liked moving on, and he didn’t really like staying at parties to the bitter end. This time was different. He wanted to stay. He wanted to help clean up and kiss Pinkie goodnight, and see her tomorrow, and maybe they could even do something that had nothing to do with parties at all. This time it was going to rip him away from Pinkie, and she was right. This time it was going to hurt really badly. Pinkie was still crying, wetting the coat on his chest down to the skin. All his instincts as a party pony were screaming at him to cheer her up, because that was his job, and because Pinkie Pie crying was the worst thing in the world. But something else told him just to hold her and let her cry herself out. He rested his chin on top of her curly mane, so that her head was tucked protectively under his. She might be Joy Herself, but she needed to be allowed to be sad sometimes, and if she couldn’t be sad in front of him, she couldn’t be sad in front of anypony. He had to stay calm for her, because if they were ever both sad at the same time, there wouldn’t be anypony to lift them both out of the darkness, and then neither of them could make other ponies smile. Finally, she began to take long, slow, shaky breaths, and he knew she was coming out of it. He mentally went through his inventory, found a handkerchief, and held it up to her nose. She blew, and blew, and when she gave him the handkerchief back, he decided that maybe he should just toss it, because it was a goner. He hoofed it towards the sky and it disappeared. “Pinkie? Are you OK?” he asked. “Yeah,” she said, still breathing shakily. “Yeah, I’m ok.” She slid back a little way, out of his embrace. “Good,” he said, “because you were just kissed by the premier party pony in all of Equestria, and if you don’t stop crying, I’ll start thinking I was doing it wrong.” She giggled and sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hoof. “Is there a wrong way to kiss ponies? I guess there must be a wrong way to kiss ponies. Maybe there’s more wrong ways than right ways, and I bet you could think up a lot of wrong ways, Cheesie, because Mr. Cake always says he’s amazed how many ways you can mess up a kitchen, and I think there are some silly ways, but I don’t think you did anything wrong. I just feel sad ‘cause I liked it when you kissed me good morning and I know you won’t kiss me good morning tomorrow, will you.” Both of her front hooves were planted solidly on the ground now, and her wide blue eyes met his directly. It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t sure, but she already knew. She sighed. “I wish I could go with you,” she said wistfully. Do it, something whispered in his ear. When the Cheesy Sense hits tonight, take her by the hoof and run away with her. Then you’ll never have to say goodbye. You can kiss her good morning every morning, and you can fall asleep listening to her talk every night. Nopony here really appreciates her anyway; they don’t really deserve her. She could make ponies happy all over Equestria. You’ll fade into the background, but that won’t matter, not when She’s with them. It was so tempting, even though he knew it wasn’t true at all. Ponyville might not really understand her, but everypony in it loved her and would miss her terribly, and her five best friends would miss her most of all. He almost said something anyway, but when he saw the sadness on her face, he knew it was no good asking. “Someday you will,” he said, and as soon as he said it, he knew deep down that it was true. Someday they would dance out of Ponyville together, party pony and party pony, and Equestria would see a kind of Joy it had never known. “I know,” she said, and brought her right hoof up to click against his. They stayed like that for a long moment, pressing hoof to hoof, and the solidity of it was a comfort to both of them. There wasn’t any Pinkie Promise or Cheesy Swear. There wasn’t any need for it. Something had been settled, even though he wasn’t quite sure what it was, and now that it had, it was time for breakfast. Pinkie had packed such a large picnic last night that there were plenty of leftovers. She pulled out plate after plate of food, and they sprawled back on the blanket, enjoying the early morning sunshine as they ate. “It could be worse,” he said through a mouthful of hay chips. “Other ponies have real problems.” “Yepperooni,” agreed Pinkie. “Like what if I was in this universe and you lived in an alternate universe and we couldn’t see each other and you couldn’t visit because it would cause paradoxes that would destroy, like, everything? It would be really, really hard to throw birthday parties that way!” He hadn’t thought about that possibility. He chewed on things for a while, literally and metaphorically. “I don’t know a lot about alternate universes, but I do know I could never forget your birthday.” “That makes it easy, Cheesie, because if we ever find another mirror pool by mistake and there winds up being twenty of you, I can just ask them when my birthday is, and whichever one of them says . . . um. . . says . . .” “May 3rd,” he prompted. “Yep. That’s the real Cheesie. But I’d better get Twilight to ask, ‘cause I can already see how that might go wrong.” It was nice just to lie next to her and know that she was there, less than a leg’s length away. Every so often, she would drape one of her back ankles across his leg, or he’d reach out and brush her shoulder with his hoof. It was as though neither of them really wanted completely to let go. But finally, breakfast was over, and she sat up and began to pack the picnic basket, while he started to clean up camp. “Anyway, I’m glad you make other ponies happy like I do,” she said, “and I guess your going away isn’t as bad as if you didn’t live in Equestria at all, right?” “We’ll work something out,” he agreed, putting away the lantern. He was covering up the fire pit when the thought sunk in, wait a second. There’s a we? Like, an us kind of we? He glanced over at her, but she didn’t seem to think he’d said anything unusual. He didn’t want to ask her anything more. He was afraid he’d hear something he didn’t want to hear, and everything would pop like a shiny soap bubble, and right now, he’d be shattered. He wasn’t going to take anything for granted. Still, he’d kissed her, and he knew that was true. He also knew it was true that someday they’d travel Equestria together, whether as party ponies, or—something else. The things that were true were more than enough to make him happy, and besides, the sun was barely up and he’d already done enough serious thinking today to last him an entire week. This called for a hat. He reached out for a fish hat and a loud print shirt, turned, saw that Pinkie had already had on a set of swim fins and an arrow through her head, and burst out laughing. He could top that, though, and switched out the fish hat for a pirate hat. She countered with a fruit hat a foot high, topped with a pineapple, and stuck her tongue out at him. Oh, so that’s the way you’re going to play it, hmm? he thought. No fooling around. I’m going for the Edam. He opened his hooves, his concertina falling neatly between them, and balanced on top of a round, red cheese. She topped him with a trombone and a beachball. It was almost like the Goof-Off, but there was something different about it this time. Then it hit him. They weren’t doing this to impress anypony. They were just trying to make each other smile. The very thought made him so happy that he stashed his accordion and bounced off the Edam. “You win, Pinkie,” he said, and swept her a bow. “I couldn’t be any happier.” “Really?” she squeaked. “Really and truly.” She jumped off the beach ball and hugged him. “Me too!” This was something he could probably do all day, or most of it, anyway, but they had a lot to do. “Any ideas for the party tonight?” She nodded. “Lots. I’ve got one that’s a doozy! You’re really going to like it, and Twilight’s going to love it, only we’ll need my friend Rarity’s help, because we won’t be able to do it on our own.” “Maybe we should ask her now,” he suggested, switching his hat for his “I-am-a-serious-party-pony” black hat and pulling on his serape. “We need all the time we can get.” “Oh, no,” said Pinkie, shaking her head until her mane rippled. “Rarity won’t be up for a while. She’ll be really, really upset if we go wake her up now. We should wait another hour. I guess we’ll have to find something else to do.” Something about her tone made him nervous. “Uh, really? What, exactly?” “Oh,” she said, “I’ve got some great ideas about that, too.” She put both hooves in front of her eyes. “1, 2, 3, 4 . . .” She slipped a hoof off one of her eyes. “What are you waiting for, Cheesie? Hide!” Author's Note As usual, I’ve gotten distracted writing more CheesePie, but I had to write this one to set the stage for the next CheesePie, and besides, I wanted to find out what happened next. The chapter title comes from part of a Robert Browning poem called “Pippa Passes”: The year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His heaven— All’s right with the world! It seemed fitting for Pinkie at sunrise. More to come shortly. There's No Accounting For TasteRarity had had her least favorite nightmare: the one in which she was a maiden aunt to Sweetie Belle’s three beautiful foals. In the dream, everypony called her a crazy cat lady behind her back, and her evenings were mostly spent reading romance novels and eating hayberry fudge swirl ice cream directly from the carton. Fortunately, before she got to the really terrible parts, including her designs being described as “reliably conservative,” Opal strolled up her torso and flipped her tail over Rarity’s muzzle, forcing her to wake up and give her pre-breakfast. And everypony said cats weren’t loyal. “Oh, Opal-Wopal,” she cooed. “Who loves her mommy? Yes, you do!” She slid back into bed and slipped on her eyemask, but she was still too upset to fall asleep. She knew perfectly well what had triggered her nightmare. Trenderhoof had been seen taking the very earliest morning train yesterday, accompanied by two guards. She’d had no idea that he was in Ponyville at all; why was that? She was well over her silly infatuation by now, but the sting to her pride still lingered. Why hadn’t she been fabulous enough to attract his attention in the first place? Why were the good ones always taken or far too old for her or simply uninterested? Why did she keep attracting stallions like Hayseed Turniptruck? Why? She wanted to know what Trenderhoof had been doing in Ponyville, and especially about the guards, but every time she approached a group talking about it, they instantly stopped, and then quickly began talking about something else. This could only mean one thing: that everyone in Ponyville knew about her stupid crush and were still gossiping about it behind her back. Sometimes Rarity despised small towns. Finally, there had been the line item in the Evening Standardbred that Trenderhoof’s regular column was on hiatus while he took a leave of absence to research his new book. It reminded her that somewhere, there was a glamorous life of travel, celebrity, and romance, and that she was not living it; that she was nothing but a seamstress who lived in what was practically a village; and that she was passé before she’d truly had her time. Ridiculous, she told herself. All I need is a bit more beauty sleep, and tomorrow is another day—today, really, but it amounts to the same thing—and who on earth is ringing my doorbell at this insanely early hour? Since her early morning visitor didn’t wait to be let in, but immediately entered the shop and bounced across it with a distinctive springing gait, she had her answer. An ear shatteringly high soprano voice rang out, “Good morning, Rarity! Are you awake yet? I was gonna wait and come back later, but then I thought, “hey, it IS later,” and I really really really need your help right now, so I thought I’d come and see if you were awake, so are you? I can come upstairs and check if you’re not.” “No, no,” Rarity said quickly, “that won’t be necessary, Pinkie Pie.” “Ooo! You knew it was me!” “Yes, Pinkie, your voice is . . . distinctive. I’ll be down directly.” She levitated a hand mirror over to her face and surveyed the wreckage. Her eyes were puffy, she had crease marks on one cheek, and she could tell already that it was going to be an extremely bad mane day. She dropped the mirror and glanced down at her hooves. They needed filing, and there were a few small chips in the lacquer. Mercifully, she had no plans to go out in public today, and while she’d didn’t care for anypony to see her at less than her best, perhaps some minor neatening up would be all that was necessary. Pinkie Pie was one of her very best friends, after all. “What’s that thing?” said what sounded like a complete stranger. In a tenor voice. Oh, Pinkie Pie, Rarity thought. Bringing over an unknown pony at this hour, and a stallion at that, when I simply am not prepared to receive visitors! How could you? Meanwhile, the intellectual conversation downstairs went on: “Oh, it’s a clothes horse.” “Why a clothes horse? Why not a clothes pony?” “Dunno. Hey, I bet if we lined ‘em up, we could pretend they were talking to each other! Wouldn’t that be cool?” She positively flew through her morning beauty regimen and performed the most cursory of toilettes. Just as she reached the landing, she heard Pinkie Pie hiss in a stage whisper, “Psst! Don’t say anything about Trenderhoof!” “Ugh. Why would I want to?” She descended the stairs with what she hoped was gracious charm and not a sleep-deprived stagger. “Good morning,” she said. “My, it certainly is bright and early.” Pinkie sprang forward and hugged her. “Hiya, Rarity!” she cried. “What took you so long? You remember Cheese Sandwich, don’t you? Cheesie, this is Rarity.” “Um,” said the party stallion, shifting from leg to leg. “Hi?” Rarity hadn’t seen much of Cheese Sandwich since the birthaversary party, and she’d never really had a conversation with him at all. In this non-party setting, he was much shyer than she’d remembered, and probably younger, too: still part gangling, awkward colt, and very ill at ease in a mare’s couture boutique. Then Pinkie Pie trotted back next to him, and he absolutely lit up. Pinkie Pie flicked her tail against his leg and smiled up at him, and they were surrounded by such a glow that Rarity instantly knew what was going on, possibly better than they did. For a moment, she considered trotting back upstairs, pulling on her eyemask, and going back to sleep in case this was just a new and more sadistic part of her nightmare. Inside her, a tiny Rarity wailed that it was not fair that her youngest and most eccentric friend, who barely knew what romance was, had found it, while she, the elegant Rarity, had been frustrated again and again. It was her turn first. It simply was not fair. She told that Rarity to shut up. She would be sincerely glad for her friend, who had woken her up at a dreadful hour, demanding favors and bringing her . . . her, um, with her, when she, Rarity, hadn’t even had time to put her face on. “Delighted, Mr. Sandwich,” she said. “Just Cheese is ok,” he replied, still seesawing from hoof to hoof. “Would anypony care for some tea? I’m afraid I simply must have my morning tea,” she said, trotting towards the kitchen. “Aw. We did wake you up, didn’t we?” lamented Pinkie, following her. “I’m sorry. We brought some things from Sugarcube Corner for you—some of those fancy breads you like.” She set a basket down on Rarity’s kitchen table, and pulled back a cloth, revealing brioche, fresh from the oven. Rarity hadn’t even known that the Cakes were branching out this way, and perhaps brioche might constitute an adequate apology. “Would you both care to join me?” “Oh, we already had breakfast an hour ago,” chirped Pinkie, sitting down at the table, “but we can always eat another one. Anyhoo, the reason we came is ‘cause we’re planning a super duper ginormous party and we need your help with the decorations.” “I think,” said Rarity, blowing on her tea, “you are confusing our areas of expertise.” “Oh, no,” said Pinkie, shaking her head in a wild blur of pink mane. “You do all those super-elegant things like the Summer Sun Festival and you’re so much classier than I am and that’s what we need.” Rarity arched an eyebrow, silently conceding Pinkie’s point. “So that’s why we need you to make a super-elegant rug!” Rarity didn’t quite do a spit take, but it was a near thing. “Runners,” put in Cheese helpfully. Now that they were on the subject of parties, and were eating, he seemed much more at home. “Usually we call ‘em runners. They’re a bit upscale for what I do, but they’re those long skinny things you roll down a hallway.” He made a wide gesture to indicate length, knocked over a pot of marmalade, and caught it just before it shattered on the floor. “Sorry,” he said, turning red. “I have really bad luck in kitchens.” “May I suggest,” said Rarity, breathing slowly through her nostrils in an attempt to calm down, “that you might wish to try the carpet salesman and not a designer of fine couture?” “Oh, but it has to be super, super-elegant,” said Pinkie. “Not like a regular rug. Like jewels and everything. And it should unroll itself; you can do that, right? Or at least make it so Twilight can do it?” “I could, of course,” Rarity said, pondering the idea. A nice brocade runner, possibly with jeweled trim? That might be very elegant indeed. “How long did you want this runner to be?” she said aloud. “Oh, about half a mile.” “Ahahah . . . perhaps I did not hear you correctly. You said half a mile, did you not?” “Yepsidoodle!” said Pinkie, putting four cubes of sugar in her tea. “Half a mile! ‘Cause it’s got to go all the way through the castle.” “The castle.” Pinkie Pie wants an elegant runner for the castle? “And what sort of event is this?” “It’s the castle-warming,” her pink friend said, as Cheese nodded in agreement, his mouth filled with brioche. “Twilight’s officially opening the castle for the first time, and everypony in Ponyville is invited. Oh, and I guess anypony else who wants to come.” “A royal event.” Rarity felt her eye begin to twitch. “You want me to make a half-mile long runner, with fabric I probably don’t have yet and jewels I almost certainly don’t have yet, for the official opening of Twilight’s castle?” “Uh huh! And I just know it’s gonna be so fantastically gorgeous!” The brioche basket was now completely empty, leaving utter wreckage on her tidy kitchen table. Rarity began cleaning up, setting a crumb-catcher to work, filling the sink, and sending her fine china plates into the dish tub. “And precisely when is this event to take place?” “This afternoon!” said Pinkie, with an enormous smile. Rarity had too much self-control to drop everything she was levitating, but she did stop everything in place. “This afternoon,” she said in an even tone. “You fully expect that I can create this miracle, with no assistance, by this afternoon.” “Uh huh. Is that a problem?” “Will you excuse us, Mr. Sandwich?” Rarity swept from the kitchen, and Pinkie followed her. “Pinkie,” snapped Rarity, stopping at her worktable, “that is impossible. You know I cannot work that fast, and even if I could, I would inevitably sacrifice quality, which as you know I simply refuse to do! Why must the party be this afternoon? Why not next week?” Pinkie simply stared back, eyes wide. “Because the party is this afternoon.” “Ah. This is the nub of the matter. Why? Why is the party this afternoon?” “Because it just is,” said Pinkie. “Cheesie and me both know it is.” “And so,” said Rarity, sorting through her notebook and idly pulling out some swatches—green goes nicely with purple, she thought. I think unrelieved purple brocade might be a bit much—“you decide that a major royal event must take place this afternoon. I still don’t understand why you cannot simply reschedule.” “Because Cheesie won’t be there,” said Pinkie, looking at the swatches and pulling out a dark rose one. Of course, thought Rarity, savagely running a pin through the brocade swatches, we mustn’t inconvenience poor darling Cheesie, so why not impose on one of your oldest and best friends? Friendship clearly means nothing when a stallion enters the picture! But then, looking over at Pinkie, she wasn’t sure that Pinkie thought that way. In fact, she hadn’t even introduced Cheese with a flourish of “this is my coltfriend.” They hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t been holding hooves at the table; she’d simply seen that Cheese adored Pinkie, and that was all. Still . . . “And why can’t Cheese be there next week? Why can’t he reschedule?” “’Cause he just can’t,” said Pinkie. “He’s going away tonight, and I don’t know how I know, I just know and he just knows. I don’t think I can explain. I understand. I’m sorry,” she went on, her ears swiveling down. “I just thought Twilight’s been so sad about the library and she would like it so much, and you would make it look so pretty, and Cheesie and me, we’ve never really thrown a party together before, except for the birthaversary and I guess that doesn’t really count, but we’ll think of something else. We’ll see you at the party later.” Curses, thought Rarity, rubbing her eyes with her hoof. “Very well. Sit down and explain exactly what you want this carpet to do.” Pinkie explained at great length what she wanted and why she wanted it and why it would be such a super extra enormously special thing to do for Twilight. Rarity knew it was going to be impossible to do it in time, of course, but on the other hoof, she was Rarity, and she had pulled together entirely new collections in as little time as this. She could call in some favors and, well—it could be done, possibly. Meanwhile Cheese, who seemed to be trying to avoid the kitchen, had brought Rarity’s copy of the Evening Standardbred into the shop and was reading it, muttering to himself. All at once, he gave a loud snort. “‘Extended leave of absence.’ That’s what they’re calling a total nervous breakdown in Canterlot-speak these days, huh? Pfft.” “Excuse me, Mr. Sand—Cheese, if you will,” said Rarity, putting down the notebook and colored pencils with which she’d been doodling some ideas, “to which article are you referring? Would that possibly be the article on Mr. Trenderhoof?” Cheese simply stood there, jaw dropped. “Cheesie!” wailed Pinkie. “I told you not to say anything about Trenderhoof!” “But—but I didn’t!” he stammered. “You shouldn’t say anything about Trenderhoof to Rarity, silly! She had this gimondo crush on him and then when he came here he was super rude to her and didn’t crush her back and it makes her feel really, really bad, so nopony talks about it in front of her, ‘cause it makes her feel like she wasn’t good enough or something!” “I’m not surprised,” said Cheese. “Pinkie Pie!” snapped Rarity. “I am appalled at your rudeness when I have done nothing but try to assist you, and what precisely do you mean by ‘I’m not surprised,’ Mr. Sandwich?” “He’s got lousy taste,” said Cheese, shrugging. “Well, really!—what?” “I keep running into Trenderhoof, and he’s got lousy taste. He wouldn’t know something good if it bit him. Oh, sure, he likes finding little out of the way nice places, but then he ruins them by making them over to suit himself. He gets bored with things. He said cupcakes were over.” Pinkie Pie gasped. “He never!” “He did,” said Cheese. “He’s got lousy taste, except I guess Braeburn’s kind of nice-looking. I dunno. I don’t think of Braeburn like that, and I don’t think Braeburn thinks of Braeburn like that, but he introduced himself as an apple rancher and I’m not sure if Trenderhoof was into the pony or just the fruit. He’s crazy. Pssht. Don’t even ask me about our ‘friend’ ‘Trend,’” he finished, making air quotes with his hooves. “Oh, no,” said Rarity, strolling over to her chaise longue and reclining on it, “I insist. No, Pinkie, I am tired of ponies walking on eggshells around me about Trenderhoof as though somepony had died, for heaven’s sake, and I want to hear what Mr. Sandwich has to say, and I positively refuse to lift a hoof making this carpet until I have the whole story.” “Story?” said Cheese, blinking. “Did you say you want to hear the whole story?” “Yes,” she said firmly, wrapping her tail around her hind hooves to make it clear that she was not budging until his story was over. Evidently, this was all she needed to tell Cheese, for whom “story” seemed synonymous with “performance.” What she saw next was a dizzying quarter of an hour of accordion music, jokes, sound effects, and dialogue, with Cheese’s rubber chicken playing, in turn, Braeburn, a waiter, a tipsy Trenderhoof, Flash Sentry, and a fire crew. The stories were rather confused, and involved quite a lot of heavy drinking and waffle batter, but Cheese made his overall point nicely. He finished, front legs spread wide, and Rarity realized just a second too late that she was supposed to applaud. By the time she made a few polite little opera hoofclaps, the moment had clearly passed, and Cheese stood there, looking awkward again. Then he added-- “And if you ask me, I’m glad he went meshugganah out where everypony could see him, because he’s been going that way for ages, and he needs a nice long break somewhere where nothing ever happens and he can’t get any coffee, and he can leave the rest of the world for us to have some fun in. He prefers Taztelwurm entrails to cupcakes. He thinks I’m loud and tacky, and y’know, I just don’t think his opinion matters all that much.” Hmm, thought Rarity. I wonder. On one hoof, Pinkie’s awkward party stallion, and on the other hoof, Trenderhoof . . . but that’s ridiculous. Everypony knows Trenderhoof’s taste is the ne plus ultra! But evidently, Cheese wasn’t done. “And maybe this is way out of line, but you do all this fashion-y stuff, and I thought you would know . . .” “Yes?” “Will you tell me why really beautiful mares put so much stuff on their faces when they don’t need it? I just can’t figure that one out.” “Cheesie!” squeaked Pinkie, who clearly knew this was a bridge too far. “It is to enhance one’s natural assets,” said the offended fashionista, although perhaps, on second thought, she wasn’t that offended at all. Cheese sighed. “I think I’ll stick to the things I know, then. And we’ve got a lot to get done before this afternoon, so I’d better go and do some of them.” “We’ll see you at the party, Rarity?” asked Pinkie. “Oh, of course. And what time do you want me to bring the runner?” She was barreled over by an excited and happy little pink hurricane. “Oh, I knew you would do it, Rarity, I just knew you would! It’s going to be super-duper, you’ll see! Anytime before school lets out is fine, because otherwise Cheerilee’s students will be all over the place and it’ll be impossible to put down. You’re so awesome! Bye! See you there!” Pinkie gave her friend one last enormous hug, and trotted out the door after Cheese Sandwich. She heard a thwack! sound from just outdoors, as though someone’s hat had just been pulled off and abruptly put back on again with some force. “Cheesie! I told you not to mention Trenderhoof!” “I couldn’t help it, Pinkie! I had to cheer her up!” Yes, thought Rarity. Yes, on the whole, her odd friend’s even odder friend had cheered her up a good deal. After all, if even Pinkie had a Cheese, what might not be in store for a fabulous mare such as herself? She would think of this tomorrow, perhaps, because in the meantime, she had a great deal to do. The boutique was soon a blizzard of scissors, ribbons, and cascading fabric, and in the middle of it, Rarity sat, glasses firmly placed on her nose, creating beauty, utterly absorbed in what she loved to do best in the world. And she had to admit that Trenderhoof looked MUCH better as a rubber chicken. Author's Note Rarity rather took over this chapter, but I’m not really sorry about it! I like writing about Pinkie and Cheese, but I wanted to give a little love to Rarity. I suppose that’s really all I have to say about that. The events Cheese narrates can be found in Slice of Life and Flash and Trend Steal All Your Waffles, but he gives you the gist of it nicely. Final chapter coming soon. Goodbye Doesn't Mean ForeverRarity fully justified Pinkie’s confidence in her. The half-mile long brocade runner, trimmed with jewels and magically enhanced to unroll itself, was completed by early afternoon. It was stunning, but it had taken all of her gifts to bring it about: inspiration, drive to work towards a deadline, serendipitous finding of lovely materials, and formidable skill in social networking. The task certainly couldn’t have been finished without the influence and assistance of the Lord Chamberlain (Spike) and the Lord Chancellor (again, Spike.) After some initial designing at the Carousel Boutique, and the realization that, of course, she didn’t have the supplies necessary for a half-mile long brocade runner, she sent an urgent message to Fancy Pants. Fancy Pants replied graciously, as he always did, and placed all of his social and economic clout at her disposal. She also used every contact she had in the Canterlot garment district: textile merchants, trim salesmen, notions suppliers, and seamstresses. Most of them seemed to feel as she did; while it was an insane request, they also didn’t want to miss the opportunity to provide work for a royal occasion. Finally she decided to take one of Pinkie’s more cryptic suggestions: “just go look in the castle, silly.” She galloped off at top speed, and entered the castle, not knowing what she should be looking for. At first, she looked in sensible places for sensible things, and then she remembered the source of the advice and began trotting up odd little staircases and opening up random doors. As she did so, she began to understand exactly why Pinkie Pie wanted the runner and why it was such a brilliant idea, even if it was also completely insane. Suddenly, it wasn’t a question of having not enough material, but too much. Fortunately, there were always stallions willing to put aside nearly anything they were doing to assist Rarity in moving heavy objects. The Cakes reacted as Rarity’s Canterlot contacts had. Providing several large ceremonial cakes in a matter of hours was impossible, but since it was for Twilight, who was both a princess and a friend, and since Pinkie Pie had asked, they did it anyway. Rainbow Dash had been put in charge of air transport and Applejack pitched in with providing food, so it was up to Fluttershy to keep Twilight occupied and out of the castle. Pinkie was adamant that while Twilight knew that there was going to be a party, the details should come as a complete surprise. As the final touches were placed on the runner, and the Great Hall’s crystalline columns were festooned with coordinating decorations in elegant fabrics, Rarity heaved a sigh of relief, and allowed herself a satisfied smile. She was Rarity. And she had pulled it off. ~~ Pinkie and Cheese had no difficulties with adequate supplies. She had already located the castle’s bubble blowers and slides on her previous explorations. Fondue fountains, piñatas, pinwheels, giant punchbowls, and the notorious party bomb were located and deployed with no delay. It was the contents of one of the punchbowls that narrowly missed becoming a disaster. They had never planned a party together from the beginning before, and at first, it was ridiculously easy. If she didn’t have something stashed away, he certainly did, and while her tastes ran more toward streamers and balloons and his to light-up dance floors, that was easily resolved by having lots and lots of both. And then they came to the giant punchbowl and what ought to go in it, and a simple discussion became a tense clash of serious artistic differences. Cheese felt strongly that what ought to go in it should have a lemonade base. It was summer, it was warm, they would be doing a lot of walking, Q.E.D. Pinkie, on the other hoof, kept insisting on apple cider, which from his point of view flew in the face of common sense. “Apple cider is a fall beverage, Pinkie,” Cheese said, leaning on the punchbowl and frowning down at the bottom. “There’s no getting around that.” “But if it’s cold apple cider, it doesn’t have to be,” Pinkie said, bouncing into the punchbowl and out in one giant bounce. “Everypony loves cold apple cider.” “Well, I don’t,” said Cheese, pulling on a beret to indicate a sophistication he normally didn’t claim to have. “Not in high summer. I’ll drink it if I have to, but that doesn’t make it my first pick as a party drink. I’ve had plenty of experience to—” “And so have I, Cheese!” retorted Pinkie, jabbing her hoof towards her chest. “Outside Ponyville?” said Cheese, lifting one eyebrow. “Seriously? Ponies all over Equestria will tell you that—” “Ponies who don’t know you wouldn’t even BE a party pony if it weren’t for me!” Pinkie shot back. He inhaled sharply. “That is a low blow. Fine. My reputation stands, and I’m saying lemonade.” “Apple cider!” “Lemonade!” “Apple cider!” “Lemonade!” “Lemonade!” Cheese’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no you don’t, Pinkie. I know how this one goes. I’m supposed to say ‘lemonade,’ and you say ‘apple cider,’ and I say ‘lemonade’ again, and you say ‘lemonade,’ and I say ‘apple cider,’ and you say ‘okey-dokey-lokey.’ Nice try, but no dice. Don’t try to pull schtick on a schtick artist. I know it cold.” Pinkie absolutely glowered at him, but he knew he was right. Why the heck was she being so pig-headed about apple cider? He wasn’t going to blow his reputation as a party planner serving substandard beverages. He was sticking to his cannons on principle, and he was gonna win this thing. Then it dawned on him: there was no possible way for him to win this thing. He’d been down this road before, and it led nowhere good. He’d actually “won” last time, and it felt terrible. He’d driven Pinkie Pie to tears, and she’d already cried once today: because he was going away, and because she seemed to—to care about him, anyway. And here he was, having a fight with her? Over lemonade? Was he insane? He remembered a piece of advice the Great Ponyacci had once given him, and said the three little words that fix everything: “Maybe you’re right.” Pinkie looked as startled as though she’d missed a step on a staircase and tumbled all the way to the bottom. “Huh?” “No, maybe you’re right, Pinkie. I still think lemonade would be better because of the season and because it’s warm, but you’ve got to have a good reason for insisting on apple cider, so sure. Let’s go with apple cider.” She muttered something he couldn’t quite hear. “Excuse me?” “I said . . . I said, I think lemonade is better, too. Honestly, Cheesie,” she said, wide blue eyes pleading, “I’d really, really rather have strawberry lemonade, ‘cause the strawberries are really nice right now and it’d be such a pretty pink. But, see—this is Ponyville, and there’s Sweet Apple Acres, and everypony’s so used to having apples in everything. And Applejack’s apple cider is the bestest, really, and—well, and honestly, if we don’t have it, her feelings will be hurt. So it has to be apple cider. Do you understand?” He more than understood. He understood parties and laughter, but she really understood friendship and why it came first. She was right after all. “And I’m sorry for saying you wouldn’t be a party pony except for me.” He smiled at her. “Why? It’s the truth. I wouldn’t be.” “And you are better at—” He snorted. “Haypuckey. You know that’s not true. And I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine myself. I’m sorry too.” She hugged him. “It’s ok, Pinkie. I’m not that great at friendship sometimes, but I’m trying, and it’s over on my end.” And I know it’s over on yours, he thought, as she smiled the best smile in the world at him, because you can’t stay mad at anypony. In fact, she’d already moved on to the next thing, which was filling the punchbowl. She tapped her chin with her hoof. “Hmmm. The more I think about it, the more I think we really ought have strawberry lemonade, but it should have something apple-y in it. I don’t think apple cider’s gonna work. Apple juice? Nah.” He made a wild guess. “You say you’ve got apple everything here. Do you have apple soda?” She looked up at him, surprised. “You mean apple pop? Sure. Why?” “Something a bit tart?” “Wait a minute . . . yeah, we do! That’ll be perfect! It’ll make it all fizzy— “And lemony—” “And cool on a hot summer day, and all it needs is the secret ingredient! I’ll go get Gummy!” ~~ At last everything was ready. The enormous carpet sat at the entrance to the castle, and Princess Twilight stood in front of it. Behind her, all of Ponyville and a number of ponies from Canterlot were lined up, eager both to see the castle and to start the party. “What is this, Pinkie Pie?” said Twilight, poking at the carpet with her horn. “And what am I supposed to do with it?” “Not . . . just . . . yet,” Pinkie replied, scanning the skies. Two winged figures flew across the sun, briefly casting shadows on the castle grounds. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna soared over the crowd and glided to a graceful landing. The ponies in line sank into deep bows, and so did Cheese, but Pinkie simply remarked, “Yep! It’s yet!” Rarity muttered something under her breath about her stress levels reaching maximum, but Princess Celestia and Princess Luna simply bowed back to the crowd and stood on either side of Twilight. Twilight thought for a moment, and then sent a very small jet of magic into the center of the carpet—the tiniest possible push. The massive carpet slowly unrolled down the Great Hall, followed by Twilight, the other princesses, and a very long line. It came to a stop at the threshold of the Circle of Friendship, completely blocking the door. “Well, that was unexpected,” said Spike, “but I hope we can get it moved. I was enjoying having my own chair.” The giant roll of carpet began to rise slightly off the floor, and all at once, Rarity knew precisely what she had to do. She cast a spell at the fabric, slicing it cleanly off. The end of the carpet folded in on itself, forming a golden rod, and the rest of the roll rose further and flew over the heads of the crowd, who worried about it audibly. “What was that all about?” said Cheese. “Dunno,” said Pinkie, and shrugged. “I guess the castle doesn’t want it to cover something on the floor back there. I guess we’ll find out about it sometime. Oo! Look at it now!” The carpet came to rest at the foot of a staircase, folded over on itself again, forming another golden rod, and slowly began to roll up the stairs. Twilight followed it, doubling back along the crowd, and the line re-formed. What happened next amounted to a solemn procession through the castle as the carpet slowly unrolled. Each time it stopped, the door beyond it revealed something unexpected: armor for a pegasus guard unit, an observatory with multiple telescopes, bags of seeds that Applejack immediately recognized as those of unusual or rare apples, the golden wires and sunny windows of an aviary, and some of the storerooms of rich fabric and precious gems Rarity had found before. Finally, the carpet came to its halt before a wide set of oaken double doors. Twilight paused just before opening them. “Is the castle creating this, or were these things already here?” “They must always have been here,” said Princess Luna. “They must always have potentially been here,” Princess Celestia replied, “but they required you and your thoughts to give them substance.” Princess Luna rolled her eyes, clearly thinking that age did not reduce the basic nerdiness of her elder sister, but said nothing. “What she said,” Pinkie agreed, bouncing in place. “Just go looking for stuff and boop! There it is! Or there it isn’t, but something else that’s really cool is there. Like bubble blowers!” Twilight opened the doors, and they swung wide, revealing an enormous library, at least as large as the one in the Crystal Empire. Two floors of bookcases with sliding ladders encircled a vast room. Laid out on large oak tables were atlases, illustrated volumes of Birds of Equestria, and materials for looking at rare old books: cotton hoof covers and heavy rolls to hold pages open. Twilight stood there, jaw dropped. “I had no idea this was here,” she said finally. She trotted forward into the library, while the others hung back. Her eye fell on a stack of books on one table. “What’s this?” She levitated each book in turn: a battered set of Daring Do novels; A Visitor’s Guide to Ponyville, with “Note to self: only first five pages relevant”; The Noble Dragon Code: Fact or Fiction? “They’re . . . they’re the books I brought back from the Rainbow Falls Traders’ Exchange,” she murmured. “They’re . . . they’re my books. They’re my books.” She burst into tears. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna joined her. “I don’t know if you’ll find everything you lost,” cautioned Princess Celestia. “Some things that are lost are simply lost.” “But there’s new, cool stuff, too,” Pinkie pointed out. “Like bubble blowers.” Twilight turned to the crowd waiting behind the doors. “What are you all waiting for?” she cried. “The library is open again!” Everypony cheered. During the next hour, everypony in Ponyville, including Twilight’s closest friends, toured the library, finding books on everything they found most interesting: cookbooks, books on agriculture, books on the history of fashion. . . . “Nothing on party ponies in there?” Cheese asked Pinkie, as she trotted back to join him at the door. “Noperooni!” she chirped. “Posilutely nothing on party ponies at all!” Cheese sighed. “Good,” he said, and they clicked hooves. ~~ The party went off without a hitch. The punch was particularly popular. Twilight saw Rarity relaxing and sipping a cup of punch under a tree strung with brilliant paper lanterns, and trotted over to join her. “Rarity,” Twilight said quietly, “is anything going on?” “I’m sorry, darling, you’ll have to be more specific,” Rarity murmured, and sipped her punch. “I mean . . . I mean, that,” said Twilight, and swung her head in the direction of the castle grounds. Pinkie was leading a group of fillies and colts in an oink song, while across the lawn, Cheese somehow managed to play the accordion and juggle at the same time. They weren’t anywhere near each other; they weren’t even looking at each other. And yet . . . “I know,” said Rarity. “Almost visible, isn’t it? One could swear that there was some sort of golden thread shimmering there.” “Do you know what exactly . . .” Twilight began again, and hesitated. “I’m not sure they know ‘what exactly.’ I haven’t asked.” They both sat and watched Pinkie and Cheese as they raced from one side of the party to the other, like a set of twin whirlwinds catching up the guests in their wake. “Pinkie said something about the party having to be today, because they knew it had to be today.” “Yes,” said Rarity. “And while she didn’t elaborate, I think that means that he won’t be here tomorrow. Other parties to plan, no doubt. She sounded a bit sad about it.” “I’ve got the perfect idea,” said Twilight. “After all, Pinkie just found my library, and I’d like her to be happy. I’ve got to find Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Spike. Will you get Pinkie and Cheese and come to meet us under the big oak?” She bustled off before she could hear Rarity say, “One thing a designer learns, Twilight, is when to stop.” ~~ “And so we thought,” said Twilight some time later, as they all stood together, hidden from the rest of the crowd, “we really ought to have a royal party planner in Canterlot, and why not Cheese? There are always plenty of parties there. It’s not that far from Ponyville. I’ve thought it all out and compared social calendars.” Spike unfurled a massive pair of scrolls with dates marked on each. “It will work perfectly.” Pinkie and Cheese said nothing, but stood and looked uncomfortable, not looking at Twilight or each other. “What’s the matter?” “Darling,” said Rarity, “you’re taking rather a lot for granted.” She turned to Pinkie and Cheese. “What Twilight means to say, Mr. Sandwich, is that you’ve provided a great deal of valuable assistance and that your expertise would be an asset in the royal seat of Equestria . . .” Pinkie and Cheese began to giggle. “I was unaware that I had said anything amusing,” continued Rarity, “but I should like to clarify that Princess Twilight is speaking of a professional position without reference to any personal relationships whatsoever.” “Isn’t she supposed to be the Princess of Friendship or something? Can she even do that?” whispered Cheese. “Shh,” said Pinkie. Everypony’s eyes turned to Cheese, except for Pinkie’s. “Well?” said Twilight. Cheese opened and closed his mouth several times, eyes wide with panic. He glanced wildly over at Pinkie. “I think Cheesie is trying to say no without hurting anypony’s feelings,” said Pinkie, “but my feelings aren’t hurt at all, silly. He can’t. Isn’t that right?” Cheese nodded frantically. “It would be . . . like cheating. It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t think they’ll understand, Pinks.” “They might. You can tell them some of it.” He sighed. “It’s like this. Pinkie makes ponies smile. We both do. We have to make other ponies happy.” “But if Cheesie’s always in Canterlot, making royal ponies happy . . .” “What about all the other ponies? What if there’s a birthday party in Manehattan or a hoedown in Appleloosa I couldn’t throw? Who’s going to do it if I don’t? I go where I’m needed,” he said, instinctively looking at the princesses of the sun and the moon, although he had no idea why they’d understand a simple party pony. “Just in case . . . in case somepony really needs to laugh.” Princess Luna lowered her head so that she could look him directly in the eye. “You are aware that the royal court of Canterlot has traditionally kept an amusing pony permanently in residence? That is, I think, the office Princess Twilight wishes us to revive.” “Yes!” said Twilight. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I meant.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Cheese said, “Fillies having birthday parties in Hooflyn need to laugh sometimes, too.” “I see,” said Princess Celestia. “I have to admit that I don’t quite understand the details of party pony magic.” Cheese brought his head up sharply, and she raised a hoof. “I’m not asking to know,” she added soothingly, “but I understand enough. You’re quite right. Laughter has to be free. I do have a favor to ask of you, however. You may be aware that later in the year, we will be celebrating the anniversary of the founding of Equestria and the beginning of the reign of the two sisters. It’s going to be a very extensive celebration and it will bring back many memories for us. And I’d be honored if you’d help plan it for us.” She looked Cheese directly in the eyes. “I hope you can understand how much I do really need for you to be there.” Cheese looked back, and he must have seen something in her eyes—lingering sadness over a millennium old, and perhaps new sadness that he really couldn’t understand. He remembered something Pinkie had said about how other ponies had real problems—problems that kept them separated forever. He saw enough to be able to say, “yes. Yes, I think I can promise that one.” Sometimes the pony who needs a laugh most is the senior princess of Equestria. She deserves the chance, too. Pinkie’s nose began to twitch. “Um . . . um, if you’ll excuse us, we have to get back.” “To the party?” “Sorta.” She got behind Cheese and pushed him well out of sight, just before the Cheesy Sense kicked in. ~~ “Thanks for coming with me this far, Pinkie.” “No problem,” she said cheerfully. “Have a good time. I hear Fillydelphia’s really nice!” “It is.” They’d reached the border: the place where Ponyville became not-Ponyville. He stopped, adjusted his serape, and took off his hat. It was hard to think of what to say. “Well.” “Uh-huh?” said Pinkie. “I—I—um . . .” He picked up her hoof in his own, and again heard the voice saying, “Now. Ask her to go with you now. Or at least say something. Say something, you idiot!” “Well.” This isn’t going to get easier, he thought. She was right. This time, it’s going to hurt. “I know,” she said, “but I’m happy you’re out there anyhow. And if you’re not out there, you can’t come back, can you? And I like it when you come back. Cheesie?” “What?” “I’m glad you have some of my magic. I mean, if I’m going to share magic with anypony, I’m really glad he’s a nice pony like you. Promise to make lots of ponies happy for me, ‘k?” “Swear on Camembert,” he said, and smiled. He’d been doing it for years without knowing it, but now it was different and better. He was making other ponies happy—and he was doing it for her. “I guess it’s time,” he added. “Say goodnight, Pinkie.” “Goodnight, Pinkie,” she said. He burst out laughing—and then pulled her in for one last kiss. When he stopped, Pinkie was glowing, such a radiant pink that the light cast a rosy shade down the road that would lead him away from her. She smiled at him. That was enough. He bounded down the road, all of Equestria in front of him, and Pinkie Pie, the Joy Bearer Herself, waiting for him, happy, knowing that someday he would be back. He stopped at the curve of the road for one more wave goodbye, and was off, because more than ever before, he needed to share the pure Joy that there was a Pinkie Pie, and that he was entirely hers. Author's Note The title of the fic, and the final lines of the chapter, were inspired by the famous final lines of George Burns and Gracie Allen’s act: “Say goodnight, Gracie.” “Goodnight, Gracie.” The title itself comes from the song "Goodbye Girl." I know it's cheesy, but, well--it's Cheesie, right? As the ending also suggests, I have another fic planned after this one, called “Command Performance.” I hope you enjoyed this one!
Pinkie PassesCheese had woken up early and waited patiently. Soon the sun would rise, and Pinkie Pie would wake up. He’d kissed her for the first time last night, but for months, when Dawn had come and the sky was filled with pink, he’d seen only her and felt her magic, welcoming her as though she were coming towards him, greeting her and telling her how beautiful she was. Now she was really here, and he didn’t know what to expect, but he had the feeling it would be something very special. He was wrong. It wasn’t just special. It was stunning. It was one of those perfect sunrises, when the sky is streaked with dark gold and rose that gradually become lighter and more brilliant as the sun slowly slips above the horizon. At the same time, perhaps because the sunlight was falling on her face, Pinkie turned in her sleep so that she was facing him. Her eyes opened, and Cheese caught a glimpse of irises the same pure blue as the sky, framed in curly black lashes. Then she sat up and yawned, and the morning sun illuminated her from behind, so that her coat was radiant and her mane blazed with pink, and Cheese had to shade his eyes. Laughter Herself was awake, and day could begin again: fresh, new, and happy. Then the sun climbed a little higher, and she was just Pinkie again, but she could never be “just Pinkie” to him. To him, she still glowed, because . . . . . . well, because he loved her. “Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured. She didn’t say anything. She simply smiled and held out her front legs towards him in a gesture that even foals know means “I want to be held, please.” He scooped her up before she had to ask again. The nice thing about second kisses is that there are usually a third and a fourth. “Good morning, Cheesie,” she said at last, and giggled. “Did you know you look funny sleeping on your back?” He laughed. “No, I didn’t. I don’t usually watch myself when I’m asleep.” “Oooo, good point,” she said. “I guess you never know how you sleep unless somepony tells you. Rainbow Dash sleeps all sprawly, too, only her legs don’t stick straight up in the air and she snores really, really badly, and you don’t.” “Of course I don’t snore,” he said indignantly. “You talk in your sleep and I don’t want to miss anything. You were curled up like a ball of yarn,” he added, pushing away a bit of unruly pink mane that was falling into her eyes. “It was . . . .” Adorable, he thought. “Cute.” He kissed her on the nose, because it obviously needed to be kissed, and then so did her forehead and both cheeks, and then he had to kiss her eyes, because she’d closed them. He realized with some surprise that tears were brimming up from under her closed eyelids. Was he making her unhappy? “Pinkie? Are you crying?” She nodded, but her eyes were still closed, and she didn’t say anything. “Why?” She opened her eyes, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Because I know you’re going to have to go away,” she quavered. She’d never been upset about that before that he could remember. “But Pinkie, I’ll come back. You know I always come back.” “I know,” she said, nodding, her eyes downcast. Everything about her was slightly wilted: her mane, her tail, and definitely her smile. She even seemed to have become a bit smaller. Pinkie was deflating like one of her own balloons. “Because of the way our magic is connected. You come back because you have to.” I come back because I have to? Does she really think that? He was horrified at the idea, but he only had himself to blame. If he’d only been more honest with her and with himself all along, she could never have thought such a thing. “No, Pinkie!” he exclaimed, and lifted her chin with his hoof so he could look directly into her eyes. “That’s not true. I don’t really understand how or why the magic works between us. I just know it does, and I’m glad it does, but that’s not why I come back. I come back for you. I have for a long time now. Maybe I always did. I don’t know. But you know that every time I go away, I always come back to you.” She sniffed. “I know you do,” she said. “But this time, it’s going to hurt.” She leaned her head against his chest and burst into tears in earnest. It was true, he thought, as he folded his front legs around her. He’d have to leave her, maybe as early as tonight, and suddenly he felt the sick certainty that this was exactly what would happen. Tonight, when the party was at its peak, his Cheesy Sense was going to kick in and send him off where somepony else needed him. That happened a lot. Sometimes the Cheesy Sense let him go, his muscles relaxed, and he knew he was free and it was time to leave, but sometimes it hit him in the middle of a party and didn’t allow him any breathing space at all. There had never been a problem with that before. He liked moving on, and he didn’t really like staying at parties to the bitter end. This time was different. He wanted to stay. He wanted to help clean up and kiss Pinkie goodnight, and see her tomorrow, and maybe they could even do something that had nothing to do with parties at all. This time it was going to rip him away from Pinkie, and she was right. This time it was going to hurt really badly. Pinkie was still crying, wetting the coat on his chest down to the skin. All his instincts as a party pony were screaming at him to cheer her up, because that was his job, and because Pinkie Pie crying was the worst thing in the world. But something else told him just to hold her and let her cry herself out. He rested his chin on top of her curly mane, so that her head was tucked protectively under his. She might be Joy Herself, but she needed to be allowed to be sad sometimes, and if she couldn’t be sad in front of him, she couldn’t be sad in front of anypony. He had to stay calm for her, because if they were ever both sad at the same time, there wouldn’t be anypony to lift them both out of the darkness, and then neither of them could make other ponies smile. Finally, she began to take long, slow, shaky breaths, and he knew she was coming out of it. He mentally went through his inventory, found a handkerchief, and held it up to her nose. She blew, and blew, and when she gave him the handkerchief back, he decided that maybe he should just toss it, because it was a goner. He hoofed it towards the sky and it disappeared. “Pinkie? Are you OK?” he asked. “Yeah,” she said, still breathing shakily. “Yeah, I’m ok.” She slid back a little way, out of his embrace. “Good,” he said, “because you were just kissed by the premier party pony in all of Equestria, and if you don’t stop crying, I’ll start thinking I was doing it wrong.” She giggled and sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hoof. “Is there a wrong way to kiss ponies? I guess there must be a wrong way to kiss ponies. Maybe there’s more wrong ways than right ways, and I bet you could think up a lot of wrong ways, Cheesie, because Mr. Cake always says he’s amazed how many ways you can mess up a kitchen, and I think there are some silly ways, but I don’t think you did anything wrong. I just feel sad ‘cause I liked it when you kissed me good morning and I know you won’t kiss me good morning tomorrow, will you.” Both of her front hooves were planted solidly on the ground now, and her wide blue eyes met his directly. It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t sure, but she already knew. She sighed. “I wish I could go with you,” she said wistfully. Do it, something whispered in his ear. When the Cheesy Sense hits tonight, take her by the hoof and run away with her. Then you’ll never have to say goodbye. You can kiss her good morning every morning, and you can fall asleep listening to her talk every night. Nopony here really appreciates her anyway; they don’t really deserve her. She could make ponies happy all over Equestria. You’ll fade into the background, but that won’t matter, not when She’s with them. It was so tempting, even though he knew it wasn’t true at all. Ponyville might not really understand her, but everypony in it loved her and would miss her terribly, and her five best friends would miss her most of all. He almost said something anyway, but when he saw the sadness on her face, he knew it was no good asking. “Someday you will,” he said, and as soon as he said it, he knew deep down that it was true. Someday they would dance out of Ponyville together, party pony and party pony, and Equestria would see a kind of Joy it had never known. “I know,” she said, and brought her right hoof up to click against his. They stayed like that for a long moment, pressing hoof to hoof, and the solidity of it was a comfort to both of them. There wasn’t any Pinkie Promise or Cheesy Swear. There wasn’t any need for it. Something had been settled, even though he wasn’t quite sure what it was, and now that it had, it was time for breakfast. Pinkie had packed such a large picnic last night that there were plenty of leftovers. She pulled out plate after plate of food, and they sprawled back on the blanket, enjoying the early morning sunshine as they ate. “It could be worse,” he said through a mouthful of hay chips. “Other ponies have real problems.” “Yepperooni,” agreed Pinkie. “Like what if I was in this universe and you lived in an alternate universe and we couldn’t see each other and you couldn’t visit because it would cause paradoxes that would destroy, like, everything? It would be really, really hard to throw birthday parties that way!” He hadn’t thought about that possibility. He chewed on things for a while, literally and metaphorically. “I don’t know a lot about alternate universes, but I do know I could never forget your birthday.” “That makes it easy, Cheesie, because if we ever find another mirror pool by mistake and there winds up being twenty of you, I can just ask them when my birthday is, and whichever one of them says . . . um. . . says . . .” “May 3rd,” he prompted. “Yep. That’s the real Cheesie. But I’d better get Twilight to ask, ‘cause I can already see how that might go wrong.” It was nice just to lie next to her and know that she was there, less than a leg’s length away. Every so often, she would drape one of her back ankles across his leg, or he’d reach out and brush her shoulder with his hoof. It was as though neither of them really wanted completely to let go. But finally, breakfast was over, and she sat up and began to pack the picnic basket, while he started to clean up camp. “Anyway, I’m glad you make other ponies happy like I do,” she said, “and I guess your going away isn’t as bad as if you didn’t live in Equestria at all, right?” “We’ll work something out,” he agreed, putting away the lantern. He was covering up the fire pit when the thought sunk in, wait a second. There’s a we? Like, an us kind of we? He glanced over at her, but she didn’t seem to think he’d said anything unusual. He didn’t want to ask her anything more. He was afraid he’d hear something he didn’t want to hear, and everything would pop like a shiny soap bubble, and right now, he’d be shattered. He wasn’t going to take anything for granted. Still, he’d kissed her, and he knew that was true. He also knew it was true that someday they’d travel Equestria together, whether as party ponies, or—something else. The things that were true were more than enough to make him happy, and besides, the sun was barely up and he’d already done enough serious thinking today to last him an entire week. This called for a hat. He reached out for a fish hat and a loud print shirt, turned, saw that Pinkie had already had on a set of swim fins and an arrow through her head, and burst out laughing. He could top that, though, and switched out the fish hat for a pirate hat. She countered with a fruit hat a foot high, topped with a pineapple, and stuck her tongue out at him. Oh, so that’s the way you’re going to play it, hmm? he thought. No fooling around. I’m going for the Edam. He opened his hooves, his concertina falling neatly between them, and balanced on top of a round, red cheese. She topped him with a trombone and a beachball. It was almost like the Goof-Off, but there was something different about it this time. Then it hit him. They weren’t doing this to impress anypony. They were just trying to make each other smile. The very thought made him so happy that he stashed his accordion and bounced off the Edam. “You win, Pinkie,” he said, and swept her a bow. “I couldn’t be any happier.” “Really?” she squeaked. “Really and truly.” She jumped off the beach ball and hugged him. “Me too!” This was something he could probably do all day, or most of it, anyway, but they had a lot to do. “Any ideas for the party tonight?” She nodded. “Lots. I’ve got one that’s a doozy! You’re really going to like it, and Twilight’s going to love it, only we’ll need my friend Rarity’s help, because we won’t be able to do it on our own.” “Maybe we should ask her now,” he suggested, switching his hat for his “I-am-a-serious-party-pony” black hat and pulling on his serape. “We need all the time we can get.” “Oh, no,” said Pinkie, shaking her head until her mane rippled. “Rarity won’t be up for a while. She’ll be really, really upset if we go wake her up now. We should wait another hour. I guess we’ll have to find something else to do.” Something about her tone made him nervous. “Uh, really? What, exactly?” “Oh,” she said, “I’ve got some great ideas about that, too.” She put both hooves in front of her eyes. “1, 2, 3, 4 . . .” She slipped a hoof off one of her eyes. “What are you waiting for, Cheesie? Hide!” Author's Note As usual, I’ve gotten distracted writing more CheesePie, but I had to write this one to set the stage for the next CheesePie, and besides, I wanted to find out what happened next. The chapter title comes from part of a Robert Browning poem called “Pippa Passes”: The year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His heaven— All’s right with the world! It seemed fitting for Pinkie at sunrise. More to come shortly.
There's No Accounting For TasteRarity had had her least favorite nightmare: the one in which she was a maiden aunt to Sweetie Belle’s three beautiful foals. In the dream, everypony called her a crazy cat lady behind her back, and her evenings were mostly spent reading romance novels and eating hayberry fudge swirl ice cream directly from the carton. Fortunately, before she got to the really terrible parts, including her designs being described as “reliably conservative,” Opal strolled up her torso and flipped her tail over Rarity’s muzzle, forcing her to wake up and give her pre-breakfast. And everypony said cats weren’t loyal. “Oh, Opal-Wopal,” she cooed. “Who loves her mommy? Yes, you do!” She slid back into bed and slipped on her eyemask, but she was still too upset to fall asleep. She knew perfectly well what had triggered her nightmare. Trenderhoof had been seen taking the very earliest morning train yesterday, accompanied by two guards. She’d had no idea that he was in Ponyville at all; why was that? She was well over her silly infatuation by now, but the sting to her pride still lingered. Why hadn’t she been fabulous enough to attract his attention in the first place? Why were the good ones always taken or far too old for her or simply uninterested? Why did she keep attracting stallions like Hayseed Turniptruck? Why? She wanted to know what Trenderhoof had been doing in Ponyville, and especially about the guards, but every time she approached a group talking about it, they instantly stopped, and then quickly began talking about something else. This could only mean one thing: that everyone in Ponyville knew about her stupid crush and were still gossiping about it behind her back. Sometimes Rarity despised small towns. Finally, there had been the line item in the Evening Standardbred that Trenderhoof’s regular column was on hiatus while he took a leave of absence to research his new book. It reminded her that somewhere, there was a glamorous life of travel, celebrity, and romance, and that she was not living it; that she was nothing but a seamstress who lived in what was practically a village; and that she was passé before she’d truly had her time. Ridiculous, she told herself. All I need is a bit more beauty sleep, and tomorrow is another day—today, really, but it amounts to the same thing—and who on earth is ringing my doorbell at this insanely early hour? Since her early morning visitor didn’t wait to be let in, but immediately entered the shop and bounced across it with a distinctive springing gait, she had her answer. An ear shatteringly high soprano voice rang out, “Good morning, Rarity! Are you awake yet? I was gonna wait and come back later, but then I thought, “hey, it IS later,” and I really really really need your help right now, so I thought I’d come and see if you were awake, so are you? I can come upstairs and check if you’re not.” “No, no,” Rarity said quickly, “that won’t be necessary, Pinkie Pie.” “Ooo! You knew it was me!” “Yes, Pinkie, your voice is . . . distinctive. I’ll be down directly.” She levitated a hand mirror over to her face and surveyed the wreckage. Her eyes were puffy, she had crease marks on one cheek, and she could tell already that it was going to be an extremely bad mane day. She dropped the mirror and glanced down at her hooves. They needed filing, and there were a few small chips in the lacquer. Mercifully, she had no plans to go out in public today, and while she’d didn’t care for anypony to see her at less than her best, perhaps some minor neatening up would be all that was necessary. Pinkie Pie was one of her very best friends, after all. “What’s that thing?” said what sounded like a complete stranger. In a tenor voice. Oh, Pinkie Pie, Rarity thought. Bringing over an unknown pony at this hour, and a stallion at that, when I simply am not prepared to receive visitors! How could you? Meanwhile, the intellectual conversation downstairs went on: “Oh, it’s a clothes horse.” “Why a clothes horse? Why not a clothes pony?” “Dunno. Hey, I bet if we lined ‘em up, we could pretend they were talking to each other! Wouldn’t that be cool?” She positively flew through her morning beauty regimen and performed the most cursory of toilettes. Just as she reached the landing, she heard Pinkie Pie hiss in a stage whisper, “Psst! Don’t say anything about Trenderhoof!” “Ugh. Why would I want to?” She descended the stairs with what she hoped was gracious charm and not a sleep-deprived stagger. “Good morning,” she said. “My, it certainly is bright and early.” Pinkie sprang forward and hugged her. “Hiya, Rarity!” she cried. “What took you so long? You remember Cheese Sandwich, don’t you? Cheesie, this is Rarity.” “Um,” said the party stallion, shifting from leg to leg. “Hi?” Rarity hadn’t seen much of Cheese Sandwich since the birthaversary party, and she’d never really had a conversation with him at all. In this non-party setting, he was much shyer than she’d remembered, and probably younger, too: still part gangling, awkward colt, and very ill at ease in a mare’s couture boutique. Then Pinkie Pie trotted back next to him, and he absolutely lit up. Pinkie Pie flicked her tail against his leg and smiled up at him, and they were surrounded by such a glow that Rarity instantly knew what was going on, possibly better than they did. For a moment, she considered trotting back upstairs, pulling on her eyemask, and going back to sleep in case this was just a new and more sadistic part of her nightmare. Inside her, a tiny Rarity wailed that it was not fair that her youngest and most eccentric friend, who barely knew what romance was, had found it, while she, the elegant Rarity, had been frustrated again and again. It was her turn first. It simply was not fair. She told that Rarity to shut up. She would be sincerely glad for her friend, who had woken her up at a dreadful hour, demanding favors and bringing her . . . her, um, with her, when she, Rarity, hadn’t even had time to put her face on. “Delighted, Mr. Sandwich,” she said. “Just Cheese is ok,” he replied, still seesawing from hoof to hoof. “Would anypony care for some tea? I’m afraid I simply must have my morning tea,” she said, trotting towards the kitchen. “Aw. We did wake you up, didn’t we?” lamented Pinkie, following her. “I’m sorry. We brought some things from Sugarcube Corner for you—some of those fancy breads you like.” She set a basket down on Rarity’s kitchen table, and pulled back a cloth, revealing brioche, fresh from the oven. Rarity hadn’t even known that the Cakes were branching out this way, and perhaps brioche might constitute an adequate apology. “Would you both care to join me?” “Oh, we already had breakfast an hour ago,” chirped Pinkie, sitting down at the table, “but we can always eat another one. Anyhoo, the reason we came is ‘cause we’re planning a super duper ginormous party and we need your help with the decorations.” “I think,” said Rarity, blowing on her tea, “you are confusing our areas of expertise.” “Oh, no,” said Pinkie, shaking her head in a wild blur of pink mane. “You do all those super-elegant things like the Summer Sun Festival and you’re so much classier than I am and that’s what we need.” Rarity arched an eyebrow, silently conceding Pinkie’s point. “So that’s why we need you to make a super-elegant rug!” Rarity didn’t quite do a spit take, but it was a near thing. “Runners,” put in Cheese helpfully. Now that they were on the subject of parties, and were eating, he seemed much more at home. “Usually we call ‘em runners. They’re a bit upscale for what I do, but they’re those long skinny things you roll down a hallway.” He made a wide gesture to indicate length, knocked over a pot of marmalade, and caught it just before it shattered on the floor. “Sorry,” he said, turning red. “I have really bad luck in kitchens.” “May I suggest,” said Rarity, breathing slowly through her nostrils in an attempt to calm down, “that you might wish to try the carpet salesman and not a designer of fine couture?” “Oh, but it has to be super, super-elegant,” said Pinkie. “Not like a regular rug. Like jewels and everything. And it should unroll itself; you can do that, right? Or at least make it so Twilight can do it?” “I could, of course,” Rarity said, pondering the idea. A nice brocade runner, possibly with jeweled trim? That might be very elegant indeed. “How long did you want this runner to be?” she said aloud. “Oh, about half a mile.” “Ahahah . . . perhaps I did not hear you correctly. You said half a mile, did you not?” “Yepsidoodle!” said Pinkie, putting four cubes of sugar in her tea. “Half a mile! ‘Cause it’s got to go all the way through the castle.” “The castle.” Pinkie Pie wants an elegant runner for the castle? “And what sort of event is this?” “It’s the castle-warming,” her pink friend said, as Cheese nodded in agreement, his mouth filled with brioche. “Twilight’s officially opening the castle for the first time, and everypony in Ponyville is invited. Oh, and I guess anypony else who wants to come.” “A royal event.” Rarity felt her eye begin to twitch. “You want me to make a half-mile long runner, with fabric I probably don’t have yet and jewels I almost certainly don’t have yet, for the official opening of Twilight’s castle?” “Uh huh! And I just know it’s gonna be so fantastically gorgeous!” The brioche basket was now completely empty, leaving utter wreckage on her tidy kitchen table. Rarity began cleaning up, setting a crumb-catcher to work, filling the sink, and sending her fine china plates into the dish tub. “And precisely when is this event to take place?” “This afternoon!” said Pinkie, with an enormous smile. Rarity had too much self-control to drop everything she was levitating, but she did stop everything in place. “This afternoon,” she said in an even tone. “You fully expect that I can create this miracle, with no assistance, by this afternoon.” “Uh huh. Is that a problem?” “Will you excuse us, Mr. Sandwich?” Rarity swept from the kitchen, and Pinkie followed her. “Pinkie,” snapped Rarity, stopping at her worktable, “that is impossible. You know I cannot work that fast, and even if I could, I would inevitably sacrifice quality, which as you know I simply refuse to do! Why must the party be this afternoon? Why not next week?” Pinkie simply stared back, eyes wide. “Because the party is this afternoon.” “Ah. This is the nub of the matter. Why? Why is the party this afternoon?” “Because it just is,” said Pinkie. “Cheesie and me both know it is.” “And so,” said Rarity, sorting through her notebook and idly pulling out some swatches—green goes nicely with purple, she thought. I think unrelieved purple brocade might be a bit much—“you decide that a major royal event must take place this afternoon. I still don’t understand why you cannot simply reschedule.” “Because Cheesie won’t be there,” said Pinkie, looking at the swatches and pulling out a dark rose one. Of course, thought Rarity, savagely running a pin through the brocade swatches, we mustn’t inconvenience poor darling Cheesie, so why not impose on one of your oldest and best friends? Friendship clearly means nothing when a stallion enters the picture! But then, looking over at Pinkie, she wasn’t sure that Pinkie thought that way. In fact, she hadn’t even introduced Cheese with a flourish of “this is my coltfriend.” They hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t been holding hooves at the table; she’d simply seen that Cheese adored Pinkie, and that was all. Still . . . “And why can’t Cheese be there next week? Why can’t he reschedule?” “’Cause he just can’t,” said Pinkie. “He’s going away tonight, and I don’t know how I know, I just know and he just knows. I don’t think I can explain. I understand. I’m sorry,” she went on, her ears swiveling down. “I just thought Twilight’s been so sad about the library and she would like it so much, and you would make it look so pretty, and Cheesie and me, we’ve never really thrown a party together before, except for the birthaversary and I guess that doesn’t really count, but we’ll think of something else. We’ll see you at the party later.” Curses, thought Rarity, rubbing her eyes with her hoof. “Very well. Sit down and explain exactly what you want this carpet to do.” Pinkie explained at great length what she wanted and why she wanted it and why it would be such a super extra enormously special thing to do for Twilight. Rarity knew it was going to be impossible to do it in time, of course, but on the other hoof, she was Rarity, and she had pulled together entirely new collections in as little time as this. She could call in some favors and, well—it could be done, possibly. Meanwhile Cheese, who seemed to be trying to avoid the kitchen, had brought Rarity’s copy of the Evening Standardbred into the shop and was reading it, muttering to himself. All at once, he gave a loud snort. “‘Extended leave of absence.’ That’s what they’re calling a total nervous breakdown in Canterlot-speak these days, huh? Pfft.” “Excuse me, Mr. Sand—Cheese, if you will,” said Rarity, putting down the notebook and colored pencils with which she’d been doodling some ideas, “to which article are you referring? Would that possibly be the article on Mr. Trenderhoof?” Cheese simply stood there, jaw dropped. “Cheesie!” wailed Pinkie. “I told you not to say anything about Trenderhoof!” “But—but I didn’t!” he stammered. “You shouldn’t say anything about Trenderhoof to Rarity, silly! She had this gimondo crush on him and then when he came here he was super rude to her and didn’t crush her back and it makes her feel really, really bad, so nopony talks about it in front of her, ‘cause it makes her feel like she wasn’t good enough or something!” “I’m not surprised,” said Cheese. “Pinkie Pie!” snapped Rarity. “I am appalled at your rudeness when I have done nothing but try to assist you, and what precisely do you mean by ‘I’m not surprised,’ Mr. Sandwich?” “He’s got lousy taste,” said Cheese, shrugging. “Well, really!—what?” “I keep running into Trenderhoof, and he’s got lousy taste. He wouldn’t know something good if it bit him. Oh, sure, he likes finding little out of the way nice places, but then he ruins them by making them over to suit himself. He gets bored with things. He said cupcakes were over.” Pinkie Pie gasped. “He never!” “He did,” said Cheese. “He’s got lousy taste, except I guess Braeburn’s kind of nice-looking. I dunno. I don’t think of Braeburn like that, and I don’t think Braeburn thinks of Braeburn like that, but he introduced himself as an apple rancher and I’m not sure if Trenderhoof was into the pony or just the fruit. He’s crazy. Pssht. Don’t even ask me about our ‘friend’ ‘Trend,’” he finished, making air quotes with his hooves. “Oh, no,” said Rarity, strolling over to her chaise longue and reclining on it, “I insist. No, Pinkie, I am tired of ponies walking on eggshells around me about Trenderhoof as though somepony had died, for heaven’s sake, and I want to hear what Mr. Sandwich has to say, and I positively refuse to lift a hoof making this carpet until I have the whole story.” “Story?” said Cheese, blinking. “Did you say you want to hear the whole story?” “Yes,” she said firmly, wrapping her tail around her hind hooves to make it clear that she was not budging until his story was over. Evidently, this was all she needed to tell Cheese, for whom “story” seemed synonymous with “performance.” What she saw next was a dizzying quarter of an hour of accordion music, jokes, sound effects, and dialogue, with Cheese’s rubber chicken playing, in turn, Braeburn, a waiter, a tipsy Trenderhoof, Flash Sentry, and a fire crew. The stories were rather confused, and involved quite a lot of heavy drinking and waffle batter, but Cheese made his overall point nicely. He finished, front legs spread wide, and Rarity realized just a second too late that she was supposed to applaud. By the time she made a few polite little opera hoofclaps, the moment had clearly passed, and Cheese stood there, looking awkward again. Then he added-- “And if you ask me, I’m glad he went meshugganah out where everypony could see him, because he’s been going that way for ages, and he needs a nice long break somewhere where nothing ever happens and he can’t get any coffee, and he can leave the rest of the world for us to have some fun in. He prefers Taztelwurm entrails to cupcakes. He thinks I’m loud and tacky, and y’know, I just don’t think his opinion matters all that much.” Hmm, thought Rarity. I wonder. On one hoof, Pinkie’s awkward party stallion, and on the other hoof, Trenderhoof . . . but that’s ridiculous. Everypony knows Trenderhoof’s taste is the ne plus ultra! But evidently, Cheese wasn’t done. “And maybe this is way out of line, but you do all this fashion-y stuff, and I thought you would know . . .” “Yes?” “Will you tell me why really beautiful mares put so much stuff on their faces when they don’t need it? I just can’t figure that one out.” “Cheesie!” squeaked Pinkie, who clearly knew this was a bridge too far. “It is to enhance one’s natural assets,” said the offended fashionista, although perhaps, on second thought, she wasn’t that offended at all. Cheese sighed. “I think I’ll stick to the things I know, then. And we’ve got a lot to get done before this afternoon, so I’d better go and do some of them.” “We’ll see you at the party, Rarity?” asked Pinkie. “Oh, of course. And what time do you want me to bring the runner?” She was barreled over by an excited and happy little pink hurricane. “Oh, I knew you would do it, Rarity, I just knew you would! It’s going to be super-duper, you’ll see! Anytime before school lets out is fine, because otherwise Cheerilee’s students will be all over the place and it’ll be impossible to put down. You’re so awesome! Bye! See you there!” Pinkie gave her friend one last enormous hug, and trotted out the door after Cheese Sandwich. She heard a thwack! sound from just outdoors, as though someone’s hat had just been pulled off and abruptly put back on again with some force. “Cheesie! I told you not to mention Trenderhoof!” “I couldn’t help it, Pinkie! I had to cheer her up!” Yes, thought Rarity. Yes, on the whole, her odd friend’s even odder friend had cheered her up a good deal. After all, if even Pinkie had a Cheese, what might not be in store for a fabulous mare such as herself? She would think of this tomorrow, perhaps, because in the meantime, she had a great deal to do. The boutique was soon a blizzard of scissors, ribbons, and cascading fabric, and in the middle of it, Rarity sat, glasses firmly placed on her nose, creating beauty, utterly absorbed in what she loved to do best in the world. And she had to admit that Trenderhoof looked MUCH better as a rubber chicken. Author's Note Rarity rather took over this chapter, but I’m not really sorry about it! I like writing about Pinkie and Cheese, but I wanted to give a little love to Rarity. I suppose that’s really all I have to say about that. The events Cheese narrates can be found in Slice of Life and Flash and Trend Steal All Your Waffles, but he gives you the gist of it nicely. Final chapter coming soon.
Goodbye Doesn't Mean ForeverRarity fully justified Pinkie’s confidence in her. The half-mile long brocade runner, trimmed with jewels and magically enhanced to unroll itself, was completed by early afternoon. It was stunning, but it had taken all of her gifts to bring it about: inspiration, drive to work towards a deadline, serendipitous finding of lovely materials, and formidable skill in social networking. The task certainly couldn’t have been finished without the influence and assistance of the Lord Chamberlain (Spike) and the Lord Chancellor (again, Spike.) After some initial designing at the Carousel Boutique, and the realization that, of course, she didn’t have the supplies necessary for a half-mile long brocade runner, she sent an urgent message to Fancy Pants. Fancy Pants replied graciously, as he always did, and placed all of his social and economic clout at her disposal. She also used every contact she had in the Canterlot garment district: textile merchants, trim salesmen, notions suppliers, and seamstresses. Most of them seemed to feel as she did; while it was an insane request, they also didn’t want to miss the opportunity to provide work for a royal occasion. Finally she decided to take one of Pinkie’s more cryptic suggestions: “just go look in the castle, silly.” She galloped off at top speed, and entered the castle, not knowing what she should be looking for. At first, she looked in sensible places for sensible things, and then she remembered the source of the advice and began trotting up odd little staircases and opening up random doors. As she did so, she began to understand exactly why Pinkie Pie wanted the runner and why it was such a brilliant idea, even if it was also completely insane. Suddenly, it wasn’t a question of having not enough material, but too much. Fortunately, there were always stallions willing to put aside nearly anything they were doing to assist Rarity in moving heavy objects. The Cakes reacted as Rarity’s Canterlot contacts had. Providing several large ceremonial cakes in a matter of hours was impossible, but since it was for Twilight, who was both a princess and a friend, and since Pinkie Pie had asked, they did it anyway. Rainbow Dash had been put in charge of air transport and Applejack pitched in with providing food, so it was up to Fluttershy to keep Twilight occupied and out of the castle. Pinkie was adamant that while Twilight knew that there was going to be a party, the details should come as a complete surprise. As the final touches were placed on the runner, and the Great Hall’s crystalline columns were festooned with coordinating decorations in elegant fabrics, Rarity heaved a sigh of relief, and allowed herself a satisfied smile. She was Rarity. And she had pulled it off. ~~ Pinkie and Cheese had no difficulties with adequate supplies. She had already located the castle’s bubble blowers and slides on her previous explorations. Fondue fountains, piñatas, pinwheels, giant punchbowls, and the notorious party bomb were located and deployed with no delay. It was the contents of one of the punchbowls that narrowly missed becoming a disaster. They had never planned a party together from the beginning before, and at first, it was ridiculously easy. If she didn’t have something stashed away, he certainly did, and while her tastes ran more toward streamers and balloons and his to light-up dance floors, that was easily resolved by having lots and lots of both. And then they came to the giant punchbowl and what ought to go in it, and a simple discussion became a tense clash of serious artistic differences. Cheese felt strongly that what ought to go in it should have a lemonade base. It was summer, it was warm, they would be doing a lot of walking, Q.E.D. Pinkie, on the other hoof, kept insisting on apple cider, which from his point of view flew in the face of common sense. “Apple cider is a fall beverage, Pinkie,” Cheese said, leaning on the punchbowl and frowning down at the bottom. “There’s no getting around that.” “But if it’s cold apple cider, it doesn’t have to be,” Pinkie said, bouncing into the punchbowl and out in one giant bounce. “Everypony loves cold apple cider.” “Well, I don’t,” said Cheese, pulling on a beret to indicate a sophistication he normally didn’t claim to have. “Not in high summer. I’ll drink it if I have to, but that doesn’t make it my first pick as a party drink. I’ve had plenty of experience to—” “And so have I, Cheese!” retorted Pinkie, jabbing her hoof towards her chest. “Outside Ponyville?” said Cheese, lifting one eyebrow. “Seriously? Ponies all over Equestria will tell you that—” “Ponies who don’t know you wouldn’t even BE a party pony if it weren’t for me!” Pinkie shot back. He inhaled sharply. “That is a low blow. Fine. My reputation stands, and I’m saying lemonade.” “Apple cider!” “Lemonade!” “Apple cider!” “Lemonade!” “Lemonade!” Cheese’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no you don’t, Pinkie. I know how this one goes. I’m supposed to say ‘lemonade,’ and you say ‘apple cider,’ and I say ‘lemonade’ again, and you say ‘lemonade,’ and I say ‘apple cider,’ and you say ‘okey-dokey-lokey.’ Nice try, but no dice. Don’t try to pull schtick on a schtick artist. I know it cold.” Pinkie absolutely glowered at him, but he knew he was right. Why the heck was she being so pig-headed about apple cider? He wasn’t going to blow his reputation as a party planner serving substandard beverages. He was sticking to his cannons on principle, and he was gonna win this thing. Then it dawned on him: there was no possible way for him to win this thing. He’d been down this road before, and it led nowhere good. He’d actually “won” last time, and it felt terrible. He’d driven Pinkie Pie to tears, and she’d already cried once today: because he was going away, and because she seemed to—to care about him, anyway. And here he was, having a fight with her? Over lemonade? Was he insane? He remembered a piece of advice the Great Ponyacci had once given him, and said the three little words that fix everything: “Maybe you’re right.” Pinkie looked as startled as though she’d missed a step on a staircase and tumbled all the way to the bottom. “Huh?” “No, maybe you’re right, Pinkie. I still think lemonade would be better because of the season and because it’s warm, but you’ve got to have a good reason for insisting on apple cider, so sure. Let’s go with apple cider.” She muttered something he couldn’t quite hear. “Excuse me?” “I said . . . I said, I think lemonade is better, too. Honestly, Cheesie,” she said, wide blue eyes pleading, “I’d really, really rather have strawberry lemonade, ‘cause the strawberries are really nice right now and it’d be such a pretty pink. But, see—this is Ponyville, and there’s Sweet Apple Acres, and everypony’s so used to having apples in everything. And Applejack’s apple cider is the bestest, really, and—well, and honestly, if we don’t have it, her feelings will be hurt. So it has to be apple cider. Do you understand?” He more than understood. He understood parties and laughter, but she really understood friendship and why it came first. She was right after all. “And I’m sorry for saying you wouldn’t be a party pony except for me.” He smiled at her. “Why? It’s the truth. I wouldn’t be.” “And you are better at—” He snorted. “Haypuckey. You know that’s not true. And I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine myself. I’m sorry too.” She hugged him. “It’s ok, Pinkie. I’m not that great at friendship sometimes, but I’m trying, and it’s over on my end.” And I know it’s over on yours, he thought, as she smiled the best smile in the world at him, because you can’t stay mad at anypony. In fact, she’d already moved on to the next thing, which was filling the punchbowl. She tapped her chin with her hoof. “Hmmm. The more I think about it, the more I think we really ought have strawberry lemonade, but it should have something apple-y in it. I don’t think apple cider’s gonna work. Apple juice? Nah.” He made a wild guess. “You say you’ve got apple everything here. Do you have apple soda?” She looked up at him, surprised. “You mean apple pop? Sure. Why?” “Something a bit tart?” “Wait a minute . . . yeah, we do! That’ll be perfect! It’ll make it all fizzy— “And lemony—” “And cool on a hot summer day, and all it needs is the secret ingredient! I’ll go get Gummy!” ~~ At last everything was ready. The enormous carpet sat at the entrance to the castle, and Princess Twilight stood in front of it. Behind her, all of Ponyville and a number of ponies from Canterlot were lined up, eager both to see the castle and to start the party. “What is this, Pinkie Pie?” said Twilight, poking at the carpet with her horn. “And what am I supposed to do with it?” “Not . . . just . . . yet,” Pinkie replied, scanning the skies. Two winged figures flew across the sun, briefly casting shadows on the castle grounds. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna soared over the crowd and glided to a graceful landing. The ponies in line sank into deep bows, and so did Cheese, but Pinkie simply remarked, “Yep! It’s yet!” Rarity muttered something under her breath about her stress levels reaching maximum, but Princess Celestia and Princess Luna simply bowed back to the crowd and stood on either side of Twilight. Twilight thought for a moment, and then sent a very small jet of magic into the center of the carpet—the tiniest possible push. The massive carpet slowly unrolled down the Great Hall, followed by Twilight, the other princesses, and a very long line. It came to a stop at the threshold of the Circle of Friendship, completely blocking the door. “Well, that was unexpected,” said Spike, “but I hope we can get it moved. I was enjoying having my own chair.” The giant roll of carpet began to rise slightly off the floor, and all at once, Rarity knew precisely what she had to do. She cast a spell at the fabric, slicing it cleanly off. The end of the carpet folded in on itself, forming a golden rod, and the rest of the roll rose further and flew over the heads of the crowd, who worried about it audibly. “What was that all about?” said Cheese. “Dunno,” said Pinkie, and shrugged. “I guess the castle doesn’t want it to cover something on the floor back there. I guess we’ll find out about it sometime. Oo! Look at it now!” The carpet came to rest at the foot of a staircase, folded over on itself again, forming another golden rod, and slowly began to roll up the stairs. Twilight followed it, doubling back along the crowd, and the line re-formed. What happened next amounted to a solemn procession through the castle as the carpet slowly unrolled. Each time it stopped, the door beyond it revealed something unexpected: armor for a pegasus guard unit, an observatory with multiple telescopes, bags of seeds that Applejack immediately recognized as those of unusual or rare apples, the golden wires and sunny windows of an aviary, and some of the storerooms of rich fabric and precious gems Rarity had found before. Finally, the carpet came to its halt before a wide set of oaken double doors. Twilight paused just before opening them. “Is the castle creating this, or were these things already here?” “They must always have been here,” said Princess Luna. “They must always have potentially been here,” Princess Celestia replied, “but they required you and your thoughts to give them substance.” Princess Luna rolled her eyes, clearly thinking that age did not reduce the basic nerdiness of her elder sister, but said nothing. “What she said,” Pinkie agreed, bouncing in place. “Just go looking for stuff and boop! There it is! Or there it isn’t, but something else that’s really cool is there. Like bubble blowers!” Twilight opened the doors, and they swung wide, revealing an enormous library, at least as large as the one in the Crystal Empire. Two floors of bookcases with sliding ladders encircled a vast room. Laid out on large oak tables were atlases, illustrated volumes of Birds of Equestria, and materials for looking at rare old books: cotton hoof covers and heavy rolls to hold pages open. Twilight stood there, jaw dropped. “I had no idea this was here,” she said finally. She trotted forward into the library, while the others hung back. Her eye fell on a stack of books on one table. “What’s this?” She levitated each book in turn: a battered set of Daring Do novels; A Visitor’s Guide to Ponyville, with “Note to self: only first five pages relevant”; The Noble Dragon Code: Fact or Fiction? “They’re . . . they’re the books I brought back from the Rainbow Falls Traders’ Exchange,” she murmured. “They’re . . . they’re my books. They’re my books.” She burst into tears. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna joined her. “I don’t know if you’ll find everything you lost,” cautioned Princess Celestia. “Some things that are lost are simply lost.” “But there’s new, cool stuff, too,” Pinkie pointed out. “Like bubble blowers.” Twilight turned to the crowd waiting behind the doors. “What are you all waiting for?” she cried. “The library is open again!” Everypony cheered. During the next hour, everypony in Ponyville, including Twilight’s closest friends, toured the library, finding books on everything they found most interesting: cookbooks, books on agriculture, books on the history of fashion. . . . “Nothing on party ponies in there?” Cheese asked Pinkie, as she trotted back to join him at the door. “Noperooni!” she chirped. “Posilutely nothing on party ponies at all!” Cheese sighed. “Good,” he said, and they clicked hooves. ~~ The party went off without a hitch. The punch was particularly popular. Twilight saw Rarity relaxing and sipping a cup of punch under a tree strung with brilliant paper lanterns, and trotted over to join her. “Rarity,” Twilight said quietly, “is anything going on?” “I’m sorry, darling, you’ll have to be more specific,” Rarity murmured, and sipped her punch. “I mean . . . I mean, that,” said Twilight, and swung her head in the direction of the castle grounds. Pinkie was leading a group of fillies and colts in an oink song, while across the lawn, Cheese somehow managed to play the accordion and juggle at the same time. They weren’t anywhere near each other; they weren’t even looking at each other. And yet . . . “I know,” said Rarity. “Almost visible, isn’t it? One could swear that there was some sort of golden thread shimmering there.” “Do you know what exactly . . .” Twilight began again, and hesitated. “I’m not sure they know ‘what exactly.’ I haven’t asked.” They both sat and watched Pinkie and Cheese as they raced from one side of the party to the other, like a set of twin whirlwinds catching up the guests in their wake. “Pinkie said something about the party having to be today, because they knew it had to be today.” “Yes,” said Rarity. “And while she didn’t elaborate, I think that means that he won’t be here tomorrow. Other parties to plan, no doubt. She sounded a bit sad about it.” “I’ve got the perfect idea,” said Twilight. “After all, Pinkie just found my library, and I’d like her to be happy. I’ve got to find Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Spike. Will you get Pinkie and Cheese and come to meet us under the big oak?” She bustled off before she could hear Rarity say, “One thing a designer learns, Twilight, is when to stop.” ~~ “And so we thought,” said Twilight some time later, as they all stood together, hidden from the rest of the crowd, “we really ought to have a royal party planner in Canterlot, and why not Cheese? There are always plenty of parties there. It’s not that far from Ponyville. I’ve thought it all out and compared social calendars.” Spike unfurled a massive pair of scrolls with dates marked on each. “It will work perfectly.” Pinkie and Cheese said nothing, but stood and looked uncomfortable, not looking at Twilight or each other. “What’s the matter?” “Darling,” said Rarity, “you’re taking rather a lot for granted.” She turned to Pinkie and Cheese. “What Twilight means to say, Mr. Sandwich, is that you’ve provided a great deal of valuable assistance and that your expertise would be an asset in the royal seat of Equestria . . .” Pinkie and Cheese began to giggle. “I was unaware that I had said anything amusing,” continued Rarity, “but I should like to clarify that Princess Twilight is speaking of a professional position without reference to any personal relationships whatsoever.” “Isn’t she supposed to be the Princess of Friendship or something? Can she even do that?” whispered Cheese. “Shh,” said Pinkie. Everypony’s eyes turned to Cheese, except for Pinkie’s. “Well?” said Twilight. Cheese opened and closed his mouth several times, eyes wide with panic. He glanced wildly over at Pinkie. “I think Cheesie is trying to say no without hurting anypony’s feelings,” said Pinkie, “but my feelings aren’t hurt at all, silly. He can’t. Isn’t that right?” Cheese nodded frantically. “It would be . . . like cheating. It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t think they’ll understand, Pinks.” “They might. You can tell them some of it.” He sighed. “It’s like this. Pinkie makes ponies smile. We both do. We have to make other ponies happy.” “But if Cheesie’s always in Canterlot, making royal ponies happy . . .” “What about all the other ponies? What if there’s a birthday party in Manehattan or a hoedown in Appleloosa I couldn’t throw? Who’s going to do it if I don’t? I go where I’m needed,” he said, instinctively looking at the princesses of the sun and the moon, although he had no idea why they’d understand a simple party pony. “Just in case . . . in case somepony really needs to laugh.” Princess Luna lowered her head so that she could look him directly in the eye. “You are aware that the royal court of Canterlot has traditionally kept an amusing pony permanently in residence? That is, I think, the office Princess Twilight wishes us to revive.” “Yes!” said Twilight. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I meant.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Cheese said, “Fillies having birthday parties in Hooflyn need to laugh sometimes, too.” “I see,” said Princess Celestia. “I have to admit that I don’t quite understand the details of party pony magic.” Cheese brought his head up sharply, and she raised a hoof. “I’m not asking to know,” she added soothingly, “but I understand enough. You’re quite right. Laughter has to be free. I do have a favor to ask of you, however. You may be aware that later in the year, we will be celebrating the anniversary of the founding of Equestria and the beginning of the reign of the two sisters. It’s going to be a very extensive celebration and it will bring back many memories for us. And I’d be honored if you’d help plan it for us.” She looked Cheese directly in the eyes. “I hope you can understand how much I do really need for you to be there.” Cheese looked back, and he must have seen something in her eyes—lingering sadness over a millennium old, and perhaps new sadness that he really couldn’t understand. He remembered something Pinkie had said about how other ponies had real problems—problems that kept them separated forever. He saw enough to be able to say, “yes. Yes, I think I can promise that one.” Sometimes the pony who needs a laugh most is the senior princess of Equestria. She deserves the chance, too. Pinkie’s nose began to twitch. “Um . . . um, if you’ll excuse us, we have to get back.” “To the party?” “Sorta.” She got behind Cheese and pushed him well out of sight, just before the Cheesy Sense kicked in. ~~ “Thanks for coming with me this far, Pinkie.” “No problem,” she said cheerfully. “Have a good time. I hear Fillydelphia’s really nice!” “It is.” They’d reached the border: the place where Ponyville became not-Ponyville. He stopped, adjusted his serape, and took off his hat. It was hard to think of what to say. “Well.” “Uh-huh?” said Pinkie. “I—I—um . . .” He picked up her hoof in his own, and again heard the voice saying, “Now. Ask her to go with you now. Or at least say something. Say something, you idiot!” “Well.” This isn’t going to get easier, he thought. She was right. This time, it’s going to hurt. “I know,” she said, “but I’m happy you’re out there anyhow. And if you’re not out there, you can’t come back, can you? And I like it when you come back. Cheesie?” “What?” “I’m glad you have some of my magic. I mean, if I’m going to share magic with anypony, I’m really glad he’s a nice pony like you. Promise to make lots of ponies happy for me, ‘k?” “Swear on Camembert,” he said, and smiled. He’d been doing it for years without knowing it, but now it was different and better. He was making other ponies happy—and he was doing it for her. “I guess it’s time,” he added. “Say goodnight, Pinkie.” “Goodnight, Pinkie,” she said. He burst out laughing—and then pulled her in for one last kiss. When he stopped, Pinkie was glowing, such a radiant pink that the light cast a rosy shade down the road that would lead him away from her. She smiled at him. That was enough. He bounded down the road, all of Equestria in front of him, and Pinkie Pie, the Joy Bearer Herself, waiting for him, happy, knowing that someday he would be back. He stopped at the curve of the road for one more wave goodbye, and was off, because more than ever before, he needed to share the pure Joy that there was a Pinkie Pie, and that he was entirely hers. Author's Note The title of the fic, and the final lines of the chapter, were inspired by the famous final lines of George Burns and Gracie Allen’s act: “Say goodnight, Gracie.” “Goodnight, Gracie.” The title itself comes from the song "Goodbye Girl." I know it's cheesy, but, well--it's Cheesie, right? As the ending also suggests, I have another fic planned after this one, called “Command Performance.” I hope you enjoyed this one!
