Sparks opened her eyes, and almost screamed.

Or rather, she did scream, but the sound died on her lips. So Sparks screamed without making so much as a whisper.

The world around her had changed wildly from when she had last looked, mere seconds ago. Gone were the long hallways painted and adorned in service to an insane prince. Gone was her other half, Twilight Sparkle. Sparks noted, first and foremost, that she was outside, somewhere with a puce colored sky. The ground was a dusky clay red, a roiling plain, unblemished by any sort of domicile or dwelling as far as the eye could see.

And then there was Discord.

"Ah good," he sighed, words dripping with insincerity, "you made it." Snapping his talons, Discord began banishing the candlelight dinner for one he had set up. After all, the entree had survived, and it wasn't like the wine wouldn't keep another few eons.

Sparks made an attempt to ask what in Tartarus was going on, but still found her voice absent. Banging a forehoof against the ground, Sparks pointed the other at her throat while slowly mouthing 'Fix it.'

Without so much as looking at her, Discord's tail snaked out, and the hairy tuft at the end snapped like a bullwhip right by Sparks' nose.

"Gah!" yelped Sparks, dancing backwards from the offending appendage. "Ugh, anyway, where are we, Discord?"

Discord spared the purple unicorn a glance as he snapped his fingers one last time, making the bib he'd tied around his neck vanish. "We're in the Dreamlands. More specifically, we're in my domain within the Dreamlands, where my word is law." Discord paused, smiled good naturally and shrugged, "More law that usually, I mean."

Sparks took another look around, and concluded that in fact, Discord's realm was just a barren wasteland. "I gotta say Discord, I would have expected more, ya know, chaos in your domain."

Discord slapped his paw over his face. "Ugh, now I remember why I hate waking up prophets." he groaned. Stalking over to Sparks, he wasted little time in scooping her up with his lion arm. "Oh, by the way, remeber when I said this would hurt?"

Sparks, acutely aware that she had no means home and was currently held so tightly she couldn't even wiggle, meekly whispered "Yes."

Discord nodded, licked his talons before pressing the razor sharp points into the lids of her right eye. "Good, nice to hear that we're on the same page here."

A bit and bridle materialized in Spark's mouth, just in time to muffle her screams as Discord began to slowly pull her eye from her socket. As the pain rose to an unthinkable crescendo, Sparks could feel Discord's tainted magics lapping at her mind, forcing her to stay conscious despite the torture. Her mind recoiled, and her magic frantically lashed out, driven to mindlessly search for something, anything to take her mind away from what suffering was being forced on her.

And as that unguided magic and frantic wish collided in a spray of vitreous jelly, Sparks saw what she couldn't possibly see.

* * *

The palace kitchens were in a state of well practiced panic. It wasn't the first time the order had come down for a last minute celebration to be thrown together, and the head chef simply swore with more vitriol than normal and got on with the cooking.

This was true of almost the entire kitchen staff, from the sous chefs on down to the dishwashers and waiters waiting for their turn to frantically rush around and quietly curse their lot in life. The exception to this carefully coordinated calamity was the section of the kitchen reserved for deserts. There, a very special sort of madness had taken hold, and her name was Pinkie Pie.

"No!" Pinkie shouted, slapping a perfectly good plate of scones aside after nibbling on just one. It was only the heroic intervention of an off duty waitress that saved the pastries from being reduced to garbage. "Do none of you understand my vision? We are perched to revolutionize the baking industry, yet you three just keep giving me scones! I don't want scones, I want something better!"

Shivering in fear, the trio of pastry chefs and confectioners eyed each other nervously, silently urging each other to respond to the nice mare who was pacing back and forth, muttering to herself about needles, fire, and scorn.

Finally, Chocolate Truffle, a chubby unicorn stallion cleared his throat as quietly as he could. Even before the 'hem' in 'ah-hem' had slipped past his lips, Pinkie Pie was standing nose to nose with him. The other two pastry chefs, earth pony twin mares named Mint and Cinnamon, bit back screams and scrabbled away from the teleporting pink terror.

"Yes, Chocolate Truffle? Do you have something to say?" whispered Pinkie Pie, a grim sort of mirth in her voice. "Maybe you have some excuse for your failure to make my vision a reality?"

Chocolate Truffle paled as he looked into the mad gaze of Pinkie Pie, and wondered if she was stealing his soul with that look. Swallowing nervously, Truffle patted his sweaty forehead with a corner of his apron. "Miss Pie-"

"Pinkie." Pinkie Pie hissed. "Call me Pinkie. I'd tell you to call me chef, but Ol' Bill over there," Pinkie waved at the ancient billy goat in a chefs hat, who was currently cussing out a long suffering sous-chef who had used one strip of hay bacon too many in the vegi-loaf. "Might take offence, so just Pinkie, mmkay Truffle?"

Truffle licked his cracked lips with a bone dry tongue, and felt a little more of his life drain away. 'Just proximity to the mare seems to be shaving years off of my life' he silently lamented. "Pinkie then. The problem with your 'vision' is that you couldn't adequately explain it. You just burst in here, shouted something incoherent in a bad Prench accent, and started ordering us to make you scones."

Pinkie's ears flattened out and she adopted a chagrined look. "Ah... whoopsies. I could have sworn I explained it better." Pinkie scooted back a bit and began rearranging the baking implements laying out on the counter top as she studiously avoided eye contact with Truffle or the twins.

"Ahem, right. So, I had this idea, to create a new sort of pastry. It'd be like a scone but better, and I figured that if I wanted to make these new sorta-scones that I should go to the kitchens, and I'd need some fudge, and a lot of chocolate shavings, and some other stuff, like maybe.."

Pinkie trailed off as Chain Censer stepped into the kitchen. The majordomo of Prince Hazard cast an appraising eye over the kitchen, and after spotting Pinkie Pie, he carefully began to pick his way over to her and her purloined corner of the kitchen. Pinkie made a couple of shooing motions to the pastry chefs, who gratefully scattered into the teeming throng of the kitchen staff.

"Good afternoon Miss Pie-"

Pinkie groaned, "Please just call me Pinkie, Censer."

Chain Censer twitched his mustache. "Very well... Pinkie then. I would like you to come with me."

Pinkie cocked her head to one side, "Huh? Why?"

"Look around you Pinkie. The kitchen staff is very busy getting ready for the celebration the Prince ordered, and we can't have you here getting underhoof. "

In the blink of an eye, Pinkie had once again crossed all intervening space between her and her target, and was kneeling in front of Chain Censer, forehoves clasped in supplication and eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Oh please please puh-leez let me help!" begged Pinkie. "Planning and prosecuting parties is my primary purpose for persistence! My only reason to live!"

Pinkie paused her groveling to tap a forehoof against her head with a wink, poking her tongue out. "I mean, aside from my friends, pastries, my family, cooking, my pet alligator Gummy, confections, candy, sweets, experimental baking and candy making, et cetera et cetera."

Pausing for a breath, Pinkie quickly resumed her position of groveling. "But aside from those many and varied reasons to cling to life, parties are my only reason to live!"

The mustache twitching grew in fervor as Chain Censer struggled to contain his frustration. "No. Now come along, and leave the proper chefs to their business." The red brown stallion spun neatly on his hooves and began walking out of the kitchen.

Pinkie Pie sighed and got up, starting her trudge out of the kitchens as well. "Well fine then," she mumbled, "I guess we'd better waaaait a minute. What do you mean 'proper chefs'?" Pinkie's expression went from dejected to suspicious to indignant in a matter of seconds. "Chainy, are you suggesting that I'm not a proper chef?"

Chain Censer internally screamed, bemoaning his choice of rock when he, Pyrrhic Victory, and Hazy Reply had been settling who'd fetch Pinkie Pie. Wiping the look of murderous rage from his face with exemplary self control, Chain Censer slowly turned around and looked down his nose at Pinkie. "You are correct. I was insinuating you are not a proper chef, and I am confidant enough to say as much out loud."

Pinkie's hair went flat, and with an audible crack, suddenly became jagged. Stylized spikes of mane surrounded her head like a halo, and with a flourish, Pinkie tied a simple white headband to keep it contained. Standing on her hind legs, Pinkie thrust one forehoof out at Chain Censer while the unsecured ends of her headband fluttered in the wind.

"Chain Censer, I challenge you to a bake off!"

The seneschal sat down and began rubbing his temples, trying to fight down the urge to simply summon some otherworldly horror and have the pink menace dragged out of the kitchen, the sanity of the cooking staff be damned. "What in the Prince's name are you talking about, Pinkie?"

"Oh, it's easy. You and I each bake something and then three judges will decide who made the better thing, and then that pony wins." Pinkie commented blithely, already piling ingredients into a mixing bowl.

"And if I win this asinine contest?"

Pinkie Pie looked up from her preparations. "Oh, I'll come with you and not make a fuss, even though I really, reeeeally wanna help with this party. And if I win, then I'm gonna stay right here and help with the party!"

Chain Censer took several deep, calming breaths. "And if I refuse to participate?"

Of course, during the course of those deep, calming breaths, Pinkie had already gotten started on her creation. The dough was quickly rolled out, and with great care she began to kneed it into shape. Mini chocolate chips (white, dark, and milk) were worked into the dough, and Pinkie was quick to use chocolate syrup to help keep her creation moist. As it was shaped into a rough circle, the scone dough was more chocolate than flour. Tiny flecks and curls of dark chocolate were dusted over the dough, and finally Pinkie slid the whole creation into the oven.

As the oven timer counted down, Pinkie stood on her hind legs and met the gazes of Chocolate Truffle, Mint, and Cinnamon. "I am sorry that I couldn't explain it better." she whispered in a hushed, almost reverent tone. "I see now that this was my trial, and it was unfair for me to try and force you to do it." Pinkie gracefully bowed at the waist, and without missing a beat, plucked her scones from the oven with her tail.

Chocolate Truffle fell to his knees as Pinkie drizzled half a dozen permutations of fudge over her creation, still piping hot. "Mother of Luna, it's beautiful." he whispered. Mint and Cinnamon clung to each other, tears in their eyes as they witnessed the birth of a masterpiece.

"Aaaaand done!" cheered Pinkie Pie. "Behold, my Scorns! They're like scones, but so absolutely fantastic that you'll scorn other baked goods!" Pinkie looked over to her stony faced opposition, and felt her eyebrows curl in confusion. "Hey, where's your baked good? Is is not finished yet?"

"Pinkie, even though I have learned a great number of eldritch and arcane secrets, I am somewhat surprised that you managed to make those, ahem, scorns in all of three minutes." Chain Censer softly clapped his forehooves together. "Well done. But now that you've gotten that silliness out of your system, come along now or I'll be forced to take drastic measures."

"Nuh-uh, I won so I get to stay here and help with the party."

Chain Censer sighed again, and without further ado began chanting. Pinkie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, her ears fluttered, and her knees wobbled. Reaching above the stove, she began to put together a drink. The kitchen staff, sensing which way the wind was blowing, promptly fled the kitchens, leaving food and drink unattended. Pinkie took a moment from her preparations to grab some snackies, and a dish towel to wipe her hoovisies and mouth with.

"Azathoth, sll'ha ch'shoggoth, goka mynyth!" Chain Censer bellowed, the veins of his face bulging and writhing weirdly. Just to his right, space and time and other, less wholesome dimensions buckled and cracked. A tar black figure slipped through that rend in reality, shaped like a pony made of sodden ropes, and blessed with a mouth of jagged teeth and bubbling drool, the shoggoth turned to face Chain Censer, ready to do the butler's bidding.

The terrifying scene, awash with a sort of unholy dignity and unthinkable implications, was swiftly put to death by Pinkie Pie screeching, "Hey Mr. Shoggy! You want a drink?"

Master and orders forgotten, the shoggoth whipped it's head around, eyes growing and pupils shrinking as Pinkie clambered on top of the kitchen counter. In her hoof was a burning bottle of Leviathan rum, which she gently tossed up and down as if weighing the incendiary device in her hoof.

Yelping like a scalded hound, the shoggoth turned tail and promptly fled the kitchens.

"Wait, Mr. Shoggy, you forgot your drink!" shouted Pinkie Pie, who flung the burning bottle at her retreating target. Just as the shoggoth had almost reached the doors out of the kitchen, the Molotov cocktail struck it in the hindquarters, setting the eldritch abomination alight. The terrified howling of the shoggoth took to new heights.

Chain Censer watched all this play out, his jaw hanging loose in disbelief.

"So...." Pinkie Pie casually said. "Do you want to be bludgeoned into unconciousness so I'm free to help save my friends from your Prince's machinations and evil intentions before or after having a scorn to eat?"

Chain Censer whipped about, words of maiming and unthinkable suffering on his lips, along with... chocolate?

Pinkie Pie giggled and tapped the side of her head with a hoof, winking and poking her tongue out in that same infuriating gesture. "Whoopsie, I forgot," she giggled, before rising up on her hind legs. Her visage became stony and spoke of limitless disdain for those who dared cross her. Thrusting forward a hoof, she spoke in a deep, gravely voice, "You are already fed."

Chain Censer was speechless. Now that the pink daemon had said it, he could feel the scorn in his body, the chocolate pastry, made by a mare who had no concept of 'impossible', working its way through his very soul. Tears sprang to his eyes, and for once in his long, painful life, he smiled with genuine happiness.

And then Pinkie Pie took a cast iron skillet and used it to slap him halfway across the cavernous kitchen area.

"Whelp," she said, taking care to wipe off the blood and spittle from her new found weapon of choice, "that takes care of that. Time to go save the girls!" Pinkie finished with great determination, gimlet gaze aimed just beyond the horizon, chest thrown out with confidance... before stuffing her face with a few more scorns and tucking the rest into her tail for safe keeping.

Wiping her mouth off the with back of a hoof, Pinkie once again stuck her heroic pose, and proceeded to pronk out of the kitchen, humming off key to herself.

Author's Note

He's fine.
Honest.
... for a certain definition of fine.

Anywho, sorry for the monumental delay, who knew how much a job would cut into my free time.
Don't answer that, I know I suck.