The Perfect Flavorby Shrinky FrodChaptersThe Perfect EveningThe Perfect CrimeThe Perfect GiftThe Perfect EveningBerry Punch was drunk. There was nothing particularly unusual about that. Indeed, some less charitable souls in Ponyville might say that any other state would be cause to make sure Celestia's grip upon the sun was firm. But fortunately, Berry was not in the company of such cruel, heartless ponies at the moment. Instead, the mulberry mare was accompanied by Pinkie Pie, her nigh-on inseparable drinking partner of the last few months. Sweet, sensational, sure-hooved Pinkie Pie, who was even now helping Berry to not weave down the streets too badly as they made their way out of the Crystal Castle's increasingly well-stocked wine cellar after a night spent making room for whatever would be coming in the next shipment of what royalty considered appropriate house-warming gifts. A shipment for which Berry could hardly wait. These were the thoughts that tripped and stumbled their way through the mulberry mare's muddled mind, though she would have been hard pressed to actually voice them if asked. Instead, Berry gave voice to a laughter that bubbled up inside of her, wordless mirth echoing through the near-empty streets of Ponyville. Even the bar crowds, Berry's usual company on the way home, had already made their own drunken way back to their beds. Their own, or somepony else's, it wouldn't matter until the morning hangover, when cotton-choked mouths and brain-stabbing beams of sunlight would soften the blow of realizing just how dubious their judgment may have proven. Pinkie giggled next to her, more quietly than Berry's own boisterous outburst, and gave her a gentle nuzzle to get her to lift her head a bit. “Come on, silly filly, let's get you home!” Pinkie sing-songed, adjusting to better prop up the older mare. “Ssssthounds good t'me,” Berry slurred, her tongue thick and heavy as she snuggled up to Pinkie's side, nuzzling into the luxurious pink curls that tickled at her muzzle. “Y'r good frien', P'nkie,” she added into those self-same curls, enjoying the cotton candy scent of Pinkie's shampoo. “Awww, thank you!” Pinkie beamed beneath her drinking buddy, the two of them slowly seeming to merge into a single pile of pony as the walk continued. By the time Pinkie had reached the door of Sugar Cube Corner, Berry was contentedly resting on her back, legs wrapped around her body and drunkenly singing into Pinkie's mane about her “pretty pink pillow.” Pinkie sat down at the front step, pouring Berry off of her back with a surprising amount of grace for the number of wine bottles the two of them had 'sampled' for Twilight's benefit. “Wanna come in for a little something special?” Pinkie asked Berry, who was collecting her sprawled body into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. With a silly grin on her face, Berry nodded rapidly. She wasn't quite sure what Pinkie was talking about: maybe it was a snack, maybe another drink, maybe even an invitation to spend the night. Whatever it was, Berry was game. She was game for anything tonight. Anything except standing up. As she'd been nodding, her forelegs had slowly been crossing each other in front of her, meaning that after just a few nods Berry found her chin on the ground, her eyes angled up into two bright blue orbs that sparkled with suppressed laughter and fun. So much fun. Ever since she'd started drinking with Pinkie, Berry hadn't woken up the next morning with a cold bed, mussed blankets, and a rapidly cooling imprint of shame and self-loathing next to her. She hadn’t had to scrub fluids of questionable origin out of her carpets. She hadn’t had to promise her daughter not to show up at school half-plastered again. Pinkie Pie was turning Berry’s life around. And she was doing it without making her quit! As Berry grinned sheepishly up at Pinkie, the younger mare giggled at her antics and started to help her up to her hooves. No recrimination. No disappointment. No judgment. Pinkie simply offered acceptance of who she was, protection from the bad times, and companionship for the good. For the third, and Berry was certain final, time in her life, she was in love. “Well?” Pinkie giggled. “You’ve gotta stand up if you’re gonna come inside!” Inside, right, that sounded good. Inside, with Pinkie Pie, that sounded very good. Berry struggled up to her hooves, wobbling a bit as she got off of the ground, but not so badly as to end up falling again. Practice made perfect after all, and she’d had nearly enough practice at righting herself after one fall or another to earn a second cutie mark for it. Once she was standing, she followed Pinkie inside, swaying her hips more or less intentionally. Pinkie closed the door behind her, leaving them in almost total darkness inside the sweet shop. Berry turned around to face Pinkie, catching a glimpse of her puffy hair moving in the darkness. “We’re not gonna get in trouble with the Cakes, are we?” Berry asked in what she thought was her most seductive voice, stepping forward only to get a muzzle full of fluffy, cotton-candy scented tail as Pinkie slid past her teasingly, their coats brushing together briefly. “Not if we go downstairs,” Pinkie giggled, pointing towards the door that was just visible in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “Go on! I’ll be right behind you!” Berry walked towards the door carefully, not really thinking about how difficult it could prove to navigate stairs in her condition. When she was there though, opening the door and staring into the yawning black gulf ahead of her, that was a harder subject to ignore. She heard Pinkie rustling about in the kitchen while she hesitated, pots and pans clanking together with muted caution, and decided to give her potential playmate a little more time. As she took in the scents of the bakery, something occurred to her. Why would Pinkie be in the pots and – “Pnygttnghtwfafrynpnsawha?” Came a muffled voice from behind her. “What?” Berry asked, starting to turn around. She barely had enough time to see Pinkie swinging the frying pan. ~Klang!~ Author's Note Whoopsies! Seems like Berry's in for quite a headache, and it won't even be the hangover's fault this time! The Perfect CrimeBlackness? Check. Terribly uncomfortable bed that felt like it didn’t have any sort of a mattress at all? Check. Raging headache and a muzzle that felt like it was full of cotton? Check. All things considered, Berry wasn’t that surprised to be waking up the way she was. Though being cuffed to the four corners of the bed, and the blackness not going away when she opened her eyes to realize she was blindfolded? That was more unusual. Still not unheard of, not in Berry’s many years of waking up in strange beds, but distinctly unusual. Waking up, blindfolded, cuffed to the bed, and with Pinkie humming a tune while she was sharpening something? That, in Berry’s opinion, warranted an explanation. Particularly the fuzzy memories of a frying pan that were slowly coming back into focus. “Pinkie? What the hay is going on?” Berry didn’t care that her question came out more as a whimper than anything else. She turned her head towards where she thought Pinkie was, trying to rub the blindfold loose against the wooden table she’d been attached to. “Where are we?” “We’re in the basement, silly!” Pinkie answered her. “I’m glad I didn’t hit you too hard, I was worried I might’ve knocked you out for good!” “Why did you hit me? I thought you liked me, Pinkie!” Berry cried beneath the blindfold, tugging at her restraints uselessly. “I do like you, Berry! You’re a lot more fun than Twilight.” There was venom in Pinkie’s voice when she said the Princess’ name. “If I could do it, she’d be the one down here, not you. But nope! She only drinks when she has to, so it was really either you, or Dashie, and ponies would actually care if she went missing!” The last of Berry’s residual drunkenness, already thoroughly blasted by the time she’d been out and the adrenaline of how she’d woken up, was obliterated by the implications of what Pinkie said. Berry went still, no longer wasting her energy trying to get loose. Her voice was soft, strangely calm as she realized just how horrible her situation had to be. “Pinkie… what are you gonna do with me?” “Do you reeeeeeeally wanna know?” There was a grin in Pinkie’s voice, all the same excitement and happiness and fun that Berry had been falling in love with. There was also a hard edge to it, a hidden threat just behind the invitation. Berry ignored the warning, nodding her head slightly and bracing herself. Pinkie moved, and Berry felt warm breath against her face, smelled the traces of wine and pastries on it before teeth closed gently around the blindfold and peeled it back. Blinking against the sudden return of light, Berry looked around what she was guessing was the basement, given where she’d been going before the whole frying pan incident. She got as far as seeing the lovingly cared for knives hanging on the walls before she decided that she’d really rather have kept the blindfold on. She also decided to abandon the entire ‘not panicking’ idea she’d had before, and return to the suddenly much more sensible approach that presented itself. ”Let me go! Somepony, help me!” Berry put all her lungpower behind the words, hoping that the Cakes would hear and intervene. That they could hear her, and stop Pinkie from doing whatever it was she had in mind. The mad mare just rolled back on the floor, laughing as though she didn’t have a care in the world. ”Help me, Pinkie’s gone crazy! Please, somepony, anypony!” Berry lost some of her volume, realizing that if Pinkie wasn’t trying to quiet her by now, there was no way for anypony to hear her. “Pinkie, please, don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want, I just – mmph!” Berry was silenced as Pinkie bounced up onto her hind hooves, using the front two to hold Berry’s muzzle shut. “Of course you will, Berry! I mean, it’s not like you’ve got a choice.” Pinkie leaned in, giving Berry a quick peck on the muzzle before she released it. “And what I want is all your tasty mare meat!” “Pinkie, stop!” Berry tried instinctively to press her legs together. “Red! Hangover!” She wracked her brain, praying this was some sort of sick fantasy of Pinkie’s. “Pickle barrel! Kumquat! Rutabagahahahaha!” She trailed off into sobs just before Pinkie rolled her eyes and quickly tied the blindfold around her muzzle to keep it shut. “Not that mare meat, silly! Though it does give me an idea of where to start.” A sadistic grin spread across Pinkie’s face as she dropped back down onto all fours and went to fetch the knife she’d been sharpening. While she was away, Berry pulled at the cuffs as hard as she could. She felt a little more give from the cuff around her lower left leg than the others, and took full advantage of it while her attacker was distracted. The table creaked, but Pinkie turned around with the knife in her muzzle before Berry could actually get loose. The mad baker started back over, apparently unconcerned with her victim’s struggles. Just as Pinkie was about to reach the table, Berry put all of her strength into one final pull against the cuffs. Tears streamed down her face as metal bit into her legs just above her hooves, muscles and tendons straining to levels they weren’t intended to. With a sharp ‘crack’ of protest, the table leg she’d felt giving broke free, swinging up and catching Pinkie under the jaw. The knife went flying, glittering through the air before it embedded the tip in one of the floor joists above them. The table flopped in the direction of the missing leg while Berry kicked wildly at Pinkie, leaving her with no target but Pinkie’s hooves. She strained with her other limbs, trying to free herself even as the wooden table leg dangling from her freed leg clattered across the basement floor. Pinkie reared up, her blue eyes seeming to reflect a strange silver sheen in the light of the lanterns before she brought her forelegs crashing down on Berry’s free leg. Berry screamed again, shrieking in agony through her makeshift gag as her knee shattered. Acrid-smelling liquid seeped down the table from between her thighs, fear and pain finally getting the better of her long-taxed bladder. Pinkie panted and stepped back, looking at the mess Berry had made, then reached up to gently probe the underside of her jaw. She felt a loose scrap of skin where she’d been cut by the jagged end of the table leg, and when she looked into a mirror to get a better look at it, smooth silver gleamed through the incision. “Well that’s not very fun,” Pinkie grumbled. “At least it doesn’t show up that well. I can get it fixed after I’m done down here.” She walked back over to the table, setting it up on three legs and glaring at Berry. “You know, you really know how to take the fun out of a night, Berry.” Pinkie moved some sacks of flour and boxes into place to hold the table up, taking the time to clean up the mess while Berry kept whimpering and sobbing at the pain. By the time Pinkie was done, the whimpers had trailed off, and Berry was back to staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “I guess I can’t really blame you for trying to get loose,” Pinkie told her, though Berry barely heard what she was saying. “I know I did, really hard too! The difference is, I actually did get away with it. You’re not going to be so lucky, not after all this work!” She walked off into the back of the basement, filling a bucket from an old pump that had barely been used since the bakery had been attached to Ponyville’s plumbing systems. Carrying the bucket back over with the handle in her mouth, Pinkie very carefully and deliberately dumped the rusty water inside over Berry’s head, bringing her attention back into the present with an ice-cold splash. “Now, no running off into your own head again!” Pinkie scolded her after she sat down the bucket. “Would it help if I told you I didn’t like it much either?” She waited for Berry to answer, only to giggle a few moments later. “Oh, right, you can’t talk. Promise not to scream? I can let you talk, but first you have to promise not to scream.” Berry nodded weakly, and Pinkie untied her muzzle. Berry caught a glimpse of the silver beneath Pinkie’s fur while the unbound pony worked. “What are you?” She asked once her muzzle was untied, trying to think of anything but the agony in her leg. “I’m Pinkie! What else would I be?” Pinkie asked her innocently, going to retrieve another knife. “You’re not Pinkie!” Berry fought not to scream it at her. “Pinkie wouldn’t do this!” The thing wearing Pinkie’s skin cocked her head in a perfect imitation of the party pony, as if considering Berry’s words. “But I am doing this,” she pointed out after a few moments. “So obviously, I would!” “Why are you doing this then?” Tears ran down Berry’s cheeks as she looked back up at the ceiling, away from the imposter. “For Twilight, silly!” Not-Pinkie bounced back over with the first of the knives she was going to work with. “You know how I asked you allllll about wines for that big fancy party she’s holding for the griffons next week, right? Well, you’re gonna be there! As a matter of fact,” she giggled, “you’re gonna be the guest of honor!” “The Princess won’t let you do this!” Berry protested. She couldn’t see any windows, any indication of the time, but even with the adrenaline and pain she knew it had to have been hours. She simply wouldn’t be this sober if it hadn’t been. If she could just stall for enough time, somepony would have to come down to the basement for something! “Actually, she gave me permission!” Not-Pinkie grinned, setting out the knives she was going to use along the edge of the table where both of Berry’s limbs were still restrained. “Isn’t that the bestest part?” “She what?” Not-Pinkie sighed and clamped Berry’s muzzle shut with her hooves. “No shrieking Berry, you promised! But yeah, she totally did! Isn’t that just neato?” Not-Pinkie moved her hooves side to side, forcing Berry to nod. “So here we are! I’ve been working for weeks to make sure you’ll be flavored just right too!” She released Berry’s muzzle, going back to her preparations and leaving her victim to consider the implications of what she’d said. Berry’s ears fell back against her head as she did just that. “And I thought I was falling in love with you.” “Awww, that’s sweet!” Not-Pinkie cooed, pushing a basin into position at the low corner of the table to catch the blood. “It really is. But nope! Sorry! I just needed somepony that nopony would miss.” “What about Ruby?” Berry demanded, glaring at Not-Pinkie. “Oops! I forgot to tell you!” The doppleganger grinned, rushing over to a corner and rummaging through a pile. “I picked her up at school before you came to the castle!” She held something up, and Berry’s heart nearly stopped. Not-Pinkie was holding up a foal-sized skull. “’Mama’s sick again, isn’t she?’” Not-Pinkie repeated in a high-pitched imitation of Ruby’s voice, miming the words with her macabre puppet. “No,” she continud in her normal voice, “but I thought I’d take you to Sugar Cube Corner for a snack before you go home! My treat!” “’Okay, Miss Pinkie! I’d usually go home right after school, but Mama said I could trust you!’” Not-Pinkie grinned broadly at Berry, watching her face contort as she tried to comprehend what she’d just been told. Finally, after what felt to Berry like an eternity, Not-Pinkie cracked up, doubling over with laughter. “You should see the look on your face! Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything to Ruby. This is just a prop from last Nightmare Night! Besides, her classmates would miss her.” Berry’s head slumped back as relief warred with disgust inside of her. Not-Pinkie put the prop down and trotted back over to her cheerfully, leaning down to whisper into Berry’s ears. “Don’t worry, I won’t ever hurt little Pinchy. The two of us are going to have so much fun once you’re gone.” Something about how the impostor said ‘fun’ turned Berry’s blood to ice water. The single-mother turned to glare at her attacker, eyes cold and hateful. “If you so much as breathe on her, I’ll kill you. I don’t know how, but I will kill you.” “Good thing I’m going to be doing it to you first then!” Not-Pinkie gagged Berry again. Then she picked up the first knife, holding it carefully in her pastern. “Now, this is my first time,” she said with mock-innocence, “so this might just hurt a little.” The knife came down, not in a dramatic plunge, but rather a graceful, slicing move along Berry’s stomach. Berry fought not to scream at first. She thought about Ruby. About the pain in her ruined leg. About anything but the agony of being butchered alive. It actually didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would, physically, especially not when the impostor started doing… things… inside of her. She felt pressure, felt things being moved around, but strangely little actual pain as a result. Another slice, and Not-Pinkie squeaked excitedly. “Oh, Berry! You didn’t tell me you were drinking for two! This is just perfect!” In a horrible instant, Berry’s attention was back on her gaping abdomen, and the slick mess of blood and organs that had been pushed aside. As she watched, Not-Pinkie reached into her, cooing tenderly, and removed a tiny, wriggling mass of…. As Berry realized what was in those pink hooves, sweet insanity finally chose to grant her the mercy of claiming her mind. Author's Note Well, at least she won't really care about what else Pinkie's about to do to her. The Perfect GiftThree days later, Ponyville looked like a rustic imitation of Canterlot. Airships from that shining city were moored to trees, houses, anything sturdy enough to hold them after dropping their passengers off at the Castle of Harmony. At the castle itself, the richly decorated flagship of the Griffonian Royal Air Force was bound to the receiving spire by a glowing tendril of magical force, more secure and less likely to damage the fine vessel than any mere corporeal rope. Inside, the royal feast hall was packed with ponies and griffons alike. Some were local ponies, offering their services to the crown for pay or patriotism. Others were nobles from Canterlot, their normal disdain for 'country living' set aside for the prestige of attending the first official royal function to be held entirely under Princess Twilight's supervision and jurisdiction. Unlike the dining halls of Canterlot, all clearly arranged to indicate the relative position and power of each individual, the hall of the Castle of Harmony was set with smaller tables scattered throughout it, important delegates and representatives seated with apparent randomness. And yet, even the great Canterlot nobles who ended up seated near griffon shiphands found their initial irritation dissipating as points of common interest and hobbies drifted out of the initial small talk. Acquaintances and friendships began to blossom as the castle's quiet magic went to work, and food was brought out for the assembled guests. At the head table, seated with the Princesses Twilight Sparkle, Cadance, and Celestia, as well as Prince Shining Armor, were two massive griffon tiercels. One of them, clearly the elder, had feathers and fur that were starting to go grey with age, but the bearing and manner of a veteran soldier. He was wearing his finest dress uniform, grey and gold expertly tailored to his powerful frame, with enough medals and honors displayed on the broad chest to announce his approach by the jingle of his walk. The other, younger and dressed in more ostentatious purple-and-blue finery, wore the badge of office of a Griffonian ambassador. “The Battle of the Badlands would have gone entirely differently if we were fighting it with the modern Imperial army,” the General stated firmly, looking down at Shining Armor, his own medals and honors on display as well. “We were completely unaware of the threat the changelings posed to the pre-Imperial forces; by the time the Equestrian forces reached them, half the army had been drained of their love for their comrades in arms.” “But you’re forgetting something, General,” Shining Armor countered. “If we had been facing the modern Imperial army, the EUP would have feinted towards the border our territories shared with Minos, rather than the Badlands. Commander Easy Glider chose the Badlands specifically because she knew the changelings couldn’t resist feasting on the griffon forces.” “Weakening our army and decimating the changeling threat when we discovered it,” the Ambassador concluded. “You have to admit, Jean, that it was a cunning move.” “And if your Commander Easy Glider knew about the changelings,” the General pointed out smugly, “then why was their Queen so easily able to infiltrate the upper ranks of Equestrian royalty?” Everypony at the table collectively winced, save Celestia. “Because we had thought the griffon army,” the solar diarch replied steadily after a sip of tea, “even after being drained by the changelings, competent enough to erase the threat they posed to both our countries. It was seven hundred and fifty six years before they had recovered sufficiently to make such an effort again, an age during which even I believed they had been wiped out during the war.” General Jean le Soldat regarded Celestia coolly for a moment, then inclined his head towards her regally. “Very well, Princess, I must admit that we believed we had been equally as efficient. A pity for both our countries that a Queen egg remained.” “One always does, General,” Celestia sighed. “Or so it seems. A better topic, perhaps?” She asked as Pinkie brought out a tray laden with large dumplings filled with potatoes, turnips, rich gravy, and small chunks of meat. She sat one in front of each diner except for the General. “I will be back in one moment, please,” she said in a comically thick Prench accent before darting off towards the kitchen again. “Indeed,” the Ambassador piped up. “I must admit that I am surprised you chose pasties for this meal, Princesses. Prench peasant food?” “Griffonian campaign food, Ambassador Philippe,” Princess Twilight corrected him. “We chose them in honor of the General’s birthday, and as a reminder that our people do share quite a bit in common. Meat may not be a staple to ponies, like it is to griffons, but it’s not completely absent from our cuisine.” “No, though a very rare part of it,” the Ambassador observed, cutting into his meal and inhaling the scent. “It’s true that most ponies prefer a vegetarian lifestyle,” Princess Cadance agreed. “It comes with the fact that we’re so close with so many different species. One of the Elements of Harmony, for example, can communicate with virtually any animal. Even so, she actually cares for several predators, to the point of gathering food for them when necessary. However, as you can see, nopony here has turned down their meal.” She indicated the dining hall with her horn. While most of the gathered ponies were eating more slowly than their griffon counterparts, it seemed true that none had refused the entrée either. “Excusez moi,” Pinkie interrupted, bringing up an additional tray. “Pour le Ambassador, caviar de terre.” She lowered the tray, picking up a tiny dish of what looked almost like a lumpy jelly and setting it down in front of him with a miniscule spoon. “And pour le General, boulette de poulaine.” The General’s jaw dropped as Pinkie offered him a covered tray, removing the lid to reveal a steaming dumpling larger than the others, its scent far meatier than the pasties she had served out to the other diners. “Well, it seems you have impressed the General, little chef,” the Ambassador laughed. “I had thought that impossible for anyone but Gustave le Grand!” “Boulette de poulaine,” the General murmured, picking up his knife and fork and cutting carefully into his meal, taking a bite of it. The ponies at the table fought back the urge to wince again as they heard something crunch inside of his beak, not sure if it was intentional or not. “And made in the traditional style, no less!” The General exclaimed after he had swallowed his first bite, eyes glittering excitedly. “Princesses, I am most impressed! My compliments, Madamoiselle…?” “Pinkie,” the erstwhile baker said cheerfully. “Miss Pinkie Pie, General, and I’m so, so, so glad you like it! Consider it a very special birthday present, from Equestria to you!” “Merci beaucoup, ma petite tarte,” the General said warmly, actually standing to give Pinkie a courtly bow, which she returned before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Boulette de poulaine?” Princess Twilight asked, cocking her head slightly. “A rare Griffonian delicacy of the campaign trail, Princess,” the General explained. “Very rare indeed, and little known outside military circles. I’m surprised Miss Pie even knew it existed, let alone how to prepare it.” “Well, that’s Pinkie, just full of surprises!” Twilight grinned, her left eye twitching slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d just like to go thank her for her thoughtfulness myself.” Twilight stood after receiving a brief nod from those at the table, inclining her head respectfully to them and leaving as quickly as she dared. Once she was out of sight, she broke into a full gallop, searching for Pinkie in the kitchens. When she found her, the baker was in the process of pulling out a large tray of cake forms from one of the castle’s massive ovens and putting them off to cool. “Pinkie? Can I have a word with you?” Twilight asked nervously, her eye twitching again. “Of course, Twilight! How about….” Pinkie reached over to a cookbook and started flipping through it. “Ooh, how about gateau? That sounds like a fun word!” “Actually, how about ‘boulette de poulaine?’” Twilight suggested. “Did you actually serve dumpling of –“ Pinkie’s laughter cut her off, and put her at ease. “Oh come on, Twilight, do you really think I’d do something like that? Granny Pie used to run a restaurant near the border, and she had a recipe she used from some old griffon soldiers!” Twilight sighed in relief, then took a deep breath and let it back out to calm herself further. “Sorry, Pinkie, but when he said it was prepared traditionally… well, I didn’t think you’d do something like that, but I’m worried enough about where all this meat came from!” “Granny’s recipes fooled any griffon who ate them!” Pinkie reassured her friend, smiling broadly. “And don’t worry. I Pinkie Promised, remember? I didn’t use any of Fluttershy’s little critter friends, just like you wanted. Not even for the angel food cakes I’m serving for the pony desserts!” She indicated the cake forms that were sitting out, snorting a little bit as she snickered at her pun. “Well, at least there’s something for the meal that doesn’t have any meat in it. Thanks again, Pinkie, I just don’t know what I’d do without you and the Cakes handling the catering for this!” “Run around in a panic until your mane went all ‘sproing,’ trying to find some way to serve meat without serving Opal’s cat food to the griffons instead, forgetting that there are ways around those sort of little problems and even Fluttershy knows that even if she doesn’t really like it, until you went completely loco in the coco and cooked herself into a soufflé to try and make the Griffons happy?” Pinkie suggested, not stopping for breath in the process. “I… like to think I’d stop a little short of that,” Twilight chuckled. “Did you cut yourself making all this?” She asked, noticing the tiny bandage on the underside of Pinkie’s muzzle. “Oh, just a little bit while I was making the mincemeat pies for the griffon desserts,” Pinkie shrugged. “No biggie! I just slipped and banged my chin on the counter.” “Well be more careful!” Twilight smiled warmly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost any of you girls.” She hugged Pinkie close. Pinkie returned the embrace, a broad and wicked smile across her muzzle as her eyes flashed with a silver sheen. Maybe, one of these days, we’ll find out! Author's Note If you’re disturbed by this story, I’m glad. That’s the point of this story. I tried to steer clear of horrifically detailed gore. Let’s face it; Cupcakes was black-as-pitch comedy, masquerading under the ever-popular moniker of torture porn. It was a parody of Hostel and Turistas, filtered through magical pastel ponies. This is more what I see as true horror. Horror isn’t in plastering the screen with blood and viscera. Horror isn’t in pulling out an anatomical text and running down a list of vital organs. Horror, at times, isn’t in showing at all. Horror is in the gentle murmur of a comforting friend, telling you how you’re going to die. Horror is in watching a happy group of good people tricked into cannibalism. Horror… is in realizing that your best friend in the world will be free to do whatever they want with your daughter, after you’re gone. (Oh, and for those curious? All of those foreign-sounding words are actually taken from French, though I modified 'poulain' a masculine noun, to 'poulaine' to fit with the feminine master-noun boulette. It's about as good French as you'll get off of two semesters in college and two years in high school, but hey - since they're actually words in Griffonian, I get away with it, right? )
The Perfect EveningBerry Punch was drunk. There was nothing particularly unusual about that. Indeed, some less charitable souls in Ponyville might say that any other state would be cause to make sure Celestia's grip upon the sun was firm. But fortunately, Berry was not in the company of such cruel, heartless ponies at the moment. Instead, the mulberry mare was accompanied by Pinkie Pie, her nigh-on inseparable drinking partner of the last few months. Sweet, sensational, sure-hooved Pinkie Pie, who was even now helping Berry to not weave down the streets too badly as they made their way out of the Crystal Castle's increasingly well-stocked wine cellar after a night spent making room for whatever would be coming in the next shipment of what royalty considered appropriate house-warming gifts. A shipment for which Berry could hardly wait. These were the thoughts that tripped and stumbled their way through the mulberry mare's muddled mind, though she would have been hard pressed to actually voice them if asked. Instead, Berry gave voice to a laughter that bubbled up inside of her, wordless mirth echoing through the near-empty streets of Ponyville. Even the bar crowds, Berry's usual company on the way home, had already made their own drunken way back to their beds. Their own, or somepony else's, it wouldn't matter until the morning hangover, when cotton-choked mouths and brain-stabbing beams of sunlight would soften the blow of realizing just how dubious their judgment may have proven. Pinkie giggled next to her, more quietly than Berry's own boisterous outburst, and gave her a gentle nuzzle to get her to lift her head a bit. “Come on, silly filly, let's get you home!” Pinkie sing-songed, adjusting to better prop up the older mare. “Ssssthounds good t'me,” Berry slurred, her tongue thick and heavy as she snuggled up to Pinkie's side, nuzzling into the luxurious pink curls that tickled at her muzzle. “Y'r good frien', P'nkie,” she added into those self-same curls, enjoying the cotton candy scent of Pinkie's shampoo. “Awww, thank you!” Pinkie beamed beneath her drinking buddy, the two of them slowly seeming to merge into a single pile of pony as the walk continued. By the time Pinkie had reached the door of Sugar Cube Corner, Berry was contentedly resting on her back, legs wrapped around her body and drunkenly singing into Pinkie's mane about her “pretty pink pillow.” Pinkie sat down at the front step, pouring Berry off of her back with a surprising amount of grace for the number of wine bottles the two of them had 'sampled' for Twilight's benefit. “Wanna come in for a little something special?” Pinkie asked Berry, who was collecting her sprawled body into something vaguely resembling a sitting position. With a silly grin on her face, Berry nodded rapidly. She wasn't quite sure what Pinkie was talking about: maybe it was a snack, maybe another drink, maybe even an invitation to spend the night. Whatever it was, Berry was game. She was game for anything tonight. Anything except standing up. As she'd been nodding, her forelegs had slowly been crossing each other in front of her, meaning that after just a few nods Berry found her chin on the ground, her eyes angled up into two bright blue orbs that sparkled with suppressed laughter and fun. So much fun. Ever since she'd started drinking with Pinkie, Berry hadn't woken up the next morning with a cold bed, mussed blankets, and a rapidly cooling imprint of shame and self-loathing next to her. She hadn’t had to scrub fluids of questionable origin out of her carpets. She hadn’t had to promise her daughter not to show up at school half-plastered again. Pinkie Pie was turning Berry’s life around. And she was doing it without making her quit! As Berry grinned sheepishly up at Pinkie, the younger mare giggled at her antics and started to help her up to her hooves. No recrimination. No disappointment. No judgment. Pinkie simply offered acceptance of who she was, protection from the bad times, and companionship for the good. For the third, and Berry was certain final, time in her life, she was in love. “Well?” Pinkie giggled. “You’ve gotta stand up if you’re gonna come inside!” Inside, right, that sounded good. Inside, with Pinkie Pie, that sounded very good. Berry struggled up to her hooves, wobbling a bit as she got off of the ground, but not so badly as to end up falling again. Practice made perfect after all, and she’d had nearly enough practice at righting herself after one fall or another to earn a second cutie mark for it. Once she was standing, she followed Pinkie inside, swaying her hips more or less intentionally. Pinkie closed the door behind her, leaving them in almost total darkness inside the sweet shop. Berry turned around to face Pinkie, catching a glimpse of her puffy hair moving in the darkness. “We’re not gonna get in trouble with the Cakes, are we?” Berry asked in what she thought was her most seductive voice, stepping forward only to get a muzzle full of fluffy, cotton-candy scented tail as Pinkie slid past her teasingly, their coats brushing together briefly. “Not if we go downstairs,” Pinkie giggled, pointing towards the door that was just visible in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “Go on! I’ll be right behind you!” Berry walked towards the door carefully, not really thinking about how difficult it could prove to navigate stairs in her condition. When she was there though, opening the door and staring into the yawning black gulf ahead of her, that was a harder subject to ignore. She heard Pinkie rustling about in the kitchen while she hesitated, pots and pans clanking together with muted caution, and decided to give her potential playmate a little more time. As she took in the scents of the bakery, something occurred to her. Why would Pinkie be in the pots and – “Pnygttnghtwfafrynpnsawha?” Came a muffled voice from behind her. “What?” Berry asked, starting to turn around. She barely had enough time to see Pinkie swinging the frying pan. ~Klang!~ Author's Note Whoopsies! Seems like Berry's in for quite a headache, and it won't even be the hangover's fault this time!
The Perfect CrimeBlackness? Check. Terribly uncomfortable bed that felt like it didn’t have any sort of a mattress at all? Check. Raging headache and a muzzle that felt like it was full of cotton? Check. All things considered, Berry wasn’t that surprised to be waking up the way she was. Though being cuffed to the four corners of the bed, and the blackness not going away when she opened her eyes to realize she was blindfolded? That was more unusual. Still not unheard of, not in Berry’s many years of waking up in strange beds, but distinctly unusual. Waking up, blindfolded, cuffed to the bed, and with Pinkie humming a tune while she was sharpening something? That, in Berry’s opinion, warranted an explanation. Particularly the fuzzy memories of a frying pan that were slowly coming back into focus. “Pinkie? What the hay is going on?” Berry didn’t care that her question came out more as a whimper than anything else. She turned her head towards where she thought Pinkie was, trying to rub the blindfold loose against the wooden table she’d been attached to. “Where are we?” “We’re in the basement, silly!” Pinkie answered her. “I’m glad I didn’t hit you too hard, I was worried I might’ve knocked you out for good!” “Why did you hit me? I thought you liked me, Pinkie!” Berry cried beneath the blindfold, tugging at her restraints uselessly. “I do like you, Berry! You’re a lot more fun than Twilight.” There was venom in Pinkie’s voice when she said the Princess’ name. “If I could do it, she’d be the one down here, not you. But nope! She only drinks when she has to, so it was really either you, or Dashie, and ponies would actually care if she went missing!” The last of Berry’s residual drunkenness, already thoroughly blasted by the time she’d been out and the adrenaline of how she’d woken up, was obliterated by the implications of what Pinkie said. Berry went still, no longer wasting her energy trying to get loose. Her voice was soft, strangely calm as she realized just how horrible her situation had to be. “Pinkie… what are you gonna do with me?” “Do you reeeeeeeally wanna know?” There was a grin in Pinkie’s voice, all the same excitement and happiness and fun that Berry had been falling in love with. There was also a hard edge to it, a hidden threat just behind the invitation. Berry ignored the warning, nodding her head slightly and bracing herself. Pinkie moved, and Berry felt warm breath against her face, smelled the traces of wine and pastries on it before teeth closed gently around the blindfold and peeled it back. Blinking against the sudden return of light, Berry looked around what she was guessing was the basement, given where she’d been going before the whole frying pan incident. She got as far as seeing the lovingly cared for knives hanging on the walls before she decided that she’d really rather have kept the blindfold on. She also decided to abandon the entire ‘not panicking’ idea she’d had before, and return to the suddenly much more sensible approach that presented itself. ”Let me go! Somepony, help me!” Berry put all her lungpower behind the words, hoping that the Cakes would hear and intervene. That they could hear her, and stop Pinkie from doing whatever it was she had in mind. The mad mare just rolled back on the floor, laughing as though she didn’t have a care in the world. ”Help me, Pinkie’s gone crazy! Please, somepony, anypony!” Berry lost some of her volume, realizing that if Pinkie wasn’t trying to quiet her by now, there was no way for anypony to hear her. “Pinkie, please, don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want, I just – mmph!” Berry was silenced as Pinkie bounced up onto her hind hooves, using the front two to hold Berry’s muzzle shut. “Of course you will, Berry! I mean, it’s not like you’ve got a choice.” Pinkie leaned in, giving Berry a quick peck on the muzzle before she released it. “And what I want is all your tasty mare meat!” “Pinkie, stop!” Berry tried instinctively to press her legs together. “Red! Hangover!” She wracked her brain, praying this was some sort of sick fantasy of Pinkie’s. “Pickle barrel! Kumquat! Rutabagahahahaha!” She trailed off into sobs just before Pinkie rolled her eyes and quickly tied the blindfold around her muzzle to keep it shut. “Not that mare meat, silly! Though it does give me an idea of where to start.” A sadistic grin spread across Pinkie’s face as she dropped back down onto all fours and went to fetch the knife she’d been sharpening. While she was away, Berry pulled at the cuffs as hard as she could. She felt a little more give from the cuff around her lower left leg than the others, and took full advantage of it while her attacker was distracted. The table creaked, but Pinkie turned around with the knife in her muzzle before Berry could actually get loose. The mad baker started back over, apparently unconcerned with her victim’s struggles. Just as Pinkie was about to reach the table, Berry put all of her strength into one final pull against the cuffs. Tears streamed down her face as metal bit into her legs just above her hooves, muscles and tendons straining to levels they weren’t intended to. With a sharp ‘crack’ of protest, the table leg she’d felt giving broke free, swinging up and catching Pinkie under the jaw. The knife went flying, glittering through the air before it embedded the tip in one of the floor joists above them. The table flopped in the direction of the missing leg while Berry kicked wildly at Pinkie, leaving her with no target but Pinkie’s hooves. She strained with her other limbs, trying to free herself even as the wooden table leg dangling from her freed leg clattered across the basement floor. Pinkie reared up, her blue eyes seeming to reflect a strange silver sheen in the light of the lanterns before she brought her forelegs crashing down on Berry’s free leg. Berry screamed again, shrieking in agony through her makeshift gag as her knee shattered. Acrid-smelling liquid seeped down the table from between her thighs, fear and pain finally getting the better of her long-taxed bladder. Pinkie panted and stepped back, looking at the mess Berry had made, then reached up to gently probe the underside of her jaw. She felt a loose scrap of skin where she’d been cut by the jagged end of the table leg, and when she looked into a mirror to get a better look at it, smooth silver gleamed through the incision. “Well that’s not very fun,” Pinkie grumbled. “At least it doesn’t show up that well. I can get it fixed after I’m done down here.” She walked back over to the table, setting it up on three legs and glaring at Berry. “You know, you really know how to take the fun out of a night, Berry.” Pinkie moved some sacks of flour and boxes into place to hold the table up, taking the time to clean up the mess while Berry kept whimpering and sobbing at the pain. By the time Pinkie was done, the whimpers had trailed off, and Berry was back to staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “I guess I can’t really blame you for trying to get loose,” Pinkie told her, though Berry barely heard what she was saying. “I know I did, really hard too! The difference is, I actually did get away with it. You’re not going to be so lucky, not after all this work!” She walked off into the back of the basement, filling a bucket from an old pump that had barely been used since the bakery had been attached to Ponyville’s plumbing systems. Carrying the bucket back over with the handle in her mouth, Pinkie very carefully and deliberately dumped the rusty water inside over Berry’s head, bringing her attention back into the present with an ice-cold splash. “Now, no running off into your own head again!” Pinkie scolded her after she sat down the bucket. “Would it help if I told you I didn’t like it much either?” She waited for Berry to answer, only to giggle a few moments later. “Oh, right, you can’t talk. Promise not to scream? I can let you talk, but first you have to promise not to scream.” Berry nodded weakly, and Pinkie untied her muzzle. Berry caught a glimpse of the silver beneath Pinkie’s fur while the unbound pony worked. “What are you?” She asked once her muzzle was untied, trying to think of anything but the agony in her leg. “I’m Pinkie! What else would I be?” Pinkie asked her innocently, going to retrieve another knife. “You’re not Pinkie!” Berry fought not to scream it at her. “Pinkie wouldn’t do this!” The thing wearing Pinkie’s skin cocked her head in a perfect imitation of the party pony, as if considering Berry’s words. “But I am doing this,” she pointed out after a few moments. “So obviously, I would!” “Why are you doing this then?” Tears ran down Berry’s cheeks as she looked back up at the ceiling, away from the imposter. “For Twilight, silly!” Not-Pinkie bounced back over with the first of the knives she was going to work with. “You know how I asked you allllll about wines for that big fancy party she’s holding for the griffons next week, right? Well, you’re gonna be there! As a matter of fact,” she giggled, “you’re gonna be the guest of honor!” “The Princess won’t let you do this!” Berry protested. She couldn’t see any windows, any indication of the time, but even with the adrenaline and pain she knew it had to have been hours. She simply wouldn’t be this sober if it hadn’t been. If she could just stall for enough time, somepony would have to come down to the basement for something! “Actually, she gave me permission!” Not-Pinkie grinned, setting out the knives she was going to use along the edge of the table where both of Berry’s limbs were still restrained. “Isn’t that the bestest part?” “She what?” Not-Pinkie sighed and clamped Berry’s muzzle shut with her hooves. “No shrieking Berry, you promised! But yeah, she totally did! Isn’t that just neato?” Not-Pinkie moved her hooves side to side, forcing Berry to nod. “So here we are! I’ve been working for weeks to make sure you’ll be flavored just right too!” She released Berry’s muzzle, going back to her preparations and leaving her victim to consider the implications of what she’d said. Berry’s ears fell back against her head as she did just that. “And I thought I was falling in love with you.” “Awww, that’s sweet!” Not-Pinkie cooed, pushing a basin into position at the low corner of the table to catch the blood. “It really is. But nope! Sorry! I just needed somepony that nopony would miss.” “What about Ruby?” Berry demanded, glaring at Not-Pinkie. “Oops! I forgot to tell you!” The doppleganger grinned, rushing over to a corner and rummaging through a pile. “I picked her up at school before you came to the castle!” She held something up, and Berry’s heart nearly stopped. Not-Pinkie was holding up a foal-sized skull. “’Mama’s sick again, isn’t she?’” Not-Pinkie repeated in a high-pitched imitation of Ruby’s voice, miming the words with her macabre puppet. “No,” she continud in her normal voice, “but I thought I’d take you to Sugar Cube Corner for a snack before you go home! My treat!” “’Okay, Miss Pinkie! I’d usually go home right after school, but Mama said I could trust you!’” Not-Pinkie grinned broadly at Berry, watching her face contort as she tried to comprehend what she’d just been told. Finally, after what felt to Berry like an eternity, Not-Pinkie cracked up, doubling over with laughter. “You should see the look on your face! Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything to Ruby. This is just a prop from last Nightmare Night! Besides, her classmates would miss her.” Berry’s head slumped back as relief warred with disgust inside of her. Not-Pinkie put the prop down and trotted back over to her cheerfully, leaning down to whisper into Berry’s ears. “Don’t worry, I won’t ever hurt little Pinchy. The two of us are going to have so much fun once you’re gone.” Something about how the impostor said ‘fun’ turned Berry’s blood to ice water. The single-mother turned to glare at her attacker, eyes cold and hateful. “If you so much as breathe on her, I’ll kill you. I don’t know how, but I will kill you.” “Good thing I’m going to be doing it to you first then!” Not-Pinkie gagged Berry again. Then she picked up the first knife, holding it carefully in her pastern. “Now, this is my first time,” she said with mock-innocence, “so this might just hurt a little.” The knife came down, not in a dramatic plunge, but rather a graceful, slicing move along Berry’s stomach. Berry fought not to scream at first. She thought about Ruby. About the pain in her ruined leg. About anything but the agony of being butchered alive. It actually didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would, physically, especially not when the impostor started doing… things… inside of her. She felt pressure, felt things being moved around, but strangely little actual pain as a result. Another slice, and Not-Pinkie squeaked excitedly. “Oh, Berry! You didn’t tell me you were drinking for two! This is just perfect!” In a horrible instant, Berry’s attention was back on her gaping abdomen, and the slick mess of blood and organs that had been pushed aside. As she watched, Not-Pinkie reached into her, cooing tenderly, and removed a tiny, wriggling mass of…. As Berry realized what was in those pink hooves, sweet insanity finally chose to grant her the mercy of claiming her mind. Author's Note Well, at least she won't really care about what else Pinkie's about to do to her.
The Perfect GiftThree days later, Ponyville looked like a rustic imitation of Canterlot. Airships from that shining city were moored to trees, houses, anything sturdy enough to hold them after dropping their passengers off at the Castle of Harmony. At the castle itself, the richly decorated flagship of the Griffonian Royal Air Force was bound to the receiving spire by a glowing tendril of magical force, more secure and less likely to damage the fine vessel than any mere corporeal rope. Inside, the royal feast hall was packed with ponies and griffons alike. Some were local ponies, offering their services to the crown for pay or patriotism. Others were nobles from Canterlot, their normal disdain for 'country living' set aside for the prestige of attending the first official royal function to be held entirely under Princess Twilight's supervision and jurisdiction. Unlike the dining halls of Canterlot, all clearly arranged to indicate the relative position and power of each individual, the hall of the Castle of Harmony was set with smaller tables scattered throughout it, important delegates and representatives seated with apparent randomness. And yet, even the great Canterlot nobles who ended up seated near griffon shiphands found their initial irritation dissipating as points of common interest and hobbies drifted out of the initial small talk. Acquaintances and friendships began to blossom as the castle's quiet magic went to work, and food was brought out for the assembled guests. At the head table, seated with the Princesses Twilight Sparkle, Cadance, and Celestia, as well as Prince Shining Armor, were two massive griffon tiercels. One of them, clearly the elder, had feathers and fur that were starting to go grey with age, but the bearing and manner of a veteran soldier. He was wearing his finest dress uniform, grey and gold expertly tailored to his powerful frame, with enough medals and honors displayed on the broad chest to announce his approach by the jingle of his walk. The other, younger and dressed in more ostentatious purple-and-blue finery, wore the badge of office of a Griffonian ambassador. “The Battle of the Badlands would have gone entirely differently if we were fighting it with the modern Imperial army,” the General stated firmly, looking down at Shining Armor, his own medals and honors on display as well. “We were completely unaware of the threat the changelings posed to the pre-Imperial forces; by the time the Equestrian forces reached them, half the army had been drained of their love for their comrades in arms.” “But you’re forgetting something, General,” Shining Armor countered. “If we had been facing the modern Imperial army, the EUP would have feinted towards the border our territories shared with Minos, rather than the Badlands. Commander Easy Glider chose the Badlands specifically because she knew the changelings couldn’t resist feasting on the griffon forces.” “Weakening our army and decimating the changeling threat when we discovered it,” the Ambassador concluded. “You have to admit, Jean, that it was a cunning move.” “And if your Commander Easy Glider knew about the changelings,” the General pointed out smugly, “then why was their Queen so easily able to infiltrate the upper ranks of Equestrian royalty?” Everypony at the table collectively winced, save Celestia. “Because we had thought the griffon army,” the solar diarch replied steadily after a sip of tea, “even after being drained by the changelings, competent enough to erase the threat they posed to both our countries. It was seven hundred and fifty six years before they had recovered sufficiently to make such an effort again, an age during which even I believed they had been wiped out during the war.” General Jean le Soldat regarded Celestia coolly for a moment, then inclined his head towards her regally. “Very well, Princess, I must admit that we believed we had been equally as efficient. A pity for both our countries that a Queen egg remained.” “One always does, General,” Celestia sighed. “Or so it seems. A better topic, perhaps?” She asked as Pinkie brought out a tray laden with large dumplings filled with potatoes, turnips, rich gravy, and small chunks of meat. She sat one in front of each diner except for the General. “I will be back in one moment, please,” she said in a comically thick Prench accent before darting off towards the kitchen again. “Indeed,” the Ambassador piped up. “I must admit that I am surprised you chose pasties for this meal, Princesses. Prench peasant food?” “Griffonian campaign food, Ambassador Philippe,” Princess Twilight corrected him. “We chose them in honor of the General’s birthday, and as a reminder that our people do share quite a bit in common. Meat may not be a staple to ponies, like it is to griffons, but it’s not completely absent from our cuisine.” “No, though a very rare part of it,” the Ambassador observed, cutting into his meal and inhaling the scent. “It’s true that most ponies prefer a vegetarian lifestyle,” Princess Cadance agreed. “It comes with the fact that we’re so close with so many different species. One of the Elements of Harmony, for example, can communicate with virtually any animal. Even so, she actually cares for several predators, to the point of gathering food for them when necessary. However, as you can see, nopony here has turned down their meal.” She indicated the dining hall with her horn. While most of the gathered ponies were eating more slowly than their griffon counterparts, it seemed true that none had refused the entrée either. “Excusez moi,” Pinkie interrupted, bringing up an additional tray. “Pour le Ambassador, caviar de terre.” She lowered the tray, picking up a tiny dish of what looked almost like a lumpy jelly and setting it down in front of him with a miniscule spoon. “And pour le General, boulette de poulaine.” The General’s jaw dropped as Pinkie offered him a covered tray, removing the lid to reveal a steaming dumpling larger than the others, its scent far meatier than the pasties she had served out to the other diners. “Well, it seems you have impressed the General, little chef,” the Ambassador laughed. “I had thought that impossible for anyone but Gustave le Grand!” “Boulette de poulaine,” the General murmured, picking up his knife and fork and cutting carefully into his meal, taking a bite of it. The ponies at the table fought back the urge to wince again as they heard something crunch inside of his beak, not sure if it was intentional or not. “And made in the traditional style, no less!” The General exclaimed after he had swallowed his first bite, eyes glittering excitedly. “Princesses, I am most impressed! My compliments, Madamoiselle…?” “Pinkie,” the erstwhile baker said cheerfully. “Miss Pinkie Pie, General, and I’m so, so, so glad you like it! Consider it a very special birthday present, from Equestria to you!” “Merci beaucoup, ma petite tarte,” the General said warmly, actually standing to give Pinkie a courtly bow, which she returned before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Boulette de poulaine?” Princess Twilight asked, cocking her head slightly. “A rare Griffonian delicacy of the campaign trail, Princess,” the General explained. “Very rare indeed, and little known outside military circles. I’m surprised Miss Pie even knew it existed, let alone how to prepare it.” “Well, that’s Pinkie, just full of surprises!” Twilight grinned, her left eye twitching slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d just like to go thank her for her thoughtfulness myself.” Twilight stood after receiving a brief nod from those at the table, inclining her head respectfully to them and leaving as quickly as she dared. Once she was out of sight, she broke into a full gallop, searching for Pinkie in the kitchens. When she found her, the baker was in the process of pulling out a large tray of cake forms from one of the castle’s massive ovens and putting them off to cool. “Pinkie? Can I have a word with you?” Twilight asked nervously, her eye twitching again. “Of course, Twilight! How about….” Pinkie reached over to a cookbook and started flipping through it. “Ooh, how about gateau? That sounds like a fun word!” “Actually, how about ‘boulette de poulaine?’” Twilight suggested. “Did you actually serve dumpling of –“ Pinkie’s laughter cut her off, and put her at ease. “Oh come on, Twilight, do you really think I’d do something like that? Granny Pie used to run a restaurant near the border, and she had a recipe she used from some old griffon soldiers!” Twilight sighed in relief, then took a deep breath and let it back out to calm herself further. “Sorry, Pinkie, but when he said it was prepared traditionally… well, I didn’t think you’d do something like that, but I’m worried enough about where all this meat came from!” “Granny’s recipes fooled any griffon who ate them!” Pinkie reassured her friend, smiling broadly. “And don’t worry. I Pinkie Promised, remember? I didn’t use any of Fluttershy’s little critter friends, just like you wanted. Not even for the angel food cakes I’m serving for the pony desserts!” She indicated the cake forms that were sitting out, snorting a little bit as she snickered at her pun. “Well, at least there’s something for the meal that doesn’t have any meat in it. Thanks again, Pinkie, I just don’t know what I’d do without you and the Cakes handling the catering for this!” “Run around in a panic until your mane went all ‘sproing,’ trying to find some way to serve meat without serving Opal’s cat food to the griffons instead, forgetting that there are ways around those sort of little problems and even Fluttershy knows that even if she doesn’t really like it, until you went completely loco in the coco and cooked herself into a soufflé to try and make the Griffons happy?” Pinkie suggested, not stopping for breath in the process. “I… like to think I’d stop a little short of that,” Twilight chuckled. “Did you cut yourself making all this?” She asked, noticing the tiny bandage on the underside of Pinkie’s muzzle. “Oh, just a little bit while I was making the mincemeat pies for the griffon desserts,” Pinkie shrugged. “No biggie! I just slipped and banged my chin on the counter.” “Well be more careful!” Twilight smiled warmly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost any of you girls.” She hugged Pinkie close. Pinkie returned the embrace, a broad and wicked smile across her muzzle as her eyes flashed with a silver sheen. Maybe, one of these days, we’ll find out! Author's Note If you’re disturbed by this story, I’m glad. That’s the point of this story. I tried to steer clear of horrifically detailed gore. Let’s face it; Cupcakes was black-as-pitch comedy, masquerading under the ever-popular moniker of torture porn. It was a parody of Hostel and Turistas, filtered through magical pastel ponies. This is more what I see as true horror. Horror isn’t in plastering the screen with blood and viscera. Horror isn’t in pulling out an anatomical text and running down a list of vital organs. Horror, at times, isn’t in showing at all. Horror is in the gentle murmur of a comforting friend, telling you how you’re going to die. Horror is in watching a happy group of good people tricked into cannibalism. Horror… is in realizing that your best friend in the world will be free to do whatever they want with your daughter, after you’re gone. (Oh, and for those curious? All of those foreign-sounding words are actually taken from French, though I modified 'poulain' a masculine noun, to 'poulaine' to fit with the feminine master-noun boulette. It's about as good French as you'll get off of two semesters in college and two years in high school, but hey - since they're actually words in Griffonian, I get away with it, right? )
