We All Remember Last Time...
“An escort from four members of the Royal Guard for our little class tour must count as overkill,” Cheerilee said. After a pause during which the castle liaison refused to speak, she added, “It does have its compensations, however.”
“Ewww! Miss Cheerilee is leering at the soldiers,” exclaimed Diamond Tiara.
“Ewww!” responded the rest of the class.
Wait for it. Cheerilee thought. The humiliation isn’t over yet.
“What’s leering mean?” asked Snails.
There it is. Now I have the dubious honour of explaining my shame. “Leering is a little bit like staring. While you can stare at anything, you generally only leer at other ponies. It’s a very rude thing to do. So, if I have offended any of these fine stallions, I shall offer them an apology,” she said. “After the tour,” she added. “In private,” she finished.
Two of the guards blushed. One remained oblivious. The fourth added a very non-military swagger to his gait. The castle liaison shook his head in disapproval.
“This is a very fine corridor, Mister Sealed Scroll. The marble tiled floor is most opulent. However it does seem a little dull as a subject for a class tour,” the teacher said. "The invitation mentioned something about viewing a tapestry?”
Their escort walked on. His coat was the colour of faded parchment. Mane, tail, and exposed fetlocks were a rich and deep black, with a faint hint of blue at the roots. His mark was the red wax seal of the Equestrian Civil Service. An impression of two Alicorns circling each other, forever playing a game of ‘Tag’ in which they had both forgotten who was ‘It.’
“You must understand,” the unicorn guiding them responded, “that most of the castle has been locked down due to the diplomatic envoy visiting today.”
“The throne room?”
“In use.”
“The ballroom?”
“Being prepared for the banquet tonight.”
“The Day Court? Night Court?”
“The whole south wing is off-limits.”
“The guest wing?”
“Given over to the visiting dignitaries.”
“The Hall of Legends? I’m sure the students would love...”
“The Princesses always walk visiting dignitaries past the stained glass windows. Several times. With commentary. They are both exceedingly proud of the achievements of the depicted Legends, and enjoy regaling a captive audience of the stories."
“The royal apartments?”
“I won’t even dignify that with a response.”
“The gardens?” she asked hopefully.
“When I mentioned this tour at the morning meal, Princess Celestia specifically mentioned the gardens. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Because, you know. Last time.’ Those were her exact words. And the entire staff is loathe to risk a repeat performance.”
“Just how many demented demigods determined to destroy the world do the Princesses have entombed in statues?” Cheerilee asked while shooting three of her charges a glare. A glare they remained completely oblivious to.
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Where does this corridor lead then?” Cheerilee asked in exasperation.
“The Lunar Kitchens.”
Knives. Cheerilee thought of all the items that might harm her in the room ahead. Forks. Possibly even spoons. Ovens. Stove tops. Devices, both mechanical and magical for preparing food. Pots, pans, griddles and other implements. Rolling pins. Walk-in refrigerators. Exotic herbs and spices from around the globe, any of which may trigger a previously undiscovered allergy. Crème brûlée torches. The Royal China. I may even wind up being pestled to death in a mortar. If I die in there I shall haunt the Sisters until they wish we had only released a couple of statues.
“What could possibly go wrong in a kitchen?” she asked in a voice that was far too cheerful for the expression on her face.
Irrespective of the danger, the Lunar Kitchen was an impressive sight. A row of workstations ran down one wall, with an island prep area running parallel. On the opposing wall were the massive doors of the industrial coolers. Racks held cutlery and crockery, freshly cleaned and waiting for the next meal. Pots, pans, and other implements were suspended on hooks from the ceiling. What wasn’t highly polished stainless steel was black granite, or white tile. There seemed to be only two items out of place.
“What’s that thing?” asked Sweetie Bell as she indicated a large barrel-like object. A metal arm extended at a right angle from the top, and there was a clear path circling it.
“That is the world’s second-oldest ice cream churn, and the only one of its kind still in operation,” Sealed Scroll answered. “Princess Luna is very... particular about her ice cream, and this is the only churn left that meets her exacting standards.”
“What happened to the oldest churn?” asked Silver Spoon.
“A magical mishap in this very kitchen destroyed it. A team of engineers are studying both this churn, and the remains of the other, in order to replicate the quality of ice cream they produce with a modern device.”
“Did the Princess defeat the monster that wrecked the other churn?” Scootaloo asked.
“I believe both princesses continue to do battle here once or twice a month. The war is slowly being won.”
The students spent several moments in quiet reverence directed at the churn. It was responsible, after all, for the creation of ice cream. Some drooled. Several bowed. One completely prostrated herself before it. However when it became obvious that the offer of a tasting was not forthcoming, the students’ attention moved to the other rather odd sight in the kitchen.
“Who’s that guy?” Applebloom asked as she pointed down the row of workstations.
“That,“ Sealed Scroll responded through gritted teeth, “is Mister Sizzler. Still working at the meat station, well past the time he should have left.”
The pony in question could charitably be described as unusual. A unicorn stallion whose build might be regarded as scrawny. Of average height, with a horn that was slightly undersized. What stood out most was his coat colour. Calling it ‘red’ was doing it a disservice. While it wasn’t one of the very rare metallic colours, it did share some of their properties. It seemed to reflect light in an unusual way, giving off the impression that his skin was coated liquid. In the bright light if the workstation it glistened with a faint, familiar shimmer. Where shadow fell however, it appeared to darken to a rusty brown. As he moved, stringy muscles bunching and flexing, it almost looked like it was flowing. Contrasting this strange coat was his mane and tail, both a stark white: almost the colour of sun-bleached ivory. Most sapients’ immediate thoughts on seeing him were of ‘blood’ and ‘bone’ respectively, and generally in that order.
He was working at the furthest station, hard up against the far wall. Above the stove top was an oversized range hood, emitting the dull roar of a powerful fan that was drawing a huge volume of air. There was a faint shimmer of a long established unicorn working surrounding the workstation. When the class stepped through it, they realised it was blocking the smell of the workstation, and the pony standing there. It was a very difficult odour to clarify. It wasn’t the smell of poor hygiene, there was an undercurrent of a very powerful soap. While it could be said that it was a hot and greasy smell, there was more to it than that. It was something that spoke on an instinctive level, saying to herbivores flee! And it was strong, almost capable of overpowering reason, speaking directly to the herd instinct. The students that had crossed the border of the magic barrier all stepped backwards until they were on the safe side of the spell. Hurriedly, some of them while gagging.
“What are you still doing here, Sizzler?” Sealed Scroll asked. “The lunch service was over more than an hour ago.”
“I have to do my own scullery work,” he complained. “Everypony is afraid of touching my utensils. And they make me wait until all the other stations are finished.” As he turned to stow a set of tongs, the class caught sight of his mark.
“What kind of cutie-mark is that?” three voices cried out in unison.
Cheerilee facehoofed in despair.
“It’s a zirolak steak, double seared on a grill,” he said with a tone of trepidation, almost as if he expected the statement to trigger a stampede away from him.
“How did you get a meat cutie-mark?” Scootaloo demanded instinctively.
With her hoof still firmly planted on her face, Cheerilee’s only option was to attempt to grind it in deeper.
Turning to take in the class, Sizzler realised that for possibly the first time ever he had an audience that was interested in him, and wasn’t running away. Although there were a couple that looked somewhat green around the gills. “Well, that’s a long story...”
“Now class, I’m sure Mister Sizzler is a very busy pony. With a group of visiting carnivores, the meat station must have a lot of work,” Cheerilee said.
“It’s no trouble...”
“Oh, no. We couldn’t possibly impose. Mister Scroll, didn't the letter inviting us to tour mention a tapestry the Princesses wanted us to view?”
“Miss Cheerilee, I think that telling these students the story of Sizzler's rare, once in a generation, mark would be most instructive,” Sealed Scroll said, daydreaming of a castle that was still standing with all its artworks and tapestries intact.
“I’d love to tell your class about my mark,” Sizzler said with a broad grin.
With the trio that called themselves The Cutie Mark Crusaders offering their most doe-eyed look... Their guide adding his note of desperation... And Sizzler’s look of unadulterated hope... Cheerilee’s resolve quickly crumbled.
“Oh, go on then...”
The shout of “Yay!” that followed contained far too many adult voices.
As Sizzler told his tale, Cheerilee whispered to Sealed Scroll, “Ponyville, possibly all of Equestria, will be in flames before the end of the week. May the princesses save us all. Especially you. If I survive what is coming, I am going to want somepony to blame.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating. They’re just schoolchildren.”
“Discord,” Cheerilee growled, “visits my neighbour regularly for tea and sandwiches. I have those three to thank for his initial release. Care to swap places?”
Sealed Scroll wilted under the harsh glare of the school teacher. His tail tucked between his legs.
Author's Note
Many thanks to Estee for the inspiration, permission, and assistance that has made this story possible.
Keep an eye out for future chapters.
Inspired by the stories of The Triptych Continuum. This story should not be considered part of that canon unless otherwise stated by Estee.
Thanks for reading.
