Party Animal

by PresentPerfect

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Maud Pie, Pinkie Pie, Crossover
Length: 7768

Five years after a terrible accident sent her from Ponyville, Pinkie Pie does her best to keep her business and her life together.

No singing, no baking, no parties, no smiling.

The accident five years ago didn't just drive a wedge between Pinkie Pie and her friends, it stole her very identity. She had no choice but to move back home, to a hard life of farming rocks and managing her condition. Since then, she's built her family's farm into a successful corporation and the backwater town of Big Rock into a bustling city. But none of that gives her purpose.

When a new danger arises, threatening everything she's worked for an everypony she loves, will Pinkie be able to do what's necessary to save them? Or will her demons finally overtake her?

Note: The Crossover tag is a spoiler, but this story should be accessible to most readers. Comments that discuss the crossover and spoilers for the story without [ spoiler ] tags will be deleted!

5th place finalist in the May 2014 writeoff, "Beneath the Mask". Artwork by zanefir-dran!

Published 2015-05-04 15:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-04 15:10:01 UTC

Party Animal

Party Animal
by Present Perfect

"It's not like I like seeing you sad, Pinkie."

The explosion. The heat coursing through her body. That wasted cupcake.

"Nopony wants to see you sad!"

The hospital. The "Get Well Soon" party. The hospital ruins.

"It's just... There's no good option here!"

Her hooves covered in batter. The roads covered in confetti, pastern-deep. The buildings of Ponyville -- Sugarcube Corner, Town Hall, Carousel Boutique -- covered in giant, pony-shaped holes.

"We don't want you to go, but we have to think about Ponyville, about everypony's safety!"

The faces of her friends, obscured by limp pink mane.

"For the good of everypony, you can't stay here, Pinkie Pie."

Ponyville receding in the distance. Weight on her back. Tears.

"We'll keep in touch, I promise. We'll all miss you."

Smile.

With a start and a sharp inhalation, she's staring at the flat basalt-grey ceiling of her bedroom. The tears were the only thing real. She sits up, wraps her arms around the grey herringbone blanket, the itchy wool digging into her skin as she hugs her knees. A quick mane check reveals full limpness. Her shoulders rattle. She exhales.

"At least I've got a good head-start on my morning cry."

She would smile, if it weren't such a bad idea.

Maud has picked out Pinkie's best black suit for her, the one with the pencil skirt. Pinkie likes that one; it's bland, but somehow not as bland as the others. Have to make a good impression on the prospective clients, have to show them she's professional, knows what she's talking about. Diamond Dogs don't wear suits, though the one who does all the talking when they come in has a vest studded with gems. They sparkle in the cool light of the conference room, drawing attention away from the grey walls as she monologues through her presentation.

"With PRI's proven patented extraction technology, your output will triple."

She keeps her expression neutral. Her pointer taps against the chart, punctuating words that she delivers evenly. Charts and graphs are the anchors of her new life: perfectly squared, evenly spaced, informative, efficient, emotionless. In her old life, they would have been covered in copious amounts of felt and glitter. Maud prepared this one; she and Boulder, Jr. make all of them. Pinkie wishes she were here.

"We estimate a continual ten percent linear increase in output and profits over the first five years as our processes integrate with yours."

She adjusts her spectacles. The lenses catch the afternoon sun and throw a square patch onto the ceiling. One of the Dogs tracks it with his eyes.

"After integration completes successfully, the sky is, as they say, the limit."

She's laid out the spread, now to invite them to dinner. She collapses her pointer, sets it on the easel tray, and takes two steps to the boardroom table. She plants her forehooves on the tabletop, hefts herself up, leans forward. Diamond Dogs appreciate directness. The final ingredient is a tiny smile, just a light upturning of the corners of the mouth, leaving one in her week's quota.

"The equipment will be yours to use, with no leasing fee. All we ask, gentledogs, is a thirty-five percent controlling stake in your company."

One breath, two: she hangs in wait. She doesn't sweat -- she has more control than that -- but they're taking too long. This should have been a done deal the moment she stopped speaking.

"I should add," she says, unblinking, "that this is quite a generous offer on our part."

"Generous." The lead Dog spits the word like a burning ember. "We are generous because we give you gems. We not take this deal, we still get gems. We keep more gems. I think you not understand Dogs, pony."

She retreats to the floor. The only outward sign of her disappointment is the tiny death of her smile. The lead Dog, one of the leaner, middle-sized breeds, taps his claws one by one against the tabletop.

"We not need pony company to get more gems. Dogs do that ourselves. You tell us you have good offer, but all we hear is 'pony way better, you give us gems'. I think not!"

He stands with his companions. Part of her wants to plead, to make another offer, to explain herself just the tiniest bit more clearly, to offer them some cake, anything to make them stop. But their backs are already turned. The leader stops, looks at her.

"You want control of Dog company? Must show flair. Ponies known for color, spirit. You got neither."

With a snap of his fingers, he leads the other two out of the room. Maud hustles in after them, a binder clutched in her teeth. Pinkie lets out the breath she's been holding, pulls out a chair to sit.

"I thought we had this tied down like... like a balloon in a..." She exhales. Closes her eyes, removes her glasses, rubs the spot between her eyes. "What did I do wrong?"

Maud is silent a moment.

"You performed admirably, I believe."

"Was it a culture issue?" Pinkie looks up at her sister, assistant -- assister -- with a silent plea. "I've never been very good with non-ponies. Even Spike." She heaves a ponderous sigh, lays her head on the table, stares at nothing.

"Were that the problem, Pinkie, then the fault is as much mine as yours." Maud too stares blankly ahead before adding, "Shall I cancel your appointments for the rest of the day?"

Pinkie turns away. "What's next?"

"Gas Lamp from Fillydelphia Oil and Lube, at three."

With a groan, Pinkie turns back, closes her eyes, pushes herself upright.

"No, no." She licks her lips and sighs. "I know why he's here. It'll be short. And easy. He's always fun to talk to, at least."

Maud inclines her head and slides out of the room. "All right, then. I'll show him in once he gets here." She hesitates. "Don't have too much fun." The doors close behind her.

"Thanks, Maudie."

Pinkie spins in her chair, three quarters of a revolution and then back a quarter so she faces the windows. It's a spin carefully crafted from indecision, not enjoyment.

Outside, downtown Big Rock bustles. The traffic of ponies and carriages is clumsy, jigging in and out of patterns dictated by lights installed only last year. It is the rhythm of a town in its teenage years, yearning for growth but not yet a full city. The headquarters of Pie Rocks, Inc. looms up out of its center like a drab pimple, ready to pop.

She swallows. To the west and south are more high-rise construction projects, skeletons looming out of the pavement shadows, waiting for their skins to grow. The low-rise buildings are already more concrete and steel than brick and thatch. In a few years, Big Rock will look like Manehattan in miniature. In a few decades, who knows? And it will all be thanks to her influence, the vision that started everything.

All it took was trading my friends for the rock farm.

She stands there, stroking the window frame, a small pout on her lips, until well after four o'clock.

"Did he send any word?" She knows Maud is there, through nothing but sisterly intuition.

"No, he didn't." Maud joins her, gazes out at the slowly setting sun. "Am I correct in assuming you will be baking tonight?"

"Yes." Pinkie reaches up and pulls the window shade closed. "Yes, I think I will."

The joys of baking are necessarily few these days but are an indulgence she does not let herself go without for long. Sometimes a cake, sometimes two dozen cupcakes, sometimes as many muffins, sometimes oddities like strudel or staples like bread: the type doesn't matter, just the doing.

While she measures and mixes, her old life plays behind her eyes like a movie. She hears the old songs and does not sing them. She feels the rhythm of pour, stir, pour again but does not swish her tail. She keeps her movements even, measuring the ingredients properly instead of dumping, spooning the batter evenly, without glopping. A very different ritual than once upon a time, but she comes back to it over and over. Three special balloons wouldn't have it any other way.

After all, her purpose isn't running a business, even if Maud deferred her inheritance in favor of Pinkie's real-life experience. "I just care about the rocks," she'd said, typically Maud. She'd been invaluable in helping Pinkie deal with her more 'personal' problems, a figurative rock obsessed with literal rocks. Her other sisters, Limestone and Marble, had been all too happy to continue their roles as foremare and chemist, respectively, as they had when Mother was alive.

The letters still come, from her father and from her friends, but her responses have gradually withered. Three special balloons taunt her, tell her to spice up the plain stationery with glitter or crayons, or to stuff a few cookies in the envelope, but she holds it off with all her will. After a few days of denying the little things that call to her, she has to bake. Just as with her smiles, she must have a quota. It's all she can do to keep herself together sometimes. It's all she can do to give herself purpose.

Besides, the orphans love her baking.

She deposits the basket on the back step of Our Princess of the Moon Home for Forlorn Foals and knocks. The doorbell might wake the children. Her gaze moves to the same crack in the wall she always studies. Despite her little contributions, exterior repairs are low on the priority list at Our Princess of the Moon.

The door opens on a peal of squeaks and a wizened midnight head emerges.

"Sister Henroost."

"Miss Pinkamina." She smiles, toothless save for the fangs, and lifts the basket. "Won't you come in?"

"You know what I always say, Sister." I don't need to see them smile to know they're happy.

The old pony shakes her head, her wings and habit rustling. "I know something is truly bothering you tonight. You usually save some of your quota for me." She speaks with acceptance, if not understanding.

Pinkie averts her eyes. "I've got one left, and it's only Wednesday. I thought I'd save it for the weekend." She sighs. "Plus, I don't have much to smile about today."

The door squeaks a bit more. Inside, cheerful wallpaper is muted by dim light.

"I can feel the heat off these buns from here." The Sister smiles, extending her head forward just a bit. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind being woken a little early for breakfast, not when it's coming from you."

Pinkie hesitates. Nothing has gone right today. She's lower than the ruts beneath her hooves, like the weight of the whole world rests on her back. The Sister's invitation is so simple, so easy, and just that: inviting. Surely she can splurge a little.

What harm could it do?

The old mare's hoof reaches out to hers. "Pinkie. You're so good to us. Let us be good to you for once."

"O-okay. Just for a bit."

Sister Henroost smiles. "Come on in, then."

Pinkie removes the hood of her cloak. She steps up over the threshold and empties her quota.

"It's called a magiwave oven. By focusing magical radiation, it can prepare food in just a few--"

"Enough with the bookin', it's time to get bakin'!"

The recipe, reduced to fit in the small oven. Pop it in, twist the dial. Easy, in Twilight's words.

"I just turn it like this, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"I love turning dials! Five, seven, four... Two should be enough!"

The shine, holding her uncomprehending attention.

"Now what?"

"Now..."

The room, dark. An oppressive force, all her attention focused on the back of Twilight's head. Her mane, purple and pink, black and oily. Her head turning, ever so slowly.

"Now it destroys your life."

Twilight's perfectly white skull grinning in the dim light.

Pinkie awakes with a body-shaking tremor. The wail dying on her lips merges with distant sirens. She hugs herself, shivers in the cool morning air. Her suit is gone, her cloak a tatters around her neck. She strokes the tatters absently, staring straight ahead, her face falling.

"Oh no..."

Her mane is wet and dirty; she can't properly assess it. Walls hem her vision to either side. A nearby pile of refuse scatters at a gust of wind. Her back and legs are agony. Did she spend the whole night sleeping in the gutter? Or did she...

"No, not again, not now..."

She follows the sound of sirens down the alley. The air is thick and heavy, warm despite the chilly breeze. With each step closer, she tries to hold off the encroaching memory of just what she was doing last night.

"No, please..."

The street teems with police carriages. Officers hold back a throng of curious onlookers. She blinks, looks down the block, and turns away when she spots smoke and firefighters. She tries to convince herself it's just a bonfire. In the middle of the road. Squeezing her eyes shut, she staggers across the sidewalk.

"You there, stop! Get behind the line, this is a crime scene!"

The sharp voice cuts the air, makes her snap her eyes open. This officer -- his badge reads Green Jeans -- has doubtless taken her for a salt-addled hobo. She can hardly blame him. As she regards him with numb apathy, his eyes travel to her flank.

"M-Miss Pie!" He stands straighter. "I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you! Are you alright, ma'am?"

His priorities deaden her desire to smile. Her aches reassert themselves.

"I'm fine. Thank you. What... happened here?"

"I... probably shouldn't say." He's still leading her behind the yellow rope. "Press control. You understand. If you don't mind my saying, ma'am, you don't look fine. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The ponies of this city owe her so much. To take advantage of that sentiment would make her feel undeservedly privileged. But after what's happened...

There is a hole in the side of the orphanage. She recognizes its shape and size; she feels weak and needy. Not that she is any more deserving.

"I just need to get home."

He doesn't hesitate. "I'll get a taxi for you."

Imagining him as a white unicorn with purple mane helps dull the sting as she takes advantage of his generosity.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

On the whole bumpy ride back to PRI, all she can think is what a setback this is. Years of effort have gone into crafting a life of minutiae, of diligent moods, of organized movements, for nothing. Perhaps she's become too complacent; perhaps she can take this as a reason to double down on her efforts, to never give in to impulses like last night. That she's only thinking of herself and not the orphans adds salt to the wound.

Maud greets her at the door.

"I saw the news. I was worried."

Pinkie shakes her head. "How much did they see?"

"Not much. A large shape in a cloud of smoke. The cameras focused on the fires."

"Did I..." Her heart sinks. Her throat becomes sandpaper. "How many were hurt?"

Maud leads her through the lobby, to the elevator, up to her penthouse suite. "None badly."

The tightness in her chest ebbs out.

"A few ponies were taken to the hospital. Smoke inhalation." Maud doesn't hesitate to add, "Not orphans."

The tightness breaks.

"That... That's good. It could have been worse, right?"

Maud draws her a bath, and the conversation stretches through the intervening time like a rubber band.

"What do I do, Maud?"

"The same thing you always do." She shakes her head. "There's nothing else to be done."

The water sloshes around her, the warmth seeping into her body. Somehow, it does not penetrate her soul. It makes her think of tea with that white unicorn, steam curling off brimming cups, tiny sandwiches filled with cucumber. She never understood those sandwiches.

"It's not enough." She sinks into the water. "If it was, last night wouldn't have happened."

The only noise is the light whoosh against porcelain. Maud clears her throat as Pinkie steps out, and offers her a towel.

"You got a letter today."

Pinkie blinks. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"I didn't want it to get wet. I think it might help you feel better."

She withdraws a scroll, with wax over a ribbon. Pinkie's heart thumps. She takes a deep breath.

"From Twilight?"

"Yes."

Her hoof trembles as she takes it. She wills it to be still before letting herself break the seal.

Dear Pinkie,

I'm sorry for taking so long since my last letter to write. I wish I had more time for pleasantries, or that this letter could come under better circumstances.

A strange affliction is moving down the eastern seaboard. It started in Manehattan and moved to Fillydelphia. Baltimare and Big Rock may be next. We don't know a whole lot about it. Reports from the affected areas are scarce and unconfirmed. All we know is that ponies are left listless and miserable, like all the happiness was taken from them. I did some research, but I can't find anything outside pre-Equestrian texts that mentions such a thing, and ancient songs and legends aren't exactly authoritative.

The Princesses are looking into it. They've asked me not to interfere until they know for sure what we're up against, so all I can do is send letters to you and the other girls and say:

Be careful. Be alert. If this were happening five years ago, we'd all suit up and throw some rainbows at whatever this is, but I know that things aren't the way they used to be. I'm sorry.

With love and friendship,

Princess Twilight Sparkle

Pinkie frowns, rereads the longest paragraph, crumples the parchment and gives it back to Maud.

"Well, at least I can't screw that up, too." She sighs. "Do I have any appointments today?"

"I can cancel them."

She nods. "Thanks."

"Pinkie?"

She stops drying herself, looks up at her older sister. Maud's face is inscrutable, even to her.

"You're beating yourself up because you can't do anything about this."

Pinkie casts her gaze to the cold tile floor. Her heartbeat is steady, her breathing calm.

"Yeah." She squeezes her eyes shut.

"Why not find something you can do? It could help."

Pinkie lets the suggestion whirl around in her mind. Maud has such a way with words sometimes. Isn't that what assisters are for? She raises her head.

"Thank you, Maud."

The reports come in the next day's newspaper: Fillydelphia, a grey wasteland of malaise. Ponies dragging themselves through facsimiles of daily life, if they're even able to do that much. The air filled with the mournful cries of those lying in the street, unwilling to move. Commerce ground to a halt, businesses in other parts of Equestria feeling the pinch.

They call it The Sadness.

The hubbub of talking heads zeroes in on those who could be doing something about it. The Princesses' official states they're Looking Into Things. The other former Elements of Harmony deny any ability to effect outcomes. Maud shoos away reporters from PRI and makes no uncertain terms about how welcome they are right now. Boulder, Jr. helps.

Strangely, the thought that Pinkie wouldn't be able to do anything about the problem anyway helps her deal with it. Somewhat. Her days of being the embodiment of Laughter are long gone, never mind that the Elements returned to the Tree of Harmony. The power of her friendships has waned, and as for herself... Well, her self-control has never been more in question than at this moment. If she tried to help, she'd just mess it up.

That afternoon, Maud's advice comes back to her. She returns to the scene of the crime. Sister Henroost meets her at the back door as usual, the front being nothing more than a plus-sized, pony-shaped hole covered in plywood.

"I wanted to apologize. For what happened."

The Sister's eyes are sad and yellow, but her smile is genuine.

"You can hardly be blamed."

"What did you see the night before?"

The Sister licks her lips. "Enough to know that you weren't in control of yourself."

Pinkie stills. She pulls a slip of paper from beneath her cloak. "This should cover the damages."

The Sister's eyes widen. "Miss Pinkamina! Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. I can afford it. No problem. It's the least I can do."

The slip passes between them. Sister Henroost smiles a little more.

"You know I've already forgiven you, of course."

"I'm glad. It'll take me a little more time to forgive myself." Pinkie takes a deep breath. "How are the foals?"

Sister Henroost flinches. She can't meet Pinkie's gaze. "They... They'll need some time. They're still very frightened... I'm sorry."

Pinkie's head hangs. "No, I understand." Her mouth works silently for a few moments. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'll come back someday, I promise. I know it's important to them."

"I sincerely hope you will."

With molasses hooves, Pinkie moves into the alley. She stops, but doesn't turn. "What do ponies do when they've hit the rockiest of rock bottoms?"

The wind whistles through the alley, and Pinkie shivers.

"Were I in your place, I would seek solace through prayer. Though I am hardly normal in that regard. The practice seems to have fallen from favor since we returned." She adds, "And I imagine it hasn't got the same effect when you know the Princesses personally."

Pinkie nods. "What do normal ponies do, then?"

The Sister answers unhesitatingly. "They go to the Block and Tackle."

Pinkie nods and plods off.

Dark. Loud. Filled with mares and stallions of dubious reputations and worse intentions. After her first block of salt, Pinkie finds herself caring less about these things. This place is like a nonstop party, and three special balloons are eating it up. The second block comes with hot peppers. Soon after, she's not caring about much save how tingly she feels.

In seconds, she's burnt through her week's quota and more. She smiles, she laughs, she dances. This really is a nonstop party, full of new friends. It's like her old life never had an expiration date. Other ponies touch her, and she touches them and feels them and doesn't connect with them. They are together, but they aren't friends, but it doesn't matter because what's the difference? It's all just pretend. She smiles, she laughs, she dances, but her mane stays straight.

Her legs vibrate as she takes a barstool and waves off the next mare wanting to dance. She needs a breather and a glass of water. There's a stallion in the seat next to her, his colors washed out in the dim neon lights.

"This is great, isn't it?" she shouts at him. "It's a real party in here!"

He looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and a smile so thin it could blow away in a breeze.

"You don't look like you're having fun."

It takes her a moment to realize he, not she, is the one who spoke.

"What? O-of course I'm having fun! I haven't had this much fun in years! I didn't even think I could!"

He ruminates on something, stares at the mirror behind the bar. "Why are you crying then? Not that it's any of my business."

Her hoof flies to her cheek and comes away wet. She turns to the mirror behind the bar. Twin tracks, black with mascara, fall from eyes filled with shock.

"Those aren't tears of happiness, Miss Pie," he says, downing the last of whatever he's been drinking. "Been seeing that a lot lately. That's why I said something."

She starts as he speaks her name, looking at him again for the first time. His red coat has greyed to drab rust. The yellow streaks in his mane are nearly white. There, a cutie mark of a hurricane lamp. Yet he is unmistakable.

"Mister Lamp?"

He gives her that same lifeless smile. "Thanks for noticing me."

The last three days come rushing back. The salt in her system sinks to her stomach.

"W-what happened to you? Why didn't you show up for our meeting?"

"Didn't have it in me." His muzzle drops to the bar top, and he sighs.

Pinkie frowns. Three special balloons throb as the salt rushes from her mind. "You could have at least let me know! I would have understood if you couldn't make it, I promise." She licks her lips. "Wait, except I don't understand. You're here, in Big Rock! Why you didn't show up to our meeting?"

His shoulders roll. "I ran into something on the road, and it just... Took everything out of me. Kept on going to Big Rock 'cause I didn't have anything better to do, y'know?" The absence of the expected lilt to that last word hangs in the air between them.

"Maybe I do know." She closes her eyes. "Have you ever felt like your life was a cake, dissolving into crumbs?"

"Feelin' that right now."

Her eyes snap open. She scans the room, sees the fake smiles everywhere, plastered on the faces of strangers with a mixture of salt and capsaicin. The dancing is robotic. The laughter is empty. Moments before, she had been one of them.

For a second, it feels like enough. She wants it to be enough. Even a shadow of her former life is preferable to her self-imposed Tartarus, right? She could come here every night, and lose herself in the crowd, and pretend that she's okay.

Except that pretending is never good enough, never has been good enough. The silver lining turns to lead, the drop cloth tears, and the dream ends with a sharp inhalation and a kick of the legs. Coming here, night after night, she would be just another hollow pony trying to fill herself up with things that eat her from the inside out. She's only got one life; she has to live it, for better or for worse.

"Do you... Do you ever feel like you don't deserve happiness?" The tears begin anew. "Like bad things, really bad things, will happen if you're the least bit happy?"

He turns his head, lies in the condensation on the bar top, tries to smile and fails. "Everypony deserves a little happiness in their life, Miss Pie." He sighs, his lips ruffle. "I just wish I had some in me."

This conversation is getting her nowhere. Mister Lamp is trying so hard to cheer her up, not that she actually wants him to. Usually, their chats are so much more pleasant than this. What's happened to him?

With a sharp inhalation, time stops.

He came from Fillydelphia and arrived in Big Rock in time for their meeting, but never showed.

He "ran into something on the road".

His washed-out coat and mane, like those of a lying earth pony, a mean pegasus, and a greedy unicorn from another lifetime.

"No!"

He groans. "What's that?"

She stands, knocks the barstool over. "Everypony does deserve happiness, Mister Lamp." She's already moving for the door.

The bottles and cups rattle as something large and low booms through the city. The sun darkens. Ponies scream, surging past the door. Others stare, slack-jawed, straight up. Another thunderous boom, and they too take off running. A viscous black mist courses down upon them, and they stop, their colors fading, the fear on their faces melting into wretched melancholy. They plod forward or lie down where they stand, heaving great sighs and just stopping.

Pinkie's throat goes dryer than any salt could make it. "But it might already be too late for that!"

The ponies in the Block and Tackle rush out through the doors. She tries to tell herself that they're running to safety, but as she cranes her neck to stare up through a window, it's hard to imagine anywhere in the city being safe right now.

The invader stands tall as the skyscraper she calls her home, its form obscured by that black mist. Little by little, patches of it swoop down and drain ponies of their vibrancy. Each time, something is revealed beneath, solid and indistinct. The windows shake with each booming step as it meanders toward downtown.

The streets crawl with policeponies, every single one in the division and possibly a few pulled out of retirement. As she chews her hooves from inside an empty café, she watches them succumb one by one to the mist churning through the streets. Their eyes fall, their expressions droop, and they simply give up in the face of imminent danger.

A fire stirs within her, but the cold burn of fear is a sturdy break. "Be careful," Twilight had told her, but here she is, watching the chaos from within its heart. Watching, and not doing.

An officer runs by the café, stops and ducks inside. She recognizes him as the one she saw the morning she woke up in the gutter.

"Miss Pie? What are you doing here? We need to evacuate the city! The Royal Guard have been called and--"

Black mist swarms in through the open door and engulfs him. She leaps back as though he's caught fire, watching in silent horror as he gags and chokes. The cloud of mist swirls like a swarm of tiny insects, ever in motion around each other, filling the café. Some animal instinct in the back of her mind tells her it's looking at her, sizing her up for its next meal. But the tendril that snakes toward her pauses, recoils, and the whole thing flies back the way it came.

The officer sits down heavily in a chair. His white coat has dulled to grey. His uniform hangs limply around him. He puffs out a breath and stares at the table in front of him.

She licks her lips, tiptoes over to him, shakes him gently.

"Officer Green Jeans? C'mon, we have to evacuate the city like you said!"

He turns blank eyes toward her. "What's the use? There's not anything we can do about it. Please leave me alone, Miss Pie. I'm not in the mood right now."

She withdraws her hoof, frowns. Part of her wants to be angry. No pony is doing anything! Could she? He reminds her of a muted blue pegasus grabbing a cloud before taking off at high speed.

She grits her teeth. From anger, she forges determination.

"You wait right here." She stalks out the door. Officer Green Jeans neither moves nor acknowledges her command.

She gallops to the nearest policepony who doesn't look washed-out and barks instructions at her. The back roads will be safest for evacuating citizens, and everypony who can should carry at least one of the afflicted with them. Don't argue, officer, just see that it gets done. Right, Miss Pie, thank you. Above, the mass of black moves deeper into downtown.

She finds a firepony, tells him the same, asks that they use ladders to get those trapped in higher buildings. No, don't look at the big black thing, just focus on saving ponies. We can at least do that much. Right, Miss Pie, thank you.

Black clouds avoid her as she runs to the Home for Forlorn Foals. She's too late. Sister Henroost's eyes are glassy. She breathes, but she's limp.

"Even the Princess can't help us now, Miss Pinkie," she wheezes. Another habited batpony takes her up, listens to Pinkie's instructions on how to steer clear of the monster, and goes.

The monster. It's heading right for her home. Royal Guard sky chariots follow in its wake, but one by one, they are overtaken by mist, lose their desire to keep flying and fall. Ponies are getting hurt, Maud is in danger, and right now, she's the only one who can do something about it.

She grabs a chariot without thinking, tells the driver to get her as close to PRI as he safely can. They careen through the streets, dodging the comatose, and she makes him promise to help others on the trip out of town. Don't go back to your post, no, just get as many ponies out of harm's way as you can. A sky chariot crashes to the ground beside them, scattering gilded ornamentation across the road. The ponies inside groan in mixed pain and misery. Right, Miss Pie, right, as many as I can.

Her chariot stops. She leaps out, keeping the momentum, and runs for where the creature has stopped: the block with the PRI building. Out in the street, a grey form in a grey dress directs ponies out of the building. Pinkie blinks back tears of pride and fear.

There's a whistling from above. Everything slows as another sky chariot falls towards them both. She rolls to avoid it as it hits the pavement with a deafening crash. Moans come from within. That means it's not as bad as it could be, right?

But there in middle is Maud. She's not moving.

Pinkie's heart stops. All the ponies screaming, the chariots crashing, the monster stomping: nothing matters in that moment except a little grey pony in a grey dress. Her tears become sorrowful.

Pinkie dashes through the rubble littering the street. Clambering over the fallen chariot, she scoops Maud up and peels back the slack eyelids. Maud groans, coughs, squeezes her eyes shut. It's impossible to tell whether she's been affected.

"You ha--" She chokes on the dust in the air.

"Don't talk. I'm going to get you safe."

Maud clutches at the sleeve of Pinkie's coat. "You have to do it. Pinkie."

A lead weight plumbs Pinkie's throat. She turns her gaze to PRI. "Is anypony left inside?"

"No."

In that single word, Pinkie hears more emotion than her older sister has ever expressed. Pinkie drags her through the carnage to where she can flag down a late taxi. She makes sure the ponies inside can take care of Maud's injuries. She kisses her sister on the forehead. Maud smiles. The driver takes off, and Pinkie turns to size up the black cloud swirling above her home.

She swallows. It's dangerous. She's faced danger before, but back then she carried an armor of silliness to bolster her courage. It's been so long since she's giggled at ghosties, she's not sure she can. What's protecting her now? Self-righteous fury?

"The mist didn't attack me." She repeats it to herself. "If I'm safe, then I have to help everypony else."

Hopefully, that will be enough.

The streets are silent as Pinkie returns to PRI Square. Anypony left nearby has fallen into quiet despair. The mist monster isn't moving, either. It's time to find out what's under all those black clouds.

"Hey!" she shouts, not knowing if something that tall can hear a voice at ground level. "Hey, you big meanie! What do you think you're doing, wrecking my home and making everypony sad?"

The perpetual swarm of insect-like blackness stops. It reverses, flows back into itself, merges with the titanic form beneath. Too-long arms emerge, mottled black and midnight blue, covered in blunted spikes. The featureless torso is topped with a hunched head and myriad antlers spreading out against the afternoon sky like dark fingers clawing up from Tartarus.

Who speaks?

The cold voice emerges from nowhere. The force of it makes her stumble. She could really use a laugh right now.

"M-my name is Pinkie Pie. And I-I'm giving you one chance, mister, to turn everypony back the way they were and get the hay outta Dodge, or..." She grasps at straws, her hooves sweaty. "Or you'll regret it!"

The thing does not move, but she can tell all its attention is on her.

We know of the Pinkie Pie, Element of Laughter. The Sadness does not fear this one. We shall consume it.

"Y-you don't fear me? Then why didn't you--"

The head dissolves into mist and surges toward her. She tries to run, but it's everywhere all at once. It swarms her, choking her, cloying, digging into her pores and ears, her mouth and nose. And then, like a sneeze, it retreats.

This one speaks falsehoods! It is not the Pinkie Pie. Never have we found a pony so devoid of joy as this one.

She shivers, pants, gathers herself up from the ground, and turns toward it once again.

"I t-told you, you have one ch-chance." No longer is she shouting. "T-take it or leave it."

This one can assist us.

"That's a laugh." She snorts. "And so's this: heh!" She's out of practice: that was pathetic.

If this one defies us, we shall extinguish it.

The mist reforms, but instead of insects, it is obsidian, smooth and hard. A piece of it detaches, a bolt of solid blackness that blasts against her, knocks the wind from her and sends her hurtling into the air. The landing forces the air back into her lungs, and she coughs.

We cannot be stopped.

Another blast sends her skidding across the pavement. Gravel digs into the skin on her back and she cries out. Tears fill her eyes. She doesn't have a plan. Twilight would have had a plan. She gasps soundlessly.

This one should not struggle. Its end will be swift.

The voice booms in her ears as she pushes herself, leg by leg, to her hooves, only to be knocked off them again and again. She collides with buildings, with food carts, with hydrants and streetlights. Each time she gets up, another shard pounds into her, tearing at her coat like teeth and sending her crashing against the scenery. She wheezes, blood warming her outsides even as it cools her insides.

Eyes watch her from the high windows. The ponies of Big Rock, fearful yet hopeful, counting on her to save them. Counting on her. There's nopony else right now who can. This...

This is her purpose.

The effort of standing once more is enough to make her collapse. She rises unsteadily, blows the mane out of her face, and glares up at The Sadness. Her voice is like the buzzing of insect wings.

"Was that supposed to tickle?"

This one yet persists? Foolish.

She takes a painful step forward, hissing through her teeth. "If you tickle me, I might laugh."

Pointless.

Another step. One of the black bolts slams into the ground in front of her, kicking up a plume of concrete dust.

"And if I laugh, I might get happy."

Wasteful.

More bolts swarm toward her. She grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and lets them wash over her. Officer Green Jeans sits alone in the empty café. Maud lies unconscious as the carriage speeds away. Sister Henroost recedes into the darkness of the orphanage along with her faith.

The assault ends. She opens her eyes.

"You wouldn't like me when I'm happy."

This is a prayer to the thing inside of me: do good. For once in your life, do good!

"Ha."

Her dull pink coat returns to brightness.

What?

"Ha!"

Her mane puffs into a tangle of pink curls.

What is this one doing?

"HA!"

The roar shatters windows. Obsidian shards fire into the cloud of glass. A pink blur surges out of the smoke and a ball of muscle and sinew slams completely through The Sadness. The hole it leaves is three times the size of a normal pony. The creature shrieks in pain. Teeth like chalk boulders leer out of an elongated muzzle parted in savage laughter.

This was Pinkie Pie.

She rushes forward, wrapping hooves like granite blocks around the ankle. Grasp! Pull! Lift! The Sadness rises into the air.

"DANCE!"

It slams into the street. The ground rocks. The black leg dissolves into shards, but she doesn't notice them hitting her.

This is fun.

How can so much happiness come from where none was?

Her hooves leave dents as she runs up its body. She clings to a massive antler. The Sadness shrieks again when she plants her rear hooves in the back of its head.

"PARTY HAT!"

Crack! The antler comes loose. The Sadness tosses its head. It can't shake her. It wails and lashes out uselessly with black energy. Her grip only tightens. She tosses the antler and two nearby taxis are reduced to confetti. A punch sends her sailing into a building. She doesn't care. It's fun. With a gleeful shout, she wrenches free and turns. The Sadness stands.

Cease this at once. We cannot be stopped!

"PIN THE TAIL!"

She rushes between its legs. Her hooves scrape up asphalt. She swings at both knees. The Sadness stumbles, but doesn't fall. She comes to a screeching halt in front of a cannon the size of a tree. It was not there before.

This is what she needs. Despite the mania, the all-consuming happiness, she knows. The dancing, the singing, the laughing: all the joy she can possibly feel is right here. It's enough to make her burst! She just has to share it with everypony. Right now.

Pinkie grins a devilish grin.

"PINKIE... PARTY!"

She yanks the pull-chain. Confetti. Streamers. Party favors. Confections. They hail against the pliant skin of The Sadness, absorbing into it. The hole in its side closes. Its antler regrows.

Joy cannot defeat us! It strengthens us!

The cannon fires again and again. It shoots donuts, noisemakers, party masks, and rubber chickens, more and more and more and more! The Sadness absorbs all. It grows. Its skin pales and stretches. Purple swirls behind the black and blue.

No! This is too much happiness! Stop!

Pinkie lifts the cannon and throws it. It bursts into multicolored confetti when it hits the Sadness. They're absorbed, too. She hurls herself at The Sadness, pulling a pie bigger than she is from nowhere. She slams it into the faceless head. The Sadness recoils, clawing at its skin. Its cries fill the air.

We cannot... Bow... This one... B-bow, bow...

She wraps her hooves around its neck. She squeezes it like a jelly donut.

"HUGS!"

Bow, bow... Nothing can s-sto--

The skin bursts like a water balloon. An ocean of purple muck spills out over a city block. An oily voice chants "bow, bow, bow" as the goop spreads. Eyes and mouths open and shut across its surface.

A pink tongue longer than a fire hose licks over those chalk-white teeth, leaving a trail of drool on the ground as she marches toward the purple gunk.

"DESSERT!"

Pinkie awakens from the most epic sugar coma ever experienced in the history of Equestria to a chorus of flashbulbs and questions. A bandaged Maud is standing over her. Pinkie smiles.

"Did I... Did I do good?"

Maud embraces her before she's loaded into the ambulance.

"You did great, Pinkie."

There are questions to answer. It's nothing she hasn't handled before, but somehow they're easier to deal with now. She smiles at the inquiries, laughs through the press conferences, and tells them all she's just a real party animal. Yes, the damages to the orphanage were paid for. No, they don't have to worry about it happening again, not when she's got a tummy full of smoozey Sadness.

Like all parties, the media circus dies down eventually. Her friends break from their busy lives to visit, and she remembers what tears of happiness taste like. The reunion is painfully brief, but it lives in her memory as a wash of colors surging out of her life just as quickly as it surged in.

She stares at the flat basalt ceiling of her bedroom and chews her lip. The grey herringbone coverlet has been replaced with a quilt one of her younger sisters made. It's comfortable, but she can't sleep.

She can smile again, and she doesn't want to stop.

But the renewed purpose in her life brings with it a feeling that makes her tummy extra smoozey. The accident that unleashed her inner party animal -- party monster, more like -- had been just that, an accident. It wasn't Twilight's fault, and it wasn't hers. Given different circumstances, it might not have happened at all.

If it hadn't happened, and if The Sadness had come to Big Rock, or Fillydelphia, or even Ponyville, what would she have done? Could they have stopped it with rainbows and friendship? Or was it a certain collusion of elements, of magical radiation and characteristics belonging to her and her alone, that allowed her to save everypony? Could it be called luck? Fate? Was the Sister on to something?

Or was it merely the aimless machinations of coincidence and happenstance?

It's both frightening and exciting, and she doesn't know which is worse. She rubs her forehead through thick magenta curls.

"Those were some biiiig words I just thought." She giggles. "Time to stop thinking now!"

She reaches over to her nightstand, puts her hoof on the pull chain to her lamp. Her eyes trace across the Get Well Soon cards, the Thank You flowers and Welcome Back balloons left by her friends, her family, and the citizens of Big Rock. Past them, the walls of the room are flat and grey.

"I think I'll have Maud schedule some decorating time this week. And invite those Diamond Dogs back."

She turns out the light.

Author's Note

It's really satisfying to publish a story and feel like it came out the way you wanted it to. I can't say I've felt that many times. I'm sure someone will tell me where I went wrong soon enough though!

I wrote this entirely for "You wouldn't like me when I'm happy" ~~and because flat-maned Pinkie in a suit and glasses is my waifu~~. There's more to it, but I'm not at liberty to reveal the details! :V I hope people enjoy a little Pinkie Hulk, because I sure enjoyed writing it. And of course, I wanted to get it out before G4 Smooze kills everything. :B I swear I had another Smooze fic, but I can't remember what it was. Oh well...

Thanks to horizon for supporting this story. (You can vote for what I should write next here!) Thanks as well to Masked Ferret, M1Garand8, Magello and especially Pascoite for feedback. Cheers!