Blue Frosting

Long before he found his cutie mark, Carrot Cake loved making things out of wood. Never was he happier than when he had his toy hammer, building miniature carts, boats and houses. He prayed for his cutie mark to be a saw and hammer. But life doesn't alway turn out the way you plan, so the three slices of carrot cake on his haunches meant that he would spend his days standing behind counters rather than building them.

But this day Mr. Cake had decided to find a saw and hammer and relive the favorite part of childhood. The twins were almost tall enough to reach the sink, and they had been standing on boxes and pails or anything handy for the extra height. This was no problem for Mrs. Cake, who saw a pail or old box as good enough. Mr. Cake however, knew that with a little time, wood, and hoof grease he could make a functional, decorative hoofstool that the whole family could be proud of.

Mr. Cake made his way across the back field toward the cellar. It was so old and structurally unsound that Mrs. Cake had forbidden him ever to go near it; in fact she had demanded it be razed before the twins could walk so they did not accidentally kill themselves in it. She saw Pinkie playing near it and scolded her so severely she didn't tell a joke for two days. Well, old or not, forbidden or not, he needed a chisel to finish the scrollwork. It had been decades since he had been down there, but he was pretty sure there was a box of woodworking tools in the old cellar. But today was Mrs. Cake's once-a-year day at the Spa, and so there was no one to stop him from sneaking out a few tools. Pinkie had taken Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake to the park, so he had the entire house to himself for his big carpentry adventure.

The stench met him about ten feet from the cellar. Some unfortunate creature must have gotten trapped in the cellar and died. He was going to have to get the dead whatever out of there. He sighed; building this simple hoofstool was already becoming less simple.

He went back to the house and returned with a lantern and a washcloth soaked in vanilla tied over his nose to mask the smell. As he descended the cellar stairs it was obvious someone had been here recently; the dust on the floor and furniture had been disturbed and things that should have been on the shelves weres out of place. An old couch had been pushed into the center of the room and the area was littered by what looked like blue paint rags.

The back wall of the cellar was lined with old crates, which were the most likely spot for the tools. He brought the lantern up, trying to read the faded labels in the lantern light. A noise from behind the couch startled him. He swung the latern around, and he could see something trying to hide in a space too small for it.

"Who's there?"

A face peered out nervously. "Party Pony," it whispered, and ducked back into the shadows.

What was a filly doing in his abandoned cellar? "C'mere, I won't hurt you." "What's your name?"

"Party Pony."

"No. I mean your real name."

"I'm a Party Pony," replied the mystery equine in a monotone. Just from the tone of her voice he could tell she was traumatized and in a state of shock. Until she was sure that this masked pony wasn't one of Pinkie's tricks, she would just play along.

"I don't know who you are, but let's get you out of here." Cake rounded the couch and the lantern illuminated the space ahead. The first thing he noticed was the pitiful, disgusting creature on the floor. It was in fact a filly; its coat was matted in places with something that looked like paint. In some places it wasn't matted because the open sores had caused all the hair to fall out. "What happened to you, filly? We need to get you out of here."

The second thing he noticed was the chain, connected to the metal collar around her throat. Mr. Cake was speechless. He immediately found a pair of pliers and undid the clasp that held it in place. It fell to the ground with a clang.

He noticed the third and fourth things when he followed the chain back to its source. About ten feet behind her were the corpses of two small ponies, obviously the source of the unbearable odor. He raised the lantern. Blackened and shriveled by decay, there wasn't much recognizeable except a mass of faded purple and pink hair near one of the heads. Mr. Cake stared at the bodies for a long time, then he turned and stared into the eyes of the found pony. "By Celestia's horn, you're Apple Bloom! And that's Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle over there! No wonder nopony found you." Anger erupted over his face. "Somepony has kept you chained up in the cellar for months. What kind of monster could do something like that?" He cradled Apple Bloom. "It's okay filly, you're safe now." He worked her up onto his back so he could carry her out.

She buried her muzzle against his neck and kept repeating "I'm a Party Pony. I'm a Party Pony."

"Did you say Party Pony?" He turned around a slowly and took another look around. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the light, he saw what he had missed when he first entered the cellar.

Deflated balloons.

Faded streamers.

Dusty noise makers.

And large signs welcoming Party Ponies. In Pinkie's handwriting.

"Oh no..." croaked Mr. Cake as he stared at creature on his back. He looked again at the signs, then Apple Bloom again. "The park!" he shouted in terror. "Pumpkin! Pound!"

He was up the cellar stairs in three steps and galloping at top speed for the house, the last Crusader slung safely across his back.