No. No. No. Something was off. Something was most definitely off. Pinkie Pie looked at the angle of the frosting; twisted her head left and right and upside down as she took in its density and the way it hung so casually like some kind of super-sweet Mr McSlouchy-pants. Then something fell into place, and her head rotated slowly back to its natural position.
It was the beard. Yep, it was too high—just a smidge; just an incy wincy fraction of a sugary whisker.
Sugarwhiskers! Pinkie giggled to herself. That was one to file away for a rainy day, or maybe just a sunny one. She froze for a moment as she mentally hunted for where she left the key for the ‘fun words’ filing cabinet. It still wasn’t down the back of the sofa, and just how long had that sofa been inside her head for anyway?
She blinked, and looked around the main room of the library. Focus Pinkie, she told herself sternly. Back to business.
It wasn’t just the beard though, she acknowledged sadly as she looked back down at the photograph. Those glasses were never going to suit Star Swirl the Bearded, no matter how much edible glitter and candied stars and scrolls were stuck to them. She plucked the yellow framed party accessory from the top of the nearby cake and sighed.
“We had a good run, you and I,” she said, patting them gently. “But I guess this was just one party too far.”
Tossing them over her shoulder, Pinkie moved back to the table and pushed a pile of books to the floor to make room. Then, she moved the three-tier beetroot and chocolate cake forward a smidge, and released a half-gasp of air from the balloon resting underneath it. She scribbled down the changes in her notebook before turning the dial on the device attached to the balloon and bouncing over to where a brightly coloured ‘X’ was painted on the floor.
She waited as the seconds passed, eyes screwed shut and a grin on her face. She had a good feeling about this attempt.
A moment later, a loud bang banged through the air, and Pinkie laughed as cake and frosting splattered thickly against her face. Blinking open her eyes, she turned and stretched her tail to where her camera stood resting on a second table.
“Cheeeeese!” she squealed, as her tail tightened and a bright flash filled the air.
Whilst the camera developed the photograph, Pinkie wrapped a tongue around her face and swallowed the cake and frosting and raspberry jam? She had forgotten she had put that in there. Looking round, Pinkie took in the gooey, glittery mess that was sticking to every surface and gave herself a pat on the back for remembering to pack all those protective sheets in her party wagon earlier. Her satisfaction increased when the photograph popped out, and she stared back into a Pinkie-likeness of Star Swirl the Bearded—the white frosting beard and purple cake-debris hat sitting perfectly on her head.
“Party makeover—check!” she clapped her hooves together with a squeal. “And it only took 23 attempts Gummy. That’s like a new record or something!”
Lying on the table, the little alligator stared at the space where the cake had been, and the space where the cake had been stared back.
Pinkie checked her note book—it still felt like she had forgotten something though, and a weary sigh escaped her lips. There were no two ways about it, birthday parties were super-serious business. Particularly where Twilight Sparkle was concerned. When she had first arrived as Ponyville’s—as yet undiscovered—Premier Party Pony, Pinkie would have been quick to argue that the only things that mattered were the cake, the punch, the games and the friends. But gradually she became aware of the tiny little differences and preferences everypony had, and she had not risen to the very tip-top of her game through ignorance. Twilight was precision, accuracy, fact. Twilight was research and evidence. Twilight was books. The party had to be Twilight.
That was why she bribed Spike with some choice emeralds to add a few more items to Twilight’s daily errands list. That was why she had spent the morning in an amateur locksmithing class so she could pick the seven—apparently they were super rare—tumbler lock on her front door, and test her party in the right environment. The dimensions at Sugarcube Corner were just a little bit off, after all. Fewer books. And bookshelves.
Pesky bookshelves.
“Next is the party-cannon conga line, to the sound of Twilight’s favourite piece of classical music,” she announced to Gummy, and giggled. “It’ll be a party classic—get it?”
Pinkie set the needle on the gramophone and lit the long fuse that connected to each of the six cannons. As each one exploded confetti and streamers and candy in perfect time to the rising swells of the music, Pinkie could not stop the grin from stretching her face. This was going to be perfect. All they needed were a touch more yellow. A pony could say many things about her parties, but not that that they were lacking yellow. Brown, maybe, but then brown could be so very prissy.
The last thing to test was her super-secret invention. She checked the windows and the fireplace, under the beds and in the wardrobes. She checked under Gummy and she checked in her hair. No pony was about. Perfect.
Setting up the springboard on the table, Pinkie aimed it towards a piece of wall between two of the long bookcases—the only area that wasn’t already covered in cake—and locked it in place. Then she placed the large cherry and apple pie on the paddle, and fitted the rice-paper stencil over the top of the still-warm pastry. She waited for a second for the paper to soften and adhere itself onto the pie, and then with a nervous breath she pulled the lever.
The pie flew through the air and exploded messily against the wall. Pinkie held her breath as the remains settled and then gasped happily. There, etched in cherry and apple and pastry and…whatever that was, was a wall-length scene depicting Twilight, herself and the others—a tasty mural of friendship.
“It worked,” she sang, and danced a happy jig. “Gummy! The Piecasso is a success!”
In the silence that followed, the alligator blinked a slow blink, and a piece of pie fell from the ceiling to the floor with a happy splat.
Pinkie crossed her forelegs and frowned. “Hmm, I love you Gummy, but sometimes I just don’t think you’re the art connoisseur you make yourself out to be.”
She made some final notes, and then packed up all the equipment into her party wagon. That was everything tested and all of it was within—what did Twilight call it?—acceptable levels of variation. So why then did it still feel as though she had forgotten something? Something really important too.
She chewed her lip, and then saw the time—or at least what part of time was visible beneath the frosting and confetti.
“Let’s go Gummy,” she said, placing the alligator on top of the wagon and lowering it down the steps into the entrance hall. “Twilight will be back soon. I’m just going to take the protective sheets down and then we–”
The front door opened suddenly, and there stood Twilight, with a strange expression on her face. Pinkie guessed it was probably scareprised, because it looked exactly like how she felt. Had thinking about Twilight magically teleported her back?
The Alicorn opened her mouth, and then shut it. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. Beside her, Spike placed his head in his claws.
“Why Twilight,” Pinkie forced a grin to her face. “Fancy bumping into you here.”
“I know, such a surprise, considering I live here!” Twilight shook her head and tried to look past Pinkie. “I should probably know better, but why are you in my house? Come to think of it, how did you even get inside my house?”
Pinkie cocked her head to one side. For such a super-smarty pants pony, Twilight did think up some pretty silly questions.
“Well duh, you left your front door locked.”
Twilight’s left eye twitched a fraction, and then she slipped past Pinkie, who did her best to conceal her party wagon from view. Pinkie shot Spike an accusing glare as he followed Twilight, but the little dragon could only shrug apologetically.
“It doesn’t matter,” Twilight said brightly as she disappeared up the stairs into the library proper. “It’s actually perfect timing—now that you’re here I wanted to ask—”
There was a moment’s pause.
“Pinkie! What the hay have you done to the library!?”
Pinkie bounced up the steps after Twilight. “Ah don’t you worry about that. I’ll have it cleaned up in a super-fast jiffy. I just need to—”
Shoot. That was it. She had forgotten to put the protective sheets up.
Author's Note
Phew. That was 1,500 words of a steep learning curve. It's one thing writing Pinkie as a small part of a fiction, but something else to have her as a main character. Possibly made life more difficult for myself in having her as the only character for most of the fic, but hopefully at least some of it came across as accurate.
As always, hope you enjoyed the fic and do drop me some feedback as to how you found it. Big thanks for the Hazardous Writing Materials and Challenges group for setting the prompts in the first place.
