The alarm clock on Carrot Cake’s nightstand was set to four in the morning. Today, like most days, he was already awake when it began to buzz, and he switched it off with a light tap of his hoof.
“Munsilasii…” Cup Cake mumbled beside him. It sounded like either tired or shower. “Amaashli,” she continued, and rolled onto her side, pulling the covers back up over her shoulder.
Tired, then. Probably. He considered stealing the covers back and snuggling up behind her, to hide from the chilly air for just a bit more sleep. Nopony would mind if the bakery opened five minutes later than normal.
But years of habit finally won out, and he sat up. Outside his window the sky was a deep gray tinged with blue, and only the faintest hint of the dawn lurked on the horizon. He stared at it for a moment, letting the last bits of sleep drain from his body, then leaned over his wife and gave her ear a little kiss before absconding to use the shower.
* * *
Bakers were the first to rise in Ponyville. They had to be. When Carrot emerged from the shower the house was already filled with the warm scent of fresh bread. He toweled his mane and headed downstairs.
The first trays were in the oven, and Cup sipping coffee at the table. She smiled and indicated the counter, where the pot was still bubbling. “Anum?”
“Thank you.” He poured himself a cup, added a bit of milk and sugar, and sat. “Shower’s yours, if you want.” He mimed turning the faucet and holding his head under the spray.
She nodded and set her mug on the table. “Shiikgi adi, shami ushash shirman. Gar!” She gave him a kiss and headed upstairs.
* * *
Pinkie Pie joined them shortly before opening. She bounced over to the counter and opened up the displays, pulling out the empty trays to ready them for the treats. “Zel Cake trealop!” She paused and bit at her lip, and then slowly spoke again. “Good...morning… Mister Cake!”
“Trealop,” he said, and walked over to give her a fatherly hug. Learning even a few words of another pony’s language was a sign of immense commitment, and every time she greeted him it was like a warm candle had lit within his heart. Pinkie, on the other hoof, was close to being able to greet the entire town, and knew the word for party in hundreds of languages. How she could remember all those strange sounds, much less who they belonged to, baffled him.
Cup Cake made her way down the stairs and joined them, her mane still damp from the shower. “Pinkie! Trealop.”
“Zal Cake trealop! Weepeggle?” Pinkie bounced over to her for a hug. Tones, at least, hadn’t changed, and the up-inflected ending was clearly a question.
“Nii gi e gik.” Cup ruffled Pinkie’s mane, and they walked into the kitchen, speaking to each other in quiet voices that said nothing, but somehow still meant everything.
* * *
Twilight Sparkle was one of their first customers that day, as she was most days. The Princess of Friendship was also an early riser, preferring to start her research as soon as the sun rose.
Of all the ponies in Ponyville, Carrot suspected the curse had hurt Twilight more than anyone else. She adored books, and for the second time in less than a year she had lost her beloved library. Her treasures were not shattered or burned this time – they still sat on the crystal shelves in her castle, slowly gathering dust.
Once, a few weeks after the curse, he visited the library on a whim and found a children’s book his mother had read to him as a foal. The pictures were all the same, and he could follow along with the story, but the letters were meaningless scratches of ink. Odd, indecipherable shapes, straight lines and curves wrapped together to form strange glyphs. He could no longer read his own childhood tongue.
Twilight was in the library as well that day. It was the only time Carrot had ever seen her cry.
She was not crying today. Instead, as usual, she wore one of her experiments: a wire necklace with a flickering jewel in the center. It was encased in an array of thin metal fins, which Carrot took to mean it generated a fair amount of heat.
Her horn glowed, and the gem lit up with an inner fire. “Hello Mister Cake! I would like four—” the gem sparked and went out with a puff of smoke. “—kiraric par rede.”
“Seven words! That’s getting better,” he said. “Four of what?” He mimed pointing at the treats in the glass display between them.
Twilight’s ears drooped, and she motioned toward the eclairs. He gave her five, in hopes of seeing her smile.
It worked. She glanced around, as if to make sure they were alone, then leaned over the counter to give him a peck on the cheek. Then, cheeks aflame, she darted out the door.
* * *
Pound Cake was the last of the family to rise. He fluttered downstairs and settled into a chair, mane still a mess, feathers all afluff.
“You’re late,” Carrot said. “Pumpkin already left for school.”
“School’s stupid,” Pound said. “All we do is math and art. Why couldn’t Discord have screwed up everypony’s numbers, too?”
“Princess Twilight says that’s impossible. Math is universal,” Carrot said. He enjoyed speaking with his children – like most foals, they quickly learned their parents’ languages, and often served as translators in the family. Most of the town’s foals also spoke a pidgin tongue that sounded suspiciously like Cheerilee’s language.
The schools had made a few half-hearted stabs at teaching a new national language, based on Princess Celestia’s, but hopes of a magical solution seemed to have sabotaged those plans. Who wanted to spend years learning a new language, when next month Discord might return and set everything right? So, instead the schools taught math. Lots and lots of math.
“Math is boring!” Pound thumped the table with a hoof. The crockery shook along the walls in sympathy.
“Be that as it may, you’ll be glad in a few years when the princess fixes things,” Carrot said. “Now, shoo! Go catch your sister.”
* * *
It was late when Carrot settled into bed. Cup was already beneath the covers, drowsing, and he snuggled up behind her.
“Love you,” she mumbled.
It had been seven months since Discord’s Curse, as Carrot called it. He assumed everypony else called it the same thing in their language. Only the word "Discord" was the same.
It was impossible to learn enough to speak with everypony. One had to choose carefully. To decide what mattered. And, he reflected, that wasn’t so hard.
“Ane khimshuk,” he whispered.
Love you.
Original Writeoff Version
Author's Note
The original version, below, is a shade shorter. I'm posting it here because some people have expressed surprise over how much the story was able to convey in such a short space. 750 words isn't much, but if you trim out all the fat, you can fit a surprising amount of story in it.
Original Writeoff Version
The alarm clock on Carrot Cake’s nightstand was set to four in the morning. Today, like most days, he was already awake when it began to buzz, and he switched it off with a light tap of his hoof.
“Munsilasii…” Cup Cake mumbled beside him. It sounded like either tired or shower. “Amaashli,” she continued, and rolled onto her side, pulling the covers back up over her shoulder.
Tired, then. Probably. Carrot gave her ear a little kiss and absconded to use the shower.
Bakers were the first to rise in Ponyville. They had to be. When Carrot emerged from the shower the house was already filled with the warm scent of fresh bread. He toweled his mane and headed downstairs.
The first trays were in the oven, and Cup sipping coffee at the table. She smiled and indicated the counter, where the pot was still bubbling. “Anum?”
“Thank you.” He poured himself a cup and sat. “Shower’s yours, if you want.” He mimed turning the faucet and holding his head under the spray.
She nodded and set her mug on the table. “Shiikgi adi, shami ushash shirman. Gar!” She gave him a kiss and headed upstairs.
Pinkie Pie joined them shortly before opening. She bounced over to the counter and opened up the displays, pulling out the trays to ready them for the treats. “Zel Cake trealop!” She paused and bit at her lip, and then slowly spoke again. “Good...morning… Mister Cake!”
“Trealop,” he said, and walked over to give her a fatherly hug. Learning even a few words of another pony’s language was a sign of immense commitment, and every time she greeted him it was like a warm candle had lit within his heart. Of course, Pinkie was close to being able to greet the entire town. How she could remember all those words, much less who they belonged to, baffled him.
Cup joined them, her mane still damp from the shower. “Pinkie! Trealop.”
“Zal Cake trealop! Weepeggle?” Tones, at least, hadn’t changed, and the up-inflected ending was clearly a question.
“Nii gi e gik.” Cup ruffled Pinkie’s mane, and they walked into the kitchen, speaking to each other in quiet voices that said nothing, but somehow still meant everything.
Twilight Sparkle was one of their first customers, as she was most days. The Princess of Friendship was also an early riser.
Also as usual, she was wearing one of her experiments: a wire necklace with a flickering jewel in the center. It was encased in an array of thin metal fins, which Carrot took to mean it generated a fair amount of heat.
Her horn glowed, and the gem lit up with an inner fire. “Hello Mister Cake! I would like four—” the gem sparked and went out with a puff of smoke. “—kiraric par rede.”
“Seven words! That’s getting better,” he said. “Four of what?” He mimed pointing at the treats in the glass display between them.
Twilight’s ears drooped, and she motioned toward the eclairs. He gave her five, in hopes of seeing her smile.
It worked. She glanced around, as if to make sure they were alone, then leaned over the counter to give him a peck on the cheek. Then, cheeks aflame, she darted out the door.
Pound Cake was the last of the family to rise. He fluttered downstairs and settled into a chair, mane still a mess, feathers all afluff.
“You’re late,” Carrot said. “Pumpkin already left for school.”
“School’s stupid,” Pound said. “All we do is math. Why couldn’t Discord have screwed up everypony’s numbers, too?”
“Princess Twilight says that’s impossible. Math is universal,” Carrot said. He enjoyed speaking with his children – like most foals, they quickly learned their parents’ languages, and often served as translators in the family.
“It’s boring!” Pound thumped the table with a hoof.
“You’ll be glad in a few years when the princess fixes things. Now, off to class!”
It was late when Carrot settled into bed. Cup was already beneath the covers, drowsing, and he snuggled up behind her.
“Love you,” she mumbled.
It had been seven months since Discord’s Curse, as Carrot called it. He assumed everypony else called it the same thing in their language. Only the word "Discord" was the same.
It was impossible to learn enough to speak with everypony. One had to choose carefully. To decide what mattered. And, he reflected, that wasn’t so hard.
“Ane khimshuk,” he whispered.
Love you.
