It was a fact commonly accepted in Equestria, no doubt influenced by cutie mark lore, that sometimes a pony could not truly understand the merits of certain everyday objects until life required them to. For Archer, straining her ears towards the conversation between her mother and Cheerilee downstairs, that certain object was her bed—specifically, the underside of her bed. As she lay there, her stomach churning and roiling, she tried to reassure her frayed nerves by stretching her legs experimentally.
Not too bad, all things considered. It could do with a clean, and needed brightening up, and she wished her survival rations were made up of more than two crackers and a leftover cheese sandwich from lunch, but she could probably stay under here for a day or two. By that time surely even her mother would have calmed down.
Unless the ginger snaps had been opened, a voice inside her head whispered.
Archer’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t thought about that. Ginger snaps were mischievous beasts of mythical origin that could sustain her mother’s bad moods for as long as a single crumb remained; if the box had been opened, it would certainly change everything. There had been no greater evidence of this than the time when her father had come home at first light, walking as though he had spent the whole night spinning in circles, and not talking a whole lot of sense, and had trampled over her mother’s favourite flowers. She had stuffed box after box into her mouth that week, and Archer had never seen her father walk and talk funny again.
A shiver passed from her hooves to her ears. No, if the ginger snaps were out, then she needed to think of a better plan. Otherwise she could be stuck under the bed for weeks, and that sandwich was already looking as though an extra day was asking too much of it.
She heard the front door close with a gentle click, and her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding against her chest. Stop being silly, she told herself desperately. How many times have you thought you were in more trouble than you really—
“Archer? You get yourself down here, madam, right now!”
Okay, perhaps this wasn’t going to be one of those times.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Archer quickly considered her diminishing available options, before creeping out from under the bed and adjusting her posture in the mirror so that she looked reasonably dignified. Her mother sounded pretty mad but, despite spending the last hour under the bed, Archer was no chicken. She was a proud pony, from a family of proud ponies, and no Cupid had ever run away from the results of their actions. You gotta pick up your arrow regardless of where it falls, as her second-cousin, Bullseye, once told her.
Besides, once she had thought about it, her mother knew all her hiding places.
Harmony Hearts was waiting for her daughter on the living room sofa, a hard frown etched deep in her face and a ginger snap perched precariously between her lips. Archer stepped slowly into the room and felt an icy hoof upon her chest as she realised how empty the box on the side-table already was. She gazed at the muted pink sky outside the window and, finding no warmth to speak of there, turned instead to the plush purple rug beneath her hooves. She was glad her mother had recently allowed her to grow her mane out a little; if she hung her head at just the right height, those furious rose coloured eyes were obscured by the brilliant blue of her fringe.
Her mother studied Archer for a moment, before consigning the ginger snap to its fate. “Now, Archer, is there something you’d like to tell me?”
There was a tea stain on the side-table that was quite interesting, now that she was looking at it. So, too, were the bookshelves creaking under the weight of romance books, and even the shelves with cute ornaments and plush animals looking down at her, like a disapproving mob. Archer swallowed, before reminding herself who she was. She met her mother’s gaze.
“Sorry, Mom,” she offered, at a loss for what else to say. Cheerilee had been round, so her mother obviously knew what had happened. It made more sense to cut right to the apology—and punishment, no doubt—and avoid the humiliation of having to repeat the day’s events.
Harmony Hearts clearly didn’t agree with that reasoning; her mother ran a white hoof through her curling cinnamon mane, and sighed. Her wings trembled, ever so slightly, as she flexed them.
“It isn’t me you need to be apologising to by all accounts, is it, young filly? What about Thorny Crown and Hazel Lance?”
“But Mom,” Archer protested, the sudden squeak in her voice making her grimace. “They’re both fine! It’s not like I hurt them or anything.”
“Archer! You tried to forcibly stab them both with Cupid arrows!”
Archer groaned, exasperated. Forcibly was such a strong word, and anyway, what else was she supposed to have done in that situation? Thorny Crown and Hazel Lance had been laughing and giggling and jostling each other since the start of the term, and Archer had been quick to pick up on the blush that recently started to appear on Hazel Lance’s cheeks whenever she was whispering with Thorny Crown. They obviously liked each other; why else would Archer have felt it? The specific type of earth pony magic that infused the Cupid bloodline, extended even to those ponies born into it as unicorns and pegasi, enabled her family to sense the attraction between ponies as though it was something physical; Archer always likened it to coming down with a more enjoyable bout of pony flu. The prickling heat that had spread from her cutie mark whenever she was in the same room as them was so potent that Archer wondered whether the only ponies who hadn’t realised their mutual attraction was Thorny Crown and Hazel Lance themselves.
So Archer had tried to help them out, that was all. Just a helping hoof in one of the more traditional styles of the Cupid family. Indeed, if anypony was at fault, it was Cheerilee; nopony but a Cupid had any business getting in the way of true love.
Her mother must have interpreted her silence as something else, because those rose eyes softened and, more importantly, she placed back the ginger snap that was embarking on its final journey. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, the softness returning to her voice. “Why ever did you do such a thing?”
Archer swallowed, wrong-hooved. Cupids were passionate ponies, and she had been ready to defend her actions with pride and ferocity. Thanks to her mother’s sudden gentleness, however, she was instead left trying to get words out of a scratchy throat, and with eyes that prickled. “Well, it’s what we do, isn’t it?” she replied, feeling the bitterness of her riposte bring her eyes back under control. “Sense something between two ponies; make them fall in love.”
Harmony Hearts’ curling tail twitched. “Make?”
“Urgh! Fine, help.” Archer rolled her eyes and focused her glare at the plush animals watching from above. Why did her mother insist on collecting them anyway? She did know you could be into love and romance, but still be cool, right? “It’s the same thing.”
“I think the fact that you got detention, and Cheerilee’s visit, suggests otherwise, don’t you?” Harmony Hearts slid from the sofa and trotted up to Archer. “So, this again.”
“Yup.” Archer shuffled her hooves under her mother’s kind stare and looked back out of the window again. A couple of fillies from school skipped past, dancing in the puddles and laughing, and she sighed, reluctant to acknowledge her heavy heart.
Harmony Hearts studied her for a moment, before sweeping her up into a tight embrace, and sitting down to cradle her. Archer scowled and squirmed at the contact, and tried to wriggle free. It was so warm and soft and wonderful, and the comforting scent of lavender soap tickled her nose. It was so annoying! Her mother was supposed to be angry with her, or concerned and embarrassed for the family name. Archer certainly was; more than anything she wanted to take her place amongst the most successful of Cupids from the Cupid family.
“I suck at this,” she muttered, defeated. As always, her mother’s white and red embrace teased the truth from her. Archer’s chest suddenly felt tight at the admission—her cheeks hot and sore—and, as if sensing this, Harmony Hearts tightened her grip.
“Now, now, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Remember, we Cupids don’t fish in that lake. Every last one of us had moments where we doubted our talent growing up—yes, even me and our more distant relatives, like Princess Cadance—so don’t feel you’re alone. It does sound as though your love-sense is coming along strong; you just need practice, and patience.”
“And an understanding schoolteacher,” Archer added, before looking up and noticing her mother’s expression. “Sorry… Urgh, but it’s so annoying! What’s the point in me even having this sense if I can’t get ponies together? I even remembered to use the sharp arrows this time, too.”
Harmony Hearts looked instinctively up at the nearest bookcase, where the quiver of blunt arrows rested, safely out of reach. “See, practice,” she offered, after a moment of contemplation that lasted a little too long for Archer. “Using the right arrows means that this time we didn’t have a pair of ponies suddenly scared of commitment. They were just… scared.”
With a loud groan, Archer wriggled from her mother’s embrace and onto the soft rug, where she buried her face. She was going to be the first Cupid to not be able to continue the family tradition, she just knew it. Archer, the Cupid who scared ponies; that was what little foals would know her as years from now.
“See? I suck. And it’s okay for you to talk about patience, mom. You’re like the most successful Cupid ever! How am I supposed to follow that?” Archer rolled onto her back and lifted a foreleg to study it. “I’m blue! That’s not even a romantic colour.”
“Now that’s enough moping, miss.” Archer was aware of movement out of the corner of her eye, and realised her mother had joined her on the rug. “Your great-great-grandfather Honeydew was a fantastic Cupid, and he had a beehive for a cutie mark!” She looked over and smiled encouragingly, but Archer pretended she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t want to be encouraged; she wanted to wallow. Like with everything, though, her mother wouldn’t give up.
“Sometimes you just need to take a step back, so that everything can become clear. Have I ever told you about how I wanted to be a singer when I was your age?”
Archer closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes. Repeatedly.” She hated that story. A silly load of nonsense about how her mom wanted to perform in a rock band, but could only write and sing ballads that made ponies fall in love. Or something. It was bad enough when you sucked at the one thing you wanted to be good at more than anything in Equestria, but to be reminded about how the most amazing Cupid ever didn’t even want to be one at first made it a hundred times worse.
Harmony Hearts smiled and poked her with a wing. “Okay… Have I ever told you the story and you actually listened?”
Archer pouted. The answer was obviously no, but admitting that would no doubt encourage her mother to start talking about it again. Instead, she decided to say nothing.
“Hmm, that’s okay. Perhaps another time.” Harmony Hearts brushed Archer’s mane with a hoof. “Why don’t you head over to Sugarcube Corner tomorrow, and take your mind off things? You know baking cheers you up, and Pinkie is always asking about you whenever I pop in.”
“I guess,” Archer muttered, refusing to let herself think about it too much. Getting lost in visions of sweet-smelling pastries and rows of cupcakes and muffins she would make with Pinkie would undoubtedly cheer her up, and the proud, stubborn part of her did not want that. It wanted to worry—to be ashamed of not living up to the Cupid name but yet be awesome at baking. She had been getting lessons from Pinkie for the best part of a year; nearly every weekend and the odd evening had been spent burning hooves, if not biscuits, until she had started to perfect the craft. Despite the intense satisfaction she always felt upon finishing a cake though, it was frustrating that she couldn’t be as good at her true calling. Plus, though she enjoyed Pinkie’s company immensely, being with the mare did sometimes remind her how small her own list of friends was, and how that list was diminishing with every failed attempt at playing Cupid.
Harmony Hearts had sat up and was flexing her wings as she gazed out of the window. The expression on her face was of a pony who had heard some familiar noise in the distance and was trying to work out its significance. Then, absently rubbing her own cutie mark, she looked down and smiled at her daughter. “Tell you what, once my work has settled down a little—probably after Hearts and Hooves Day—how about I take you out hunting with me? I’m sure we can find the odd love-starved straggler in need of a helping hoof, and it’ll be good practice for the Cupids’ great summer hunt!”
Despite the promise of spending time learning from her mother, Archer’s mood hadn’t improved by the following day, and the rain clouds dragged in overnight by the pegasi had turned even the prospect of baking into a chore. Hungry puddles blinked by as she galloped down the muddy road—her rain mac keeping her dry for the most part, but offering little against the biting morning wind. By the time she had arrived at Sugarcube Corner, its windows shining beacons of warm, orange light, Archer was cold, tired and grumpy—something that Pinkie Pie instantly noticed when she opened the door to some pretty sullen knocking.
“Whoa-ho-ho! Looks like somepony is in need of some frownaway cookies,” she chirped, stepping aside and holding the door open. Archer gave her a suspicious look as she entered, at once feeling the cosy warmth from the ovens spilling out into the shop floor.
“Depends,” she replied. “There’s only gonna be nuts in these ones, right?”
Pinkie flashed a grin over her shoulder as she shut the door. “Of course! Well, maybe… perhaps. I haven’t actually made them yet; baking with a friend in need is what puts the frownaway in them after all, and up until now I didn’t have a friend in need. So, what’s up?”
Archer hung her rain mac up on a peg and looked around the shop-front. Pinkie had already started to fill the front counter with trays of warm, delightful-looking pastries, and all the tables and chairs were clean and ready for the day ahead. Rich, tantalising aromas drifted out to greet her, and a pleasant shudder rippled through Archer’s body as she inhaled them. There was always something magical about seeing the place so quiet and expectant, ready for all the stories and laughter visiting ponies would bring. Today, though, Archer felt that expectation weigh heavily on her spirits.
“Well, definitely not my popularity, that’s for sure,” she replied, watching Pinkie bounce through the kitchen door. With a final shake of her mane she followed her. “I’m the biggest joke in school.”
“The biggest joke? Well good for—” Pinkie paused, mid-bounce, and her face fell as she looked over at Archer’s. “Oooh… Not in the good way?”
Archer shook her head and her friend lowered herself slowly to the ground. She watched as Pinkie started rummaging in the overhead shelves and the flour baskets, before turning her gaze to the room itself. It was always a mystery to her how, at the end of every Saturday morning, they had managed to make anything at all. Bowls and rolling pins and whisks and spoons lay scattered across the single large work-table, held prisoner by mounds of butter and frosting and broken eggs and whatever that was. Fastening an apron around her neck, she took the seat nearest the oven and basked in its warmth.
“Nope, as in the ‘everyone thinks I’m a crazy arrow-beast trying to force ponies into falling in love’ way.”
Pinkie’s hoof quickly moved away from a tin marked ‘happy’, and onto another labelled ‘uh-oh’. The smile remained on her face, although her eyes had become somewhat apologetic. “Yeah… I kinda heard.”
Archer chewed her lip. Pinkie was a great and supportive friend, and she hated the idea of her finding out about her Cupid failings from anypony other than herself. Placing the tin down on the table, Pinkie waved a dismissive hoof. “Turns out, Sugarcube Corner is actually ancient Equestrian for ‘house of awesome gossip’. Your stabby mcstabberson adventures were the talk of the town last night—well, the part of the town that goes to school anyway. Oh, don’t worry though,” she added quickly, on seeing Archer’s pout. “The rest of us totally don’t think you’re weird.”
A scolding heat rose to Archer’s cheeks, and she again heard the whispering of her classmates in her head. She scrubbed at her mane in frustration.
“You know what? I wouldn’t care what they thought,” she lied, “so long as I was actually any good. Did you hear then that afterwards, Maple Glaze took Hazel Lance to the infirmary because of how pale she was, and that they’ve been all gooey with each other ever since?” She looked across at Pinkie’s blank expression and waved her hooves in frustration. “That’s what she was supposed to have been like with Thorny Crown!” she squeaked. “Bowstrings! This was worse than that letter idea.”
Pinkie, who had started tasting the newest batch from the oven, nearly choked on an almond tart as she snorted out a laugh. “Hah! Was that when you wrote love letters for Spiral Star and Dusk Dancer, but put them in the wrong satchels and everyone got in an argument about who liked who? Gummy loves that story. Y’know, we get Spiral Star and Twist in here all the time now; they’re adorable—Oh…”
Archer slumped forward onto the work-table, her head banging against the hard wood. “Gee, thanks for that,” she grunted. “So good to know how successful I am at sucking! Urgh, what is my problem? I’m the daughter of the most awesome Cupid in Ponyville. I’m supposed to be great at this, not messing up and having ponies ending up with somepony else.”
“Oh come on, frowny face.” Pinkie bounced over and thrust a baker’s hat on Archer’s head. “We’ve got a bit of time before the Corner gets too busy. Let’s make some of your favourite biscuits. I know what they are,” she added in a singsong voice.
“I doubt it.” Archer repositioned the hat with sulky thrusts, feeling pretty sorry for herself. The idea of going back to school on Monday was already starting to fill her with dread, particularly now that her failed attempts had become so gossip-worthy, and a biscuit or two—no matter how delicious—was unlikely to change that.
“Sure I do!” Pinkie beamed as she started to pile ingredients onto the work-table in front of the filly. “They’re arrowroot! Get it?”
Archer groaned, and pulled the hat down over her face. “Unfortunately.”
Pinkie laughed, and slapped her on the back. “Oh come on, that joke totally—”
“If you say ‘hit the bull’s eye’ I might cry.”
Whatever words Pinkie was going to say were swallowed down in a large, throat-inflating gulp. “Noooo,” she giggled, dusting the surface of the work-table with flour before passing Archer a mixing bowl. “I was actually going to say… um… Oh! That it made me quiver with laughter.”
Unable to contain her mirth any longer, Pinkie fell to the floor in a fit of giggles, and a small smile crept onto Archer’s face as she lifted her hat up again. This was the other reason why she had enjoyed coming here so much this past year. The baking was great, but the company was even better; however bad her day might have been, Pinkie always managed to find some way to push her worries aside, and Archer appreciated that.
She mock-rolled her eyes as she measured out flour and sugar into the bowl. “Wow, those puns are awful, Pinkie,” she replied. “Baking with you sure has its drawbacks.”
“Stop it!” Pinkie snorted, holding her sides as she rolled about on the floor. “Too much, too much!”
Archer grinned, satisfied. She always felt obliged, when Pinkie made her laugh, to return the favour; it felt wrong to leave her friend’s efforts unanswered. Her ears twitched—for a moment it sounded as though Pinkie’s laugh had developed several echoes, but then she realised that the new additions to the chorus belonged to a couple of ponies who had just entered the Corner. Quick as a flash, Pinkie was off the floor and at the counter, and Archer slowly followed her out of the kitchen.
The ponies, their rain macs shiny from the deluge outside, laughed and chatted to each other as they looked at the trays of cakes and pastries. As she watched them, Archer gradually became aware of a dull throb in her flanks, one which blossomed gradually into a prickling heat across her body. She blinked away the spots of light that threatened to blind her and focused on Pinkie serving in an attempt to distract herself from the sensation. It only half-worked; as the pair sat down at a table in the corner, she felt an overwhelming desire to do what she knew she could do—what she was supposed to do.
“Stop being a dwelly-pants,” Pinkie chided, patting Archer on the head as she trotted back into the kitchen. The action broke her free from the spell as quickly as a bucket of ice cold water would have woken her up from a nap. “You can’t force ponies together, you know. I’ve seen what happens when you try to do that.”
“I’m not trying to f—” Archer paused in the doorway of the kitchen. There was a story waiting to be told here, and her father had once told her that you could always learn something from stories. “What happens?”
Pinkie peeked into one of the ovens, before trotting over to the work-table and picking up a bowl. “I get left with an unwanted wedding cake, for a start,” she replied.
“Oh.” Archer watched her friend as she vigorously mixed the contents of the bowl, the spoon gripped tightly in her mane. “A happy story, then.”
Pinkie beamed. “It’s actually a pretty funny one,” she replied, nodding towards the stool beside her. As Archer climbed onto it, Pinkie pushed the second bowl across to her. “Canterlot fig buns this time. Anyway, yeah some fillies from your school tried to make Cheerilee and Big Macintosh—you know, AJ’s brother; I’ve told you about AJ, right?—fall in love using a potion.” The mare shook her head. “It worked a little too well though; they both ended up with super googly eyes for each other and nearly lost their jobs because of it. Hil-a-rity.”
Archer scowled at the story and took the attack on her family’s name out on the ingredients she had just placed in her bowl. Was she so bad that ponies were resorting to making each other fall in love without the aid of a Cupid? Wait—
“A potion?” She pulled the escaped dough from her mane. “As in, a love potion?”
The mask of liberated dough that had attached itself to Pinkie’s face disappeared with a single flick of her tongue. “That’s right. I borrowed an old recipe book from Twilight the other day, and it told you how to—Oh… Look at the time, Archer! We gotta get these biscuits made, pronto!”
Archer sighed. Pinkie was fooling no-pony with her obvious change of subject, and she felt stung by her friend’s attempt to hide something so useful from her. A love potion could change everything—for one, it was proven to work. Sure, it sounded super strong, but did that really matter when the ponies that drank it already had unspoken feelings for each other? That would surely be the difference between Archer and those silly fillies from her school: Archer could sense which ponies to give the potion to.
She watched Pinkie as she deliberately focused all her attention on rolling out the dough. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She just wasn’t meant to use Cupid arrows, that was all. A little lame, considering her cutie mark, but she could live with it. After all, Aunt Heartfelt wrote magical love poetry, why couldn’t Archer brew magical love potions? All she had to do was get the recipe in a way that was subtle, stealthy, devious.
“Hey Pinkie? Nothing to do with to that silly old potion, but can I check your recipe books? There’s a… cake I wanna try and make.”
She patted herself on the back. Smooth.
Pinkie looked up from her work and smiled. “Sure thing, but remember the big bumper book of billion-tier buns for brilliant bakers is strictly for advanced ponies. Let’s keep things simple for now.”
“Got it.” Archer climbed down from the stool and trotted over to the bookshelf. Which one would the recipe be in? She flicked through books on pies and breads and muffins, and made a mental note to ask Pinkie later exactly what sensual baking was all about—perhaps something for advanced ponies too? Then her hooves came across a large worn book and she pulled it free. The print on the cover was faded, but Archer could just make out a picture of a rustic-looking pie.
She frowned. It looked like the type of book Pinkie might have gotten from Princess Twilight, if the stories her friend had told her were anything to go by, so she quietly opened it and scanned the contents. Her hoof moved quickly down each page and, as her eyes fell across the words, Archer’s heart skipped a beat. There it was!
Casting a nervous glance over her shoulder, Archer quickly scanned the recipe. She was relieved to find that most of the ingredients could be easily obtained; tuft of cloud, a rainbow’s glow… yadda yadda yadda. The only one that she hadn't heard of before was... was… She blinked, trying to pronounce the word.
“Say, Pinkie? Where would you find… Peefo? Peefo… flax nettles?”
Pinkie’s head shot up from her task, her eyes wide and her mouth wider. “Peefoflax nettle? Why in Equestria would you ever want to make a cake out of that?”
Before Archer could reply, her friend was at her side looking over her shoulder at the recipe. “Oh! You mean Peathoflacks nettle,” she said, sounding relieved. “You can get that in any herbalist's shop. Sheesh, don’t scare me like that, kiddo.”
Archer squinted down at the faded text. Was that how you said it? “Scare you?”
“Yeah! Peefoflax nettles are totally poisonous. They make your tummy squiffy and your tongue hairy, which is really not good when you want to eat cake.” Pinkie frowned in thought. “Say, come to think of it, I’ve never heard of a recipe using Peathoflacks nettle either. What are you trying to—?” She gasped as she saw the title of the recipe. “Archer! You lied to me.”
Archer pinned back her ears and turned her gaze to the floor. “I know… I’m sorry—”
“—you said that you were looking at something unrelated to love potions, but this is totally related. It’s a love potion!”
Archer remained silent, feeling rotten for deceiving her friend. After a moment, Pinkie crouched and ruffled her mane affectionately. “Look, kiddo,” she chided. “I know it’s really really really important for us ponies to be good at their special talent, and it’s really really really really boring being told that you have to be patient, but…”
Archer sighed. “I have to be patient, right?”
“Bingo!” Pinkie held her hoof out for a hoof-bump, which was reluctantly returned. “Your mom already sounds pretty miffed, and I don’t think a potion going wrong is going to make her un-miffed.”
Archer said nothing, but looked back down at the page as Pinkie closed the book and shelved it. But she wasn’t going to get it wrong, was she? After all, she had committed the simple recipe to memory, and most of the ingredients were easy enough to get. There was no way her mother was going to be mad at her once she had successfully potioned a pony or two. The only hurdle was getting some… what was that nettle called again? Peefoflax?
“—Thankfully, Nurse Redheart said that the dose they consumed was relatively minor, and that Silver Stream and Autumn Whisper were left only with sore stomachs and hairy tongues. Still, they had to spend the whole day in the infirmary.”
Archer kept her head facing the floor, taking a desperate interest in the hooves of ponies. It was, admittedly, more interesting than counting the number of ginger snap crumbs collecting on the table.
“Well, Archer? What have you got to say for yourself?”
The hardness in her mother’s voice felt like a kick to the stomach, but Archer forced her head up to meet her gaze.
Oh, how she hated that dumb Cupid pride at times.
Harmony Hearts looked furious—like nothing Archer had ever seen before in her young life. Her cheeks bulged obscenely with the ginger snaps she had liberated from the now-empty box, during Cheerilee's long and painfully detailed report, and her eyes were narrowed. As she met them Archer began to feel as though she was getting pulled into a rose-coloured vortex, one which held all kinds of scary promises and punishments, and from which she couldn't escape. An awful heat rose to her face, and she quickly looked to Cheerilee instead. Her eyes were a fraction less intimidating, but in that moment fractions felt important.
“Sorry, Miss Cheerilee. Again.”
A silence filled the room, punctuated only by her mother's crunching and some polite noises from Cheerilee, and Archer closed her eyes. She felt thoroughly wretched and desperately willed the floor to open up beneath her.
“What are you sorry for?” Harmony Hearts’ voice trembled as she prompted her daughter.
Archer chewed her lip and looked about the kitchen, where they all sat around the oak table, before settling her gaze on the teacup before her. Even as annoyed as she was, her mother had insisted Archer join her and Cheerilee for tea—long considered the right thing to discuss problems over, so far as the Cupids were concerned.
“For accidentally making the love potion wrong, and poisoning Silver Steam and Autumn Whisper,” she replied quietly.
“Bowstrings, Archer! That’s not the issue here, and you darn well know it.” Harmony Hearts caught Cheerilee’s expression, and took a sheepish sip of her tea. “Well not just the issue anyway. But all of this needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. Do you know that Cheerilee is considering having you home schooled? And after your ridiculous stunt today I'm minded to agree with her.”
Archer's eyes widened in alarm, and she looked up at her mother. “W—what?” she asked, desperately searching for—and failing to find—even the slightest hint of mercy in her expression. “But... But why?” So she was angry, sure, but surely her mother couldn't honestly be thinking about going through with this, could she? The thought of being apart from her friends every day at school made Archer's stomach twist and lurch, until she realised that there were hardly any ponies there she could still call friends anyway. Then her stomach lurched regardless.
It was Cheerilee’s turn to look awkward, and she took a sudden interest in her tea. “Well, it was only a suggestion,” she clarified. “For a little while, at least—just until the other pupils are less… afraid of you.”
Archer bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Her classmates were afraid of her? She closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady; all in all, it had been a day to forget. It had been bad enough when she had looked out the window of the classroom during detention, and saw Meadowbank Magic nuzzling Autumn Whisper as she walked him home from the infirmary, but now this? Was she honestly this much of a failure?
A white heat leapt from her chest to her cheeks as the realisation dawned on her: she was, wasn’t she? She was a total, absolute, failure as a Cupid. The admission quickly crystallised that sadness and frustration into something hard, cold, and allowed that ever-reliable family pride to resurface. Fine then, if she wasn't any good at this then she'd quit and do something she was good at. That would show them; who wanted to help ponies fall in love anyway?
“Fine,” she muttered, ignoring how the strange crack in her voice made her shudder. “You win. I'm gonna hang up my bow—” she shrugged “—or, whatever.”
Her mother's face softened, just a fraction. “Now, Archer, nopony has said anything—”
“I thought you'd be happy, Mom,” Archer cut in, almost able to taste the bitterness in her voice. “This way you're not gonna have any more visits from Miss Cheerilee, and I'm sure school is going to be just great for everypony without me 'scaring' them all the time.”
She paused then, realising the mistake in her outburst, but it was too late. Cupid passion and pride coloured her mother's face and that fraction become hard again. Very hard. With eyes that glittered fiercely, Harmony Hearts reached calmly across the table and tore open the second box of ginger snaps.
“She grounded me!” Archer gave the dough in the bowl an extra punch as she kneaded it. “For a month. Can you believe it?”
Pinkie looked up from the pastry she was busily cutting into moon shapes and cocked her head. The sudden motion threatened to dislodge Gummy, who was perched atop her mane and chewing on another cookie cutter. It was always an extra special day, apparently, whenever Gummy decided to join Pinkie at work—though Archer struggled to see why; it never looked as though the alligator did anything useful. Or hygienic.
“Huh, aren’t you already grounded?” she replied. “Y’know, ’cos you don’t have any wings.”
Archer groaned, and gave the dough another punch. “Starting to regret her letting me still come here,” she muttered. “Not funny.”
Pinkie giggled and bounded across the kitchen to wrap Archer in a tight hug, Gummy trailing behind like a poorly fitting manegrip. “Cheer up, kiddo,” she replied with warmth in her voice. “We’re having fun, right?”
Before Archer could reply, her friend was back at the work-table, plucking the cookie cutter from Gummy’s mouth and pressing it repeatedly into the dough. Archer averted her gaze so she didn’t have to see the long strands of alligator-drool cascade from the cutter and become an extra ingredient.
“Sure,” she replied, looking across the cluttered work-surface to where the second batch of her muffins was cooling. The sight of the two, neat rows made her want to stamp her hooves with joy, and yet the feeling became more hollow the more she tried to enjoy it. She chewed her lip. “And I know what I said was wrong. It’s just not fair, that’s all.”
“Well, you diiiiiid kinda poison some ponies.” Pinkie deftly slid the shapes onto a baking tray and into the oven with one fluid motion. “I’m just glad you didn’t try and sneak the potion into the biscuits we were making here, ’cos that would have been just awful for the Cakes’ business.” She paused then, taking a sudden interest in the ingredients Archer had started to gather for the next batch of muffins. Archer glared at her.
“Relax, Pinkie. My love potion days are over, as are my Cupid ones, I think. Mom’s pretty mad.” Her gaze shifted back to the window, where the sun was battling vainly against thick, swollen clouds. “I’m losing all my friends,” she sighed. “And for what? I’m obviously never gonna be any good at this; all I do is force ponies to be with the wrong pony and annoy them in the process.” Her throat itched as she spoke, and she tried to distract herself with the warm comforting sounds of the kitchen. “I should probably just stick to baking.”
Pinkie was at her side in an instant, pulling Archer’s head up so fast it nearly parted from her shoulders. “Ah, keep that chinny-chin-chin of yours up!” she laughed. “You just gotta stop trying so hard, that’s all. Put that super duper brain to something else for a while, and I’m absotutely-lutely positive that when the time is right you’ll become a terrific Cupid.”
“You sound like my mom.” Archer snorted, secretly relieved that somepony still had faith in her. She plucked one of the caraway muffins she had made earlier from the resting tray. As she nibbled it another wave of satisfaction washed over her—one which left her feeling more conflicted than ever.
“No I don’t, silly.” Pinkie winked at her. “Your mom’s got a totally softer voice than mine.”
Archer groaned, but before she could reply, she heard the jingle of the front door over the general hubbub of the shop floor. Pinkie looked down at her and smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you take this one?”
Archer nodded, the pleasure of being entrusted with another aspect of working in a bakery tempered by the fact that making cakes and buns was all she was really good at. She trotted out of the kitchen and surveyed the shop floor before her. The Saturday morning breakfast rush had been busier than usual, and there were still a throng of ponies sitting down with a cake or drink in hoof. As she looked across a couple of colts and fillies from her class, Archer found herself desperately hoping that she hadn’t burnt all of her bridges with her love-matching antics at school. It kinda would be fun to hang out in places like this with a few ponies.
Then she noticed the new customer. In front of her, peering at the trays of baked goods beneath the counter, stood a pretty pink pegasus with a rough-cut mop of a blonde mane. Archer tried to quickly recall how Pinkie served customers and fixed a wide uncomfortable smile to her face. She waited a moment, wondering how in Equestria her friend managed to do it all day long, but the mare was so intently staring at the cakes—her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration—that she didn’t notice.
“Hi there,” she tried instead. “Welcome to Sugarcube Corner. We’ve got… uh.” She looked around the bakery. “Well, you get the general idea.”
“I sure do, everything always looks so tasty here.” The mare beamed, though Archer thought she detected the hint of sadness behind it. Her flanks prickled, and she tried to suppress the sensation. Nope, not interested.
“Hiiiii, Meadow Flower!” Pinkie’s voice drifted out from behind the closed kitchen door, and Archer blinked. How did she do that?
“Hey Pinkie Pie,” the mare replied cheerfully, before turning her gaze back to the counter. “Say, do you have any strawberry cream swirls today?”
“Umm…” Archer looked up and down the rows of cakes, trying to remember which tray held what. When she had finally worked it out, her eyes alighted on one containing nothing but a few crumbs, and she looked up and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry… Early bird and all that.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Um…” Meadow Flower looked back down, her muzzle gently wrinkled in thought. Archer shuffled her hooves; that prickling sensation was getting worse. She tried her best to ignore it—mentally reminding herself that her destiny was baking now—but the mare wasn’t making it easy for her. She could practically taste the heady energy that ebbed and flowed out from her across the counter.
“Can I help you decide, ma’am?” she asked, shaking her head in an effort to clear it. “What kind of things do you like? Fruity? Crunchy? Uh… Stodgy?”
“Oh it’s not for me,” Meadow Flower replied, a hoof holding her fringe out of the way as she browsed. “It’s for my stallion-friend—a peace offering, I guess,” she added with a strange, distant laugh that didn't seem to be directed at anypony in particular.
Archer chewed her lip. She was aware of the warmth flooding her body, and she could sense her arrows—still resting in her quiver at home—singing out to her. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, hearing once again the voices of Pinkie and her mother repeating their mantra: patience.
“So… uh, you guys had a fight or something?” she asked.
“You could say that, I guess. I don’t think he likes how much time I have to spend training at the Wonderbolts academy since getting in.” Meadow Flower pointed a hoof. “Ooh, what’s this one?”
“That’s a cinnamon and raspberry surprise,” Archer replied, looking down at the suspicious shapes of pastry. “I couldn’t tell you what the surprise is, though. I’m not even sure Pinkie knows.”
“That’s why it’s called a surpriii—iiiise,” Pinkie’s voice floated out from the kitchen. Archer shrugged as she watched Meadow Flower wrinkle her muzzle at the pastry and shake her head.
“You guys… haven’t made up yet then, huh?”
The laugh that came out of Meadow Flower’s mouth was in complete contrast to the mare herself, and Archer shuddered at the ugliness of it. “This time? No, not yet. Perhaps we won’t. Oh, listen to me chatter away—why am I even telling you this?”
Archer smiled inwardly, but kept quiet. Stories were ten-a-bit about members of the Cupid family exuding near magical auras of trust and confidentiality when it came to discussing matters of love. She had even heard of a few who had successfully made their name running bars and taverns out in Manehatten and beyond; a willing ear to the woes of their patrons and a brewer of fine ciders for the rest. Oh, how lucky they were to be able to find a way to combine their interests with the duties of a Cupid.
Archer blinked as a most wonderful realisation suddenly dawned on her, and she looked from Meadow Flower to the cakes and pastries with a gasp.
That was it, wasn’t it? It was just as simple as that.
“W—wait just a minute,” she told Meadow Flower, her voice trembling. “I’ve got the perfect thing to help: some special muffins that I baked this morning.”
She darted back into the kitchen, her chest tight, and bagged up one of the fresh, still-warm caraway muffins before returning to her waiting customer. Meadow Flower looked down at the bag as it was tossed onto the counter.
“He does like muffins,” she said with a small smile on her face. “Oh, so long as it doesn’t—”
“It’s not poisonous, so don’t worry!” On seeing the expression on Meadow Flower’s face Archer quickly moved to clarify. “I mean, there’s no love potion in it or anything. Just good, wholesome ingredients. I’m a Cupid though, and I guarantee that this muffin will help you both get that love back in your lives.”
Meadow Flower’s cheeks darkened slightly, and she smiled. “Okay… Sure, why the hay not? How much do I owe you?”
Archer shook her head. It had already been agreed that she could take a few from her batch home with her anyway, so the Cakes weren’t really losing out on any business. “Not a single bit,” she replied with a grin. “All part of the Cupid service.”
“You sure? Aw, well aren’t you a cutie. Thanks!” Meadow Flower picked the bag up in her mouth and smiled. “Say bye to Pinkie for me,” she said around the paper.
Archer beamed as she watched the mare depart, and realised that the feverish sensation had started to fade from her body. She looked around the busy bakery and admitted to herself that perhaps her mom and Pinkie had been right all along. Through being patient, she had been able to find an opportunity to bring love to a couple of ponies, and had done so using her talent for baking. Who knew, perhaps she would even be the very first Cupid to open a love-bakery.
Pinkie trotted out of the kitchen then, and surveyed the shop floor with a satisfied look on her face. “So? All a-ok?”
“Great!” Archer replied, grinning. Warm swells fluttered inside her chest as she looked triumphantly at the closed door. “Better than great, in fact. I—”
“Hey, what’s that noise?” A frown fell across Pinkie’s face as her ears swivelled towards one of the wide windows. She trotted towards it, and Archer followed, noting that whatever was going on outside was attracting the attention of all the customers and patrons of the bakery. Her friend pressed her face up against the glass. “Isn’t that… Meadow Flower and Lucky Clover?”
Archer pushed her way through the gathered ponies and joined Pinkie at the window. “Yeah…” she replied, slowly taking in the scene outside. The mare and her stallion-friend were standing across the road, in the middle of a very loud argument and completely unaware of their audience. Archer’s gaze fell to the ground between them, where a half-eaten muffin lay abandoned, and an icy fear gripped her chest.
No way. Life could not be this unfair.
Archer blinked back sudden tears, all of that earlier excitement and joy turning hard in her stomach as she watched the couple loudly berate each other. It was difficult to make out the precise nature of the conversation, but she could tell a lot from their expressions, and the tone in which they were repeating one word in particular.
“Hey, Pinkie?”
The mare pulled her gaze from the window and looked down. “Yeah?”
“What does fu—?”
“Oooooookay!” Pinkie grabbed hoofuls of Archer’s mane and quickly stuffed them into her ears, before repeating the act on herself. “How about we get back to baking and leave them have their argument in, uh—” she looked about at the gathered ponies “—private?”
“Sure…” Archer cast one last look out the window before following Pinkie with a mournful shake of her head. No sooner had they reached the kitchen door, though, the jingle of the door bell exploded across the bakery. Looking round, she saw Meadow Flower march purposefully in, out of breath and, despite her red and puffy eyes, looking pretty angry. Archer swallowed nervously and moved behind Pinkie as her friend stepped up to the counter.
“Are you okay, Meadow?” Pinkie asked, and Archer noted a sudden softness to her voice that she had not expected. “You look like you need a hot drink and a friendly ear.”
Some of the anger fell from Meadow Flower’s face as she shook her head. “No thanks, Pinkie.” She looked around at the other patrons until they had all sheepishly returned to their food and drinks. “I… uh, I wouldn’t mind a couple of cartons of ice cream though.”
Pinkie grimaced. “That bad, huh?”
Meadow Flower laughed, then sighed. “Who’d have thought that of all the things to break the camel’s back, it would be a muffin?”
Archer closed her eyes briefly, her stomach threatening to escape her as her worst fears were confirmed. Glancing up, she saw Pinkie’s brow furrow as she opened the freezer beside the cabinet.
“A muffin?”
“Probably should have checked the ingredients first.” Meadow Flower rested her forelegs on the counter and shook her head. “Lucky’s allergic to caraway.”
Pinkie studied the mare for a moment before a wide grin spread across her face. “Oh my goodness,” she said, laughing. “I bet he's as puffy as a dragon with gas! Still, it was an honest mistake though, right? Certainly no need for him to get so caraway!”
Archer gasped, horrified at Pinkie’s insensitive response, and with such a terrible joke too, but Meadow Flower simply laughed with her. “I know, right?” she replied. “Ugh, he’s such a jerk. At least all this made me realise I’m better off without him. There are probably plenty of stallions out there who would treat me better.”
“Atta girl.” Pinkie pulled two cartons of ice cream from the freezer and placed them on the counter. “Chocolate with fudge sprinkles, right? Hey, want a hoof eating these? I get off in a couple of hours.”
Meadow Flower smiled as she hoofed some bits across the counter. “Sure. Bring some cider and we can make a night of it.”
Archer watched the pegasus leave and slumped to the floor. Another total failure—this time even worse than before. She looked up at Pinkie and opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words would form inside her dry mouth. Pinkie's lips twitched as she took another tub of ice cream from the freezer.
“Aw, don’t blame yourself,” she said, taking two spoons from behind the counter and motioning for Archer to follow her. “Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be between two ponies and, when that happens, even an itsy bitsy little thing like being poisoned by something you’re allergic to will be enough.”
They stopped at a table, and Archer climbed up onto a seat to morosely watch Pinkie open the tub and offer her a spoon. She was just about to dig in when Gummy’s head emerged from Pinkie’s mane, and the alligator rolled his tongue out onto the ice cream. Grimacing, Archer set the spoon back down again.
“But I genuinely thought I would be able to help them,” she said sadly. “I thought I finally had it all worked out—y’know, bringing ponies together through baking? But just like all the other times, I made her feel bad, and now she’ll probably end up with some other pony too. I’m a love disaster zone.”
Pinkie scooped some ice cream in her mouth, apparently unconcerned by the intruding tongue, and studied Archer as she ate it. Then she shook her head, her smile small. “You know, I usually hate spoiling surprises, but as you're in such a filly funk I guess it can't hurt too much. Archer, you are a successful Cupid!”
Despite her mood, Archer couldn't help but raise a wry eyebrow at that. “What's in that ice cream, Pinkie? Apart from, you know—” she nodded towards Gummy “—alligator.”
“I'm serious,” Pinkie replied, and to Archer's surprise she did look quite serious. “Think about it.”
Humouring her friend, Archer reluctantly did. She cast her mind back to every last one of her disastrous attempts at making, helping, ponies fall in love. The frustration of watching a still-pale Hazel Lance getting all gooey-faced with Maple Glaze, instead of Thorny Crown as she was supposed to; likewise, a bruised Spiral Star romantically sharing iced buns at the Corner with Twist, instead of—
She gasped, her stomach fluttering wildly. How in Equestria had she not seen it before? Pinkie was right! In the end they had all found special someponies, and they had found them thanks to her—well, all except Meadow Flower, but surely that was just a matter of time. As the realisation sank in, Archer’s limbs began to tremble, continuing rapidly to a point where sitting still was just too painful a task. Feeling as though she was about to burst, she leapt from the seat with an excited squeal and stomped gleefully around the table, smiling widely at any pony who cared to look her way.
“Thank you so much, Pinkie!” she cried, pausing to throw her forelegs tightly around her friend. “You’re absolutely right!” She grinned again as the fragments of an idea started to form in her head, and cantered towards the door on unsteady hooves. “I gotta dash though... There's so many Cupid things I need to do! Ooh, Mom is gonna be so proud!”
She was going to carry on the family trade, and now she knew exactly how to do it.
“You’re joking, right? Disaster Dating?” The grey mare glanced across at her companion and gestured with a hoof. “Tell me she is not being serious.”
Archer, feeling a great sense of pride that all of Sugarcube Corner were able to witness this wonderful moment, looked up at the pair of ponies and smiled broadly. The grey one with the musical symbol cutie mark looked angry—at least, what she could see beneath the hundreds of bee stings looked angry. Standing beside her, the white unicorn with the awesome glasses and the bright green polka dot rash looked… well, ill.
Her gaze fell briefly to the counter, where the two bouquets of flowers had been thrown: a few straggling, and still irritated, bees hiding within the snapdragons of the first, and lurid polka-pollen clinging to the stamens of the second. On reflection, she decided, perhaps a love note alone would have been enough; attaching business cards reading Archer’s Cupid Services, c/o Sugarcube Corner might certainly make her look professional, but it also led her 'proactively selected' clients directly to her door. Particularly problematic when the clients were so grouchy and unappreciative, as most of them seemed to be.
“Post Disaster Dating,” she clarified, holding up two hooves placatingly. “Look, I know you’re a little… surprised right now, but give it a few hours and I guarantee you'll be totally thanking me. After all, when it comes to helping ponies fall in love I have a one-hundred percent success record.”
Author's Note
Thanks very much for reading; be sure to leave me a comment with what you liked/didn't like about the story. It's always good to hear the thoughts of readers.
I had great fun writing this one, and really enjoyed bringing a (very) minor background character to life. The main goal for this story was for me to improve my natural dialogue, and interactions between characters, so hopefully you will have seen an improvement here when compared to my previous work.
I suspect you'll be hearing from Archer and her family again at some stage in the future.
