Peace Breakers

Peace Breakers

Episode One: Chapter Two

Rum and Ale are guided to a big cottage resembling that of a gingerbread house. The walls are brown as shortbread, and are lined with a frosting-like design. The both of them glance to each other in confusion as Pinkie Pie prances around the doorstep. “And here we are!” she cheers. “Welcome to my humble abode, Sugarcube Corner!”

“You . . . live in a cookie?” Ale asks.

“Hey, it fits,” Rum whispers to Ale. “It’s a cookie house for a kooky pony.”

“I know! Isn’t it great?!” Pinkie Pie reiterates. “This is the bakery owned by Mr. and Mrs. Cake, and they are going to be the ones to hire you for the job. Also, if everything goes well, you two could possibly rent out a couple guest rooms!”

“So your bakery doubles as an apartment complex?” Ale asks.

“Well, look on the bright side, Ale,” says Rum. “At least you get breakfast in bed.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me the beds are brownies and the pillows are marshmallows.”

“Of course not. The beds are made out of sponge cake, and the pillows are cotton candy!” Pinkie Pie assures.

“Yeah, Ale, don’t be stupid,” says Rum.

“You know what, you’re right. I’ve doing it all wrong. I should’ve traded in my flapjack bed for a large brownie instead. Please, accept my apology.”

“Apology accepted. Lucky for you ‘one’ of us has some common sense around here.”

“I’m flattered, honestly. You can be so kind sometimes with the things you say about me.”

“Yeah, you should hear the things I say about you behind you back.”

Ale smiles and grinds his teeth. “Yup, the fun we have. . .”

“Come on, you guys. I’ll introduce you to the Cakes.” The three of them enter the bakery, and are immediately hit with a strong smell of sweetness and sugar. Just like the outside, the inside of the diner is decorated with the same sugary features. Candy cane support beams along with peppermint tables assure Ale’s suspicions of how far the ‘candy’ concept went into this structure.

“Are those the cakes?” Rum asks, pointing to a couple of cakes resting on the checkout counter.

“Yeah, Rum, go ask ‘em for a job.”

“Gladly!”

“Umm . . . well—” Pinkie Pie attempts to interrupt.

Rum approaches the counter where to cakes lie. “Hello, my name is Rum. I’m a world famous super-duper baker pony, and I’d like a job at this bakery made of bakery. . .” He lays his elbow onto the countertop as he waits for a response. “Oh . . . giving me the silent treatment eh? Think this restaurant’s too good for me eh?!”

“Alright, Rum, calm down,” says Ale nervously.

“Well, what do you think of ‘this’?!” Rum slaps the cake off of the counter as it flies through the air. Rum turns and sees that both Pinkie Pie and Ale’s faces are now covered in chocolate cake. “Oh . . . my bad. In my defense, since the whole building is made out of pastries, I figured the owners were too.”

“You—” Ale wipes the cake from his face. “—have got to be—”

“A genious!” Pinkie Pie exclaims as she gathers a large lump of cake off of her face. “That is a fun, new way to eat cake! Let me try!” Pinkie Pie hurries over to the counter with the last remaining cake near Rum.

“Hold on, you can’t be—”

“Heads up, Ale!” Pinkie Pie launches the last cake into Ale’s face, recoating him with a mix of chocolate and yellow cake.

“Of course, why didn’t I see it coming?” Ale mumbles as he furiously wipes the cake off of his face once again.

“Because you were too busy being a sourpuss,” says Rum as he tosses a sour candy into his mouth.

“Okay, Pinkie Pie, why does ‘he’ get to ruin your cakes and eat your candy?”

“I’m not ‘ruining’ her cakes, I’m teaching her new and exciting ways to eat. Just like the fancy chef that I am.”

“Celestia. . .” Ale looks up to the ceiling. “Please, help me.”

“Okay, now allow me to get Mr. and Mrs. Cake. Just give me a moment.” Pinkie Pie clears her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Cake!” she yells at the top of her lungs, shattering both Rum and Ale’s ears.

“What is it, Pinkie?!” Two voices call from above.

“I found two stallions looking for a job!”

“Oh, perfect! We’re getting behind on orders!”

“So is that a yes?!”

“What?! Yes! Hold on, let’s get them started!”

“Wait! I wanna give them their orientation!”

“Are . . . Are you sure?!”

“Yeah! I’ve got this under control!”

“Well . . . okay!”

“Oh, and they need a place to stay! Is it okay if I show them the guest rooms afterwards?!”

“W-What?!”

“Thank you!” Pinkie Pie turns back to Ale and Rum. “She said it’s okay! Now, let’s see what you bakers can do!” Rum then leans over to Ale.

“I’m really starting to like this filly,” Rum whispers.

“Allow me to show you two the kitchen!” Pinkie Pie leads Rum and the dirtied Ale into the kitchen, where everything isn’t made of sugary sweets for a change. “Now, all you two have to do is simple. Just whip us up a batch of the best treats you can!”

“Uhh. . .” Ale raises his hoof. “I have a—”

“Good luck!” Pinkie Pie smiles. She exits the kitchen, leaving Rum and Ale to their own devices.

“—few . . . questions.” Ale finishes. Rum and Ale glance to each other troublingly, wondering what they should do next. They walk around examining all the different baking tools, unsure of what exactly each device does. “Well, this is great. Now we gotta cook something, and we don’t have the slightest idea of how to cook!” Ale shouts.

“I think the first step is: we need proper chef’s hats,” says Rum.

“No, it’s not. We need to come up with something fast, or we can kiss this job goodbye!”

“If that happens, I’m going to be the one kissing her goodbye, not you.”

“Listen, Chef Charming, how about instead of focusing on the mare, we focus on baking?!”

“Do you really think I’m charming?”

“I’d be lying if I said I did.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound that hard for you considering you lie all the time.”

“Oh please, name one time I’ve lied.”

“You’d like me to answer that question wouldn’t you?”

“No, because we’d be here forever since there is no answer.”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”

“Stop quoting Pony-Wan Kenobi and find a recipe book! There’s gotta be one somewhere!”

“We don’t need a recipe book, all we need is the chef’s hat and a bright idea!”

“I’d sooner believe you’d pull a chef’s hat out of nowhere than one of those.”

“I love how supportive you always are.”

“Rum, please, I’m begging you. For once, could you please just help me out here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” He asks, grabbing a box labeled ‘cake mix’ from a cupboard. “We’re going to make cupcakes. Now Ale, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to find the cups.”

“You mean tray, I’m pretty sure you make cupcakes in a tray.”

“What the hay are you talking about? We’re not making tray cakes.”

“Celestia. . .” Ale gazes back up to the ceiling. “From the bottom of my heart, save me.” Ale turns away from Rum, rummaging through the drawers and cabinets for a recipe book. Rum spots a stack of plastic cups on the nearby countertop, sparking an idea.

“So, are you going to help with these cakes?”

“No, Rum, what ‘I’m’ going to do, is I’m going to save us by trying to make some ‘proper’ cakes. You go ahead and do . . . whatever. I’ll just have to get us out of this mess,” says Ale without even turning to look at Rum.

“Oh, going to make some ‘proper’ cakes.” Rum mocks quietly as he tears open a box of cake mix furiously. He grumbles as he pours the mix into several assorted plastic cups he set up on the countertop.

“Hey, Ale, help me with these ‘tray cakes’.” Ale quietly mocks as he pushes aside an assortment of bowels and pots in the bottom cabinets. “And they’re going to expect ‘us’ to bake something. . . What am I going to do?” Ale pulls open a drawer, and takes a breath of relief as soon as he reads the words, ‘recipe book’. He pulls out a big, brown cook book and immediately flips through the pages. He scans each page until his eyes are caught by a set of directions for a recipe of rather scrumptious-looking brownies. “Okay.” Ale sighs. “It’s just brownies, how difficult can this be. . ? I probably shouldn’t say that. Every time I do, something ends up going wrong.” Ale glances over his shoulder to Rum who is preparing something. He can’t quite make it out as his back is in the way. “Well, if I mess this up, maybe—just maybe—Rum’s won’t be . . . horrific.”

Rum mixes together a concoction of cake mix, water, sugar and chocolate chips in each individual cup. He lays them all onto a metal sheet, and slides them into the oven. “Now, a professional would want to get this done as quickly as possible. So, the only solution would be to just turn up the heat a little.” Rum grabs the knob of the oven and turns it all the way to ‘high’. Rum gazes at the cupcakes through the little window in the oven door, quickly becoming impatient and fidgety. “Hmm . . . I’m going to need whip cream.” He then makes his way to the fridge, pulling open the big white door releasing a rush of cool air.

Ale goes down the list of ingredients needed for the brownie recipe, struggling to understand just how he’s going to have to utilize all of it. “Let’s see . . . eggs, sugar, flour . . . vanilla extract. . ? What does that even mean? Do I have to . . . extract the vanilla? I-I don’t get this.” Ale can feel sweat forming at the base of his forehead, and the temperature in the room has suddenly gotten warmer. Assuming it’s just his nerves getting to him, he proceeds to gather the rest of the ingredients. He follows every direction, measuring every ingredient by the book. Feeling a confidence building inside of him, his worries begin to dwindle. With his mixture poured into a tray, he gets ready to set it into the oven. Grabbing the handle of the oven, Rum whips around the whip cream gripped in his teeth.

“Hold on a minute!” Rum calls. Upon whipping himself around, the can of cream flies through the air and knocks Ale on the head. He stumbles backward, slipping on the mess of cake mix and water Rum had made on the floor. Ale falls flat on his back, and the brownie batter coats his upper torso. “Ooohhh. . .” Rum’s eyes widen with surprise. Ale drops the metal tray to wipe the batter from his eyes, taking an enraged deep breath as he gets back up to his hooves.

“. . . Rum?” Ale calmly begins.

“Yes, Ale?”

“Do you think you can get me a cup of water, and a bag of flour?”

“Is there a reason you’re always asking me for favors?”

“You know, you’re right. I’ll just get it myself.” Ale grabs one of the spare plastic cups from the counter, and fills it to the brim with sink water. He picks up the bag of flour he used for his brownie mix, and carries the two items back with him. The two of them stare at each other in silence for a moment. With the cup of water, Ale splashes it onto Rum’s face. As he drips wet, Ale follows it up by hurling the bag of flour so hard that the impact busts it open. Rum stands frozen, scrunching his face as the slimy concoction covers him.

“Of course you know, this means war.” In a flash, Rum gallops to a little table with a large plate of freshly made cupcakes. He topples it, using it as a barricade as he hurls cupcake after cupcake towards Ale. Like bullets they relentlessly strike him as he attempts to guard himself with his forelegs. Ale desperately makes his way to the fridge, opening the door to shield him from the onslaught of cupcakes. Rum halts his fire with a cupcake in hoof, waiting for him peek out. Moments of silence pass until a barrage of eggs are fired in Rum’s direction. Ale peers around the door to throw each egg with as much force as he can. Many hit the table, but as soon as one pelts Rum in the cheek as the yolk explodes over his face, he immediately hides to protect himself. “No thanks! I’m a tank!” Rum taunts as he carefully inches his table barricade to the fridge. Nearing Ale, he needs to think of something fast as he can’t land any egg shots like this. As soon as he is just close enough, Rum plans out his next attack. However, he can feel a rush of cold liquid pouring over his head as Ale leans over holding a jug of milk over him. Infuriated, Rum jumps up to shove Ale into the fridge and quickly slams the door shut. Rum leans his back onto the door to keep him trapped inside, filling with the pride of securing his victory. However, with just how quick he filled with pride, he fills with fear as Pinkie Pie and two other ponies enter the kitchen. Each of them scan the kitchen in pure awe of the mess.

“What. . .” the mare begins. “What ha—” The oven door then bursts open with flames, sending the charred mess Rum had made splattering over the opposite wall. They all scream as the flames grow higher, and Pinkie Pie rushes to the wall to retrieve a fire extinguisher behind a glass case. She smothers the flame in the white foam, then leaves the destroyed oven with wide eyes. Rum’s eyes dart from the three ponies to the mess they made, realizing the consequences are about to take form. Rum carefully opens the fridge door a tad.

“Ale, we gotta—” Before Rum can finish, Ale bursts out from the fridge sending Rum to the ground. Crazily, he nonsensically screams as he hurls a large, rectangular birthday cake with the word ‘surprise’ written across it with frosting. The cake splatters over the three ponies, and Ale’s heart quickly sinks. Rum looks up at them, as a smile comes upon his face. Soon, he begins chuckling, and the chuckling becomes full-on laughter. Ale, unsure as to why, laughs as well. Pinkie Pie’s eyes nervously dart to Mr. and Mrs. Cake as she too joins in the laughter. Rum pounds the floor as he is overtaken by his laughter, and Ale laughs and shrugs as he looks at Mr. and Mrs. Cake. However, their faces grow furious, and unlike the other two, Ale can feel the fear slipping back in.

“Miss Twilight Sparkle!” Mrs. Cake greets from the doorstep.

“Please, Mrs. Cake, you can just call me Twilight.”

“Oh, yes of course!”

“Umm, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what exactly happened to you three?”

“Oohh, we just had a little mess in the kitchen is all.”

“I see, so how can I help you today? Was there another cookbook you were looking to find?”

“You know, I’m so glad you asked! Although I’m not looking for a cookbook this time around.”

“Oh, well, what is it you needed?”

“Pinkie Pie just happened to come across a couple of lost stallions in town, and they needed a place to stay, somewhere to work. . .”

“I see. . .”

“Now, we ‘could’ have offered them these things. But, you know, we don’t have any room—”

“But I thought—” Pinkie Pie attempts to speak, but is quickly silenced by Mrs. Cake’s hoof.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Cake continues. “We were hoping that perhaps ‘you’ wouldn’t mind taking them in for us!”

“Oh! I-I don’t know. I mean, my library doesn’t really have any guest rooms or—”

“Oh, please Miss Twilight! These two could really use your hospitality. Otherwise, they have nowhere else to go, and will have to sleep in the streets! They have not a single bit to their names!”

“Well. . . I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“Fantastic!” Mrs. Cake hurriedly pushes Rum and Ale through the doorway and into her home as they clutch their bags. They and Twilight lock eyes as Mrs. Cake rambles. “This is Rum, and this is Ale! I’m sure they will be eternally thankful to you for this—I know I am!”

“W-Wait, wha—?”

“Thank you again Miss Twilight! So long!” With big smiles, Mr. and Mrs. Cake along with Pinkie Pie gallop away from Twilight’s home. Trying to grasp the situation, Twilight turns and looks at Rum and Ale as they confusedly stand next to each other with their bags.

“Well, that was fun,” says Rum. “Who wants cake?”