Chimicherrychangas
Weather organization was never a perfect ordeal. Sometimes a group of pegasi ordered the wrong amount of clouds or the wrong type from a weather factory; other times, half of the team was sick. But sometimes it was for a completely different reason altogether.
Rainbow Dash was returning with weather orders from Cloudsdale when she spotted Rarity running through the streets of Ponyville, the first time she had seen her in several days. Dropping down to the stone cobbles to say hello to Rarity, Rainbow Dash hesitated for a moment. Standing in front of her was a Rarity whose mane was in tatters, quite unusual for such a fashion-obsessed mare, and her eyes were darting back and forth. Continuing with her statement nonetheless, Rainbow Dash began to speak. “Hey, Rarity! Where’ve you been—”
Rarity ran straight into Rainbow Dash, only stopping at the pegasus attempted to grab her by the hoof as she continued onwards. “Get her away from me! She’s been driving me mad ever since we got stranded in the desert!” Dodging around the pegasus, Rarity began to gallop into the distance as fast as her hooves could carry her, looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed and sobbing.
“What is she talking about? Who’s this ‘her’ she was—“ Rainbow Dash was then tackled by Pinkie Pie.
“Hey, Rainbow Dash! It’s been forever since I last saw you in that desert! How’s Applejack doing? Me and Rarity tried to get back as soon as we could, but I think Rarity wanted to go back for another reason. I don’t know what it was. I don’t think she wanted to try a chimicherrychanga, but maybe she did—I should ask her!” Pinkie Pie began to bounce off into the distance in the exact direction Rarity had gone, even though Rarity had left Rainbow Dash’s view before the pink mare arrived. “Oh, Rarity!”
Rainbow Dash stared at the pink mare as she hopped down the street. She remembered now; a few days ago, when Applejack had run away from them and avoided their interrogation efforts, the ensuing chase had stranded Rarity and Pinkie Pie in the desert. Rarity must’ve been talking about the journey back. “Did she only talk about chimichanga—whatevers for that entire trip? Man, I even feel bummed for Rarity.” Sighing, Rainbow Dash flew off to tend to the clouds. Ponyville had a light drizzle scheduled for later that night, and her team of pegasi was already assembled. Time was being wasted as she hovered.
Bursting up through the air, Rainbow Dash rushed upwards and fought with gravity for a few moments as she rushed her sky-high weather team and went over the scheduled job with her mind. A somewhat-heavy rainstorm, mainly to provide water for plants. So we'll need medium-sized clouds of the light-grey variety. Two layers over Ponyville would probably need about... Three thousand clouds? Sounds about right. Rainbow Dash closed her thought process as she reached her team, a random assortment of pegasi from the Ponyville weather team. She had spent a lot of time working with most of them, and, even though they didn't always get along, they always got the job done.
The rainbow-maned Pegasus cleared her throat. "Okay everybody, the meteorology group and town council decided that we needed a good downpour. We're going to need about three thousand light-grey storm clouds from the nearby weather factory. Those numbers sound right?"
Everypony nodded in reply. Rainbow Dash grinned. "This is mainly for the plants, so we need to make sure that the farms get a good watering. About 500 extra clouds for that. Who wants to help me with cloud organizations?"
"I will!" An eager stallion raised his hand.
"No way, Thunder Lane! You've already done it twice this week!" A pegasus offered in reply. Thunder Lane's head drooped.
Every other team member began to volunteer for what was undoubtedly the easiest job. "Hmm..." Rainbow Dash tapped her hoof on her chin. "How about you, Flitter?”
"Sure!" The lavender mare’s face perked up as she flew next to Rainbow Dash. Everyone else sighed.
"Okay, me and her will take care of the planning while the rest of you can go get the storm clouds. Anything else?"
Everypony shook their heads.
"Let's get started, then!" The pegasi dispersed, leaving Rainbow Dash and Flitter on their own. “So, Flitter, do you think the carrot farm, the apple farm or the town garden needs more attention?”
“Well, a lot of flowers in the town garden have started to wilt, and the apple orchard still looks really healthy…” Flitter paused. “We should probably put an equal amount of clouds over both the town garden and the carrot farm and leave the spares for Sweet Apple Acres.”
A voice cried out from directly below. “But Sweet Apple Acres just ran out of water!”
“What the—” Rainbow Dash looked down below, only to notice Pinkie Pie pedaling on some insane homemade flying contraption five hundred feet in the air. “Oh. Hello, Pinkie Pie.”
“You know her?” Flitter asked.
“Yes.” Rainbow Dash sighed. “Sweet Apple Acres can’t run out of water. They don’t have any wells on the farm.”
“Oh,” the earth pony answered while pedaling on her rickety device. “I guess that’s why I didn’t see any wells. Hey, do you guys want to try one of my cherrychimichangas?”
“Do you have any?” Flitter asked.
“No, but I will soon!” At that moment, the pedal of Pinkie Pie’s self-propelled hovering device gave out. As the pony began to spiral downwards and approach the ground, she cried out, “Don’t worry! I’ll find you girls when it’s done!”
“I’m sure you will.” With a sigh, Rainbow Dash turned to her assistant for the day. “An equal amount over the carrot farm and the town garden?”
Flitter stared at the ground for a moment, obviously preoccupied in thought. “Is she… always like that?”
“Yes, she is,” Rainbow Dash replied. “She’s still a good friend, though, and she sure knows how to pull a good prank.” I just hope she stops going off about chimicherrychangas.
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A few days later, Rainbow Dash was outside practicing her flying maneuvers. Technically, she should have been clearing the clouds above to bring sunlight, but Rainbow Dash had already decided that her flying exercises were a larger priority—the largest, in fact. As she did a loop-de-loop, however, her upside-down view of the town provided her with something more interesting.
Is that Applejack at Pinkie Pie’s doorstep… with cherries?!
Confused, Rainbow Dash dropped down to the ground at Sugar Cube Corner right next to Applejack. “What’re those cherries for?”
Applejack, not expecting anyone to drop from midair and talk to her, jumped. “What in tarnation—oh, hey, Rainbow. Didn’t see you there. What’re you doin’?”
“What’re you doing with these cherries?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Don’t tell me that Pinkie Pie asked for them.”
“Well, ‘fraid to say it, but she did. All 63 crates of ‘em,” Applejack replied as she stared at her scroll. “I don’t know what she wants ‘em for, but it must be something big.”
“I think I know.” Rainbow Dash began to stare into the window. “I’ve got a pretty good idea…”
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Pinkie Pie dove through recipe books with an unparalleled state of concentration. In her mouth was a small pencil which took notes whenever she wasn’t focusing on other pieces of paper. This was all done in the tiny kitchen, which had been filled to the brim with recipe books and ancient cooking manuscripts packed into the room. The situation was as delicate as a butterfly: a single interruption, one disturbance in the delicately-controlled scene or even the slightest outside influence would spell death for the cooking area, leaving it as a ruin for all of Pineville to –
*ding dong*
The scene exploded, parchment and books alike flying through the air as a result of the doorbell. And fly they did; they flooded up the stairs and down the halls, some of them escaping through the nearest window, leaving their fates to the winds in an attempt to escape from the mess.
Pinkie Pie popped through the torrent anyways, having managed to avoid any injuries while going to the door and pulling it open. “Hello, Applejack! Oh, and Dashier’s here too? Did you bring the cherries? I can’t WAIT to take them and –”
“What are you doing?” the Pegasus said as she looked at the apoplectic scene behind Pinkie.
Pinkie Pie had obviously not noticed the danger of the ferocious doorbell-induced storm behind her. “I’m waiting for you to give me those cherries that you’re hiding, that are what!”
“She means, what’s going on behind you?”Applejack was gawking at the scene as well.
Pinkie Pie twisted her head and looked behind her. “Oh, those papers? I’ll clean them up. I was just making a new recipe! I’m going to take some cherries, wrap them up and fry them to make chimicherries! Or wait… maybe cherrychangas! OR… I could call them chimicherrychangas! It’s settled, then; I’m making chimicherrychangas!”
“What now?” Applejack was extremely confused; Rainbow Dash sure wasn’t.
“Don’t you remember when Dashie used me to try to get you to talk about the rodeo?”
“Yes, I know Pinkie, it’s all you been talking about—”
Pinkie Pie blazed right on past her. “I had been talking about taking the cherries and making a chimichanga, except with cherries—a chimicherrychanga! And that’s what I’m going to do—as soon as you give me those sixty-two crates of cherries, of course.”
“Wait a minute, Pinkie Pie.” Rainbow Dash blocked the energetic mare as she attempted to move past her to grab the cherries outside the door. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you tried to bake something new?”
“Hmm… you mean those cuppins?”
“Those actually tasted pretty good… but that’s not what I’m talking about!” Rainbow Dash shook her head to remove the thought of the cupping from her mind. Pinkie Pie’s strange combination of cupcakes and muffins had proved themselves as both a delight and an immediate success, and they were still selling at Sugar Cube Corner to this day. “What about the time you tried to cross rhubarb crisps and prune danishes?”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Pinkie Pie said as she waved a hoof. “Those would have been fine if the oven hadn’t been radioactive.”
“Which happened because of the uranium cake you tried to bake the day before,” Rainbow Dash added.
“Well, how was I supposed to know that it was going to come to life and assault Mrs. Cake?”
“That’s not the point.” Applejack said, jumping into the conversation. “What she’s trying to say, sugarcube, is that we don’t want any more accidents to happen because of your baking.” Applejack pressed Pinkie Pie back gently as the baker slouched slightly. “Your antics already cause enough trouble as it is; we don’t want any more to happen.”
The once-confident chef stared at Applejack and Rainbow Dash mournfully for one moment, but she sprang back to life almost immediately, as if someone had dumped the contents of an entire Pixie Stix down her gullet. “Don’t worry, girls! I’ve replaced the oven and done my research, and I’m sure that the chimicherrychangas won’t cause any major damage. At least, I’m pretty sure.” With a swift grab of the impossibly large stack of cherries and a grin, Pinkie Pie shut the door.
Rainbow Dash was peering into the window to attempt a glance at Pinkie Pie. “You think we did anything?”
“You want mah honest opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t think we did a darn thing.”
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Applejack’s suspicions were upheld by fact; Pinkie Pie had not been affected by their arguments in the slightest. That familiar flicker of pure, uncorrupted Pinkie-ness returned to her eyes, and, with no time to waste, she began to clean up the mess that she had made a few minutes before, a feat that was accomplished in the same time. Done with that, she got back to creating her recipe.
Pinkie Pie only needed ten more minutes to pore over the recipes and modify her own. A quick flourish of the hooves and one dash up the stairs restored Sugar Cube Corner to its peaceful and paper-free state, and a wide grin spread across Pinkie’s face as the kitchen was ready for her to bake.
“Okay!” the earth pony said, clapping her hooves together. “It’s time to start baking!”
Tearing open the cabinet, she grabbed as many different sugars as she could from it. The recipe listed so many sugars that a regular pony could only eat once a month without exploding—a regular pony, of course. Pinkie Pie would undoubtedly consume ten within the week without showing any side effects whatsoever.
Once the items were placed onto the counter, Pinkie Pie reached into the refrigerator and spotted the ingredients she needed: a single egg, a small amount of butter and even more sugar. She deposited the ingredients next to the sweeteners already present on the counter and ducked her head back into the fridge, this time for an ingredient the recipe would fail without. After searching through the refrigerator, the missing part of the recipe was found: a small package of flour tortillas. Gingerly carrying them in her mouth for a moment, she moved the bag into a sacred spot on the counter, where it rested for the time being.
She was ready to bake, but before she started, a memory slipped into her mind. Whether or not she wanted to remember it at that moment is a good question, but she did anyways.
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The dull, lifeless rocks in the field almost glimmered as a cowbell signaled for lunch. In response, a pink filly made the short trip from rock field to lunch table so fast that she almost tore herself in half. Thankfully, she was able to keep herself together.
Her two sisters, one elder and the other younger, came into the room after her, each of them with a smile on their face. An older stallion was already sitting at the table, waiting for them. The four waited for the mother to come in the room, the pinkest of them all bouncing in her chair. After a short moment, the mother walked into the room with a tray of sandwiches held in her mouth. She placed the tray upon the wooden table, which allowed her expression—a kind one—to be read.
The family’s state of cheerfulness had only recently set in, brought by the middle child’s impromptu party earlier that month. Of course, there were other benefits besides the feeling itself; work speeds in the field had tripled in the recent days, and family relations were bolstered immensely, but they didn’t pay attention to these. They only noticed the improved quality of life.
The mother sat down in her place on the table, and the family began to eat their meal. Although the food was dry and nearly tasteless, they still savored every bit of it, as if the small sandwiches were meals befitting royalty. The pink filly especially felt this way; she was so eager to eat that she sent the contents of her sandwich flying through the air.
When the small meal was finished, the mother took the tray and deposited it into another room. She then returned from the kitchen, bringing something on a different tray.
The tray was placed onto the table. Its contents were soft, round lumps of minerals and dough bound together with butter and some sugar, placed in an oven and left to cook for several hours until edible. They were –
“ROCK CAKES!”
A screech accompanied the pink filly as she flew out of her chair and began to messily devour the contents of the tray. Bits of granite and slate were sent flying into the air, landing onto her family members and sticking to their mouths.
“Now now, Pinkie, you can’t eat all of the rock cakes,” the mother said softly, placing a hoof over Pinkie’s mouth and stopping her from eating any more of the hard treats.
“Awl...” The filly sagged as she dumped the food in her hooves back onto the tray.
“We all need to share,” the father said. “If you want some more, you’re going to have to bake them yourself.”
“Is there a recipe?” the filly asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I want to make some!”
The father had not expected this response. Most children would simply slouch when given the “make it yourself” response; then again, Pinkie Pie wasn’t like most children. After taking a slow moment to ponder, he turned to the filly’s mother, seeking assistance.
“Well, Pinkie,” the mother said, putting her words together as she went along, “give me a second to grab the recipe, and we can all bake some more rock cakes together!”
“No! I want them all!” Pinkie Pie stomped on the table in rage, prompting her father to lift her off.
“Share, Pinkie,” the father replied. “How about this: you make two batches, and we get one batch and you get the other.”
“Okay!” Satisfied, the filly bounced into the kitchen, the other girls following her happily—they’d get even more dessert than before. The parents stayed behind, whispering to each other.
“You don’t have a recipe, do you?”
“Shh! Let’s make it again and hope it comes out the same!”
The rock cakes were the exact same in the end, and Pinkie Pie kept baking them long afterwards. Weeks later, when the recipe had been prepared so much that it had lost its flavor to the family, Pinkie Pie asked for another recipe to bake, and the cycle continued from there. While making parties was her calling, baking sweets had become her passion (and quite possibly obsession), and it stayed so for the years to come.
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Pinkie Pie snapped back into reality and cracked her hooves. While she had enjoyed the reverie, there were chimicherrychangas to make.
The baker tore a tortilla out of the bag. Dumping a small amount of butter onto the counter, she twirled the tortilla on top of it, spreading the butter across the floury dough. This was done with one hoof; with the other, she grabbed a hoof-full of cherries and cut them in half as best as she could. Finished buttering the tortilla up, she slid over to the cherries and began to tear the pits out of the red fruits. The hard cores were all thrown into the trash within seconds.
Once finished with that task, the mare grabbed as many sweeteners as she could get her hooves around and began to shake them onto the cherries liberally. Dumping everything from aspartame to molasses onto the sliced fruit, they reached the point where they were almost indistinguishable from their before-state of fruitiness; now they were just a blob of sticky, syrupy gloop.
Accepting these ludicrous sugar levels as the best she could make them, the baker returned to the tortilla, this time throwing it in the air to improve its shape. Only a few more tosses were necessary for the tortilla’s perfection.
That done, the party pony picked up the sticky mixture of cherries and artery-wrecking sweeteners that she had created and dropped it straight onto the tortilla. One final flick of the wrist wrapped the mixture up; only one step remained. Grabbing a container of maple syrup, Pinkie Pie poured it—no, smothered it—across the wrap until it was as sticky as fresh honey. The masterpiece-in-making was ready for frying. Pinkie Pie drifted over to the deep fryer, where she took a stare at the deranged oven it was attached to.
The oven in the Cakes’ kitchen used to be a regular object—used to be. With permission from Mr. and Mrs. Cake, the ambitious baker had installed several modifications to the top and sides. She had added a barbecue burner, a microwave and a toaster to that misshapen hunk of metal, but the most important part for the moment—the deep fryer—was there too, acting as yet another part of the deformed mass.
A flick of the switch set the oil in the fryer burning, and, in two minutes, it was ready to send the sugary baked good right to Pinkie Pie. Intending to do just that, the baker took the pastry creation she had made, grabbed it with both hooves and dropped it softly into the oil, where it landed with a satisfying plunk.
For the next several minutes, the cotton-candy mare waited near the fryer, pacing impatiently as the concoction was made crispy.
Those few minutes were some of the longest minutes of Pinkie Pie’s life. Her baking prowess, every single ounce of it, had been condensed into this single diabetes-inducing mass, and waiting for the mare’s creation to be perfected was almost as much of an endeavor as creating it. Come on, cherrychimichanga! Cook! Cook! Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon!
A familiar buzzer rang, signaling the end of the orchestra of noise. Pinkie Pie, eager to retrieve her masterpiece, ran up to the fryer and stuck her hooves straight into the deep oil.
“HOT HOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOTHOT HOT—” Pinkie’s inexplicable ignorance of the laws of the universe had failed her for the first time in weeks. The oil must have been excruciatingly hot. Hopping around the room on her back hooves, the pink mare eventually gained enough common sense to place her hooves under cold water.
A comical amount of steam came from the sink as Pinkie Pie’s hooves returned to their normal 100-degree temperature under the running water. Her excitement lessened somewhat by the sensation of oil nearly frying her skin, Pinkie decided to do things safely this time. Grabbing a new plate from the cupboard carefully (her hooves were still quite raw), she placed it upon the counter softly. This was followed by her shakily moving towards the fryer and grabbing the food holder with her hooves, after which she strained the oil into the sink. With the deadly liquid down the drain, she moved back to the counter, where she placed the finished product onto a plate.
The surprisingly difficult ordeal over, Pinkie Pie began to work on the finishing touches for her new dish. The fine crust was accentuated by another—yes, another—coating of syrup. Placed on top of that was a generous sprinkle of powdered sugar. And finally, the pièce de résistance was added to the top: a single cherry, stem and all.
The chimicherrychanga was done, and its proud creator looked at it from every angle, analyzing every aspect of the dish. The creation was sugary beyond measure; even though sugar is smell-less, just a whiff of the chimicherrychanga would send your mind spiraling into a dream filled with a broad assortment of sweets. The double-coated sugar glaze reflected sunlight back into the sun, while the flaky tortilla remained visible as what held it together. But one thing could not be seen from the outside. As a final test for her newest creation, Pinkie Pie grabbed a knife and gently cut the baked good in half, revealing the insides.
Could the cherry-sugar mixture within withstand the test? Apparently so: it held together well, and the mixture shone even more that the sticky outside coating had.
Pinkie Pie had made her decision. This concoction had passed the test spectacularly.
No one has ever considered the restraint a hungry baker must have when they have prepared a dish. The temptation to take just one bite is enough to weaken anypony’s will, especially for a pony that was known for eating anything and everything she could get her hooves on. The absolute perfection of the dish, however, was thankfully enough motivation for Pinkie Pie to not eat it; she earned almost as much enjoyment from just staring at it.
The overjoyed mare gripped the plate upon which the dish was perched with her mouth and bounced into the entrance of the house, where she deposited the masterpiece onto the glass display cabinet where it would rest in honor as yet another unmarked achievement of hers. Her other achievements would have been marked, but, for some unknown reason, all of her treats had begun to disappear recently, and Pinkie Pie had never thought of taking a picture of them. The mare had simply shrugged and moved on.
As for this creation, however, it would not be eaten; she would make sure of that. Looming close to it and giving it a deadly stare, she began to slowly back away into the kitchen, keeping her eyes focused on the treat.
Back in the kitchen, the baker walked into the kitchen, spotted the countless (okay, 62) crates of cherries and snapped back to reality. Yes, this one dish was amazing, but she had many more to make at a near-equal level. One crate of cherries equaled four chimicherrychangas, which would equate to a total of 248 chimicherrychangas, or 248 happy customers.
Dusting off the counter (which had been lathered with sugar during the baking process), Pinkie Pie washed her hooves in order to ready them for the process of baking again. While there was only one chimicherrychanga now, soon there would be ten and then eventually one hundred; and, if they reached the success levels the cuppins had reached, there would be an entire army of them, ready to swarm upon the world and infect it with their sweetness.
With the thought of her treats reaching the front rows of bakeries throughout Equestria, Pinkie Pie began to prepare a tortilla for frying. The second chimicherrychanga was about to be made.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pinkie Pie dropped another failed attempt at recreating her masterpiece into the trash bin. For some strange reason, her efforts in making a second chimicherrychanga were failing, each finished product being worse than the previous. The second didn’t possess the lustrous coat or flaky crust that the first one had; the fourth was an absolute disaster. The fifth one deserved to be banished into griffon country. Every time the recipe had gone wrong, the baker had changed the recipe to improve on what was lacking, and it had made no difference whatsoever.
Dejectedly, Pinkie Pie grabbed another tortilla and began to create another chimicherrychanga, but she stopped before she had even begun spinning the floury disc. Her movements were missing something: some elusive quality similar to majesty, finesse or energy that she couldn’t name. She lacked the inspiration to bake. Like planning and executing parties, baking was a fine art, and the mare just hadn’t been in the mood after the fourth failure, which could easily explain the disaster her fifth concoction had been. Motivation is the key.
She only knew of one way to regain this inspiration, and that was the original chimicherrychanga. She needed to look at it and see it (two very different things); she needed to discover what the differences were between the masterpiece and the failures. With little bounce in her step, she ran into the entryway to accomplish her goal.
However, someone had gotten to her inspiration before she had. Gnawing on the chimicherrychanga with his newfound molars was Pound Cake, and the toddler had already managed to cover it with a layer of saliva.
“NO!” Pinkie Pie reached the toddler’s side in less than a second, her powers of bending time and space having returned after leaving during the oil dip. Nabbing the treat out of the foal’s hands, the mare salvaged it from the toddler’s grasp as quickly as she could, but it was too late. The saliva had deadened the layers of sugary coating, the flaky crust was soaked and the unhealthy insides had been consumed completely. If the cherry was there, the dish might have been livable; but it was gone, probably inside into the toddler’s gullet.
Pinkie Pie, the creator of the wonderful dish, could only gape at the desecrated mess as the saliva on it covered her hooves. Her slow stutter only showed her utter disbelief:“Bu-bu-bu-bu… h-how… wh-wha?” Eventually, Pinkie was able to regain her senses and her sentences. “My baking masterpiece… Pound Cake, how could you?”
The foal stared at her innocently.
“I… I don’t know what I’ll do anymore. I can’t make another one without the original. What am I supposed to—”
The mare stopped herself.
There are two types of ponies: there are those who stand up to a challenge, and then there are those who quail under the pressure. Pinkie Pie was not a pony who backed down; why, then, was she succumbing to this little setback? The moment called for action, resolution and delicious desserts, and that was what she would bring.
Immediately dashing back into the kitchen, the mare prepared yet another tortilla. She was going to have a finished product, whether any pony liked it or not.
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A knock on the floor was audible as the Cakes stepped down from the stairs, Mrs. Cake fiddling through her saddlebags as she spoke to Pinkie Pie. “Pinkie dear, we’re leaving!”
Pinkie Pie nodded as she fiddled with the deep fryer, her back to Mrs. Cake. “Mm-hm!”
“Make sure to keep an eye on the foals!”
No reply from Pinkie Pie.
Mrs. Cake walked up right next to the occupied baker. “Pinkie Pie, are you listening?”
Pinkie Pie jumped two feet into the air. Mrs. Cake had managed to take her by surprise, something he was never able to do. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“Then where are the foals?”
“Um…” It took Pinkie Pie a second to figure out what the couple was talking about; the second she did, she ran up the stairs, into the foals’ room and back down the stairs, bringing the twins back with her.“I got them!”
“Make sure you keep an eye on them while we’re gone, okay?”
“Okie-dokey-lokey!” The now-babysitter saluted and watched the Cakes leave the house side by side.
The second the lock clicked, Pinkie Pie rushed back upstairs and put the pair of babies in their crib. Even though the two tried to climb out, Pinkie raised the safety bar. Now they could never get out—unless, of course, they could fly or levitate, but what are the chances of them being able to do that?
“Stay!” Pointing a hoof in the direction of the crib and then galloping down the stairs, Pinkie Pie hopped into the kitchen and resumed baking.
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It had been easy for Rainbow Dash to move the clouds to Fillydelphia to assist in creating a storm: the city wasn’t far away, the clouds weren’t very water-heavy yet and Rainbow Dash had limbered herself up during her early-morning flight. It still took several hours, but it was the only thing on her to-do list for the day, and that left the rest of the day to her.
Exactly as she and Pinkie Pie had planned.
The two had organized the perfect prank; they would hide all of the pineapples in Ponyville in hidey-holes scattered across the town, after which Rainbow Dash would forge several letters and leave them on the mayor’s desk. Each letter contained clues that would lead to a stash of the delicious yellow fruit, each place in turn holding a clue as to who hid it and where they were hiding. When the ponies had finally figured out who the “wrongdoers” were, the townsfolk would go to their hideout, where the pair of pranksters would make the big reveal that the whole mystery was all a prank.
This could have been taken quite badly, but Rainbow Dash had the common sense to ask the mayor for permission for once. (In all honesty, Rainbow Dash would have preferred to not ask for permission, but she wanted to avoid.)The mayor had approved; in fact, she planned to assist in the full execution of this plot, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Rainbow Dash hadn’t given the mayor an exact date, nor had the mayor complained; both of them wanted it to be a surprise. The mayor’s mischievous streak now showing, Rainbow Dash was set to begin.
The plot was to begin that night; in the time before then, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie were to prepare the hiding spots for easy pineapple depositing. The Pegasus would have liked to remind her accomplice earlier in the day, but her duties as a weather mare plus the aggravating reunion with Pinkie Pie earlier that morning eliminated any chance to give her a reminder. Now, however, she had an opportunity to do so. Seeing the gingerbread-house-replica that was Sugar Cube Corner, she dove to it and opened the unlatched window in the kitchen. “Hey, Pinkie! Let’s get the hiding spots ready!”
“Not right now, Dashie. I’m busy,” The baker said in an apathetic reply to Rainbow Dash.
Rainbow Dash looked through the house window, noticing the quiet in the home. “The Cakes aren’t home, huh? Never mind then, I’ll talk to you later—wait, where are the foals?
“Oh, they’re upstairs somewhere.”
“You’re not watching them at all?”
“I’ve got to finish this recipe! Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re in their cribs.”
Rainbow Dash stared into the kitchen and found a humongous crate of cherries next to the dining table. “Oh, good grief, not the chimichanga—things again.” Rainbow Dash put her head in her hooves for a moment, but it flicked right back up as she realized something.“How long have the foals been there?”
Pinkie Pie threw some sugar in a pot. “A few hours.”
“A few hours?!” Rainbow Dash moved six inches backwards.“How long have you been baking?”
“Even since you brought the cherries.”
It took the pegasus a while to regain the ability to speak. “But what about the mess? And the foals? And yourself?”
“I need to finish this recipe!”Out of rage, the mare slammed her hoof on the kitchen counter.
At that moment, the entirety of Pinkie Pie suddenly slouched downwards: her coat sagged, her mane deflated, her eyebrows and mouth sunk slightly. It only lasted for a moment, but it brought stillness to the room that wouldn’t have come otherwise.
Seeing this, Rainbow Dash made a quick decision about how to handle this. Backing up to gain some momentum, she tore through the open window of the kitchen and attempted to tackle Pinkie Pie. However, the mare dodged in the nick of time, sending Rainbow Dash flying through the door in the other room as the pink pony’s tail barely slipped through her hooves.
Rainbow Dash lifted herself up slowly from the floor and realized that this wasn’t a one-pony job. The pegasus flew away, craning her neck as she thought about what—or who—would help her.
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Twilight Sparkle placed a hoof on her desk and opened her log book, turning through its pages roughly.
In the time since she had become Ponyville librarian, she had seen a remarkable amount of ponies pass through the library doors. Not everyone ended up taking a book out of the library, but everyone who did returned the books. Some of them, however, managed to return them late every once in a while. Some were like Applejack, who didn’t get a chance to read much and returned them late with a wide grin and a few bits in payment; other were like Rarity or Fluttershy, who kept the book past its time to learn a new sewing technique or how to treat a broken wing; and some were even like Snips, who simply forgot and ran in a few days late with a panicked look on his face. No matter the reason, everypony ended up returning a book late at least once
Today it was Pinkie Pie’s turn, and Twilight was baffled by the fact. Few ponies in Ponyville—no, few ponies in Equestria—brought books back on time every time, but Pinkie Pie was not known for following standard procedure. Throughout several years of going to the library, she had never returned a book late once; the previous librarian’s records showed that. She never even gave herself the chance—until today, that is. Like every other subject in existence, Twilight had a book on the behavior of library card holders entitled The Librarian’s Guide to Customer Psychology, and it stated that ponies who never returned a book late would never break from the pattern unless something serious happened; therefore, something was going on with Pinkie Pie, and it wasn’t anything Twilight was aware of.
Twilight wanted to check on Pinkie to see if everything was alright, but a voice of caution itched in the back of her head. You can’t trust everything you read in a book. Besides, Pinkie Pie could forget. She forgot her own birthday once, after all! There’s no reason to head over on account of a late library book.
A reluctance to heed the voice accompanied by an admittance of its logic led the bookworm to a decision; she wouldn’t check on Pinkie until tomorrow, when the book was officially late.
Finally having reached a decision she was satisfied with, Twilight shut the psychology book and began to float it over to its place at the other end of the counter. Before it could make it to the spot, however, it was sent flying into a different shelf by a multi-colored projectile entering through an open window.
“Rainbow Dash?” Twilight levitated the book off of the ground and began to float it to its proper place once again as she took a look at the speedster. “What on earth is going on?”
“No time for questions!” Apparently there wasn’t. Without a warning, Rainbow Dash grabbed Twilight and speeded out of the library two seconds later, headed to whatever destination Rainbow Dash had in mind.
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A quick flight through town (quick is probably an understatement) had never really hurt anyone before, but Rainbow Dash had almost reached the point where that was happening. Beads of sweat flew off of her face and her wings ached as she sped across town as fast as she could, soaring past ponies and over buildings with great effort.
Thankfully for every pony—Rainbow Dash because of the strain put upon her and Twilight Sparkle because she was obviously enjoying every second of this flight without any questions or doubts about it whatsoever—their destination, Sugar Cube Corner, was reached quite quickly. Twilight was deposited there and realized that she wasn’t the only pony Rainbow Dash had taken to the bakery, while Rainbow Dash dropped herself to the ground and took a quick rest.
If the wheezing Pegasus had expected that she would be able to take a rest without any interruptions from the ponies she had taken, she was mistaken. “What the hay do you think you’re doin’, Rainbow? Draggin’ us here without any explanation? I was in the middle of clearing the trees for cider season. Now I’ve got a bunch of work to make up!”
“Applejack, give Rainbow Dash a chance to take a breath. She’s got to be tired from flying all three of us over here!” A yellow pegasus with light pink hair attempted to placate the earth pony as she stood over Rainbow Dash.
“You’re right, Fluttershy,” Applejack replied, grinning. “I shouldn’t’ve yelled at her from the get-go. But we still need an explanation for what’s goin’ on here,” Applejack pressured.
Rainbow Dash picked the three of us—Applejack, Fluttershy and I—up and brought us here, Twilight thought in an attempt to figure out what was going on. At least the others know as little as I do. “An explanation would be nice, Rainbow Dash. Is there anything you’d like to say?”
Rainbow Dash was still recovering from her recent cross-town flights, but she was still able to give them a hint. “Pinkie Pie,” she declared, lifting her head slightly and then slamming it back on the ground to rest.
“What about her?” Fluttershy asked, obviously somewhat confused. “Did she do something bad?”
Applejack narrowed her eyes and took a glance at Sugar Cube Corner. “Wait a minute…does this hafta do with those cherries she got from us earlier today?”
“Yep,” Rainbow Dash replied, throwing her head up once again and having it land back on the ground.
Apparently somepony else does know what’s going on, Twilight thought to herself.“Could someone please give me an explanation? Apparently I’m the only one here who has no idea what’s going on.”
“Oh, I don’t know either,” Fluttershy said. “In fact, I was about to ask the same question, except—“
“Uh, Fluttershy?" Rainbow Dash said. "How about I explain it?”
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything…”
“It’s fine, Fluttershy.” Clearing her throat, Rainbow Dash began to explain what was going on as she regained her breath on the ground.“Earlier today, Applejack got a huge shipment of cherries for the Cakes. We delivered them here when we realized they were for Pinkie Pie and another one of her crazy baking projects! She’s been baking for hours, even though she should be watching the foals right now.”
“But why do you care so much?” Fluttershy asked.
“Remember how Pinkie Pie acted when she showed up at our surprise birthday party?”
“Yes…”
“Well, she’s about that crazy right now.”
“I think you’re overreactin’ a bit, Rainbow.”Applejack stared into the pegasus’ eyes. “No way that’s happenin’ again. Worst is that she’s having a hayday with those cherries. Nothin’ worth worryin’ about.”
“Well, it is something worth worrying about,” Rainbow Dash replied, getting off the ground and brushing herself off. “She’s obsessed with it right now, and she’s going crazy! We need to do something.”
The three ponies looked at Rainbow Dash. Applejack asked, “Are you sure? Or are ya just actin’ stubborn?”
“I’m not acting stubborn!” Rainbow Dash replied, slamming her hoof on the ground violently.
Another stare from the three of them, two with slight worry and the third with an accusatory glare that told she thought otherwise.
Rainbow Dash groaned. “You guys aren’t listening to me! Don’t you understand—you know what, forget it. Just go say hello to Pinkie Pie and leave. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” With that, Rainbow Dash flew across the street and took a rest on a bench.
The three others, convinced that absolutely nothing was wrong with Pinkie Pie, decided they might as well. Walking up to the entry, Twilight Sparkle knocked on the closed door. “Hello? Is anypony there?”
At this distance, the three were able to discern noises coming from the kitchen; there was, however, no reply. Twilight Sparkle knocked yet again. “Pinkie Pie? Are you there?”
“You know the door’s unlocked, right, sugarcube?” Applejack said as she pushed the door open.
“Oh, thanks, Applejack. I guess I should have expected it to be unlocked. This is a business, after all—”
Twilight was a bit slow on reaction time, due to the fact that the last thing that she had expected from the insides of Sugar Cube Corner was a glop of sugar slamming into her face. The unicorn spent several seconds ripping the goo off of her face. Once the sugary gloop was off, the three took a look into the kitchen to see where the sugar had spawned from.
There are usually three types of kitchens: clean kitchens, normal kitchens and messy kitchens. Bakeries usually fall into the third category. Pinkie Pie, however, had managed to create a fourth, far messier category in the one day she had been baking that could only be described as a blizzard of cooking-related items. Cherries rolled across the ground, along the counters and into the sink; dense balls of who-knows-what spun through the air like firecrackers; and pot, pans and utensils alike soared across the mess. And the noise…Imagine a train rushing by and you’ll understand the noise levels. The cook showed bits and pieces of the mess in her mane and tail, but the sight of her was distressing for another reason. Every thirty seconds, the mane and tail of the baker switched from a state of poofiness to a state of flatness, the body rising and falling in synchronization with it. Pinkie Pie, hearing the door open, turned her head over her shoulder, saw her friends, and promptly ignored them.
The three sat there, watching this display of turmoil for several minutes. Rainbow Dash had flown in after they had entered to see their reaction, but she was just as shocked as they were, gaping at the madness that had only increased in her absence.
It was an interesting sight. Imagine it: five ponies in that one room, four of them standing and watching, the fifth creating nothing but a mess. The scene didn’t change at all until Fluttershy spoke up. “Pinkie Pie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” Pinkie said as her mane and tail deflated.
“Where are the foals?”
“In their cribs,” she answered, grabbing some sugar in her hoof
Twilight Sparkle was second to speak, connecting the utter focus on her baking on Pinkie’s part with the foal’s crib banishment. “How long have they been there?”
Shaking a pan on the stove while taking a look at the clock on the wall, Pinkie Pie replied, “About five hours.”
“Oh, no! You can’t keep them in there for that long! They’ll get cranky and start crying, not to mention their—oh, I think I should go help them.” Fluttershy ran up the nearby stair balcony, undoubtedly headed for the foals’ room, which left Twilight, Applejack and Rainbow Dash downstairs to persuade Pinkie Pie.
“Pinkie Pie, you’ve got to stop baking!” Twilight Sparkle ran as close as she could to the revolving mess, shifting left and right as she attempted to find a way through to the earth pony within. “You’ve shirked your responsibilities for—whatever you’re baking!”
“Chimicherrychangas,” the earth pony replied from the other end of the mess.
“Whatever.”
“Not to mention all of the craziness that’s currently going on with your mane! Manes aren’t supposed to do that!” Rainbow Dash had said, finally coming up with a good way to enter the conversation.
“Nothing’s wrong with my mane!” Pinkie Pie, it seemed, had officially descended into denial and rebellion, throwing the retort at the pegasus as she pulled something out of a pot.
“Pinkie Pie, you need'ta stop. There’s no good reason for you to keep doin’ this! Just take a breath, stop what you’re doin’ and think about it.” Applejack had finally made it back to reality, creating a three-on-one pony match.
“I’ve got a good reason!” A splash of liquid could barely be heard from the other side of the mess. “I need to finish this recipe!”
“That’s not a good reason at all!” Rainbow Dash shouted through the clatter.
Pinkie Pie refused to listen. At this rate, there would be no stopping the baker; only she could end things.
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Pinkie Pie was more aware of what was happening around her than the others suspected. True, she wasn’t thinking about the foals that she was supposed to guard, but she was perfectly aware of her current condition. She was also aware of how disturbing it was, but stretching them was the only option she had right now if she wanted to finish her baking—at least, that’s what she believed.
The baking project was, at this very time, coming towards its culmination. Every single failure that the earth pony had had led to a small improvement in the recipe, and, although she griped for all the lost time, it was going to be worth it. The cherry-sugar mixture had been grabbed from the pot it was in—there was less than she had wanted, but it didn’t really matter that much—and placed in the tortilla, allowing the oil to splash as the flour-wrapped mixture fell in. Seventeen seconds she had waited—seventeen seconds exactly—to leave the wrap in there: no more, no less. The seconds ended, Pinkie Pie dipped her hooves into the flaming oil and, as Pinkie Pie knew, it was done.
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The kitchen stopped. It didn’t slowly grind to a halt; the noise and chaos didn’t just fade away; it simply stopped. Everything that had been flying through the air—the pots and pans, the cherries and sugars, even the occasional tortilla, butter-laden or not—fell to the ground. The spectators expected even more noise to come from this sudden stoppage of disorder, but there was none. One second, the noise and chaos were there: the next, it was gone.
In the center of the collapsed mess stood a pink pony, holding a small, crisp tortilla wrap in her hooves. Her mane was back to its regular, albeit messy, cotton-candy state, and the amounts of sugar clustered in it from the previous mess would have probably made it taste the same way.
“Pinkie Pie? Are you okay?” Twilight took a step into the clutter in the ground, attempting to reach Pinkie Pie. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, everything’s more than alright!” Pinkie Pie’s eyes gleamed, except it wasn’t in the normal way—this gleam contained slight insanity. “I’ve finished baking my chimicherrychanga!”
“Your—what is it?”
“It’s basically a chimichanga with cherries and sugar inside.” The baker put it directly in front of Twilight’s face. “Look at it! It’s perfect!” The earth pony smiled with absolute delight and then collapsed, her sugary creation jumping off the plate and under the kitchen table.
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Thankfully enough, the whole situation was able to be cleared up quite easily.
The foals had been in the care of Fluttershy even since she ran up the stairs, and they were definitely in good hooves. Even though Fluttershy had trouble watching fillies, the foals had (quite literally) attached themselves to her, and soon they were having a great time. As for the kitchen, Twilight’s magic and Rainbow Dash’s skills had been able to clean that up quite nicely. Pinkie Pie was carried upstairs and laid in bed by Applejack.
The Cakes arrived a few hours later, and the four told them everything that had happened. The Cakes were dismayed by this; had they not been waylaid for several hours by an irrational dentist who considered all of their baked goods a menace to the health of teeth everywhere, they may have been able to prevent their lessee’s obsession from escalating to the point it had reached. But then again, maybe not: the Cakes were a flighty, anxious couple, and the personality type may not have worked well against Pinkie’s stubbornness. Such possibilities were not considered, however; only the actual happenings of the day were.
As the night turned black, each of Pinkie’s friends drifted off to their homes, promising the Cakes that they would help them talk with Pinkie as much as they could in the morning. In reality, though, they were unsure whether they would be able to help at all. Pinkie Pie was impossible to convince of anything when she was stubborn; why should this be any different?
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The tranquil silence of Ponyville at night is always wonderful. Unlike the bustling cities of Canterlot and Manehattan, where ponies run around the clock and barely have time to glance at their watches, the streets of the small town were often completely empty at the low hours of the night. Owls hooted softly. The streetlamps glowed, their light covering the street corners. everything was peaceful.
The same still held true as the sun rose in the east that morning. Even though ponies were starting to head outside at that time, the town refused to let go of its peacefulness, and everything at 8 o’clock was the same as it was at midnight: quiet and peaceful.
That is, before Sugar Cube Corner’s wall was blown into bits.
Everypony in the entire town heard it. The birds must have heard it too; they left immediately, chirping loudly as they sought refuge in the Everfree Forest. Many a pony looked out of their windows, but they soon went back to whatever they were doing, assuming the explosion was some freak accident that would be soon cleaned up. Not all of them thought the explosion was a dream, however, and a few ponies knew about it personally.
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There are four things explosions can do to a pony: they can kill them, injure them, give them mental trauma or cause a decent headache.
When the explosion in the kitchen began, Pinkie Pie was not close enough to it to die, nor was she able to be injured. Mental trauma was out of the question; a headache, however, was perfectly reasonable. The mare, with a normal mane, was thrown out of bed with the worst head pain she had ever experienced as the explosion rocked the house. She would have loved to move, but, for some odd reason, her legs were not working. Instead, she decided to lie on the ground against her mind’s will for a moment until the explosions were definitely over.
Eventually, Pinkie Pie was able to move again. Lifting herself up, she shook her head and asked herself what the hay happened. Despite her head throbbing, she was still able to figure out that the explosion had come from somewhere nearby. Stepping out of her bedroom and down the stairs, her hoof touched the ground floor, only to be lifted quickly as she stepped into ashes.
“What the…”
What had once been a quaint dinner room was now a charred remnant of its former self—literally. The chairs had disintegrated, leaving a two-legged wreck in the corner as the only survivor; the table, on the other hand, had completely evaporated. The china cabinet in the kitchen was singed badly, as was the counter. As for the walls, two of them had gargantuan holes blasted through them, giving Pinkie Pie a view of a quiet Ponyville morning. The floor had somehow avoided destruction, but it was covered by a thick black char in return.
Pinkie Pie’s mouth was agape. As the color in her face faded, she asked aloud, “What in Equestria happened?”
Rainbow Dash flew into the room, panting slightly as she echoed Pinkie Pie’s words. “What the hay just happened?” Pinkie Pie noticed the rainbow-maned pegasus look at her; the stare was cold at first, but it softened almost immediately as their eyes met.
Another pony, this time a lavender unicorn, gallopped into the kitchen through the front door. “What happened?” she asked as she goggled at the burnt wreckage.
“I… I don’t know…” the earth pony responded feebly.
Twilight Sparkle stared at the wreckage. “Well, I’m guessing that there was an explosion…”
“Obviously.”
The unicorn looked at the hovering pegasus sternly for a second, and then continued to think aloud, staring at the burns. “Judging from the singe marks and the places where the wall was broken, I’d say that the explosion was somewhere around… here!” Twilight made a circle with her hoof, indicating an area that would normally be the underbelly of the dinner table, if the table hadn’t been blown up. “The explosion was in an extremely convenient place. If it had been any closer to the kitchen, everything in there could have been blown up
The color and vigor began to simultaneously return to Pinkie Pie’s face. “If that had happened, the Cakes’ business would have gone kablooie!”
“Yes, it would have,” Twilight Sparkle replied.
“But what exploded? What could have exploded?” Rainbow Dash began to open the cabinets, looking through it for anything that could have exploded.
Twilight stared at Rainbow Dash. “I don’t really think the Cakes have any explosives in their kitchen cabinet.”
Rainbow Dash turned her head to look at Twilight. “Well, we don’t know what exploded, do we? It wouldn’t hurt to check.”
“No, we don’t. I don’t think anything could have gotten under the table, and I didn’t see anything last night—” The unicorn fell silent, her eyes widening once again.
The pink pony stared at Twilight. “What?”
“Wait a minute—no way. There’s no way that could have happened.” Rainbow Dash had apparently caught on.
Now, her attention was focused on the pegasus. “What?”
“Twilight’s saying that the explosion came from the cherrychimi… cherrycha… how do you say it?” Rainbow cursed in frustration. “Chimicherrychanga! That’s it!”
A vision flashed through Pinkie’s mind: her holding up the chimicherrychanga, staring into Twilight’s eyes as she told her about it and then falling onto the ground. Her eyes snapped shut and she winced as she saw the pastry fly in the memory under the wooden table which was now permanently gone. Worst of all, Pinkie Pie thought she knew why it exploded.
Molasses, cane sugar, powdered milk–those were in the recipe! The ingredients flashed through Pinkie’s mind as she stood still, processing the explosive pastry’s ingredient list in her brain.
Twilight waved a hoof in front of Pinkie’s face. “Pinkie Pie? Are you okay?”
The unicorn jumped back as the earth pony jumped a few feet in the air and gasped. “Oh my gosh! I caused that explosion!”
“You did?” Rainbow Dash asked, somehow seeming not surprised.
“If you take molasses, sugar and powdered milk and boil them the wrong way, they’ll form something very, very bad,” Pinkie explained dramatically. “If you keep them warm, nothing happens, but if not, it EXPLODES! It’s the worst mistake you could possibly make!” The mare imitated an explosion with her arms.
Pinkie Pie’s energy was back; she was walking around the room now. “How could I have done that? I feel like such a Meanie Pie!” Throwing her hooves on the ground, the stomp rattled the kitchen slightly, upsetting the pots and cabinets. Pinkie Pie took a look at them – flawlessly shiny from Twilight’s cleaning – and remembered all the cooking she had done the day before. “I was such a Meanie Pie! I hogged the kitchen, I didn’t watch the foals, I made a huge mess for somepony else to clean up and I made a chimicherrychangabomba!”
“You sorta were…” Rainbow admitted.
“Rainbow!” the purple unicorn shouted.
“What? She admits it!” Rainbow Dash replied. “It’s not like she wasn’t.”
Ignoring this conversation, Pinkie Pie continued to criticize herself. “I should never have baked that chimicherrychanga! It wasn’t worth it at all!”
Inspiration struck Twilight Sparkle. It had been a while since she had learned another lesson about friendship.… Mentally preparing a pen and scroll, she dipped her quill into her imagined inkwell as she spoke to the earth pony. “I guess all that time you spent baking wasn’t really worth it, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t worth it at all! And even if it hadn’t exploded and made the kitchen go kablooie, it still wouldn’t have been right! I didn’t watch the foals at all, and I’m not supposed to make a mess that big in the kitchen!” Pinkie Pie jerked up and galloped over to the base of the stairs, panicking. “Wait, are the foals okay?”
“Don’t worry,” Twilight Sparkle replied. “Fluttershy watched the foals while you were knocked out, and we cleaned up your mess for you.”
“Oh, thank you!” Twilight felt the unusual sensation of being swung through the air against her will as Pinkie Pie shook her hooves. “Thank you thank you thank you!”
After the same hoof-shaking process occurred with Rainbow Dash as target, Pinkie Pie stared around the room. “But where are the Cakes? I need to apologize, and I can’t do that if they’re not here.”
At that exact moment, the Cakes’ hoofsteps could be heard as they came down the stairs. “What happened down here?” a female voice called.
Recognizing the voices, the apprentice baker ran up the stairs, grabbed the couple by the shoulders and dragged them down to the bottom floor, setting them up for her big apology. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t watch the foals and made a huge mess! I shouldn’t have made the walls explode! I was such a mean Meanie McMeaniepants!”
Words cannot express the endless babble that followed. Multiple times, the Cakes would attempt to cut her off, beginning what might have been a full sentence with a “Well, dear” or a “That’s okay”, but they were immediately stopped by her constant babbling. They were reduced to a state of helplessness in about thirty seconds, a state that left them looking around the room for assistance. At this moment, Rainbow Dash was able to catch Mr. Cake’s eye and wink, delivering a very important message.
Mr. Cake put his hoof over Pinkie Pie’s mouth, and the babble finally ceased. “We accept your apology, Pinkie, but you’ll still need to do something in return.”
“Yes! I’ll do anything!”
Mrs. Cake threw a confused glance at her husband, but she caught on quickly. “Well, you’ll need to help pay for the bills to fix the walls—”
“—but first you’ll need to clean up!”
Mr. Cake had thrown that final phrase in on a complete whim, but an immediate response came from Pinkie Pie. In one second, she ran out of the room and back, returning with a dustpan and broom. Saluting, she answered, “Okie-dokie-lokie!” and began to sweep up the ashes.
“Do you want to help, Twilight?” Rainbow Dash took a look at Twilight as Pinkie Pie began to rub the floor with her hoof in an attempt to scrape the burn marks off. “I think it might take her a while.”
“I would love to, Rainbow Dash,” Twilight said as she turned to the entrance of Sugar Cube Corner, “but I’ve got a letter to write.” The bell attached to the door sounded as the unicorn left.
“Great, one less pony to help.” Rainbow rolled her eyes as she grabbed a moist rag from the night before and began to scrub the floor.
Dear Princess Celestia,
Everypony has things that they love to do, whether it be reading a book, baking cakes, or gardening, and we all want to spend as much time as we can doing these things. But sometimes, when we get the chance to do these things, we forget about – or even worse, neglect – our more important duties. We need to make time for the things we want to do after the things we need to do are finished; that way, nopony gets into any trouble.
Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle
P.S: I need to work on this as well. The library is often open late because I’ve spent too much time reading a book under the covers.
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My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic © Hasbro. I do not own the intellectual property this story is based upon, nor am I trying to infringe upon the ownership of said intellectual property.
