Pinkie Pie hijacks an Entenmann's Truck
Pinkie Pie Hijacks an Entenmann's Truck
Admiral Biscuit
The heist had been planned for weeks. Every detail had been gone over time and again, in order to ensure that everything went exactly according to plan.
Actually, no. That wasn't true at all, because it was a Pinkie Pie heist. The thought of it—that had been somewhat in Pinkie Pie's mind since the first time she saw the Entenmann's delivery truck drive by, but the total planning time for the operation was however long it took for Pinkie to slip on her ninja suit and jump on her Vespa.
When Pinkie kicked the scooter to life, the 50cc motor let out a plume of blue smoke and a noise not unlike a prolonged fart.
She cut diagonally across the CHS parking lot, in hot pursuit of the bakery truck. Inasmuch as a Vespa can be said to be in hot pursuit of anything, that is. Maybe a superannuated dog with arthritis, I don't know.
Fortunately for Pinkie's not-so-much-a-plan-but-more-of-an-impulsive-action, delivery trucks generally aren't terribly fast, either. They're more designed for functionality.
It only took her a half hour to catch up to the truck (remember, she's on a Vespa), and as she tailed it she started to re-think her plan. She'd seen movies where people jumped off motorcycles and onto the backs of moving semi trucks, but if she missed she'd fall off her scooter, and she knew from experience that that hurt a lot.
Even if she were successful, how would she get inside? The back doors were surely locked to keep the tasty treats contained, and the driver was unlikely to hear her over the truck's engine.
He wouldn't be able to see her, either. As the sign on the back of the truck so helpfully informed her, if she couldn't see his mirrors, he couldn't see her.
Ultimately, a full frontal assault was the best course of action.
Getting ahead of the truck was an exercise in patience, skill, and good fortune. Mostly good fortune—the truck stopped to make a delivery while Pinkie Pie waited impatiently for it to resume its journey.
When it finally had, Pinkie Pie was ready for it.
She led him a few blocks through town, much like an Australian Kelpie might herd a flock of sheep . . . except much slower.
When the duo finally got to a narrow, vaguely secluded stretch of road, Pinkie Pie pounced. Not literally—she stopped her Vespa, blocking the road. Well, as much of the road as a Vespa can block.
As she'd hoped, the Entenmann's truck stopped. Whether that was because he was intimidated by her ferocious expression or just had a thing for girls in skin-tight ninja suits is hard to say. I'll let the reader decide.
The front door of the truck was slid open, since that was all the air conditioning the delivery truck had.
She smelled the enticing treats as soon as she put her foot on the aluminum step of the truck and got right down to business: “Give me your truck.”
He finally looked her right in the eye. “No.”
“Why not?” Pinkie stomped her foot.
“Your baked goods smell scrum-diddly-umptious! I want them. I need them. I want your sweet treats inside me.”
“What do I get?”
“Huh?”
“If you take my truck and all my cargo, what do I have left? Nothing. Sounds pretty unfair to me.”
Pinkie considered this. She hadn't given it much thought (along with everything else in her cockamamie plan).
He'd made a good point, she decided. It wasn't fair to leave him with nothing. “You can have my Vespa,” she offered. “I can't drive both.”
He squinted through the windshield, trying to make out details. “Is that a 1957 Vespa V9A?”
“Yuppers! And it's got the optional glove box!”
“You've got a deal, Miss—“
“Pie. Pinkie Pie.”
They shook hands, and just like that, Pinkie Pie became the proud owner of an Entenman's bakery truck with a nearly full cargo of delicious doughnuts, rollup twinkie-like things, and pound cake.
As eager as she was to get going, she had to wait long enough for her former scooter to clear the way. While backing up was theoretically an option, Entenmann's had cheaped out and put really tiny mirrors on the truck, giving it essentially zero rearward visibility.
She drove her prize back to CHS, and after changing back into her pink skirt and white t-shirt with the heart on it she went inside to tell her friends what she'd done.
The next few weeks were wondrous. Whenever any of her friends was down, Pinkie Pie always had a delicious Entenmann's nut-covered doughnut or one of those weird crepe things that I can never remember the name of.
After all, she wasn't a greedy girl. Let's face it, though—she probably ate the bulk of those snacks herself.
All good things must come to an end, and finally one day, the last pound cake got consumed, and the truck was left completely empty.
Pinkie Pie moped most of that morning, until a brilliant thought occurred to her—if she took the truck back to the distribution warehouse, they'd probably refill it with more delicious treats.
The End
Derpy Hooves Steals a Muffin Truck
Derpy Hooves Steals a Muffin Truck
Admiral Biscuit
Naturally, word of Pinkie Pie's exploits were soon known all around school.
Since the theft of the Entenmann's truck had been consequence-free—as many things are in magical ~~horse~~ girl land, other CHS students tried similar shenanigans.
Sonata, unsurprisingly, stole a taco truck. After she put the tagline “Taste Sonata's Juicy Taco” on her truck, she was never lacking for customers.
But that's a story for a later time.
This is a story about a certain grey-skinned blonde girl with derpy golden eyes.
Like all the students at CHS, Derpy had heard all the gossip. Even if she hadn't, everyone except Snails had noticed how the entire student parking lot was now full of delivery trucks, food trucks, and various service vehicles. And Flash Sentry's Camaro.
Anyhow, Derpy was walking home from school one day. She couldn't get a driver's license because of her vision, and while she she could have taken the bus, she didn't mind walking. She liked meeting people on the street, and she had dreams of one day being a mail carrier.
They say that fortune favors the bold, and that's generally true. Fortune is a capricious lady, though, and she sometimes just favors whoever happens to be in the right place at the right time.
Thus it was that on her way home, Derpy saw a delivery truck that practically had her name on it—there on the side, in big letters, it said “Muffins.”
It also said other things, which we'll get to later.
Derpy crossed the parking lot, not with any sense of malice; she just wanted to get a closer look at a muffin truck and perhaps bask in its glory.
While she was basking, she happened to notice that the keys were in it.
Derpy is a good girl, but she's no saint. Besides, this is consequence-free magical girl land, so of course she stole the truck.
Despite never having driven a motor vehicle before, she had no trouble with it--the controls were simple and intuitive. She was conscientious enough to keep one eye on the road and one eye on her mirrors at all times.
It was only when she'd arrived safely home, parked the truck, and set the parking brake that she went back to check her booty.
She'd had a vague suspicion all the way home that things weren't quite as they seemed. While she didn't have as good a nose as a pony version of herself would have had, certainly with an entire 16' Utilimaster full of muffins she should have smelled something.
Woe unto our poor protagonist, for when she went into the back of the truck, she discovered it was full of hockey puck-shaped breakfast bread. She'd accidentally stolen a truckload of Thomas' English Muffins.
“I just don't know what went wrong,” she moaned.
MORAL: Fortune can be a cruel bitch.
Author's Note
I would have said that Snips was also clueless, except mobile scissors-sharpening trucks are actually a thing. It's true!
Twilight Gets Pantsed
Admiral Biscuit
Every now and then, Twilight liked to go through the mirror portal and meet her friends. It was a good chance to get in touch with them, even though it was weird when she met up with her mirror-world self.
It was also her only opportunity to bond with Sunset: the former unicorn refused to return to Equestria, despite Twilight's assurances that Princess Celestia had forgiven her and wouldn’t banish her to the moon for a thousand years.
Besides just seeing friends, she could justify it as satisfying her intellectual curiosity. There was a lot about life through the portal that she still wanted to learn, and it was nice to have the opportunity when there wasn't a major crisis at hoof.
At hand, she reminded herself. On the other side of the mirror portal, they'd humanized familiar Equestrian expressions, which always struck her as strange.
She'd finally agreed to meet with Rarity to go clothes shopping.
How is that going to work anyways? she wondered. Is it like the market, but instead of farmers there are tailors and fashionistas selling their wares? Or is it an enclosed store like Barnyard Bargains?
Rarity promised after shopping she'd treat Twilight and anypony—anyperson—else who wanted to join them to a snack at Doughnut Joe's, and that was another thing to look forward to.
Plus, it'll be an experiment for the future: will I keep new clothes when I step through the portal into Equestria, or if not, will I be wearing them when I come through next time?
“Earth to Twilight.”
“Huh?” A blush crept across her cheeks. “Sorry, Rarity, I was just lost in thought for a moment there.”
“I guess so,” Rarity said. “You were tugging at the hem of your skirt.”
“I was?”
“Mm-hmm. That eager to try on new clothes?”
“I was just thinking . . . what's going to happen to my clothes when I go back to Equestria?”
“You were wearing them when you went through the portal.”
“Yes, I know.” I wonder what would happen to them if I took them off first? In some ways, clothes were the human replacement for fur. “And I don't have them when I arrive in Equestria.”
“You're naked when you arrive in Equestria? Isn't that—“
“I'm sure I already told you that we don't normally wear clothes in Equestria.”
Rarity frowned. “I think that you might have, yes. But I tried to block that from my mind, darling. It's just so gauche.”
“I'll try to remember not to bring it up again.” Twilight fell silent for a moment. “Where are we going, anyways?”
“The Dress Barn.” Rarity rolled her eyes at Twilight's snicker. “I assure you, it's a proper fashion store. Perhaps not the pinnacle of fashion, but quite stylish and affordable.”
“I wasn't doubting your choice.”
“And to be perfectly frank, I'm not sure that you're ready for something higher-end.”
“Maybe next time?”
Rarity nodded.
“If—I assume that I'll be allowed to wear any new clothes that I choose.”
“That is the idea of a clothing store.”
“Right, sorry. Could you keep my old clothes, and let me know what happens to them when I go through the portal?”
“You think that they might disappear?”
“It's possible.” Twilight admitted. “The thaumic interface of the portal is weird, and it keeps changing as magic leaks through. I've got nearly all the large effects worked out, but there are a lot of little variables that I don't quite understand, like where Sunset got her saddlebags when she stole my crown. I don't get a new pair of saddlebags whenever I go through.”
•••
Dress Barn wasn't an actual barn. In fact, it looked much like any of the other shops around it.
Twilight's eyes bulged as she took in the place. There was nothing but clothing and fashion accessories as far as she could see. Even with her untrained eye, things appeared to run the gamut from functional to fashionable and everything in between.
“How do you even begin?” It was like a library for clothes.
“Pick out what you like.”
“I don't know what I like,” Twilight admitted. “I mean, I know what I like to wear to a gala or a party or a wedding, but I'll be honest, it's kind of weird wearing clothes all the time—sorry—and a gala dress isn't exactly comfortable to wear around Ponyville.”
“Well, then, we'll both go looking together,” Rarity said brightly.
“I like this shirt.”
“Mmm, no. That's not your size, and the color clashes with your skin.”
“You know my size? How?”
“Fashionista secret.”
“My counterpart.”
“Yes.” Rarity smiled. “That does make it easy.”
Their first circuit of the store was simply reconnaissance. Rarity kept up a running commentary of why things were sorted the way that they were, and also how to identify the difference between overpriced clothes and a bargain, and Twilight soaked it all up as best she could. Not just for herself; she was sure that pony-Rarity would love to discuss it over tea.
The second time around, Twilight started tentatively picking out clothes, watching Rarity for cues to see if she was making a good choice or not. It was harder to read human expressions—there were no ears or tail to watch—but she was getting better at it.
Or so she thought.
“No, that skirt won't do at all.”
“Why not?” It was similar in color to the last one she'd picked, although a different, silkier fabric.
“It's too big.”
“It's the same size as the last one.” Twilight pointed to the tag.
“Some manufacturers lie about the size,” Rarity said. “Trust me. You want the next size down. Or else you'll just be walking down the sidewalk and they'll start slipping down your hips and the mirror portal obviously gave you a bra and pardon me for asking—“ her voice dropped to a whisper— “it also gave you panties, I hope?”
“Yes. Just plain ones, not like those fancy lace and elastic E-strings that—“
“G strings.”
“Yes, those.”
“I just wanted to make sure before you embarrassed yourself in the changing room.”
Twilight frowned. “Embarrass myself? How? Besides that I really don't understand human fashion. I should have taken notes.”
“You . . . never mind. We'll have a discussion of modesty some other time perhaps.” She sighed. “I just thought that since Sunset frequently goes without, maybe it was a pony thing.”
“Well, I don't wear underwear in Equestria,” Twilight admitted.
“I gathered that from the frequent mentions of being naked,” Rarity said dryly. “Well, it looks like the cart's plenty full. Time to go to the changing rooms!”
“There's no way that I could ever wear this many clothes in a hundred visits.”
“Of course not! You fill the cart, and then try everything on and keep the one or two outfits that most appeal to you, that's the idea.”
“One or two? But we could have—“ She clamped her mouth shut. “I trust you, Rarity. If this is how it's done, this is how we'll do it.”
And she did.
•••
An hour later, they emerged from the changing rooms. Twilight had settled on a pair of jeans and a simple black top to wear for today, and she had also—at Rarity's insistence—purchased a summer dress with a belt that was 'just the right amount of slutty.'
(She hadn't gotten the matched polar fleece pajamas, which was a shame, because they were really comfortable. Rarity insisted that you couldn't wear pajamas out in public, which was a dumb rule. It wasn’t because they didn’t cover enough, or they covered too much, it was just because they were pajamas and somehow different from pants and other shirts with buttons.)
The pants she’d picked were loose on her hips, because according to Rarity she had less butt than anyone except Rainbow, but all the other ones she'd tried on had been too clingy and confining. “If I have to wear clothes, I'd rather be comfortable in them.”
Rarity hadn't pushed the point further.
Twilight's old clothes were securely tucked into Rarity's backpack, and if they didn't disappear, would be available for her next time she came through the mirror portal.
The two of them were deep in conversation when Pinkie Pie accosted them from an alleyway. “Hey!”
“Gah! I wish you wouldn't do that.”
“Sorry. How did clothes shopping go? Are you ready to have doughnuts yet? Because I am, and I saw you had Dress Barn bags so I thought that you were probably done and were going to be looking for us or maybe texting us but I hadn't gotten any text messages yet so maybe you forgot.”
She took a deep breath, and Rarity held up her hand before Pinkie could speak again. “Yes, we're done shopping. I was going to text everyone when we got to the store, I promise.”
Pinkie nodded, then turned to Twilight. “How was it? Your very first clothes shopping trip?”
“It was . . . interesting. Rarity told me that foals—children—often play dress-up.”
“Yuppers!”
“I think I know what that's like, now.”
“Because you never did it as a pony.”
“No, because we don't normally wear clothes.”
“Right.” Pinkie's eyes shifted for a moment, before locking back on to Twilight's. “So you've never been pantsed.”
“Pantsed?” Twilight looked down in confusion. “I'm wearing pants right now, so—“
She had just a moment to feel fingers at the waistband of her jeans, and then they slipped down her legs with practically no resistance.
Rarity looked up from her cell phone just in time to see Twilight's new pants drop around her ankles and let out a shriek of horror that was piercing enough to cover both Pinkie and Rainbow's maniacal laughter.
For her part, Twilight just stood there on the sidewalk in confusion, making no motion to pull her pants back up.
•••
After apologies—mostly to Rarity—the four girls resumed the journey to Doughnut Joe's. Rarity was sulking, and Twilight was puzzling over what had just happened in her mind. Finally, she spoke.
“Is it funny because you hobbled me?”
“Huh?”
“So I can't gallop—run—after you without first pulling my pants back up?”
Rarity's voice was dripping venom. “It's not funny, it's mean, because everybody got a look at your panties.”
“So?”
“So that's just not done.” Rarity crossed her arms. “Really, you girls should grow up. It wasn't funny in middle school, and it isn't funny now.”
“I'm not upset,” Twilight said. “And you don't have to be upset for me. I'm not some filly—child—who's still suckling at her—“
“Woah, TMI.” Rainbow covered her ears.
“But we . . . never mind.” Twilight sighed. “I just don't understand fashion.”
Author's Note
Click HERE for story notes
