Give Me Your Bits. I Have A Pie, And I'm Not Afraid To Use It.
Give Me Your Bits. I Have A Pie, And I'm Not Afraid To Use It.
Golden Prize
Admiral Biscuit
The note was harder than she thought it would be. It needed to be clear and concise, not too long and not too short. She had to print carefully—her penmareship was terrible, and that wouldn't do at all, so she laboriously printed in block letters.
Spelling was important, and on her fifth attempt she realized that the pony who would read her note might not have good vision; might rely on reading glasses, and that was something she hadn't taken into account.
Big block letters was even harder, because they needed to be even, and the words couldn't run off the edge of the page.
Persistence paid off, though, and on her eleventh attempt, she had a note she was satisfied with. Folded once, width-wise, on nice heavy paper. Very professional.
The pie had been another difficult decision, and she'd wound up buying two. She wouldn't be taken seriously with the wrong kind of pie. Cream or meringue were the best, but didn't always travel well, especially if they needed to be kept hidden.
Golden Prize was fairly confident in her ability to keep it balanced inside her old school backpack. But there was always the cherry pie with a top crust if she changed her mind. Not as good a choice, perhaps, but more likely to arrive intact.
Everything was laid out on the kitchen table, and she'd checked it all before, but she checked one more time, just to make absolutely certain. Note, pie, and two felt squares that were nearly her coat color with a new cutie mark painted on them.
That was all she'd need.
She yawned, and since she was in her apartment alone, didn't bother covering it with a hoof. Tomorrow was the big day.
$ $ $
She slept on the couch, not because she had to but because it felt right.
$ $ $
She got up early, so she'd have plenty of time to groom and eat a good breakfast. And then she packed everything, balancing the banana cream pie delicately in her backpack.
Golden Prize took one long look in the mirror before leaving her apartment, making sure that her mane was neatly in place and there weren't any alfalfa seeds stuck in her teeth and that the fake cutie marks were even on both flanks.
She trusted her own hooves more than the superannuated elevator in the apartment, especially when it came to keeping the pie safe.
$ $ $
Out on the street she had to leave plenty of room around all the other ponies to avoid being jostled, but that wasn't too hard. It was after the morning rush, and a little bit too early for the crowds of shoppers to venture forth. On her way back to the apartment, she'd have to contend with them, but that was okay. That was all part of the plan.
Her destination was familiar, and she paused for a moment before passing through the heavy oaken doors into the cavernous lobby.
Inside was hushed like a library and she tried to minimize the noise her hooves made as she crossed the marble floor and got in the queue. She had to remind herself to remain calm and quiet, to control her breathing and look normal and everything would work out just like she'd planned.
Time seemed to stretch out and yet it was hardly any time at all before there was nopony in front of her and then a teller waved a hoof and she crossed over the last little section of marble and boldly placed her note in front of him.
He unfolded it, glanced at it, frowned, and then looked up at her. “If you could wait on one of those benches over there for just a moment.”
She wasn't sure that was how it was supposed to go. But he hadn't raised a fuss, and that was good. The banana cream pie could stay safely in her backpack, at least for now.
The teller moved away from his little window, and she stretched out on the bench. Maybe he doesn't have many bits left in his drawer. She'd been watching closely, and the tellers had been passing out lots of bits. He could be going to the vault to get some more.
Indeed, that seemed to be the case. He moved back to a desk and spoke with a pony there, a mare in a nice dress who looked very important.
The two of them conversed a little bit, and then the teller walked over to another desk.
Golden Prize glanced over at the door, just to make sure, but the guardstallion was still at his post, half-asleep.
The teller didn't seem to be in any rush at all as he left the second desk and moseyed off in the direction of the vault. It was good that there wasn't any hue and cry, but it was frustrating that it was taking so long. She was starting to get antsy, and that wasn't good.
After what felt like an eternity but was no more than five minutes according to the large clock on the wall, the teller was still gone. She turned her head back and her lips were on the pull for her backpack, and it took all her willpower to not just yank it open and grab the pie out and—
The teller had made his way back into the maze of desks, and he was trundling a small cart in front of him. It wasn't piled high with bits, but then banks liked to be discreet about that sort of thing.
Much to Golden Prize's disappointment, he had to stop again at the well-dressed mare's desk, before he finally returned to his little window.
He shuffled around something under the counter, and then neatened up on top, before waving a hoof to call her back over.
“I'm so sorry about that,” he said. “Now, what was it you were wanting?”
Golden Prize blinked once, as she tried to mentally process what he'd just said.
“What . . . I. . . .” She snapped her muzzle shut and got her thoughts in order before she spoke again. “I gave you a note.”
“You did?” The teller glanced around at his obsessively neat space. “I don't see a note.”
She could see it, plain as day, so she pointed a hoof directly at it. “It's right there.”
“Oh dear.” The stallion tugged at his bolo tie and followed her hoof as well as he could. He tugged a deposit slip out of its cubby and examined it.
“Not that,” Golden Prize said. “Behind—no, that's not it; it's on top of the baskets . . . not the spindle, the baskets.” She stomped her hoof in frustration as the teller examined the deposit slips a second time, fanning them out on the desk like playing cards.
“Everything seems to be in order here,” he said, dropping the slips back in their pigeonhole.
“Did you seriously not see my note?”
The teller looked at her blankly.
“You looked at it! I saw you!” Golden Prize suddenly noticed that all the other bank patrons were looking in her direction, and even the guardstallion had roused from his slumber somewhat. “It was . . . never mind.”
She spun on her heel and stormed out of the bank, leaving the befuddled teller behind.
Author's Note
Link to the story notes!
