A Very Pinkie Hearth's Warming
Pinkie Saves Hearth's Warming!
It was Hearth’s Warming Eve, and a young unicorn filly dashed through the streets of Ponyville. Her name was Sweetie Belle. She had a mane of vivid purple and brightest pink, and a coat of nearly-white fur. She wore, on her face, a very-nearly-a-frown. “It’s not too late,” she said to herself over and over, as though repeating the words would make them come true. “It’s not too late. Oh please don’t let it be too late.”
“What’s not too late, Sweetie Belle?”
The voice was like sunshine in the gloom: a voice of candy canes and gingerbread houses, and of lights twinkling upon the Hearth’s Warming tree. It was the last voice Sweetie had expected, and, in her surprise, she slipped in the snow and landed smack on her face! (Thank Celestia the snow was thick that year, a freezing duvet spread over the cobblestone streets.)
Sweetie scowled as Pinkie Pie helped her back up. She glared at Pinkie’s pink coat and pink hooves and pink mane. Even her words sounded pink.
“Are you late for a party?” Pinkie said, pinkly. “A Super-Duper Hearth’s Warming Spectacular?”
Sweetie groaned. “Pinkie Pie, I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the shops.”
“Oooo!” said Pinkie, bouncing into place behind Sweetie. “Let me guess: you’re in a race against time, looking for a last-minute gift. Oh! But eight-and-a-half seconds from now, you finally realise that you’re too late, and then comes the terrible PANIC, the dreadful GUILT. And then—”
Sweetie groaned. “Pinkie, I’m not in the mood. I—”
Eight-and-a-half seconds passed: Sweetie Belle stopped in her tracks. It was as though her hooves had frozen fast to the ground. The wind nipped at her legs, her chest, her face. Her horn tingled unpleasantly, and snowflakes settled on her back. “Wait,” she whispered. “What do you mean, ‘too late’? It’s only four o’clock.”
“Silly filly,” came Pinkie’s pink reply. “It’s Sunday! The shops closed early this year.”
Sweetie’s very-nearly-a-frown grew and grew, until she was three quarters frown and only one quarter filly.
It was Hearth’s Warming Eve.
It was also the end of the world – and, most importantly, it was a Sunday. Her ears flattened. How, just how could she have forgotten that the shops shut early on Sunday? How could she have been completely and outrageously dull?
Sweetie felt a nudge on her shoulder. She glanced up, and was shocked to discover she wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes: where once Pinkie had worn a century’s worth of smiles on her face, now, there was an endless frown. Where sunshine had once dazzled from behind her eyes, there lurked a hundred shades of twilight misery. There was a lurch in Sweetie’s stomach. This was Pinkie Pie, who was laughter and joy in the form of a pony! This was Pinkie Pie, who always smiled even when the days were darkest, and the nights were longest! Pinkie Pie didn’t frown.
They stood in wind-wailing silence for a while, two ponies alone in the blue darkness of a snowy street. Sweetie wondered what to do next – surely, there had to be something, something she could still get for her older sister? Some of Sweetie’s own make-up, perhaps? Yet what would a grown-up mare want with a filly’s make-up kit? What mare would be interested in a foal’s nail varnish, a foal’s eyeliner, and blusher for kids? It was a stupid idea, she knew.
Maybe – Sweetie held a hoof to her chin, and flicked her tail as she thought to herself – maybe she could make something for Rarity? A necklace? A painting? Yet between the school Hearth’s Warming play that evening, and carols at midnight, there was no time for crafting or colouring.
Her stomach was cold, and it had nothing to do with the bitter touch of deep winter. It was as though she had feasted upon fear and melancholy. “Pinkie!” she said, grabbing Pinkie Pie by the shoulders. “You’ve got to help me! What should I do?”
If Sweetie had looked closer – if she hadn’t been caught in the dark claws of desperation – she might have noticed that, for the briefest of moments, for an infinity slice of a second – the corners of Pinkie’s mouth turned upwards. But the smile was hummingbird-fast, and Pinkie’s frown returned. “Tell Rarity sorry,” Pinkie sighed. “Granny Pie used to say that an apology was the most cherished present of all. So, say sorry, then put the sorry in a box, wrap the box with a bow, and place it under the tree.”
Sweetie pawed the snow with a hoof. “How did you know the present was for Rarity?” she whispered, caught off-guard by the bluntness of Pinkie’s words.
(Once more, she didn’t look hard enough. Had she looked, she might have noticed the spark in the mare’s eyes; but she didn’t notice, and she certainly didn’t question Pinkie as the mare led her through dark drenched streets and frost frozen alleyways.)
“Oh, that was easy,” Pinkie said. “The way you cried? That was a sister-cry, and I know all about sister-cries, because they’re the most especially special kind of all. You must be so happy to have a sister who can make you feel so sad, just because you didn’t get her a present.”
“Not helping,” Sweetie said through gritted teeth. The two of them cut through a park, where shadows nested under the trees, and the gloom was thick. Sweetie shivered and moved closer to Pinkie. “Think, Pinkie. What’s a good idea for a last-minute present?”
“But why didn’t you get one before?”
For the second time, Sweetie stopped in her tracks. She gaped at Pinkie Pie, and marvelled at the frankness of the words. The question had been wielded like a hammer! No, this wasn’t the Pinkie Pie she knew. The Pinkie she knew wove her words with kindness and joy; normally, to be around her on a winter’s night was to experience fiery warmth when all the world was cloaked in dark and cold.
Sweetie stammered. “I… um…”
Pinkie was relentless in her most unPinkieiest onslaught. “You’ve had all week to get one,” she said, darkly. “I know, because that’s how long you’ve been off from school. Apple Bloom brought her sister the biggest, hugestest, most massivest apple pie that you ever saw. And you should have seen the cake that Scootaloo got for Dashie.”
“Hay! That’s not fair,” Sweetie said as they trotted out of the park, then across town square then down another icy coated side-street. “I was busy all week.”
Pinkie looked at her. She didn’t blink. “Oh?” she said. “Were you? That’s news to me.”
(Had Sweetie listened closer, she might have realised that, actually, Pinkie Pie didn’t sound at all surprised by the news that she had been busy all week, and that she hadn’t had time to buy Rarity a present. She might have noticed the deviousness of the words, the way Pinkie kept them on just the right side of playful teasing.)
Sweetie glared at her; but once more, her ears drooped, and her horn felt like it was packed full of snow. “Yeah, I was busy, OK? I get it. I’m a horrible little pony.”
“What were you busy with?” Pinkie asked.
“Well, I had to practice for the play tonight. I’m Princess Platinum. I have songs and everything.”
“Hmm, interesting. What else were you doing?”
They walked down a street with shops on it, then one with houses. Other ponies passed by in the dark, shadows wrapped in scarves and coats. Sweetie Belle paid them no notice, but thought to herself, going over the last few days in her head. “Well,” she said, “I helped Scootaloo pick out the cake, and then Apple Bloom with that pie. Can you believe that Scoots wanted to get Rainbow a book? A book! And Apple Bloom almost got AJ a cake with oranges in it!” She cleared her throat. “They said, ‘We want to try something new this year!’ It took ages to talk them out of it.”
Pinkie nodded. “Uh-huh. What else?”
Sweetie glowered at Pinkie Pie. ‘What else’? What a question! There was so much ‘what else’ that Sweetie scarcely knew where to begin – a whole treasure cave’s worth of it! So, as they cantered through a snowy field, she took a deep breath, and said, “I had extra magic lessons with Twilight, and she gives me so much homework that it’s not even funny.”
“What else?”
“I helped Mom and Dad with the decorations. I visited Grandma Belle in hospital – three times! She was asleep for one of them, but I went anyway.”
“What else?”
“Aunt Golden Glitter and my cousins are staying over, so I had to help get the house ready. Then we made cookies with them. We played games. Plus, I was helping with looking after my niece because she loves hanging out with me. I’ve been wrapping presents, and there were tons of cards to help write, and I’ve been helping Mom and Dad mail them.”
“Uh-huh. Have you seen Rarity at all?”
There weren’t many streetlamps, here, in the wide fields which lined the outskirts of Ponyville – but Sweetie felt her cheeks blush so bright that she thought, maybe, they would light the way through the gloom. In fact, they had trotted so far from the centre of town that they found themselves approaching a certain fashion boutique, which was owned, managed, and lived in by a most especially special pony indeed. Sweetie Belle had been so caught up in trying to remember the events of the past week, she hadn’t noticed where Pinkie had been leading her…
Sweetie stared at her sister’s home. With every snowflake that settled on her mane and tail, her annoyance cooled a little. Then it vanished entirely, blown away in a frozen gust. It was hard – too hard – to remain angry when looking at Rarity’s boutique. Her heart flooded with memories of her sister. In fact, Sweetie had never told anypony this, but she considered herself to have two hearts. There was the one which beat inside of herself, and then a second which beat inside the body of another: a pony who was always there for her, and with whom she felt as close to as her own parents.
She stopped three paces short of Rarity’s front door, hooves too numb from cold to continue.
“I haven’t seen her at all,” she whispered to Pinkie Pie. “There wasn’t time.”
Pinkie smiled at her; but this, too, was a most unPinkie look. Usually, hers was the atomic bomb of smiles, which blasted away gloom and misery: this smile, on the other hoof, was serious, though equally heartfelt. “Maybe you should tell her, hmm? Or, maybe she already knows, and has been telling all her bestest friends about how super-duper-zuper proud she is of you.”
Suddenly, something snapped into place in Sweetie’s mind. She remembered the smile that had flashed over Pinkie Pie’s face earlier, though she hadn’t registered it at the time… she thought of the way Pinkie had spoken to her, and realised that her words hadn’t been quite so blunt as she had supposed…
But then, before Sweetie could speak, and before she even knew what was happening, Pinkie produced a Christmas bow from seemingly nowhere, big and red. She tied it to Sweetie’s mane, then made to ring the doorbell—
“WAIT!”
Sweetie’s cry froze Pinkie in her tracks, her hoof an inch from the buzzer.
Sweetie gulped again. She trembled in the quiet. Then she whispered, “If I’m going to do this, I should do it myself.”
With that, Sweetie raised a trembling hoof to the bell.
She never got a chance to press it. Right then, the door opened and bathed the two ponies in warm, golden light; and from the light emerged Rarity herself, who wrapped her forelegs tight, so wonderfully, gloriously tight around Sweetie’s body. Sweetie’s fear was forgotten. All worries melted away, and she lost herself in the heavenly warmth of her sister’s embrace. Tears streamed down her face and strained Rarity’s fur. And Sweetie knew in her heart, knew in the very depths of her soul, that it didn’t matter to Rarity that she was freezing, and that her hooves were wet from the snow, and her coat was soaking from the snowflakes falling from the dark, dark sky.
“My darling,” Rarity whispered in Sweetie’s ear, “I must confess: I was sewing in the other room, when I heard voices from the doorway. I heard it all.”
Sweetie didn’t know what to say, so she said the first thing which stumbled into her mind. “I didn’t get you a present,” she sobbed. “I’ve ruined Hearth’s Warming. I’m so sorry.”
Rarity pried Sweetie’s hooves from her. She kneeled down, and brushed Sweetie’s cheek with a delicacy born of a lifetime of handling the softest cloths and most frail fabrics. She said, “Sweetie Belle, it is highly important that you listen to me. You have ruined nothing. Nothing.”
Sweetie shook her head. “But I have. It’s too late to get you a real present. There’s no time.”
For a moment, Rarity considered this. Sweetie sniffled and looked up at her. Rarity was golden in the yellow lamplight – she was golden, and beaming.
“You know what?” Rarity said at last. “A cup of tea would be quite lovely right now. Yes. That would be a splendid idea, I think, for a present. Tea for the both of us: if only you’d keep me company?” Turning to Pinkie, she added, “And tea for our mutual friend here?”
Pinkie Pie shook her head. “No thanks,” she said, though with infinite brightness. She winked at Sweetie Belle, and Sweetie could have hugged her. This was Pinkie’s gift: the gift of being left alone with her sister.
Pinkie dropped her voice down to a whisper. She spoke as though she was in possession of fantastic secrets. “Anyway, I heard there’s a play on tonight. I should get ready.”
Sweetie smiled, and there was a pause – a warm, snow-filled pause. Then Pinkie Pie bounced away into the night. The two sisters looked at each other. They giggled. Then, hoof in hoof, then walked into the golden light, and shut the door behind them on the blue-black coldness.
It was Hearth’s Warming Eve. The wind wailed, and the snow fell and fell.
All was well.
