A Tale of Dusk

Chapter 9:

Pinkie bounced her way through Ponyville, waving and smiling and handing out bite-sized versions of her latest creation, triple-layered chocolate and vanilla biscuits separated by a thin layer of brandy-caramel cream.

And judging from how Ponies started vibrating after a single bite, or started rushing to Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie was fairly certain she’d created another winner.

The sales of which would help the Cakes with their mortgage and the loans they’d taken out to keep the bakery afloat. And if the bakery wasn’t repossessed and the Cakes could keep making money, it would mean Pinkie wouldn’t become homeless. Again.

Which would mean Pinkie could keep planning parties and making new delicious treats to keep everyone peppy and happy and coming back to buy more food off of the Cakes, which meant they could pay off more of their debts, and Pinkie could buy new ingredients to make new delicious treats, which would continue to draw more ponies in, over and over again.

It was the Cycle of Pinkie, and Pinkie was feeling good about how the cycle was progressing.

Up until she hit the fresh produce side of the market stalls and found Applejack being mobbed by a group of excited Mares. Whatever was happening, it appeared to have something to do with the new, and waaaaaaay too small, shirt that Applejack was wearing, and the new stallion in town, given that the only words that were easy to understand over the shouting and squawking were ‘Shirt’, ‘Mine’ and ‘Dusk’.

“Hey, Lyra, what gives?” Pinkie asked loudly, pointing to Applejack, who was vigorously trying to get the mob to move away from her stand and was not having much luck with her struggle as dozens of hands reached out to try and grab her shirt.

“Turns out Rainbow Dash crashed into Applejack while she was talking to the new horn-head in town.” The green-skinned mare sighed and rubbed at her temples in frustration. “Most of the town saw it happen, and knows that it’s not Applejack’s fault that Dusk ended up face-first in-between the Apple Mountains, but …”

“Oooh, oooh, you mean her butt-cheeks? I mean, she’s got one of the biggest pair in town.” Pinkie interrupted, going a little bit pinker as she imagined that.

“…Noooooo? I meant her breasts.” Lyra gave Pinkie a long-suffering look before continuing. “So, anyways, after ripping the front off of Applejack’s shirt with his horn while trying to get away, this stallion-.”

“You’d call her breasts Apple Mountains, really? I would have called them, uhm … well, we can’t call them melons, because apple-melons sound silly … oooooh, that gives me a great idea for a new fruit tart filling!”

“Pinkie Pie. Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?”

“Oooooone second … okay, written down. Now, please continue.” Pinkie mumbled, pulling a notepad out from her cleavage and writing down her thoughts before looking up and giving the irritated-looking lime-green mare a brilliant smile as she flipped the cover of the notepad back into place and tucked it back between her jiggling bosom.

“Ugh. Rainbow crashed into Applejack and smushed her together with the new Stallion. Stallion’s head ended up inside her shirt. Stallion panicked and ran away screaming, taking most of the shirt with his horn, and Applejack chased him through the markets for a good five minutes before the Stallion’s bodyguard clotheslined her and then Mayor Mare came running up, shrieking at the top of her lungs.” Lyra said all at once, with as more force as she could muster without shouting, holding up a hand to forestall Pinkie’s inevitable attempt to ask more questions.

“Ooooohkay! So all those mares are just … mobbing Applejack because they want Dusk Shine’s shirt? Or his measurements so they can buy him shirts? Oh, oh, is that the new socialite thing from Canterlot, buying new ponies clothing? Rarity will make a fortune, but I don’t think one stallion can wear that many shirts at once …” Pinkie became even more excited. If Rarity got more sales, she might be able to open a new shop in Canterlot … but then she got sad again as she imagined the white unicorn going to Canterlot and never coming back …

“More like they want the shirt ah’m wearin’ right now, an ah ain’t runnin’ through the town with mah goods hangin’ out ‘gain!” Applejack hollered, slapping away a hand that had grabbed for the neck of her shirt and had begun tugging franticly on the garment. “Fer Faust’s sake, back the fuck off or ah will pull out mah legs an’ start buckin’ some sense into y’all right quick-like!”

“I’ll give you fifty bits for that shirt, right here, right now, before your scent rubs all over it.” A mare shouted, waving a large, golden coin stamped with a large, stylized ‘L’ on one side, and Celestia’s face, set into a broad smile, on the other.

There was dead silence in the market before another mare shouted a bid of her own, holding up a battered linen pouch that jingled musically. “Sixty bits, in silver, and you can have my jacket to cover up!”

“Eighty bits in mixed metals, and I will talk to my husband at the bank about extending your credit some more.”

“Ninety bits, in gold, and I’ll let you set your stall up in my place, near the front of the produce areas with the heaviest traffic, for the next three months.”

“A hundred bits in silver and gold, and I’ll return the shirt for you after I’ve … finished using it.”

“Ladies, an’ ahm usin’ the term loosely here, ah ain’t sellin’ the poor stallion’s shirt to a bunch’a mares who’ll jus’ be defilin’ it, an’ ah ain’t goin’ topless an’ getting’ fined fer public indecency jus’ cause y’all got the itch.” Applejack snapped, slapping another hand away, this time hard enough to elicit a yelp of pain. “Back off, or ah’m goin’ to the Mayor an’ tellin’ her y’all are blockin’ the way to mah stall, an’ ah’ll have y’all banned from the market fer a week in accordance wit’ the local ordinance on unlawfully stoppin’ a pony from pursuin’ a legally acceptable profession, namely sellin’ mah apples.”

There was silence again for several seconds, before a mare’s hand shot up into the air.

Sighing heavily, Applejack glared at the hand for a moment before speaking. “Yeah, Cloud Kicker?”

“Did he at least pop a boner?” The infamous flirt of Ponyville asked cheerfully before the mob of mares descended on Applejack again, their questions and demands now taking a decided turn towards lewd rather than the more whining tone from before.

“Aren’t you going to help her out?” Lyra asked, taking a half-step back as the mob crushed around the farm-mare, who was now visible only by the tan-coloured hand waving furiously above the crowd.

“I’m going to give it a minute or two more, then I’ll bust out the Party Cannon and see how Ponies like picking confetti out of all of their orifices.” Pinkie shrugged nonchalantly as the mob heaved back and forth, and a wild-eyed Applejack scrambled out from under it on her hands and knees before yelping in pain as a hand grabbed her tail and dragged her back into the melee. “Or … maybe right now?”

“Just remember, this time, don’t aim for their faces!” Lyra shouted, turning around and running in the opposite direction as Pinkie leaned behind a conveniently-placed barrel and dragged out an cannon far too large to have been able to be hidden behind said barrel and aimed it square into the middle of the mob.

“Meh, details.” Pinkie shouted back, rushing down to the base of the ancient siege-weapon and began fiddling about in her pockets for a lighter to use on the short fuse, waiting to be lit to unload all sorts of joy-inducing mayhem on the unwitting mob before her.

Besides, now Pinkie wanted to see what was so important about that shirt, and the Stallion it came from, that would drive so many of the citizens into such a panic, and once she’d saved Applejack from being mauled by the mob, perhaps it would be time to go visit the new inhabitants of town and figure out when and what type of Pinkie Party would be suitable to welcome them to town.

And Pinkie smiled, the kind of smile that radiated such manic joy that, had the mob of mares been aware of what was brewing behind them, would have run screaming for the banal safety of their husbands and jobs as the fuse began to smoulder under the attentions of Pinkie’s lighter.

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Mayor Mare flinched and looked up from the Weather Teams’ files as the familiar and terrifying sounds of a Party Cannon echoed in the air, and a mushroom cloud-shaped explosion of glitter, confetti and whipped cream blossomed, briefly, into the air.

For a moment, Mayor considered rushing down to the market stalls to make sure that Lord Dusk Shine hadn’t been ‘Pinkie’d’ by the second-biggest pain in her flank, but the most important visitor she’d ever entertained in her little town had said he was heading to the opposite side of town, to the Barnyard Bargain superstore.

So, in theory, he was safe, at least for now, from Ponyville’s resident Tiramisu-Toting Terrorist, and right now, with her migraine and the blubbering blue mess formerly known as rainbow Dash in leaving a wet-patch of tears on the carpeted floor of Mayor’s office to deal with, and the old political lesson of ‘what you can legally claim you had no involvement in or knowledge of can’t hurt you’ rushing through her mind, Mayor Mare turned her attention back to the files in her hands.

“So … temporary replacement for the Weather Team Captain. Thunerlane?”

Rainbow whimpered in response.

“Cloud Kicker?”

The whimpering became louder.

“Fluttershy?”

The whimpering reduced in volume and intensity.

“Snowflake?”

The whimpering changed into a low-pitched keening noise of distress.

“Yes, I thought he’d be a good pick as well. Allowing such a hard-working and determined Stallion to hold such a high-ranking position will surely help prove Ponyville is far more progressive than Canterlot believes us to be.” Mayor Mare sighed happily, reaching for the ‘approval’ stamp and the forms needed to make the temporary transferal of authority legally binding. “After all, he can’t possibly do any worse in the position than you have, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow merely curled into the foetal position, trembling as she imagined the skyline of Ponyville transformed into clouds shaped like dumbbells and weight-lifting trophies for weeks on end, the distant sound of triumphant “YEAAAAAAAAAH!” echoing across the sky as the Wonderbolts flew off towards Cloudsdale with a ridiculously over-muscled Stallion in their midst, wearing the skin-tight blue-and-yellow that Rainbow had coveted ever since she was old enough to understand what the word 'stunt' meant.