The Pink Room

by Ponyess

Rating: everyone
Tags: Other, Random, Pinkie Pie, Slice of Life, Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2584

A room painted in pink and merrily decorated in the festive these; thus unavoidably invoking and summoning the spirit represented. What is to come, is just as obvious.

When the room had been painted in pink and decorated in the spirit of joy; the spirit of laughter is summoned.

Once a spirit is summoned, a Pony is materializing unexpectedly, spreading her joy in the room and the home.

What is about to happen, and how will the owner and inhabitant of the home react? The effect is soon to be realized.

Published 2018-07-05 19:20:07 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-09 00:07:37 UTC

A Pink Mare: 2

I had woken up, quite early in the morning. The room is in a delightful and quite vibrant pink hue, with a theme of two blue balloons and a yellow one. Should I complain about the decoration of the room in which I had found myself as I woke up? Why?

The pink cotton bed linen feels quite nice on my skin. Of course, my skin is covered by the same pink fur as I should have been expected. At first, everything does feel perfectly normal; despite the fact that the room is otherwise quite unrecognizable. I have never been in the room or the house ever before. Whatever kind of building this may be. I have no idea, I have not seen it before.

I fold the quilt up against the wall, before I slide out from under it. Setting my hind hooves onto the slippery, soft pink, plastic floor, finding it comfortably warm.

“Oh!” I exclaim, before I had the time to think.

“Why does this feel, as if I had been in one of these fairy-tales, from a storybook for little foals?” I ponder, as I scan the room to catch a hint of where I had found myself.

Of course the room had just been decorated, otherwise clean and blank. There is little to no hint as to where I had found myself. How typical.

Everything is pink, save the blue and yellow balloon decorations. Not even the ceiling had escaped the pink mania, of the decorating of this room. Maybe this is how and why I had been summoned.

Once I had jumped down from the bed, I stand on all four hooves on the pink plastic carpet; watching the surroundings in which I had found myself. After a moment, I fold the quilt back in place, leaving no sign of my time in the bed. Of course, it would have been very strange, had I just popped into the room in the middle of the day and wide awake.

I have the wardrobe at the foot end of the room, the bed-stand by the side of the bed and a table with two chairs; otherwise it is still empty. I trot over to the wardrobe, opening the doors to the first and second wardrobe, only slightly surprised by finding a skirt in the second wardrobe.

“Since this is my skirt, I could as well wear it; not because I need it, but just for the fun of it!” I ponder, as I pull out the skirt and slip into it.

Just as I had suspected, this skirt is clearly fitting me perfectly. Maybe this is my home, even if I had no recollection of ever being here before or even entering the building.

I close the wardrobes and scan the room. There is clearly a door, even if it is cleverly hidden under wallpaper. I trot forwards and pull the door up; looking out of the room and examine the new surroundings.

“Almost like in Fluttershy’s cottage!” I ponder, grinning at the memory of my dear friend.

I imagine the yellow Pegasus beside me, as I exit my room. Or, at least it is what would pass for my room; since I woke up in the room.

Apparently, there is just enough room for Fluttershy by my side; as I trot along the railing of the balcony outside my room to the stairs down to the bottom floor. The flight of stairs down is fairly moderate, to me, even if Fluttershy seems to have some problems negotiating the decent from the second floor, down to the floor below.

The fence is four feet high, which is just slightly more than me. Why they placed the fence there is obvious, one does not want to fall down onto the floor below. Considering that I just came from my bed room, I could have been in a hurry or sleepy.

“Why does it feel, as if the handles indicate that the once building this house have hands?” I ponder, giggling at the notion.

Of course I recall the people at the Canterlot High. The humans there has hands, so maybe the people here are like them?

Author's Note

Pinkie Pie's POV

The Caka: 3

I open the door and step into the kitchen. Of course there is a stove, a fridge and a freezer, this is the kitchen. I also find the pantry, full of edible foods. The cereals of choice, conserved foods and a number of items usable for baking. Flour and sugar could apparently be found.

The floor is laid with smooth, shiny white stone tiles. The fridge and freezer shiny, stainless steel; just as the kitchen sink and the table top with the space on which to place the dripping wet, dishes once they were done. The table, chairs and so on are a light pink cherry, beech wood, not the fake variety that is merely made out to look like the real deal.

“Ah, finally!” I exclaim.

“At least, the home in which I found myself as I woke up is by no means abandoned!” I ponder and sigh in relief.

All the ingredients and tools required to baking could be found. Maybe I could make something, just just pull it out from a plastic bag in the freezer. Forks, knives, spoons, bowls and measuring cups.

“I will need some flour, sugar and eggs, for starters!” I point out, to myself.

Pun, is pun; yet, I still do recall each and every thing I have baked. Not just the once at the Sugar-cube Corner. I mix the four, sugar and eggs, preparing for the first batch of muffins. It’s a breeze, after all the times I have done it in the past.

Is that I who baked the muffins, or is it just the memory of baking them? I am still the same pony. I am pink and I still go by the name of Pinkie Pie.

Pulling out the ingredients, is easy. The items soon finding themselves lined up on the table, ready to be used in my exploratory baking exploit. Why leaving it in a pile, when it is so much easier to use the ingredients when you line them up.

With everything on the table; I turn on the oven and line up the pink silicon baking forms on the black stainless steel plate, from the oven. Adjusting the oven; turning up the heat, to what the muffins require to properly bake. I want my baking and my muffins just right. No fun with burnt muffins or muffins with a slimy core.

Once I had filled the forms with dough; I let them rest for a few minutes, while I line up the next plate and fill the next set of forms up. Once I have a second plate finished, I notice that the oven had heated up just right.

“If I had not known better, I would have claimed that the oven is magic!” I exclaim.

Opening the heated oven with bare hooves is a bit of a challenge, but I don’t let this get to me and insert the plate and hastily close the oven once more.

“This is going to be delicious, once they have been baked!” I ponder, as I look through the window with a longing gaze.

I split the dough up into different bowls and add spices and seasonings into the new sets; before I start filing up more forms onto new plates. Biding my time, waiting for the pastries to bake into the delicious goods I had been known for in Ponyville. Of course, I am not in Ponyville now; had I technically ever been there? What if Pinkamena Diane Pie is still in Ponyville? What if she is not there? I do not want to dwell on this question. I turn my gaze back towards the nearly done muffins in the oven before me. Waiting.

Watching, waiting.

I pull out eh first batch, quickly replacing it with the next. Since I had finished with the dough, I have little else to focus on. I wait for the first batch to cool off, just enough for me to have a test and bites into it. Soft and juicy, crunchy and delicious. I slowly chew the pastry, thoughtfully contemplating my accomplishment as I wait for the next batch. Nothing else to do.

“Maybe, just maybe I could bake a cake?” I ponder.

I wash of everything I used in my effort to bake these muffins; waiting for the tools to dry off, so I can put them back into place, where I had found them.

Since it takes the oven fifteen minutes for each batch of muffins to bake; I work on mixing the ingredients for the cake and even whip up the cream, while I wait. Including the sugar in the cream, while I whip it up to that fluffy delight I had been known for.

Only once the last batch of muffins had been baked, did I bake the cake itself. Slicing it up and spread the cream between each slice. Chocolate cream, on top of each layer of cake, and jelly over the cream; before I could put the next layer in place.

A thought strikes me, so I write; “Welcome home!”, on the top of the cake with green and red.

Of course, I had already known this was not my home. Yet, since I woke up in the bed, I had assumed I live here.

A Homecoming: 4

Of course I wear my white cotton panties and bra, just regular comfortable underwear. The same I always wear, when I am outside my own home.

A pair of tight, soft, elastic and shiny black pants, comfortable to wear, when I am outside. This is one of the days, when these are particularly convenient and comfortable.

When I go out, I wear a large, loose fitting black silk gown. Otherwise, I only wear shoes when I go out.

Based on the ultra sounds, I had managed to order a suit for my unborn girl well in advance. She is wearing this as I walk over the threshold of my home. I ended up choosing the pink with blue and yellow balloons. Incidentally, the suit is made out of hyper elastic latex, rather than the common cotton.

Not sure exactly what possessed me, when I made the choice. At least, I can clean it easily; if and when needed. She is gently pressed against my belly, where I know where she is, and she can have all the benefit of the comfort of feeling my warmth.

“What is that?” I ponder; as the scent of baking hit my nose, as I enter my home.

“Wait, I know we do not have anything fresh baked at home; just as I know we did not bake anything, this week!” I exclaim, a moment later.

No, we did indeed have nothing freshly baked at home this last week. I am utterly certain of it. Yet, now the scent of freshly baked muffins is quite unmistakable.

The most logical explanation, is that there is a bakery behind our home. Of course, I know better; than expecting anyone to open a bakery behind my home, during the short time i had been at the maternity. My delivery did not take all that long. Not even if everything before the delivery is considered.

“If there are indeed muffins on the table in my kitchen, which variety would I choose!” I exclaim, smiling at the preposterous notion.

I slip my shoes off of my feet, right and left; once I had closed the door behind myself and looked the door. As I had slipped my shoes into place, I walk into the kitchen. Curious as to what the scent could possibly be; I just had to go and examine it, for myself.

While there is no muffin on the table, there is a large cake. It is at least large, for my standards; even if that is not all that much. Right now, I am alone with my little girl; at least, that is what I had been expecting. Someone had baked the cake and left it on my kitchen table. Maybe the baker had left.

I rarely enjoy cake, but I have everything required; for me to enjoy it, when I actually do have one and someone to share it with. While I did not exactly expect to have anyone to share it with.

On second thought; I ended up picking a small place, a spoon and a cake knife with me back to the table. Once I sit by the table, I cut a small slice out of what is to pass for my cake and slip it onto the small plate.

With my daughter still resting firmly against my chest, I pick up the spoon and dig in. In surprise, I realize that the cake is quite tasty.

“Wait!” I exclaim; “I never expected this to be so good!” I ponder, as I reflect upon the situation.

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Prologue: 1

The floor of the bed room is laid with a shiny, soft pink plastic carpet, just as we had finally agreed upon.

I had the walls covered with the merry pink wallpaper, with two blue balloons and a yellow one in an overall pattern covering the entire wall.

Bright pink cotton curtain, matching the colour, hue and pattern of the wallpapers in the room.

Two wardrobes at the foot end of the bed, a pairs of doors to open for both the doors painted in the same colour as the plastic carpet the floor had been laid with. Just as the door had been painted pink, so had the entire interior of both the wardrobes. The paint is just as smooth, as the carpet the floor had been laid with.

The top half of the wardrobes, fitted for hangers on which shirts and skirts could hang; while the lower half is fitted with shelves upon which clothes and bed linen could lie in storage, in wait for use.

Incidentally, the ceiling had been painted a lighter, still pink hue. As opposed to the floor, it is a rather mate pink. In the middle, the lamp had been mounted, with room for the bulbs to spread ample light within the confines of the room.

Instead of painting the door of the room, it had been decorated with a wallpaper, matching that of the walls of the room and thus hiding it. Just as the door is covered with wallpaper in the room, so it is covered on the other side.

The original handle had not been removed or replaced, so there is a hint of where the door is.

As the bed was made, a bright cotton sheet had been used. The duvet is pink, with matching balloon pattern, sticking to the theme of the room. Of course, the pillowcase had to be pink and covered with blue and yellow balloons. Anything else would have been quite inexcusable. Three pillows are lined up at the top of the bed, and the quilt is thick and heavy.

The only remaining furniture; consists of a bedstand by the side of the bed, a minimal bookcase mounted on the wall above the bed and a tiny table by the wall opposing the bed, accompanied by two tiny child’s chairs.