Truth-telling Lies

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Written by: Oneimare

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Laughter

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Knives and spatulas whistled through the air; whisks whipped cream in one bowl whilst a spoon mixed batter in another; flour hung like mist, sugar rustled akin to sand in a desert storm; at the same time, it rained milk and water into pans.

Not a small army or unicorns stood in the heart of that chaos, but a single pink earth pony. Furthermore, her deft limbs and logic-defying mane didn’t let a single droplet or crumb land on the floor, nor did the rest of the kitchen could tell the story of what she baked today.

Pinkie Pie relished in her dance, standing still not for a moment and her every movement, no matter how minuscule, served a purpose in that unceasing ritual—so bizarre, it seemed almost eerie to Rainbow Dash.

“Cupcake?”

A pink hoof emerged from the whirlwind of activity, offering the steaming pastry to the pegasus—a blood-red cherry variety.

Rainbow stared at it, confused, before absentmindedly mumbling, “I’m more of a muffin pony.”

The pink mare continued to fix her with an unreadable gaze for a heartbeat more, then shrugged, flicking her ears.

“Eh, to each their own.”

Finally shaking off the awe from watching the magic of earth ponies, Rainbow peered into the icy depths of Pinkie’s eyes; failing to discern anything in those crystally innocent pools, she somewhat reluctantly whickered, “How’re you doing?”

“What a weird question.” Pinkie glanced at her, smiling too widely. “I’m doing great! Aren’t you doing great, Dashie?”

“I—”

“Twilight’s happy, and so everyone’s happy… right?” She cocked her head, squinting at Rainbow without dropping her unnerving smile. “You should be the happiest, shouldn’t you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Hopefully, I didn’t blush. “And enough about me—you haven’t answered.”

“Just as I said—great!” Pinkie’s face stretched even further and her expression gained a truly disturbing quality; an unblinking stare aimed at the blue mare didn’t help that either. “Don’t I look like a happy pony?”

Rainbow coolly regarded her sardonic grin.

“No, you look like a different pony,” she sadly commented.

Something twinkled in Pinkie’s azure gaze and as the meaning of her own words caught up with the pegasus, her thoughts came together with a click. She froze, staring in the blue eyes, expecting them to turn green any moment; whilst she waited, her mouth opened and closed, like that of a fish driven ashore.

The equine before her remained unchanged, however; except for a normal, if somewhat mysterious, smile wiping the rictus off her thoughtful face. As if nothing happened, she picked up a bowl of batter and began to churn it.

“So, you think I’m Lamina,” she neighed as Rainbow continuously failed to stop doing an impression of a pony suffocating.

Rainbow replied to her with a blank look first, then, “Who?”

“The changeling assigned to Pinkie,” Pinkie explained nonchalantly. “Maybe she left me in her stead. How would you know the truth?”

“Ask something only Pinkie would know?” Rainbow blurted without thinking, eyeing the mare before her like she would turn into a timberwolf and lunge at her throat any moment.

That earned her a long look through narrowed eyes; mischief infused it when Pinkie answered with a question of her own, “Didn’t I say such a thing already?”

“But you know that because you’re a changeling!”

“And what a changeling would know?”

Blood rushed to Rainbow’s cheeks and she stared at her hooves, sweating bullets; she didn’t see how the pink mare’s face drooped.

“Pinkie isn’t blind herself,” the mare dutifully mixing the batter murmured. “Maybe that’s why she looks like a different pony.”

An accusing hoof shot up, connected to the pegasus still furiously blushing.

“Prove you’re not a changeling!” she demanded.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’!?”

Pinkie put the spoon and a bowl away to calmly hold Rainbow’s burning gaze.

“Would that… change anything?” Neither her voice nor her expression had any trace of mirth; flat and hollow, it lacked even accusation as she continued, “Don’t you care about changelings as much as about your friends? Isn’t that what Twilight wants of you?”

“Of us, you mean.” Rainbow squinted at Pinkie. “And stop bringing her up.”

“Why? Are you afraid she might be wrong?”

“Do you think she is wrong?” Rainbow challenged her, bringing herself so close to the pink mare, that the sweets-scented breath tickled her muzzle.

But Pinkie only shrugged, leaving Rainbow glaring at her as she returned to her craft.

“I might be a changeling. Remember?”

“Pinkie Promise me you aren’t a changeling,” Rainbow deadpanned.

Pinkie’s muzzle bloomed with genuine joy and her ears perked up.

“That’s smart!” Going through the customary motions, she solemnly recited, “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

This time a real one got involved; grabbed from one of the pans, it stuck to her face—the face that despite all still was but a shadow of what it used to be.

“Better?”

The violated pastry landed back on the table with a squelch; as animosity in Rainbow’s eyes briefly allowed scepticism to take over—only to let it fade away, too—she chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re Pinkie, alright.” She fell silent but her smile didn’t last. Finally, the pegasus forced herself to quietly ask, “So, do you think what Twilight does isn’t working?”

The pink mare blinked at her. “It isn’t?”

“What if it isn’t?” Rainbow shot her a half-hearted glare; most of her attention remained elsewhere. “Shouldn’t we tell her in that case?”

“Would you?”

Rainbow’s eyes returned to Pinkie’s painfully naive face, studying it with a frown; her lips twisted into a scowl, ready to snap at her friend, but then a voice inside her head reminded her, I didn’t do it back then. What has changed? Have I changed?

To deafen the answer, Rainbow cleared her throat.

“Where’s Lamina, by the way?” She wondered, her voice strained. “I don’t think anyone has ever seen you with her.”

A sense of déjà vu hit her as Pinkie grinned, showing two rows of gleaming teeth and her eyes glistened with a dark mystery; except the shadows, seemingly life-laden, now also thickened in the corners of the kitchen.

Are there more changelings assigned to Sugarcube Corner?

“You made a Pinkie Promise,” Rainbow noted, her voice hollow.

“What if Pinkie is too far away?”

“That wouldn’t have stopped her.”

The pegasus peered into the two wells of cyan ink and she could swear she caught a glimpse of virid; her ears fell flat against her skull.

It’s only my imagination.

Forcing herself to remain still, she took a deep breath—it changed nothing.

Pinkie smiled even harder, once more entering the uncanny valley; her unblinking gaze pinned Rainbow to the floor.

“Whoever—” I must trust my friend. “Pinkie. This isn’t funny.”

The pink mare changed—without green flames; in a blink of an eye, she sagged like a deflated balloon and even the colour had partially abandoned her.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out almost as a sniff. “Things haven’t been fun in a while. No matter what I’d tried, Lamina wouldn’t have fun with me. None of them is having fun.”

Rainbow looked away, clenching her teeth.

“None of us either—except for Twilight,” she spoke without malice; then paused and furrowed her brow. “Then maybe… it’s our fault?”

Shaking her head vigorously—too vigorously—Pinkie reassured her, “Some of us could be kinder,”—she gave Rainbow a brief but pointed look—“but that wouldn’t have changed the big picture.”

“It’s not my fault Teleta is just so…” The pegasus instantly bristled, but trailed off as words suddenly stuck in her throat.

“So what?” Rainbow’s head snapped at Pinkie—she had never heard her speak in such a tone. “So friendly? So enthusiastic? So loyal? So isn’t Twilight?”

Rainbow’s hoof hit the floor so hard, that half of the dishes and utensils in the kitchen echoed the impact.

“Enough of bringing that up!”

“Dashie, you know why I do that,” Pinkie instantly answered her, pleading; she tried to meet the pegasus’ eyes—without any success. “What do you think would happen if I came to her and told her she is committing a mistake? We’re her friends and we’re in this together—we can’t act alone!”

“Well,” a hiss came from betwixt Rainbow’s clenched teeth, “I can Pinkie Promise you Rarity and Fluttershy wouldn’t share that idea.”

“You can’t know that!”

“And neither do you,” a harsh bark bounced off the walls. “You coin it like that all is my fault!”

From the corner of her eye, Rainbow watched a pink form flinch; she barely stopped herself from mirroring her.

“I’ve never said such a thing.”
“You implied it. You act like you know everything—but you don’t!” Abruptly standing up, she headed out. “Anyhow, I’m glad you’re doing great and what would you know—me too. See you later, Pinkie.”