‘Twas the night before Christmas; all silent through the house, not a soul was stirring, not even a mouse. The princesses and the guards had all gone to bed, except for Twilight; who decided to stay up instead.
The little foal was sat in her chair, reclining back, with a hold of her tiny bear. Her eyes drooped and drifted no matter, to the soothing lap of the fire and its pitter-patter.
A silver platter, with papers and quill, and cookies and milk, sat ready on the ‘sill. A careful note, teetered and tilted, held tightly in hoof as Twilight stared eagerly, up through the window in the roof.
“Come on, Twilight, why don’t you go to bed? You know that he won’t visit this homestead.”
“No, Spike,” Twilight said, her face turning rather red. She shook her head. “I know I’ve been naughty, and the house had been grotty, but even bad ponies agree that they will get something under their tree.” She looked to the corner where sat the former, a little thatched fern that looked to have a burn. It slumped at just taller than a shelf, with a tip that could barely lift itself. “Even if it is just our hole that is filled with black coal, we as ponies have the right to ensure his welcome is nothing less than bright.”
“Maybe so, and I can’t say that you’re not right, but you can’t think that we shouldn’t have a good night?”
Twilight took a cookie. “Don’t be silly, I’m not a rookie—” She took a bite then wiped the crumbs with the hoof on her right. “We won’t stay here all night, just until we see ‘old St. Nick, then we’ll be alright.”
As Twilight munched her treat, Spike took a glance to her seat, following the crumbs back to the tray, where he was met by a third cookie floating along the way. “Well...” Spike said. “If we’re going to see The Big Red, then I suggest you stop eating his cookies and just go to bed.”
This caused Twilight to pause. She dropped her teddy as she looked to Spike’s claws, where in them he held the empty tray: what was left of the kitchen cooking all day.
“... Oh b—”
~ ~ ~
That night the kitchen was empty; all left to bear. They’d left it how they’d found it, not a single sign of wear nor tear.
Each day the staff would go home at night, make sure everything was set back and right. Every utensil had a place where they belong, every tool, and every tong. Every pot had its pan, and every slot was filled with a can.
’Twas a beauty to behold for any cook who thought himself old. To be bold to make the round on such hallowed ground, none could muster and would surely fluster, for the rage of a princess would crush any buster.
“I don’t know about this, Twi’,” came a shrill little cry.
At that moment a door opened a crack. It groaned and creaked, and the light flew in on a streak.
A shadow made its presence known: the shape of a filly, and the fronds of a drake, the former carrying her teddy and very clearly awake. Two ears, purple and bright, poked their way, turning both left and to the right. “It’s okay,” the filly said, her voice barely a whisper as she stuck out her head. “We’ll be in and out in no time; nopony will know where we dared tread.”
She squinted into the darkness, scanning the night for any signs of Luna’s might. “We’ll be fine. All we have to do is bake some more cookies and get them back in time. Now watch my back—” She spun ‘round to look Spike dead in the eye “—We do not want Celestia to suddenly walk by.”
As she pressed ahead, Spike blanched red. “Wait, ‘should Celestia walk by’?” His mouth went dry. He slammed the door shut then barred it with a strut as he struggled not to shout, the tiny dragon blurted out. “No, no, no, no!” He whispered, half shouted, shaking his head. “Do you even hear what you’re saying!? If Celestia walks by, she’ll have nothing but dread! Please...” he begged, “Let’s just go back to bed?”
The filly huffed.
She gave Spike a shove, but all it caused was her hoof to gain a scuff. It quite hurt, and made her wince from searing pain. But all the same, Twi’ crossed her legs and gave Spike a narrow squint as if to ask if he were sane. “We won’t ‘get caught’” she mimed, all the while glancing back to cover her behind. “I’m not a foal. I know what I’m doing—”
“And what of last time?”
This caused Twilight to stumble. With her bear, she made a fumble. “W-h-well. Th-that was—” Miss Smartypants took a tumble as Twilight struggled not to mumble. “That was last time,” she said, masking the inklings of her first dread.
She stuck up her nose, and pressed the teddy to her chest. Doing her best, Twilight hoped her tone would do the rest. “That was Princess Luna’s fault! How was I supposed to know she’d be in that cake vault?”
Spike seemed bemused, but Twilight continued as she mused. “... a-and besides,” she said, “I’m older now! Almost eleven! Luna won’t trick me, and we won’t be caught red!”
Pushing past Spike, ignoring his protest, Twilight flung open the door to make her first step the best.
The first things she saw were two blue hooves, then a hock and a chest, and the might of the rest. The scare cause a raise in Twilight’s hair, as Princess Luna stood over them with a wide manic stare.
She leaned low and whispered one thing. As she did, she said:
“Gotcha, you’re dead.”
~ ~ ~
“Dear Princess Celestia
Today I learned not to go into the kitchen without first consulting an adult.
P.S. Luna can’t cook for bit.
Sincerely
Filly Twilight Sparkle (& Spike!)”
~ ~ ~
Celestia looked over the letter one last time. Barring the crayon, there was no doubt what it said. She then glanced to the letter for damages, her frown deepening as she silently mouthed through the total amount.
Finally, her gaze settled squarely on the culprit sitting across from her at her desk.
Princess Luna, sweating bullets and trying with all her might to remain calm, sat quietly with a guilt-ridden smile painted across her pale face. She held her posture like a board as her eyes roamed and darted past across Celestia’s desk.
First it was to the globe, second Celestia’s eyes, third the bookshelf—Celestia—the guards, laughing outside—Celestia—the carpet was lovely this day—Celestia and her Faust forsaken eyes.
“Um...” She smacked her dry lips. “I can—”
“...I’ll get The Elements.”
“What? A thousand years? Seriously!?”
