Putting a Bun in the Oven

The high pitched moan of disgust rumbled through the Crystal Palace, reaching the base of the building with alarming speed. Everything from the walls to The Crystal Heart shook as the moan reverberated through the gemstone structure. High up in the tower, where the Council of Elders resided their monthly meetings, the ornate doors blasted backwards as a young alicorn tore through them, tears streaming from her eyes. The Council sat on their rumps, baffled and more than a little unnerved by the princess. The suitor they had selected was of noble stock, marrying age, and despite his infirmity, was a stallion of great stature, both in the Crystal Empire and her sister kingdom, Equestria. Why Flurry Heart rejected him was beyond them all.

“We humbly apologize, Lord Alfalfa,” said the chair of the council, “we were assured that Princess Flurry would agree to the match.”

Lord Alfalfa huffed indignantly, saying, “If I had known the princess to be a stuck up little filly, I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

“Ya cain’t always get what ya want,” said another voice in a dialect well away from that of the Crystal Ponies or the Canterlot unicorn in the room, “Flurry is her own mare, an’ Ah doubt ya’ll can keep up with her, ennyhow.”

“Lady Applejack,” the chair moaned, “while you are no doubt correct, Princess Flurry isn’t even your child! She is the eldest foal of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Prince-Consort Shining Armor! It was on their word that we of the council had assurances that this would be a successful match.”

Lord Alfalfa was about to say something when Applejack cut across him, “Mebbe she ain’t mah flesh and blood, but I still consider her mah daughter. She treats me like her ma well enough, ennway. An’ ‘sides, ya’ll ever try to tell Flurry Heart what ta do? Like putting makeup on pig…”

“She’s certainly pigheaded,” Lord Alfalfa commented, which earned him a dire look from the farmer/mare-in-waiting.

“Now ya’ll see here-!” She started before a small voice broke in.

“Mama, Ah done all mah chores,” Prince Rusty Coat stated, “and Ah even helped Radiant with her share a bit. Papa done said I could hep ‘im with th’ Crystal Guard when Ah was done. So, can Ah go, Mama?”

“Al’ight, Rusty, ya’ll go on a help yer pa,” Applejack answered before turning back to the Council and their guest, “Ah ain’t got a clue why ya’ll are so itchin’ fer Flurry Heart to get hitched. Ya’ll ain’t had any qualms about Shinin’ or me joinin’ in. So what gives?”

“Lady Applejack,” the council chair addressed his mistress, “we’re just- worried. Princess Flurry Heart is well past her prime age for courtship and if she doesn’t find a mate soon-”

“She’ll be an old maid before she knows it,” Lord Alfalfa added, “wouldn’t do The Empire any good if their heir to throne has no stallion to support her…”

“That’s ‘nuff outta you,” Applejack growled, then to the council chair, “Lord Bismuth, Ah can un’erstand wantin’ ta follow tradition. Heh, the Apple Family is practically raised on tradition. But is it really necessary fer ya’ll to interfere in a filly’s love life?”

“It’s not really interference, Lady Applejack,” Lord Bismuth stated, “it’s her royal duty to find a strong stallion to support her rule. Surely you understand-”

“Nope,” Applejack interrupted, “Ah don’t un’erstand it at’ll. Then again, I ain’t some noble or royal…”

“But Lady Applejack-!” Bismuth tried to explain.

“Nope,” Applejack said pointedly, “and as fer ya’ll, ‘Lord Alfalfa,’ Ah cain’t fathom how a stallion nearly in retirement would want a filly Flurry’s age. Shame on ya’ll! Yer nearly three times her age!”

With that said, Applejack gathered herself up, though she wasn’t like her sister wife all trussed up in skirts and petticoats, and briskly walked towards the council chambers doors. She stopped just long enough to give Alfalfa a glare and added, “And ya’ll better steer clear of my Radiant Shield. Ah ain’t ever kilt a pony ‘fore but ya’ll don’t wanna test me.”

And with that, AJ strode out of the council chambers.

“Sweet Celestia,” Lord Alfalfa wheezed, “I knew that Apple Family mares were feisty but do they get even more so when with foal?”

Bismuth shook his head, “You don’t even know. And she’s having twins! A colt and a filly. There’s a pool going around, you know?”

“A pool, huh?” Lord Alfalfa asked, “For what?”

“The tribe of the foals,” Bismuth replied, “I have twenty bits for unicorns.”

The Canterlot unicorn nodded and said, “Put me down for one hundred, both as Earth ponies. The tend to breed like rabbits, you know?”

Flurry Heart sat in the garden located at midtower, the final tears of disgust shed as her rump turned numb. She didn’t get why the Council of Elders was so dead set on her married off to some ancient noble. Sure, she was a princess, but that didn’t mean she wanted to marry into some barely fit stallion with more bits than hair! She knew that as the eldest offspring of her family, she was expected to fulfill certain duties and play a role in The Empire’s ruling class. She didn’t like it, but she had been resigned to it for nearly a year now.

The exhaustive grooming she had undertaken since she turned fifteen, with stalwart guidance from the Council, was the benefit of the Crystal Ponies. Should her mother and father die suddenly, she, as the eldest, would be the one for whom the crown fell upon their brow. There were days when, after lessons in diction, annunciation, etiquette, geo-political affairs, dancing (her favorite lessons thus far,) culinary arts (or a fabulous excuse to get dirty,) and music (she was being taught with over a dozen string instruments though she favored the tuba,) that as she fell into her colossal four poster bed, that she realized just how lonesome being a princess really was.

Maybe that was why the Council was trying to hook her up with all these stallions, but far too many were old enough to be her grandfather. (And she had plenty of meetings with Grandpa Nightlight. These stallions were nothing like him at all!) She understood that, compared to some ponies, her life was far from lamentable. She had a posh lifestyle, with all the fashionable clothes she could wear, a personal butler to carry out her every whim (which, besides a tub of apricot ice cream every now and then, weren’t much) and a team of maids to clean up after her and help her bathe and/or dress, and the societal status as the heir of an important nation, her life was just dandy. Still, if hadn’t been for her younger sister and half-brother, she may have gone insane from the constant pressure a decade ago.

“Is it too much to ask for a stallion around my age that was worthy of my hand?” She asked to nopony, “Is it really that much of an ordeal to find a handsome colt who sees me as a pony and not as some stepping stone to further riches and prestige?”

She didn’t expect an answer, so when she heard the voice of her younger sister, it startled her some.

“I think it might be,” Radiant stated, “Are you okay? I heard you thundered out of the council chambers. Again.”

“I would to say yes,” Flurry replied, “but in all honesty, I feel horrible.”

“Was he really that bad?” Radiant Shield asked, setting across from her older sister on one of the garden benches.

“He was nearing seventy, Rads,” Flurry answered, “and he has The Trots. Not like the occasional spurt, I mean, like chronic. He drinks this nasty, vile smelling salmon potion just to keep from soiling himself.”

“Oh, wow,” Radiant said, “that- is not a healthy stallion. And the Council wanted you to court him? Or was it vice versa?”

“Vice,” Flurry replied simply.

“Starswirl’s beard-!” Radiant exclaimed softly, “What is the Council thinking?!”

“Tartarus if I knew,” Flurry retorted, “I guess they want somepony with ‘prestige of station’ or something.”

“That’s-” Radiant began, “I can’t even. That is just the worst.”

“I know,” Flurry replied, “I can only imagine what Mother and Father are going to say.”

“Think they’ll read you the ‘you need a suitor’ rhetoric?” Radiant asked.

Flurry Heart shrugged, adding, “Father might, but he’ll have no heart in it. Mother will look at me mournfully, and then tell me that she would have done the same thing. Then she’ll tell me that, while I do need to find a respectable suitor, if all things were equitable, I would find a stallion who stirs my heart like Father does for Mother.”

“A fairytale romance,” Radiant sighed, “there aren’t many of those in Equestria, are there?”

“Not unless you’re a princess,” Flurry countered, “Great Aunt Tia and Lulu have their stallion, so…”

Radiant patted Flurry’s shoulder, “You’ll find him. I have a feeling he’s hiding in the last place you would ever look.”

A quizzical look spread over Flurry Heart’s face as her sister said that. Then, almost as if a light bulb had lit up in her head, she realized she had the perfect suitor. It had been a long while since she had seen him last, and she didn’t know if he was seeing anyone, but he was the best choice all things considered.

“The last place I’d ever look,” Flurry Heart whispered, “or the last place The Council would ever look!”

“Sis?” Radiant inquired, “What are you thinking?”

“Cupcakes,” Flurry answered, “I’m in the mood for cupcakes. And I know where the best cupcakes in Equestria are made!”

A brisk trade was happening at the most popular bakery in Ponyville. The lunchtime crowd started a queue at fifteen minutes until eleven and even though it was now half past two in the afternoon, there were still ponies lined around the block. Some would credit this to the tireless efforts of the proprietors, Carrot Cake and Cup Cake; others would point out the string of hit treats that started pouring out of the shop when Pinkie Pie and Pumpkin Cake started collaborating on confectionary delights. There is, though, a small but ardent core of ponies that are there for a glimpse of the Cakes Pegasus son, Pound Cake.

At 20 years old and a strapping colt at that, Pound had inflamed the hearts of young mares the county over. He was the eligible bachelor in Princess Twilight’s demesne, and as such, attracted his fair share of female admirers. He had grown from a gawky, gangling teen into a well built stallion, the antithesis of his father’s build. But, like his father, he was easy going and hard working.

He was an excellent flyer as well, sometimes volunteering for the Ponyville Weather teams if they were short handed or Captain Rainbow Dash was out doing any of her myriad duties (mare-in-waiting, Wonderbolts Captain, Ponyville Weather Chief, et al.) He was also part of the Ponyville Volunteer Fire Department, and was the lead tenor of the Pony Tones Quartet. He was busy, but he was content, and really, that’s what really mattered.

Now, at this hour, he was helping out his mother, father, and sister (and old foal sitter) with keeping up with the uptick in customers. The formal declaration of Princess Twilight’s demesne caused the Ponyville population to skyrocket.The resultant population boom meant that The Sugarcube Corner had to expand business hours and days of operation. Not only was the bakery open during lunch and dinner, but now they had a breakfast menu plus a late night menu. When before, The Sugarcube Corner was only open for eight hours, now it was twelve. (This, in small part, was thanks not just to the recent arrivals, but also due to the endorsement of both the Lunar and Solar Diarchs.)

The upswing in business was a good thing, even if it meant Mr. and Mrs. Cake were constantly busy. Thankfully, Pinkie Pie stayed on as an auxiliary baker and the influx of ponies also brought about some expert crafts ponies hoping to ply their wares and trade in the bakery. The shop now had twice as much floor space as before, a kitchen area four times as large, and a staff that consisted of sixteen ponies and a griffon wren who specialized in scones. There was even rumor that a lauded Mintoaur confectionaire was planning to make his new home The Sugarcube.

“Sis,” Pound called back into the kitchen, “how’s that order coming along?”

“Almost done, Bro-Bro,” Pumpkin fired back, “Gilda’s just getting the icing on the scones.”

“Good,” Pumpkin replied, “our griffon friends are getting antsy.”

“Tell ‘em to keep their pants on!” Gilda growled, “Good scones take time!”

“Don’t I know it,” Pumpkin stated, giving the griffon wren a hoof bump to one of Gilda’s talons, “Are we still packed out there?”

“You bet your rump it is!” Pound answered, “You girls aren’t getting tired back there, are ya?”

“Hardly,” Pumpkin fires back, “we’re just getting started!”

Business continues as normal, the till filling steadily as customers continue to pour into the shop, Pound manning the register as Pinkie, Pumpkin, Gilda, and Mrs. Cake work the ovens into a frenzy, Mr. Cake keeping the wait staff moving to fulfill orders. Hour after hour passes in this fashion, the crowd slowly dwindling until the hour of four strikes. By then, the majority of the regular lunch crowd is gone and the shop has gone noticeably quiet. Pumpkin joins her brother at the register, collecting the till now that the insanity is over with. As the last of the bags of bits is filled, the shop telephone, a relative novelty until a year ago when the Cakes started offering order-by-phone service, rang. Mrs. Cake answers it politely, as Mr. Cake sweeps up the kitchen floor and the rest of the staff cleans up the dining area.

“I smell an honest bankroll here,” Pumpkin said, “we should make payroll and maybe get a vacation out of this. I’m thinking Baltimare.”

“You’re being modest about our success,” Pound replies, “we could easily make Manehattan, if business keeps up like this.”

“It usually does,” Pumpkin adds, “it hasn’t failed us so far.”

“No doubt. That’s all thanks to Pinkie Pie,” Pound says, “she and her stallion help quite a lot, between their party planning business and Cheese Sandwich’s accounting acumen. You wouldn’t think a stallion with that messy mane of his could crunch numbers.”

“Who knew, right?” Pumpkin mused.

“Pound?” Mrs. Cake called, “Could you come back here, please?”

“Uh-oh,” Pumpkin sang, “somepony is in trouble!”

“Shut up,” Pound growled, “at least Mom wasn’t yelling.”

Mr. Cake, having just finished the mop up of the kitchen, appears through the kissing doors the lead to the kitchen, his normal cleaning smock replaced by a cashier’s smock. The look on his face tells Pound that his father will handle the register while he attends to his mother.

“You got it, Dad?”

“Yeah, I got it, Son,” Mr. Cake stated, “especially since you’re not using that fancy, electrical doodad that Princess Twilight came up with. All those buttons and things… I hardly know where to enter in a customer’s order!”

“It can be kinda confusing,” Pound admitted, “it does possess a steep learning curve.”

“One of these days, I’ll figure it out,” Carrot stated, “now go see your mother.”

Ignoring the snickering of his sister, Pound retreats to the back. Now that the crush of ponies had evaporated, Pound found travel through the kitchen much easier. Gilda was still at the ovens, making a fresh batch of scones and Pinkie Pie was playing with her daughter and decorating a score of cupcakes. Although a Pegasus, Pound found the warmth of the kitchens well to his liking; he had always thought that the dining area being too cold. His sister was the opposite; she liked it colder than he did. He couldn’t figure out how she survived the kitchen when all the ovens were burning brightly.

When he found his mother, she was still on the phone, jotting down some last minute instructions. After saying goodbye to the caller, Cup Cake settles the handset back on the receiver. Her eyes sweep over the list she wrote down before pinning it to the order rack.

“Special delivery!” She calls out, “A jury’s worth of hard azure!”

“I’m on it!” Pinkie Pie replies, before snagging the order slip and getting back to work.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Pound asks.

“Well, sweetie, we got ourselves a very special order,” Cup Cake begins to explain, “caller was insistent that you be the one to deliver it. Think you’re up to making a special, overnight trip to deliver these treats?”

“Yeah, of course!” Pound exclaims, “Where are they going? Vanhoover? Fillydelphia? Trottingham?”

“Oh, blessed be,” Mrs. Cake titters, “a dozen blueberry and sapphire cupcakes in Trottingham? That’ll be the day!”

Pound gives his mother a quizzical look, “Why is that funny?”

“Oh, it’s-” she starts, then lowers her voice to a whisper, “we have an- arrangement, with the Apples. We don’t deliver there.”

“Oh.” Pound said.

“Anyway, these beauties are heading for the Crystal Empire,” Mrs. Cake continues, “the caller even paid for the tickets, Royal Express even. They’re waiting at the ticket office of the train station.”

“Oh, wow,” Pound says as his memories play out a scene that he had nearly forgotten.

He wonders if she still lives with her parents. He wonders if she remembers him. The last time they were together, almost six years ago, she was still a little filly. To be fair, he was still a colt, but he was older than her and what they nearly did- He still had vague fantasies about what would have happened if he hadn’t gotten cock blocked. His mother had a point, but it’s not everyday you get seduced by a Princess of Equestria.

“Hello? Hello! Equestria to Pound Cake?” Mrs. Cake shouted, waving her hand in front of her son’s face, “Are you receiving me?”

“Oh, oh!” Pound murmured, “Sorry, Mom, kinda- lost my train of thought their for a second. Some tangent or other…”

“I see,” Mrs. Cake said, though she wore an air of knowing more than she let on, “as I was saying, it gets cold this time of year in The Crystal Empire. Remember to bring your good coat and that scarf that Ms. Carousel knitted for you.”

“Okay, Mom,” Pound replied, “I should also wear my snowshoes. Don’t want to go freezing my frogs off, right?”

Mrs. Cake ruffles her son’s mane and says, “That’s my boy. Now, go get ready. Pinkie should be done with this cupcakes pretty sone and the overnight to the Empire should be in town soon.”