Putting a Bun in the Oven

The box seated on the right of the stallion was decorated to resemble a gingerbread house. The sides and top where a dark sienna and the edges wore scalloped plastic to resemble frosting. The box was given a magical seal, which was powered by the mana crystal embedded in the lid. The seal would keep the treats inside both warm and fresh while in transit. If ever the box should fall, tip over, or otherwise be squashed, the seal would prevent the foodstuffs inside from getting ruined. Such spellcraft was the result of Donut Joe’s attempt to keep his wares from getting damaged during deliveries within Canterlot. It was a combination stasis spell with a shell bewitchment added to a warmth retention charm. The combinant conjuration had proven highly effective and an uptick in sales at Joe’s donut shop resulted in several major scholar’s coming by to learn the conjuration first hand. (Princess Twilight Sparkle being the chief most of the scholar’s to learn about it. That’s from whom Pumpkin Spice Cake learned the spell from.)

The spell had two other conditional operators built into it: the first was only the handler could carry the box. Various jinxes were in place to prevent any telekinesis from moving the box as well as any attempt to teleport it. Anypony else would get a nasty shock should they make an attempt. Second, only the orderer could open it, which required a passphrase to even handle the box. And because of the nature of the enchantment, the passphrase could be spoken by anypony else and still not open; the jinx would only break once the orderer spoke the passphrase. (In this case, the passphrase was an amended version of the Pinkie Swear.)

The stallion in the seat was snoring away. The Friendship Express may have been the fastest train in Equestria, as well as the only rail line that reached the Crystal Empire, but it still took most of a day to get from Ponyville to the Imperial Train Station. Pound Cake had left early in the morning, before dawn actually, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. His mind was playing an endless loop of the cockblocking he had endured six years earlier.

While it may be noted that nothing short of a bomb exploding or cannon firing would wake Pumpkin from her sleep, Pound was a light sleeper and the first ring of his alarm was enough to rouse him. (This to the annoyance of both Pumpkin and Gilda, who shared a room next door.) Even so, when the train blew its whistle to indicate it was stopping, Pound never heard. He just kept on snoring. It took the conductor, Sooty Chimney, to rouse the colt.

“Wazzah? Huh?” Pound murmured.

“We’ve arrived at the Empire, lad,” the crystal pony said, “best be gettin’ to yer business.”

“Oh,” Pound squeaked, then let out a deep yawn, “I have sweets to deliver.”

It rather surprised him that, as he exited the train, there was no guard contingent to meet him. He thought it odd, since it was the Palace that ordered the cupcakes. Alone at the station, Pound wondered if his coat would suppress the cold. With nopony to greet him or guide him to where he was supposed to be, Pound tromped off the station platform and trudged through the snow off towards the gleaming glow of the Crystal Empire’s warmth inducing shield. A trickle of ponies marching away from the shield smiled as he trod in the opposite direction, many cloaked to dampen the natural glitter of the Crystal Pony coat. Even as far away as he was, the magic involved in making the Crystal ponies so gemlike was still in effect.

Finally reaching the shield’s primary entrance, Pound took a breath in and then stepped into the Empire itself. Immediately, the warmth of the Empire’s magically controlled climate made the young stallion wish he could shed his winter coat. Though he feared how his mother would react if he stripped down in the middle of a job, he was certain nopony in The Empire would give a buck. Even so, he wouldn’t shed his winter threads until he was sure that the job was done and he could rest a little while. (He really hoped that Palace had some hot cocoa on tap. He could use the caffeine.)

His trot into the Empire proper was met with more ponies, many of them of the Crystal variety, heading out. He saw a pair of Crystal Empire Guards a checkpoint, as well. The orange Pegasus stallion of the pair stopped and asked him for his business in The Empire. Pound replied he was there to deliver some food stuffs for the Palace. The cream colored Crystal mare asked him what was in the box; Pound said it was cupcakes, one dozen blueberry and sapphire cupcakes. Since neither guard was a unicorn, and Pound tried to explain that his package could only be opened by the one who placed the order, he was escorted by the pair directly to the Palace.

The walk to the Palace was without further incident, thankfully. Though his guards were stoic, he met plenty of ponies who greeted him warmly and he replied in kind. The Palace in all it’s grandeur sat in the middle of the city-state, resplendent in the midday sun. One of Pound’s escort’s provided him with a set of shaded spectacles. When asked why he was being given these, the mare answered that the gleam from the Palace was greatest at noon. Even the native ponies had trouble looking directly at The Palace when the Celestia’s sun was directly over the structure. A few moments later, the clocks in the city square rang and Pound gets treated to the splendor, and the glare, of the Crystal Palace.

Once he and his escort pass under the shadow of the building, the blinding glare diminishes to nothing. It takes a moment or two before Pound can see again without any impairment, but when he does, he sees another pair of guards (both Pegasi) march down the stairway leading into The Palace itself. The stop in front him and his escort and salute; his escort reciprocates in kind. Once these pleasantries are done, the new guards presented a clipboard that the orange Pegasus took note of.

“What’s going on, Amethyst?”

“Not much, Flash, just checking to see if this guy is on The List.”

“The List?” The mare asked.

“Yeah,” he other stallion stated, “Princess is limiting access. The Empress also issued a D’N’D and I sure as Tartarus am not breaking it.”

“Excuse me,” Pound asked, “what is a D’N’D?”

“Do not disturb,” Flash answered, “Empress Cadence is probably holding a meeting with the Elder’s Council.”

“Or maybe she’s getting another rutting,” the mare added, “she is pretty insatiable.”

“Aw, Celestia, Rose Quartz,” Flash said again, “there you go, being lewd again!”

“Haha!” One of the other stallions chuckled, “Our Colt Scout, Flash Sentry, doesn’t like the idea of our regent getting laid!”

“Lay off the colt, huh, Garnet?” Amethyst said, “He’s the lieutenant for a reason.”

“Okay, okay,” Garnet acquiesced, “Sorry, LT. So, anyway, we need to see if this colt,” he pointed to Pound, “is on The List.”

“I would hope so,” Pound said, “I have cupcakes to deliver.”

“Right,” Garnet said, then peering down to the clipboard, “only got a few names here… And the first on The List is a delivery. Are you Pound Cake?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Pound answers.

Garnet looks from his clipboard, then to Amethyst, then back to Pound. Some cursory whispers are shared between the two guards, low and inaudible. Pound is beginning to wonder if he’s who he says he is, given who conspiratorial the guards around him are acting. Then Lieutenant Flash is called over and the three stallions have an impromptu conference. More whispers, a gasp, and then the three stallions turn on Pound.

“We were given specific instructions,” Flash states, “please follow me, Mr. Cake.”

With a fleeting, quizzical look, Pound follows Flash towards the ascending stairs to the first floor of the palace. The other three guards fall in behind him, forming a loose chevron. Pound can hardly puzzle out why this much attention is afforded for his presence. It is then that a sudden thought crosses his mind. The thought is born from snatches of conversation he catches from the guards rearward of him, something about an audience with the Princess and rumblings of displeasure within the Elder’s Council. These subjects come to his ears in passing, but they form a strange theory in his brain.

Unbidden in the maelstrom of hypotheses is the memory of an event six years prior. Princess Flurry Heart, wearing next to nothing, alone in his bedroom, moments away from losing his virginity. Then his mother bursts into his room, embarrassing both foals with “The Talk.” His recollection of the day provides him with details he hadn’t reflected on since that day. Princess Flurry was beautiful in her gossamer gown. The curls in her mane and tail, the way her pubescent body was sculpted into the very vision of equine beauty. A terror strikes him quick at the musing, as he tries to imagine what six years have down to her. He knows that his lanky, teenage body had filled in with sinuous muscle, though still lean and tall. While the pair had written each other a handful of times in the intervening years, Princess Flurry had never sent him a photo of herself since their meeting so long ago. He couldn’t fathom how she grown in the interim.

His reminiscence ends when the party abruptly comes to halt; the stop is so sudden, Pound nearly steps in Flash Sentry’s tail. He recovers himself within a microsecond but his breath hitches in his lungs at the scene in front of him. Standing before him is Princess Flurry Heart, with her sister Radiant Shield next to her. Radiant is pretty filly, a fact Pound wouldn’t lie about, but Flurry… In the intervening years, she has grown to an even higher plateau of beauty, so much so that Pound can’t imagine what she looks like underneath her royal robes, though his mind comes up with no less than ten different variations in the second it takes for him to register her presence in the room.

“Your Highness,” Lieutenant Flash says, with a bow of his torso, “as requested, your delivery of one dozen blueberry and sapphire cupcakes.”

There is no emotion in Flurry’s voice or face as she states, “Thank you very much, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Flash replies; he motions to his fellow guards and they all amble out of the room, leaving Pound alone with the two royals.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Radiant says, “go get ‘im, Sis.”

A smile finally spreads across Flurry’s muzzle as she speaks to her younger sister, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Later!” Radiant adds as she skips off, leaving Pound absolutely bemused.

“Uh,” he starts, “d-delivery for The Princess?”

“Thank you, Pound,” Flurry says sweetly, “took your time getting here, though.”

“D- What?”

Flurry laughs, a tinkling laugh that sounds refined if rehearsed.

“Oh, Pound, you are just too easy sometimes…”

“Oh, I see now,” Pounds begins, “this was a ruse, wasn’t it? Something to get me up here?”

“In a word? Yes.” Flurry answers, “I do like cupcakes, though. Did Pinkie Pie make those?”

“Yes, she did,” Pound answers, “I take it you prefer Aunt Pinkie’s cooking to my mothers?”

“Ugh! Tartarus no!” Flurry replies, “Your mom makes a pretty good baked treat. Some of the best, even! But I know Pinkie enough to realize she knows just the right way to make a gem cupcake and the skills to bake them just the way I like them.”

“Right,” Pound says, “so, uh, were you the pony who put in the order?”

“That I did indeed,” Flurry answers with pride, “how much do I owe?”

“Twenty five bits,” Pound states, “plus ten for delivery.”

“Sound expensive,” Flurry says with a wink.

Pound fires back, “What? You’re hurting for bits, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, hardly,” Flurry retorts with a smirk, “I think my allowance could get me majority ownership of Sugar Cube Corner. Not that I would do such a thing.”

Pound chuckled, adding, “With your allowance, Your Majesty, you could sponsor franchises in Canterlot, Manehattan, Fillydelphia, and Las Pegasus.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I could,” Flurry Heart mused, “now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind a Sugar Cube Corner here in The Empire. Think you’re parents would be game for that?”

“So long as the ponies working it are competent bakers,” Pound replied, “I think they wouldn’t mind. The mortgage on the building is already paid off, so I think Mom and Dad could entertain the possibility of expanding the business.”

Flurry giggles, then says, “Okay, enough about business. Here, I have your money.”

Flurry draws out the thirty-five bits from her purse and hands them to Pound; he pockets the coins in a trouser pocket. He then hands over box of treats to a delighted Flurry Heart. As soon as her hands touch it’s sides, the magical seal on it breaks (it gives a soft sigh when it does so,) and the lid raises slightly. Flurry opens it further, and retrieves a cupcakes from within; she munches on the treat in a very unladylike manner. Not that Pound cares to comment on her lack of etiquette. He finds her scarfing of the treat highly amusing and more than a little cute.

“Oh, that is sooo good,” Flurry coos, “yeah, yeah, I could see a Sugar Cube Corner here in the Empire.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the news to my folks when I get home,” Pound adds, “which reminds me, when does the express come back this way? I don’t want to be sitting on these bits when I can’t spend them.”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Flurry says, “it looks like the express is on it’s way to Vanhoover. It won’t make it’s way back to The Empire for at least another twelve hours.”

“TWELVE HOURS?!” Pound exclaims, “This was supposed to be an in-and-out delivery!”

“I’m sorry, Pound,” Flurry apologizes, “if it’s any consolation, I know my mom and dad would be willing to put you up until the train comes back. I certainly wouldn’t mind your company.”

Pound looks questionably at the princess, “Oh?”

“Well,” Flurry further adds, “you don’t expect to eat these by myself, do you?”

“Uh, well,” Pound muses, “Aunt Pinkie does make an excellent cupcake.”

“Great!” Flurry beams, “Follow me; I know someplace where we can enjoy these in peace.”

Flurry turns about in a, ahem, flurry of feathers, with Pound Cake following in her wake. Pound is lead by FLurry Heart towards an ascending staircase. They mount these stairs, across another floor, then up another set of stairs. They continue to do so for another three floors, and partway up the fourth of fifth staircase, it became a race. Bth ponies flew up the stairs, rising floor after floor, before Pound and Flurry stopped on the tenth floor of the Palace, exhausted and panting for breath.

“I- won,” Pound announces between deep lungfuls of air, “hooray- for- me.”

“Oh wow,” Flurry admitted, “you’re- pretty fast- for a- Legasus…”

“Hey, I’m not as fast as Rainbow Dash,” Pound replies, “but I can hold my own. My dad never stopped me from working on my flight skills.”

“Who did you train with?” Flurry asks.

“Ms. Derpy Hooves,” Pound answered, “with some assistance by Ms. Flitter and her sister. I also attended Flight Camp when I was younger and that helped, too.”

“Whoa, really?” Flurry questioned, “You had Derpy hooves train you? Isn’t she kind of- accident prone?”

“She used to be,” Pound said, “but now that she’s not doing every other odd job in town, she’s actually really proven herself as a flier. She taught me quite a lot that most Pegasi didn’t know. She’s a really good instructor.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that,” Flurry muses, “I may need to speak with her. Also, I think I need to lay off the rich meals, too. I’m having trouble breathing-” The Princess wheezes for a moment, “Alicorn I may be, but Faust be damned, I am out of shape!”

“You could have fooled me,” Pound quickly states, “I don’t see anything wrong with you.”

Flurry blushes deeply and says, “You flatterer, you! Now come on, I’m getting hungry.”

She takes Pound’s hand and leads him to an alcove that opens to the city. There is a bench installed in the alcove and a diner style table as well. He notices that the floor they’re on has similar seating along the walls and that there are tables and chairs spread out equidistant to each other. There were several other ponies in the those seats, most enjoying a hot beverage or a scone, though some sampling some delights from far flung Neighpon and Neighples. Pound saw one elderly stallion partaking of an espresso (he could tell by the tiny cup in use) and a pastry of unknown origin that smelled heavenly.

In the center of the floor was a ovoid counter, where two mares, a Shetland Islander and a local Crystal pony, worked an espresso machine. The pair were chatting away quietly, careful not to raise their voices so as to avoid disturbing their clients. The Shetlander had a springy brough, a recent emigre from her country, while the Crystal mare had a peculiar accent Pound couldn’t place. It sounded a lot like a Vanhoover accent, but there were certain phrases that made her sound Mild Westerner.

“Hello, Equus to Pound Cake, calling Pound Cake,” Flurry Heart demanded, “are you receiving me? Are you going to sit down sometime this century or you going to ogle the counter-mares a little more.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pound sheepishly replied, “brain must have slipped some gears- or something.”

“Some company you are,” she chortled, “can’t even keep a filly like me in your sights.”

“To be fair,” Pound shot back, “you are not the easiest target to track. So flighty… I’m a Pegasus and even I can’t follow you everywhere you flitter off to.”

“Point taken,” she replied, taking a bite from the next cupcake in the box, “now sit down. You’re making me nervous standing around as one o’clock half-struck.”

“All right, all right,” he retorted, taking the chair opposite, “and where did you pick up that ‘one o’clock’ thing? I thought that was a phrase commonly used in Trottingham.”

“Exactly!” She announced, “I was on a diplomatic mission with my mom to Ole Blighty. I heard some old stallion use that for a young mare holding up the queue at a fast food restaurant. Kinda stuck with me and it’s really fun to say. In the right context, that is.”

“Indeed,” he said, then after watching the princess ingest her fourth (or was it fifth) cupcake, “you’re really enjoying those, aren’t you?”

The Princess nods her head fervently, crumbs falling in a skein from her mouth.

“They are so good!” She announces with reverence.

Pound nods with a smile, “The only filly capable of making any better is Sugar Belle, but good look getting her out Utopia.”

Flurry Heart acknowledges Pound’s statement with a nod and continues to gorge on her sweets. In no time at all, she has finished the box of all thirteen cupcakes; the crumbs on her muzzle and the bodice of her dress speak of her acute gluttony. She burps, adopting a look of utmost contentedness, then a sheepish grin crosses her muzzle, as she reminds herself that she has just acted rather- unsociable.

“I’m so sorry, Pound,” she says, “I forgot to offer you one!”

“It’s okay,” he replies, waving a hand, “I can’t eat gems anyway. You could make it up to me, though, with some iced coffee or something.”

“That I can do,” Flurry said, then she hailed one of the mares manning the central counter.

The Shetlander is the one that answers the summons. Pound is surprised that, in spite of the mare’s more obvious hefty frame and nigh gargantuan size, the she moves swiftly and quietly to them. The name tag on her ample bosom (not that Pound is paying that much attention to her chest) bears the name “Tiernan,” and Pound is certain that that is not your typical pony name.

“’Allo,” the waitress says, “how may I help ya?”

“I’ll take a grande mocha with cinnamon,” Flurry answers, “and he’ll have an iced coffee.”

“Will that be with cream an’ sugar?” Tiernan asks.

Pound replies, “Light on the cream and with extra sugar, please.”

“Right on,” Tiernan says, “be back in two shakes.”

As the Shetlander leaves, Flurry remarks, “She’s a lively one.”

“As opposed to what, exactly?” Pound deadpans.

Flurry giggles, saying, “As oppsed to a horse puck, I think? Maybe a few tons of minotaur manure?”

“OK, that is just nasty,” Pound says through a laughing fit, “you’re gonna put me off my lunch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Flurry apologizes, “Mom keeps telling me that I have the worst habit of saying inappropriate things.”

“Oi, Quartz! I be needin’ a tall blonde with an extra helpin’ of fiary dust!” Tiernan shouts to the Crystal pony mare manning the roaster’s kiosk.

“Already on it,Tiernan,” the mare so named Quartz replies, “and should you see a mare fitting that description, you point her cute plot my way, ya?”

“Not if I catch her fancy first,” Tiernan repostes, adding a sashay of her hips, “I know ya pufts from the mainland have a thing for th’ exotic. An’ Imma as exotic as the come!”

“Not unless a contingent of ledrfladder flap their way this far north,” Quartz counters, “then yer done for.”

The two mares banter it up while the coffee machine burbles out a fresh cup of liquid alertness. Neither Flurry Heart nor Pound Cake can say anything while these two decidedly different mares go at each other like an old married couple.

“Huh,” Flurry huffs out as Tiernan returns to their table, cool drink in hand, “more lively than I thought.”

“An’ what were ya expectin’, love,” Tiernan quipped, “a dead fish?”

Flurry’s gasp is almost as comical as Tiernan’s quizzical expression.

“Faust, you’re quiet!”

“Aye,” the Shetlander replies, “comes from dealin’ with dire wolves an’ th’ like. By an’ by, here’s yer mocha, Yer Highness. And fer the lad, ‘is iced coffee.”

The mare places the drinks down at their respective customers, earning a nod of thanks from the pegasus.

“Be there anythin’ else, luvs?” Teirnan asks, “we have scones in all mann’r of flavours. I would recommend the apple, although I’ve been hearin’ the blueberry ain’t half bad.”

“I’m fine,” Flurry says, “what about you, Pound?”

“You know, I am starting to get a little peckish,” the young stallion says, “I could go for a peach scone about now.”

“Gotta stoke th’ stove, then,” Teirnan says, adding with a wink, “luv.”

As the Shetlander saunters away, Flurry’s heart begins to quicken. Her gaze on the busty, shaggy mare is stony and dangerous.

“Why that no good tail raiser…” She seethes, only for Pound to place a hand on her wrist. It the first contact with the stallion she has had in nearly three years. Her heart, once rushing in a rage, now pulses with a quiet urge of anxiety.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re angry,” Pound says, taking a sip of his drink, “but I think you put too much stock in her flirtations. Aunt Pinkie is so much worse, even so much as combining sexual innuendo with puns. And that’s before Uncle Cheese Sandwich returns to town.”

“Oh,” Flurry spouts, “I- uh, I didn't know- yeah.”

“Smooth,” Pound retorts, “you must win over your share of colts with a silver tongue like that.”

The young princess swats at Pound, but the smile on her face shows him she has no heart in the attack.

“Not as much as you would think,” Flurry states, “there are traditions here in the Crystal Empire, which apparently implies that I need to adhere to them. Strictly. The line of suitors I’m supposed to be- wooing, is less than ideal, especially since they’re all Imperial Nobles. And the Crystal Pony colts view me as a minor goddess, so I’m beyond approach. Pretty much limits my dating opportunities…”

“And did I mention that practically all of the suitors I’ve dealt with thus far are at least thirty years my senior? Or more? The latest is almost an octogenarian!”

“By Faust…!” Pound exclaimed.

“I know, right?!” Flurry said, “What sort of pervert wants to marry a teenaged filly at that age?! Do they honestly think I’m going to be the doting, trophy wife?! Are they really so deluded into thinking that I will raise their status because I share their bedchambers?! This is Equestria, not ancient Unicornia!”

“OK, OK, I get,” Pound said, “you’re frustrated by all these ancient colts seeking your hand. Just, wow… I’m surprised that neither your mom or dad have made any objections about all these dirty old stallions sniffing up your tail.”

“Momma Applejack has said a few things,” Flurry confided, “in fact, she left the Council rather miffed by her- attitude. And I know that Mother and Father are besides themselves with worry about the selection process. But because they’re royalty, they are expected to uphold these old traditions… It really is unfair, especially to me.”

“Wow, damned if you, fucked if you don’t,” Pound muttered, “sounds like either way, somepony is going to get their tailhole reamed.”

“No kidding,” Flurry said, “no matter which way this goes down, I lose.”

“Well, however which way this plays out, know that I’m here for you, Flurry,” Pound replies, “I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Flurry smiles, the burning in her cheeks increasing to a feverish level, and says, “Thank you, Pound. Even if it’s just listening to me vent my spleen… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Pound replies, “that’s what friends do, according to Aunt Pinkie.”

“Your aunt is one crazy mare,” Flurry says, “but she isn’t beyond having a wise heart.”

Tiernan returns that moment with Pound Cake’s peach scone. She also lays down the bill for food and drinks. Her return walk to the bar is preceded by another wink at Pound Cake and succeeded by a triumphant wiggle of her hips in the colt’s general direction. Unbidden, Flurry was hit with a memory from three years ago. The night she nearly lost her virginity to the colt sitting beside her. The moment was burned into her mind, a moment when she acted her most confident and sensual. She could not understand why now, when she needed to call upon those resources when she needed them most. A question formed within her mind, one she wanted to ask now before her fortitude failed her. A voice rang out that blotted that query from her being.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

The snide voice came from within the café, from where neither of the teenagers could tell. Then Flurry noticed the stallion with the newspaper sidle out from his booth and drop the periodical n the table. The sneer on the face of Lord Alfalfa was unmistakable to Flurry’s eyes. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the aged stallion frog marched towards the couple.

“Princess Flurry Heart,” oozed The Viscount, “a pleasure to see you here. I had the feeling you would be drawing up plans for the wedding…”

“W-w-wedding?” Flurry stammered, “have you lost your mind, Lord Alfalfa? What wedding are you talking about??”

“Why, my dear,” Lord Alfalfa crooned, “our pending nuptials. Your father and I have been negotiating the details of the ceremony. Your mother approved the match.”

“Wait, what?!” Pound gasped.

“I’m with him on this,” Flurry said, adding, “Wait, what?”

“Surely your parents have told you about all of this,” Lord Alfalfa crooned, “I had hopes we could be wed before the next new moon.”

“I would never-” Flurry protested.

“It is not a question if you would or not,” Alfalfa cut in, “it is, in fact, happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Pound said, “but what is going on now?”

“Apologies, young- colt,” Alfalfa sneered, “but this conversation is not for your ears. If it pleases you, it is best for to remove yourself, with haste, from this conversation.”

“Oh no,” Flurry growled, “no, no,no,no! You are not dictating what Your Princess can and cannot do, nor are you dictating what my dearest and oldest friend can do!”

“‘Dearest and oldest-?’” Pound repeated.

“Yes, dearest and oldest friend-” Flurry started before she was interrupted yet again.

“Your ‘friend’ would do well not interfere in matters that are not of his concern,” Alfalfa said, “this is a private matter, between you and I. As your soon-to-be husband, I would hope you will treat with a better degree of respect in the future-”

“There isn't any future between us,” Flurry spat, “I can disavow any arrangement or declaration my mother lays down about this whole affair. It is my choice, my life that will affected by all of this and I will not suffer some arrogant, half-witted, politician to share it!”

“Be that as it may,” Alfalfa stated, “your immediate future is decided. Unless you can produce another who could take my stead. Alas, there are none who can.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, pal,” Pound said.

“Again, little colt, it would behoove you not to mettle-” Alfalfa began.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” Pound said, “especially when you’re threatening my bride.”

A startled look spread over Lord Alfalfa’s face, then in a harsh whisper, he said, “What did you just say?”

“I think you know what I said and about whom I said it,” Pound challenged.

Clearing his throat, the crystal pony noble set himself as erect as he could given his advanced age and asked, “And who might you be? Little Colt?”

Glaring daggers at the viscount, the Pegasus replied, “My name is Cake, Pound Cake, and you best remember that!”

Pound went on a scathing rant, causing the arrogant Viscount to recoil. No commoner had ever been so flagrant in their opposition to his personage or plans before; the young stallion with stones of tungsten was proving as formidable as a runaway train. The entire café watched on, spectators to the biggest dressing down in the history of the Empire. While Pound Cake was a political novice, a non-entity in the world of Equestria socio-political realm, he savaged Lord Alfalfa with a wit unseen of any Pegasus. Flurry saw all of this with an increasing admiration for her not-quite-yet special somepony, all the while marveling as she found her hand enclosed in one of his.

The fluster she was dealing with all day had rose to fever pitch; three years ago to the day, she tried to claim him as her own, only for his mother (and her mother, by proxy) to “cock block” them. She was never certain what happened to Pound after they were discovered, and Pound and hadn’t written to her all that time, so she could never really know. Her mother, while understanding, threw the book at her. Her father was livid, also, and had the most stringent of guard details shadow her every move for an entire year. It’s hard to have a social life when forty-two guards parade around you, acting as chaperone. She couldn’t imagine how Pound got through that misadventure; she was going to need to ask him someday. Until then, she will revel in the sensation of his warm, strong hand holding hers firmly.

“Now you see here,” Lord Alfalfa barks, “you have no right to interfere in my business! Furthermore, I don’t see why you seem so adamant to be involved in any of this! This is between myself and my future bride, now do kindly stand aside!”

“I don’t think he has to do anything,” said a new voice.

“Daddy?” Flurry asked as a lithe, broad shouldered unicorn stallion stepped onto the scene.

Prince Shining Armor lived up to his name, in more ways than one. For a unicorn, he was much broader and more muscled than any normal stallion. Very few colts could measure up to his physique, though it was known a few Earth pony stallions came close. On this day, he was wearing his princely regalia, albeit over his all too familiar custom barding. The plate mail did not creak, clink, or moan as he strode forth, proud horn jutting from his helm, barely a head shorter than the young Pegasus he was looking towards with a measure of pride.

“Prince Shining Armor,” Lord Alfalfa said, bowing, “how wonderful to see you! And equipped in your finest armor, I see…”

“Save it, Viscount,” The Prince said, cutting Alfalfa across, “when my wife and I agreed to have you as our future son-in-law, we knew we were getting an ambitious elder stallion with delusions of grandeur. Imagine my surprise when the very colt I had hoped my darling oldest daughter would choose as her own comes not from nobility, but from the same sleepy little town my sister has as her demesne.”

Lord Alfalfa looks at his Prince with befuddlement. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but could you repeat that?”

“What part?”

“ALL OF IT.”

While The Prince-Protector of the Empire tore into the Viscount, Pound stood away from the two older stallions. During his rant against the discount, Pound’s wings flared, an obvious display of his anger. Even though his wingspan was very wide for a Pegasus, he wasn’t nearly as broad across as The Prince Consort. He wouldn’t have noticed this if weren’t for a slight movement of the former Guard Captain’s hand. He was being told, in acute, combat body language, to leave. The young Cake saw this as his exit, so he pulled on Flurry Heart’s arm as he walked backward to the nearest exit.

Flurry followed, a blush deepening over her muzzle, as the young pair fled away from the now arguing nobles. Soon, they were outside in the twilight, on a balcony off the twentieth floor. Neither of the young pony’s hearts had settled down since their escape. Flurry found her mind preoccupied by the heat rushing to her cheeks. The night three years ago was at the forefront of her mind, now reinforced by the most recent events.

When her voice finally resolved itself to speak, it came out higher pitched, like she was anxious or very nervous.

“You saved me,” Flurry said.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Pound asked.

Shaking her head, Flurry said, “No. I was beginning to flounder back there. I know what I wanted to say to counter his arguments, but I couldn’t get them to leave my brain.”

“I saw,” Pound said, “I was getting nervous; part of me was sure things would come to blows. I remember when that one filly stole your teddy bear-”

“Oh, Faust,” Flurry moaned, “that was ages and ages ago! I still didn’t the finest control over my magic then. How could you still remember that?”

“Well, outside of my sister, you’re the only filly I know that can shift a pony with magic. Lemon Peel will never get over being hoisted atop that flagpole by her mane.”

“Is she still mad about that?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered, “but I haven’t spoken to her in awhile. Her family moved out of Ponyville a while back.”

“Hopefully not over anything I did,” Flurry admitted.

“Nah,” Pound said, “I think her mother got posted to a new station in one of the frontier towns.”

“Oh,” Flurry said.

A silence fell over the duo; the sky above the Crystal Empire glowed with the Northern Lights. Bringing up old memories of their childhood did more than drum up nostalgia in the young ponies. Flurry hardly remembered the times that her mother and father visited her aunt in Ponyville. She did remember the Pegasus colt that she stayed with while the Princesses had a day out or her dad went about helping out with the Equestrian military. Lot’s of fun times which seemingly ended when-

“It’s hard to believe it’s been three years,” Pound said.

Flurry gulped and added, “Time sure has flown.”

“It sure has,” Pound says, “after seeing you today, my mind has flown back to that time. Can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Oh, uh,” Flurry said.

Her mind had entire soliloquies planned out to say to the Pound twin, but now she couldn’t bring her mouth to utter them. That moment was also coming to mind, the day she was within minutes of becoming a mare, and Pound bringing this up has flustered her to no end. She didn’t know where he was taking this, but she didn’t know if she should stop this potential train wreck.

“I didn’t know it was possible for a filly to get prettier,” Pound said, “yet, here you are. Try as I might, I could never bring myself to look at another mare after that night. It’s like- I dunno, love at first sight? Faust strike me down, but I never bought into that stuff, but here we are.”

“I think of that day, too,” Flurry said, watching Pound’s face become flush, “try as I might, I couldn’t find a colt here or in Equestria who I felt more affection for. It seems so silly, holding out for a one true love-”

“I bet your mom would say differently,” Pound said, “I bet she would say that you and I were meant to be.”

“You don’t know my mother,” Flurry said, though the grin on her face didn’t falter.

“You’re right,” Pound said, “but Princess twilight has told me enough about her for me to speculate. It sounds absurd, but I bet your mom set Lord Alfalfa in your way to bring me back into your life.”

“Now you’re talking conspiracy…” Flurry started.

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I’m glad this happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanna be- more involved in your life,” Pound stated, “I miss what we had when we were foals. And I know we’ll never get that back, but- maybe we can be try for something more? Something better?”

“You know, I would like that,” Flurry said, “how would that work, though?”

“You have telephone, don’t ya?” Pound chides.

Flurry laughs, “Oh, right!”

“I’ll give you my number, my personal number, not the number to the shop,” Pound says, “and we can set up another date.”

“Yeah we ca- Wait, another date?”

“I’m going to consider this a first date,” Pound says, “a really horrible one, but we can work on that in the next one!”

“You’re being really optimistic about your chances for a second date,” Flurry chides, “what makes you think that I would acquiesce to another potential disaster?”

Pound thought on that and said, “Because I’m cute?”

“… Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

Pound then took out a slip of paper (her receipt, Flurry noted, for her cupcakes,) and scratched out a number on the back with a pre-loaded quill. After handing it to Flurry, he flapped his wings, and gave her broad smile. Faust damn me, he is just too damn cute!