The Foodstuff Preparation Consternation
Pinkie Pie had everything laid out on the kitchen counter for making breakfast. The kitchen was organized for this sort of thing—knives always went in the knife block, spoons in the spoon drawer, all the spices in one cupboard, the oils and vinegars in another—just like that. Pinkie knew where everything was since long ago, and as long as she put everything back in the same place, there was never a need to worry about where something had gone. It was always in its place.
Today was going to be a big breakfast. Pinkie Pie wasn't expecting company, but sometimes she liked to make a lot of food in the hopes that company would arrive anyway, drawn by the delicious smells wafting out of the kitchen window, like some food-based pheromone system. Pinkie wondered if anypony had done research into that sort of thing, a sort of, appetite-oriented mind-control. She made a mental note to ask Twilight about it later.
"Morning, Pinkie."
Speaking of Twilight.
Pinkie Pie bounced out of the kitchen and behind the counter of the Sugarcube Corner faster than a blink, which was more or less half as fast as a wink, give or take. No, wait, that's not how eyes work. Or photons.
"Heya, Twilight!" Pinkie Pie's exuberant smile was a trademark, and gave the impression of a life of diligent dental hygiene or very expensive cosmetic surgery. "What brings you here this time of morning?"
"Well, we wouldn't normally pay an unannounced visit," Twilight said, shifting her shoulders and the tiny brown knapsack that was resting on them, "but Spike wouldn't stop going on about some breakfast he had here one morning... he was practically floating around the table with little hearts in his eyes."
"Ooh," Pinkie said, leaning over the counter. "Did he use his tail as a propeller?"
Twilight tilted her head slightly.
"You know," Pinkie said. "Like, spinning it around really fast so he took off into the air?"
Twilight's continued deadpan prompted Pinkie to give a practical demonstration. She took off from behind the counter with the ball of fuzz behind her normally referred to as a 'tail' suddenly doubling for an electric-powered propulsion mechanism, or whatever it is you'd call a helicopter blade, like that one fox whose friend eats chili dogs, you know the one we mean. Pinkie Pie floated around by her tail, flying in circles around the shelved pastries and threatening to send Twilight's head spinning perpetually.
"Whee!" Pinkie yelled.
Twilight yanked her out of the air to a stern-but-not-unfriendly landing. Even still, her tail seemed to keep twirling out of spite.
"Maybe," Twilight said. "I wasn't really paying that much attention to his tail. But he sold me on this magical breakfast of yours. I'd like to try some, if you're taking orders."
Pinkie Pie gasped, jumped, landed, hugged, and beamed, in that order. Then she let go of Twilight (who else would she be hugging?1. Then she laughed.
"Oh, Twilight," she said, in that way that ponies say 'oh' and then somepony's name, to let them know they're really going to get an earful when the studio audience is good and ready.
"I don't normally sell my breakfasts," Pinkie said, shutting down an entire potential lineage of enterprise in a single sentence. "But, when Spike was over the other day, I let him try some of the stuff I make for myself, and he went crazy for it." Pinkie's smile grew even wider as her pride swelled. That's not a euphemism for something. "He said it was the best pony-cuisine he'd ever eaten... better than jewels, even!"
Twilight Sparkle raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Probably the rest of her disbelieved as well. Possibly it was just her eyebrow. Leave me alone, I'm on break.
"Now this I have to see," Twilight said. "Should I just follow you into the kitchen, or—"
"You should follow me into the kitchen and!" Pinkie interrupted. She situated herself behind Twilight and shoved, and the two of them were in the kitchen before you could finish a metaphor. Twilight's eyes were watering a little from the sudden acceleration.
"Dare I ask, 'and' what?" Twilight asked.
Pinkie giggled and nodded.
"Uh-huh! You can see all my ingredients before I've started preparing them. That'll give you a clue as to what makes my special breakfasts so special." Pinkie Pie leaned towards Twilight and winked. She was also suddenly wearing a chef's hat. The poofy white kind. You know the one.
Twilight took an opportunity to survey the room.
When she got to the first cutting board, her face fell. That's an expression meaning she looked really upset. She froze for a moment, then ran to the counter with the reddest patch of ingredients (besides the tomatoes) and began to sob uncontrollably.
"Oh no!" she screamed, at a volume specifically reserved for life-altering crises and highly-taboo sexual encounters//really good yogurt. "I knew something like this was going to happen as soon as that stupid fanfic got printed and shared around town." Twilight snapped her head around, her face in fury, her eyes soaked with tears. "Did you do this to Rainbow Dash? Were you making cupcakes? Is that what this is, Pinkie Pie?"
Pinkie Pie had a pretty good face she saved for absolute 'what-the-fuckery', and we'll include a picture of it here for your interest. For those inhibited from clicking on image links, or those who just don't want to, here's a close approximation of what Pinkie's expression conveyed in words:
What the fuck?
"Twilight," Pinkie said, choosing her words carefully and slowly, "are you feeling okay?" Though she wanted to edge closer to her friend and see if she could sneak a hug in, she was also acutely aware of the knife still resting on the cutting board, and Twilight's unsettlingly and surprisingly accurate results in the knife-toss game at the Ponyville fall fair. All things considered, Pinkie decided not to make any sudden movements, or any movements at all, if she could help it, until she was sure what the buck was going on. Oh, sure, now we're using ponied-up in-universe slang, but when I wanted to say 'saddle-bag', you defaulted back to some stupid backpack—nevermind.
Pinkie Pie didn't like the look in Twilight's eyes. It reminded her of a dog with a bad stomach ache and no one else to take it out on. Vomit if you were lucky.
"Twilight," Pinkie said again, "what exactly do you think is going on? That's just my breakfast." Pinkie did her best to look as gentle and sympathetic as possible without crossing over into condescension. "Have you been remembering to take those pills the doctor gave you? The ones to help with the... voices and stuff?"
Twilight shook her head, her eyes shut. She shook it a few times, like she was clearing something viscous out of her ears.
"This isn't about my pills," Twilight said quietly. She paused for a moment, her breathing deep, but slightly hurried. "I'm still taking my pills." Another pause. "I take them every day with breakfast."
"Good, good," Pinkie said. She felt the continued tension of her body playing mannequin relaxing, and even managed to edge a few inches towards Twilight without a blade spinning across the kitchen. "So, why don't you just stand over here, and I'll show you how I make my super-yummy, extra-delicious—"
"Why do you have pony flesh on your cutting board?" Twilight asked. "It doesn't matter if it's somepony we didn't know. That's still absolutely sick."
"Huh?" Pinkie Pie tilted her head again, this time to the other side for variety. "That's not pony meat, Twilight. It's just bacon!"
"Bacon?" Twilight regurgitated the unfamiliar word as though the bile in her stomach had already bubbled over. "It's flesh. Animal flesh."
"Yeah, it's a sliced up little piggy! Or, a big piggy, I guess, on account of how much bacon there is... but anyway, it's no big deal! You get it in packs at the butcher! A sliced up little piggy to take home and cook up on your stove." Pinkie smiled. "Doesn't that sound great?"
Twilight took a step away from the counter, apparently uninterested in the protective proximity of the knife. If things went down, she could rely on her own hooves and horn to get the job done, the same way they always had in the past except in the several occasions when that hadn't worked and a larger deus ex machina was required but really who's counting.
"You're telling me you bought dead pig skin... and now you're going to cook it for breakfast?"
Pinkie nodded. Finally, Twilight seemed to be getting it!
"Uh-huh! You put a few strips in a pan, fry 'em up, they get all greasy, and crispy, and ummy-nummy delicious! You have to try one. Hold on, I'll get them started."
Pinkie dashed over to the counter, picked up a few of the bacon slices, and threw them in a deep, iron pan. The strips sizzled immediately as they hit the heated metal, and the kitchen air, which had previously been a free-range enterprise mix of every scent with a part to play in the morning's nourishment, suddenly filled overwhelmingly with the unique and peculiar aroma of frying pig flesh.
Twilight winced fully as the smell hit her, and covered her nose and mouth with her hoof. But it was no use. The bacon smell was everywhere, as were the sounds in her ears, the grotesque sizzling and popping of gristly tissue oozing out cupfuls of porous slime.
Twilight wasn't sure if she wanted to inspect the rest of the counter. But her curiosity would always get the better. Elements, elements, e, e, e... it was under eeeeeeeee-eeeee!
"By Celestia's perfectly-sculpted posterior," Twilight said. "Please tell me... please tell me that isn't what I think it is."
"Oh, this?" Pinkie popped open the carton of eggs and held one up to show if off to Twilight. "Yeah, I got a deal on these because one of them was broken. But they're fresh from this morning! Farmer Dirtbutt has a whole herd—a herd?—he has a bunch of chickens, and when they lay he takes the eggs straight to market the same day! Isn't that neat?"
Twilight stared, yes, in horror, as Pinkie nonchalantly cracked the egg over the side of another pan and dropped it onto the heat. Watched as she stirred and scrambled the unfertilized yolk, mixing the halves together until the whole thing was a white-yellow slurry, rapidly darkening on the ultra-hot element.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Twilight said.
She was, immediately, sick.
She didn't, like, get a cold, or anything like that.
She threw up.
God. Don't you people do anything?
Ahem.
"Blaaaaaaaaghhhblbbghaghlhhff..."
That's what Twilight's barfing sounded like.
Heh.
Barf.
Edit that out.
Pinkie Pie added another egg to the scramble before turning around to deal with her friend, who was being violently sick—yes, it still means throwing up—into the kitchen's only trashcan.
"Uh, Twilight?"
Twilight looked up, panting, gasping between trickles of upchuck dribbling off her lips into the black plastic bag, with little drip, plip, plop noises as they went.
"I kinda need the garbage can. I've got, like, ten more eggs to do, and the shells hafta go somewhere!"
"Bluuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrghhhbbbllbbl..."
Words are a wonderful thing.
"It was just awful," Twilight said to Pony Joe. The two of them were standing in a topiary garden filled with statues and hedges trimmed to look like ponies. Ponies made of leaves and bushes. "It was like one of those horror novellas you read online, where the first sentence sets up an innocent premise, but the second one completely blind-sides you with a new, horrifying context."
"Like that story about muffins?" Pony Joe asked. He was delivering the mail for some reason today. Possibly donuts weren't in high demand at this time of year. Whatever time that was.
Twilight shook her head somberly.
"No," she said, "I think it was about cupcakes. But yes, anyway. That one."
Pony Joe shook his head and adjusted his mail-sack nonchalantly.
"Never can tell with the cheerful types," Pony Joe said sagely. "One day they're knee-deep in party favours, the next, it's their neighbour's blood. Knew a unicorn once who wore his family's skin like a clown costume. Noses and everything."
Twilight nodded. She'd heard the story too, it was all over the papers.
"Do you think I should do something about it?" Twilight asked. The sun was bright in the sky today, not necessarily any brighter than it usually was, but bright. It made Twilight wonder how far away summer was.
Pony Joe shrugged.
"In my experience," he said, "you can take a homicidal pony to water, but you can't make them abandon their urge for interspecies bloodlust." Pony Joe rifled through a stack of letters, making sure they were organized in order of destination along his route.
Twilight Sparkle nodded again. Then she sighed.
"I suppose so." Twilight surveyed the garden, replete with its clumsy sculptures of birds and historical figures, and the trio of frozen villains poised at its center. She regarded the facial expressions of the three captured souls, and found herself wondering briefly what kind of foods they ate for breakfast.
Absentmindedly, Twilight tapped her hoof against Cozy Glow's stony forehead. It made a soft 'plink' noise.
With a sigh, Twilight waved goodbye to Pony Joe, who went on his way, delivering letters in stead of the pony who usually delivered them.
The end?
Author's Note
1: Gummy, obviously.
