Sugary Cubes and Wondery Bolts
“I’m just worried about her, ya know? Every day she comes home fired up over one thing or another.” Pound Cake was polishing the bakery’s countertop as he rattled on. Scrubbing a little too hard, some might say. Not that he seemed to be aware.
“She wasn’t like this when we were in grade school together. If anything, it was me who was always screwing off and not paying attention to Matron Cheerilee’s lectures. It’s probably why I flunked the School of Friendship entrance exam.”
Pound had moved on from the counter to a recently used pie dish, wetting his primary feathers with soapy water and scrubbing anxiously at baked-on flakes.
“Which is fine, whatever. Somepony has to stay out of school and run the shop. But whenever I ask Pumpkin how her day went, she never tells me a thing about her Friendship Lessons or teachers. It’s always ‘this colt I have a crush on did a cute thing’ or ‘that filly I’m in a catty beef with did an annoying thing’ or blah dee blah dee blah before she dumps her bookbag off to go meet with friends. The two of us used to be so tight, Miss Marina. I mean, when Lil’ Cheese moved away, Pump cried on my shoulder for over an hour. But nowadays I feel like she and me are barely more than roommates.”
Reclined on a chair two tables away, Old Miss Marina was her normal reserved self. A few flicks of her ears, formerly bright yellow but graying at the tips, was the only hint she’d been absorbing anything Pound Cake said. Then after a few huffs to gather her strength, she bent her stiff knees and cantered over to the counter. Marina moved remarkably fast and fluid for a pegasus her age, so much that Pound Cake (already mired in his own concerns) flinched from seeing it and dropped his half-cleaned pie pan on the floor.
“Faust damn it!” He blurted reflexively. “Oh jeez. Sorry. I shouldn’t swear.”
“Eh, cuss if you gotta, kiddo. Where I used to work, it was actually a big deal when somepony wasn’t casually cussing. Usually meant they were new and too tight sphinctered to share what was really on their mind.”
“Thanks for the encouragement ma’am, but I know I’m plenty tight-sphinctered whether I’m spouting curse words or not. I can tell by the way Pumpkin looks at me while I’m still filling orders each night she trots upstairs for bed.”
Miss Marina made no comment. In the two or three years since she’d become a regular Sugar Cube Corner customer, Pound Cake had never once witnessed the old mare’s voice get loud, feathers get ruffled, or eyebrows raise any higher than a calm inquisitive look that wordlessly asked ‘will my order be much longer?’ That particular expression was the one she was making now.
“Oh buck me,” Pound Cake sighed. “I yapped so long the water for your hot toddy is probably boiled away at this point.”
Sure enough, a paltry few tablespoons were sizzling in the stove's open-topped teapot. There had been a time when said teapot sported a lid able to seal the water in and prompt a whistle when the contents were ready. Then one morning Pumpkin Cake galloped from her bed to the kitchen in a panic, proclaiming she had nothing to contribute to a school art project due in a matter of minutes. Today, the brightly painted lid hung framed on the wall of the School of Friendship, and Pound Cake had to watch the kettle when it boiled now.
Pinching a pitcher in his teeth, Pound Cake poured fresh brew into the decapitated teapot, teeth audibly grinding on the handle.
“You oughta drop your shoulders, kiddo.”
"Egh?" Pound placed the pitcher down and licked his his lips. Dry. Just like his itchy eyes. It'd been hours since he'd last sat down or had a drink of water of his own. And he only had his slow, scatterbrained self to blame. Working while dehydrated; what was he thinking?
"I said drop your shoulders and roll your wings. The tendons on your withers are tighter than a flight uniform."
With no reason to doubt Miss Marina's advice, Pound Cake obeyed.
"Roll 'em slower. This isn't boot camp, ya know."
"And you're not much of a drill sergeant," Pound Cake half-heartedly shot back. Miss Marina made a couple chuffing noises Pound Cake recognized as laughter, and while he couldn't imagine what about his grouchy retort was so funny, the store telegraph rang before he could ask.
"Eh? I mean... Sugar Cube Corners! Ponyville's premiere sweet shop and confectionery! Can I take your order?"
As Pound Cake listened to the caller, Miss Marina did her best to politely busy herself by examining a nearby straw dispenser while drumming her worn hind hooves on the floor beneath her stool. She noted how meticulously arranged the dispenser's contents were, and felt a splinterless, freshly scrubbed smoothness under her horseshoes. "Spic and span cleaning job, cadet" she muttered. Then she bit her tongue. What a lark that her tongue was her only part of her with any muscle memory.
Pound Cake blew out heavily and hung up his finished call. He noticed Miss Marina looking at him with an expression that looked almost embarrassed, but he knew he had to be mistaken. Tough Old Miss Marina? Embarrassed by something? Never.
"Ya know, we didn't have those talky tubes when I was your age." Miss Marina gestured at the telegraph, trying way too hard hard to be casual. "Just wrote letters instead, like everypony in Equestria. Was definitely a worse way of communicating than voices. Do they even still teach hoofwriting in school?"
"Wouldn't know," Pound Cake admitted as he turned to check the now boiling teapot. "You can ask Pumpkin when she comes back about it."
"I think my days of waiting on younger folk are behind me, kiddo. 'Specially schoolgoers who don't get out of their courses til who knows when."
"She'll actually be here in a few minutes," Pound Cake sighed. "That was the school I just talked to. Said that Pumpkin cut class and left a note saying some 'family emergency' came up. They called me to confirm."
"Huh. What'd ya say?"
Pound Cake poured his customer's drink as he rubbed his eyes. His still dry, tired eyes. "I said yeah. I covered for Pump like I always do. Faust above Miss Marina, this is what I was saying earlier. Every day is a new thing with her. Or if it’s not a thing, then it's nothing at all and the two of us go another whole twenty four hours without saying a word to each other. She used to be the only pony I had to talk to while working the shop, and now she's living her own life, who have I got? Huh? Nopony!"
Marina expected Pound to deliver the hot toddy to her with a motion matching his namesake, but instead he limply slid the hot mug across the counter before grabbing a broom under his wing to sweep the floor. Marina knew it wasn't to address any apparent mess, since the shop was spotless. Pound Cake just needed an excuse to have his back to the old mare so she couldn't see his reddened face.
Proud cadet. Determined cadet. Doesn't have the heart to show any weakness to a squaddie, even if she's his sister.
Old Miss Marina nibbled her mug as Pound Cake silently swept. Scattered thoughts from her military days bubbled up and then dissipated like the steam from her drink.
Pound Cake was wrong about having 'nopony' of course. He had Marina. Even if he didn't realize it, the worn down, out-to-pasture pegasus he served a tea and whisky cocktail every weekday morning was a much softer touch than she let on. Maybe she regretted never having foals when she was a Wonderbolt, which meant she now had no company in her autumn years. Maybe she enjoyed the unfiltered sounding off of a conversation partner too young to know who she really was and treat her differently for it. Maybe she enjoyed being dripfed stories about a highstung, firey-maned filly in whom Marina saw so much of her younger, pre-military academy self. Truthfully, it was probably all three.
Even more truthfully, Supermarine "Marina" Spitfire knew her reasons for what she did were all pretty moot in the actual moment. All that mattered was she remained where she was at right now: Sipping liquid courage and staying composed for the mission she'd given herself: One where she helped mend a fraying bond between two yearlings she'd truly come to care about.
Idle hooves are the Princess of Friendship's playthings, as the saying went.
Spitfire took another swig, smiling encouragingly at Pound Cake's back and bravely waiting to finally meet Pumpkin Cake.
Author's Note
It's heckin' late on my end, but I'm stubborn about keeping my Thursday upload schedule. As such, gonna have to finish this Snippet tomorrow evening after work. Apologies for the half now, half later submission. It's the best I can do at the moment.
Fun fact: The pic below is what originally inspired the story, but its tone is just a little too laid back for what ended up being a more dramatic final draft. Decided to swap it for the current one cobbled together out of vectors.
