Pound and Pumpkin Save Sugarcube Corner
There is a certain embarrassment that comes with being woken at an inopportune hour. Pleasant dreams come crashing down into a haze of muddled confusion as the harsh sunlight assaults the eyes, everything’s a bit blurry, and all one can really bring themselves to do is say “Bluh?” To the outside observer? It’s hilarious. To the unwilling participant? It’s humiliating.
“Pound! Pound! Wake up! You gotta wake up!”
To a certain Pound Cake’s chagrin, it’s exactly where he found himself one inconspicuous Wednesday morning.
As he opened his eyes, blearily blinking, he felt two sharp jabs in his side and squeaked softly. Rolling over, he pulled his covers up to his chin and grimaced. “Go ’way, Pumpkin,” he muttered sleepily.
“Pound, Mom and Dad are gone, and there’s a really big problem!”
That got his attention.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes. Slowly, his sister, Pumpkin Cake, came into focus. She’d clambered her way onto his bed and was basically standing on his legs. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing was frantic, as if she’d just run a marathon (or, as it would turn out, a single flight of stairs).
Pound blinked again. “Whasshappening?” he stammered, yawning. “Mom ‘n Dad said they were gonna be gone yesterday. They’re goin up to Canterlot for their…” Trailing off, he fumbled with his words for a moment before pouting slightly. “Anni-nursery.”
“I know thaaaaat!” Pumpkin groaned, rolling her eyes and stamping a hoof against the sheets. “It’s something else! And it’s really, really bad!”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes widening.
“It’s- it’s-” Letting out another exasperated groan, Pumpkin broke off and jumped down to the floor. “Just come look! It’s horrible!” And with that, she sprinted out of the room, leaving Pound alone with himself (and, of course, the thumps and bangs of her sprinting down the stairs of Sugarcube Corner once more, though those kinda echoed throughout the entire building).
Pound yawned once more, and for the briefest of moments, glanced back down at his pillow. His still warm, super duper uber comfortable pillow. He entertained the notion of laying back down for a couple seconds. To the sleepy, disoriented young colt, it was quite the tempting proposition.
“POUND!” a faint voice yelled, echoing up from the floor below. “HURRY!”
He winced. That does seem important, though...
A couple seconds later, he found himself sleepily trotting down the stairs his sister had positively flown down just moments before (which was remarkable, considering he was the pegasus of the two). Everything was still a little bit fuzzy, so he had to try his best not to miss any steps and tumble all the way down. It took quite a lot of focus, and by the end, he was feeling a little proud of himself. Grinning, he rounded the corner into the Sugarcube Corner bakery proper…
… and everything was exactly the same as it always was.
The bakery was immaculately clean. Not a chair or table was out of place, not a speck of dust could be seen, and the floor shone like it had just been freshly mopped. Fresh-baked pastries and sugary treats adorned the display case and counter. The place looked like something straight out of a home decor magazine, and try as he might, Pound couldn’t find a single thing out of the ordinary. The only piece of the scene that looked out of the ordinary was his sister, pacing back and forth between the front door.
They locked eyes, and for a moment, all was silent.
“Pumpkin?” Pound asked, tilting his head to the side. “Where’s the problem?”
“Ugh!” Pumpkin ughed, rolling her eyes again. “Are you blind, Pound?” She trotted over to the window just beside the door, and pointed at the sign hanging in the window. “LOOK!” she wailed, like the world itself was ending.
Walking closer, he squinted at the letters. “It says ‘open!’” he remarked astutely. “That’s what it’s s’posed to do, right?”
Pumpkin’s hoof took a sudden liking to her face. “Duh! On the INSIDE, it does, but do you know what it says on the outside?”
“What?”
“CLOSED!” She stomped the ground once more, tears welling up in her eyes. “I went out to check myself! It says ‘closed!’ Mom and Dad SHUT DOWN Sugarcube Corner today!”
Pound blinked a few times, and tilted his head to the other side. “Um… yeah?” he said,c confusion coloring his voice. “They’re… not here. They’re in Canterlot. You can’t serve customers in Ponyville from Canterlot. And Pinkie said she had to do super serious Element stuff today, so she can’t do it…” He stuck his tongue out briefly. “They had to close it!”
“You’re not getting it!” she said, pouting a mighty pout. “Think! What day is today?”
“It’s… um…” he trailed off, scrunching up his face in thought. “It’s Wednesday, right?”
“Pound,” Pumpkin said, her voice growing dark, “Sugarcube Corner doesn’t close on Wednesdays.”
A beat passed. Then another. And then, Pound’s pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. His mouth fell open, and he fumbled for words for a moment. “Ohmygosh,” he eventually whispered.
“I KNOW, RIGHT?” Pumpkin cried.
“That’s not right!” he exclaimed loudly, jumping into the air and hovering there. “That’s- that’s-”
“The worst possible thing!” they exclaimed together breathlessly.
“There’s gonna be customers who come to get breakfast-” Pumpkin began.
“-and can’t get it!” Pound finished. He was breathing faster now, a spike of adrenaline having set in. “Oh gosh, the regulars!”
“THE REGULARS!” she gasped, falling on her rump. “What are they gonna do? There’s not another bakery in town!”
Pound tilted his head again. “Doesn’t Bon Bon-”
“Bon Bon comes to us for breakfast,” Pumpkin interrupted. “There’s not another good bakery in town.”
“You’re right,” he breathed. “Also, if she hears you say that, she’s gonna get you.”
“She’s not here; plus, it’s true and you know it,” she said dismissively. “Besides, that doesn’t matter! We have a catastrophe on our hooves!” Clambering back to her hooves, she took a deep breath. “We gotta do something! This can’t happen!”
Pound nodded vigorously, touching back down with the ease and grace of a squirrel that’d been eating fermented apples. “What are we gonna do, though?” he asked. “Mom n’ Dad aren’t here, Pinkie’s not gonna be available, and there’s nopony else who can help!”
“We could do it.”
Silence. “What?”
“Pound,” she continued, “we’ve seen Pinkie do it alone. And Mom and Dad are always baking stuff like it’s nopony’s business. I think we can figure it out.” Clapping her hooves together, she grinned. “It’s just a bakery. How hard can it be?”
Pound raised an eyebrow. “That’s a…” Trailing off, his gaze became distant. Slowly, a grin identical to his sister’s took shape. “Really good idea!” Looking around the bakery once more, his smile grew wider. “We can TOTALLY keep this place open for a day! It’ll be a piece of cake!” He giggled. “It’s in our names!”
“You wanna do it?” Pumpkin gasped.
“We gotta do it!” he answered, puffing out his chest. “Sugarcube Corner CAN’T close on a Wednesday! Ponyville depends on it!”
“Then we gotta hurry!” Pumpkin urged, trotting towards the counter. “We usually open at seven, and it’s six thirty already! We need to prepare!”
The pair scampered behind the counter, rummaging through drawers, taking various (completely random) ingredients out of the pantry and fridge, and readying the shop for customers as they saw fit. By the time they were finished, the once flawless space looked decidedly cluttered, but neither of them seemed to care. After all, they were foals on a mission; who could possibly have time for cleanliness with such an important task at hand?
As the minutes ticked by and seven o’clock ticked ever closer, the smiles on their faces never faded. It’s not as if they weren’t taking the preparations seriously; rather, they were thrilled at the prospect of running the store by themselves, and as such, threw themselves wholeheartedly into the task. The smiles were due to something else entirely: sheer, unadulterated confidence.
After all, the plan was simple: keep the bakery open for one whole day.
Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Author's Note
It's time for shenanigans.
Pound and Pumpkin Save Sugarcube Corner
At precisely seven-oh-two in the morning, Minuette found herself trotting down Ponyville’s Mane Street. The air was pleasantly cool; though it was summertime, the sun had been up for less than an hour, so it hadn’t become positively sweltering yet. As such, it was the perfect time for a nice little morning stroll.
As she walked, the early-morning birdsong intermingled with the sounds of bustling life. Conversations floated idly by - ponies greeting each other, friends catching up, the occasional choice mutterings of an unfortunate soul late for work; it was a familiar ambiance, one she was used to.
She liked her morning walks - they provided a sense of tranquility and stability, and were a nice, healthy way to begin the day. They also allowed her to see the ponies she knew - she gave a nod here, a wave there, threw in a hello or two, and just like that, she’d caught up with friends and put a smile on more than a few faces. It always made for a bright start to her day, too, which wasn’t a bad bonus.
And as she continued along the path, and a certain gingerbread-house-esque building caught her eye, she remembered another reason she liked her walks so much - they allowed her to beat the rush.
Thoughts of a sugary, self-indulgent breakfast filled her mind as she ascended the steps to the front door. Though she didn’t get breakfast at Sugarcube Corner all that often, when she did, she always enjoyed it, and today felt like a perfect day to…
… have her train of thought grind to a screeching halt as she pushed open the front door and beheld the sight within.
Bowls, spatulas, and even a stand mixer adorned the normally barren counter, with spilled flour, chocolate chips, and other ingredients strewn between them. Every cabinet in the kitchen seemed to have been haphazardly tossed open. Out of sight, she could hear clangs, bangs, and a running faucet, and what sounded like laughter.
For a moment, she stood there, jaw open. Then, quite eloquently, she said “Um.”
The clanging stopped. “Jus’ a second!” a small, childlike voice called out from the back. The sound of scampering hooves could be heard, and then, a notably disheveled Pumpkin Cake popped up behind the counter. “Ooh!” she gasped. “Hi, Toothpaste!”
“What?” she responded, raising an eyebrow. As she looked closer, the young filly looked to be… quite messy. There were patches of flour coating her fur, smears of multicolored frosting on her muzzle, and what looked like sprinkles in her mane. “Pumpkin, what are you doing?”
“Baking!” Pumpkin responded, a brilliant grin on her face. “Pound’s helping too!”
“HI!” a second voice called from the back.
Minuette’s brow furrowed, and she took a deep breath. “Why, exactly, are you-”
“Whaddya want?” Pumpkin interrupted, leaning forward. She placed her two front hooves on the counter, making her look a little bit taller.
“I’m sorry?”
“Like, your order!” she giggled. “Whaddya what? We got cupcakes, donuts, pastries, and Pound is gonna try making bagels soon!”
“Bagels?” Her ears perked up a little. “That sounds rather nice, actually; when will those be ready?”
“Dunno!” Pumpkin laughed. “He’s never made ‘em before! We’ll find out!”
“O-oh,” she stammered, backing up a pace. Suddenly, the display case, one of the few locations in the bakery that hadn’t been marred by splotches and ingredient spills, looked a lot more suspect. “Um… what have you two baked before?”
“Well, one time I helped make icing for a cake!” Pumpkin stated cheerfully. “I put in the sugar, and I put in the butter, and I put in the pink color, and I turned on the MIXER!” She hopped onto the counter and trotted over to the aforementioned appliance. “Like THIS!” she cheered, flipping the switch to the maximum.
As a wave of cocoa powder cascaded over the edge of the bowl, adding to the various other spills on the counter and causing Pumpkin to squeal, Minuette couldn’t help but let out a strained, barking laugh, her ears folding back against her head.
Fumbling with the switch, Pumpkin shut the mixer off. “Mom said I did very good!” she exclaimed.
“I cooked an egg once!” Pound said, popping up behind the counter. He too was covered in various baking supplies. If Minuette didn’t know better, she would have guessed the two had gotten into a food fight.
“How’d that go?” she asked, bemused.
“It was crunchy!” he beamed.
“Oh.”
“You still haven’t told me whatcha want, Minnie!” Pumpkin whined, stamping a hoof against the counter (and producing a little puff of powdered sugar). “Do you even want our food?”
And then, the twins pouted.
‘Puppy eyes’ was an understatement. It was if the two had collected, purified, and distilled the pure essence of pleading into their faces. Ponies across the town felt their hearts soften a little bit. Ponies outside the bakery were overcome with the sudden urge to oblige, even if they didn’t know what for. And Minuette?
She got the brunt of it.
She was friends with the Cakes, and as such, knew Pumpkin and Pound better than most. When they were toddlers, she’d offered to watch them on more than one occasion, and they’d always been remarkably well behaved. The twins had taken a liking to her, and though she never quite understood why they called her “Toothpaste,” she certainly wasn’t going to complain.
On the flip side, though, this meant the twins knew her. And they had discovered her weakness remarkably quickly.
She could never, ever, ever say no to the pout.
So her ears perked back up, relaxed her posture, and donned a soft smile. “Of course I do, guys,” she said. Looking back down at the display case, a particular pastry caught her eye. “Look down there, do you see that chocolate éclair?”
“Mhm!” they said in unison.
“Could I have that, please?” As Pumpkin nodded and floated the sweet treat out of the case, Minuette glanced up above the twins, towards the menu. Three bits for the éclair, she thought, levitating her coin purse out of her saddle bag and opening it. That’s not bad at all-
“One bit, please!” Pumpkin said, dropping the éclair on a napkin in front of her.
She blinked. “What?”
“One bit!” she repeated, stretching out a hoof. “You didn’t think it was gonna be free, did you?”
“No, of course not, it’s just…” She glanced up at the menu again, pointedly. “One bit? Are you sure?”
“Mhm!” they said, nodding firmly.
“Two bits is just too much,” Pound explained, a solemn look overtaking his face. “I don’t even have two bits!”
“And zero bits is free!” Pumpkin added. “So one bit, please!”
“Right,” Minuette droned, looking back towards the menu. She scanned it for a moment, her eyes catching on the apple fritter, which was listed as costing five bits. “And if I got a fritter instead?”
“One bit!” they chimed together.
She raised an eyebrow. Back to the menu. “And what about some cream puffs?” she asked, pointing at a pile of them, listed quite clearly as costing two bits.
“One bit!”
The eyebrow climbed further, like it was trying to enter orbit. Looking back towards the display case, her gaze locked on the piece de resistance - the wedding cake. It was a monster of a dessert, towering four layers high and intricately decorated. The Cakes didn’t produce them en masse - rather, each one was a commission, and a hefty one too - no less than five hundred bits. After all, a lot of time and effort went into each one, which was only fitting; ‘twas only sensible to commemorate a lasting love with a labor of love.
Minuette gestured towards the work of pure art resting in the display case. “What about one of those?”
“One bit!”
She swallowed. “Purely out of curiosity, where are you parents?” she asked, donning her smile once more.
“Canterlot!” Pound said. “They’re taking a trip for their anni-mercury!”
“And we’re keeping the bakery open while they’re gone!” Pumpkin affirmed.
“Really!” Minuette gasped, a hint of concern in her voice. “Did they ask you to?”
“No!” Pound said. “They were gonna close it! But we stepped in to save the day! After all-”
“Sugarcube Corner doesn’t close on Wednesdays!” they finished together, nodding once more.
“Gotcha,” she said, looking back to her coin purse. “And you’re dead set on this?”
“We HAVE to!” Pumpkin yelled, her eyes growing wide. “It’s what Ponyville needs! It’s destiny.”
“Hmm.” A pause, and Minuette looked both of them in the eyes. She saw determination reflected back. She recognized that look - she’d seen it before, when the two of them got a crazy idea in their heads and were gonna do it, no matter what. Try as she might, she knew in her heart there was no stopping them. And so, she didn’t try. “Tell ya what,” she began, levitating three bits out and placing them on the counter. “How about-”
“Nuh uh!” Pumpkin said. “The éclair is one bit, Toothpaste! No more, no less!”
“I know.” A wry grin made its way onto her face. “That’s why only this one is to pay for it,” she said, sliding one of the bits towards the cash register. “The other two are for something else.”
“Woah,” Pound breathed. “What are they for?”
“Tips!” she said proudly, sliding the remaining bits towards each of them in turn. “It’s a little extra special way for ponies to say thank you for providing good service! Like a little treat for you guys as well, y’know?” She chuckled. “I think you two have done very good service today, and so, I think you deserve something special!”
Simultaneously, their jaws dropped open. “Woah.”
Picking up the éclair and the napkin, Minuette offered them another smile. “Well, thanks, guys,” she said. “I uh… well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this, but I’m glad I came in today!” If only cause I know you’re doing this now. Turning towards the door, she threw a glance over her shoulder. The two were still staring at the bits in front of them, jaws slack. “I’ll see if I can come in later, okay?” When they offered no response, she giggled and turned towards the door.
As she left, she had only one thought on her mind.
I need to send ponies to check up on them and make sure they don’t burn this place down.
As the door slammed, Pound and Pumpkin ever so slowly turned to each other. For a moment, the bits seemed to glow in front of them. Huge grins spread over their faces.
“We,” Pumpkin whispered, “are so good at this.”
“POUND!”
It had been a couple hours since the bakery had opened, and things were going… surprisingly well. Their parents had left a significant amount of food behind from the previous day, so they hadn’t actually had to do too much… well, baking. They’d also had a steady stream of customers, and they’d racked up quite the pile of bits (despite, of course, selling everything for just one - they had to stick to their principles). Overall, their little experiment had been running remarkably smoothly.
The sound of the front door shutting made its way into the back of the bakery, and Pound’s head swiveled towards the door. “GOLDEN HARVEST JUST TOOK THE LAST CROISSANT!”
And, it seemed, it was about to hit its first roadblock.
The colt’s eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed. “OKIE DOKIE!” he shouted back. “I’LL MAKE SOME MORE!”
He began to zip around the kitchen, grabbing everything he could think of that might go into a croissant. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, milk, honey, baking powder, corn starch, honey, and other things flew off the shelves and found themselves deposited in a haphazard pile on the counter.
As he gathered the various, entirely random ingredients, one item in the kitchen stood untouched - the cookbook.
To understand why, it’s important to analyze the object itself. The Cake’s cookbook was nothing short of ludicrously comprehensive - if it took sugar to make, it probably had an entry within it. It was stored on the highest shelf above the oven for all the world (or at least, all who had access to Sugarcube Corner’s kitchen) to see, like a monument to the concept of confectionery itself. The height was no problem for Pound - being a pegasus, he could have easily flown up and grabbed it.
Rather, it was its size.
To hold every baking recipe under the sun, one needed a tome of legendary size. It easily measured a foot on it’s bottom, thinner edge, and, if laid down flat on the ground, was taller than both of the foals. It was an engineering miracle the shelf was even able to hold it. If Pound had tried to pick it up, he would have found himself abruptly reunited with the ground in violent fashion. He was convinced that you’d need a team of pegasi to bring it down to the counter.
He had seen Pinkie toss it around like it was made of nothing on more than one occasion, but well… Pinkie was Pinkie. Normal ponies wouldn’t stand a chance.
So when he first trotted into the kitchen that morning, he took one look at the door stopper above him, and decided to forgo recipes entirely. He was a pegasus, after all. Nopony could say he wasn’t good at winging things.
Grinning, he grabbed a clean bowl and tossed it onto the counter. It had scarcely touched the granite surface before it found itself weighed down by several hooffuls of flour. As he began to toss more things into the batter, he found himself whistling a tune.
As he worked, time seemed to blur together. He heard the sound of the front door chiming several times, signalling the coming and going of new customers. On more than one occasion, a startled exclamation made its way to his ears. Those were a running theme of the day, he’d noticed. He found it more than a little confusing. The bakery was open, they were getting their food, everything was running normally, so what was wrong, right?
Besides, they were always in the bakery. It couldn’t possibly be his and Pumpkin’s fault.
Slowly, the batter took shape. An egg here, some sugar there, add some milk and a little bit more flour, mix it all together, and boom, he had something he could work with. Though literally no measurements or definite amounts of ingredients had been used, he stared at the amalgamation with a blind confidence befitting of a bodybuilder about to climb Everest, or perhaps a certain General Custard.
As he laid the half dough, half batter mixture out onto the counter, he glanced back towards the oven. Though it had remained unused for most of the day, he and Pumpkin had opted to preheat it before the bakery opened, just in case they needed to restock dwindling items (and, of course, if they wanted to bake stuff for FUN). Though there was a short argument over what temperature to preheat it to, they’d eventually settled on six hundred degrees.
It made quite a lot of sense. It was a large, simple temperature, hot enough to cook anything they threw at it. Foolproof plan. No flaws whatsoever.
As Pound divided up the dough into little balls and began shaping them into rough approximations of croissants, he heard the sound of somepony knocking on the front door. Pumpkin shouted a greeting, which he barely registered, and then the chime sounded. Then, Pumpkin gasped.
“HI SWEETIE!”
Pound’s ears perked up instantly. With a gasp, he tossed every finished croissant he could onto a baking sheet and practically threw it into the oven. Before he knew it, he was rushing back into the store proper and hovering behind the counter beside his sister. “Hiya, Sweetie Belle!” he said, sporting a gleaming smile.
The Cake twins had met with Sweetie Belle, as well as the rest of the Crusaders, on multiple occasions. Being that their talents were to help foals discover their special talents, Mrs. Cake had thought to book an appointment with them for Pound and Pumpkin more than once. Each time, they both had a blast - considering that the Crusader’s approach to special talent discovery was essentially “throw increasingly wild scenarios at the wall and see what sticks,” they had lined up plenty of unique, and FUN, things for the pair to do. Though they hadn’t ended up discovering their special talents yet, the sessions were incredibly enjoyable, and as such, they both considered the Crusaders to be their friends.
Presently, Sweetie Belle was staring at them with a mixture of bemusement and horror. “Buck me, she wasn’t kidding,” she whispered.
Pumpkin drew in a massive gasp. “LANGUAGE!” she hollered, pointing an accusatory hoof at the mare. “That was a BAD WORD!”
Sweetie winced. “Right, sorry,” she said, an awkward smile creeping over her face. “It’s just… when Minuette said you two were running Sugarcube Corner today, I… didn’t entirely believe her? And it kinda caught me by surprise.”
“Minuette told you?” Pound asked, eyes widening.
“She did!” Sweetie confirmed. “She’s actually the one who told me to come over here? Said you two would appreciate another customer.”
Without saying a word, the twins donned identical grins, turned to each other, and high-hoofed.
Sweetie squinted at the pair. “Did I say something?”
“We are SO good at this,” Pound said, nodding fiercely before looking back to the confused mare. “Dun worry,” he chuckled, “everything’s just been going really great today.”
“Uh-huh,” she droned. “Well, that’s good, at least.” She coughed slightly, looking towards the floor. “Has everything been going smoothly in the kitchen too? No fires, burns, accidental brushes with knives, nothing?”
“Nope!” Pound said proudly, tilting his head up. “And I haven’t been crushed by a book yet, either!”
“What?”
“Ooooh!” he said, turning to Pumpkin. “If something DOES catch on fire, though, can we roast marshmallows?”
She gasped. “That’s a really good idea!” A pause. “We could even sell them, too! Toasty marshmallows!” Whirling to face Sweetie, she sucked in a gasp of air. “Sweetie, do you think ponies would buy toasty marshmallows?”
“No,” she said firmly, her eyes widening. “No they would not. Please, please do not start a fire just to roast marshmallows. That nopony would buy, of course. For Celestia’s sake, do NOT do that.”
“Awh.” For a moment, the foals’ faces drooped. “Okay, Sweetie Belle.” they murmured.
“What would you wanna buy, though?” Pumpkin asked, perking right back up. “We’ve got all sorts of things!”
“Oh gosh,” she said, rubbing her forelegs together. “I actually wasn’t planning on ordering anything today, guys?”
“Why’d you even come in, then?” Pound said.
“I, uh…” she trailed off, looking towards to floor.
“You’re a silly pony,” Pumpkin murmured solemnly.
For a moment, Sweetie’s face became inscrutable. “Y’know what, I think I will order something.” Walking up closer to the display case, she looked up. “Do you have croissants?” she said. “Those are usually good.”
The air went still. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and a note of dread filled Sweetie’s heart. She watched as Pound’s eyes widened to be the size of saucers, and as a huge, elated smile crossed his face. “I’M MAKING SOME RIGHT NOW!” he shouted, positively vibrating with excitement. “LEMME GO CHECK ON THEM!” She blinked, and he was gone, the only evidence of his departure being the door to the kitchen suddenly swinging back and forth.
Back in the kitchen, Pound hurriedly slipped on a pair of hoof-mitts, took a deep breath, and pranced over to the oven. He reached up, grabbed the handle, and pulled down.
A wave of black smoke billowed out.
Undaunted, he reached in, pulled out the baking sheet, and put it on the counter.
The croissants were, simply put, destroyed. Crisped. Carbonized. Burnt to Tartarus and back at least three times over. Each of them was smoking profusely, like a volcano in the middle of erupting. They were barely recognizable as pastries anymore, looking more like lumps of coal than anything even remotely edible.
Pound felt tears welling up in his eyes. “They’re perfect,” he whispered.
Without any further ado, he grabbed a napkin, scooped one of the croissants (if you could even call them that) onto it, and flew back out to the register. “Here ya go!” he said cheerfully, plopping it onto the counter in front of Sweetie.
She paled.
Sweetie Belle paled.
Such a thing shouldn’t be possible. In sunny situations, photographers find it difficult to expose her properly in photos. If she wore a white beanie and sat down in the snow, she’d be nigh-invisible. Sweetie Bell getting paler is like water getting wetter - by all means, it should violate at least one law of physics.
Yet, somehow, upon seeing the croissant she ordered, she managed.
“Oh my sweet Celestia,” she said, her voice like that of a dying mare’s.
“One bit, please!”
Wordlessly, she tossed a single bit onto the counter and floated her meal into the air, desperately inspecting it to see if even a crumb of it was salvageable. To her horror, it was not. From the outside, it looked like if she ground it into a powder, she could sell it as fine art charcoal.
“You gotta blow on it!”
She tore her gaze away from the culinary travesty in front of her. “Huh?”
“It’s really hot!” Pound said, bouncing up and down. “Fresh outta the oven! Look, it’s still steaming!”
Sweetie Belle laughed. “Uh huh. Steaming. That’s what it’s doing, for sure.”
“So you gotta blow on it!” He looked at Pumpkin, who nodded in affirmation. “To cool it down! Otherwise, you’re gonna burn your mouth! And that’d be no good!”
“Kiddos, I…” She looked back to the croissant, ever-smoking. “I dunno how to tell you this, but I feel like I should get this out of here before it sets the fire alarm off.”
“That’s why you gotta cool it down!” Pumpkin said, rolling her eyes. “You really are a silly pony.”
Sweetie’s eye twitched. “Y’know what, fine, let’s give it a shot.” A strained chuckle escaped her lips. “What’s the worst that could happen?” She sucked in a huge gasp of air, looked the foals dead in the eye, and blew on the croissant.
A crack ran up the outside. Then another. And another. The entire burnt, blackened exterior of the croissant quickly crumbled to ash, scattering into the air between Sweetie and the twins. Soon, there wasn’t a speck of charcoal left to be seen on the thing.
In its place stood a perfectly browned, perfectly flakey croissant.
Sweetie’s jaw fell open, her gaze locked on the now-flawless pastry in front of her. The background noise from outside the bakery seemed to fade away, and the edges of her vision seemed to blur. For a moment, she wondered if she was even breathing.
In front of her, the two foals turned to each other, giggled, and high-hoofed once more.
She blinked. Shaking her head, she cleared her throat. “I think that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said unsteadily, turning the croissant around and inspecting it again, “because it leads me to two possible conclusions. The first of which is that you two just… did that. You two figured out how to cook a croissant so it looked like evidence in an arson case on the outside, but is perfect underneath, and then you decided to. Intentionally. And methodically. There is not a chance in Tartarus you could have done this by accident. I refuse to believe it.
“The second option is that this is normal.” She paused and swayed a little bit. “That every croissant I’ve ever eaten has started out looking like it was pulled out of the bottom of the remains of a campfire, and it was just served to me pre-cooled, and I just didn’t know it. “And I’ve gotta be honest,” she said, looking towards the pair once more, “both of those options are suddenly making my sister’s fainting couch seem a LOT more reasonable than it ever has before.” She paused again. “So like, how did you do this, Pound?” Her voice had a bit more of a tremor to it now. “I’d really like to know.”
“Iunno!” he said cheerfully. “We ran outta croissants, so I decided to make more, and then I did!”
Sweetie stared at him for a long, long time. Then, she looked back towards the pastry floating in her magic. Finally, she glanced down at the bits of ash scattered at her front hooves.
“You two have been spending way too much time around Pinkie Pie,” she declared before turning around and stomping out of the shop.
As the door swung shut behind her, Pumpkin turned to Pound. “She’s a very silly pony,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“She is.” Pound agreed. “It’s just a croissant.”
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The sound of the clock had been ever-present since Sugarcube Corner opened, but it had never been more present in the twin’s minds than it was at the moment. For most of the shift, it’d just blended into the background noise of the bakery, a subtle metronome for the two of them to work to.
Now, though? Now, it was eleven fifty nine in the morning, and the two were counting the seconds down to noon.
As soon as the clock struck twelve, Pumpkin let out a little cheer. “Lunch break!” she shouted, trotting out from behind the counter with a smug grin. “First half of the day DONE!”
“We did SO GOOD!” Pound cheered, doing a little flip in midair. “We got so many bits!”
“We DID!” As she trotted over to the front door, she giggled. “Mom and Dad are gonna be so happy with us.” As she spoke, her horn lit up, and a glow surrounded the sign in the front window. “I can’t wait to tell-”
Before she could finish, the front door slammed open, causing Pumpkin to yelp and jump backwards. A short, out of breath figure, carrying a stack of papers, ran into the bakery, sucked in a gasp of air, and stood there, panting.
Pound tilted his head to the side. “Oh, hiya, Spike!” he said, peering around the tower of paperwork. It was almost large enough to resemble the tree it had been made from. “We were just about to-”
“YOU GOTTA HELP ME!” Spike interrupted, gasping for air. “I messed up! I really really really messed up!”
Pumpkin’s jaw dropped. “Oh no,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
“Pinkie probably mentioned this,” he began, still panting, “but Thorax, and other members of the hive, are meeting with Twilight for a diplomatic visit today, and I was supposed to plan the - oh jeez-” The stack of papers tilted dangerously, and he quickly had to shift to prevent it from toppling over. “I was supposed to plan the event,” he continued, “and I did, but I totally forgot to order food!”
“Oh NO!” Pound and Pumpkin shouted, their ears folding back against their heads.
“I’ve got four hours to fix this and arrange for food!” Spike said, shifting again to keep the stack of papers upright. “I know it’s really really short notice, but you guys do catering, right? I would really appreciate it if you threw together something for this evening! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, and I understand if it’s not possible, cause again, this is kinda coming out of the blue-”
“We can do it!” Pound said suddenly. “We’re already saving the bakery, we can save Twilight’s playdate too!”
“Oh thank Celestia,” Spike wheezed, slumping forward in relief (and quickly darting forward to prevent a paperwork timber). “I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Cake, you really just saved my life right there.” He let out a strained laugh, turned around, and moved towards the door. “We’ll discuss payment later, thanks again, gottagogoodbye!”
As the door slammed shut, the Cake twins turned to each other, bewildered. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, Pound tilted his head to the side. “Did he think I was mom?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Pumpkin said. “We’ve got bigger problems on our hooves!”
“Like what?”
“Pound, what does ‘catering’ even mean?”
Author's Note
I'm finally getting back into the swing of things with writing! Expect the next chapter in about a week; It'll probably take be about that long to put it all on paper.
Also, I wrote a neat blog. It kinda ties in with this. You should check it out if you want.
If I missed anything typo or grammar-wise, lemme know in the comments and I'll get it fixed as soon as I can!
