Trailside Banquet

Pinkie Pie took a long drag of her “Puff Pastries” brand candy cigarette as she leaned against the walls of the old schoolhouse. She closed her eyes, enjoying the chocolate essence filling her lungs before breathing out the mahogany smoke in a deep sigh. There was nothing like a good Puff Pastry before an expedition, Pinkie would think as the cocoa powder and nicotine worked their magic. No other cigarette had calmed her nerves quite like they did. Once it served its purpose, she flicked the cigarette randomly and stuffed the ember out with her hoof.

The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting shadows on the path leading from the bridge of Ponyville proper to the outskirts of the most recent spreading of the AAZ, or “Aetherial Anomalous Zone” as Princess Celestia dubbed it in what Pinkie felt was a whole other lifetime ago. It didn’t matter what the Equestrian government called it, to be honest. To the folk that live in Ponyville, and to Pinkie, it is just “The Zone”.

Everypony knows about “The Zone” nowadays. Many learned to just accept it as another facet of life, and lived with it - careful to avoid the “officially established” boundaries. Parents told tales of the strange occurrences within it as bedtime stories to their foals, to scare them away from approaching. To some, it was a place to be intensely researched for the benefit of Equestria. To others, it was a dark mark on Equestrian lands, and should have been eradicated as soon as it appeared.

A few days ago, Pinkie overheard that Cheerilee pushed to abandon the schoolhouse at the latest town hall meeting about the Zone, as the most recent spread was too close for comfort for both herself and the local parents.

Made sense, thought Pinkie. The Zone isn’t a playground for foals to run around in during recess.

They teach the foals over at the Castle of Friendship now - a place Pinkie would visit before and after her trips. She’d bring the latest trinkets she found in the Zone to Twilight Sparkle for bits - not engaging in any further conversation outside of “how much for this?” and “how much for that?” - then would sketch a quick outline of the latest spread of Zone by looking at the Cutie Map, and leave to prepare for another trip. She couldn’t bear to see her once close friend for too long, and outside of the few exchanged words during their financial transactions, there was a silent understanding between the two mares:

The relationship between them is nothing more than satisfying Twilight’s addiction to knowledge in exchange for her money.

It hurts to see her. Pinkie would begin contemplating as she stopped leaning against the schoolhouse wall, and trotted toward the rusted border marker. Ever since… - Pinkie shook her head to get the all too familiar creeping thoughts out of her head - must focus. Got to keep moving.

To Pinkie, the Zone became a place of morbid curiosity. She heard the stories over mugs of cider at Sugarcube Corner, and saw firsthand just what this place could do to a pony. It was the latter that gave her both the addiction to Puff Pastry cigarettes that she hid from the world, and her love of the Crystal Empire imported “Crystal Clear” vodka that she drank so heavily. She could really only embrace the Element of Laughter when she was a few shots deep, and enter a dreamless sleep when she was a few shots deeper.

Element of Laughter… she thought, giving a slight laugh, …if only they worked for this.

As she made her way toward the most recently established borders of the Zone, the twinges of fear were stronger than they had been before. She pulled another Puff Pastry out of her saddlebag, the cigarette lighting itself as it entered her mouth - a great example of “simple, but effective inventions” that the Canterlot business ponies pushed in their advertisements. She closed the saddlebag, careful to adjust the rifle back to its previous spot on her back.

I hope I don’t have to use you, Party Popper, voiced her consciousness.

It was as she approached that Pinkie remembered the first words inscribed in Starlight’s research journal about this place. A journal she read trip-after-trip:

“The AAZ does not obey Equestrian nor natural laws. It is a place of twisted, unknown magic. A place of secrets, waiting to be uncovered. A place of potential findings for the benefit of Equestria!”

Pinkie had since added, “A place of dangerous anomalies, waiting for pony flesh - and also their souls.” beneath her little blurb, as a reminder for her to keep vigilant.

The once optimistic pony with a spring in her step took an uncharacteristically serious gait as she crossed the fresh border markers. As Pinkie took a drag of her cigarette, the air in the Zone entered her lungs. The flavor of the inhaled air and smoke was different - it was heavier, with an iron aftertaste that no amount of chocolate flavoring could completely cover. The trees that gave the Zone its distinct look were darker - twisted into unnatural shapes - as though the land itself was desperately in pain.

This wasn’t her first rodeo into the Zone; Pinkie wasn’t here to gawk at the trees or giggle at the ghosties as her former self would have iterated. She was here for trinkets, and she would hope as she continued to explore, for an answer. Her bright blue eyes, dulled by the Zone, focused on the broken up dirt path ahead. This place was not a place for pranks or parties, and Pinkie knew that.

“Let’s see what trinkets you’ve got today.” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the ambient hum that came from the Zone itself. The ground beneath her hooves felt spongy, and the metallic taste grew in potency as she ventured deeper.

Pinkie was prepared. She studied the maps drawn, both old and new, and memorized the safe paths in and around the Zone. She could most accurately guess where to travel - and where to avoid - thanks to her Pinkie sense. She could read the signs of an area too dangerous to trek through, either because she could risk physical injury or risk her psyche being screwed over more than the Zone had done already.

Whatever twinges of fear she had at the border were now completely subdued by the time she finished the Puff Pastry, and she flicked the remnants of the cigarette. This time, it dissolved into a cloud of ash mid-air.

A sign of a good expedition. She thought, considering the disappearing cigarette as a sort of “toll” the Zone considered paid.

With a determined nod, she pressed on, her steps careful and deliberate. As she walked, she could hear the faint echo of voices - her friends’ voices - whispering to her from the shadows. She knew better. Just the Whispering Grass. They aren’t here, she thought, with a twinge of sadness all too familiar to her, and they’re not going to be. Not now. And I would hope, not ever again.