Sprinkles

by Corejo

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Pinkie Pie, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3032

Twilight and Pinkie Pie bake cupcakes.

Pinkie Pie is beyond excited to teach Twilight baking, and Twilight couldn't be a more perfect learner, thanks to her book. But as they begin creating their delicate delicacies, Twilight realizes just how wrong she really is.

[Cover art by Conicer]

Published 2012-11-19 19:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-11-19 19:10:01 UTC

Sprinkles

Sprinkles

It was a great day to be Pinkie Pie. Well, every day was a great day to be Pinkie Pie, but this day was extra special—just like all the other extra special days! Like Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday, this day was going to be super. And super days are the best, especially when helping a friend learn how to bake. Because who doesn’t love helping their friends?

“Pinkie Pie!” Twilight scowled as if somepony had stolen a cupcake from her. But who would steal a cupcake? That’s just mean! She would have to bake Twilight a “Sorry Your Cupcake Got Stolen” cupcake to make up for it. No, a whole tray of them!

“Pinkie!” Twilight stomped her hoof. “Focus!”

Pinkie Pie shook her head, then smiled bashfully. “Sorry.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “As I was saying before you went all... whatever it is that you do, I knew you’d be the pony to ask for some first-hoof baking experience.” She beamed as she pulled an excessively large book from her saddlebags and held it before Pinkie Pie.

“Baking 101: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Baking but Were Afraid to Ask,” Pinkie Pie read off the red-leathered cover. Who in their right mind would be afraid to ask about baking? They should be afraid of not having enough to share with everypony when they’re done! That’s something to be afraid of.

“And look, I even brought my own supplies!” From cupcake trays to pastry tubes, dozens of baking instruments floated out of Twilight’s bags, followed by a quill and parchment. “This is going to be so much fun!” she added, clapping her hooves. Arranged by size and function, the supplies landed on the countertop in neat rows. “Organize supplies.” She crossed out a box on her parchment. “Check.”

Pinkie Pie giggled. Twilight was so silly with all of her check marks and books and stuff. “Oh, Twilight, you didn’t need to bring all of that. I already have everything ready for baking!”

Twilight’s excitement turned to confusion. “What? Bu-but how? We walked here from the library! How could you have possibly gotten anything ready?”

“Uh, duh,” Pinkie Pie said before zipping to the cabinet under the sink and sticking her head inside. She fumbled around, tossing various cleaning supplies and party equipment haphazardly over her shoulder. After half the room had been consumed by the pile of discarded objects, she emerged with a bright-yellow bowl full of cake mix. “I have bowls of cake mix stashed all over Ponyville in case of cake emergencies.” She set it on the countertop beside the well-organized baking instruments.

Twilight bit her lip and shifted away from the bowl, eyes darting between it and the mountain devouring the room. “Are you sure that’s healthy?”

Pinkie Pie raised an eyebrow. Healthy? What’s not healthy about it? Anything that tastes as amazing as cupcakes has to be good for you! She took a deep breath to tell Twilight all about the nutritious-y, delicious-y goodness of cupcakes, but a purple hoof promptly stuffed itself into her face.

“Actually, never mind,” Twilight said. “Lets get started!” She opened her book and squinted at the writing. “You added half a cup of shortening?”

“Yep!”

“Half a teaspoon of salt?”

“Of course!”

“Two cups of all-purpose flour?”

“Well, I don’t know about all-purpose, but it does come in handy with Pumpkin and Pound!”

Twilight blinked. “Um... okay. A teaspoon of baking powder?”

Pinkie Pie giggled. “Silly Twilight, you act like I’ve never made a perfectly normal, extra-super-duper amazing batch of cupcakes before!” She patted her friend on the head.

“Uh huh...” Twilight glanced back at her book. “Well, if you have all the dry ingredients in here, then all we need to add is the eggs, milk, and vanilla.” She looked up triumphantly and checked off another box on her list.

“Okie dokie lokie!”

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

This was going to be easier than expected. Sure, Twilight was disappointed that Pinkie Pie had already mixed the dry ingredients before she had the chance to do it herself, but it’s just a recipe, right? A simple set of instructions and measurements, like a science experiment. Follow everything by the book, and it will turn out perfect.

“Okay, so according to this book, we need to preheat the oven to three hundred fifty degrees. You want to do that while I grab the milk and the eggs?” Twilight asked as she walked toward the fridge.

Pinkie Pie reared back, her face full of shock. “Twilight! No! Wait!”

Twilight started to open the fridge. “What? I’m just getting th—”

Suddenly, the fridge burst open to the sound of party horns. Twilight barely had a moment to scream before a tidal wave of confetti, streamers, and balloons buried her alive. Flailing her hooves wildly, she managed to worm her head out of the pile and gasp for air. After catching her breath, she noticed a large blue cake with white icing in the fridge that read, “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Cake!”

Pinkie Pie giggled. “I tried to warn you... but were you surprised? Were ya? Were ya?” She beamed at Twilight, who glared back.

“No, not in the slightest,” Twilight mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Pinkie Pie’s smile deflated, and she sat down, putting a hoof to her chin. “Hmm, then I’ll have to think of something extra surprising if I’m going to surprise Mrs. Cake.”

Groaning, Twilight freed herself from the pile of party paraphernalia, confetti in her mane and a balloon statically clinging to her ear. Only Pinkie Pie could have thought of something that ridiculous. “Can we just start baking now?”

Pinkie Pie snorted with laughter. “Well, duh, that’s kinda what we’ve been doing, Twilight.”

Twilight grabbed the eggs and milk from the fridge, trying her best to ignore her friend’s remark, then set them on the counter beside the bowl of cake mix. Carefully, she levitated an egg from the carton and held it over the rim of the bowl before setting her book on the counter.

Turning the book to the green sticky tab on page five hundred forty-six, she scanned the microprint and frowned. Much to her disappointment, the book hadn’t magically rewritten itself to include any specifics on cracking an egg. It practically gave a dissertation on icings and proper swirling patterns, but nothing regarding how to crack eggs, only saying, “Add two eggs.” How does that make any sense? How hard was she supposed to hit them against the rim? At what angle? What kind of half-wit wrote this book?

Twilight bit her lip. The slightest mistake could ruin everything. Just like everything else she had ever studied, this had to be done perfectly; she would settle for no less. Sweat beaded on her brow. Here we go.

Ting.

She cringed at the hollow ring of shell against ceramic. Opening an eye, she inspected the shell. Spotless. A little harder then?

Ting!

Nothing. She scowled at the egg.

Ting ting ting!

Still nothing. She gritted her teeth.

Tingtingtingtingting!

Why won’t you break? You’re an egg! You’re supposed to be fragile!

Pinkie Pie, who had been watching blankly from beside the fridge, said, “Oh Twilight, stop being so silly. You should just crack the egg instead, like this!” She trotted to the countertop and, grabbing an egg, tapped it against the rim of the bowl. It cracked neatly down the center and landed in the cake mix.

Twilight’s eye twitched. How did she do that? Why wouldn’t this one break? Stupid egg. Frustrated, she brought it down hard on the rim.

Crack!

Her eyes lit up like fireworks. Ha! Not so tough now, are you? She smiled down at her book. “Do not get any eggshells in the batter,” she read from a sentence highlighted in yellow. Simple. Pulling the two halves apart, the yolk plopped beside its partner. “Now for the milk.” She discarded the shells and turned toward the milk carton.

Suddenly, Twilight froze for a split second, a shiver rocketing down her spine. She seized the bowl, a crazed look on her face. A tiny piece of shell, nearly microscopic, sat wedged between the yolks. No! Her one chance at making the perfect cupcakes was ruined! Ruined! But wait! She could fix this! All she had to do was remove the shell.

Sweat dripped down her face as she enveloped the shell with her magic, tongue peeking out in concentration. Careful... Carefuuuul...

“Whatchya doin’?”

“Gah!” Twilight nearly shot through the ceiling, tossing the bowl into the air where it somersaulted and landed neatly in Pinkie Pie’s poofy mane. “Pinkie! What is wrong with you?”

Pinkie Pie set the bowl on the counter, then looked between it and Twilight. “You know, you really don’t have to worry about that. It’s too small. Nopony’s gonna notice.”

Twilight looked at her as though she had called psychology a science. “What? Yes I do! The book specifically says not to get any eggshells in the mix.” She shoved the book in Pinkie Pie’s face as if it would somehow improve her understanding.

“But—”

“No. Eggshells.”

Having made her point, Twilight returned the book to its spot on the counter. Now, concentrate. She scowled at the eggshell before reaching in. Careful. Careful. Got it! She disposed of the little miscreant in short order. Next was the milk.

The book, as highlighted in hot pink, dictated three quarters of a cup. Twilight smirked and, from her array of glassware, levitated a measuring cup before herself. This was the easy part, the part where she was truly in her element. This wasn’t just baking; this was science!

Pouring the milk into the cup, she eyeballed her measurement, then after setting the milk aside, checked it more closely. A perfect meniscus at exactly three quarters. Well, not exactly. Drip! Now exactly. She positively beamed. This baking thing was second nature to her, it seemed. She had this down pat.

With the milk added—and Pinkie Pie finally finished singing some song about baking cupcakes that Twilight was glad hadn’t worked its way into her head—the two stirred in the vanilla and poured the mix into a cupcake tray, Twilight starry-eyed all the while.

There didn’t seem to be anything she couldn’t do perfectly or otherwise learn to do so. Her cutie mark supposedly symbolized her talent with magic, but what if it actually meant that her special talent was being, well, talented? She grinned at the thought.

Twilight trotted to the oven, opened it, and inserted the tray. She set the timer for thirty minutes and sat down to await her masterpieces.

The timer ticked away slowly. Too slowly. Twilight sighed. Despite her affinity for science and experimentation, waiting always gnawed at her.

She looked around for something to occupy herself. Pinkie Pie had vanished, probably upstairs to play with the foals, which left her alone in the kitchen with her thoughts and her cupcakes. A grin played across her face. Her soon-to-be-perfect cupcakes.

She could see it now. They would emerge from the oven a perfect golden brown. Their scent would be heavenly, like the desserts of the royal Canterlot banquets. No, better! They would have to be because she followed the recipe to the letter. Every. Single. Letter. The eggshell was a minor slip-up, but she had corrected that. Everything else was flawless.

But wait, what was this?

The oven was set for three-fifty, but the little thermometer in its window read three-forty-eight. She rubbed her eyes and double-checked it. That simply wouldn’t do! She had come too far to let such a minor discrepancy ruin her perfect cupcakes. But what was she worried about? Just like the eggshell, she could fix this lickety-split.

Twilight chuckled. A brilliant unicorn such as herself would have no problem raising the temperature a few degrees.

Her horn lit with magic, and she leaned forward to touch it to the oven’s dial. This would do the trick. She would have to add “Master Baker” to her list of accolades.

Her magic enveloped the oven in a purple sheen, and it started to click and pop.

Twilight raised her head and smiled smugly at the thermometer. Three-fifty. Too easy. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and breathed deeply of the cupcakes’ wonderful aroma. Her mouth watered. The heavenly scent of vanilla. The sweet aroma of bread. The ashen smell of smoke.

Wait, what?

Twilight opened her eyes, then reared back at the sight of black smoke leaking from the oven, its clicks and pops becoming faster, more violent. The thermometer read four-sixty and climbed at an alarming rate as a kettle-like whistle built to an unbearable volume.

“Twilight! What’s going on?!”

Her face full of alarm, Twilight turned to see an equally alarmed and flour-covered Pinkie Pie standing in the doorway, Pumpkin and Pound on her back. “I don’t know!” The oven began to rattle, and the two stepped back nervously.

Suddenly, tongues of flame burst from the oven door.

“Twilight! Do something!” Pinkie Pie yelled.

Twilight looked around frantically. Left to right to left again, her eyes swept the room before settling on the distinct red of a fire extinguisher sticking out from the pile of cleaning supplies. She yanked it from the pile and began to furiously read the instructions.

“Twilight! W-what are you doing!?”

“Reading!” She shot a manic glance at Pinkie Pie, then back at the extinguisher’s label. Pull the pin. Aim at the base of the fire. That was important—it even said so. Squeeze the lever slo—

Something inside the oven exploded like a firecracker, and naturally, Twilight did the most logical thing anypony would have done when frightened: throw the nearest object. The extinguisher clanged against the oven and fell uselessly to the floor, then caught fire.

Twilight paused for a moment to consider how that was even possible, but was brought back to reality by the oven as it rattled out from the wall. She caught sight of its cord, and an idea popped in her head.

Quick as lightning, she raced around the oven and yanked its cord from the wall. She turned to grin smugly at it, but was dismayed to see it unaffected. She facehoofed. Magic doesn’t run on electricity. Smart.

Twilight gasped. But it is magic. And magic can be reversed.

Her grin returned as she lit her horn to touch it to the oven. Her magic again enveloped the machine, and it let out a loud crack in response before sputtering to a halt with a final billow of smoke.

The timer let out a loud ping.

After a long minute of nervous silence, Twilight circled to the front of the oven, carefully inspecting it. Secure in the fact that it was no longer dangerous, she peered inside at the tray of cupcakes. A wave of heat and the smell of char slapped her in the face.

She grabbed the blackened tray with her magic and set it on the floor, coughing away smoke, then gazed upon her creations. Her stomach went sour.

They were without a doubt the most horrific cupcakes she had ever seen. Black as coal, they stared up at her, mocking her. What was left of her desire to learn how to bake evaporated. Stupid cupcakes.

She was about to punt the tray out the window when Pound Cake crawled up to the tray and sniffed the cupcakes curiously. He let out a foalish blabber and tried to eat one whole, unsuccessfully. Pumpkin followed suit.

Pinkie Pie laughed. A heartfelt smile upon her face, she picked up a cupcake and sampled it.

Twilight eyed one of the remaining not-morsels and, shrugging, tried it. It tasted as delicious as it looked—like a char-broiled brick. Her eyes watered, and she suddenly felt dizzy. With great effort, she swallowed the ashen grit, and a shudder ran through her. There was a first time for everything, and there was a last time for everything. For baking, this was both. She should just stick to magic, she decided.

“These need sprinkles,” Pinkie Pie said through her mouthful.

Twilight tried to suppress a giggle, but failed, snickering loudly instead. Pinkie Pie joined in, and the two collapsed in uncontrollable laughter. A minute had passed by the time the stitches subsided, and they stood, wiping tears from their eyes.

Pinkie Pie gave her a sober look. “But seriously, these need sprinkles.”

Twilight looked at her, perplexed. “Pinkie, You can’t possibly mean that. The book gave specific instructions on how to make cupcakes.” She levitated it beside herself and opened it to a red sticky note marking a section on proper baking procedures. “And we obviously messed that up.”

Pinkie Pie continued to stare, unfazed. Twilight cocked her head. She looked between Pinkie Pie, the book, and the tray, then around the room before curling her lip in thought. Trying to follow the book to the letter was what got them in this mess. She sighed, looking down at her hooves. If she hadn’t tried to be so scrupulous, she wouldn’t have destroyed her friend’s kitchen. She felt absolutely terrible.

“So?”

Twilight lifted her eyes to regard Pinkie Pie, who gazed at her curiously. Not a trace of anger or resentment marred her face.

“We were having fun, right?” Pinkie Pie beamed at her.

Twilight blinked, then a smile grew on her face. “Yeah, I guess we were.” She chuckled. Having fun with friends. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

She turned her smile to the book, regarding it like a child for an outgrown toy. She didn’t need this old thing anymore. Without a care in the world, she tossed it out the window to the sound of shattering glass and a scream of panic. Twilight winced, but then smiled at her friend. “Come on, Pinkie, we’ve got some cupcakes to sprinkle.”

Author's Note

[Author’s Note: Special thanks to Pascoite, Cassius, Choco Milk, and SecondarySpine for their reviews of this story.]

[Onward and upward!]

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