“Ooh, these flowers are pretty! What’re they called?”
She wasn’t asking anypony so much as she was thinking verbally. Pinkie darted around the waiting room, incessantly examining every little bauble and trinket she could get her hooves on. One moment, she was admiring a picture of a beautiful open field, the next she was enthusiastically tapping on the fish tank in an attempt to get the attention of an apparently catatonic Angelfish. The receptionist occasionally peeked her head up from her desk at the clinic’s entrance, but paid little attention to Pinkie and the Cakes. As long as the overzealous little pink devil didn’t break anything, she was fine.
Mr. and Mrs. Cake were sitting on a couch and idly pawing at the old, donated magazines that the clinic’s patients and employees were no longer interested in reading. After a brief, contained squabble over who got to read the only copy of The Modern Confectioner, Mr. Cake decided he was more content trying to take a nap, anyways.
What am I even doing here? Were it not for that stupid fear-mongering talk show magazine, the missus wouldn’t even know what ADHD is, much less be worrying over whether or not Pinkie has it. This is so stupid...
Mr. Cake’s thoughts were cut short when a door opened and through it walked a haggard, unshaven stallion with an unnaturally rigid gait. His eyes were somewhat glassed over and he wore a crooked, toothy sort of smile. Mr. Cake silently hoped that the expression was the result of deeply profound life advice from a pony brimming with wisdom and experience, but realized that it was far more likely that he had just taken a boatload of Prozac. The stallion staggered out of the waiting room, oblivious to the other ponies that resided there.
“Have a good day, Mr. Marbles!” Chimed the receptionist, faked enthusiasm stretching her face. His only reply was a low, unintelligible mumbling that became more and more incoherent as he walked. Mr. Cake wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that he heard something about “bananas”.
The receptionist looked over at Pinkie, who was still attempting in vain to get the Angelfish’s attention. “Dr. Psi will see you, now! He’s right through that door.”
“Hooray!” cheered Pinkie, as she enthusiastically bounced through the doorway. The cakes rose from the sofa and followed her, though with noticeably less spring in their step. Upon entering, they and Pinkie beheld a bespectacled, dark-blue coated unicorn who had a notebook magically suspended at his side. He turned from his notebook and regarded his new patient with a warm smile, despite her overzealous and sudden consumption of all the candies on his desk. “Hey, Doc!” She exclaimed, her voice free of reservation or subtlety.
“Hello, Ms. Pie!” he smiled, while turning to face the Cakes. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Cake! I’m afraid i’ll have to ask you to step into the waiting room; my examination requires some one-on-one conversation with Pinkie, here.”
Mr. and Mrs. Cake visibly faltered, and their faces contorted with concern.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Cake. I make sure to take good care of my patients, and I’m always keeping up with the latest therapeutic techniques. She probably won’t even need the medi-”
“Candy,” interrupted Mr. Cake.
“Er, yes, she probably won’t need the ‘candy’ anyways. All I need is to get a few good minutes to talk to her. You’ll be out of here in no time.”
While the pair were still worried, the doctor’s calm voice and reassurances helped them relax. Mr. Cake looked at Pinkie, who had already sprawled herself out on the therapist’s sofa. “See you soon, Pinkie! We’ll just be outside, so come get us if you’re nervous or anything, okay?”
“Why would I be nervous? I’m getting candy!” The doctor and the Cakes smiled at this, though the latter left the room with their nervous expressions having returned to their faces. Dr. Psi calmly closed the door to his office, and turned to face the smiling pink filly.
“So, miss Pie. Tell me about your mother.”
One Hour Later...
The Cakes sat axiously on the sofa. It was Mr. Cake’s turn to read the copy of Modern Confectioner, so Mrs. Cake found herself unhappily eyeing a copy of Cosmoponytan. She couldn’t help but occasionally wretch at the desirable, unrealistically skinny mares that seemed to have nothing more interesting to talk about than their sex lives. Upon becoming frustrated over the results of a personality quiz that based its results on one’s eye color, she tossed the magazine aside and disdainfully started to skim through a copy of Equestria Inquirer.
Suddenly, the door to the office opened in a burst of confetti. Out came a bouncing Pinkie Pie, with a smile on her face that indicated she in no way thought the inexplicable party decorations were odd or out of place. Behind her was a pony whose face and unamused expression were rendered indiscernible by a thick layer of banana-creme-pie and party streamers. The stallion, who the Cakes could only assume was Dr. Psi, walked over to the couple and stopped short in front of Mr. Cake.
The room was silent, spare for the occasional splat of banana creme on the floor.
“S-So, what’s the verdict, Doc? Heh...” stuttered Mr. Cake.
“One-Hundred milligrams of Ritalin per day. No less.” The doctor, despite not breaking eye contact with Mr. Cake, began writing a prescription note with a levitating quill and piece of paper. After signing the note with a swishing motion, the paper crumpled and tossed itself at Mr. Cake, bouncing off his forehead and onto the sofa.
The began retreating to his office. “Today’s patients are rescheduled for next week, Manilla. No exceptions.” After shaking herself from shock at the doctor’s appearance, the receptionist began scribbling at a furious rate on her desk calendar.
Mr. Cake retrieved the paper and uncrumpled it, noting that it called for “Adderall, Intuitiv, Strattera, Ritalin, whatever you have in the highest dosage.” Near the bottom of the paper, the words “MEDICATE THIS FILLY” were underlined repeatedly.
Mr. Cake got up and gave chase to the doctor, who had nearly disappeared through his door. “Wait! Isn’t there some kind of therapy we can put her through? I had really hoped to avoid medicatio-”
“One. Hundred. Milligrams, Mr. Cake,” growled the doctor. The door slammed behind him as he passed through it.
The Cakes looked at eachother with faces of uncertainty, then at Pinkie Pie, who met their nervous stares with large, expectant eyes. “So, do I get the candy? Do I, do I, do I?!”
The door swung open. Through it came flying a rubber chicken, which hit the wall with a resounding squeak.
“And take that bucking thing with you!”
Author's Note
This was part of a larger story called "Pinkie Pie Tries Ritalin". I didn't really like how the story was turning out, so I tossed most of it, but I thought this scene was kinda funny, so I figured I could share it with you guys. If it gets enough attention and people really like it, I might continue it as a story, but it is going to receive "Complete" status for now.
Anyways, feedback is always appreciated.
The word "Sex" is in there like once so I'm rating this a "E" for everyone, you bunch of goddamn puritans.
