You Don't Cross the Family
Caramel had always enjoyed the scent of freshly baked goods wafting from the ovens as he took his afternoon stroll home from his temp job at Sugarcube corner. The usual pink filly that minded the store was sick with some kind of pun-related illness, and was deemed unfit to handle food items until she was well again.
Being a temp wasn't a bad job; in fact, it had afforded Caramel the opportunity to work in all kinds of interesting vocations. Some, like assisting the cute librarian when her dragon and owl were out of commission, or helping the town tailor, were pretty fun! Other times, however, were less than fun. Take, for example, the time he was asked to temp at the carrot farm across the way from Sweet Apple Acres. Their normally strong, plow-pulling stallion had twisted a hoof, with only one field out of five plowed. Needless to say, Caramel wasn't exactly built for pulling heavy objects, much less pulling them across wide tracts of land for days on end.
Still, Caramel's life was pretty average. Not great, but things could definitely be worse.
His home was a simple one, a room he rented out in a rather large building on the edge of town. It certainly wasn't a glamorous life, but it was one he had made for himself, and he was proud of where he was. His parents—more like his father—had kicked him out of their house on his eighteenth birthday to go 'find his own way'.
His dad said it would build character, but Caramel always suspected his father's reasoning had more to do with the fact that he was a bit of a screw up when it came to... well anything. The awkwardness of puberty had made him a bit more than clumsy, but after he moved from Appleloosa to Ponyville, his initial teenage lankiness left him as he got more comfortable with himself. Enough that he was actually able to hold down a job, unlike in his hometown, where he usually only lasted a week or two before causing some kind of catastrophe.
The scent of baked goods faded from memory as he approached his house. His land lady always sat out on the porch in her rocker, regardless of the time of day. She bid him goodbye when he left for work early in the morning and was there to greet him when he got home. If he didn't know any better, he'd guess she lived her whole life on that porch.
"Hello, Caramel," she greeted warmly, as if he were her own grandson.
"Hey, Mrs. House."
"How was work today, dear?" she asked as he paused at the door.
"Not too bad. Just helping out at the bakery in town."
"That sounds lovely. If you see my grandson, tell him he's due inside to wash up before bed."
"Will do. 'Night, Mrs. H."
Her grandson lived in Fillydelphia and had for the past ten years, apparently.
She was nice and all, but every day he came home it was the same question. He didn't blame her for her forgetfulness, however. Old ponies' memories' fade. He only hoped he wouldn't live to be that old. Though, she seemed to be happy. Who knows, maybe she just enjoyed hearing about a young stallion's day.
As he made his way up to his room, he noticed the mailmare had left him a few letters in the box by his door.
Picking it up, he entered his simple apartment and laid on his bed. He may not have been much for hard labor, but he could sleep as if he were. In fact, whenever he drew the short straw at the temp agency, he'd just think about how amazing laying on his bed after a hard days work would feel. As he melted into his mildly lumpy mattress, he began to sort through the daily mail.
Junk... junk... junk... paycheck! He dropped the rest of the mail on his belly and opened his week’s pay. A few precious scraps of paper fell from the envelope.
One hundred fifty bits. He sighed. It wasn't a paltry amount, but it certainly didn't leave much for himself. After his twenty five bit rent and seventy five bit grocery bill, he was pretty strapped for cash until the next week. Any cash he did manage to reserve somehow always ended up paying to fix something he'd broken, or to heal somepony he'd injured. His mother used to say that he had a little black cloud following him wherever he went. He wasn't a walking hazard by any stretch, but when bad luck did come his way, his little black cloud tended to gather into a thunderstorm.
He lay the empty envelope with the other mail on his belly, before noticing a letter he seemed to have missed. Shuffling the bills aside, he noticed this particular letter had a black border, sealed with a red stamp.
His hooves trembled as he slowly broke the seal, praying the name of his mother, father, or girlfriend wasn't waiting to stare back at him.
Caramel swallowed his fear and opened the letter, scanning its contents until he came across the name of the deceased.
Sir Wellington McMoney?
Caramel flipped the envelope over, making sure the mailmare hadn't made a mistake and given him some other pony's death notice.
I don't know anypony named Wellington McMoney, he thought to himself, continuing to read the letter. It was only toward the end did his eyes begin to widen.
... Master Wellington bequeaths to you the sum of 100,000 bits. The executor of his estate will meet you at the First bank of Ponyville at 8 a.m. sharp on the 27th of May to put the money in your name!
He glanced at his calendar. That's tomorrow!
Caramel's jaw hung open as he laid the letter back onto his chest, feeling the air threatening to leave his lungs in excitement. This had to be a prank. This would be the luckiest thing that'd ever happened to him! He had no recollection of any rich relative—especially not one with such an absurd name—and yet here he was being named in his will!
His mind began racing with all the possibilities this good bit of money could bring. He could get an apartment big enough for both him and his girlfriend to live in! With some left over to eat at the best restaurants and have ponies call him 'mister' and 'sir' for a change.
The realist in him began to set in, coming to the conclusion that if he simply spent the money, in due time, he'd be right back here, working week to week simply to live. If he wanted to make this money last, he'd have to use it to make more money.
But how? he wondered, scratching his chin as he moved the mail to the nightstand. He thought about all the jobs he'd worked as a temp, and which ones he could see himself making a career of. As his eyelids grew heavy, he set his alarm clock to wake him in time to go to the bank before work. His mind still drifted between one profession and the next, before easing off into unconsciousness.
He slept surprisingly well, considering what potentially life changing events the day would bring. He woke up before his alarm, filled with energy. As far as he was concerned, today was the first day of the rest of his life, and he would tackle it to the ground! No matter what today could throw at him, he'd face it with a smile. Nothing could spoil his mood today, no amount of bad luck or accidents would keep today from being great.
It was as though the universe heard Caramel's brief moment of happiness, and unilaterally decided to try its hardest to crush it into a quantum singularity.
He arrived at the bank and met the lawyer he was instructed to meet. After proving he was who he said he was, he was taken into an office where a rather chubby unicorn sat behind a desk, wearing a three piece suit and tie.
First, he had to pay the numerous bank fees that apparently come with this sort of transaction, then the taxes. After all was said and done, he was left with about 80,000 bits. Still, it may seem a bit unlucky, but death and taxes are the only two things certain in life. Besides, he still had a lot of money, and nopony could take it away from him!
At work, he was assigned Sugar Cube Corner again. He didn't mind, in fact, he wondered whether or not he would make a good baker. He'd helped the Cakes on numerous occasions and knew a lot of the recipes already. On top of that, he had caused the least number of calamities here, making him believe that baking might be something to consider.
Near the end of his shift, he found it hard to keep his mind on his work. He had the next two days off, plenty of time to think about what to do with his money. As he thought about his situation, a familiar face walked through the door. It was his girlfriend! Maybe she'd come to keep him company until he got off work or wanted to grab a bite to eat afterwards?
She'll be so excited when I tell her about the money!
As it turned out, she was part of the universe’s plan to break Caramel's spirit. She'd come in to break up with him. No 'ifs ands or buts' about it, they were through. She'd been cheating on him with a flashy stallion from Las Neighas. To think that he was true to her, all while she was out with other stallions getting what she wanted from them, merely playing him for his stability?
There was still an hour left in his shift, but Caramel took off anyway. He managed to keep tears back, but nopony looked more dejected than he did at that moment. Ears flat, head drooping, he was a sad sight. Once far enough away from town, he came upon his humble abode.
He found the porch mysteriously vacant as he entered. He felt relieved he wouldn't have to try and talk his way out of explaining why he looked so glum. He went straight to his room and let his heart ache. All the time he'd spent with her, all the good memories they'd made seemed so pointless now. He hated himself for not seeing the signs and being used for so long. Luckily, she'd broken it off before he mentioned the money, or he bet she would have changed her tune.
Still, he had his opportunity, and no amount of misfortune could take that away from him! Tomorrow, he would make his rounds to the vacant buildings in town to try and get his latest dream off the ground. He found himself on his back, turning to his nightstand and staring in disgust at the picture of himself and his former flame. With a lazy hoof, he sent the frame clattering to the ground. The glass didn't break, but he partly wished it had.
He turned back toward the ceiling, his constant companion in times of hardship. Though the ceilings may change, the comfort they brought him was something he couldn't quite explain. He would stare at it until he fell asleep, even as a colt. As his eyes closed, he clung to the very familiar hope that tomorrow would be a better day.
The next morning, Caramel had a nice breakfast before heading out to look for a way to invest his windfall. He made it in to town without any accidents or mishaps, coming across a recently vacated building. It had been the site of an old bookstore, though once the library was built, it lost a lot of business. After finally going under, it sat unoccupied for a year or so, allowing its condition to deteriorate.
As he peeked through the dirty windows, he began imagining the inside of a quaint bakery, fresh loaves of bread cooling behind the counter, their scent enticing patrons and passerby alike. Fresh pies would sit behind a glass display case as foals pressed their noses against the glass and subsequently begged their parents for a piece.
A cautious smile crept across his face as he pulled away from the window. The realtor sign out front gave him the address of the property brokers. Though he was cautious about buying the first building he looked at, this location seemed ideal. On the edge of the town square, far enough away from other food vendors but on a road many ponies used during their morning commute. He had already decided not to sell cakes and sweets so as to not compete with his former employer.
He certainly wasn't against competition, but he still held loyalty toward those who'd helped him out. With a kick in his step, he trotted to the realtor's office and inquired about the listing. He made sure to visit other properties in town, but he continued to find fault with every one except the first one he'd seen.
Eventually, he and the real estate agent settled on a fair rental agreement. After he signed his name on the dotted line, he felt his heart flutter with joy. This was just what he needed to take his mind off of philandering, whore ex-girlfriends! The agent gave him the keys to the building and Caramel couldn't gallop fast enough to his dream store.
The old hinges creaked as he pushed the door through a layer of dust. A small bell tingled above him as he couldn't help but giggle. This was his store! His grand vision still fresh in his mind, he decided to start immediately gathering the supplies and equipment. He paid strapping young stallions top bit to move in the heavy ovens and stoves, while craftsponies began feverishly working to install shelves, display cases and cooling racks. Everything seemed to be fitting together wonderfully.
By the time he was scheduled to go back to work, his shop was ready for the grand opening. He quit his job at the temp agency and committed himself to being a baker full time. He had a few recipes from his mother, as well as a fruit and flour supply from his cousin in Appleloosa. The day of the opening brought lines of ponies into his shop to taste the new confections. By the end of the day, he was worn out. He even considered hiring help so he wouldn't have to work six days a week.
Imagine that. Me, someone's boss! he thought as he closed up shop. He'd made more money the first day than he would make in a month working his old job. He figured once the novelty of his establishment wore off, his profits would even out, but at the moment, he was overjoyed. It seemed his luck was finally turning around. As he got ready to lock the door for the evening, a mare and stallion he recognized strode in, taking in the spruced up interior of the old bookstore.
"Welcome to Caramel's Confections!" he chimed happily for what had to have been the fiftieth time that day. "What can I get for you?" He'd recalled that she and her brother ran the apple farm outside of town. He'd been assigned to help them a few times, and remembered they were somewhat understanding after his little mishap during the winter wrap up.
"Howdy, Caramel!" Applejack replied in her usual drawl. He found it... comforting. It reminded him of his mother. "Ah see you've finally decided ta branch out. The place looks great!"
He blushed in response as they stopped in front of the counter. "Thanks! I worked really hard to get this place in shape."
"Ah can tell," she commented, her brother standing silently behind her, his stoic expression never seeming to change. She looked behind the glass displays at the pies he hadn't yet sold. He'd take a few home for himself and some for Mrs. House as well. "These apple pies look pretty good."
"Thanks! They've sold really well. They're my mother's recipe. Plus, the apples are the best in all of Appleoosa," he explained proudly. Applejack nodded.
"Right." She adjusted her hat and looked him in the eyes. "Well, listen Caramel, we stopped by ta let you know we'd be willin' to cut you a deal on supplyin' your store here with apples."
He raised an eyebrow. Hadn't he just mentioned he already had a supply of apples at a great price? He supposed she might have misheard him. "Oh, well I appreciate the offer, but my cousin grows these apples, and he gives 'em to me for cheap."
For the first time since walking in, Mac's expression dropped into a frown. He'd never seen him wearing anything but his normal stare. It was unsettling, to say the least. Applejack simply chuckled. "Ah can guarantee you won't find a tastier apple. Now, what's it gonna take?"
He'd have never guessed she would be so pushy, but he supposed a salespony would have to be to make money. Upon his second refusal, things took a turn he would have never seen coming.
"Look here." Applejack's tone darkened considerably. "This is a nice place. I'd be a shame for something bad to happen to it."
"T-this is a shakedown!" he stammered, realizing what was going on. Caramel couldn't believe what he was hearing! These ponies had been so kind to him when he helped them out on their farm! How could they be trying to extort him like this? "Well, I won't be taken advantage of!" he insisted.
Big Mac stepped forward.
"Caramel, you're a nice pony," Applejack began, adjusting her hat. "And Mac here, well, he doesn't like makin' nice ponies lives harder than they have to be." Mac cracked his hooves menacingly beside her to drive home the point. "Ya see, we supply apples for everypony that needs them. It's how we make our livin'. If you're tryin' to deny us our livin', then Ah suppose it's only right for us to deny you yours."
Caramel was stunned. This had to be a joke. A tasteless, frightening joke, but a joke nonetheless. "But, you're the Element of Honesty! What would the Princess say if she knew about what you were doing?" He figured fear of their ruler would outweigh any hold greed might have taken over the two Apples.
Much to Caramel's dismay, Applejack simply laughed. "Go ahead and tell her. Tell the Princess the Element of Honesty is tryin' ta put you over a barrel. See who she believes."
His hooves felt glued to the floor as Applejack glanced around his shop. "Tell ya what, we'll give you three days to think this over. But if you don't come to your senses by then, well... you won't be dealin' with me, you'll be dealin' with Big Mac." She motioned towards him. He picked up one of the metal chairs in the dining area between his forelegs and bent it into a pretzel shape as though it were made of taffy. "As you can see, Mac ain't much for talkin'." Applejack leaned in close over the counter, grabbing a hoof-full of Caramel's apron, pulling him halfway over the display of pies. "We'll be back." She released him, and he sunk into a heap on the floor as he tried to calm himself, waiting for the laughter he prayed would let him know this was all just a tasteless joke.
Unfortunately, it never came. The tinkling of the bell above the door let Caramel know they had left.
He walked out from behind the counter and sat in a chair next to the one Mac had rendered unrecognizable.
It looked like his little black cloud had returned.
