Few ponies knew just how many bits tended to find their way into Peppermill’s hot little hooves. While one might assume that they were from some sort of daily allowance, that wasn’t the Apple way. If you wanted spending money at Sweet Apple Acres, you earned it. But when you tended to be stopped on the street and asked advice on preparing everything from sandwiches to soup, from appetizers to main dishes to desserts it didn’t take long for your meal-saving tips to earn you respect and…gifts.
For a long time Peppermill flatly refused to accept these tokens of gratitude, citing he was just being helpful and not looking for compensation. But as his culinary needs began to grow, he began to feel slightly bad for constantly relying on the Apple clan for them. Despite Applejack’s constant claims of “jus’ barely makin’ ends meet” the orchard provided plenty of financial comfort for the family. Even so, the grey colt’s need for independence resulted in him grudgingly accepting aid of money when he received it from grateful ponies and their full stomachs.
Despite his youth, the grey pony was not so naïve as to think he even had remotely enough bits to earn one of Pygg Iron’s creations. But he wanted to have a good idea of what he had, and what he needed, before he cooked up a plan for earning the funds he desired. This is why the colt ran all the way from downtown Ponyville to Sweet Apple Acres, something he normally would never do. Whatever adrenaline and desire that fueled his trip was long gone by the time he more or less dragged himself onto the front porch of the farmhouse, wheezing like a bellows.
“Cooks…*wheeze*…don’t run.” moaned Peppermill as he trudged into the porch swing to catch his breath. While he could have very easily lingered on the swing, he had no time to lose. He needed a clear picture of his finances and the only way to do that was to check the piggy bank he kept on his bookshelf in his room. And that meant having to climb the stairs to the farmhouse’s second floor, which given his current state would be like climbing a mountain.
“I really…*pant*…have to consider…getting into…better shape.” Peppermill managed to get into his room without much incident, and went through the process of emptying his piggy bank.
“Um…let’s see…five…ten…twenty…” Unlike some of his friends, the grey colt coveted his little ceramic holder of his bits, and hated the thought of actually breaking it. So he vigorously shook the container until he was certain the rattling sound was his teeth and not coins against clay. “This…is definitely not nearly…enough to buy even…a stamp-sized piece…of cast iron.”
The cook now faced a dilemma. He needed lots of money really fast, but he hadn’t the slightest clue how to get it. As obvious as it might have seemed to anypony that he had a perfectly good way of earning more than enough bits to get a pan, it wasn’t so black and white as it appeared on the surface. Peppermill’s late father Pepperoncini was a firm believer in cooking for the sake of cooking, and not for profit. Peppermill felt the same way, and so that was simply out of the question. One might argue it was nothing more than stubbornness and pride, but the grey colt didn’t care.
“I’m not…just a one trick…pony. There has to be…things I can…do around Ponyville that…others are willing to…give me bits to do.” Peppermill pondered this for a while, and was so absorbed in his thinking he never heard the knock on his bedroom door. It wasn’t a hoof gently shook him that looked up into the green eyes of his elder sister.
“Shoot, and here I wuz hopin’ ahd hafta get a bucket of water ta wake ya up.” The teasing grin on the lips of the Apple mare was enough to make Peppermill give a snort.
“I’m sorry to…disappoint you Applejack.” Peppermill gave a sigh as he began to put his bits back into the piggy bank. “I’m having some…money issues.”
“Ya cain’t live an’ work on a farm without having those sugarcube.” admitted the mare reproachfully.
“You wouldn’t…happen to know of…any ponies in town…that might need some help? Help that…would result in…bits being exchanged?”
“Well, ah know there are a lot of places lookin’ fer some help.” Applejack gave a little sigh. “But ah reckon they would be lookin’ fer a pony a bit…older.”
“Oh bother…” Peppermill knew that his age would be a big hurdle to overcome. But he wanted, no he needed one of those pans.
“Any particular reason why yer needing money sugarcube? Is there anything yer kin can help ya with?”
“Um…” Peppermill found himself pausing. While under any other circumstances he would have gladly accepted any help he could, but once again his pride kept him from being too specific. As frugal as the Apples could be, and while not remotely the Element of Generosity, the colt knew that given half a chance Applejack would move the heavens and earth to get him what he desired.
“I…saw something in…a magazine today. It’s something…I’d really like to…own. But it’s kind of…expensive.” Peppermill was grateful that he didn’t have to stretch the truth about the situation. After all, not only was Applejack seemingly unable to tell a direct lie, but she always had a knack for sniffing out fabrications told to her. And she was the kind of pony who tended to speak her mind when lied to, and that usually resulted in a verbal beat down that would have made most ponies to prefer a swift buck to the head.
“Well, ifin it’s something you really want sugarcube, ahm sure you’ll figure something out. Jus’ remember: ya can always count on yer friends to help.” Applejack smiled warmly to her little brother, and left the colt to his pondering. As she left, the colt suddenly blinked.
“Count? Hey…that’s…a good idea!”