Carrot let the door swing shut behind him as he walked through the back room. He deliberately avoided looking at the oven- maybe, after enough time, he would just forget it was there. He grabbed two trays of muffins, throwing them on his back. He trotted past the machine, staring at the ceiling.
It was his choice of view that prevented him from seeing the blocks of one Pumpkin Cake, ideally placed to destroy any semblance of balance Carrot had.
The two patrons closest to the back door looked up, having heard something that sounded like… no, Carrot wouldn’t swear, would he? Not with all these customers, and the twins right upstairs. They shook their heads, satisfied with their heads’ version of events, and returned to eating their muffins with gusto.
Mr. Cake backed into the swinging doors, two trays of muffins hanging precariously on his back. One was certain to fall had Pinkie Pie not been manning the counter while Carrot retrieved the order.
The world slowed for Pinkie as the muffin tray slowly slid off Carrot’s back, tumbling to the floor. All her senses kicked in at once- her eyesight centered on the rapidly descending baked goods; all she could smell was the revolving tray of delicious goodness about to be wasted. Her hooves could feel, so acutely, the feeling of the shifting floor under her. She tasted, with all her tongue, the metallic underside of a tray of muffins about to clatter to the floor. Her final sense returned, and she could hear the appreciative whistle of Carrot as he watched her performance.
“That was better than last time, Pinkie! I’m glad we’ve got you on staff- the twins have a way of keeping Cup so busy, these days.”
“Oh, you know me, Carrot! I’m always willing to help!” was what she would’ve said, but with her tongue supporting a tray of six warm muffins, all that came out was “Uhh, oo uh ee, aaaoot! I aaa ill ell!”
“Of course, Pinkie. Whatever you just said, I agree wholeheartedly,” he said, cracking a smile. Pinkie just sort of glared at him. This was exactly like that time with the Poison Joke! It was one of her (admittedly few) nightmares.
Pinkie reached her head up to the counter, unhooking her tongue from the far side. As the tray slid onto the wooden top, Carrot was almost surprised she hadn’t managed to tie a knot, or something equally ridiculous.
Carrot stopped that metaphorical train almost immediately. Pinkie may be able to do some things that seemed impossible, but he shouldn’t just stereotype her like that. There was more to just Pinkie than randomness and parties, he knew that for a fact. The last time he had underestimated her, she had ran away for a week, driving the Cakes nearly insane. Of course, it turned out she was just in the basement, eating enough cupcakes to feed a small army, but still.
Pinkie waved a hoof in front of Carrot. He was drifting off into space more often, she realized.
“Carrot? Are you okay? Because you keep drifting off, and I know daydreaming is super fun and all, but it’s right in the middle of the busiest hour of the day, and we were just talking sorta but I couldn’t because I had that tray of muffins in my mouth-“
“It’s okay, Pinkie! I was just remembering, that’s all,” explained Carrot, removing the second tray from his back and putting it on the table. He turned to call for the ponies that had ordered the muffins, but instead met another customer.
“Umm, excuse me?” piped up an tan stallion with a black mane. “Can I get a cherry cupcake, please?”
Carrot turned to the pony, nodding his head.
“Of course, Cherry. Two bits please.”
The stallion plopped two bits from his saddlebag onto the counter. Pinkie reappeared from the back, a small yellow cupcake with pink frosting and cherry toppings balanced on her snout. She flicked the cupcake off her snout, sending it hurtling through the air at Cherry. Cherry was prepared, however- he was a regular customer at Sugarcube Corner, after all. He quickly shifted his head to the right and up, opening his mouth wide to catch the high-velocity pastry. His jaws snapped shut with perfect timing, catching the cupcake with a flourish. He chewed and swallowed, his smile increasing in size.
“Perfect as always, Mr. Cake, Pinkie. Thank you!”
“Hey Cherry?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you just call me Carrot, from now on? Mr. Cake is too formal, and I feel like I know my clients well enough to have ‘em call me by my real name.”
“Uh, sure, Carrot. See you tomorrow!”
Carrot waved at the departing pony as he glanced around the shop. This was the best time for business- younger ponies were getting home for school and would therefore be hungry, especially for a patented Sugar Cupcake Extreme™, straight from the ovens of the bakery. And, when the clock struck five, the older ponies looking for something to eat before heading home need only ask. And have bits, of course, but the bakery had generous prices due to the high demand.
“Hey Pinkie, do you mind manning the counter while I check on the customers?”
“No problemo, Carrot!” she acknowledged, raising a hoof in salute. “No pony will be hungry so long as I’m here!” she stated proudly. She looked ready to give a rousing speech, but instead she dropped her hoof back on the floor before looking at Carrot. “Weren’t you going to talk to all the ponies, Carrot?”
“Oh! Yes, yes, I’ll be right back,” he spoke, turning from his counter to the tables containing a multitude of colorful residents and what looked like a tent in the middle of his store. He did a double take at the camouflaged shelter in the middle of his shop, wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before. He made a beeline for the tent in the center of the bakery, passing by empty and full tables alike, expeditiously checking them for empty plates or hungry ponies. Spotting neither, he arrived at the tent soon after he had started.
Though the daylight was strong, he could still make out a lamp inside the camo tent, outlining the shadows of three fillies. Carrot had a sneaking suspicion of just who was in this tent, but decided to be polite. After all, he had an image to maintain.
He circled the tent, looking for an entrance. He found nothing, though- no zippers, flaps or windows. His confusion increased when a shadow seemed to extend a hoof outside the tent, grabbing something before coming back to the light.
He rounded on the side where the hoof had popped out. There were no signs of an entrance here, either, but Carrot was determined. He stuck his hoof out, feeling along the tent’s side. The fillies inside took no notice, too busy with some sort of tool inside their mobile base.
Carrot let out a gasp as his hoof went straight through the wall, losing his balance and heading straight for the floor. He stuck his hoof out, preventing his face from pain, but causing a jolt to shoot up his leg.
The three shapes inside the tent squealed in terror before realizing just who had fallen into their hideaway.
“Uh, hi, Mr. Cake! What’s up?” she asked, recovering surprisingly fast. “We were just, you know. Um, camping! Yeah! In the bakery! That makes sense, right girls?” urged Scootaloo, nudging a shaking Sweetie Belle and a stunned Applebloom. Applebloom was the first to respond, shaking her head to clear the surprise.
“Yeah, Mister Cake! We were just tryin’ a get our camping Cutie Marks!” she explained, a bit too loudly. She gave a light kick to Sweetie Belle, who was startled out of her shock of the baker falling into their tent.
“What they said!” she squealed, moving close to the other two crusaders. Mr. Cake gave them an extremely confused look before getting to his hooves.
“What are you really up to?” he questioned, looking Scootaloo in the eye. She seemed to be the least affected by the sudden intrusion into their hideout.
“Nothing. Just camping. Can’t we do that, Mr. Cake?” she asked, looking right back at him. She would not break eye contact, even when Applebloom’s tail swished across her back.
“In the middle of my shop, though? Why not, you know, outside?”
“We’re just trying something new, Mr. Cake. Maybe we’ll even get our Cutie Marks!” she exclaimed, an excited tone sneaking into her voice. “What would a camping Cutie Mark even look like, though? Oh! Maybe a fire, with rocks and marshmallows!”
“I love marshmallows!” Sweetie Belle shouted, butting into Scootaloo’s rant. The other ponies stared at her for a moment. The white unicorn gave a nervous smile before shifting her eyes to the tiled floor.
“Well, what I want to know is how you made it look like there was a wall when there really wasn’t!” he stated, impressed.
“That was me!” piped up Sweetie, raising her head with pride. “I can do that now! My sister Rarity taught me!” she proclaimed, smiling.
“Well, it was some fine magic, Sweetie. So, you’re not going to tell me what you’re really doing?” he asked, nonchalantly.
Applebloom shook her head but stopped after receiving a swift kick to the behind from Scootaloo. Sweetie watched the exchange with interest.
“We already did, Mr. Cake! Camping!” Scootaloo explained, rather loudly. Mr. Cake sighed, shaking his head.
“Fillies,” he concluded.
“I resent that!” shouted Scootaloo.
“Me too!” chimed in Sweetie Belle.
“What’s resent mean?” asked Applebloom.
“Well, it’s a word for disliking somepony-“
“Oh c’mon, Sweetie Belle! We already went over this! You aren’t a dictionary!”
“I can dream, Scootaloo!”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“Ugh!” shouted Scootaloo, falling over.
Carrot trotted over to the counter where Pinkie was chatting up a blue unicorn. She seemed to stare at Pinkie’s teeth whenever she opened her mouth, but Pinkie paid no notice to the behavior. As Carrot approached, he was able to catch some of the conversation.
“… around thirty a day, actually! Sometimes it’s higher- a lot higher!”
“Amazing! And your teeth are completely white! How do you do it?”
“Well, I brush six times a day, use mouthwash, floss, floss again, and brush again just in case any mean ‘ole cavities are lurking around!” Pinkie illustrated, her hooves making the motions of brushing, throwing back mouthwash, flossing, flossing again, and brushing a last time. “And that’s just my morning! After a party, whoa boy do we go through a lot of toothpaste!” she finished, her pupils rolling up to the top of her eyes.
The blue pony stared at Pinkie, gaping, before attempting to speak.
“B-but… the constant brushing would destroy… I don’t…” she stuttered, her eyes searching Pinkie for answers. They found none, as was evident by her quiet, defeated sigh. “Well, this has been most informative, Miss Pie. I hope to see you again and maybe try some more of those delicious mint cupcakes!” she added, giving a wave and turning around. She skirted the edge of the tent, which was now the color of an angry zit. The bell rang as she exited into the street.
“Well, she was nice, wasn’t she Mr. Cake?” asked Pinkie, as Carrot had stepped behind the counter and was watching the unicorn leave.
“Well, I suppose, but, didn’t I tell you to call me Carrot?” reminded Carrot, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you said no pony calls me Miss Pie, but Colgate just did! So now I get to call you Mr. Cake again!” she pointed out, happily. Mr. Cake sighed on the inside. He honestly did not care whether Pinkie did or not- she was one of his workers, after all.
“Well, if you insist, Miss Pie. But I will do the same to you.”
“Huh? No, Mr. Cake, don’t be silly! You can call me Pinkie!”
“Nonsense, Miss Pie. I would be delighted to explicate my reasonings for being quite so excruciatingly brash earlier, but I’m afraid I must depart for now. Ta-ta!” he declared. Pinkie’s jaw made a loud noise as it slapped the floor.
“I’m just messing with you, Pinkie. You know I’m from Trottingham!” he brought up. Pinkie paused, remembering. She gathered up her lower jaw, shaking a bit to get it back in place.
“Oh yeah! You and Mrs. Cake too! Didn’t the twins go there last week?”
“Yes, to see Cup’s parents. They’re very nice ponies. Hey, speaking of the twins, can you believe it’s been six months since they were born? Seems like just yesterday we brought them home…” he reminisced, looking off into the distance. Pinkie’s eyes bulged out at the news.
“I missed their sixth monthiversary party?!? Nooooo! My reputation will be ruined! And I didn’t get to throw them a party!” she bawled, slumping dramatically over the counter. She reminded Carrot of Rarity at that moment in time.
“I don’t think it’s been exactly six months, Pinkie. You still have time! Let me get the certificate,” he encouraged her, retreating into the back room to get to the stairs. He started climbing the stairs, but stopped halfway up. He could hear Pinkie’s very happy and very loud gasp and he swore he saw a balloon fly past the opening of the stairs.
Where she got all those balloons, Carrot would never know. He never saw her buy any- if she did, the owner of that joke shop would’ve retired by now. Maybe she made them? Next time he cleaned the house, he would see if Pinkie had some sort of balloon printing press in her room, or maybe a streamer machine. And a confetti blaster? He wished he knew where that mare kept her party cannon.
He shook his head and refocused, climbing the stairs and slipping into his room. He gently picked up the certificates from their place on the dresser. They had the hard evidence right at the top of the paper- it had been five months and 29 days, exactly. Their six monthiversary would be the very next day.
Carrot wasn’t worried though. Pinkie had had less time to prepare for even bigger parties than this one. And it wouldn’t be very big- only their family and maybe some of Pinkie’s friends. Carrot stopped his happy musings at that thought. Everypony in town was her friend.
Carrot rationalized the party as he descended the stairs. It could drum up more business for the bakery, like one of her parties always did, and it would be a chance to meet and see ponies he hadn’t had a chance to talk with since the twins came along. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was ready to talk to Pinkie about throwing a big party for the twins’ six monthiversary.
Pumpkin Cake’s blocks had different ideas, however.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
“There it is again, Joe! I mean, Mr. Cake wouldn’t-“
“-swear, would he?” the other pony asked, finishing the first pony’s question. They looked at each other before putting a few bits on the table and leaving their seats for the door.