//------------------------------// // Memories in Pink- Sequence One // Story: The Why of Pie // by Blank Slate //------------------------------// Disclaimer: I own nopony in this chapter besides Roundhouse and Stumblebee. All other characters copyrighted by their respective owners, probably Lauren Faust, Studio B, or Hasbro. I don't own the cover art; please find out who does. You're not even reading this, are you? I could type a sentence about Wolverine from the X-Men riding a big fiery weasel into battle right now, and you wouldn't notice, would you? Bah, away with you. Pinkie Pie looked fretfully around the room in which she lay. Hideous ochre walls reflected the tension she felt. Her fears were played back to her by the silence of the room, the only sound being Twilight's quiet breaths beside her and the ticking of the clock. As for her nervousness, this was manifested as her inability to sleep. All the negative feelings she had were in her surroundings, amplifying them into new scales of magnitude. She took the weighty quilt between her hooves, hiking it up a little higher as she turned on her side. For one of such an incomprehensibly vapid mindset, Pinkie had many thoughts brewing in her head. Without being allowed to prance merrily about, her excess energy went straight to her brain, filling her with all sorts of ideas, comments, and questions without answer. With so many neural firings, she wouldn't be likely to sleep before noon the next day. Sighing, she reached into her mane and pulled out a single wrapped confection of taffy-like chocolate, or perhaps chocolate-like taffy. Nopony really knew quite what the small cylinder of sugar was, but it hardly mattered. She unwrapped it, popping the sweet into her mouth and channelling the calories to her right hoof. The universe snapped at two points, two tiny dots on the same plane of existence tied together by the snack. A single pink hoof jabbed into the empty room, travelling through un-space and winding up in Sugarcube Corner's medicine cabinet. Rifling around for what she sought took Pinkie no time, and soon enough she withdrew her prize from the dimensions beyond. A rectangular blue box with an old cartoon pony's head on the end lay clutched between Pinkie's hooves, rattling slightly as she shook it. Three more tablets at least. With some minor fumbling, she pried the pony's head back some, the plastic levers in the device ejecting a sinkle pink tablet of some chalky substance onto her pillow. Although once used by children to tote candies around without soiling them, a clever Pinkie Pie had repurposed the container into a medicine bottle of sorts, containing at most two weeks of her sleeping pills, which by the purest of luck were the same size and shape as the candy that previously filled the cartoon character's head. Despite the utility of her invention, she struck a problem. Pinkie hated medicines of any sort. She knew well enough from her potato-cookie experiment that good things don't need to taste bad, and the inadequacy of modern medicinal studies to produce a delicious sleeping pill bemused her. Deciding it best not to question it, Pinkie stashed her pills in her mane, tossed the chocolate sweet's wrapper in a bin, and took the bitter tablet down in a single unhappy swallow. She gave a dry cough and began gagging as the medicine, devoid of the spoonful of sugar to aid it, went down. She clamped her lips shut and tried to muffle her distaste before everything slowed down. The pink mare waved a hoof in front of her face, watching the after-image follow. Yup. The pill was already hitting her, and with a squeak, she hit the pillow, rapidly losing consciousness. Sleep would be welcome for the day that would soon dawn, and with her mind abuzz, drugging herself was the best plan. Her eyes fell shut, and only a few seconds elapsed before light snores started filling the room. Knowing she was now asleep, Twilight opened her eye and cast a quick light charm. A sphere of pale pink werelight that gently graced the room with a soft glow failed to appear. Twilight gave the spell another shot. Nothing happened again, and then it happened a third time. The clock ticked by for nearly a full minute before realization hit her. She apologized to nopony in particular and scooted off the bed, trotting slowly to her bags. From the bags she pulled a plain olive notebook, a quill, and one of her many bottles of ink. Clumsily taking the quill between her forehooves, she nosed the book open and set nib to page, dictating through force of habit. "Dear Diary, "Today was my first day on Neighppon soil (sand?) and already I regret it. Spike's usefulness has not yet become apparent, and his seasickness has thus far rendered him dead weight- dying weight, based on his complains. I expect he should recover from it tonight. Pinkie is acting like herself mostly, but now with added powers I've not yet seen in any kind of magical study. She can't teleport as such, but it seems she and Roundhouse are both capable of faster-than-light movement. Perhaps faster; surely even moving faster than light would still produce an image after the event, but no 'duplicates' appear. This warrants further study. "The day they've planned tomorrow will be laden with cooking classes. Spike is sure I will kill us all. I honestly don't know what that dragon's problem-" She cut off suddenly. A small whine reached her ear, followed by a short intake of breath. The pile of blankets she'd left on the bed was scrambling fitfully, and she distinctly heard a gasp. Worry began worming its way into her head that Pinkie might be suffocating, and Twilight went to the rescue. Instead of choking to death, Pinkie seemed to be having nightmares, chewing the blanket in slumbering panic. Twilight gave her a cursory look over for trauma, but she seemed fine. Shrugging and chalking it down to "just being Pinkie Pie," Twilight returned to her journal. "Where was I? Ah." She reset the quill in her hooves and took her place on the lined sheet. "-is. With two master chefs and an assistant, things can't go wrong. Total weight loss so far is probably negligible, and will remain so for a while, at least until we reach Roundhouse's house. If the house is round, I shall scream. Roundhouse's round house. I sicken myself sometime. "Life without magic is disconcerting, to say the least. I feel like a large part of myself is missing, like I've lost a leg or something. It's a very cold feeling, one that I hope I'll never need to feel again once all this is done. But more than the emptiness, it's the lack of emptiness I'm feeling. Just earlier, I attempted a simple light spell. I nearly panicked when I realized how little I noticed. How is this possible? How can I feel so empty without noticing unless I focus? How c-" "Nnrgh... Eek!" Pinkie was spasming under the blankets, her former grunts turning to small shrieks. Twilight grabbed her book and quill, setting both on the nightstand beside the pink mare. With no magic to rely on, Twilight pulled the blanket from Pinkie's head, giving fresh air to the girl. Instead of waking, Pinkie began yelling louder, tears coming to her eyes. "Pinkie, what's wrong? Pinkie!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * Five minutes earlier... Blackness. Utter, total, complete blackness. From wall to imagined wall, all she could see was the darkness. All that could be seen was a straight rectangle of pink, leading from top to bottom along what Pinkie could see. It wasn't long before she realized it was her hair, straight enough to bend at right angles. She opened her mouth, but the sound came not from her, but around her, assaulting her from all sides. Wh-where am I? Yaah! Th-that's my voice... Hello? Can anypony hear me? ...Am I dead? Helloooo..? Wait a minute. Pinkie! Her name resounded around her before trailing off. As soon as she questioned it, more noise came around her. What does it mean? Pinkie was surprised. She didn't even try to say that. She simply thought the words and they- Thought. Anything she thought would play around her. It wasn't hard for her to put two and two together. I-I'm in my own mind... A great calm befell her then, and her mane fluffed itself up just a smidge. With no more reason to fear she lightened up a bit further. The great darkness was there, but it was natural. Trotting along her mindscape gave her time to reflect. So, I'm in my mind. Mind, mind, mind... Whether or not the echo was deliberate, she did not know. What now? Imagination's not comin' up with anything useful. Stupid waking subconscious dragging me in here! How long until I wake up? She wandered in circles, holding various conversations with her echo for no reason other than boredom. After what felt like an hour or so a strange light appeared in a far corner, a pinprick of gold in the dark sea. She walked toward it in curiosity, each step pulling her closer and slowly evaporating her body. By the time she reached the light, her legs were gone, and the rest of her was translucent. The very last of her finally slipped away as she moved into the golden sphere. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Back in reality, Twilight had concluded her diary entry and was now choosing between waking Spike for a letter to the Princess, or catching what sleep she could. The clock's last chime denoted one in the morning, a time Celestia sure wouldn't be expecting a letter. Obsession won out, pulling her from the bed to the bathroom. Nudging the door aside, she found Spike laying in the tub, a small pillow stuck on his spines and a battered blue blanket over his shoulders. Twilight couldn't resist a sisterly- or was it motherly?- moment of affection before poking him in the head. "Hey, Spike. Spike, you up? I need a letter sent. Spike?" The small dragon was mumbling in his sleep in a way that could be described only as adorable. The very image reminded Twilight so much of his younger years, although his words were to the exact opposite end of the scale. "Stay... stay back, Lady Rarity... too many zombies... hnnnnrghhhhnnnn..." "Okay, Spike, no more late-night reading for you." Smiling, Twilight flicked her gaze to the door, summoning up her will to move it. It would be some time before she remembered her mundanization, and, giving up on the stubborn door, she returned to bed, snuggling deep under the blankets. Pinkie had stopped twitching now, laying perfectly still and mumbling in a whisper. Once more prolonging her much needed sleep, Twilight cocked an ear near Pinkie's lips, barely making out the words she spoke. "..This one again?" Confused, the purple mare mentally levitated her notebook back to her. Twenty seconds later, she decided to do it manually. Taking quill in hooves, Twilight leaned closer to Pinkie, transcribing the few words she could make out of her friend's ramblings. What she wrote would serve to pester her for many days. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Pinkie knew the scene well. There was the small wooden gate to the quarry. There was the brick chimney on the house. There was the stout old tree on which she and her sisters had once played. All the old bits of home that she missed. Of all the memories I could have, why must it be this one again? she thought. Any lamentations beyond that were drowned out by a hen crowing loudly with the rising sun. The hen, who had been filling in for a sickened rooster, was the last piece of evidence Pinkie needed to know precisely when she was. Three more days... The door to the house opened inward. Two light gray hooves stepped onto the wooden porch, creaking the familiar creak which came each morning. An aged mare of refinement polished the glasses perched on her nose with a small cloth before grabbing a complicated device from beside a rocking chair. The device was confusing for any non-equine to look at: a massive wooden cup at one end, with a hollow interior and a push-button mechanism. The cup was the base of a long maple frame adorned with two smooth cylinders of metal. A small compartment hidden by the metal bits opened up when tilted, allowing the mare to insert two smaller cylinders, these ones bright red. Satisfied, she pointed the shotgun at the hen, locking it to her hoof and taking steady aim. "Some of us are trying to sleep!" she yelled before disintegrating the hen in a volley of lead shot and feathery red mist. And so began another day on the Pie farm. Gemima Pie was a very fancy looking mare. Her eyes were sharp, her glasses buffed to a blinding sheen. Her very walk screamed "royal dignity." It wasn't until you saw her plucking a chicken with her teeth did you realize she was just a noble looking farm girl. Or rather, was. Time had been graceful to her, but had still taken a small toll. Her muscles were as hard and stiff as the rocks she broke to earn her cutie mark. The loud burst brought up a small squad of fillies and a wizened tan stallion, all looking morosely towards Gemima. She unlocked the gun from her hoof, setting it on her chair before turning to the family. Their unchanging expressions made this part of the day all the worse each time. "Blinkie, Pinkie, Inkie, Clyde," Each stepped forth in order; an ashen filly with a dark mane, an incredibly pink one identical to the first, a third triplet of purplish-gray, and finally, the mutton-chopped stallion. Gemima continued, "Two hours 'til breakfast is ready, let's see if some work can't be done." The triplets nodded slowly before splitting their usual way, each headed to a different section of the farm. Blinkie Pie went to push the remains of the latest poultry fatality into the woods. Inkie Pie trudged to a nearby stump defaced with the scars of a thousand axe blows, picking a mouth-hatchet from a pile of logs. Pinkie took a basket with her and headed to the southern fields to pick what there was of the day's crops. Only Clyde remained in place. He put a hoof to the brim of his hat and peered into the sky. In the household, a clock eerily similar to the one in Twilight's hotel room struck six in the morning. Sure as clockwork, a pegasus stallion appeared as a pinprick on the horizon, gunning toward the ramshackle abode. On the flat planes of Idahoof, one could see for many miles. Despite the flying stallion's impressive speed, he was still a speck in front of a fluffy white cloud, leagues away. Clyde stepped into the house, biting onto the ashwood handle of his pick and began walking to the quarry. He had some time before the letter arrived, he figured. May as well start trimming the weight of its impact. * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Dear Diary, addendum. "Pinkie's having nightmares of her past, or so I believe. She said she had three days, and then said something about tending the fields. Will write more during the next lull in conversation. Is it really conversation, though, if only one pony is talking and the other is listening? Or would it be a monologue? Whatever. "She's no longer struggling in the blankets, luckily, and it seems her nightmares or memories stun her into immobility. Only her lips and eyes are twitching, both common indicators of REM sleep. I believe she's reliving her memories and sleeptalking about them- in third-person! This is fascinating!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * Another rock broke under a blow from the pointed iron pick, revealing a cache of small purple nubs of crystal. Clyde shifted the pick around and got a good swing with the blunt end, sending the two pieces of stone into a bin marked "Geodes." Ten minutes of hard work had revealed a sizable quantity of gems, perfect for sale. The stoic pony gave a wry look as he beheld the beautiful crystals. Surely objects such as these, he mused, would be worth far more than the paltry sum offered by the Nay's snack food company, if only somepony would take the time to look at them. Instead, his darling wife's namesake was cut, fried, salted, and shipped to the dragon lands. He sighed and gripped the axe once more when a dark gray pony slammed into the stone cliffs of the quarry at half the speed of sound. Every day this would happen, and everyday the result was the same. The pegasus would pick himself off the ground, rubbing the latest bump rising out from his straw-coloured mane. Then the eyes would open, two sunny yellow orbs that stated in no uncertain terms "Eternal Optimist." The same as every Tuesday, a light gray filly, almost identical to her father, was perched in his mailbag, her eyes watching both him and Clyde, albeit from different angles. She had the same happy grin as the stallion carrying her. The farmer offered a hoof, pulling the mailpony back on his hooves. "Mornin' Stumblebee." "Morning, Mr. Pie! Mail for ya!" Stumblebee nodded and the small filly began rooting around in the bag. Finally, she pulled out a single red envelope, addressed in untraceable block lettering, and passed it to Clyde. He knew what it was, and so did Stumblebee. "Oh... Um, forgive me if I'm prying, Mr. Pie, but I know what that kind of letter means... Are you having money troubles?" "Yep... we're losin' money like it's goin' outta style. Got us a loan, but I couldn't read the fine print. You know it's still a legally binding contract even if all the exclusions and provisos and whatnot are written in invisible ink?" "I see... Anything I can do to help?" Clyde shook his head sadly, stowing the envelope underneath his hat. "No, I'm afraid not. They're giving us three days to come up with the money, and it's more than the entire farm is worth... I just don't know what to do, Stumblebee." The small filly in the mailbag flapped her wings carefully, lifting herself from the mailbag and hovering tentatively above it. She slowly moved towards Clyde, offering him a single golden bit. "Will this help?" "Bless yer heart, missy, that's a mighty kind thing to do, but I'm afraid we need a lot more than that to keep the farm." In response, she dug into her own miniature mailbag and retrieved the rest of her life's savings. She now offered him a second bit- her entire fortune- and gave a little smile. Clyde was a deeply sentimental pony, and even such a small act of pure kindness made him tear up a little. He pushed the filly's hoof back. "You're a thoughtful girl, Derpy; don't ever lose that." With his mail secured, he tilted his hat to Stumblebee and returned to his mining. Stumblebee was not a stupid pony. He took the hint and flapped his way into the clouds respectfully. No child should see a grown pony cry. On the opposite end of the farm, Pinkie Pie watched her younger self pluck withered carrots from the ground. With every tarnished vegetable, both incarnations of her sighed in unison. Present-moment Pinkie hadn't felt like this in a long, long time. The daily hunger, the back-breaking work, and the constant feeling that things would get worse. The family was thirteen-thousand bits in debt. They had to take turns skipping meals to feed thmselves. And through it all, one thought remained in each pony's head. When are they coming? It was all horror on the tamest, cruelest of levels. Her mother's words would always come to her in dark times, snuffing out those last candles of joy she had lit. I'm sorry, Pinkamena, it's not your turn for supper today. No, Pinkie, we can't afford another blanket. Hug up to your sisters if it's too cold. Pinkie, leave your father alone. He just had a meeting with the bad ponies, and he doesn't want to talk right now. Every day would come the reminders that theirs was an unhappy life. All day was spent working and working, saving food for later use and pleading with the delegates from Nay's for more pay. Present Pinkie felt tears on her cheek fur, forced by her mind to relive the days her life ended. An eerie mantra began reciting itself in her head to remind her oof the bleak situation. No one ever played... No one ever talked... No one ever smiled... The first of the last three days came to an end. The pill-induced stupor broke. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Pinkie bolted upright in the bed, clocking Twilight across the jaw and knocking her to the ground. Both mares shrieked on contact and came away seeing starbursts in front of their eyes. Twilight prepared a reorientation spell but caught her mistake at the last second. Instead, she knelt her head forward and held it in her hooves, biting her lower lip until the world stopped spinning. "Owowowowow! Geez Louise, Twilight! Your head's as hard as granite!" "Ooh... It's not my fault! Just be glad you didn't get a horn through your eye!" "What were you even doing, Twilight? Do you watch me when I sleep?" The unicorn rubbed her throbbing jaw as gently as she could before answering. "No, I was checking on you. You took some kind of sleeping pill and started having nightmares, and then you started crying. I was writing down what you said, but I couldn't hear some of it, so I leaned in closer. I didn't expect you to wake up like that!" "Nightmares?" "Yes, something about carrots and a letter and 'bad ponies' coming in three days. Don't you remember?" Pinkie brushed her arrow-straight mane from her face, leaning closer to Twilight. The look in her eyes was one of panic. "Wh-what all did I say?" Twilight took her notebook in her mouth, opening it to the latest page. "I know you grew up on a rock farm, but you had to eat something. From the carrots and talk about your sisters I guessed you were reliving your foalhood. Am I right?" Pinkie's eyes were running through line after line of poorly written text. What could be deciphered mentioned her sisters, her tears, and passing references to the bad ponies. The tear streaks on her cheeks grew slightly longer as two fresh drops ran down. Pinkie realized she was crying, wiped her tears away and hooked her still-straight hair behind her ears before turning back to Twilight. Both ponies had wan smiles on. "Oh, those silly dreams..." "Pinkie, are you sure they're dreams?" "Yuh-huh! I have dreams all the time! Sometimes I have dreams where I'm a pegasus! Woosh! I fly across the sky with streamers flowing behind me. I stop on the clouds to-" "Pinkie, your mane's straight. That only happens when you're really sad or upset, right?" "It is?" "Stop playing dumb, Pinkie! What aren't you telling me?" "Nothing, Twilight! Gosh, are we playing 20 Questions or something? Ooh! You know what we should play?" Her expectant, if somewhat forced, grin made Twilight relent. Clearly Pinkie wanted to keep these skeletons in the closet, and a good friend respected boundaries, right? "Alright, I'm sorry for pressing you. I can't sleep tonight, so yes, I'd like to play a few rounds with you." The party pony's mane exploded into a mountain of happy curls. "But Pinkie?" "Yeah?" "Can you make me a Pinkie Promise that you'll tell me if something's bothering you? You sounded kinda worried..." Flap. Back to straight went the pretty pink curls. Pinkie bit her lower lip nervously before clearing her throat. "I, Pinkamena Diane Responsibility Pie do hereby promise, under pain of cupcakes in the eye, that I will tell you the second something bothers me; cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!" Satisfied, Twilight looked around the room for a subject for the game, not noticing Pinkie's back hooves uncrossing. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Next time on The Why of Pie... Pinkie and Twilight start the workout proper with the breakfast crowd at Halfshell's House, but can Twilight avoid burning everything she comes across? Across the seas in Ponyville, four ponies continue their quest to be the best in an inverse world. Applejack's started a new story, but will her friends see the parallels between the written word and the real world? Can Rainbow Dash learn Canterlotian law in time for her next class? Will Fluttershy's first practice match against another pony be the end of her? And most importantly, will the beautiful Rarity charm the children to her way of humour? Find out next time on DragonBall P! ...Spike, mate, stop that. This story doesn't need narration, especially not partway through the story. Nopony's even going to like this. Go away. As for you readers, I apologize for the time delay and the brevity of this chapter. Grand Galloping Gamer took all my writing mojo, and by the time I got it back, I simply had to write Rotten to the Core. Y'all tell me which of my three series you wanna see next in the comments, okie dokie lokie?