LLAMAS
a drama

CHAPTER FIVE: CHURRO’S CHURROS

by SkelePone

Churro wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Ponyville, the town inhabited by other species than ponies.

It seemed rather… isolated. He had grown up around hundreds of other llamas, and even among griffons and the occasional pony. And those hundreds of other llamas had all encouraged and complimented his cooking and his baking. But now he was no longer with the other llamas. He was among ponies.

These questions and countless more swirled through Churro’s dazed head as he trotted his way down the empty street to the bakery around the corner. ‘Sugarcube Corner’ it was called.

Apparently the bakery’s owners were hiring. He had seen an advertisement in the newspaper the previous day. (Newspapers were incredible things that the Princess had shown the llama family, as well as books; llamas rarely kept literature, their only form of writing was via scrolls, so the idea that ponies and llamas could write down their desires and have them met was incredible). The ad had called for anypony that had any sort of previous experience with baking and confectionery. Seeing how he had fed up to five hundred llamas from a single meal, Churro was pretty confident that was beyond qualified for the occupation.

When Churro got to the building, he found that it reminded him somewhat of a gingerbread house. As he marvelled at the inedible but nonetheless delectable-looking decorations, he walked up and bumped his large nose into the front door. He was disappointed to see the sign on the door that read “CLOSED.” Churro let out a sigh of aggravation. The Cakes had told him yesterday that he was to have the job interview at noon, and now hey don’t even make an appearance.

Just as he turned around with a huff and bounded down the stairs, he heard the door creak open slowly and ominously behind him. He looked over his shoulder into the dark door frame. The street was suddenly filled with a hushed silence as if reality itself was holding its breath, preparing for the worst.

Suddenly, a vividly pink Earth pony mare leapt out from the darkness with a squeal. The noise she made and the color of her coat had confused Churro at first; he had thought that the Cakes kept a pet pig, and that it had just gone loose. Instead of a pig, Churro was surprised to find himself being encircled by an incredibly hyperactive mare.

“Oooooo! Are you a llama? I’ve never seen a llama up close before! I’m Pinkie Pie! What’s your name? OOOOO! I know! I know! Your name is Churro, right? The Cakes told me that you’d be here for an interview!” She squeed, wrapping Churro suddenly in a very tight hug before returning once more to circling him, “They had to go out and pick up their babies from day care. But they said that I could interview you if you got here before they came back! So you wanna go inside and answer some questiony questions about questions?”

As the Earth pony babbled on and on, she encircled the llama continuously, getting closer. And closer. And now her poofy tail was brushing up against Churro’s curly cinnamon-colored wool. Churro felt very uncomfortable. It was almost like she was a timberwolf, about to pounce on her prey and rip it to shreds.

“GRRRRREAT! Let’s go inside then, Mister Fluffy!” She giggled. Churro grumbled to himself as she grabbed his cloven hoof and dragged him inside. He wasn’t that fluffy… He was just big-boned.

She slammed the door behind them and directed Churro to a large, plushy couch. He sat down cautiously, ready to use his fighting teeth. Then he remembered with a slight dread that he had his six curved fangs removed when he was a teenager.

As Churro was wondering if he could use his baker’s cap as a weapon, Pinkie Pie turned once more to him, dramatically.

“Mister Fluffy, exactly how many kinds of pastries can you bake and how many candies can you make?”

Churro opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally remembered how to talk.

“Well… Uh… Let’s see… Cake. Cupcakes, of course. Flan. Pudding. I can churn ice cream. I can make churros-”

“Wait.” Pinkie Pie said, her eyes beginning to water. Churro felt alarmed. Had he said something wrong?

Churro looked scandalous. He already knew where she was going with this, and he was going to do anything in his slightly overweight baking llama power to prevent it. But it was inevitable.

“So we could call them,” Pinkie Pie choked, “CHURRO’S CHURROS!” Churro sighed out loud and put a cloven hoof to his pudgy face.

Dear god Ekkeko, Churro prayed to the llama god of baking as he hid his face behind his fore-hooves, let this all be a horrible, terrible, awful dream.

His prayers when unanswered as the pink mare continued to roll about on the floor, snorting and giggling and saying ‘Churro’s Churros’ over and over again. Churro patiently waited for Pinkie Pie to collect herself. Minute after minute passed, and Pinkie Pie was still pounding on the floor and howling with laughter. First she makes a slight about his fluffiness (hey, chefs tended to be a little fat) and now she was laughing at his name. Churro began to regret his decision to apply for this job.

Thankfully, just as Churro was about to get up and announce the revoking of his application, a tall, gangly Earth pony stallion and a short, chubby Earth pony mare walked in. The yellowish stallion wore a sling of sorts where Churro could see a pair of baby foals, one pegasus and one unicorn. The Cakes had arrived.

Mrs. Cake took one look at the grumpy cinnamon llama and at the cackling pink mare and nodded in understanding. Assuming Churro got the job, or still wanted it, this was about as much of Pinkie Pie he would have to tolerate. She actually had to live with her.

“Pinkie,” the chubby mare called in a candy-sweet voice, “we’re home now with the wins. We’ll take over the interview from here.” Pinkie Pie nodded, practically crying with laughter. The pink mare staggered across the room and out the door. As soon as she left, Mr. Cake smiled apologetically at Churro.

“We’re awfully sorry about that. Pinkie Pie is just a bit… You know… Pinkie Pie.”

“Doesn’t give her a right to call me ‘fluffy’.” He snarked. The Cakes raised a few eyebrows and looked at each other.

“Don’t worry about it, Churro. You’ll only have to deal with her whenever there’s a request for a specific pastries. Have you answered any questions for her?”

“Just one,” Churro grunted, “and then she started laughing because of ‘Churro’s Churros’.”

Mr. Cake let out a snort and quickly covered his mouth with his hoof. Mrs. Cake shot him a nasty look and smiled warmly at Churro. Churro met her eyes.

“I’m sure your churros are perfectly fine, Churro.” She reassured him, reaching out a hoof to pat his shoulder comfortingly. Churro grunted as he looked at Mr. Cake as the tall stallion struggled to contain his sniggers.

“Well, maybe you can bake us some samples! So we can get adjusted to your cooking style.” Mrs. Cake said as she glared at her husband, “Right, honey?”

Mr. Cake stiffened up and stood bolt upright, letting the foals run about on the floor. Pound and Pumpkin Cake toddled away. He coughed several times and wiped his nose with his hoof.

Mrs. Cake rolled her eyes and ushered Churro into the kitchen. Pushing the llama behind the counter, she gave him a little salute and began to trot out the spacey kitchen to find her babies.

With that, she slammed the kitchen door closed and left Churro alone in the very alien terrain that Churro had never been in before. Llamas had fire pits and pots. No kitchens, ovens, and all the rest of that fancy pony technology. He gently poked a cloven hoof at a short little machine with a clear container mounted on top of it.

The blender let out a brazing roar before kicking to life, whirring away at nothing.

Churro stared at the rumbling tool from his position lying on his back in the floor. He let out a mwa of irritation and pulled himself back up to the counter. He kicked at the blender for a good five minutes before he finally managed to turn it off. There was no way he planned on using any of these children’s toys to make pastries.

Churro studied the various utensils in the many containers all over the counter. He selected a whisk from one of the containers and placed it gently on the counter, should the whisk too let out a roar of hatred and try to attack him.

Now what? He thought as he tried his best to recall the tools and ingredients necessary to make churros.

He wandered aimlessly about the pony kitchen before realizing that there were doors below the counter. He opened the cabinets to find several pots and pans. Pleased with his discovery, he pulled out a sizable saucepan and a round metal bowl and placed it on the counter. More piddling with anything resembling a knob revealed that the strange metal box in the corner held a fire of sorts. He placed the saucepan on the burner and let it heat.

He needed oil. Lots and lots of oil. Churro found more doors above the stove, revealing flours, sugar, salt, and cinnamon. Churro took a moment to realize what a clever llama he was before pulling down every ingredient from the cabinets. He then found oil by accidentally knocking over the flask of it wit a stray hoof as he reached for his prize.

With a face smug with triumph, Churro poured the oil (or what remained in the flask) into the pan and cranked up the stove. He added sugar and salt, in small sprinkles. Then he realized he needed water.

Turning off the stove to halt the sizzling from the pan, Churro studied the kitchen before his banana-shaped ears picked up the sultry sounds of water dripping. He found the sink and waited several moments before realizing there was another knob to turn.

Ponies and their knobs. It was ridiculous. Maybe he should teach them how to cook from a proper fire pit using proper tools. All this fancy technology was getting to his head.

Hoof-selecting the all-purpose flour, he stirred in a hunk of it carefully. He admired the flour as it rolled about, forming golden balls of dough. Perfect! He was beginning to have second thoughts about pony cooking methods. He carefully removed the balls of dough and poured the oil into a large pot.

Rolling the balls of dough into long ropes, he heated up the oil in the pot. It began to boil. He tossed the ropes of dough into the pot and quickly slammed a lid over it. With a sigh of relief he turned about to meet a horrendous mess that he had made of the Cakes’ kitchen. Delightful.

As he cleaned up the spilled oil and flour, and put away the spare utensils and pans, the pot containing the un-decorated churros began to rattle. Churro let out a cry of joy and straightened his baker’s cap. Now was the time for business.

In one swift, fluid motion, Churro lifted the heavy pot and dumped out the oil, keeping the churros within. He plopped them onto a pile of paper towels. The llama baker then strained the churros, letting the oils drip down into the sink as he poured out sugar and cinnamon onto another batch of paper towels.

With an air of controlled dignity, Churro rolled the churros in the cinnamon-sugar mix until the golden treats were coated in a light brown dust. Churro’s churros were done.

He cautiously returned everything to its proper location, and rolled the churros onto a plate.

“Mrs. Cake! Mr. Cake!” Churro brayed, once more straightening his cap. The two burst in, faces full of worry.

“I’ve finished my churros, Missus. Mister.” He shoved the plate towards them, which Mr. Cake took in his hoof. They tentatively sampled the churros. Churro (the llama, not the pastry) smiled at them nervously. He felt several drops of sweat trickle down his brow.

“H-How do they taste?” He stuttered. They both looked thoughtful, before turning away to discuss in heated whispers together. Churro felt his stomach curl in agony. He had known that ponies wouldn’t like llama pasties. The idea of ponies even thinking about tasting them was ridiculous…

Llamas: A Drama

by SkelePone

Chapter Five: Churro's Churros