Heat-Stir-Serve

by Mr Merritt

Chapter Four

Every pony, from foal to elder, deserved to have a place of solitude from the world. A place where they could remove themselves from the rest of the world and just do whatever they wanted, even if that was simply thinking. No matter how social of a creature one might be, there was always a time when they craved some ‘alone time’.

This applied even when you had lots of friends and a massive extended family…

Even though he had a standing invitation from Applebloom to make use of the Cutie Mark Crusader Clubhouse, the colt knew that place didn’t exactly lend itself to privacy. Given the boundless energy of the three fillies, combined with the fact that the clubhouse usually ended up as the place where the Crusaders cleaned themselves up after their misadventures, it didn’t appeal to the colt as a place of privacy.

Fortunately when one lived on a massive farm, finding a bit of alone time could be done with a bit of creative thinking…plus a bit of help from a large draft horse.

When Peppermill expressed his need for a sanctuary outside of his room in the farmhouse, he was approached by Big Macintosh. The draft horse and superior older brother than the colt’s blood relation had ever been had explained a few things to him. Things that could be taken advantage of provided one was tenacious and clever enough to do so. Peppermill was no pony’s fool, and recognized subtle permission when he heard it.

Apples tended to store best when kept cool. Hot air, as any pony knew, rises. Well, the ponies that made liberal use of hot air balloons for travel did at any rate. So it was considered common sense not to store that particular fruit up high. This meant that the upper reaches of the big red barn on Sweet Apple Acres tended to be rather bare, save for some hay for extreme emergencies. If the bales were stored in just the right configuration, it provided a sheltered spot of empty floor that was the perfect size for a young colt to just…contemplate.

It was in this private spot where Peppermill fund himself…well, it wasn’t quite sulking or pouting. Some ponies, or at least those with a more prosaic mindset might have described it as ‘moping’. But all the colt knew was that he was deep in thought, and those thoughts were dark and depressing. He should have been relieved that he had made up with Twilight Sparkle, but an all new set of problems came up when Applejack had laid down the law. Her anger had sparked a repeating loop of an earlier conversation he had hoped to have tossed from his memory like a rotten apple core.

It was his inability to forget that dialogue that almost made his miss the tell-tale sound of an unwanted visitor to his sanctum.

At first, Peppermill had considered pulling the ladder that he used to climb into the loft after him to keep out trespassers. But it didn’t take long to see that the hauling the heavy steps with his chef’s physique was out of the question. However, there was more than just one ladder at Sweet Apple Acres. It took a bit of searching, but the colt found one that suited his needs quite well. This ladder was a few loose rungs that gave a very noticeable creaking noise when stepped upon by pony hooves. As long as his unwanted guests used that particular ladder he could predict and prepare for company.

That creaking noise came loud and clear through his gloom, not unlike a needle on a record player scratching painfully across a vinyl disc. It wasn’t as if the grey colt needed any other excuse to be short with the unwanted figure, so he made no effort to hide his annoyance. He stormed over to the edge of the loft and snarled.

“So help me…if whoever is…climbing up that ladder…doesn’t start back down…I will push it off…the edge.”

“Gee, you really are in a bad mood aren’t you Peppermill?” The colt blinked and stared as a familiar grey head with designer glasses and a long white braided mane popped over the edge of the floor.

“Silver Spoon…what are you…doing here?”

“Your brother hinted I might find you up here.” explained the pony. The little grey filly, once one of the worst bullies in Ponyville, had become one of Peppermill’s closest friends. They made a surprisingly good match with him being a chef and her being a food critic. The colt would admit that there were…other things he liked about her, but that tended to make for a whole new set of issues he felt he was a bit too young to be dealing with. Even so, even the sight of her pretty, concerned face couldn’t improve his mood.

“Remind me to…give Big Macintosh…a good buck…the next time I…see him. This…is supposed to be my…private place.”

“Would it help if I promise not to tell anypony I saw it?”

“Whatever…” sniffed the colt. He turned around and slouched back to a large couch cushion in the middle of the empty floor space and flopped onto it.

“This is kind of nice up here. I guess it must be quiet with all the hay bale walls around.” Silver Spoon looked around, trying her best to make small talk. While she had meant well in her desire to cheer her friend up, it wasn’t exactly something she had a lot of experience in. It wasn’t as if she could just tell Peppermill how rich he was and/or how much better he was than the ‘common ponies’ like she used to with Diamond Tiara.

“It is…a good place…for when you…are feeling sorry for…yourself or questioning…everything you thought…you knew about…life.”

“O-kay…” Silver Spoon couldn’t help but become a little more worried by this rather…dramatic announcement. She had never seen the grey colt so sad, and it broke her heart. Grasping at straws as to what to say, she gave the cushion Peppermill lounged on a poke. “Where did you get this cushion? It looks kind of familiar…”

“Do you remember…a while back when…Mr. Davenport of…Quills and Sofas put…this old couch with…the big rip in the back…outside his store with the…’FREE’ sign on it?”

“Wasn’t that the one you and all your friends began pushing down the street. It was hilarious, especially with Pipsqueak on top shouting order at the rest of you like a captain of a boat.” giggled the filly.

“Yes, that’s…the one. Anyways once we…got it as far…as we thought we…could get away with to…prove we had…ownership of it we…started trying to decide…how to share it. The conversation…turned into a bit of…a shouting match. In the middle…of it I grabbed the big…cushion from the middle and…ran as fast as I…could back to…Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Really?” Silver Spoon found herself bursting into laughter at the image of the grey colt lugging the cushion down the dirt path to the apple orchard.

“I just made it…past the gate when…the rest of the guys…caught up. If it wasn’t…for Big Macintosh stepping in…and actually agreeing with me…about ‘finders keepers’…and property lines…there might have been trouble.” The colt patted the cushion with a sliver of pride. It had been an impressive victory on his part, and he considered the pillow an integral part of his private sanctuary.

“I guess you have to take your wins when you can.” smiled Silver Spoon. “It sounds as if you haven’t had much in that lately.”

“Gee…and here I thought…you wanted to take my mind…off of my troubles.” grumbled Peppermill.

“Sorry…” The grey filly trotted past where the colt laid and sat down in front of him. The two friends remained silent, the filly deciding to let the colt make the first move if he chose to. The silence stretched for a while, until the colt gave a sigh and looked up at her with sad, dark eyes.

“If I ask you…a serious question…would you give me…an honest answer?”

“I might not be an apple pony, but I would never lie to you Peppermill.”

“Have you ever heard…of the ‘golden rule’?”

“I think there is like a bunch of golden rules. Any chance you could be a little more specific?”

“He who has the gold…makes the rules.” Judging from his inflection and the pure venom in his tone, it was clear that this was something that had been bothering the colt greatly. Fortunately the filly had a bit of experience in this particular subject.

“It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? The fact that this involves Horte Cuisine doesn’t surprise me.” Even with the knowledge that his friend appeared to feel the same way about the snarky stallion Peppermill was still down.

“If I tell you…something I haven’t…told any other pony…including my family…will you keep it…to yourself?”

“I can keep a secret.” the filly insisted.

“I don’t know…if I’d call it a secret…so much as it is something I…don’t want to share quite yet. I assume you…know most of the story between…me and Horte Cuisine?”

“You and Twilight Sparkle went there, you were not impressed by the meal and it ended with a yelling match…” reported Silver Spoon.

“Well, something happened….before the yelling. We had…a discussion…”

***

Peppermill stalked the tall stallion as he made his way towards the kitchen. After watching the pony show such obvious disrespect towards his clientele, not to mention having the audacity to pass off such poorly cooked food as being actually edible, the colt intended to give him a piece of his mind. In his mind, he saw himself brow-beating the stallion and making in almost weep in shame for his crimes against the art of cooking and being the owner of a restaurant…

…right until the stallion whirled around and stared the colt down, pinning him in place.

“It is rather telling that you look so much like your father. You even have his angry frown.” Peppermill was stunned at this comment, all of his defiant words evaporating off of his tongue.

“You…knew my father?!”

“No, but I did meet him. Once. And quite frankly once was more than enough to know he was not cut out for the business.” Peppermill could only gape, the vile words striking him like a tenderizing mallet. “I wonder if maybe he had been denied allowance when he was your age. It would explain his aversion to profit…”

“Profit?” Peppermill couldn’t honestly fathom what Horte Cuisine was talking about.

“Come now boy, you can’t expect me to believe you don’t know just what kind of bits you can get in this business? Your father may have been a great cook, but lacking in sense as far as the way the world truly works.”

“My father…made plenty of money. He always…made sure that the…local charities got…big contributions.”

“Charity? Ha!” The stallion huffed in contempt, almost acting as if the colt had uttered the most offensive word imaginable. “Boy, one doesn’t earn money just to give it to others. You use it to buy power over others. That’s why it exists.”

“But…”

“Your father could have…should have been the most powerful pony in the land. With the creations he made in the kitchen he could have had every major city in Equestria begging to have a restaurant with his name on it to call their own. He could have had enough money to have the Royal Sisters go to him for loans…with interest.” The last two words were spoken with such…well, evil intent that Peppermill could only shudder.

“My father…didn’t cook for money…” began Peppermill, desperate to gain control of the conversation, but to no avail. It was as if Horte Cuisine had been waiting for this moment for years, and intended to give the young pony the entirety of his contempt.

“Of course not. Don’t get me wrong. As far as pure culinary talent goes, even I wouldn’t try to compete. Your father was the greatest. And from what I have heard from the ponies in this town, you are well on your way to filling his horse shoes nicely. Right until you had the misfortune of being picked up by those…Apples.”

“Don’t you dare…use that tone to…speak about my family!” Peppermill was right in the stallion’s face, up on his hind legs and wanting so badly to strike him.

“The Golden Rule rules all, boy! Without their wealth, the Royal Sisters would just be a pair of really good stage magicians. I value every bit that I can squeeze out of these ponies. Do you know why? It is because with these bits I can make them do anything I want, even eat pig slop and think it is the embodiment of culinary sophistication. Maybe if you ever get out of that little farm and into the real world, you might be able to do what your father should have. Until then, you can just waste your life away among the apple trees wondering why your father was such a failure…”

“Lies! LIES!!” shrieked Peppermill. “You don’t deserve…to own a restaurant. You don’t…deserve to be…in a kitchen. You…you…low-down rattlesnake!”

“You miserable little…”

***

“Low-down rattlesnake…” Silver Spoon remembered that on more than one occasion Applebloom using those words to describe her and Diamond Tiara during her bullying years. It was probably the strongest insult an Apple pony could give. There was no doubt that Peppermill had to have been truly furious to say something like that. It was also telling just how much influence his new family had on him, since she highly doubted he would have said something to that degree on his own.

“It was…about then that…Twilight came and…took me away.” Even reliving the event was enough to emotionally drain the grey pony. “I’ve been…unable to stop…thinking about what…he said.”

“Peppermill?”

“Is Horte Cuisine right? Was my…father wrong all…those years? As great as…he was, could…he have been better if…he spent less…on others and more…on spreading his…influence?”

“I honestly don’t think I can answer that Peppermill.” sighed Silver Spoon. “While money has never been a problem for me, I’ve never been as…attached to the idea of wealth like Diamond Tiara was. I never really bought into the idea that it made me any better or worse than other ponies…”

“But Horte Cuisine…seems to have so…much influence in town. And he…seemed so…sure of himself.” Peppermill’s gaze seemed distant, as he seemed to be struggling internally with his feelings. “Even…even Saltpeter had mentioned…something to that effect…when he did what he did…to my parents. He…said he wanted…to use me to…make money…”

“Oh Peppermill…” Now the filly was beginning to understand the scope of the colt’s emotional state. She was well aware, as were most of Ponyville, of the terrible things the little cook had gone through at the hooves of his surviving blood relation. The envy directed towards Peppermill from his elder brother had almost broken the colt in his mind, body and spirit.

“I’m so…confused.” moaned the colt. The little filly shuffled towards him and laid a kind foreleg over his back. She wanted to help her friend in the worst way, but had no idea of how to go about it. Until then, she had to settle for some simple physical consoling.

…and Applebloom’s impending rage at her doing so be darned.

Comments

[-Brutus]

So Applebloom JUST found out that Peppermill is friends with Silver Spoon? DO GO ON!

[Mr Merritt]

1862892

Peppermill has a remarkably raspy voice for a young colt. It's my way of symbolizing it in text format

[Someguy987]

I gotta ask why is he always pausing between words. I get that he thinks about what he's saying, but it just sounds like he's out of breath all the time.