//------------------------------//
// Chapter 8: A Dark Fate 
// Story: S.B. 
// by Unwhole Hole 
//------------------------------//

	The next day went, largely, spectacularly. S.B. felt great, jumping around and performing yard work with even greater vigor than before. His whole body felt so much better: the sunlight felt warm and pleasant on his now brown-colored body instead of sweltering, and his head felt light without the extraneous horns growing out of it. The contact lenses had been a bit more difficult to get used to, but he had adapted in time. The face of the pony that looked back at him from every mirror he stopped to stare into barely looked like his old self at all: now he was a brown, blue-eyed thestral instead of whatever he had been before. 
Other things, though, were not so ideal. Twilight had informed him that he had received a lifetime ban from school and that he would never be permitted to return on pain of broom-beatings. Due to her interest in education, of course, she had provided him with paperwork for acquiring a GED. Her personal assistant had apparently had excellent luck with the program. 
Not being allowed to go to school did not bother S.B. much. What saddened him instead was the fact that it was almost time for him to go. Matilda had had no luck getting him a slot in an orphanage, but that did not matter anymore. With his new form, he would be able to slip into any settlement unnoticed and integrate with society at will. It was too late to try to do so with Ponyville, though; too many ponies already recognized him, and his previous appearance would continue to color their perceptions of him as long as he stayed. This was not something he liked to think about, though. He rather liked Ponyville. 
S.B. spent what felt like hours staring into the mirror in his temporary room and considering this, as well as other things like where he would go and what he would say to Scootaloo if he ever managed to see her again. In time, though, he decided that he needed to do something else. The sun had just started to set, and there were still a few more chores he could get through before the day was done. 
He pushed himself off the stool he was sitting on and instinctively reached for the charcoal on the side of the vanity. He paused, though, and looked down at his cutie mark. Charcoal would not black it out anymore. Nor, he realized, was there a need to any longer. With his former appearance ablated, he no longer had to hide the fact that amongst his own kind he was considered a failure. 
So, instead, he set the charcoal down and went downstairs. It felt strange to be completely naked, but feeling like his true self felt just as strange. It would no doubt take some getting used to. 
When he reached the ground floor, S.B. suddenly heard a cry. Surprised and concerned, he raced toward the kitchen. 
“Mrs. Matilda, what’s wrong?” he asked, finding Matilda standing in front of her pantry with a horrified expression on her face. 
“The cherries!” she said, turning suddenly. “In all the excitement, I never did get a chance to buy any! And Cranky’s poker night is tonight!”
“I don’t understand,” said S.B., although he had the sense that Matilda was both distressed and embarrassed. 
“I volunteered to make everypony snacks,” she said, hurriedly, “and I promised pie! But I don’t have cherries, or apples, or lemons or even vinegar!”
“Vinegar pie?” S.B. shivered.
“It tastes better than you’d think.” She groaned. “But they’ll all be expecting it…and poor Muleberry, he doesn’t have much money, and I know how much he looks forward to desserts on poker night!” She paced across the room quickly. “And I thought this was going to go so well! I was going to make the pie, then go upstairs and work on penning my novel, relax while Cranky had fun with his friends, but now…now it’s all ruined.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No,” sighed Matilda. “Other than pie, I don’t know how to make anything, well, tasty. And I don’t know how…” She suddenly paused, and then leaned to one side. Her eyes fell on S.B.’s cutie mark. “Wait just a minute…that cutie mark- -you’re special talent is cinnamon buns, right?”
“Making them, yes,” said S.B. “But I’m also pretty good at eating them, too.” 
“Well, I have some sugar, and some flour…and some flower…” She leaned back in the pantry. “And…” She removed an industrial-grade canister of cinnamon. It was unopened and labeled in Assyrian. “And I have this. I never used it, but it only expired…” She looked at the date and her eyes widened. “Well, cinnamon doesn’t go bad…”
“Do you have baking powder?”
“Baking powder? Um…yes. Yes I do.”
S.B. smiled. “Then I can work with this.” 

Cranky, of course, was unaware of the shortage of dessert. He was in the frontroom of the house, reading a paper, as per usual. Tonight was slightly different, though, in that it was poker night. It was held biweekly, in general, and it was one of the few times that Cranky had guests over that were not Matilda’s friends. He himself was not the most popular donkey in Ponyville, although he was, in fact, the second- -with Matilda being the first. There was no third, as they were the only two donkeys. 
As he was sitting, though, he heard a strange click. Cranky looked up to see the deadbolt in his front door slowly turning. This, of course, was disturbing in its own right, but Cranky still lowered his reading glasses, trying to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. 
Then, slowly, the door creaked open about an inch- -and a long, metal fireplace poker was inserted through the gap and into Cranky’s house. 
“Poker,” whispered a voice. “Poooookerrrrrr…”
The door then flew open the rest of the way, and the pony holding the fireplace poker- -Pinkie Pie- -leapt in. “I’ve got the poker!” she screamed, causing the poker to fall out of her mouth. “Whose ready to get POKED?!” 
“Pinkie, that’s not what poker is!” exclaimed Cranky. “And how did you even open my door? It was locked!”
“Oh, I know. I have a key.”
“Why in Equestria do you have a key to my house?!”
“Silly! I have keys to EVERYPONY’S HOUSE. I make them out of wax. See?” She produced an immense key ring from her hair. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I sneak into their houses and watch them sleep…” She giggled. “Especially Fluttershy…” 
“Because that’s not creepy,” said another voice. Muleberry, Ponyville’s resident mule, entered behind Pinky. 
“Muleberry!” said Pinky, apparently not realizing that he had been behind her. “You’re here! Have you taken offense to anything yet?”
“Nope. None taken. Not now, not ever.” He chuckled. Muleberry was the closest being to a donkey that Ponyville had aside from Cranky and Matilda, and although Cranky had a natural tendency to distance himself from the kind of donkeys that married ponies- -dismissing them as weirdos- -he had no ill-will toward mules or hinnies. In fact, Muleberry’s profound laid-back attitude was something he admired about the fellow. 
Cranky stood up and folded his paper as Pinkie entered the room, her bouncing making a strange audiable squeaking sound. Muleberry wiped his hooves on the doormat- -it was pink and yellow, of course, as were most doormats in Ponyville- -and then entered. 
“Hold the door!” called another voice. Muleberry did, and the third of four guests arrived. He was a tall white unicorn with a bushy mustache and even bushier eyebrows. Unlike the others, he was wearing clothing, if a Hawaiian shirt counted as clothing at all. 
“Hondo,” said Cranky. “You look a little winded.”
“Well, I just ran ten yards to the door. Oof.” He paused, breathing hard. “And it’s been a long days since my old gridiron days. Or at least the days when I was playing on it.” He lifted his hat and wiped his forehead. 
“Just wait until you get to my age,” said Cranky. “I don’t think I could run if I was being chanced by a manticore. And the arthritis is so bed I sound like a darn percussion band when I get out of bed in the morning.”
“Or you can wait until you get to my age,” said Pinkie. “Once you hit that, you crave sugar. ALL THE TIME!” 
Hondo laughed. “Pinky, I think I passed your age before you were born.”
“And I passed it before Hondo was born,” said Cranky.
“And I’m the same age,” said Muleberry. “I’m just a mule.” 
“That you are,” said Hondo, hanging up his hat. Cranky could not help but focus on his comparatively long, brown mane with a twinge of jealousy. “Say, have you had any luck with that sterility problem?”
Muleberry shrugged. “Still a mule, so no. But that’s okay. It’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
“I love cookies!” cried Pinkie Pie.
“So do I,” said Hondo, chuckling strangely. “So do I…”  
Cranky led them through the house, avoiding the kitchen where by the smell of it Matilda seemed to be in the process of baking something delicious, and to the garage. Pinkie lingered for a moment at the closed kitchen door, smelling the gap underneath the door and trying to fit her tongue through, but Hondo was able to persuade her to keep moving by promising that the treats would be ready when they were done cooking. 
The garage had been set up in preparation for the night. The cart had been placed outside, and the floor swept. The front door sat open, and though the night was cool it was not as cold as it had been a few days ago. The horizon was still bright, and the sun was just starting to set on the far side of the trees. 
A table had been placed in the center of the garage, and each member took their accustomed seats. Cranky, meanwhile, went to open a large window on the far side of the table. Almost as soon as he did, an violet head poked through. 
“Steven!” said everypony in unison.
“High everybody!” said the sea-serpent. “Whose ready for some poker? And no doubt some of Matilda’s simply AMAZING pie.”
“I’ve been waiting all week!” screamed Pinkie with a great excess of excitement. 
“How’s the water?” asked Cranky. “Too cold?”
“Oh no,” said Steven, looking back at the outdoor pond where his lower half was submerged. “Actually, I really like what you’ve done with it! I’ve never been in a pond so well dredged before. And the way the reeds have been trimmed, and the little plantings on the edge…I feel like I’m in one of those Oriental gardens. You remember those, don’t you Cranky?” He nudged Cranky, and Cranky blushed profusely, indicating that he did indeed remember. 
“Right,” said Hondo, putting on a green visor and picking up the cards in his magic. “So how about we get started?”

The game progressed about as usual. None of them were professional gamblers, and short of Steven Magnate, none of them would every have been able to receive any kind of winnings in a Los Pegasus casino. Mostly, the point was just to talk and spend time with friends. The game rarely got intense enough to distract them from their conversation, which circled through various talking points: Pinkie Pie making jokes, Hondo talking about his daughters or telling mildly amusing stories from his days as a hoofball player or his current job as a sports commentator, or Steven Magnate relaying facts about the exciting life of a sea-serpent. 
Cranky and Muleberry remained quiet, although for opposite reasons. Muleberry never won these games, nor did he seem to care about such things. Instead, he played smoothly and evenly, listening to the stories that the others told and laughing at their jokes. Cranky was content to listen, too, except that on this particular night he had early on received the start of an extremely good hoof of cards. 
In his focus, he barely noticed the feeling of cold metal running against his cheek. He then looked up, annoyed, to see Pinkie poking him with the fireplace poker. 
“Poke,” she said.
“Pinkie, stop that!” he shouted. “That isn’t how you play poker!”
“It isn’t?” Pinkie looked at her cards. “Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got Old Maid.”
“That’s not even the game we’re playing!”
“Just let her roll with it,” said Hondo. 
“You’re one to talk. One of these days, I’m going to win that shirt clean off your back!”
Pinkie suddenly perked up. “I didn’t know we were playing THAT kind of poker!”
“Oh my,” said Steven, giggling slightly. 
Hondo’s eyes narrowed as he smiled at Cranky. “I’d like to see you try, old jack. You know what? Beat me, and I’ll shave off my moustache!”
“Not your mustache!” cried Steven Magnate. 
“Yup. Clean off.”
Pinkie Pie gasped. “You could cosplay as Shining Armor!” She paused. “Actually, your wife is pink, so she would make a pretty good Cadence…”
“It’s almost like you’ve been looking in my windows, Pinkie,” said Hondo, causing Steven to giggle more loudly. 
“Oh no. I don’t do that. Anymore. Not after that one time at Sweet Apple Acres.” She shivered. “Although I do sometimes watch Rarity sleep at night. Sometimes wearing a spacemare uniform.”
“She is an adorable young mare, isn’t she?”
“Here we go again,” groaned Cranky, knowing that Hondo was about to go into another long story about his eldest daughter.  
Hondo’s story was interrupted prematurely, though, as plates began to appear at their sides. The group was so intent that they did not notice who was placing them on the table, not that he was especially easy to see with his tiny size. Cranky noticed, though, and was very surprised to see warm, sweet-smelling cinnamon buns on the plates instead of slices of fresh pie. 
Pinkie Pie’s nose twitched. “Pinkie smells sweets,” she said. She then looked down at her plate, and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, cinnamon!” She bend her neck and plunged her whole face into the dessert, devouring it within seconds. She did not even chew.
Almost as soon as it was gone, though, she bolted upright, her eyes wide. One of her eyelids twitched, and then with a moan her entire body shivered. Her head dropped to the table, thumping against it.
“Pinkie!” said Muleberry. “What did you do?”
Pinkie looked up, breathing hard. “What did I do? Well, I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you. Not if this story is going to get an ‘everyone’ rating.” 
“I think we’re already well past that point,” muttered Cranky. 
“Let me give it a try,” said Hondo, levitating a fork and taking a bite of his cinnamon bun. As he chewed it, he seemed genuinely surprised. “Wow,” he said. “That’s a good cinnamon bun, donchyaknow. I couldn’t keep those around the house. Not unless I wanted my wife’s hips to get any bigger, if you know what I mean.” 
Steven and Muleberry also took a bite of theirs. Steven seemed to highly enjoy his. “Oh my!” he said, laughing. “That IS good! I’m not usually a fan of that type of thing. The icing is always too moist. But this, this was just perfect. Even if I am breaking my diet just a teensy bit.” 
Muleberry did not say anything, but he did smile, seeming to enjoy the dessert quite considerably. 
“I’m so glad you like them!” squeaked a small voice. The entire group seemed somewhat shocked to hear the presence of another pony, and all of them suddenly turned to where S.B. was still standing. His new coloration was so generic that he had blended into the background completely. 
“You made these?” said Steven.
“Well,” said S.B., blushing, “I helped.”
Pinkie Pie stared at S.B. for a long moment. She then turned to Cranky. “Um, okay,” she said. “I get that this story is basically ‘Toaster’ for kids, and I was the villain in that one so I’m not too keen to do that again here, but, um…that’s the kid who took a leek in the market.” 
“So what?” said Cranky.
“Again, not being the villain, but…are you sure you want him, you know, in your house? What if he lays eggs?”
“I’m a colt,” said S.B. “I don’t do that.” 
“Yeah, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that one.” 
“It happened one time,” muttered Steven. 
“These are good buns, though,” said Muleberry. “Really good. And as fine of a jenny that Matilda is, she can’t cook cinnamon rolls like this.”
S.B. blushed. 
“Really?” said Pinkie. “Hmm. You know, the cakes have been looking for somepony who’s good with cinnamon. I’m…not the best at it.”
“Wait,” said Hondo. “You weren’t responsible for that cinnamon leak last week, were you? The one where we had to evacuate half the town?”
“It’s not my fault! It’s all dusty and dry and it gets EVERYWHERE. I mean, Mrs. Cake is okay with it, but, well, she does mostly cake, and with the twins…”
“So, what are you saying?” asked Cranky. 
“I’m saying that I need ten more of those buns. And that you should come visit Sugarcube Corner tomorrow, and I’ll see what you can do. And also also I am saying that STRAIGHT FLUSH!” Pinkie Pie threw down her cards, and everyone around the table gaped. “BOOM!” she said. “GO FISH!”