//------------------------------// // 1. Better Than Auntie's Cakes // Story: The Sweetest Treat // by Carapace //------------------------------// Maple liked to think of himself as an Enchanter of a different shape. While his mother, father, brothers, and sisters back home in Paradise were svelte and curvaceous, their forms sculpted and groomed to perfection so ponies’ eyes wandered against their own volition, he preferred to think that his own build made him unique. Pleasantly plump, as his Auntie Vigil would say. He moved about his stove with precision and grace rivaling a trained dancer, pouring pancake batter into the pan and stirring his simmering syrup with such expert ease one might say he could do it all blindfolded. In fact, he just might. The temptation was certainly there, and who else could claim such talent and dexterity around a stove? Though that would take away from his chance to steal a peek into the main dining room. Or two peeks. Maybe three. Or twelve. In the last minute alone. Oh, how his brothers and sisters would tease him so if they saw him. An enchanted Enchanter, they’d crow. Just like Beguile, the famed masseuse who could hold his own against the Queen herself, Maple had become utterly enamored by a pony. But who could really blame him? Maple licked his lips, his eyes flitted toward the portal, that connected the kitchen and dining room, again. Another look. That’s all he wanted. Like a deep drink of love, another look at the messy-maned pegasus would sate his thirst. He had to take the chance now, while the colt was still sitting and tinkering with those funny glass containers and bottles. For once he left, Maple would have to make due without his handsome visage, leaving only the memory. A memory would be enough. A drink of love, though, or even just a taste—oh! If only he had been born a Caretaker! Maple stepped away from the stove and reared up, resting his hooves on the windowsill while he gazed longingly at the colt seated at the table closest to the door. His brilliant gold eyes narrowed and flashed with interest behind black square-rimmed glasses as he hunched over his work. His brows furrowed together, his ears twitched at every clink of silverware or glassware as ponies and changelings dined around him. Expert hooves lifted the strange containers and bottles, coaxing a droplet or two of multicolored liquid into the mixture. His coat was a soft, powdery periwinkle blue, like something straight from a painting of the winter sky. A color that suited him quite nicely, in Maple’s opinion. After all, hadn’t Sure Stroke mentioned that he hailed from the Altocumulus district of Cloudsdale? The place where frost formed every day of the year, where snowflakes were fashioned, and even yaks would shiver should they visit. Altocumulus from Altocumulus Terrace. A colt with entrancing eyes and a coat even Paradise’s painters would struggle to depict. Any Enchanter would love to have him in their web. But they didn’t. It was Maple who got a front row seat to look at him and appreciate his form. Maple sighed and let a dreamy smile spread across his chubby cheeks. I bet he tastes just like maple syrup when he’s happy. His eyes wandered over Altocumulus shamelessly, from his soft downy feathers, to his velvety smooth coat, all the way up to the tips of his ears—oh, how Maple would nuzzle them and croon sweet nothings that would coax a blush to those dusty blue cheeks! And his lips … The Enchanter cook licked his own. They looked so soft, like they were just begging to be nipped and kissed. Maple was half a mind to oblige that silent request. Maybe two-thirds. An urge which grew progressively more irresistible ever since that brief meeting the day after he first arrived in Respite. Oh, what a day that had been! Maple had been on duty at the counter, happily greeting customers and taking orders, exchanging food for love or bits, when Sure Stroke ambled in with the newcomer who’d sent the village into a tizzy with his thunderhead stunt a few days prior. “This is Sweet Treat’s shop,” Sure Stroke had informed him while they trotted up. “She runs it with the help of her nephews—Peppermint and Spearmint—and her wife’s nephew, Maple.” The filly paused to gesture toward Maple. “Hello, Maple. This is my cousin, Altocumulus. Altocumulus, this is Maple.” Maple took the cue. “Hello, Altocumulus,” he’d greeted. Those golden eyes followed her soft violet hoof to meet Maple’s. The young Enchanter remembered all too well how his breath caught in his throat while they just stood and stared. Then Alto broke the silence. “Your eyes are an interesting color,” he’d said. “Amber, I think? I’ve not seen it in ponies before.” Attention to detail. And such a handsome face. Who could possibly blame him for falling so? The acrid scent of smoke wafted through the air, burning his nostrils. Maple blinked twice, then sniffed. Had Pepper and Spear left their sweetbreads in the oven again? “Maple!” Pepper cried, causing him to whip his head around to find his cousin standing by the stove. Maple’s stove. Where a plume of smoke was rising from the pancakes he’d been making. Maple let out a startled chitter and bounded over, shoulder blocking his cousin to the side. “No, no, no, no, no!” he wailed as he frantically flipped off the burner and tugged the pan away with a jerk of magic. He buzzed his wings to clear the smoke, hoping against hope that he’d managed to get there in time. Four charred black discs greeted him when the smoke finally cleared. His shoulders slumped, he let his rump hit the floor with a dejected chitter as his ears pinned back against his mane. “I … But I …” “Maple?” Peppermint said softly, leaning down to rub their shoulders together. “Are you okay?” His throat tightened. Tears began to sting the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, his hoof leapt to cover his mouth to muffle a low, mournful whine. “I burned my pancakes,” he muttered. He heard Peppermint draw in a sharp breath through his clenched teeth, then felt a hoof pat his shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s only one batch. This sort of thing just … happens.” A cadence of hooves thumping against the wood floor made his ear flick. “To Maple? When he’s cooking pancakes?” Spearmint asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him burn the edge of a pancake, Pep.” “Spear! Not helping!” “I’m not trying to be mean!” Spearmint stepped around Maple and bent down to meet his gaze. Those big green eyes were full of concern, his flour matted coat brushed against unblemished carapace. “You’re not feeling sick today, are you Maple? You’re kinda hot.” Maple blinked a few times, his eyes flitted from Spear, to Pepper, and then to his poor burned pancakes. Abacus and Stalwart would be so upset with him. Of all the orders he had to mess up, theirs! And now they’d have to wait for him to make new ones! His ears stood ramrod straight. “N-No!” he cried, leaping to his hooves. “I-I can make another batch for them! It’ll—oh, goodness—it’ll just take a second! J-Just pass me the flour! And the eggs! And—” Peppermint placed a hoof against Maple’s lips. “Maple,” he said softly, “get yourself a drink and go take a break. Relax. It’s just one accident.” Maple whimpered. “But … but my orders …” “We’ll take care of them,” Spear cut in with a patient smile. “You help out around here plenty, we can cover for you.” He stole a quick glance out into the dining room and furrowed his brows. “Hmm, looks like it’s awful crowded out there. Why don’t you go share that table with the new colt? Isn’t he Sure Stroke’s cousin?” Chitinous ears shot up again. Maple let out a squeak. “What?” “You mean Doodle’s cousin,” Pepper corrected. “And yes.” He turned to Maple and waggled his ears. “Y’know, I bet he’d like to have someone to talk to. And he’s due for another pot of tea soon. In fact …” Almost on cue, there was a shrill whistle. Peppermint turned around and levitated a teapot off his stove, then set it down on a tray. Then he floated the tray over and placed it upon Maple’s back, right across his wing casing. “No, wait a minute—hang on!” Maple protested. “I don’t know him!” “That’s why you go up and meet him, goofbug.” Peppermint smiled as he placed a clean cup down on the tray and gently guided Maple toward the door. “Look at him—he’s a handsome colt, eh? About your age too. So, take off that apron—” “Got it covered!” Spear said, removing Maple’s apron and hat with a deft tug. “Thanks, Spear—and go say hello. Who knows?” With one last waggle of his ears, Peppermint shoved him out the door and into the dining room. “You might just hit it off.” Biting his lip, Maple glanced over his shoulder at the lone colt, then back at his grinning cousins. He aimed his very best pleading look in their direction, complete with drooping ears and a bit of charm to make his eyes look extra watery. But they were well-versed in his tricks. As soon as they saw the shimmer, they simply turned and pretended to be talking to one another, close enough to the window that they could watch his progress out of the corner of their eyes. Maple sniffled. “Jerks,” he grumbled, defeated by those dastardly twins again. With a sigh, he turned around to face his goal. True to their word, Auntie Sweet Treat’s dining room was packed to the brim with villagers, each of them taking the time to enjoy their breakfast while they chatted with friends and family. Maple noticed a few guards in their forest green armor sitting near the door while they enjoyed their mugs of steaming coffee, no doubt they were about to head on to relieve the late night shift. Which meant Auntie Vigil should be coming home soon. Each table was taking the time to enjoy a meal in relative peace. All of them except for the one nearest the door, the one where Altocumulus sat and tinkered with his little experiment. A stark contrast the the merry banter among friends and family, this solitary pegasus. And his actions, how he deftly added these chemicals and little bits of powder then stared and jotted notes, drew no shortage of quizzical looks. Yet none disturbed him. Whether out of respect for how busy he looked or uncertainty, Maple couldn’t say. His wings itched, but Maple managed to fight the urge to buzz. He approached the busy pegasus slowly, his hooves trembling with every step, even as he finally came to a stop within easy reach. If he wanted, Maple could just reach out and stroke that fluffy purple mane. Right along the white stripe flashing through soft purple like a bolt of lightning. Altocumulus didn’t notice him at first. His focus lay entirely in his work. His snout wrinkled as he did some quick mental math, a look so fetching on his face Maple swore he felt his heart do a backflip. “Liquid rainbow added to wisps of wild thunderhead,” the pegasus muttered under his breath, scribbling a few notes in his notebook. “Should see a reaction in the next minute or so. If not, I can add more by increment.” Reaction? Adding more? Maple wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to be watching for, but it must be something interesting. Perhaps multicolored sparks? Or rain? Liquid rainbow rain would certainly be something. Loathe though he was to interrupt, he could hardly just sit down without saying anything. Not to mention, his tea would be stone cold if he waited too long. Maple licked his lips. “Um, excuse me?” he called. “Altocumulus, right?” Altocumulus stopped what he was doing. Slowly, he looked up, his brows furrowed and jaw set. “Please don’t call me that,” he replied. “I prefer Alto.” Maple tried not to cringe. Off to a great start already. “Er, sorry. Alto it is. I’ll remember that.” “Thank you.” Altocum—Alto gave a half smile, which vanished almost as fast as it came. He glanced at the tray on Maple’s back. “Is that mine?” “Um. Half of it is. The other half is mine.” Shifting his weight from one hoof to the other, he floated the pot down so Alto could refill his cup. “Is it?” Alto mused as he took it and poured himself a fresh cup. He tilted his head to one side as he raised the cup to his lips, then glanced around. “I didn’t know they had patrons wait on themselves here. Or that pots were shared between customer and staff here, but when in Pegusopolis, I suppose. Where’s your table? I’ll probably want some more shortly.” Maple’s ears perked up. It wasn’t quite the way he might have drawn it up in a perfect world, nor would he tell his parents if this should turn out in his favor, but who was he to question fortune? And if they did question, the tale would be full of silver-tongued flirtation and a handsome pegasus blushing. He offered a smile. “Well … I was going to ask if you would mind if I sat at your table.” His eyes flitted to the empty seat. “Unless there was someone else sitting with you.” “Well,” Alto said, “I haven’t yet come up with a formula to render a pony invisible, so no, there’s no one sitting there presently. You’re welcome to it.” Beaming, Maple set the tray down, careful not to disturb the mixture, and began pouring himself a cup. Then his ears twitched as Alto’s words registered. “Wait … can you do that? Turn a pony invisible I mean?” The pegasus shook his head. “I couldn’t, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t figure it out. It’s not my specialty.” “Oh? Then what is?” “Weather science.” Alto gestured toward the mixture. “I managed to nick a few beakers of liquid rainbow from the Cloudsdale Rainbow Fountain before I left home, so I wanted to see how it might react when exposed to lightning from a real wild thunderhead, not the manufactured ones we play with.” Maple sipped at his tea. Interesting. A scientist with unusual goals. How very different from the normal folk Respite attracted. How unique. Perhaps his family wouldn’t laugh after all. If anything, they might just try filling Alto’s ears with honeyed words to draw him into their web and wrap him around their hoof. A not-so-small part of him found the prospect quite … agreeable. Though perhaps without the charm. Unless, of course, Alto was the sort who went for that. His gaze fell to the mixture in the beaker. Maple tilted his head as he noticed a rainbow cloud beginning to form and throw of sparks. Angry sparks. The sort that made his carapace itch and his wings buzz nervously. “So … what happens when you do this with manufactured clouds?” “Oh, nothing much.” Alto shrugged. “Usually they shoot off a big spark that makes your ears ring and shatters some glassware. Nothing too bad.” One of the sparks hit the glass. Maple froze when he noticed the scorch mark. And the crack. “Uh … Alto?” “It’s just a little more wild, nothing to worry about.” The pegasus reclined in his seat, sipping leisurely at his tea. “Really, it’ll maybe just throw off a few extra sparks. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a few rainbow ones, right?” Another spark made the beaker jump. Static electricity tingled against Maple’s fangs. “Alto?” “Oh, actually, if you really wanted to see something special with wild lightning, my dad had a picture of a storm off the Neighrie Isles a few years before I was born—oh, wait. I think I left that at—oh shoot!” Before Maple could even react, Alto flapped his wings once and kicked under the table, knocking Maple’s seat out from under him. With a surprised chitter, Maple hit the floor a mere split second before there was a sharp crack, then a clap of thunder that made the very air around him vibrate. All conversation in the dining room ceased in an instant as ponies and changelings alike held their hooves over their ears and groaned, looking over in their direction for the source of the noise. Maple’s heart hammered in his chest. Slowly, he rolled over, mindful of the shattered teacup and bits of glass beaker, and stood up. He looked across the table to check on the pegasus. “Alto? Are you—” the words died in his throat and his jaw dropped. Alto stood stock still with a blank expression upon his face, which had been singed black. His mane was blown back as if he’d flown through a hurricane, sparks of electricity jumped from the ends. He casually licked his hoof, then put out a smoldering bang before wiping soot from his glasses. “Well,” he said matter-of-factly as he looked down at the charred woodwork and burned remnants of his notepad, “it would seem that my calculations were a tad—ack!” A cloud of smoke burst forth from his mouth with a cough. He aimed a glare at it, then shook his head. “Off. Are you all right?” Maple couldn’t find the words to reply. His eyes were trained, transfixed upon Alto’s face. He merely nodded once, not breaking eye contact for a second. The gears in his head began to whirr at blinding speed. He allowed the pegasus to gently guide him back to his seat so he could clean up his mess and grumble about this variable and that, all of it going straight over Maple’s head faster than Aspire and Esalen could devour pancakes. It was all secondary to him. All meaningless against one single bit of information. He’s even handsome when his coat is singed … oh, love, this colt!