Free Hugs!

by 8686

Part I

It was a normal Pinkie Pie day.

In every Pinkie Pie way.

Sugarcube Corner, not long after sunrise, the kitchen abuzz with activity. The smell of warm dough wafted throughout, mingling with the sweet scents of sticky caramel, fresh cream and fruity currents. Ovens thrummed and pans clattered, powdered sugar was dusted and wooden spoons licked – usually by two tiny but playful foals. The cooking area of the small bakery was alive as Ponyville’s two resident confectioners and their young twins prepared for another perfectly ordinary day.

As for Pinkie Pie, she sat up at a table in the little café area out front, enjoying the last of her breakfast pancakes in the company of her finest alligator friend. Spread out before her across the tablecloth in an almost-but-not-quite haphazard array lay several wide, thin sheets of paper which, when taken together, made up this very morning’s copy of the Ponyville Chronicle. She read the news as the warm morning sun streamed in through the nearest window and fell across the table, making the white paper super-white, the black ink extra-black, and the colourful pictures particularly picturey.

The Chronicle wasn’t the only newspaper in Ponyville: the small town also boasted the Ponyville Post, its main rival, and the Foal Free Press, originally little more than a school newspaper until an incident a little while ago had thrust it into the populace’s collective consciousness. In fact ever since then, the Press had surprisingly become a legitimate source of information for ponies wanting a more light-hearted look at the news.

But the Chronicle was her go-to newspaper these days for a few reasons. For one, it had been within the folds of this very paper that she had once stumbled across a flyer for a one-day sale on used patio furniture! She gave a wistful smile at the memory. Truly, a great day. Also, being the sister-paper of its slightly more illustrious stable-mate, the Canterlot Chronicle, meant that it tended to report a little more widely on the goings on around Equestria. And finally, the most important reason that she preferred this particular broadsheet over the others? Funnier funnies.

The paper made a crisp crinkle as she turned to the centre pages, and there they were. A gaggle of giggle-inducing gags sure to make even the most grumpy and gruff girl or guy grin and guffaw with glee!

She had her favourites. There was one strip about a hard-luck pony in a yellow-and-black T-shirt and his faithful dog that she liked, and a single-panel called The Farm Side that was notable for is randomness. And one strip about a grumpy orange cat who hated Mondays. Pinkie never really understood that one. After all, today was Monday and today was starting out great! Mondays usually did.

She perused the comics, played the games, filled in the crossword with a crayon. And it was about then that it happened.

While rotating the centrefold pages in order to try and solve one of those shape-based puzzles – this one had to do with counting how many triangles you could see inside a larger triangle that was itself one of the triangles – sneaky! – the page beneath, as yet unread, was revealed for a moment. And with it, a headline that snared her eye...

Pinkie froze. Stared. Forgot all about the triangle puzzle.

Price of hugs set to soar? That didn’t make sense! She read the article – which was very short, befitting its placement amidst a slew of others all the way back on page eleven – but found it didn’t actually explain anything. It was a few words and a quote from a spokesewe from Black Sheep Co. relating the reasons for their sudden strike action and the effect it would have on the supply of sheep’s-wool in Equestria. Nothing about hugs at all!

Well, maybe they mixed up the article with another? But a frantic flipping through the loose-leaves revealed no other cuddle-based columns that might effectively explain the horrible headline.

She carefully turned back to page eleven, unable to take her eyes off the unambiguous blocky black text, the bottom slowly falling out of the pit of her stomach.

Price of Hugs Set to Soar.

“But... hugs are free, Gummy. They don’t cost money,” she said, trying to inject a little dismissive chuckle as though the very idea was silliness itself. But the stark, bold, stubborn headline refused to have the good grace to simply vanish in the face of such argument, choosing instead to remain on the page.

“And ‘raw materials’? That doesn’t make sense either. I mean, I’ve got all the raw materials to build a super-quality happy hug right here!” she chirped, giving herself a quick inventory: “Two comfy cuddly-legs; one fuzzy nuzzley-muzzle; a super-soft snuggy-tummy. And I can’t see any of them just running out,” she reasoned.

Still the headline stared back.

Pinkie’s gaze fell to her alligator friend, who stood still in stoic silence, every so often giving a lopsided blink to indicate that he was, if not alert, then ‘awake’. Quick as a flash she scooped him up, cradling him in her forelegs, squeezing him tight and rubbing her cheek against his before giving him a little kiss right on the tip of his snout.

Gummy blinked again. Buh-link. And gave no other response.

“Aw, thanks Gummy. I love you too. And you’re right, I’ve still got all my ingredients left over. I can still whip up as many hugs as I want!”

Price of Hugs Set to Soar.

Try though she might, Pinkie found herself quite unable to dismiss the text out of hoof. After all, the newspaper was reporting it. Yet – though she hadn’t checked her pinkie-bank – she was pretty sure it contained as many bits now as she had had before her impromptu gator-cuddle. Hmm.

“Unless pets don’t count? I mean, you couldn’t charge a pony for petting their pets. Right Gummy?”

Buh-link.

“Maybe it only means hugs for other ponies,” she wondered aloud, her gaze shifting towards the door to the kitchen, where the careful commotion and clattering of constant cookery continued.

Setting herself a determined frown, Pinkie rose from her seat and trotted toward the open kitchen door toward the rear of the bakery, following the sweet smell of baking bread. She had to settle this once and for all. “Mr. Cake? Mrs. Cake?” she cooed as she entered, sidling up between the two of them where they both stood at the spacious counter.

“Yes, dearie?” came Mrs. Cake’s sweet voice as, with care, she squeezed an icing bag over a tray of particularly wonderful-smelling cupcakes.

Pinkie made no reply – at least verbally. With the speed of a striking scorpion she reached out and wrapped both forelegs around Mrs. Cake, withers and chest, pressing her cheek into her neck. And taking Mrs. Cake quite by surprise as the sudden shock caused her to squeeze the icing bag too hard, splurting and splurging blue icing over a quarter of the still-warm baked treats. Releasing Mrs. Cake, Pinkie turned to the other side and seized Mr. Cake in a similar embrace, rendering him equally aghast. “Gah!” He cried as he nearly dropped his bowl of whisked batter, managing merely to spill most onto the worktop.

“Pinkie, is everything alright?” asked Mr. Cake when he was quite recovered, and Pinkie had released him.

Pinkie didn’t answer, but her mind was racing. She looked back, beyond the kitchen to the bakery’s pink front door, and swivelled and strained her ears to listen.

Nope. Nothing happened. No sound of frantic galloping. Certainly no police-ponies had come charging through, citation in hoof, demanding urgent payment for the hugs she had just given. The conclusion must be, then, that whatever hug-payment-program the paper was predicting was still pre-production, and not yet presently prescribed.

But it would be. The paper had said so. In fact it had said it was Imminent. Imminent! Which sounded awfully soon! How soon? That depended on how long an imminent was, exactly. Pinkie sat and set herself a concentrated frown as she opened her own personal mental dictionary:

Imminent – not a real word. ‘Imminent’ is the noise made when ponies are speaking too quickly for their lips to keep up, and trying to pronounce, ‘In a Minute.’

Pinkie gasped. A long, shrill, long, drawn-out, loud, and long intake of air that was as surprising as it was long.

According to the newspaper, it could happen in any minute. In a minute! Innaminit! Imminent!

“Pinkie, dearie? Whatever is the matter?” asked an increasingly concerned Mrs. Cake.

No! Hold your hooves, Pinkie Pie. Think about this logically. ‘Imminent’ might be soon but it wasn’t right now, and the paper said the price was set to soar. And today’s newspaper was good for news for the whole day. So... if the newspaper was reporting today that it was inaminuteimminent, that must mean that whatever new pay-per-hug-policy it portended, the earliest it could start was tomorrow. And the earliest that tomorrow could happen was midnight tonight.

Conclusion: she had until midnight until hugs weren’t free anymore. Good work, Pinkie. That was some excellent logicking.

“There’s only one thing for it!” she proclaimed, refusing to panic. “I have to find all of my friends today and give them a final free hug before midnight!” It all made perfect sense. To her.

Legs pinwheeling, Pinkie raced from the kitchen, a pink blur. In an instant she was out, through the front door, slamming it behind herself as she zoomed into the bright Ponyville morning.

Leaving two very confused bakers behind. They exchanged a glance.

“Uh... honey? She does know she’s supposed to be working today?” asked Mr. Cake.

Pinkie’s fevered galloping took her on a beeline straight for Fluttershy’s animal sanctuary, where a sixth-sense told her that Fluttershy would be this morning.

True enough she was there tending to her myriad woodland guests. She flitted and glided within the protective, dangling strands hanging from a tall, thick-trunked willow tree near the shore of the small lake, within which various birds, squirrels, chipmunks and sloths had taken up temporary residence. With care and grace she poured a sack containing nuts and seeds into various feeders from her cradled forelegs, her melodic humming a relaxing, sedate accompaniment.

Now the fact that Fluttershy was not currently on the ground was a problem, for it meant that Pinkie could not simply tackle her and wrap her hooves around her in a tight, suffocating hug as was her normal practise. And so as Pinkie came to an instant halt outside the gently swaying fronds of the breeze-caressed willow, she raised her head and called aloud – and with only a hint of desperation – “Fluttershy!”

The piercing volume of the cry was such that the next thing Pinkie heard was a soft, startled exclamation and the sound of many seeds spilling from a canvas sack. And then a quiet little, “Oh dear,” followed by a more optimistic, “Well, more for everyone I guess.”

Fluttershy finally appeared, parting the curtain of willow-fronds with care and carrying the remaining contents of her sack – now only about a fifth full – to the ground. Landing close to Pinkie she put the burlap bag down and greeted her friend with a smile. “Good morning, Pinkie. I’m afraid you startled me a little. I didn’t think anypony would be around this early.”

“Fluttershy, there’s no time to explain,” began Pinkie, her tone all business. “We only have until midnight before hugs start costing bits. So I have to track down all my friends and give them one, last, free hug before that happens!” Pinkie stopped, caught herself, and blinked. “Huh, whaddaya know? There was time to explain.”

Fluttershy, it seemed, had not assimilated all of the required information, continuing to look confused. “So... you’re going to...?”

“Fluttershy? I am going to hug you now,” stated Pinkie.

“Oh,” said Fluttershy. “O-okay then.”

“Yay!” chirruped Pinkie, who drew back, flung her forelegs wide, and prepared to launch herself forward...

Just before she lunged, she saw it.

She caught it, in just an instant. It was the slight tensing of Fluttershy’s muscles. The subtle widening of her friend’s stance and the planting of her hooves. The way she turned her head slightly away and to the side, and closed her eyes a little tighter than normal. Bracing herself, ready to endure a level of discomfort. Minor perhaps. Fleeting even. But that wasn’t the point.

No, Pinkie. Hugs aren’t about making anypony feel uncomfortable. Just the opposite! They’re supposed to be the comfiest, cosiest things ever, she reasoned. Because they were! So you know what? If today is the day I give my last hugs to my best friends, then I’m going to take these raw ingredients, and I’m gonna bake them each a perfect hug they’ll never forget.

And so, with care and a light, tentative step Pinkie moved closer, as a cautious pony might approach a nervous critter. No sudden moves, everything taken slowly and smoothly until they were muzzle to muzzle. With a final, gentle advance she pressed her warm, pillowed cheek to Fluttershy’s, rubbing softly. Her muzzle made its way beneath her friend’s flowing tresses and nuzzled its way into a cosy nook near the nape of her neck, breathing in the peaceful smell of strawberry-vanilla shampoo mingled with fresh-air and flowers. Pinkie’s forelegs came off the ground with a care designed not to startle and delicately wrapped around Fluttershy’s withers, enfolding her and pulling her close. Firm, but not forceful; holding her snug, but not tight. And Fluttershy relaxed.

Every muscle in her friend’s body that had been tensed fell limp and loose as she let out a soft, contented hum and leaned in. Fluttershy raised her own forehooves and wrapped them around Pinkie, pressing their chests close as her own muzzle found its own space to nuzzle into the side of Pinkie’s neck. She closed her eyes and let out a long, relaxed breath as Pinkie felt her give a close, gentle squeeze.

There is a language to hugs. As nuanced and as complex as any language ever spoken, or written, or signed; the basics easy to learn but difficult to truly master for the subtleties are many, and every single pony prefers a slightly different dialect. But when a pony knows the language as well as Pinkie Pie, and they ply it with a pony with whom they share a deep and special bond, the result can be a true wonder. An ephemeral, intimate experience that uses the language of physical contact to express feelings so deep and meaningful that words on a page could never hope to do them justice. A perfect hug will convey what you mean, not just now, in this moment, but perpetually and for all time for that pony. An everlasting impression; a unique signature written with emotion, not ink.

And so Pinkie hugged Fluttershy, using her raw ingredients and experience to bake the warmest, gentlest, most full-feeling and love-filled hug she believed she had ever given this closest of companions. Possibly for the last ever time and so she poured into it every ounce of honest, heartfelt sentiment she had, her message clear.

I’m so happy we’re friends.

And it hit her with a pang of grief. Because if this was the last time she was going to get to tell Fluttershy that – not with words but like this, in this most bestest of ways – why hadn’t she done it sooner? Or more often? Or every single day?

And then she was taken by surprise. Because even as that thought crossed her mind, Fluttershy gave her another little squeeze and a tiny nuzzle...

I’m so lucky to have you.

Pinkie’s eyes went all stingy and blurry and blinky and then her cheeks went all soggy. Yeah, she was pretty sure her eyes were watering. They stood in a quiet, content embrace for what seemed like minutes until, with neither spoken word nor even conscious act to guide them, their engagement came to a natural, satisfied end and they released each other, stepping back with happy, contented smiles.

“That was wonderful,” said Fluttershy, her cheeks having taken on just a little extra colour.

“I know, right?” cried Pinkie. “How could anypony want to charge anyotherpony for that?” she asked the world in general.

“Um, you... mentioned that before. I’m not sure I really understood what you meant by a ‘free hug’ before midnight?” She paused; a little, unsure pause. “That is what you said, isn’t it?”

“Because after midnight hugs are going to cost a lot more money!” Pinkie looked left and right, and then leaned closer. “There’s some kind of raw material shortage,” she hissed in a conspiratorial whisper. “The cost of making them is going to shoot up! From nothing to... something! I’ve gotta get all my best hugs in with my best friends before the deadline. There’s no time to lose!”

She turned abruptly, setting off bounding. One friend taken care of. But more to go, and the day wasn’t getting any longer—

“Should I come too?”

Pinkie lurched to a stop in mid-bounce with a sound of screeching brakes and skidding cart-wheels. Quite an impressive feat, if you ever happen to see it. She craned her neck to look behind her, to where Fluttershy was still standing, scuffing a forehoof against the ground.

Odd. This had had all the flavourings of a single-pony piece. But if Fluttershy wanted to turn it into an ensemble, who was she to stop her? More friends made for more happy!

Pinkie nodded and beamed a wide, cheery grin. “Come on then, Fluttershy! It’s already mid-morning, and I’ve still got a lot of friends to hug!”

Sweet Apple Acres on a sunny but cool Monday just before lunchtime found Applejack sitting on her haunches just outside the open double-doors of the barn tending to an overturned cart with a hammer and a jar of nails. She would tip the jar with skill, causing a single one to fall onto her upturned hoof. Then she would place the sharp point against one of the worn wooden slats of the cart wall and force it part-way in, driving it with her hoof. THUD. When it was located firmly, she would take up the hammer in her maw and continue the task until the head sat flush. Now, with a final hefty blow she finished hammering a particularly stubborn example, and removed her hat to wipe a sheen of sweat from her brow.

Pinkie saw her thus as she bounded beneath the familiar arch that marked the terminus of the road to Ponyville and the entrance to the rustic homestead. Locked on target she set herself racing, closing the distance between herself and her farmpony friend-definitely-relative-maybe-but-probably-and-it-didn’t-really-matter-anyway. Her desperate charge came accompanied with a dopplered zooming noise and kicked up a trail of dust from the dry, packed earth. A moment later she reached the point at which she could not feasibly get any closer to Applejack without physically intersecting the same point in space and she stopped dead, head springing back and forth like a blunt-nosed woodpecker. “Hiya Applejack!”

Fluttershy came trotting behind with a relaxed gait and an amiable smile.

Applejack somehow managed to take it in stride, putting the lid back on the nail-jar, standing, and taking a half-step away from the manic mare of mirth. It helped actually. Those extra few inches meant Pinkie could actually focus properly on her friend now.

“Howdy, Pinkie. Fluttershy. What brings you two ‘round today?”

“Applejack? We are going to have hugs now,” stated Pinkie.

Applejack’s initial reaction – that of confusion – lasted but a hair’s breadth of a second. In fact if one were looking closely, one could tell the exact instant her brain left its natural, startled reaction of, Huh?! at the door and sank into the blissful release of, Just roll with it. A warm smile came to her and she stepped back towards her pink poofy-maned friend. “Sure thing, sugarcube.”

Pinkie’s own reaction was what let her down. In the time it took her to lean back, clap her hooves in glee, and then spread her forelegs wide ready to wrap around Applejack, the farmpony was already there. Applejack half-turned and stood side by side with Pinkie. Flank to flank, cheek to cheek, she hooked a foreleg over and around Pinkie’s withers and drew her close, giving a long, firm squeeze. Pinkie went along with it, managing to free up her own foreleg and drape it around Applejack’s shoulders, tugging her tight too, fuzzy cheeks snugged up in a cosy cuddle. It might have been a tad more rough-and-ready than her hug with Fluttershy, and perhaps not filled with the same copious amounts of D’aww™, but she nevertheless managed to project her message loud and clear: I’m so happy we’re friends.

And, as before, there was a reply. This time a confident, reassuring feeling; the sentiment that Applejack wanted to give to anypony whom she trusted to share such a close moment of companionship.

I’ll always be here for ya.

Pinkie nearly welled up for the second time that day. Because there was an emphasis there too, on the word ‘always.’ A forever-for-eternity-no-matter-what-happens unequivocal kind of ‘always.’ That was something special. That was something to truly be treasured, and she felt a warm swell in her chest at the thought that she, somehow, had earned such a measure of devotion.

“So, what’s this all about?” asked Applejack as they parted and took a step back, standing a more healthy distance apart. “I doubt y’all headed all the way out here just for that.”

“Actually Applejack, yes I did. Because we are friends. And it is important that I show all my friends just how much I love them with a free hug because after midnight tonight hugs are going to start costing money and it sounds like they might end up being really expensive!”

There was a definite point, halfway through Pinkie’s word-barrage, when Applejack completely lost track. It was noticeable in the way her ear flicked, as though trying to cast off the nonsensical words like drops of water in order to try and salvage some meaning from the sentence. But when it became apparent that the deluge of phrases was there to stay, her brow furrowed and her expression became most confounded.

“Whoa, hold on a second there, Pinkie. What the hay are you talking about?”

“Argh!” Pinkie cried. “Does nopony read the papers?!”

“Whut? The paper said that... hugs are gonna start costing money?” asked Applejack with a half-squint, her face a mask of skepticism. “Pinkie... that’s just ridiculous.”

“It’sinthepaper!” screamed Pinkie by way of counter-argument. “And they’re not just gonna start costing money... the costs are gonna soar Applejack! That means they’re gonna go really high!”

“Yeah, I know what ‘soar’ means, Pinkie...” said Applejack in deadpan tone. She took a breath, shook her head a little and reset her focus on her friend. “Pinkie... why don’t we say – fer a second – that that’s right, and hugs costing money are gonna be a thing... why’re you worried? You’ve got more hugs to give than most anypony I know.”

“Because if they’re too expensive I won’t be able to afford to give them!” hollered Pinkie in exasperation. Did she really have to spell it out this much? “What if they start costing so much that I have to save up? What if giving hugs becomes a once-an-hour thing? Or a once-a-day thing? Or a once a week thing! What if I have to choose who gets a hug and who doesn’t because I don’t have enough bits?! Argh! It’s too much!”

Applejack stood for several seconds, jaw hanging open. Then, after a moment, she closed her mouth and found a little, knowing smile. “Okay. Reckon I can see what the problem is.” She turned and wandered over to a nearby basket of apples, freshly bucked that morning, ripe and juicy. She picked a crisp, shiny green one up on her forehoof and brought it back to her waiting friends. “Now again, let’s just pretend this is a real thing. See, if hugs were gonna start costing money, well, that’s basically gonna be some sort of trade, right? So look here. Say you’re hungry an’ you’re hankering for an apple. Well, we at Sweet Apple Acres grow ‘em real fine,” she said, holding out the example on her hoof: “So: I have an apple, and you want an apple. Now, I don’t mind givin’ you this apple, but to make it fair maybe I’d like something in return. But what if you don’t have anythin’ I need? Well, how ‘bout we say you give me somethin’ that I can use in another trade later on? Somethin’ that wouldn’t just have value to me, but to everypony? Currency. So you can have this apple, and to make it fair, I would like one bit in exchange please,” said Applejack. “What the... where’s my apple?” She looked to her suddenly-empty hoof, and from there to the rapid chewing and juice-drooled lips of Pinkie Pie. She rolled her eyes. “Urgh... anyway, point is: you got a lotta hugs to give, Pinkie Pie... lotsa ponies want hugs... you ain’t gonna have to worry about running out of bits: you’re gonna have to worry about where to put ‘em all!” she finished with a friendly grin.

Pinkie finished chewing very slowly and her brow darkened. With a final deliberate swallow she fixed Applejack’s gaze, hard, and with a mirthless expression. “No, Applejack.”

“Uh... no?” Applejack shrank a little, her friendly grin fading in the face of Pinkie’s sudden vexation.

“No,” repeated Pinkie Pie. Applejack’s forgivable but still incredibly condescending explanation had entirely missed the point. “That isn’t what hugs are. That’s not what they’re for!”

“But that’s how trade—”

“NO!” screamed Pinkie in one short, sharp syllable. Then, finally, her face softened and she looked at Applejack with a friendly, compassionate and even pitied expression, and it was her turn to explain.

“Applejack...? What if it all went wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Here. On your farm. What if one year, the apple trees got all blighted? And the vampire fruitbats went on a rampage. And you had no apples to sell and you couldn’t make any bits? What if things got worse? What if Big Mac got injured? And Granny Smith got sick? And you had to start paying for food and medicine just to try and get all of your family through the winter? What if you ran out? What then, Applejack? Your tres are dying. Your sister’s starving. Granny Smith’s fever is getting worse. You’re broke. You’re desperate. You’re crying yourself to sleep every night in a freezing cold bed hoping things will turn around but it’s not happening. The world’s turning into a cruel, scary place, Applejack. You’re not sure how to go on. You’re not sure if you can. What happens then?”

Applejack sat, winded, Pinkie’s stark description painting a grim, vivid picture before her mind’s eye. “Pinkie, I...”

Pinkie raised an abrupt hoof to Applejack’s lips, shushing her with a determined frown and a piercing stare. “I’ll tell you what happens then.” Her face softened just a little and she reached out again, enfolding Applejack in a soft, warm, comfy embrace. “You get a hug.” She spoke softly, giving her farmer friend a happy nuzzle and a squeeze then sitting back, forehooves extended and resting on Applejack’s shoulders, locking her gaze with eyes now full of kindness. “You don’t ‘want’ a hug right now, Applejack. You need one. You’re almost ready to give up. You’re right at the precipice staring down into the abyss, it’s staring back and you’re so close to falling in! You need a pony there with you, wrapping their cosy, snuggy hooves around you, making sure you don’t fall, and pulling you gently away from the edge. You need a warm, happy cuddle from a best friend right by your side to cheer you up and help you get back under the saddle. It’s step one on the road to recovery, and trust me, nothing else will do the job right. But –gasp!– you don’t have any bits to spare! You can’t afford one! Do you really think that means there’s no way back? Or do you think maybe... maybe... your friends would be here for you anyway? Doing everything we can, making sure you have everything you need. And do you think if things really had gotten that bad, we wouldn’t give you a big hug too? We’d have to.” Her smile broadened.

She lowered her hooves from Applejack’s chest, half-turned and raised her muzzle, as though making an announcement to the world. “And it isn’t right that you should have to be the one to worry about where the cost of that hug comes from. Hugs are supposed to be about taking your worries away. And more than that... I won’t live in a world where the only ponies who ever get hugs are the ponies who can afford to buy them. That’s a world where the ponies who need hugs the most get them the least, and that’s not my Equestria, Applejack and Fluttershy. That’s not even Griffonstone. No. The only way this can possibly work is if the pony who takes responsibility for making their friend feel better with a hug also assumes responsibility for paying for it. And most often that pony... is me,” she finished with a steely, resolute confidence.

Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged a short, worried glance. Finally, Applejack spoke up again. “And... just who’re you paying, Pinkie? I mean, I sure wouldn’t want you to think ya had to pay me for the privilege of huggin’ me. So where’re those bits going?”

“Well... the paper didn’t say,” she admitted. Then set herself a determined frown. “But the paper did say it’s going to happen. So if I don’t want the bits, and you don’t want the bits... somepony else must be collecting them. Maybe it’s a tax!” she gasped. “We end up paying duty on hugs! But... how would they know about every hug? How would they record what each pony owed?” Her eyes shot wide as she came to the inescapable conclusion. “Oh no! There’s going to be a form isn’t there?! A super-boring, long one you fill in for every hug you want to give!” she wailed. But who could be so meticulous and methodical so as to require a form for every hug? And who had the power to simply decree overnight that hugs were going to need to be paid for?

Oh.

“Well, I think we have an idea of who’s behind this now,” said Pinkie. “Come on, Applejack and Fluttershy. We’re gonna have to take this right to the top!” she announced, whirling round and heading towards Ponyville.

Applejack and Fluttershy made to follow, but just as they started moving they caught each other’s gaze. They gave each other a look, a smile and a why not? sort of shrug.

As Pinkie started bouncing she heard it, and it stopped her dead in her tracks. Actually, it was wrong to say she ‘heard’ it at all, for there was no sound as such. More accurate to say she ‘sensed’ it, but hearing was the closest approximation. From behind her. She heard it very clearly.

I’ll always be here for ya.

I’m so lucky to have you.

She craned her neck and looked back toward the barn. Then scowled and raised her head to the heavens in exasperation. “Agh! Who pays for that one?!” she cried. She lowered her gaze and began a determined trot toward Ponyville. This was getting too confusing. She needed real answers. Fast.