“Thanks for comin’, Miss Cheerilee!” Pinks cried happily.
Miss Cheerilee smiled and picked up her pie in its box, then turned and balanced it carefully on her back. Pinks sighed as she watched her go. The Social was one of her favorite times of year—aside from Hearth’s Warming, of course—and Nightmare Night, too—and the Summer Sun Celebration, while you were at it—and—
Anyways. Pinks loved the Sisterhooves Social because it made her so happy to see so many good ponies enjoying her pies. She loved making them, and ponies loved eating them, and the farm could really use the money they brought in, so it was a win-win-win all around. Not to mention, Pinks loved to meet everypony that came by, from all over the place, and—
A pair of eyes peered over the edge of the table. “Excuse me,” they said, “is this where you buy the wagon-wheel apple pies?”
“Yep!” Pinks cried joyfully. “Big as wagon wheels, and twice as tasty!” She chuckled a little at her own joke—then glanced down at the new customer.
There was actually two of them—a little purple dragon standing on two legs, and a white unicorn filly. They looked familiar—but then again, so did everyone at the Social. She was just about to ask their names, when the dragon fished a small bag from somewhere and set it on the counter with a clink.
“Two pies, then, please,” he said.
Pinks grinned and eyes the two of them.
“Two pies, y’say?” she asked brightly. “You’re not plannin’ any pranks or nothin’, now are ya?”
The two of them solemnly shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” the filly said.
“Okay, then,” Pinks said, “two pies, comin’ right up!”
In one swift, practiced motion, Pinks grabbed two cardboard boxes off the stack at her side, one in each hoof, and shook them open. She slapped them down on the table, slipped a pie into each (she needed both hooves for that part), then closed the lids. A quick flurry of twine later, and she had both the pies stacked on top of each other, tied neatly together with a little bow on top. She looked up in time to see the look of wonder on the faces of her little customers, and her grin widened.
Then, the reached over and dumped out the little sack.
As she stared at the tiny pile of bits, she knew immediately it wasn’t going to be enough for two pies. Barely enough for one, if they were lucky.
Pinks slowly began to separate the coins into small piles while she tried to figure out what to do. The coins were all small denominations—half- and quarter-bits—and there were more than a few pieces of lint and old chewing gum mixed up with the coins. Someone had cleaned out their piggy bank just for the occasion, it seemed.
But then, she looked up. The filly and the dragon stared back at her with wide, eager eyes. Eyes almost quivering in anticipation. In fact, unless she missed her guess, the dragon had already started drooling.
Aw, to Tartarus with it.
Pinks swept the change into her cash box without looking at it. “Here ya go!” she cried, pushing the pies forward. The dragon stepped forward and grabbed them off the table, as the little filly squealed in delight, and, before you could say git, the two of them dashed off for parts unknown.
“Don’t eat ‘em all at once, y’hear?” Pinks called after them—but they were already long-gone. She chuckled to herself, then shook her head. They were gonna get in trouble, with two pies between the two of them, but they were gonna have a good time of it, at least, sure as cider.
Pinks turned back to the line, then broke into a wider grin. “Oh hey, Missus Cake!” she cried. “How’s the family?”
* * *
Radiance was in the middle of examining some adorable little vintage cut-glass dishes one of the vendors had on display when she perked up her ears.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” said a voice from behind her.
Radiance glanced around, then raised an eyebrow. Standing behind her was a stallion with a deep teal coat, a messy blonde mane, and a winning smile. She set the dish on the table, then looked him up and down; he seemed to take her interest as a compliment, and smiled a little wider.
“My mom calls me Surfer Beach,” the stallion said, “but my friends call me Surf.”
“Good to meet you… Surf,” Radiance said.
As she said his name, his smile grew even wider. “What’s your name, Beautiful?” he asked.
She watched him for a moment, then cracked a small grin.
“Radiance,” she said.
He stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Radiance?” he repeated.
She smiled a little wider and nodded.
“Like the Power Pony?” he asked, dumbfounded.
Her smile froze.
“An unfortunate coincidence,” she said, her voice suddenly cold, “born from my brother’s admiration for the medium of sequential art.”
Surf watched her, his expression blank. Radiance stared back; she could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, and could have sworn she caught the faintest whiff of burning motor oil. But, before she could comment, Surf smiled at her again and winked.
“Hey, you’re good with big words,” he said warmly. “I’ve never been with a nerdy girl before.”
He took a step closer. Radiance’s upper lip twitched into a faint snarl, and she took a step backwards.
“So, Radey—can I call you Radey?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Absolutely n—!”
“Great!” he said, cutting her off. “So, you still in school, Radey?”
Radiance’s ears perked up, and she smiled. She had sensed an opening.
“I am,” she said. “And I’m working hard on my studies, too—my chosen college is very competitive, and I’ll need all the help I can get.”
Surf raised an eyebrow, and he took the bait. “Oh?” he asked. “Where do you want to go?”
Radiance’s eyes glittered, cold and sharp. “The Canterlot Police Academy,” she said sweetly.
His eyes widened. “T-the Canterlot Police—!”
“Mh-hm,” Radiance said with a nod. “I mean, the uniforms are ever so fetching, and I’d like to think I have the temperment for handling the sort of ruffians one encounters on the job. Besides,” she added, “I do believe that sort of work runs in my family. After all, my brother, Shining Armor, is a Royal Guard. You’ve heard of him, of course?” she added, off-handedly. “He’s actually captain of the Guard—part of Princess Celestia’s personal entourage, in fact.”
It was a lie, but only a small one—though Radiance was reasonably sure that Surf wouldn’t have noticed, even if she’d sworn she was actually Princess Celestia in disguise.
For just a moment, Radiance hoped against hope that she had somehow gotten through his thick skull, but then—
Surf smiled. “It’s cool,” he said. “I dig it, I dig it.”
He stepped up beside Radiance, and slid an arm over her shoulders. Radiance drew back with a sharp hiss.
“In fact,” Surf continued, heedless, “Once you get your hoof-cuffs, you should totally try ‘em out on me. I hear that stuff is kinda fun…”
Radiance’s expression flattened. Without another word, she lit her horn.
Suddenly, stars exploded behind Surf's eyes. He found himself flat on his back, his snout throbbing in white-hot pain.
“Oh, no,” Radiance said, her voice flat, almost dispassionate. “I appear to have accidentally knocked you over. What a shame.”
When the world stopped spinning, Surfer rolled over and clambered back onto his shaky hooves.
“Sweet Celestia,” he muttered. “If you like it rough, all you gotta do is ask—”
And once again, Surf found himself on his back—this time, he caught the faint after-image of an ice-blue hexagon hovering in the air before it faded.
“Oh dear,” Radiance said, in the same, expressionless tone. “It seems to have happened again.” She looked down at Surfer, a look of open disdain in her eyes. “I must be having a reaction of some sort,” she said, almost casually. “Perhaps it has something to do with slimy little colts pretending to be the sort of stallion that is actually worth my time,” she hissed.
Surfer’s eyes widened. It seems that the two brain cells that had been chasing each other around his skull for the past five minutes had finally managed to find each other. He swallowed nervously.
“I must get that checked out,” Radiance added, in her normal voice again. She turned back to the table, and picked up the dish she had been examining before.
It was only after she had heard Surf scramble to his hooves and dash unsteadily away that she permitted herself a small smile.
* * *
Rainbow Dash leaned her head on the top rail of the fence. “There’s your stupid chickens,” she grumbled.
Flyby shot her a scathing look, then turned to the birds. They were, as Rainbow had said, fat—so much so, they barely resembled the blue jays and cardinals she was used to. But she knew birds, and that was good enough, right?
“Here, chickees!” cried Flyby. “C’mere, darlings!” She pursed her lips and whistled, a high, bright, songbird tune.
But none of them even looked at her. They just kept on wandering their little yard, scratching at the dirt and clucking.
Flyby frowned, then pursed her lips again.
“Look, we’ve seen them,” Rainbow growled. “They’re big, and dumb, and stupid, just like the rest of your birds. Can we go now?”
Flyby clenched her jaw, and almost spat back a reply—when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a little filly. She had a cream coat, and a dark-red mane, with a big silk ribbon in her hair. Flyby watched her curiously as she eased open the gate to the pen, before turning back to the chickens and whistling another tune.
“What’re ya doin’ that for?” asked the little filly.
Both Rainbow and Flyby turned to look at her. She was staring back at Flyby in confusion. “That whistlin’,” she clarified.
Flyby blushed. “Oh. W-well, I just wanted to—”
Rainbow sighed. “She wanted to pet your chickens, like she pets the rest of her birds,” she muttered.
The little filly brightened up. “Oh, is that what you’re doin’?” she asked. “You don’t call ‘em like that, silly—you just—”
The filly turned to the chickens, and made a peculiar sort of coughing sound. “Buh—buh-cawk!” she cried.
Instantly, all the chickens looked up, then ran to her, clucking and squawking. Flyby let out a tiny little squeal of excitement, and Rainbow just rolled her eyes.
The filly snatched up a fat white chicken, then carried her to the fence. Flyby reached out two shaking hooves and grabbed it, then pulled it close.
“This one’s Elizabeak,” the filly said brightly. “She’s my favorite.”
Flyby petted her gently. “My,” she said, “You’re a plump little thing, aren’t you?” She looked up at the filly. “She’s so warm—!”
The filly nodded. “Yep! The big ones make the best eggs, and they like spendin’ all day in the sunshine.”
Flyby looked back down at Elizabeak. “And how do you—?”
Rainbow groaned. “That’s enough, Flea-Bag,” she said. “You got to pet her, now put her back and lets go check out that racetrack. It’s only fair,” she added.
Flyby whipped her head around to face Rainbow, her expression blank. The filly, slightly mystified, looked back and forth between them, then gingerly lifted Elizabeak from Flyby’s hooves. The motion snapped Flyby awake, who shook her head, then turned and saw Rainbow’s backside retreating into the distance once again. Flyby snarled, and the flame behind her eyes swelled.
She charged after Rainbow, leaving Elizabeak and the filly gazing cluelessly after them.
“That was not fair,” Flyby hissed as she pulled up alongside Rainbow. “You could’ve been patient for another minute or two—”
“Aw, can it,” Rainbow spat back. “You have birds at home.”
“Yeah,” Flyby hissed back, “but not chickens—”
“They’re all the same,” Rainbow interrupted. “And, besides—”