“Can you believe her gall?” Octavia was pacing around her bedroom while Vinyl reclined on the bed.
“Settle down, Tavi. It’s not like she was telling the truth, is it?”
Trixie was sitting glumly on the swivel chair, slowly nudging it round and round in a circle with her foot. “It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?”
“What? Of course it doesn’t make sense,” objected Octavia. “Make-believe people wandering around, conjured out of somebody’s imagination? That’s… so ridiculous it’s not even wrong. She’s just a grumpy old bint who doesn’t like anyone.”
“So why do we all have the same memories of that holiday?” asked Trixie. “Why does it feel like our lives are patched together from clichés and recycled bits?”
Vinyl frowned. She’d been concerned with following this mystery, but Trixie seemed to be bothered by something more specific. “What’s eating you, Trix?” she asked.
Trixie looked at the floor. “Nothing. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“That memory, that… with Smarty Pants on the beach. That was... just before it all went wrong. Before my parents started fighting all the time. Before the money problems. Before the gambling. Before the shouting. That was the last time we were all happy together. And if that’s not… if we never…”
Shit. Vinyl cursed quietly at how deeply she’d put her foot in it. I’m the one that started following this, I pushed her into it. I knew her parents were divorced, I just didn’t think. I should say something, but... Vinyl knew she’d never been good at that sort of thing. And... what could she say? For all they knew it was true. The silence dragged on. Come on, Vinyl, she’s supposed to be a friend. You need to say something to her. Anything! Why aren’t you saying anything?
Octavia stopped pacing and stood awkwardly. Neither said anything. After a few seconds Trixie took a deep breath, turned to Vinyl Scratch and asked, “So, are you going?”
It took Vinyl a second to refocus. “Oh, the Pinkie thing?” She turned the card around. One side had the address of Chryssi’s Wedding Supplies, the other the note she’d given them. “Er, I guess so? I’ve got a gig Saturday night, but eleven isn’t so early. So, yeah. What about you, Tavi?”
Octavia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Vinyl, but I can’t. Mr Clef is coming round on Sunday morning for a cello lesson.”
“Oh. That’s okay. Just the two of us, eh, Trix?”
“No can do,” said Trixie. “Trixie's mother has custody this weekend. Trixie would never hear the end of it if she bailed. I’m sorry, really.”
“No, it’s okay, that’s cool. It’s probably just a big waste of time anyway, so I’ll let you both know when I find nothing at all.”
“You too, Vinyl. Shoo. You can’t stay on my bed all night.”
Octavia had shown Trixie out and was now urging Vinyl to leave as well. She grabbed the edge of her blanket and tried to pull it out from underneath Vinyl, without much success. Vinyl simply stared at the ceiling, her arms and legs stretched out over the now badly rumpled sheets.
It is ridiculous. At least, it should be. The stuff she said should be so ridiculous, we should all be able to dismiss it all as clear nonsense. Instead we’re… we’re not laughing. We’re all reacting differently. Trixie was reminded of the divorce. And Tavi was…
“Hey, Tavi. Why are you so mad?”
Releasing the blanket, Octavia put a hand on her hips. “I tend to think of myself as the sane one, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, so why’d Chryssi get under your skin like that? You're not the sort to get angry just because somebody talks back at you.”
Octavia hesitated. “She…” She turned to look away. “I didn’t like the things she was saying. And… I didn’t like the way she said it. Like she thought we were beneath her. Like we didn’t even matter.”
“Okay, but you’ve dealt with jerks before,” said Vinyl. “It never got you this mad before.” You haven’t met Mr Blueblood, she added to herself. Yeah, imagine how well that would go. I’m kind of curious to see it, actually… but that would be cruel.
Octavia took a deep breath. “She was saying that our memories aren’t really ours. That they don’t count for anything. All the…” She stopped again with a sigh. “I guess it made me annoyed because losing those memories would take away part of who I am. Of who we are. And… well, because it seems like she could be right,” she murmured reluctantly.
Vinyl frowned. I wonder which memories she’s talking about? Most of the time I’ve seen her has been one of our adventures.
She asked, “Hey, d’you remember that thing with the train and the noodles?”
Octavia squinted and crossed her arms. “You mean the time I had to ring up and pretend to be your mother to get them to release you?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Vinyl grimaced. “I’d forgotten about that bit. How about the school talent show?”
“The one where you insisted on playing a beat over the top of my performance? There were real talent scouts in the audience, you know. It could have been the start of my career.”
Vinyl dismissed that with a wave of one hand. “Eh, you wouldn’t have wanted them to pick you up that young anyway.”
Octavia shook her head. She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, and allowed herself to slump backwards until her head landed on Vinyl’s stomach, eliciting a muffled grunt of expelled air. She rested her hands on her own stomach with a sigh.
“How about old Mr Gustave?” asked Octavia.
Vinyl frowned. “Yeah. I still kind of feel bad about that one.”
“You should. He worked all morning on those éclairs. If it helps, though, I heard the other contestants had nibbles taken out of their entries too.”
“We’ve done a lot of fun things, haven’t we?”
“We’ve done some downright dangerous things,” corrected Octavia. “Mum always said you were a bad influence. If only she knew half the things you’ve dragged me into.” She paused. “That’s the question, though. Are any of those real? If not, if our memories were put into us somehow, then when does the real me begin?” She turned her head to look at Vinyl. “The real us?”
Vinyl got to Sugarcube Corner early. Pinkie Pie was working behind the counter, wearing a cheerful green-and-yellow-striped top, maroon trousers and a frilly apron.
“Good morning, Scratchy!” she called out.
Vinyl grinned at the man ahead of her in the queue, who’d scowled back at her. When her turn came, she said, “Morning, Pinkie. You’re cheerful today.”
“Sure am!” Pinkie beamed.
Vinyl blinked through the haze of the previous night. “Er… coffee, black, and…” She scanned the rack of pastries. “One of them,” she said, pointing at something with honey and almonds in it.
“Coming right up!” she said, getting the coffee quickly. Vinyl took her breakfast and sat at a corner booth where she could see most of the shop. She idly buried her nose in a music magazine and waited to see what, if anything, was going to happen.
A few minutes before eleven, Pinkie Pie came in. She was wearing a maroon top with a unicorn emblazoned on it in silver sequins, and a lighter pink skirt. She was carrying a bag of what looked like paints and brushes.
Vinyl blinked and turned back to the till, where Pinkie Pie was still juggling coffee jugs and serving customers.
The new Pinkie waved a greeting to several of the customers at tables, slithered under the counter like a limbo dancer, high fived the other Pinkie as she popped back up, and pushed through the swing door to the back.
That's new. Does Pinkie have a sister she never mentioned? Vinyl scoured her memory, but she hadn’t really spoken to Pinkie Pie that much.
Not long after, Pinkie Pie came in the main door. Again. Except this time she looked different: her hair fell straight down instead of its usual frizz, and was a darker colour than usual; she had a judgemental demeanour, full of teenage resentment; and she wore a Crystal Prep uniform, with the jacket slung rebelliously off her shoulders, the shirt unbuttoned low and the skirt decidedly too short. She moved slowly and with attitude, greeted nobody and exuded no cheer whatsoever.
She was followed a few seconds later by a Pinkie Pie wearing a pink boiler suit over a white long-sleeved top, and carrying a box so big that she couldn’t see over the top of it. She weaved blindly between the tables, narrowly missed several customers, hopped on one leg as she struggled for balance, and nearly bumped into the gloomy Pinkie. “Whoopsie! Sorry! Didn’t see ya there,” she chirped.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” grumbled the dreary Pinkie.
Another Pinkie Pie came jogging into the café wearing a tastefully cut pink pinstripe trouser suit, with her hair tied back into a frizzy ponytail. She danced around the glum Pinkie and quickly took hold of the other side of the box the boiler suit Pinkie was carrying. “Here, let me help.”
“Thanks!” Together they navigated the box through the tables.
“Oh, Pinkie!” an older woman called out.
All the Pinkies present looked up, but only the one working behind the counter replied “Yes?”
“That’s enough for your shift, I can take over now.” The older woman waddled up to the counter. “You’ve been working all morning. Go have fun with your friends.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Cake!”
Vinyl couldn’t help staring as the various Pinkie Pies all filed through the door to the back. She looked around, but the other customers either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Was this normal around here, or were they all somehow blind to the proliferation of Pinkie Pies?
She needed to find out what they were doing back there. She couldn’t just walk in though. Could she listen from outside? It was a warm day, so the windows were likely to be open.
She drained her coffee, folded up her magazine and slipped out of her chair. As she reached the door, a Pinkie Pie burst through it carrying a few big rolls of brightly coloured wrapping paper. “Scuse me!” she said as she narrowly avoided a collision. She was wearing a blue top covered in pink and yellow dots.
“No probs,” said Vinyl, dodging out of her way.
Sugarcube Corner had an event room in the back, behind the kitchens, with windows all along two walls opening onto a neglected garden.
Vinyl was right, on a day like this the windows of the back room were all open. She skulked along the wall, keeping low and careful not to show herself. Once she was in position she cautiously peeked over the bottom of the window to see what was going on.
“Ooh! Ooh! Me!” shouted the Pinkie in the glittery unicorn top.
“Go ahead, planet-hopping Pinkie Pie,” said the girl in the suit.
She cleared her throat. “I have a message from the premier party pony Pinkie Pie. She’s throwing cute-ceañeras for two fillies at the same time next Tuesday and would appreciate some help making them both the best party ever.”
“What are the requirements?” asked pinstripe Pinkie.
“The first is Zipporwhill. She loves her little dog, and the Pony Tones. She's small, very fast-moving and energetic, always flying.”
“Sounds like she uses a lot of energy. Does she eat a lot?”
“Yes, but doesn't like to be seen doing so by any colts.”
“So we'll need a variety of different dishes and to keep them moving.”
“That's the plan. The other filly is Lily Longsocks. She’s really strong but doesn’t like being reminded of it. Her cutie mark is in landscape gardening.”
Pinstripe Pinkie contemplated. “Patisserie Pinkie, are you free on Tuesday?”
“Yessiree!”
“One more. Perfect present planner Pinkie?”
“Sorry, no can do,” said the girl in the boiler suit. “I’ve got Fiddlesticks’ birthday on Tuesday, and Shining Armor’s on Friday to prepare for.”
“That’s okay. Pinkamena?”
The glum Pinkie responded with a grunt. “Ugh, what?”
“Can you go help her after school on Tuesday?”
“You know I hate going there. Hooves are so useless, and all the ponies look at me funny. Why can’t Polkadot Pinkie do it?”
“It’s my turn to play with the Rainbooms on Tuesday,” said the girl in the dotted top.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” said the gloomy Pinkie.
“Next I have a question from Politico Pinkie. She says that the Mayor went to talk to Cerberus recently, and though she wasn’t able to catch any of the conversation she gathered it was quite serious. The mayor asked for five donuts later. Five!”
The door pushed open and another Pinkie entered. This one was wearing a strangely old-fashioned dress, long down to her feet but gathered close under her bust rather than at the waist. Vinyl wasn’t good with history, but it looked like something off TV. “Sorry I’m late, girls,” she said.
“Just in time,” said Patisserie Pinkie. “How do you fancy a trip to Ponyville with me?”
“Oh, yes!” Her voice, while definitely Pinkie, was oddly more refined than the others. “I can check out the latest fashion at the Carousel, and compare it to Rarity’s here.”
“Thank Celestia for that,” muttered Pinkamena. “Saved by the belle.”
“Oh, you’re still going,” said Pinstripe Pinkie.
“What? You’ve got Period Pinkie now, why do you need me as well?”
“I can take care of banners and decoration for Zipporwhill’s cute-ceañera,” said the Pinkie in the dress, “but we’ll need you to help with the catering. And please don't call me that,” she added, “my name is Diane.”
Pinkamena grimaced. “You mean I have to cook with hooves? Great, this trip just keeps getting better and better,” she snarked.
Vinyl could barely believe what she was seeing. There were half a dozen Pinkie Pies sitting around, sticking decorations to banners and wrapping presents.
Am I dreaming? They're totally all Pinkie Pie, except maybe that glum-looking one with the straight hair.
“Whatcha doin’?” asked a cheerful voice from behind her ear. Vinyl jumped, spinning round to see a Pinkie Pie standing behind her, leaning down. This one was wearing a bright yellow shirt, and had blonde streaks in her pink hair, though its natural frizziness meant they were mixed up with the rest of it. The effect was like two-colour candy.
“Er… y’know, just… checking out the…” She scanned around quickly, looking for something. “The wildlife back here. Loads of rare birds and insects in this garden.”
There was a moment of silence as the obvious lie settled in.
“Oh, thanks. I put nuts and seeds out for them. Mrs Cake says I shouldn’t encourage the birds, but I think it makes the garden more cheerful.”
“It does that. Very, er, impressive collection here.”
“I do always wonder how they get by without any proper seasons here. I mean there’s no Winter Wrap Up, no Running Of The Leaves. How do the poor things know when they’re supposed to do stuff?” pondered the surprise Pinkie with a finger to her chin. Then she shrugged. “But they seem to manage.” She wandered around the corner and pushed open the back door into the event room, joining her fellow Pinkies.
Vinyl wasn’t sure whether to sigh in relief or run in panic. She settled for inching her way carefully away.
“So…” Trixie paused to get her words in order. “You’re telling us that there were lots of Pinkie Pies, and they were all dressed differently and acted differently but they’re really all Pinkie Pie and not impostors or family members. And they meet up at Sugarcube Corner and work together to be… more Pinkie Pie somehow. And then they take turns being the actual Pinkie Pie that we know at school. And… something about horses that I really didn’t get?”
“Er, more or less.” Vinyl wasn’t sure she’d quite told it right. “And I didn't get the horse thing, either.”
“And how many of them did you say there were?” asked Octavia.
“I saw eight, and they mentioned a couple more, I think.”
“Right.” Octavia and Trixie exchanged glances.
Trixie commented, “Honestly, it’s the organisation that’s hardest to believe. I mean, Pinkie’s always so airheaded, it just seems wrong for her to be holding meetings like that. Do they keep minutes?”
“That and the pinstripe suit,” added Octavia. “I mean, really, pink stripes on a trousersuit?”
“Oh, she totally made it work for her,” defended Vinyl. “She had this whole power woman thing going on. Same for the others - the Polkadot Pinkie, Patisserie Pinkie, that one with the blonde stripe—”
“You mean Patissier?” asked Trixie. “If she works at a patisserie, she’s a patissier.”
“Pâtissière,” corrected Octavia.
“Patisserie is what she said,” insisted Vinyl.
“Still, it’s an impressive conspiracy theory,” said Octavia. “A secret society of Pinkie Pies. Where do they all come from? How many more of them are out there? Are they undercover? In positions of power?”
“More like just beneath power,” said Vinyl. “The Vizier, you know, pulling strings from behind the throne. At least, that’s the impression I got.”
“Vizier Pinkie Pie?” asked Trixie. “The Pink Eminence? The balloon behind the throne. The… hang on, Trixie is trying to think of something that starts with ‘P’.” She trailed off.
Octavia shook her head. “It’s an amusing image, but quite hard to believe. Really, I’d struggle to think of anyone less conniving than Pinkie Pie.”
Vinyl spotted a thoughtful frown on Trixie’s face. “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked. A Pinkie for your thoughts. Heh.
Trixie shook it away. “No, it’s probably nothing.” She scrunched up her nose. “So do you have any idea why Chrysalis wanted us to see that?”
Vinyl mirrored her frown. “No. I don’t know.”