//------------------------------// // 15. Not Enough Pinkie Pies // Story: The Fishbowl // by Shrink Laureate //------------------------------// Trixie checked the note she’d brought. Canterlot Town Hall, basement, behind maintenance third door on the left She counted the doors again to make sure, then knocked on the third plain wooden door. She hoped she had the right one, they all looked the same down here. For a few anxious seconds, all she could do was stare at the small printed white sign saying ‘Supervisors’, lit by wan, flickering lights. The door was opened, just a crack, by a very tall black man, heavy set and muscular, with a round, squashed face. He was wearing a sharp dark suit and a maroon tie. “Yes?” he asked in a deep, sonorous voice that echoed through Trixie’s body. Even though he was bent over, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I’m here to see the supervisor?” “Do you have an appointment?” he asked. “Um. Do I need one?” A voice just as deep the man’s, but softer, called out from somewhere behind the door, “Oh, let the poor thing in. She can have a cup of tea with us.” The man at the door reluctantly grunted and stepped back, letting the door open. Trixie stepped through, ducking under his arm, and he shut the door behind her. “Do you take milk and sugar?” The second voice was from an identical-looking black man in an identical-looking suit. This one had tiny pince-nez glasses perched on his squashed nose. Muscles moved under the suit as he carefully poured from a delicate China teapot. “Yes, please. One sugar.” As tea was being poured, Trixie took a moment to look around. The room was homely, filled with accumulated knick-knacks and thoroughly lived-in. There were three comfortable chairs gathered around a little round table, each with worn spots from years of use. The assorted rugs, pillows, cushions and throws seemed at odds with the sharp black lines of the suit each man was wearing. A third large man, nearly identical to the other two, bounded around the corner from the next room. “Do we have guests? It’s been ages since we’ve had guests!” He skidded to a halt in front of Trixie, nearly bowling her over with his bulk, and grabbed her hand to give it a hearty shake. “Hello! Welcome! Greetings! How are you doing!” The second man pushed the third away with a friendly shove to the shoulder. “Settle down and let the poor girl have some space. Here you are, dear, have a nice cup of tea.” He let her go and sat down. Though his tone was that of a comforting grandmother, his voice was as deep as the others. Released from the grip of the enthusiastic man’s massive hands, Trixie took the opportunity to sit down as well. She pulled the cup and saucer towards her and took a sip, and though it was still too hot she had to admit that it was good tea. She looked up at the three big men. Their features were practically identical, but a few of the details were different. The first, the one who had opened the door, wore a purple-red tie – Maroon? Burgundy? Something like that. – and what looked like a choker under his white collar. He had a stern expression, as if he disapproved of everything going on. He remained standing as there were only three chairs, holding his teacup in one hand and his saucer in the other. The second, the one who had poured the tea, wore a sunflower yellow tie, and had little round glasses. His expression was softer and more indulgent, like an old granny’s. He’d put his teacup down and was turned round in his chair, rummaging around behind it. The third, the one who had shook her hand so vigorously, wore a turquoise tie, and a single earring: a small silver stud with a turquoise stone. He was more cheerful, and despite wearing the same sharp suit his body language was more relaxed. The second, yellow, turned back to the table with a box of biscuits. “Would you like—” “—a biscuit?” interrupted the third, hurriedly. “Thank you,” said Trixie, taking a shortbread wedge. The first leaned over the table to pick up a chocolate finger. The third started dunking an iced biscuit in his tea, sloshing a little over the side. “Um. I was hoping to see the supervisor?” “That’s me,” said the first. “Oh.” Trixie turned in her chair to face him. “I’m Trixie.” “I’m Cerberus,” said the first. “Pleased to meet you, dear,” said the second. Trixie waited. “Um.” When no further statement was forthcoming she asked, “And who are you two?” “As I said—” said the first. “—my name—” continued the second. “—is Cerberus,” completed the third. With the same voice coming from three mouths, the effect was almost like the statement had been said by a single person. “Um.” She looked from one man to the next. “Are you brothers?” “No,” said first. “We aren’t brothers,” added the third. “Not exactly,” said the first. “Now, dear, what can we do for you?” asked the second. Dismissing her confusion, she took a moment to gather her thoughts and her breath. “The great and powerful Trixie wishes to go outside!” she declared. There was a pause while the three men contemplated it. The first frowned even more. The second raised her eyebrows in concern. The third’s enthusiasm deflated a little. “Oh no,” said the third. “Oh dear, oh dear,” added the second. “I’m afraid—” “—going outside is quite impossible,” said the first. “It isn’t—” “—a place that you’d want to go to,” completed the third. “Why not?” demanded Trixie. “Am I a prisoner?” “No! Not at all,” said the first. “Quite the opposite,” said the second. “Really? What’s the opposite of a prisoner?” demanded Trixie, raising her voice. “Somebody who can come and go freely, surely?” “Well...” said the second. “It simply isn’t safe,” said the third. “Not for you, at least,” said the first. “Why not for me?” she challenged. “What am I, that has to be kept here? What have you done to my memories? Was that you? What have you done to my...” She ground to a halt, unable to get the next word out. “Oh the poor dear, her—” “—memory must be—” “—broken somehow. Who would—” “—do such a thing? We can’t have—” “—our homunculi running around with—” “—broken memories. That would be—” “—so cruel.” The second turned to Trixie. “I’m sorry, little one—” “—but it simply isn’t allowed—” “—for anybody to leave,” “Then why is Pinkie Pie allowed out?” The three men’s heads snapped up in unison. “Did you say—” “—that Pinkie Pie—” “—has escaped again?” Trixie sniffed. “Yeah, some of her. From the sound of it, they come and go all the time.” The third turned to his fellows and said, “She must have found—” “—another way out.” The second turned to ask Trixie, “Did she say—” “—where she was going?” finished the first. “No. Um. Except they said they were going to see another Pinkie Pie?” The second clarified, “Then they’re visiting—” “—the primary. I knew she—” “—couldn’t be trusted,” finished the first. He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Yes, they’re in—” “—a kitchen. Sugar, flour, oil, hay, cinnamon. Sugarcube Corner,” added the second. “She’s making—” “—gingerbread,” said the third. “Gingerbread ponies. There are—” “—three of her there,” finished the first. His nose scrunched up. “And two foals.” Trixie looked around her in confusion as the two seated men stood up, and all three moved with purpose towards the door. She stood up and reached out a hand. “Hey, where are you—” “—going?” Trixie was stood on the pavement. This caused her some confusion. How did I get here? she wondered. Wasn’t I in the basement talking to three men just a second ago? People and traffic meandered past. Trixie turned to look at the big wooden doors of Canterlot Town Hall, now closed, at the top of the stone steps. She walked up to the doors, rattled their handles, looked for any catches or keyholes, but quickly had to admit that they were shut tight. She sat glumly down on the broad stone bannister to one side of the steps. It was cold to the touch, but she needed a second to understand what she’d just seen. Three men called Cerberus, that look alike. They deny being brothers. They finish each other’s sentences, more than any married couple. It’s almost like they’re the same person, but… they can’t really be, can they? That doesn't make sense. They knew where Pinkie Pie was, just by sniffing. Like they’re connected to her somehow. The big double doors opened with a bang, and Cerberus strode out. The three of him each carried a Pinkie Pie under one arm, her arms and legs dangling down. The first, the grumpy one with the maroon tie, was carrying the girl who'd called herself Diane. She wore a dark pink dress that was tight around the waist and billowed out around the legs. “Excuse me, Mister Cerberus, can I ask you to put us down now?” The second, the kind one with the yellow tie and glasses, was carrying the one known as Pinkamena, wearing her Crystal Prep uniform. She had an expression of grumpy tolerance, as if she was accustomed to such mistreatment. She said nothing but, “Ugh.” The third, the enthusiastic one with the turquoise tie, was carrying a Pinkie Pie that looked normal – at least, normal for Pinkie Pie. She wore a simple white dress decorated with yellow, pink and blue balloons. “I’m telling you, Mister Doggy, you’ve made a mistake.” “No mistake,” said the first, setting Diane down on her feet at the bottom of the steps. “Three Pinkie Pies left, and all three are returned.” “Yeah, but not the same three,” said the last Pinkie. “I’m the actual Pinkie Pie. You know, Ponyville’s premier party planner? So if you could just drop me back where you picked me up, okay?” The second set a very grumpy looking Pinkamena down. “But I’m afraid you—” “—would say that, wouldn’t you?” finished the third, putting the last Pinkie down. The three looked put out as Cerberus turned his backs and walked back up the stairs. Pinkie called out, “Hey, Mister Cerberus, I have a question!” The third of him turned and looked at her. “When’s your birthday?” she asked. The yellow-tied one looked momentarily reflective before answering, “I don’t remember.” He turned and went through the door. “So,” said Pinkie after he’d shut the door, “do you think we can get to the gap before he shuts it?” She ran a little on the spot, as if revving up to sprint. “I’m afraid not,” said Diane, her voice inflected with an aristocratic lilt. “He’s probably closed it already. We’ll just have to find a new one.” She started slowly walking down the street. “Does that mean we’re all going to be out searching town again?” asked Pinkamena. “That’s always such a drag.” “It shouldn’t take very long,” said Diane. “They’ve been popping up all over the place lately.” “I hope that other Pinkie will be okay looking after Gummy while I’m away,” said Pinkie as they rounded the corner and went out of sight. “He gets really clingy around dinnertime.” “Lift up your elbows!” Thwack! Tirek paced around Vinyl as she stood in the park, her back straight and her arms held up in an empty hold. Even though he moved slowly, he was capable of delivering a surprisingly hard impact with his cane. Vinyl obediently raised her elbows again lest he feel the need to hammer the point home. “Remember, your girl is taller than me, so you’ll need to keep those arms up.” He stepped around to her front, and lifted his cane to indicate her right hand. “That hand goes on her shoulder blade, not lower down. You need bone to lead. Angle your hand down a bit, that’ll help keep the elbow up.” “I really don’t know how long I can hold my arms up like this,” said Vinyl, starting to wobble. As Tirek raised his cane again, she straightened up. “And that’s why you’re practicing,” he reiterated. “Keep your stomach in.” She sucked her stomach back in. “I’ll try.” “Do or do not, there is no try,” said the little old man with a grin. Vinyl glared at him. “Seriously? I think you’re enjoying this a bit too much,” she muttered. He chuckled to himself as he made his way over to the bench overlooking town. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said, easing himself down slowly onto the bench. Vinyl slumped into the seat next to him, her arms limp at her sides. “Am I really gonna be okay for tomorrow? Seems like I’ve got so much still to learn.” “You’ll be fine. That’s a good sign, really,” he said. “The more you learn, the more you realise you don’t know.” “Ah. I must know lots then,” mused Vinyl. “Just don’t get cocky,” cautioned the old man. “Be confident, not careless.” Vinyl watched the shadows creeping over the buildings through eyes half closed. Foal Hill Park had a wonderful view of the hillside leading down to the river, and across to Griffonstone. I saw a pony. A little pony with wings. I have to keep reminding myself, because it doesn’t quite seem real. I saw a pony. I opened a door in the sky, and there was a little pony with wings flying there. And she talked to me. A horse that talked. Or a pegasus, I guess. But whatever her species, she was unmistakably Derpy. Only, I saw Derpy in school today. She didn’t seem any different than usual. Same goofy smile, same wall eye, same two arms and two legs. Same… not a pony-ness. Chrysalis told us that each of us is a copy of some pony that lives out there. It was pretty hard to believe, but now I’ve seen it. “Hey, Tirek. Can I ask you something?” “You just did.” Vinyl ignored his pedantry and asked, “Are you… human?” For a long minute, Tirek said nothing. He simply rested his chin on the end of his cane. His hands wobbled over the end of it, where the walking cane’s handle didn’t quite fit right. His eyes were focused on the horizon. Is he insulted? Is he angry? Sad? I really can’t tell. Eventually he said, “I think the handle’s going on my cane. I’m going to need it replaced soon.” Vinyl looked down at the cane with a frown. It was made of darkened reddish wood, slightly uneven. The handle was carved metal, maybe silver, in the shape of a bull’s head, with a ring through its nose and two big horns, which had been worn smooth over the years. “It looks old.” “It is. I’ve had this cane for a very long time. I’ve had the shaft replaced a dozen times, the handle at least three or four, and the ferrule more than I can count.” “Ferrule?” “The little rubber foot.” He indicated the bit at the bottom of the cane. “It wears out quickly.” Okay, so I guess he’s not angry? He just doesn’t want to talk about it. “You must really like that cane if you’ve replaced all the bits.” “Oh, I’m quite attached to it,” he said. “I’ve still got the original handle in a drawer somewhere, though it wouldn’t fit any more.” He finally turned to look at her. “But tell me something. If I’ve replaced all of the parts, is it still the same cane?” “Er…” Wait, this is a lesson? He waited patiently for her response. If you replace just a small bit of it, say the handle or the… foot, whatever he called it, then the cane as a whole is basically the same. Mostly. The shaft is a much bigger bit, so if you replaced that then it wouldn’t be mostly the same any more. On the other hand, the handle is probably a more important bit, since it’s where your hands go. You maybe wouldn’t notice if you replaced the shaft, as long as it was the same length as the old one, but you’d notice the handle, even though it’s smaller. So if you replaced the shaft with one that’s just the same length as the existing one, and the handle with an identical one, that means it’s basically the same. But is that any different from making a whole new cane from matching parts? Except he said the old handle wouldn’t fit. That means the wood isn’t quite the same width as it used to be. If he didn’t ever replace both bits at once, does that mean that the size of the wood and the size of the handle both changed gradually, until they’re different enough not to fit any more? Tirek watched the thoughts flickering across her face. “I think…” she started. “Yes?” “I think that, if you still love this cane as much as you always have, then that makes it the same.” He smiled, looking fondly down at the cane. “Did I get it right?” “There is no right answer. But your answer is as good as any, and probably better than most.” “Oh.” Vinyl was disappointed. “Tell me, is there an object you’ve looked after for many years like that?” An object I’ve loved? Vinyl thought of her Smarty Pants doll, the one that had started her on this path. Since retrieving both Smarty Pants and Lemon Zest from the attic, the dolls had been sitting atop her bookshelf. “I guess can think of one,” she said. “A doll I used to have. There’s… a lot of memories attached to that doll.” And not just for me. “Is your doll still in good condition like it always was, or have you had to repair it?” “It had to be fixed when I was little. One of the eyes fell off and had to be replaced with another button.” A button taken from my mom’s blouse. If… well, if that ever even happened. “And I’ve patched it again recently.” Tirek nodded. “So is it the same doll it used to be?” “Yes,” said Vinyl without hesitation. “I mean, apart from the fixes. But even that just adds to the memories.” “And are you the same girl you used to be?” The word ‘yes’ caught in Vinyl’s throat as she hesitated. I’m not the same, am I? She was more innocent. More reckless. She’d never had to work for a living, or sit through hours of boring classes, or put up with Blueblood’s advances. She could dive into things without a second thought. And every time she went too far, Octavia was there to pull her out. “I… guess not? But I think she’s still in here,” she added quickly. “She’s still a part of me.” “I’m glad to hear it.” Taking a deep breath, Tirek leaned forwards on his cane and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “I’m not the man I used to be,” he said. He turned to Vinyl. “And your girl isn’t the little girl she used to be.” A mare stepped reluctantly through the Everfree forest. She didn’t want to be there. She hung at the back of the group, her eyes to the ground, wanting the ordeal to be over. The rough hood chafed at her ears. The heavy cloak fell awkwardly over her withers and her dock. The hair on her cheeks was matted from tears, and her lungs hurt from crying. Oh Celestia, why must I focus so on the physical? Is there not something more important today? Why must even my own mind betray me? But the sight of a scar on her leg reminded her of the sliver of white bone she’d seen poking from the middle of a pastry. She scrambled to the side of the trail to retch into the bushes, but there was nothing left in her. She’d thrown it all up already. One other pony held back from the group, waiting patiently for her. Neither said a word. The ponies ahead of her, all wearing similar dark hooded cloaks, were struggling to keep one pony under control as he fought to escape. It took two large stallions to drag him forwards, and there was a pale blue glow of magic around him as well. “You’ve got the wrong pony!” he shouted. “I didn’t mean to! I mean… the Mare In The Moon made me do it!” He lashed out with a hoof, pushing the hood from one pony’s head, exposing the glowing horn. “You may as well be rid of that, Doctor,” snarled the prisoner. “As the only unicorn in town, everypony knows who you are.” The unicorn turned away and lifted his hood back up without saying a word. The blue glow surrounding the prisoner renewed, and the group resumed their trudge forwards. They took their prisoner down into a cave, cursing and kicking, to the pool of water at its bottom. They spread out to stand around the edge of the pool, their reflections clear in the water’s surface. The leader of their group spoke at last. “You have been found guilty of the crimes of murder, cannibalism, desecration of the dead, and disharmony. For these you are banished.” He nodded at the two stallions holding the prisoner, and they shoved the prisoner into the pool. The water wasn’t deep at all – only a foot of clear water above a stone floor – and yet the prisoner sank deeper and deeper, fading from sight. As he sank he held out a hoof towards the mare. Whatever he said, she couldn’t hear, though his expression was angry and desperate. As the water settled, Grand Pear reached up and pulled down his hood. So did Bonnie, Stinkin’ Rich, Burnt Oak, Leechbowl, Rosewood Brook, Pokey Oaks, Silk Scarf and Pink Fondant. Grand Pear led them as they spoke as one: “To Harmony’s mercy this sinner commend For none here remain who would call him their friend. To his redemption, reflections we lend In hope to one day his transgressions amend. Into our own reflections we stare Yearning for ones whose reflections we share. We solemnly swear to abide by this prayer And remember that any among us may err.” Pink Fondant mumbled the words, not really feeling them. She stared into the empty pool, at her own reflection among those of the other ponies around its edge. Then her reflection blinked. Her eyes widened. A part of her wanted to run – she’d known a lifetime of fear in the past day – but the image transfixed her with terror and fascination. Her reflection changed before her eyes, her muzzle growing shorter, her face flatter, her ears lower. She watched it change, and couldn’t escape the conviction that it was watching her back. It reached up to her with a hoof – no, with something else, some sort of paw with long fingers. It was strange, otherworldly, but somehow she knew it wasn’t malicious. Her reflection looked as sad as she did. Leaning forward over the edge, she slowly extended her own hoof down to meet it. She was jerked back. She looked up to see Silk Scarf holding her away from the pool. The older mare shook her head. She said nothing still, just nodded her head to the path back out of the cave. Fondant looked back at the pool, but it had returned to normal. The walk back to Ponyville was slow. Nopony said much, as they kept their eyes open for the dangers of the forest. As they emerged from the forest and neared the Apple farm, Silk Scarf sidled up beside Pink Fondant. “You need a place to stay tonight, hun?” Pink Fondant looked up. She wanted to say ‘thank you’, but the words caught in her throat. “There’s something else?” “I…” She gathered up her nerve. “I’m with foal,” she said. Silk Scarf blinked. “Yes, I know.” “What? You know? But… how could you know? I didn’t know myself until…” “Pinkie, darling, you’re my oldest friend. I could see it weeks ago. It’s wonderful news, and Celestia knows we need some good news in our little town. Your foal can play with my little Chiffon, and they can call you silly names like ‘Nana Pinkie’. Oh, do you know if it’s a filly or a colt?” “Doctor Leechbowl did a spell of some sort on me yesterday, and he says it’s a filly. That was right before…” Silk Scarf hugged her. “I know, deary. I know.” Pink Fondant lifted a hoof to her stomach. “Are you sure it’s good news, Silky?” “Whatever do you mean, darling?” “I mean, everypony in town is going to know who the father is. I saw how ponies looked at me during the trial. Nopony’s going to want to talk to me, are they? Nopony’s going to laugh when I try to cheer them up. And the other foals are going to pick up on that. They’ll make fun of her. Foals can be so cruel.” “We can get through it, Pinkie. I know we can.” Pink Fondant shook her head sadly. “You’re strong, Silky, stronger than me. But I need to find somewhere new for this filly. Somewhere she can grow up happy. That can’t be Ponyville.” Silk Scarf nuzzled her friend. “You’re set on this, aren’t you?” Pink Fondant nodded. “Where will you go?” Fondant hung her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never even left Ponyville before.” “I don’t like to think of you wandering the roads alone. It’s not safe for a mare on her own.” She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then decided to speak. “I have a cousin. Feldspar Granite. He’s a rock farmer, out west. I know he’ll take care of a mare in need. And he won’t ask too many questions.” Pink Fondant looked up. “Really? Oh, thank you, Silky.” “You know, it’s a hard life, Pinkie. Cold beds, long days in the fields, rock soup. I don’t think there’ll be many cupcakes there.” Pink Fondant nodded, her expression grim and determined. “Good. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy cupcakes again.”