//------------------------------// // Chapter 9 // Story: Down With the Pastryarchy // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Las Pegasus was a weird place to find whatever remained of the Equestrian Dream, and yet here Twilight Sparkle was, now wondering if it had ever existed. Had it been a commercial product, concocted, branded, and sold to the public at large? A brave step had been taken, a bold, courageous step forward into some bright, unknown future. Equestrian feudalism had once been the shining light of the world and they had experimented with something more progressive. Twilight, optimistic though she was, wasn’t so certain if this qualified as a success. For her, success meant everypony benefitting, and she saw too much evidence of ponies left behind. Perhaps it was time to take a step back—figuratively and literally. Take what worked from the past and mix it with the lessons learned from the present. But what? But how? Equestrian feudalism had once guaranteed an equal share among the peasants—and even to this day, there were still peasants, the holdouts, those who were perfectly happy, content to live this way. Ponies like Seville’s parents, the ponies of Lulamoon Hollow. Twilight, who had for most of her life championed the cause of progressive democracy, now worried about those who would be left behind. As it had been the case of Mister Mariner, and now Bourgogne Blintz, a louder voice could be purchased, a stronger, more meaningful opinion could be expressed, and the whims of democracy could be influenced by those canny enough to exploit it. As it was with everything else in her life, Twilight Sparkle began to plan… The Great Equestrian Bake-Off was a bit of a misnomer, Twilight felt. The name implied a bake-off for Equestrians at large, but only one tribe was allowed to compete. It was a silly thing, really, like the world championships that Equestria held for its sports teams that no other nations competed in. Yet, there was something to be said for the exclusion. With all this in mind, there were other bake-offs, other competitions. This was, as these things tended to be, a great social filter. Those who did well here tended to do well in other places. Those who succeed here went on to face other social filters and the lucky ones found their way through those as well, until a privileged, lucky few somehow managed to navigate their way to the top of the social plateau. Celebrities rose from these ranks, accomplished chefs, success could be had here. It was a risky social filter, one with no guarantee, no promise, not even the illusion of success could be offered here, unlike in other social filters, such as culinary schools, colleges, and universities. In those places, you had reasonable assurances of success, but failure still happened. Not everypony was a success. Something had to be done about those left behind. Twilight studied the faces of those around her, trying to read them, trying to understand them. Every life was a story waiting to be read, to be understood. With every story, there was a lesson to be learned, with every parable, an outcome from which wisdom could be gained. As a princess, as a compassionate equine, Twilight could not ignore these stories. She was a public servant, and as such, she owed these ponies the very best that she could give them. What did Pinkie Pie want from this, Twilight wondered. She had quit her job—a job that she had worked for as long as Twilight had known her. This job was Pinkie’s identity in the community—for many, she was the personality of Sugarcube Corner. She was synonymous with the sweet treats that could be had there. But Pinkie Pie had walked away from that—she had turned away from her public identity to do what, exactly? A midlife crisis didn’t have to make sense. Her brother, Shining Armor, he’d been having a midlife crisis for quite some time. Several years in fact, if one believed Cadance. But all of that had changed—quite recently in fact—and Shining Armor now had his head screwed on straight. Of course, this was an extreme example, and various midlife crises could not be fixed with the same method. Twilight was uncertain of how to help her friend, but she was open to possibilities. “Pinkie’s nervous.” “How can you tell, Applejack?” Distracted from her thoughts, Twilight focused on the sturdy, observant apple farmer. “She’s hiding it well.” “That’s the whole point, Twi. She has to be hiding it. Nopony can be that calm at a moment like this. Keep your eyes peeled for signs of trouble. Seville’s roaming the floor and doing his job, so it is up to us to keep an eye on Pinkie. Come on, they’re opening the catwalks, let’s go.” The catwalks had strict rules, the most important being to stay within the rails. Nothing could be dropped into the food below. These elevated walkways were some kind of see through floor that wasn’t glass, but was crystal clear, so that the kitchen cubicles below could be seen. For many, walking on the seemingly invisible walkway was nerve wracking, and quite a few ponies hesitated with each step. The grid of pathways allowed a spectator to have complete and total access, a bird’s eye view of everything. It was a marvel. When they found Pinkie Pie, she was just waiting for the bell to ring. She bounced in place, flexing her knees, and her humming rose up to be heard in the catwalks above. Upon her head was an immaculately white chef’s toque—a toque blanche, as it was known. Pinkie Pie had said that it had exactly one-hundred pleats, making it a real chef’s toque. Again, Twilight found herself thinking about how hats made a pony into something else. Pinkie Pie, who took hardly anything serious, was a stickler about her toque. Her riotous pink curls were contained in a fishnet and her pink pelt was gleaming. Twilight had scrubbed her and brushed her this morning, leaving the pink pony at peak perfection. Alas, poor Pinkie was just as much on display as her food was, and so she had to dress to impress. “She’s purty, like that, ain’t she Twi.” Come again?” Distracted, Twilight focused herself and placed her attention upon Applejack. “She’s purty. Ya c’ain’t have no skinny chef. It ain’t right. Pinkie’s like Mrs. Cake… she’s filled out over the years. Pinkie worries if’n she’s beautiful and really, it’s all a matter of what’s flatterin’. When she’s got on her chef’s whites or she’s all dressed up like this, all that pudge is an asset. She’s absolutely smashing… a mare in her prime, doing what she’s meant to do. All that chub makes everything look right. And she’s a stunner. Every mare has a secret beauty to her. Rarity talks about it all the time. She won’t shut up about it.” Lips pressing into a tight, firm line, Twilight looked down and gave thought to what Applejack had just said. Down below, Pinkie Pie waved and Twilight waved back, trying to send as much well-wishing as equinely possible with the gesture. Perhaps sensing a beginning, Pinkie Pie slipped into her white coat and then stood there, looking resplendent. Others were doing the same. Jackets were put on. Toques were adjusted to jaunty angles. It was like watching pegasus ponies prepare for a derby—but different. Down below, one stallion was crying and desperately trying to pull himself together. Twilight smiled down at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Cameras rolled along on miniature train tracks, a frantic last minute rush to get into position for filming. Above the crying stallion’s cubical, a unicorn mare comforted a somewhat weepy pegasus filly who reached out for the pony down below. The drama of it all, the sheer spectacle of everything hit Twilight, and she found herself in an odd emotional state that she had no words to describe. Thousands of stories were all unfolding at once and each would reach a different outcome all while sharing one common event. For some, this was their one shot at some success, no doubt. A chance to be noticed. A means to get ahead. And it was all coming to an end. This was the final bake-off of its kind. The hope that it nurtured, the chance of a better future, would come to an end with it. Staring down at the ponies below, Twilight could not help but feel that it was rather gross and unfair. “Ponies…” The buttery, silky, seductive voice of Bundt Buttercream could be heard over the public announcement system. It was, as far as voices went, pure desire given sound, something to whet one’s appetite. The only voice that rivaled it was Gosling’s. Twilight shivered at the idea of the two of them working together; Equestria would collapse into a quivering heap, a puddle of sexual bliss. The mere thought of it caused her wingpits to go damp and her feathers suddenly felt hot and far too itchy against her sides. “It is time to begin the qualifications,” Miss Buttercream continued, her voice penetrating every ear, sliding in and slipping out, a veritable orgy of aural sex, of which Twilight found herself a participant. “Since this is our final gathering, let’s make this memorable. Be good sports. Be gracious to one another. Remember, if you will, the two Elements that represent us, our champions… who just so happen to be in attendance with us. Laughter and Honesty. Ladies and fellas… begin baking! Make every moment matter!” A frenetic reaction took place below and a flurry of activity broke out. From this reaction came a swell of sound, a crushing wave that deafened Twilight for a moment. Tension filled the air, a sensation every bit as electric as watching the Wonderbolts defy death yet again. Twilight felt a prickle along her spine and she spread her front hooves wide so that she could have a better, unobstructed view of Pinkie down below. “She’s doing her lemon zinger cake,” Applejack remarked. The mere mention of it caused Twilight’s mouth to water in the worst possible way. Pinkie Pie’s lemon pound cake was… well… there were no words in any imagined language to describe it. It was sinfully decadent and showed that, even with a simple pound cake, greatness could be achieved. It was a signature treat, something that Princess Celestia came to Ponyville and stood in line with other ponies to purchase. “The judges won’t know what hit’em.” Applejack’s nose was almost touching the see-through floor. “Pinkie Pie uses that exotic lemon liqueur that comes from some island whose name I can’t pronounce without looking a fool. I swear to the alicorns, that stuff smells like bottled sunshine. Look, Twi. Her tongue’s already out.” Indeed it was. Pinkie’s tongue lolled out of the corner of her mouth as she laid out her ingredients in a neat, orderly row, with the wet stuff in one area and the dry stuff in another. A slice of lemon zinger cake sounded good right about now. The lemony tartness followed by the explosion of sweetness, and the glaze… the glaze. Twilight’s eyes glazed over just thinking about the glaze. Licking the spoon—and the bowl—was a sweet, sticky treat reserved for the most special of friends. Why did this have to be so tense? It was just baking. Every muscle in Twilight’s body telegraphed panic through her nerves and these messages jolted her brain. Like Applejack, and so many other ponies around her, her nose was almost touching the floor. The clear material, whatever it was, fogged a little with each breath. Below, Pinkie worked with a surgeon’s careful grace. “You know, I thought Pinkie was crazy adding sour cream to a pound cake, but she proved me wrong. This was afore you came to town, Twi. I thought that mare was crazy.” Twilight tried not to think too hard about the caloric density of Pinkie Pie’s pound cakes. A trolley mounted camera made a pass and Twilight watched as it crept by on rails. No expense had been spared to make this event as memorable as possible. She could feel the love, as evidenced by the planning—planning done in part by Bourgogne Blintz. While her words left much to be desired, her actions had a lot to say. The sheer level of organisation she brought to this event was staggering and Twilight could not help but feel a grudging sense of respect. Great good could be accomplished with Bourgogne Blintz—but first she would have to come around to a better way of doing things. For some reason, Twilight thought of Starlight. “Candied lemon peel,” said Applejack, jarring Twilight from her thoughts. “Pinkie Pie makes those herself. It takes about a year or so before they’re just right. You’d never know it, but Pinkie Pie is a powerfully patient pony. She makes her own candied fruit bits, everything from apples to pineapples, and almost all of it takes about a year or so to cure just the way she likes it. She moves it around from place to place, takin’ into account the humidity and what not. She borrows my cellar sometimes, when the conditions are just right.” “She what?” Twilight cast a sidelong incredulous glance at her friend. “It’s true, every word.” Applejack crossed her heart with her hoof. Though she could not say why, Twilight found that she was miffed and just a little bit put out that she was so unaware of Pinkie’s secrets, but Applejack treated them as common knowledge. Pinkie’s secrets were worth knowing and Twilight made a mental note to give the pink pony a thorough—interrogation was too harsh a word, but Twilight was going to risk investigating Pinkie Pie once more. Hopefully, no furniture moving wagons would lose their payload. “Princess Twilight Sparkle is in attendance with us,” Bundt Buttercream’s voice said over the public announcement system. “She was actually supposed to be the announcer. Right now, you’d be hearing her lovely voice speaking to all of you, but the plan changed at the last minute. Instead of being locked up in the announcer’s booth and kept away from all of you, she is free to roam the floor and speak to all of you. Please, seek her out. Take a moment to chat her up. Tell her what this means to you. Share your experiences with her. I am positive that the Princess of Friendship would love to learn more about earth pony culture. She’s really friendly and approachable—” The announcement cut out with a distorted squelch of feedback. Sensing trouble of the worst sort, Twilight lifted her head and her ears pricked, aggressive. She pawed the catwalk with one front hoof, her wings flared outwards, and her tail flicked, annoyed. If Bundt Buttercream had just been fired, there would be… well, Twilight wasn’t sure what there would be, but she doubted it would be pleasant. There would be… what was it that Applejack called it? A reckoning. If Bourgogne Blintz had just fired a pregnant mare… ooooh! The very thought chapped Twilight’s hide and she immediately begin to think of all the ways to make this right. Starting with hiring Bundt Buttercream in some kind of professional capacity. Some manner of public relations or public outreach position. Twilight Sparkle was now a peeved pony princess.