.
”I made Pinkie Pie proud!” Amethyst realized, as Derpy trotted out of the cafe.
I had opened my gift, before the mail-mare. The content is three tiaras, but in place of the regular jewelry top, it is a unicorn-horn, a pair of deer-stags and a pair of giraffe horns respectively. This is the explanation to why I am given three tiaras instead of just the one.
While this gift is from Rarity herself, I can only assume the standing instruction from Pinkie Pie is still standing. This is my choice; I choose which of these I will wear, or none at all.
“Maybe I should try one on, for myself?” I ponder.
I know that my sisters had been given their own gifts; consisting of exactly the same three items, or four choices, going by Pinkie Pie’s instructions. They are free, to choose whichever to wear. This tiara is optional, it is up to us to choose. I do not need to wear the same as my sisters are wearing. Neither do I need to wear another, because they chose to wear that particular model.
Am I feeling generous? Either way, I pick the one with the unicorn-horn over all the options presented to me. I lift up the delicate silver tiara, carefully placing it onto the top of my head. For a moment, I feel nothing, and nothing really happens. What had I been expecting?
Should I have expected anything to really happen? As if the tiara is actually alive and ambient with magic? It isn’t; as if it is cursed, or blessed. Just a silver tiara; a piece of jewelry sorting what looks like a white horn, in the shape one would see on a unicorn. Isn’t that what I had been presented?
In the case of feeling nothing, that is exactly the case; I don’t even feel the thin silver filigree of the tiara. I focus; and I feel a spark, faint as it is. That is the cue, my cue; I had chosen the horn of a unicorn, with everything that comes with it. Am I a unicorn now? No; I need to be a pony for that, now wouldn't I?
While I could have imagined a number of different scenarios; each more horrible than the last exacting excruciating pain upon me and inflicting debilitating and scaring wounds upon my body. Yet, I choose to push such notions as far from my mind, as I can; lest one of these may actually come to pass, if for no reason other than the name of the spirit who so generously presented himself before us earlier.
As I look up, I see the sanguine spark at the tip of my horn. As I focus, the light grows brighter and that one tiny orb grows larger. After about a minute, the orb is the size of an eyeball. If I push, just a bit further; the light will flow down the length, of my now light pink horn, until it reaches the base of my skull. If I so choose, I could reach out and pick up an item, or cast a spell. I know of no spell, so I can’t use that potential as of now.
“Maybe I should see Twilight, asking her for help with my magic?” I ponder, but put this of for later.
I do have work to do, and a cafe to tend to; Pinkie Pie, and my sisters are counting on me.
“Of course; this is what had been missing, all along!” I realize; the horn is filling up that little gap in my hat, just as it is filling up another gap in myself I had never really noticed.
How could I have noticed the gap, before? As a mere human in equestria; there had been a much larger gap, than the horn on my head could ever fill. Being owned by a griffon trader, doesn’t exactly put all that much value on a mere girl.
Being owned by an utterly crazy pink party-pony puts everything in a very different perspective; turning everything on its head, screwing the image of the world well beyond recognition. While I may still be her personal property, to do with as she pleases; yet now I am more than merely property or a tool, I have become someone, even if I still do work for the pink pony named Pinkamena Diane Pie.
Maybe I am possessed by the spirit of Pinkie and her laughter; is that why everything is so weird and different, and why I see and hear all these things no girl has the business of seeing and hearing.
I do not know. Not even Celestia herself may ever know. Now, that sounded eerily strange and familiar, with just a little switch of a simple name.
Connections made in my subconscious; between where I were from, and where I am going. Explaining complex, complicated things; as if they had been the simplest and most easy to understand.
Of course, magic is just like an extra limb, a means to make my thoughts manifest in the real world before my very eyes. While I still will have to practice my focus and learn each new spell I like to use; but this is just how easy it is. If I will ever learn a single spell, or if I can actually pick something up; remains to be seen. If I will have nothing more; I have a handy headlight to illuminate the immediate surrounding, directly before my very eyes.
I leave the tiara where it is, ignoring the complications and every complex ramification before me. Distracted, by what enters my field of vision.
My sisters; Emerald and Amethyst are looking at me, with distinct curiosity. There is recognition, and nothing more; no disgust, no confusion nor revulsion. They are my sisters, and they experience exactly what I am experiencing; in their very own way, from their respective perspectives.
Should I have been surprised by Amethyst, choosing the deer-stags; when she had already chosen to wear the cervine hooves? Each choice had been anonymous; since neither of us had seen, or known which option the others had picked. Yet, Emerald had chosen the giraffe horns. Maybe we had chosen a new set of individual traits, for ourselves.
What I did not know, and still do not know; is what makes the option special, or why my sisters had chosen the option they chose. I did not ask, leaving the choice up to them.
Emerald’s deer-stags are the same light pink as my unicorn horn; I guess there is no surprise there. Why shouldn’t they be pink, considering Pinkie Pie?
“Why is the tip of the giraffe horns purple? Amethyst is purple, just as her eyes; but still!” I ponder.
“By the way, I think we have an opening to prepare for; pastries does not bake themselves!” I point out, bouncing up the flight of stairs.
“Yes, and ponies to entertain!” Emerald responds.
Without checking if the kitchen in the cafe is actually operational; I pick an assortment of baking supplies and groceries with me down the flight of stairs. There may be no baking sheets, or other instruction manuals on the subject; either in our kitchen, or in the cafe, but I think I should manage.
“Magic works well in the kitchen; well out of sight, where I can work in my own pace!” I ponder.
I may not know how much they know, but at least, I have magic that should work for baking in the quiet of the kitchen. My kitchen, as it were.
Flower, egg and sugar is mixing well. Adding butter and milk is a breeze. I make dough in mixing bowl after mixing bowl. Adding flavours and colour for variety is pure fun. Permitting the dough to rest, in order to bake properly is no challenge. Why should it be?
I line up the muffin forms, spoon dough into the forms; while I hear the chopping of vegetables. Mixing salad, that just may be adding a little extra flair to our establishment.
While I do not hear it, but dough is mixed, for baking of bread on the second floor. My sister is baking buns, for hungry ponies. Just as I know how to bake muffins, she is obviously fluent in the baking of bread.
Even if we are taking customers from the other established cafes and restaurants, we are giving them a moment of space for breathing. Every pony need the moment to catch a breath; to take it easy and relax.
In a boom-time economy, every worker adds value. Pinkie Pie is spreading even more smiles; employing us, in the effort of feeding hungry ponies. Ponies, busy doing things, other than cooking. Who is to blame her?
Once the oven had reached the optimum heat for the pastries in the muffin forms, I open up and stash the plate into the oven. I leave the oven to work its magic; while I continue to prepare for the next set.
Once I have enough, for what I think should be right for the first day; I start to clean up after myself.
I keep swapping plate after plate; waiting for the time when we had been announced to open. Minut by minute creeping by, like snails on a rusty metal surface. The time is feeling as if it was dragging on purpose. Swimming in hot sand would have been more fun.
I pull out plate after plate; permitting the pastries to cool off, before I carry them into the display case.
I end up whipping cream, making a few cakes, pies and more pastries. Each time I see more food, filling up the display cases. Not just my pastries, but salad and buns. In the end, there is even a few shelves of sandwiches.
Once the time is finally upon us; the cases are stuffed to the brim and everything is prepared. Maybe we had been a bit overambitious? Can we even sell this much in one single day?
For the first day, the walls are left white, and no tables had been booked.
There is a distinct click; the lock is clicking and the door flies up with a merry jingle. Pinkie Pie bursts into the cafe on enthusiastically squeaking hooves, giggling as she is bouncing into the shop. There is a sign on the door, reading; “Open!”
“Good morning, girls!” she exclaims, as she is bouncing up and down.