//------------------------------//
// Chapter 32 
// Story: Down With the Pastryarchy 
// by kudzuhaiku 
//------------------------------//

Love was dangerously intoxicating. Or perhaps it wasn’t love that left Twilight Sparkle lightheaded; perhaps it was the relief of letting go. During a simple conversation over a candlelit, romantic supper, so much had been said; so much had been accomplished. Twilight felt that she had done as Applejack had said to do—she had said to let go and so Twilight did. The change was immediate and strange. All of her hangups didn’t feel as though they were impossible to overcome. What had once been insurmountable obstacles were now funny things to laugh at. 

It felt as though more progress had been made in about a half-an-hour than had previously been made over the full course of their relationship. All of the things that Twilight dreaded, everything she feared, the minutiae that had caused her such anxiousness; all gone, and replaced by a restorative catharsis.

The entirety of the bake-off had been a trying experience, and as for the conclusions that she had reached—they were uncomfortable, if not downright unsettling. Some truths were unbearable, unwanted, and upon discovering them, there would be no going back to the state of being one had pre-truth. A bell could not be unrung. The Equestria that had formed because of the miracle of Hearthfire, the nation birthed from Hearth’s Warming—it had died with the Founders. It could only survive for as long as they did. Everything that came after was an imitation, an attempt to take everything new and frame it somehow so it fit with the Founder’s ideals. 

With every generation that had passed, with every immigrant that had arrived upon the shores, with every demagogue that rose to power and attempted to thwart or somehow usurp Princess Celestia’s rule, Equestria changed. What had started with a confederation of three tribes changed with the meeting of the First Tribes. What clash of ideals had taken place? The confederation of the three tribes had not even lasted a generation before it was struck down and replaced with a unified kingdom. Had the Founder’s original vision died then, at that moment? 

That unified kingdom eventually grew too large and fractured into fiefdoms. These grew corrupt and Equestria, an actual nation at long last, very nearly tore itself asunder. Then came the reform and the feudalistic contracts that changed the entire world. Equestrian Feudalism and the Covenant of the Three Tribes, as it came to be known, sent ripples around the world. The Darks and Twilight Sparkle’s own ancestors were the authors of this mighty, world-changing contract—the reformers that brought light back to the world after the lights almost went out. 

But this was not the Equestria of the Founders. 

Yet again, as it had in the past, progress had come to a standstill; whatever came next would be Twilight Sparkle’s Equestria, and not the Founders. 



 

“Times have changed… and we've often rewound the clock, since the Tribalists got a shock... when they founded Canterhorn Rock. If today... any shock they should try to stem, 'stead of landing on Canterhorn Rock, Canterhorn Rock would land on them! In olden days, a glimpse of preening was looked on as something demeaning, but now, Celestia knows... anything goes!”

The blaring, brassy horns blended with the sounds of laughter and filled Twilight with a carefree lightness. Why, she almost felt like dancing. Bundt Buttercream was dancing—sort of—with Applejack and everypony was having an excellent time. The scent of beer and cider was in the air—the fragrances of a working-class party for whom wine and champagne was just too fancy and expensive. 

This was not at all like the parties Twilight was used to. Ponies were making out right in the open. Dirty jokes were being told. The porn industry ponies told the dirtiest, cringiest jokes one might imagine—and Twilight found herself laughing at some of them. Some of the celebrity chefs had joined them and the chefs, almost all of them, were the life of the party. 

When a beer keg was rolled past by a burly earth pony that Twilight had seen operating a camera earlier, she blinked a few times when she realised that the contents of the keg would be emptied tonight. By morning, the keg would be dry. It seemed excessive, but also somehow necessary. This was an end, but Twilight already had plans for something to take its place. A new bake-off, for all three tribes. Separate but equal. 

“I’m baaaaaack!” 

Somewhat spooked, Twilight wasn’t even aware that Pinkie had left. Before she could react, before she could say anything, she was pulled along by Pinkie. There was no point in resisting, she wanted to be led along by Pinkie. Why, if Pinkie was to pull Twilight upstairs right now, not even token resistance would be offered. When Twilight was shoved into a corduroy upholstered executive swivel chair, she decided it was best to just go along with whatever was about to happen. 

Applejack sat down, as did Seville, and Pinkie too. Once seated, Pinkie pulled an earthenware bottle from her mane—a mysterious, curious trick indeed—and then also somehow conjured up four earthenware drinking cups. How Pinkie did this was still unknown and thus far, all of Twilight’s attempts to investigate the phenomenon had ended in grievous bodily harm. Magic—whatever it was—did not like to be studied or observed, and actively worked to obfuscate itself during intense scrutiny. Thaumatons, it seemed, were naturally shy—Fluttershy shy. 

“Berserker’s Blood,” Pinkie Pie began. “The legendary liquor. This has been brewed by Princess Celestia herself and she made this batch well over one-hundred years ago. It starts off with cherry mead, and that is frozen. Then, the ice is pulled out, and it is frozen again, and more ice is pulled out. When the mead will no longer freeze, botanicals are added. Secret ingredients. This concoction allowed primitive ponies to survive. After the most awful of battles, Berserker’s Blood was poured into wounds. Blood was added for all the blood lost. And without realising it, the primitives of ponykind cleaned up their most terrible boo-boos and fought infection.” 

Twilight sensed magic coming from the bottle, and not a little bit of magic either. 

“A war is starting,” Pinkie Pie continued while making dramatic motions with her forelegs. “This war won’t be like the others, and it won’t be like the war we’re already fighting. Twilight Sparkle will be our champion and in our stead, she will battle unseen, invisible evils. We earth ponies have an ancient tradition… an ancient obligation. We make booze; it is one of the many things we’re good at. We have a magical knack for it. It’s what Applejack was born to do—” 

“That’s true,” Applejack interjected with a nod. “It’s my namesake.” 

Undaunted, Pinkie Pie plowed onwards. “Before sending our champion into battle, before we send a pegasus or a unicorn off to fight in our stead, to fight the battles we can’t fight for ourselves, we get them liquored up! We show our appreciation and our gratitude! And sometimes we bed them, to show them what else us earth ponies are good at, and to remind them what they are fighting for. Princess Celestia gave me orders… I was to rouse Twilight Sparkle from her depressive funk and get her prepared for battle. Now, we drink.” 

“Not sure if’n I’m up for that beddin’ part.” Applejack’s eyes darted around. “I mean, if I drink enough, I suppose I’m up for anything.” Shrugging, the apple farmer added, “Eh, whatever happens, happens, I reckon. Some snatch might be on the menu tonight.” 

With a few deft movements of her sturdy surely-magical hoofsies, Pinkie manipulated the metal framework that held the stopper in place on the bottle. Glittery pinkish smoke wafted up from the now-open container and the scent of springtime filled the air. Something about the sweet aroma caused parts of Twilight to go rock hard while her mouth went bone dry. Holding the bottle in her fetlock, Pinkie poured some of the mead into the earthenware cups grouped together. 

“To my very bestest friend,” said Pinkie while putting down the bottle and picking up a cup. Then, before Twilight could respond, the pink mare smooched her on the cheek. 

As the others picked up their cups, so too did Twilight. Already, her senses were overwhelmed. The magic coming from the potent drink was primal, raw, and made Twilight feel giddy. Twilight held the earthenware cup in her fetlocks, just as her companions did, and she could feel the strange magic interacting with the dormant earth of the cup. It was almost as if there was some awakening, not just in the cup, but also within herself. 

For a second, it almost seemed as if Twilight could feel the hum of the repurposed mineral structures around her. It was like hearing a distant song, but only for the faintest moment. Twilight peered into her cup and into the depths of the reddish-pinkish liquid. There was nothing in there, of course there wasn’t, but when she blinked and opened her eyes, she saw the reflection of her paper self within, gazing upwards.

The smirking paper pony winked her inky eye once and then was gone. 

“Applejack, among the earth ponies present, you are the matriarch.” Seville gave the apple farmer a solemn nod. He raised his cup in something that was almost a salute. “First drink goes to you. I’m no patriarch. I don’t have foals yet.” 

“Yes!” Pinkie almost squealed out the lone word. 

“It falls on me, I reckon.” Applejack seemed hesitant. “This is what I’ve been afraid of all along. Granny Smith was a better matriarch and at times, I feel like a poor imitation. Time for me to get to work.” Then, grimacing, she raised her cup to her lips and guzzled down the contents. 

When Pinkie and Seville went to drink, Twilight followed their example. The mead had a gentle fizziness that wasn’t quite fizzy. It was sticky, thick on the tongue, and burned like nothing else that Twilight had experienced. The lightheadedness struck her right away and while her throat burned with a delicate inferno, so too did her nethers ignite. 

Shudders wracked Twilight’s body, which now felt like a bowling alley full of ricocheting bowling balls. Her spine kinked, unkinked, rekinked, and she felt her duodenum spasming in much the same way it did when she had the horrendous hiccaburps. The mead was sticky, clung to the throat, and the burning intensified with each passing second. With the burning came pressure—the hiccup sensation—and she was certain that her eyes would pop from their sockets at any moment now.

“Nyah!” Twilight whined while her head whipped from side to side. 

Still shuddering, she set down her cup on the table with a thump. 

There was a sound like a soap bubble popping, and a long ribbon of chaos sprang into existence with a bored yawn. Discord hovered in the air beside Applejack’s head, and he turned his gaze of casual disinterest upon the drinking foursome. Then, he looked at the bottle, clucked his tongue, and made a dismissive wave at Twilight Sparkle. 

“I sensed the most dreadful chaos a moment ago,” he said while he took a moment to adjust Applejack’s hat. It was a kind, almost affectionate gesture. “Not just any chaos, mind you. This was Tarnish and Maud finding some fresh new long-forgotten horror left in a vault and he’s pulling out his sword to cut it in half while the stony one gives him one of her special pep-talks that would put most ponies to sleep. This was Dim at his very Darkest telling the Midreach that he’s had some brilliant ideas on how to revolutionise warfare that he’d like to share with them… and then the atrocities poured forth like water when he did, in fact, share his ideas with them. Sharing is most certainly not caring!” 

“Hey!” Twilight fought back against her troublesome duodenum and clutched her stomach with one hoof. “I was present when Dim did that… when he did the thing—you know what, it doesn’t matter what he did. Kommissar Dim was pardoned for the… uh… events that took place when he introduced the world to his new philosophy of war.” 

“Of course he was pardoned,” replied Discord while offering up a bored eye-roll. “And who could possibly challenge Princess Luna’s pardon? Who would dare? How neatly it was all swept beneath the rug. Dim was able to do the most dreadful things, and he did so without consequences.” 

“I seem to recall that you too, received a pardon.” Seville, fearless, glared up at Discord. 

“Yes, but I’ve changed… and Dim… well, Dim hasn’t. If the right circumstances presented themselves, Dim would gleefully distribute his special brand of atrocities for his beloved Empress.” Discord made a dismissive shrug. Extending his paw, he booped Twilight on the nose. “Featherweight drinkers shouldn’t go imbibing magical mead, Princess. Celestia put a lot more than just bee vomit in that hooch.” 

Seville did not let the issue drop. “You know, I don’t think you’ve changed much either—” 

“Of course I have.” Discord chuckled while rolling over in the air so he could turn his lunatic gaze upon Seville. 

“Chrysalis disagrees.” 

Both Discord’s talons and his paw balled into trembling fists. Every hair on Discord’s body stood on end and his tail went ramrod straight. Curls of smoke rose from his ears and raw magical energy crackled along his scaly parts. “Speak not of her!” 

“How many times has Princess Celestia formally requested that you undo… whatever it was you did to her? And how many times have you refused? For all of your supposed goodness and your many decrees that you live to do right, contrary evidence exists in the bowels of Canterlot Castle.” 

“SHE HURT MY FRIEND!” Discord wailed while tugging and clawing at his own body. 

For the first time, Twilight noticed that the party had gone silent. 

“Dim’s friends got hurt too. None of us have a right to judge him. None of us can say what we might do if we had been in his situation. He did what was necessary and I will not sit here and listen to you mock him or ridicule him.” Tilting his head back, Seville squinted down his muzzle at the hovering draconequus with disgusted contempt. 

“But Sumac was little. And helpless. It’s not Sumac’s fault that he is the way he is, just like it’s not my fault that I am the way I am. She hurt him.” Discord writhed in the air, his body tensing, kinking up, and twisting into downright gordian knots. “I hate that creature like nothing else in existence. I hate that I know what hate feels like. I hate that she introduced me to hatred. Oh, the hateful loathing I feel for her! I was perfectly fine not knowing what hate was!” 

Then, without another word, Discord vanished, or perhaps imploded. 

“Seville…” Lifting the bottle, Pinkie turned to look at her companion. “You shouldn’t be mean. Poor Discord… he’s sensitive about all of that. Fluttershy is still trying to teach him emotions. What you just did was pick on a crippled creature—” 

“I did not.” Seville shook his head while blasting out his contempt in a snort. 

“Yes. Yes, you did. Discord is a mental cripple. He’s struggling to develop emotions. Don’t be mean, Seville… I won’t stand for it.” Pinkie poured more mead into the cups on the table. Lifting her head, she looked around, smiled, and as if by magic, the party revived. Music began to play again. Ponies began to laugh once more. Raising the bottle in salute, she added, “Drink up. We’ll drink to Discord, he struggles to come to terms with the fact that he might lose his friends in any number of horrible ways.” 

“Poor guy, he’s gone off to sulk. No doubt, he’s a cushion on Fluttershy’s sofa again. It’s terrible when he gets like this. It’s even worse when the cushion becomes mysteriously wet.” Applejack lifted her glass, raised it in a toast, and waited for her companions to do the same. “To the poor draconequus that turns himself into a pillow so nopony can see him cry.” 

Twilight decided that she could drink to that. Raising her glass, she said, “To Discord.” 

Grunting, a grudging expression on his face, Seville too raised his glass, but said nothing. Not a thing. A sour expression lingered on his face for a time, a sour Orange expression, but this softened to the point of near-sadness. 

When Pinkie raised her own glass to join the toast, they drank. 

Twilight’s reaction to the Berserker’s Blood was no less violent than the first time. It seared her throat, set her sinuses ablaze, and her alicorn gizzards made a terrific escape attempt in a vain effort to avoid the cruel liquid. A pleasurable lightheadedness overcame her and dulled her senses. For a moment, she pitied Discord, and wondered what made him drop in—but only for a moment. Then, the second drink hit her like a train and she could no longer be sure what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all. 

No, she decided, she was sick of thinking, and it was time to dance. But first, more drinking was necessary. She had to murder all of her inner dialogues, all of the parts of her that just wouldn’t shut up and let her have a good time. They all had to go, and she planned to drown them in a flood of alcohol. Every inhibition had to go—and should her mother’s voice make itself known inside of her noggin, that would have to be put down as well.  

“Woo!” Twilight wooed, and then, for good measure, she woo-wooed out the woo-wooian battlecry, “Woo-woo!” Feeling fine and princessly, she slammed her earthenware cup down upon the table. “Drink me!” 

“Oh, of course, Your Majesty.” A sly grin spread over Pinkie’s muzzle as she got to work filling Twilight’s cup. The pink mare elbowed the apple farmer in the ribs and in a low voice, whispered something that Twilight could not hear. 

Seville, still subdued, raised his just-filled glass and waited. 

Pulling away from Pinkie Pie, Applejack shook her head, snorted, and muttered, “Tarnation, somepony is waking up with a tender asshole tomorrow morning, I just know it. It better not be me. Last one for me, thanks.” 

“The mead is gone,” Pinkie announced while she raised her cup. “The last has been poured out.” Just as she was about to say something, Seville interrupted. 

“Here’s to our heroes and all of their faults. Twilight, you’re one of my heroes.” Seville raised his glass in salute. 

“Here’s to hero worship.” Pinkie clinked her cup against Seville’s, but not a drop was spilt. 

Twilight drank again, and this time, it wasn’t so bad. It was far from easy, but whatever resistance existed within was certainly drowning. She felt warm all over, in the very best sort of way. All of her inner dialogues were being rounded up for their summary executions in the drowning pools. Peering into her empty earthenware cup, she felt a terrible, overwhelming disappointment that threatened to kill her mead-fueled buzz. 

Twilight looked at her friends, who were all strangely fuzzy and had rather indistinct outlines, as if they had been poorly drawn with a crayon by an over-caffeinated foal. “We need more liquor.” 

“Eeyup, sore asshole come morning. It better not be mine.” Reaching up, Applejack took off her hat and then rubbed her temple. 

“Seville… Pinkie… Applejack… I love all of you so much.” Twilight felt her warm emotions runneth over, and she could not help but gush. “Like, I really, really love you. More than words can say. I love all of my friends. I love everypony and everything. I want to go talk to strangers and natter on incessantly about inconsequential conversation topics.” 

“Oh… I think it’s working!” 

“What’s working, Pinkie… you’d better tell me… I’m a Princess.” Twilight watched as Pinkie—who suffered nervous distress—chewed on her bottom lip, and thought she was rather cute. 

“Princess Celestia and Zecora worked on a potion that turns introverts into extroverts and Princess Celestia tested the potion on herself and became an unstoppable chatterbox for a day and almost talked everyponys’ ears off.” 

Twilight’s sense of alarm was currently being held face-down in a drowning pool. “Oh.” 

“That potion got mixed with the Berserker’s Blood.” 

“Oh,” said Twilight again while a sense of wooziness overcame her. “You know what, forget I asked. We need more liquor… and then I wanna dance. With my friends. The ponies that I love. And then maybe I’ll talk to strangers and tell them oddly specific details about my life that no sane pony should ever share, because that sounds like fun.” 

“Wait, I drank that potion—” 

“Took ya long enough, Seville.” 

“Up yours, Jackie.” 

“Given the way we’re drinkin’ that’s a distinct possibility.” 

“I feel funny. Like I want to blab about meaningless drivel with strangers.” 

“Me too!” When Twilight went to clutch Seville, she almost fell out of her chair. “I have the strange urge to talk about how I contributed to Flurry’s potty training and how I sang the poo song and eventually, we sang the poo song together! My mother taught me the poo song.”

“I can’t take you seriously when you keep saying ‘poo,’ Twilight.” 

“We haven’t watched each other poop yet,” said Twilight, stating the obvious. “That’s a major relationship hurdle. I’ve seen Pinkie poop.” 

“So have I.” 

“Seville… we have something momentous in common!” 

“Applejack… I’ve done a bad thing, haven’t I?” 

“You have, Pinkie, and we’ll be lucky if we survive it.” 

“Seville… Seville… Seville… now that we’re being open and honest, have you… have you checked me out back there?” Twilight slipped her forelegs around Seville’s neck and then blew a thunderous belch into his ear. 

“I, uh—” 

“It’s okay, because I’ve checked out your oranges!” 

Hearing Twilight’s admission caused Applejack to roll her eyes. 

“You have seven freckles that you keep hidden.” Seville’s face darkened and wicked grin spread across his muzzle. “You know, I don’t feel bad confessing that.” 

“How did you know?” Twilight asked. “You had to be really checking me out to know that. I keep my butthole freckles hidden. Butthole freckles are embarrassing.” 

“Pinkie Pie sent me a picture. A very detailed close-up picture.” 

Both Twilight and Seville turned to look at Pinkie, and the notorious pink pronker squirmed in her chair. When both Twilight and Seville were overcome with the giggles, Pinkie relaxed a bit, and then even joined them for a laugh while Applejack continued to rub her temple. 

“Those freckles really aren’t on your butthole.” Pinkie scratched the side of her neck with her hoof while looking thoughtful. “They’re just sort scattered around that general area. I first noticed them when I was still making a detailed pony profile of you. Important details that a changeling might miss when they copy a pony. Somehow, they’ve managed to fool my Pinkie Sense a few times.” 

“That’s… impressive.” Twilight blinked in near-inebriated astonishment and continued to paw Seville. “I think I’m feeling lightheaded. Where’s Discord? He was going to warn me about chaos.” 

“It’s not too late, Twilight.” Pinkie Pie covered her mouth with her front hooves and her next words were somewhat muffled. “If you cast a big burst of magic, you’ll burn this right out of your system and everything will go back to mostly normal. Except for Seville.” 

“But… I don’t wanna.” 

“But you can.” 

“But, Pinkie, I don’t wanna. Applejack said it was time to let go. This feels like letting go.” 

“Twilight is right, we need more liquor.” Pinkie Pie pulled her hooves away from her mouth and grabbed Applejack’s foreleg. “Remember what I said… you have to be the responsible one. I… I need to drink until I don’t feel bad.” 

“Woohoo!” Twilight’s sudden outburst caused Seville to shy away. “Let’s go get hammered!”