16

by AlwaysDressesInStyle

Act I: Plumsweet

“Fatso!”

“Lardflank!”

I whimpered as I covered my face with my hooves. I was surrounded by my classmates and they stomped around me, calling me names and insulting me.

“Bum-beat!”

The gathered fillies and colts started kicking my flanks as I cowered, wishing they’d go away.

“Look at the way her hindquarters jiggle!”

“That’s enough of that. Go on, shoo.”

I heard the bullies scatter and I risked a peek. Dark green hooves were in front of me, and I looked up to see who’d come to my rescue: a young unicorn mare with a pine tree cutie mark. I felt magic grasp me and found myself on my hooves.

“Can you walk?”

“I… I think so.” I tested each of my legs in turn and put weight on each. I nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Good. My name’s Pinecone. What’s yours?”

“Plumsweet.”

“What was that all about?”

“Same as always. I’m chubby, so the others pick on me. They like rhyming my name with things like ‘bum-beat’ ‘cause it gives them an excuse to do just that.”

“Your name does rhyme with lots of things. Sure, there’s negative ones, but there’s also positive ones like ‘Drumbeat’, ‘Chum-meet’ or even ‘Hum-neat’. It’s just a matter of perspective. At the end of the day, the only one that really matters is ‘Plumsweet’, because that’s your name, and you should own it. Unless you don’t like it. In which case, you could always talk to your parents about possibly renaming you something more in line with your special talent.” She gazed toward my flank, looking for the cutie mark I didn’t have.

Except, I did! “I got my cutie mark!” I danced around Pinecone, giggling madly.

“Nay, filly, that’s a bruise. And quite a nasty one at that.”

“Maybe it’s a bruise-shaped cutie mark?”

She looked at me and waited for me to fully process what I’d just said.

“Okay, maybe I don’t want my special talent to be getting beaten up by bullies.”

“Now that’s an acceptable answer. Come along, I’ll walk you home so they won’t bother you. But I can’t do this every day. You’ve got to learn how to deal with them on your own.”

“But I’m not as strong as they are.”

“So? I didn’t say you had to go and kick their flanks. Make them laugh or smile. Tell them jokes or give them compliments. Ponies like feeling good, and if you make them feel good, they’ll be less inclined to make you feel bad.”

“That makes sense.”

“Your mane looks lovely today!”

“Thanks! Mom styled it for me so I’d look extra pretty today!”

“She did a wonderful job. And you’re always pretty. You’re making the rest of us fillies look bad!” I winked and stuck my tongue out and she giggled. My own appearance was frumpy. With unkempt mane and outdated accessories, I used my lack of style to highlight how much better everypony else looked.

I turned the corner and bumped into a hulking mass of earth pony colt, Corn Field. His mane was as unkempt as mine, and he wore no accessories. His cologne was a noxious mix of body odor and fertilizer. There was nothing easy to compliment him on, and a scowl was already forming on his face since I’d so rudely bumped into him.

“Sorry!” I reached a hoof out to him, tentatively. “Do…do you work out?” I poked his foreleg.

“Uh, yeah.” He scratched his mane, sheepishly. “I lift when I’m not tilling.”

“It shows.” I gave his muscles an affectionate pat. “Rock solid.”

He grinned, and his breath added to the nausea-inducing aroma that followed him around. “I’m about to go hit the gym now.”

Must breathe through mouth. “Have fun!” I waved as he trotted off. The odor lingered where he’d walked. As soon as he was out of sight I dashed into the nearest bathroom to wash my hooves. Ugh! I splashed my face, as if the scent of water could cleanse my suffering nostrils, dry-heaving the whole time.

I stared into the mirror and my ears fell. Sometimes ponies don’t make it easy to find something worth complimenting. Like me, for example. What kind of compliment could I give myself? My sole purpose in life is to serve as proof to others that they’re better than somepony else. Compliment myself. C’mon, Plumsweet, you can do it. Tears streamed down my face the longer it took to think of something I could compliment about the mare in the mirror. I finally turned away in shame. I don’t even want to look at myself.

My classmates waited with baited breath as I mixed ice cream floats for all of them. I’d saved my allowance up for a month to buy enough ice cream and soda to do this. They deserve it more than I do. It’s been a long time since anypony beat me up or called me names. It’s the least I can do.

There were a dozen different types of soda to pick from, and an equal number of ice cream flavors. They placed their orders and I served them up in turn.

“Cherry soda and cherry ice cream, please.”

“Root beer and vanilla.”

“Cola and raspberry ice cream.”

“Sarsaparilla and mint chocolate chip.”

Once everyone else was enjoying their floats, I scooped a few different flavors of ice cream into a glass and poured birch beer over them. When the fizzing stopped, I squirted on whipped cream and added a cherry to the top.

“Look! She got her cutie mark!”

I turned to look at my flank – sure enough, there was an ice cream soda decorating it. I shook my rump, triumphantly. “Yeah!”

My party for my classmates turned into an impromptu cuteceañera for me. That way they don’t even have to buy me presents. How convenient for them.

But parties didn’t last forever, and a few hours later I was left alone with my family. My parents were, of course, proud of me, and were already trying to arrange apprenticeships with local ice cream makers. That was presumptive of them, considering I didn’t make the ice cream. My special talent is making ice cream sodas, which means I’d be better suited working as a server. I sighed. That’s assuming that the mark is related to the dessert I was making. The other possibility is less satisfying: it’s quite possible that my purpose in life is sucking up to ponies and bribing them to like me.

At least everypony else enjoyed my party. That was the point, after all…

I pulled a batch of caramel brownies out of the oven, and slid a tray of cupcakes in to take their place. I was relieved that my special talent turned out to be making desserts and sharing them with ponies. My entrees were average at best, but I was just about unbeatable with treats and sweets. I should try making my own ice cream one of these days…

Ever since my cutie mark came in, baking had been therapeutic. Whenever I found myself in the kitchen, all the doubts and self-loathing that normally fogged up my brain faded away, leaving clarity. Needless to say, the weight gain that went along with that was noticeable. I was already somewhat pudgier than my classmates before my mark came in, and that pudge had called in reinforcements in the year since.

I bit into a brownie and the caramel oozed between my teeth and attacked my taste buds. This is absolutely scrumptious. With just a bite, I found bliss. With the second, the brownie was gone. Another appeared in my hoof as quickly as I swallowed the remains of the first. So I’m not the prettiest mare in school, and I’ll never be the most popular, but everypony knows the fastest way to a stallion’s heart is through his stomach, and I can bake rings around everyone else I know. Looks are fleeting, but baking’s a skill that lasts a lifetime. I burped and looked around the kitchen in embarrassment, but I was alone, so it didn’t matter.

Sampling complete, I piled the brownies into a basket to take to school. I washed everything so it would be clean for round two: cupcakes. I’d discovered a red velvet recipe in a cookbook I’d borrowed from the library, and I was desperate to try it. With tried and true chocolate on standby, it was okay if they were ignored by the masses. It was a feeling I knew all too well. Sometimes I feel like the carrot cake of life. That’s a dessert that even I don’t like. There’s a time and place for vegetables, and dessert isn’t it. Yuck!

Somewhat ironic thoughts, considering some recipes for red velvet cake use beetroot for color. Not this one though, and that was why I so eagerly anticipated trying it.

Red is the color of Hearts and Hooves Day, after all, and just because I don’t have a special somepony to celebrate with doesn’t mean I can’t make a special treat for my friends. If I make some chocolate chip cookies, too, I could almost ensure I get all of the cupcakes…

Ha, as if I need to eat more desserts. If the cupcakes come out poorly, I’ll make cookies. If not, I’m sharing them with everypony at school.

I put the cupcakes into the oven to bake, then once more cleaned all the pans, bowls, and utensils I’d used. If I need to make cookies, they’ll be ready. If not, they’ll be ready the next time I want to bake something. Probably tomorrow.

I finished up my homework while I waited for the oven timer to ding. Not as fun as baking, but certainly necessary, nonetheless.

Ding!

I grabbed a potholder in my mouth and pulled the tray from the oven. They smelled fantastic. My mouth watered, and it was hard to resist taking a bite before they were cool. My patience was rewarded, and the cupcakes were just as good as they smelled. I think I’ve got a new signature dish.

I trotted through the halls of school lost in thought, trying to remember what I’d been studying the night prior for the test I had coming up later today.

My concentration was interrupted by the excited whispers of a pair of colts. “Check out the new transfer student!”

“I think she’s even fatter than Plumsweet!”

Ouch. The blow to my ego sent me reeling. I leaned against a locker. Is this what they say about me behind my back?

A brown unicorn headed towards us, being trailed by fillies and colts shouting awful things at her. Her cherry red hair and chocolate brown coat instantly reminded me of a Black Forest cake without the whipped cream.

Using my earth pony strength, and leveraging my not inconsiderable bulk, I shoved the pair of colts out of the way and cut in front of the mystery unicorn. I held up a hoof for her to bump. “Hi! I’m Plumsweet.”

“Howdy, I’m Cherry Spices. I just moved here from Lubbuck. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. I hope these foals haven’t been bothering you.”

“Nothing much. Just the normal weight jokes.”

I nodded. “It’s lunchtime. Wanna grab some dessert and leave these fillies to their salads so they can ‘watch their figures’ and ‘attract a hot stallion’?”

“You’re reading my mind.”

“Us pudgy fillies have to stand together.” The taunts and torments died on the lips of those surrounding us. I’d long since realized that the best way to stop others from picking on me was to beat them to the punch. I’d heard all the jokes, and they couldn’t hurt me if the words were coming from my own mouth instead of theirs. What’s the matter? Did I take your ammunition away? “Like lettuce counts as food.”

“I know, right! It should be the very top of the food pyramid. Eaten rarely, or better yet, not at all.”

“Nah, sweets and treats deserve to be at the top. What could possibly top them?”

“I like the way you think!”

“Spices, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

If I had to sum up Las Pegasus in one word, it would be ‘excess’. Everything was over-the-top and calling the décor ‘tacky’ would be insulting both the décor, and the definition of tacky. No, it was shamelessly gaudy. If it could be gold-plated, it was. If it shouldn’t be gold-plated, it was anyway. If it was physically impossible to be gold-plated, somepony has paid a tidy sum to a unicorn to enchant it… so it could also be gold-plated.

I lounged on the bed of my hotel room, several cookbooks and a stack of index cards in front of me. Cherry Spices was exploring the casino, but I had a policy on gambling: quit while you’re ahead. Since quitting before even starting was the only way to come out ahead, I’d walked past the rows of slot machines and card tables and had made it to my hotel room with all my bits still safely within my purse.

I stretched out my legs, cracking my knees. I’ve been sitting for too long. I left the human-authored cookbooks on my bed and trotted out the door. There was more to do in Las Pegasus than gamble, and I’d completed what little research I could do. Only a few cookbooks from Earth were available, and I’d read all of them multiple times. We’d been selected to participate in a human-sponsored contest, and while I had no idea what ingredients the judges would be subjecting us to, I felt like I had a good grasp on what they’d like.

The prize money was more than enough motivation for most ponies, but Spices and I were more interested in being among the first ponies to sample Earth’s cuisines. Having the opportunity to take those basic ingredients, foods unknown to ponies, and make something edible from them? That was all the motivation either of us needed. Even if we weren’t victorious, we’d still consider ourselves winners if Earth’s foods were half as tasty as they looked in the photographs we’d seen in the books.

Humans had a wide array of foods ponies had never even thought of. Of course, since humans were omnivorous, some of those new foods were meat. I’d read through griffin cookbooks before, and there were a number of meats available on Earth that even the griffs didn’t have an equivalent for. I really hope there are some griffins in the competition, because I want to compare notes.

Additionally, humans had developed a variety of ways of preserving foods so they didn’t spoil as quickly. That opened the door to even more possibilities, as there were many pony treats that had limited availability due to quick spoilage. And to think, there are kooks who think making contact with Earth was a bad idea.

The lobby of our hotel had its own amusement park, yet another sign of the excesses of Las Pegasus. Most carnival rides held no interest for me, and I trotted past them without so much as a second look. The arcade, however, caught my attention. Prance, Prance Revolution.

Like most ponies I enjoyed both music and dancing. I was pretty good at the latter, and I’d always wanted to try PPR… It might not be gambling, but it was yet another way that Las Pegasus sought to separate ponies from their hard-earned bits. I’ll spend no more than five bits. Mind made up, I tossed the first bit into the coin slot and the machine lit up. Time to see what I can do.

It took a few minutes to get the hang of it, and I certainly hadn’t earned a free game with my performance. I could hear some snickering and some snide comments, but it didn’t faze me in the least – I was used to the things ponies said behind my back.

Bit number two went into the slot and my audience started hurling insults again.

“Earthquake!”

“The jiggling is almost hypnotic.”

They stopped when my performance started improving during my second game. I had the hang of it by then and bits three and four earned me a few free games each. I pulled the final bit I’d earmarked for the challenge out of my purse and slid it into the slot. Here goes nothing.

My hooves hit the indicated spots time and time again. I got used to the ‘free game’ screen popping up after a while. After seven straight free games I started panting. By the ninth I waved the closest pony over and told her to keep my streak going. I collapsed on the nearest bench. That could almost be considered… exercise. Utter blasphemy – exercise isn’t supposed to be enjoyable. Like ‘military intelligence’ and ‘tasty health food’, ‘enjoyable exercise’ was an oxymoron.

A filly hopped up on the bench next to me and offered me a glass of water. “That was amazing! You must be the best PPR player in all of Equestria!”

I thanked her and gulped down the water. I think I was dehydrated. And I worked up an appetite. “I’m sure there are better players out there. Look how easily I get out of breath.”

“You just need more practice to build up some stamina.”

Easy for a filly to say. What am I saying? I’m not even twenty. When did I become an old nag? Next I’ll be telling her to get off my lawn. Instead I nodded. After a few more seconds she decided watching me pant for breath wasn’t entertaining, and she galloped off.

Once my heart was no longer galloping a mile a minute I stood up and set to exploring more of Las Pegasus. The local architecture was a bizarre mix of styles from across Equestria and beyond – each of the hotels had a theme. One had replicated the Manehattan skyline as its façade, while another had crystal spires reminiscent of the Crystal Empire. A third was a passable facsimile of Canterlot Castle. Well, it was a passable match under the right conditions: if you squinted, at night, during a power outage when none of the neon signs were lit up. The mishmash of conflicting styles was what helped Las Pegasus remain the chintz capital of Equestria.

By then I’d wandered into a buffet, which was fine by me. Because Las Pegasus was a gambling town, everything else was cheap – hotel rooms, food, and even some of the entertainment. The rest of the entertainment tended to be out of reach of all but the highest of rollers. All of it was designed to attract ponies into coming here in the hopes of striking it rich. I’m not the smartest pony of all time, but I’m not that bad at math. And because I’m not bad at math, I’m going to take advantage of the low prices on everything else.

“How many tonight?”

“Table for one, food for seven.”

I quickly learned the problem with cheap buffets: plentiful food, but none of it tasty enough to want to eat in quantity. I left feeling disappointed, and determined to not waste any bits on low-quality entertainment. The prairie dog act I’d really wanted to see had gone on the road, so that left my options limited. Looking at all the posters, the two that jumped out the most were Britneigh Spears and Trapeze Star.

Scrawny mare performing acrobatic feats I had no hope of ever replicating, or washed-up musician? Britneigh hadn’t been one of my favorites back when she was relevant, and I hadn’t wasted any tears when Sapphire Shores, Coloratura, and Songbird Serenade all dethroned her in short order. Pop stars have a shelf life, and if you’re not the hip, new thing, you’re yesterday’s news, relegated to the clearance bin at the record store.

So the twig it is. I wasn’t disappointed by her performance – her act had combined acrobatics and magic into one show. She even pulled a bunny out of her hat. So cute! Is there anything cuter than bunnies? Well, aside from kittens.

I trotted past the world famous Rainbow Fountains and headed for my hotel room. By now Spices is either a millionaire or flat broke. If I was a betting mare, my money would be on the latter.

Much to my surprise, she wasn’t in the room when I returned. There were plenty of things to do in Las Pegasus at all hours of the day and night, so I had no intention of waiting up for her. I turned off the lights and crawled under the covers.

Spices had returned at some point after I’d gone to bed, and was snoring behind me. I flattened my ears and got up, doing my best not to wake her up. I went through my morning hygiene routine, showering and making myself look pretty, but spent more time than normal on the latter.

Have to make a good impression on the judges. Since I was trying to impress humans, I exaggerated my makeup to make me look cuter. It had quickly become common knowledge that most humans found ponies adorable. Cosmetic companies had taken advantage of that, and the market was now flooded with products designed to make mares and fillies look cuter. Stallions, on the other hoof… well, even the products designed to enhance masculinity didn’t help much – humans still thought they were cute. Black and red hair dyes had become quite popular with the boys, but it really didn’t work nearly as well as they thought it did. I snickered at that, since for most of them it only made them look even cuter, or emo. Neither did anything for their street cred.

By the time I was done, Cherry Spices was up, and she took her turn in the bathroom while I packed our saddlebags with our supplies for the day. There were strict limits on what we were allowed to bring to the competition, and supposedly there’d be space set aside in the kitchen for each of us to work with.

I finished before Spices, and stared out the window at the hustle and bustle of Las Pegasus. I never really grasped the concept of ‘pony-watching’ before, but in Las Pegasus, suddenly it made sense. What would be abnormal anywhere else was absolute mundanity here. Showgirls in outrageous outfits trotted past businessponies in custom suits. A stallion was trying to herd an elephant down the main street, and no one even batted an eye at him as they went about their daily business. I couldn’t tear myself away from the window.

Not until Spices was ready, anyway. She’d also dolled herself up and was looking quite spiffy. I was under no delusion – we weren’t going to be catching the eyes of any nice stallions, but I thought we looked sufficiently cute for our human audience.

We trotted out of our hotel and joined the menagerie of ponies going about their business, probably the two least exciting ponies to watch in the entire crowd. That really won’t do. We’re on our way to a competition where we want to stand out from the crowd. Blending in is the exact opposite of what we want to do. “Spices?”

“Yeah?”

“No pun intended, but I think we need to spice things up.”

“Crowd song?”

“Crowd song.” Music started playing in my mind, and I tapped a hoof to it. Spices immediately picked up the beat.

Oh, what should we make?
Cookies we shall bake!
Vanilla milkshake
And strawberry shortcake
They'll be judging us

I took the first verse, and Spices immediately responded with the second.

Lots of dishes to try
Potatoes to fry
Razzleberry pie
Goes right to my thigh
They'll be judging us

Showgirls galloped over to us and formed a chorus line, belting out the chorus:

No time to panic
When things get frantic
For sanity's sake, don't want a tummy ache

The crowd was really getting into it by this point – the showgirls probably helped that. Everypony sang the next verse.

No time for a break
Won't make a mistake
Too much is at stake
The prize we will take
They'll be judging us

I spun around a light pole, not caring that I was probably going to have to redo my makeup when we got to our destination. I soloed.

They're demanding, and we're under such duress
Remember, can't get distracted by the stress
When we're done, can't leave the kitchen a mess
It's all worth it, when we reach for our success
I keep hoping, maybe, maybe...please?

I held the ‘please’ and the crowd responded enthusiastically, stomping in appreciation. Then the showgirls picked up the chorus again.

No time to panic
When things get frantic
For sanity's sake, don't want a tummy ache

Spices finished us off with the last verse.

No time for a break
Won't make a mistake
Too much is at stake
The prize we will take

Then the crowd started fading out with the last line, repeated a dozen times by different ponies, getting softer until there was nothing left.

I panted and wiped my forehead. Yeah, my makeup’s toast. “Nothing like a crowd song to get the blood pumping!”

Spices leaned against me, apparently even more winded than I was. “Indubitably!”

In the grand scheme of things, our makeup getting messed up didn’t matter in the least. Most of the ponies we were to compete against had arrived early. The human crew, however, was taking their sweet time setting everything up. Hurry up and wait. Great. It just meant there was more time to touch ourselves up.

I finally got my first look at a human. The females of the species were really oddly proportioned, and that was exaggerated even more by her thin frame. She works for Food Network, how can she possibly be so scrawny?

She eventually introduced herself as Jada. It was a very pretty name, and so exotic. She only stated her given name, but from what I’d read, human surnames were based on their occupations. If she was a blacksmith, she’d be Jada Smith. If she was a carpenter, she’d be Jada Carpenter. Like ponies, talents ran in human families, so you’d often end up with a bunch of Smiths or Millers or Carpenters in the same family. It’s always important to study these things in advance, so as not to end up culture shocked.

She explained she was an intern, which likely meant her full name was Jada Intern. There was no equivalent Equestrian word for ‘intern’, but I figured it must be a very important position for the company to have sent her all the way here. Considering that the portal wasn’t even ‘officially’ open yet, she must’ve pulled a lot of strings just to get here. From the images I’d seen of humans, I estimated her to be fairly young, so she was no doubt very good at her job to have climbed so high in the company so quickly.

Every competitor had their own table, but there was no stove. Instead, there was an electronic box I recognized as a human invention known as a ‘microwave’. This one had a logo for ‘Panasonic’ on the front, and I saw there were banners for the company hung all around the competition area. Jada quickly explained these were prototype hoof-friendly microwaves the company was planning on marketing as ‘Ponysonic’. She also explained that engineers from the company would be walking around with clipboards, taking notes on everything from our reactions to the devices, to how we used them. Their goal was to take the data learned from the competition and use it to refine the prototypes into production models.

Finally getting down to business, she started assigning ponies to tables, and when we got to ours I studied it. The ingredients sitting on our table were a mix of the familiar and the unknown. Everything we were using had been brought from Earth, so this demonstrated there was significant overlap in the respective diets of humans and ponies. But there were exceptions, primarily among artificial flavors and processed foods, areas where humans excelled.

“What on Equus is this?” Spices levitated a package of tofu in front of her.

I immediately recognized it from my research – humans had developed a number of variations of soy as a healthy alternative to some of their other traditional foods. It was mostly used to emulate meat for those humans that had chosen a more pony-style diet. Imagine the possibilities – a meat replacement that ponies could use when entertaining griffin or hippogriff guests. If any of the other competitors had read the books that had been provided to us in advance of the competition, they’d know what it was too. If they were smart, they’d focus on it.

Spices had already opened the package and taken a bite of the tofu. She stuck her tongue out. “Bland. Do humans not have taste buds?”

“It’s intended to be bland. It’s primarily used as filler; something that absorbs the flavor of what it’s cooked with. Like zucchini and eggplant.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten either of those.”

“Makes two of us.” I giggled. “Why fill up on filler when you have more of the good stuff?” Spices agreed with me and I dumped the tofu into the trash – we wouldn’t be needing it. Go all out or go home. No wasting time and calories on unnecessary fillers.

Cherry Spices had levitated another mysterious new ingredient to her. “Whatever this is, it’s very savory and salty. Pretty sure this is meat.”

I nodded as I grabbed more of the bacon. That’s not bad. I had some more. Yeah, I could develop a taste for this. “It is, but we’re not cooking for ponies, are we?” I ate some more of the bacon, trying to get an idea of what other ingredients it would best be paired with. It definitely wasn’t suitable for most desserts, and seemed a much better fit for a main course or an appetizer. “Any ideas?”

“Maybe mix it with the cream cheese and use it as a spread?”

“That could work.” I opened a pink and orange box labeled ‘Dunkin’ Donuts’ and cleaved a doughnut in half. “Doughnut sandwiches.”

“Sounds deliciously unhealthy.”

“Indubitably, my dear Spices.”

She grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my dear Plum Chum!”

That's a new nickname.

Seeing my look of confusion, she expanded on it. “If we win and get out in front of an audience, we should have really good nicknames for one another.”

I agreed with her, but didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d have to keep working on it until she found one. “We may be getting ahead of ourselves. We’ve got to win, first.” I scanned the ingredients. “We’ve got cocoa and Philadelphia cream cheese.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Red velvet cake. We’ve got everything I need.”

“Do it.”

I smiled. “What are you going to make?”

“I’ll take care of the doughnut sandwiches.”

“Perfect!” I started prepping the cake while Spices chopped the doughnuts in half. I looked from the cake to the microwave – I had no idea how to bake a cake in something other than a proper oven. I’d read that microwaves significantly cut down the cooking time needed, but I didn’t know by how much.

My internal debating on how much time I should put my cake in for was interrupted when my tummy started gurgling. I looked around for the nearest bathroom. Spices was already halfway to it, and I slowly walked in that direction, afraid that a faster gait would evacuate the contents of my stomach immediately.

Jada and her assistant, Chad, trailed after me.

“You brought bacon?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Ponies are herbivores, dummy!” Jada glared at him and brandished the Official Guide To Visiting Equestria. “Did you even bother reading this before coming here?”

“Bacon isn’t a vegetable?”

Jada looked from him to Spices and me and then back to him, mouth agape. “How did you get a job with Food Network?”

He shrugged. “I just move things around. I can follow directions and lift more than fifty pounds. Those were the job requirements. Being around great food all day is just a perk.”

The bathroom door shut behind me before I could catch her reply.

I staggered out of the restroom almost an hour later. Spices was leaning against a pillar waiting for me. “Are you okay, Plum?”

I shook my head. “No. How about you?”

“Definitely not. I don’t think I can make it back to our table.”

“I don’t even want to. Our table’s too far away from the toilet.”

She nodded. “We can kinda see what’s going on from here.”

“We don’t have a chance of winning if we don’t get back in there and start whipping up some of our signature desserts.”

“I don’t care.”

I thought about it for a few seconds and decided I agreed with her. “Maybe we should just go back to our room?”

“That would require moving.”

I couldn’t fault her logic. “This pillar is really nice.”

“That’s what I said. Very ornate. Shiny even.”

I joined her in leaning against it as my stomach struggled to settle down. It felt good to take some of the load off my hooves. We continued standing out of the way until after the competition ended. The judges went around, sampling the offerings while the cooks happily talked up their dishes. They even stopped by our vacant table and tried the doughnut sandwiches. At least our suffering hasn’t been in vain. They’re giving us a chance. It was only then that I noticed my red velvet cake wasn’t sitting on the table.

I moaned, partially in agony, and partially in frustration. “One of our competitors must’ve stolen my red velvet cake off our table.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that now, Plum.”

“Maybe whoever grabbed it figured out how to make it in the microwave.”

“Or maybe they couldn’t and what would’ve been a guaranteed victory was taken away from them, as easily as they took it away from us.”

I laughed, but that turned out to be the last thing my stomach needed. I returned to the bathroom.

Spices pulled me out of the restroom when it was time for them to announce who won. By that point, I’d long since given up on caring – it wasn’t going to be us.

We once more leaned against the pillar. Let’s get this over with.

“Our winners today demonstrated a willingness to explore the ingredients and come up with a dish that their intended audience thoroughly enjoyed, even at the cost of having to personally miss most of the competition due to unforeseen events out of their control. While I’ve had words with my assistant regarding the inappropriateness of bringing bacon, we also feel that they most embodied the spirit of the competition, actively trying things and thinking outside the box. It’s rare that herbivores prepare a meat dish for omnivorous judges. We applaud their ability to adapt to the situation. Our winners are Plumsweet and Cherry Spices!”

But we only made one dish. As proud as I was of winning, I wanted to protest. But that required effort, and all I really wanted to do was go take a nice hot shower and then crawl into bed. A glance at Cherry Spices was all it took to know she felt the same way.

Jada made her way toward us, thankfully sparing us the agony of walking all the way to her. “Congratulations! Your prize is five hundred Equestrian bits, and an opportunity to join us on Earth to film your own cooking show. I’ll get started on the contract once I return home to Earth and my boss delegates it back to me.”

“Thank you!” Spices had somehow found reserves of energy to answer on our behalf. I don’t think she’d eaten as much of the bacon as I did – she hadn’t attempted to acquire the taste for it like I did.

Unfortunately, I had, and my stomach was protesting the fact that I was still standing. Jada complimented my red velvet cake, and explained they’d found it abandoned on our table and taken it to the kitchen to bake in an oven. I smiled, and thanked her.

But that was about all I could manage, and I had to lean against Spices all the way back to our hotel room.

Spices and I had been approved to go to Earth, since Food Network had expressed interest in starring us in a culinary show on the entertainment device the humans called a ‘television’. We would be cooking and acting simultaneously. It was complicated, and compounding matters was that neither Spices nor I had any acting experience. Spices joined a theatrical production for the play Hinnie In The Hills, while I decided to test the waters in a different way. We’d each need individual stage personas to play off of in front of the audience, so I opted to go for comedy.

The local theater had a range of uses, from putting on plays to karaoke. Once a week they offered a stand-up comedy night, and there was a monthly amateur night. I nervously paced back and forth behind the curtain. With no experience whatsoever, I had to go first. The other comedians explained that the only thing worse than missing the mark was missing that mark directly after somepony else hadn’t missed it.

I peeked through the curtain at the audience. Full house! I gulped. No pressure or anything.

All too soon it was time for me to perform. I nervously took my place on stage.

“I ever tell you about the time I electrocuted a draconequus? I was working in Manehattan and my boss told me to plug in ‘dis cord’.”

I waited for the laughter that never came. Okay, that one didn’t do so well. I better step up my game a bit.

“What’s Cozy Glow’s favorite condiment? Tartarus sauce!”

Once more there was a lack of laughs. Tough crowd. Time to go to the guaranteed material. “I’d say I’m losing the audience, but I never had you to begin with. You’d have better off staying home and watching paint dry. Think about it. My name is ‘Plumsweet’ or ‘P.S.’ for short. Even my parents think I’m an afterthought. Every year they send out a Hearth’s Warming Card with updates on the family, and it’s ‘P.S.: Plumsweet did some stuff too but it wasn’t important.’”

There was some genuine laughing. Self-deprecating comedy to the rescue, as always. “What kind of name is Plumsweet anyway? All kinds of things rhyme with that. Scum-eat, for example. On a totally related note, I’d avoid the potatoes tonight. Then there’s the ever-popular Bum-beat.” I smacked my flank. “There’s a lot of it, too.” I half-turned to show off my cutie mark. “I may have had one or two too many ice cream sodas over the years, but hey, it’s ice cream. Is there anybody out there who doesn’t like ice cream? If a big rump is the tradeoff, well, that’s worth it!”

I trotted out from behind the microphone stand. “So I’m a little chubby. Plumsweet is Plumpsweet. Dessert is the most important meal of the day. Am I wrong?” I paused, waiting while the ponies in the audience shook their heads. “Of all the things my name rhymes with, the one I love most is ‘Come eat!’” I patted my belly for emphasis.

Things hadn’t gone as well as I’d hoped, but I’d managed to salvage the act at the end… at the expense of my dignity. Not like I had all that much self-esteem to begin with.

Waiting was the hardest part.

Ever since Spices and I had been chosen the winners in the contest, we were in a holding pattern. We needed to learn Earth’s languages, culture, history, etc. while also preparing for our future careers, while simultaneously trying to earn some semblance of income.

There was no point in getting permanent jobs, so we’d taken to apprenticing at a bakery. Specifically, we were each apprenticing at different bakeries. We met for lunch every day at a third, neutral bakery.

“How’d things go last night?” Cherry Spices wasted no time, looking at me with expectant green eyes.

“Could’ve gone better. Ponies weren’t laughing at my jokes so I had to slip into my A-game material.”

“You mean the self-deprecating garbage.”

“It works.”

“Yeah, it works to undermine your self-confidence and reinforce everything everypony has ever told you. The bullies don’t need to bully you anymore, you do it enough for them. They’ve won, Plum.”

I couldn’t look my best friend in the face. “I had to do something.”

She sighed. “You’re still that same scared filly deep down inside. We’re adults now, Plum. Let go of the past, and live life to the fullest. Those fillies and colts that used to torment us are mares and stallions now. They’ve grown up, and most of them would probably be ashamed of their actions in their younger days. Sure, there are a few jerks who’ll never grow out of it, but ignore them.”

“Or sit on them.”

“Plumsweet. I’m serious. You’re so bad to yourself.”

“Maybe sometimes, but I also know how to treat myself right.” I motioned to my plate, piled high with cookies, cakes, and assorted other pastries.

Spices nabbed a cupcake off the pile and nodded. “I’ll give you that. But maybe tone down the self-deprecating humor a bit once we get to Earth. It’s a new world and a new start. You have the opportunity to be a whole new Plumsweet.”

“What’s wrong with the old Plumsweet?”

“Low self-esteem. If we could just get rid of that, the old Plumsweet would be perfect.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. It hurts me to see you hurt yourself so. Words can be weapons, just as dangerous as swords or spears. Perhaps even more dangerous, because it’s far easier to inadvertently cut yourself or somepony else with them.”

“I suppose.”

“No, no supposing. Listen to me, Plum. This is important. One can’t succeed in life if one sets oneself up for failure every single time. If you make fun of you, others will follow you. You say they’re laughing with you, but they’re laughing with you, at you. You make it acceptable, so even ponies who wouldn’t laugh at you do so. Because you encourage it.”

Spices rustled around in her saddlebags while I mulled over her words. She’s not wrong.

“Here.” Spices slid over a compact, and I opened it. “What do you see?”

I looked into it, seeing my reflection in the mirror. “I see me.”

“What else do you see?”

“The wall behind me.”

Cherry Spices groaned. “Come on, Plum, be serious. Look closer at yourself and tell me what you see.”

“I see an overweight earth pony with a white coat and pink and red hair.”

“Keep looking. I want you to say something nice to your reflection. We’re not leaving here until you do.”

“I’ve got a nice smile.”

“You definitely do. Your sense of humor is a breath of fresh air. You love to make ponies laugh. Say something else nice.”

“I’ve got great taste in friends. I tried to say something nice to my reflection years ago with no luck, yet you've made me do so successfully.”

“Stop looking on the outside and say something nice about your inner self.”

“I’m good at complimenting ponies.”

Spices shook her head. “You’re good at flattery. Which you do by propping everypony around you up on a pedestal while simultaneously putting yourself down. Tell me something, Plum – what makes them better than you?”

“I…” I paused, contemplating that. “I don’t know. Nothing, really.”

“Exactly. Remember that colt you were crushing on? You kept saying he could do better, and you know what? He did exactly that.”

“…Thanks.”

“He found a mare with self-confidence, a mare who wasn’t afraid to accept a compliment. He was interested in you, but you turned him off with your constant self-deprecation. If you keep giving ponies reasons not to like you, they’re not going to like you. The bullies are gone, Plum. The only one left bullying you… is you.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds really stupid.”

“In that case, I challenge you to find a way to say it and make it sound smart.”

“I’m…. uh, keeping my ego in check?”

“What ego? You buried your ego under the playground at the elementary school. It’s time to fix that. What are you going to do the next time somepony picks on you?”

“I’m gonna tell them to go nuzzle a cactus.”

Cherry Spices slammed a hoof on the table. “Darned tootin’ you are.”

Friends made interdimensional travel better. Cherry Spices and I sat near the back of the bus and relaxed. Unlike some of our fellow travelers, we had a plan and jobs waiting for us. Within the week we’d be the first ponies on TV, and the ponies most Americans would get to know first. We were going to be the face of Equestria to an entire country. At least for the segment of the population that enjoyed watching cooking shows. It was exciting! We’re going to be famous!

A blue unicorn mare talked to us about a hotel she was starting, but we declined immediately. We had neither the time nor interest in going in on that with her.

While it was amazing to meet an actual duchess, it was merely a formality. We had to check in, but there wasn’t anything for her to really do. The folks from Food Network were already waiting in the parking lot when our bus pulled in – so the bulk of our time spent with Ploomette was basically an exit interview on why we’d left Equestria. The short of it was that the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Once we were done at the consulate, we were driven to the network’s headquarters, which conveniently also happened to be in New York City, and went through what they called ‘the orientation process’ which meant hours of filling out paperwork and watching videos on the computer. I’d never been so bored in my life. A lot of it seemed really simple and straightforward and could be boiled down to: respect your coworkers and play nicely with each other. It was the kind of thing most ponies would’ve considered kindergarten-level education. It was nothing like working in Equestria, where you apprenticed with somepony experienced in your chosen field. Most of the time, training was on-the-job and you started working the minute you set hoof in the business.

By the time we were done for the day, I was exhausted and I didn’t feel like I’d accomplished anything at all. Spices and I had decided to split a hotel room not far from the network’s headquarters, and we trotted there when we finished for the day. The downside was it was expensive, but the upside was it was fairly upscale. For the prices they were charging, they had to provide decent amenities.

Boring paperwork and pointless videos faded to the back of my mind as I relaxed in the hot tub with Spices.

I walked around our kitchen, making my final inspections before the show began. The cookies I’d made earlier were ready to go, and just as delicious as they’d been when I pulled them out of the oven. Our ingredients were sitting on the counter, with the exception of those that needed to be kept refrigerated.

The kitchen itself was a marvel – I sincerely doubted anything like this existed anywhere in Equestria. And this is just a studio. Imagine what I could do if this was a real kitchen. A brick oven was next to a massive conventional oven suitable for a restaurant. There were two stainless steel refrigerators, on opposite sides of the studio from one another. Their contents had been organized specific to the needs of what we’d be preparing on any given day. The plan was to film three episodes each day until we’d built up an entire season’s worth of material. With luck, our show would be a resounding success and we’d be picked up for additional years.

This is it. This is what we’ve been waiting over a year for: our own cooking show.

Spices and I trotted out to the ‘front’ of the kitchen, technically a missing ‘fourth wall’ where the cameras and studio audience were located. The audience was filled to capacity, and I wondered how many were here because they wanted to see us cook, and how many were there just to see ponies up close and personal. It had been less than a week since the portal opened, so ponies were still a novelty on Earth.

“Salutations, and welcome to Two Pudgy Fillies! I’m Cherry Spices, and this is Plumsweet.”

I curtseyed as my friend introduced me. “Pleasure to meet all of you!”

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why anyone would want to watch a cooking show hosted by ponies. But I assure that we eat more than just oats and hay.” Spices was a natural in front of the camera, and I let her take the lead.

I patted my belly. “You don’t get this figure from eating oats. We love good food and we’re not ashamed to admit it.”

“She’s right. Ponies love desserts. Some of us love them more than others.” Cherry giggled, and her laughter was contagious. “If you want healthy choices, there are plenty of other shows here on Food Network that can help you with that. But if you want unashamed indulgence of the things that aren’t, you’ve come to the right place.”

“Our definition for ‘calorie’ is that it’s a unit of measure for how good something tastes. Without further ado, take it away, Spices!”

“This is our kitchen.” She paused, waiting for the camera to pan around the room to show off our state of the art studio. “This is where the magic happens!” She lit up her horn for emphasis on that last part.

The audience oohed in appreciation. It was likely the first time any of them had seen magic in person before.

As Cherry kept up her spiel, I started pulling the ingredients out. “What… what is this obscenity?” It hadn’t been there on my final tour of the kitchen half an hour earlier.

“Margarine.” Cherry Spices backed away from it in mock horror.

I swept a leg along the countertop, knocking the offending substance into the trash where it belonged. I placed a container of butter where the margarine had been. “I don’t know how this…this…monstrosity ended up in our kitchen, but accept no substitutes. Butter is better. If you want a quality dessert, you have to use quality ingredients. I’m sure there are some dishes where margarine is appropriate. I can’t think of any, personally, but they might exist. How about you, Spices?”

Cherry Spices shrugged.

“Exactly. No kitchen should be without butter.” I gathered the needed ingredients from the closest fridge as Spices explained what we’d be making.

“Today we’re going to make chocolate raspberry cheesecake. I’ve been looking forward to trying this recipe since I first heard about it.”

“Me too! First we start with our crust. You could use a store bought, pre-made crust…” I paused for the studio audience to boo. “But that’s selling the end result short.” I pulled a tray of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. “So instead, we’ll start with these chocolate chip cookies!”

The audience cheered, on cue, to the teleprompter directing them.

“The best part about doing this is that it’s combining two amazing desserts into one.” Cherry Spices started pulverizing the cookies into crumbs.

“Au contraire! The best part about starting with chocolate chip cookies is this.” I grabbed one off the tray and munched on it. “Leftovers!”

The studio audience laughed and I grinned for the camera.

“As for the filling: instead of cream cheese, we recommend ricotta. But not just any ricotta, but authentic Italian ricotta for that sweet flavor.”

I held up the ingredients as Spices rattled them off, and then we prepared the dish for the cameras. Once we were done, we put it into the oven. But thanks to the magic of television, the audience needn’t wait to see the results. I pulled an already baked cheesecake from the oven.

It smelled fantastic and looked sublime. I knew it would be – we’d spent the last two days perfecting the recipe. Ingredients were different on Earth, and we played around with them until we were satisfied we could match their Equestrian equivalents.

“Each slice is approximately 5,000 calories.” The camera then zoomed in to show I’d cut the cake in half, one slice each for Cherry Spices and myself.

Once more the audience erupted into laughter.

“Good night, everypony!” Cherry and I chorused, and the audience applauded as the video camera cut off.

Spices levitated the mics off of us and we started eating our respective slices of the cake.

“I think that went well.”

“Me too.” She levitated her fork in front of her. “This is incredible.”

“That it is.” I took a bit, savoring the flavor. I licked my lips, struggling to reach the whipped cream smeared on my cheeks. “And the audience really seemed enthusiastic.”

“Ladies.”

I looked up to see the director. He’s probably here to congratulate us on a great episode.

“I don’t know how things work in Equestria, but that tub of margarine was there because Parkay was our sponsor. The key word there is ‘was’, because as of thirteen minutes ago they canceled their contract with us. They’re also going to pursue legal action if we don’t pull your show. You’re both fired. Get your stuff and get out of my studio.”

“Can’t we get Breakstone to sponsor us? Or Land O’ Lakes?”

“No. Get out. Security!”

“We’re leaving! We’re leaving!”

I grabbed my saddlebags from my changing room as security showed us out of the building. Standing on the sidewalk outside Food Network’s headquarters, I turned to my friend. “Now what?”

“I’m going back home. I only spent what the studio paid us in advance. I never touched my stipend. I’ll just pay it back. You?”

“I don’t know. I spent some of my money, but I could probably pay it back. The network still owes us for what we’ve done since we got here. Even if they’re not happy with us, they legally have to pay us. Besides, we just got here and I’m not keen on going back, especially not with my tail tucked between my legs. We’re among the first ponies on Earth – it’s an opportunity. I guess I’ll talk to the Duchess. Maybe she’s got some ideas.”

“You do that. When you come home to Equestria, look me up.”

“If you leave, you can’t come back for five years.”

She waved a hoof, dismissively. “I’m not really concerned. If you’re going to insist on staying here, do us both a favor and find a human that’s proficient with video equipment. Equestria will eventually have the infrastructure to support television and we’ll be positioned to have the first cooking show.”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

We trotted to the consulate, each lost in our own thoughts. Cherry went in first, and returned to the waiting room a few minutes later. “I’m leaving tomorrow. When the bus leaves here to pick everypony up from the portal, I’ll be on it along with some human immigrants to Equestria. You should join me.”

“I’ll think about it.” I trotted into Ploomette’s office for the second time in less than a week. She’s here to help. Let her help.

“Come in, Plumsweet.”

She remembered my name! “Thank you, Duchess.”

“Do you also wish to pay back your stipend and return to Equestria?”

I shook my head. “Not unless it’s the only option. I just got here. I don’t want to go home already.” It’s not like there’s anything I really care about back home anyway, or I wouldn’t have left in the first place.

“If you want to stay in television, I can help you with that. There are several networks interested in hiring ponies. How’s your acting?”

“Nonexistent.”

“In that case, ESPN 8: The Ocho is looking for a pony to cover sporting events for the network. They televise a variety of lesser-known sports, and they’ve recently added buckball to the mix.”

“So I’d just be covering buckball games?”

“Not exactly. You’d also be covering dodgeball, sumo wrestling, monster truck racing, karate tournaments, roller derby, steeplechasing, javelin throwing, and everything else the network telecasts.”

“I don’t know the rules to buckball, and I’ve never even heard of the rest of those sports.”

“Aside from your friend who’s going home, you’re the only pony who’s been in front of a camera for a television program. That makes you the closest thing to ‘experienced’ as they’re going to get.”

“They’d be better off with somepony who’s played buckball in the past.” She shook her head and I realized there were no former Equestrian athletes on Earth. “I don’t really care if I stay in show business or not, but I guess I could give it a try?”

She smiled and promised to make the necessary arrangements.

ESPN’s headquarters wasn’t in New York, but nearly one hundred miles away in another state entirely. Ploomette had assured me that unlike border crossings between countries, crossing state lines was like passing from one town to another in Equestria. Some laws might be a bit different, but there were no checkpoints or customs to go through.

A trip of that distance in Equestria would take all day, but on Earth, it was only a few hours on a train, and a short car ride to the office. The network had a car waiting for me at the train depot, and I rode in the back as my driver took me where I needed to go. She escorted me to my interview, waiting outside while I auditioned for the job.

My lack of knowledge on sports wasn’t as big a hurdle as I expected it to be – they could teach me the intricacies of the various events I’d be covering; what was more important to them was how good I looked on camera.

Thankfully, I was the first pony any of them had ever seen in person. I’d spent the previous day in my hotel room watching ESPN and I’d noticed the hosts tended to be fairly athletic looking themselves. The female sportscasters in particular looked to conform to what males of the species would most find attractive. Certainly none of them were chubby like I was. I was no model, not like Fleur-de-Lis or Daisy Dreams, but they really had no point of reference as to what stallions would find appealing. They were evidently well aware that their demographic was primarily male.

But right now ponies are barely represented on Earth, and stallions are a tiny percentage of what few ponies have made it through the portal. A few dozen at most. That means they’re catering to their existing demographic, which prompts questioning the need for a pony reporter in the first place. I’m a novelty, no doubt.

I followed their directions and they liked what they saw, so they hired me. It seemed easier than it should’ve been – they really wanted a pony on staff and I was their only option. I hope I can live up to their expectations.

I stepped off the airplane and disembarked into the terminal. My first flight was an interesting experience, and one I wasn’t looking forward to repeating. Flying is for the birds… and the pegasi. I wonder how many more flights I’m going to have to take before I get used to traveling this way?

I’d gone through yet another orientation process, and then ESPN had sent me to some local sporting events to get an idea of what they were like. I’d watched some high school basketball games, and a regional hockey game, and I wasn’t sure I had a great grip on either one of the sports. Especially the latter, because the teams would randomly break out into fighting throughout the event.

My first on-air event had been a sumo wrestling event the night before. It had been an interesting contest, where two large men attempted to push each other. With my earth pony strength, I’d been tempted to get out there and challenge the winner. I was positive I could’ve beaten him, but I was a reporter, and I was supposed to observe and offer commentary – I wasn’t supposed to compete.

My next assignment was Monster Jam at the Alamodome. I figured it would involve humans wrangling monsters. Such events weren’t unheard of in Equestria, where some boastful ponies would fight manticores and hydras for the entertainment of others. It was generally frowned upon and completely illegal. But they’d host the events in places like the Everfree Forest that didn’t fall under any town’s jurisdiction.

It begged the question of just what humans considered monsters on Earth. I arrived early, because I wanted to learn the sport and interview some of the competitors before the show started.

The Alamodome turned out to be a massive arena, bigger than anything I’d ever heard of in Equestria. I got lost and wandered around the stadium for half an hour before I finally found my way out onto the floor of the arena. It was dirt, and there were multiple hills. I trotted up one of them, and was sweating before I made it to the top. Obviously the athletes competing would be in much better physical condition than me, and would have no trouble climbing the hills. Once I ascended the hill, I looked out over the playing surface. Two of the hills were more like buttes, with no easy way of scaling them. Oddly, there were metallic containers buried at the tops of the buttes.

Downhill was a lot easier, and at the bottom I came across four green cars parked next to one another. While I’d ridden in a few cars, I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to really examine one up close. So I took the opportunity to check them out. They didn’t seem to be nearly as nice as the ones I’d seen previously, and even though there were no windows in the car on the end, I couldn’t get the door open. I probably could've bucked it open, but I didn’t want to damage someone’s vehicle. I was a guest on Earth, after all, and it wouldn’t make a good impression if I went around destroying other people’s property. A thinner pony could’ve squeezed through the window, but I hadn’t been small enough to fit through that opening since I was a young filly. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck in there when monsters might attack at any time. I had yet to see any of the monsters, though there were people milling about by some oversized trucks along the wall.

I returned my attention to the green cars, and noticed that what I thought were the lighting fixtures were also painted green. One would think that would defeat the purpose of lights, but I’d seen humans had tiny lights that could shine very brightly, so perhaps they didn’t need big lamps like I’d seen on other cars.

Closer examination indicated that the cars had been hastily repainted, as I saw overspray on the seats when I stuck my head inside. But why? Perhaps these are also obstacles for the monsters to navigate? Or maybe they use the cars as traps. I bet it would be very easy to trick a monster into getting stuck inside! I bet that’s why they paint them – to camouflage them! Oh, I do hope they don’t kill the poor monsters. Maybe they have a Tartarus on Earth that they lock them up in too.

I decided to head over to the giant trucks, no doubt the vehicles used to bring the monsters to the arena. It seemed logical to assume that the monster cages would be near the transports. The first truck I came across was blue, with spikes along the top, and two big horns curving from the roof. It had ‘Dragon’ emblazoned on the side and I gasped. Dragons aren’t monsters! I thought Equestria explained we have dragons back home. Perhaps Earth’s dragons can’t speak the language, so the humans think they’re mindless beasts. This won’t do! I have to stop this!

A human wearing a shirt the same color blue as the ‘Dragon’ truck turned his attention to me. “You like it?”

“I demand to be taken to the dragon at once!”

“Uh, it’s right here. The truck. The truck is Dragon.”

I blinked. “So it’s not hauling a real dragon?”

He laughed. “Right, you have dragons back in Horseyland. There aren’t any dragons on Earth. We just call this truck Dragon.”

“Oh. Dragons are fierce, so I guess that makes sense if fighting monsters. Explain to me what this truck is used for if it doesn’t haul a dragon to be fought?”

“Wow, you really are new to this. The trucks are the monsters. Monster trucks. There’s two main events: racing, where two trucks square off against one another to see who’s the fastest, and freestyle, which is where one driver gets a minute and a half to do anything they want in the arena, hitting as many of the obstacles as they can, with the goal of impressing the audience the most with their stunts.”

“So no real monsters?”

He shook his head. “Nope, just trucks.”

“That still sounds very interesting. And less scary.”

“It’s perfectly safe. They don’t let fans sit in the first few rows of seats anymore.”

The ‘anymore’ at the end of that sentence begged questions, but I wasn’t an investigative reporter, rather I was a sports reporter. I wasn’t supposed to look for mysteries to solve.

I looked at the next truck in the row. That one had the biggest crowd around it – it was black with green flames, a giant skull, tombstones, and bright red headlights. The name on the side indicated it was Grave Digger. I blinked. Why would anyone want skulls and gravestones decorating their truck? What is wrong with these people?!?

I didn’t get to see any of the other trucks, because my camera crew had arrived and was setting up – I saw the big ESPN 8: The Ocho logo and introduced myself to the team. One of them looked relieved – a young lady who ushered me into a private room where she started doing my makeup. I was impressed at just how quickly she could do it – hands were way better at applying makeup than hooves or mouths. What would’ve taken me an hour only took her five minutes.

Then I was back out on the arena floor, and she steered me straight towards another lady. She was standing next to a truck called Whiplash.

My handler gave me a microphone and introduced me to her – she was apparently the driver of the Whiplash truck.

“Greetings! I’m Plumsweet, and I’m covering this for ESPN 8: The Ocho! This is my first ever monster truck event. Tell me what I can expect to see tonight.”

“You’re in for a treat. You’re going to see the biggest, most powerful monster trucks in the world as they destroy everything in their path. You’ll see trucks perform incredible death-defying stunts. You’re gonna love it!”

“Okay. I look forward to it.” I had no idea what else to ask her. I must look like a fool. “Any tips you can give to a first-timer?”

“Don’t blink or you might miss something.”

“Got it!”

The trucks fired their engines and my ears flattened. It was easily the loudest thing I’d ever heard, and my ears were begging for mercy as the trucks pulled out of the arena, staging themselves for the qualifying session.

The roar of the engines was made worse by the echoes as the noise reverberated around the Alamodome. I couldn’t help but think this would be a much better event if it was held outdoors.

As if the noise wasn’t bad enough, the fumes from the trucks were awful. Whatever fuel they were using made my eyes burn. It was even worse than the smelly bus we’d ridden in to the consulate.

I relocated to my position for the event. Qualifying involved watching the trucks run around the course. The goal was to get the fastest time – the lower the number, the better. I followed the scoring, even if I didn’t completely grasp what was so exciting about watching trucks go in a circle.

The racing bracket had the fastest qualifier against the slowest, and the second-fastest versus the second-slowest, etc. In theory it meant that the best trucks should all advance to the next round.

The racing was loud with two trucks racing around the arena simultaneously, but mercifully short. With my ears flattened, I could block some of the sound. Dragon won the racing, and the truck shot flames out of the front in celebration. I couldn’t help but wonder what dragons back home would think of knowing there was a monster truck named after their species. It was obnoxiously loud, shot flames, and it was extremely destructive. They’d probably approve.

As my job demanded, I went down to interview the driver of Dragon. “Great work out there.”

“Thanks. The truck was really hooked up tonight.”

“Hooked up to what?”

He chuckled. “It’s an expression. It means the truck was really working optimally tonight.”

“Forgive me, I’m still new to Earth and English. Congratulations on the win. Also, the flames are cool. But you probably already know that.” I stopped talking before my mouth could express any more of my embarrassment.

Freestyle started, and the massive trucks defied gravity. I’d heard it said that pegasi shouldn’t be able to fly because their wings are too small for their bodies, but these trucks were flying and they didn’t even have wings at all! They’d hit the ramps or obstacles and launch themselves thirty feet in the air.

The line of green cars didn’t stand a chance. A truck hit the first one in line and flew over the rest of them. The car on the end, the one I’d stuck my head into earlier, was absolutely obliterated. The metal was deformed and debris was everywhere. The door I hadn’t been able to open was lying on the ground next to the car. The truck landed on the car on the other end, squashing it flat. The truck was moving so fast it had already jumped off one of the other obstacles before my attention shifted away from the destruction of the poor green cars.

One popular trick was to hit the dirt mound with the shipping container buried inside and make the truck turn a backflip. The crowd went nuts every time a driver landed a backflip.

As the night dragged on I learned new terminology from my cohosts. Things like ‘wheelstand’ where a truck would rear up and drive on its back wheels only. The shorter term was ‘wheelie’ and it came in multiple flavors. The ‘power wheelie’ was the basic maneuver, where the truck reared up under acceleration. There was also the slap wheelie, where the truck would rear up after hitting something, and finally the sky wheelie, where the truck would rear up in midair with no wheels on the ground after hitting one of the obstacles.

The winner of the freestyle portion of the event was the same lady I’d interviewed earlier. I grabbed my microphone and once more asked her some routine questions. At least I hoped they were routine questions.

My ears were ringing when we finally left. It had been… interesting. I really didn’t know how to describe it. I sort of enjoyed myself, but I hated all the noise and fumes. I’d have to look into getting some sort of ear protection before covering my next monster truck rally.

Another day, another sporting event. I’d stayed overnight in San Antonio, then flown to LAX on another plane. ESPN had arranged all my travel, and there was a lady waiting at the baggage claim holding a sign with my name on it. With so few ponies on Earth, that probably wasn’t necessary. I followed her to a waiting car and she drove me to my hotel. I took a quick shower to freshen up, then we drove to the World Dodgeball Tournament.

The top sixteen teams in the country were competing for the championship through a series of eliminations. ESPN 8 was only covering the highlights of the round of sixteen, but starting with the quarterfinals, all the games would be televised live. It gave me eight games to learn the sport from the ground up – the rules, the terminology, and what fired up the crowd.

The teams were a bizarre mix of amateurs and professionals. Some represented cities or regions, while others were representing organizations or businesses.

The first game was the top-ranked Philadelphia Phelons against the lowest-seeded Serenity Hills Trailer Park IROCs. The Phelons all wore matching orange jumpsuits, while the IROCs all wore jeans and white tank-tops.

I quickly determined that the object of the game was to pummel the other team’s players with balls. If you hit one of the opposing players, they’d be eliminated from competition, but if they caught the ball, the person who’d thrown it would be eliminated instead. I couldn’t tell how much was luck, and how much was strategy, but the Phelons came out on top.

The Phoenix Firebirds walked all over the Florida Panhandlers in game two, and the third round was an easy win for Girl Scout Troup 440+6 over the Detroit Lions. A lot of fans seemed very disappointed by that, and I was informed that the Lions were a professional football team and were expected to perform better. I thought they did really good considering they were dealing with much smaller targets than their opponents were.

The fourth game saw the downfall of the National City Savings & Loan Sharks at the hands of the Talladega Knights. Game five was dominated by the Caldor Black Friday Shoppers, leaving the Main Street Mimes speechless.

In addition to learning about the game, I quickly picked up that unlike Equestrian reporting, Americans liked their sports coverage over-the-top. It wasn’t enough to merely say who won and the score. The audience wanted to hear that the losing teams were decimated, crushed, embarrassed, slaughtered, curbstomped, trampled, and more.

The North Avenue Irregulars demolished the Hadrian’s Bricklayers, while the Tacoma Galloping Gerties collapsed under the assault of the Ventura County Aces. The last game before the quarterfinals was between the Centerville Public Library Volunteers and the New Jersey Legitimate Businessmen, with the latter team notching the victory. They also had the nicest uniforms: matching three-piece suits.

Each round of games got better as weaker teams were eliminated from competition. After a particularly brutal semi-final game that saw Girl Scout Troop 440+6 ejected from the tournament for exceedingly unnecessary roughness, the finals came down to the Phelons and the Legitimate Businessmen.

It was the most exciting game of the night, right up to the point where one of the Phelons tripped over a rolling ball and lost control of the one he was in the process of throwing. Instead of heading towards his opponents, the ball came towards me instead. I reared up and caught it, much to my surprise, and the shock of everyone else present. Hooves really weren’t designed to catch balls quite the way hands were.

I was reporting, not competing, and a good journalist isn’t supposed to become the story. The Legitimate Businessmen insisted that since I caught the ball, the player who’d thrown it should be eliminated from competition. The Phelons, meanwhile, argued that I wasn’t playing and so it shouldn’t count.

Words were exchanged between the teams and the referee. Eventually he ruled in favor of New Jersey, and the Phelons expressed their displeasure by throwing balls. Specifically, they each threw a ball at the source of their irritation: me. I’d gotten lucky by catching one errant ball. I had no hope of catching five lobbed my way nearly simultaneously.

Then the ref disqualified them, giving the win to the Legitimate Businessmen, and the whole arena started rioting. Cut off from my camera crew, I hid under one of the benches.

“Come with me if you want to live.”

I looked up and one of the Legitimate Businessmen was extending an arm to me. “Thank you.”

“You did us a favor, and if there’s one thing we’re big on, it’s repaying favors.”

Once I was to safely back in my hotel room, I took a long soak in the bathtub. When I finally got out, I wasn’t surprised to see nearly half a dozen welts on my body from where I’d been hit by the balls. I whimpered as I traced a hoof across them – I was going to be tender for a few days. I haven’t been this banged up since I was getting bullied on a daily basis back when I was a filly. I thought those days were behind me now that I’m an adult, but apparently not. This is the kind of thing I came to Earth to escape in the first place.

Monster truck racing and sumo wrestling had been bad enough, but dodgeball was the final straw. I hadn’t enjoyed any of my assignments, so I called my boss and resigned effective immediately. Sporting events just aren’t my thing.

Maybe the third time’s the charm? I trudged into the Equestrian Consulate yet again. Last chance – if the next job doesn’t pan out, I’m finding someone who can work a video camera and going back to Equestria.

Despite her busy schedule, Ploomette didn’t seem bothered that I was at the consulate for the third time in two weeks. We exchanged pleasantries and I explained that ESPN 8 just wasn’t for me.

She didn’t even seem disappointed. She said she’d have her staff add my former job to the list of positions on Earth they were trying to fill. They were actively advertising open jobs in Equestria trying to find qualified candidates for them.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want to do something with cooking. Is anybody looking for a pony cook?”

“Well, not exactly, but…” She slid a folder towards me. “But I think your talents might be suited for this.”

I looked at the offered documents. “A hotel?”

“Guests and staff have to eat. You’re also very personable and easy to talk to.”

I kept reading. Stipend’s the buy-in. This sounds like what that mare on the bus was pushing a few weeks ago. I can afford that, but if the venture goes south… I’m stuck on Earth for five years. Would that be a bad thing? “Sounds interesting.” I continued pondering the idea while I waited for a sales pitch that never came. What have I got to lose? The Food Network’s where almost all the cooking shows are, so there’s no way I’ll ever get my show back. The lack of a spiel was the most effective sales pitch I’d ever heard. “All right, sign me up.”

She nodded. “I’ll call Snowcatcher and let her know.”

The hotel I was staying in had a restaurant, so I decided to give it a try. I got off the elevator at the correct floor and trotted in. A hostess seated me, and I looked at the menu.

Da-da-da, da-da-da.

My ears swiveled at the familiar sound. I turned around and groaned as I saw that all the TVs were tuned to SportsCenter. The less I thought of my former career the better I’d like it. Just my luck this place would be a sports bar.

Perusing the menu, I saw several options that looked promising. I kept having to ask the waitress what some of the words meant. ‘Calamari’ for example, was squid. After my experience with bacon back in Equestria, I had no desire to ever try meat ever again. I decided to have an appetizer of mozzarella sticks and waited for the waitress to return so I could place my order.

“It’s time for Not Top Ten, where we look at the ten worst plays of the past week.”

I idly watched the sports bloopers. Football, basketball, hockey – they were sports I’d learned about, but hadn’t seen.

“This week’s number one is right up there with the Butt Fumble: Pony reporter pelted by dodgeballs!”

My face turned beet red. I didn’t need to look at the television behind me to know what was being shown. I galloped for the exit while everyone’s attention was on the television.

Forget that hotel the Duchess was talking about! Cherry Spices was right, I’m going back to Equestria where I belong! Once I was safely back in my own room I started packing.

I was startled by a knock on my door. Under normal circumstances, it was impossible to be stealthy with hooves. Thankfully, this was an upscale hotel and the room had a deep, plush carpet. I crept to the door and peered out through the peephole. A pony? Who else knows I’m here? I immediately opened the door and let the unicorn in.

“Plumsweet?” I nodded. “I’m Snowcatcher. The Duchess said you were interested in joining up with the hotel we’re putting together?”

It’s the mare from the bus. I’ve already turned her down once. Could I do it a second time? I really should. I’m never going to live down that dodgeball incident. But I can’t. This time I made a commitment and I’m a mare of my word. I nodded again. “Just packing, and getting ready to go.”

“Great! If you want, we can leave as soon as you’re done.”

“Appreciated.” The more distance between me and all those sports fans who know all about my failure the better I like it. Maybe I can dye my hair or something. Humans probably think ponies all look alike, anyway.