//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: The Prodigal Pies Return // by Bronetheus //------------------------------//         Pinkie Pie's involuntary bouncing off of the walls, following the shock of a bucket of cold water being dumped on her, had now mostly been contained, thanks to judicious net and padding placement by her family, minus Octavia. Clyde, Rose, and Blinkie worked in concert to soften the youngest Pie's collisions as a bewildering torrent of jumbled words issued forth from Pinkie's mouth. The dominant theme was incredulity about the mere idea of delaying such an important event as a New Tens Digit birthday party. Once Pinkie's energy was reduced enough that she was merely stumbling back and forth in a web of rope and pillows and mumbling, Blinkie excused herself.         “I'm sorry,” she told her parents. “I'll be in my room.”         “Blinkadette,” her mom said, turning but not blocking her way, “you're not just going to leave your sister like this, are you?”         “I don't want to screw anything else up,” said Blinkie.         “You're not going to do any more work today,” Clyde said. “Take a break.”         Her head dropped. “Dad, I still have a whole folder of spreadsheets to go through before I can even begin work today.”         “I'll take care of it.”         “But you need to be out finding more rockseeds!” Blinkie protested.         Meanwhile, Rose was softly stroking Pinkamena's mane—frequently getting her hoof caught in the huge poofy mess of pink tangles—and whispering assurances to her. Including one that the birthday party would still take place on schedule, only maybe with some adjustments. Pinkie had her eyes closed, smiling as she leaned into her mother's touch.         “But nothing.” Clyde stamped a hoof on the floor with the gentle strength that always meant the matter was settled. “I said I'll take care of it. I was doing this before you were born.”         “For two whole plantations?” she ventured, her ears meekly flattened to the sides of her head.         “Your mother will help,” he said, his brow furrowing deeply. “We'll be fine. Don't set one eye on that paperwork. Do I make myself clear?”         “Yes sir,” she said, turning her face away so that the part in her mane partially shielded herself from her dad's gaze. “But what am I supposed to do instead?”         “Why don't you visit with your sister for a while?” Rose suggested as she finished disentangling Pinkie from the nets. As soon as she was free, Pinkie began to hop in place.         “Just don't talk about you-know-what,” Clyde added.         “Do I have to?”         “Yes,” her parents chorused.         “I'm so sorry Gummy couldn't come,” Pinkie Pie said as she strolled along the southern rock field with Blinkadette. “He has to foalsit the Cake twins for me while I'm gone.”         “Your alligator is foalsitting?” Blinkie asked incredulously.         “Not by himself, of course!” she said. “He has help. Don't worry, sis, Madam LeFlour runs a tight ship. They'll be just fine.”         “Who is that?” Blinkie spotted something small and sparkly poking out from under the ground, went over, and began to dig around it with her hoof. “Another new friend of yours?”         “What are you doing?” Pinkie's eyes went wide. “You're not working, are you? Dad said—”         “Dad said not to do any paperwork,” she stated matter-of-factly.         Pinkie's eyes darted around. Dad was nowhere to be seen. In fact, they had come out so far that she could barely even see the house, dreary as it was. She only knew where to look because of the motionless windmill next to it. Still, she fidgeted.         “It still looks like you're working,” she said, shaking her head. “Blinkie, why don't you just relax? It'll all be okay!”         “Maybe for you,” muttered Blinkie as she pulled up a small, crystalline geode from the earth, which they could probably get at least a few rockseeds out of, with some effort...         “Alright.” Pinkie nodded firmly. “There's only one way to deal with this problem. Time to initiate Applejack Mode.”         Vinyl Scratch was carefully filling up the water tank on the side of Pinkie’s “Birthday Carty” for Blinkie. She and Octavia both shared a nervous look as something long and serpentine bulged out underneath the tarp that covered the wagon. It slid underneath the fabric, creating the outline of a snake, or a tentacle, or maybe something that would have made Vinyl retreat even faster than she already was after the job was done. Whatever it was, she was sure it was searching for a way out, and she was equally sure she didn't want to be right there when it happened. There was a distinctly un-pony groan, and then the mass settled back down into the chaotic, tightly-constrained jumble of luggage.         She turned around and, precisely in the middle of her heavy sigh of relief, she saw that Clyde Pie had joined them, and was standing right behind her. The sigh became a high-pitched squeal.         “Good morning, Miss Scratch,” he said, placing a fresh piece of chewing-hay in his mouth.         “Good morning, sir,” Vinyl responded with a slight waver.         “My family and I have discussed the matter of what happened yesterday.” His voice was uneven and gravelly, his tone hard but not totally solid. “We aren't going to press charges for the destroyed property. We aren't going to turn out a friend of Pinkamena's and a special somepony of Octavia's, either.”         A significant “but...” silence ensued, during which Vinyl caught Octavia's eyes. Her lover was chewing her lip and shuffling among her hooves. It didn't seem like she was worried about what her father was going to say though. Vinyl's brow had just enough time to knit into a confused knot before Clyde resumed his speech.         “But if you want my blessing to continue seeing my daughter, or more,” he proclaimed, “then you're going to stay here and help us undo some of this damage. For as long as it takes. Octavia has already decided to stay and do her part, so now it's up to you, miss.”         Vinyl stared at the ground just in front of Clyde Pie's feet. Next week, she had a huge rave scheduled in Canterlot. Then she had to resume networking with some of the more upper-class ponies there in preparation for her bid to perform at the city's grand Hearth's Warming Eve after-party. Not to mention all of her fellow artists whom she planned on turning out to support. Missing even one could cost that friend of a lot of publicity and money.         Vinyl's eyes slid over to where Octavia was standing, and she wondered what her special mare could possibly be thinking. If the cellist stayed here, she would miss the orchestra's departure from Canterlot to begin their holiday tour. Even for a pony as celebrated as Octavia, missing the first show could cost her her chair. She stood to lose a lot of money and prestige from this misadventure. Vinyl understood why she was doing it anyway when her wandering gaze fixated on the pink bow tie which Octavia always wore, and which Vinyl adored. It had been one of the gifts Octavia had received from Pinkie Pie on the oldest's own twentieth birthday party.         “Okay,” Vinyl Scratch said, managing to project a little bit of confidence into her tone. “What do you need me to do?”         Octavia's head tilted, and her shimmering eyes spoke volumes of concern and gratitude. “Dolce, you don't have to. You know that, right?”         “Yes, but...” She swallowed hard. In the back of her mind, she heard the very first words Octavia had ever spoken to her. Might I have this dance? At the time, the scene was hilarious, and she responded with a disbelieving—and nervous—laugh. This was at an event that was too highbrow for a kinetic pony like Vinyl, but too lowbrow for a tie-wearing, elegant, earth pony, yet there they both were, for reasons they would both fail to really articulate. Octavia came right up to her and posed the question as if it were as natural as asking where the hors d'oeuvres were.         It hadn't helped that this happened not a week after a nasty breakup with a girlfriend whose parents happened to be one of the vanishingly-small remnants of homosexual bigotry in Equestria. Vinyl hoped that the laugh would get the stranger to go away so that she wouldn't have to deal with that fact, in public at least. Instead, Octavia stood in place and watched her with such a calm, earnest smile that all of the DJ's thoughts spun off the turntables. She panicked and stammered out a “sure.”         Before long, they were dancing to a beat the band wasn't playing, and humming a harmony that the singers weren't singing, all before they even knew each other's names. Octavia's confidence was amazing. Vinyl could work a crowd, and she could keep up just enough of an aura of coolness to create the illusion of confidence among ponies who didn't know her well. She thought her goggles were cute and cool, but their main purpose was to augment that aura. But when it came down to just her and another pony, especially such a gorgeous one, the desire to hide and the desire to be seen were thrown together in a potent concoction of awkwardness.         Octavia Pie had none of that, then or now. She had just made the decision to stay here on the farm and fix Vinyl's mistakes, no matter the cost to her career. Vinyl imagined her deciding that in the same tone of voice she used when asking for that first dance, and suddenly she knew that she did, in fact, have to do this.         “But I think we're meant to be together,” she whispered, glancing at Octavia, but then staring straight into her father's eyes.         “Mhm.” He switched his piece of straw from one side of his mouth to the other, but otherwise his face remained a stony enigma. “Well, first of all, you should know that unicorns are far from worthless on a rock farm. Just don't use your magic on the rocks directly, just to be safe. But we'd like you to do chores around the house with Octavia instead. Rose will have a list. You are welcome to come stay inside again as well, as long as you work hard, with supervision. If Blinkadette gives you any trouble, come to me.”         “I'm sure it'll all be good,” Vinyl Scratch said, pulling her goggles up over her eyes with determination. “Let's do this.”         “Mhm.” Clyde's piece of straw switched back to the other side of his mouth, then he turned and walked off into the barren fields, occasionally stopping to poke at some outcroppings in his path.         “Goodness, Vinyl,” Octavia breathed, stepping up close. “I know it has been a couple of years, but I didn't know things were quite that serious.”         The unicorn coughed. “Why don't we get the work started? I'm sure there's a lot to do.”         Octavia nodded, kissed Vinyl on the cheek, and then led her back into her childhood home. As they departed, Pinkie's wagon emitted a wet sloshing sound, followed by a long wooden creak.         “Now listen here, sugarcube,” Pinkie said in a disturbing mixture of her normal high-pitched squeak and the deep drawl of a pony from the southwest of Equestria. “What's really botherin' you? You can tell me.”         “Uh,” she replied, gaping, “well, that, for starters. You're so special, Pinkie. Weird, but special. So is Octavia. And everypony around the both of you knows it. All the ponies I used to know either left, or don't really know me anymore.”         “So yer lonely then?” Pinkie bobbed her head with satisfaction. “Well we can fix that, no problem. Setchya up with some rootin-tootin new ponies from a few towns over and you'll be happy as apple pie.”         “It's not that simple,” said Blinkie. “Why would they stick around if you did? I'm not talented. I'm not good-looking. I'm not a hero. I'm not rich. I'm just the middle Pie sister, who didn't amount to anything.”         “Hey now, I ain't gonna tolerate that kinda talk from my little sis,” Pinkie scolded. Blinkie was going to correct the age difference, but she concluded that the attempt would be futile at this point. “Yer a smart, tough cookie, like a sugar biscuit left sittin' out too long in an east-facin' window in a library.”         All Blinkie could do was stare uncomprehendingly at her sister as she launched even further into the metaphor, telling her things that would probably be compliments, if one made a serious effort to decode them. In lieu of that, Blinkie reflected on the way Pinkamena used to be. Specifically, just like Blinkie was. Focused, dull, boring. Although she had the advantage of standing out because she was pink, whereas Blinkadette could not have been more thoroughly average. Then the Rainboom happened, and everything changed.         At first, their parents were skeptical about the changes. They tried to restyle Pinkie's mane, but no amount of brushing or application of products could tame that beast. In a single day, there had been much more bouncing, talking, and smiling than the rest of the family combined saw in a whole year. While the family enjoyed them immensely, multiple parties every day were a bit much. They talked her down to two parties a week, at most. But that didn't stop the torrent of little things she always did to make them smile. She taped notes to have “Rockin' Days!”, complete with crudely-drawn images of her grinning face, in the most random of places. Once, Blinkie had woken up to find a poster of the image taped on the ceiling above her bed. The sheer terror at her sister's unnaturally-wide grin being the first thing she saw in the morning just made her laugh even harder, after the initial screaming was over.         Pinkie had given her her first painter's brush, too. It was pretty useless for work on all but the largest canvases, being a long, swirly thing with huge, rainbow-colored bristles. Sometimes she still used it anyway though, because it was challenging, and because she had never tasted another brush quite like it. The plain, smooth oak of the handle had a whiff of cocoa to it, just like the kind that mom, and later Pinkie, would put into special treats for the family. Even now, her mouth watered just a tiny bit as she thought about using her tongue to wrest something resembling art out of that ungainly brush.         When asked, Pinkie didn't even know why she got it. She said that she just thought it was something Blinkie might like. And she had indeed liked it. Blinkie hoped she could decorate each room of the house with at least one excellent painting one day. For now though, decent ones would have to do, until she could perfect the craft.         This always happens. Blinkie's stare dropped down to the ground, and her eyes started to brim with tears. Whenever she's away, I get so jealous about all the amazing things she's done. Then she comes back, and I see how terrible that is. She only wants me to be happy. Why can't I be happy?         “Will ya jus' try to have fun at yer party?” Pinkie's question, still thickly-accented, shook her out of her internal monologue. “Fer me?”         “I will, Pinkie,” she responded. She walked over and scooped her younger sibling into an embrace. “Thank you for everything.”         “Aw, shucks. An' I was jus' startin' to enjoy Applejack Mode too. Ah well.” Pinkie shook her head back and forth violently, then grinned. “But Pinkie Mode is fun too!” she declared in her usual voice.         “I'm getting kind of hungry,” said Blinkadette, with a grin that nearly matched Pinkamena's. There was no way she could stretch her mouth as wide, but her relative rarity of genuine smiles made each crease and wrinkle the smile caused on her face into something special, and, some might say, pretty. “Do you want to go back now? I'll make us something if mom hasn't.”         They chatted amiably on the way back, or more accurately, Pinkie Pie chatted while Blinkie mostly listened with a placid, content expression on her face. The fact that this empty, gray field should have been full of full-grown gems didn't bother her anymore. In fact, the possibilities in store started to race through her head. Should we try a cross-stitch flora planting pattern this time? That would ensure maximum tree height before the next rotation. The grass might suffer a little, but judging from the latest Cloudsdale weather almanac, the extra shade might not be such a bad idea in the hot summer coming up. It would make walks like this even nicer...         An ear-splitting crack echoed across the plain. Then, the family windmill was somehow lifted straight out of the ground and began swinging back and forth in the air in the distance, as if waving at them. There was a long appendage wrapped around it: a tentacle, attached to a gigantic, purple octopus that was cooing loudly as it used its other arms to pull water out of the well under the mill and bathe itself.         “Rocktopus, no!” Pinkie shouted as she shifted into a run straight toward the scene. How did he get out of the cage!? She halted in her tracks when she heard a gut-wrenching cry from behind her. She looked back and saw Blinkie, with a face full of slightly more despair than terror, trembling. After a moment of wavering, Blinkie's entire body appeared to snap. She let out a choked sob, turned, then bolted away as fast as she could.         “Blinkie, wait!” Pinkie faltered. She started running after her sister, then back toward the house, then toward her sister again. Her face scrunched up as she saw silhouettes of ponies trying to contain the loose animal. But with an agonized whimper, she sped off in the direction Blinkie had gone. Four ponies can deal with Rocktopus. Only I can help Blinkie.         She could see the cloud of dust her sibling's run had kicked up, but Blinkie was heading toward the western field, which was currently full of trees, bushes, and even some grain crops. If she didn't catch up quick, she might lose her. Pinkie tore across the drab rubble.         While Blinkie was fit from laboring in the farms since childhood, Pinkie had that advantage too, plus grueling physical training with Rainbow Dash, plus frequent, death-defying adventures, plus being currently loaded up with enough sugar to power an airship. She closed the distance quickly. Seeing this, Blinkadette screamed at her.         “Leave me alone!”         In response, Pinkie forced her legs to go even faster, carrying her in range for a tackle. She jumped and plowed into Blinkie, sending them both tumbling across the cracks and pebbles that littered the field. Bruised and panting, Blinkie picked herself up and tried to make another break for the foliage. Pinkie bounced into her path.         “Rocktopus was supposed to be a birthday surprise,” she said, barely out of breath. “I'm sorry.”         “Y-you're sorry that it wasn't a surprise!?” Blinkie screamed raggedly. “Not for the fact that, in addition to being broke, we're now going to die of thirst too!? Assuming the rampaging squid doesn't kill us first, anyway!”         “Octopus,” Pinkie corrected. “And he would never hurt anypony. That's why he was going to be part of the musical.”         “A musical?” Blinkie paused. “Actually, you know what? I don't want to know. Go away.”         “But...”         “Please, Pinkie. I'm begging you. Just let me be alone for a while.”         She thought carefully, glancing back and forth between the direction of the homestead, from which distant shouting could still be heard, and her older sister, who was shaking and red-eyed. “Only if you Pinkie Promise that you'll be back home before the sun goes down.”         With only a moment's hesitation, Blinkie went through the rhyme and motions of the promise with a solemnity that belied the ridiculous appearance of sticking her hoof in her eye.         “And only if you take this with you.” From deep in the recesses of her mane, Pinkie retrieved a miniature pink cannon. “Fire it if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?”         Blinkie nodded. She gently and carefully took the cannon in her teeth, then walked backwards toward the greenery-filled field, unwilling to look away from Pinkamena just yet. Finally, she skulked into a mass of corn stalks without looking back.         Pinkie Pie sat down weightily. She knew she should move, but her heart felt like an anchor dug in deeply to this spot. She looked up at the morning sun, shining brightly even though it was covered by a blanket of gray clouds. She closed her eyes very slowly and did her best to let the warmth come to her, but she still felt cold. She sighed and turned her head down toward the earth, hoping she could just get sucked down into it, if only for a little while. No luck there either.         Just as she was about to stand back up, she heard a vaguely familiar voice call to her.         “Hey kid, why the long face?” It was a thick Manehattan accent, and it came from a neatly stacked pile of rocks, on top of which had been placed a bright, conical party hat. It can't be...         “Rocky!” Pinkie whooped and darted over to her old friend. “What are you doing here?”         “You know I'd neva miss an important party like this, Pinksta,” he said, bouncing and chipping with each word.         “Oh, but this is going to be a terrible party, Rocky!” Pinkie lamented, curling up next to the pile of stones.         “With you around? Ain't no way. Why ya gotta go and say somethin' like that?”         “Because we keep messing everything up for Blinkie and making her all stressed out and sad. First a whole crop of rocks gets destroyed because Vinyl didn't know not to use magic directly on them, and now Rocktopus breaks out of his cage and decides to live in our well. All while she's trying to do other work and stuff.” She let out a deep, un-Pinkie-like sigh. “What am I supposed to do?”         “The only thing you can do, kid,” said Rocky. “You gotta make it right.”         “But how do I do that?” asked Pinkie.         “Take a good long look at what she needs to get done, then do it. Once she ain't got no needs to worry about, she'll be able to get down. Know what I'm sayin'?”         “I think so, but her work is so... boring.” Pinkie looked around for a way out of this, but she wasn't seeing one.         “So's trainin' for the championship,” he said, flexing one of the middle stones in his tower. “It's grueling and ya gonna wanna give up every stop o' the way. But once you reach ya limit and keep fightin' anyway, that's when the magic happens. You got ya family to help too. And me.”         “But what about the party?” There was completely sincere sadness in Pinkie’s voice.         “Make the work the party,” he suggested. “Ya know, like one o’ them weirdo Apple Family barn raisin’s.”         “Oh, Rocky,” Pinkie said, adjusting the hat so that it stood more proudly atop his 'head.' “You're a genius!”         “No I'm not. I'm an imaginary pile o' rocks.”