//------------------------------// // Sparkler -- A Family Meal // Story: The Album // by Peregrine Caged //------------------------------// Written by: Comma-Kazie Rated Everyone “You’re doing it wrong, Sparky.” My little sister brushed a blonde lock of her mane out of her eyes, determined not to lose sight of her target: the stove. One of her forelegs was idly wrapped around a silver fire extinguisher. I shot a quick glance sideways to make sure the safety pin was still in place--last thing I needed was for a late addition to the celery stew I’d been babying for the past half hour. “I’m making it just fine, Dinky. Don’t get trigger-happy.” Dinky shook her head and frowned at the pot, hitting it with the six-year-old equivalent of a suspicious glare. “Nuh-uh, you’re doing it different from Mommy.” “Different’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Especially when the ‘usual’ way of doing things ended in a kitchen fire. To be fair, Dinky’s quick-draw skills with an extinguisher had saved the house more than once. I’m kinda surprised she doesn’t already have a cutie mark in disaster relief, given the way some of Mom’s cooking projects went. And her home repair projects. And her attempts at refurbishing. And the one time we moved furniture around. Not that Mom doesn’t try--she puts a lot of effort into the meals she makes for us, and the stuff she gets right is fantastic. If Equestria ever moved away from the bit, Mom’s muffins could easily step in as the dominant currency. She does a lot more than just put food on the table for us, too. She really does go out of her way to sit down and eat with us. Working her flank off didn’t always give her time for us, and we loved having her home for dinner as much as she did. Thing is… well, Mom getting the nickname ‘Derpy’ is one of the few things about her that isn’t accidental. There were a lot of stains on the counter from past attempts at pouring coffee, soup, or whatever other liquid happened to be on hoof, and the fire extinguisher threatening my work saw so much use that the manufacturer had given us our own family-specific plan--complete with Preferred Customer status and a plaque commemorating our 250th refill. They’d even thrown a parade for it. Speaking of the extinguisher... “Dinks, you don’t need to have that ready. I’m just making soup.” “Mommy made cereal catch fire,” she reminded me. That was a good point--to this day, nopony had any clue how she’d done that. Miss Twilight had spent the better part of fifteen minutes explaining to me exactly how that violated the laws of physics, only to completely freak out when Mom did it again with ice cream when she brought treats over from Sugarcube Corner. I went through the motions of a Pinkie Promise. “I’m not going to start any fires, okay?” “Then how do you know you’re doing it right?” Only in this household could that question be asked with a straight face. “Because it’s not catching fire.” Urge to facehoof… rising... Dinky stayed at the ready, nodding her head as if to only humor me. I rolled my eyes at her and levitated a spoon out of the nearby drawer, scooping out a bit of soup to see how close it was to done. Damn, the potatoes were still too hard. “I’m bored. Can I have a cookie?” I shook my head. “Mom said no sweets before dinner.” “Pleeease?” Oh Celestia, I could tell from her tone that she was hitting me with her best puppy eyes look. I could never say no to her when she did that, and she knew it. I didn’t dare look away from the stove. “After dinner.” “Just one?” Good grief, I could feel the pleading look she was shooting my way. Note to self: come up with a way to resist Dinky’s adorableness, or else forever become her slave. That filly could wrap Princess Luna around her hoof if it ever came to it. “I’ve already said no, Dinks.” A pinch more salt, and another reason to avoid eye contact. “Besides--I don’t wanna deal with you when you’re on a sugar rush. I still gotta make sandwiches before Mom gets home.”  Dinky’s frustrated hoof-stomp was muffled by the stool’s cushion. “But I wanna cookie!” “No, Dinky!” I sighed and instantly wished I hadn’t raised my voice. If Dinks thought it was going to boil down to a shouting match, she’d build up steam and go on for hours. No way I was gonna let that happen; I didn’t have the patience to deal with one of her tantrums, and it wouldn’t be fair to Mom to come home to that. I love Dinky, but she can be a hoofful sometimes. I really wonder how Mom put up with her all by herself before she adopted me. How to head Dinky off...  “Look--don’t you have homework to do?” “I don’t wanna do homework!” she sniveled. “It’s math this week--and not just math, it’s division! Division’s haaarrrrrd!” I sighed again and fervently hoped I had never been this bad to my foster dad when I was her age. I was pretty sure subjecting somepony to that kind of whining went against the Geneighva Convention. It’s sure as hay something I wouldn’t wish on anypony. Even him. I tossed in another round of spices a little more vigorously than necessary. “Look, Dinks--just go get started on it, okay?” “But what if I get stuck?” Celestia, her voice was like hooves on a chalkboard. “Then move onto another problem.” I could help her out later like I always did, and she knew it. “But--” “Dinky!” Okay, I shouldn’t’ve snapped at her like that, but she was really starting to grate on me. “Quit stalling and go start your homework, alright? I’m making dinner!” “Fine!” Dinky tossed the fire extinguisher aside and leapt off the stool, stomping off in a huff. Good thing Mom got that her-proof flooring installed--the extinguisher hit the ground hard enough that it could have cracked tile. I split my attention for a second and levitated it back onto its holder next to the icebox, then turned back to the soup. With Dinky out of the room, I could finally concentrate on the dinner I’d been so carefully guarding from a foamy, fire-retardant condiment. With one last relieved sigh, I turned my focus back to the recipe at hoof. The potatoes were finally softening up, the celery was about to hit that perfect medium of warm and crunchy, and I’d hit just the right balance of saltiness and spices. I could comfortably say everything had gone right so far. Naturally, that’s when the front door banged open. No, I mean that as in ‘banged open,’ from the outside-inward. Yeah, I know it didn’t make a lot of sense from a design standpoint--hay, even Tool Time had scratched his head about it even when he first took the remodelling job. Needless to say though, the combination of Mom’s lack of depth perception and high-speed homecomings lent her to impacts with the front of the house rough enough that Tool Time was still living comfortably from living off of the patents from the Derp-Proof Doorframe. Crime was low enough in Ponyville that somepony being stopped by the front door was a bigger safety concern. “Hi, Mom.” I didn’t even blink as she tumbled to a halt in the mudroom. It sounded like she’d remembered to tuck and roll again, and past experience reminded me that I’d know if she botched it. I heard Mom shake off the rough landing with practiced ease. “Hi, sweetie!” Even if I couldn’t see her, I could feel her smile from across the house. Luna, but she loved coming home. And it was always good to have her home. I ignored the odors of hard work that accompanied Mom into the kitchen. “Chow’s about ready, and Dinks should be starting on her homework.” “Thank you so much, Sparkler.” Mom hugged me with her wing. “I’m sorry to dump this on you again, it’s just--” “You gotta job to do, I get it.” I nuzzled her back, ignoring the grimy lather she’d worked up on the trip home. I was about to say something else when I was cut off by a faint shew shew shew sort of sound, like something dragging against carpet. Mom and I both turned to see a plain, medium-sized cardboard box suddenly stop moving just outside of the kitchen. A pair of golden eyes peered out through a small hole cut in the side and went wide when they saw Mom standing next to me. Oh, Dinks is just too much fun sometimes. Mom gave a wall-eyed wink. I nodded back and fought to keep a smile off of my face. “So how was your day, sweetie?” Mom deliberately turned her body towards the stove--she always had trouble keeping a straight face. “Really awesome, Mom,” I said, winking to her. “I met this really nice colt in shop class today.” Mom grinned and played along. “Oh really? Is he nice?” “He’s sooooooo cute.” I usually don’t go for ultra-girly stuff, but this time around I was more than willing to ham things up as much as possible for our not-present audience. “He’s such a hunky earth pony, and he’s got these dreamy green eyes...” “Blegh!” the inconspicuous cardboard intruder gagged. It scuttled back a hair when Mom and I both turned to face it in faux surprise. “I mean, um... Box noises!” It took all of my self control not to outright laugh at that, and Mom clamped a foreleg over her mouth to try and keep herself under control. Good Celestia, Dinks, when you weren’t being a pain in the flank you were feathering priceless. Mom stepped towards the totally obvious not-a-disguise. “Well, it looks like there’s nothing here after all.” “Nothing at all,” I nodded in agreement. I waited for the not-so-subtle sigh of relief before I spoke up again. “I’ll tell you all about him, Mom. Lemme just put away this strangely-placed and inconspicuous box, and I’ll tell you all about him.” It was just too priceless seeing those not-so-hidden eyes go wide as my horn glowed and picked the box up off the ground, revealing its previously-hidden occupant. Dinky squeaked and froze in place on her stomach, a stick-figure diagram of the kitchen clutched in her hoof. I could faintly make out the title of her master scheme written in crayon: ‘Objektiv: Cookees.’ Mom clapped a hoof to her cheek in surprise. “Muffin, what’re you doing here?” “Getting sumthin’ to eat.” She shuffled on her hooves and hastily tucked her secret plans behind her. “I’m making dinner,” I pointed out, smiling smugly down at her. “You know, like Mom asked?” Dinky shook her head. “Nuh-uh, cookies are safer. You have cooties.” I thought for a minute, then decided decided to string her along a little more. “I made those, too.” Mom held up a hoof to cut us off, sniffing the air. “Do you two smell smoke?” Now that she mentioned it... “GAAH! The stove!” I raced back into the kitchen and frantically turned down the knob, choking the gas flow to the bare minimum. The soup had boiled over and was starting to hit the burner--it would kill the flame if I didn’t do something and fast. I telekinetically grabbed the ladle and desperately tried to stir the bubbling mess into submission. Dinky leapt back onto the stool beside me and pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher. “Don’t you dare,” I growled, pointedly putting myself between Dinky and her target of choice. Lucky for me her magic hadn’t come in yet, which meant that she couldn’t do more than struggle to tilt her head and aim the hose clamped in her jaws while her hoof rested on the firing lever. She gave up after a minute and let go of the extinguisher. “Aw, there’s no fwooshing!” Her face fell as I got everything back under control, making sure that nothing else would go wrong. “Mommy! Show Sparky how to make it right.” “She’s doing fine, Muffin.” Mom gently took the extinguisher from Dinky and put the safety pin back in place. “Just because your sister does things a little differently from me doesn’t mean she’s doing it the wrong way.” I stuck my tongue out at Dinky before turning my attention back to making dinner. “Toldja, runt.” “Cootie face.” Real mature, Dinks. Mom rolled her eyes at our very mature exchange. It was so weird seeing her eyes line up like that. “Girls...” “Sorry, Mom,” Dinky and I said together. She hopped off the stool and gave me a hug; I hugged her back, making sure to keep one eye on the stove. Mom came over and put a wing over both of us, mercifully nudging Dinks away from the stove. “Go get your saddlebags and get set up in the living room, okay Muffin? We’ll go through your homework together after I take a quick shower.” “Fiiiine.” There was still a bit of a whine in Dinky’s tone, but I could tell from the slump in her shoulders that she knew there was no weaseling out of it now that Mom was back. Once Dinks disappeared around the corner, Mom came over and gave me a quick nuzzle. “Thanks again for making dinner, sweetie--I know this was really last-minute.” “S’not a problem.” I could feel the grime on her coat as I gave her a quick hug back. I didn’t mind. “I love you, Mom.” Mom kissed my forehead. “I love you, too, Sparkler.” She gave me another quick nuzzle before heading down the hall to rinse off after another crazy shift. Some ponies would have been a bit put off by having the scent of a sweaty pony lingering in the air when trying to cook. Then again, some ponies didn’t have magic to help them cook in the first place. I put the burner on low to make sure the soup wasn’t going to boil over again, then grabbed the stuff out of the icebox to get started on the dandelion sandwiches. Dinky had already set the table, and everything would be ready about when Mom was done cleaning up. Just in time for a family meal.