//------------------------------// // Caught In The Act // Story: Thweet Geniuth // by JMac //------------------------------// Thweet Geniuth Chapter 6  Caught In The Act                     What happened next was the last thing any of them expected.  They were able to walk almost directly to the stage doors that opened on the Confectionery Coliseum kitchens.                      “The layout of this building is very efficient,” noted Quiz.                      They found their only obstacle just before they reached the central stage doors.  The last side corridor before the doors was blocked by heavy iron gates, held by thick chains and huge padlocks.  Though the fillies didn’t have to get through the gate, there was something about them that would have made the gates intimidating just to walk by.                     The gates were not as intimidating as the guards.  These two towering stallions looked as if catching a few trespassing fillies would just make their whole day. A sign identified the corridor as “Executive Production Offices – Grand Chef’s Private Suite.”  Also, in golden lettering over the gates, was “Recipe Vault.”  Further signage warned “Authorized Personnel Only!!!  No Recording Devices Beyond This Point!!!”  Somehow, the extra exclamation marks did not seem excessive.                      Luckily, a side corridor going the other direct allowed the fillies to avoid the guards.  Two turns down two short hallways and they were in front of a side door to the Coliseum.                      “Is it just me, or did anyone else get a nasty vibe from those gates?” asked Scootaloo.  “The only time I’ve seen gates like they were guarding a cemetery!”                      “Those guards looked like they hadn’t eaten,” said Dinky, shuddering.  “They could finish me off in two bites!”                      “Beyond those gates are all of the Grand Chef’s secrets,” said Quiz, gravely.                      “Forget the gates, we got a job to do,” declared Apple Bloom.  “If we are going to catch our train home then we best get on with it.”  And she pushed the door open.                      Confectionery Coliseum was truly an awesome sight.  It was bigger than any theater, as big as all but the largest of sporting stadiums.  Even Apple Bloom took a moment to admire it before she set to work.  Once in the ‘Challenger’s Kitchen’ she unpacked her saddle bag, and began to get the other fillies organized.                      “Sweetie Belle, put a hoof on the end of this tape measure,” said Apple Bloom.  “Dinky, get some pictures.  Stand in the middle of the room and shoot all the way ‘round.”                      “OK,” said Dinky.  “But there should be something for scale.  I know, Quiz stand over there.  No, more to the right, Quiz.  Now a step to the left.  Now just a smidgen to…”                      “Just take the pictures, Dinky,” interrupted Apple Bloom.  “Sweetie Belle, move your end of the tape into that corner there.  That’s right.”  She produced a pencil she had tucked into her hair bow and began making notes.                      “We should post a guard by the box office,” said Sweetie Belle.  “I heard that’s how most of the crazed Grand Chef fans try to break in, so the guards check it pretty often.”                      “The Grand Chef has crazed fans?” asked Dinky.                      “He sure does,” said Sweetie Belle, nodding emphatically.  “They try to sneak in, just to touch something that the Grand Chef touched.”                      "I’m on it,” said Scootaloo, moving towards the main entrance.  “If I see a flashlight I’ll go like this, ‘Ca-Caw, Ca-Caw!’”                      “What the hay was that?” demanded Apple Bloom.                      “That was a bird call,” said Scootaloo, sounding miffed.  “It’ll be our secret signal.”                      “Um…” began Dinky, trying to think of something tactful to say.  “Maybe you should try this one.”  Dinky trilled like a song bird.                      “Oh, that’s really good!” exclaimed Sweetie Belle.  “Can you do this one, Dinky?”  Sweetie Belle cooed, giving a respectable imitation of a dove.                      Dinky cooed back.  Her imitation was even better than Sweetie Belle’s.                      “Enough!” exclaimed Apple Bloom.  She continued in a hoarse whisper, “The guards are going to hear you and come in with brooms to chase all you ‘birds’ out of here.  That is, unless they hear Scootaloo.  In that case they’ll know we ain’t birds.”                      “Hay!” Scootaloo began to protest, but she was interrupted by the loud gangling of chains, followed by a harsh, metallic groan.                      “What was that?” asked Dinky.                      “It was the ‘scary gates,’” said Quiz.  “They have been opened.”                      Quiz crept to the main stage doors, and put an ear to the crack between them.  She heard a female voice.                      “Thanks, boys.  Now take a break.  Come back in about half an hour.”  It was the same mare Quiz had heard arguing with the Grand Chef at the Fair.                      There was the sound of heavy hoofs, receding in the distance.  A set of much more delicate hooves also moved off; possibly heading down the forbidden corridor.                      Sweetie Belle whispered in Quiz’s ear, “Go, Quiz.  We can take care of things here.  You go and get your evidence.”                      Quiz nodded.  She pushed one door open a crack.  The gates were indeed open and unguarded.  There was a faint light, probably from a room far down the corridor.                      Quiz moved silently through the stage doors and up to the top of the gated corridor.  There she cast Twitcher’s Useful Amplifier.                      Bzzzt! “Merry, what are we doing here at this hour?” Quiz recognized the plaintive voice of Smarty Brickoven.                      “Clandestine meetings take place in the middle of the night.” It was the familiar mare’s voice.                      “We all work here!  It would look less suspicious if we met during business hours instead of having us sneak back here now.” “The Grand Chef is paranoid,” said another stallion. “No, the Grand Chef is just addicted to ridiculous displays of melodrama.” This was yet another stallion.  “That’s probably why he won’t let anyone oil the hinges on those stupid gates.” “The Grand Chef enjoys ordering us out of our beds,” This was another mare.  A very irritated mare.  “And it amuses him that we are actually willing to do it.” “Be that as it may be, Almond, we are here, so let’s go over the Grand Chef’s orders,” said Merry, wearily.  “The Grand Chef knows that he looks better the worse his challenger looks.  So, it’s our job to make this kid look very bad, indeed.  Commentators, I have some bullet points I want you to stress during the show…” “Are you serious?!” interrupted Smarty.  This was followed by a flurry of protests from the other ponies in the room.                      “Oh, shut up, all of you!” yelled Merry.  This silenced them.  “Yes, I am serious.  We are going to do this, so get used to it.  And take notes.  Commentators – firstly, I want you to go on and on about what a shame it is that she’s so unprepared.  This will lose her lots of sympathy; the crowed will think ‘To show up unready for the contest of a lifetime, that’s just a disgrace.’” “How are we going to do that?” objected Smarty.  “I saw her work at the Fair.  The kid is more organized than most chefs five times her age.” It’s been arranged,” said Merry.  There was silence as the ponies let the implications of that sink in.  Merry continued, “Secondly, we want to portray her as a lonesome loser.  Stress how it’s a shame that no pony cared enough to take the short train ride from Ponyville to root for her.  Production staff - we’ll want lots of shots of the filly’s empty gallery.” “Is that being arranged as well?” asked Almond.                 “Yup.”  Again, this was met with silence.  “To sum up, you are not to have anything nice to say about the challenger.” “Are we allowed to judge her candy fairly?” “Oh, you won’t have to compromise your integrity as judges,” said Merry.  “The Grand Chef will trounce this poor child fair and square.  We just want it to look as if she deserves it.” “Is Happy in on this?” “Oh, good grief, no!”  Merry laughed.  “Happy would never understand.  Not that there’s much Happy does understand.  We may have to turn her mic off if she starts gushing about how cute the challenger is.  Other than that, I’m not worried about her.  No pony takes Happy seriously.”                      None of the other ponies laughed.                        “Oates, I have a special job for you,” said Merry.  “This filly has a terrible speech impediment, so we want to get her saying as many ‘S’ words as possible.  Start thinking up leading questions with that in mind.” “Please, Merry, do I have to…” “Just do it, Oates!” snapped Merry.   “Now, camera crew, I want this filly to look ridiculous.  That shouldn’t be too hard.  Give me bad camera angles and worse lighting.  I’ll give you a 50 bit bonus if you can catch her scratching.  And 100 bits if she picks her nose on camera…” “Come on, Merry, this is absurd,” said Smarty.  “Why are you going along with this?  You sound even more miserable than us.” There was a long silence.  Finally, Merry spoke.  “Fine, I’ll admit it.  I’m miserable.  Trashing some perfectly nice filly is not my idea of fun.  I’d call this a waste of my talent, but unfortunately, I happen to have a talent for this.  Here's the bottom line – giving the Grand Chef what he wants is a condition of our continued employment.  And I, for one, want to keep my job.  Celestia as my witness, I will never go back to producing classified ads for the town criers in Baltimare again!” Merry paused.  When no pony spoke up she continued, “So, unless any of you has a former career you are eager to get back to, I suggest you get over your qualms about this unpleasant task, and you do your jobs.” There was a murmur of unhappy agreement from all the ponies.                      “Good,” said Merry.  “Moving on, the Grand Chef doesn’t like the challenger’s name.  Instead, she is to always be referred to as…”                     Bzzt!                      Quiz could control her spell no longer.  This turned out to be timely, as Sweetie Belle was trying to get her attention.                      “…we have to go, Quiz!”                      “Where are the others?” asked Quiz.                      “Being chased by guards,” Sweetie Belle answered.  “Apparently, they weren’t impressed by Scootaloo’s bird calls.  If they get away they’ll meet us at the train station.  We have to run before we’re noticed too.”                      “Then let us run,” said Quiz.                      They ran. #                      Nopony was chased further than the building’s perimeter, and they all made their train with time to spare.  The fillies were all excited about the success of their adventure, and they made a party of the ride home.  Dinky’s camera was passed around, and they used the last of the film taking group pictures.  Quiz was even in a few of the shots, and she might possibly have been smiling faintly.                      As they neared Ponyville, however, Apple Bloom noticed that Dinky had grown quiet.  “There’s something on you mind, Dinky,” she said.                  Dinky bit her lip, worriedly.  “Well, it’s just that the overnight trains are mostly mail service,” she said.  “I think most of the ponies working on the trains and at the stations probably know my mom.”                  The implications of this slowly sunk in.  Just before arriving home was probably not the best time to make this observation.                    The train rolled into the station at Ponyville, and waiting impatiently on the platform were Derpy, Rarity, Applejack, and Twilight.