Blinkie was finally back to breathing normally. The backs of her eyes hurt wickedly, and she had chipped her hooves. She wanted to believe her kicks had chipped more of the bark off the trees and the stone off the rocks, but she knew that was not the case. All she had gotten out of it was pain. She delicately sat down on her haunches and focused on the words and images still rolling around in her head.
“That's why I named her Octavia, you know,” her father had said. Of course. She was the oldest. The darling. The geode of Clyde Pie's eye, so she got the special name. The other two got traditional names, chosen by mom. But while Pinkamena's name wasn't unique, she definitely was. Everything from being completely pink, to being the young favorite, to changing the whole family's outlook on life. Blinkie thought back to the way mom had held Pinkie earlier, and she couldn't remember the last time she had been held at all.
She found it strange that it wasn't the image itself that made her want to cry. She didn't even want to be coddled like that. So why did it bother her so much? Blinkie huffed and blinked out a last couple of teardrops. She kicked a pebble, and sent it arcing through the air until it bounced off of the hoof of a pony she hadn't noticed before.
There stood dad, quietly contemplating her and ignoring the rock. Blinkie lowered her head and mumbled an apology.
“What are you doing all the way out here, Blinkadette?” he asked, surveying the bushy limbo between barren and verdant land that this remote section of the farm was host to. “We've got everything under control, so you can come on back now.”
“I don't want to, dad,” she said. “I need to be by myself right now, and please, please, whatever you do, don't say you're disappointed in me...”
“Disappointed in you?” The straw nearly fell out of Clyde's mouth when his jaw dropped. He stepped closer to her, but his face fell when the movement caused her to shy away. “I am not disappointed in you in the slightest. What I am is mad as heck at your sisters, and some of the company they keep.”
“Then why are you letting them stay?” Blinkie tried to shout, but it came out as more of a croak. “They ruined everything I spent the last six months working on, and now they're ruining my birthday too!”
“That's a good question.” He tried to move closer to his daughter again, and he sighed with faint relief when she didn't recoil. “Of course, I still love them, and that's an important consideration. I think another big reason, though, is that if you're kind and understanding about it, guilty ponies make very good temporary workers. Even if they're not rock farmers, they have their uses.”
She stared at him and thought she saw the tiniest hint of a curl at the end of his lips.
“Listen here, Blinkadette,” he went on, finally getting close enough to her to rest a hoof on her shoulder. She continued to look at him with wide, quivering eyes. “This is a heck of a mess, you're right. But there comes a time when we have to stop blaming and start fixing. And we can't fix this family without you.”
Blinkie bit her lip to avoid a sob. “I hate it when you try to guilt us into things, dad,” she whispered. “Maybe you should try to fix it without me anyway.”
“We can do that too,” Clyde Pie said. Blinkie tried to convince herself that the trace of desperation she heard in his voice was just wishful thinking on her part. “But we've got food ready. Why not come take a plate, at the least?”
“I told you, I don't—” Blinkie's stomach snarled at her. For a few moments, she weighed her hunger against potentially having to face her siblings again.
Octavia's apparently successful love life hurt even more than her wealth and popularity. Blinkie knew she didn't have enough talent to be such a star, but she should at least be able to find a special somepony, shouldn't she? She wasn't interested in mares, though, and she'd known all the colts in a fifty mile radius since they were fillies, far too long a time to find any of them exciting. Maybe I should just settle, she thought. Some of them aren't bad looking, I guess. And I do want foals of my own, even if mom and dad are really annoying about it.
But then she'd never measure up to Pinkie either. While she knew she could never undertake anything like her young sister's epic, death-defying adventures, she did have a chance to be as free-spirited and independent. Pinkie had a job, rented an apartment far away from home, was even foalsitting in her spare time, but still had the opportunity to drop everything and do what she wanted too. Blinkie wondered if she would ever even leave her parents' house. Maybe I'll just build my own little miniature homestead right next to theirs. That will be extra depressing.
So what is my role supposed to be?
“Okay dad,” she said. “Don't expect me to make small talk though.”
He gave her a stern, steady look, then started to lead the way back.
“So that's the plan!” Pinkie declared triumphantly, striking a hoof on the dinner table for emphasis. Rose, Vinyl, and Octavia stared incredulously.
“Pinkamena, we're not like you,” Octavia said. “We aren't magic. We can't simply—do things like that. We're just normal ponies.”
“Normal ponies are the most magical of all!” Pinkie protested as she passed the stage blueprints around the table. “Or something like that. More importantly, dad said so, so you have to try.”
“Oh, mom.” Octavia groaned. “Please tell me dad didn't say to do this.”
Rose nodded as she vainly adjusted her spectacles to try to make sense of the documents she was looking at. “He did.”
“I think it'll be fun,” said Vinyl, who was tying up her "Wub the Cook" apron to begin dinner preparations. “Come on, 'Tavi. It'll at least be funny even if it doesn't work, right?”
“That's very comforting,” she deadpanned. “Very well then. Count me in, dear sister.”
“Yes!” Pinkie leaped over the table, flipped around in mid-air, and landed so that she could run backwards toward the door, allowing her to continue beaming directly at her conspirators. “Thank you so much, guys! You won't regret this!” She bumped hard into the wall in her haste, nearly breaking one of the vases the house's decorative plants had been placed in. She carefully got the plant under control, then searched out the door handle with her rear hoof, her smile unwavering the entire time. Once the exit was open, she zoomed outside like a pink gust of wind.
A few minutes after Pinkie left the house, the hum of electrical sound amplifiers filled the air. Vinyl's tail practically jerked her body around as it swished with excitement at the noise. Octavia's reaction to the host of pre-musical sounds was more muted, but hers was definitely moving too. The couple's tails got caught together, and they laughed as they struggled to disentangle themselves, ending up “accidentally” collapsing and rolling around on the floor in laughter.
Rose Pie made sure she was turned away so that they could see neither her smile nor the rolling of her eyes. “Miss Scratch, it's time to put the potatoes in the pots.”
“O-Of course, ma'am!” Vinyl shot up and immediately rushed over to help.
With a melodramatic sigh directed squarely at her mother, Octavia also sat up. When she saw no response from mom was forthcoming, she started walking up the stairs toward Blinkie's room to begin her role in the plot. Her look lingered on Vinyl Scratch, whose small, white apron simultaneously gave her a down-to-earth, homebody aura, while also accentuating her curves and the lack of anything else covering them. Vinyl, of course, was too busy trying to be useful to notice her gaze, but that was likely for the best. If she had seen Octavia's warm smile, the reaction might have made them both cry, or throw themselves at each other, or both. She tore her eyes away, then lifted them with rising dread toward the room where page after page of financial documents lurked.
“You're a genius,” she whispered to herself. “Everypony at the academy said so. You can do this...”
When Blinkie came in sight of her home again, she cringed when she saw that Pinkie's octopus was still there. Only now, instead of bathing itself in their precious water, it was perched on a wooden stage some distance away from the house. It supported itself on two tentacles while the other six held musical instruments; two worked a drum set, two held a bass guitar, and two had a lead guitar. All were electric, hooked up to a big white amplifier which bore the image of Vinyl Scratch's musical cutie mark on the side. Each “player” in the “band” was dressed in an artificially shredded rocker costume, complete with fishnets, chains, wigs of every color and style, piercings, and tattoos, all hung artfully in place on the animal's slick, smooth appendages... somehow.
Pinkamena Diane Pie stood at the front of the stage with a microphone, waiting. Her face was straight and serious, even with the zig-zagging patterns of black and white makeup that adorned her face. Her mane was spiked in every direction, with a flame-patterned bandana wrapped around her forehead. When she spotted Blinkie—whose face was frozen in bewilderment—and their father, she nodded at them, then spoke.
“Straight from Ponyville, give it up for Rocktopus!” Pinkie said in a loose approximation of a punk singer's growl, which blasted and echoed across the flat expanse of the farm. Her high pitched voice and cheerful tone rebelled and clashed against how threatening she was trying to sound, but she continued anyway. “This concert goes out to the specialest sister in the world, Blinkadette Rosalyn Pie!”
After a pause long enough for wild applause—although there wasn't any, due to the field being deserted—Pinkie continued. “We're going to wish you a happy birthday with a brand new song. While we're playing, we're going to montage the stuffing out of this birthday and get things done! But enough chit-chat. This one's called “Eye of the Pony,” and it's going to rock your socks off, whether you're wearing any or not!”
Fireworks of every bright and happy hue exploded from the front of the stage, nearly burning Blinkie's staring eyes. She discovered that she was giggling slightly when the first notes on the guitar began to play. Then she was nearly blown back when the bass and the drums joined together in an epic intro.
DUN.
DUN DUN DUUUUUUN—
Rocktopus was playing the instruments with a speed and precision that would put many talented unicorn musicians to shame. His slimy tendrils plucked the guitar strings just right, and banged on the drums and cymbals in a steady, powerful beat. The ground shook, and Pinkie began to sing.
Risin' up, back on the sheet,
Checked the time, did the dances,
Went the distance
Now I'm bakin' some sweets,
Just a mare and her will to go jive...
Octavia, earplugs firmly in place, pored over walls of words and numbers. “This isn't fair,” she said to herself, then her face dropped into a guilty frown. She sighed and closed her eyes. After a few moments of controlling her breathing, she opened her eyes again, and they now blazed with determination. She scribbled some notes with her pen and tried to remember how to do long division.
So many times, it rises too fast
You trade your sugar for curry,
Don't lose your grip on the creams of the past
You must cook just to keep them alive!
Rose Pie was ranging far afield to look for suitable rocks to plant. The din of the impromptu rock concert could still be heard easily. It was certainly not the kind of music she normally listened to, and she grumbled something to that effect, but unbeknownst to her, her pickaxe strokes were exactly in time with the beat of the song. It occurred to her that she should be much more tired from the effort than she was, since she hadn't worked in the field in years, but she was pleasantly surprised to feel invigorated instead.
Pinkie launched into the chorus, backed up by some slick guitar riffs from Rocktopus.
It's the eye of the pony
It's the flavor you bake,
Risin' up in the oven
Of our rival
And the best known MacGuyver
Preps her dough for the cake
And she's watching us all with the
Eye of the pony!
Blinkie was struggling to make sense of the scene. Giant octopus. Had he been feeding on their dirt? Ridiculous costumes. Where did the equipment come from? Song she had never heard before. Why was no one else here? It was just her. And dad, who had been so steady through all the insanity, now and in the past, from her sisters and from her. Could she ever pay him back? And Pinkie, who was pouring her heart into every note, not knowing or caring if she sang off-key, as long as those she loved were there to hear it. And the octopus, who was dressed just like a real band, if one squinted. Even his big, black, alien eyes seemed to want to make her happy. This is stupid... but not as stupid as spending my birthday pitying myself. To Tartarus with that. Maybe every other day of the year, but not this one.
In that moment, she cracked. She beamed, giggled in nearly terrifying convulsions, then fell over. Soon Blinkie was rolling on her back, laughing so hard that her dad could hear her distinctly over the blare of the music. A strained grin stretched across his face, the kind that can only come when tears are also on their way. He calmly sat down next to her, just out of range of the hoof she was pounding into the ground with delight. As much as the performance amused Clyde Pie, his eyes stayed locked on Blinkie.
Risin' up, back on the sheet
Checked the time, did the dances,
Went the distance
Now I'm back on my feet
Just a mare and her will to go jive,
Hours passed, but it seemed like only a couple minutes to Vinyl. And not in a “time flies when you're having fun” kind of way either. She was having fun making food for everyone, and being able to see the totally sweet concert happening outside, of course, but this was different. She felt that if her horn could twitch, it would be doing so right now. She shrugged and dismissed the thoughts, for now. What was important was that the dinner preparations had entered the waiting stage, and it was time to get the rest of the chores finished. She looked upstairs with longing, but the list of tasks she had to do appeared in a magical nimbus before her eyes, like her horn had developed a will of its own and was using it to block her figurative view of Octavia. She mumbled some unkind words about subconscious magic, then grabbed the broom and marched toward the entryway.
Face to face, eating a beet,
Chewin' tough, stayin' hungry
They come in wads
Still we take to the street
For the hill with the grill on its side
It's the eye of the pony
It's the flavor you bake,
Risin' up in the oven
Of our rival
And the best known MacGuyver
Preps her dough for the cake
And she's watching us all with the
Eye of the pony!
The finances were organized. Thanks to Blinkie's meticulous notes, and some vague mnemonic devices Octavia had drilled into her head long ago, it was done. She looked up. The sun was setting, and... were they still playing the same song outside? She pulled out an earplug to listen more closely. They were. She raised a perplexed eyebrow.
Risin' up straight to the top
Had the nuts, got the saury
Went the distance
Now I'm not gonna stop
Just a mare and her will to go jive
It's the eye of the pony
It's the flavor you bake,
Risin' up in the oven
Of our rival
And the best known MacGuyver
Preps her dough for the cake
And she's watching us all with the
Eye of the pony!
Pinkie was sliding and bouncing across the stage during the wicked guitar solo that followed that repetition of the chorus. She caught herself mid-twirl when she saw Blinkie's collapsed, laughter-wracked body. She made a sound that was part squee, part whimper, which nearly threw her off her game. No, she thought. This is serious. Put on your Grr face! She shook herself out of the reverie just in time to lead into the song's finish. She grabbed the mike and belted out the lyrics like the fate of Equestria was hanging in the balance.
Risin' up, back on the sheet
Checked the time, did the dances,
Went the distance
Now I'm bakin' some sweets,
Just a mare and her will to go jive,
So many times, it rises too fast
You trade your sugar for curry,
Don't lose your grip on the creams of the past
You must cook just to keep them alive
It's the eye of the pony
It's the flavor you bake,
Risin' up in the oven
Of our rival
And the best known MacGuyver
Preps her dough for the cake
And she's watching us all with the
Eye of the pony!
The eye of the pony!
The eye of the pony...
As the last note drifted out into the star-filled night, all the ponies—and the octopus—at the Pie Family Plantation stopped what they were doing. They gazed at the sky, and at any others that were nearby. They independently but simultaneously made the decision to gather back in the house's family room. Rocktopus had to hang outside, but one of his titanic eyes peered in from one of the windows to watch the family—and the unicorn newcomer—sit around the couches and cushions.
Vinyl Scratch brought out the dinner that she had spent all day marinating and stewing to perfection. Each pony took at least one bowl that night, with Pinkie topping out at nine. There was no alcohol, but they all felt and acted buzzed from the day's events. Legs draped over each other, warm smiles, laughter shared. Blinkie ached for a blank canvas in front of her, but she didn't want to move after her third bowl, either. She tried to burn the image into her memory instead, drawing a few quizzical looks when the effort made her grunt a little.
“Uh oh, are you gassy, Blinkie?” asked Pinkie. “We didn't screw up dinner too, did we?”
“No, no,” Blinkie replied, blushing. “I'm not—gassy. I just... I want to make sure I remember this night the right way. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make any sense.”
“Nope, but that's all good, sugarcube.” Pinkie's voice briefly picked up the same twangy accent she had used during “Applejack Mode.”
“By the way, that show was well done, Pinkamena,” Octavia said quietly. The others, most of all Blinkie, talked over each other to agree wholeheartedly, but they fell silent when Octavia said something else in an even more restrained tone. “However, I'm sorry if this ruins the evening, but I simply must say this. There really is no delicate way to put it... we're running out of money, quickly.”
“What?” Clyde asked. “Are you sure about that? We've still got plenty of savings, property—”
“Which will all be gone in a year if we don't do something.”
They all turned to look at Blinkie.
“It's probably true,” she said. “I'd have to double check the numbers, but buying the other plantation was a huge investment gamble, and we lost.”
“Well, that's fine,” said Rose. “We'll just have to sell it and take out a second mortgage, perhaps.”
“That's crazy,” said her husband. “That will destroy our credit, and that’s assuming we can even find a buyer.”
If the business-related talk had not quickly sent Pinkie into deep sleep, she may have had something constructive to add. As it was, she snored and inflated and deflated a bubble of saliva hanging out of the edge of her mouth.
“I know quite a few influential ponies in both finance and politics,” Octavia said. “So does Vinyl. Why don't we consult some of them? I'm sure we can...”
The voices grew muffled and indistinct as Blinkie silently withdrew from the room. She crept down to the dusty basement, biting at the air and hoping it would catch the light bulb string. She finally found it and pulled, lighting the cellar with a muted orange glow. Climbing over piles of outdated farming tools, thick, endlessly rebound family albums, and stashes of balloons and sugar that had to be Pinkie's, she made her way to the very back.
There, a canvas almost as large as the wall rested against it, covered with a drape. Blinkie gripped the cloth and pulled it off, revealing one of the paintings she was most proud of.
It was the day that Pinkie had first introduced the family to the concept of “parties.” Or rather, it was loosely based on that event, years after the fact. The little filly in the center of the silo, amidst all the candles and sweets and streamers, was not pink, nor even a pony. In fact, she was just an uncannily equine-shaped rock. The myriad balloons from that day were all tied to its stony body. The cords on the balloons were taut, and the plastic that contained their air was starting to stretch into strained, distorted shapes that swirled impossibly across the entire upper portion of the canvas, but all their efforts were not in vain. The statue had a tiny hint of a shadow inked in underneath it, having been lifted just an inch or two off the ground.
Blinkie searched around for a pot of ink and a pen. After grabbing hold of one, she coaxed just enough out of its ancient contents to sign “Blinkie Pie” in the lower right corner of her work. She regarded the name with a sad but contemplative expression. I know what the paint means, now I just have to figure out what the signature means.
“Blinkadette?” Octavia was the one who spoke, but everypony had gathered in the basement and was watching her with familial concern. Even Vinyl, to a degree.
“Just the pony I wanted to see,” Blinkie replied, shelving the ink and walking toward her older sister. “You asked if I was considering selling my paintings, right? Well, I could use some extra birthday money this year, so if you could get me in touch with your rich friends, I'd really appreciate it.”
“Pardon?” Octavia voiced the looks on everypony else's faces. “You said the paintings were for yourself. There is no need to sell something so important to you. Our situation isn’t that dire, my dear.”
“Yes, I did say they were for myself.” Blinkie's gaze passed along each pony in turn. Dad, who brought her back and sat with her for one of the happiest things she'd ever seen. Pinkie, who had set most of it up. Mom, who spent the day working the field again and not complaining at all about it. Octavia, who finally finished most of the paperwork and was going to stay to help out longer... along with Vinyl, who had started all of this in many ways, but who had also apparently agreed to help fix it without hesitation.
“But I said they were for my family too.” She slowly walked up to her father, who immediately threw his forelegs around her. Rose's, Pinkie's, and Octavia's soon followed, until the Pies were squeezing each other for all they were worth. Blinkie opened her eyes during the embrace and saw Vinyl hanging back, looking extremely out of place. “That also means you,” she said, much less begrudgingly than she expected. The unicorn, her sister's love, and not a freak at all, walked into the opening Blinkie created in the pile of ponies. They all finally held each other close. None of them, not even the birthday girl herself, cared that Blinkadette Rosalyn Pie's twentieth birthday party was drawing to an end in a dingy cellar with barely any light. She didn't know what the next day would bring, but even if it was worse, Blinkie was ready for it now. She had survived.
“If you’re sure about that,” Octavia mused, “then I can certainly help you. This one is really quite remarkable.” She squinted at the canvas. “Oh my! Did you do this alla prima?”
“I did, yeah,” Blinkie said with a modest shrug. “I had the whole day off and a lot of paint, so I thought I would try something new.”
“You mean you painted this entire thing in one sitting?” said Vinyl. “That’s amazing! You know Octavia, Fancy Pants totally goes for stuff like that. I think he’d pop his monocle if he saw one this size. I mean, if Blinkie is sure sure...”
“I am.” Blinkie squeezed them all closer, and Rocktopus finally joined in on the group hug by sneaking several tentacles through the basement window and wrapping them around the group of ponies. Though surprised and a little disgusted, the family still laughed and hugged him back.