Rainbow Dash and Rarity had been fighting again. That much was easy to see from how they entered Sugarcube. The guilty glances to each other, the little cringes, and the slumps to their normally proud backs and necks also meant that Twilight had found out they were fighting. Pinkie sighed softly and kicked the counter ever-so-gently, the most frustration she could show at this latest development. After helping Dashie and Rarity to sort this out, she would have to spend her afternoon at the library, making sure Twilight knew that it wasn’t sharing her that was the problem, it was just that her lovers didn’t really understand each other as well as they could, if they gave each other the chance.
Everyone else had been surprised when it came to be. Twilight Sparkle, the reclusive, studious librarian, hooking up with not one but two of the town’s most outgoing, outspoken mares? No one else had seen it coming. But then again, no one else was Pinkie Pie. Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing the little things about all your friends. Birthdays and favorite colors and food allergies were easy. Anypony could do that. But being Pinkie Pie meant that you knew how Twilight was drawn to the confidence and charisma that Rarity and Rainbow had in spades. Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing that Twilight needed somepony (or in this case someponies) with patience and loyalty and kindness and generosity enough to forgive her little blunders and neuroses, to draw her out of her shell and introduce her slowly to the intricacies of love and lust.
Being Pinkie Pie meant knowing how much Rarity and Dashie needed to be needed, to be anchored down, to think of somepony else first, to temper their impulsive and occasionally thoughtless decisions through acts of selflessness and a thought of lovely purple eyes shining in shame. So when things finally fell into being, when the half-thought gestures and intricate courtships came through to make the most talked-about relationship in all of Ponyville, Pinkie was not surprised. She had the decorations loaded into the cannons a week before her friends even knew what was happening.
And being Pinkie Pie meant being there for the worst times along with the best. Being Pinkie Pie meant offering advice at any time, at any place, to any pony that asked for it. Being Pinkie Pie meant bringing ice cream and tissues to the Boutique at four in the morning and reminding Rarity that she was just as important to Twilight as Rainbow was. Being Pinkie Pie meant going toe to toe with Dashie when the stress got to be too much and Applejack was too busy to help her blow off some steam. Being Pinkie Pie meant covering up the bruises the day after and bouncing extra super-duper high to make sure Dashie didn’t feel so bad about it. Being Pinkie Pie meant accepting the four or five apologies that would come anyways with the same enthusiasm and reassurances that everything was fine.
Sometimes other ponies would wonder why she did so much for them. And she’d just laugh and laugh, because it was always easy for her to see. Everything was easy for her to see, when it came to ponies. That was part of being Pinkie Pie. They were her friends, and not just talk-in-the-street friends. They were her very bestest save-the-world-together, Run-around-together, Forgive-and-forget-together friends. They were some of the five most important ponies in her life. And taking care of them was important. It was part of being Pinkie Pie.
It also helped that she didn’t have any special someponies to distract her from helping. She didn’t really need them, after all. Kisses and snuggles weren’t part of being Pinkie Pie. That was something else that confused a bunch of ponies. Ponies like Mrs. Cake and Rarity would ask her if she loved somepony, or if she was looking for somepony special in her life. But the truth was that she loved everypony, even the ones she hadn’t met yet. And everypony was special to her. She couldn’t choose somepony to be even more extra special to her, because that wouldn’t be fair to all the other ponies who were just as special to her, really. And that was part of being Pinkie Pie. She’d heard, most vocally from Dashie, that kisses were really nice. And she knew from experience that hugs were pretty awesome. But really, all she ever needed was to see her friends smile. And that was part of being Pinkie Pie.
And part of being Pinkie Pie was smiling at her two friends as they sat down in the corner with their shamed frowns and sad eyes. And part of being Pinkie Pie was finding Mr. Cake in the back and getting him to take over at the counter for an hour, and promising to make it up to him by filling out the three big orders he would be working on later tonight. Sometimes being Pinkie Pie meant not getting much sleep, but it was never a big problem. That’s what coffee was for. And part of being Pinkie Pie was grabbing a croissant and an espresso shot for Rarity and a lemon poppyseed muffin and a strawberry smoothie for Dashie and prancing over to their table, armed with a dozen song-seeds and her biggest, warmest Pinkie Pie smile.
And part of being Pinkie Pie was giving the two of them the tightest, snuggliest, Pinkie Pie hug she could and a huge, silly wink.“You two look like you’re having a rough day. Why don’t you eat your snacks and tell your Auntie Pinkie Pie ALL about it?”