//------------------------------// // 2. The Calm Before the Storm // Story: Patchwork // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// 2. The Calm Before the Storm Twilight concentrated so hard her eyeballs started to hurt. Slowly, like treacle dripping off a cold spoon, the air in front of her started to shimmer. She strained, leaning towards it until she realised she was about to topple over and righted herself. The air rippled the way deep water did after somepony threw in a pebble, radiating outwards from a central point that had her horn glowing bright purple. “C’mon,” she muttered. “I know this is possible.” The ripples sped up; she felt more than saw the tiny change. It galvanised her to push even harder, the tendons in her neck standing out as she balanced between using too much magic and too little. Too little and the experiment wouldn’t work at all; too much and she might accidentally wreck everything in her immediate area. At least, that was one possibility. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure what would happen if she used too much magic, but given the unknown nature of leylines, she wasn’t keen to find out. She had built up to using this much by a process of careful, consistent tests, always stopping before she went too far and noting her progress so she could go a little bit further next time. Finally, when the air vibrated like a plucked cello string and her horn began to hurt in earnest, she gave up. Letting go of her hold on the line was easier than taking hold in the first place, and soon she sat on the grass, breathing hard but pleased with herself. “How much was that?” Spike stood ready with a quill and paper. “Sixteen units.” “That’s four more than last time.” She nodded. “What can I say? I was feeling daring. Rainbow Dash must be rubbing off on me.” “I don’t think this is her sort of daring. She’s more into dangerous stunts with storm clouds and stuff like that.” Twilight pouted just a little. Maybe her sort of daring wasn’t as entertaining as Rainbow Dash’s, but it was still pretty gutsy. “Investigating leylines is dangerous too.” “Not if you do it right – which is why, if anypony was gonna do these experiments, I’m glad it’s you. You don’t get impatient and take stupid risks.” “What would be the point? You can’t learn anything from being impatient.” “Tell that to Rainbow Dash.” Spike scratched away at their notes, but looked up to give her a knowing look. “I don’t think she’d be very interested in this sort of thing. Sitting still isn’t really her specialty.” “I guess not.” Twilight looked at the spot she had been working on. It looked perfectly normal now; not even a flicker to indicate the magical channel that ran there, invisible to the naked eye and impermeable to anyone who wasn’t specifically trying to access it. Her brows pulled together in a worried expression. “Do you think anypony other than me would find this interesting?” “Princess Celestia?” Spike offered. “Or Princess Luna.” “Other than them.” Celestia’s letter had been encouraging when Twilight wrote to tell her about her plans to map and then research the usability of leyline magic as a side-project to her regular studies. It stood to reason that her sister would be interested too, given all the other progress in magical research that had happened during her long absence. Luna sometimes wrote to Twilight asking questions about things that Twilight, as a student of the history of magical arts, was only too pleased to answer. Ever since Nightmare Night they had kept up a sporadic correspondence on things ranging from friendship to transubstantiation spells, although Luna had yet to take up Twilight’s offer to visit Ponyville again. “Do you think my work is … boring?” “No!” Spike said emphatically, although he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t. You don’t, either, which is the most important thing, right?” She smiled at his attempt to reassure her without admitting that her love of careful study and the paperwork that went with it was dull. “Right.” Spike’s stomach rumbled. “But interesting as this is, could we break and go back to town for lunch now?” Twilight got up and turned to look down on the town. This hillock was perfect for her needs and also offered a wonderful view of Ponyville and its inhabitants that reminded her why she was glad to have moved here, even if she had resisted it at first. “Deal.” “Now are you gals are sure you’ll be all right?” Rarity resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Honestly, Mother, you fuss too much. We’ll be perfectly fine.” Her mother remained unconvinced. “You sure?” “Yes.” “Sure as sugar?” “Mo-ther!” “Humour me, honey.” “Yes, Mother, I’m sure as sugar.” “Sure as shadberries?” “Sure as shadberries.” “Sure as sheepdogs?” “Sure as sheepdogs.” “Sure as shuffleboard?” “Mother! I’m sure we’ll be fine!” Rarity’s molars ground together. She loved her parents to pieces, honest she did, but the fact remained that they were a collection of quirks wrapped in tactlessness that she often found hard to stomach. Did her mother think she was still a little filly who enjoyed these kinds of word-games? Sweetie Belle stepped in before her sister did something drastic. Their mother’s lower lip already looked wobbly. “We’ll have the bestest best time ever, Mom. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I love staying with Rarity!” “You certainly camp out at her place often enough,” said their father. He turned to his wife. “C’mon, honeybunch, the train’s about to leave. If we don’t get on now, our luggage will get to your mother’s without us.” “Bye, girls.” Their mother pulled each of them close to plant a wet kiss on the tips of their horns. “We’ll be back before you know it.” The display of affection softened Rarity towards her mother’s annoying habits, even if it did leave spit on her horn. She showed great affection herself by not immediately summoning a hand kerchief to wipe it away. “Take care, Mother. You too, Father.” He shook his head. “Mother? Father? When did plain old Mom and Dad get so unfashionable?” “Bye, Daddy!” Sweetie Belle jumped around Rarity like Opal with a mousetrap on her tail. Excitement crackled like electricity around her. “Don’t worry about a thing. Give our love to Grandma!” Their father’s smile turned watery. He and his mother-in-law had never quite seen eye-to-eye. “Will do, dumpling.” “Daddy! I’m not a dumpling!” “Sure thing, dumpling.” Rarity breathed a sigh of relief as the train finally pulled away. Moving out and starting her own business had been hard, but she never regretted the decision. Standing up, she allowed Sweetie Belle to bounce around her once more. Then she descended the steps of the platform with all the grace and dignity she had cultivated since getting out from under her mother’s loving but tasteless influence. “Hey, Rarity.” “Yes, uh –” She looked around. Sweetie Belle had apparently not followed her off the platform. She turned to see her little sister standing pensively at the top. “Yes, Sweetie Belle?” “This isn’t gonna be like the last time Mom and Daddy left me to stay with you, is it?” “Why, whatever do you mean?” She feigned innocence, even though she knew precisely what Sweetie Belle was referring to. “You’re not gonna go all mean because you’re stressed about your work, or yell at me, or pack me off to stay with some other pony while you sew, are you?” “Of course not. I said we’d spend the week together, so spend the week together we shall.” “Promise?” “Well … I do have some work to do.” Sweetie Belle’s face fell. “But I can do that while you’re at school.” “Oh!” She brightened. “I didn’t think of that.” “Plus, I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with your friends as well.” “I guess so.” “Good.” Rarity nodded in the opposite direction. “Because they’re standing right over there and I think they want your attention. “Really?” Sweetie Belle bounded down the steps so fast she nearly tumbled over herself. Rarity steadied her and brushed dust off her white coat. Really, Sweetie Belle’s pastel colour scheme was striking when one thought about it. Not as beautiful as her own, of course, but then few ponies had such a fine balance between light and dark without going totally monochrome. When she grew up, Sweetie Belle had the potential to be a truly stunning mare. “Just be home for dinner,” she said, tucking one pink curl behind her sister’s ear before releasing her. “And try not to get dirty. Or break anything expensive. Or get into trouble. Or cause chaos in the name of finding your cutie mark. Or –” “Relax, Rarity.” Sweetie Belle gave her a smile as bright as the sun itself. “I’ll be fine.” She winked. “Sure as sugar.” Rarity groaned. “Don’t start that again.” “You worry too much. You’ll see; nothing bad is going to happen. This is going to be the bestest best week ever!” “Cupcakes! So sweet and tasty! Cupcakes! Don’t be too hasty! Cupcakes! So sweet and tasty! Cupcakes! Don’t be too hasty! Cupcakes! So sweet and–” Mr. Cake swiped a hoof across his brow, knocking his hat askew. “Pinkie Pie, you have a lovely voice, but do you mind singing a little softer? I’ve counted this bill three times because I keep getting it wrong.” He indicated the pair of ponies engaged in conversation on the shop floor. They clearly weren’t paying attention to him; hence his mistakes had gone unnoticed. Pinkie Pie was unabashed. “Okey dokey lokey!” she warbled. “Sorry, Mr. Cake.” “It’s fine, it’s fine, I guess I’m just getting old. I used to be able to add two sets of six digit numbers together in my head in a snap.” He tapped his front hooves together to indicate how quickly his maths skills used to be. “I think one too many sleepless nights with the twins is making me fuggier than I thought. It’s a good thing you were available to help out with this order. Thanks again, by the way.” “No problem,” Pinkie beamed. “You and Mrs. Cake are my friends, so of course I always have time for you. Besides,” she giggled, “I get make cupcakes! With words on them! Can you believe it? Words on cupcakes! Like a book you can eat, only shorter and tastier. It’s ingenious!” Mr. Cake smiled indulgently, although his gaze kept flicking back to the earth pony and unicorn whose money he had yet to take. The earth pony was an eyeball-scorching shade of orange, in complete contrast to her companion’s slate grey coat and black mane. His horn glowed as he levitated a pencil and notepad, furiously scribbling down everything she said. “Hey, Mr. Cake?” “Yes, Pinkie Pie?” “I made a baker’s dozen on each batch, so I have loads left over.” “That’s fine; if you haven’t written on them yet we’ll just put them in the display case for somepony else to buy.” “Not this one.” Proudly she presented him with a perfectly decorated cupcake. The soft pink sponge had risen to just the right height inside the paper case and she had topped it with vanilla icing in an equally perfect swirl. Nobody in all of Ponyville could beat Pinkie Pie’s perfect cupcake skills. On top of this one, however, she had painstakingly spelled out a message in vermicelli pieces: MR. CAKE CAN REALLY BAKE! Mr. Cake’s expression softened as much as the pat of butter he had mistakenly left out earlier. Pinkie had replaced it in the refrigerator before the summer sun shining through the shop window could turn it into a big drippy, gloopy, messy mess. Thanks to the big ovens in back, the shop was rarely cool despite the fans constantly being switched on. “Pinkie Pie … this is really very sweet of you,” said Mr. Cake. “Usually I can’t stand to even look at sweet treats by the time I’ve closed the shop each day, but I can never resist your cupcakes.” “I made one for Mrs. Cake and Pound and Pumpkin too,” Pinkie smiled. “For when they get home from playgroup. Did you get that thing sorted with the little blue unicorn and Pumpkin?” Mr. Cake winced. He often did when recalling his prodigy twins and their escapades. “His mother was willing to forget the damages to the stroller if we gave her a complimentary birthday cake for her other son.” “Damages?” Pinkie stuck out her tongue and blew a huge raspberry. “It was more than damages. Pumpkin totally mangled that thing when the other foal stole her toy. It was amazing!” She caught Mr. Cake’s expression and straightened. “Um, but bad. Really, really bad. And inappropriate. And wicked.” She dropped her forelegs into a crouch, wiggling her tail in the air with repressed glee. “But so totally amazingly awesomely cool to see!” “Yes, well …” Mr. Cake trailed off as the two customers’ voices increased in volume. At least, the orange pony’s voice got louder. The grey pony kept on writing without looking up. “This is taking forever. This cupcake idea, whose was it?” The grey unicorn flipped back a few pages. “That would be Songbird, ma’am. She felt it would strengthen your image to have ponies associate you with something sweet.” “I understand the thinking behind it, Grey Cloud,” the orange pony snapped. “Who’s Songbird?” “PR unicorn.” At her blank expression the grey stallion went on, “Yellow coat, variegated green mane and tail, cutie mark of a, uh, songbird.” She rolled her eyes. “Set up a meeting with her. If this goes well during door-to-door canvassing, I want her to come up with something similar for the next public debate. We need to show up the competition and really get my image front and centre.” She stamped a hoof for emphasis. The grey unicorn nodded and scribbled. “Right away, ma’am.” “What is TAKING so long? They’re just CUPCAKES, for pity’s sake. How hard can it be to get them ready before everypony dies of old age?” She sighed and came towards the counter. With each step her scowl melted away and an innocent smile took its place. It was about as real as Pinkie Pie’s chicken wings had been on Nightmare Night. “Hi there. Are my cupcakes ready yet? My secretary called in the order quite a while ago.” “He did indeed, ma’am,” agreed Mr. Cake. “But it was a pretty big order on pretty short notice and, as you can see, we’re running on a skeleton staff today.” “Silly!” Pinkie called from her work station. “Skeletons can’t run! If they did I’d be all ‘aaaah, a skeleton!’ and they’d be all ‘ooga-booga, I’m a skeleton’ and I’d be all ‘hey, how are you moving when you don’t have any muscles or anything?’ and they’d be all–” “So it’ll be done soon?” the orange pony interrupted, pointedly not looking in Pinkie’s direction. Pinkie jutted her lower lip. “Rude much? Oh well. Cupcakes! So sweet and tasty! Cupcakes! Don’t be too hasty – whoops! Sorry.” She continued in a whisper: “Cupcakes! So sweet and tasty! Cupcakes! Don’t be too hasty!” “Real soon, ma’am,” promised Mr. Cake. “Baked and boxed and beautiful, just like the sign says.” He gestured to a rectangle of card on which the slogan had been lovingly hoof-written by Mrs. Cake. Earth ponies weren’t skilful at writing, so it had taken her several laborious hours to get the calligraphy just right. The orange mare barely glanced at the sign. “I’m handing them out to ponies, you see, so each one needs to be perfect. You did spell my name right, didn’t you?” “I have your note right here!” Pinkie waved aloft the paper. “‘Vote for Foxhound’, right?” The orange pony turned a shade lighter. “FoxGLOVE! Vote for FoxGLOVE!” “Oops. I guess I’ll have to start all these over again.” Pinkie winked melodramatically at the trio of aghast faces. “Kidding! Man, did the heat melt your sense of humour or something?” Mr. Cake breathed an audible sigh of relief. The order had consisted of nearly a hundred cupcakes in boxes of twelve, each box comprising a different combination of sponge, icing and writing method. Personally, Pinkie thought the strawberry sponge with raspberry icing and pink sugar strand words was best, but she had done her darndest to make all the other combinations perfect too. She had even mixed up a special batch of orange sponge and citrus icing, even though the balance of sweet to sour was really difficult to pull off, and had spelled out the orange pony’s message in slivers of candied orange peel. She bounced over and presented both customers with spares destined for her friends and neighbours. Mr. and Mrs. Cake always let her take home surplus stock they couldn’t sell, and since the message was so specific they wouldn’t be able to just plonk these in the display cabinet. “Here you go,” she trilled. “Complimentary samples. Orange for you, Miss Foxglove, and white for you, Mr. Grey Cloud.” “Uh, thank you,” he muttered, accepting it like it was one of Pound’s nasty diapers. “I had to give you white icing instead of grey to match your coat,” Pinkie explained. “I tried to make grey icing once and it turned out so totally yuck-a-roony that not even I wanted to eat it – and that’s really saying something because I really, really, REALLY like cupcakes. I even invented a special breakfast cupcake so ponies who like cupcakes as much as me can eat them in the morning as well as any other time of the day. It’s always a good time to eat cupcakes, I always say. Don’t I always say that? Mr. Cake?” The orange pony looked meaningfully at him too. “Is she always like this?” “Like what?” Pinkie stepped between them and rested her elbows on the countertop. Her front hooves were still smeared with different coloured icing, which got on her face as she rested her chin on them and leaned forward. “Smiling and happy? Because if that was what you were asking, then yes! Hey, how come you want ponies to vote for you? Is it a beauty pageant? My friend Rarity was talking about one for the Midsummer Fete – are you entering?” She gasped and jiggled from hoof to hoof. “Ooh! Ooh! You two should totally meet if you are! She’d love to come up with an outfit for a colour like yours! And she could make your mane really, really, REALLY pretty! She’s always trying to convince me to let her brush my mane, but I can never keep still long enough, and besides, my hair tends to eat hairbrushes and stuff like that. I once lost three pairs of scissors when I was trying to cut gum out of it!” “Eh-heh.” The orange pony backed away, cupcake in one hoof, the other foreleg wrapped protectively around her long brown mane like she was frightened Pinkie would magically summon the lost scissors and vault the counter to use them on her. “We’ll come back in about an hour. Will the order be ready by then?” “Oh sure,” Pinkie replied before Mr. Cake could. “Baked and boxed and beautiful. You should go and visit Rarity at the Carousel Boutique in the meantime. You–” She stopped when the shop doorbell tinkled, signalling the two ponies’ departure. “Rude much times two?” “Uh, Pinkie?” “Yes, Mr. Cake?” He looked down into her shining, eager face and sighed. “Nothing. We’d better get this order filled out.” “Wrong! I’ll get the order filled; you get the bill sorted, remember?” “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Pinkie blew a lock of wild pink mane from her face. “Baby brain. Honestly, Mr. Cake, what would you do without me around to look after you?”