//------------------------------// // Case #4: Wedding Cake // Story: Judge Luna // by Aegis Shield //------------------------------// Judge Luna Case #4: Wedding Cake Pinkie Pie was bored. Very bored. It was nearly midnight, and she was wide-awake. She wasn’t on a sugar rush, or a caffeine kick—it was just one of those nights. The sort of night where the warm summer night creeps into one’s room, makes it much too humid to sleep, and then stays there. The pink mare lay on her back in the dark, counting cupcakes as they jumped over an imaginary fence. She was nearing the four hundred mark when she turned on her side. She couldn’t really go out, everything in Ponyville was closed. All her friends would be asleep. Even the Cake twins had settled down and curled up by this hour. Settling on her belly, the pink mare finally gave up and reached to click her bedside lamp on. She didn’t want to read, and she couldn’t really party-plan in utter silence either. Stretching a bit until she got a satisfying series of crackles from her back, she crossed the room to her little love seat and flopped into it. She pawed through a little stack of magazines until she came to a monthly TV guide. Sugarcube Corner was popular enough, being a bakery in the center of town, that quite a bit of money flowed through the place. Pinkie, along with her room and board, was actually paid very well. She could not only cook, but she served as a party-planner, clown, entertainer, stand-up comedian, joke-teller, order-filler, flour-slinger, and quite a few other things. Even as new as televisions were, she’d been able to afford one. She thought they were exciting—in small doses. Something about them was off to her, but it didn’t hurt to watch now and then! Flipping open the TV guide, she wondered if anything interesting could possibly be playing at the midnight hour. “Hm…” she said softly, leaning and turning the clunky dials from where she lay. Her hoof had to stretch about ten feet to do this from the loveseat, but that wasn’t important. Pinkie Pie click-clack-clack-clicked the rather loud dial around its rotation, checking her TV guide as she went. News. News. Documentary on fishing. Smooth Jazz with no picture. News. She frowned a bit. Nothing good on. She put her hoof on the midnight time slot, scanning down through the different shows and… what was ‘Judge Luna?’ Like Princess Luna? Turning over to the appropriate channel, Pinkie grinned when she saw the show was just starting up. Dun dun dun duhhhhhn! Real cases. Real Ponies. This-- is Judge Luna. Pinkie cocked her head, putting her TV guide aside and settling to watch. That looked like the throne room. Huh! This could be interesting! …or it might be super boring and she would fall asleep, which was what she was trying to do in the first place. Either way, it was a win-win sort of show. The frizzie-mane mare chuckled. This was a clever show, it just didn’t know it! =-=-=-=-= “All rise!” A Lunar Stallion snapped at the audience when the double doors of the throne room came open. A little filly in the front row looked around in confusion. The soldier zeroed in on her, clearing his throat. Her Daddy nudged her quickly, and she leaped to her hooves before almost face-planting on the marble floor in front of her seat. Princess Luna walked slowly into the room, a bit less than her usual powerful sweeping. Perhaps she was still ill? Walking with her wings closed, she nodded to Steel Wing and went up the stairs to the throne. Seating herself, she sank into the pillow with a sigh of relief. She licked her lips for a moment, her eyes closed. Breathing deeply, she finally steeled herself and sat tall and regal as normal. Steel Wing cantered up the stairs with his folder. He lowered his voice for privacy, “Your Majesty this is case number 11019 in the matter of Apple versus Whip. Parties have been sworn in you may proceed when ready.” “Apple? A truly prolific family, to see another so soon… thank thee, Steel Wing.” Luna nodded as the guard took his place to one side. She took the folder, signed it, checked the names, and set it next to herself. She looked down at the two ponies below. “Names and occupations, please,” she bade them. “Ah’m Breaburn, yer Majesty. Ah come from…” he suddenly launched himself onto his back hooves, “A-aaaaaaa-puh-LOOZ-uh!” Then he settled himself back down again. A few ponies in the audience giggled at his accent and big cowpony hat. “I’mma orchard worker, and sometimes ah go out for diplomacy talks with the buffalo tribes. They’re onery sorts, y’know?” he gestured at nothing at all. Luna smiled a bit. Well, wasn’t he a multi-talented thing? Politics and farming both in one. “I am Cool Whip, your Highness. I am a baker and I own a prestigious establishment right here in Canterlot.” The unicorn stallion across the way lifted his snooty little nose, tweaking his mustache. “I make wedding cakes and other large confections for important gatherings. I’ve also catered for a portion of the Grand Galloping Gala in the past.” He smiled a perfect, white-toothed sort of smile. Luna checked her papers once more. “It is our understanding, Mister Breaburn, that thou art suing for discrimination against Mister Whip’s baking establishment. Thou went to purchase a wedding cake from him and he refused, and thou art suing because the wedding is for a… same sex couple?” it came out like a question. Luna looked up at him, arching a brow. “Yes, that’s right.” Breaburn nodded. “Ah met this nice unicorn feller. He was on vacation from Baltimare for a few weeks and wanted to get some fresh country air an'… w-well one thing led to another an’… and he ended up stayin’ more than a few weeks an’—” his face was getting redder and redder as he fell to mumbling. “We understand, we understand, yes.” Luna stopped the blushing, floundering stallion before he became too intimate with his details. “And thy… eh… companion and thou wish to be married?” “Yes’m.” “Two stallions?” “Yes’m.” Luna scratched her chin. Yes, she’d been told all about this by Tia, but she’d not yet encountered it yet on a personal level. Her guards were almost thunderous in their bragging about the mares that ‘loved the armor’ and ‘danced with the night’ and any other sort of suggestive comment. She’d not been close to a gay stallion before. There was nothing illegal or wrong about it, it merely started the Princess to have a case so suddenly about it. Very carefully masking her expression and putting her own reservations aside, the Princess took a deep breath and studied her paper. “Let us hear, thy argument then,” she said gently. “And do not think we do not know this is a sensitive topic to some. Be civil, both of you,” she pointed to both stallions in turn. “He’s against gay couples and refused me a cake for mah special day!” Breaburn blurted. “I have the right to refuse service!” barked Cool Whip. “You’re just a hater!” The hat-wearing stallion shouted. “And you’re a backward, stallion-smooching lunatic!” Cool Whip snarled. Luna face-hoof’d slowly, leaning and fighting a growing headache. Steel Wing grimaced just a little, sighing on the inside. His poor Princess, she had to deal with the stupidest bullshit sometimes. Well, such was being the Princess, he supposed. Dealing with ponies like this was part of the job. The Princess watched the two of them argue back and forth for a bit. Their faces kept getting redder and more furious, but for the moment she was willing to let them expel some of the negative energy. Nothing would get done if everypony was completely pent up with hidden hatred. Taking a deep and cleansing breath after perhaps a minute or so of their vicious arguing, she lifted a hoof and stamped it twice. “Silence,” she bade them. “Cool Whip, we will hear thee first,” she gestured. “Tell us what happened. How did thou meet Mister Apple?” “I do run a rather upscale establishment, your highness.” Cool Whip said. “Five stars in Baker’s Quarterly, I’ll have everypony know.” He chuckled a bit. “As such, my orders are made by appointment only. Mister Apple here made an appointment, showed up forty-five minutes late, and wanted me to make a massive wedding cake for he and his… ehk…” he made a sickened face. “Beau,” was the word he decided on. “And hath thou made cakes the size he asked for before?” Luna wanted to know. “Oh yes, of course. The size of a cake is of no matter if structured correctly.” Cool Whip nodded easily. “I specialize in larger orders, remember, that means wedding cakes and feasts!” he grinned his most charming grin. “What happened at this meeting, then?” Luna asked. “Was Mister Apple’s particular request beyond thy abilities as a master chef?” she pawed through the brochure that had come with Cool Whips papers. Why, most of the things on this menu were too expensive for the average pony. She found herself wondering how Breaburn had afforded such a cake. “Mister Apple came, late as I said, and wanted the biggest cake I could muster.” Cool Whip asked. “I have a big family! It would’ve been eaten! Easily!” Breaburn snarled. “Us Apples don’t waste food!” the brightly-colored stallion snorted angrily, getting more and more agitated. “Silence,” Luna snapped, stamping a hoof. “What happened next?” “When he was done telling me the dimensions, he started looking at decorations, which we of course supply plenty of.” Cool Whip made a high gesture, “You know, the little plastic stallion and mare you always see on wedding cakes.” Luna paused again. A thousand years ago, stallions paid dowries. Fancy cakes with figurines on top were not really a part of things. She fluttered her wings a moment to stretch them, losing a few feathers onto the throne in the process. She gestured that he continue. “Well, while I was making measurements for my supplies of coloring and flavoring, I saw he’d selected two stallion figures instead of a stallion and a mare. Which is completely ridiculous, as I’m sure you know?” it came out like a question expecting an answer. Why that cheeky little bastard, thought Steel Wing. Forcing the Princess to comment on such a new and touchy subject as same-sex marriage was not only rude, but it was downright… downright... Ughhh! He didn’t even have a phrase for it! The Princess saw Steel Wing give a mild shudder out of the corner of her eye. Frowning rather dangerously, the Princess of the night drew herself up. The cameras all zoomed in on her face as she spoke. “We would not assume to tell my little ponies who they may or may not fall in love with, Cool Whip. Love and marriage are not dictated by the diarchy, nor any of the powers under our hooves.” “But it’s wrong!” Cool Whip said, red-faced. “And what they do is disgusting!” “Thy opinion weighs little more than dust in this room, stallion.” Luna snapped. “The law crushes those that do not abide by it. Now continue with the facts, and merely the facts. Nothing more.” She snapped her wings out, threatening and dominant, before refolding them. Cool Whip’s angry resolve cracked under the alicorn's and he cleared his throat a little nervously. “A-anyway, I told Mister Apple that my bakery would not be involved in making a wedding cake for he and… er…” he chose his words more carefully under Luna’s stern gaze, “For two stallions.” He said in a smaller voice. “That’s discrimination!” Breaburn blurted angrily. “Sh-sh-shh.” Luna bade him without looking at him. “What next, Cool Whip?” “He became belligerent and started shouting at me.” Cool Whip said, glaring over at him. “I had to stand there in front of all my coworkers and anypony that passed by our display window as he made a huge scene!” “And then?” “And then he said he was going to sue me and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.” Cool Whip said, shuffling the papers in front of him. “I have signed witness statements if y—” “No.” Luna cut him off, shifting over to Breaburn. “Mister Apple, what do you say happened?” “Well, Ah went to this shop in par-tik-oo-lar since mah fiancé had heard of it. And since, well, it’s gonna be our special day ah figured why not get the fancy cake from the fancy place he wanted, y’know?” Breaburn said. “Y’only get married once, y’know, may as well go all out.” “How romantic,” Luna said in a neutral voice, nodding along with his words. “Er, yes, thank you,” Breaburn blushed. “He takes real good care of me and—” “The cake shop, Mister Apple. Skip forward to yon cake shop.” Luna bade him, trimming the fat of the story. “Oh right. Uhm, well,” Breaburn paused to gather his thoughts. “My fiancé wanted a cake from this particular shop, since he’d seen it in a magazine ‘r somethin’. So, while he was home helpin’ with the weddin’ plans, I decided to come all the way to Canterlot from,” he braced and then flailed upright on his back legs, “A-aaaaa-puh-LOOZ-uh!” Luna cocked her head. The audience giggled loudly. Did he do that every time he named his hometown? “Go on,” she bade. “So Ah went and found this place, which took forever since Ah’m not real direction-savvy when Ah can’t see which way the sun’r’moon is goin’. Canterlot’s full of big buildings,” the country-stallion complained. Luna checked herself before she smirked just a little. Big buildings indeed! “So yeah, ah was late just like he says.” “So that we agree on.” Luna said, checking them both for nods. “But he was real nice, showed me this nice huge book full’a fancy cakes and so on,” Breaburn said, adjusting his hat. “And then ah got to go pick some figures for the top, like you see on all them wedding cakes, right?” he made a high gesture just as Cool Whip had done. “So ah got two stallions, one as me and one as mah fiancé, and he gets upset!” he made an angry gesture at the other stallion. “He says they don’t make weddin’ cakes for same sex couples! Ah’ve read company statutes! They ain’t allowed to do that!” “Cool Whip, how many bakeries are in thy chain of stores?” Luna asked. “Just the one, your Highness.” Cool Whip said. “It was my father’s, and his father’s before him.” “A family business then. Admirable that it is doing so well.” Luna nodded. “Despite thy singular location, limited staff and resources thou art good enough to be widely renowned. That is no small feat.” “They’re still anti-gay! That’s against the law, ain’t it?!” Breaburn complained loudly. “The statutes you refer to do exist, yes, Mister Apple,” Luna said carefully. “Hah!” Breaburn snarked at Cool Whip. “However, those are for large chain companies. They often place those on their hiring slips to assure that they do not discriminate their employees for race, age, species, sexual orientation or religious background.” She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Mister Whip, who owns your establishment? Who signs the checks for the employees, decides what goes where, and so on?” “I do, your Majesty.” Cool Whip said firmly. “I own the title, deed and the legacy that goes with it!” he stuck his chest out proudly. “Very well.” Luna heaved a sigh that hinted that the case was nearly over. Shuffling the papers in front of her she straightened them and set them down again. “Mister Apple, we cannot under the authority of the law force Mister Whip to bake a wedding cake for you,” she said as Breaburn’s face fell. "If he were not the owner of the business thou may have had a case, but as he is, you do not." “What?!” “While he loses your bits and certainly a few customers with his decision, it is his decision to make. He owns the business, and is the top authority therein. To force him to perform a service with the business that he owns-- a private business, mind you-- is legally akin to slavery, which is illegal in Equestria we’re sure thou knows.” She gave Breaburn a sympathetic look. “Judgment is for the defendant.” She stamped her hoof to make it final. “But— but-!” Breaburn looked positively heart-broken. Cool Whip turned on his hooves, walking smartly past the crest-fallen stallion and out of the courtroom. The audience murmured darkly at him. Luna turned her head and coughed fluidly, turning with a knowing frown towards the loser of the case. Then she retired to her private chambers behind the throne. Breaburn stood there, ears down, his eyes brimming with tears. “T’ain’t right…” he mumbled. “T’ain’t right!” he bent forward, ducking his head so the cameras couldn’t see him cry. The audience murmured as they filed out for the night, and the camera guys started to shut things down and clean-up. “T’ain’t ri-hi-hi-hight…” he rubbed his foreleg across his muzzle. “Ah promised him a fancy cake from that fancy place… just for our weddin’… tain’t right…” his voice cracked and he fell silent, eyes closed as the tears slipped down his cheeks. “Ah promised…” With the Princess gone, Lunar Stallions started filing out of the room as well. They had other duties to perform. Steel Wing stayed behind. Since Breaburn was still in the throne room, there had to be at least one guard present. The armored pony watched with a sympathetic frown as the hat-wearing stallion gathered his things and turned to trudge away. Then he was alone. The massive, high-ceiling’d room was rather intimidating when there was nopony in it. Like the ancient place was listening to everything that happened. Brr. Turning after he was sure he was alone, the guard mounted the dais and stood before the throne. Removing his helm, he set it next to himself in reverence to it. There, in the seat of power, was a little hoof-full of dark feathers. Furrowing his brow, Steel Wing picked them up. Luna had only returned recently, but he’d been a guard for almost two decades. And in all the years he’d served Celestia as a solar guard, he’d never once seen her shed a feather. Not a single one. Meanwhile, Breaburn emerged from the throne room, walked slowly down the hallowed halls of the palace and outside. Hanging his head when he emerged out into Canterlot, he sniffled loudly and rubbed the snot off his muzzle again. The one thing he’d promised to do for the wedding, and he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair! He trudged across the drawbridge and beyond the castle walls, stepping into Canterlot proper. He didn’t feel like stopping at an inn, how could he sleep now? Better to just get on the next train—*honk*. The stallion stepped nose-first into somepony. He mumbled an apology, trying to step around her. The mare in front of him was sweaty, panting, and looked like she’d just run for miles to get there. His eyes trailed up her barrel. She had a leather bandoleer across herself, pouches stuffed with… cake mix? She had a sifting bowl on her head, a saddlebag stuffed with whisks and other instruments and an odd looking party-cart attached to her back by strong straps. “What’cha crying for, mister weepy pants?” It was a young and exhausted sounding voice. “I… I uh…” Breaburn said, staring at her. “We got a wedding cake to make!” she grabbed him up, threw him on her back then took off down the street like he and the cart weighed nothing. Breaburn clung on for dear life, holding his hat to his head. His ears perked and a goofy smile flashed across his face. Who the heck was this crazy mare?! End of Case 4