//------------------------------// // Wake Up Call // Story: Sweet, Solemn, Sad // by Shingo //------------------------------// One of the downsides, or upsides depending how one looks at it, to living above a bakery is that the smell of creation inevitably creeps into each room. The sugary smells of sweets would often drift around Sugar Cube Corner and eventually into the living spaces both above and around the bakery. At times, this increased the hunger of the customers, making them impatient for their treats. Other times it would create unwanted cravings for the house’s occupants. In the early morning, the fresh smells from the ovens would gently wake the Cakes and Pinkie from slumber. Pinkie was within the midst of a particularly strange dream when a new scent reached her. She was in the middle of fighting a well-dressed mechanical unicorn when they both stopped in their place. They raised their muzzles in unison to identify the scent. The scent was buttery with a hint of cheese and peppers. Pinkie dropped her weapon and followed the scent, smile on her face and nose pointed upwards. The scene around her faded into darkness as the source of the smell got closer and closer. Beige light danced around her, the smell radiating off it. More details of the smell were added as she continued to move. A combination of dough, eggs, and chives could be found within the smell. Pinkie stopped in her place to take in the smell. Her smile stretched farther across her face while the light continued dancing around her. “Salut, mon sucre d’orge,” a slightly snide male voice said. Pinkie slowly opened her eyes. The darkness and light disappeared to be replaced with the kitchen of Sugar Cube Corner. Standing in front of her was a grey griffon with a curly mustache. He was washing a series of pots and giving Pinkie a warm smile. “Comment ça va?” Pinkie returned the smile. “Salut, mon trésor,” she greeted. “Ça va très bien.” “Oh?” The griffon turned the faucet off. “You’re getting better, Pinkie. Have you been practising?” “Of course I have, Gustave!” Pinkie giggled. “You’ve been calling me all of these cute nicknames like mon mignon, ma puce, mon petit chou, and each and every name makes me feel all bubbly inside. And I wanted to share that feeling with you.” “I feel that whenever I’m around you, mon chéri.” Gustave reached for Pinkie’s hoof and kissed it. “Aww.” Pinkie sniffed the air. She walked around Gustave to the oven. Inside were thirty small balls on a tray. Each of them were crispy and golden brown. “These smell wonderful! What are they?” The oven dinged. Pinkie stepped back as Gustave opened up the oven. “Done,” he said pulling the tray. “But that is not the answer that you are looking for.” He placed the tray on a nearby table, taking in its contents’ smell with Pinkie. “These are gougères, they’re one of my favourite kinds of pastries. My family and I used to make them all the time.” Pinkie reached for a gougère but was stopped by Gustave. “While it is best to eat them while warm, I would not advise eating them when they come directly from the oven.” Pinkie pulled her hoof back. “Okay,” she said. “That name you called me when I came in, sucre d’orge?” “What about it?” “Doesn’t that translate to ‘my barley sugar’?” she asked. Gustave nodded. “It’s cute, but why did you choose that?” “I sincerely regret calling you that, chéri,” Gustave said in a faux wail. He placed his talons over his forehead and rolled his eyes back. “For you see, barley sugar doesn’t compare to how sweet you are. You’re sweeter than any pastry that I’ve created. Sweeter than any chocolate, any sugar, and any recipe that any species could think of. If there is a thing on this planet that is as sweet as you, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it as a nickname for you.” “That’s so cheesy!” Pinkie laughed. Gustave picked up a gougère. “No, I believe this is. Catch.” He tossed it to Pinkie. Pinkie caught it in her mouth as it reached its peak. She chewed with a thoughtful expression on her face. “What do you think?” Pinkie swallowed. “C’est magnifique!” she cheered. Pinkie giggled to herself. “That joke you made earlier was terrible!” “You know you love it,” Gustave said with a smile. “You bet I do!” Pinkie reached for another gougère. “What were those little cake things you brought over yesterday?” “Petits fours?” “Yes, those. Want to make some for the picnic we’re having with the girls today?” “I see no reason not to. After we’re done eating, I’ll get the ingredients and teach you to…” “I’ll make them myself,” Pinkie interrupted. Gustave blinked. “But you do not know any of the recipes or the procedures.” “J’men calice!” Pinkie yelled. “I’m a baker! And the only way to learn how to bake something new is by doing it yourself without any guidance!” “Or you could use logic and use a recipe,” Gustave deadpanned. “And such language, Pinkie. I’m shocked. Shocked!” “Where’s the fun in that?” Pinkie winked. “And you know you love it.” Gustave chuckled. “How true. Alright, we’ll do things your way.” He and Pinkie continued with their breakfast. Anyone who found table manners essential would gasp in horror at Pinkie and Gustave eating their meal. They broke nearly every form of table etiquette including playing with their food and making a mess. However, both were happy and smiling, to them etiquette came second to that.