The aroma blossomed silently out of the thick metal door, mingling with the lesser, commoner air thereforth, enrichening it against both wills, diluting and empowerment mingling together just as the ozone might with the sea. The thrust of it was undiluted temptation. Pinkie’s mouth might have watered, were it not for the scalding tray and oven mitt delicately balanced in her mouth and the preponderance of saliva therein.
Stuff it into you, her belly advised.
Restraint is a foal’s game, her mouth agreed, the clatter covering her thoughts as the tray landed upon the polished table, the oven thunking shut with more volume that seemed reasonable.
Her mind, the grey matter therewith, told her otherwise. Temptation had always been foremost in the filly’s life, as her employment in an eatery attested. Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a particular party attended by the pink pony and at this party she had eaten stuffels tains and even ceans of all imaginable confection. The feeling that followed was not easily forgotten and she did not forget it easily.
The afterfeeling, the mathematics of it all, were ingrained even more deeply into her psyche, for she had lost a dear friend in that torrent of tempestuous temptation. That immaterial companion was never beguiled from her not if she could evade such avoision and evert such aversion.
On the wall of her bedroom hung a framed scroll, the certificate of her survival past the education of the sodality of the baked bread. Many lessons had passed through that unsightly hall with its pristine cleanliness and abrupt sterile aura. Not entirely all of their cult had been hogwashed crackers, she noted.
At times like these, if there could indeed be solitary incitements of the feeling, her thoughts turned to that scroll and those lessons as well as to her previous moments of crippling weakness and startling efficiacy. The customer sprung to the centermost of her feeble attentions as she resolved to leave the pastries unmolested unraped unravaged and nubile.
The door swung slowly open in that way it did a gentle tinklinking of bells absent but not inappropriate as the patron entered the established eatery.
Their exchange was not unlike many that had preceded it on countless other days pregnant with warmth and expectation and yet benign and fallow as a fetid fetus on a cold mid-night.
Finnegan was a workhorse dareIsay a workpony who well knew the dangers of punctuality and especially of promptness. His teeth hammered into the muffin like a hammerblow from Hephaestus striking his brother crude emotion and vengeance and desire and rage and longing with.
Pinkie did not long wander ocular fully aware of her remaining duties and the promise they brang of further enjoyment her life work. She returned to the oven the forge of her soul the soul of her forge concealed within and quickly commenced to the fray.