I
“I need a cheese pizza with extra daisies.”
I looked up from my last order, which was cooling on a rack. The waiter, whom we all just called Sir on account of his visit with royalty (he was the only one of us out of my adoptive family to actually go to Canterlot), had just stuck the sticky note on the counter.
I grabbed the note with my teeth and put it on a different table at my height. “An entire pizza?” I questioned, “Since when does anybody order an entire pizza? With extra daisies?”
Sir seemed to be in a hurry. “There’s a large party at table 7, F. I don’t know. I’ve got to get back, another group just walked in. We should have one of those pizzas pre-made in the fridge – just do what you do best.”
I heard him trot away, although I could only see the top half of him due to how high the small window was. I shook my head in sheer amazement. We didn’t get that one too often, and I highly doubted there’d be a pizza in the fridge.
However, once I opened the fridge using my basic magic, I saw it – a green and yellow circle that was soon to please a large party at table 7.
I let the pizza hover as I directed it to a metal rack I used for cooking. I gently placed it down, then stopped using the magic. Time for serious business.
I focused on the pizza. I leaned down towards the ground, keeping my horn directed straight at its center. Looking up, I made sure I was standing right where I needed to be.
I shut my eyes. In my mind, I envisioned the pizza. Now, I envisioned a fire around it. I saw that fire slowly engulfing all of it, cooking it at the perfect temperature, the flames just touching it –
Within moments, I felt that tingle in the tip of my horn. I opened my eyes, still imagining the pizza. But at this point, it wasn’t imagining.
The fire was now just under the pizza, and to the casual passersby, it came from absolutely nowhere. It had just spawned in the middle of the air. But I knew where it was coming from. I had spawned this fire suspended in air, and now controlled it with elegance.
It used to take a lot of my power, but now, it was as menial as picking up a book or quill. I watched as the pizza slowly but surely became golden brown.
I willed the fire to stop, and it did so, evaporating into thin air. The pizza was cooked.
I lifted the pizza into the air and directed it to the counter, then took the bell and lightly tapped it against the wall, causing it to ding.
“Order up!” I yelled out to whoever could hear.
As it turned out, it was Sir. He picked up the pizza with his own magic (restaurant ponies like us tended to be unicorns), and at the same time, dropped off another note. “This one you don’t even need to cook,” he mentioned, “A customer at table 17 ordered it.”
I picked up the note and read it. “A grass sandwich? Just a plain grass sandwich?”
“Yes, just a plain grass sandwich. What’s with you and being critical today?”
I didn’t answer him. I just stared at the note in disbelief – you could make a grass sandwich in ten seconds at home. Literally, in ten seconds. Why anybody go to a restaurant – especially one in New Horseleans, where cuisine was a big factor of tourism – and order a plain grass sandwich?
Just as Sir was walking away, I asked him quickly, “Wait, Sir, can I give this to whoever ordered it? I want to see who they are.”
“Go ahead,” he said quickly as he walked off to deliver the pizza.
I turned back to my table. Using my basic magic skills, I took two pieces of bread and laid them out. Opening the cabinets, I hastily opened a box and pulled some grass out, laying them on one piece of bread. I took the other and place it on top. For good measure, I stuck a decorative toothpick into the sandwich.
I trotted out the easy-swing door, willing the sandwich now on a plate right behind me. My eyes finally found the booth table with the number 18 on the edge.
From my point of view, the sandwich fit the bill.
Or in this case, whoever was about to eat it.
The pony sitting at the table was resting on her hooves. She had a pastel yellow hide to her, and pink hair that flowed down her face, curling only at the very ends. She was a Pegasus, but she seemed quiet as anything. As I approached her table, I took notice of her cutie mark: three butterflies.
She sighed as she looked down at the table. I stopped in front of her table. “And…” I began hesitantly.
But, before I continued, she jumped slightly. I was obviously pulling her out of some deep thought, and she also didn’t seem to be the bravest of ponies, either.
Once I realized I had her attention, about a second later, I continued, “And, did you order the grass sandwich?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in what had to have been the softest, most gentle voice I’d ever heard, “That would be me.”
I willed the plate to be set down in front of her. “Thank you,” she offered.
“It’s no problem,” I said, “But, um – “ lowering my voice, “you know you can make these at home in a pinch, right?”
She giggled slightly. “Oh, I’m aware. But I’m not that good at cooking, so, um, you know, I have someone make it for me. If they don’t mind, of course.”
It occurred to me that you didn’t really need to know how to cook to make a grass sandwich. There was no heating involved, whatsoever.
I decided not to say anything, though. She was shy, and obviously not from around here, so maybe wherever she was from it was normal not to make your own grass sandwiches.
“Well, alright then, enjoy your meal,” I said flatly, and left the table to go back to the kitchen.
“I will, thank you,” was the quiet reply.
When I resumed my duties, I wasn’t as focused as I should’ve or could’ve been. Something about that filly had set me off-kilter.