//------------------------------//
// What Did You Do To My Kitchen 
// Story: Lava 
// by TheTobacconist 
//------------------------------//

"So, basically this is an excuse to climb on the furniture?" Sweetie Belle guessed. She was familiar with the game, but expected a stern scolding from her sister for the premise. "As in hooves on the table?" She looked at her friends as they climbed on top of the kitchen counter. "This seems like a bad idea."

"C'mon," Apple Bloom extended her hoof. "The floor is lava." She feigned worry. "You can't walk on lava."

Sweetie Belle looked at the floor. "It seems normal to me."

"But it's lava!" Scootaloo cried, and flailed around her hooves for emphasis. "Lava!" She looked down at Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle looked up at her with a quizzical expression. "Just pretend," Scootaloo sighed.

"But Rarity is so anal about this sort of thing," Sweetie Belle sqeaked. There was no reasoning with her sister as far as neatness was concerned. "She'll have my head if anything happens." Sweetie Belle looked down at the floor, which was most definitely not lava. It could not possibly be lava, it was a floor. Floors could not be lava. "This is silly anyway." Sweetie Belle decided, and turned her nose up at the idea.

"That's a pretty good impersonation of your sister." Scootaloo rolled around the counter. "But that's no reason not to have a little fun." She smiled, resting her head on her hooves. "So, just pretend."

Pretend? Sweetie Belle supposed that she could do that. She had never gotten into trouble by just pretending. Nothing bad had ever come of it. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on the mental image of molten rock. "The floor is lava," She muttered to herself.

Apple Bloom pulled her up on top of the counter. Sweetie Belle sat beside them, and thought to herself.

"The floor is lava," She repeated her mantra, "The floor is lava."

In her workshop, Rarity was quite busy. Or rather, she had been busy for quite sometime. She examined the tasteful coat on her table, and considered the work before her. It only required one final button on the right sleeve. She sighed to herself, working buttons on coat sleeves were borderline useless, but she always filled out her customers' requests. Even when she did not agree with them. She considered the burnt smell that now pervaded the room, but ignored it. Sweetie Belle was probably trying to show off her cooking skills, and Rarity wanted nothing to do with that.

She used her machine to sew a small thin box that marked the edges of the button hole. She held the sleeve to the light to ensure that the box was in the proper location, and smiled to herself. She set the sleeve down again, and made a small long incision in the box. She waxed her cotton thread, and raised the needle to eye level. She bit her tongue in concentration, and closed one eye. She missed the eye of the needle, and the thread bunched up against the base of the eye. She pulled the thread back, only more determined to complete her work.

"Rarity!" She heard her sister scream. "The floor is lava!" Her screams grew louder. "Lava!"

"I can't play now Sweetie," Rarity called back to her, and set the coat sleeve down, "I'm a little busy." She looked back, only to realize that she had misplaced her needle. She hopped to the ground and began looking underneath the table. Another scream from Sweetie Belle caused Rarity to slam her head on the underside of the table.

"I'm working!" Rarity screamed more harshly than she intended. She rubbed the back of her head, and picked up the needle that was just by the table leg. "Aha!" She yelled triumphantly, only to drop it and slam her head on the underside of the table again when Sweetie screamed. Rarity clenched her teeth, partially from pain, and partially from rage. "Sweetie Belle." She fumed.

"I'm not joking!" Sweetie Belle's cries grew louder.

"She's not!" Apple Bloom's crying joined in. "She really isn't!"

"Please, help." Scootaloo called weakly. "We can't get out."

Rarity clenched her teeth, and her eye twitched. She stood up slowly, being careful to avoid the edge of the table. She rubbed the sore knots on her head, and winced. Her eye twitched again, and she set the needle back into her pincushion. They would be having words soon. Yes, there would be words. She would give them such a scolding when she got in there. "Coming." Rarity called menacingly through clenched teeth.

She trotted the doorway of the kitchen, and viewed the interior. Her face fell as she looked across the kitchen. The table and chairs were mere smoking cinders. The curtains burned in the heat. The tasteful tapestry on the wall was ruined. The clock's face was nothing but melted plastic. The wallpaper had peeled off, and the edges of it burned. The ceiling tile were black with soot. She cringed at the smoke that filled the room. The panes of glass in the windows twisted in their frames. But the floor was-

"Lava!" Rarity screamed. She looked at the fillies huddled on the counter. "How did this happen?" She glared at Sweetie Belle. Her eyes burned with rage, and she lost all semblance of calm demeanor. "What did you do to my kitchen!" She nearly stomped on the ground, but chose to keep her hooves off the floor. "What did you do?"

"It was an accident," Sweetie Belle squeaked.