//------------------------------//
// Chapter 10: Super Secret Day 
// Story: To Be Human 
// by Bastinator 
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Mmm… No, no this will not do at all. Your saliva soaks into the grainy substance in your mouth, only managing to make it taste dreadful as well as soggy. “You don’t like it?” Twilight asks from behind the counter, sounding defeated as well. That is strange, she has no reason to feel such a way. The sandwich she presented is one of the simplest make, the ingredients quality in no way related to her own skill.

You shake your head in response. According to Rarity, it is bad manners to speak with your mouth full. When you reasoned that in fact, your mouth was not full, she was forced to look away. Almost as if she was disgusted. Might it have been the mashed carrots that showed from within? Surely not, they were positively scrumptious and she did not look away when she presented them to you. Silly, Rarity. What will she do next?

Twilight brings the plate up to her, her horn alight in its pristine glow as she takes a bite for herself, “It’s not-” You quickly raise a finger at her. After all, if you are not allowed to speak with food in your mouth, neither shall she. It is only fair, no? Twilight waits, quickly swallowing before levitating up a trashcan for you, “It’s not that bad.”

Your mouth feels infinitely better without that ‘hay sandwich’ cursing its existence.  It suits the bottom of this bin more than your own body. “Different tastes, perhaps. Might you have any juice or punch?”

”No, I’m afraid not,” she trots around the kitchen, cleaning as she goes, “I do have some leftover salad though. You might like that better.”

Yes, you do not believe you have had salad yet. That will do nicely. “I approve of this choice.”

”I’m sure you do,” she replies in a tone that you don’t quite- Aha, sarcasm!

“I caught you that time, Twilight. Your sarcasm shall not escape my watchful-” Well you can’t exactly say eyes, “My watchfulness.”

”Whatever you say, Anon,” her tone maintaining its sarcastic nature as she sets down a bowl before you.

“Again, it appears I have caught you.” Oh you do so enjoy catching pony sarcasm. The ability to sense it makes you feel more… You breathe deeply, pressing a hand against your head, not even that able to stall the splintering sensation that dwells within. All it takes is one word, one little word to- You tighten your hold on your pants. Pain… is not the most pleasant of sensations.

Twilight ‘slips’ a fork in front of you before finally analyzing your condition, “Again?” You nod, for some reason smiling as well. This you don’t quite understand. It feels- natural.

“Yes. The episode has past,” you rub your hands together, imitating young Scootaloo when she is about to feast, “So, salad, we meet at long last.”

”You know it can’t talk, right?” Does she believe you to be touched? That’s simply preposterous.

“Of course I know that, Miss Sparkle. Why, if this salad could perform such a trait, it must be a- a…”

“Super Salad?” she asks. Such a strange mind this one.

“No no no. It cannot possibly be a soup. Perhaps a stew if you added some…” That’s not what she meant at all, was it? “You meant ‘super’, not ‘soup or.’”

“That’s right,” she laughs at your expense, soon finding yourself joining her. It was a foolish mistake, laughable it seems as well. Using your fork you flick over a leaf of lettuce, that too quite the mystery, as it bears no resemblance to a leaf. Color, perhaps, but the shape is far from its partner.

*What do you think you’re doing, buddy?!* What- Who said that? You look around in confusion, even standing up entirely to find this phantom. *Hey, hey buddy, down here.*

“Ms. Sparkle, where is that strange voice coming from?” It’s high in pitch strangely enough, nothing common to the ponies you’ve heard. Even the dragon, Spike, has not a voice of this caliber.

*Down here, buddy.*

“Buddy?” you look down to the floor, head craned to the side in hope of finding a different angle, “What might that be?”

“Who’re you-” Twilight starts, snorting for some reason with a smirk aboard her face, “Who’re you talking to?”

“I’m not sure,” you scratch your head, nearly drawn away by the pleasure it brings, “Some, phantom, appears to be mocking me.”

“A phantom?”

*I ain’t no phantom,* your head shoots back to Twilight, *A little lower.* Finally you gaze back upon the bowl of greens, *There you go.*

An eternity you’ve had time to wander the world, learning and watching each of its strange inhabitants. But in all those years, nothing like this has ever graced your eyes- If you had them, that is. No numbers linger above the bowl, much as you’d expect from produce and vegetation alike. Living they might be, a soul they do not harbor. Their timely demise is ‘not in your books.’

“Do you-,” leaning closer to the bowl you almost find yourself at a loss for words, “What might you be, strange creature?”

*What do I look like?* It sneers back at you, with a hint of anger in its voice. *I’m a super salad.* Of all the creatures you’ve seen, this one is special in being perhaps the most illusive specimen in all of existence. A creature- no not a creature, a being would be more accurate. A being who awakens when you speak its name, acting as a simple dish-

“Twilight, how could you eat such a thing?”

Twilight appears shocked, “What do you mean?” Taking the salad off the counter you place it in your arms much like a mother does her- A mother does her what? What mare carries her child in her arms? You shake away the thought, still cradling the salad from its aggressor. How long have the ponies preyed upon the Super Salads? Too long. “The Super Salad has done nothing to deserve your wrath. In all my years, I would never think that a pony would eat another sentient being, no matter its leafy composition.”

Twilight huffs lightly and steps around the counter towards you, “Alright, that’s enough. I was just-” Stepping back further allows you to keep your distance, every inch bringing safety to the Super Salad. Finally she stops, doing a strange thing with her brow where one raises but not the other. How does she do that? No matter, it is a distraction to your goal, “Really, Anon?”

“Yes, Ms. Sparkle, really. No harm shall come to the Super Salad. I’ll protect you from her,” you whisper down at your companion who almost shakes with fear. “Do you see what you’ve done? He has lost his voice thanks to you.”

“It doesn’t have a voice!” she blurts out, a gasp shooting out from upstairs before a resounding thud. Hmm, it appears that she has awoken Spike. Good. You almost worried he might sleep himself beyond this world. But the numbers…

It is curious what she said, about it not having a voice. Did she not hear it as well? She must have, or else she would not say it does not. “Why must you insult the Salad so? To say it has no voice, is to say it has no word in its own existence. I wish for you to think about that, Ms. Sparkle. How would you feel, if I said the same to you?”

You do not know what has gotten into her today. Surely her lessons on friendship would prepare her for such an encounter. “I think you’re getting a bit worked up over this, Anon. If you’ll just let me explain-” She starts, but you shall have none of it.

“The Super Salad is under my protection, and you shall not harm it.”

“The super what?” you hear Spike groan as he walks down the stairs, his stumpy limbs must not make it easy on him.

Twilight rolls her eyes, “Anon thinks the salad is alive.”

“But it is. It spoke to me. My ears do not deceive me, Ms. Sparkle.”

She tries to advance again but you hold it up and out of her reach, “Come on, Anon. It was just a joke, it didn’t actually talk to you.”

Lies and slander. How can she submit herself to such a fallacy? *She’s right, Anon. I’m not actually alive.*

You do your best to glare at her, the art of facial expressions not one that you’ve quite mastered yet. “Now look at what you’ve done. You managed to convince it that it’s not even real. It’s alright,” you pet the bowl like you would Han or Chewie, “We know the truth.”

*No seriously, look at Twilight’s mouth while I talk.*

Why? Her mouth has no connection to the living realm. “Anon, just look at me.”

Fine, you shall entertain her. “What exactly, Miss Sparkle, am I supposed to be seeing?”

*Look at the end of her mouth while I speak. Blah blah...* it continues on with the ‘blahs.’ That hardly counts as speaking, more like, vocalizing an incoherent mess. But enough of that, the Super Salad requested you to look at her mouth… You don’t see anything of note. She’s just standing there, staring at you with a gleam in her eye, quite a nice sight if she alleviated the intensity of it. Her mouth is just setting still with the rest of her. Only the tips of it are- moving, in sync with the Super Salad’s- No, it’s Twilight’s voice.

Spike rests a claw on your leg, “Anon, I think it’s time to put down the salad.”

But… It sounded so real. You- you don’t understand. “You didn’t think it was actually alive, did you?” he raises his voice at the end. Of course you did. Any other being would believe the same, would they not? Of course they would. It is preposterous to think otherwise. Spike, however, already knew. It only took a glance for him to discern the illusion from reality.

As much as you’ve seen and as long as you’ve existed, a child still bests you in this life. It is, depressing, if that is correct. “Yes,” you take your seat, today’s sense of cheer vacant in the aftermath of your foolish behavior. “Is that troubling, Ms. Sparkle? That I, am so easily deceived?”

Spike and Twilight both look at each other, a silent exchange of words you may never truly understand flowing between them before Twilight nods and jumps up beside you. “You’ve never met a ventriloquist before, I presume. Am I right?” A ventriloquist? What in Celestia’s name is a ventriloquist?

“In all my years, never has a word confused as such. A Ven-tril-o-quist. I recall only what a vent is. A stallion, quite heavy, got stuck when he was…” This is what they call ‘rambling’, is it not? To continue off a question, in a manner that was not specified. To ‘go off the beaten path.’ A strange idiom in its own right. “Alas, that is a tale for another time,” you smile. “What might a ventriloquist be, Miss Sparkle?”

“A ventriloquist is someone who can change their voice to make it sound like it’s coming from someone or somewhere else. It’s… something I did as a kid to keep myself entertained.”

Truly? The deception placed upon you aside, it is a marvelous piece of speechcraft. “I didn’t know that, Twilight.”

“But of course, why would she seek to entertain herself when Mister Spike so adequately does that task for her?”
”Hey!”

You merely raise your brow in curiosity and look to Miss Sparkle. “Does he not?”

“Yes, yes he does,” she smiles. “How about some salad?” Twilight motions towards the salad you put down, a strange lump forming where your stomach is.

“Perhaps another time.”

~~~

Twilight begins to clean her kitchen, taking great care to ensure she uses only the most precise measurements in her chemicals. Spike, on the other hand, takes this time to- What is it that Pinkie calls it, skedaddle? Strange term, but you haven’t the time to decipher it. He quickly calls out that he is departing to Miss Rarity’s abode, the location no surprise to either Twilight or yourself. 

Affection, is a rather strange sensation. What is it about another that can so easily steal one’s thoughts? What about affection can drive the afflicted into such a daze that they would follow another so blindly? A strange sensation indeed.

You move back against the wall in the main chamber, hand clutched to the cup given to you by your host. No punch, unfortunate as it might be, but the refreshing cleansing of water has yet to fail your tongue. ”So, Anon,” Miss Sparkle sounds as her busying task to wash the countertop fixates her gaze, “How do you like it here in Ponyville?”

A measurement of satisfaction. Yes, that would best suit her current relation to you. It is ‘in her nature’ to keep someone of mystery close-by, most certainly when they have some information to be gleamed. ”I don’t mean to pry- Well…”

“You do,” you interrupt her, her motives known to you. 

Twilight tosses her wash cloth into a nearby bin, joining you by the book shelves. “Not really. At least not in the way you’re thinking anyway.” Hmm, curious. Most instances you would think to have been correct. Alas, your knowledge of the living mind is still minuscule at best.

“Then please,” waving your hand in invitation as you’ve seen many a host do before you, “Proceed.”

You ‘catch’ her smile as she rests atop the stump that lies in the room’s center, “I was just wondering how you liked it here in Ponyville, and if it was up to snuff.” So, you were right after all. Should your stay be unsatisfactory, she would most certainly remedy it, as to keep you here. Anon, you are quite clever.

“My stay here has been satisfactory, Miss Sparkle. That is the answer you wished to hear, yes?”

”Of course it’s what I want to hear. Even if we had a rocky start, we’re friends now, I hope, and I want my friends to be happy.” Happy… You cannot remember a moment in the last millennia that has brought you this ‘happiness.’

Your lips turn up at a thought, a reaction you did not intend. You haven’t been happy… until you came here. With a ‘flip of the switch’ another thought drowns out the previous joy that held you in its grasp. Friendship, no matter how strong its magic be, will bring warmth to this form. You will only bring the cold inevitability onto others. It is… not a thought you wish to dwell on. So instead, you take the form of Rarity, the one who smiles even when she does not wish it. You must follow her example.

“As a friend, I cannot ask for more. Yes, Twilight, I am happy.” For how long? Long enough. Is that what you believe? It is what I must believe. Only one thing will make you happy, Anon. Only one place, and it’s- No.

You clench your fist, Twilight’s head tilted back to stare at the ceiling, “That’s a relief. I was worrying that Ponyville wouldn’t live up to your expectations.”

“Expectations?” you grimace at the retreating ache in your skull, “Where might I have obtained these?”

”Well I mean- You’ve been around for so long. You’ve probably been all around Equestria, further even. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” She is not incorrect. Your job has required your presence in many locations around the world, not all presiding in the land of the living.

”So I guess I wanted to know how Ponyville compared. Ponyville’s grown on me, and as much as I liked Canterlot, I couldn’t bear leaving all my friends to move back. So… How does Ponyville hold up against other places you’ve been?”

You are, unsure, of how to proceed. It is strange how a blankness suffocates your thoughts and silences the tongue. “Do you ever feel- Hmm, how to best describe it… Has a sudden, cluelessness, ever fallen upon you, Miss Sparkle?”

She chuckles and nods, “Don’t get me started.”

“Started? On what?”

Another laugh from Twilight solves to confuse you further, your brow rising in response. “I guess you really haven’t spent a lot of time amongst ponies in your life.”

Life. There is a humor in that term, but by the plains of Tartarus, it eludes you. “You are correct,” the plain tone of voice dampening Twilight’s laughter. “I have not spent my time amongst others, a situation I sought to rectify in my stay here.”

You smile, thinking of young Scootaloo as she races about town, chasing after the tail of Rainbow Dash. Always out of reach, but always happy in her pursuit. “I believe that I made a good choice, staying here in Ponyville, and perhaps the answer to your question is that when compared to Ponyville, no city, town or village could allow me to be at peace.”

Twilight seems to understand, but at the same time she is quick to respond in opposition. “But Ponyville can’t be all that special. You’ve been to Canterlot, it’s a beautiful city, and the castle is even more so.”

“At one time, perhaps. Canterlot was once like Ponyville, bustling, vibrant. It was a curiosity how every morning they would wake and smell the air with such vigor, almost as if it was the first time they had been allowed to breathe, but that was long ago.” Where did those ponies go? Did one pony steal the joy from their precious town, or was it slower, taken apart piece by piece?

“The air no longer caught their interest, much like the streets of Manehattan. Colors lost their shine, a dullness washing it away in the morning rain, just as it had in Baltimare…” Twilight can only watch as you continue to ramble, but even in your knowledge of the act, you cannot cease your rogue tongue. “Aviaris, home of the griffons, was once much like the Canterlot you now know, but that was the past. Time wears away all, but there are still some places that shimmer with light.”

”Like where?”

“Where? Saddle Arabia. I spent many years in the sands that circled their land. You call Canterlot beautiful. Be lucky to never gaze upon the Trot Mulal, for many would forget the true beauty in their lives.”

”W-wow. I can’t imagine it looks that stunning, but… it sounds wonderful nonetheless. I always wanted to go to Saddle Arabia when I was a filly. Maybe I still can someday.”

You shake your head, knowing all too well that danger that lurks within. “It is one of the few places in this world that can shine to this day, but make no mistake Twilight Sparkle, you do not wish to go there.”

”But you just said-” she tries to counter, but you will not allow her to dwindle on such a hazardous desire.

“A Toxin Twirl is a wonderful creature, scales that glimmer against the scale, almost slithering in a dance that could make the Czars of Stalliongrad weep. Do you know of the beast I speak?” She knows, you can see it in her eyes. A mare like her, reading as she does, knows of many dangers that lurk amongst the living. “Saddle Arabia is a Toxin Twirl, drawing you in with desire,” Twilight shivers as you visualize it for her, fear forming sweat upon her cheeks,” but make no mistake, when it bites, when its fangs bear into your throat-”

”That’s enough!” You watch as Twilight clenches her eyes, fighting her own mind to cast out the image that you had so obviously implanted within. Her breathing is labored, but soon comes to a calm, her silent victory ensured. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“Indeed. Rarity would surely ‘throw a fit’ if she saw you acting in such a way. Hmm, how do you throw a fit, and why is it called a fit at all? Such a confusing dialect.” The cold liquid flows down your throat as you take another sip. Always delightful… “Alas, no place is quite like Ponyville. The ponies here still breathe in the fresh air, still paint their homes with such enthusiasm.”

There is only one place where light holds no deception, where time itself holds no sway… a place not even you are allowed entry. You shift your eyes away to the window next to the front door and the ponies that walk just behind it. So oblivious to the numbers, yet so happy. ”I- I guess I should be glad then that you like Ponyville. It really is different from Canterlot.” You nod in accordance. “But… I can’t believe what you said about those other places.”

Hmm? Why? Surely the knowledge you bestow upon her is one that she can place her full confidence. “Age, grants wisdom, yes? Why do you refute it? A final act of defiance, perhaps?”

”No…” she shakes her head, a strange look of confidence about her. You are unsure how to describe it. “You may know a lot, but if my time in Ponyville has taught me anything, it’s that you can always find the best in ponies.” The best in them? What constitutes their best? The Elements are a sort of scale, if anything. Fluttershy is kind, Twilight skilled in magic, but is that they are? No, they must be more.

”Canterlot isn’t perfect, I’ll agree with you, but it’s not what you described it to be. There are plenty of ponies who still enjoy the day to day like they do here in Ponyville.” A bias, that wonderful little thing. Inspect that which one loves and you will find them to be most disagreeable. A shame that Miss Twilight follows the same pattern. ”Maybe you don’t remember how things were. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a bit obvious you never spent much time with ponies.”

“Do not ask for my opinion only to smother it with yours,” you snap at her, a burning sensation built within your chest. “You do not understand, Miss Sparkle. Your kind never does. When confronted with an idea that conflicts with your own comprehension, you strike against it. Maybe one day, when your numbers come to greet you, maybe then you will understand.”

Anger… Looking to your feet, you unclench your hands, the emotions of the living a plague upon you. One that you must eradicate. “I need not a lecture,” you quiet your voice, “Merely rest…” By Tartarus, you need a good rest.

“Look, Anon-”

“There is not a need for apologies in this case. Relaxation is what Ponyville brings me, and it is this outcome that I shall rely upon.” You move away from the wall, an ache only starting to build within the walls of your skull.

”I’d like to apologize anyways. I never meant to insult you…” Miss Twilight, for all her strengths, is too… real. How does that affect you? Is this not all real? But of course, it just happens that Twilight’s company brings reality to the forefront of your thoughts, and dwelling upon the truth is not always a pleasant business.

Unpleasant indeed, but the business is yours. No, that is why stayed in Ponyville, to take a break. Break? Running away from your duty is not a break. It’s cowardice! It’s- You grab your throbbing skull, shuffling towards the front door window. You need a pony, someone different. Someone who is not totally in this reality. A carefree spirit.

“… And finally, I want to make it up to you. I don’t know what somepony like you would want, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.” 

Yes. You do know a pony that fits that description. A sickly sweet specimen whom you have befriended in your time here. You straighten your back, numbing your mind with a newfound goal to be completed. “Twilight, where is your dear friend Ms. Pie?”

“Pinkie? She’s working at Sugarcube Corner today. Have you been there before?” No, you believe that you would remember venturing to a cube of that scale.

“I have not, Miss Sparkle. Now, I must be going to the ‘Sugarcube Corner.’”

Twilight stops you as you open the door, “At least let me walk you there.”

“That will not be necessary. I shall find my way there, rest assured.”

She looks at you with an expression you can’t quite place but she does yield to your request, “Alright then. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Indeed we shall,” you nod with a smile, “Until then.”

You look to the floor, watching each step as they move you into the main passage of the road. It is a wonder how these limbs manage such precision. Raising your head you continue to walk, several ponies joining you, yet also separate as their destination differs from yours. But you are together as you walk, your legs in tune with theirs, each balancing their differing forms.

Does each leg adapt to its host in a form of symbiosis? Hmm, that is a strange question. It… doesn’t make much sense. They are just legs, a part of the living body. It has no ulterior motive. It merely, is. Wings, a part of a Pegasus. Magic, a part of a unicorn. They are extensions of their host, and they carry no weight to their conscious. But to others…

You look to the ponies that surround you, each a different race, gender, size. A Pegasus is enthralled by magic. A unicorn astounded by how an earth pony can tend to the soil and make life with such ease. And you, you are astounded by legs. Hmm, you recall overhearing a conversation about that. Is this fascination a ‘fetish?’ You’ll have to ask Twilight about what that word means.

That will have to wait, you have a destination you must reach to ensure a successful day. With this in mind, you continue to walk, nodding to the ponies that pass you by, greeting them should they vocalize it themselves.

Mane Street… You read each sign as you cross, keeping your eyes- your vision, peeled for the large cube of sugar that houses Ms. Pie.

Sitrrup Street. “Good morning, Anon,” a fellow resident nods as she passes, to which you repeat in turn. Much like a bird you once saw, quite an annoying creature. Perhaps that’s why they stopped feeding it.

In any case you turn the corner and move onto Balking Road. You only manage to take a couple steps before your route is blocked. You peer above the mass of ponies trying to find the source of such a backup, however it appears there is none. They just refuse to move. No sign of the Sugarcube on this street, so instead of spending your days locked in place you choose to move on.

You read the next sign, Cob Avenue. Yes, you recall this place. It is the unofficial headquarters for those of the more muscled variety. What is it that one pony always manages to scream? Yeah? You may never understand.

This is proving… difficult, more so than you deem acceptable. You spent many days watching over Ponyville, and yet this one location now eludes your gaze. Now that you dwell on the memories, you do not recall seeing such a sight. Anywhere. What madness would drive a pony to live inside of a Sugarcube. Well, that might explain why Ms. Pie is as energetic as she is.

Your cheek twitches as you sit on a nearby bench for a temporary rest. What has happened time? You look to the sky, allowing yourself to realign your mind with the world’s flow, its synergy. A volcano, massive in size and scope. Is that you, Arokh? Awoken once more to wreak havoc on the living? Right on schedule on schedule it would seem. There is work to be done, but the obligation that has for so long forced your hand lies absent.

They shall pass to their place of rest, but you shall not guide them, not as you have. “Hey, Anon.” So many this time, did the flow show no mercy? “Anooooon.” Of course it didn’t. It is nature at its core, a fascinating creature without the doubt that haunts the living. “You can’t ignore me forever. I can wait all day.” But then… which are you? “ANON!”

The resounding shrill breaks you free of thought and back to the Ponyville bench. “Are you trying to take a nap or something?”

“Not at all, young Scootaloo,” you smile down at her, “Though I do ‘rest my legs’ so to speak.”

“That’s it? Come on, let’s do something exciting!” Innocent, you think as you look to the other passersby, each only focused on the task at hand. So in tune with their own world, that they are deaf to the thousands lost in lands away. Would the griffons know if it was Equestria that suffered their fate? Would they care? “I heard that they’re playing the new Sky Ranger movie in town today. I heard it’s visceral!”

A movie? No, that would conflict with your appointment with Pinkie Pie. Unacceptable. “I must decline your invitation, young Scootaloo. I have an appointment with Ms. Pie.”

”Pinkie? You want to invite her along too?!”

“A movie is best kept with a silent audience. Ms. Pie… she does not match that criteria.”

She rolls her eyes in response, “What fun’s a movie if you can’t see it with your friends?”

“Who said that Ms. Pie and myself were friends,” you raise a brow.

”It’s kind of obvious. She’s friends with everypony.”

“It was supposed to be a super secret…” At least the ‘Bestest’ is still under ‘lock and key.’

“There’s no secret you can keep from me. After all, I’m a master detective.” Her eyes begin to widen in the strangest of fashions, “That’s it! I can get my cutie mark as a private eye!” You chuckle, strangely enough. There is a humor in her unbridled joy, an excitement that only a child can experience. “Don’t you laugh at me. I can do it, just you watch.”

You raise a hand in defense and finish your small fit of laughter. “I have no doubt in your ability, worry not. Instead, my laughter is the manifestation of the warmth your happiness brings me.”

“Oh…” she flushes like a blooming rose, “I did get kinda carried away, didn’t I?”

“And there is nothing wrong with allowing yourself to enjoy life freely. Youth is a time that can pass in an instant, if you would let it.” It is up to the individual to live in the moment, but stand ready for the future. “Should you take my advice, Scootaloo, then live every moment of your life. Do not dwell on that in which you have no control. It is when you focus on that which matters to you, that you will find what you seek.”

To envy another’s time is a travesty to your own. Miss Rarity defined wrongdoing as a sin. To Envy another, would this qualify? “You know, Anon. I can never understand the things you say sometimes.”

“You would not be the first,” you grin to yourself. “Focus on what matters to you, Scootaloo.”

“I just want to get my cutie mark. That’s all that matters,” she proudly spouts next to her scooter.

“For now, perhaps. When you gain that, I can only hope you use the diligence you show now, to aid your fellows in the days to come.” It is clear by her expression that your words did not reach in the manner you hoped, but maybe one day she will reflect on what you’ve said. It is all you can do for her.

“What matters to you, then?” That is an answer she could not understand. To be hu-

“Presently?” you attempt to numb your aching skull, “I wish to find Pinkie Pie, and that infernal cube of sugar that escapes my sight.”

”Cube of sugar? You mean Sugarcube Corner?” She asks, reboarding her scooter.

“Indeed, that is the location. I have walked these streets and still it hides under the very sun that illuminates my surroundings.”

“Well I hope you weren’t actually looking for a cube of sugar,” it’s her turn to laugh, “That’d just be silly. Sugarcube Corner- I’ll just have to show you.” Yes… Silly. To what degree and for how long, shall you fit this label. You give her a boost forward and walk behind her, your gaze leaving her and to the ground.

It is understandable that at first your lack of understanding was achieved, but has it not been long enough to overcome this barrier? Two months now… no matter. Victory shall be obtained as surely as your arrival is to those passed. Yes… keep telling yourself that… ”Yoohoo. Over here!” You raise your head to find yourself having ‘strain from the path’ as it were, with Scootaloo waving at you from behind a corner you seem to have passed. “Don’t want you getting lost or anything.”

“Lost?” To think that a child, a filly, can make something like you- Something. You chuckle, though the word itself brings no humor to you. “Yes, quite lost.” This time you keep the filly in sight as she leads you in a manner most ironic. Usually it is you who is escorting others. The change of pace is, adequate. Perhaps a little nice as well.

“So why do you want to see Pinkie anyways?”

“Should your reputation as a Master Detective be valid, then should you not know?”

You spot her purse her lips and sigh, “Well I’m not one. Just a wacky idea I had.”

An interesting notion. It is as if she believes to know her future. “How did you do in school, young Scootaloo?”

”Excuse me?” An ounce of confusion weighing her words down.

“It is a simple question. How did you do in school? Did Ms. Cheerilee teach you adequately?”

“I- She’s still teaching me. I hope I’m doing well though. Why’re you asking?”

“Hmm? Ah yes, the questions. I asked in order to make a point. You said that you shall never be a Master Detective. Correct?”

She nods but not before getting in her own ‘two cents,’ “I know what you’re trying to do, and you don’t have to.”

“Perhaps, but it is not a matter of what I have to do. I do not wish for you to cut your future endeavors short because of self-doubt. A more potent poison cannot be found.”

“Thanks Anon, but don’t worry. I’ll never give up,” she ‘shoots’ you a smile and takes a step off the scooter. “There you go. Sugarcube Corner.” You follow her hoof and- What in Tartarus is that?

“That is NOT a sugarcube.”

“Did you just figure that out?” How in- The construction of such a facility seems impractical- No, impossible. “Ever wonder why Pinkie’s always hyper?” Scootaloo laughs to herself, “I think this would be your answer.”

“This explains a great many things to be sure.”

You take a step forward, waiting for the moment that the frosted walls to evaporate from sight, proving to be a mere manifestation of your mind. Of course. The time never comes. This heart attack of sweets is real. Why does Tartarus not house one of these? Scootaloo hops up ahead of you and heads to the door, “Coming?”

“Shall I become like Pinkie should I venture inside?”

“Ha, you can never get like Pinkie, Anon,” and with that she enters without you. To be Pinkie. It is not an entirely sour proposition. Carefree and a mare that lives in the moment, savoring each slice of the day. Yes. It would be quite enjoyable to step into her hooves, as it were. Without further hesitation you follow Scootaloo’s trail and breathe in the sickly sweet aroma of the delicacy’s that dwell within.

“What is that delightful scent?”

“HMM! Peanut Butter!” Scootaloo exclaims with a hop and flutter of her wings. “They’re my favorite type of cookies.”

“Peanut- Butter? Do those not denote two separate entities?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had peanut butter either.”

You gaze around the room, traveling from the candy canes that are stuffed into vases, to the cinnamon molding around the wood and across to the pies that line the shelves. “No, I do not believe so.”

“Who never had peanut butter?!” From behind the counter a pink haze dashes into sight, some sort of container in hoof. She appears to be headed for you, at quite a high speed at that. Does she-

Your heels dig into the floor as you reach out an arm just as she’s about to tackle you, leaving her flailing around like a mad mare. ”Just- gimme-” her hoof paws at your arm, the other brandishing a spoon with a light brown substance on the end. “Gotta- put it- in your mouth.” Most mares seem to object to that.

“I don’t think Anon wants any, Pinkie.”

“But he has to- Ugh- try it!” Her hoof jabs at your mouth, though you keep your head tilted back in defense.

“I have to? Why?”

She visibly struggles to break through your hold, her face reddening even through her pink skin, but still, the strength of the living cannot break death’s grip. Rather poetic in a sense. At last, Pinkie’s hooves go lax in a sense of defeat, “I just want you to try some peanut butter.”

“Then why did you not-“

“HYAH!” she strikes again just as you loosen your grip, the spoon forced into your mouth before you push back again. “I gotcha.” You push the spoon around with your tongue in a state of discomfort until all but the scoop had vacated your mouth.

“So what do you think,” Scootaloo asks with a raised brow.

“Yeah! Do you like it?! Do you?!” your bestest friend surely follows in her excited manner with that smile she holds still bright upon her face. You draw out your hums as you savor the taste of this newfound substance. Not sticky though, it feels more like a paste, perhaps that is why it earns the title ‘butter?’

“I do say,” you pluck the out the spoon and quickly suckle at the remaining bits, “This is the most enjoyable nonconsensual facial violation I have ever experienced.”

“You- what?” Scootaloo asks, now in utter confusion. Her lack of experience in this field is something she should cherish, yet she is blind to her gift.

“It is no matter,” you lower Pinkie to the ground who proceeds to hop back around the counter, “Everything is fine.”

Wiping the sweat from her head Pinkie continues her bouncing, “So now that we got that super terrible business out of the way, what can I do for you?” With an excited grin, Scootaloo looks up to you. It is not a look you can easily discern.

“Is there- something you wish to obtain?” To which, your companion can only hastily nod. “Be careful, it might fall off if you keep shaking it like that.”

“No it won’t,” she finally speaks, rolling her eyes. You make a note not to tell her of the Diamond Dog incident.

“Returning to business,” you look back to Pinkie still being Pinkie, “I would like to acquire two peanut butter-” A tap is felt against your leg, Scootaloo’s eyes widening in a strange- Ah, Chewie does the same thing. You believe they call it ‘begging.’ You are quite familiar with the vocal version. “Let us make that three peanut butter cookies, fair enough,” you ask.

“Yes, thank you.” At least her manners are well in check. Pinkie taps a couple keys on her register before dashing in and out of the kitchen at speeds only the infamous Rainbow Dash can overcome.

”Alrighty right. Here’s your cookies, make sure to eat them all in one place,” she wraps up the small parcel and hands them to the filly. “How else can you enjoy them?”

“Perhaps if you ate them over time,” you attempt to point out, but if there is one thing you should remember, it’s that Pinkie does not follow conventional logic.

“But if you ate them all at the same time, it’s like- three times as good!”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” you nod happily. “Does this please you, Scoots?”

“Yheahfh!” she cries out, though the mushy cookie remnants severely alter her speech.

“No, you musn’t talk with your mouth full. Rarity says it is- Uncouth.” Following a hard swallow, she apologizes, but not in any way does it dampen her spirits.

“That’ll be thirteen bits please.”

Thirteen… bits. Money. Oh… “Well this is quite the predicament.”

“What’s wrong, Anon?” Scoots asks you, not aware of your financial standing in the community.

“I do not have a source of income, young Scootaloo, for I have no need of it. It makes these rare encounters… complex.”

“Then how did you buy my scooter?” a look of dread falls across her face, “You didn’t-”

“Stealing is not a deed I shall ever commit. If you cannot obtain something through work, you do not obtain it. I took a job, ever so short, but long enough to obtain what I required.”

“Does that make you a hobo?” Pinkie asks with her cheery tone, one that elicits a laugh from the two of you.

“Perhaps it does. That is quite the thought, indeed, but no thought detracts value from my current conundrum.” What to do? Surely Mr. Rich is not longing for you to spend more time with his daughter, nor would she wish it. Rarity’s generosity is swell, but to exploit her would be to lower her perception of you. No, if you wish to obtain bits, you must work for them. When you were- Ugh… When will the pain end? Why did it ever begin?

“Why don’t you work with me then?!” Pinkie’s exclamation drawing you out of your pain.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a great idea, Pinkie,” Scootaloo joins in.

“It gets a bit lonely when it’s just me here, but with you it’s double the lonely… Wait…”

“We both know what you meant.” Yes… surely we do.

“Are you offering me work?”

“Of course. It works for everyone! Scootaloo gets her cookies, you get to pay for the cookies, I get to make more cookies with you! It’ll be super fun!”

“Super… secret fun?”

“The superest secretest fun,” she leans over and whispers, renewing your smile. Super secret fun with your bestest friend? That does not allow much room for refusal, and it ties in so well with your motive here.

“Should you offer me a temporary position, then I have no choice but to accept,” you bow. “When shall I start?”

“Now, silly.”

You say your farewell to Scootaloo who takes her leave with her box of cookies in tow. It was most kind of Pinkie for her to loan her the cookies until you have gathered payment. “Well then, Ms. Pie. Where shall I begin my work?”

“First of all, you need to get on an apron. Follow me, to victory!” She charges into the back without a thought, the clang of falling pans stealing your mind away, “Oops.” For a mere moment, you wonder who is helping who in this scenario. Yet of course, it is she helping you.

You enter the kitchen and are quickly ‘thrown for a loop’ at just how it contrasts with that of Twilight’s. The counters here are covered in a white flaky substance, pans and pots left out across every available surface save for the floor, which surprisingly might be the safest location to cook.

Should Twilight walk back here, or Tartarus forbid, Rarity, they might both require your attention. Such frail hearts they have. Pinkie finishes gathering up the bowls that she crashed into, stacking them in the sink which resembles the Smokey Mountain more than a location to clean dishes. “I believe this room requires more than a simple cleaning. Perhaps a complete purge is in order.”

“It’s not that bad. Sure there’s a little mess here and there…” she begins pointing around, “and there. There. There. A lot there. Huh… I don’t remember the stack being so tall.”

“Ignorance is surely bliss.” You swipe your hand across the counter, the white dust clinging to your palm. “Do ponies put dust in their food?”

“It’s flour, not dust,” she hops over to the pantry and displays a bag of it, the label clearly saying ‘flour.’ “See?”

“Would you look at that, it is indeed flower. How do they become so white?” She hums to herself as she clears a space on the counter and begins gathering ingredients from the fridge, “Flour, Anon, not a flower. You don’t want to sniff this one.” Ahh, a mistake. One of many.

Pinkie goes over the recipe that you’ll be making, an oatmeal raisin cookie, or cookies technically. In most learning cases, as you’ve seen in the past, they quite dull and do not capture the audience. Pinkie, on the other hand, goes the extra mile. Using the sweet melody of her voice, she crafts a song that stitches the knowledge together like a sweater.

It’s almost a dance as she whisks about, pouring in a cup of sugar there, followed by the same but brown. Does color change the taste as well? You do not have time to dwell on the thought before her song continues, your finger wagging in tune with her. “Baking cookies isn’t so hard. Don’t you see? It’s just a one, two and a three!”

With a toss the bowl she was using is lobbed into the air and heads- *splat* -right on you. Pinkie covers her mouth, the reason obvious as you pull the bowl off your head, bits of raisin obscuring your vision. “You ukkk- you look good with hair.” She has to bite her own hoof to keep it inside, but your plain expression is just too much for her and she lets it all go. By Tartarus… if anyone can make you laugh at your own displeasure, it is without a doubt, Ms. Pie.

Together, the both of you revel in the moment, and only in the moment. No numbers matter here, you couldn’t see them through the flour that swims in the air anyways. “Maybe we should’ve got you an apron first,” she begins quieting down, plucking a black piece of cloth from the pantry.

“Yes, Rarity might have my head should she see me in this state.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so sweet!” She raises her hooves upwards, “Pick me up, you’re too big for me to reach.” You pick her up under her forelegs, allowing her to slip the apron over your head before giving you a peck right above your eyes.

“What was that for?” you ask, Pinkie wiping off some more dough from your head.

“The apron doesn’t say ‘Kiss the Cook’ for nothing.” Slithering out of your grip like an eel her tail twitches, followed shortly by the ringing of the door. “We’ve got customers! I’ll see to them. Do you think you can whip up another batch?”

Placing the mixing bowl on your head you stand up straight and salute. “It’s just a one, two and a three.”

Pinkie smiles and hops away, “I see why she likes you.” 

Who?

~~~

You shall not best me. I am Anon, Baker of Cookies and Knight of the Six Blenders. I shall prevail! “How’s that batch coming?” she calls out from the front.

“Gah- By Mino’s beard! Oh, everything is fine!” You do your best to contain the mixer, but it has a mind all of its own and a ferocity that rivals the Mearthol Beasts of the Eastern Plains. A spray of wet dough strikes you across the face, blinding you despite your lack of eyes. At least it does not sting. As you move to wipe it off, the bowl begins to tremble with intense strength and the events that are about to unfold- Well- You don’t need a fortune teller to know what is about to occur.

In an attempt to stave off the inevitable you focus on keeping it contained, but alas, your work is in vain. The bowl rotates at speeds that not even you can comprehend and as a final measure you pull out the mixer. If only you knew… The whisks lock their sights on you while the cord dangles between your legs. They launch at your neck, knowing that you would stop them, but from the depths of Tartarus, the cord has other plans. It swipes your legs in one fell swoop, your hand grabbing the bowl by accident. The bigger they are…

“Everything doesn’t sound fine,” Pinkie says again, peeking her head around the corner as the mixer finally cuts off. “Anon?” 

From behind the counter you raise your hand, bowl successfully in its grasp. “E-easy.”

She comes around and helps you up, the both of you sharing a laugh. “Not everyone can be a baker.”

“This town is not big enough for the both of us, this is certain.” She grabs a towel from the drawer and gets you as clean as she can, albeit, a pig might still consider you dirty. “So… How’d you like working with me? None of the other girls ever have the time.”

“And I’m sure if they did, they would do so without ‘skipping a beat’ if I use the phrase correctly.”

She giggles and leans against you, “You used it perfect werfect.” The door rattles open again, Pinkie looking up at you, “You want to take that one? I can start getting cleaned up here.”

“It would be my pleasure.” You walk to the front, with a spring in your step strangely enough. This visit truly did have magical properties. “Good day, how might I…” your voice trails off as you recognize her, your cheeks turning up.

“Anon?”

“Ms. Dash! It is grand to see you. Have you ever worked with Ms. Pie. It is most invigorating. In fact-”

Rainbow Dash cuts you off midsentence, in an anger that you have not seen within her, “Where the buck have you been?!”

“I- thought I said I was here. Working with-”

“I meant, why weren’t you at the field?! You said we were going to hang today, but you never showed.”

“Hanged? Why would I propose such a distasteful event?”

“You know what I meant, hang out, not get hanged, and I’m still waiting for my answer.” Why is she so angry. You do not recall scheduling such a time with her.

“I do not remember setting a date. It seems that I would ‘owe you one.’”

“You’re bucking right you do. You leave me all the time to go with Twilight and Fluttershy. Now you ditch me for Pinkie?” You- weren’t trying to ditch anyone. You were simply trying to expand your options.

“Why do you harbor such anger at me? I am trying to enjoy my vacation.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, “Oh oh, your vacation. I’m sorry, I thought that’s what we were trying to do, but instead you keep shoving me away. Why?”

“It is not my intention-”

“I don’t care about your intention.”

You clench your fist at her interruption. Many times you have told her not to do so. The first few you could drop due to your elation, but that has passed. Reality comes crashing in from all corners, breaking the seal of anger within you. “Do not interrupt me. I told you-”

“And I told you-” she points an angry hoof, wind spiraling around you.

In an instant you’re before her, gripping her hoof with a scowl. “Do I now have your attention?”

“Is everything alright out there?” Pinkie once again pops out from the back. Ignorant. Blissful. Is it worth it?

“Yes, Ms. Pie,” the hiss in your tone unintentional but reeking of truth, “Quite.”

“We- we’re fine.” Dash’s voice cracks as you let her go, pulling a false smile to Pinkie. “I was dropping by to say hi.”

“HI! Want to bake with me and Anon? The good bake, not the bad one.”

“No. She was just leaving.” You never break eye contact, or the best you can do given the circumstances. “Have I repaid my debt to you Ms. Pie?”

“Well yeah but-”

“Then I must also be taking my leave,” you undo your apron and set it on the counter.

“Oh… ok.” You can’t see her, but you know that she now spends her time admiring the floorboards. “Maybe… We can do it again sometime?”

“Yes. I would like that,” your glare has no end, “but another time. Deal?”

“Deal! Bye you two!”

You coldly walk to the door, trying your best to subdue your anger. “Follow.” She does as you command, leaving the innocence of the bakery and hopefully regretting her actions towards you.

“Anon-”

“I shall be at the highest point in town. I await your apology.” The wind picks up once more, transporting you to your destination before she is allowed to utter a word.

The sun has begun its descent, employing nature to dazzle the sky in an orange glow. You take your seat on the tiled roof of the Town Hall and wait. Waiting for her arrival. She should know better than to snap at you. No one snaps at death. No one…

~~~

The sun has long since vanished to the other side of the world, its light awakening those it touches. Only the stars serve to keep you company, but still you shall wait. If she does not arrive- then it is you who shall meet her, and it will be the last time you meet. The flap of wings catches your ears, though she does not come from your front, but from behind, almost in shame. You can hear her land, her hooves trying their best to stay silent, “Hey Anon…”

“You could make a good Fluttershy if your flight were more elegant. Perhaps she can teach you a thing or two.” Why are you saying that? You know how she feels about criticism. Well maybe that’s just what she needs.

“Heh… Maybe you’re right.” She moves beside you and sits down, though you don’t give her the luxury of a glance. That is best saved for those who show respect. “Look, Anon-”

“Is an apology in your words, or more false accusations? I have time for one, and no more. So choose them wisely.” Calm down, Anon. She didn’t mean to- Yes she did- No she- YES. She did. She stays quiet for a while, but she speaks up eventually, perhaps out of fear of your displeasure. Surely that would be logical.

”It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think?”

“It is a composition of stars and the blackness of the void, overlain by a filter of bluish hue. Nothing more.”

“So you’re still mad…”

“Have I reason not to be?” You turn your head, not quite looking at her, but finally acknowledging her position.

“No. I guess you don’t. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Rainbow Dash would not so easily apologize. Not in that way.”

“Anon wouldn’t say the night is nothing more than some stars either.” There is… truth there. Vague truth, but its existence is fact.

“What would Anon say?”

She leans forward and you catch a hint of a smile, “Some lame thing. Like how the clouds swirl together, clinging for warmth in the cold of night. Or maybe something like how the stars shine true together, each so separate, so far apart, but part of a whole. You know, that type of stuff.”

You lower your head, unable to break your growing smile. “Indeed. Something like that.”

“And I would want to really apologize. It’s just- We never seem to spend time together. It’s been a month now and I’ve seen you, what, three times? You’re always with Twilight or someone else. I thought we were close friends.”

“We are, but I am not bound to one friend. I know you Ms. Dash, more so than anyone else I’ve met…” You were wrong, Anon. Wrong to greet her with such anger when she merely wishes to find a peaceful end to this conflict. “If it is any consolation, I do not remember setting a date with you.”

“Well it wasn’t a date,” she’s quick to respond. “We were just hanging out. Don’t get weird on me.” Perhaps date is the wrong term, but what would a proper term. A meeting, far too formal. “I just us to spend more time together, that’s all. Especially since we haven’t talked in a while.”

“Is that why you follow me?”

“Why I what?” she grows red, only hardening the truth.

“It started around the time I said I could only talk to Twilight about my… ailments. I began feeling something. Something I hadn’t felt before. Almost like someone was watching me.”

“That’s a strange feeling. I hate those,” she tries to turn the conversation, but you will have none of it.

“I have felt your presence many times, keeping an ample distance away, but still watching. I believe this makes you a ‘stalker,’ correct?”

“Look, it’s not what you think.” You smile and fall back, letting the sky take over your vision. “I was just-”

“Keeping me in range. It is strange. You could easily have joined me with Fluttershy or Pinkie, but instead you gave me distance. It was not necessary, but you did so regardless. Why?” The motivation of the living… In so many ways, you shall never truly understand it. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me around. So, I just kind of wanted to see what I was missing.” And why would she think this? Mares, they are certainly a crazy lot.

“Dash…” you turn your head to her with a grin, “I would never wish your absence. Ever.”

“I said don’t get weird on me.” Rainbow leans back with you, resting her head beside yours.

“I was thinking about talking a walk with Han and Chewie tomorrow. Would you like to join me?”

“I’m not really a wolf pony…”

“Well if that’s the case-”

“I’ll go!” she blurts out by accident before regaining herself, “I mean, sure. I guess I’ll go too.”

“Good.” You’d love to have her along… 


Strange word that…