//------------------------------//
// InfraBread 
// Story: Orange Is The New Blue 
// by Estee 
//------------------------------//

	And now Ponyville's residents were trying not to stare at the trio as they made their way through the streets, a pair of horns slowly moving from side to side while a little dragon attempted to keep the potential trampling down from eight hooves.  

Admittedly, most of the visual attention was being very carefully not focused on a single pony within the group.  And there were some who simply couldn't manage that feat.

"R-r-rarity?"

"A rather dubious pleasure to see you today, Mr. Mouser -- oh, will you look at the matchless speed of that retreat...  Well, it seems I have found a benefit, Twilight:  apparently I am no longer even remotely to his taste.  Not that such changes my plans for what is hopefully the very near future, but I accept what small blessing may come.  Now:  you are certain you have never encountered this signature before?"

Slightly frustrated, "I don't exactly have everypony in town memorized, Rarity."

"But your sense for such is superior to most -- and please do not deny it:  now is not the time.  I trust your dimmest memory of such things more than I do the sharpest clarity for many others."

Twilight sighed, tried not to blush, partially made it.  "No...  as far as I can remember, this is new."

Rarity nodded.   "Which would seem to place the burden of guilt into one of three categories:  a resident unicorn you have never had occasion to encounter, a filly who has sparked or infant Surge...  or one of the tourists who take the ride from Canterlot on a summer day, mistakenly seeing Ponyville as a combination of low-rent shopping district and potential disaster theater while at no time considering how their entertainment will proceed should they actually find themselves within Bearer activity as part of the play.  We can narrow it down from there.  If only so many had not chosen to travel today..."

Twilight considered the presented checklist.  "We could have overlap in those last two categories:  visiting kids."

Rarity had been momentarily distracted.  "Allow me to save you time, Flitter:  yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, and whatever you would personally wish to see engraved on your tombstone and can appreciate from the shadowlands.  Fill those in for any order you like."  (The pegasus took a deep breath, caught the look in blood-red eyes -- then shrugged and trotted off, black-and-white kitten playfully trailing at the end of the harness.)  "Yes, and that presents us with the same problem as the other tourists:  that they could simply get back on the train or take the gallop to their homes before we ever reached them.  Rather more likely for those with children to use the train, though."  

"We could just go to the police, Rarity," Spike suggested.  "This pony's already broken a law.  This has to qualify as vandalism, right?"

The designer nodded.  "No doubt.  But the police have no authority to demand everypony simply line up and demonstrate that they cannot perform this trick.  Even if they could, we would have the difficulty of showing that somepony cannot generally prove a negative.  Should we be so fortunate as to find the caster with the proper signature, she would simply refuse to perform the working.  I do not wish to involve the law unless they can actually do something."

Spike's claw-wringing was getting a major workout.  "But...  we're not just going to hurt somepony..."

There was a certain amount of protest coming from the street ahead.

"Hurt?"  Rarity's laugh was insincere.  "I, a pony of violence?  Whatever would make you believe that?"

"All the talk about killing?"

Loud, aggravated, reality-denying protest.

"Don't be silly, Spike.  I would never kill anypony."

"Okay..."

The sort of protest which could only be found in ponies who couldn't get baked goods.

"Mutilation will suffice -- hmm.  What is going on at Sugarcube Corner?"

The trio listened to the yelling -- and then moved all the faster, reaching the edge of the crowd within seconds.  Unfortunately, they then found themselves stuck there, as the furious mass of pony bodies refused to yield a single hoofstep of space to anypony who wasn't just as angry as they were, and for the exact same reason -- a reason which could only be found inside.  

The crowd was too dense for Twilight to try teleporting in:  any arrival point just about guaranteed recoil on the other end.  Similarly, simply picking up crowds and moving them aside often offended.  Yelling about Official Bearer Emergency could panic the populace and so she didn't use it until the Princess was actually involved:  having Spike loose a space-making burst of flame could be worse.  And if this had been happening during her first moons in Ponyville, she would have simply stood at the edge, forcing out near-whispered requests to please move until everypony there had gained the personal chance to ignore her.

But that was then, and this was now.  

"Golden Harvest!" Twilight brightly called out to the first pony she could identify.  "I'm so glad to see you!  I've been waiting for the chance to catch up and find out when I can expect to collect your late fees!  And Mr. Flankington, I do hate to rush you, but are you quite finished with that book of recipes from the Empire?  Because that's on the library exchange program and now that it's officially overdue and the return stamp has expired, somepony has to pay for it to be shipped back.  I wonder who that could be...  Bon-Bon, I don't suppose you're finally willing to admit that you lost the book?  It's so nice to see everypony out on a beautiful summer day, especially when I really need to talk to so many of them about library business.  Of course, if nopony can afford to settle their accounts at this time, I still need volunteers for certain things and I'm continuing to accept a work exchange program --"

There were things which could make Ponyville residents move faster than encountering Twilight when she was on the library rules enforcement prowl.  Most of them involved Ursa Majors.

The crowd did not completely dissipate:  a number among them were fully innocent of all checkout infractions and for a sole pony who was not...  it was baked goods.  But it did thin out enough for the trio to pass through, and a lightly-smirking Twilight silently took the offered bits into her field as she mentally removed the carrot farmer from The List.  

The bakery's interior hadn't received as much sound as the outer semi-riot, but a few ponies had gotten the gist and made hasty preemptive exits.  It was enough for them to move inside, and the sufficiently-diminished volume allowed hearing.  

"I want my money back!"

"We tried them," Mr. Cake protested, his voice beginning to grow weak from repetition.  "They still taste exactly the same.  It's just the -- color..."

"I preordered four dozen bialys!"

"We made four dozen.  And then some.  I took my sample from the extras...  we'd never made them before and I wanted to make sure they came out right...  I've never been much for diced onion, but I can certainly understand why you wanted to get them for the party --"

"-- they're bright green!"

Mr. Cake sighed.  "I know they're green.  They're green the same way the black-and-white cookies are now pink-and-mauve.  My baguettes are blush.  The rainbow cookies aren't.  But it's nothing I did.  Every last thing in here tastes like it should."

"And how am I supposed to eat green food?" the most recent pony addition to a very angry list demanded.

Mr. Cake's expression was one Rarity was all too familiar with, a look she frequently caught glimpses of in the Boutique's mirrors:  the internal war between The Customer Is Always Right and Regardless, The Customer Is An Idiot.  Rarity generally found herself applying a simple solution to the dilemma -- and as she watched, Mr. Cake's face slowly hardened into a look she also knew from experience, the one which resolved everything.

"So you've never had grass?"

Who Wants An Idiot For A Customer, Anyway?

The pony blinked.  "...what?"

"Grass," Mr. Cake repeated.  "Limes.  Avocados, on the few times I've seen imports.  Grapes for some varieties.  Some kinds of particularly fresh hay.  And that's just the surface of the green food tray.  I could go on for a while, I really could.  But I have ponies in line behind you and they all have things they'd like to say, so I won't keep you much longer.  If you want your bits back, you can have them.  I'm sure you can find another pony who's willing to attempt a bialy or four dozen on short notice, possibly in Canterlot.  Or you can take this extra sample, which tastes like it should, which only happens to be bright green with so many worse colors available, and eat it.  No charge for the bonus."

The pony paled.

"Of course, if you're worried about being poisoned, I'll just have half, if you don't mind," Mr. Cake added.  "Pardon my onion breath, of course."  He broke the disk along an axis, snatched the green bread up between his teeth.  Thoughtfully chewed.  Swallowed.  "Actually, the texture takes more getting used to than the onions.  Your turn, sir."

The pony, who was naturally close to a particularly ghostly shade of white, was now beginning to approach transparency.  "It's..."

"Yes?"

"...green."

"You pass me the bialys," Mr. Cake softly said, "and I will pass you the bits.  On three?  One, two --"

Weakly, "-- I can't get any more by tonight..."

"I could make them again," Mr. Cake offered.  "However, since the first batch is perfectly fine, I would have to charge you again for the second.  And of course, I can't promise what color they'd come out."

"I'll...  just take these..."

"As you wish, sir."

"And -- and I'm never buying anything here again!"

"So you don't want your preordered birthday cake next week?"

"...after that."

"The anniversary platter?"

"...and that."

"How about the Summer Sun Celebration party catering?"

"...I'm going..."

Everypony in the bakery watched the tail-tucked retreat.  And at the end of it, Mr. Cake finally raised his voice.  

"All right!" the baker called out.  "Now that I seem to have everypony's attention, let's try this again!  Nothing has happened to the ingredients!  Nothing is wrong with the taste of any item!  They were all normal when we baked them this morning and before you say one word again, Caramel, this has nothing to do with Pinkie!  She lets us know when she's experimenting and asks us to label her personal products so we can track how they're selling!  We all made these items together as we almost always do.  We placed the pieces in the display cases.  And then there was glow, and this happened!  This is a unicorn playing a joke, one I don't happen to find particularly funny.  I don't know who it was.  I'd really like to and if anypony here does, tell me and it'll be donuts for a month.  If anypony wants their money back for items where color shouldn't matter, just be polite about it.  If you want refunds for things where it does...  those rainbow cookies aren't making me happy, either.  Please...  we can all get through this.  Calmly.  It's just the look, and as much as I hate to say this of all things..." he visibly braced himself before proceeding into the full blasphemy "...it's just baked goods..."

Which was when he saw Rarity.

"...except if it isn't," he half-whispered.

Several ponies wondered at the sudden drop in volume.  Had sudden bouts of curiosity as to just what had made his eyes go so wide.  Those ponies, already stressed by the near-violation of their fundamental pony right to baked goods, turned to see what he was looking at.

Several ponies screamed.  One sample among the group panic was particularly familiar.

There was a stampede.  It was a rather well-directed short-term stampede which didn't do any real amount of damage on the way out beyond knocking over a few benches and trampling half a bialy.

And it was just the trio and Mr. Cake in a much emptier Sugarcube Corner.

The baker sighed.  

"I could say something about the loss of business," he said, "but I think I'll get it back in sanity.  Rarity, are you okay?"

"As with your product, the only changes are cosmetic," Rarity sighed.  "Although mine will wear off.  At least, the changes to my form shall:  those made to my own goods...  not quite.  Do you mind if we lock the door?"

Mr. Cake shook his head.  "Please."

Twilight's field coated the door, sealed it.  "Where's everypony else, Mr. Cake?  That was a lot for you to handle by yourself."

"Upstairs," the baker explained.  "It was all of us down here when it started:  so many of the tourists are stopping in to try out the local offerings...  well, that's not just me, and Celestia help them when Mr. Flankington opens in a few hours.  But we needed a full staff to handle the flow.  Which meant Pumpkin and Pound were behind the counter...  and after it hit, the customers...  well, they got loud.  Caramel blamed Pinkie, it got worse...  the twins started to cry...  My wife and Pinkie are upstairs with them, trying to get everything calmed down.  They'll probably be back in a few minutes, especially now that it's quiet again."  With increasing concern, "Is this something beyond a prank, Miss Sparkle?  Bearer business?  Is there something we have to worry about?  Like -- you know..."

It was a very familiar shudder.

Twilight sighed.  "It's a unicorn spell, Mr. Cake.  Nothing worse.  We think it might be a caster who either hasn't been in town before or hasn't managed a spell until now.  Did you see anypony who would fit those categories?"

He frowned.  "We were crowded, Miss Sparkle -- partially with tourists.  And I can't spot everypony in a crush...  Rarity..." and now he was starting to blush "...I hate to ask, you know I do, but..."

Rarity merely looked tired.  "While I am aware of what my sister and her friends tend to create in their wake, Mr. Cake, along with having the repair bills to prove my direct experience, I have also been in her presence when the first hints of sparks began to appear, along with possessing some rather unfortunate memories of her infant Surges.  Her personal tricks have yet to manifest in Ponyville -- but when they do, I will have prior experience with the signature they shall carry.  And should it have been one of the other two...  actually, I would not be surprised.  But this magic was not hers."

The answering nod seemed less than fully confident.  "All right.  I wish I could be more help, ladies, but...  we were busy, and I really can't describe everypony who was here."

Spike's palms slammed together.  Claws clicked.  "Yeah!"

The ponies stared at him -- or rather, two of them did.  "Spike?" Rarity asked with increasing hope atop a solid layer of faith.  "That sounds rather like the exclamation of somepony who's just had an idea..."

He grinned.  "You can't describe everypony, Mr. Cake," the little dragon said.  "You can't..."

The trio left the reopened shop twelve minutes later.  There were fewer arguments breaking out behind them, mostly because there were fewer ponies.  

In fact, there seemed to be somewhat fewer ponies around overall, especially for a beautiful summer day.

"Of the twenty-seven ponies visibly crowded into the shop when the spell hit, eight were unicorn mares," Rarity said with open satisfaction.  "Four of those were Ponyville residents with whom we are familiar, and none of their personal workings come close to this category, nor does the hue of their field."

Twilight managed a smile.  "That leaves four tourists, all of whom we now possess descriptions for -- along with the color of the field in question:  shimmer-white.  Sometimes I love Pinkie's memory..." 

"So all we have to do is find those four ponies before they leave town, get them to use their field...  and we'll know who it is," Spike concluded.  With a certain lack of confidence, "Simple...  right?"

"I hope so, Spike," Twilight replied.  "If they haven't left already, then we've at least got a shot."  But she was worried, and a glance at Rarity found the same emotion staring back.

There was a somewhat smaller number of ponies around, and those who remained...  a few of those had a word on their lips.  Twilight was aware of how ponies could so easily wind up acting.  Thinking.  Somepony could come to the wrong conclusion and before anypony really understood what had happened, the herd had moved.  

It was just a prank, if an increasingly nasty one.  Twilight knew it and would educate everypony she could find on the true nature of events.  But the word was out there now, and there was always a chance it would rapidly spread.

Daisy had been in the bakery.

And the word she'd screamed was contagion.