Lickety Split was perfectly happy until he read the good news.
‘...is coming to Ponyville to congratulate you on your acceptance into the Canterlot Academy of Arts, and would like to meet you tomorrow. We will meet at your house at six P.M. prompt for coffee. Please send a telegram in response...
He brushed his blond mop of mane out from his eyes and giggled in sheer terror. The name was right at the bottom of the page. Filthy Rich, Ponyville’s leading businesspony and philanthropist, Lickety’s patron of sorts. The signature, too, which shouldn’t have made it worse, but somehow did.
There was another name too, the name. The name of a pony known by few but worshipped by many. The pony who had contributed more to culinary understanding in one decade than a hundred chefs in a lifetime. The mare known to bakers and patissiers the world over as The Bread Scientist. Golden Grains herself was coming to his house.
His idol. His distant mentor. His academic advisor to-be.
He had all of her books. He had three copies of The Question of Butter, one for reading, one for lending, and one in case anything happened to the other two. That had been the book that pulled him bodily into the wonderful world of food science and thaumaturgical gastronomy. He’d marveled at the writing back in school, and it had never lost its touch.
Now its author was coming here. This was simultaneously the most wonderful and most terrible thing in the entire world.
He was having friends over for drinks tonight, to celebrate his acceptance, full scholarship, and student grant (which had allowed him to pay the deposit for his new cottage) to study Accelerated Food Science at the Canterlot Academy of Arts. He shook his head. He’d have to cancel it, reschedule. He needed to be well-rested, prepared, and alert! The entire cottage had to be immaculate. If his genius future professor and his wealthy supporter saw even a hint of slovenliness they’d know what an underprepared, mediocre clod he really was, and that would be it.
He had to cancel. It was only five in the evening now, his friends wouldn’t arrive for an hour and a half. Lickety willed himself to calm down, and to stop pacing a hole in the carpet around his coffee table. His friends would be fine with it, they were his friends after all. Maybe later, after some mad, rushed cleaning, he could go out and meet them at Berry’s Bar, or at least his friends who were old enough to get served.
There was a knock on the door. Lickety nearly jumped out of his skin.
Dinky Doo stood on his doorstep, reeking of clover and rust remover.
Normally Lickety would have been glad to see the lilac-coated unicorn. Aside from being astonishingly clever and the only friend his age who dabbled in culinary science, she was also the reason he had a cottage.
Dinky Doo dealt a mixture of legal, dubiously-legal and flagrantly illegal substances to half of Ponyville, and knew the financial state of every user in town before even they did. She had let Lickety Split know that the cottage would be available for an excellent price before the owner advertised it, and had even loaned him the money—interest free no less, and Dinky was not known for her charity—for the deposit while he waited for his stipend to arrive. He’d paid her back in full, of course, but Dinky had done him a whole lot of good.
Something was wrong, though, or different at least. She was always wiry and skittish, but she looked twitchier than usual. Her set jaw suggested bullheaded drive and pure excitement. She held her gaze uncomfortably long, and a fire glowed behind her eyes.
“Lickety I need your kitchen for reasons.”
She pushed past him into the cottage before he could open his mouth to reply.
“You’ve still got that dough mixer, right? The oil thermometers, lemon-zesters, the industrial deep fat fryer, all that stuff? ‘Course you do. Thank Celestia, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know what I’d have done if I couldn’t use your kitchen. The only other people in town are the Cakes, those fascists...” The fully-loaded saddlebags clinked and rustled as she made her way through the cottage. Lickety tried to say something.
“Dinky, I’m really sorry but—” was as far as he got before Dinky wheeled round and put her hooves on his withers, pulling him in close.
“No. Stop. This is big.”
“Yes but tomorrow—”
“Bigger than tomorrow. Big. Look out there—” she turned him to face the kitchen window, where the sun had just set and the moon hung in the sky “—right there, at that. Look at the moon. You know how big this is? Bigger than that. It’s bigger than the moon.”
Dinky let go of Lickety, turned, and began unloading her supplies. Along with a portable chemistry set came a lump of budding clover the size of a foal’s head, a salt-shaker full of salts, and—
“Nitroglycerine?!” yelled Lickety.
“Mare, calm your teats,” said Dinky, “I’ve got it charmed in six different directions and besides, I’m only using it as a stabilising agent for the uranium.”
The name rolled around in Lickety’s brain, and triggered deep-seated equine fears when he recognised it. “T-that’s radioactive! It’s illegal to talk about that stuff, where did you get it? Why would you bring it here?!”
“Me and this guy have this arrangement. Look, don’t even worry about it, it’s all stabilised and all prepared for easy clean up. Mare Cure herself could come here with an Io-Ra counter tomorrow morning and she wouldn’t find jack shit. I mean she wouldn’t, because she’s dead and all, but if she did she still wouldn’t find anything.”
“Dinky, I make food in here—”
Dinky shushed him. “Look, I have taken every possible precaution. Tomorrow, if you’re worried about any piece of equipment in here, I’ll get it replaced by sundown. That’s a promise. But, dude, as much as I love you and all, this thing right here is too damn big for your dilly-dallying to get in the way.”
Lickety sucked in a deep, calming breath.
It wasn’t too bad, he reassured himself. Dinky Doo was smart, and after she was done she could even help clean or help him prepare for the meeting tomorrow. He could handle this. “Okay. Okay, okay, this is okay. What are you even doing, anyway?”
“I’m creating a clover plant with naturally-occurring salts crystals in the flowers.”
“That’s illegal. That’s very illegal.”
“I have an arrangement, chill out. I’m only making the germ seed and plant food here anyway. I’m not growing it in your cottage or anything.”
“That’s still illegal. It’s illegal for me to even know you’re doing it.” There was a knock at the door.
“It’s fine. There’s somepony at the door.”
“It’s not fine, I cannot stress enough that this entire conversation so far has been illegal—” Another knock.
“There’s still somepony at the door. Go answer the door, Lickety.”
“We’re going to have words about this.” Lickety scowled at her, but Dinky was already buried in her work. With a huff, he stomped off to answer the front door.
Pipsqueak stood in the summer drizzle, a thin cotton hoodie clinging to his lean withers, the rakish grin scrawled across his face, light-hooved and tipsy-eyed. He grabbed Lickety Split around the withers and pressed a hard kiss on his cheek.
“Lickey, mate! Lookin’ lovely as always I see.” He deftly stepped inside, still hanging off Lickety’s shoulder. Lickety tried to respond, to protest, but Pipsqueak was warm and close against him, close enough that he could smell the hint of aftershave he wore, and the soft scent of cinnamon and wood and sex was enough to make his head spin.
Lickety Split had a boyfriend. He loved Rumble very much. Rumble was a gorgeous pegasus, kind, daring, funny, impossibly supportive, and the best boyfriend a colt like Lickety could wish for. If he had to pick between Pipsqueak and Rumble, he’s pick the pegasus over the pinto in a heartbeat.
He’d spent several years of school with a crush on Pipsqueak, though, and that didn’t count for nothing.
Panic started to rise in Lickety’s throat. He felt as if everything was going wrong at once. “Pip, I can’t—”
Suddenly, Pipsqueak backed off. He left a single hoof on Lickety’s withers and looked at him, eyes full of concern and compassion. “What is it, Lickey? What’s wrong?”
“Tomorrow Mr Rich and Golden Grains who is my future academic advisor and a total genius and my idol for years are both coming round here for coffee to my cottage and the place is going to be a mess they’re going to think I’m a disgusting incompetent who shouldn’t be allowed near a kitchen and oh Celestia I’ve even got her books on display she’s going to think I’m a suck-up I haven’t done any preparation they’re going to talk for a minute and then it’s going to be an hour of awkward silence before they kick me off the course and withdraw my stipend and my name will be mud and I’ll work at some ratty sno-cone place until I’m an old stallion and all the magic of food science is gone and I won’t even like mascarpone any more! I won’t like mascarpone!” Lickety stopped, breathing hard, on the verge of tears.
“Right. Okay. Deep breaths. Okay?”
Lickety nodded, sucking in air. “O-okay.”
“Look at me, Lickety,” said Pipsqueak, “This is good news. You are a bona-fide genius with all manner of desserts and pastries. Bon-Bon, Pinkie Pie, the Cakes, they’ll all say the same thing. Filthy brags about how much he’s been able to invest in you. They all love you, because you are awesome. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re utterly adorable.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So here’s what’s gonna happen. First, we’ll give you the once-over, make sure you’re feeling completely ready for the meeting, and make sure you’re ready to sweep them off their hooves. Second, we’ll help clean your cottage top-to-bottom, to your specifications. I mean, this is already the tidiest house of any teenager I’ve ever seen, but if there’s anything else to sort out, we’ll do it for you. Third, you need a positive attitude, which means relaxing and having some fun.” Pipsqueak paused for effect, and leaned in close, “Which means, my friend, that it’s time for some drinks.”
“Can we come in yet?” slurred a voice from outside. Lickety turned, horrified, to look out of the open front door. There must have been thirty ponies there, all in various states of drunkenness.
“Come on in, everypony, the party starts now!” yelled Pipsqueak.
Like a fast-forward film of a shoot growing into a tree, a party appeared around Lickety. Ponies dragged in speakers and subwoofers, Lickety’s favorite dance album blared out, the lights were turned down, Diamond Tiara climbed on a plush sofa and started dancing as she cradled a bottle of sparkling wine in her hooves, a keg of cider was rolled in, followed by a crate of—
“Bourbon?!” Lickety’s voice went suddenly soprano. He grabbed Pipsqueak by his withers and shook. “You brought a crate of bourbon here! Pip, buddy, you have to get rid of it, the last time you brought a crate of bourbon to a party things got set on fire!”
“Oh, Lickey, we were mere foals back then,” replied Pipsqueak smoothly, shaking his hips to the music, the smile never leaving his lips.
“It was eight months ago! Shady Daze is still in juvie!”
A cocktail glass full of sparkling, amber liquid appeared in Pipsqueak’s hooves, and he slipped it towards Lickety Split. “Here, have this.”
Lickety took a sip. Then a gulp. Then drained half of the glass. It was as if he’d dunked his head into a bucket of frozen apples, with just a hint of vodka.
He hiccupped, giggled, and turned bright red.
Pipsqueak just kept grinning. “Applebite is still your favorite, I take it?”
“Y-yeah...”
“Good. Relax. Have fun. I’ll make sure things don’t get too rowdy, all right?” Lickety nodded, and Pipsqueak sauntered off to start dancing.
It felt like every teenager in Ponyville was here. Featherweight, Pina Colada, Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Dee Pad, Chowder, Silver Spoon, Alula... Lickety could smell clover smoke, unicorns were divvying out salts into pea-sized spoons for a quick sniff, cider flowed freely with cheer, the sofas and coffee tables had been pushed against the walls to make room for dancing, ponies ground against each other, horns flashing, wings twitching, hooves stomping, sweat flicking from manes and tails.
In the face of this lurid, lascivious display, Lickety Split did the only sensible thing: he ran upstairs into his room.
He pulled the cover off the telegramophone. Five years ago, only the Riches, the mayor, and the princess had one of these in Ponyville. Now, just about everypony did. He flipped through the book until he found Rumble’s parents’ code, tapped it into the machine, and began to type.
‘Lickety here house is party and cant control it plz help asap l.y. xxx’
He pressed the ‘send’ button, and a clockwork dial clicked until the price read ‘2.3 BITS.’ He pressed the button a second time, and with a ‘clunk’ the message went off.
Lickety closed his eyes and slouched in his chair for a moment, feeling the vibrations of the bass from below. It would be okay. Pipsqueak said he’d keep everything under control, and Rumble will be here soon. All he had to do now was go back down to the party, look like he was having fun, and try not to vomit from anxiety before his boyfriend got here.
There was another knock at the door. It couldn’t be Rumble, even he wasn’t that fast. More guests, perhaps? Neighbors here to complain already? He steeled himself and went back downstairs.
Two unicorns, one ruby-red and the other pale blue, stood in the doorway. Ruby Pinch and Tootsie Flute. Both of them were good friends. That meant they wouldn’t be here to dump more unreasonable demands on him, right?
Whatever they wanted was obviously perfectly simple and normal and had nothing to do with the dozen-odd ponies behind them, all in their late twenties and thirties, looking sleazy and aggressive and holding eye contact for too long.
“Hey Lickey,” said Ruby Pinch, “We need a favor.”
“Oh, you’re having a party anyway, thank Celestia,” said Tootsie Flute, “We thought this was gonna be all awkward.”
“Um, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good—”
“So Vinyl Scratch and my mom are working on something together, something about the acoustics of new wine, and we basically need all of Vinyl’s friends out of the way ‘cause Vinyl doesn’t want them in her room unsupervised. It’s just for the night,” said Ruby.
“Yeah, they’re fine as long as you don’t give them any hard drugs and don’t look at them funny and join in if they ask you if you want any salts,” added Tootsie, “We’ll be with them all night anyway, so don’t even worry.”
“But—”
Ruby leaned on him, “Thanks ever so much, dude, we’d have been sunk without you. So, this is ‘Tavi, Noel, Blues—y’know what, nevermind, you’ll all get introduced later. Come in, guys!”
The roadies and musicians swept inside. They smelled like vodka and public transport. Several of them spat before entering.
The last one in was a grey mare with a dark-grey mane. Her purple eyes lingered on Lickety for a moment.
“so this is your house yah” The words slipped out with the minimum possible effort, as if the very act of speech was a chore. The voice spoke of private education and a childhood in Trottingham.
It took Lickety a second to realise she was speaking to him. “Huh? Yeah, yeah. Wait, are you—you’re that cellist, the really famous one. Octavia! Octavia Philharmonica!”
“yah thats what mummy calls me. are you a fan”
“Yeah, I like your music.”
“cool got any heroin”
“What? No!”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “yah a lot of ponies say they’re fans but none of them have any heroin” With that, she slipped off to join the rest of the musicians.
The front door shut, and Pipsqueak was beside him, passing another Applebite into his hooves. He found himself pulled into the dancing and the music and the fun. It was okay.
All he had to do was not have a nervous breakdown before Rumble arrived.