“Six in the morning,” moaned Rainbow Dash, and yawned. “Argh! Six in the morning is way too early.”
“Big Mac got up even earlier,” Applejack pointed out, as she lifted her end of a long table and waited for Dash to pick up the other. “He had to drive that cranky old clunker of a party cannon up from the farm this morning, and you know that thing doesn’t go fast. He was up at four. And you know what Granny Smith says: ‘Early to bed and early to rise.’ ”
“Well,” grumbled Rainbow Dash, helping her friend carry the table over to the small tent, “all I can say is that the cake for the cake eating contest had better be good.”
Everyone was scurrying around, doing last minute setup for the Cake Festival. The original plan had been to have the cake decorating, cake judging, and cake eating contests inside, in the gym, where the desserts wouldn’t suffer so much from the heat. The condition of the gym made this impossible, so the cake events had to be relocated to a small, separate tent outside. The entire event had to be restructured and re-planned, from foot traffic flow to decorations, and Pinkie and Cheese had risen to the challenge beautifully, spending the hours originally intended for final exams on their “community service project.”
The cake tent was located at some distance from the food tent and the heat from cooking burgers, hot dogs, and sweet corn. Pinkie and Cheese had placed it in a spot where it was in the shadow cast by the school building. In order to make sure that it was still prominent, they had created a pathway outlined by small lighted garden stakes on either side, each stake topped by a glowing cupcake. The outside of the tent was covered by the streamers and cupcake-shaped lights originally meant to be hung from the grid inside. Now Rainbow Dash and Applejack were bringing in the heavy platforms for the display cakes and placing them on the spots Cheese had marked on the ground.
“I don’t know why you think this is early, Rainbow. I thought you went running every morning at least as early as this.”
Rainbow Dash yawned again as she dropped another platform in place with a soft thud. “Yeah, but this isn’t what I’d planned to do the first weekend after school’s out. And I was out late. Last night was Soarin’s graduation party.”
Applejack frowned. “I thought he’d already had his graduation party last week.”
Rainbow Dash grinned. “He’s had a graduation party with the whole team every night since then. Guess he’s blowing off some steam. That, or he’s gonna miss all of us a lot.”
“Well, nothing like a little hard work to help you bounce back,” said Applejack, as they walked towards the truck where more tables and display stands were stashed. “And Granny always says 'many hands make light work.’”
“Aw, please,” groaned Rainbow Dash. “No more folksy sayings. I just can’t handle them this early.”
“You know what gets me about you, RD? Why you grouse and bellyache so much—”
“Hey!”
“—when, when it’s time to do something, you always come through? If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you were awful lazy, but you just roll up your sleeves and work harder’n anyone. ‘Ceptin’ me, of course.”
“Yeah, well,” the other girl admitted, “don’t let it get around, AJ, or everyone’ll be wanting some.”
“Morning!” shrieked Pinkie Pie, popping up like a jack-in-the-box from behind one of the stands they’d just put in place.
Rainbow Dash clutched her chest. “GAH! Don’t DO that, Pinkie! It’s too early for that!”
“Just checking on the cake tent!” Pinkie went on, pulling her clipboard and pen from her thick mop of curls, which seemed extra thick and curly this morning. “Uh-huh—uh-huh—uh-huh—,” she muttered, as she tapped her lips with her pen. “Hmmm. Something seems missing. Oh, yeah!” she said, and beamed. She whizzed around, a blur of pink and blue, unfurling tablecloths and trailing streamers, confetti, flowers, and cupcake decorations behind her. “Yep!” she said, crossing something off her clipboard list with a flourish, “that was it!” and she raced back out through the tent flaps.
Applejack took off her hat and removed her ponytail holder. “Whew!” she said. “Looks like it could be a hot one today. Would you believe Pinkie? That girl couldn’t stir cookie dough four months ago without gettin’ it all over the walls and ceiling. Can’t believe how much she’s changed.” She bundled her hair back together into its ponytail. “Looks like we’re done here,” she remarked. “How about we grab some coffee?”
“Slacking off work already?” said Rainbow Dash, and grinned.
“Aw, you hush,” Applejack replied, giving her friend a push on the shoulder, and they went in search of caffeine.
Meanwhile, Rarity and Fluttershy were setting up their adjoining booths. Rarity’s table was covered with swags of purple and gold fabric, and she had artfully placed multicolored rhinestones on the surface so that they appeared to be casually scattered, the early morning light already creating a prismatic effect. On the right side of the table, she had placed two glittery clipboards: one with signups for the apron promenade and costume contest, and the other with signups for the apron decoration competitions, one for children and one for adults. Under the tablecloth, she had stowed boxes of various types of trim left over from the salon, which Prim Hemline, her employer, had donated. Glossy placards for Prim’s boutique were spread in a graceful fan in the center of the table. To the left, Rarity had arranged a number of her own handmade creations.
“What are those?” asked Fluttershy, pointing to one of them. “They look like little hats.”
“They’re fascinators,” explained Rarity. “They’re something between a hat and a hairpiece. They perch on the coiffure just so,” she added, demonstrating on her own head.
Fluttershy bent over to examine them more closely. “My, they’re so delicate,” she murmured.
“Yes, they are,” Rarity agreed, tweaking their arrangement slightly. “They also need such small amounts of material that I can indulge my need to create quite economically. I prefer to make them to order, so that they are unique as well as chic and magnifique, but these little speculative ones sell very well and exhibit my skills for those who do want custom ones. Which one do you like best?”
“Oh, that one!” exclaimed Fluttershy, pointing to a delicate green gossamer creation. Its tiny hat-like base supported a butterfly on nearly invisible wires, which made it quiver and flutter with every movement. It was much larger than Fluttershy’s usual barrette, with grass green and yellow crystals outlining the wings.
“Then you must have it, darling,” said Rarity. “No, no,” she insisted, over Fluttershy’s protests. “It suits you so well that it might have been made for you. Allow me,” she said, as she pinned the butterfly into Fluttershy’s hair, so that it swept up her long silky pink hair on one side. Arranged by Rarity, the artificial butterfly seemed to have alighted there on its own, and to have settled itself in the most fetching way completely by coincidence.
“Oh, thank you,” murmured Fluttershy. “I’m afraid my table isn’t nearly as nice-looking as yours.”
“Well, let’s see what can be done with it!” exclaimed Rarity.
Fluttershy’s table wasn’t as elegant as Rarity’s. Covered in a simple green cloth, it had a signup sheet for volunteers for the animal rescue center and piles of leaflets on various animal welfare issues. Rarity set to work fanning out the leaflets in more attractive patterns and raiding her trim boxes for artificial flowers and leaves to scatter on the surface. Fluttershy leaned over an orange plastic animal carrier in the center.
“Aw, are you all right in there?” she cooed.
Rarity paused in her decoration work. “What do you have there, Fluttershy?”
“I thought you might recognize him,” Fluttershy said reproachfully. “The hamsters at the animal rescue? This is Curtis Pawpower. Remember him?”
“Oh,” said Rarity, glancing at the alarmingly large and masculine hamster. “Ha, ha. Yes, how nice. Ah—happy to renew our acquaintance, ah—Mr. Pawpower.”
The big hamster swaggered his shoulders and swept back his whiskers in an unmistakably macho manner.
“And how’s everything going?” asked Cheese, popping up directly in front of them and holding a large cardboard box. Fluttershy squeaked in alarm. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Fluttershy.
“Good,” said Cheese absently, pushing back his ten-gallon hat. “Just stash that under the tablecloth, will you?” He handed her the box and put a second clipboard down on the tabletop.
“Cheese?” Fluttershy asked. “What’s that?” She indicated a large object covered with a tarp and placed next to her table. It was as wide as the table and considerably higher; it was at least half again as tall as Cheese.
“Ah, that?” said Cheese, giving it a pat. Something inside sloshed. “You’ll see,” he added mysteriously. “You’re going to love it.” He disappeared into the group of volunteers trotting to and fro on their last minute tasks.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Rarity, gazing up at whatever it was.
Entrants for the cake competitions brought their cakes in and set them up on the display stands. Many were heavy and elaborately decorated, and placing them involved nail-biting anxiety as each cake successfully cleared the entrance and was settled on its stand. Pinkie, who knew how this felt, supervised the process so well that not a single sugar decoration shattered.
The volunteers continued to set up the festival. Some inflated the bouncy castle; others rolled a helium tank into place and put a stool and crates of balloons next to it. Vendors who had rented various tables began to set up their areas, although some hadn’t arrived yet.
“Who’s ‘Pete’s Pies’?” asked Pinkie Pie, as she and Cheese made a last circuit of the festival grounds, which was usually the soccer field, but had most recently done duty for graduation ceremonies.
“No idea,” replied Cheese, walking and double-checking his list at the same time. “I was hoping you’d know, since it’s your last name.”
“Noperooni!” said Pinkie.
“Well, they completed all the paperwork and their check cleared, and I showed you the forms, so they’re in. I guess we’ll find out when they get here.”
They paused at the biggest and most impressive table at the center of the festival grounds. A canopy above the table bore the words “Sugarcube’s Café and Bakery—Our Sponsors.” Display cakes in glass boxes showed samples of what the bakery could provide for weddings and birthdays; a large photograph album contained pictures of their work over the years. Behind the table sat the Cakes, trying to distract their twins from grabbing at the pastries.
“Good morning!” said Cheese. “Ready for the cake judging?”
Carrot Cake, dressed in his best baker’s whites, said, “There are some really impressive entries this year. The judges are going to have a hard time picking winners in any of the categories, aren’t they, honeybun?”
His wife nodded in agreement. “They certainly will! You’ve done such a good job with publicity, Pinkie. We’ve had so many more entries from all over. We’re really impressed.”
“Gee, thanks, Mrs. Cake!” said Pinkie, blushing. “I just checked the cake tent, and it’s all ready for you, so I’ll see you there in a couple of hours.”
They did a final sound check using animal calls, and double-checked every possible part of both the small and large stages to make sure they were safe and stable.
“Oo! The bouncy castle!” squealed Pinkie, rushing up to it. Somewhere, they’d been able to find a bouncy castle that looked exactly like a giant birthday cake. Cheese caught up with her.
“I think we should check to see that it’s working correctly, don’t you?” she said, frowning and looking it over, kicking it a few times.
“Yes,” said Cheese, gravely placing his clipboard on the ground. “Let’s.”
They hurled themselves through the flap.
“Whee!”
“Geronimo!”
The volunteers had done a very good job inflating the bouncy castle. It had just enough firmness to keep them caroming off the walls and flapping like pancakes on the floor with relatively little effort.
“Whew!” gasped Cheese, as they lay flat on the floor catching their breath. “Well,” he added, as they crawled for the door, “that’s one thing done.” They continued their circuit, finishing up at Pinkie’s balloon station.
“I don’t use helium tanks,” said Pinkie, frowning again.
“I know you don’t,” said Cheese, lowering his voice, “but I thought it would be a good idea to look as though you do.”
“Ohhhh,” said Pinkie.
“Besides, you’re going to be busy and running around all day, so I figured other people will be running the station when you’re not available. And they’ll need to do what you do. And sound like you, too.” He took a hit from the helium tank, and gasped, his eyes rolling up into his head. His beret slipped off, and he sagged at the knees.
“Cheesie!” Pinkie exclaimed.
He took a few big lungfuls of air before squeaking, “What?”
“You big silly!” Pinkie scolded. “Never inhale helium from a helium tank! That’s really dangerous!”
“Ok,” he squeaked.
“Always inhale from a balloon!”
He nodded, and took a few more deep breaths. “I forgot,” he said, as the helium effect wore off.
Pinkie picked up his bowler hat and rose on tiptoe to settle it on his head. She turned slowly in place, looking at every single station, every decoration, every arrangement, every possible path a visitor might take through the festival.
Perfect. She smiled.
“Say it, Boss,” Cheese prompted. “I’m an awesome assistant.”
“ ‘I’m an awesome assistant,’ ” Pinkie repeated, then, as he slapped his hand to his face, she added, “and you are too! Seriously, Cheesie, you’ve done a super-duper job and I’m so fantastically glad you can be here after all. I could never have done all this by myself. Nobody could. I just wish . . .”
“What?” said Cheese, taking off his bowler and putting it away.
“I don’t feel sorry I have an assistant at all. We’re just going to be so crazy busy, and there’s only two of us, and now that doesn’t seem like enough. I kinda wish there was more of us to go around.”
“Honestly,” Cheese admitted, rumpling his hair, “I wish that, too, but if there’s only going to be two people running this hootenanny, then we’re the ones to do it. Nine o’ clock,” he said, checking his watch. “Are you ready?”
“Absotootly-lootly!”
“Pinkie Promise?”
“Cheesy Swear,” she answered, and smiled. “Same thing.”
And together, they pulled back the barriers and let the crowds come in.
~~
Usually when a festival opens early in the morning, the crowds are very thin. That wasn’t the case today. People were already waiting eagerly behind the barrier, craning to get a look inside, and once the barriers were open, they poured in.
First came Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, followed by First Base, Archer, other members of the Canterlot Comets, and some younger kids. Apple Bloom dragged her friends to the food tent first, to sniff at the possibilities for lunch and to say hi to Apple Bloom’s Granny, who was supervising the food preparations. Then they ran over to Rarity’s table, looking at everything as Rarity begged them not to touch, and d’awwed over Curtis Pawpower, who was a shameless glutton for attention.
Vinyl Scratch strolled in, barely noticing as other, hastier people jostled past her. She strode to her own rhythm, earphones firmly clamped to her ears and shades down over her eyes, completely unconcerned about whether she might be missing something. She was followed by Photo Finish, already scoping out the perfect photographic angles and hurrying to take pictures of everything before it was disarranged. Mr. Doodle came in with his girlfriend, Mrs. Matilda, shying away from the busy crowd and inspecting the quieter booths. The Wondercolts rumbled in and made straight for the food tent and the cake tent, loudly speculating about the cake eating contest.
Finally, as the first cohort passed by, Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna entered. Cheese and Pinkie held their breath as both walked completely around the festival grounds. The principal and her sister held a quiet conversation, and then the principal strolled off on her own, while Vice Principal Luna came up to Pinkie and Cheese. “Very nice,” she conceded.
“Guess this means we get an A in community service, right?” said Pinkie, and both looked as hopeful and perky as possible.
The vice principal raised one eyebrow. “The day’s not over yet,” she pointed out, and then she clucked her tongue in annoyance as she followed her older sibling into the cake tent.
For some time, Pinkie and Cheese allowed the crowd to mill around and to look at all the exhibits and everything that there was to do, and waited for more attendees to enter the grounds. Shortly before ten o’clock, they made their way over to the large covered object near Fluttershy’s table. Removing the tarp, they revealed it to be a dunk tank, plastered over with decals featuring a toothily grinning orca with the caption, “Fred, the Happy Killer Whale!” Cheese pulled out a ladder and set it up behind the tank, while Pinkie grabbed the cardboard box Cheese had asked Fluttershy to stow under her table earlier. Then they donned matching straw boaters, identical, very false-looking curly mustaches, and picked up canes.
“Attention, attention, attention, ladies, gentlemen, children of all ages, will you direct your attention to the tank next to the animal rescue center booth, attention if you please!”
Many people crowded around the dunk tank, including Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom, the soccer team, and Rainbow Dash, who had been talking to Fluttershy and Rarity.
“We know you all want to do your bit for our animal pals,” said Cheese. “ ‘How can I help our dumb chums?’ you think. Well, here is an easy and, we dare say, an entertaining means to do that very thing!”
“The Fred the Happy Killer Whale Dunk Tank!” they chorused.
“That’s right!” chirped Pinkie. “For just a teeny tiny investment of three dollars, you can help the animals and get maximum fun! My lovely assistant Cheesie here will demonstrate!”
Cheese swept his hat off with a bow, and then circled around to the back of the tank and climbed the ladder. Pinkie rummaged in the cardboard box, and withdrew two collection boxes and a basket of softballs as Cheese edged out onto the seat projecting over the tank of water, which, even on this hot day, looked very cold indeed.
“For three, count ‘em, three dollars, you can buy three throws!” cried Pinkie. “Place your dollars in the red box if you want to benefit the Canterlot Animal Rescue Center, or in the green box if you want your money to go towards whale habitats that will make Fred the Happy Killer Whale smile! Or split it up between them! It’s entirely up to you! Then,” she said, as she took up a position in front of the tank, “you aim your ball ever so carefully and . . .”
The crowd leaned forward.
“And did I mention,” she went on, turning away, as the crowd groaned in disappointment, “anyone who volunteers to sit on the seat for half an hour or more gets a plushie killer whale?”
“Given to them in person by the lovely young lady in green!” cried Cheese.
Fluttershy blushed scarlet as Pinkie rummaged in the box and held up a small stuffed killer whale. “That’s half an hour!” Pinkie shrieked. “Only half an hour of your time and a dip or two in the nice cool water! SO,” she went on, turning back into place, “as I was saying, you aim your ball ever so carefully, and . . .”
She squinted and stuck her tongue out as she concentrated. Then she hurled the ball sharply at the target, there was a loud clanging sound, and Cheese plummeted straight into the depths of the water.
He was down there for a long time.
A very, very long time. His boater floated forlornly on the surface of the tank.
Then he rocketed straight up, spitting out a jet of water and grabbing his hat. The crowd applauded as he climbed out of the tank.
“And that’s all there is to it, ladies and germs!” cried Pinkie. “Three little dollars for three throws, and half an hour for a plushie from Flitterbye here! Who’s first?”
A forest of masculine arms were thrust into the air, forestalled by a loud “YEAHHHH!” from the back of the crowd. Fluttershy sighed in relief as she realized that the first plushie would be given to her cousin Snowy, who wouldn’t mind a few dips and wasn’t scary at all.
Cheese squelched his way over to Pinkie as a puppet show started up on the small stage. His hair was plastered to his head, and water ran off him and pooled around his feet. “I’m wet,” he announced. “I’m changing into something dry, or at least something drier. I’ll be back in a bit. Be careful, ok?” He squelched off in the direction of a hanging canvas sheet serving as a curtain screening his backpack, his accordion, and miscellaneous supplies.
“Hey!” Pinkie shouted, scurrying after him. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think I mean? It’s a big event, and there are a lot of people here, and a lot of nasty things have happened to you lately. I’m just saying you should be careful.”
“You’re the one who just almost blew his lungs out with helium and then nearly drowned,” she pointed out.
“Pfft,” said Cheese, removing his outer shirt and twisting it, squeezing out a lot of water. “I just took a bigger hit of helium than I was expecting, and I stayed down longer than you were expecting. Nobody slashed my tires, or put my aunt’s car out of commission, or tried to kidnap me. And I certainly wasn’t the one who fell out of the grid and nearly got killed.”
“Hey!” Pinkie protested. “That could have been you, y’know!”
“That,” Cheese retorted, paused, and went on in a more thoughtful tone, “is a pretty good point. How could whoever did that have known it would be you and not me who would be working in the grid, or which of us would grab that girder? Either this person doesn’t know, and maybe wasn’t even aiming at either of us, or this person doesn’t care who gets hurt at all. Either way, that’s a really dangerous attitude, so like I said, be careful.” He slipped behind the curtain.
Pinkie didn’t leave, however. “In case you didn’t notice,” she said to the canvas curtain, “I took care of myself just fine!”
The curtain just mumbled something, and Cheese’s outer shirt appeared, draped over the curtain rope.
“I don’t need to be shielded from everything, Cheesie. I can manage. And if I have to be careful, you have to promise to be careful, too.”
Cheese’s Tshirt joined his outer shirt.
“I mean, I know you’re probably kinda paranoid, what with your mom and all, but everybody’s not out to get you or me, either.”
“For crying out loud, Pinkie,” Cheese snapped, “I’m trying to change my pants back here!”
“So what?” said Pinkie. “I mean, duh, I’ve taken health class, no biggie.”
There was no response from the curtain, except for a snort of irritation.
“I do appreciate it, though,” Pinkie went on. “I mean, not everyone understands like you do, and I guess I’m pretty lucky that we’re bipolar buddies.”
There was utter silence from behind the curtain, and then “three . . .two . . .one,” sounding as though it had been spoken through gritted teeth. All at once, Cheese thrust his head through the curtain. His hair was midway through drying, and bristled with uneven puffs and tufts of curl. This, added to his annoyed expression, made him appear to be almost deranged.
“No, Pinkie,” he snarled, “I am not your ‘bipolar buddy,’ and I am not your friend and I don’t like you—”
Pinkie’s lips quivered. Cheese went on, “—because we both have bipolar disorder! Good Gouda! Do you have any idea how—how awful and insulting that sounds? I don’t know about you, but I’m not just a chunk of bipolar disorder. I’m Cheese Sandwich, and you’re Pinkie Pie. Do you know how many people I’ve met with bipolar disorder? Plenty. And not a single one of them could make balloons float without helium or run through walls, or do this.” He stretched his arm out through the curtain and began to juggle one-handed, then suddenly said, “ah, Stilton,” and dove back through the curtain. “The only people I’ve met who can do that are you and me, and I don’t care what my mother says; that’s a gift. It’s not a disease. Now will you please just go away and let me finish changing my pants?”
Pinkie didn’t go away, however. Instead, she looked down at the ground and scuffed it with her shoe. “I don’t understand,” she said. Everything about her drooped: her hair, her facial expression, and her puffy skirt. “Aren’t we still friends?” she asked plaintively.
Cheese quickly poked his head through the curtain. “Yes! Yes, of course we are! But I don’t like you because we’re sick, whatever that means, or even because you can do all those amazing things.” He looked straight into her eyes, deeply and steadily. “Take all those things away, and I’d still like you and I’d still really want to be your friend, because you’re bright, and friendly, and funny, and sweet. Because you’re Pinkie, and that’s enough.”
They stood there for a moment, completely still, and then Trixie arrived, her starry hat already poised on her head and her cape snapping. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has a bone to pick with you,” she began.
“Trixie,” said Cheese, “this isn’t a good time.”
“Maximally awkward,” agreed Pinkie. “Cheesie doesn’t have any pants on.” Cheese hastily withdrew back through the curtain.
Trixie raised her eyebrows. “I see,” she huffed. “Well, when he’s not busy, will you please inform him that it’s come to my attention that the Great and Powerful Trixie’s act is on opposite the cake judging contests. In other words, it’s in direct competition with the main event of the festival, and Trixie is not pleased. I demand that the act be moved to a more important location at a better time. I’ll expect to speak with him in person immediately. Trixie’s act is supposed to begin in fifteen minutes.” She swept away.
“Is she gone?” queried Cheese.
“Yep,” said Pinkie, “but she looked kinda crabbycakes to me.”
Cheese slid back the curtain. He was now fully dressed in his favorite yellow shirt. His hair had sprung back into its usual shape—curly, with a long forelock curiously like Pinkie’s—and he had strapped his accordion onto his chest. “I wish she would talk to you instead,” he complained. “Sometimes Trixie gives me the creeps. She glares at me, and I feel as though I just dodged a bullet or a goose walked over my grave.”
“Aw, she’s just jealous ‘cause I have an awesome assistant and she doesn’t,” Pinkie said, patting his back. “But you’d better go over and talk to her anyway, because she’ll listen to you, and anyway I have to go over to the cake tent and check that everything’s perfect for the cake judging. Mr. Cake’s probably super-nervous right now and Trixie’s right—it is the most important thing in the festival. Bye!” And she scampered off to the cake tent.
Cheese took a deep breath or two, and then walked over to where Trixie was standing, next to the small stage. He coughed, and she half turned and raised one eyebrow, as though he wasn’t worth the trouble of raising two.
The puppeteer was dressed as a really improbable monster, talking to and manipulating pony marionettes. It was impossible to talk over the shrieks of the children’s laughter, so Cheese indicated with his head a spot some distance from the stage, and Trixie reluctantly followed.
“Trixie demands . . .” began Trixie.
“I heard what Trixie demands,” said Cheese, “and Trixie can’t have it. Hear me out,” he continued quickly. “Yes, the cake judging is going on at the same time as your act, but just because it’s important doesn’t mean it’s going to be popular. Mr. and Mrs. Cake slicing tiny chunks out of the contestants’ cakes and handing them to a panel of judges and watching them taste them isn’t exactly gripping entertainment. It’s definitely not as exciting as it was getting the cakes to the display stands in the first place. Plenty of people will get bored and come out of the tent to see what else is going on, and you’ll have a decent-sized audience.”
“Why can’t Trixie perform on the big stage?”
Cheese sighed. “Because it’s being used all day,” he said, pulling his clipboard out of his hair so he could show her the schedule. “The apron promenade and costume contest is on at noon, and then there’s a classical group, right when almost everyone is going to want lunch, and then the Wondertones are on at two. And if Pinkie really hated you, Trixie, she’d have put you opposite the Wondertones, because everyone’s going to be watching them, except for the little kids decorating cakes.”
“Oh, yes,” said Trixie, rolling her eyes. “No one would choose to be opposite the Wondertones.”
“Pinkie did,” Cheese pointed out. “She’s going to be in the cake tent, decorating cakes with the kids. She’ll enjoy herself, but she’s also going to miss watching her friends perform. Pinkie is not your enemy, Trixie. Neither am I.”
Trixie chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “You’re doing this to thwart Trixie.”
“No,” Cheese insisted.
“You’re doing this because you think Trixie’s act is terrible,” said Trixie, and tears stood in her eyes.
Cheese smacked his palm over his eyes. “Roquefort. No, I don’t think your act is terrible! Trixie, we had to think about the whole festival! It isn’t just about you! Can you comprehend that? It’s nothing personal.”
Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing personal. You and Pinkie. Nothing personal. Really?”
Cheese hesitated, and then said firmly, “No. It’s strictly professional. And you’re on in five. Now go,” he said, pointing towards the stage, and added, “go kill ‘em out there, ok?”
Trixie spun around, adjusted her hat with a small, secret smirk, and strode off to start her performance.
Cheese stowed his clipboard, put on an Alpine hat, and scanned the grounds. No signs of trouble, and everything seemed to be going well. No doubt Pinkie had the cake tent and the food tent under control, so there really wasn’t any need to check in there immediately. He made a quick circuit of the grounds—something he and Pinkie had agreed he’d do at this point of the day. The apron trimming was going well. Soarin was occupying the dunk tank and making frequent splashdowns, as Rainbow Dash roared with laughter. More festival goers were trickling in; more of the vendors had arrived and were setting up, including Pete’s Pies. He did a little juggling here, played a bit of music there, and firmly admonished Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo that they mustn’t inhale helium. Everything was going pretty well as he finished his round back at the small stage, and he prepared to relax for a moment or two before—
“Hello,” a voice breathed directly into his ear.
Cheese jumped a foot into the air, twisting around at the same time, and on landing, found himself face to face with Sunset Shimmer. “Um,” he said, “hello?”
The former unicorn pushed her heavy tresses behind her shoulders and stretched her arms above her head. She’d left off her heavy black jacket and boots on this hot summer day. “It’s nice to get out of the library,” she said.
“Yes,” Cheese agreed, his eyes darting back and forth as though looking for an escape. “I guess it would be. Seriously, though, what made you decide to come?”
“Oh, a lot of things,” she said, waving her hand as she walked past him. “And if you do want me to be serious,” she murmured, “I have the feeling that you might want me to be here sooner or later.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No,” Sunset replied. “I’m just sensible. A lot of things have been going on and a lot of them have been happening to Pinkie, and a lot of people are going to be here. There’s always the possibility that something could go wrong.” She moved towards the stage, where Trixie was nearing the close of her performance.
“That’s what I said!” exclaimed Cheese, jogging up behind her. “But I still don’t know why that means you wanted to be here.”
She turned towards him again, her face an unreadable mask. “I’m concerned,” she said. “And also, I was curious. I wanted to see what the two of you had been doing.” She smiled, almost shyly.
Cheese broke into a grin. “Well, in that case,” he said, offering his arm, “allow me!”
He switched to a top hat, and she slid her arm through his, but almost immediately stopped again in front of Trixie and the stage.
Things were not going well. Several of the children were bawling. “Stop it!” snapped Trixie. “How can you watch in awe if you won’t stop crying?” Tricks she had performed without a hitch at the auditions were going entirely wrong, and as they did, Trixie became more and more irritated, in a horrendous feedback loop. Meanwhile, off to the side, two people in hoodies were jeering:
“Seen it! Same old tricks!”
“Yeah, uh—what he said! Old same tricks!”
“Old Trixie tricks!”
Onstage, Trixie fumed. Sunset Shimmer knitted her brows, her eyes fixed upon the sizzling ends of ropes and linking rings that were beginning to join themselves together with a threatening “ksskh.” “Hmmm,” she said.
In desperation, Cheese made a very rude, very biological, and very realistic noise. All the children watching, including the crying ones, immediately stopped what they were doing to figure out which of them had made it. It was just enough to distract the audience, and Trixie pulled herself together. Meanwhile, Cheese produced a large vaudevillian hook and quickly removed the hecklers while Trixie finished off her act, triumphantly pulling out an entire line of tiny blue unicorn dolls from the interior of her hat.
“Ta-da!” she proclaimed, and flourished her cape. There was a flash and a loud bang, and Trixie almost immediately disappeared behind a thick gray cloud that settled over the audience and made them cough.
Cheese leaned over and whispered to the hoodie-wearing hecklers, “You should thank me. Did either of you think what would happen if Trixie found out who heckled her?”
Snips and Snails turned so pale that their features could be seen deep inside their hoods. Cheese patted their backs. “Never mind. I’d leave now, if I were you. In fact, I’d suggest joining a good witness protection program.” They nodded and tore for the exit.
“Perhaps we should move along,” suggested Sunset Shimmer.
“Let’s,” agreed Cheese, and he continued their tour of the festival.
Sunset Shimmer shook her head. “She has just enough of the wrong sort of magic to cause a great deal of trouble without meaning to,” she said. “I knew a few unicorns like that at home. Normally, I’d say there wasn’t a chance of her causing trouble here, because there’s so little magic, but now—I don’t know. There are a lot of weak portals and magical leaks. It’s dangerous.”
They stopped in front of the main stage and watched as Rarity shepherded amateur models who were demonstrating wildly decorated aprons and fashionable culinary wear that clearly wasn’t meant to get anywhere near a kitchen. Some appeared never to have been on a stage before, but Rarity made sure each contestant passed in front of the panel of judges, struck a pose or two, and didn’t accidentally wander into the wings. She was much too busy to talk, but gave Cheese a reassuring wink.
“Does it ever feel strange to be talking about ‘the unicorns back home’?” Cheese asked.
“No, not really,” said Sunset, “I don’t think I’ll ever really belong anywhere anymore, but that really doesn’t bother me.” Her eye fell on Flash Sentry, nervously going through his music at the side of the stage. “No,” she said, her voice gone flat, “it really doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Sunset!” cried Pinkie, running up and bouncing up and down in front of her. “I’m so, so, so happy you decided to come! Here,” she added. “You need a balloon!” She pulled a balloon off her skirt, blew it up, tied a string to it, and handed it to Sunset. The balloon bobbed merrily overhead, completely unaware that it wasn’t supposed to be lighter than air. Pinkie bounced to Sunset’s other side and drew her arm through the other girl’s, so that Sunset was flanked on either side by party planners, both relentlessly determined for her to enjoy herself. On one side, Pinkie skipped, and on the other, Cheese strode with long steps, but somehow they were perfectly even as they gave their former tutor a VIP tour.
They checked Fluttershy’s table and the dunk tank. The soccer team had virtually taken over volunteering to sit in it. Soarin loudly announced that he wanted a matched set of at least three killer whale plushies, to the annoyance of several of the eco-kids who wanted a turn.
“Hey, give us a chance,” one complained, a kid with green dreadlocks stuffed under a knitted cap, who usually went by the name of Green Cycle. “We were into killer whales before it was cool!”
“Everything all right?” Cheese inquired, leaning over the table. Fluttershy turned to him, her face radiant.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she gushed. “Look at how much money is coming in for the animal rescue center—and for the whales, too!” She grabbed the clipboard and waved it at Pinkie. “And see how many people volunteered to help the animals at the center? I said I spent most of my summer working there and they signed right up! People are wonderful,” she said.
Pinkie and Cheese exchanged glances. Fluttershy was naturally very attractive anyway. The delicate new hairpiece Rarity had given her caught the eye; her face was flushed and her eyes were glowing. Telling her that all those volunteers weren’t really interested in the animals, but in her, would have spoiled her day, so they didn’t.
“And cousin Snowy’s been sitting here the whole time,” she added, “so I feel nice and safe . . .”
Her sentence trailed off, and her eyes traveled across the festival grounds to where a group of teenagers in Cloudsdale Prep varsity jackets were coming in. Lightning Dust’s spiky blond hair was unmistakable, even at this distance.
“I’m sure they’re just here to have a nice time,” she murmured.
“Yes, indeedily!” Pinkie agreed. “Don’t you worry, Fluttershy. We’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you.”
“It’s . . . it’s not me that. . .” Fluttershy stammered. Then she squared her shoulders. “I won’t let her ruin things this time,” she stated. She dropped her voice and leaned over the table. “Try not to let Snowy know she’s here,” she begged. “He’s scared of her, too.”
They strolled over to the balloon station. Pinkie sat down and blew some balloons, while Cheese played a polka or two. “What do you think, Pinkie?”
“Well,” Pinkie replied, pausing frequently to blow up balloons, “we can’t do anything unless they cause trouble, and I don’t think they will, but maybe someone should keep an eye on them, and—”
“And I’m the guy for the job,” said Cheese. “Have accordion, will stalk. Got it.” He removed the top hat, put on a film noir detective hat, thought about it for a moment, and then removed that, too. He closed his accordion and snapped it shut. “Are you hungry? Because I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” retorted Pinkie, sliding off her stool, but she gladly led the way to the food tent. Granny Smith was supervising feeding a large crowd, and the lines were very long, but Apple Bloom, who was helping, slipped them some plates.
“Why aren’t you off having fun, Apple Bloom?” Pinkie asked her.
“I will—it’s just that helping Granny is fun, too.” Her eyes lit up. “She’s never let me help so much before, and Applejack is too busy not to let me, and I’m really enjoying it!” She scampered off to work at the booth, looking important.
“I know what she means!” said Pinkie, and then they devoted their attention to eating. Throughout their tour, Sunset had been subjected to a lot of curious stares. This was especially noticeable as they sat at a table and ate, but slowly everyone seemed to take the attitude that if Pinkie and Cheese were ok with Sunset, they had no problems with her being there either. After some extensive hands-on research, all three agreed that there was nothing wrong with the food.
“Let’s check on the cake tent!” Pinkie exclaimed, jumping straight up from the table as though there were no bench or table surface in the way. Her gait was slowly becoming more and more of a bounce, as though she were made out of rubber. Cheese followed with Sunset Shimmer. “You’re gonna love it, Sunny, it’s got all the best stuff and this girl brought this scrummilicious orange cake all the way from Manehattan and she won a prize, and it turns out she brought her teacher with her, who’s a famous pastry chef, and he has his own school, and he liked the Cakes and gave them his card, so that was way super amazing, and uh-oh,” she finished, as they noticed raised voices coming from the cake tent. She gestured for them to follow her around the back of the tent, and they cautiously stuck their heads into the tent one by one to see what was going on.
Mr. Cake stood in front of a large, glossy cake. It looked slightly too shiny, as though it were made of plastic. Behind the cake stood a sullen-looking man with a five o’ clock shadow. His apron didn’t appear to have been washed in weeks.
“And that’s the final decision, is it?” he growled.
“Yes,” said Mr. Cake. “I’m afraid it is. None of the judges even gave your cake passing marks. You can see the sheets yourself if you don’t believe me.” Three judges, seated at a table in the corner, nodded their head in agreement.
The man snatched the sheets. “What was the problem?”
Mr. Cake hesitated. “There seem to be a lot of additives in your cake. In fact, there’s a lot of stuff that isn’t even really food.”
“That against the rules, is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” Mr. Cake replied, “but the judges thought it tasted awful.”
The man behind the cake snorted. It was really difficult to imagine that he was a baker. He looked more like hired muscle. Mr. Cake clearly thought so too, because he gulped. “Pfft,” said the would-be baker, “no one can tell what’s in it.”
“The judges could tell,” Mr. Cake pointed out, “and so could I. In fact,” he added, standing a little straighter, “we all thought it tasted awful.”
The cake goon leaned over his cakelike object and subjected Mr. Cake to a nasty glare. Mr. Cake leaned in and glared back. Then the muscle-bound pâtissier grabbed his entry, taking care not to get any of the frosting in his arm hair, and marched out of the tent. Mr. Cake swayed slightly, took a deep breath, and his wife bustled up and told him to go sit down and put his head between his knees while she finished the competition.
Pinkie withdrew her head and frowned. “That’s super-creepy,” she said.
“No kidding,” agreed Cheese. “Where’s he going?”
They circled around the tent and peeked around it, just in time to see the confectionary hooligan drop the cake on the Pete’s Pies table. “That’s funny,” said Pinkie. “I thought that was for pies.”
They all stopped and looked over at the Pete’s Pies table, where a long line of customers stood waiting for free samples.
“That doesn’t look like pie they’re handing out,” Cheese said slowly. “That looks a lot more like bits of cake to me.”
They drew closer to the table. Diamond Tiara was ensconced on a comfortable chair, petting her coughing little Chihuahua. A butler stood behind her with a parasol. The supposed chef came up to her with a deferential cringe. “Anything I can get for you, Miss Diamond?”
“Not right now, Branson,” she replied, feeding her Chihuahua some cake. “I suppose you want to smoke. It’s a filthy habit, but if you want to kill yourself, I’m not going to stop you.”
“You want that I should wait with the car?”
Diamond Tiara rolled her eyes. “No,” she said with a huff, “because Daddy may need you. We’ve been over all of this before. Just smoke, if you must, stand by, and wait for instructions. Ew!” she added, as her Chihuahua’s snack came back up. The butler hastened to clear it away.
Two of the would-be samplers passed by, nibbling as they walked. One of them made a face. “Uk,” he said.
“I know,” said the other. “I guess when something goes corporate, it’s just never going to be the same, is it? Still, it’ll be cheaper, so that’s a good thing.”
His companion snorted. “So I can buy twice as much of something I don’t like? I don’t think so.”
They dropped the wrappers on the ground. Pinkie leaned down to pick one up and Cheese bent at the knees so he could reach the other.
The wrappers read, “SUGARCUBE’S.”
Pinkie turned scarlet. She was clearly building up a head of steam, and while her wrath was speechless right now, it wouldn’t be in a moment. Cheese dragged her behind the tent and slapped his hand over her mouth.
“Mphm!” said Pinkie.
“I KNOW,” agreed Cheese, “but you can’t just go out there and tell them that!”
“Why that’s a, a, a rotten, stinky, super-mean, awful thing to do!” protested Pinkie. “And it’s so UNFAIR!”
“Yeah, I KNOW,” said Cheese, “but let’s think what to do first.”
“I’m gonna follow them and—oh,” Pinkie said, suddenly sitting on the ground. She leaned her chin in her hands, elbows on her knees. “I just remembered where I saw that big mean guy before. And I better not let him see me, ‘cause the last time I saw him, I kicked him in the pants and he’s probably still mad about it.”
“In the pants?” asked Sunset, who looked as though she was having a hard time following all of this.
“In the front part of his pants,” Pinkie explained, and Cheese winced. “I think it made him cranky.”
“Well, you can’t follow him. That’s out,” said Cheese, “so I’ll have to . . . wait, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on Lightning Dust. I should be doing it now. Edam! I really wish there were more of me.”
“Me too,” Pinkie said mournfully, “because the Cakes need my help and the decorating’s gonna start any minute and the Wondertones will need you to check the sound system and . . .”
“Ok, let’s think,” he said. “We need someone reliable who can keep an eye on the cupcake situation.”
“You callin’ for someone reliable, Slim?” said Applejack. “You two ain’t exactly subtle. I saw you from the food tent and figured something was up. So I followed you and I heard most of what you said.”
“Applejack!” squealed Pinkie, jumping straight up and launching herself into her cousin’s arms, knocking the breath out of her. “I knew you’d help!”
“Someone tries kidnapping my cousin, who’s also my best friend? You better believe I’ll keep an eye on them. And if that no-good snatcher lays another finger on you, Pinkie, he’s in for a world of pain.”
“Ee-yup,” agreed Big Mac, who could move very quietly when he wanted to.
“OK,” said Cheese, “I’m going to pretend this sudden family meeting doesn’t give me the creeps and just be grateful.” Applejack glared at him, then everyone turned to Sunset, the one real stranger in the group.
Sunset said slowly, “ I don’t think I can be of much help, but I will if I’m needed.”
Pinkie stood up, all business. “Right! So I’ll go help the Cakes and Cheesie’ll go help the Wondertones, and you’ll watch that cupcake stand and Big Mac’ll keep an eye out for Mister McMeanypants—no, wait,” Pinkie said, and frowned. “You have to sing with the Wondertones, don’t you?” Big Mac nodded. “Ok, then, the second the Wondertones act is over, you keep an eye out for Mister McMeanypants, and meanwhile, Cheesie’ll have to do it, and we’ll try and find Rainbow Dash and she can watch Lightning Dust—no, wait,” Pinkie corrected herself again. “Maybe that’s a bad idea. Cheesie, you’ll have to do that too, ok? Ready, everybody?” She held out her hand, and everyone laid his or her hand on top of hers. “Go!”
They raised their hands, and the impromptu Cake Festival Security Force broke up.
~~
As Cheese had predicted to Trixie, almost everyone was watching the Wondertones between two and three, with the result that very little happened. The soccer team continued to cluster around Fluttershy’s booth and the dunk tank. Cheese kept an eye out for Lightning Dust, but although her hair made her easy to spot, she seemed to be minding her own business, and on the one occasion he’d actually met her, she’d seemed perfectly polite. In fact, the entire Cloudsdale soccer team was behaving itself very well, which was more than could be said of the Canterlot team, so he relaxed his guard slightly.
The Wondertones concert concluded to wild applause. Cheese put on a nice, inconspicuous boater, and started to make another circuit of the grounds, playing the accordion, pulling out party horns, and playing pranks as needed, while watching for Lightning Dust, cake goons, and other assorted forms of trouble. Before he got very far, however, he was stopped by the Great and Powerful Trixie.
“Trixie is very grateful,” she announced, with a keen violet stare, “and wants to know how she can help.”
“That’s nice,” he replied, attempting a fist bump, and then thinking better of it. “Have you considered smiling more? Because the intensity is getting kind of spooky. Listen, Trix, I’m just slammed here, but if you really want to help, go to the big stage and help Flash in the Pan set up for their act. I don’t think they’ve performed in public for a while, and I’m not convinced that they know what they’re doing. Ok?”
“You may rely on the backstage know-how of the Great and Powerful Trixie!” she exclaimed, and she disappeared in the crowd.
~~
In the cake tent, Pinkie had just set up the cake eating contest and was waiting for the contestants to check in so that she could start announcing. Donut Joe had volunteered to act as the judge, since he’d run many a donut eating challenge over the years. Mr. and Mrs. Cake stood ready to bring more cake as needed. A lot of people wanted to compete, it seemed: Bulk Biceps, Soarin, Rainbow Dash, some of the Wondercolts, a few tourists, and even some of the Cloudsdale soccer team. It was going to take a while to register them all. As she waited, she caught a whiff of expensive aftershave, and a deep, Southern-tinged voice murmured in her ear, “May I have a moment of your attention, Miss Pie?”
“Uh, no,” she said, “this is really a super-bad time, because . . .” Suddenly, she recognized the voice and whirled around. “Filthy Rich!”
He stood there in an immaculate white three-piece suit, a Panama hat held over his heart. “I just wanted to apologize for my chauffeur the other day. Evidently he does not comprehend the subtlety involved in a polite, and I stress, a polite invitation. I told him that your direct form of refusal met with my full approval. I would expect my Diamond to do the same. I was hoping,” he went on, “to provide you with a very advantageous business proposition, which you have every right to decline, although I think I might just persuade you that accepting it would be the wisest thing to do.”
Pinkie bristled and stood on tiptoe in an attempt to glare at him more directly. “Hello? Do you understand ‘super-bad time?’” she said, switching to bouncing up and down. “I’m about to announce the cake-eating contest and I couldn’t talk to you right now even if I wanted to, which I don’t, because I don’t talk to people who break my boss’s car and slash my bicycle tires and try to kidnap me and almost get me killed, because I don’t like people like that and I don’t want them to be my friends!”
Filthy Rich furrowed his eyebrows. “Forgive me again, Miss Pie, but I just apologized for what you are referring to as a kidnapping attempt, although such was far from my intention. I have no knowledge of the particulars of the other circumstances you are alluding to.”
“And what’s more, I . . . wait, you don’t?” said Pinkie. Her jaw dropped. She closed it with her own hand.
“Absolutely none,” he said, shaking his head.
“Then what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your fine cupcake making skills, honey. Now I believe the competition is about to start, so I’ll just wait until you have a moment or two.” He smiled and withdrew to the back of the tent.
The contestants settled in, and Pinkie threw herself into the announcing as much as possible, considering the distracting circumstances.
“Good afternoon, Canterlottians, and welcome to the annual Cake Festival Cake Eating Competition! On the bench, we have—wow, we have a lot of you! But we’ve also got tons of scrummy cake for you guys, so that’s ok, and we’re gonna see how much cake you can eat in ten minutes!”
She read out the list of contestants. “Okey-dokey-lokey! Now here are the rules. No using your hands. Keep ‘em behind your back! No just shoving the cake around with your face; if you’ve still got it in your cheeks when we blow the whistle, it doesn’t count; and we’re measuring how much cake you ate by weight, guys, so it could take a little while to figure out the winner, but it’s the only way it’s fair! Oh, yeah—and if you barf the cake back up, you’re disqualified. Is everybody ready? On your marks—get set—GO!”
“And it’s Rainbow Dash and Soarin neck and neck—or should it be face and face?—anyhoo, they’re face down in their first plate, which is a super yummy yellow cake with white buttercream frosting and that’s nice ‘cause it’ll wash right out after the contest is over, and Mr. Coconut Seed is doing pretty good there—all the way from Manehattan, huh?—and Rainbow Dash is on her second plate, but now Soarin is too, and we got Fleetfoot chowin’ down, and Heath Burns is WAY out in front but I think he’s losing steam, and—whoops, Bulk Biceps just passed out in his frosting, poor Bulky, he’ll be ok once we hose him down, and wow, Dashie is on her fourth plate and Mr. Seed’s right behind her and Soarin’s moving fast, but I don’t think he can keep up—!”
During all ten minutes of this exciting commentary, Mr. Rich stood just at the back of the tent, waiting.
“And it’s Rainbow Dash and Soarin—and Mr. Seed—and Soarin, and Rainbow Dash—and TIME!” She blew the whistle. “Okey-dokey, Donut Joe’s gotta weigh all the cake left on the plates and figure stuff out, so it’s gonna be a few minutes until we know who won!” She walked up to Mrs. Cake. “I have to go and talk to someone for a sec, but I’m gonna be just outside, Mrs. Cake, so when we’re ready to give the prizes, just come get me, ok?”
Filthy Rich gestured towards the tent flap, and she stalked past him without even looking at him. As soon as they were a few yards from the tent, she hissed, “What was all THIS about?” as she waved the “SUGARCUBE’S” cupcake wrapper in front of him.
Filthy Rich didn’t appear at all embarrassed. If anything, he looked pleased. “I see you have heard of my products after all, Miss Pie!”
“Your products?” Pinkie shot back, her voice zooming up in pitch. “YOUR products?”
“Why, yes.” Filthy Rich removed a packet of breath mints from the interior of his suit jacket and offered one to Pinkie. She silently refused. He took one, and went on, looking into the sky as if he saw clouds of money. “See, in the circles I frequent, we sometimes talk about fads and whether they’re worth investing in, and some of my acquaintances said they thought that cupcakes were through. I laid a rather large wager that they were not.” He turned and looked at Pinkie. “You ought to be proud of helping me win that bet, Miss Pie, because the increase in foot traffic into the Sugarcube’s bakery in the last few months has been extraordinary. I’d have to look at the sales figures to know for sure, and I’m not sure your employers do as much cost-cutting as they ought to, but I’d say gross sales must have spiked. I sent a few of my employees to sample those cupcakes, and let me tell you, I was impressed.”
Pinkie tried to interrupt him, but he silenced her with his hand. “Now, I can’t say we’ve quite managed to reproduce your cupcakes, but we have managed to come up with something fairly similar and considerably cheaper. We can offer those cupcakes at half the price you’re selling them for at Sugarcube’s, and the best part is, they’re shelf-stable. You can eat one of our little gems months later and it’ll have kept like you bought it yesterday. We think they’ll do very nicely when we roll them out nationally.”
“With the Sugarcube’s name, which you stole, and my cupcakes, which you stole!” Pinkie squeaked, stamping her foot.
Filthy Rich bent down so that his face was closer to Pinkie’s and smiled again. “I think maybe you misunderstand some very basic principles of intellectual property law, sweet child. Your admirable employers never trademarked the Sugarcube’s name. It was free as anything for me to use when I registered it for Rich Enterprises. Oh, they could file a counter-claim and all kinds of foofaw, but they’d need a good lawyer, which I have, and they do not, and a pile of money, which I, humbly speaking, do, and they do not, and there’s not much time until it’s final. So unless I mistake, it’s the Cakes who will be using the Sugarcube’s name without my permission, and I will, with the greatest regret possible, have to ask them to change the name, or go out of business, or perhaps they’d care to sell the coffeehouse to me.” He straightened up again. “I probably could use a storefront presence, and I am wide open to negotiation.”
“That’s—that’s awful!”
“That’s business, honey lump. It may not be nice, but it’s legal, and I can’t help it if the Cakes have been naïve. However, I do have a proposition for you, which may settle this all sweet and pleasant for everybody. See, I can’t quite get those things to taste right.”
“That’s because you use awful stuff to make them,” said Pinkie, crossing her arms, “and it’s your own fault if people don’t like them.”
Filthy Rich laughed. “You think people notice? Didn’t you just announce an eating contest in there? Bless your heart, that’s the way most people eat—just stuff it in their mouths and run. They couldn’t tell the difference between a good cupcake and a bad cupcake if you paid them to. But I don’t think it’s just about the ingredients. No, when I had my test kitchens try them with premium ingredients, they still didn’t have that certain something.”
“What?” said Pinkie, uncrossing her arms and tilting her head.
“You, Miss Pie. I am convinced that somewhere in that sweet fluffy pink head of yours”—he patted her cheek— “there’s some kind of cupcake wizard. In fact, a superstitious man might call it magic, and I am very superstitious, honey, most gamblers are, and that’s what investment really is. You come on in on the ground floor with me and you can make a bundle. The Cakes can even keep running the bakery, as long as I own it. Otherwise, well . . . if the Cakes lose the business, where exactly does that leave you? I don’t believe in deals made on a handshake, meaning no offense to your integrity, so I’ve drawn up an agreement for you right here.” He handed her a sheaf of legal-sized paper. “I’ll just keep the duplicate for you,” he added, showing a similar document in his jacket pocket. “Now, I see your lady boss is approaching and I have taken up a lot of your time, and I want to thank you for your considerate hearing, and I’ll be hoping to hear your answer by—let’s say, Monday morning? And I wish you a pleasant evening.”
He bowed with his Panama over his heart again, placed it on his head, and sauntered off. Mrs. Cake called, “Pinkie? We’ve been waiting for you! Come on in and announce the winners!”
Pinkie nodded, but she stood there for a moment or two more. “No, Mr. Rich,” she whimpered. “I want to say no.” Then she turned, put on a bright smile, and went back into the tent.
~~
Quite a crowd had collected around the animal rescue booth and the dunk tank. By now, both the small stage and the cake tent events were over, and only the concert with Flash in the Pan remained. “Sorry, Soarin, I won,” bragged Rainbow Dash, socking him playfully in the arm, “and I get the dunk tank. ‘Shy,” she called, “get out those boxes. I’ve got a lot of frosting to wash off.” She climbed up the ladder and swung herself out onto the tank’s platform.
“You’ve all eaten much too much cake,” scolded Fluttershy. “Poor Snowy is feeling very sick.”
“Yeahhh,” moaned Bulk Biceps, who was seated next to Fluttershy.
“Ah, I’m fine,” said Dash. “Get ready to collect, ‘Shy, cause I’ve got the feeling there are a lotta people who want to see Rainbow Dash go down. AM I RIGHT?” she yelled, pumping her arms. The crowd in front of the tank roared its approval.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Rarity. “I’m afraid some of them really do.” Cheese Sandwich jogged up to Rarity’s boutique table. “I haven’t seen you all day, Cheese. Where have you been?”
“Following her,” he panted, removing his deerstalker and jerking his head. Rarity looked in the direction he’d indicated and saw Lightning Dust lounging quietly on the other side of the balloon stand.
“She’s been really good at staying out of sight,” he said. “And every time I catch up to her, she’s been behaving herself. I don’t even know much about her, to tell the truth. I’m just keeping an eye on her because Pinkie asked me to, and Pinkie’s the boss.”
“Evidently,” murmured Rarity, with a hidden quirk of her mouth.
“Fluttershy says she was at school with her and Rainbow Dash,” he said, unstrapping his accordion, “and that ‘she wasn’t very nice,’ and coming from Fluttershy, that probably means she was a lot more than ‘not nice,’ but I have no idea why.”
Rarity frowned. “Truly? You don’t? Oh, yes,” she went on. “I was forgetting that you weren’t there for what we shall call the ‘stable goat incident.’ ”
“What?”
More and more people had gathered around the tank to cheer on the people throwing balls, Rainbow Dash, or both. Scootaloo had worked her way to the front of the tank to watch her adoptive big sister, bringing her two best friends along with her, and her cheers were loudest of all. It was starting to be hard to hear over the cheers of the crowd, the frequent clang of the bell, and Rainbow Dash’s splashes into the tank, and Cheese had to lean close to hear Rarity.
“You may have heard Rainbow Dash call Pinkie her ‘good luck charm,’ ” Rarity explained. “I’m afraid she’s rather superstitious about it. When we were at the Cloudsdale game, we overheard Lightning Dust referring to Pinkie as Rainbow’s ‘stable goat.’ ”
Cheese’s face went dark. “That . . . Brie,” he said.
“Yes,” said Rarity, fussing with the glossy advertisements on her table, so that she did not have to look at Cheese. “It was rather . . . impolite. And having heard a bit more about it from Fluttershy, and having known Fluttershy longer than you have, I suspect that when she refers to Rainbow Dash’s and her past at Cloudsdale Prep as ‘not very nice,’ what she means is ‘utterly traumatizing.’ ”
“Oh,” Cheese said again, with the same grim expression on his face. “That would certainly explain a lot. Problem is, though, that I still don’t know what I’m looking out for. She hasn’t gone anywhere near Fluttershy all day.”
Rarity frowned. “Fluttershy said something about Dusty finding people’s weak spots. That’s all I know.”
“Maybe I should let Fluttershy know I’m here,” said Cheese. He tried to get Fluttershy’s attention, but she was too focused on watching Rainbow Dash. “Well, that’s a bust,” he said. “I’m a lousy bodyguard, anyway. She’s got Bulk Biceps right there. Hang on, though—Fluttershy said something about Bulk being scared of her, too. Why would Bulk be scared of anybody?”
A few tentative guitar notes coming from the speaker system could be heard over the clamor. Cheese winced and held his ear. “New guitar strings,” he complained. “He should have replaced them earlier, or at least stretched them out. He’s going to go out of tune all the way through the set if he can’t get that adjusted.” Pinkie appeared at Fluttershy’s table, immediately next to Rarity. “Oh, hey, Pinkie. How’s the contest go?”
Pinkie sat down on the table and pillowed her chin on her fists. “Not super-fantastic,” she admitted. “I mean, the contest went fantastic, ‘cause everybody ate a lot and Rainbow Dash won, but this part wasn’t so super fantastic. Mr. Rich wanted to talk to me, and he gave me this thing, and I have to go to work for him or the Cakes are in trouble.” She put the document Mr. Rich had given her down on the table.
“Let me see that, darling,” said Rarity, whipping out her reading glasses. She skimmed it quickly and gasped. “Do you mean to say that the Cakes have never trademarked ‘Sugarcube’s’?”
“I guess not,” she said. “I mean Mrs. Cake told me it was already called that when the Cakes bought it, so maybe they didn’t think to. Anyway, Mr. Rich’s company is copying my cupcakes and I have to work with him or the Cakes are in even bigger trouble, and right now I never want to bake another cupcake as long as I live.” Cheese blew a rollup noisemaker past her nose, and she smiled weakly. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Applejack appeared in the crowd, with Big Mac in tow, but they seemed to be having trouble getting to them. She waved frantically, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Great,” muttered Cheese. “They lost sight of the big guy who tried to kidnap Pinkie.”
“There’s too much going on,” Pinkie said, shaking her head. “I guess I’m not Pinkie Responsibility Pie after all.”
“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Cheese. “Admiral Fairweather couldn’t keep track of all of this!” More quavering guitar notes came out of the sound system. “Ugh!” he gagged, then sighed. “Oh, that’s better. No—that’s only because I can’t hear it anymore and that’s because the sound system is acting up!”
A loud cheer went up from the crowd as Rainbow Dash hauled herself up for the last time, completely soaked. She flicked her dripping bangs out of her eyes, held her arms over her head like a winning prizefighter, and vaulted off the platform. Fluttershy hugged her, despite her sodden clothing.
“Oh, Dashie,” she said, “you made so much money for the whales! I’m so proud! Here,” she said, rummaging in the box, and handed her two whale plushies. Dash held them over her head, shooting a glance at Soarin, who rolled his eyes, but applauded with everyone else.
The crowd began to disperse, and a few friends who hadn’t been able to get closer before came up towards the tank, pushing their way through the soccer teams who had been clustered in a tight ring. Scootaloo ran up to Rainbow Dash and gave her a hug. Dash handed her one of the whale plushies and bent over to tell her something, when she was interrupted by some slow clapping.
“Congratulations on yet another win,” said Lightning Dust.
Rainbow Dash lifted her head. “Thanks, I think?”
“Too bad it wasn’t the soccer championship,” Lightning Dust added, coming over to her. Soarin and the rest of the Wondercolts caught what she’d said, and stopped walking away.
Dash winced. “Yeah, well,” she choked out, “winning isn’t everything.”
“See now, that’s too bad, Dash,” said Lightning Dust, shaking her head. “Wasted talent. I could just about convince the Athletic Department at Cloudsdale to give you another chance, but not with that loser’s attitude. You need to toughen up.”
Fluttershy stopped packing things away, and turned to watch this exchange, her eyes getting wider and wider. “Hey!” Rainbow Dash shot back. “I’m tough!”
“Meh,” said Lightning Dust. “If you were, it wouldn’t be so easy to hit your weak spot and throw you off. I’ve been watching you all season, and every time I think of trying to get you back on the Cloudsdale team, you blow it.”
“Don’t ask, don’t ask,” Fluttershy begged under her breath.
Instead, Rainbow Dash said, “Heh. Uh—what are you talking about? What weak spot?”
Lightening Dust leaned in. “Weak people, Dash, weak people. You’re always jumping in to stick up for weaklings, and you get all attached and dependent on them. If they belong on the bottom, then that’s where they belong. You never learned this at Cloudsdale. There’s only one use a winner’s got for weakness, and that’s to find someone else’s and use it, and you make it so easy that it isn’t even fun to hit you where it hurts.”
Dash’s fists had started to clench. “Oh, yeah?” she snarled. “Throw a punch and you’ll be sorry you did.”
“I don’t have to throw a punch. I don’t even have to touch you. All I have to do,” she said, as she leaned a little closer, “is get you right. In. Here.” She poked Dash in the chest. “And you fold like a card table.”
“No!” gasped Fluttershy, and she scrambled right over Pinkie and grabbed Rarity. “She’s doing it again! I knew this would happen! Why didn’t someone keep her away from Dashie?”
“Dash?” said Cheese in confusion. “I thought she was trying to hurt you!” He looked over at Pinkie, who shrugged so hard that she windmilled her arms.
Flash in the Pan had given up on the bad sound system and begun their set. “Today we’re going to play some of your favorites,” announced Flash. “But first,” Cheese’s head whipped around in the direction of the main stage, “I’d like to play this song about a girl I met.” Cheese’s face contorted in horror, and he reached out towards the stage as though he could grab it and stop this musical disaster in the making, but it was futile.
“No, no, no!” said Fluttershy, pulled off Rarity’s little fascinator and throwing it on the table with angry tears. “It’s not me she hurts most—it’s Dashie!”
“I mean, I don’t even care about Miss Fluffernutter over there . . .”
“Oh, Purple Smart,” wailed Flash.
“ . . . or your airheaded little stable goat.”
“Did you almost get Pinkie killed? On purpose?” screamed Dash, pulling back her fist. Now everyone was paying attention, and the Wondercolts were poised, muscles tense.
“You fried a hole in my heart . . .”
“She hurts Dashie in the heart!” sobbed Fluttershy, her head on the table. “That’s why I learned not to cry if I could! She hurts Dashie right in the heart!” Bulk Biceps stared at Lightning Dust with an expression no one ever saw on his face—pure hatred.
Lightning Dust shrugged. “Metal fatigue, poor planning—you can’t prove it. But like I said, I don’t care about your stable goat; I was aiming for you. And it worked. You lost. And you would have lost the Comets game, too, if she hadn’t gotten there in time. Chubby little thing, isn’t she? You wouldn’t think she could run that fast, would you? I’d have thought slashing her bike tires would have been enough.”
Cheese, Pinkie, Fluttershy—everyone sitting at the table stared in horror, incapable of movement, except for Rarity, who was going through her purse.
“Oh, . . . urp . . . art. . .” droned Flash, as the sound system kicked in and out.
“What I don’t get,” Dusty went on, dropping her voice, “is why it’s always a pink haired girl.” Both Dash and Dust glanced from Fluttershy, to Pinkie, to Scootaloo, and for just a second, something like fear flickered across Rainbow Dash’s face. “I don’t know if they remind you of your mom or you have a thing for them or both or what, but it sure makes them easy to spot. If you want a bit of advice from a worthy opponent, I’d cut that loose if I were you. It’s getting to be a nasty habit.” She turned and walked away.
“Aha!” exclaimed Rarity.
The sound system cut off entirely. Lightning Dust turned back. “Always know where the weak spot is, Dash,” she said, and aimed a kick at Scootaloo’s right leg with clinical accuracy. Scootaloo dropped to the ground, clutching her leg to her chest and gritting her teeth. She was clearly trying not to scream.
“AHA!” a triumphant voice cried from the stage. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has fixed everything!”
There were a series of fizzles and bangs as every speaker blew out, one by one. Then Rainbow Dash shot straight up into the air and dove for Lightning Dust.
~~
“Well, it’s official,” Cheese said, his accordion strapped to his back. “This really is the worst party I’ve ever thrown.” He strapped on a construction worker’s helmet, handed an extra to Pinkie, and they began to crawl under the table, making their way towards the stage.
As soon as Dash had attacked Dust, more like a dogfighting plane than anything human, the Cloudsdale Cavaliers had jumped in to defend their Captain. Soarin snarled and dove in, followed by the rest of the Wondercolts, and soon there was a full-out fight. Bulk Biceps had waded in, trying to pull Dash and Dust apart, but it was impossible, even for him.
Rarity had had the presence of mind to jump onto the table and to haul a sobbing Fluttershy up after her, and, that taken care of, was holding her cell phone up in front of her face. Flash In The Pan had clearly taken the motto of “The Show Must Go On” to heart: the lugubrious strains of “I Got Feelings” could just barely be heard over the screaming and yelling.
Applejack had torn up to them, carrying Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom on her back.
“Whoo!” she gasped. “Don’t even know how I managed to get ‘em all out at once, but I got ‘em.”
Big Mac also appeared, presumably having pushed his way through the crowd. “Is Granny safe?”
Applejack demanded.
“Ee-yup.”
“She’s still up at the food tent?”
“Ee-yup.”
“You thinking about gettin’ in that mess?”
“Ee-yup.”
“Well, don’t you dare.” Applejack had handed Scootaloo into Big Mac’s arms, and the other two scrambled up and hung onto his shoulders. “You get these three out and you keep ‘em safe and you get ‘em to Granny, you hear?”
“Ee-yup,” said Big Mac. He turned, but before he could go, Fluttershy handed him the cage with Curtis Pawpower in it. He rearranged things, nodded, and headed in the direction of the food tent, carefully choosing his path so that they avoided the worst of the turmoil.
Applejack had glanced up at Rarity and said, “Selfies, Rares? Really?” and then turned to Pinkie and Cheese. “You two,” she had said, “you get on out there and fix this thing.”
Which was why they were now crawling towards the main stage as though avoiding barbed wire.
“In fact,” Cheese went on, “I don’t think that even the Vanhoover Regatta went this badly.”
“Hey!” said Pinkie. “You told me you did that one when you volunteered!”
“I said I planned it well. I didn’t say it turned out well.”
They scrambled up onto the stage. From there, they could see the full scope of the chaos: the fighting, the lines of people waiting for fake Sugarcube’s cupcakes, Granny Smith tearing up some tablecloths and winding them around Scootaloo’s leg, Photo Finish taking pictures of everything for posterity, Mr. Cake sitting at the Sugarcube’s table with his head in his arms. Behind them, Flash in the Pan provided a soundtrack that was oddly suitable for a disaster movie. And over at the side of the stage, The Great and Powerful Trixie was prodding at one of the speakers with her magic wand, as though she expected it to work.
“We have to do something!” said Pinkie, pulling on his sleeve.
“I know,” said Cheese, “but we can’t begin to put out all these fires, Boss. I don’t even know where to start.”
Cheese took off his accordion, and they both sat down on the stage, legs dangling.
“I’m out of ideas,” Pinkie said gloomily.
“It’s not your fault, Boss.”
“And it’s not yours, Cheesie. You’ve been a great assistant. It’s like we’ve been jinxed.”
Sunset Shimmer came walking towards them, oddly unfazed by the chaos.
“I did promise to help if I was needed,” she said. “I don’t have much for you, except for a little advice.”
She pulled over Trixie’s magic kit, which she’d left sitting on the stage. After searching in it for a minute or two, she pulled out a flat oblong object, which turned out to be one of the magic mirrors Trixie used in her act. She handed it to Pinkie and Cheese, said “Be yourselves,” and walked away.
Pinkie and Cheese looked into the mirror, but all that they saw was Pinkie and Cheese. Suddenly, Pinkie gasped.
“Be ourselves . . . that’s it, Cheesie! We just have to be ourselves!” She grabbed Cheese’s hand, jumped up, and dragged him up with her.
“Be ourselves? What does that mean?”
“It means we have to dance!”
~~
Pinkie darted backstage and came running back with her bandsuit. She pulled instruments off of it and handed a trombone to Axel Grease and a trumpet to Neutrino, neither of whom knew how to play brass instruments. Finally, she pulled the guitar out of Flash Sentry’s reluctant hands, and thrust a clarinet at him.
“Ta da!” she cried.
Meanwhile, Cheese had taken Brawley Beats’ drumsticks and was showing him a particular rhythm on the tom-tom and the cymbals, very unlike what he usually played. Brawley Beats nodded, and began to thump it out without questioning it, and despite the dead sound system, the beat was loud and insisted on being heard. People began to lift up their heads and notice. All but the most dedicated fighters paused.
Pinkie grasped Cheese by the elbow, and he took hold of hers. They nodded and performed a deafening swing stomp with both feet. They bounced up off the floor, arms at full length—
---and there were two Pinkies and two Cheeses.
Something peeked up from around the curly hair of each, something that was impossible to discern entirely yet from offstage. She spun away and did a flip around one of his arms—
And now there were four Pinkies and four Cheeses.
He flung her high into an aerial, and then there were eight. With every explosive dance move, the Pinkies and Cheeses replicated, until there were an impossible number, holding each other and spinning at the full length of their . . .tails?
The Pinkies and Cheeses began to spread out into the festival, taking charge as more of their number appeared—and more, and more. They swarmed onto tables, hung off of tents, and climbed up the dunk tank. It was impossible to ignore them, and even more so when the Cheeses withdrew their accordions.
“Lighten up!” yelled Cheese and Cheese and Cheese and Cheese and Cheese.
“IT’S A PARTY!” shrieked Pinkie and Pinkie and Pinkie and Pinkie and Pinkie.
Four of the Cheeses began juggling in a square, using cake servers, soccer cleats, and killer whale plushies. Several of the Pinkies pinned up an enormous Pin The Tail On The Pony game and put blindfolds around the eyes of the combatants, as the original Pinkie and Cheese danced on and on.
Granny Smith darted out of the food tent, announced to the world, “Now, that’s more like what I call dancin’ music!” and grabbed a very startled Bulk Biceps. She was really very good, considering that she hadn’t danced in several decades, and he was really very good, too, considering that he had never danced at all. It was impossible to resist joining in, so nobody tried.
Pinkie after Pinkie raced back and forth with tray after tray of real Sugarcube’s cupcakes, and the people lined up for the fake ones simply reached for the ones on the trays and turned away from the lines. Cheese after Cheese bounced up in front of the Canterlot and Cloudsdale soccer team members, who quickly became so confused that they couldn’t remember who they were fighting and why.
Then the non-human Pinkies and Cheeses began to arrive. Pinkie and Cheese welcomed them with little waves as they went on dancing, and everyone else showed no more surprise than if they had been carousel horses or a pony ride for the Cake Festival, which some of the Pinkies shortly became, pronking in a circle with giggling kids on their backs. These hyper-flexible, garishly colored little horses were a fact of life. They’d always been here. Their existence wasn’t surprising at all. And yet they were far more uncontrollable and far more absurd than their human counterparts. Where the human Cheeses and Pinkies produced hats and confetti, the pony Pinkies and Cheeses produced whole calliopes, diving boards, and pony-sized wheels of cheese, and they were much less inhibited, too.
“You know what your problem is?” said one of the pony Cheeses, as he somersaulted into the arms of a startled Mr. Rich. “You’ve got no sense of humor.” He kissed Mr. Rich on the nose and bounced off him as though he were a trampoline.
“Whee!” agreed a pony Pinkie, bouncing into Mr. Rich’s arms, removing the contract in his jacket, and bouncing back out. When he looked at the contract, he found that it had become a set of sheet music for “There’s No Beer in Heaven.”
It was a magnificent party, a party to be remembered forever, if only that were possible.
The wail of police sirens drew closer and closer. One of the pony Cheeses and Pinkies swarmed up the party cannon. The Cheese pushed the gun turret so that the barrel was aimed into the heart of the Cake Festival as he hung off the end. He shouted something to the Pinkie in the seat, and she pulled a lever.
The resulting explosion sent a hail of glitter, smoke, confetti, streamers and candy over the Cake Festival and much of the rest of the school grounds. Bits were still being found years later, although no one seemed to remember what they were from. Under the cover of the glitter and smoke cloud, the Pinkies and Cheeses drew up in two long lines opposite each other, spread out, and drew back in like the bellows of an enormous accordion, disappearing back wherever they’d come from, two by two. The last Pinkie trotted by and said, “Geez, Cheesie, why is everything here so complicated?” and disappeared.
The last Cheese said, “Heck if I know.” He took off his hat, tossed it to the Cheese of this world, and disappeared after her.
Sunset Shimmer came up onto the stage, and Pinkie and Cheese hugged her.
“Best. Advice. EVER!” squealed Pinkie.
“Seriously,” agreed Cheese. “We really owe you.”
“May I ask you a favor?” said Sunset Shimmer.
“Of course!”
“There’s someone I want to see,” she explained. “Someone I really owe an apology. And I’d really like to apologize face to face. It would mean a lot to me.” She joined Pinkie and Cheese’s hands, and then lifted them into an arch, as though they were playing “London Bridge is Falling Down.”
Pinkie and Cheese glanced at each other, each suspecting what Sunset Shimmer wanted to do. “Please say you’ll be back,” begged Pinkie. “I don’t like losing friends over there. I’d miss you, SunnyShutter.”
Sunset Shimmer smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said. “Yes, I probably will, if She doesn’t mind.” She took a deep breath, walked through the archway formed by Pinkie and Cheese’s joined hands, and disappeared.
~~
“Is Canterlot law enforcement always so easily distracted?” said Cheese, as they sat onstage an hour later.
“Kinda, yeah,” Applejack replied.
From over near the dunk tank, they could hear Flash Sentry saying, “Dad, you’re totally overreacting.”
To be fair to Police Sergeant Sentry, it wasn’t that he wasn’t asking questions. He had plenty of questions, and he’d demanded that a lot of people stay while he asked them. He just wasn’t getting any answers.
Things had happened, obviously, but what things and how? The soccer teams had obviously been fighting, but without eyewitnesses and with no one remembering who hit whom, and not much to go on but a few black eyes and contusions, there wasn’t much he could do except for letting them off with a stern warning. There was a big mess, true, but who knew how festivals were supposed to look after a successful day, right?—and most of the damage was concentrated near the dunk tank, except for the burnt-out speakers, and that wasn’t anyone’s fault . . .
One thing everyone agreed on was that it had been the best Cake Festival ever. Photo Finish lamented that so many of her pictures seemed to have disappeared off her camera. She remembered taking them during the height of the festival, when everyone was fully enjoying themselves, and she knew they would have been splendid pictures of whatever it was.
The other thing everyone agreed on was that Sugarcube’s cupcakes were the most delicious they had ever had, and that they would never forget them. They still had the taste in their mouths, and they knew exactly where they could find them. Friends started planning with friends to make sure to stop by the bakery on the way to the office, before they sold out. Filthy Rich walked up to Pinkie, picked up her hand, patted it, and said, “Miss Pinkie, you are a formidable opponent. I take my hat off to you.” He raised his Panama, and went off to find his daughter.
Police Sergeant Sentry sighed. “I guess that’s all we’re going to get.” He shook his head. “I swear, this is the weirdest school in the country.” He glared at the Principal and Vice Principal. “Unfortunately, no one ever seems to remember exactly what happened when anything happens here. At least there isn’t a crater in the lawn.” He turned to go.
Rarity coughed. “Ahem, Sergeant Sentry, I was wondering if you might find this useful or be interested in this.” She showed him her cell phone, and pulled up some pictures on her camera. There, clearly and unmistakably, were pictures of Lightning Dust bringing up her foot and driving it into the leg of a young girl, who fell to the ground and rolled there in pain.
“Hmm,” he grunted. “Hmm. Can I have this for a moment?”
“Absolutely!”
He walked over to a bored-looking Lightning Dust. “You realize this is an automatic arrest? I couldn’t let you off of this if I wanted to, not that I especially do. Now,” he held up his hand, “the rules say that you don’t have to say anything to me, and you’re gonna hear all the rules in a minute, believe me, but you don’t just walk off from pictures of kicking a kid.” He turned to Rarity. “Thanks for being a good citizen, miss. I’ll just pull these off of here in the car and let you have your phone back.”
“You’re welcome!” trilled Rarity. She glanced at Applejack from under her eyelids. “And you thought I was taking a selfie. Shame on you, Applejack.”
“And you may want to take a good look at her fingerprints, once you got ‘em!” called Applejack. “Just a suggestion!”
Vice Principal Luna walked up to Pinkie and Cheese. “Guess this means we get an F in community service, right?” said Cheese.
“It may not matter, Mr. Sandwich,” she said. “At least, not to you. Have a good evening.” She followed her sister out of the grounds.
Applejack turned to Cheese. “Welp, welcome to our world, Cheese, I guess. How are you feeling?”
“That was something else,” he conceded. “I thought I was used to strange, but that was really something else. Not that I minded, really.” He scratched his head. “The ears, though—those were weird. I’d be just as happy not to have to deal with the ears again. But I’m keeping the hat.”