//------------------------------// // Doom // Story: Apple Boom // by BlazzingInferno //------------------------------// - Saturday, 9 AM - - (27 Hours Before) - The interior of the old barn was dark, but not as dark as the cellar. A light breeze brought the earthy scent of the orchard, as well as that of weatherbeaten wood, to Apple Boom’s nose. Mid-morning sunlight peeked through numerous gaps in the roof, casting odd shadows on her work surface. Her little impromptu table, made out of an old barrel lid balanced on a trio of buckets, was a far cry from the comparably massive countertop in the kitchen. There was barely enough room here for all the jars of spices she’d borrowed from the pantry. At least the surprise would be worth it. Applejack said she wouldn’t have time to knock down this old barn until after the cider season was over, which made it the perfect place to cook up something new and revolutionary. Her knife glided through the Zap apple in front of her, producing the pleasant hiss of a crisp apple meeting sharpened steel. A magical tingle traveled through her as she finished the cut, a feeling that she’d grown all too familiar with as she’d slaved over the Zap Apple Jam. The apple’s halves rolled apart, revealing a rainbow-colored interior that looked and smelled indistinguishable from a Zap apple fresh off the tree. Apple Bloom leaned in for a deeper whiff and was rewarded with an electric spark that jumped from the two apple halves to her nose. She jumped back and glared at the fruit. “Ow! Hey, just ‘cause I took an extra week to carve ya doesn’t mean you have to get all mean.” The apple didn’t respond, no matter how hard Apple Bloom glared at it. She sliced the two halves into quarters and slid them aside. The same electric charge traveled through her foreleg as she did: magic that could dull sharpened knives, sharpen dull ones, and make the world’s tastiest jam. “You are good in more stuff than just jam, right?” She retrieved another apple from the open barrel and began quartering it like she’d done with the first. “I figure, Zap apples make for such good jam, that means they’ll make for amazing cider, right?” The apples still didn’t reply. Apple Bloom had no idea what she’d do if they did. “I got all the cider spices right here an’ everything. Not quite sure about the ratios… but it can’t be that hard… not as hard as making a million jars of jam.” She took a look at the spice jars at the table’s far end. None of them were labeled, unless she counted Granny Smith’s nigh-incomprehensible scrawl on the lids. Jam and cider weren’t that different anyway. All she had to do was prepare her two barrels of apples, add in whatever amount of each spice smelled right, and wait. The key to making Zap-Apple-anything, she now knew, was time. There was no rushing the Zap Apple harvest, and there was no rushing the jam-making that followed. Even if she worked all day to get the cider ready, which she intended to, it wouldn’t be ready for a taste-test until morning. A third quartered apple joined the first two. “It’ll be just like Granny Smith told me: ‘Zap Apples like sleep just as much as you do. They need a good night’s rest to taste their best.’ Just imagine what she’s gonna say when she sees this! Why, next year maybe we’ll save four barrels just for cider, or eight! And I’ll be in charge of that, too!” The already-cut apples fizzled and sparked loudly, as if in protest. Apple Bloom ducked her head under the table’s edge. She sat up a moment later and gave a sheepish smile. “Guess I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Just keep it calm, Apple Bloom. Just gotta keep it—” --- - Sunday, 2 PM - - (2 Hours After) - Sugarcube Corner was closed, just like every other shop that Apple Bloom had visited today. She sat on a stool by the counter, lost in the realization that this war-zone of a room was the place where she and her friends routinely came for cupcakes and milkshakes. By this hour of the late afternoon, every booth and table was supposed to be packed full of happy ponies, tasty treats, and the smell of powdered sugar. There weren’t any customers here, though, and the closest thing to a dessert was the three foot tall mound of blue and white frosting sitting by the shop’s front window. Wind and raindrops whistled through the front window’s empty frame as Pinkie tipped a dustpan full of glass into a nearly-full trash can. She set the dust pan down and walked over to the Cakes, who hadn’t strayed from their tear-filled vigil by the window since Apple Bloom arrived. If Apple Bloom squinted just right, she could sort of see how that mess of frosting was supposed to look. By her reckoning, the cake had been a whopping eight layers tall and completely covered in tiny sugar-crystal ponies. That was how it was supposed to look, anyway. If only the Cakes hadn’t put their creation on display in the front window this morning. Pinkie patted Mr. Cake on the back. “The floors are officially glass-free, Mr. Cake.” Mr. Cake blew his nose on his apron. “Thanks, Pinkie. Just… just give us a little time, okay?” “Okie do—” Mrs. Cake swiped her foreleg at the remains of the cake, knocking a few of the little sugar sculptures onto the floor. “Twelve hours! We spent twelve hours on these!” Mr. Cake hugged his wife tightly. “I know, Dear, I know.” “I’m never making a ‘crystal cake’ again! I don’t care whose birthday it is, or how much they pay!” “M-maybe it isn’t so bad. We still might be able to salvage… some of it? Maybe?” Pinkie backed away from the Cakes and joined Apple Bloom at the counter. She shook her head at Mr. Cake and whispered. “Even I can’t tell which bits are sugary yumminess and which are stabby glass, and I’ve got the tongue-owies to prove it.” Pinkie stuck out her bandaged tongue for reference. Her breath smelled like a jelly donut. Apple Bloom looked away. “But… it’ll be okay, right? They’ll just make somethin’ else instead of that cake… get some new windows…” Pinkie sighed. “I hope so. I haven’t seen the Cakes like this since the foals started teething.” She leaned in close and whispered in Apple Bloom’s ear. “I’m gonna have to start sneaking even more sugar into their morning coffee, and there’s already more sugar in there than coffee!” Apple Bloom set her head on the counter and covered her eyes. “I’m so sorry! Telling everypony it’s my fault is makin’ me feel worse and worse, and I ain’t even half-done yet.” Pinkie patted her head. “You’re kinda young for coffee… so how about an extra-sweet milkshake?” Apple Bloom sat up and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Pinkie, but I’d better go. I’ve still got a whole bunch of ponies to apologize to. When everything gets back to normal, I’ll start paying double for me and the crusaders until that cake’s paid off. How long do ya think that’ll take?” “Hmm, if Mr. and Mrs. Cake spent twelve hours each making all those sugar ponies, and you pay for six milkshakes but only want three…” Pinkie’s eyes spun around for a minute as if her brain was a wind-up toy. When they stopped, she gave Apple Bloom a weak smile. “You’re still gonna like milkshakes when you’re as old as Granny Smith, right? Because she never comes in here and it’d be silly to still buy milkshakes if they hurt your false teeth or something, which you’re probably gonna need if you have that many milkshakes and—” Apple Bloom ran out the door into the rainy streets screaming. “I’m doomed!”