//------------------------------// // Age 2 // Story: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Part 1: What's the Use of Crying? // by brokenimage321 //------------------------------// Twilight looked down at the piece of paper, then back up. This was the place, apparently… but it sure didn't look like it. She stood in front of an old, empty storefront on the edge of town. The run-down picket fence and heart-shaped window in the door had an old-fashioned charm about them, but the weeds were thick in the yard, and many of the windows were still boarded up. Twilight slipped the little piece of paper back into her bag. Pinkie had said this was her new place… and, if that was true, Twilight was right to be worried… And then, as she looked again, she started to notice little touches of her—freshly planted wildflowers in the box under the window. Pink curtains in the upstairs window.... and, drifting out of the open front door, the unmistakable sound of her singing. Twilight smiled, walked through the gate, and stepped inside—and immediately sneezed. The air was thick with dust—and, in the center of it, stood Pinkie with a broom, sweeping and singing at the top of her voice: a jazzy old wartime ballad, sounded like. She wore a bright dustcloth covering her mane, which hung long and straight around her face. Twilight watched her for a moment, then sneezed again. The dust lay thick, and, though Pinkie was working hard, she was only making the barest dent. Nevertheless, it was the happiest Twilight had seen her in a long time: as she watched, Pinkie slowly shifted from merely sweeping to actually dancing with the broom... and, yet, somehow still managing to clean. Just as she finished her song, she lowered the broom into a dip—then looked up and saw Twilight standing in the door. “Twilight!” she squealed, dropping the broom. She ran over to her and wrapped her in a big, dusty hug. “So good to see you!” Twilight gagged and hugged her back. “Good… to see… you…” she gasped. Pinkie held her at arms’ length and smiled—before a sudden expression of panic swept across her face. She pawed at her long, straight mane, then began to awkwardly stuff it up under the dustcloth. Twilight watched her for a moment. “Everything okay?” she asked carefully. Pinkie half-nodded. “Things are… better,” she responded, just as carefully. “It still hasn’t started curling again, though.” She finished one side, and started on the other. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just planning on doing dirty work, a-and I wasn’t expecting company…”     Twilight smiled. “Please, don’t worry about it. I'm here to see you, not your mane.” Pinkie smiled, and stopped fidgeting with her hair, leaving a single long strand hanging down by the side of her face. “How’d you find me, anyways?” she asked. “I haven’t told anyone I’ve moved yet.” Twilight tried to dust herself off a little, making Pinkie grimace. “The Cakes told me,” she said. “They knew you'd moved, and I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re doing okay.” “We’re doing great!” Pinkie replied brightly. “Found this place for a song—and, well, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but, y’know…” she smiled. “Gives us something to look forward to.” Twilight looked around nervously at the peeling paint and the creaky rafters. “That’s one way to put it…” she muttered. She cleared her throat, then said, a little louder, “Why this place, anyways?” “Pinkie’s Pies,” Pinkie replied, without hesitation. “Pardon?” “Pinkie’s Pies,” she repeated. “Gonna make this a bakery. Sell some pies, maybe some bread, doughnuts, things like that—y’know, regular bakery stuff.” She smiled a little. “Maybe even rent out the place for parties or something." Twilight raised an eyebrow. “That’s… really smart, actually. We don’t have a proper bakery in Ponyville.”         “Well,” Pinkie said carefully, “there is Sugarcube Corner—but they’re more of a cake shop than a bakery.” She started to nervously paw at her mane again. “I don’t want to have to compete with them,” she said. “They’re the best in the business, and…” she swallowed, her expression softening a little. “And they’ve been so good to us. I… I couldn’t do that to them.” Pinkie remained pensive for a moment, then smiled and looked up. “Plus, like I said, I got this place cheap. Can’t complain about that.” Twilight swallowed. “Where’d you get the money, any—” “Oh,” Pinkie said, cutting her off, “Here and there. Buncha little loans. Don’t worry about it.” Twilight hesitated. She knew Pinkie didn’t like discussing finances… but she could get in real trouble if she wasn’t careful… Pinkie fidgeted a little. “Well, it was great to see you, Twilight,” she said, “but, if that’s all you needed… I have lots to do, still, and…” Twilight widened her eyes. “Oh, no no no, I understand. I just wanted to bring something by. Just a little housewarming gift...” She reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a lilac-colored gift bag. It really was nothing much: a few board books for the little ones, a flower vase to brighten things up, a few candy bars for everypony… And, in the bottom of the bag, a check for a thousand bits. Pinkie had gotten better at accepting charity, but she still didn’t like to admit that she actually needed it. So, they’d learned to be careful: Applejack dropped by with a couple jars of applesauce she was “just gonna throw away anyways,” Rarity asked if she could make the kids a set of jammies each, just to try out a new pattern, and, when Pinkie had a hard time feeding Gummy on top of everypony else, Fluttershy invited him over for a playdate, and then just… never brought him back (She’d felt guilty for a week or two—that is, until Pinkie brought by his heat lamp, and thanked her for the help). And Twilight—Twilight had learned to leave checks left in unobtrusive places. Places where Pinkie would very clearly find them, but not have to be seen actually taking them. And, it had apparently worked—she'd started cashing most of them, at least. Pinkie glanced at the bag, and a flash of worry darted across her face. Twilight bit her lip—she probably already knew what was in the bag—but still, Pinkie smiled and took it. “Thanks so much,” she said gratefully. Twilight smiled back. Pinkie walked over to the counter, brushed off a bit of dust and put the bag down. As she did, Twilight took another look around—at the thick dust, the cobwebs in every corner, the peeling paint, the broken, boarded windows—and sighed. “Pinkie—” she began. Pinkie turned to back to face her. Twilight swallowed. What she wanted to do was ask her if she could help... and make her accept it. She was Pinkie, to be sure, but this was a little much, even for her. Renovating a home? Starting a business? Raising three toddlers? All at once? It was madness. “Pinkie,” she repeated, “I—” And then, a mighty crash from upstairs shook the rafters. Twilight looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide. Pinkie sighed. “Gotta love 'em,” she murmured, then sprinted for the stairs. Twilight watched her go, then slowly walked to the fallen broom, picked it up, and started to sweep. It was madness, she thought to herself. But, then again, madness was one of Pinkie Pie’s specialties.