Into the Asylum
Pound Cake shuddered as the elevator descended. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to steady himself; but as he descended deeper into the bowels of the loony bin… sorry, 'mental institution', he couldn't help but be worried. He'd heard that the more dangerous the inmates were, the deeper underground they'd keep them; and Pinkie Pie was being held on the lowest floor.
The elevator stopped with a gentle 'ding', and the doors opened. The sharp smell of antiseptic hit his nose, and he winced slightly. Pound and the doctor exited to the small atrium, where a guard stood beside an enormous barred door. He flashed the plastic identification card to the guard (who was wearing what looked an awful lot like Strategic Response riot gear), and he nodded and pushed a button. The door slid open, and they walked in, the doctor leading the way.
As they walked, Pound reviewed what he knew as he tried to ignore the shouts and cries of the other ponies down here. Pinkie Pie had snapped when he was still very young, and he didn't remember her very well. Most of what he did remember of her came from pictures or shards of memories that involved a lot of pink, a lot of hugs, and for some reason, big bags of flour.
But that had all changed one dark day… He shook his head and continued following.
“I'm still not sure zis is such a good idea,” the doctor said, his gentle accent somehow soothing among the chaos. “Our patient is not well.”
“I know. Well, I've heard; I never really knew her. But right now, I need her help.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You are zat desperate?”
Pound met his eyes. “I am.”
The doctor realized that there was nothing else he could do. The paperwork was submitted and notarized, even signed by a princess, and so the pegasus had every legal right to this meeting. He grimaced, hoping against hope that Pinkie wouldn't accept his offer, and opened the little window in the top door.
Pound Cake wasn't entirely sure what to expect.
He didn't expect this.
A bright pink head with brilliant blue eyes peeked back out at him. Her mane was huge and pink and poofy, and she smiled widely at the sight of him. Pound had the distinct impression that were it not for the large metal door and the tight straitjacket that bound her, he would be on the receiving end of a crushing glomp. She actually looked happy and surprisingly attractive; not something he would have expected from a pony who had done what she had done. He shook his head. Hot did not override crazy.
“Poundy!” she cried, bouncing slightly on the padded floor. “Look at you, you've grown up so big! How are your wings doing?”
Pound shrugged, but as pegasi are wont to do, he flared them to show them off. It is almost a guarantee that every pegasus will be proud of their wings, and Pound was nothing if not a normal pegasus. He quickly folded them again. “You're Pinkie Pie,” he said, not sure how else to start this conversation.
“I am!” Pinkie chirped. “But you can call me auntie Pinkie if you want.”
Pound paused. “We're not related, though… are we?” Had he just checked out a relative?
“Not at all!” Pinkie said brightly. “But you couldn't really call me 'uncle Pinkie', now, could you? I'm a mare, after all!” She hopped back slightly and did her best to demonstratively thrust her chest out, but her forearms were still crossed in front of her body and somewhat hindered this gesture.
Pound cracked a smile against his will. He'd heard she was supposed to represent the Element of Laughter, and perhaps there was some truth to that statement after all. He shook his head. “Pinkie, I need your help.”
Pinkie seemed to sober slightly. “Of course,” she said. “What's up?”
“Do you remember anything that happened? Before the…” How should he put this? “...incident?”
Pinkie nodded. “Kindof, but I could use a refresher course.”
Pound sighed, not really wanting to tell this story. “It all started many years ago. You got sick from eating too much sugar, and Twilight Sparkle… you remember her?”
“Twilight Sparkle, alicorn, former wielder of the Element of Magic, current princess of friendship. Cutie mark is a six-pointed purple star with five surrounding white stars. Born December 3rd, mulberry coat, moderate-sapphire-blue mane with two stripes, one dark pink, one purple; violet eyes, first arrived at Ponyville on October 10th, favorite activity is reading and favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio.” Pinkie grinned at the shocked look on Pound's face. “Yeah, I remember her.”
Pound worked his mouth, trying to get words to come out. “And how long have you been in here?” he stammered.
“Seventeen years, three months, two days, fourteen hours, thirteen minutes, thirty-six seconds. Thirty-seven, now. Thirty-eight…”
“And you remember all of that?”
Pinkie shrugged. “I remember a lot of things,” she said. “Especially when it comes to my friends.”
Pound coughed and resumed his story. “Well, Twilight did some investigating, and turns out Sweet Talk—the guy who ran almost the entire sugar industry—had been putting in some nasty filler to maximize profits. You just happened to eat enough to show the side-effects.”
“That doesn't sound good,” Pinkie said, a frown darkening her face.
“Yeah. Celestia herself came to shut him down. But he'd bought up almost everything in the industry, so sugar production across Equestria dropped ninety-nine percent.”
Pinkie's ears drooped. “But was there enough sugar left for cookies and cupcakes and real cakes for everypony's birthdays and anniversaries?” she asked hopefully.
Pound swallowed. He had the distinct feeling that if this conversation was going to go south, it would be at this point. “No,” he admitted. “There wasn't.”
His premonition was right; Pinkie let out a dramatic groan, and then her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell backwards.
Pound winced, but at least the padding had provided her a safe landing.
She waited three seconds before popping back up. “So what happened?” she asked.
“Business nearly dried up,” Pound admitted. “We had a large supply of sugar left over, but with it being contaminated we didn't want to use it, and the price of clean sugar octupled.”
Pinkie giggled and repeated “Octupled,” under her breath a few times. She found it a funny word.
“We managed to survive for about three weeks making mostly bread and such, and then that's about when you snapped.”
Pinkie cocked her head.
“I guess you'd read somewhere that the pony body uses sugar for energy, and you figured you could harvest it.”
Pinkie's mane seemed to flatten. “What did I do?” she asked fearfully.
Pound didn't want to answer that either, but he did. “They found you in the basement, with bloody knives everywhere and Rainbow Dash strapped to a table and you going on about making cupcakes.”
It hadn't been an illusion; Pinkie's mane did look flatter now, and Pinkie herself looked as though she were about to cry. “But Rainbow Dash is one of my bestest friends,” she whispered. “I couldn't have… did I? What happened to her?”
“Oh, she made a full recovery,” Pound said quickly. “She's retired from the Wonderbolts after flying with them for fifteen years, and now she runs her own training camps.”
Pinkie smiled and seemed to perk up slightly. “Oh, good,” she said. “She'd wanted to do that ever since she was a teeny-tiny itty-bitty Cloudsdale filly.”
“Anyway, you got sent here, Rainbow eventually recovered, and we tried to eke out a living without you. I don't have to tell you that mom and dad thought you were the best thing since buttercream frosting.”
Pinkie brightened a bit more at that compliment. Apparently, she also liked buttercream frosting.
“Twilight helped us grow more sugarcane, pure sugar this time, and we moved our operation into our now-expanded basement so it wouldn't get stolen. Pumpkin tends it now, with that Apple colt.” A brief smile crossed his face. “They're totally getting hitched, I'm calling it now.”
“Whee!” Pinkie cheered, throwing her hands into the air. “I love weddings!” Her grin faded, and she put her arms down. “Where is Pumpkin?” she asked, looking over his shoulder as if she expected to see her there hiding behind her brother.
Wait. Hadn't she been in a straitjacket? How did she…? Pound shook his head. “That's what I came here for. See, with no sugar for so many years, there were no sweets or baked goods. Even doing everything we could, there just wasn't enough sugar to go around; so we started making more breads and stuff. That meant there were fewer cavities, and fewer cavities meant less for the dentists to do. Do you remember Minuette?”
Pinkie nodded. “Minuette, more commonly known as Colgate, certified dentist and oral hygienist. Cutie mark hourglass, half full-”
“I get it,” Pound interrupted. “You know her. Well, she didn't have any cavities to fill and after about three years of that, she kindof went crazy too. The fourth year, she started extracting healthy teeth, putting crowns in where they weren't needed, and filling cavities that weren't there. She'd just gone loco with nothing to do.”
Pinkie cocked her head.
“When the town figured out what she was doing, they ran her out; but she swore revenge. The next month, she came back, still wearing her coat and mask. She pounced on some poor pony on the streets and cleaned her teeth and even pulled one out.”
“That's not terrible…” Pinkie said.
“Without painkillers.”
Pinkie's eyes widened. “That's just wrong,” she whispered.
“It gets better,” Pound said grimly. “She started striking once a week, then twice. Sometimes it was a cleaning, sometimes it was an extraction, and she usually gave either too much or too little numbing stuff. Some ponies even died. By the end of the month, ponies were afraid to go outside at night.”
Pinkie frowned. “That's awful,” she pouted.
“Then other dentists started doing the same thing. Now there's a couple packs of ten or twelve of them, terrorizing the town as soon as it gets dark.”
Pinkie bit her lower lip.
“We actually have a good supply of sugar now, but the dentists have everypony terrorized, so sales are still down and ponies usually stick to the breads. And I'm here because… because…” Pound took a steadying breath. “They caught Pumpkin.”
Pinkie gasped, placing her hands over her mouth.
Pound knew what he was seeing this time. He stared at the impossible sight, and his eyes narrowed. “How-?”
Pinkie looked down at her hands and then quickly wrapped them around herself again. “What?” she asked innocently.
Pound shook his head and continued. “They took her wisdom teeth and overdosed her on expired painkillers. She still hasn't woken up.”
Pinkie Pie's face crinkled in sympathetic pain. “Then what are you here for?” she demanded. “You should be there with her!”
“I'm here because I need your help. I want to stop those dentists for good, but I need you, Pinkie. It started with you, and I think you can end it.”
Pinkie giggled. “I'd love to help, buuut-”
Pound pointedly ignored the doctor's sigh of relief.
But Pinkie wasn't done. “-I can't exactly leave. See? I'm in a straitjacket.” She turned around and wiggled her shoulders as best as she could, showing that she was well and truly restrained.
Pound opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Look, I have the paperwork that will get you out…”
“Woo hoo! Then what are we waiting for?” Pinkie stuck her head through the opening that seemed far too small, and pushed herself through.
“No, you're supposed to wait until… until…” Pound's voice trailed off because when Pinkie pushed herself out, her straitjacket had remained behind, and there was now a stark-naked mare standing in front of him.
Being a red-blooded stallion, he couldn't help but look. She was a bit thinner than he remembered from some of the pictures, but she still had wide hips and an ample chest. Her cutie mark of three balloons was emblazoned on a flank that still looked very firm, and Pound had to admit that Pinkie Pie was all-around a very beautiful mare. Come to think of it, she wasn't that much older than him…
Pinkie noticed him staring, and smirked, apparently completely unconcerned. She rocked her hips and placed a hand on one. “I look pretty good for being in here seventeen years, three months, two days, fourteen hours, forty-five minutes, and thirty-seven seconds, huh?” she grinned.
Pound closed his eyes and thought, 'Hot does not override crazy. Hot does not override crazy. Hot does not override crazy' before he could answer. “Yeah, you do,” he admitted.
Pinkie took the doctor's coat off his shoulders and put it over herself. “Well, let's go, then,” she said, buttoning it up. “We've got ponies to do and things to see!”
Pound grinned, but it turned into more of a grimace. He really hoped he wasn't going to regret this.
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I already like it
Yeesh, so all this,module to one guy wanting to make more money? I just hope Pinkie when she snapped didn't hurt poor Dash too badly... While she's certainly still Pinkie crazy, she doesn't seem like a equicidal maniac anymore, so, hopefully, all will be good again. Is it wrong that I can't help but imagine Pound with his baby face which makes me laugh? I like this Pinkie, she's been in an asylum for nearly 20 years but she's coped and she does seem remorseful for her actions, and, she's hot and she knows it.