• Published 16th Aug 2015
  • 4,893 Views, 136 Comments

A Gay Old Time - Aragon



All Diamond Tiara wanted for her 21st birthday was sex and fun and sex and friends and sex and rock and roll and sex. Bad thing is: she actually got it.

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Third Chapter: Well, There's an Art to Messing Up

“And then’s when the Third Amendment was signed,” Pumpkin Cake said as she opened what seemed like the thousandth cupboard in the kitchen. Plates and cutlery. Tch. She moved to the next one. Even more plates. “At first it wasn’t well-received, but eventually everypony agreed that it was necessary, so we finally moved on to the Party Streamers Regulation.”

Babs Seed, sitting at the table, was resting her head on her hooves. “Uh-huh,” she said.

“Now, that’s an interesting tale…” Next cupboard: more plates. “You see, there was this huge void in the party streamers law, because it used the term particus fantasticus which… Wasn’t used anymore? Like, at all? You need to understand that the text of that law wasn’t written by anypony—they just took the law from the Olden Times and translated it directly from Old Equus.”

Babs nodded. Her eyes were lost in the distance. “Of course.”

“But particus fantasticus—which actually translates as ‘lost in a sea of limbs’, because Old Equus is weird—was used as a proper name, a term for something that old teachers would describe as—oh, are you KIDDING ME?!” Pumpkin Cake slammed the cupboard shut with a roar upon seeing what was inside. “JUST HOW MANY PLATES DOES THIS HOUSE HAVE?!”

Babs’ eyes remained unfocused. Her voice had such a bored tone it almost sounded dreamy. “I don’t know. A lot?”

“HOW CAN YOU HAVE SO MANY PLATES WITHOUT ANY FOOD?!

“No idea. Why do you want it anyway? There are snacks by the living room.”

It was somewhat of a non-written party rule in Ponyville—as opposed to the hundred written party rules they already had—that the kitchen was to be raided upon the first twelve minutes of the night, and then left to be forgotten unless somehow the alcohol ran out.

This was part common courtesy, part pragmatism. The kitchen just wasn’t that good a place to stay during a party—if you wanted to dance or have a good time you could go to the living room. If you wanted some action you had the bathroom or the bedrooms. Maybe if you wanted to have a quiet conversation the kitchen would be an option, but that’s what corridors were for.

However, Pumpkin Cake seemed to think otherwise. With a strength no mare her age should have, she had grabbed Babs and dragged her to the empty kitchen to sit there and listen while she did “important business”, using her words. Babs would have said no, but the kid was really strong, and everypony looked at them like she had to follow Pumpkin, Celestia knows why.

“To bake a cake, that’s why!” Pumpkin said, opening the next cupboard with the strength of a clown beating up a funeral organizer. Babs flinched a little bit at that, blinking her eyes open and looking over at Pumpkin who seemed to be half buried in a cupboard, her voice muffled but audible. “We’re almost three quarters done with this party, and yet nopony has baked a cake, so I’m taking responsibility because everypony else is busy getting drunk or shagging my brother!”

“Hey,” Babs said, “perfectly fine ways to pass the time.”

“Yes, but we still need at least one cake. I can’t believe Diamond Tiara is being so irresponsible with this. I am not going to drink alcohol or get with Pound, thank you very much, and you need some educating. So we’re baking the cake. Two birds, one stone— ” Pumpkin let out a roar and slammed shut the next cupboard, “—AND SEVEN THOUSAND FLIPPIN’ PLATES! WHO NEEDS THIS MUCH TABLEWARE?! WHERE IS THE FREAKING FLOUR?!

“Uh.” Babs bit her lip as Pumpkin rampaged through the kitchen. “Maybe they have a pantry somewhere?”

“NO, THEY DON’T! I ALREADY LOOKED FOR IT, AND THEY DON’T!”

“Woah, woah, okay.” Babs got up and went for the nearest cupboard. “No need to get crazy, okay? Look, I’m helping and—huh. Microwaves. Weird. We’re looking for the flour, right? Anyway…” She went to the next cupboard. “So you never really explained why are we baking a cake?”

“Well, I’m a Cake girl.” Pumpkin shrugged. “So just—Celestia’s underpants, the plates just won’t stop, this is so frustrating—so I guess it’s just normal that I end up baking it. I’m, like, the fourth best pony in town at doing so anyway.”

“Heh.” Babs smirked again. “I’m more of a pie girl, if you get what I mean.”

A pause. Pumpkin turned around, frowning. “Pie? What kind of name is Babs Seed Pie? Isn’t that against the law?”

“Uh. No, I’m not talking about my name.” Babs scratched the back of her neck. “I’m like, you know. Pie. Get it? Because…” she gestured to her cutie mark. “Eh?”

Another pause.

“I don’t get it.”

Babs blinked. “Like, I like to eat out?”

“So you don’t bake your own pies?”

“No, I mean—I like to go, uh, clam diving?”

Pumpkin cocked her head to the side. “Clam pies? Is that a thing?”

“No, I mean that I like, you know, chewing carpets. You know, as in…?”

“What the hell are you even talking ab—”

“I LIKE TO HAVE SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH MARES!” Babs rolled her eyes and slammed the cupboard door shut. “Suns and stars, girl, did you get it already, or do you need a map?!”

Pumpkin blinked. “You wha—oh, Celestia. You were trying to use innuendo?

“Okay, you know what? Let’s just forget—”

“No, no, no!” Pumpkin shook her head and glared at Babs like a fat stallion glares at his skinny twin. “We’re not forgetting anything, we’re going to discuss this! What kind of pony would say such a thing?!”

Babs slammed shut another cupboard. No luck there either. “I was just trying to lighten the mood, okay? Excuse me for—”

“The word ‘pie’ is not an an acceptable innuendo for that!

“It is in Manehattan!”

“Well, then Manehattan is wrong!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

BLAM!

The door of the kitchen slammed open to show Dinky at the other side, but neither of the two mares even looked at it. “Hey, girls!” Dinky said entering the kitchen, big smile on her face. “Have you seen the paramedics by any cha—oh hey. What’s going on?”

Both Babs and Pumpkin glared at each other, then looked at Dinky. “Nothing,” Babs said. “We were just discussing semantics. We’re baking a cake, I think.”

“Oh, right. It’s about time.”

“Heya, Babs. Hello Pumpkin.” With a little difficulty, Apple Bloom made her way inside the kitchen. She was carrying a lump on her back, her coat was almost completely red, and she still had dark bags under her eyes. “What you doin’? Cake?”

“Hi, Apple Bloo—woah.” Pumpkin had to do a double-take at Apple Bloom. “Uh. Apple Bloom? Is that jam on you?”

“Nah.”

There was a small pause.

Apple Bloom felt the need to elaborate. “Um, it’s blood.”

Pumpkin nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Another pause. This time, a little longer.

“You know, I’m a little disappointed here, not going to lie,” Pumpkin said. “I was hoping you’d find the food in this place, somehow. I swear to Celestia, I’ve been looking for food in this damned place for hours and I still haven’t—”

Cuz!” Babs’ eyes got wide as she ran towards Apple Bloom, grabbing her hoof, caressing her mane. “Celestia, are you okay?!”

“Ah, right, yes. Covered in blood. That’s bad. Focus.” Pumpkin shook her head. “Anyway—Apple Bloom, what happened?”

“Ain’t mine.” Apple Bloom pointed at the lump on her back. “Spike was in an accident. We need your help.”

“Oh?” Babs blinked, then looked at Spike. “Woah, he did. What happened?”

“DT hit ‘im with a bottle.”

Pumpkin blinked. “Well. That explains everything. Is it bad? I mean, there’s a lot of blood, but maybe dragons are—”

“No, I don’t think it’s that bad,” Babs said, examining Spike and poking him in strategic places. “I’ve seen worst stuff.”

Apple Bloom’s ears perked up. “You have?”

“Yeah, this kind of thing happens all the time in Manehattan.” She poked Spike a little more strongly. The fella didn’t move.

“Then you can help?”

Babs smiled. “Of course! It’ll be easy. I need bleach, some hydrochloric acid, a hot tub, a hacksaw—”

“Uh. Babs.”

“—two hours, and a little bit of privacy. If the hacksaw is good, I can pull it off in ninety minutes, but it’ll be more expensive.” A pause. A blink. “Wait, no, you’re family. Special price.”

“Babs,” Apple Bloom said. “You, um. He’s not dead.”

“Oh, he’s not?” Babs looked at Spike with mild interest.

There was another pause.

“Why, he isn’t! Anyway, so yes: bleach, some hydrochloric acid, a hot tub—”

“Oooookay!” Apple Bloom took a step back, getting away from Babs, and raised her voice. “So! Can anypony who’s not completely bonkers help?”

Dinky raised a hoof. “I can! I think I know where Diamond Tiara stores the hacksaws!”

“Sadly, Ah specifically asked for somepony who’s not crazy!” Apple Bloom said, in a tone exactly as excited as Dinky’s. “Which means Ah’m mostly talkin’ to Pumpkin here!”

Pumpkin gave Apple Bloom a sympathetic look before turning around to continue her search through the cupboards. “I am so sorry, Apple Bloom, but right now I’m too busy with the cake. You know the rules—every party needs one. Maybe you should get the paramedics? Diamond Tiara probably called them when Snips—”

Apple Bloom sighed. “Ah know, Ah know. That’s what the plan is, actually. DT’s lookin’ for ‘em on the second floor.”

Pumpkin frowned. “DT? You mean Diamond Tiara?”

“Aye.”

“You sure she’s up to challenge?”

“Twist’s with ‘er. Ah’m sure they can handle the situation.”


“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH—!”

THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD! IT’S EVERYWHERE!”

“I KNOW!”

“WHY WOULD YOU HIT HIM WITH THE BOTTLE?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”


“Yeah they’re probably all right. Still, Ah gotta look for them paramedics here. Would you help me, Pumpks?”

“Well, maybe if I finish this cake soon, which PROBABLY IS NOT GOING TO BE THE CASE, AS RICH PEOPLE CLEARLY DON’T EAT FOOD, JUDGING BY THIS STUPID KITCHEN!” Pumpkin slammed the next cupboard shut so hard she chipped the wood. “I HATE THIS PLACE!

“Uh.” Dinky poked Pumpkin on the shoulder. “What are you doing, exactly? Looking for food?”

“AND FAILING! I CAN’T FIND FOOD IN A KITCHEN! I’M A DISGRACE TO ALL BAKERS IN—”

“Maybe they have a pantry?”

“NO, THEY DON’T! AND I HAVE LOOKED EVERYWHERE! THERE ARE NO CUPBOARDS LEFT, AND I SWEAR TO CELESTIA THERE’S NO—”

“Cupboards?” Dinky frowned. “Why are you looking in the cupboards? The food’s gonna be in the fridge.”

There was, again, a small pause.

Everypony looked at Pumpkin.

Pumpkin looked back.

“Um.” She closed her mouth, then opened it, then closed it again. “Okay,” she eventually said. “That is—that makes absolutely no sense.”

“So you haven’t looked in there.”

“Well, no,” Pumpkin said, walking towards the fridge and opening it, “because I’m looking for the flour and everypony knows that you don’t store the flour in—ARE YOU KIDDING ME.”

“There.” Dinky crossed her forelegs, sat on the ground, and turned towards Apple Bloom. “Another mystery solved. Am I useful or what?”

“WHO THE HELL STORES THE FLOUR INSIDE THE FRIDGE.

“You’re a gift to ponykind,” Apple Bloom said, rolling her eyes. “But we should get goin’, Pumpkin is busy and—”

“Get going to bed? Perhaps?” Diny flashed her brightest smile at Apple Bloom. “Babs can take care of Spike! Right, Babs?”

“Yeah, you look like you need some rest, cuz,” Babs said, standing by Dinky’s side. “You don’t look good.”

“WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT THEIR FLOUR TO BE COLD. THAT IS NOT HOW FLOUR WORKS.”

“It’s nothin’.” Apple Bloom tried to give Babs a reassuring smile, and somehow she managed to make the dark circles around her eyes stand out even more. “Ah had a lil’ flashback, that’s all.”

“Little flashback? Do you think I’m an idiot? Have you looked at yourself?” Babs’ frown got even deeper. “You have bags under your eyes, you’re pale, your tail’s all down… You look… You look…”

“Sexy?” Dinky said, leaning on Babs.

“OH MY CELESTIA THE SUGAR IS ALSO INSIDE THE FRIDGE. THE SUGAR IS INSIDE THE FRIDGE TOO.

“Oh, suns and stars, sexy doesn’t even start to describe it.” Babs’ face lit up like a tree on a politically correct holiday as she looked to Dinky. “You seen the look in her eyes? She’s dead inside!”

Apple Bloom squinted. “Are…? Are you seriously doin’ this? Now?”

“And the way she’s crouched?” Babs continued. “Like she’s carrying the sins of her past?”

Dinky nodded. “I know! Makes me want to smooch her! What about the pout?”

“It’s the best pout I’ve ever seen,” Babs said. “Like, she’s just asking for some good invigorating sex with a psycho.”

“Oh my gosh!” Dinky beamed. “She said the exact same thing! You are so cousins!”

“Okay. So you’re doin’ this.” Apple Bloom sighed. “You’re bondin’. Ain’t that just heartwarmin’. Now, if you excuse me, Ah gotta go and save Spike. Pumpkin?”

“WHAT.”

Apple Bloom arched an eyebrow. “You done?”

“NO. I GOTTA—ugh.” Pumpkin grimaced. “My throat hurts. Anyway—I gotta bake this cake, or else we’re going to end up having a cakeless party, and the Constitution is clear in that regard. I wish I could help you, but—wait a second!”

“Oh?” Apple Bloom looked at Pumpkin, hope in her eyes. She knew that tone. “You had an idea?”

“Yeah!” Pumpkin got all the stuff she needed from the fridge—flour, sugar, eggs, butter, whipped cream, chocolate, baking soda—and put it on the table, then grinned at Apple Bloom. “I can’t help you, but I know exactly who can! She’s the best mare for this job!”

“Pumpkin, that’s amazing! Who—”

“But,” Pumpkin said, her tone suddenly going cold. She then pointed at Babs, pout on her face. “You shut up.”

Babs blinked. “I what?”

“Shut up. Don’t open that mouth of yours, or I’ll get mad.”

“What the—I didn’t say a thing!”

“And it better stay that way!”

“Uh.” Apple Bloom looked at Dinky. “Any idea what’s goin’ on?”

“Nope.”

“Anyway!” Pumpkin slammed the table with both her fore hooves, then pushed all the ingredients she’d just gathered away. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can move on to the real thing! I hereby declare that this party is going to be cakeless!

A collective gasp followed that statement. And then…

“Oh, no! Pumpkin, you can’t do that!”

And then it happened.

Babs had seen things in her life that would have crippled lesser ponies, and they had barely scratched her. To say she had nerves of steel would be a lie, because steel could be bent. Babs’ spunk was so resilient that scientist had eventually given up on trying to come up with a fitting comparison, and now there was a new element on the periodic table named Babselium.

But even when somepony is hard-boiled like that, there’s really only one way to react to a pony appearing out of absolutely nowhere right in front of you: jump ten feet in the air and scream something like “aaaaaaaaaah.”

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!”

Then again, Babs had always been a rebel. Dinky was more by-the-books.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

There we go.

And finally, Apple Bloom added a calm “Hello, Pinkie.”

And Pinkie, who somehow had got herself in the kitchen—although everypony had the feeling she’d always been there, since the beginning of the party—grinned and waved at her.


“Oh, hey girls! You were here? I’ve been looking for you like cr—WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“SWEETIE BELLE YOU GOTTA HELP US!”

“Woah. This is a lot of blood.”

“SILVER SPOON YOU PROBABLY SHOULD HELP US TOO!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

WHY IS SNIPS BLEEDING SO MUCH.

“I DON’T KNOW, DIAMOND TIARA HIT HIM WITH THE BOTTLE!”

WHY WOULD SHE HIT HIM WITH THE BOTTLE.

“LOOK, HE’S UNCONSCIOUS, WE GUESSED HE WOULDN’T REALLY MIND!”

THAT EXPLAINS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

“She’s got a point there.”

“SILVER SPOON THAT IS NOT HELPING I SPECIFICALLY ASKED YOU TO HELP!”

“Hahah. Yeah, you did. Loser.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“OKAY, CAN SOMEPONY PLEASE SHUT DIAMOND TIARA UP.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“TWIST I THINK THAT’S THE LEAST OF OUR PROBLEMS RIGHT NOW WE NEED TO HELP SNIPS OR ELSE HE’S GOING TO—”

TONK.

Silence.

TONK, TONK, TON—

SILVER SPOON ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

“What.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“OH MY GOSH THERE’S EVEN MORE BLOOD NOW.”

TONK.

“SILVER SPOON STOP HITTING SNIPS WITH THE FREAKING BOTTLE RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I SWEAR TO CELESTIA I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS SO HARD YOU WILL GET PREGNANT.”

“Woah, woah! No need to go crazy! See? I stopped, I stopped, so we can just—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“SERIOUSLY, THERE’S WAY TOO MUCH BLOOD HERE!”

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU EVEN TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH, SILVER SPOON?”

“Well, he’s already unconscious, so I just assumed that—hey! Diamond Tiara, give me that back!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

TONK.

Silence.

TONK, TONK, TON—

THE BLOOD ISN’T STOPPING!

“OKAY THAT’S IT! I’M GETTING DIAMOND TIARA PREGNANT! THERE’S NO GOING BACK NOW!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”


“Pinkie!” Pumpkin Cake let a smile as bright as the sun on go to her face and tackled the older mare in a tight hug. “I knew you would come!”

“WHO THE HELL IS THIS MARE.”

“Of course I came, silly!” Pinkie let out a giggle and ruffled Pumpkin’s mane. “I can’t just let there be a party without a cake, now can I?”

“Aww, the cake thing was a lie to make you come here! No way I would let a party this size be without at least one major pastry. That would be crazy.”

“WHERE DID SHE COME FROM.”

“Hah!” Pinkie blinked at the news. “Well, look who’s all grown up, fooling her own babysitter! Taught you well, didn’t I?”

Pumpkin stuck her tongue out at Pinkie. “But I’m serious now—we have a real problem here, and I can’t help Apple Bloom. I have to bake the cake, after all.”

“Makes all the sense in the world.”

“WHY ARE YOU ALL IGNORING ME.”

“That,” Apple Bloom said, putting a hoof on Babs’ shoulder, her face that of a soldier knocking on the to-be-announced-widow of war, “is your cousin.”

“WHAT KIND OF—wait what?” Babs looked at Apple Bloom, eyes wide. “Cousin? She’s an Apple?”

“Why, yes I am!” Pinkie said, letting Pumpkin go and turning towards Babs and the others. “You’re Babs Seed, right? I’ve heard a lot of stories about you! And of course, hello to you too, Dinky.”

“I’ll never get used to you doing that, Pinkie.” Dinky shivered as she took Pinkie’s hoof. “Never.”

“Aw, they all said that. Just wait till you’re thirty. Anyway!” Pinkie patted Babs’ back. “Glad to finally meet you, cuz! The name’s Pinkie Pie!”

“Uh, okay. Charmed, I gue—wait.” Babs blinked. “What? Your name is—?”

“Oh, no. Oh, no no no no you are not doing this.” Pumpkin jumped in front of Babs and pointed at her mouth. “Don’t.”

“Your name,” Babs said, pushing Pumpkin aside—without even bothering to look at her—and glaring at Pinkie, “is Pinkie Pie. Like, literally Pinkie Pie.

“Shut up!”

“Uh.” Apple Bloom looked at Pumpkin—livid—then at Babs—ecstatic—then at Pinkie—Pinkie—before settling down on Dinky. “What is goin’ on?”

“You’ve got as much an idea as me, sister,” was the reply.

“Your parents just looked at you, and then they said ‘yeah, let’s name her Pinkie Pie, that’d be an educational name!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Like, damn lady. I thought I was being unsubtle?” Babs pointed at her cutie mark. “But you just flaunt it like that with your own nam—”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I’M GOING TO THROW A CHAIR AT YOUR FACE IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP!”

“Hahah.” Pinkie Pie’s smile didn’t falter an inch. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Pinkie Pie.” Apple Bloom took a step towards the mare, face as happy as a clown in an anti-pedophile gathering. “Ah think we have worst things to deal with right now. Y’see—”

“Like, is that name even legal? I thought obscenities were forbidden in—OH CELESTIA, MY FACE!

“I WARNED YOU, SUCKER!”

“Hey. Is that Spike?” Pinkie’s smile left her face for the first time, and a small frown too its place instead as she walked around Apple Bloom to look at the bloody mess on her back. “This is Spike! What happened?”

“Well, that’s what Ah wanted to talk ‘bout,” Apple Bloom said. “Diamond Tiara called the paramedics, we know they’re here, but we can’t find ‘em. Spike had an accident, and—”

“Oh, you don’t need any paramedics, silly!” Pinkie said. “I can help you just fine!”

Apple Bloom blinked twice, then looked at Pinkie, hope in her eyes. “You can?”

“OKAY, NOPONY MESSES WITH BABS SEED! YOU’RE GETTING IT NOW, KID!”

“YEAH I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TR—HOLY FEATHERS BE CAREFUL THAT’S A—

CRASH!

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? THAT WAS A MICROWAVE! YOU CAN’T GO THROWING MICROWAVES AT PONIES!

FREAKING WATCH ME!”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

“Of course I can, silly!” Pinkie said, smiling again. “I’ve saved the world like a thousand times, do you think I’ve never seen things like this before?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that, Pinkie!” Apple Bloom said. “Ah was so worried with—”

“I need bleach, some hydrochloric acid, and a hot tub. I brought my own hacksaw.” She showed it to Apple Bloom. “See? I believe in thinking ahead!”

Silence.

PUMPKIN CAKE, AH SPECIFICALLY ASKED FOR SOMEPONY SANE!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“TAAAAAAAAAAAKEEE THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!


“Hey, is it me, or is there a lot of screaming going on downstairs?”

“Eeeeeh. Just your imagination.”

It was so late one could safely call it early, and Rumble and Pound Cake were alone on the balcony.

Rumble had a girlfriend. Of course, this was Ponyville; it was really hard for a young stallion like Rumble not to have a girlfriend, all in all. The standards weren’t exactly high—as long as you could breathe for yourself, chances are you were good to go. And even with that, good ol’ New Monic had got himself quite the lady just a couple weeks ago with his mesmerizing talk about polynomials.

So of course, Rumble had had Lemon Daze as a girlfriend for years. And Ponyville love had to be really strong to endure the constant reminder that hey, buddy, you can get another as soon as you ditch this one. Their love wasn’t the fragile, sappy love of long stares and mushy words murmureded in a crowded cafeteria. It was the pure love of being a prick to each other whenever in public and having insulin on your bedside table for the private moments.

He knew that eventually they would marry, because, well. Lemon Daze was the perfect mare for him. There was no way he would destroy that.

But Sweet Baby Celestia was it tempting to do that right now.

Pound Cake’s attractiveness was—no other way to put it—like a good vein of lead: rich and heavy. What a fitting name he had. Pound was big and strong, with fur light as cream and soft as velvet, and with a mullet that had probably been sculpted personally by the gods. And Rumble was completely heterosexual and in love with his girlfriend but holy damn his swan-like wings looked so soft and comfortable and—

And Lemon Daze was a MAGNIFICENT girlfriend, not just magnificent but MAGNIFICENT, and Rumble loved her very much so let’s go and not forget that, hahah. Yeah. Just like that. Juuuust liiike thaaat. He was doing really well, he was doing perfectly well.

“So, um, hey.” Pound Cake waved a hoof and pointed at his face. “My eyes are up here, sailor.”

He was doing reasonably well. “Yes,” Rumble said. “Indeed, they are.”

Pound Cake rolled his—beautiful, deep, dark—eyes and turned to the night sky, showing Rumble his astounding profile in the process. “Anyway,” he said, “I wanted to ask you for a little bit of advice, if you don’t mind?”

“Advice?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” That was a new one. Rumble rested his elbow on the balustrade and frowned at Pound. The sound of the party came to them muffled, but the door was closed and they were completely alone. “Well, of course I don’t mind—that’s what friends are for, dude. Why me?”

Pound smiled. Rumble’s heart skipped a beat. “Well,” Pound said, “I don’t really know who else I should ask. Pumpkin is a no-go, and it would be awkward to ask Pinkie. This is more of a guy thing, anyway.”

“And the rest of your friends?”

“I need a more, uh, mature outlook.” Pound Cake scratched the back of his neck. He had something similar to a blush on his face. “Uh, you see—there’s this, hm. This… girl.”

A pause.

“A girl,” Rumble said. “You said ‘a girl’.”

“…Uh-huh.”

“There’s a girl.”

“Yes.”

“You’re asking me for advice on a girl.”

“You are making this way more awkward than it needs to be, but yes.”

A slightly longer pause.

“You do realize the only reason why this balcony is empty is because you shagged half the party to unconsciousness, right?” Rumble said, massaging the space between his eyes. “Like, you also realize everypony in this house is also willing to—” Rumble blinked. “Wait a second. Are you in love?

Pound frowned. “What? No.”

“Oh my gosh.” Rumble’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my gosh, you’re in love. This is—you’re asking me because I have this thing with Lemon Daze, and you’re in love!

“Rumble.”

“And you’re so in love you feel embarrassed around her and can’t be seductive anymore!” Rumble yelled, pressing a hoof against his chest. “And even if you could, you want to be with her, not just tap her and walk away like you always do!”

“Rumble, shut up.”

“And you want to talk with her and be friends with her and then you wanna get married but for some reason she despises you because she knows you’ve already tapped the entire town, so ironically you need to woo the only mare in Ponyville who doesn’t wanna get wooed by you!”

“Rumble I seriously need you to stop talking.”

“So you want my help and experience with monogamy to fake being a better pony and then you’ll hit it right away but there’ll be a misunderstanding and she will hate you again and that will force you to become that better pony and—”

“Why are you doing this.”

“Oh, and Lemon Daze and me will probably argue because she’ll just happen to be friends with your lover. So we’ll also break up when your lady starts to hate you again, but we’ll get together off-camera at the end.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Spike will be the comic relief.”

“Sounds amazing. I’m sure everypony will love it. Can you listen to me now?”

“Hmmm.” Rumble frowned and rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Yeah I think I’m good.”

“Astounding,” Pound Cake said, nodding. His voice only showed the smallest bit of irritation. “Okay, so just to drive the point home—not in love.”

“Yeah that was predictable.”

“I hate you so much.”

“So,” Rumble said, smirking, “not a case of the lovey-doveys? You didn’t get pierced by a heart-shaped arrow?”

“I actually did, but I think you meant it as a metaphor, so no.” Pound shivered. “Love Angel has some weird turn-ons, seriously.” Then he shook his head, his mane dancing in the wind as he did, sparkling under the moonlight, reminding Rumble of just how much he loved Lemon Daze, dammit. “Anyway, yes, I am most definitely not in love. While I really think that you guys are great, all with spouses and stuff, it’s not the life for me.”

“That was also predictable,” Rumble said, forcing himself to look away from Pound. “I mean, I doubt any healthy pony in your position would, you know. Give up that.”

“Plus, I would disappoint so many ponies,” Pound agreed. “Almost none of them want to go solo with me—the whole ‘sharing’ business is what sells it, I think. Gives it an extra spice.”

“Spice. Yes. Fairly sure that by everypony’s standards, that’s the most vanilla stuff you can—ah?” Rumble’s ears perked up and he looked down the balustrade. “Hey, I think I heard somepony screaming down there.”

“Right?” Pound shifted closer and looked down the balustrade too. Now that they were so close, Rumble noticed he smelt like vanilla and sweat, which was a combination that shouldn’t work. But yet, it Lemon Daze Lemon Daze Lemon Daze Lemon Daze okay we’re good to go. “Told you, dude. There’s something going on down there.”

“Then again, this is a Diamond Tiara party,” Rumble said. “Screaming is to be expected, especially if you’re here, Pound.”

Pound tched and looked at him. “Yes, but right now I’m here, and that’s not sexy screaming. I can tell when it’s sexy screaming.” He frowned. “That’s screamy screaming. And not fun screamy screaming. Article seventeen of the Constitution says that has no place in a party, unless…”

“I take it you want to take a look?” Rumble asked, getting away from the balustrade and opening the door of the balcony. “Or is the conversation meant to be private?”

“Private, but that doesn’t matter. The bigger a party, the more privacy,” Pound said, taking the door and going out. As he walked past Rumble, he readjusted his wings absent-mindedly, which made his back muscles stretch and LEMON DAZE LEMON DAZE LEMON DAZE. “Pumpkin’s downstairs.”

“Hahahah.” Rumble pointed. “Sister boy.”

“She’s my twin, and she wouldn’t allow not fun screamy screaming in a party under normal circumstances,” Pound said, not bothering to turn around as he opened the door to the corridor. “So yes, hahahah, shut up and listen.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Pound Cake had been predictably right on his assurance about big parties and privacy, Rumble noticed soon enough—the guy had, after all, been raised by Pinkie Pie as well as his parents. He was an expert on parties and fun, which actually explained a lot about his success with the mares, and made one wonder just how well that would translate to—LEMON DAZE LEMON DAZE LEMON DAZE AHAHAHAHAH.

So as they navigated through the seemingly endless set of doors, corridors, rooms, and interior gardens, they found themselves more or less alone in the crowd. There was way too much stuff going on for anypony to notice what they were talking about.

Of course, around forty percent of the ponies they walked by dropped everything they were doing to stop and stare at Pound Cake with a dreamy expression, unaware of anything but the swinging of Pound’s buttocks, so maybe that seed of wisdom about privacy wasn’t as universal as it sounded.

“It’s just,” Pound Cake was saying as they went by, “that girl is, uh, special. Yes, I think that’s a good way to put it.”

“Makes you sound like you’re in love.”

“It’s not a good way to put it. Well, she is, uh.” Pound Cake frowned and tapped his chest. “We have this… connection, you know?”

“Yeah you still sound like you’re in love.”

“Oh, for the love of—I don’t want to be with this girl.” Pound paused and wiggled his eyebrows at Rumble. “But I do want to be with this girl. Get me?”

Rumble looked at Pound’s eyebrows. Then at Pound’s pectorals. Then at Pound’s diamond-like hooves. Lemon Daze. “Got you,” he said.

“But I don’t really think I can… Well.” Pound coughed, embarrassed. Rumble could tell he was because he suddenly went from handsome to adorable, in a change that was as quick and uncanny as it was attractive. “I can’t really… Do… what I always do.”

“What you always do?” Rumble asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“That I can’t, uh, do my usual stuff to get her to like me.”

A pause. “You can’t exist?

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, no, I’m being serious.” Rumble got close to Pound and passed a foreleg over his shoulders. The gesture was absolutely platonic because that was what friends did, they kinda hugged each other and maybe perhaps sniffed each other’s mane. Lemon Daze. He stopped sniffing the mane. “This is not me goofing around.”

“Funny you’d say that,” Pound said. “My mane smells like vanilla, too?”

“More like chocolate, actually.”

“Yeah I get that a lot.”

“Anyway.” Rumble got serious, or at least put on a serious face, which was more or less the same. “I’m telling you the best advice you’ll ever get when it comes to this stuff—you wanna woo that girl? Be yourself.”

Pound Cake rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Of all the cliché, banal stuff you could say…”

“It’s true!” Rumble got away from Pound with a slap on the back. “Look, fella—you wanna get with this special girl, you need to show yourself as you are. Anything else would be trying to fool her, and that’s bad.”

Pound frowned at him. “I was looking for tips like ‘don’t mention how ugly her haircut is’ or the like, Rumble.”

“Ah. Okay. Don’t mention that, then.” Rumble shrugged. “What do you want me to say? You’re an interesting individual, Pound Cake, and if I remember correctly your ass is seen as the—”

“Third Best Derriere in the History of Equestria, yes,” Pound said, fighting to get the smile off his face. “Princess Celestia gave me the trophy in person.”

“See? You can talk about that,” Rumble said. “Or just turn around and do some squats—either way, you’ve got it, dude.”

Pound Cake didn’t look convinced. He just looked gorgeous. He passed a hoof through his mane and cracked his neck, looking everywhere but at Rumble’s face. “I… You know, I really don’t want to say who’s the girl, but…”

“Yeah, I noticed. I don’t really get why, though? I mean, every mare would fall for you immediat—”

“It’s Babs.”

Rumble stopped.

Pound Cake continued walking for a couple meters till he realized he was alone and turned around. He was biting his lip in a non-sexy way. He still pulled it off as sexy, but the gesture was obviously meant to show worry. “See what I meant?”

“Yeah, uh. Babs.” Rumble scratched the back of his neck. “That’s… She’s got scissors as her cutie mark, dude.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I don’t think you’re exactly her—”

“I know!” Pound stomped on the floor. “But it’s the first time I find a pony who’s also, you know. Her destiny is like mine!”

“To have sex with mares?”

“Yes!”

“Well.” Rumble frowned. “You’ve got a point there.”

“So it’s like, I feel like I have to…”

“Go with her?” Rumble asked, tilting his head to the side. “Pursue the connection you have? Try to develop a relationship that’s deeper than anything else you’ve ever—”

“…like, assert my dominance.” Pound squinted. “This is my territory. I’m the sex pony here.”

Silence.

Rumble shrugged. “Eh. Same thing. Well, I don’t know, you’ll have to work your way around it. Wear a wig or someth—”

“SOMEPONY HELP ME!

Pound’s ears perked straight up. Rumble’s eyes popped out.

They were really close to the stairs, now—they could actually see them from there. And the scream had doubtlessly come from down there, and it had been Pumpkin Cake’s.

There was no time to think, or so Pound Cake guessed. He stretched his wings to the max—seven ponies fainted, and one mare had to run to the bathroom, where she met the Sweetie Shuffle guy and a beautiful love story unfolded—lowered his hind legs and shot a glance to Rumble. “Hop on!”

Rumble stared.

He stared really hard.

“PLATONICALLY!”

“YES I KNOW THAT!” Rumble said. And then—LEMON DAZE HEY-YO LEMON DAZE DAZE THOSE LEMONS—he took a deep breath and jumped on Pound Cake’s back. “I AM SO GONNA MARRY THAT MARE ONCE THIS IS OVER!”

Pound Cake greeted that with a cheer, then gave a strong thrust of his wings, and they soared towards the stairs and down them at the speed of sound, roaring like thunder.

Seemingly, both stallions had forgotten that Rumble was also a pegasus.


Coincidences are overrated.

It’s really hard to notice for mortals, because a lifetime is not that long when you look at it with some perspective, but it’s undeniable. There’s a reason for it, of course—statistically speaking, coincidences, by the mere definition of the world, should be rare.

However, they really aren’t. Because Mass and Energy are really important when it comes to the way the world works, but they pale in comparison to Importance.

Importance attracts Importance. When something Important happens, other Important stuff starts to pop out around, and the overall Importance of the moment increases exponentially. Reality has no other option than bend itself around it to make sure it doesn’t break.

So you end up with some uncannily unlikely things happening all the time. The kid whose parents got killed just happened to be the one with magical powers and a mind fragile enough to carry that trauma forever. You discovered you have a parasite eating up your brain just as you were walking towards the altar. You cut the wrong wire exactly as your wife was saying ‘gee, I sure like how I’m not exploding right now!” And so on.

Thus, they should have seen it coming. Seriously, they should.

But they didn’t.

So Sweetie Belle, Twist, Silver Spoon, and Diamond Tiara had managed to take care of Snips. Without getting anypony pregnant, even, which was quite the miracle. All they’d needed was a wet towel, some pressure, and a lot of imagination to stop the bleeding and incidentally make Snips look like a mummy. A rather sexy mummy, all in all, because Diamond Tiara had outright refused to take the sexy lingerie off first. Snips had proclaimed himself a ‘pretty princess’ so he was going to be a ‘pretty princess’, and that was final.

They were still arguing the moral ramifications of letting their friend—they didn’t like the sound of the word ‘victim’—look like a modern pop star in public when Babs Seed and Pumpkin appeared.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

“OH NO, KIDDO, YOU’RE NOT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!”

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!

“What?” Sweetie Belle turned around. “What is going—BABS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT MICROWA—”

CRASH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Now, there are exactly thirteen ways to react to a crazy mare throwing microwave ovens at you. Sadly, nopony had access to baseball bats or popcorn, so the first three options were out from the start.

That left them with ten ways to go. Which option each pony chose said a lot about their personalities.

For example, Babs Seed went for Number Seven: Keep Throwing Those F’king Microwaves. The way she saw the world, there were three kinds of ponies: the ones who threw the microwaves, the ones at whom the microwaves were thrown, and the ones she wanted to sleep with.

Sweetie Belle went for Number Four: Question Everything.

“BABS SEED WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—” TONK. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Which immediately lead to Number Ten: Get Hit By the F’king Microwave Right In The F’king Face. Never the right option, all in all, as she made sure to correctly communicate to the others.

“OH SWEET BABY CELESTIA, MY FACE HURTS SO F’KING MUCH.

At the same time, Diamond Tiara opted for the often-acclaimed Number Eleven: Run Away and Leave Your Friends Behind. Diamond Tiara saw courage and bravery the same way she saw adult-sized diapers: she knew they existed but refused to have anything to do with them unless they were a sexual proposition.

“SOOOO LOOOOONG SUUUUUCKEEEEEEEEERS!”

“HEY! DON’T RUN AWAY! I’M NOT DONE COMPLAINING ABOUT MY FACE!”

Babs Seed, still angry at Pumpkin and still in possession of a couple microwaves, kept going with Number Seven. Those F’king Microwaves were flying like pants in an orgy.

Pumpkin Cake, however, had been running away from Babs for quite a while now, so she reacted properly. Instead of going Number Eleven like Diamond Tiara, she took the smart route and went Number Twelve: Duck so Hard You Might as Well Grow Wings and a Corkscrew-shaped Dingadonger. Which was so effective the microwave flew right above her head.

Of course, Diamond Tiara just happened to be in front of Pumpkin when that happened, and thus she followed Sweetie Belle’s example and went Number Ten.

TONK.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

“TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN AWAY!”

OH MY CELESTIA, SHE HIT MY F’KING FACE!

“PREACHING TO THE CHOIR THERE, DIAMOND TIARA!”

HOW THE HELL DID SHE MANAGE TO HIT MY F’KING FACE IF I WAS RUNNING AWAY?!”

Silver Spoon, meanwhile, found out that if character is what you have in the dark, then affection is what tells you how to act when there’s a f’king microwave flying in your direction. Surprising everypony—including, and especially, herself—she opted for Number Five: Protect Your Loved Ones.

But Diamond Tiara was already out, so she protected Twist with her body. She was the closest thing Silver Spoon could think of, anyway.

Twist noticed. “…Silver Spoon? What the hell are you even—”

“You’re too much of a loser to take cover anyway!”

Then there was Apple Bloom. And to understand what she did and why she did it, a small explanation is in order.

Apple Bloom was, all in all, an Apple. Apples were many things—traditional, fierce, deep-rooted, strong—but they were not stupid. And when they were facing danger, they had the greatest dingadonger in the land.

So Apple Bloom stumbled on the scene a couple seconds later and saw, in order: Pumpkin Cake ducking on the floor, Sweetie Belle on the ground yelling, a mummy with loose morals, Silver Spoon wondering what the hell was she doing covering Twist with her body, and Twist wondering if love could, after all, be a real thing.

Then, Babs Seed throwing microwaves.

And lastly, Diamond Tiara, on the ground, grabbing her face and screaming in pain.

Family was important for an Apple. You always sided with your family when you were an Apple, and Babs Seed was family. But there were three kinds of ponies in the world: the ones who threw the microwaves, the ones at whom the microwaves were thrown, and the ones you wanted to sleep with.

Babs Seed was of her kin, but no matter how thick blood was, she had messed with the wrong kind.

So Apple Bloom yelled with the fury of a dog defending his pups and also the hot bitch that kind of lifts her tail every time he’s near and, like, they’re not together but heat season is coming if you know what I mean, woof woof growl growl wink wink.

And then she went Number Thirteen: Attack.

Now, here is where things got complicated.

Ponies, for reasons lost to history, tend to mostly use desserts as weapons. Sometimes they also use their spouses, but that’s about it. And Apples are pretty used to carrying apples around, because, well, you gotta do something with that name of yours. So for generations it had been hardwired into their heads that in case of danger you just need to throw those apples into the air and shoot them with a mighty kick.

All fine and dandy, except for two reasons:

First reason: Apple Bloom had inherited a lot of traits from Applejack, but her sister’s legendary aim was not one of them.

Second reason: Apple Bloom wasn’t carrying apples.

Now, Twist and Silver Spoon were having a moment. Kind of. It was hard to have a moment when there’s a psychopath throwing microwaves around, but they managed.

Then Apple Bloom tried to save the day, and oh boy, turns out a flying unconscious bloody baby dragon is a great way to ruin a romance before it’s even started.

Especially because Silver Spoon could see it coming, and after some quick mental calculations she discovered that, while a microwave was too dangerous for Twist, a projectiled Spike was right under the “Too Hurtful For Twist” line, but still above the “Too Hurtful For Silver Spoon” line.

So she went from Number Five to Number Six: Grab the Loved One and Use It as a Shield.

SPLORCH.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! YOU MOTHERF—

“OH MY GOSH!” Pumpkin managed to dodge another microwave, but then tripped over Sweetie Belle—“MY FACE! AGAIN! WHY WOULD YOU TRIP ON MY FACE?!”—and fell to the ground. As she saw Babs Seed looming over her, microwave in hand, she could do nothing but go Number Nine, and screamed. “SOMEPONY HELP ME!

Babs stood unfazed, and she raised her last microwave above her head. There was a crazy glint in her eye. She was right next to Pumpkin. There was no way she was missing this time.

“TAAAAAAAKEEEEE—”

In came Rumble and Pound Cake. Number Eight: Fly to the Rescue.

They miscalculated.

CRASH!

All in all, however, both stallions would later admit that there are worse things to crash into than Snips, but Snips would disagree. In his opinion, Snips is the worst thing to crash into, because he has a tendency to end up flying across the room when one does that.

The blood-soaked towels floated almost majestically behind him as he soared through the air.

Twist, enraged at how she had unconscious baby dragon all over her, turned around to face Silver Spoon. As she was too angry to talk, she tried to hit her with the closest thing to hoof she had—said unconscious baby dragon. Silver Spoon dodged.

And Twist ended up batting Snips with Spike, changing his trajectory rather drastically, and sending him soaring through the air once more.

Importance attracts Importance.

“—THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!”

Statistics and Logic can go shag a nail for all Importance cares. Coincidences are common in Equestria, and things tend to be in the right place at the right time, all the time. Reality has no other option than bend itself around it to make sure the universe doesn’t break.

Babs threw the last microwave.

Snips soared through the air.

They crashed into each other.

And in the distance, a young child with a great destiny yet to unfurl opened his eyes and muttered two words:

Number Ten.

Author's Note:

Eh, I'm sure they're okay.