Friendship Hearts

by Silver Letter

Ep1: Peppermint Drops 2

I bless ponies for having hearts made of sugar. It’s part of who I am, my simple and complicated life. I come from candy. I come from those that make it but it’s far more than that, more than the fact that I am so devoted to the delicious powder that so many of us call ‘white gold’. My mother described to me how a heart is so sweet that it allows us to attract one another like bees to pollen. I can remember it so vividly. She made sweets all day and the memories of it burned in my head, an imprint of love. The strongest scent of sugar would come from my mother’s body long after her stacks of cookies were made. It’s a scent strong enough to taste on cold mornings when she would hover by the edge of my bed and give me some to eat. She told me that the tongue was one way our hearts felt the world around us and that ponies make candy to feed our hearts. It’s why we call our loved ones sweetheart.

As if to fulfill my mother’s words, I had fallen for a mare who is literally sweet. Sweetie Drops was her name, the mare I met all those sugar coated years ago when I was a foal. She was another teacher in my life who taught me everything I needed to make my first candy on my own. Sweetness has a way of sticking around through our memories, reminders of pleasure and love. I remembered it more than most other things. My first batch of Peppermint Drops wasn’t perfect. I burned them a little and it filled my kitchen with smoke. When I paced around before Sweetie arrived to see me, I tasted something sour like I was chewing on a lemon. My mother never cared for sour tastes. She would say that it meant something different. It’s there when we are feeling down or are afraid. We use that word for more than mere taste too. Nopony wants to have a sour attitude after all. The sweetness of a kiss and the smell of sugar clinging to my coat made that day all so special. We recall our first time together every year.

What I learned about our hearts only made more sense as I grew up. Being a candy maker has the power to bring it to life. Parents always sugarcoat their words around their own foals; the little ones are the biggest consumers of my product. It’s just one way that candy bridges two ponies together. Sometimes, they really need it. I can tell when a pony wants some candy to make peace with a significant other. A colt that comes to buy candy might want to strike the right spark to start something special. It can be a moment of truth or a last resort. Sweetness is all too familiar to us all. We just use it in different ways.

For me, sugar has always been a part of my life. It’s always in my thoughts. I’m sure if my heart was extracted, it would be as pure white as bone. For me and Sweetie, our Peppermint Drops form the jewel adorning our relationship. I don’t know where we would be without something so unique. Its taste and the way our mouths cool like we had dropped ice against our tongues was really just for us and us alone.

I make candy every morning and I make plenty. I start work early in the morning when few others are awake and it has been like that since I first gained the responsibility of opening our shop when I turned 18 and graduated from school. Sweetie still thinks I should go to Canterlot and pursue some formal education. But she’s almost 30 and has gone through all that already. She thinks a culinary institution would be great for me; one that can open doors for me just by being there. But I don’t feel a fire burning under me for change. I’m the kind of pony to stay in bed rather than to face a cold morning. I see that I’m twenty and I still have a long time to think about it.

We run a joint shop together on Mane Street. We were always on the move. Moving up as Sweetie called it. The western side of town by a stream or near one of the unicorn neighborhoods. Each place gave us more room so we bumped elbows and rumps less and less. From one cheap oven to two brand new ones where we live now. A chef always needs her space and there are two of us. Two different things being made in the same place. This is how it’s always been. When Sweetie bakes, the place is permeated by the smell of chocolate. She is a chocolatier after all. My specialty is peppermint. I love the way it sounds when I crack it into chunks and its overpowering taste that’s like nothing else. Being that it is a part of my name, it could sound rather obvious. Don’t make fun though. It takes time to realize even something so close to one’s sugary heart.

I can only describe our place as perfect. Space is so premium that we are grateful to have so much. Our location is where everypony goes to shop in the evenings, and we are across from the most popular florist in town too. How convenient, I must say. Then again, I’ve worked long enough here to see how having that much traffic is a double-edged sword. If I fail to open the shop at eight AM sharp, the ponies might even bang on the doors. Ponies here can be obsessed over a few sweets. So many hooves step through that our welcome mat is all worn out. I am always manning the counter or working to make another batch of peppermint something. Candy canes, mint swirls, or perhaps peppermint bark.

Of course there are lulls in the year. The beginning of spring is when a lot of ponies’ taste for all things sweet wanes, especially peppermint. They really gobble it up from the first snowfall to Winter Wrap Up. The cold season for cold candy that we crunch between our teeth. Chocolate does remain popular enough that Sweetie makes it up to late spring. Lately, I have to shrug my shoulders a lot at their requests since she’s been out of town on a hunt for rare ingredients. She does that on occasion to get really valuable stuff for new recipes. She loves to get out of the house; more than I do so she’s always off to Manehattan or to some obscure natural reserve. When she’s gone, I am left in charge full time but with spring started, ponies are more interested in playing outside than candy.

I don’t waste time; when nopony is here, I’ll sweep the floor and write orders for new ingredients like flour and peppermint. When I do, I think about her being off at some distant city or floating down a river on a raft, taking in the sweet air of a rainforest. I would love to go with her one of these days but the bills are tough and we would have to hire an assistant to cover for us while the shop is running. For a year or so, we have been on the fence about it. We can’t afford to just close the shop and lose all that revenue. Summer is something else entirely.

I continue to write, all hunched over my notepad like an old pony, taking down costs and delivery times and such basic things. It’s still early and the pale morning light brightens my front displays. Ponies walk to school and to work outside my shop.

A customer clatters the front door. The bell attached rings. I spring to life and flash a beaming smile as the mare walks in.

“Welcome to Peppermint Drops, the shop for all things chocolate and sweet!” We think it is fitting to name our shop after our signature candy, although it’s too special to sell to just anypony. It’s hard to explain why. It’s just special to us. I came up with the slogan when I was little. I am not embarrassed to still say it even if it a bit childish and nopony else really has a slogan.

It has to be her. The richest mare in town. She’s a special kind of pompous sort, a gold chain wearer, and decadent nose raiser. The dreadful name of Spoiled Rich. I can never forget it. It’s imprinted on my mind too. She’s middle aged but isn’t all that good looking unlike her daughter. She tries to use lots of makeup to conceal it and make her look like she was graced with a little beauty to match her wealth. I was never fooled. She’s the mother of Diamond Tiara, the filly that used to bully everypony in my class, the tormentor that hated many of us being a ‘blank flank’; the ponies that hadn’t yet gotten their cutie marks, their special talents in life. Would she ever apologize? Not on her life.

She still has that same smug strut. That same look of unblemished wealth. She needs jewelry specially made to not slip off her tiny hooves. A black leather purse is worn around her neck and it hangs by her side. Looks like one that costs a whole lot of money.

Along with every other business on Mane Street, we sometimes have rich customers come in. I don’t stereotype and some of them are pretty decent and tip sometimes. Even when they don’t, we can’t afford to turn them away. We know better even though I personally think Mrs. Rich is contemptible. The only good thing is that they typically place orders ahead of time. They even pay us via check every month. The candy is already waiting for her thanks to Sweetie Drops.

“Where is Ms. Drops? She usually gives me my order in person,” the mare says with a heavy inflection.

“I’m sorry. She had to go to Manehattan for the weekend,” I reply. I excuse myself to get her chocolate. I always hate it when she speaks and I do want to grab the order and get her out of there. I don’t feel sorry to think that. Even she was probably born with a heart of sugar but her words are made of bile.

I give the lovely red box over to Mrs. Rich. Next to it is a small sample wrapped in white wax paper. The pickiest of clients got to have a little taste test before they took it home. As much as I dislike this mare, I had to think about her when I made her candy. I watch her unwrap it and place the small chocolate bite against her teeth. She cuts it in two and takes half into her mouth, swirling the chocolate around with her tongue. Her eyes narrow like she was some kind of food critic but that’s normal for those so absorbed in their own opinions. I know that she is tasting the red velvet filling. It’s my recipe. The candy is probably for her daughter. Diamond Tiara loves the color red most. The chocolate is extra sweet. That is Sweetie’s doing and it is a good idea since the extra sugar must suppress her mother’s urge to vomit out something hurtful like a cat hacking a hairball on my welcome mat.

Mrs. Rich swallows the candy and her heavy demeanor seems to subside at least a little. Her brow relaxes but she doesn’t smile. “It is splendid. Give my regards to Ms. Drops.” She grabs the box and is soon gone to bother somepony else. I sigh and lean against the counter as soon as she is gone. My cheeks are sore from having to keep up a fake smile the entire time. I am ready for a break and the day has just started. I heard that she is a boss of one of her father’s companies and she is a bully just like her daughter was in the schoolyard. At least Tiara managed to change her attitude even if her mother never will. I’ve long ago stopped believing that her sort will ever change. I hope that the day can only get better from here at least.

More shoppers out on their morning strolls comes in to sample some of the candy and to buy trays for their families, their friends or themselves. I sell a fair amount. We’re pretty successful despite relocating ourselves often enough. When we started, ponies were not so eager to try us out but word of mouth is easily the best way to get popular in a small town. I sure know the power of words when everypony knows everypony. When noon comes and I can finally close the shop, I take off my apron. We normally quit to clean up in the evening but today is anything but normal. I set out the card saying that we are closed. It is just a half day.

After I close the curtains and clean up at double time, I pack up a small ice chest and sling it over my back. Everything is ready. I turn off the back light. I then go out into the streets of Ponyville.

---

I should have worn a jacket or at least a hat in case it started raining. It is spring after all and pretty muggy. As if a warning, I walk past a deep puddle at the side of the road. My wavy reflection stares back. I think about where all the years went. My hair still has curls at the ends but has definitely flattened since my school days. My teeth are probably the straightest in town. Even more than Tiara’s and I can tell does all manner of things to hers like bleaching and using invisible braces. I know the colts think I’m rather attractive now that I’m older. I don’t lisp when I speak anymore and ponies ask if I ever model for fashion designers. Too bad and so sad for the colts that I’m already taken. Taken by love, by age, by friendship.

I spring into a light trot going out of town. The road inclines upward where all the roads are dirt in the country. I come to the edge of Sweet Apple Acres, the founding farmland of my home town. Things has not changed much around these parts since I was little. The sweet air used to make my childish mouth drool. I only smile fondly when I visit my friends now. Old Granny Smith had long since retired, leaving the farm to her grandchildren.

I don’t expect to see the elder sister around. She possesses some royal responsibilities, believe it or not. I can’t feign to understand any of it but I have known that she is often at the Friendship Castle. I turn my head and that beautiful spike of crystal catches the sunlight perfectly from here.

Everything seems well and good today. Chickens are out pecking at the ground and Big Macintosh is pulling a heavy cart. I wave at him. I used to see him a lot but not so much anymore.

I go and knock at the front door of their farmhouse. The farm filly I know and love answers it.

“Twist! You’re finally here!” she exclaims. Her strong farm hooves squeezes me as tight as an apple in a cider press. That’s our way of greeting each other. Both formal and yet not at the same time here on the farm. I smile, wide eyed and happy. Afterwards, she brings me into the house. A lot of old country photos hang from the wall and the place is dominated by wooden things: wood floors, rocking chairs, furniture, and an old fashioned radio in the corner.

“I know it’s been a long time. I couldn’t wait to see you,” I say.

We walk into the kitchen where a couple glasses of Apple juice waits. It does look rather appetizing after the walk. Condensation creates a ring of wetness on the wooden table.

“I couldn’t wait either,” Apple Bloom says. “After your last letter, I was just so excited to talk to you in person.”

I sit down and giggle. “It seems so much has happened lately. Has anything changed around here since I last visited?”

Apple Bloom thinks about it for a moment while I sip the ice cold juice but she shrugs her shoulders.

“Well, we’re painting the barn and getting a new harvest going. Uh, Apple Fritter is dating again apparently.”

Apple Bloom is rather gorgeous with her wavy red hair and strong body. It’s a part of what attracts me to this place. That was before I met Sweetie Drops. Bloom was my first friend and when she grew up, she stopped wearing her bow in lieu of small trinkets like a flower brooch in her mane or a locket tied around her neck. She’s an Apple and she sure bloomed. I find that maturity so pretty. I think her sugary spirit has always been her best part. I love her cutie mark, a shield with an apple in the center. Now that’s a long story to tell. Still, I’m sure that it must have come from her heart.

We both know that I didn’t come over to talk about the farm. I do care about it but nothing is going on even by the farm’s standards. Apple Bloom is excited to see what I had brought. Earlier over the phone, I did slip an errant hint as to what it is by telling her that it might make her teeth quiver.

Inside the ice chest lies four large green cold pastries in the shape of ovals, about the width of a foal’s hoof.

Apple Bloom stares at them eagerly. “Wow, that looks delicious!” she says. She sniffs inside the chest, tilts her head slightly then furrows her brow in thought. “But…what is it?”

I smile and place one on a saucer then cut it in half. “This is a special dessert. A rice cake filled with this frozen apple mixture,” I reply. I had never made a rice cake for anypony before. Sweetie taught me this recipe she got from some fancy restaurant in the west. It took hours to make. As she looks at it with uncertainty, I am reminded of how foreign it might look. No one in our town sells it as far as I know. Not that Apple Bloom would ever turn down an honest gift. The two Apple sisters know their manners.

She holds it in her hoof and takes a large working filly’s bite. Her teeth works on the rubbery rice cake as she chews it a bit more noisily than I would prefer. The lovely smell rises from it and reaches me from across the table. I am already confident that I can make a candy that is right for her and that rice cake reminds me of her so much. What other candy is tough on the outside and so sweet on the inside? A flush spreads across her cheeks and I know that she can tell, even if she doesn’t know why. It may just make her think of the orchards and of home.

“I think this is some of the best candy I’ve ever tasted!” she declares.

She loves it so much that she eats the entire thing and even licks her hoof clean. I finish my glass of juice while she puts the rest of the candies in the ice box. One is for the others to have.

“Wait right there, Twist. I have something for you too.” Apple Bloom leaves the kitchen for a moment but returns quickly with a basket that is covered with an apple print sheet. She sets it on the floor.

“You didn’t have to, Apple Bloom,” I say modestly. We exchange gifts a lot but I am not sure what to expect. She removes the sheet and inside is a variety of things. I am blown away by how amazing they are. They are all so pretty: the tall candles, a fine tablecloth and a bottle of the Apple Family’s own wine. Yes, they do have a vineyard. Their label might not be much but the ponies around here swear by it.

She always knows what to do to make me feel closer to her. She has that certain sparkle in her eyes when she is overjoyed. Seeing it just makes me want to be honest. And I very much want to tell the truth to somepony as important as she. The truth of what is important to me right now. Each of us growing up, moving on with our lives and getting married. Nothing else can matter to us.

“I just had this feeling that this anniversary of yours is going to be a very important day in your lives. I just wanted to make it a little more special,” she says.

I giggle and move my chair closer. I don’t want anypony to overhear. I end up whispering my plans to her. She can barely contain her glee and lightly gasps and soon is so happy that she hugs me and even pecks my cheek. If that’s how she reacts, I can’t wait to see how my Sweetie Drops will this evening.

---

I have everything ready for her homecoming. All the candles are lit. I made a really rich salad with nuts and a fine vinegar dressing. Our kitchen table looks like something that belongs in a restaurant with that dark blue tablecloth. It is a quarter past six and I hear her clopping right on time. She fumbles for her keys and turns it in the lock. I rest my hooves on the counter, propping my head up and wait casually for her to enter. When she does, she sees me and a weary smile grows on her face.

“Welcome home, Sweetie,” I call out lovingly.

“Thanks, honey. I am glad to be back. What a journey that was,” she says. Sweetie has so many bags that I wonder how she can carry it all or even fit through the door. She sets them in a cluster.

I go beside her. “You brought so much home with you,” I remark, impressed. It looks like she went on a spending spree.

“I know,” she replies, hugging me. We share a kiss, the first I’ve had in several long days. Long days working alone and nights lying alone. “But it can wait here until tomorrow. Tonight is our anniversary and that’s far more important than anything else in the world.”

Later, we are sitting by candlelight. The food I made is exceptional but the wine easily outshines it. I can’t thank the Apples enough. We go back and forth for a while about her trip to the big city and me handling the daily affairs of the shop all by myself. We both had made a fine time of the last few days. She had a lot of new recipes in mind when she explored the many exotic goods shops in every back alley and in every nook and cranny for something rare. She found a vial of saffron worth its weight in silver and expensive dried berries from dragon country.

I tell her about how well I did. All her regulars seem to take a liking to me even if I didn’t know their favorite recipes by heart. Everypony knows I’m skilled at candy making in my own way. I don’t fully mention how much I missed her though. I tell her that I do but not that it starts to bleed into my work. My very first batch of chocolate cookies, the most basic of basics, came out too sweet. I just poured way too much sugar in the dough, a silly mistake. But at least that didn’t happen a second time. And yet, I daydreamed about her, often when I crunched numbers to the point where it strained my eyes. I didn’t know how Sweetie manages to do it.

Some of the candles burn themselves out. We almost finish off the wine too. Sweetie is getting that content look that tells me that the night is still rather young with our nerves drenched in wine as it is. It is still hard to tell where it would end up tonight. Love and liquor has a way of dispelling any sense of fear. We call it inhibition. We ponies like keeping secrets sometimes but we also love to let things out too. I won’t end up with nothing here, not when I am feeling this good. A tingle rushes up my spine. I’ve always make the first move when we are together. It is like tradition.

I reveal a saucer with a few Peppermint Drops candies on it. She looks at them with her eyelids heavy, almost dreamily so. I hold one with my hoof and reach over to her. She leans forward and takes it in her mouth. I then slide one on my tongue and roll it in. These candies are perfect. The peppermint shell crunches and gives way to its melty core. The flavors blend in a swirl of delight.

We tell each other how much we love one another. I wait for those words that comes as if the chocolate is a key to feelings kept secret. Before I made Peppermint Drops, I didn’t know that I had made more than a mere candy. I was so happy that it was her I got to first. She is the most important one after all. The first time we used it, she opened her heart to me. It was so long ago and now, I am ready to give something back, and something I feel is more than equal.

I reveal the round silver jewelry case I was keeping safe. I have no fear or hesitation. All that has been swept away. I am calm, my face and hoof steady. She looks at it as if expecting more chocolate at first but that dissolves as soon as she sees the sparkling red inside.

The Sweetie I know always takes everything in stride. Her love blooms through long sessions of quiet baking. When her finances aren’t as good as she had hoped, she would never let it rile her temper. I have prepared myself that she will be overjoyed but also as sharp as she ever was. I suppose the thought of getting married is that one exception. The wedding pendant before her appears to consume her. I can see the glittering ruby in the fiery globes of her eyes.

“I love you very much,” I finally say. “If there are any two ponies that should be together, it should be us. If you accept this, I’ll be the happiest mare ever.” I’m not really good at coming up with things like a proposal. Words aren’t really my thing. I am definitely a practical pony. Always just telling ponies exactly what I feel so I just waited until the moment came. I must admit that it is better than I realistically expected. I didn’t revert to that old stuttering filly that I used to be.

But as soon as the full weight comes down, I shake a bit. I know there is no taking anything back or pretending that something was misspoken. My breath is seized and I can hear every last sound around me. Even the wind outside or the slow flicker of the candle’s flame.

But it is alright. She moves closer. Cupping her hoof beneath mine, she takes the pendant and puts it over her head. The jewel rests below her neckline. It looks ten times as beautiful with her wearing it. The platinum chain shimmers against her coat.

“I love you too,” she says. We both embrace and I can feel the cold pendant press against me. We both cry a little. Sugar water streaming down our faces. It’s the good kind when a new part of our lives starts. Suddenly, the last dying candle flickers one last time and dies, plunging the room into darkness.

Comments

[Silver Letter]

I didn't do anything to deserve a negative vote. People that vote without giving a reason should be banned.

And also just 20 views? Thanks for nothing, guys.

[elmago02]

The main reason why people don't really pay attention to this is because you chose two ponies that no one really cares about. I don't hate them, but I don't consider them special.
What happens in this story is kind of lack luster. Nothing special happens. It's like reading the boring life of someone else.
At the beginning, I just felt like giving up this story, it didn't have that little hook that would make me want to keep reading, but I did because I wanted to give this a chance.
This is well written, but it's written in a certain way that it's just weird to me. People that read stories here are more likely between the ages of 15 an 30. They would prefer a something that's been written in a more simple way.
And about the negative vote... I once received a comment telling me to kill myself just because I wrote "I'm bad with summaries". There are all kind of people out there who do as they please, you can't help it. It will happen even if your story is the greatest shit out there.

[Silver Letter]

6636358
I'm just unpopular around here. Nobody likes my stories. I think this series is going to be the last I'll contribute to this site.
Other people get views with obscure characters so that reason alone isn't enough.
This site just doesn't like me for some reason.