Chapter 12
The lounge was crowded, but not unbearably so, just uncomfortably so. It was packed with groups of ponies doing exactly what Twilight and her companions were doing: supporting a friend in the competition. While there were a number of joyful smiles to be seen, there were far, far more tearful faces, those with broken hearts who failed to qualify. Twilight felt bad for them, but Pinkie Pie was first and foremost on her mind.
“Here,” Pinkie Pie said to Bundt while putting the remains of the lemon cake down upon the table. “You’re eating for three. Have some cake! Happy not-yet-birthday to the twins and I hope for your sake that there are some not-yet-birthdays to follow!”
Twilight cast a sidelong glance at Applejack only to discover that Applejack was doing the same. Together, they shared a moment of intense disappointment while Bundt—who was, indeed, eating for three—began to savage the cake carcass. So much could be said with just the eyes and Twilight, for her part, could almost hear the profanity in Applejack’s forlorn, crushed expression.
Somehow, Bundt’s orgasmic response to the lemon zinger cake only made things worse.
“Everything went just as planned,” Pinkie Pie announced while she flung herself down into a super-futuristic shaped plastic chair molded to fit the equine body. Reaching up, she rubbed her forehead with her foreleg, closed her eyes for a moment, and drew in a deep breath, which she held for a while.
It all came out in a rather loud huff.
When Applejack sat down in one of the curiously shaped chairs, Twilight then decided to do the same. She could feel herself being sucked in and when she settled back, she could feel a whoosh of air around her sides when she slid into the contoured cusp of the curvy chair. It was an odd sitting position and Twilight was forced to cross her legs in a ladylike manner to prevent certain things being exposed to the world. Somehow, the uniquely shaped chair was even rather comfortable with wings, which was a pleasant surprise.
They were pressed against her body, but not crushed.
“The judges were a bit brutal this year,” Applejack said, mostly to herself. “They just walked right on by a lot of stalls without even stopping to have a look. It was as if the food wasn’t worth noticing.”
“I think this is the biggest and most packed it’s ever been,” Pinkie Pie replied, joining in Applejack’s conversation with herself. “This is the last one, so it is one for the history books. Everypony wants to say they were here when it ended. I’m just glad that my cake got noticed.”
“It’s impossible to ignore.” Applejack cast a heartbroken glance upon Bundt, who was licking crumbs and glaze from the plate. “What are ya shootin’ for this year, Pinkie?”
The pink pony did not respond right away, but settled back into her chair so she could have a good chin rub. She sat there, thoughtful, her eyes distant, and there was a faint sound that could be heard as her hard hoof circled her fuzzy chin. After a moment of silence, she replied, “If I can hit three-hundred points somehow, I qualify for special show ribbons. I’d be happy with that, I think. Something tells me that I don’t have a chance of hitting the five-hundred required to be considered as the big winner. I’d like a special show ribbon… as a keepsake, you know.”
“That’s a hundred points a day for three days.” Applejack’s eyes narrowed and reaching up, she pushed back her hat. “Today, you started with fifty points. Three-hundred might be possible, I dunno. You’d have to have a strong blue chip run, with maybe a few silvers or a gold if you can swing it.”
“I’ve never got a gold chip.” Pinkie Pie sighed, a wistful sound, and both of her front hooves came to rest upon the generous curve of her stomach. “Going home with a gold chip wouldn’t be so bad. I’d have it framed. And brag about it. Oh, that’d be great.”
“Pinkie… want some honesty?”
“Sure, why not? You have some to spare, Jackie?”
“Pinkie Pie… you come from a provincial backwater. Presentation is never an issue in Sugarcube Corner. Ponies just eat whatever’s put in front of them. You’ve never had to struggle with presentation ‘cause it doesn’t exist where we live. Now, Manehattan and Fillydelphia and the big cities, they got them there rich and fussy ponies. And any baker who comes from those cities will be focusing on style and presentation. Style over substance, and all that nonsense. That is your competition. That lemon cake was a wakeup call.”
“Hmm.” Pinkie Pie closed her eyes and her head tilted back until it came to rest against the top of her chair.
“That’s gonna be your ruination,” Applejack continued, “and I don’t know how to fix it, because style isn’t something you can summon up at the last minute. It’s an art, you gotta learn it and it takes making a lot of mistakes before you get it right. That gold chip you want represents perfect presentation and perfect product.”
Twilight worried that Applejack was too honest, but Pinkie didn’t seem upset.
“I’ve been around the very rich and exclusive. The crap they eat is terrible and there ain’t ever much of it on the plate. So odds are, Pinkie, you’re gonna be in a strong blue chip competition with those who have amazing presentation, but terrible product. But if you can step up your game just a tiny bit somehow, without making a mess of things, I think a silver chip or two is possible.”
Swiveling her head, Twilight focused all of her attention on Applejack and raised an eyebrow. There were moments, like now, where Applejack was far, far smarter than anypony gave her credit for. Perhaps a better term was canny. Applejack had been competing all her life in everything from bake-offs to rodeos—but mostly rodeos—and she knew how to size up the competition. Applejack knew how to eke out a win when doing so didn’t seem possible.
“I’m hungry,” Bundt announced, her face covered in stickiness. “And I gotta go potty.”
A weary Seville dropped his bags upon the floor and then clambered into the booth to sit beside Twilight. Because they sat in the rear corner, nopony seemed to mind the pile of gear dropped on the floor, or perhaps it was princess privilege—it was impossible to say. Twilight, glad to see him, slipped her forelegs around him, pulled him close, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
He took off his faded green fedora and with a flick of his hoof, tossed it atop his bags.
“Twilight has a new assistant,” Pinkie Pie said to Seville while he got settled.
“Miss Buttercream, a pleasure to see you again.” Seville’s half-smile did delightful things to his face, things that made Twilight’s heart feel racy.
“Pleasure is all mine, handsome,” she replied in her silkiest voice.
“Pinks, I heard it said you got a blue chip.”
“You heard right.” Pinkie’s head bobbed with eager excitement and this made her curls dance.
Wasting no time, Seville began reading the menu laid out in front of him while Twilight leaned a little bit closer to him. On the other side of the table, Applejack too, was reading her menu, while Pinkie Pie continued to bounce in place, causing the bench seat to creak a bit. Bundt Buttercream, who sat between Pinkie Pie and Applejack, rubbed her rotund, rounded tummy with both of her front hooves.
“Hmm, breakfast is always available,” Seville muttered, reading aloud. “This is why I like diners. This Celestia Early Bird special sounds right up my alley.”
Twilight pulled away from Seville just a bit, so that she could look at him better. “I was just thinking about the Luna Night Owl special.”
“Dollface.” Seville’s left eyebrow raised and both of his ears stood up. “The Night Owl’s eggs are hard boiled and it comes with, and I quote, ‘a generous helping of beans, the protein you need to get you through those long nights.’ You eat that and we’ll be up all night listening to you playing a horn solo on the tuchus trombone.”
Mouth falling open, Twilight reached out and gave the earth pony beside her a gentle shove while the three mares across the table began to giggle. Twilight had second thoughts, but her own eyes narrowed into thin slits when she realised that the Celestia Early Bird came with a bowl of oatmeal… which meant that nothing was safe.
“Twilight does not have a breakfast, but Cadance does.” Ears rigid, Pinkie Pie stared down at the menu on the table. “Cadance’s Breakfast For Two… I could eat that all by myself.”
“What would a Twilight-themed breakfast be like?” Applejack asked.
“No”—Twilight held up her hoof—“there is no need to discuss that.”
“Cadance’s breakfast comes with wheat-meat sausages, enough to stuff your empty holes—”
“Pinkie, that’s lewd.”
“It’s right here on the menu, Jackie!”
“I know, I see it, still lewd. Poor Cadance. Everything has to be all sexual—”
“Jackie…” Seville leaned forwards and rested his forelegs on the table. “Have you met Cadance? She’s made out of pink fluff, sweetness, and innuendo.”
Applejack’s deadpan expression fractured, and she grinned, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. “I had ya going!”
“Damn it, I can never tell when you’re serious, Jackie.” With a resigned sigh, Seville leaned back against the plush cushions behind him and shook his head. “It’s a low down dirty shame too, ‘cause I make my living reading ponies.”
“Sap,” Applejack said to Seville.
“Eh, don’t rub it in or I’ll run a promotional piece about the health values of pears—”
“Now that’s just fighting dirty. This is why we Apples and Oranges keep fighting. Why you gotta go for them there low blows, Seville?”
Twilight, fearing it was serious, was about to intervene when Seville and Applejack both burst into laughter. Biting her lip, she said nothing, but gave thought to the fact that she didn’t always understand her friends. They had different friendships—some of which were downright antagonistic—and this made it difficult to know when the fighting was real or faked. There were times though when Seville and Applejack acted like bitter rivals, which Twilight found immensely distressing, but nothing was ever said. Applejack and Seville were entitled to their own brand of friendship, however weird it might be.
“What would a Twilight-themed breakfast be?” Applejack asked again.
Twilight, squirming in her seat, realised that she was going to have to bear this somehow. Applejack was just too stubborn to let this go and she would not give up until she was satisfied. Feeling self-conscious, her innards squirming with tension and anticipation, she waited for her friends to have their say. This could get roasty…
“Pancakes.” Applejack banged her hoof down upon the edge of the table and made everything rattle. “Twilight loves pancakes… with anything and everything on them.”
“Twilight loves cake almost as much as Celestia loves cake.” Pinkie’s tone was one of affectionate teasing. “Being a Pie, it’s hard to get Twilight’s attention sometimes.”
Chuckling, Seville said, “I don’t mind a little pie for breakfast.”
Across the table, Pinkie giggle-snorted while covering her face with her hooves.
“It’s fruit and grain. Oatmeal has fruit and grain. Well, sometimes. So why is it that oatmeal is good for you but pie is bad?” Seville folded his forelegs over his barrel. “Oatmeal has a better publicity agent than pie does, I’ll say that.” The stallion’s eyes went shifty and then in a low, low whisper he added, “I like to take in my grains in liquid form. Gin makes for a fine breakfast.”
“I don’t mind a nip of my namesake in the morning.” Applejack’s lips pulled back into a broad, tooth-revealing grin. “I have been known to indulge. I catch heat from Big Mac though, who worries that I’ll turn into a lush.”
A bubblegum-chewing unicorn mare approached the table, stopped, and pulled a pencil out from behind her ear. Though only noonish, she appeared tired, dead on her hooves. “Welcome to the Perky Pegasus Pony Diner, where our specials will leave you on cloud nine.”
“Cloud nine…” Twilight’s lips puckered thoughtfully. “Of the ten cloud types, cloud type nine, the cumulonimbus, is the floofiest, poofiest, most comfortable of clouds, according to pegasus ponies.”
“I hate my job,” the gum chewing waitress deadpanned.
Taken aback, Twilight wondered what she had done wrong.
“I’ll take the Celestia Early Bird special,” Seville said. “Also, I’ll take that with a half-a-dozen bricks, a half-a-dozen sinkers, a puddle of cat’s eyes, a side of fried bad breath, and as many mugs of murk as you can bring me.”
“Somepony is hungry,” the waitress deadpanned. “These mares must ask a lot from you. Especially that one. She looks like she’s a goer.” Her eyes darted off towards Bundt’s direction and then returned to Seville. “How you want your sweepings, sugar?”
“Everything under the sun,” Seville replied.
“Given your circumstances, I take it you like your eggs fertilised.” The waitress smacked her gum, waiting, while Bundt started to titter. “And before you ask, no, you can’t slip me a tip.”
“Sunny side up is fine.” Reaching up, Seville smoothed back his mane and then gave the waitress a calm, cool stare.
Across the table, Pinkie Pie was gnawing on her hoof to keep from laughing.
“Fertilised?” Applejack snorted and rolled her eyes. “I can’t get Hubby here to swing open my cellar door since we picked up the young one here. He just stays parked all up in her back forty.” She made a gentle nudge with her elbow against Bundt’s ribs. “It’s been so long my hinges are rusty. Why, I’d love to have my eggs fertilised. But after having all those foals, I’ve been put out to pasture, so I have. Ain’t got no grip left.”
Twilight realised that something was going on, but she wasn’t sure what. She felt uncomfortable, without knowing why—intensely so. The feeling was made so much worse by the fact that she was obviously missing something, like a joke she didn’t get, only this was no joke—this felt dire and unpleasant.
“Yeah, whatever.” The waitress popped her gum, rolled her eyes, and pressed the tip of her pencil into her notepad. “Every year, it’s the same old thing. You earth ponies come in here with your herds and run me ragged. What’ll it be for you, hun?”
Guts clenching, Twilight now had an inkling that something was wrong. Seville was being a gentlepony about it, but Applejack… Applejack was being antagonistic. Slowly, it dawned upon Twilight that an assumption had been made—a gross assumption—and she felt a cold, chilly prickle down in her dock.
The first wave of panic broke over her like an incoming tidal surge and Twilight felt her frogs go sweaty. Pinkie Pie and Bundt Buttercream were laughing—they were laughing at this joke made at their expense, this gross assumption. It was one thing to giggle at the ghostie, but to titter at the tribalist? As Twilight broke into a cold sweat, her appetite departed and she felt sick to her stomach. She needed air… she desperately needed air and to be away from this stressful situation before the panic overcame her completely.
With a worldless cry of panic, Twilight thought of her room as hard as she could, then vanished.
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I didn't understand half the diner lingo, but I recognized it for what it was.
Also, you have a "gun" that should be a "gum". I should hope the waitress isn't chewing a gun, anyway.
It diner lingo alright but it sounds so...
Good ole breakfast. Couple of squat rocks some Georgia ice cream , Cuppa leaded and a cat head or two.
9100671
It's sad. Donuts stopped being sinkers when they switched from lard to vegetable shortening. Now, donuts are so light and fluffy that they float.
But you can't call them floaters...
A "Twilight Special" is delivery only, obviously.
One stack of pancakes with warming tray, one selection of spreads, one five-gallon coffee I.V.
9100671
9100673
I can't find definitions of Squat Rocks, Georgia Ice Cream, Cuppa Leaded, OR Cat Heads.
Help?
9100933
One is actual diner slang, the other is regional slang specific to the south.
It's not a good comparison.
Best medicine, Twi. Laugh at them. Let 'em know what you think, without starting a fight.
9100933
cat head is a term for a biscuit, its the size of a cats head. leaded is regular coffee
Is this all going to culminate in Twilight being the head of earth pony equality? it certainly seems that way considering Twilight's horror at all the tribalism.
This chapter has made me realize i would be a terrible unicorn. The constant option to simply teleport out of an awkward conversation would be overwhelming.
don't KNOW how
listening TO you
Also, it never fails to impress how you manage to make fart jokes seem classy.
9100673
well...….you could but nobody would eat them, especially not the chocolate ones
Fun fact:
In the frozen food section of the meijers I went to a few years back they had a reheatable frozen veggies called Steamers. Some marketing guru really HAD to have forgotten to search the slang dictionary before trying THAT idea. I have looked from time to time since and never saw them again.
9102082
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"THAT'S NOT CHOCOLATE!"
9102082
d2lnr5mha7bycj.cloudfront.net/product-image/file/large_679bd91a-5ae0-47ee-ac74-0a944447a397.JPG
I buy these all the time. Delicious!
Damnit Twilight, i wanted to see how that conversation would continue
I am completely unfamiliar with diner lingo, having never been to the northern half of the American Continent.
Let's see how I do.
Bricks: I'd say loaves of bread, but this is a diner, and diners serving baguettes does not sit well. Large, filling. Burgers.
Sinkers: sinker. down easy, heavy on the stomach? I'd say eggs, but see below. Maybe something to do with production, which leads me to deep frying. Likely, because diner. Fried foods tend to sink initially, rising out of the oil when done. Half a dozen, so not fries. Donuts.
Cat's eyes: I can think of no food that is shaped nor colored like a cat's eye. Eggs.
bad breath: several foods are famed for causing this. To my great disappointment, very few breakfasts include high amounts of garlic. i'm guessing onion-based food. Probably onion rings.
murk: Coffee, natch.
Sweepings: No fancy analisisisisises here. Just a guess. toppings. probably on the donuts. Maybe milk and sugar for the coffee.
Self-check: Diner terminology google.
brick - biscuit
sinker - donut
cat's eye - tapioca pudding
bad breath - onions
murk - black coffee
sweepings - hash
Total score: 3/6. Pretty well, considering the size of the search space