Chapter 18
Applejack and Pinkie Pie were working with tweezers held in their mouths to arrange apple slices into a blooming flower bud. Each thin slice formed a sort of petal and the careful arrangement was time consuming. Thankfully, there were no time constraints and the judges roamed the floor, searching for finished projects. Twilight marvelled at the intricate, time consuming work being done, and was both shocked and surprised by how dextrous Pinkie’s lips were.
Pinkie Pie could do incredible things while kissing…
Now that the thought had entered her mind, Twilight couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Twilight watched, her attention divided, with her nose almost touching the see-through floor. She remained close to Seville, not minding that he was deep within her equinal space. Twilight wanted there to be overlap between them, but achieving that directive was remarkably complicated. There was a certain electric thrill in touching both Seville and Pinkie Pie in intimate, overly familiar ways.
Down below, Applejack and Pinkie Pie laboured away at their intricate task. Each slice of apple had been softened a bit, enough so that they could be bent, shaped, safely and without breaking. The apple slice petals were arranged tight in the middle, with a great deal of complicated overlap, and this density relaxed a bit as the bloom expanded.
To nibble sweetly upon the tender bloom…
Twilight was struck by another hot flash, but this one wasn’t so unpleasant. Something about blooms, blossoms, thin, tender petals, something about this caused her to contemplate her femininity. Up to this point in her life, it was an occasional indulgence; a nice dress for a ball, or gala; an afternoon in the spa with friends; trying out new manestyles; it was always an activity, typically something scheduled. Something planned. It was, at best, a pleasurable leisure activity, and at worst, a distraction. There were times when she absolutely hated being a mare—the sheer biology of it all was overwhelming, as well as being demeaning and degrading on occasion. Not that she wanted to be a stallion, either; that had its own particular challenges and Twilight knew that she was ill-equipped to deal with those. Being made of paper had some distinct advantages.
But then there were times like now, when she wanted to be a mare. When she wanted to be feminine. She wanted Seville to say pleasant, meaningful things into her ear; perhaps something about her intellect… or to casually mention how pretty she was. Twilight, who had spent most of her life ignoring her physical aspects to focus upon more intellectual pursuits, wanted to hear some appreciation for her physical form and gender. Why? It seemed so foolish and illogical… yet, here she was, thinking about it, obsessing over it.
Alas, there was no good reason why. It defied logic and rationality. Over the years, Twilight had forged an almost ironclad sense of utilitarianism and pragmatism—only to find herself being lured away from it by the promise of nonsensical, frivolous, silly things. All of Twilight’s thoughts and emotions worked themselves into one big bellowy whinny, which then escaped.
Very much like a yawn, the whinny spread in a contagious manner through the crowd.
Hearing hooves clomping on the catwalk, Twilight’s ears pivoted towards the sound and then she turned to look just as a tiny grinning earth pony filly approached. A pegasus mare—presumably the filly’s mother—stood a short, respectful distance away, flashing an apologetic smile.
“Hiya, Princess!” The filly’s greeting was delivered with a distinctly nasal voice. “Wanna hear a secret?”
Casting a glance at the pegasus mare, Twilight saw her shrug. The filly looked up and Twilight, looking down, wondered what the filly might have to say. Why share a secret? Foals shared silly secrets; time and time again, Twilight had been regaled with tales about pilfered cookie jars, stolen candy, mommies and daddies dressing up in strange costumes, foals had so many things to say, things they believed were secrets.
“Come closer,” requested the filly in a congested, nasal whisper.
Twilight lowered her head down, wary but curious.
“No, closer.” The filly took a step closer and almost tripped over her own hooves.
Twilight, overcome by her own curiousity, lowered her head down until her ear was less than an inch away from the filly’s muzzle, and she waited for the big secret to be revealed. The filly took a deep breath, which tickled Twilight’s ear. Silence. The worst of all outcomes. Was she having second thoughts? Twilight needed to know. She had to know. What secrets did the filly hold? Why was there a delay? Who did this to a princess, anyhow?
“Butts.”
It was a perfect deadpan delivery, but the filly’s composure did not hold. A giggle escaped, followed by a torrent of laughter while Twilight lifted her head. Shaking her head from side to side, her eyes rolling with astounding, fluid movement, Twilight sighed and then noticed the pegasus mare was struggling to hold herself together. A wing whipped out, there was a rustle of feathers, and then the mare, the filly’s mother no doubt, covered her face. Much sniggering came from behind the wing and a merry, devious twinkle could be seen in the mare’s eyes.
A hearty chuckle could be heard coming from Seville.
“Butts, you say…” Twilight took a deep breath during a particularly raucous peal of laughter that came from the filly. The worst thing happened; her mouth tried to betray her and she had to fight to keep the corners of her mouth under control. “What’s so funny about butts?”
“Pegasus ponies have the funniest butts,” the filly said between bleats of laughter.
“Is that so?” Twilight adopted the demeanour of a schoolmarm, which was basically her impression of Princess Celestia.
“Mama says that’s where clouds come from.”
Clouds of what? Twilight thought to herself.
“Mama also says that the sun shines out of Princess Celestia’s butt. But she uses a naughty word. She says it when somepony asks her a dumb question and she’ll tell them, ‘Does the sun shine out of Princess Celestia’s…’ you know.”
A resonating snort escaped from Twilight and she almost lost it completely.
“Dad is a scientist,” the filly said to Twilight. “He works in Canterlot sometimes. He says our butts are a marvel of biology. We have built in fumigators so spiders won’t make nests in our tails and lay eggs. He’s pretty smart, my dad.”
Something almost like a whimper came from Seville, followed by a raspy wheeze.
“Dad says that monsters won’t destroy the world, they won’t get the chance. He says pony butts are going to destroy the world. And cows. And other animals with fermenting guts. He says there’s too many of us now and even more of us are happening every day, and our butts are changing the, uh, comp… compos—”
“Composition?” Twilight said, trying to be helpful.
“Yeah, he says our butts are changing the composition of the atmosphere.”
Flabbergasted, Twilight stood at a loss for words.
“Dad is a butt scientist and he studies butts every day. Ponies think my dad is crazy. He loves to study Mama’s butt. We talk about butts a lot in our house, and all the things butts do. Butts do crazy stuff. I like saying the word ‘butts.’ It’s a great word. Butts.”
“Come on, Peony, I think you’ve pestered the princess enough.”
“Buh-bye!” The filly, Peony, raised one hoof and waved. “Maybe you could think about making my dad the Princess of Butt Studies?”
“I’ll, uh, ask around,” Twilight managed to say while also remembering to wave. “Goodbye, Peony.”
Humming to herself, little Peony pranced off to be with her mother once more.
Below, perfection bloomed. Perfection blossomed. The blooming apple blossom tart sat cooling on the counter and it was one of the most beautiful, most perfect things Twilight had ever seen. She was almost certain that the Golden Ratio had been applied to it in a multitude of ways. The red of the unpeeled apple slices gave it the appearance of a gorgeous rosebud.
Pinkie Pie and Applejack were artisans. They had done with time, dedication, and hard work a task that Twilight wasn’t sure that she could do. Oh, she might mimic the results, but she doubted that she could replicate the sheer perfection of what had been accomplished. And yet, another unicorn, a skilled, accomplished unicorn, might do all of this in mere seconds.
Twilight began to think of the consequences. This was an act that took time, effort, and skill. The tart, the end result of said work, would be expensive in a bakery; it would be a confection intended for special occasions, such as birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries. If enough unicorns began selling magically created blooming apple blossom tarts, the price would go down to almost nothing; the cost of the ingredients. The rarity, the aspect that made it special, would also go away; it would become commonplace, just one more thing on the menu to eat. Though it was difficult to put into words, into coherent thoughts, Twilight began to understand the problem here. Who would pay for perfection when they could get one that was good enough to be indistinguishable at a much lower price?
Twilight had never before contemplated the negatives to mass production.
Staring at the tart, she understood that she lacked a certain appreciation for the good things in life, the sweet treats that were meant to be special. For Applejack, ice cream meant filling up a churn with rock salt and ice, plus all of the ice cream ingredients, and then cranking away at it until there was sweet, delicious ice cream. For Twilight, it was taking a few raw ingredients and casting a spell—something her father had taught her how to do as a filly. There was no real effort in the act, no real work, so ice cream had always been a commonplace treat for her, while it was something that Applejack only whipped up for special occasions that warranted it.
Twilight now understood; the earth pony way of life was all about appreciating the rewards of hard work. It really, truly, totally and completely clicked into place. It was a concept that she was aware of, and had been for the longest time, but it was only now, at this moment, that she truly understood it. Dismissing it, discounting it, demeaning it, you undermined an earth pony’s very existence.
Yet, there was no going back. No stopping mass production. No stopping the supermarket, which had tubs of ice cream that could be enjoyed by anypony, at any time, a sweet, creamy, delicious treat no longer in need of a special occasion. Why work for it when you could have it now? Supermarkets and mass production threatened to utterly destroy the neighborhood bakery and other neighborhood industries. The shared hard work of the community was going to be severely devalued—and then what?
Twilight had her first glimmer of understanding about why so many earth ponies feared and hated money. Ponies like Seville’s parents, who favoured the peasant way of life and lived in absolute terror of money. They worked—hard work—and in return, they were housed, fed, and all of their basic needs were met. It was, by Twilight’s own estimation, a comfortable existence. Never once did they have to wonder what their time and effort was worth, they lived with the happy assurance that they were valued and that their labour meant something. They, and the other Oranges who lived on the communal orange farm, had never felt the sting of having their labour devalued or degraded.
They just bucked oranges all day and slept soundly in their comfortable beds at night.
Seville’s parents heard the siren’s call of capitalism and said, “No thanks.”
The ponies of Lulamoon Hollow were adamant about preserving their way of life. No mere communal farm, Lulamoon Hollow was a preserve, a sanctuary, and to visit that place meant going back in time. The peasantry held a surprising amount of power there, a tremendous amount of power. Sumac Apple had agreed to be their go-between, their representative to the outside world, the one who handled the dirty, disgusting task of finances, and Twilight suspected that Sumac had a better grasp upon this situation than she did.
But Twilight was only getting started.
Late to the game, she had a lot of catching up to do.
Pinkie Pie was smiling, but it was a forced smile. For the second time this day, the gaggle of judges poured into her cubicle to cast their judgment. Above, Twilight waited with bated breath, and when the tension ramped up to the point of being utterly unbearable, she pressed herself up against Seville.
“Nice seeing ya again, Gustave le Grand.” The strain could be heard in Pinkie’s voice.
The theatrical griffon did not respond, but was focused upon the tart. Squinting with one critical eye, he looked at it from every angle, even turning it a few times to take in every conceivable detail. His fellow judges leaned in and they too, scrutinised Pinkie’s tart. How many baked goods had they seen this day? How many tidbits sampled? Twilight wondered how they stayed focused, how they remained objective. Surely, at the end of the day, as the afternoon stretched into evening, they had to be sick of staring at and tasting food.
“Dare we cut this?” Arroz Amandine asked.
“We must,” another replied.
“Cut it,” commanded Gustave le Grand.
“Yes, let us discern the nature of perfection and see if it goes beyond the surface.”
Once more brandishing her knife, Arroz sliced a triangle from the tart and laid it out upon a plate. Somehow, the slice did not fall apart. Astonished, Twilight gasped. How did the slices of apple hold together? How did it retain its shape? From the looks of things, Twilight was not alone, as the judges also marvelled at the resiliency of the now-sliced tart.
Beside Pinkie, Applejack looked more than a little sweaty.
“Extraordinary.” A fat stallion examined the tart with his head tilted back so that he might peer through his bifocal spectacles. “I have never seen a more visually appealing dessert.”
One of the judges took a picture of both the tart and the slice, capturing both of them on film. A delightful, runny brown ooze was now seeping from the slice and spreading over the white plate. Gustave leaned against the counter and absentmindedly drummed his claws against the surface while he contemplated the tart.
After a good deal of looking, the griffon peeled away one thin slice of apple, which came off whole, firm, and did not break. It was not mushy, limp, nor lifeless. With a flick of his talons, he flipped it into his beak and then just stood there, doing nothing, nothing at all. As if on cue, the others also tried a bite. Much thoughtful chewing took place, no doubt to determine factors like mouth feel and what not.
Twilight felt faint. She needed to know. Had to know. This anticipation was killing her. Unable to stop herself, she squirmed and when she could not get comfortable, she wickered in protest of the cruelty of the world. How would the judges judge? What if a judge didn’t like apples? Or tarts in general? How could food judges be non-biased against foods they disliked?
Not one bit of tart was spit out into the little paper collection cups that waited.
“That exquisite spicy bite,” a judge said to both Pinkie Pie and Applejack. “Is that rum?”
“It’s how we softened the apples,” Applejack replied, “so we could shape ‘em. It also preserves them and keeps them from turning too brown, so you have that nice, pleasant white colour that ya see.”
“Iz clever.” Gustave nodded and then, before anypony could stop him, he sampled another bite.
“I was wondering how the apples were so fresh and white looking, and not pasty.” Arroz Amandine peeled off another slice of apple and held it up so that she might have a better look. “It’s not mealy in the slightest.”
“Nuttin’ is worse than a mealy apple pie,” Applejack remarked while her hooves did a nervous shuffle.
With Applejack’s statement still hanging in the air, the judges pulled into a tight huddle and began to converse amongst themselves. Twilight strained to listen, but all she could hear was the roar of dull noise all around her. Her hearing was, perhaps, a bit too good, and she was deafened in this situation. Applejack was looking downright damp at the moment and Pinkie Pie… poor Pinkie Pie. Every warning sign was present and accounted for.
Soft whispers were being exchanged and Gustave snatched up another thin slice of apple from the triangle of tart. Impaled on a claw, he held it in front of him while the hushed discussion continued. The insides of Twilight’s thighs drew tight, painfully so, and the muscles that powered her wings felt as though they would crush her ribs. Faces grew stern and there seemed to be an argument, or at least a heated discussion taking place.
“Think of the extraordinary effort,” an earth pony judge said in a voice loud enough to be heard, and this caused the rest of the judges to go silent.
From above, Applejack could be seen chewing on her lip and Twilight worried that her friend might draw blood. The judges returned to their heated discussion. Pinkie’s legs were twitchy enough to make her curls bounce and she couldn’t hold her tail still. Up on the catwalk, Twilight felt as though she couldn’t breathe, and several ponies around her were chewing on their hooves. Seville didn’t seem disturbed in the slightest, but he didn’t get ruffled until something exploded or somepony suggested he get on a train with Gosling. Of course, Seville had trotted through active war zones armed with nothing but a camera.
Reaching into his white jacket, Gustave le Grande pulled out something that flashed gold in the harsh white lights. When he put it down beside the tart, there was a distinct metallic thunk of metal striking wood. Turning his head, he looked Pinkie Pie in the eye for a moment, then glanced at Applejack. No words were said, but a solemn, dignified nod was offered.
Twilight could only see the gold chip for but a moment, then her vision went blurry, obscured by the sudden manifestation of excessive eye moisture.
As a group, the judges departed, saying nothing, but celebrity chef Arroz Amandine offered up both a wave and a smile. Pinkie watched them, smiling, her whole body trembling, but her composure would not—could not hold. The forced smile plastered across her face began to crumble. Bit by bit it fell away and her blue eyes turned glassy.
The deluge struck with terrific force.
Rearing up, she flung her forelegs around Applejack’s neck and began bawling. It was an awful sound, heartbreaking like nothing else. Pinkie’s hind legs gave away and her hindquarters hit the gleaming tile floor with a muffled whump. Applejack, the stoic, endured all of this for a time, unmoving, but then she finally reacted and pulled Pinkie into a tight hug. The pink mare was bawling with enough force that she honked and each one caused the ponies up on the catwalk to jump—Twilight included.
As for Applejack, well… she was known to cry on the inside.
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I supect the comments section will be full of people making asses of themselves.
9120160
Butts.
9120171
A gold chip is only an average award, right?
Also,, butts
9120262
No, Gold is the highest, and the Chip is made of actual gold
9120262
Pinkie said she had never gotten one and it was a goal of hers to get one, and she would hang it up
9120281
Oh. I completely misinterpreted that scene then. Yay! Go team!
Butts.
Also, my goodness that is an amazing tart! I WANT ONE! I can only imagine how GOOD it would taste with Sweet apple acres apples involved... dear lord that looks delicious!
Also, I think at the closing of this celebration... Twilight is going to do some AMAZING things. Speeches. Addresses. Acts of Princessdom. Things are going to change spectacularly.
Also she is going to get Seville to lay on her back while Pinkie is sprawled out in front of her. Because such petals deserve delicious sampling.
The positives and negatives of mass production. Its a odd balancing act on the positive it brought about interchangeable parts, made things that were only for the rich available to the masses
, on the negative it did a way with many skills from doing things one at time by hand or in the ponies case by hoof, also as Twilight is seeing here putting many of those craftsponies out of work
Pinkie, Applejack, you succeeded Excellent. Now frame that gold chip.
It's sad to contemplate, but mass production has had positive effects on society as well. It drives down the prices of goods, as well increasing their availability. And while this does have the unfortunate side effect of devaluing the hard work of those trying to create a premium, homemade product, it also allows people access to a greater amount of goods and services than they would otherwise be able to afford. Just a hundred or so years ago having a cake for a wedding or a birthday would have been a 'rich people thing', but now everyone can do it. Applejack got to have ice cream as a sometimes treat, but how many peasants have never tasted ice cream before in their life? Which isn't to say that I don't find it aggravating myself sometimes, I do, merely that I understand both sides of the argument.
Damn, Kudzu, you've done it again. I wish you could thumbs up a story twice.
Butts are astonishingly powerful. Our Earth's first biosphere was destroyed by the efforts of uncounted trillions of butts. Beware the butts.
Good job, Pinkie.
It never fails to impress how you make the most immature jokes seem so thoughtful. That said, I was honestly expecting more of a Food Wars vibe from chapters like these. Just unchecked, maddening energy and brilliance while the audience demonstrates masterful understanding and feels compelled to narrate for those at home who just came for the show.
... Just a thought.
Hmm there seems to be a mixup between mass production and capitalism...
9121869
Not a mixup at all.
A beginning.
This is like the Victorian era, but also different. Industrialisation is in full swing. Capitalism is still being figured out for the most part. Mass production and automation are still being flirted with. There was a time that a belief was held that capitalism and mass production were connected together and that you could not have one without the other. In some parts of the world, our world, things really went off the rails because of this. It took a few revolutions and a whole lot of dead humans before it was realised that you could, in fact, separate the two.
Equestria is at the beginning of this process and many of these things haven't been sorted out yet. It's gonna get worse before it gets better. Thankfully, the absolute worst of it will be skipped over, because while Twilight was taking that long, long walk of hers back into the future, she gave that book to Gosling. It is still going to be a bumpy ride though, and many will suffer during the transition.
9121893
in many ways that issue remains today.
if one t hing is allowed to go to an extreme or becomes a primary motivator, it always inevitably becomes toxic and kills the nation from within. it is a thing of repetition that has occured in every society. some manage to save themselves before full collapse. others completely collapse and vanish into history.
war, socialism, capitalism, trade and isolationism. each of these elements alone destroys everyhting and leaves humanity to try again once more. every singular part of earth has suffered this. even the illusion that china has lasted so long is that, an illusion. they avoided losing their name but their societies fell and rose one after the other.
and honestly it seems our current world state is headin towards a collapse of some degree. the world is so interconnected that one collapse leads to another in a domino effect. i do not know when though. and i don/t have any idea how severe it would be. but as the lessons of the past as ignored in the present, its inevitable.
I think this is the second time in this story that seville's parents have been mentioned. One thing I'm also curious in regard to them is how this terror of money came into existence for them. A few idea's come into my head but properly guessing on your thoughts has not be a forte of mine.
A second thought arose while writing the above, that pinkie won the gold chip with applejack, giving a suggestion that pinkie needs her friends to be her best, and her present state we can see that is truer now than it's been before.
Well, here's one possible outcome:
orig00.deviantart.net/c165/f/2018/232/0/7/rogue_servitor_screencap_by_quasexortwex-dckp7nv.png
9120836
Now we know what really killed the dinosaurs.