The Surviving Section

“Could you be a dear and get the sugar out of the cupboard for me?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“Of course!” Violet Baudelaire said. She, Klaus, and Sunny were all in the Sugarcube Corner kitchen helping Mrs. Cake with her baking. They still weren’t sure why or even how Mr. Poe had sent them here in the first place, but it didn’t matter. The awkwardness of being humans in a world populated by ponies aside, it was already starting to feel like home.

“I could invent something to help increase your cake-making efficiency if you’d like,” Violet said as she handed the sugar to Mrs. Cake.

“That would be lovely!” Mrs. Cake said. It was nice to have a guardian who appreciated Violet's skills and those of her siblings. Most of the guardians they’d had in the past hadn’t been particularly interested.

“Once we have this round of cakes in the oven, would you mind if I go to the library at the Castle of Friendship?” Klaus asked. “It’s still hard to believe sometimes that magic really exists, but I want to learn as much about it as I can.”

“Go right ahead!” Mrs. Cake said. “In fact, you can leave now if you’d like. We’re almost done.”

“Really?” Klaus said brightly. “Well, if you’re sure…” He slid a cake pan into the oven and Mrs. Cake nodded, so he turned to leave. “See you later!”

“Joyasel!” Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of “Have fun!” She was helping to stir one of the bowls of cake mix, but was especially looking forward to the job she’d have later - biting the ends off the frosting tubes.

It was at times like these that the Baudelaires could almost forget about all the hard times they’d been having. They could almost forget about Count Olaf and how he was still out to get their parents’ fortune. They could almost believe that their story might have a happy ending. And oh, how I wish that could have been true. But complacency would be a mistake.

As Klaus headed out the kitchen door, a bell rang from the front of the shop. “Klaus?” Mrs. Cake said, and he stopped and turned back. “If that’s a customer, could you please help them before you go?”

“No problem,” Klaus said, and he continued to the front counter. Ever since the Baudelaires had been living with Mrs. Cake, they’d traded off with her, Pinkie Pie, and Mr. Cake when deciding who would run the counter, who would work in the kitchen, and who would watch the babies on any given day. Today Mr. Cake was busy upstairs, watching Pumpkin and Pound Cake, so he couldn’t help. Normally Pinkie Pie would have been working the counter at this time, but today she was busy throwing a party on the other side of town, so they’d set up a bell for customers to use to get their attention.

“Can I help...you?” Klaus said, his voice trailing off as the sight in front of him shattered any sense he’d had of having finally reached a safe place, a place at which the cycle of events that he and his siblings seemed doomed to endlessly repeat could finally be broken.

“Yes, I think you can,” said the figure in front of him in a vaguely menacing tone.

Klaus backed away. “Just...a moment,” he said. “We’re finishing up a cake batch and then we can be right with you.”

“No hurry,” said the figure.

Klaus walked back to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder once to confirm that the figure hadn’t moved. He rejoined the group, who had just placed the last cake in the oven.

“Olaf is here,” he said. Violet and Sunny stopped what they were doing and froze.

After a moment, Violet spoke up. “How?” she said. “We don’t even know how we got here. How could he have found us?”

“Cartak?” Sunny said, which meant something like, “Was there a map?”

“Olaf?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“We told you about him before,” Violet said. “He’s the awful man who tried to marry me to steal our family’s fortune?”

“Ah. Yes, Olaf,” Mrs. Cake said.

“Is there any way we can call the police?” Klaus said.

“Ponyville doesn’t have a police force per se…” Mrs. Cake said.

“Then what can we do?” asked Violet.

“Well...I can’t turn down a customer,” Mrs. Cake said. “Maybe he just wants a cake. You never know.”

“What? No!” Klaus said, but she was already heading out to the front counter. The Baudelaires reluctantly followed her.

As they neared the counter, Mrs. Cake frowned. “Do we need to get you some new glasses, Klaus? This couldn’t possibly be Olaf. He’s not even human.”

You see, just as in the Baudelaires’ previous unfortunate adventures, Olaf did not come back into their lives in his own hideous style, but rather in a terrible disguise. Before the counter stood a green unicorn pony, a stallion with a light red mane and an eye for a cutie mark. Its “skin” was wrinkled and rumpled, not with age but with the unmistakable look of a Halloween costume that had been carelessly stored in the trunk of a failed actor’s car. Though its mouth was movable through some internal mechanism, its eyes were unmoving, and on its neck was a mesh through which a portion of Olaf's face was just barely visible.

“Olaf?” the figure chuckled, but the eyes in its neck narrowed. “No, I am…I am…” There was an awkward pause. “I am...Dramatic Flare. That's 'Flare' with an 'r-e.'"

“Very pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Cake said, and she extended a hoof. They shook hooves, the skin of “Dramatic Flare” bouncing up and down as if loose over a human arm.

“Mrs. Cake,” Klaus said. “Please look at him more closely. This is Olaf. He’s simply personating a pony.” ‘Personating’ is a word which here means “assuming a character or appearance for fraudulent purposes.”

“I believe the word is ‘im’personating,” Olaf said. “And I’m not doing that.”

“Either could apply here,” Klaus said. “And he’s clearly in a costume.”

Mrs. Cake squinted. “I just don’t see it,” she said. “You said Olaf had a unibrow. You said he had a tattoo of an eye on his ankle. Dramatic Flare has neither.”

“Because it’s a costume!” Violet said. “Look, his real face is right there.” She pointed to the mesh on Dramatic Flare’s neck.

Mrs. Cake frowned. “Well...I didn’t want to say anything, but your neck does look rather...strange.” she said to Dramatic Flare. “Please don’t take offense.”

“None taken,” Olaf said. “I had a...magic accident.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Cake said. “See, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.” She paused for a moment. “Have you ever tried to get it fixed? Nurse Redheart is an expert at treating magical ailments.”

“You know, I might just have to look into that,” Olaf said.

“Wizwar!” Sunny said.

Violet nodded, then translated Sunny’s exclamation for the benefit of Olaf and Mrs. Cake. “If you really had a magic accident, then why don’t you show us some magic right now? Prove you can do it,” Violet said.

There was a long pause, and then Olaf began to sob in a ridiculously over-the-top way.

“Oh...ever since the accident, I haven’t wanted to do magic anymore,” he said. “I don’t want to make things worse!” He raised a “hoof” to his “eye” and wiped away a nonexistent tear.

“That’s understandable,” Mrs. Cake said, her face showing genuine empathy.

“Or...you can’t do magic,” Klaus said.

“Yes, I can,” Olaf said. He sobbed once more.

“No. You can’t,” Klaus said.

Mrs. Cake frowned and looked at Klaus. “This stallion is a customer. Please don’t harass him,” she said. “I’m sorry,” she added to Dramatic Flare.

“This is Olaf,” Klaus said. “And he can’t do magic.”

“Watch me!” Olaf said. “I’ll...I’ll move the bell!” The bell was very near the edge of the counter, and as they watched, it fell off seemingly of its own accord.

“You just hit the counter,” Violet said, unimpressed.

“No, I did magic,” Olaf said.

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Cake said. “You three, go check the oven. I’ll help this customer myself.”

“I was going to go to the library...” Klaus said.

“Later,” Mrs. Cake said, and they begrudgingly headed toward the kitchen. Then, to Dramatic Flare, she added, “Please, take a pastry on the house.”

As the Baudelaires removed two cakes from the oven, they no longer felt quite as at home as they had felt just hours before. Now that Olaf was in Equestria, their problems were surely just beginning...

Author's Note:

Some time ago, I awoke in an abandoned alleyway with no memory of how I had arrived there and nothing on my person but my clothing and the preceding excerpt torn and crumpled tight in my fist. It is written in my own handwriting, but I do not remember writing it, and attempts to establish the veracity of the information contained within have thus far been fruitless. With a heavy heart, I find myself forced to put this investigation on hold and move on to my next lead. I shall continue to chronicle the terrible misfortunes that have befallen the Baudelaire children, as I must, but there is no need for you to follow. I fear that this chapter may, like my beloved Beatrice, be gone forever.

~ Lemony Snicket

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