Enfantillage
It’s evening by the time I get up. The waning light outside the window tells me that much. My mane is frazzled, almost as if someone’s been combing through it, and my entire body feels sticky. Probably sweat. Not the best way to wake up.
Probably not the worst, considering how Pinkie Pie’s parties usually end up. I look about the library; messed up, but at least I'm still in it. I'll get Spike to clean the place up later.
Before I worry about all of that, though, I need cider in my belly and a good book in front of me.
I levitate the bottle before me and look into it.
No hot-sauce. Wonderful.
I take a deep swig, put it down and collapse back onto the couch, inspecting the shelf carefully.
No buzzers. Perfect.
I get a copy of Cantationum Alacornua from the top shelf, bring it up to my face and open it.
My face is very quickly painted with cream pie.
Brilliant.
As I drop the book and swat the mixture off of my eyes, I hear giggling coming from in front of me. “Surprise!”
I groan. “Pinkie, why?”
“Today’s the first anniversary, Twilight, and I thought I’d throw you a surprise party!”
The ritual might as well be written down on a checklist. “The anniversary of what?”
“The belated seventh hourly first anniversary of the twenty-seventh time I threw a pie at you! You should’ve seen the look on your face, Twi!”
I take a glance at the tome I’ve so abruptly dropped; only now do I realise that it’s a cheap, painted wooden replica. A spring appears to have sprung from its core. I want to question how she knew that I was going to read that book—I even raise a hoof to do so—but I think better of it.
“Oh, and the anniversary of our relationship!”
“Pinkie,” I say, removing the pie from my fur strand-by-strand, “We’ve been together for one week.”
“Every day’s a celebration with you!” She leaps up into the air and catches the cream in her mouth, some splattering on the sides of her mouth. “Mmm. Blackberry pie.”
“That was cre—” I interrupt myself, licking one of my forehooves to make sure she hasn’t inundated my fur with blackberry concentrate in my sleep or something just as improbable.
She has.
“Oh Celestia.” I bury my face in my floor-and-blackberry-flavored forehooves. “This is gonna take forever to wash off.”
I feel her fur brushing against me, and she whispers into my ear in what I think she thinks is a sultry way. “We can wash off together, Twi.”
I shudder a bit. As sweet as she is, the sex isn’t the reason I stay with her. I still find bits of cake now and then; the shower’s likely to end in me getting even dirtier.
I push her off and begin my appeal. “No tha—”
And then I realize that I haven’t pushed her off. I try again, and find that she’s stuck to me.
“Pinkie,” I say, my voice filling with dread, “did you—did you cover your fur with concentrate too?”
“Of course not, you silly filly! That’d just be weird.”
I breathe out deeply. “Why am I stuck to you?”
“Liquid strawberry bubblegum!”
That’s not scientifically possible, I don’t say.
“That’s just great,” I do say.
“I just knew you’d like it, Twi! Come on!” She begins to bounce, with me attached to her; I quickly try to keep pace.
As we get to the shower and she begins to lick me—the ‘liquid marshmallow’, at the very least, dissolves quickly—I have plenty of time to contemplate the status of our relationship. She throws a party almost every day to celebrate it, and a party to celebrate that party.
I can’t keep this up, but I can’t make a decision just like that; I’ve got to apply the scientific method. As much as I like a physical checklist, I’m too busy getting licked to actually draw one up, and Spike’s visiting Applejack’s house. So I compose a mental one.
Parties every single day? Check.
Tries to stuff cake up my butt? Check.
Stops me from reading in peace? Check.
Is mentally sound?
I feel a sudden bite in my hindquarters.
“Ooh, sorry! I thought you were a cupcake for half a second! Silly me!”
Uncheck.
“Pinkie,” I sigh, just as she’s licking concentrate and shower water from my cutie mark, “We need to talk.”
“About what?” she says, grinning. Her muzzle is stained purple.
“About our relationship. You’re my best friend, and I really hate to say this, but—”
She takes in a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you’re, you’re—”
“Yes, Pinkie. I’m—”
“Cake-pregnant!”
“Yes, Pinkie. I—wait, what?”
“Oh, dear sweet Celestia! I knew we should have done it with protection! Now you’re gonna have cake babies, and it’s all my fault! How’re we gonna care for them? How’re we gonna raise baby cakes?” She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, rattling my head back and forth. “How’re we gonna feed them? I can’t afford all that frosting!”
I try to speak through my shaking teeth. Earth ponies are strong. “P-pinkie, that’s n-not—”
She suddenly stops shaking me, making my head go forward and quite possibly dislocating something. “I’ll go look for Nurse Redheart! She’ll know what to do!”
She turns to go, and promptly plants her face into the floor.
“Pinkie, I’m not—”
She raises a hoof, and then her head. “There’s no use denying the facts, Twilight. The first step is acceptance.” She pushes herself up quickly, and hugs me tight, and looks into my eyes.
“Remember,” she says, her candy-breath filling my nostrils as her voice takes on a deep, almost stallion-like tone. “I’ll be there for you, no matter what happens.” And then she bounds off again, this time managing to keep her face from the floor; her sudden exit leaves me leaning on thin air, and I promptly fall onto my barrel.
I bury my head into my hooves once more as the water beats down on me.
What have I done?