Pinkie Pie comes to believe that hugs will soon start costing money. Now it's a race against time to give free hugs to best friends.
Pinkie Pie reads a newspaper headline warning of an increase in the price of hugs. Now she has to track down all her friends and give them a final, free hug before she can’t afford them anymore!
A lighthearted tale of ponies, hugs, and the socio-economic implications of monetizing physical expressions of companionship in a post-capitalist society.
Sugarcube Corner, not long after sunrise, the kitchen abuzz with activity. The smell of warm dough wafted throughout, mingling with the sweet scents of sticky caramel, fresh cream and fruity currents. Ovens thrummed and pans clattered, powdered sugar was dusted and wooden spoons licked – usually by two tiny but playful foals. The cooking area of the small bakery was alive as Ponyville’s two resident confectioners and their young twins prepared for another perfectly ordinary day.
As for Pinkie Pie, she sat up at a table in the little café area out front, enjoying the last of her breakfast pancakes in the company of her finest alligator friend. Spread out before her across the tablecloth in an almost-but-not-quite haphazard array lay several wide, thin sheets of paper which, when taken together, made up this very morning’s copy of the Ponyville Chronicle. She read the news as the warm morning sun streamed in through the nearest window and fell across the table, making the white paper super-white, the black ink extra-black, and the colourful pictures particularly picturey.
The Chronicle wasn’t the only newspaper in Ponyville: the small town also boasted the Ponyville Post, its main rival, and the Foal Free Press, originally little more than a school newspaper until an incident a little while ago had thrust it into the populace’s collective consciousness. In fact ever since then, the Press had surprisingly become a legitimate source of information for ponies wanting a more light-hearted look at the news.
But the Chronicle was her go-to newspaper these days for a few reasons. For one, it had been within the folds of this very paper that she had once stumbled across a flyer for a one-day sale on used patio furniture! She gave a wistful smile at the memory. Truly, a great day. Also, being the sister-paper of its slightly more illustrious stable-mate, the Canterlot Chronicle, meant that it tended to report a little more widely on the goings on around Equestria. And finally, the most important reason that she preferred this particular broadsheet over the others? Funnier funnies.
The paper made a crisp crinkle as she turned to the centre pages, and there they were. A gaggle of giggle-inducing gags sure to make even the most grumpy and gruff girl or guy grin and guffaw with glee!
She had her favourites. There was one strip about a hard-luck pony in a yellow-and-black T-shirt and his faithful dog that she liked, and a single-panel called The Farm Side that was notable for is randomness. And one strip about a grumpy orange cat who hated Mondays. Pinkie never really understood that one. After all, today was Monday and today was starting out great! Mondays usually did.
She perused the comics, played the games, filled in the crossword with a crayon. And it was about then that it happened.
While rotating the centrefold pages in order to try and solve one of those shape-based puzzles – this one had to do with counting how many triangles you could see inside a larger triangle that was itself one of the triangles – sneaky! – the page beneath, as yet unread, was revealed for a moment. And with it, a headline that snared her eye...
PRICE OF HUGS SET TO SOAR. Imminent increase attributed to raw material shortage.
Pinkie froze. Stared. Forgot all about the triangle puzzle.
Price of hugs set to soar? That didn’t make sense! She read the article – which was very short, befitting its placement amidst a slew of others all the way back on page eleven – but found it didn’t actually explain anything. It was a few words and a quote from a spokesewe from Black Sheep Co. relating the reasons for their sudden strike action and the effect it would have on the supply of sheep’s-wool in Equestria. Nothing about hugs at all!
Well, maybe they mixed up the article with another? But a frantic flipping through the loose-leaves revealed no other cuddle-based columns that might effectively explain the horrible headline.
She carefully turned back to page eleven, unable to take her eyes off the unambiguous blocky black text, the bottom slowly falling out of the pit of her stomach.
Price of Hugs Set to Soar.
“But... hugs are free, Gummy. They don’t cost money,” she said, trying to inject a little dismissive chuckle as though the very idea was silliness itself. But the stark, bold, stubborn headline refused to have the good grace to simply vanish in the face of such argument, choosing instead to remain on the page.
“And ‘raw materials’? That doesn’t make sense either. I mean, I’ve got all the raw materials to build a super-quality happy hug right here!” she chirped, giving herself a quick inventory: “Two comfy cuddly-legs; one fuzzy nuzzley-muzzle; a super-soft snuggy-tummy. And I can’t see any of them just running out,” she reasoned.
Still the headline stared back.
Pinkie’s gaze fell to her alligator friend, who stood still in stoic silence, every so often giving a lopsided blink to indicate that he was, if not alert, then ‘awake’. Quick as a flash she scooped him up, cradling him in her forelegs, squeezing him tight and rubbing her cheek against his before giving him a little kiss right on the tip of his snout.
Gummy blinked again. Buh-link. And gave no other response.
“Aw, thanks Gummy. I love you too. And you’re right, I’ve still got all my ingredients left over. I can still whip up as many hugs as I want!”
Price of Hugs Set to Soar.
Try though she might, Pinkie found herself quite unable to dismiss the text out of hoof. After all, the newspaper was reporting it. Yet – though she hadn’t checked her pinkie-bank – she was pretty sure it contained as many bits now as she had had before her impromptu gator-cuddle. Hmm.
“Unless pets don’t count? I mean, you couldn’t charge a pony for petting their pets. Right Gummy?”
Buh-link.
“Maybe it only means hugs for other ponies,” she wondered aloud, her gaze shifting towards the door to the kitchen, where the careful commotion and clattering of constant cookery continued.
Setting herself a determined frown, Pinkie rose from her seat and trotted toward the open kitchen door toward the rear of the bakery, following the sweet smell of baking bread. She had to settle this once and for all. “Mr. Cake? Mrs. Cake?” she cooed as she entered, sidling up between the two of them where they both stood at the spacious counter.
“Yes, dearie?” came Mrs. Cake’s sweet voice as, with care, she squeezed an icing bag over a tray of particularly wonderful-smelling cupcakes.
Pinkie made no reply – at least verbally. With the speed of a striking scorpion she reached out and wrapped both forelegs around Mrs. Cake, withers and chest, pressing her cheek into her neck. And taking Mrs. Cake quite by surprise as the sudden shock caused her to squeeze the icing bag too hard, splurting and splurging blue icing over a quarter of the still-warm baked treats. Releasing Mrs. Cake, Pinkie turned to the other side and seized Mr. Cake in a similar embrace, rendering him equally aghast. “Gah!” He cried as he nearly dropped his bowl of whisked batter, managing merely to spill most onto the worktop.
“Pinkie, is everything alright?” asked Mr. Cake when he was quite recovered, and Pinkie had released him.
Pinkie didn’t answer, but her mind was racing. She looked back, beyond the kitchen to the bakery’s pink front door, and swivelled and strained her ears to listen.
Nope. Nothing happened. No sound of frantic galloping. Certainly no police-ponies had come charging through, citation in hoof, demanding urgent payment for the hugs she had just given. The conclusion must be, then, that whatever hug-payment-program the paper was predicting was still pre-production, and not yet presently prescribed.
But it would be. The paper had said so. In fact it had said it was Imminent. Imminent! Which sounded awfully soon! How soon? That depended on how long an imminent was, exactly. Pinkie sat and set herself a concentrated frown as she opened her own personal mental dictionary:
Imminent – not a real word. ‘Imminent’ is the noise made when ponies are speaking too quickly for their lips to keep up, and trying to pronounce, ‘In a Minute.’
Pinkie gasped. A long, shrill, long, drawn-out, loud, and long intake of air that was as surprising as it was long.
According to the newspaper, it could happen in any minute. In a minute! Innaminit! Imminent!
“Pinkie, dearie? Whatever is the matter?” asked an increasingly concerned Mrs. Cake.
No! Hold your hooves, Pinkie Pie. Think about this logically. ‘Imminent’ might be soon but it wasn’t right now, and the paper said the price was set to soar. And today’s newspaper was good for news for the whole day. So... if the newspaper was reporting today that it was inaminuteimminent, that must mean that whatever new pay-per-hug-policy it portended, the earliest it could start was tomorrow. And the earliest that tomorrow could happen was midnight tonight.
Conclusion: she had until midnight until hugs weren’t free anymore. Good work, Pinkie. That was some excellent logicking.
“There’s only one thing for it!” she proclaimed, refusing to panic. “I have to find all of my friends today and give them a final free hug before midnight!” It all made perfect sense. To her.
Legs pinwheeling, Pinkie raced from the kitchen, a pink blur. In an instant she was out, through the front door, slamming it behind herself as she zoomed into the bright Ponyville morning.
Leaving two very confused bakers behind. They exchanged a glance.
“Uh... honey? She does know she’s supposed to be working today?” asked Mr. Cake.
* * *
Shares and Investments
Pinkie’s fevered galloping took her on a beeline straight for Fluttershy’s animal sanctuary, where a sixth-sense told her that Fluttershy would be this morning.
True enough she was there tending to her myriad woodland guests. She flitted and glided within the protective, dangling strands hanging from a tall, thick-trunked willow tree near the shore of the small lake, within which various birds, squirrels, chipmunks and sloths had taken up temporary residence. With care and grace she poured a sack containing nuts and seeds into various feeders from her cradled forelegs, her melodic humming a relaxing, sedate accompaniment.
Now the fact that Fluttershy was not currently on the ground was a problem, for it meant that Pinkie could not simply tackle her and wrap her hooves around her in a tight, suffocating hug as was her normal practise. And so as Pinkie came to an instant halt outside the gently swaying fronds of the breeze-caressed willow, she raised her head and called aloud – and with only a hint of desperation – “Fluttershy!”
The piercing volume of the cry was such that the next thing Pinkie heard was a soft, startled exclamation and the sound of many seeds spilling from a canvas sack. And then a quiet little, “Oh dear,” followed by a more optimistic, “Well, more for everyone I guess.”
Fluttershy finally appeared, parting the curtain of willow-fronds with care and carrying the remaining contents of her sack – now only about a fifth full – to the ground. Landing close to Pinkie she put the burlap bag down and greeted her friend with a smile. “Good morning, Pinkie. I’m afraid you startled me a little. I didn’t think anypony would be around this early.”
“Fluttershy, there’s no time to explain,” began Pinkie, her tone all business. “We only have until midnight before hugs start costing bits. So I have to track down all my friends and give them one, last, free hug before that happens!” Pinkie stopped, caught herself, and blinked. “Huh, whaddaya know? There was time to explain.”
Fluttershy, it seemed, had not assimilated all of the required information, continuing to look confused. “So... you’re going to...?”
“Fluttershy? I am going to hug you now,” stated Pinkie.
“Oh,” said Fluttershy. “O-okay then.”
“Yay!” chirruped Pinkie, who drew back, flung her forelegs wide, and prepared to launch herself forward...
Just before she lunged, she saw it.
She caught it, in just an instant. It was the slight tensing of Fluttershy’s muscles. The subtle widening of her friend’s stance and the planting of her hooves. The way she turned her head slightly away and to the side, and closed her eyes a little tighter than normal. Bracing herself, ready to endure a level of discomfort. Minor perhaps. Fleeting even. But that wasn’t the point.
No, Pinkie. Hugs aren’t about making anypony feel uncomfortable. Just the opposite! They’re supposed to be the comfiest, cosiest things ever, she reasoned. Because they were! So you know what? If today is the day I give my last hugs to my best friends, then I’m going to take these raw ingredients, and I’m gonna bake them each a perfect hug they’ll never forget.
And so, with care and a light, tentative step Pinkie moved closer, as a cautious pony might approach a nervous critter. No sudden moves, everything taken slowly and smoothly until they were muzzle to muzzle. With a final, gentle advance she pressed her warm, pillowed cheek to Fluttershy’s, rubbing softly. Her muzzle made its way beneath her friend’s flowing tresses and nuzzled its way into a cosy nook near the nape of her neck, breathing in the peaceful smell of strawberry-vanilla shampoo mingled with fresh-air and flowers. Pinkie’s forelegs came off the ground with a care designed not to startle and delicately wrapped around Fluttershy’s withers, enfolding her and pulling her close. Firm, but not forceful; holding her snug, but not tight. And Fluttershy relaxed.
Every muscle in her friend’s body that had been tensed fell limp and loose as she let out a soft, contented hum and leaned in. Fluttershy raised her own forehooves and wrapped them around Pinkie, pressing their chests close as her own muzzle found its own space to nuzzle into the side of Pinkie’s neck. She closed her eyes and let out a long, relaxed breath as Pinkie felt her give a close, gentle squeeze.
There is a language to hugs. As nuanced and as complex as any language ever spoken, or written, or signed; the basics easy to learn but difficult to truly master for the subtleties are many, and every single pony prefers a slightly different dialect. But when a pony knows the language as well as Pinkie Pie, and they ply it with a pony with whom they share a deep and special bond, the result can be a true wonder. An ephemeral, intimate experience that uses the language of physical contact to express feelings so deep and meaningful that words on a page could never hope to do them justice. A perfect hug will convey what you mean, not just now, in this moment, but perpetually and for all time for that pony. An everlasting impression; a unique signature written with emotion, not ink.
And so Pinkie hugged Fluttershy, using her raw ingredients and experience to bake the warmest, gentlest, most full-feeling and love-filled hug she believed she had ever given this closest of companions. Possibly for the last ever time and so she poured into it every ounce of honest, heartfelt sentiment she had, her message clear.
I’m so happy we’re friends.
And it hit her with a pang of grief. Because if this was the last time she was going to get to tell Fluttershy that – not with words but like this, in this most bestest of ways – why hadn’t she done it sooner? Or more often? Or every single day?
And then she was taken by surprise. Because even as that thought crossed her mind, Fluttershy gave her another little squeeze and a tiny nuzzle...
I’m so lucky to have you.
Pinkie’s eyes went all stingy and blurry and blinky and then her cheeks went all soggy. Yeah, she was pretty sure her eyes were watering. They stood in a quiet, content embrace for what seemed like minutes until, with neither spoken word nor even conscious act to guide them, their engagement came to a natural, satisfied end and they released each other, stepping back with happy, contented smiles.
“That was wonderful,” said Fluttershy, her cheeks having taken on just a little extra colour.
“I know, right?” cried Pinkie. “How could anypony want to charge anyotherpony for that?” she asked the world in general.
“Um, you... mentioned that before. I’m not sure I really understood what you meant by a ‘free hug’ before midnight?” She paused; a little, unsure pause. “That is what you said, isn’t it?”
“Because after midnight hugs are going to cost a lot more money!” Pinkie looked left and right, and then leaned closer. “There’s some kind of raw material shortage,” she hissed in a conspiratorial whisper. “The cost of making them is going to shoot up! From nothing to... something! I’ve gotta get all my best hugs in with my best friends before the deadline. There’s no time to lose!”
She turned abruptly, setting off bounding. One friend taken care of. But more to go, and the day wasn’t getting any longer—
“Should I come too?”
Pinkie lurched to a stop in mid-bounce with a sound of screeching brakes and skidding cart-wheels. Quite an impressive feat, if you ever happen to see it. She craned her neck to look behind her, to where Fluttershy was still standing, scuffing a forehoof against the ground.
Odd. This had had all the flavourings of a single-pony piece. But if Fluttershy wanted to turn it into an ensemble, who was she to stop her? More friends made for more happy!
Pinkie nodded and beamed a wide, cheery grin. “Come on then, Fluttershy! It’s already mid-morning, and I’ve still got a lot of friends to hug!”
* * *
Fair Trade
Sweet Apple Acres on a sunny but cool Monday just before lunchtime found Applejack sitting on her haunches just outside the open double-doors of the barn tending to an overturned cart with a hammer and a jar of nails. She would tip the jar with skill, causing a single one to fall onto her upturned hoof. Then she would place the sharp point against one of the worn wooden slats of the cart wall and force it part-way in, driving it with her hoof. THUD. When it was located firmly, she would take up the hammer in her maw and continue the task until the head sat flush. Now, with a final hefty blow she finished hammering a particularly stubborn example, and removed her hat to wipe a sheen of sweat from her brow.
Pinkie saw her thus as she bounded beneath the familiar arch that marked the terminus of the road to Ponyville and the entrance to the rustic homestead. Locked on target she set herself racing, closing the distance between herself and her farmpony friend-definitely-relative-maybe-but-probably-and-it-didn’t-really-matter-anyway. Her desperate charge came accompanied with a dopplered zooming noise and kicked up a trail of dust from the dry, packed earth. A moment later she reached the point at which she could not feasibly get any closer to Applejack without physically intersecting the same point in space and she stopped dead, head springing back and forth like a blunt-nosed woodpecker. “Hiya Applejack!”
Fluttershy came trotting behind with a relaxed gait and an amiable smile.
Applejack somehow managed to take it in stride, putting the lid back on the nail-jar, standing, and taking a half-step away from the manic mare of mirth. It helped actually. Those extra few inches meant Pinkie could actually focus properly on her friend now.
“Howdy, Pinkie. Fluttershy. What brings you two ‘round today?”
“Applejack? We are going to have hugs now,” stated Pinkie.
Applejack’s initial reaction – that of confusion – lasted but a hair’s breadth of a second. In fact if one were looking closely, one could tell the exact instant her brain left its natural, startled reaction of, Huh?! at the door and sank into the blissful release of, Just roll with it. A warm smile came to her and she stepped back towards her pink poofy-maned friend. “Sure thing, sugarcube.”
Pinkie’s own reaction was what let her down. In the time it took her to lean back, clap her hooves in glee, and then spread her forelegs wide ready to wrap around Applejack, the farmpony was already there. Applejack half-turned and stood side by side with Pinkie. Flank to flank, cheek to cheek, she hooked a foreleg over and around Pinkie’s withers and drew her close, giving a long, firm squeeze. Pinkie went along with it, managing to free up her own foreleg and drape it around Applejack’s shoulders, tugging her tight too, fuzzy cheeks snugged up in a cosy cuddle. It might have been a tad more rough-and-ready than her hug with Fluttershy, and perhaps not filled with the same copious amounts of D’aww™, but she nevertheless managed to project her message loud and clear: I’m so happy we’re friends.
And, as before, there was a reply. This time a confident, reassuring feeling; the sentiment that Applejack wanted to give to anypony whom she trusted to share such a close moment of companionship.
I’ll always be here for ya.
Pinkie nearly welled up for the second time that day. Because there was an emphasis there too, on the word ‘always.’ A forever-for-eternity-no-matter-what-happens unequivocal kind of ‘always.’ That was something special. That was something to truly be treasured, and she felt a warm swell in her chest at the thought that she, somehow, had earned such a measure of devotion.
“So, what’s this all about?” asked Applejack as they parted and took a step back, standing a more healthy distance apart. “I doubt y’all headed all the way out here just for that.”
“Actually Applejack, yes I did. Because we are friends. And it is important that I show all my friends just how much I love them with a free hug because after midnight tonight hugs are going to start costing money and it sounds like they might end up being really expensive!”
There was a definite point, halfway through Pinkie’s word-barrage, when Applejack completely lost track. It was noticeable in the way her ear flicked, as though trying to cast off the nonsensical words like drops of water in order to try and salvage some meaning from the sentence. But when it became apparent that the deluge of phrases was there to stay, her brow furrowed and her expression became most confounded.
“Whoa, hold on a second there, Pinkie. What the hay are you talking about?”
“Argh!” Pinkie cried. “Does nopony read the papers?!”
“Whut? The paper said that... hugs are gonna start costing money?” asked Applejack with a half-squint, her face a mask of skepticism. “Pinkie... that’s just ridiculous.”
“It’sinthepaper!” screamed Pinkie by way of counter-argument. “And they’re not just gonna start costing money... the costs are gonna soar Applejack! That means they’re gonna go really high!”
“Yeah, I know what ‘soar’ means, Pinkie...” said Applejack in deadpan tone. She took a breath, shook her head a little and reset her focus on her friend. “Pinkie... why don’t we say – fer a second – that that’s right, and hugs costing money are gonna be a thing... why’re you worried? You’ve got more hugs to give than most anypony I know.”
“Because if they’re too expensive I won’t be able to afford to give them!” hollered Pinkie in exasperation. Did she really have to spell it out this much? “What if they start costing so much that I have to save up? What if giving hugs becomes a once-an-hour thing? Or a once-a-day thing? Or a once a week thing! What if I have to choose who gets a hug and who doesn’t because I don’t have enough bits?! Argh! It’s too much!”
Applejack stood for several seconds, jaw hanging open. Then, after a moment, she closed her mouth and found a little, knowing smile. “Okay. Reckon I can see what the problem is.” She turned and wandered over to a nearby basket of apples, freshly bucked that morning, ripe and juicy. She picked a crisp, shiny green one up on her forehoof and brought it back to her waiting friends. “Now again, let’s just pretend this is a real thing. See, if hugs were gonna start costing money, well, that’s basically gonna be some sort of trade, right? So look here. Say you’re hungry an’ you’re hankering for an apple. Well, we at Sweet Apple Acres grow ‘em real fine,” she said, holding out the example on her hoof: “So: I have an apple, and you want an apple. Now, I don’t mind givin’ you this apple, but to make it fair maybe I’d like something in return. But what if you don’t have anythin’ I need? Well, how ‘bout we say you give me somethin’ that I can use in another trade later on? Somethin’ that wouldn’t just have value to me, but to everypony? Currency. So you can have this apple, and to make it fair, I would like one bit in exchange please,” said Applejack. “What the... where’s my apple?” She looked to her suddenly-empty hoof, and from there to the rapid chewing and juice-drooled lips of Pinkie Pie. She rolled her eyes. “Urgh... anyway, point is: you got a lotta hugs to give, Pinkie Pie... lotsa ponies want hugs... you ain’t gonna have to worry about running out of bits: you’re gonna have to worry about where to put ‘em all!” she finished with a friendly grin.
Pinkie finished chewing very slowly and her brow darkened. With a final deliberate swallow she fixed Applejack’s gaze, hard, and with a mirthless expression. “No, Applejack.”
“Uh... no?” Applejack shrank a little, her friendly grin fading in the face of Pinkie’s sudden vexation.
“No,” repeated Pinkie Pie. Applejack’s forgivable but still incredibly condescending explanation had entirely missed the point. “That isn’t what hugs are. That’s not what they’re for!”
“But that’s how trade—”
“NO!” screamed Pinkie in one short, sharp syllable. Then, finally, her face softened and she looked at Applejack with a friendly, compassionate and even pitied expression, and it was her turn to explain.
“Applejack...? What if it all went wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“Here. On your farm. What if one year, the apple trees got all blighted? And the vampire fruitbats went on a rampage. And you had no apples to sell and you couldn’t make any bits? What if things got worse? What if Big Mac got injured? And Granny Smith got sick? And you had to start paying for food and medicine just to try and get all of your family through the winter? What if you ran out? What then, Applejack? Your tres are dying. Your sister’s starving. Granny Smith’s fever is getting worse. You’re broke. You’re desperate. You’re crying yourself to sleep every night in a freezing cold bed hoping things will turn around but it’s not happening. The world’s turning into a cruel, scary place, Applejack. You’re not sure how to go on. You’re not sure if you can. What happens then?”
Applejack sat, winded, Pinkie’s stark description painting a grim, vivid picture before her mind’s eye. “Pinkie, I...”
Pinkie raised an abrupt hoof to Applejack’s lips, shushing her with a determined frown and a piercing stare. “I’ll tell you what happens then.” Her face softened just a little and she reached out again, enfolding Applejack in a soft, warm, comfy embrace. “You get a hug.” She spoke softly, giving her farmer friend a happy nuzzle and a squeeze then sitting back, forehooves extended and resting on Applejack’s shoulders, locking her gaze with eyes now full of kindness. “You don’t ‘want’ a hug right now, Applejack. You need one. You’re almost ready to give up. You’re right at the precipice staring down into the abyss, it’s staring back and you’re so close to falling in! You need a pony there with you, wrapping their cosy, snuggy hooves around you, making sure you don’t fall, and pulling you gently away from the edge. You need a warm, happy cuddle from a best friend right by your side to cheer you up and help you get back under the saddle. It’s step one on the road to recovery, and trust me, nothing else will do the job right. But –gasp!– you don’t have any bits to spare! You can’t afford one! Do you really think that means there’s no way back? Or do you think maybe... maybe... your friends would be here for you anyway? Doing everything we can, making sure you have everything you need. And do you think if things really had gotten that bad, we wouldn’t give you a big hug too? We’d have to.” Her smile broadened.
She lowered her hooves from Applejack’s chest, half-turned and raised her muzzle, as though making an announcement to the world. “And it isn’t right that you should have to be the one to worry about where the cost of that hug comes from. Hugs are supposed to be about taking your worries away. And more than that... I won’t live in a world where the only ponies who ever get hugs are the ponies who can afford to buy them. That’s a world where the ponies who need hugs the most get them the least, and that’s not my Equestria, Applejack and Fluttershy. That’s not even Griffonstone. No. The only way this can possibly work is if the pony who takes responsibility for making their friend feel better with a hug also assumes responsibility for paying for it. And most often that pony... is me,” she finished with a steely, resolute confidence.
Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged a short, worried glance. Finally, Applejack spoke up again. “And... just who’re you paying, Pinkie? I mean, I sure wouldn’t want you to think ya had to pay me for the privilege of huggin’ me. So where’re those bits going?”
“Well... the paper didn’t say,” she admitted. Then set herself a determined frown. “But the paper did say it’s going to happen. So if I don’t want the bits, and you don’t want the bits... somepony else must be collecting them. Maybe it’s a tax!” she gasped. “We end up paying duty on hugs! But... how would they know about every hug? How would they record what each pony owed?” Her eyes shot wide as she came to the inescapable conclusion. “Oh no! There’s going to be a form isn’t there?! A super-boring, long one you fill in for every hug you want to give!” she wailed. But who could be so meticulous and methodical so as to require a form for every hug? And who had the power to simply decree overnight that hugs were going to need to be paid for?
Oh.
“Well, I think we have an idea of who’s behind this now,” said Pinkie. “Come on, Applejack and Fluttershy. We’re gonna have to take this right to the top!” she announced, whirling round and heading towards Ponyville.
Applejack and Fluttershy made to follow, but just as they started moving they caught each other’s gaze. They gave each other a look, a smile and a why not? sort of shrug.
As Pinkie started bouncing she heard it, and it stopped her dead in her tracks. Actually, it was wrong to say she ‘heard’ it at all, for there was no sound as such. More accurate to say she ‘sensed’ it, but hearing was the closest approximation. From behind her. She heard it very clearly.
I’ll always be here for ya.
I’m so lucky to have you.
She craned her neck and looked back toward the barn. Then scowled and raised her head to the heavens in exasperation. “Agh! Who pays for that one?!” she cried. She lowered her gaze and began a determined trot toward Ponyville. This was getting too confusing. She needed real answers. Fast.
The journey to the castle happened to take them on a route that passed beneath a conspicuously low-lying cloud. A cloud from which contented snoring could be heard and over the side of which a multi-hued tail was lazily draped.
“Rainbow Dash!” hollered Pinkie, bouncing on the spot beneath it.
Rousing Ponyville’s chief napping specialist was not an easy task. Yet Pinkie had long since perfected the exact pitch at which her shrill voice could pierce even the most lethargic of eardrums, and so with a great measure of reluctance, the pony on the cloud stirred.
“Urgh... Pinkie?” said the cloud.
“Rainbow Dash? We need to hug, right now.”
There was a short pause. Then finally the cloud replied. “Pass,” it said in bored strains. The fluffy mass shifted and billowed a little, as though the pony in residence were turning onto her side.
“But it’ll just take a second!”
“Maybe later.”
“But there might not be time later!”
“Pinkie, remember when you told me to warn you when you were acting all loop-de-doo?”
“No?”
“Maybe I dreamed it. Anyway, you’re doing it right now. Come back later when you’ve burned off whatever sugar-rush you’ve got goin’ on. In the meantime...” she trailed off into a long, lazy yawn. “...it’s naptime.” Then she fell silent save for a couple of languid, slow breaths-that-were-almost-snores.
Fluttershy spoke up. “Um... Rainbow Dash? I think you should...”
But her entreaty was curtailed by new sounds of heavy definitely-snoring from overhead.
“Oh.”
Had to give it to her, that pony could drop off in a heartbeat. Several times a day.
“Never mind,” said Pinkie, unfazed. “We’ll come back for her later. Right now we need those answers!”
And so they set off again, the castle in their sights.
* * *
Regulation / Economies of Scale
“Admit it, Twilight! This was your idea! Why would you do this?! WHY?!”
“Pinkie?! Put me down!”
Twilight’s throne room had been quiet and peaceful for the whole morning. Making an entrance through the tall, double doors, Pinkie saw fit to change that straight away. She raced to Twilight, scooping her up onto the centre of the map-table and squeezing her around her middle. Tight. “No, Twilight! I’mma hug you for as long as it takes until you understand how amazing hugs are and you stop your crazy anti-hug scheme!”
I’M SO HAPPY WE’RE FRIENDS!
[hug]???[/hug]
“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” pleaded Twilight, fast running out of air.
“Well, we’re just about figurin’ that out ourselves,” said Applejack from near the door, rubbing the back of her neck with a hoof.
“Pinkie Pie said she read an article about how hugs are going to start costing money... and now she’s worried about it,” added Fluttershy, neatly summing up the entire morning thus far into one ultra-compact nutshell.
“Exactly!” screeched Pinkie. “And who’s the one pony in Ponyville who could unilaterally introduce town-wide hug-based legislation? Princess Twilight!” she seethed. “She’s tired of ponies giving each other completely unregulated hugs, day-in, day-out, and now she wants to change everything by getting ponies to fill out really long and boring forms for every hug they want to give and then make them pay bits for giving them! It won’t work, Twilight. Hugs can’t be stopped with red tape! All it will do is force free-thinking, hug-loving ponies underground, closeting themselves in shady corners and hug-easies, giving each other illicit nuzzles far from the prying eyes of authority, bravely risking criminalisation until the inevitable uprising liberates them! Viva la revolución!”
“Pinkie!” snapped Twilight from within Pinkie’s vice-like grip.
“I think you’re gonna have to put her down, Pinkie,” said Spike, who had had to jump clear when Pinkie had first burst through the doors and made a mad rush straight for Twilight. “She’s turning purple.” That got him a strange look from the other three ponies in the room, and he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Pinkie blinked and looked back at Twilight’s very unimpressed, and by now slightly bloated face. Reluctantly she released her, dropping her onto all four hooves on the tabletop and allowing her friend to gasp for breath. It brought her to her senses. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay Pinkie,” said Twilight in that voice that suggested that forgiveness was not instantaneous, but would be along shortly. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never asked for anything like that, and I never would. Why would I?”
“So it wasn’t you?” said Pinkie, rubbing her chin with a forehoof. The implications were unsettling. “That must mean there’s another pony in power purporting to peddle this pernicious plan!”
“Or this is all just a big misunderstanding,” reasoned Twilight. “Pinkie... which paper was this exactly?”
“The Ponyville Chronicle. Today’s edition,” Pinkie stated. And then gasped long, hard, and wide-eyed, as the revelation hit her. “Of course! The Ponyville Chronicle is owned by the Canterlot Chronicle! This news must have broken in Canterlot!” she cried. “That means it’s not just going to affect Ponyville... it’s going to affect all of Equestria! And it means the ponies responsible are...” she gasped again – more for dramatic effect than the need to inhale – “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna!” she screamed. “I have to stop them...” she finished with a scowl.
“Pinkie, I... wait. What do you mean, ‘stop them’?”
“There’s only one thing for it, Twilight. I, Pinkie Pie, must go to Canterlot. To the royal palace itself. I must confront the two most powerful ponies in Equestria... and give them both non-stop hugs until they see the error of their ways and recant this wrong!”
“If you’re planning to use the same method as just now, that might not be the best way to get them to change their minds,” grumbled Twilight, her ribs still sore. “Pinkie, look. I can guarantee you that the Princesses haven’t come up with any kind of scheme to tax ponies for the hugs they give. But, rather than have you go all the way to Canterlot to find that out, how about I get you confirmation in writing right now? Would that make you feel better?” she said with a kind smile.
Pinkie sat, grinned, and nodded two big nods, her poofy cowlick springing back and forth.
“Okay. Spike? Take a—”
“Already done,” said Spike holding up a rolled scroll, bound and sealed.
Twilight did a quick double-take. “Huh? How do you know what I wanted to write?”
Spike set Twilight a very level gaze. “Seriously? We’ve been at this for how long? Try me.”
Twilight looked to Spike at first with an annoyed glare, and then a little smirk. “‘Dear Princesses Celestia and Luna. My friend Pinkie Pie has read that a new law requiring ponies to pay money for the hugs they give will be coming into effect very shortly. Please could you confirm if this is so? With warm regards, Princess Twilight Sparkle.’”
Spike’s expression remained bored and unmoved, and he balanced the scroll on the tip of a claw. Then, drawing a quick breath, he incinerated the parchment with a lick of green flame, the smoke coiling and darting to the nearest open window: the missive on its way to Canterlot.
“Really?” said Twilight with narrow-eyed skepticism.
“Meh... it was like, eighty-five percent there,” said Spike.
“And while we’re waiting, I can give you your real hug, Twilight!”
“Pinkie, no...!” But she was too late. Before she could move more than a muscle Pinkie sat down on her haunches on the crystal table-top, reached forward with her forelegs and pulled Twilight close. Twilight’s survival instinct initially encouraged her to pull away, but this was not the same crushing bear-hug that she had so recently endured. This was a gentle but insistent pull, and as soon as Twilight realised that this was an altogether less vigorous affair, she sat down herself, and allowed herself to be reeled in. Pinkie pulled her close and pressed her cheek to Twilight’s and Twilight followed suit with just the merest, slightest, cutest hint of hesitation. Aww. Twilight Sparkle might be the confident, well-read Princess of Friendship, but deep, deep, deep down there was still a tiny part of her that was the same loveable fish-out-of-water who’d first arrived in Ponyville with no idea of how to friendship. She went into her hugs with a split-second uncertainty; a latent, vestigial disbelief that she had found such unqualified acceptance here and a tiny little second-guess that always worried, Am I doing it right? But only ever a fleeting thing, and then she relaxed and they fell comforted and comfortable in each others’ embrace.
I’m so happy we’re friends.
I wouldn’t be me without you.
So. Adorable!
With a final squeeze, they released each other and sat back. There was even a little moisture in their respective eyes to compliment their happy smiles.
Spike bounded onto the table, placed himself not-quite-between Twilight and Pinkie, and raised his chin while holding out a claw. “Ahem. That’ll be five bits, please,” he said with a grin.
“Spike! That’s not funny,” admonished Twilight. “This is really important to Pinkie. Isn’t it?” she said, meeting Pinkie’s gaze. She didn’t need to hear the reply to know it was true.
“Okay, okay. But I really don’t get it,” said Spike. “You’re saying you’ll have to pay bits for every hug you give, right? But surely if you’re giving a hug to somepony, aren’t you always getting one at the same time? Shouldn’t it all just... I dunno, balance out?”
Pinkie’s eyes shrank. Lost focus. Even crossed a little as some horrible epiphany seemed to befall her. Finally she gasped loudly – which really was becoming a habit today. “Or cost double!” she cried. And then her eyes widened even further even as another terror struck. “It can’t be...” she whispered.
“Uh... what can’t be?” asked Spike.
But Pinkie was already moving. With frightening speed she had seized Twilight by the hoof and whisked her down from the table, bringing her to Fluttershy and Applejack. She deposited the Princess of Friendship adjacent to her two friends and gave a simple, stern command. “Hug.”
Pinkie backed carefully toward the table, observing as her three friends exchanged worried glances – honestly, why did they keep doing that? – and with movements that were at first hesitant, gathered close and extended their forelegs about each other’s withers.
I wouldn’t be me without you.
I’ll always be here for ya.
I’m so lucky to have you.
“It’s as I feared,” said Pinkie, looking on.
“What is?” asked Spike, hopping down beside her.
“Look Spike. It’s just like that triangle puzzle,” she practically snarled, her disdain on the scene before her clear. “How many hugs do you see?”
“Uh... one? It’s a group-hug?”
“Yes. And no. Don’t you see? Twilight is hugging Fluttershy. Fluttershy is hugging Applejack. Applejack is hugging Twilight. But Applejack’s also hugging Fluttershy, Fluttershy’s hugging Twilight, and Twilight is hugging Applejack!” she cried. “That’s six hugs!” A bead of cold sweat had appeared on her brow, and her breathing was a little heavier. “What if... what if all of us want a group hug? That’s going to be like... thirty hugs! If we count you, that’s forty-two hugs! And if Starlight joins in it’s... fifty-six hugs!” she wheezed breathlessly. “We’re never going to be able to afford an all-of-us-together hug again!” she wailed. And grabbed Spike. And squeezed hard while crying tears of desperation. I’m so happy we’re friends!
It was all Spike could do to get an arm free and pat her gently on the back – I won’t let you down – while with a glance he sought some measure of sense from his equally bewildered cohorts.
Twilight, Applejack and Fluttershy broke from their hug. A valiant Twilight tried one more time with, “Pinkie, maybe we should just calm down and...”
But the Pinkie Train Of Thought was unstoppable. “And that’s if we assume a one-to-one pony-to-hug ratio! What if Twilight was hugging Fluttershy, Applejack, and Fluttershy and Applejack together as a separate hug? If we multiply that out then group-hug costs are going to skyrocket exponentially!” Price of Hugs Set to Soar. Her heart skipped a beat and despair threatened to overtake her at this new line of reasoning. But she fought back hard. She couldn’t be defeated now. Not yet. Not until it was too late!
She dropped Spike, stood, turned and with conviction and passion announced to absolutely no-one on the opposite side of the room, “That just makes it more important than ever that I find the rest of my friends and make sure they get a last, free hug before the day is out!”
Seriously, it was weird – Pinkie just said it to thin air while standing in a determined pose with her remaining friends gathered behind her. As though she was expecting that somepony might be watching from the far side of an invisible wall or screen. And in the next instant she was gone, taking to her hooves and racing for the throne-room doors, the corridor beyond and ultimately, the main exit back into Ponyville. Leaving four bewildered friends behind her, mute with shock.
Until the silence was broken by a low rumble which became a full-on belly-belch from Spike. As his maw opened, a thin piece of smoke evacuated, coiled, and with a flash became a roll of bound parchment which he deftly plucked from the air. With practised skill he used a claw to break the seal and unfurl the scroll in a single, fluid motion, and began to read aloud.
“My Dearest Twilight.
We confess we are somewhat concerned by your proposal. We have never sought to place any barrier between ponies and their ability to express their love and compassion for one another. If Ponyville is suffering some economic hardship, rest assured we can think of many ways to improve the financial health of the town without resorting to draconian measures. If you are worried or need help, then you know that we are always here for you, but we hope you will reconsider this course of action.
With love, always,
Princesses Celestia and Luna.”
“What!?” screamed Twilight in half-panic, half-rage, rounding on Spike. “They think it was my idea!? Spike, what exactly did you write!?”
“Nothing that would have given them that impression. They’re clearly as confused as we are,” said Spike defensively, backing away from Twilight’s furious face just a step or two. “Hey... what are draconian measures anyway? Is it something to do with dragons?” he asked with eager curiosity. Just to try and change the subject.
“I’ll demonstrate what draconian measures are on you unless you help me fix this!” she cried. “Take another letter, fast!”
* * *
With haste, Pinkie bounded toward the Carousel Boutique – home to Rarity, another of her best friends and the most well-renowned fashion designer and clothier in Ponyville. And so it was, in fact, perfectly super-normal that on her journey hence she found herself thinking more and more about trousers.
Yes, trousers.
Plural.
You see, trousers always came in pairs, didn’t they? If you needed a stylish or practical rump covering, you went and got yourself a pair of trousers. One trouser on its own wasn’t a thing, because if it were it would be beyond useless. But when you bought a pair of trousers, you weren’t paying double just because you had to buy two of them. A ‘pair’ of trousers was still only one garment. Pinkie even supposed that there must exist such a thing as a four-legged set of trousers... a quad of trousers? A quartet? But if you needed such a piece of apparel – (why you wouldn’t just go for a jacket instead was a thought for another day) – you wouldn’t have to pay four times as much just because there were four trousers in it. That would be ridiculous!
Thus the same must hold true for hugs too. You couldn’t even make a hug with just one pony, so logically you could never have just ‘one’ hug, just like you could never have only one trouser. You needed at least two ponies for a hug – or two hugs; or a pair of hugs – but, like with the pair of trousers being only one garment called Trousers, that pair of hugs was only one hug called a Hug. And even if you added more ponies to that Hug – like with the four-legged trousers – there might be a small premium for the extra fabric involved, but it wouldn’t make the price increase exponentially!
So the conclusion was that group-hugs might be more expensive than a regular old two-pony hug, but they surely wouldn’t be massively so. The trousers had proved it.
As she finished this very satisfactory line of reasoning, she noticed a familiar cloud had drifted its way close to her path. A little tingle of excitement hit her as she realised she had a second opportunity to cross another pony off her list, and she angled towards it.
“Rainbow! Rainbow Dash!” she called out as she reached the hovering, tufty white pillow.
“Zzz,” was her only reply. Heavy snoring and a complete lack of voluntary motion. Repeated attempts did not alter that fact.
Pinkie clenched her teeth and growled under her breath as the most infuriating version of one of her best ever friends remained tantalisingly out of reach. Didn’t Rainbow Dash’s subconscious realise how important this was? It was just her luck that, at this particular moment her trampoline was in the shop for repair having succumbed to a highly unlikely, and alas utterly indescribable, calamity just the previous day. She was stuck on the ground with no way to reach her friend!
This was a problem she did not yet have the tools to solve. But she would fret not. Though the sun was well into the afternoon by now, the day was not lost. She would return to Rainbow Dash, and she would ensure that she got a free, happy hug that was just as loving as every other she had given today!
For now though, she turned and continued on her original path, the Boutique firmly in her sights. Within, she would find Rarity. And trousers.
* * *
The Free Market
The little tingle-bell above the shop door chimed sweetly as Pinkie made her entrance. No sooner was she over the threshold than her friend’s welcoming voice reached her ears.
“Come i∼in,” Rarity sang, finishing up a stitch or two on a flowing white silk gown with tasteful pink trim, adorned with pink lily-flowers. Satisfied with her adjustments, she turned. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every outfit is chic, unique, and— oh! Pinkie Pie, how are you, darling? It’s so wonderful to see... oh...” she finished, a somewhat befuddled expression to her.
“Oh?” asked Pinkie, confounded by her companion’s confused countenance.
“Oh, it’s nothing darling. It’s just... after one has been a couturier for as long as I, one develops a certain knack for knowing just the sort of thing a pony is looking for as soon as she steps through the door! A sixth sense, if you will. And for some odd reason I sensed that you’ve come here for... trousers.”
“Close,” said Pinkie with a grin. “I’ve come for hugs!”
“Oh! Well now that I can most certainly assist with,” said Rarity with a smile. She took several dainty steps toward Pinkie, while Pinkie took two ungainly bounces toward Rarity. Sufficiently proximate, they both reached out and hugged with a warm, wonderful embrace. Rarity’s coat was as soft as cotton-wool, as smooth as silk and as warm as a muffin fresh from the toasting-oven. Her gorgeous mane was lightly scented with lavender and juniper; a heady combination and Pinkie almost felt herself melt into her.
I’m so happy we’re friends.
I wouldn’t trade you for the world.
Aww.
For several long moments they remained thus until, by unspoken agreement they released each other and stood back.
“So, what’s all this in aid of dear?”
“Nothing. Just making sure all my friends get a final free hug before the prices soar tomorrow,” said Pinkie.
“Mmm? Oh, that headline in the paper you mean?”
“You read it?” asked Pinkie. Finally, somepony who read the papers!
“Yes... though I do confess it didn’t make much sense to me. I’d taken it for some sort of error.”
“But you’re not worried about it?”
“Oh, da-ha-harling what is there to worry about?” chuckled Rarity. “Even if it’s true, it’s not as if a fire-spewing monster is bearing down on us. All things in perspective.” She caught the expression of horror etched on Pinkie’s face, and Rarity softened her own into her most sympathetic smile, her eyes full of compassion. “Of course I’m not saying it would be the best news, Pinkie. But if the paper is to be believed, we’ll adapt. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too bad once everypony got used to it. And who knows? A few bits spent in service of a luxurious hug like that one, might even make them all the more special,” she finished, the smile on her lips become contented.
Pinkie’s eyes bulged and she looked horrified, as though Rarity had just blasphemed. “Hugs aren’t luxuries, Rarity!” she exclaimed. “They’re for everypony! They’re basics, like food or water or air! If they’re priced like luxury items, they’ll be so expensive that only really really rich ponies will be able to afford to give hugs at all! What if... what if the only ponies that can afford to give them... don’t?! There’ll be no hugs! Can you imagine if the only pony in town who could afford to give hugs was somepony like Filthy Rich?”
“Now Pinkie, Mr. Rich is a gentlecolt who seems, inexplicably, to suffer from a rather ill-deserved reputation. Though, admittedly, not exactly the huggy type,” admitted Rarity.
“But I might not be able to afford to give them!” wailed Pinkie. “Or worse, I might only be able to afford some! What if I have to choose who to give hugs to because I can’t afford to hug all my friends! What if some get left out?” She sank to the floor, placing her forehooves over the top of her head and looked down at the ground in front of her. “I don’t want any of my friends to be sad because they didn’t get a hug. And I don’t want them to be mad at me for not giving them one.” She gave a tiny, tragic sniffle and mewled, “Why did this have to happen?”
Now if at any point Rarity had been at all bemused, beguiled or bewildered by either Pinkie’s sudden appearance this day, her off-kilter behaviour or her curious non-sequiturs, she had never given a hint of it – a fact that made her unique among her friends thus far. Instead, Ponyville’s resident fashionista seemed determined to meet Pinkie’s ramblings head-on using the most effective tools in her arsenal: composure and acumen. Thus it was that in reply, Rarity gave a knowing but still warm smile, and began. “Pinkie, listen to me,” she said. “Firstly, I fear you’re vastly overrating the amount of bits that a hug could feasibly be expected to cost. After all, you’re right, darling: hugs are for everypony. And if this is going to be some new policy, it’s going to have to be realistic – pricing ponies out of the market from the get-go simply eliminates revenue. Secondly, even if you couldn’t afford to hug everypony you wanted, Pinkie, you know that your friends would never begrudge your choices, no matter what – or who – they were. We’d understand. And thirdly... think of it this way, darling: it’s in everypony’s interests to continue to give hugs. The more hugs you and other ponies who can afford them give, the less expensive they’ll be,” she finished with a smile.
Pinkie blinked. This was new. She looked up at Rarity with sad eyes, but there tinged with hope. “M-more hugs equals cheap hugs? But... how?”
“Supply and demand, darling,” said Rarity, still with her friendly smile. “Why, it’s the basis for determining the value of any commodity.”
Pinkie only sat and cocked her head in confusion.
“Take my business as an example... and this dress in particular,” said Rarity, drawing Pinkie’s attention to the beautiful silk gown she had been working on. “I create exquisite-quality high fashion crafted with the eye of an artiste and the care of an artisan. Because of this, many of my designs such as this one, are unique – or at most, part of a limited-run; thus ‘supply’ is low while demand... well, I don’t wish to brag but let’s just say it is high enough that my best work can command something of a premium among the more discerning,” she finished with a perfectly-weighted touch of humility. “Contrast this with a business like that... um... hat ’emporium’ Applejack likes, where they have a higher ’supply’ of accoutrements, but more... modest demand. Thus, those items sell for fewer bits apiece,” she explained. “In its simplest form, the rule goes that the greater the supply of something, and the lower the demand for it, the less expensive it must be. And so it seems to me that the same must hold true for hugs: for as long as supply remains high, and ‘demand’ remains low, then hug-giving will be affordable by even those on the tightest of budgets,” Rarity finished with a little, triumphant smile.
Pinkie thought. Staring into the middle-distance, eyes unfocused, and when she spoke, her voice sounded far, far away.
“Before midnight...” she murmured, lips barely moving.
“Yes... uh, and you clearly have a very healthy ‘supply’ of hugs, Pinkie, and so I have absolutely no doubt that when—”
“...all of Ponyville...”
“Wait... what?”
Pinkie snapped out of it, spun, reached out and grabbed Rarity’s face with her forelegs, gently but firmly smushing her cheeks together. “Rarity, Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” she squealed. “I know what I have to do! If I can make a hug for every pony in Ponyville before midnight then suddenly demand for hugs will be super-low, supply will be super-high, and hugs... will be super-cheap!” Her grin was so wide that Rarity was certain she could see all of her teeth. “Gotta go!” she chirped, releasing Rarity and speeding from the boutique like a stone from a slingshot, leaving a shell-shocked Rarity trying to come to terms with this latest development.
The fashionista stood still, staring slack-jawed out of the open front door.
“Oh dear.”
* * *
Buyer’s Remorse
Like a blur, Pinkie Pie raced through the streets of Ponyville, intruding grossly into the personal space of every pony she met.
“Hiya Daisy, you look great, can I hug you?”
I’m so happy we’re friends.
“What...? Pinkie, I—”
“That was great, gotta go! Hi, Lyra, lovely day right? Can I hug you?”
I’m so happy we’re friends.
“???!”
“Fantastic, thanks a lot! Hey Bon-Bon, why so frowny? Well I’ll turn that frown upside down...”
And so it went on. And on.
All through Ponyville Pinkie Pie pelted, ping-ponging from pony to pony like a possessed pink pinball, with each equine she encountered enduring an excitable embrace.
This was perfect. She was doing something. Taking control. No longer was she unsettled by a nebulous, scary future in which she was helpless against the whims of The Mare. Rarity had given her the answer. For cheap hugs all she had to do was keep the supply high, and the demand low – and logically, once you’d just had a hug, demand for the next one would be at its lowest. Thus, when the new regime came at midnight tonight, hugs would be so cheap that anypony would be able to afford giving them. A lot!
“Cheerilee! So great to see you! Can-I-hug-you?”
I’m so happy we’re friends.
“Wh... Oh, Pinkie Pie? What was—? Where are you—? Oh, never mind.”
Yet as she continued her quest there grew a constant little caustic voice in the back of her head. A voice that wouldn’t stop counting. For every hug she gave, the voice would add one. Add one. Add one.
“Hi Minuette! Hugs?”
“Hi Pinkie Pie! Sure!”
I’m so happy we’re friends.
Me too!
Add one.
All through the afternoon until the sun went down at the close of the day, Pinkie hugged her way through the town, meticulously tracking down everypony from Amethyst Star to Zecora – a fortunate encounter given her seldom sorties to the suburb. And every time she gave a hug, the counting voice added one more: every single one mentally recorded, the total ready to be multiplied by the new, unknown integer, h, that – even in spite of her immense efforts – come midnight was inevitably going to be some number greater than zero. She found she couldn’t stop pondering just how many bits her current rampage would cost under the New World Order, her fretful mind making a secret, no-doubt-sky-high invoice as proof that no matter what she did or how many hugs she gave now, this current course of action could only be a one-time affair, never to be repeated. A small piece of freedom she would never enjoy again, not because she had no desire to, but thanks to those same cold, uncaring economics that had forced her to such measures in the first place. And with each new tally recorded by the counting voice her pace slowed, as though each new pony – each new number – added an imperceptible weight to her shoulders.
“Caramel... wait up! Here... have a free... hug!”
“I... uh... what?”
I’m so happy we’re friends.
“There... ya go!”
“Oh... well, thanks.”
Add one.
And just like that... that was it. She was officially out of ponies. Every single pony who had happened by either design or chance to be in Ponyville this day had been given their own happy hug, and as Caramel turned and lumbered away Pinkie slowed. Stopped. Allowed her smile to slip. Let out a long, steady breath and sank to her haunches next to the fountain in the town square, an abruptly solemn figure in the now shadowed twilight. Raising her heavy head to the heavens she saw the moon rising above the thatched roofs of the nearest houses, silver light playing across prickly straw. She’d finished her mission without much time to spare, but she had surely done enough to make hugs as cheap as chips come the morrow. Surely. After all, she couldn’t possibly have done any more.
And then she noticed it. That cloud. Alone in the darkening sky. Drifting lazily a little to the south.
Rainbow’s cloud had drifted just beyond the brook at the edge of the village, resting near the far end of the stonework arched bridge that led out to the wild meadows beyond Ponyville.
Pinkie found herself underneath the cloud and she sat, looking upwards. The edges glowed silver in the light of the moon, the cloud’s outline broken only by a single limp blue foreleg draped over the side, as though Rainbow Dash were lying on her belly atop it. For long minutes Pinkie was silent.
“Rainbow Dash?” she said at last, her soft-voiced call lacking any of her earlier energy.
“Mmnh. Yeah? Pinkie?” came the response from on high, as though its owner had just roused.
“I’d... I’d like to hug you, please.”
“Urgh. This again? Pinkie, I told you, I’m good alright? Don’t worry about it.” The cloud shifted and billowed slightly, Rainbow Dash rolling onto her back.
Pinkie’s head dropped and she found herself looking at the ground. “Oh. Okay.” Rainbow Dash didn’t want a hug. That was... fine. She... well she couldn’t have done any more. Not even for a best friend.
“Hey, I know I can nap with the best of them, but... it’s dark! How long was I out? What time is it?”
“It’s... not long till midnight,” Pinkie said in a soft voice.
“Now that’s gotta be some kind of record,” said Dash, pleased with herself.
Pinkie sighed again and looked up at the cloud, perpetually out of reach. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your hug, Rainbow Dash.”
“No sweat, Pinkie,” Rainbow called back with a cheery tenor.
“I... I promise I’ll start saving, so you can have one soon.” Pinkie’s heavy head drooped once more, a little sniffle caught in her nose.
“Huh?”
“Pinkie! There you are!” Twilight’s voice called out from a distance, carried to her cleanly on the dry night air.
Pinkie looked round and familiar shapes resolved from the gloom, approaching at a quick trot over the arched bridge.
“We missed you at Rarity’s,” explained Twilight as they drew close. “We’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon, but you just wouldn’t keep still.”
“Are you alright, Pinkie Pie?” asked Fluttershy in her endlessly concerned, caring voice.
“You do look somewhat down in the mouth, darling,” added Rarity. “Whatever is the matter?”
Pinkie looked upwards again and gestured to the conspicuous cloud. “Rainbow Dash doesn’t want her hug,” she lamented.
A brief, surprised pause followed, four ponies turning their collective gaze toward said cloud.
“She don’t?” asked Applejack.
Pinkie shook her head. There was another short pause, everyone’s attention directed toward the air above themselves. Whatever reason her friends had for tracking her down it seemed to have taken a temporary back seat.
It was Rarity who at last broke the silence. “Well, we’ll just see about that, Miss Pie,” she said. “Let’s see now... perhaps Fluttershy you could be a dear, fly up quietly and pull that cloud down, hmm?”
“Uh, I can hear you, y’know?” Rainbow Dash called down from above.
“Oh. Well... I think she might fly away if we tried that.” said Fluttershy, half embarrassed before whispering, “I think she can hear us.”
“Mmm, good point. Twilight, could you use some magic, per—?”
“I’ll get ‘er,” Applejack broke in, lasso already out and whirling. With an expert flourish she tossed the rope upwards and it sailed high toward its target. It looped over and around the cloud and its resident lazy-bones, and Applejack gave it a swift tug. The loop was drawn firmly around Rainbow Dash’s middle, effectively pinning the pegasus to the cloud as the trailing length was pulled back down through the white, fluffy mass to its terminus in Applejack’s maw. The recalcitrant racer offered no resistance and as Applejack pulled, Rainbow Dash and the cloud on which she was lying were brought closer to the ground until they came to rest, bumping softly against the grass. Applejack let the rope fall from her mouth.
Rainbow Dash lay there for a moment before rolling her eyes, hard. “Alright, fine. Sheesh.” She rolled onto her front, stood and shuffled the loose coil of rope from her back, letting it fall and stepping out of it. With a swift kick the cloud was dispersed into wisps of vapour that vanished before the eyes. She regarded her friends, Pinkie in particular. Sitting on her haunches she spread her forelegs, holding them wide but limp and without enthusiasm. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”
“Yay!” squeed Pinkie, her somber mood fleeing as if a shadow driven back by the morning sun. She leapt forward, wrapped her forelimbs around Rainbow and pulled her in. She hugged her tight, but not too tight, and gave her her best, most warm and soft cuddle, just as she had for every other one of her best friends today.
Add one.
Wait. Huh?
She readjusted herself, making sure her tummy was super close to Dashie’s and giving her an extra fuzzy, tickly nuzzle just to be sure.
...
Nothing?
But... that wasn’t right!
Pinkie unwrapped herself from Rainbow Dash and sat back, looking at her friend with bewilderment.
“So... we’re done now?” asked Rainbow.
“What? But... that wasn’t right! That wasn’t a real hug!”
“What are you talking about? You put your hooves around me and I didn’t buck you into next week. That’s exactly a hug!”
“No it isn’t!” screamed Pinkie. “Somehow it didn’t tell you how I feel!”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve figured it out,” said Dash.
“That’s not the point! And you didn’t tell me how you felt either!”
“Confused and annoyed?” said Dash who was fast coming to realise she was going to have to look for answers elsewhere. “Could somepony please explain what’s going on right now?” she asked of her friends.
“ARGH!” screamed Pinkie, who looked at Rainbow Dash with a seething stare. When she spoke next, her voice was low, infused with quiet anger. “Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once more: the newspaper told me that after midnight giving hugs is going to cost money because there’s a raw material shortage which means the hugs are going to be regulated with boring forms and they’re going to get really expensive really quickly and I’ve been doing my best to whip up hugs for everypony in town today to keep them cheap enough for everyone to give once the price-hike comes in and that includes giving all my best friends the best hug I can in case I can’t afford them after tomorrow and you’re one of my best ever friends so I need to GIVE YOU A REAL HUG!”
Dash just blinked, stunned. Slowly she turned to her friends. “You all heard that too, right?”
“Believe me, we’ve been hearin’ it all day,” confirmed Applejack.
“Raw... material... shortage?” said Dash slowly with a raised eyebrow, as though the words were utterly foreign.
“It’s true: there’s some kind of shortage of the ingredients used to bake hugs,” said Pinkie. “That’s what the headline said.”
Bewildered, Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Pinkie? That’s ridiculous. What ‘materials’ do you need for a hug? Two of these, one of these and one of these... that’s it!”
“Um... love?” suggested Fluttershy.
“Oh, come on,” said Rainbow Dash. “Love isn’t like... something you can just use up! It’s unlimited.”
“Uhhm...” hummed Twilight, gazing vaguely upward, a thoughtful, musing look to her.
Dash turned to her. “Seriously?”
“Well... think about it this way: when the Crystal Heart activates there’s a noticeable improvement in the amount of love felt across Equestria. Princess Cadance can use her magic to help ponies actually feel more love. The point is: if external factors can cause us to perceive a noticeable change in the level of love we feel then, logically, that change is measurable. If it’s measurable then it’s quantifiable. And if it’s quantifiable, it must be finite,” said Twilight, treading carefully with her deductive footing.
“So... you can run out of love?” queried Applejack, a skeptical eyebrow quirked.
“You can run out of hugs?!” screeched Pinkie.
“Well, no, that would be ridiculous. The amount of love in the world might be finite, but so is the amount of air in the atmosphere; the amount of water in the ocean. You can’t ‘run out’ of either of those things. And there’s certainly no shortage of love in Equestria. Besides, if we’re applying this analogy to hugs, I think ‘love’ fits better as a catalyst rather than a reagent. Still, on the other hoof, the ‘love as a resource’ hypothesis warrants further study. I mean, if Changelings can feed directly on love, it must be an energy source of some—”
“I RAN OUT OF HUGS BEFORE I GOT TO RAINBOW DASH?!” screamed Pinkie, ignoring Twilight completely. “I’m so sorry Dashie! I promise I still love— But wait... that can’t be right! I do still love Rainbow Dash. So how can I not have enough love to bake her a hug?”
“Pinkie? Are you even listening to yourself? Hugs aren’t something you can ‘run out of.’ In fact it sounds like the only ‘ingredient’ you’ve, ‘run out of’ is, ‘ponies who want a hug,’” said Dash without humour, a little annoyed at having to use so many air quotes in one sentence.
Pinkie stopped. Froze. Sat. Her mouth open in a tiny ‘O’. Cold horror crept over her.
The raw material shortage. It wasn’t love. It was ponies! Ponies who wanted hugs! They must have worked out that there were fewer and fewer ponies who wanted hugs nowadays. That was why they were getting rarer and rarer. And if they were rare that would make them more expensive. And after everything she’d done today... there wasn’t a pony in Ponyville who would want for a hug for quite some time. She’d made sure of it! What had she done?!
Was it possible that instead of increasing supply and ‘reducing demand’, she’d simply exacerbated the material shortage the paper had predicted? Had she unknowingly caused the soon-to-be-revealed price of hugs to skyrocket instead?!
No!
NO!
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO—” breathe, “ —OOOOOOOOOOOO!”
She finished her dramatic scream and looked back down at her suddenly-worried friends, several of whom were taking cautious steps towards her. Almost as if they were about to try and hug—! “No! Stay away! I still want hugs! I might be the only pony left who does! That means I have to not-have-hugs so that I always want them so that there’s enough raw materials to... Argh! It’s too confusing!”
And with that she took to her hooves, pelting away back towards town, leaving her friends open-mouthed and shocked.
A moment passed.
“Okay. What... just... happened?” said Dash.
Applejack took a breath and broke the silence. “Pinkie reckons the paper told her hugs are gonna start costing money tomorrow. So she’s spent all day tryin’ to get hold of all of us to give us a ‘free’ hug.”
“Already none of this makes sense.”
“Yer tellin’ me.”
“And what was all that about that ‘not being a real hug’?”
“Well, your heart wasn’t exactly in it Rainbow Dash,” said Rarity with a gently admonishing edge.
“Hey, gimme a break: she said she wanted to hug me and I let her!”
“It was more than that though. And it wasn’t just you, Rainbow Dash,” Twilight put forward, coming to Rainbow’s defence. “There was something off about the whole thing, don’t you all think? Like Pinkie was... I dunno, distracted?”
“She thinks the whole world is changing tomorrow,” Fluttershy pointed out.
“Sounds pretty distracting to me,” agreed Applejack. “Guess it’s hard to concentrate on giving a proper hug when something like that’s weighin’ on ya.”
“She’s really upset,” said Fluttershy.
“Upset? She totally flipped out just now!” said Rainbow Dash.
“Her reaction does seem somewhat... disproportionate,” noted Twilight.
“Because we know it ain’t real. She’s convinced herself it is,” argued Applejack. “I mean, imagine if you found out that suddenly you had to fork over bits every time you wanted to look inside a book, Twi. You’d have to go through life always with one eye on your coin purse.”
“I understand that, and I can certainly draw parallels. But even if that example were true, well... I can’t see myself freaking out about it like Pinkie’s doing.”
“I can,” said Rainbow Dash, deadpan, earning herself a level stare from Twilight.
“The point is, the amount of worry she’s hung on this seems sky high compared to what she thinks is happening. Hugs costing bits... as a concept it’s not that frightening. At the absolute worst all she would have to do is give fewer hugs. I don’t know why that would upset her so much.”
The five friends all looked at each other, lost for words.
Until at last, a quiet voice spoke up.
“Um... I think I might,” said Fluttershy.
All eyes turned toward her. She had to clear her throat with a dainty cough before she could continue.
“Well... Pinkie Pie gives lots of hugs.”
Dash slapped her forehoof against her forehead. “Thanks, professor,” she moaned.
“No but... think about why she does,” Fluttershy insisted. “Why does she give so many hugs? Why does Pinkie Pie do anything she does? Why does she throw parties, sing songs, tell jokes, or even smile? Who gets the most out of all those things?”
They all looked at each other. Slowly, in each of them the light of comprehension flickered and bloomed. Realisation accompanied by small, content smiles.
Us.
“I reckon I get it,” said Applejack quietly.
Twilight nodded. “Me too.”
* * *
The Best Things In Life...
Sugarcube Corner, late at night. The normally bright, boisterous bakery had sunk into dreary greyscale, cloaked in grey and black; long, inky shadows smothering any hint of vibrancy or mirth. The clock on the wall ticked incessantly, giving the time as ten-past midnight, and showing no signs of turning backward any time soon.
Pinkie Pie sat alone in the gloom at the very table she had been at this morning when the whole day’s debacle had dawned. She recalled she’d been cheery then. Now she sat slumped over, her money-bank overturned on the surface before her, and she regarded a modest pile of gold coins which she would occasionally nudge with her hoof.
Thirty-two.
That was her sum total of bits. With the time firmly and irrevocably past midnight, she could now give out a mere thirty-two bits worth of hugs.
Rolling a single coin along the tabletop beneath her hoof she idly wondered how many hugs thirty-two bits would buy her, and maths followed. If a hug was going to end up costing five bits or less, she could still hug all of her friends one more time, including Spike. But that would mean Starlight would miss out. And if hugs started costing more than five bits, she was going to have to make some very difficult choices about who needed hugs the most. Which was impossible – everypony always needed hugs. So maybe she could combine a couple of hugs into a group-hug-that-hopefully-wasn’t-going-to-be-prohibitively-expensive and make a saving that way. Then it was just a matter of working out the most efficient group-hug to single-pony-hug cost-to-hug ratio, and hoping nopony would blame her for missing out.
Though... could she even claim that they would all be real hugs, and not some sad, limp excuse? Because that last hug with Rainbow Dash... that hadn’t been a proper hug at all. That snarky adding voice had got in the way and ruined it for her friend. The annoying automatic accountant that kept reminding her that if she ever wanted to hug Rainbow Dash – or anyone else – again... she was going to have to pay for it. What if all her future hugs turned out like that? Cold and impersonal? What if the hugs she ended up giving weren’t worth the bits she was paying for them? Instinctively it felt like hugs that you had to pay to give weren’t as valuable as those that you gave away for free. Odd as that sounded.
But the alternative was not giving them at all, and that would never do. So she returned her thoughts to the pile.
And went over the whole argument in her head again. Like she had several times already.
Thirty-two.
The shop bell tingled with the opening of the door, causing Pinkie to look up. With a cautious care, five mares stepped into the café, searching, their eyes unaccustomed to the low light inside.
“Pinkie?” Twilight’s voice called softly.
“’Mm over here,” she responded.
Five heads turned her way and smiled. A moment later five mares found five places around her table.
Rarity was the first the notice the pile of coins, and the first to deduce its significance. “Dear, Pinkie... you’re not putting aside your savings so you can afford hugs are you?”
“Mhmm,” said Pinkie, still rolling one bit beneath her hoof.
“Pinkie, we came to talk to you,” said Twilight. “Fluttershy... well, we all talked and we think we’ve finally figured out why you’re so upset.” Gently she pulled on Pinkie’s foreleg, separating it from the gold coin on the table, allowing the glittering disc to fall onto its side. She pulled a little harder, encouraging Pinkie to step down from her stool and sit next to her on the floor even as their remaining friends did the same, forming a loose circle. Finally Twilight raised her head and prompted. “Applejack?”
Applejack removed her hat, cleared her throat a little, then began.
“I reckon it hit home what you said to me earlier, Pinkie Pie. That there’s times in ponies’ lives when they’re feelin’ pretty rotten. Cursed with doubt, wonderin’ if the whole world’s turned against ‘em. Times when you need a best friend right there next to you, cheerin’ you up cuz nothin’ else will. In those moments, when it gets real dark and lonely, I reckon the right hug at the right time from the right pony... might just be the most valuable thing in the world.”
I’ll always be here for ya.
Huh?
“Wait, Applejack, stop! It’s gonna cost—!”
“But the moment an actual value gets put on that hug, you end up taking the specialness away,” said Rarity, moving closer. “A hug goes from being a freely given, heartfelt expression of love, to just another transaction in the minds of all involved. Something that was once truly priceless... becomes worthless.”
I wouldn’t trade you for the world.
“Rarity, not you too—!”
“We know you, Pinkie,” said Twilight. “And we know the most important thing in the world to you... is that your friends are happy. You throw us parties at the drop of a hat. You keep notes of the little things everypony likes. And if one of us is ever feeling sad, you’re the first one there. How better to cheer us up than by giving us something special, that shows us just how much you care about us? Something that bits just can’t buy. And how awful it must have been when you thought that suddenly... that was something that only bits could buy. A hug wouldn’t be an expression of how much you cared about us anymore – just an expression of how much you could afford.”
I wouldn’t be me without you.
“Stop—!”
“But you’d never let that stop you,” broke in Rainbow Dash. “Because if one of us was feeling down, you’d always do everything you could for us anyway. But the thought that one of us might get in trouble, and you being stuck without enough bits to help... must have been pretty scary. So you spent all day trying to literally make hugs ‘worth less.’ The problem is, the minute you have to start focusing on whether you can afford to give somepony a hug, is the same minute you’ve stopped focusing on just making that other pony happy. That’s what happened with me earlier. Spending all day with this idea in your head... all you could think about was how many bits it might cost you just to do what you’ve always done: be there for your friends.”
I’ve got your back, no matter what.
Pinkie tried to cry out again, but it came only as a squeak in the back of her throat. Her eyes were watering now and she tried in vain to blink away the tears.
“But you mean just as much to us as we do to you, Pinkie,” said Fluttershy with a heart-melting smile. “We all finally saw just how upset you were. And what do you do for a best friend who’s sad, full of worry and wondering why the world’s turned mean and nasty? Well...” she said reaching out herself, locking Pinkie’s gaze with shining teal eyes full of kindness. “They need hugs.”
I’m so lucky to have you.
Surrounded on all sides, Pinkie found herself in the middle of an enormous mass of legs, tummies, nuzzles and squeezes. She scrunched her eyes up tight but it was no good. The tears came and she started bawling loud enough that she had to hope she wasn’t waking the twins upstairs. She reached out with her own legs and wrapped them around the two closest ponies – Applejack and Rarity as it happened – and pulled hard, wracked with emotion.
“I’m just so happy we’re friends,” she wailed as the tears came in floods.
“We know sugarcube,” said Applejack softly.
“You’ve been telling us all day,” added Rarity.
They remained there for a long while, the silence only broken by Pinkie’s quiet sobs until she was able to calm herself down. Eventually they started to break apart, one by one each pony releasing the others and stepping back. All except for Rainbow Dash, who remained, giving Pinkie the one-to-one they’d missed out on out by the bridge. Closure, after all the day’s hysterics.
I’m so happy we’re friends.
I’ve got your back, no matter what.
So happy!
Finally they too released each other and Pinkie stood. She gave a quick glance back at the pile of coins on the table and took a quick, sharp, realising breath. “Okay, now that was a six-pony group-hug which is bound to attract a premium, but if we all agree to spread the cost between us we should be okay when it comes to—”
“Pinkie!” cried Twilight. “It’s not happening! Didn’t we make that clear?”
“Not... really?” said Pinkie, an eyebrow quirked.
“Yeah... maybe you should’ve lead with that,” said Rainbow Dash.
Twilight grimaced and rolled her eyes before looking kindly to Pinkie once more. “Pinkie, I don’t know what was wrong with that headline you read but as a Princess of Equestria, and with the written consensus of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna – sorry, I left the letter in the castle – I can absolutely guarantee that you will never have to pay out bits to either give or receive any hug, ever.”
Pinkie narrowed her eyes. “Or...?”
Twilight groaned and found herself rolling her eyes again. “Or fill out a form,” she confirmed.
“Yay!” Pinkie squealed, delight in her eyes, giving a little four-hooved leap into the air.
“Come on, Pinkie, it is pretty ridiculous,” said Dash. “You already drove yourself round the bend trying to figure out how it would work. It makes zero sense!”
“As concepts go, it is pretty flimsy,” agreed Twilight.
“Indeed,” added Rarity. “Can you really imagine a world where members of the community would be willing to pay money simply to procure a physical act of love?”
“That doesn’t sound like it would be a very nice place to live at all,” lamented Fluttershy, rubbing one foreleg with another.
“I’m just glad it’s over,” said Applejack.
And there was a terrible pause.
“Uh... it is over... right?”
“It’s over,” confirmed Pinkie with a relieved grin, as five other ponies let out five breaths they didn’t realise they’d been holding. Pinkie’s eyes had moisture in them even now. “You guys... are the best,” she said, her voice wobbling a tad.
“Uh... we’re not hugging again are we?” asked Dash. “Cuz I feel like we’ve kinda done that to death today.”
Pinkie smiled. “You know what? After hugging my way through all of Ponyville? I’m good.”
“And pretty beat too, I’ll wager,” said Applejack. “Might’ve been a mistake callin’ on you so late Pinkie, but we were worried. We couldn’t bear the thought of you carryin’ on like that one minute longer than you had to.”
“But Applejack’s right,” said Rarity. “Everypony needs their beauty sleep, and we should probably let you get some rest.”
“Goodnight Pinkie. We’ll see you tomorrow,” said Twilight with a smile.
And with that the five best friends anypony could ever ask for made their exit, leaving Pinkie with a pile of thirty-two bits. Except now that wasn’t thirty-two bits worth of hugs she had to her name. Now it was thirty-two bits worth of cupcakes!
Oh.
Uh oh.
Heh. Oops.
Uhhh, yeah. She could fix this.
She rolled up a pair of imaginary sleeves and headed for the kitchen.
* * *
Sugarcube Corner early in the morning and the kitchen was strangely quiet. Unusual, but perhaps not surprising, for Mr. and Mrs. Cake had awoken with great astonishment to find all of the day’s orders already baked, boxed and bound.
As for Pinkie Pie, she sat up at her familiar table in the café area, enjoying her breakfast pancakes in the company of her finest alligator friend, this morning’s edition of the Chronicle spread out before her.
She’d made it to the funnies in the centre pages without seeing so much as a mention of rising hug prices. In truth today seemed like a busier news-day than yesterday. According to the front page, for example, there had been some kind of rampage in Ponyville the previous afternoon. A pony had been seen racing through the streets at full tilt, accosting anypony and everypony they could find and wrapping their hooves around them and squeezing. Odd that she’d missed it. For now though, she was just finishing up today’s puzzle – a word jumble, as she dotted the ‘i’ on the final word, Pointless. With that done and the comics all read she turned the page... and there it was. In the same place as the article the previous day. Her heart leapt into her mouth for a moment and her breath caught in her chest.
CORRECTION: The headline of yesterday’s article, ‘Price of Rugs Set to Soar’ contained a misprint. We apologise for any inconvenience caused. The article is reproduced below.
That was strange. She read the article – which was very short. It was a few words and a quote from a spokesewe from Black Sheep Co. relating the reasons for their sudden strike action and the effect it would have on the supply of sheep’s-wool in Equestria. Nothing about—
Ooooohhh.
“That makes much more sense, Gummy!” chirped Pinkie.
Gummy blinked. Buh-link.
“You’re right!” gasped Pinkie. “I should go find all my friends and give them the good news along with some celebration hugs! Or, maybe I should start to worry about rising rug prices and warn all my friends about the effect that would have before freaking out a little and trying to buy everypony in town a cheap rug? Meh, either way,” she shrugged with a grin.
Then with a determined frown she was on her hooves, bouncing toward the open front door into the bright, sunny morning, ready to track down her friends anew; to share some potentially devastating news about soon-to-be-expensive rugs, and then probably cheer them up with a hug or two.
