The Only Chapter
It was the nine hundred and fifty-second day that the three fillies known as the Cutie Mark Crusaders had been endeavoring to find their collective cutie marks. They were currently in their clubhouse, in a remote part of Sweet Apple Acres. Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo were gathered around a table within their headquarters, staring at the List. This was their record of every job, role, and position that they had attempted in their (seemingly) endless search for cutie mark enlightenment.
“Girls,” said Apple Bloom. “What should we try today?”
“Ooh!,” cried Sweetie Belle. “Let’s be drag racers!”
“Hold your horses,” replied Scootaloo, glancing at the List. “Looks like that was #258.”
“What about alligator farmers?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“#379, and Gummy’s parents still have that restraining order on us,” Scootaloo answered.
“Skull cleaners?” posited Sweetie Belle.
Apple Bloom’s face paled. “Ah don’t think we should do that. Remember what Zecora told us about playing with dead bodies?”
“Right!” Scootaloo agreed. “I don’t want to create another zompony apocalypse.”
“How about ditch diggers, then?” Sweetie Belle suggested.
“I think we’re scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel,” Apple Bloom complained.
For a few moments, the three fillies sat quietly, thinking.
“I know!” Scootaloo finally cried. “Let’s cook hay fries!”
They all looked at one another, grinning and nodding.
The three hollered as one, “Cutie Mark Crusader Fry Cooks! Yay!”
That morning and for most of the afternoon, the Cutie Mark Crusaders worked in the kitchen of McDaffodil’s, Ponyville’s local fast-food joint. Queasy Gumbo, the unicorn owner, was fine with having foals work around dangerous commercial cooking appliances since it meant free labor for him.
Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle got tired of the job after the first thirty minutes. For those two, grilling daffodil burgers and cooking hay fries in the kitchen’s rows of griddles and deep fryers were only entertaining for a little while before the monotony of being a fry cook set in. Towards noon, they were already exhausted, looking forward to when they could go home. On the other hand, Scootaloo was having the time of her life. In her eyes, the setting was not a run-of-the-mill dingy fast-food kitchen, but rather a culinary battleground. She was like a knight defending a castle from the hungry barbarian hordes. Her apron was her plate armor, her mane-net was her great helm, and her spatula was her mighty sword. Like a grizzled veteran of a hundred battles, Scootaloo’s situational awareness never wavered: she was the master of the kitchen.
In the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ previous attempts to get their cutie marks, the three fillies had tried jobs that ranged from glamorous to grody. Inevitably, one of two situations would arise: (1) they simply got bored and never tried the role again, or (2) some mishap/calamity/hullabaloo would occur and get them into trouble. Neither of these possibilities seemed to be happening to Scootaloo this time, though. Although she never pictured herself as a fry cook, she could not deny the sensorial pleasures that she derived from the work. She loved the sound of frying fries and adored the odor of grease. She was like a pilgrim on the road to fast-food nirvana.
That afternoon, as Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle taking a break to wash up in the restroom, Scootaloo was still working in the kitchen. She was going so fast that she was doing the work of three fry cooks at once! As the orders poured in from the window connecting the kitchen to the ponies at the cash registers, Scootaloo kept up the pace with ease. However, because of her fast pace, Scootaloo was covered in batter, yet she was undeterred from her culinary efforts.
Suddenly, there was a bright magical flash. Suprised, Scootaloo looked around until she noticed something different about her flank. It was her cutie mark! At last!
Or, at least she thought it was a cutie mark!
What appeared was some kind of brown oval with four protrusions, which looked similar in texture to the deep-fried portabella mushrooms that the customers sometimes ordered. Scootaloo was unconcerned about the deeper meaning of her new butt tattoo, as she had been waiting for this moment for years. She began jumping around the counter with glee. Unfortunately, she soon slipped on a wayward batter puddle in her elation and fell into one of the bubbling deep fryers.
At that moment, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle walked into the kitchen.
“Huh,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah wonder where Scootaloo went. She was just in here.”
Scootaloo’s life was snuffed out in a flash of pain, as the oil cooked her. Before her consciousness faded, her short life flashed before her eyes. Although she had faced many hardships, such as being an orphan and a blank flank, she still had made worthwhile memories with her friends. Still, at least she had gotten her cutie mark before dying. Her last thought was about whether she would keep her cutie mark in the afterlife.
Later that evening, Queasy Gumbo unknowingly tossed her fried corpse in the garbage bins behind the restaurant as he was cleaning out the deep fryers. He wondered what those fillies could have fried to result in something that size, but he really did not care. Free labor was free labor, after all.
Grunter was a griffon tourist visiting Equestria. His current stop was Ponyville, where he was roosting for the night on his way to Canterlot. After a long day of flying to the country town from Baltimare, he was famished. However, his bits were dwindling, so he began practicing a hallowed griffon tradition: dumpster diving.
As he sniffed around town, Grunter’s nostrils lead him toward the reeking, greasy odors of McDaffodil’s trash bins. He had no luck at first, only finding wrappers and crumbs! Eventually, he found succulent salvation! A huge mass of deep-fried batter, concealing delicious secrets within. He ripped off one of the small protrusions on top of the culinary abomination and popped the chunk into his mouth.
“Mmmm!” Grunter exclaimed. “Tastes like chicken!”