Once You Pop, You Can't Stop
In times long ago, duels were held on the dusty main-streets of faraway towns. Men with cruel grudges and scraggly beards would stumble out of the saloon where ill words had been traded, then stand twenty paces apart. Each would give the other the evil eye and utter oaths reprehensible to even the scum of society. The wind would blow and the tumbleweeds would bounce past, but nothing else would otherwise interrupt the men and their march toward doom, one physical and the other spiritual. The world would stand still on command. Moments would pass, the men’s hatreds building upon one another with each passing millisecond, and one would draw quicker than the other and-
Those times, however, had faded long into memory by the time Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle met in Sunset’s kitchen for their own duel. A duel that, while less bloody, would still leave one writhing in pain upon the ground. A duel that would be fought not with guns, but with cooking utensils most of mankind had discarded for the quick convenience of microwaves. A duel that required an extreme lack of common sense and a strange fixation on culinary techniques no normal person would ever concern themselves with.
In short, this entire affair was quite silly in the grand scheme of things.
Nevertheless, Twilight and Sunset stared at each other, each barely able to hold back their own amusement at the other's insolence. Twilight stood bedecked in her aqua PJ top and purple sweat pants plastered with twinkling stars. Sunset wore a matching violet pajama top and bottom, rumpled from the long hours she'd stayed on the couch. The sun blazing out from Sunset’s top seemed like the evil eye of olden time, gazing into the soul of her opponent. The only sound came from outside the house, where the blizzard that had trapped them together whipped past in wild abandon. Holiday lights lined the kitchen window, a multitude of color blazing both into and out of the building. Their effect on the descending sleet was of rainbow-hued bullets crashing to earth.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” Sunset said, a coy smile filling her face. “Just let me cook the popcorn my way and nobody gets hurt.”
“Sure,” Twilight said with her own grin. “And choke down burnt ashes instead of fluffy kernels? Nothing doing.”
Sunset shook her head. “We’re going to become old women if we cook it the way you want.”
“Well, if that’s what it takes for you to finally become wiser, then I’d say the wait is worth it.”
Sunset’s face grew hard, but her eyes kept their same joviality. “You know the rules. No interference with the other’s side of the stove. No physically impeding the other cooker from doing their work. No emotionally devastating smack talk that will lead to thirty years of therapy and a host of failed romantic relationships in an attempt to rediscover one’s self-worth.”
“That last one’s weirdly specific, but sure.” Twilight gripped her pan and pushed her glasses further up her nose bridge. “Though I can’t guarantee you won’t need therapy after you lose tonight.”
Sunset twirled her own pan in her left hand and shook the bag of kernels in her right. Their shifting made a sound like a rainmaker, a sort of placeholder for the quiet snow falling down outside the kitchen window.
“You ready?” Sunset said. The wind whipped up past the window glass.
“Ready,” Twilight said. She shook her own popcorn bag.
Moments passed in silence, the two girls looking at each other with faces of stone. No passersby could’ve identified whether it was hatred or indifference they gave each other. In truth, the emotion was more nuanced than mere disdain, love, or any other emotion a person could name. It was an emotion as old as time and filling every member of the species.
It was the complete and utter desire to prove how much of a stupid-head the other was.
All of a sudden, an invisible timer went off, and the girls shot toward their sides of the stove. Their pans landed with a loud clank, followed by a rat-tat-rat-tat of the kernels falling into the metal containers. A sharp ker-flunk filled the air as both slammed their covers atop the pans. Two hands, one purple and the other yellow, shot toward the oven dials. Two sharp clicks filled the kitchen. Twilight’s dial twisted halfway, while Sunset’s twisted to the highest setting possible. All of this happened in less than six seconds.
Sunset and Twilight looked at each other. Both had a mocking smirk filling their faces. Hearth’s Warming would soon be a time of victory for one of them. Although neither suspected that, like the Wild West duelists of old, they would both be doomed by the time it was all over.
The day had not started out with such bloodlust on either Sunset or Twilight’s part. It begun like most Hearth’s Warming did: a surprise snow storm and an attempt to escape one’s relatives. Sunset had heard Twilight’s knocking around midnight, and after a hasty explanation of the monotonous nature of Twilight’s home life during the holidays (which included dull recitals of tacky songs, messy kitchens, and irritating discussions on the plausibility of flying reindeer), Sunset had agreed to let Twilight stay in her abode for the holiday. The fact the storm had started to worsen by morning likewise convinced Sunset it was better to be stuck with a friend than stuck alone.
Indeed, Sunset’s home on most occasions would’ve been a cheery place to spend Hearth’s Warming, blizzard or otherwise. The house was a two-story brownstone that sat cozily within the block while still providing adequate space for its occupants. Sunset’s bed occupied the whole of the second story loft. The loft railings were lined with bright white lights and a long line of holly looping through the gaps. Both decorations drooped down from the loft to the work desk below. The windows of the brownstone, stretching from just above the floor to the loft level, were likewise adorned with multi-colored lights. A rainbow of hues cast their glow outside into the dark street. Yet their shine seemed to be stronger than ever due to the thick snow coming down, reflecting the lights' glow back into the windows.
It was in this cozy environment that Sunset and Twilight had entrenched themselves. After a quick exchange of gifts and a filling meal of green bean casserole and mashed potatoes, the girls made their way to the couch and flipped on the television to let their minds wander. A massive quilt covered in black and red diamonds came over them, and the duo pulled themselves deeper into the soft fabric to stave off the cold. Sunset’s fireplace helped in this endeavor, the recently-added log still crackling atop the firedog and radiating notable warmth. Outside, the storm continued to bellow and slap against the windows. Cars were faintly outlined across the street, but the outside world was otherwise smothered from view.
“Thanks for letting me stay, Sunset,” Twilight said hours into their holiday humdrum, the quilt pulled up to her chin and her feet poking out from the bottom.
“No problem, Twi,” Sunset said with a smile. She likewise hugged the quilt close to her body. “Everybody else in the gang was either out of town or going to the Mount Aris ski slopes, so I would’ve been a lone wolf if you hadn’t come along.”
“I needed a change of scenery anyway. I’ve had Hearth's Warming at home for the past 5 years. I wanted to get ‘away’, but I didn’t want to go too far to do it.”
“A lazycation,” Sunset said.
“What?”
“A lazycation. That’s where you go just far enough to feel like you’re somewhere new, but not far enough to feel like you’re anywhere too alien. Basically the mid-point between a normal vacation and a staycation.”
Twilight chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Pinkie Pie.”
Sunset shrugged. “Vacations are close enough to parties in Pinkie’s mind, so she decided to formulate all the different varieties they could come in. If you think your science notes are exhaustive, you haven’t seen Pinkie’s Party Planning Portfolios.”
“Speaking of parties, you know what this one is missing?”
Sunset gave a playful grin. “Mistletoe?”
A thick blush covered Twilight’s face. “I was going to say popcorn.”
“That would work too.” Sunset threw off the quilt and stretched her arms, her stiff bones giving a soft crrk.
“I’ll cook it on the stove,” Sunset called, walking to the kitchen appliances lining the far wall of her home. “Always tastes better that way than the microwave.”
“Be sure to keep it at medium temperature,” Twilight said through a deep yawn. “The popcorn always tastes better when you cook it a little more gradually.”
Sunset let out a raspberry. “Sure, if you want to have the popcorn ready in about eight hundred years. I’m putting the heat on high.”
Twilight sat up, pressing her glasses up her nose bridge. “Sunset Shimmer, you will cook that popcorn on medium heat and you will like it.”
“My house, my rules,” Sunset said. She reached for the box of popcorn bags sitting on the shelf just above the stove. Just before her hand grasped it, the box gained a light purple aura and zipped over Sunset’s head. She gazed at the box’s journey towards the couch, which Twilight now leaned over and wagged her finger.
“Don’t forget I’m the one with the telekinesis.” Twilight’s smile grew to an unnerving size, the popcorn box floating in mid-air before her.
Sunset gave her an equally unsettling grin. “Don’t forget I’m the one who knows kung-fu. Ha-cha!” With a burst of speed, Sunset somersaulted forward and grabbed the popcorn box out of the air.
“Hey!” Twilight cried, impotently grasping for the box. “You can’t take a girl’s popcorn away! That's one of the first rules of Hearth's Warming!”
Sunset held up her index finger. “One, not your popcorn, mine. Two, you made that rule up right now. Nobody has ever said that. And three, you wanted to cook it on a medium heat. You’re a menace to society and needed to be stopped before you could reach notable influence in an institution of power.”
Twilight shot up, the quilt falling off her body and landing on the floor with a floomph. “I will not take such an insult sitting down!”
“And just what are you going to do about it?” Sunset chortled. “Wanna fight? Wanna have a Popcorn Wizards’ Duel?”
Twilight scoffed. “Quoting old Disneigh movies? I should have expected such a lack of imagination from a popcorn burner like you.”
Sunset sneered. “So are you going to take up my challenge or keep bloviating? I get it if you don’t want to go through with it. At the rate you cook, your first batch of popcorn should be done just in time for your third grandchild’s birth.”
“I’ll take it, though calling it a challenge is generous. ‘A brutal educational of a popcorn pleb’ would be more accurate.”
“You’re on like Donkey Kong,” Sunset said. “Now let’s get cooking.”
For the first minute of their duel, nothing but the blizzard made noise around them. The kitchen itself remained as still as a graveyard on Monday. Only Sunset and Twilight could’ve made any sort of disturbance to the calm, but they maintained their smug stares at one another. Their breathing was light, imperceptible to all except the most sensitive dogs. Both crossed their arms and stood tense, ready for action the moment the other tried to interfere with their cooking corn.
For the second minute, the same ambiance maintained itself.
As did the third.
And the fourth.
At about five minutes, a few pops could be faintly heard from both pans.
Around the six minute mark, both Twilight and Sunset came to a grim realization: Cooking is a slow process.
“So…” Twilight said, rubbing her arm up and down. “This isn’t going the way I thought.”
“Yeah.” Sunset scratched the back of her head. “I was expecting a furious clash of fire and exploding produce. I don’t know why. Popcorn always cooks this way. I guess I just thought because we fought about it, the popcorn would match our moods.”
Both pans started to pick up in their intermittent popping, their rhythm starting to match the rate of the snowfall outside. Much to the girls’ chagrin, however, neither pan seemed to be cooking much faster than the other.
Like a duo of philosophers, the girls stared off through the kitchen window, contemplating their life choices. Their previous traumas, sins, and triumphs came cascading through their being like the blizzard outside slammed through the city. A million billion emotions, many of which no artist or accredited psychologist could name yet, ran through their minds at the speed of light times the speed of light. Even the most devoted monk could not have attained the levels of Enlightenment they did in that kitchen, the smell of crisp kernels starting to waft through the air and the slight pop-pop-pop coming from the pans.
Almost simultaneously, at the moment their third eye had begun to open and the revelation of existence filled their mind, the girls came to the same realization.
“This has been a complete waste of time,” they said in unison.
The girls stared at each other for a moment, shocked at their synchronicity. Then, with relieved faces, they started to laugh.
“Can’t believe we got so carried away,” Twilight said between guffaws.
“Well, that’s Hearth’s Warming for you,” Sunset hacked. “Always bringing out the weirdest in people.”
Twilight glanced at the stovetop. “Looks like they’re both just about done.” She gave a playful look. “How about this? We taste our own popcorn, then we taste each other’s popcorn. That way, we can judge which one is better.”
Sunset nodded. “That seems fair and less prone to violence.”
“And that way, if one of us does turn out to be right, the other can hold the other’s bowl hostage and make sure their popcorn is returned to them and not thrown to the floor out of spite.”
“Logical, but disturbing in its implications of how much we trust each other.”
Thirty seconds later, both tops began to rise above the pan rim. White, fluffy kernels pushed up from the dull gray containers. Carefully, Sunset and Twilight removed their respective pans and tipped them into waiting plastic bowls. Turning the stove off and placing the pans on the unused, cool grates, the girls gripped their bowls and grabbed a handful of their own popcorn. Soft crunches could be heard through the kitchen, not unlike the slight noise snow makes underfoot.
“Delicious,” Sunset said.
“But not nutritious,” Twilight said.
Each reached out their hands and took hold of the other’s bowl. Neither broke eye contact as they scooped a handful of popcorn and brought the snack to their mouths. Each chewed methodically, sifting through the ground-up bits with their tongue and teeth with the same attitude a security guard would go through somebody’s luggage. If there were lies and untruths in the other’s descriptions of their respective popcorn, their friend’s tongue would be able to tell the difference.
Following the first few chews, the girls looked at each other, simultaneously surprised and relieved.
“I taste no difference,” they said once again in unison.
“I guess popcorn is one of those foods where it doesn’t matter how you cook it,” Twilight said. “Because in the end, it still tastes like popcorn.”
Sunset nodded. “Like spaghetti.”
For a moment, neither girl knew what to do. The feelings of hostility had melted entirely away. Peaceful resolution had never been considered in the whole breadth of the conflict, and continuing on with life as usual seemed an overly complex task. Had this happened with an acquaintance or distant family member, the relationship would’ve ended not from hatred, but from the sheer awkwardness the whole affair caused both parties, and which they hoped to never remember again by completely disassociating from one another for all time.
Fortunately for Twilight and Sunset, they had both previously been transformed into evil Elder Goddesses and brought back to normalcy through the power of friendship. This meant popcorn disagreements ranked relatively low on the “subjects worth ending friendships over” list.
Sunset leaned forward and gave Twilight a deep hug. “Sorry for getting all Popcorn Tyrant on you.”
Twilight returned the hug twice fold. “I’m sorry too. Popcorn is not worth fighting over with a friend.”
In one hand, they grasped the other’s bowl of popcorn. In the other, they grabbed each other’s free hand. Smiles upon their faces, they walked hand-in-hand back toward the couch, safe in the knowledge that friendship would always overcome popcorn altercations, and to finish their Hearth’s Warming Lazycation in peace and goodwill.
That is, they would’ve had Twilight not made the biggest mistake one can make after such a spat:
She asked, “This is non-buttered popcorn, right?”