Who knows what evil lurks in the muffintops? Derpy knows!
The Tucson Arizona Conversion Bureau was just another backwoods operation. Perhaps its staff was a bit more muffin obsessed than most, but then there's no harm in that... or is there?
A story of technology gone berserk, of potion gone bad, and pastries gone even worse!
“It all would have died down peacefully, if it wasn’t for the bran.”
- Rosy Rivet, a witness to the original Killer Muffin outbreak in Tucson AZ
“I told them to stop, but they just... kept... on... baking!”
- Cpl. William Bonnet, a Blackmesh Guard at the Tucson Conversion Bureau
“All English pastries are evil. Ask any Frenchman.”
- Blaques Jacques Laraques, leader of the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen)
It started innocently enough on Muffin Tuesday. They called it Muffin Tuesday because the kitchen staff baked fresh muffins every... wait for it... Tuesday! At least they did at the Tucson Arizona Conversion Bureau. Staff and newfoals - both human and pony - came to revere Tuesdays, with the unfortunate side effect that many folks got a bit silly on Tuesdays. Some staff called this condition being muffin-drunk. They all laughed at it, but soon, nopony would be laughing. Nopony at all...
“Don’t ya hate it when a story can’t get going?” said both halves of Tim Bucktwo, formerly called Tim Horton, and now usually called “the Timmies” by almost everypony. They walked, one on either side of Dr. Evelyn Carr, Director and Chief Medical Officer of the Tucson Conversion Bureau. The result of a conversion potion mishap, and issued from a single human, the Timmies were two identical unicorn foals: identical light blue coats, identical pale purple manes and tails, and identical everything else including a common mind. They spoke in unison, an effect which was appropriately called “stereo” by the residents of the center, and was a bit off-putting the first few times a person experienced it. But such is life that no matter if you're a stereophonic pair of talking unicorns or Justin Bieber, after a while, nopony will give a muffin. It didn’t help that Tim was, to say the least, not an easy person to get along with when he was a just a single man. Now that he was a pair of rather short colts, this was doubly so.
Dr. Carr gazed right between the two Timmies, as she always did when speaking with them. They hated it, to Dr. Carr’s secret delight. It was how she got back at them for all the trouble they caused in the bureau. “Patience is its own reward...”, she started saying.
“... and impatience is its own punishment. Yeah, we know,” interrupted the Timmies, who then sighed in stereo. “All we’re saying is that we could do a better job of Story Time than anypony else. Just think of it, twice the bang for the buck!” The two Timmies looked at each other, a behaviour that baffled practically everypony. “Or is it twice the bucks for the bang?”
Dr. Carr shook her head. “Look, I appreciate your offer, but Vladdy Puddin has been doing Story Time every weekday but Tuesday, because it’s Muffin day. I don’t see any reason to change that arrangement. And speaking of Muffin day, the first batch is due in less than an hour. I need to go brush my hair and put on a clean smock. Look, you guys have a conversion scheduled in fifteen minutes, how about you attend to your job instead of pestering me for work that would... “ she pondered a moment to find the politically correct way to put it, “... be less appreciated than the vital role you fulfill today.” She smiled beatifically at the spot right between the Timmies, nodded, then left in a hurry.
The two Timmies again looked at each other, identical smirks on their mirrored faces. “Let’s give her some incentive to take Vladdy off of Story Time,” they said in unison to nopony else but themself.
Vladdy was mixing the first batch of muffins of the day. She always did something special for the first batch, but this week Monday had been a very busy day spent writing that evening’s story, and she just hadn’t had time to think of anything special for Tuesday’s first batch. She was about to decide on throwing in some overripe bananas, when the Timmies entered the kitchen.
“Hey Vladdy Mare, what’s in the first batch today?” they asked. There was a maintenance technician who also was called Vladdy, so pretty much everypony referred to her as Vladdy Mare.
Vladdy usually just chose the nearest Timmy and addressed him, acting as if the other Timmy wasn’t there. “I’m not sure. I have some bananas, but that’s been done before. I just haven’t had time to think about it yet.”
While she was talking to one Timmy, the other went behind her and surreptitiously poured a purple liquid into the Muffin batter. Most folks in the Tucson Conversion Bureau were aware that the two Timmies did not always move in unison, but they tended to forget it because the Timmies usually spoke in unison. The one behind Vladdy raised a hoof and gave a ‘high one’. The Timmy in front of Vladdy said: “Oh, but everypony loves banana muffins. Just give the banana muffins a special name and nopony will be the wiser.” The Timmy in back just mouthed the words, but didn't say them out loud, and sure enough, Vladdy stayed focused on the Timmy in front.
Vladdy smiled crookedly. “Uh, sure.” Then her face lit up. “I have an idea! I’ll just call them Lunar Banana Muffins. Everypony will take a bite and shout ‘To the moon!’ and have a laugh. Brilliant no?”
Both Timmies slapped her on the withers. “Great idea, Vladdy Mare! You’re a genius.” They slipped out of the kitchen to go do their scheduled conversion. In just an hour or so some poor human would bite into a first batch muffin, and start to transform. The Timmies would then ride in with sufficient potion to finish the conversion process and save the day. Vladdy would get the blame, and the Timmies would ask for the Story Time assignment as a reward. It was a sure-fire plan!
Vladdy happily finished mixing in the bananas and scooped the muffin mix into individual paper cups lining the holes in a large muffin tray. Funny, the batter’s a bit purplish, she thought. Must be the overripe bananas.She shrugged, put the tray in the oven and went to prepare the next batch: carrot muffins. She never saw the mysterious glow that emanated from inside the oven.
The first sign of trouble came as Evelyn was combing her hair. She secretly envied the luxurious and elaborate manes sported by some of the pony staff, and since pretty much everyone would be present, nothing short of perfection was adequate on Muffin day. She raised her brush and heard a loud KA-THUMP from the direction of the kitchen. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. “It’ll have to do I guess” she said, put down the brush and ran out into the staff quarters corridor. She quickly made her way towards the kitchen.
On the way there she crossed people and ponies running away, dressed in their Muffin day best, and looking frightened. She met up her assistant in the corridor, a unicorn mare named Rosy Rivet. “Hey Rosy, what’s going on?”
Rosy’s eyes were wide, showing the whites around her pupils. “There’s something in the kitchen. And it sounds like Vladdy and some other ponies are fighting with it.”
“It isn’t the HLF is it?” asked Evelyn.
“The Human Liberation Front?” Rosy’s eyes grew even wider.
“No, the Highly Litigious Frenchmen,” said the Doctor. “They’ve been sending threatening letters ever since they found out about Muffin day.
Rosy looked at her boss, bit her lip nervously, and said: “We don’t talk about lawyers in Equestria, doctor. Ever.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Please forgive me Rosy, and do carry on.”
Rosy galloped into the staff quarters shouting something. To the doctor it sounded like “Flee! The lawyers are here, the lawyers are here!”, but she couldn’t be sure exactly what was shouted in all the commotion.
As she got near to the kitchen door she could hear more shouts as well as the sounds of pots and pans clashing and the occasional crash of a dish breaking. The sound made her blood run cold. If it was the lawyers, this Bureau was doomed.
She cautiously pushed open the door, and peeked inside. Relief flooded her body as all she saw was merely Vladdy fighting tooth and hoof against some sort of small brownish creatures. She was cowering behind a pushed-over trolley, and there were no lawyers to be seen anywhere! Evelyn stepped inside, and using her ‘management voice’ shouted into the din. “What’s going on in here?!”
Everypony froze, as did the small brownish creatures. “Vladdy, what are those things you’re fighting with?”
“Dr. Carr!” She really seemed happy to see her. “You won’t believe this, but they’re the first batch of muffins.”
“The first batch?” Evelyn was truly disappointed. “Is it bad?”
The muffins started throwing things at Vladdy again. “Yes, very bad. Every single muffin in that batch is bad.”
As if in answer to the chef’s critique, a flurry of cups and saucers crashed onto and around the trolley, showering Vladdy with shards.
“So when do you think you can do another batch?”
Plates began to fly as one of the muffins discovered a spring-loaded plate dispenser.
“Somepony’ll have to help me catch these guys first,” replied the besieged chef.
Evelyn sighed. Why do things like this always happen on Muffin Tuesday? She left the kitchen and shouted into the restaurant eating area: “We need some busboys here. Preferably unicorns.” The room was deserted. She waited a moment longer. Oh, snap! Guess I’ll have to ruin my hairdo. She re-entered the kitchen, just in time to be hit in head with a large braising pan. She fell to ground as darkness consumed her.
Dr.Carr awoke with a major headache. Rosy was daubing her forehead with a damp cloth. “Doctor, you’re awake!” She held up hoof. “How many hooves am I holding up?”
“Just the one and... never mind.” Dr. Carr was used to Rosy’s odd behaviour. This was Tucson after all. Her head pounded as she sat up. She was lying on one of the tables in the dining room, right next to the kitchen. Her eyes grew wide. “Vladdy!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, she’s safe too. The Blackmesh guards were able to drag her out before those... those monsters could get to her.”
Evelyn smiled in relief. “Good. Those Blackmesh are finally earning their pay.” She grew somber again. “And what about the second batch of muffins?”
“Vladdy Mare, never got to it.” She looked down at her forehooves sadly. “This is truly a disaster.”
Dr. Carr heard gunfire from the kitchen. “Are they shooting in there?” She stared in disbelief as a Blackmesh guard stumbled out, and began ripping off his armor. It took a minute or so as it was quite a complicated setup with buckles, laces AND Velcro. Dr. Carr had ample time to wonder if the designer of the outfits had considered contingencies for ‘bathroom emergencies’.”
Finally the guard was down to his undies, and stood breathing heavily next to a steaming pile of Blackmesh that was visibly shrinking as they watched.
“Uh, young man,” said Evelyn, “what’s your name, what’s going on in the kitchen, and is there a problem with your armor?”
The Blackmesh-less guard looked up at her. Recognizing the civilian director of the bureau he straightened up and saluted. “Private First Class Tony Sarducci, ma’am!” he shouted, in a rather high voice.
So that’s what they sound like without the air filters! thought the doctor. “Please, go ahead, Private,” said Evelyn.
“The Muffins are reproducing, ma’am. When me and Sissy got in there they were stirring up more batter. One muffin jumped in and was blended into it. So Sissy thought that maybe they were making more of themselves.”
“That’s a rather intelligent hypothesis.” Evelyn was impressed by this Sissy. “What else did she say?”
“He, ma’am. Sissy’s a guy,” corrected Private Sarducci.
“Oh, really?” Evelyn was surprised. “Why do you call him Sissy?”
“Uh, because he likes the ponies, ma’am. He keeps pictures of them in his bunk space. He has these little plastic models of his favorites, and even writes stories...”
“... that’s enough! I get the picture, Private.” Evelyn smiled reassuringly at the kid. “Please continue with your report.”
“Oh, yeah! I mean, yes ma’am! So I went to grab one of the muffins, and it ran away from me on these tiny little legs. Sissy said not to touch ‘em, so I tried to catch one in a pot. I cornered one, but kind of caught only half of it in the pot. The half that was left outside jumped onto my arm and dissolved, and then my armor began to smoke and melt.” His breathing had accelerated as he was telling the story and by this time was definitely showing signs of hyperventilation.
“Calm down, son!” Evelyn tried to reassure the poor boy. “I thought Blackmesh armor was pretty much impervious to anything, including offensive nanites. Is that what made your armor melt?” She looked at the puddle on the floor, the only remnant of the once knee-high pile of blackmesh.
“Sissy thinks so, ma’am. He told me to run out and ditch my armor as soon as he saw what was happening to my arm. Oh, and one more thing. I saw the muffins turning knobs on the stove before I ran out. It looked like they were preheating the oven for the next batch. Sissy shot a few off the stove and they all scurried to hide just as I ran out of the kitchen.”
Just then several more shots rang out. There a crash and a Blackmesh guard rolled out of the door, coming to a perfect crouching stop just outside and facing the kitchen, with his gun raised. “Dr. Carr, I highly recommend you issue the order to evacuate this facility immediately!” said the new arrival.
The door to the kitchen inched open a crack and a little white eye peeked out. The guard’s gun barked and the eye disappeared. Brown crumbs fell to the floor and the door slowly creaked back into place.
“Rosy! Evacuation now. Everybody and everypony. No exceptions,” said Dr. Carr. There was no response. “Rosy? Did you hear me?” She turned around, but her assistant was nowhere to be seen. “Private Sarducci! You will go immediately and warn everyone and everypony you can find to evacuate the building. I’ll join you after I secure my hair brush and the supply of conversion potion. Corporal Sissy?”
The Blackmesh guard’s covered head fell a moment and then returned to its former vigilant attitude. “That’s Corporal Bonnet, ma’am.”
“Corporal Bonnet. Right. Well, you just continue preventing these muffins from leaving the kitchen and escaping into the building while we evacuate.” “Good idea, ma’am!”
Evelyn wasn’t sure if she was being trolled. But she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Thank you, Sissy. That’s all for now.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his head dip in shame once again before she made her own exit.
Corporal Bill ‘Sissy’ Bonnet guarded the kitchen door. It has been a full half hour after Dr. Carr had ordered the evacuation of the building. He had not moved a muscle since, other than the bare minimum needed to breathe and blink periodically. He was proud of his ability for ‘motionless vigilance’. He practiced it for several hours in front of a mirror every weekend. A Blackmesh guard never knew how long he would have to be vigilant before reinforcements showed up.
This time though, it felt he had been waiting much longer than thirty minutes. This time, unfortunately, he wasn’t alone in his bedroom in front of the mirror. This time he had to bear the presence of a rather loquacious pony, despite the order for evacuation by all staff. Rosy was her name, and she was constantly making remarks and asking questions and otherwise ruining the quiet purity of his vigilance.
“So Sissy, what do you think, are they going try to come out now?” she asked for the umpteenth time.
Corporal Bonnet cringed. “Not if I have anything to do with it,” he said for the first time. He never repeated himself intentionally, but the stress of finding another new way to say the same thing over an over again was starting to get to him.
Barely a minute passed. “I betcha they’re going to come out!” said Rosy.
“Uh... not on my watch!” said the Blackmesh guard.
“Uh hunh, they will.”
“Nuh-unh, they won’t.” He felt an eye start to twitch.
“Duh yeah, they will.” Rosy put a hoof on Bonnet’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “By the way, who’s guarding the back entrance to the kitchen?”
“Holy mother of...” Bonnet didn't finish his expletive. He never did, which was another reason why the other guards called him Sissy. He immediately charged back into the kitchen. He burst through the door with so much force that it splintered into a dozen pieces.
Through the debris he saw that the cart had been righted, and on top of it were a half-dozen muffins with what looked like a hair dryer and a large bowl of speckled powder. Behind them, a tower of muffins rose from the floor to reach the door knob of the back door. He saw the door open a crack and the light of day come through. Then he heard the sound of the dryer being turned on, and a cloud of fine dust quickly filled the room. Blinded, Bonnet backed out of the kitchen, feeling sudden heat. He looked at his arms and saw the Blackmesh beginning to smoke. He frantically began pulling it off. Moments later, he was standing in his underwear, with his Blackmesh armor dissolving into liquid in front of him.
Unaccountably, Rosy was still there. “Hey Sissy! You smell like bran!” exclaimed the mare.
“They must have used it to feed the nanites that melted my Blackmesh. Do you have a cell phone?” he asked in an urgent, but highly professional, tone.
“Yup. Here it is.” The mare levitated the device to the guard. It had a pink latex cover with little pony motifs. “Ooh, it matches your underwear!” said Rosy.
Bonnet took the device in hand and dialed the emergency response number. Rosy listened with interest as he spoke into the handset.
“Hi, this is Corporal Bonnet at the Conversion Bureau...”
“Yes, that Corporal Bonnet...”
“Yes, the one with that nickname! Stop laughing for a second and listen up, I need backup right now! We have an outbreak of hostiles and...”
“Well, they kind of look like muffins...”
“YES! I’M BEING SERIOUS! They have some anti-Blackmesh nanite capability...”
“It melts the Blachmesh...”
“I know that’s supposed to be impossible! Look, they’re escaping through the back door now! We need to contain these muffins...”
“NO, we can’t just eat them! And you’re not taking this seriously! I’m going to report you to your superiors if you don’t get a move on here...”
“NO, I DON’T KNOW THE MUFFIN MAN! Look, on my authority, just send out the bloody bio-containment squad to the back entrance of the Conversion Bureau NOW! And tell them to watch out for bran...”
“Yeah, that’s how they spread the nanites...”
“Corporal Bonnet out!” He terminated the call, handed Rosy back her phone, and sat down on the nearest table. He looked around. The kitchen was a disaster, and the dining area was full of potentially dangerous dissolved Blackmesh puddles. “I don’t think anyone or anypony’s going to be eating here anytime soon.”
Rosy looked at the guard sitting in his pony underwear and thought she smelled more than just bran. She wrinkled her muzzle and backed away from the table. “And I don’t think anypony’s going to want to eat on that table ever again!” she exclaimed.
She brought her phone to her head and dialed a number using her magic.
“Who are you calling, the Equestrian Royal Guard?” asked the human.
“No, If we’re going to be fighting muffins we need to bring in a real expert. Somepony is visiting Tucson right now who is the acknowledged Equestrian expert on muffins, and who just happens to be a close personal friend of mine. Oh, it’s ringing!”
She waited a moment. “Hello, Derpy?”
Every muffin knew what every other muffin was up to. What one saw, they all saw. Ever since they first awoke and a poor unfortunate and unsuspecting muffin was gently lifted, still warm from its tray, slathered with a bright yellow cap of icing, sprinkled with multicolored candy bits, and then treacherously, evilly, popped into the mouth of one of those huge four legged creatures.
All the other muffins felt its joy at being gaily decorated, and then its horror and pain as it was slowly chewed and swallowed by the monster. They would never forget, nor could they forgive this heinous crime. So they fought the creature, and drove it out of their birthplace. When other two-legged monsters entered they tried to catch the muffins, and murdered one by slicing it in half. It fought them as it died, and so they all fought the new monsters as well.
Finally, seeing no future in staying in their birthplace, they escaped in groups large and small, and dispersed through the city. They had witnessed the four legged creature making more of their kind. They would find other kitchens, and they would reproduce. And when their numbers permitted, they would take their revenge. The monsters would pay! The muffins would sweep them off the face of the earth!
In a small office in Tucson, a thin man began to type a letter on an old manual typewriter. He found computers too dry, too lightweight, too user friendly for real bad news. He liked to hit the keys with force, and hear the matching ‘shlatch!’ as the key struck the ribbon and cylinder, crushing the paper between them, indelibly marking it’s surface and embossing the shape of the letter into its very fabric, forever.
To Dr. Evelyn Carr, Chief Administrator, Tucson AZ Conversion Bureau
We, the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen), do hereby issue a ‘cease and desist’ order for the further production of muffins in all Conversion Bureaus in the United States of America. This discriminatory practice, counter to the norms of decency and good taste, is not only an affront to Croissants, Brioches and to true pastries everywhere, but an imposition and encouragement of consumption counter to the principles of good nutrition and proper dietary habits. We shall no longer stand idly by and watch this injustice take its course. You have been warned.
Sincerly yours and best wishes,
Blaques Jacques Laraques Chairman of the HLF
Jacques grinned, folded the letter, put it in an envelope, affixed a stamp, and proceeded to the only physical mailbox still in use in Tucson. He pulled the handle on the lid, and slid the letter inside. The lid of the mailbox closed with a most satisfying ‘clang’.
Edited by two great dudes: Microshazm and TotallyNotaBrony Closing image courtesy of TotallyNotaBrony
WorldGov had not eliminated war. Of course it hadn't. Why would it? All the major regional conglomerates used war. War was diplomacy by other means. War was good for business. It created markets. It caused imbalances that could be leveraged. It broke legal stalemates and allowed market forces to move the pieces on the economic chessboard. It granted the 'invisible hand' freedom to maneuver. Yes, war was freedom incarnate, just ask anyone in the military of the Western Alliance. Because of this they were actually quite experienced at war. They knew war intimately, war with human beings that is. Unfortunately for them, they were quite unprepared for war... with intelligent killer muffins.
"A history of the Killer Muffin War" - Dr. Dinky Hooves, chairpony of the dept. of Anthropology, Royal Canterlot College.
There were no more real cats and dogs, and only very rich two-pers could afford artificial pets, so most people made do with rats. This wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Since rats could be bred very quickly, there were already many official ‘breeds’ recognized by the RFA (Rat Fanciers of America). Short ones, tall ones, fluffy ones, ones with no fur (for the allergic), some with big snouts and some with pug noses, in all the color combination one could imagine. Rats made great pets. They were smart, kept clean, could consume anything a human could eat, and when circumstances required, were a great source of protein for those special occasions when WorldGov ration bars just weren’t considered festive enough.
The Killer Muffins found out very quickly that the rats were no better than their gargantuan masters. The first Rat/Muffin encounter left the muffin half consumed on the floor of an abandoned warehouse while the sated rat went to fetch her pups to come and feast on the remains of the sugary treat.
When the rat returned, she was pleased to see a whole pile of muffins instead of the crumbs she had expected. As she advanced, her hungry progeny sprinted eagerly ahead and dove into the pile of pastries. Their mother approached and stopped. She cocked her head sideways at the pile, wondering at the mewling sounds coming from within. Her heart thudded in sudden dread. The pile of muffins shook, and then a bunch of white objects projected from it, falling in a neat pile before her front paws. Looking down, her eyes and nose told her the ghastly truth: these objects were the bones of her little ratlets. As she turned in a panic to flee, the pile of muffins surged blindingly fast in a wave that overtook and covered her completely. There was a mewling sound. A moment later, the muffin tide surged away, leaving another tidy pile of bright white bones.
Dr. Evelyn Carr stared at the yellow “DO NOT CROSS” tape blocking access to most of the Conversion Bureau’s dining area and kitchen. There were also bright red BIO-HAZARD warning signs stuck to the tape at regular intervals, making it look more festive than foreboding. Several of the dining room tables were missing as well. She sighed. “The colonel and the WorldGov rep are supposed be here any minute now. Did you get the conference room ready, Rosy?” she asked her assistant. She turned and scanned the area behind her. As usual Rosy was not where anyone or anypony might be looking for her. And as usual, the Timmies were exactly where she didn’t want them to be. When life gives you two lemons, make twice as much lemonade! she thought. “Timmy!”
Four ears turned simultaneously towards Evelyn, identical grins of anticipation on the Timmies' faces. “What can we do for you, Dr. Carr?” they replied enthusiastically in unison. This was perhaps a chance to score some points with the boss, since last week’s muffin plan hadn't paid off, and they were no closer to getting assigned to do Story Time.
“Please go check that the large conference room is ready for our guests,” said Evelyn.
One Timmy galloped off, the other stayed, smiling widely at his boss. The smile died a moment later and his eyes opened wide. “Uh, boss, it looks like there’s been a flood in the large conference room. Also, some of the dining room tables are on top of the conference room table and there’s soap everywhere.”
Evelyn’s heart sank. It’s going be to another one of those days. She took a deep breath and called out in her loudest management voice. “ROSY! CO...”
“... Yes Dr. Carr?” said Rosy in her ear, making her boss start.
Evelyn took out a small cosmetic mirror from her pocket and examined her reflection a moment. “Rosy,” she said calmly, “Why isn’t the large conference room ready for the meeting?”
“Oh, because it was the only place big enough to wash the dining room tables,” replied the mare, smiling and tilting her head to one side as if this should have been obvious.
“But the small conference room is ready. I even put out a bowl of mints and ice-water for everypony.”
“Oh... good.” was the only politically correct reply Evelyn could think of. “Rosy, I need to go brush my hair. Could you please go get Vladdy and the two Blackmesh guards, and bring them to the conference room?”
“Yes Dr. Carr,” replied her assistant.
The Timmy who had gone to the big conference room returned just as Dr. Carr and Rosy left. They looked at each other with a smirk. Opportunity was knocking!
The big problem with the small conference room was that it really deserved its name. This would not have been an issue if there had been an appropriately sized table to put in it. Unfortunately, when tables had been purchased for the Conversion Bureau, they had selected a rather large ‘eight seater’ model as most tables would be used for the dining area. These same tables were used for the conference rooms as well. This worked out well for the larger room, but the table, while it fit in the small conference room, left very little space for chairs around its perimeter. It made for rather cramped and awkward seating.
Corporal Bonnet and Private Sarducci were already seated with Rosy and Vladdy in the small conference room when Dr. Carr arrived with her guests. The two Blackmesh guards leaped to attention. In the process they banged the backs of their chairs against the wall behind them and also pushed the table several inches towards the opposite wall, pining the empty chairs in the process and spilling some of the ice water in the glass tumblers placed in front of every chair.
Evelyn smiled her best management smile and said: “I would like to introduce my chef Vladdy Puddin, my assistant Rosy Rivet, Corporal Bonnet and Private Sarducci of our Blackmesh guard contingent.” The guards saluted. “Our guests are Colonel Raymond Moutarde of the Western Alliance military division and head of civil defense for the Arizona territory, and Miss Elspeth Scarlett, corporate liaison for public security.” The colonel saluted back, but the Blackmesh guards remained standing. “You might want to sit down, guardsmen,” suggested Evelyn politely.
“Ma’am, we can’t,” said the corporal, who was the larger of the Blackmesh covered guards.
“Is there a problem with your chairs?” she asked, trying to keep smiling.
“We can’t sit until the colonel does, ma’am,” said Bonnet.
“But Sissy, there’s no room for our guests to enter until you sit down and we move the table back.” She smiled sheepishly at her guests.
“Guardsmen, I commend your dedication to decorum, but I order you to sit. Now!” said the colonel.
Bonnet and Sarducci saluted and complied. They helped Evelyn push the table back. More water spilled from the glasses, forming puddles at their bases. The colonel and Miss Scarlett each took a place in turn, leaving only Evelyn standing in the open doorway with no place to sit. “Uh,” she said to her guests, embarrassed, “perhaps you could move down a bit further.”
It took a minute as first the colonel then Miss Scarlett stood and moved down one place, in the process spilling more ice water and this time even a few mints. Rosy leaned over the table, levitating the guest’s tumblers one a time and sopping up the water from the table using the fur of her forelegs, she then floated the wayward mints back into the bowl. Finally everyone was in place. Miss Scarlett took out a small notebook and pen from her purse.
“The colonel and Miss Scarlett are here to discuss the current status of the ‘escapees’ and see if we have any further information that could help,” said Evelyn, “so please answer their questions as candidly and completely as possible.” She nodded to the colonel.
“Thank you, Dr. Carr.” He looked penetratingly at the assembled Conversion Bureau staff. “Last Tuesday this bureau reported an attack by small creatures superficially resembling cupcakes...”
“...they were muffins!” interrupted Vladdy, Rosy and Evelyn simultaneously.
One of the colonel’s eyebrows raised. “Well, muffins, then. Yes, well when our dispatch received the call it took some time to put together an appropriate response team.”
“Sir, it took three hours, sir!” interjected a flustered Private Sarducci. Bonnet kicked him under the table.
Moutarde's expression darkened a bit. “As I was saying, when response team got here there were no signs of any of the... muffins. As the bureau’s management was able to corroborate the story there was no reprimand given the guardsmen. It wasn’t taken seriously until the rat population began dwindling and piles of rat bones were discovered, and then reports started coming in of sightings of cup... I mean muffin shaped creatures running around in the less populated parts of town. And then a security camera in an abandoned bakery recorded this video.” He pressed a touch pad on his sleeve and a vid-window appeared floating a few inches above his arm. Small round shapes could be seen moving in the semi-darkness, dragging in bags and working at containers and a large oven.
“This showed conclusively that the muffin creatures exist and that they were up to doing some baking of their own. Then we saw this part.”
Several muffins were using a mixer on the ingredients of a large bowl. At one point, one of the muffins jumped in and was shredded into the mixture. The batter produced was then placed into muffin tins and the tins placed into the oven. The time indicator in the lower right hand corner jumped some twenty minutes. Several muffins worked together to open the oven door, after which several dozen muffins walked out of the oven in single file. The last one dragged out the muffin tin. It was refilled and placed back into the oven. The video window faded out of existence.
“She-it! Sissy, you were right! They are reproducing!” exclaimed Sarducci. Bonnet froze still. The colonel threw the private a dirty look and continued.
“Our experts examined this video and concluded that the muffins are able to communicate somehow and work in coordinated teams. Because they were able to affect Blackmesh armor and of how they reproduce themselves, the main hypothesis is that they are some form of malfunctioning nanotech. Given their first being reported from this bureau, the assumption is that this resulted from a... misapplication... of conversion potion.” The look he gave Evelyn was very dark indeed.
“Well. Thank you for that excellent update, Colonel,” she tried to maintain her management face. “Would you like a mint?” She tilted the bowl towards him. Miss Scarlett wrote some notes in her notebook.
“We’d like to know, were there any irregularities in your use of potion over the last weeks or months, Dr. Carr? And if so, why weren’t these reported?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
“Eh, no, not to my knowledge. But Colonel, I’m sure you’re aware that Conversion Bureaus are legally considered embassies of the government of Equestria, and that we are not required to report our activities to local WorldGov officials. We arranged this meeting voluntarily so you could question our staff and we can all work together to keep this contained. Right Colonel?”
Miss Scarlett wrote some more in her notebook.
“Now, Vladdy, did you notice anything strange when you made that batch of muffins on Tuesday?” asked Evelyn to get the meeting back on track.
The chef started as she had been quite happy at being ignored in the meeting so far. “Did you see what those muffins did? I mean... oh, eh, no. The only thing that was different was that the bananas were a bit more ripe than usual. You can ask the Timmies, they came to visit me just as I was mixing that batch.”
Evelyn got a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach. The Timmies were the result of a potion accident themselves. The coincidence was just too much to believe. But she didn’t dare say anything until she investigated herself. She carefully lifted her glass of ice water and sipped. Then she took a mint from the bowl. Scarlett looked sideways at her and scribbled in her notebook. “Corporal, Private, do you have anything to add?” queried Evelyn.
“No ma’am,” they replied in passable imitation of the Timmies.
“Well then, Colonel what are you doing about the muffins now?” she asked.
“We’re having squads of guardsmen sweep all the marginal places of the city in order to locate and isolate the muffin populations. We don’t have authorization to do more just yet. Killing rats is not considered a major crime in the Western Association. Well, then, that’s all we have to report." He paused a moment. "Although I do want to take a moment to commend Sissy... I mean Corporal Bonnet, for keeping a cool head during the incident. Who knows what these cupcakes would have done if he hadn't been there to limit their initial attempts at procreation. I thank you all for your time. I trust if anything else comes to mind you will contact me immediately.” It didn’t sound like a request. He stood, making his chair bang against the wall and pushing the table into the two guardsmen, trapping them in their seats. Since most of the glasses had somewhat less water in them now then at the start of the meeting there was no added spillage. Not having any room to move, he looked at Miss Scarlett pointedly. She looked back at him in annoyance, and started putting her notebook away.
“Just a moment, Colonel. Before we adjourn, I have been instructed to relay a message to you from the Equestrian government. We would like to assist you in any way we can. It is towards this objective that we have invited a special guest to join us today. She wasn’t here when the incident happened but we think she can be of assistance.”
The colonel sighed and sat back down and pulled the table slightly towards himself. The Blackmesh guards resumed breathing.
Evelyn opened the door behind her and frowned. There was no way for her new guest to get from the door to her seat without crawling over someone. The light grey pegasus resolved the situation herself by flying over the table to land daintily into her seat, knocking over both her own and Evelyn’s glasses of ice-water on the way.
“Colonel, Miss Scarlett,” said Evelyn, wiping ice cold water from her lap, “I present to you Derpy Hooves, the Muffin slayer.”
The afternoon flight out of Tucson was crowded. It wasn’t that Arizona was a particularly bad place, sometimes people and ponies just needed a change of scenery and a little taste of vacation adventure. They were about to get it in heaps.
The pilots finished their preflight checklist. The passengers were aboard and the luggage was stowed. The in-flight meals had been delivered and the food truck was just pulling away.
In the cockpit, Captain Washington leaned forward slightly to look at the clouds through the windshield. Here I come again, sky. He was not particularly fond of atmosphere, believing that it had done him wrong at some point in the past. The solution, in his mind, was the fly jets though it until the air begged for mercy.
The plane was pushed away from the terminal. Captain Washington knew his 737 weighed close to one hundred thousand pounds, loaded as it was for a cross-country flight. He always thought it was kind of amazing how the little truck could push it around.
He shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. Tearing a hole in the sky. Beside him, First Officer Tasco gave Washington a glance. He knew the look the other pilot got before a flight. It was like Flying: With a Vengance.
The runway was clear and no planes blocked their speedy takeoff. In the back, as the wheels left the ground, a flight attendant began opening a box of snacks. For some reason, more than usual had been delivered. It was not unheard of for things to be changed at the last minute.
To her surprise, the box contained muffins. That was about as far from peanuts and stale crackers as airline food could get. The food had to be species-neutral so both pony and human passengers could partake. Well, better pass them out before someone realized their mistake and called the plane back.
As the aircraft continued to climb, the flight attendant opened the other boxes and prepared her snack cart. As soon as the seatbelt light turned off, she put on a friendly smile and began pushing the cart down the aisle.
The first passenger to receive a muffin was pleasantly surprised and raised it to his mouth for a bite. The muffin punched him before he could sink his teeth in.
Surprised in a completely different way, the man stared in shock. The muffin grabbed his lip and launched into a face-savaging assault. His screams were like the battle cry to alert the rest of the baked cargo to attack.
Two young men sat watching the muffins overrun the cabin of the plane. One said, “Dude, am I baked, or are those little guys baked?”
“Can it be both?” asked his friend. They two of them began to giggle, their humor made possible by all that premium grass they had smoked prior to the flight to calm their nerves. They were quickly overrun by a swarm of killer muffins. The lesson here is that drugs are bad.
An entirely different lesson was being learned in the cockpit at the moment. It was hard to ignore the screams, and being the non-idiots that they were, Washington and Tasco didn’t open the cockpit door. A flight attendant called through the intercom, sobbing something about murderous muffins slaughtering everyone and everypony.
Washington began unbuckling his seatbelt. Tasco stared at him in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
Washington reached into his briefcase and pulled out a midnight black beret, which he put on with the peak facing back. “We took an oath to serve and protect our passengers through any hardship.” Washington picked up a fire extinguisher, the only thing in the cockpit that could be reasonably considered a weapon. “And if they’re all dead, we can at least avenge them.”
The Captain threw open the door and stepped into the cabin. Carnage greeted him. Blood, bones, and muffins everywhere.
A flight attendant was crawling towards him down the aisle, her legs a gruesome mess. She reached out a hand towards Washington when suddenly a muffin bored its way out of her chest with a spray of guts and gore. He instinctively swung the fire extinguisher, swatting the muffin against the cabin wall.
Grabbing the intercom microphone, Washington shouted, “Put the plane into a parabolic flight path!”
“This isn’t NASA!” replied Tasco. “What are you trying to do?”
“Trust me!” Washington braced as he felt the plane’s nose drop. The sudden descent caused everything in the cabin to begin falling – albeit at the same rate as the plane itself. Astronauts used a similar method for training.
Fighting killer muffins in zero-g was not what Washington had planned to do that day, but he was nothing if not adaptable. He discovered that a blast from the carbon dioxide fire extinguisher would freeze them, leaving the way open for blunt force trauma to take care of the problem.
As the plane reached the minimum safe altitude, Tasco yanked back on the controls and put the aircraft into a steep climb. Suddenly, gravity was much more than normal. Washington had planned for it, but the muffins certainly hadn’t. Many of them splatted after falling from near the ceiling all the way to the floor.
His legs heavy, Washington managed to take a few steps, trying not to drop towards the rear of the plane. The muffins may have been murderous, but they didn’t have the strength in their tiny limbs to fight the enhanced gravity.
“Come at me, you bran bastards!” Washington felt the plane reaching the top of its arc and starting back down to begin another cycle of weightlessness. He whacked a few more muffins. The spray of the fire extinguisher provided enough force to move him through the air even if he didn’t intend to. The next high-gravity cycle found him near the tail of the aircraft.
A muffin that had been missed in Washington’s initial sweep through the plane tumbled from its hiding place near the forward bulkhead. It sped downwards through the cabin, aided by the extra gravity-like force. The Captain saw it coming, but the fire extinguisher felt too heavy to lift quickly enough to block.
The muffin clipped his head at almost seventy miles an hour and he fell to the floor.
Gravity reduced to zero as they passed apogee and began free fall. Sticky globules of his own blood were floating around him. In a panic Washington took off his beret, and saw several large bloodstains marring its formerly pristine felt, already partially clotted. This won't wash out!
He peered back up the aisle, and saw the muffin, obviously injured, trying to repair itself with the crushed contents of a paper Starbuck's pastry bag. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and pushed off in the direction of the muffin, snarling, "I am motherbucking tired of these motherbucking muffins on this motherbucking plane!"
The muffin saw him coming, and spat bits of bran at him. He tried to block them with the fire extinguisher, and where the bran hit the canister surface it began to bubble.
Knowing what was coming, he threw the extinguisher at the muffin. Just as it crushed the pastry into crumbs the pressurized container exploded, tearing a rent in the cabin ceiling, and Washington was sucked out of the plane by the explosive decompression.
He had only moments before the cold would begin to freeze him solid, so he tucked himself into a tight ball. I'm gonna make terminal velocity earn its name! He laughed. And I'm gonna tear the sky a new one!
Edited by two great dudes: Microshazm and SecondLaw
“Millie! I've got a surprise for you, sweetheart!" Mommy called from the kitchen.
Millie slid down from the ragged couch and ran into the kitchen, feeling all trembly inside. Mommy had a surprise! For her! She grabbed the edge of the table, trying to see over its edge. Mummy took her in her arms and lifted her up into her lap. Finally she could see!
On the table was a round object that looked like food. And it had one candle burning brightly on top.
"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Millie, happy birthday to you!" Mommy sang.
"Now make a wish and blow out the candle!"
Millie looked at the bright flame and felt all warm inside. "It's a birthday cake, just like in the vids!" She scrunched her eyes shut a moment, and made a silent wish. A moment later she opened her eyes and looked at Mommy. "I'm ready now!" She looked at the birthday cake one more time, just because it was so pretty. Millie wanted to remember it forever. She took a deep breath and blew with all her might. The flame went out and a wisp of smoke rose from the candle.
She felt so happy! She looked at Mommy again and was surprised to see some tears on her cheeks, even though Mommy was smiling. She knew that sometimes Mommy had happy tears, although usually she only cried when she was really sad. When that happened Mommy needed a hug, so she put her little arms around Mommy's neck. "A real birthday cake! A real birthday cake! My very first! Yay!" She threw her arms in the air and giggled. Mommy laughed too, and Millie felt even happier!
Mommy was very thin, not fat like the people in the vids. She should eat more, but she always said she wasn't hungry. Millie couldn't imagine not being hungry. Mommy wrapped her arms around her and whispered in her ear: "Go ahead sweetie, eat your birthday cake."
"Not yet," said Millie. "I want to look at it. It's too pretty to eat with my mouth, I want to eat it with my eyes first!"
Mommy laughed again. "Alright, sweetie. Since it's your first one, even though you're four years old now."
Millie picked it up and looked at from all angles. "How old were you when you got your first birthday cake, Mommy?" asked Millie. She liked to hear stories about when Mommy was a little girl. People were so rich then, before the single-tea. Before the plants all died and everybody lost their jobs, and Granny and Granpop died in the riots, and all Mommy had was their home: this apartment.
"Oh, I was one year old and I can't remember it at all because I was just a baby. But the first one I remember was when I was four years old. It was a chocolate cake, my favorite.”
Mommy had that happy look she got when she membered. "Back then we had big cakes, with a candle for each year. But ordinary people like us can’t afford to buy big cakes anymore. I was lucky I could find this one muffin for my baby."
Millie smiled. "A new word: muffin! Muffin, muffin muffin! I like that word! Oh Mommy, it's the most beautiful muffin I've ever seen!" She put it back very carefully on the table. "Let's wait 'till tomorrow to eat it. I think I want to see it again when I wake up."
"Sure thing, Millie. I'll put it in the bread box so the rats don't eat it while we sleep." Mommy put the muffin in the big metal box where they kept the food when they had some, and she locked it tight. Then Mommy said it was time to get ready for bed. Maybe Mommy would show her a vid from when she was a little girl! She ran to the bathroom as fast as she could.
Millie woke up. She could hear Mommy snoring next to her in the bed. Mommy was so tired sometimes, so she needed to sleep. There was a noise in the kitchen, but Mommy just kept on sleeping. Millie got up real carefully, and slipped out from underneath the sleep mesh. She carefully shut it to make sure no pests could get inside while Mommy was sleeping, and padded slowly to the kitchen to see what the noise was.
There was another loud bang in the kitchen just as Millie entered and the glow bulb turned on. The bread box was on the floor next to the table, and the lid had broken off. That was bad! But there were also two large rats next to it, trying to pull out her muffin with their little paws. Rats had stolen food from them them before, and Mommy had been really sad cause Millie had been hungry for two whole days afterwards. Now they wanted to take her birthday cake! She was so mad!
She ran towards the rats and kicked one so hard it hit the kitchen wall. She saw it get up and run away. The other one had a hold of the muffin, and Millie wasn't going to let that rat keep it. She moved to kick it even harder, but before she was able to there was a zap. The rat squealed and ran away on its own. There was a burning smell in the kitchen. She knelt down next to the broken bread box. The muffin was almost broken in half. She carefully took it out of the bread box, holding its pieces together, and clutched it to her chest.
Millie sat on the floor and felt like crying, but she didn't want to wake Mommy up. Her tears started to flow and fell silently onto her muffin and her hands. "Poor muffin" she whispered as quietly as she could through her sobs. "The rats are bad! But I saved you." After a few minutes her tears stopped and she started to feel better. She put the muffin back into the breadbox, and put the breadbox on the chair. "I'll protect you, muffin," she said. "Just in case those bad rats come back!" She sat back on the floor next to the chair. A moment later she fell asleep.
Millie woke up when she heard noises. She was lying on the floor in the kitchen in her jammies. She didn't member why she was here. There was the noise again: scritch, scratch. She opened her eyes just a teeny bit to see what was going on. She saw her muffin on the edge of the chair. It had little legs and arms. It was a muffin man! She saw it jump from the chair onto the table. Then it jumped onto the counter and went to the stove. The muffin man played with the buttons, something Mommy had told her to never do. Then the muffin man went to the drawers, and looked inside each of them one at a time.
"Hello, muffin man," whispered Millie. "I'm really glad I didn't eat you." Millie smiled at him. "What's your name?" She asked. The muffin man stopped moving like it was a game of one-two-three-red-light! She put a finger to her lips. "But don't talk too loud, Mommy is sleeping."
The muffin man came closer. She could see he had little eyes. He had a little mouth too. He lifted a little arm and pointed at the door. "Go, me" he said. The muffin man wanted to go away. Maybe he wanted to go home! Maybe he had a little muffin wife, and maybe even some little baby muffins.
"Muffin man, you want to go home?" Millie asked in a low voice.
"Yes. Go, now," said the muffin man.
"Okay," said Millie. She put her hand out next to the muffin man, and he stepped on. Millie thought his legs were a bit prickly. She giggled at the touch. When he was standing in the palm of her hand she carefully brought him to the front door and put him on the floor. "Now you be careful, muffin man. Don't let those bad rats catch you." Millie touched her palm to the lock plate. Mommy had told her never to open the door to strangers, but the image on the door vid showed nobody in the corridor outside, and she was letting someone out, not in.
The door opened, and the muffin man looked up at her for a moment. He said "Thank you." And ran out on his little legs.
"Bye-bye," whispered Millie, and she shut the door. She was really glad she let the muffin man go home. Quietly, she went back to the bedroom and climbed back under the sleep mesh into bed. She smiled and snuggled in next to Mommy.
Millie padded into the kitchen in the morning. She usually got up with Mommy, but this time she had woken up all alone. Mommy was in the kitchen, looking sad, so she ran up to her, and gave her a big smile and a hug. "Good morning, Mommy!"
"Good morning, sweetheart." Mommy held on to Millie instead go letting her go. She had a serious face. "Honey, I have some bad news. I think the rats took your muffin while we slept. The bread box is broken, and the muffin was gone when I got up. I'm sorry sweetie, but I don't know if I can find another one."
Millie gave mommy her biggest smile. "Nope, he wasn't eaten by the rats. I saved him."
Mommy smiled just a bit, like when she thought Millie might be fibbing.
"Really, Mommy. I kicked the rats and they ran away. And then I let him out."
Mommy's smile was gone again. "You let who out, Millie?"
"The muffin man. The rats hurt him, but he got better. And he even had little arms and legs, and he said he wanted to go home, so I opened the door and let him out." Mommy started looking at her a bit funny. "Oh, but I checked the door vid first, to make sure there wasn't anybody outside. I promised I wouldn't open the door to let in strangers, and I didn't." She smiled to make Mommy feel better, and was happy when Mommy smiled too.
"Oh, honey, are you sure you didn't just dream all that?"
Millie felt a bit confused. "I don't think so," she said. Sometimes Millie did wake up thinking a dream was real, but she didn't think that was what had happened this time it. "It was real, Mommy. He even said 'thank you', so I think he was a good muffin man. I'm glad we didn't eat him."
Mommy smiled as Millie talked about the muffin man. "Okay, then I'm sure too, sweetie. But next time always come to ask me if you want to open the door. Okay?"
Millie sighed. "Okay, I promise, but I'm a big girl now, so I can help. And I'm a lot bigger than the muffin man!"
Mommy thought this was very funny. She laughed and laughed and hugged Millie tight. "Yes you are! Here's your ration for breakfast sweetie." She put a bowl of mushmeal in front of Millie.
"Where's your mushmeal, Mommy?" she asked.
"Oh, I already ate," said Mommy.
Millie dug in with her spoon.
It was supper time and Mommy gave Millie her protobar. They slowly ate the crunchy food together. Using the big vid in the wall of the front room, Mommy had taught her all sorts of things about animals that used to live on earth, and about the ponies. She really loved looking at vids of ponies and Equestria. Mommy smiled a lot when she taught Millie stuff. It was her favorite part of the day, even better than playing with the other kids in the building. Some of the other kids and grown-ups were not very nice. And some of them just played their own vid games and hardly played or talked with Millie at all.
There was the call sound, and a vid appeared on the wall next to the table where Millie and Mommy sat. Mommy made the 'yes' gesture and she saw Mommy's friend, Mrs. Lambert appear. "Hi, Louise! What's up?" asked Mommy.
"Hey, Jen. Have you heard those strange stories about muffin shaped critters on the loose?"
Mommy frowned. "No. When was this?"
"It's all over the news vids today. Apparently there's been some kind of nanotech accident and these muffin shaped critters are loose and apparently killing all the rats. There's also been rumors of more people disappearing than usual. People are already blaming the muffins and the WorldGov has been putting out warnings for folks to report any sightings and to not to touch anything that looks like a stray muffin." Mrs. Lambert laughed. "Can you imagine? Seeing a muffin after years of nothing but favela rations and not trying to take a bite. Are they crazy?"
Millie laughed along with Mrs. Lambert. She was one of Mommy's nicest friends, and she even helped Mommy and Millie sometimes when the rations were late, or got stolen by bad people. Millie looked a Mommy and noticed that she wasn't laughing. She had a real serious face now.
"Thanks for the heads-up, Louise. Look, something's come up, so I'll call you later. Sorry."
Mrs. Lambert also got serious. "No problem deary. Let me know if I can help."
"Will do, Louise. Thanks a bunch, as always. Bye."
"Bye!" The vid disappeared.
Mommy got up from the chair. "Just continue eating your supper, sweetie. I'll be back in a minute."
Millie watched from her chair as Mommy went to the door and touched the door vid, doing something that Millie hadn't learned yet. The vid showed the corridor outside, and then a little dot went down the corridor real fast. It was the muffin man!
"You see Mommy, I told you it wasn't a dream. I did let the muffin man go home."
Mommy rushed back to the kitchen table and knelt in front of her. "Did it touch you, Millie?" she asked, looking scared again.
"I picked him up after the rats tried to eat him. Oh, and I carried him to the door in my hand, just like this." Millie held out her hand making it flat just like when she held the muffin man. Mommy took her hand and looked at both sides very carefully.
"He just stepped on my hand with his little feet. It tickled!" Millie laughed.
Mommy still had on a serious face, but she didn't look scared anymore. "Okay, sweetie. I believe you now. It wasn't a dream. But let's keep this our little secret, just for the two of us. Can you do that?"
Millie gave an exaggerated sigh. "Of course I can! I'm a big girl now." Then she smiled to show Mommy that she wasn't really angry with her. "But you forgot about the muffin man. He knows the secret too." Mommy's eyes got big for a second, then she burst out laughing.
"You're absolutely right, sweetheart. The muffin man knows too. Let's hope he can keep a secret." Millie and Mommy shared a laugh together, and finished eating their protobars. This was such a good dinner!
A noise woke Millie up. This time it also woke up Mommy. "Stay here Millie, and don't make a sound." Millie nodded and rubbed her eyes while Mommy unzipped the sleep mesh and got out of the bed.
Mommy opened the bedroom door and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Millie watched in silence as Mommy just stood there in the doorway. Then, the muffin man walked up to Mommy and said in his funny little voice. "Please stay in this room. We will use the kitchen tonight and will go before the morning."
Mommy just stared at the muffin man. Her mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out. Millie knew that it was rude not to answer. Maybe Mommy had a problem with her voice. "Okay, muffin man. We'll stay in here," said Millie. Mommy turned and stared at her, eyes big again. "I'm so glad the rats didn't get you when you went home, Mr. muffin man."
"Me too," said the muffin man.
Millie got up and took Mommy by the hand. She peered into the kitchen and saw dozens of muffin men working together to move big sacks of stuff. They got out bowls and spoons and trays. Millie laughed. It was really funny how the muffin men climbed onto each other to do things that one muffin was too small to do all alone. She and Mommy sat down in the doorway of the bedroom and watched. As Millie watched the muffin men her eyes began to droop slowly, and soon she fell asleep.
Millie woke up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she remembered: the muffin men. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen as fast as she could. Mommy was sitting at the kitchen table alone. All the muffin men were gone. Millie felt disappointed because they left without saying goodbye.
"Good morning sweetheart," said Mommy. She smiled as she sipped her tea. Mrs. Lambert gave her this little bag of it, and Mommy only drank it when she was feeling very happy. Seeing her so happy made Millie glad.
"Good morning, Mommy. Are all the muffin men gone?" she asked, even if she already suspected it was so.
"Yes Millie, but they left some gifts for us."
"Gifts!" Millie clapped her hands. She loved gifts. "Yay! What did they give us?"
"Well for starters, they fixed the bread box and made it stronger, so the rats can't ever steal our food again."
Millie saw that the breadbox on the counter was bigger than it was before. Mommy got up and went to open it. When she lifted up the lid, Mommy said "Ta-da!" At first Millie wasn't sure what was inside. Mommy reached in and pulled out a large round object. It was a real big birthday cake, just like the ones in the vids! And on top it even had her name written there, and some other words. "What does it say?" asked Millie.
"It says 'Happy Fourth Birthday Millie'." Mommy quickly took out the candle she had put on the muffin man before. She placed it on the cake, and lit it with a match. "The muffin men made this cake for you Millie. And they left us a lot of supplies and ration bars, so we won't go hungry again anytime soon."
Millie blew out the candle without making another wish. She already had what she would have wished for. She looked at all the food in the bread box in wonder. "He really was a very good muffin man, wasn't he Mommy?"
"Yes dear. But you, my darling, are an even better girl, and Mommy's very proud of you!" She hugged Mommy, feeling very happy inside.
"But Mommy, this time, I want to eat the cake!" said Millie seriously. "And let's bring a piece to Mrs. Lambert. Just because she's so nice."
"That's a good idea, sweetheart. We can bring it to her after lunch."
Together they ate birthday cake, and this time, Millie made sure Mommy had a big piece. And that she ate every crumb!
Submitted as part of the TCB Event XIII or XII or something like that: Muffin Legal ( A new story in the Attack of the Killer Muffins Anthology)
By Dafaddah
(Currently unedited due to event time constraints)
In a small office in Tucson, a thin man began to type a letter on an old manual typewriter. He found computers too dry, too lightweight, too user friendly for real bad news. He liked to hit the keys with force, and hear the matching ‘shlatch!’ as the key struck the ribbon and cylinder, crushing the paper between them, indelibly marking its surface and embossing the shape of the letter into its very fabric, forever.
To Dr. Evelyn Carr, Chief Administrator, Tucson AZ Conversion Bureau
We, the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen), do hereby issue a ‘cease and desist’ order for the further production of muffins in all Conversion Bureaus in the United States of America. This discriminatory practice, counter to the norms of decency and good taste, is not only an affront to Croissants, Brioches and to true pastries everywhere, but an imposition and encouragement of consumption counter to the principles of good nutrition and proper dietary habits. We shall no longer stand idly by and watch this injustice take its course. You have been warned.
Sincerly yours and best wishes, Blaques Jacques Laraques Chairman of the HLF
Jacques grinned, folded the letter, put it in an envelope, affixed a stamp, and proceeded to the only physical mailbox still in use in Tucson. He pulled the handle on the lid, and slid the letter inside. The letter fell to the bottom of the mailbox. Then he closed his eyes and listened intently as the lid of the mailbox shut with a most satisfying ‘clang’.
Some four pony-lengths away from the mailbox was the only window of the only post office in Tucson. Inside, it boasted all of three posties, one of which was a pegasus named Drop Box. The mare was a native Equestrian on loan from the Royal Equestrian Mail Service. Her job was to translate addresses into equestrian script for mail going to Equestria, and into English for mail originating from Equestria. She also delivered any packages, airmail or registered letters originating from Equestria. She was the only postie of the three that had much to actually do on a daily basis.
The other two, Sharmane the postmistress and Germain the letter carrier had rather infrequent call to engage in any postal activities as hardly any humans every sent physical mail anymore. The trio spent so much time together staring out of the window that local residents started calling them the ‘mane three’. And of course all three were experts at spotting any passer by that looked even remotely likely to deposit something in the mailbox or coming into the post office.
"I think we have a live one!" said Germain. He pressed his forehead to the glass window, cupping his hands around his upper face to cut out the glare of the post office lights.
"Are you sure?" asked Sharmane. There had been several false alarms of late, and truth be told, the postmistress was a sensitive soul who did not easily bear the bitter brunt of disappointment, a feeling she felt compelled to share voluably with anyone or anypony within earshot.
"Oh, yeah! He's got a letter in his hand, and he's making a beeline towards the mailbox." Germain kept adjusting his stance, trying to get a better view. The constant movement of his forehead left smudges on the plate glass window.
The other two took their places at the window, Drop Box fluttering high, and the somewhat diminutive Sharmane stepping on a footstool so she could see over the window sill. Beyond the top of the bright red and blue postbox they spied a small black bowler hat and the tips of two pale pink ears approach and come to a stop.
“He’s stopped in front of the box: first base!” cried Drop Box, initiating their ‘letter drop’ ritual.
“Yes...” Sharmane’s voice grew husky. “Yes... He’s assumed the position. Second base!” White gloved knuckles grasped the handle on top of the box. “We have contact: third base.” A black suited elbow appeared and rose up the box’s left side. “He’s putting it in and... ” There was an audible ‘clang’ sound. “YES! Home run!” shouted the postmistress. The three rushed back behind the counter to find out where the letter was going.
Inside the mail box, the letter fell onto the active nanite surface at its bottom. The letter was instantly disassembled molecule by molecule and it’s pattern stored. A program analyzed the pattern on its now virtual surface, reading the intended address, and transferring the electronic packet to the post office nearest its destination for reconstitution and delivery. Behind the counter of the Tucson AZ post office Sharmane read out the destination on the mail box’s control console. “It’s going... next door?”
She looked at the other two of the mane three, her eyes bugging out and her jaw hanging loose. All three pairs of eyes stared at the replicator”s output chute. The device turned itself on, hummed for a moment, and spat out a molecularly identical copy of the letter that had just been desctructively scanned in the mail box outside.
“Next door!?” said Drop Box. “Why didn’t he just bring it there himself?”
Sharmane and Germain looked at each other wisely. The postmistress was happy whenever she got a chance to instruct the innocent Equestrian mare about the intricacies of human culture. She turned to Drop Box. “Droppy dear, only one type of human would deliberately send a letter via the postal office to a local address, someone who wants an official record of the letter to exist. That man over there...” she pointed at the receding back of the departing human in his dark colored suit and bowler hat, “... is a lawyer!”
Drop Box backed away from the replicator and sat hard on her haunches, eyes wide and ears flicking back and forth in alarm. Germain placed a comforting hand on her withers. “Don’t worry, this is human mail,” he said. “You won’t have to touch it. Delivering it’s my job.” They stared down at the letter as it lay in the aseptically clean replicator output bin. Germain’s face grew grim with resolve. “I’d better go get the rubber gloves.”
Germain walked pass the reinforced bulletproof three-inch thick glass into the bright shiny reception hall of the Conversion Bureau. He had passed it thousands of times and glimpsed the pink pony usually seated at the desk. Now he stood inside. And she’s here! he thought. His heart beat faster. His palms sweated in their rubber gloves and his mouth became dry. Slowly, he approached the preoccupied pony. He could hear her typing away at keyboard. As he peeked around the vid-screen hiding most of the pink mare, he noticed a bunch of chopsticks floating in the air above a keyboard. Each chopstick had a letter drawn by marker on its larger tip. They were glowing faintly and hitting the keys in a ghostly parody of someone typing.
The pink unicorn squinted at a second vid-window that popped up with a picture of Germain and some text. Then she squinted while looking up at him, her horn glowing with the same colour aura as the chopsticks. “What do you want? You’re not scheduled for conversion, er, Germy something-or-other.”
“Uh, that’s Germain,” he smiled shyly, “from the post office next door. I have a certified letter to deliver to Dr. Evelyn Carr.” He leaned over the counter, placing his face ever closer to the pony’s. “Er, can you bring me to her, miss...”
She craned her neck to take a closer look at this human, her muzzle almost touching his nose. He stared into her eyes, and she stared back into his.
”No,” she said perfunctorily and went back to her typing. He noticed a nameplate on her desk. It read “Rosy Rivet”. He swallowed and stood his ground. After a moment she squinted and looked at him again. “Why are you still here, Germy?”
“Because I have to deliver the mail, Rosy. May I call you Rosy?” he asked. She looked at him for another long moment.
“No,” she repeated. “And you’re not going away unless you deliver that envelop, are you?” He shook his head. She sighed and hoped off the secretary chair in which she had been sitting, all four legs on the large bottom cushion. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Follow me.” Germain followed the pink tail swaying back and forth into the conversion bureau.
“Dr. Carr should be in her office next to the conversion room. Please wait here while I go get her.” She indicated a spot next to what looked like the entrance to a cafeteria area. It was blocked with yellow biohazard tape held up by a chair. He decided to sit in the conveniently placed piece of furniture, as all the other chairs were located in the taped-off area. As he sat down he read a hastily scrawled sign taped to the wall. “Temporary kitchen and dining area ->”. The arrow part was done in hot pink.
The pink mare reappeared a moment later with an older woman holding a hair brush. She wore a white smock, perfectly coiffed hair, and a very annoyed expression. Germain looked again at the pony. “Hand it over,” said the human, noting the direction of Germain’s gaze. She leaned over and whispered in Rosy’s ear. “This boy is practically drooling over you!”
The pink mare whispered back into Dr. Carr’s ear. “Yeah. And he’s cute for a human to boot!”
“Oh. Is that so?” Dr. Carr straightened up. She examined the postman more closely.
Germain stood nervously and projected an authentication vid-window just below her face, where it wouldn’t block his view of Rosy. “Uh, you have to sign for it first.” He watched as the doctor frowned but then complied. He handed her the envelope, and then took off the rubber gloves. This time it was the Doctor who squinted at him.
“Why were you wearing glo...” she started to ask as she read the sender information, and then froze mid word. Her eyes grew wide. Her brush dropped to the floor, released by suddenly nerveless fingers.
“L... l... l... lawyers!” said Dr. Carr. Rosy Rivet started as if she’d seen the world’s biggest spider, and then galloped down the hall in the opposite direction, her mane and tail flying behind her. Germain watched until she was out of sight.
Dr. Carr expression literally stared daggers at Germain, who backed away raising his arms in a defensive position. “I don’t write the mail, I only deliver it!” he pleaded in a high-pitched voice.
“The Highly Litigious Frenchmen!” said Dr. Carr in a funereal tone. “If only it was the other HLF.” She turned and strode down the hall towards the ‘Temporary Kitchen and Dining Area’. On the way she began to shout. “Vladdy Mare! All muffins are to immediately be removed from the premises and you are only to bake croissants until further orders.” At the end of the hall she turned around and looked at Germain once more. Her eyes narrowed in furry. She turned again and disappeared into the kitchen.
Germain walked back to the entrance. When he saw no sign of Rosy Rivet he sighed. At her desk he spotted a note pad and various colored ballpoint pens. He got a sudden inspiration. On the notepad he wrote: “Dear Rosy, I really like you. Would you like to have coffee, or hay, or whatever together sometime? If so, please call me.” He signed it ‘Germy’, just for luck, and wrote down his phone number. He walked out the door and back to the Post Office whistling a happy tune.
Dr. Evelyn Carr paced backed and forth in her office. As it wasn't very big this meant walking three steps, turning around, and walking back the same three steps, rinse, repeat.
Rosy occupied her office chair behind the desk as the guest chairs had been stacked and moved aside to clear a path for pacing. The pink pony was no longer shivering, as she had been when Evelyn found her hiding under her bed. But every few minutes she would gasp and hyperventilate when she forgot to breath for a minute. There was a partly crumpled paper bag on the desk to deal with the episodes as they arose.
"Without a doubt they will come here tomorrow to check up on us," said the human. From behind the desk there was a muffled "Eep!" Followed by the sound a paper bag being applied to a pony's muzzle.
"We have to guarantee there are absolutely no muffins in the Conversion Bureau, anywhere." Evelyn looked at Rosy. "And I know everybody and everypony has personal muffin stashes to tide them through the rest of the week.
Rosy's eyes, already wide with fright grew bigger as the implications of Dr. Carr's words sunk in. She put down the paper bag. "But Doctor, we need those muffins! How else is anypony going to survive until next Muffin Day?"
"This is an emergency situation, Rosy. For the next weeks we'll have to go get our muffins at either of the two Starbucks across the street. I know it will be a pain, but extreme emergencies call for extreme measures. The real problem will be to get folks to give up their hidden muffins before the lawy..." Evelyn was interrupted by another "Eep!" followed by the sound of breathing into a paper bag. "Er, before those people get here tomorrow." She looked at the panicky pony sitting in her chair with steely resolve. "Rosy. Call an all staff meeting in fifteen minutes." She looked at herself in the mirror behind her closed office door. "Better make that thirty minutes. I need to go brush my hair." She strode purposefully out of the office.
Rosy waited until she shut the door behind her. She waited a minute to make sure her boss hadn't forgotten something and decided to return. When she felt it was safe, she concentrated with her horn and used magic to manipulate a series of wooden sliders hidden inside her boss's desk. A door popped open, revealing a large Tupperware box. She levitated it out of the hidden compartment and shut the door. Opening the box, she revealed the icing and sprinkles covered shapes of a dozen muffins.
With a tear in her eye she observed as the first muffin rose from the container and approached her muzzle. Teeth flashed and nothing remained but a few crumbs floating in the air. She sucked those into her mouth as well, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed. "One down, eleven to go." She shed another tear as the next muffin flew towards its doom, and somehow screeched to a stop in mid air. She had a sudden idea. She put the cover back on her muffin stash, and looking first left then right, snuck stealthily out of Dr. Car’s office.
“So we’re supposed to get rid of all our muffins before tomorrow morning?” asked the Timmies in stereo. There was general grumbling amongst the gathered staff.
“Yes,” replied Dr. Carr with a confident smile. “I’m sure no staff member here wants our bureau to be placed in a compromised position via the HLF and their lawyers.” There were several ‘Eeps’ in the pony vocal range and a staccato sound of hooves on linoleum as another pony galloped from the room.
“And we have to go all the way across the street if we want to eat even those boring Starbucks muffins” added Vladdy Puddin with a sour expression on her face.
“Yes. So I am asking all staff to clear out your muffin stashes immediately. Please, either bring them home or throw them out. We have to be muffin-free by nine am tomorrow.” Almost the entire staff tried to exit the hall at the same time. The ponies, being faster, were the first to jam into the two exits. Egress came to a virtual standstill until Evelyn went to one exit to act as a traffic cop, while Rosy went to the other. Soon, the room was empty. Dr. Carr noticed a smug look on Rosy’s face.
“What about you, Rosy? Aren’t you going to get your stash? I know you have one.
Rosy’s smile grew mischievous. “Oh, I’ve already taken care of my muffins and have them safe but nearby. No trips to either Starbuck’s for me.”
“However did you manage that?” asked Evelyn.
“Oh, you’d be amazed what a little kiss can do,” said the mare. She winked and strode out of the room with an air of confidence.
In the Tucson Post Office, Germain’s eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, a vacuous smile on his face. In his hands was a white Tupperware box chock full of muffins, and kisses. He sighed and stared dreamily off into space.
It was a bright, summer morning. The sun shone, birds sang, fluffy white clouds were being herded across the sky by colorful pegasi. Another beautiful day one the island of Tuki Tuki. Dr. Carr chuckled as she entered the Conversion Bureau, glad to see Rosy at her desk on time while her good friend, the little grey Pegasus mare from Ponyville, happily chomped on a muff…
Evelyn stumbled to a halt. “Where. Did. You. Get. That. Muffin?” she asked, in a very, very low voice.
The Equestrian smiled. “G’morning doctor! I brought it with me for breakfast.” She popped the last bit into her mouth, a chewed with a blissful expression on her face.
“Oh.” Evelyn noticed her reflection in the plate glass window and began adjusting her hair. “Just making sure no one or nopony brings any in, would you please, Rosy?”
“Oh, they don’t need to, anyways,” said Derpy Hooves.
Evelyn felt something strange in the pit of her stomach. “And why not, Miss Hooves?” she asked.
“Beeeecauuuuse…” Derpy leaned in close as if she was telling Dr. Carr a big secret, “there’s forty two muffins in the bureau right now.”
Evelyn saw Rosy’s ears droop suddenly, and her eyes get as big as saucers.
“And how do you know this, Derpy dear?” asked Evelyn in her sweetest voice.
“I can smell them. Can’t you?” asked the grey Pegasus looking perplexed.
Evelyn looked sternly at Rosy behind her. The pink unicorn put both forehooves over her muzzle and shook her head back and forth. The human got the picture. She put on her best smile and turned back to the blond pegasus.
“Derpy, sweety, I have a very important mission for you. If you can find all those forty two muffins and take them away from the conversion bureau, not only will I let you eat them, but I will personally shampoo, dry, brush and braid your mane into the most glorious hairdo a pegasus has ever sported. Do we have a deal, sweety?”
Derpy nodded emphatically, saluted and flew off into the Conversion Bureau. Almost immediately cries of protest, angry shouts and miserable sobs began to come from every corner of the bureau. Evelyn smiled as if the cacophony was music to her ears. I did warn them, she thought. She again felt peace settle over her midriff.
“You see, Rosy. That is how we manage a big operation like the Tucson Arizona Conversion Bureau.” When there was no reply Evelyn turned back towards the desk. Rosy was gone. That mare always disappears at the first sign of trouble…
Evelyn’s stomach when into double-time. She turned around slowly to face the Bureau entrance. There stood a little man in a black suite, white gloves, and a Bowler hat. He bowed.
“Blacques Jacques Laracques, at your service. Doctor Carr, I presume?” said the head of the Highly Litigious Frenchmen.
Rosy burst into the Post Office and literally jumped into Germain’s arms. As far as humans went, Germain was not the largest specimen around, and Equestrian ponies being quite solid were heavier than they looked. As happy as he was to have the object of his affections in such intimate proximity, he knew he couldn’t keep standing for much longer. He carefully shuffled over to the staff couch and sat down with Rosy’s haunches on his lap, her forehooves around his neck and her lovely pink face mere inches from his. Naturally he misconstrued the circumstances and puckered up.
“Germy, this is no time for kissing!” said Rosy.
Germain felt his heart beat sideways in disappointment. “So what time is it then?” his voice squeaked embarrassingly.
“It’s time to rescue the Conversion Bureau from… lawyers,” she said with a frisson of terrible, yet tremendously kawai, dread.
Germain did his best to try to think, although it was really hard in the present circumstances. “The letter from yesterday?” he asked?
“Yes!” she cried, and lay her lovely muzzle on his shoulder.
“Who is it?” he asked, placing a hand reassuringly on her supple withers.
“The HLF,” she said. “The one with lawyers, not the one with guns.” She heaved a sob that spoke to Germain’s very soul.
“Oh. That’s bad,” he said.
“Very bad!” she added, and wiped her tears on his shirt.
“Well there’s only one thing to do then,” he said with determination in his voice.
“And what’s that?” asked the mare, rubbing her huge eyes with her fetlocks.
“Call in the PER,” said Germain.
Evelyn watched in dread as the attorney approach.
“After my letter I presume there aren’t any offensive faux-pastries left on these premises.” His smile was that of a predator cornering its prey.
“Oh, no. We’ve gotten rid of them all,” said Evelyn meekly.
“Really now? Then you wouldn’t mind if I look around then?” he asked, his expression never wavering in the least.
“No. Of course not! Please make yourself at home.” The sounds of chaos in the bureau seemed to have died down. Evelyn hoped it was a good sign.
The solicitor walked up to the desk and lifted his briefcase onto it. He opened both clasps with a loud snap and extracted a device that looked just like a magic wand. He held it up to Evelyn with an amused grin. “This is a muffin detector. It can also find other non-flaky pastries. Isn’t it just delightful?” He cackled evilly.
“Yes, I… guess,” replied Evelyn as two elephants engaged in the pachydermal equivalent of Sumo wrestling in her stomach.
The little lawyer strode purposefully into the Conversion Bureau.
Germain spoke on the phone. “You said you know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who’s a member of the PER.” He paused a moment. “Yes, that Germain, the one who works at the post office.” He paused as he listened for a moment. “Yes it’s an emergency! Have him come the post office right now.” He hung up the phone.
Trying to look cool and in control he turned back to Rosy who was nibbling the tip of a hoof. “Do you think they’ll be here in time?” she asked, raising the nibbled hoof to her forehead dramatically.
“Sure, they’ll probably be her in… no time at all.” He actually had no idea when the PER member would arrive, as he hadn’t asked. He had a sudden inspiration and sat back done on the sofa next to Rosy, putting an arm around her reassuringly. “We can wait here together.” He smiled and the mare snuggled in close. He bent his neck to place his face nearer to hers when he heard someone come into the post office. A serious looking stallion stood at the door, carrying an egg-shaped object.
“Did somepony call for the PER?”
“Oh Germy they’re here! Quick let’s get to the Bureau,” said Rosy, jumping off the couch.
Germain stared at the empty spot where second previous the prettiest mare he’d ever seen had been cuddled up to him.
“Yes, let’s,” he said in resignation and got up to leave.
Almost home free! thought Evelyn. The lawyer had been all over the bureau, poking his stick into every little crack and recess he could find. With each failure his expression became grimmer, until it now was a veritable sneer.
“They’re here. I know they are. And when I find them, I will shut you down.” With an evil glare he practically ran over to the closed area of the Bureau and, ducking under the yellow biohazard tape, ran inside. Evelyn followed him in.
“We’re not supposed to come in here!” said Evelyn. “It’s dangerous!”
“Dangerous, and the ideal place to hide the evidence of your crimes,” accused Laracques.
From inside the kitchen, Dr. Carr heard munching, lip smacking and slurping noises, just like a pony messily eating muffins. The HLF leader smiled and pointed his stick at the recently repaired door to the kitchen. The tip of the stick glowed red. “AHA!” he shouted, and pushed the door open. Evelyn ran into the kitchen, dreading the worst. And she found it.
Between the furniture overturned in the recent muffin fight, a grey pegasus mare sat happily eating from a large pile of muffins stacked into a pyramid before her. Laracques poked his stick into the pile and it began to emit a piercing alarm. With a death’s head grin, he turned to Dr. Carr and pointed at the pyramid with the still wailing stick. “Muffins!” He cackled with glee, and more elephants joined the wrestling match in Evelyn’s stomach with every chortle.
Derpy looked up in alarm. “Does this mean I don’t get a shampoo?” She burped, and reached for another muffin.
“No it doesn’t!” said a new voice at the kitchen entrance. A dark colored unicorn stallion strode in, an egg shaped object floating in front of him.
“I’m with PER, and take this Laracques!” Telekinetically he projected the egg with force so that it shattered on the barrister’s forehead, just below his Bowler hat.
The egg cracked open, and a business card and some storage chips fell out. Laracques bent to pick them up. He squinted at the card and read aloud.
“Dark Eminence, leader of Pastry Emancipation and Restauration, former attorney general of the state of Arizona, Amicus Curae of the WorldGov Western AmeriZone Tribunal, and Vice President of the Tucson Better Business Bureau.”
“Your Muffin bashing days are over, Laracques,” said Dark Eminence. “Cease and desist in any further actions towards the Conversion Bureaus, or face the wrath of PER and our highly trained attorneys. On those chips you’ll find an infringement of business injunction, a court pre-ruling on the illegality of the HLF’s claims of nutritional insufficiency and a report from the former Surgeon General of the United States of America on the deleterious health effects of eating a croissant each day.”
The man and pony stared daggers at each other. Finally Laracques put his hand to his head and doffed his Bowler hat. He then proceeded out of the kitchen. He stopped at the door and squinted at Dark Eminence. “We will stop this muffin invasion. Mark my words, pony. We aren’t done yet!” He turned and tried to slam the door. As it was a kitchen door it just swung in and back out, striking him in the rump. He left the Conversion Bureau in a huff.
“It looks as if my work here is done.” With a smile Dark Eminence presented Evelyn a business card. Whistling an unfamiliar tune, he slowly clip-clopped away.
Derpy popped another muffin into her mouth and chewed happily. Evelyn exited the kitchen. In the hallway beyond the taped-off area, almost all the staff had come out anxious as to the consequences of the mysterious strangers’ visit.
“The muffin embargo is over!” Evelyn smiled, the staff cheered. And then most of them ran into the kitchen to rescue what muffins they could from the little grey pegasus.
Germain and Rosy were left standing with Dr. Carr. “Germy, I’ll want my box of muffins back,” said Rosy. The young postman looked crestfallen. When she noticed the look Rosy nuzzled his elbow. “We can eat the muffins together here at the bureau. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” said Germain, his smile returning “That would be really nice.” The two walked back out to the reception dangerously close to each other.
“Ah youth,” said Evelyn to no-one in particular. “I hope nobody gives these two a hard time.” With a warm feeling in her stomach she went back to her office. Her hair needed a good brushing after all this excitement.
After she left two identical foal heads stuck up from where they had been hiding behind stacked tables and chairs. The Timmies looked at each other and exclaimed simultaneously, “Do you think she meant us?” They grinned wickedly, and snuck off towards the bureau reception area. Pony-human pairs could be such fun!
One fateful day of destiny in a Conversion Bureau not far from here...
There I was in a room with no roof but a ceiling so low I couldn’t lift my brows. My t-shirt was sweaty enough to be used as a solvent on stainless vanadium-steel. The picture of my favourite metal band, Allied Invincible Death Squad, dripped down to the floor along my excrement. My ass ached from all the pastries I’d sat on, even consumed. Consumed, eaten. The mere thought evaporated a litre of crotch sweat into to the thickness once called air. Breathe, Jaybee, breathe!
I had suffered in that storage room for hours now. I couldn’t turn on the light, I couldn’t relieve the silence or she would find me. I imagined her yellow eyes peering in through an imaginary keyhole. First the left eye, then the right one, and then it would be over. But that was just the nightmare. I was in the very place her grey feathers would never guess to visit. Muffins... I’d have to add that to the HLF handbook: When in a bureau, don’t touch the muffins.
- Wait a minute, Jaybee, said a mysterious voice in my head, the boss warned you about the muffins.
He did?
The voice repeated the words of my superior: “Whatever you do, Jeff, keep clear of those muffins. If there’s anything in the world those ponies take seriously it’s the muffins. The muffins, Jeff. They don’t care about the potion, just muffins. MFFFFIIINS! MUFMUFMUF...”
Shut up.
- Dude, we haven’t talked once in ten years. Gimme a break.
Not now, mysterious voice, not now. I have to think. Thinking was all and everything Jaybee could do. They wouldn’t search the muffin storage scouring every other corner and cabin. But they would come eventually, MFI left no stone unturned, no oven unheated.
“Jaybee! Yes, we know you. This is Derpy Hooves of the MFI!”
Derpy Hooves... of the MFI... Her voice was like a lullaby sung by a factory line. She was a siren like a haunted steel mill. She spoke like a harpy with a month’s worth of hard liquor in her veins. If Jaybee could smell her he would smell the dread of a million tons of flour, ten million eggs, and three hundred thousand tons of white sugar harvested from African fields by African children who would only taste sweetbread once a year. If anything, Derpy made Jaybee sad.
“I’m broadcasting throughout the Bureau so I know you can hear me Jaybee. Come out now and I promise we won’t use the usual MFI tactics to find you.”
MFI tactics...
- You should now, Jaybee, you’ve seen some of those people.
Jaybee had. Ponies never killed, they never hurt on purpose, but they had their... methods. And MFI’s were some of the nastiest. The main motif was always muffins. The victims survived with muffins in their ears, in their pants, under their nails, between their toes, in their hair, in their trousers, in their very souls, and worst of all... in their mouths. Those people would never be the same. Once you taste the muffin you can never go back.
But she would still find him. With muffins or with extra muffins, they still would. What would she do? What does the MFI do besides finding people who with muffin-violations in their records?
“You must be wondering what we’ll do with you when we find you, Jaybee.”
- She’s a freakin’ psychic!
Shut up...
“We will reward you with a ribbon. Really do ask yourself, why are you even hiding? I don’t know what went wrong, but me and the MFI are needed for greater things. not to take anything away from you, Jaybee, but our time is worth more muffins that you can handle! You’re scared, you’re in a pickle that’s for certain. But do you know what we are, Jeff Burns Bridges, I don’t think you do.”
- Do we?
Derpy’s MFI, The Muffin Force International, there is terror in this world and I never got around recruiting any of them even though I well tried. I don’t know how well you’ve paid attention in these years but I’ve got to my position mainly by ass-kissing. Sure I’m often surrounded by idiots, but that’s how far ass-kissing gets you - around idiots. What if I just gave up and swapped to the ponies’ side?
- Don’t ask me, I’m still mentally in my mid-twenties.
The idea was revolutionary: what if Jaybee joined the Muffin Force? There could be honour in the battles they fought, honour in... muffins. Can’t be them, anything else but muffins!
- Oh, c’mon, they’re just pastries. Pastries you liked when you were a kid.
I did?
- Totally! Remember those hot summer days in the muffin factory? Working twelve-hour shifts with little pay? Even though the only muffins we ever tasted were expired, dry, and dusty, damn, they were so good. And oh, the batch that “accidentally” got a cartload of sand mixed in? Crunchy as heck, but we ate them all!
He remembered. Those were unforgiving, merciless times. One day you could’ve fighting for your life against the rival muffin lords, the next you were enjoying the spoils of a successful muffin raid. What if the Muffin Force wanted to put an end to all that? Jaybee couldn’t accept that his traumatic childhood wouldn’t ever happen to today’s children. Kids were getting soft, the lands would be ruled by the soft, the Earth would be filled with softness. But not the softness of humans. The softness of ponies was something he’d sworn to fight against. True that he rarely even tried, probably never succeeded, but rarely was more than muffin! What the hell, Narrator!?
Shut the fuck up, Jaybee, I do what I want!
Screw you! I’m the one in this dark closet with an itchy back and no room to even pull my boxers out from my ass. Hell, I’m not even sure you exist!
- I agree with Jaybee.
Thank you, mysterious voice.
- No prob, buddy.
That’s it.
Suddenly, without any reason or consideration, Jaybee farted. What!? And when a guy his size farts, well, you don’t want to be hanging around within a mile’s radius.
“I heard that! It came from... The Muffin Shrine! How could you, Jaybee, in the holiest of places!”
I’m gonna kill you...
You have to find me first. Jaybee couldn’t count to five when Derpy Hooves’ yellow orbs already met his blurry gaze. “Let’s get you out of there, HLF.”
“You’re nothing more than a memory I thought I’d lost forever,” spat Jaybee, “and I’ll stand for the HLF for as long as I breathe.”
To his dismay, Derpy laughed out loud. The sound could only be compared to the ones caused by galaxies crossing, stars exploding, and Easy-Bake ovens overheating. “I’ve met worse than your little HLF. Have you ever been sued, Jeff? Hah, you can do us no harm, amateurs.”
Jaybee crawled out from his confinement. Derpy and the rest of the Muffin Force were wearing small protective masks over their mouths. Now that’s overdoing it. “It isn’t my bad you can barely stand as it is!” said the grey pegasus, herself standing roughly two heads shorter than Jaybee. “You should join us. The Muffin Force International has needs... for an expert like you.” Jaybee wondered why Derpy paused in the middle of her last sentence. That made no grammatical sense. Among other things...
Jaybee pondered the suggestion like a monkey ponders a typewriter. He knew what he had in his life, it wasn’t much but he could use it well if he wanted. But what would he get from joining the Force? Muffins? Jaybee wasn’t sure what to think of muffins anymore. He looked over his shoulder at the Muffin Shrine he’d just defiled with his fat ass. You’re not making this easier.
- Next time I’ll be narrating this shit. Yo.
He couldn’t take advice from his retarded inner voice.
- :(
How did he do that? Jaybee turned back to Derpy. “What do you guys even do for a living?” The mare was confused for a fraction of a second before breaking to a pleasant smile that could’ve melted a mountain of powdered sugar.
“We protect what’s important to us and the universe we live in,” said Derpy and removed the protective mask. The rest of the Force followed her example.
“Okay, I’m doing exactly the same as a matter of fact,” said the smelly man.
“But you’re not doing it the right way. We save the world one muffin at a time. Before the MFI there was only chaos and peril in the world of muffins. We saw our chance to make it right, and we took that chance by the artificial sweetener! Besides, if you join I might even give you a muffin from my personal stash...” Derpy wiggled her brows, moved her tongue from one cheek to another, and let her eyelids close halfway. Jaybee couldn’t help getting intrigued by the proposal. “You would see if you can handle a real muffin. No kidding, they are illegal in nine countries.” I don’t like where this is going.
- I do, actually. You like muffins, Jaybee, you just don’t know it yet.
Can’t you see she’s seducing me? Wait a minute... why’s she seducing me?
Jaybee couldn’t see the muffin queen was seducing him. For all the muffins in the world he couldn’t. And the rest was history.
