Barfly Anon 3

>Afternoon naps always leave you feeling like a zombie, but after a few hour's nap on your couch, you're awake and the hangover’s not so insistent at least.

>You spend a little while cleaning in silence. When you’re done, you fix yourself a half-assed dinner and then for excitement you sit at your table, listen to the radio and crack the bottle of cake vodka Pinkie left with you.

>You wanted to slow the drinking a bit, but you were alone, and the house was quiet, and you were bored. So fuck it.

>Alone with your thoughts, your drift back to last evening and this morning, entertaining your guest, Pinks.

>She had been fun company, as per the norm. But the conclusion of her visit had left you feeling a little introspective.

>You and Pinkie went back a ways. She was probably your first friend here, and when it came to being friends, she hadn't taken anything but yes for an answer.

>It had been a gradual process.

>She had reminded you of some people you used to know in high school, those ridiculously bubbly people who lacked in subtlety or the concept of an indoor voice.

>Those types used to drive you buggy.

>Pinkie was all of those things, and she did drive you buggy.

>But despite that, she had wormed her way into your affections with the endless enthusiasm and joy she radiated. It was unrelenting and addictive.

 

 

>You couldn't fathom the thought that Past You had wanted nothing to do with her. Pinkie was the shit, and probably largely responsible for your successful initiation into Equestria.

>Her friendship had helped you accept all of this, and in turn p0nies accepted you.

>That brought you to this morning.

>You'd been folding up the blanket she'd slept under, and at an impulse you drank in her scent while she was preoccupied showering.

>That had felt wrong the moment you'd exhaled, like a betrayal of trust. Not an unforgivable one maybe, but one that left a bad taste in your mouth all the same.

>She had picked up on the bad mood this had brought you.

>She hugged you, thanked you for hospitality. And then when she had leaned in closer, tried to kiss you, your guilt and the alarming oddity of kissing a talking p0ny had made you turn your head away from your gal pal.

>You wussed out in other words, even though part of you wanted to do it.

>She had almost sounded disappointed, but running true to form she didn't seem to stay upset long. But you wonder. It's the doubt, the wondering that maybe you missed out on something good that makes you tilt back your next shot.

>You didn't really know what to think about all of this, but that was alright.

>There was a reasonable, mature way to resolve this issue.

>More alcohol.

 

 

>Bed time comes slowly, but maybe still a little too soon, as they usually do on a work night.

>You've got a good buzz going on by now.

>You have spent the day sleeping, lazing around and doing nothing beyond a bit of cooking and cleaning, but you figure the booze will help put you out anyway.

>You turn off the radio, and bring the vodka bottle into your room and set it on your nightstand. Then you set your alarm and hit the sack.

>Mondays were always busy days at Sugarcube Corner. You tried to mentally psyche yourself up for it as you lay in bed, but it didn't go over very well.

>You’d just have to face Mondays like you always have. Full of caffeine and flying by the seat of your pants.

>Sleep takes you without much of a fight.

>Your alarm clock rings in your ear after what must have been a solid fifteen minutes after shutting your eyes. It couldn't possibly be time to get up already.

>Face down in your pillow, you reach out and slap at your alarm until it shuts up. You hit something else in your blind pawing at the ringing annoying thing, and hear a thud as that something hits your carpeted floor, but that’s not important.

>What’s important is that your alarm has quit.

>Mmn.

 

 

>Nine minutes later, your alarm clock offers you a gentle reminder of your obligation to get your happy ass to work.

>You slap the snooze button again, trying to remember the weird dream you’d had after hitting the snooze button the first time, but it had slipped away.

>You swing your legs out of bed and turn the alarm off, then pick up the vodka bottle on the floor. You unscrew the cap and tip the bottle back.

>It puts a heat in you that helps chase off the fresh-out-of-bed chills, and the bite of it wakes you up a little.

>You leave the capped bottle on your bed.

>Good thing Pinkie was a morning person. You were due in by eight, but Pinkie had to be up much earlier.

>You didn't envy her, but she never seemed bothered by the early morning work. Well, better her than you.

>How p0nies, or people for that matter, could be perky in the morning both confused and infuriated you.

>You get up and first thing you do is set the coffee to brewing. A quick shower, (screw shaving, too lazy) teeth, some oatmeal (with milk from sentient cows, yecch) and three cups of strong coffee later, and you’re off.

>It’s a short distance to Sugarcube, and the cool morning air wakes you a little more.

>P0nies that offer you a hello, (and quite a few do, friendly buggers) receive one in kind.

>You even make an effort to seem not asleep when you answer.

>You arrive at Sugarcube Corner and let yourself in.

>The sign on the door said closed, but of course it was unlocked.

 

 

>Even outside you could smell it, but when you enter the bakery with a little jangle, your nose is enraptured by the many scents of freshly baked goods.

>In your experience, no job was without annoyances.

>This?

>This wasn't one of them. If you worked here for 50 years, you were seriously doubtful that you would ever tire of how this place smelled in the morning.

>You can hear a flurry of activity and humming coming from the kitchen.

>You peek inside to find Pinkie, of course Pinkie, busily at work. And that's an understatement.

>She’s zipping around the kitchen in a way that only she could manage.

>She’s mixing a bowl of dough on one side of the kitchen.

>Then there’s a pink blur of movement; less than half a second later, she’s on the other side of the kitchen removing a batch of fresh muffins from an oven.

>She zips around this way, mixing things, icing other things, taking a pie from a cooling rack, pouring melted butter, cracking eggs into another bowl, and refilling a milk pitcher.

>All the while humming some jaunty little tune.

>She’s moving at such a speed that you feel your stomach give a gentle but deliberate little lurch.

>Maybe it was normal for ponies, you’d never heard one complain about this, but this speed combined with the indistinct blur marking her movements. It seems to go against what your brain interprets as a feasible reality.

>Looking at this makes you feel a little sick.

 

 

>You clear your throat just as Pinkie blurs across the kitchen again.

>Her tune is cut short and she yelps in surprise, stopping short of her mark, and dumping a cup of flour on the floor rather than in a mixing bowl a few feet away from her.

>Also, her tail appeared to be having a seizure right before she dumped the flour.

>There’s a moment of silence as you both look at each other across the kitchen.

>As a puff of flour wafts up from the floor, her eyes widen, her face scrunches up, and her eyes drift apart.

>It makes her look like that grey Pegasus you see at the bar all the time, and then

>“AAAACHOO!”

“Sorry, I didn’--

>“AAAACHHHOOO!!! AAACHOO!!!”

“I didn’t mean t--

>“AAH AAAAH AAACHOOO!”

>There’s a festive squeaking sound, as a little spray of confetti flies from her mouth.

>You.

>Are.

>Dumbfounded.

>What the actual fuck?

“Uhhh..”

>“Annie!” Pinkie giggles.

>“You startled me! You’re here extra early today! You aren't supposed to be getting here for another..”

>She looks up, taps her chin with a hoof and her lips move silently, as if counting.

>“Another one hundred seventy two seconds!”

“I gu--”

>“Well, one hundred seventy if you count the time it took me to say that. I mean, one hundred sixty seven if you count--”

“I /get/ it Pinks, I’m here early.”

>You were indeed early. Couple minutes at least.

>You got the feeling that Pinkie was dead on to exactly how early you were.

>You weren't gonna ask her how she knew that. You didn't want to know.

 

 

>Awhile back, when you were still adjusting, you had once asked her friend Twilight just what the deal with the pink pone was.

>You visited her treebrary one morning, after being kept up the whole night before.

>Booze hadn't washed the thoughts away, or put you to sleep.

>It was something Pinkie did the day before.

>She'd leapt up about 40 feet into the sky, grabbed onto thin air, and held on for dear life after spotting a spider near her hooves.

>She didn't come down until you had picked the little thing up and thrown it away into some brush.

>And sure, at first she fell like a normal person.

>But when she closed in on ground, she slowed down and landed gently back on the grassy earth.

>Well, Twilight had given you the most pitying look you’d seen on a pony so far.

>She glanced up at her assistant Spike, who was still snoring away upstairs.

>Frowning a little, she simply said

>“Anonymous, follow me.”

>You followed her into her basement, and she led you to a few filing cabinets.

>She magicked open a drawer, you saw they went out about three feet and were filled with labelled folders.

>She explained that since she first came to P0nyville she had been taking notes of various places and p0nies, as a reference and a way to record the history of P0nyville and it’s inhabitants.

>Then she moved to another filing cabinet, and opened the top drawer.

>This drawer had only one folder, labelled “Pinkie Pie”.

>Pages and pages, all three feet of it.

 

 

>“You’re welcome to go through it if you'd like Anonymous.” She invited.

>“If you can’t find a satisfactory explanation, there's another drawer you can try.”

>..Another drawer?

>You pulled the second one and it was completely filled with another folder labelled “Pinkie Pie - cont.”

>You were afraid to pull the third and last drawer. You decided it would be wise to not pursue this any further and just try seeing around it.

>Informing Twilight of this, she had nodded soberly and told you that it was probably best that way.

>As she lead you back upstairs, she says

>“I haven't been able to come to a conclusion with her, and I've run through a number of hypotheses in my years in P0nyville. Even some more outlandish ones, such as Pinkie being 1/26th Draconequus. But every theory I've explored has been inconclusive. I think it’s best,  no, /healthiest/ for your mental health, to try and accept that Pinkie is an anomaly, mostly benign, and beyond complete understanding.”

>Wise words. Ones to live by.

>You had stayed a bit longer. You and Twilight had found some common ground, befuddlement at Pinkie’s lack of being possible.

>She was an alright mare.

>She was smart, that much was obvious, and common knowledge around P0nyville. She was inquisitive by nature, and when she asked you about yourself you felt fairly comfortable answering a few questions.

 

 

>She had offered you some advice after all, and she hadn't been insensitive like Dash; she was respectful and when you refused her a question, she just nodded, looking disappointed but understanding, and you respected her for that.

>Also, subjects of mutual interest were great to discuss with her because she would not only be enthusiastic, but she would be reciprocal and equally eager to listen as well as speak.

>You felt a little intimidated by her intellect, but she was modest, maybe even a little unaware? And it was refreshing to talk to someo

>Somep0ny who was smart, and didn't rub your face in it.

>She wanted to hear what others said and hear every point of view, anything that drew her closer to her own conclusion.

>She was ever the interpreter, and you liked her for it.

>The two of you compared notes regarding Pinkie for a bit, further solidifying your need to just ignore some of the things Pinkie does, for your own health.

 

~~~~~

 

>“Hee hee~ Sorry, yeah. Could you finish mixing these all up while I clean up the flour?”

>She gestures to a mixing bowl surrounded by what will eventually be a batch of pumpkin spice cupcakes. You knew this recipe by heart.

"Sure."

>She had slowed down her Dragonball Z pace once she knew you were there.

>You complained to her before that her weird fastness made you feel queasy, and she almost never did it around you unless she became too excited.

>You begin mixing up the recipe as Pinkie sweeps up the flour behind you.

 

 

>“Are you feeling any better today Anon? You don’t look so tired or Mc-grumpy-pants.”

>You were feeling better from the day before. A night's sleep had helped dull the melancholic bullshit you'd felt yesterday, and the lack of hangover was a definite plus too. But were you feeling good? Naw.

>You smile a bit. The reason was one you were willing to share with anyone willing to listen to you bitch.

“Y’know, somehow I doubt that. I think Mondays are meant as a punishment for what people did on the weekend. It’s eight in the morning and I've been awake for forty minutes. I shoulda let my pillow win.”

>“But Anon, if you were sleeping in bed, who would be up to make delicious treats for P0nyville? Who would save p0nies from a world without yummy snacks??

>Wasn't melodrama Rarity’s thing? You carefully add the last egg to the mix and look back.

>You see that what may have started as a light hearted pep talk, had turned into a frightening prospect. Pinkie looks genuinely concerned about the hypothetical P0nyville going without delicious baked things.

“Uhh.. You would?”

>This revelation surprises her.

>“Oh right! I would! And Mr. and Mrs. Cake too, when they’re here!”

>Mr and Mrs. Cake had a tendency to be away.

>Pinkie took care of the store well enough, while the Cakes were out on catering business. It was actually a bit impressive that Pinkie kept the place respectable without the p0nies that were essentially her bosses around, sometimes for days at a time.

 

 

>She didn't get all the credit though. You finish the mixture as Pinkie is getting rid of the floor flour.

“So front, kitchen, or..?”

>“The front’s all yours if you wanna work up there.”

>You preferred manning the frontline in the morning.

>You found talking and interacting with p0nies helped wake you up. Baking was easy, but in the mornings the repetition of it made you want to ball up a pillow of dough and crash.

>It was something more tolerable once afternoon rolled around and you were feeling wakeful enough to appreciate the art of it.

>You and Pinkie would alternate most days after four or so hours between baking in the kitchen and working the counter.

>One of you would lend a hand (or hoof) if the other started getting seriously swamped of course. That was the system you two had worked out, and most of the time it got along just fine.

“You know I do.”

>A large assortment of freshly baked goodies lay on a counter closest to the kitchen door. Pies, cakes, bread, a variety of muffins and cupcakes. This was typical.

>You wash up and get to setting everything on display.

>Once it’s all neatly and tantalizingly arranged, it’s about time to open for the day.

>P0nies trickle in slowly at first.

>About an hour into your shift the bell above the door jingles, and into the lonely bakery walks the unicorn that soured your Friday shift.

 

>The green unicorn narrows her eyes at you for a second, but then drops her gaze to the glass display you're standing behind, approaching and eying up the baked treats with a more mild expression.

>You didn't miss that look though. What was her problem? It’s not your fault she’s so finicky about some cookies. She could have tried being a little more polite, a little less demanding.

>Oh well. You maintain your best idling customer service face and stance while she peruses Sugarcube's treats. She keeps casting the odd glance at you, quick as a snake and you’re not too pleased by the look on her face.

>Finally after browsing for a couple minutes, she asks “Is Pinkie Pie in?”

>You cast a thumb behind you.

“She’s in back, baking. Do you need her for something?”

>“I wanna buy, but.. I'd rather get it from her.”

>You blink.

>Okay, now you’re approaching offended. This mare got it in for you or what?

>Adopting your best customer service voice, you say “May I ask why?”

>“Y'know why.”

“I’m sorry miss, I’m afraid I don’t.”

>She takes your calm voice for condescension.

>“You’re not funny, just get Pinkie out here.”

First I would really appreciate it if you’d tell me what is upsett--

>“Hey, yeah, I definitely just said Pinkie.”

>You'll take one more crack at this and then get Pinkie. She looked mad-approaching-pissed.

 

 

>You didn't need a raving unicorn in the shop, especially this early.

>That’d probably wake you up real fast, but not very gently you wager. Who knows? Maybe she'll turn you into a fuckin' toad or something. That'd be a swell way to start a Monday.

>Irate Customer Diffusion Technique #37. Begin with something she wants to hear. She won’t let you finish otherwise.

“I'll get Pinkie for you. But /please/, first tell me what’s bothering you. If it’s me, or something Sugarcube Corner has sold you recently, I want to make it right.”

>Personally, you really didn't feel very strongly about helping the angry p0ny, but it was your job. If she had a relevant problem, you’d do what you could.

>And you were genuinely curious what her beef with you was. Was there was a real reason, or was she just a cunt?

>“You said to..!”

>She nearly shouts it, before stopping abruptly. Her ears flatten and she lifts a front hoof shyly, looking around the shop as if expecting a crowd of eyes on her, but for now it was just you and she.

>“You told me..! U-uh.” She stutters and then trails off.

>A dusting of pink creeps up her face, but still she's looking at you angrily. You start to soften up a little. What did you do?

>She looks at the door again. After being satisfied that it wasn't going to open, she leans over the counter and waves you in to do the same.

>You do. Looking around conspiratorially she cups a hoof around her muzzle.. sort of, and whispers to you.

>Your eyes widen a bit.

 

 

>As you draw away, you feel your own face warming up. Hers was now a deepening pink.

"No way." You say disbelievingly.

>Maybe not trusting herself to speak, she just nods at you.

“When?”

>Just at she was starting to thaw, her look turns sharp, doubting your sincerity again.

>You say nothing, just look at her.

>She sighs resignedly. “Last Friday. Maybe like, one or two in the morning… Sound familiar?”

>Last Friday..

>Last Friday you and Berry had filled you full of so much cider you don’t even know how you got home. >You had toyed with telling this mare off during your shift last week, since she had been acting so insufferably. But it wasn't something you meant to actually vocalize.

>You liked your job, and you liked bits.

>You honestly didn't remember saying that, but you felt inclined to believe the unicorn. You wouldn't put it past Drunk Anonymous, sometimes he ran his mouth.

>Back on Earth you’d managed to get yourself into a few fights, all of them when you were drunk off your ass.

>You’d wake up the next day with the typical hangover. Thirsty, headache, tired, all part of the plan.

>Then there would be the not-so-typical swelling cheek, sore fists, few bruises, cuts, maybe a black eye if you were lucky, etcetera.

>Not part of the plan.

 

 

>Your friends would rib you about it, and fill you in on your smart assed words that ended up with some alpha retard taking a swing at you, glossing over their own roles in keeping you from getting your skull broken, of course.

>Quite the bridge burner when you're hammered huh? You meet her tawny eyes and tell her that you’re

“Sorry. I was really, um. Uh, very intoxicated that night.” You say quietly. “I’m not always such an”

>You affirm that you and the unicorn are still alone.

“an asshole.”

>She smiles a bit. You feel safe in asking

“Still want Pinkie?”

>“..I guess not. Six Cran-Carrot muffins and six CVB’s please.”

>Chocolate vanilla bean cupcakes.

>As you gather up and box her order she says

>“Hey uh. My bad if I went a little bug-eyed about the cookies. They were for my best friend. I wanted 'em to be the best .”

>You've already decided that you’re willing to forgive her if she'll forgive you.

>You add an extra one of each treat to the box, free of charge, tie it off and lay it on the counter.

"I guess I can understand that. Maybe we can get along a little better from now on, yeah? Seriously. If it‘s after eleven and I've made some smartass comment, I might be drinking.”

>She nods with a small laugh, not looking angry anymore. Digging through a saddlebag, she lays a stack of shining bits upon the counter and says “I'll remember.. Hopefully. That excuse only works so much.. Um.. Anin?”

“Anonymous.”

 

 

>You hold a hand out, out of reflex. The p0ny just stares at it.

>..Whelp.

>The only one that had ever shaken your hand after offering it was Applejack. In fact, she almost shook your atoms apart the first and last time you ever held a hand out to her.

>Shaking hands was not a common gesture among most p0nies. This unicorn didn't understand.

>You may as well have been pointing at the sole of your foot with one hand and shaking a plastic bag around in the other.

>But then her hoof slaps down into your hand, and you shake it.

>She watches in.. wonder? as you take her hoof, shaking it firmly but politely.

>Her face is all O's, looking down at your grasping hand, she's wide-eyed, mouth a little circle of awe.

>She stares at her hoof bobbing up and down in your hand for a number of seconds, without a change in expression or posture.

>The seconds stretch on as she stands, transfixed at her hoof wrapped up in your hand.

>Is she okay?

>You let her go and lean on the counter.

>For the briefest of moments, she still looks down at where her hoof is and your hand was. Then she reanimates like a toy with fresh batteries popped into it, dropping her hoof and that gaping expression.

>“Lyra, name's Lyra.” She says.

>She meets your eye with a parting look, her horn brightens and her package is enveloped in a golden glow, and the minty unicorn exits with the cheery jangle of the doorbell marking her departure.

 

 

>You’re counting out her bits and see she’s overpaid you. She was three and.. Hold it, that wasn't right, it was.. Oh, oh wait. She'd paid for the extras you’d thrown in.

 

~

 

>The late morning lunch rush started as it usually did, especially on Mondays. Sudden, hard, fast and without mercy.

>Done with these three hungry p0nies?

>Have three more.

>Done with them? Here’s another four.

>Oh hey, check it out! Back of the line’s filling up quick now isn't it?

>This p0ny changed their mind, they want something else; that's gonna set you back. Getting overwhelmed yet?

>You work at a feverish pace, auto-piloting, operating on pure, feral instinct.

>Though just barely, you hold your own. The last customer is finally served and they make their way out.

>Nice job Anon. Truly you were the goody guru, the carbohydrate conqueror. You were the badass baker, the treatslinger, you were

>Totally fucked as an assortment of rambunctious colts and fillies burst into Sugarcube Corner.

>By the time you realize the immense collateral damage inbound, there's three small p0nies fogging up glass and putting nose prints places where nose prints aren't supposed to be, three more messing up the front flowers, three more working on tilting over a massive display cake, and one and two more trying to sneak out a cupcake and play hide and seek under a large throw rug.

>The Mayans were right.

>Was it 2012? It must be.

 

 

>You snatch up the cupcake from the oh-so-sneaky thief as you cross the room and stop the display cake from going over, with about zero seconds to spare.

>As you’re making sure the huge cake is all in order, the cake tippers have taken to climbing the ornate ladder resting against a high display shelf.

>Now there was an insurance nightmare.

>You set down the cupcake on the table, and are plucking the first and highest foal off the ladder when you hear an excited yelp from outside. Shit, the little bastards out front!

>Cupcake-snatcher has honed in on her old target.

>You set down the ladder climber and he gallops off to fuck-knows-where, and then you pluck the second p0ne off the ladder as they make a loud complainy noise.

>Second Ladder Climber follows First Ladder Climber and you bet it’s to nowhere good.

“Pinkie..! PINKIE!!”

>You can’t keep the desperation out of your voice as you shoo away the last ladder climber and head for the door to salvage what’s left of the flowers outside.

“Get outta there!”

>You say to the two ponies worming their way under the rug.

>They wriggle out and give you a look of pure innocence as you step past them, but you don’t miss the hellion’s glance they throw each other when they think they’re out of your peripheral.

>As your hand grasps the doorknob outside, the door to the kitchen flies open and there's Pinkie, holding the doorframe in a hoof and leaning stylishly out of the entry, wearing a top hat and cane.

>Is that a monocle?

 

 

>Then she throws her head back and sings:

>“Whaaat is it, that I see here...?~

>"Little p0nies, gleeful faces~

>To your horror you realize her opening words were accompanied by the fluttering sound of a flute and the rising note of a French horn.

>She wasn't messing around.

>The last time she tried to sing, it was some song about sharing that she had sang to two disgruntled customers arguing about the last lemon yogurt muffin for sale.

>That had nearly ended in a riot, you didn't want to see what'd happen if she sang to a bunch of crazy little fillies and colts.

“Pinkie, don’t!”

>She drops her head and gives you an irritated look, glaring at you through her monocle, and then goes for a second attempt, more insistently:

>“WHAAAAT IS IT, THAT I SEE HERE?~~”

>You point a finger at her.

“Pinkie don’t sing I swear to Ninkasi I will quit right here and now! Just help me.”

>Your bluff works.

>She gives an exasperated huff and take off her top hat, her mess of a mane sproinging out from underneath.

>“Fine.. But you owe me Anon! It’s been almost a week since my last song, I’m way overdue and last week it was--”

>You don’t hear the rest, you close the door as you step out to save what’s left of the flowers. You also don’t notice the top hat Pinkie throws bouncing harmlessly off the door.

 

 

>There’s still about two-thirds of the flowers left, the other third are being munched on by a trio of gleeful looking foals.

“Outta the flowers, what are you doing? I said get!”

>From the moment the shop stopped being peaceful to now only spanned about twenty to thirty seconds.

>The three flower-eating foals start shovelling the rest of what they've already picked into their craws as fast as they could.

>When you look up, you see why.

>Ms. Cheerilee is headed towards the shop with, presumably, the only two well behaved foals in tow.

>She doesn't seem to notice that what remained of the front flowers bore a strong resemblance to mangled, hobbling veterans of some terrible war, or maybe she's ignoring it to be polite.

>You hold the door open for Cheerilee as she trots inside.

>“Good morning Anonymous!” she chirps brightly, followed inside by her five students.

“Mornin’ Cheerilee.”

 >P0nies man. Don’t even know how to get in trouble without being obvious about it.

>When Cheerilee’s past you, you give a discreet little throat clear to get the attention of the last foal in line.

>They look up at you and you tap the corner of your mouth with a finger.

>After a moment they get the hint and brush away the last couple flower petals hanging from the corner of their mouth and smile apologetically at you.

 

 

>As you follow them into the shop, you see the rest of Cheerilee's class lined up in a few neat rows and positively beaming at their entering teacher, the picture of good and dutiful little students everywhere.

>Pinkie’s monocle, hat and cane have mysteriously disappeared. But that's not the unusual part.

>You don’t know how the hell she did it; maybe she was good with kids.

>But Pinkie managed to get them all under control in the few moments you were outside the shop.

>She seemed impressed by her own child handling, looking down at the students with something akin to puzzlement.

>“Hello Pinkie Pie, good morning.”

>“Hiya Cheerilee!” Pinkie brightens up. “Field trip with the class?”

>“Yes, just a small one. I’d like to place a.. large order if I may.”

>“Absolutely! What can we get'cha?”

>You join Pinkie behind the counter. When Cheerilee turns to ask her class what they’d all like to get, they erupt into a senseless jumble of voices all speaking at once.

>Cheerilee gets them calm without raising her voice or anything, just talks them down with a few soft sentences. She’s good.

>She makes sense of all the orders and you and Pinkie work to fill it.

>Pinkie tries to start up the ladder to reach a distant pie on the high display shelf, but you stop her and hand it down.

>At your height no ladder was needed. All it took was your arms above your head.

>You knew you got hired here for a reason.

 

 

>All cupcakes/muffins and a few slices of pie are ready to go in a couple minutes.

>Cheerilee pays and with her students in tow, the little doorbell jangles and they leave.

>The last you hear are the excited foals following their serene teacher, some of them laughing and horsing around, a couple trying to coax a treat out of their teacher early.

>Well, that could have been worse.. But only a little.

>You look over to Pinkie, you had to know.

“How’d you get all those little p0nies to relax so fast?”

>She looks up at you. “Well I, I-I didn’t! You went out.. then one of them looked outside, and he said “Ms. Cheerilee’s coming!” and then they all stopped what they were doing and got grouped up all neat and then you came in.”

“..Really?”

>“Really really.”

“Huh.”

 

 

~~~~~

 

>You survive the lunch rush.

>You and Pinkie get the store mostly back in order before she returns to baking.

>You’re polishing off the last of the nose prints when there’s a jingling bell and the sound of a quartet of hooves entering. Well well, if it isn't Friday’s mare.

“Good day Berry.”

>“Yep. You too Anon.”

>The glass counter is spotless. You pocket the cloth and head around the counter.

>Leaning on the counter amiably, you ask your friend

“What can I get ya?”

>“Eight carrot muffins, and.. eh, still got those potato chip and cheese muffins?”

>You shake your head.

“Sorry Berr’. Summer months only, unless you wanna custom order a half or full dozen. Costs more though.”

>Berry looks aside, considering.

“It’s cheaper to get twelve than six, if you’re goin’ muffin for muffin.”

>Berry snorts, her red-violet eyes are back and she's grinning at you.

>“They payin' you extra to say that? Be honest.”

You shrug, smiling a bit. “Maybe.”

>“Okay, ya got me. Put me down for six.”

>You straighten up from the counter to adopt a more professional stance before you'll remind her of the economic advantages of a dozen rather than six. But, as you start moving she raises a hoof before you can even open your mouth.

>“Stop right there ‘Non. Just the six. It’s your job, I know, but please spare me the spiel.”

>You smile sheepishly, she caught you before you could even voice a single syllable.

 

 

>“Still want those carrot muffins though, if you please hun.”

“Sure thing.”

>You reach for the first muffin but stop yourself.

“Actually, hold that thought. Gotta wash my hands first.”

>After all, you've just been cleaning the place. Berry gives you a nod and you excuse yourself into the kitchen to wash up.

>You keep your eyes down just in case Pinkie's zipping about, but she's not. She’s on her hind legs flattening out some dough with a marble rolling pin.

>A sunbeam slants in from a window, bathing the kitchen and the pink p0ny in it's serene light.

>She’s humming merrily, eyes closed, looking content. She looks peaceful, in her element.

>As you wash up in the sink, she looks at you briefly and offers a little wave before returning to the dough, humming all the while. You think the song she’s humming was the song she nearly put the whole shop in jeopardy with earlier.

>When you're back out front, Berry Punch hasn't moved. She’s idly checking out the assortment of goodies about the shop.

>You didn't expect her to steal anyway. Most p0nies you've met were honest folk, aside from the occasional wayward foal.

>Sure you always kept an eye out, old human habits die hard, but you almost never had a problem.

>You’re just finishing boxing Berry's order up when Berry asks

>“Y’think you'll be downtown tonight?"

>Downtown certainly meaning the bar.

>You consider. You’re running low on bits, but with the hooch Pinkie gave you, you might be able to eek by until Friday.

 

 

“Yeah I think so. Why not?”

>Berry nods agreeably.

>"Good."

>You smile a little, tying up her box of muffins. She pays, and you write down her order on a sheet by the kitchen. You note the order queue and let her know that the

“Muffins'll probably be done tomorrow or early Wednesday.”

>Berry nods and takes the box on her head before sliding it down her neck and onto her back.

>She tips you a wink as she turns.

>“Thanks kid, seeya later.”

>Kid. Sigh. How old was she anyway?

>It was hard to tell unless they were positively ancient like Applejack’s grandma.. was it Smitty? Simmy? Smith? Simmons, that was it.

>It was hard to tell unless they were positively ancient like Applejack’s grandma Granny Simmons.

>Better yet, how can she even know your age? It’s not like she has an array of other humans to reference age with.

>Oh well, joke's on her. That box of muffins isn't going to stay on her back like that.

>And yet as she trots out, the box of muffins bounces around a little, but never teeters or totters and looks like it has no intention to either.

>You wonder if you'll ever fully understand the physics of this place.

>The bell jingles and the lavender mare’s droopy tail is the last you see of her as the door closes behind her.

 

 

~~~~~~

 

>Lunch was baked goods unless you wanted to go out. You didn’t feel like it and couldn't afford it even if you did.

>It wasn't bad though, you got a discount here.

>You settle on four carrot muffins and munch them at the top of the stairs leading to the upper floors of Sugarcube, where Pinkie's loft and the Cakes' rooms were.

>The muffins were pretty damn good, no surprise there.

>You hadn't tried a potato chip cheese muffin when they were being stocked last summer. But, ever since the reminder from Berry, the glutton in you has been whispering greasily in your ear that that sounded like the height of culinary excellency. You might have to get six for yourself.

>You finish eating, serving the odd customer that came in and then it’s your turn to bake.

>Pinkie relinquishes the kitchen to you, and it’s even fairly tidy.. For Pinkie Pie. You get the feeling she really hates cleaning.

>She also leaves you with a list of orders. Quite a lot of them too, but it’s no surprise being the start of the week.

>You’re gonna need to fill a bunch of 'em, today.

>You get to work. Baking could be hard, but you've learned a system over time.

>You weren't Pinkie, nor where you one of the Cakes. But you're confident that here, or your own world, all you’d have to do to get hired as a baker is offer yourself up for a day, let them see your sick moves and await being informed you've got a job.

 

 

>The first half of your baking shift goes by without a hitch. Pink's got a handle on the front, no more rampaging children, no pissed off customers, everything copasetic.

>Once the day is drawing to a close and you've only a couple hours to go, however, your gusto starts to wear down, you're getting tired.

>You soldier on, you had been making good time but you were starting to lose your buffer. But you weren't gonna let that go without a fight.

>Your second batch of pumpkin spice cupcakes are carefully removed from an oven, and you set them out to cool.

>You open up the fridge to get some eggs, and you spy the bottle of, you guessed it, cake vodka. It was mostly full, and as you’re leaning, reaching for the eggs your hand brushes the bottle's cold, sleek surface. You feel a little ache within for it, like the need for a cool breeze on a hot day.

>You withdraw from the fridge’s cold aura, eggs in one hand, bottle in the other.

>Just a nip to get you through the last couple hours or so.

>..That’s what you’d like anyway, but you leave the bottle where it is with some hesitancy, and come out with a little shiver and a dozen eggs.

>There was some waiting at home and more drinks “downtown” as Berry put it. You can make the last bit of your shift.

>Probably.

>Once you’re finishing off a batch of sugar cookies you see that you've an hour before the end of your shift. Almost there.

 

 

>You go over the list of orders, marking off the ones you've completed. You weren't ahead like you had been earlier, but you've managed not to fall behind either.

>You spend the rest of your time packing up orders and cleaning the kitchen. There was a fair mess, but cleaning was something you were good at, and you finish your shift with the kitchen in good shape.

>You join Pinkie out front. Your shift's over and she’s prepping to close soon.

>You help her box up all the unsold stuff (wasn’t much) which would be magicked off to an orphanage in Canterlot first thing tomorrow morning.

>You’re passing her down a cake from a high shelf when she asks you

>“Are you feeling chilly Annie?”

"Eh?”

>“You’re all shivery.” she says as she turns and places the cake carefully in a box.

>You raise a hand a little, flat out. You are indeed trembling.

“Huh. So I am.”

>The shaking seems to go hand in hand with the fatigue you've felt these last couple hours. You close a fist to stop the trembling of your fingers and drop your hand.

“I.. guess after being in that warm kitchen I’m not used to how cool it is in here.”

>You hadn't noticed the cool air much, but it was possible.

>“If you’re feeling all coldy-woldy--”

>You raise an eyebrow.

>coldy-woldy

>Jesus.

>“--you should go see Rarity. Just ask her and I'm sure she'll make you a super-nice-warm hoodie. After all, it's fall! Ooh and that means Nightmare Night soon! And the Running of the Leaves and cider season!

 

 

>Ahh yes, cider season. The one time of year where’s it’s socially acceptable to get hammered before noon.

>You had to try and get a day off for that.

“Might do that on Friday. Go see Rarity I mean. My old hoodie's gettin' old. Anyway, you need a hand getting this stuff in the kitchen or..?”

>The unspoken alternative was basically 'Can I go?'

>"Or what?"

>A head tilt and a grin before she catches on.

"Oh. You can head on home if you want, Annie. You don't have to ask me, I told you that. You're welcome to stay and help if you want though."

>You really do want to go home, and you've gotta buy some food on the way. But the look that crossed Pinkie's face made you reconsider.

>She had a great poker face when it came to actual poker, or other bluffing games of the sort.

>But when it came to her actual self she was more transparent. She wasn't sad or angry, just disappointed.

>When the Cakes were out, Pinkie had Sugarcube Corner all to herself.

>You couldn't imagine her here, with nop0ny other than the empty building for company. It seemed almost a tragedy to leave such an extrovert all alone.

"It's not much to move, I'll stick around a bit. Repayment since I cut off your song."

>Her smile's back like sunshine on a cloudy day, and seeing the pink pony smile brings one to your own tired face. Making Pinkie happy was like having cheat codes on, it was too easy sometimes.

 

 

>As you're moving the packages she says

>"If you really, really want to pay me back for that song, I'll teach you how to sing it so next time you can sing it with me!"

"Umm. No."

>"Anoooon.~" She whines.

>You shake your head. All of your nope.

"Not gonna happen."

>"Come on Annie, don't be shy! Everybody loves to sing sometimes. Why, I bet you'd be a great singer."

"I don't sing."

>"You did that one time.."

"I was drunk, you know how I get when Bad Romanes comes on."

 

~~~~~

 

>Once you and Pinkie finish putting away all the old treats, you head home for the day.

>On the way you get yourself a few groceries to last you 'til Friday.

>It was fairly busy around the marketplace, but you get what you want without a hitch.

>You're feeling more tired, and you just want to get home. As you're walking along with a armful of groceries in a paper bag you hear a voice

>"Hey! Hey!"

>You look, and galloping to your side is one of the little p0nies that were eating Sugarcube's flowers out front at lunch time.

>Actually, it was the one you had pointed out the damning evidence on their face to.

>You gave them one freebie before because you pitied their rookie mistake, but you weren't interested in whatever crap they were selling this time.

>They pant as they slow alongside you, but still they had to keep up a brisk pace to match your much longer stride.

>"H-hey, can you.. slow down a bit?"

>You barely even glance at them as you stroll along.

"Beat it kid."

 

 

>They ignore you and blurt it out full speed ahead.

>"It was lunch time and those flowers looked really tasty and everyone else wanted to and I couldn't help it alright?"

>You sigh. They weren't going to go away that easily.

"Your teacher was gonna buy you lunch. Couldn't wait a few more minutes?"

>"I know. I-I made a mistake. I just wanted to tell you sorry, okay?"

>Huh, that was something new.

>A kid apologizing for something? Without being caught by a parent or anything?

>You almost couldn't believe it.

>You slow your pace a little so the panting p0ny could keep up more easily.

"Well, alright. Don't worry about it."

>"Why did you warn me? You coulda totally let Ms. Cheerilee catch me."

>Not a bad question. You could have let them take the fall for their actions, and it would have served them right too. You consider.

>Something about them had reminded you of when you were younger. Every kid got up to a little helling once in a while, and you suppose you'd taken pity on their laughably poor troublemaking skills.

>I guess I felt sorry for you. When /I/ was a kid, I at least knew how to /pretend/ I wasn't bad."

>"Hey! I'm not bad!"

"You know what I'm saying though, right?"

>They nod after a pause.

"Listen, if you're really sorry, you should try and convince your classmates not to fuck with the shop."

 

 

>They look surprised to hear a grownup say a swear, but you weren't gonna sugarcoat it. You weren't exactly thrilled by what happened, and you weren't on the job right now, so may as well tell him straight.

>Besides, nothing irked you more growing up than being patronized by adults, and maybe hearing one use A Really Bad Word might drive home your displeasure.

>"S-sure. I'll try. But they might.. um. Make fun if I act all.. uh."

"Soft? I get ya. Not askin' for an essay and a parade. Be subtle."

>"What's 'suttle' mean, mister?"

"Mm.. It means do it in a way that's sneaky or.. or doesn't seem obvious."

>"Oh."

>The two of you walk alongside each other quietly for a few moments, but you're closing in on home now.

"Anyway, thanks for the apology. Really. Never thought I'd see a foal say sorry for something without gettin' caught first. I'll give you points for that."

>They smile.

"Now beat it kid."

>You say again, more warmly this time.

 

~

 

>You're home a few minutes later.

>As you're putting away the last of the groceries you notice that your trembling has become a little more pronounced. Yet you felt fairly warm.

>Watching your hand tremble like that made you feel a little ill, but you knew what would put that chill out of you. Nothing beat it on a cool day.

>Your bottle of vodka is on your bed right where you left it. Sauntering back into your living room, you take a shot straight from the bottle.

 

 

>That sweet liquid heat settling down in your stomach, excellent after a Monday at work.

>You pour yourself a glass of orange juice, take another large drink from the bottle and then chase it with a swig from your glass.

>Sure enough, as your making yourself something to eat, your trembling and fatigue recede.

>The drink always does the trick and you're feeling more yourself. By the time you're sitting down to eat, the trembling is mostly gone and the lethargy is too.

>You were still sort of tired, but not especially so.

>Finished eating, you lean back in your chair. You lounge a while.

>You consider staying home tonight, and just working on the bottle of vodka, it would definitely be cheaper.

>But, you already told Berry you'd be at the bar tonight.  A couple weeks ago that wouldn't have meant much, you'd have told her so just as an appeasement, and then not bothered.

>But you were starting to like the lilac mare. You never really thought about this much, but you didn't have a whole bunch of friends here, not like back in your where.

>You and Pinkie were tight, you had a quiet sort of respect for Applejack, and you had an ally in Twilight when it came to Pinkie Pie's senselessness. But mostly you distanced yourself, and sometimes it felt like it needn't be that way.

>If nothing else you owed Berry for buying you.. what? Like, ten plus drinks last weekend?

 

 

>Yeah, you weren't gonna leave Berry hanging.

>You rinse your dishes under hot water, then leave them in your sink. You change into some other clothes since your work clothes were a little floury.

>It's dark by the time you leave. It was a little cool, but at least there wasn't any wind. The walk is short and quiet.

>You're at the bar in only a few minutes. It's a familiar haunt, and the bar's cool and still air welcomes you almost as warmly as the first cider certainly will.

>It was pretty empty tonight, even for this place. You, bartender, and the gray pegasus. That's all the life residing here.

>You expected Berry to be here already, but if she wasn't, she likely would be later.

>She couldn't stay away from this place any more than you could, and she had intended to be here.

>You hang your coat up by the door. Your boots clunking upon the wooden floor seems very loud to your ears as you head for your usual spot at the bar.