Title:           Slowing Down p17 "Pudding and Pie"
Author:          Hellmeister
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/VKkkZSv7
First Edit:      Saturday 20th of February 2016 10:08:40 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 20th of February 2016 10:08:40 AM CDT

ANON'S POV
 
Mood: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQ7zp_zyQHA
>The sun is about to set.
>You look around at the still bustling marketplace.
>Most of the stalls along the sides have packed up for the day, but you can still see some stalls open, customers present at the counters, haggling, still dining or simply indecisive.
>Apparently, Pudding is in one of the stalls that are still open at this time.
>You can't think of why a self-respecting businessman would be willing to keep his store open for this long just to wait for a single, specific customer.
>Sure, you can guess it's something to do with customer feedback, but going to these lengths for a single pie? That takes something more than simple business sense.
>It takes passion.
>Or short-sightedness. Possibly blind faith.
>But you're an optimist, so you dismiss the negative alternatives.
>Besides, you have a feeling that he's been careful to plan it out.
>Receiving that letter on the same day you ate the pie? There's no way in hell that's a coincidence.
>He's definitely conducted some kind of survailance.
>...Without your consent.
>Oh, boy.
>You sure you want to meet up with this guy?
>...Nah, come on.
>Sure, you've seen movies where the psychopath toys with their victims, but it's entirely possible that you're being a just a LITTLE bit paranoid.
>It's a worst case scenario at most. Besides...
>If he turns out to be crazy, you know a certain purple-coloured heroine who just so happens to be sleeping on a bench over there.
>All you'll have to do is make a lot of noise.
>...You ARE joking about that part, right?
>You mean, there's being cautious, and then there's scary.
 
>You sigh, and shake the thoughts from your head.
>Without thinking too hard about it, you continue to scour the stalls for any signs of him.
>It'd be hard to forget a pony who looked like that. You'd know him by sight.
>No sign of him yet, though.
>...Oh. Wow.
>Or you could just follow the smell of pie.
>It's hard not to. It just caught your nose.
>Following the scent is difficult, but you're eventually able to pinpoint its source.
>No wonder you didn't see it. It's one of the most generic looking stalls on the street, consisting of a simple, almost featureless desk, with a white sign dangling from a red and white striped rain cover, reading; "Pudding's Pies" in orange letters.
>There's an average sized, moss-green tent connected to it, with a hole in the top. Air appears to be coming out the top, distorted by heat.
>A variety of different pies on top of the desk, all labeled with price tags. They look...And smell, freshly baked. Some of them haven't even been wrapped up yet.
>Don't know why he'd still be baking pies when it's almost closing time.
>The entrance to the tent opens up.
>There he is, wearing an apron.
>He exits the tent with a new pie on a tray, held in his mouth.
>He canters over to the counter to put it on display, but notices you part way, and nearly drops it.
>Slowly and carefully, he places it on the counter, looks over at you expectantly, and smiles.
>"H-hey! I wasn't, uh, expectin' you, yet." He laughs awkwardly.
>Well, he doesn't SEEM crazy.
>But that's how they get ya.
>Ignoring your brain's remark, you approach the shop.
"Yeah. I had, uh, some free time on my hands." You rub the back of your head sheepishly. "Pudding, right?"
>He nods gleefully.
>"Uh-huh! That's me!" He grins. "I, uh, y-you got the letter?"
 
>Before you can answer his question, he does it for you.
>"W-well, Duh. Heh. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, huh? I-I suppose you could've just been passing through, and uh, not got my letter, in which case you...Probably, don't, know what I'm talking about. Eheh."
>He looks nervous for a second, but straightens up. "Well, uh, you did, right? Or, not?"
>Just as weird as the first time you saw him.
"Yeah, I got the letter. You wanted to know about the pie I got from you?"
>A lightbulb appears to slowly flicker on in his head.
>"Oh! Right, the pie, right. Yeah." He scratches his scalp. "Sorry. Yeah, um...What did you think?"
>He sounded a lot more...Formal, in the letter.
"It was pretty good. You could've balanced the sweetness out a little bit more, but the flavours really worked."
>He faces away from you for a second, but you can still see him perform a quick hoof pump with his foreleg.
>"Yeah! Knew it! Thanks, uh-"
>He looks around for a few seconds.
>"Wh-what was your name again?"
>Didn't he write your name in the letter?
"Anonymous. Anon for short."
>"Riiight! Right!" He clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uh, was kinda hoping that you liked the pie, so I...Um." He lowers his voice. "G-got a buncha other flavours for you to try out."
>Free pies? Awesome.
"Really?"
>He nods, quickly. "Yeah, yeah! B-but, could we, uh, go somewhere more..." He looks at his tent, trying to find the words. "Y-y'know, private."
>You hesitate.
>...He's NOT a crazed killer, damnit. Say yes.
"Uh, sure."
>"A-alright. Follow me." He enters the tent, and pokes his head out, waiting for you.
>Eh, if this is a trap, you can't say you didn't see the signs. You're asking for it at this point.
>You follow him in.
>He sits down in a chair, and seems to have prepared one for you.
>A little warily, you take the seat.
>He sits there for a little while, not saying anything at all, and glancing around the tent, awkwardly.
 
>You take the silence as an opportunity to familiarize yourself with his appearance.
>The overly noticeable thing about him would be his plump, rounded face, with a fair bit of flab evenly distributed about his body. Not fat, just...Chubby.
>His coat is caramel, complimented by his mane and tail, coloured nutmeg brown, and patterned with a few curvy orange stripes streaking down the length.
>His mane looks like someone invented some kind of chocolate and orange flavoured icing, and squeezed out a thick line of it onto his head, with a little upward facing quiff at the front.
>The tail is similar, a medium length, wavy strand of the stuff, with a flick at the end, like the flourish of a cake decorator.
>He's kinda short, with some slightly stumpy looking legs, with hooves that are distinguishable from his coat, faded cream in colour.
>His cutie mark, is, unsurprisingly, a pie. Wiggly lines of steam rising off of it, but with a golden dish, decorated with sparkles.
>He looks over at you cluelessly for a few more seconds, and finally figures out that he's supposed to be talking.
>"Uh, yeah, so...I bet you're wonderin' why I'm, y'know, giving you these pies to try out, right?"
>Huh. That's a good point.
"Yeah, actually." You adjust your position on the wooden chair, trying to get comfortable.
>"R-right. Well, uh...I-I don't know, either. Heh-heh." He pauses to rub his eye. "I ,uh, thought you'd be a guy who'd be good at this testing thing. When I saw ya. A-a feeling!"
"A...Feeling?"
>"Yeah, y'know, I just...The way you looked at the pie you bought! It was real, ah, analytical, like, observant or something." He shuffles his hind legs uncertainly on his chair, then mumbles; "Plus, I put a lot into that pie, and nopony else was willin' to buy it..."
 
"Wait, what? I thought I was just...Lucky. Who wouldn't want to eat a pie like that?"
>It's really hard to believe. Aren't there any pie lovers in town, or something?
>"Y-yeah, I know! I woke up one morning with this GREAT idea for a pie in my head, put all those flavours in, baked it, and nopony bought it! W-well, you did, yeah. Duh." He adds quickly, smiling sheepishly.
"Wow." Suddenly, you remember a question you wanted to ask. "Uh, how did you know I ate the pie?"
>He looks slightly suprised for a second. "Oh, uh, I...Uhm..."
>You keep staring at him, and he turns his head away, embarresed.
>"...Y-yeah, OK, I was spyin' on you. B-but, I, I know you're the guy who'll be able to turn my business into...Somethin'! Y'know?"
>You give him a long hard look.
>You can almost see him sweat.
>...OK, you'll bite.
"Something?"
>He breathes a sigh of relief, but his expression is...Somber.
>"...Do ya know Sugar Cube corner?"
>It rings a bell.
"Pinkie Pie's shop? Sells cakes and stuff, right?"
>He nods.
>"Yeah, well, they do, sell. T-they're the most popular store for that in Ponyvile." He says, then adds, bitterly; "They sell pies, too. Not exclusively, but..."
>Ah. You're begining to understand.
"So...They're taking up your slot in the market?"
>"D-do ya know how hard it is for, for a guy like me to make a livin' around here?!" He blurts out, suddenly.
>After a short pause for breath, he continues, more calmly.
>"I...I've lived here all my life. Always wanted to be a baker, a-and, well it's uh," He gestures towards his cutie mark, "I-it's my calling. Always has been."
>He looks distant for a few seconds, seeming to forget you're there.
>You're about to say something, when he turns back around.
>"L-listen, I'm, I'm sure you didn't come over here to listen to a sob story, I-"
"No, no. I'll listen, man."
>It's polite. Plus, it'll give you a reason for why he needed your input so badly.
 
>He looks right at you, a hint of disbelief in his eyes.
>It flickers out, and is replaced by a small smile.
>"Uh...Th-thanks."
>The smile fades, and his brow furrows as he returns to his story.
>"I-I've always wanted to bake pies. My mother was really sick, once, and I decided to cheer her up by bakin' somethin'. After a lot of trial and error, I found somethin' that worked, and baked her a pie. A good pie. W-well, she said it was good, anyway." He gives a weak laugh.
>"Th-that's how I got this." He presents his side. "N-now, you see the dish? It's golden, right?"
>You nod. One of the first things you noticed about it.
>He re-adjusts his position on the chair. "W-well, it's just the dish. Not the pie. The pie's not shiny or anythin'." He looks your way to make sure you're on track, and you give him a nod.
>"That means that it doesn't matter what the pie is. The pie could be anythin'. Any old pie. What matters here is the dish."
>"Well, yeah, the pie's gotta taste good, sure. Put in some ingredients that work together, bake it right, a lot of factors come into it. Puttin' it in a gold dish isn't gonna make it taste good or anythin'." He grins sheepishly; "But that's not it."
>"I baked that pie *because* I wanted to cheer my mom up." He's more...Engaged in the conversation than he was before. "I wasn't expectin' the pie to go right, or even what I put in it to work, but it did. And I did it for a reason." He smiles, proudly.
>"The dish is what the pie is carried in. And I get the ideas for my pies from my heart. They just sorta...Come to me."
>He looks at you, seeing if you understand yet.
>Not seeing an expression of complete breakthrough, he continues; "So it's me, that matters. I take the pie from my heart, like a oven, and I bring it to them! See?" Brimming with enthusiasm.
>"I-it's the reason, why I make it, that makes the pie good!"
>He pauses, basking in pure passion.
>He then notices you're there again, and jumps.
>"Uh...S-sorry, I, uh...Got a little carried away, there."
 
>"A-anyway, I bake pies to make people that eat 'em happy, s-so, it usualy turns out that way." He smiles, but it fades again; "...Usualy."
"Did...Something happen?"
>He shakes his head. "No, no no! E-everythin' went fine! I went through school, got the grades, worked on becoming a baker, everthin' went fine!"
>"I-I uh decided it was time for me to get a job someplace close to home, so I could work up to becomin' first class." He stares wistfuly into the distance. "Haven't left m' ma's house yet, but, I'm tryin' to get some money together, first."
>"Tryin, anyway." He looks crestfallen.
"...Sugar Cube Corner."
>He nods, sadly.
>"Nuthin' against the place, but, it's takin' all my customers." He rubs his front shoulder with a forleg. "I've got a few loyal ones that keep comin' back, but, it's still pretty low."
>"M-mom's gettin' older, so, it's between my wages and her pension, now." He audibly sniffs. "She has a job at the local kindergarten, but...I-I don't want her to have to keep workin' for my sake."
>He rubs an eye, evidently holding back tears.
>"...B-but anypony can say somethin' like that." He looks back at you. "L-like I said, you didn't come here for a sob story."
>Well, if he's lying, he's very good at it.
>It doesn't sound like you've got anything to lose, so far, though.
"Well, what do you need me to do?"
>His expression doesn't change much.
>"What I need you to do, is try the pies, and...Tell me what ya think. Maybe spread the word, if you like 'em. Don't force anythin', though."
>That's...A pretty honest proposition.
>Well, it would depend on your workload at Applejack's farm, but it doesn't seem like it'll change any time soon. For better, or for worse.
>Eating pie isn't a hard job, anyway.
"Yeah, sure! I can do that."
>He twitches, and you can tell from his tone of voice that he's still trying to not get his hopes up. In vain, but a noble attempt.
>"G-great. Uh...T-take the, uh, pies from outside, a-and, th-th-that'll be all."
>You get up to leave.
 
>"Uh, w-wait." He says, hesitantly. "I, uh...Y-your pay will be-"
"Pay? You're paying me to eat pies?" You laugh. "No, man. You don't need to pay me for this. If anything, I should be paying you."
>You wait for him to say something, but it seems he's...Occupied.
>Looks like he's having great difficulty putting his feelings into words.
>Not wanting to draw it out too long, you make your way out of the tent.
>"...B-b-b-bye..."
>It's all he can manage.
>You go before he explodes.
>Well, that was interesting.
>Assuming he's telling the truth, though, you really want to help him out.
>Plus, you really want to eat those pies.
>You look under the desk, and see a couple of woven bags, too big for simple shopping bags.
>You'll borrow them, for the time being. You need to get these pies home somehow.
>And return them later. Obviously.
>...You wonder how Dash is getting along.
>She participated in the contest, so she must've felt SOME kind of draw.
>Damnit. Now you're worried.
>What if she was...Taken advantage of, or something?
>...What if YOU took advantage of her?
>No, no no no NO. Drunk you wouldn't stoop that low.
>He's an asshole, sure, but not THAT kind of asshole.
>Sure, there's still a high possibility you slept with a pony, but you want to think it's some big misinterpretation.
>But, you're off track. Where is she? HOW is she?
>Your head is swimming with questions regarding her well-being.
>Well, there's no use looking for her.
>Like you said. You don't find Dash. She finds you.
>So, you might as well occupy yourself with something else.
>Such as, 'what are you going to wear to the gala'?
>It'd have to be something fancy, at least, otherwise they'd never let you in.
>...Fancy, huh?
>Well, there's only one pony you know in Ponyvile that can help you with that.
>And she's the same one who gave you the ticket.