A Pinch of Pinkie


                                            Synopsis: Anon and Pinkie spend the day together and bake some cupcakes.


                                            >You slowly wake up in your bed from the best dream that you've had in years.

                                            >In it, you were hugging a large chunk of cotton candy; somehow, embracing it made all of your worries melt away.

                                            >The dream left such an impression on you that you can still feel its softness and still smell its sugary sweetness in the waking world.

                                            >You can almost see it, as well.

                                            >Wait, you *can* see it.

                                            >The cotton candy is in your bed right now, still wrapped up within your arms.

                                            >It looks up at you with blue eyes and a wide smile; it also has pink poofy hair and—okay, no; that's not cotton candy.

                                            >That's Pinkie Pie.

                                            "Pinkie?"

                                            >"Hi Nonny!"

                                            "What are you doing in my bed?"

                                            >"Well…you just looked *really* sad while you were sleeping."

                                            "I…I did?"

                                            >She gives you a nod.

                                            >"So I thought you could use some company while you slept!"

                                            >You briefly look around.

                                            "You came all this way for that?"

                                            >"Yep!"

                                            "Oh…I…"

                                            >Your mouth hangs slightly agape; you're still getting used to how casually affectionate ponies can be—especially Pinkie.

                                            >And the fact that Pinkie came all this way to your house just to cheer you up?

                                            >It's…it's nice.

                                            "Thank you."

                                            >She doesn't skip a beat in her reply.

                                            >"Not a problem, Nonny!"

                                            "But how did you know I was, uh, sad, while I slept? Do you just go around checking everyone's face while they sleep?"

                                            >She giggles.

                                            >"Nothing like that, silly! I have a special Pinkie Sense for detecting when somepony's having a bad day…or a bad night!"

                                            "Ah, Pinkie Sense. Sounds like a pretty handy skill to have."

                                            >"That's right!" She nods.

                                            >"ᴬⁿᵈ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ʷᵒʳʳᶦᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ."

                                            "Say again?"

                                            >"I-I said do you want to help me bake some cupcakes over at Sugarcube Corner? A looot of ponies have been placing a looot of orders, so I would really appreciate the help!"

                                            >She briefly twirls a hoof through her mane.

                                            >"If you're free, I mean."

                                            "Oh, sure, why not. My schedule is free today."

                                            >Her wide smile somehow grows that ever bit wider.

                                            >"Greaty greaty! See you there soon, Nonny!"

                                            >And with that, she leaps out of your arms and into the air.

                                            >Still in mid-air, she kicks up all four of her hooves in a cartoonishly-whirling fashion and speeds out of your room, leaving only a puff of smoke behind.

                                            >She may have left, but a smile still remains on your face.

                                            >You can always count on Pinkie to brighten up your day, even when it has only barely just started.


                                            ***


                                            >As per Pinkie's request earlier today, you make it to Sugarcube Corner during the early afternoon.

                                            >It's a…strange-looking building—a veritable gingerbread house right in the midst of all the other Germanic-esque huts that comprise Ponyville.

                                            >It even smells faintly of cookie dough; whether that's due to the building material on the outside or the excessive baking that goes on inside is up for debate.

                                            >That's neither here nor there, though; you're not here to gawk—you're here to bake some cupcakes with Pinkie.

                                            >It may have a spur-of-the-moment decision made right when you woke up, but you'd feel bad about letting her down now.

                                            >Stopping just in front of the stable door that's open at the top and closed at the bottom, you peek inside the sugary shop and…phew.

                                            >If the outside only faintly smelled of cookie dough, then the interior smells like the full bakery; and that's because…well, it is.

                                            >The walls are cream-coloured and the floorboards are a minty green.

                                            >Wooden shelves and glass cases line the shop, all filled with calorific confections of all kinds—muffins, cakes, doughnuts, chocolates, candies; you name it, they've likely got it.

                                            >On the other side of the room, you see a stallion manning the shop counter.

                                            >He's an earth pony with a yellow coat, and he wears a red-and-white cap on his head with a similarly coloured tie around his neck; he's one of the owners of this establishment, if you recall correctly.

                                            >You open the door and take a few steps into the building, you hear a faint noise above you before you hear a loud yell from deep within the bakery.

                                            >It's not a yell of terror or anger, no; it sounds like someone yelling "He's here!" What could that—

                                            >"Nonny! You're here!"

                                            >A pink blur speeds out from one of the open doorways near the back of the room; it quickly moves in close and launches itself directly at you.

                                            >You are given little time to react; all you are able to do is close your eyes and brace yourself.

                                            >The impact sends you falling flat onto your back.

                                            "Ah!"

                                            >You feel a pair of soft hooves wrap around your back.

                                            >Slowly opening your eyes, you look down and see a pink pony hugging you and nuzzling against your chest; she looks up at you with big, blue eyes and a very wide grin.

                                            "P-pinkie?"

                                            >"That's my name!"

                                            >Before you can say anything else, she quickly closes the distance between the two of you and presses her snout against your nose.

                                            >"Boop!"

                                            "Whuh—"

                                            >It lasts only a brief instant before she pulls back, but her affection stuns you all the same.

                                            >Before you can respond to her blatant invasion of personal space, Pinkie hops backwards, giving you the room to stand back up.

                                            >She hops about in place excitedly.

                                            >"Nonny! Nonny! Come on! Let's bake some cupcakes!"

                                            "Right—no, wait!"

                                            >She freezes mid-hop.

                                            >"Waiting!"


                                            "How did you know that I came in? Pinkie Sense?"

                                            >"No, silly!" She shakes her head.

                                            >Still somehow hovering in mid-air, she points a hoof towards the top of the entryway.

                                            >"There's a bell that ringy ding dings just up there!"

                                            >You look where she points—and there is indeed a bell which must have rang when you entered.

                                            "A-ah, right."

                                            >Still, she must have really good ears if she heard you coming in from all the way inside the building.

                                            >Eh, maybe it's just a pony thing.

                                            >Gravity finally takes hold of her as she lands back on the floor.

                                            >"Come on, come on! Time's a wastin'!"

                                            >She speed-trots back over to the doorway that she came out of; she then turns back to you and gives a short, giddy wave before heading inside.

                                            >Once she leaves your sight, you let out a breath that you must have been holding in all this time.

                                            >It's too late to back out now, you figure.

                                            >Still, you might as well see it through; it might be fun.

                                            >So you make your way over to the doorway Pinkie had just went through; you pass by the stallion manning the shop counter along the way.

                                            >You turn to him and give a slight bow of your head.

                                            "Thanks for agreeing to letting me use the kitchen today. I imagine she needed to get your permission first."

                                            >"Oh, it's no problem at all; Pinkie was really looking forward to hanging out with you today. She wouldn't stop talking our ears off about 'Nonny.'"

                                            "She was? Wow."

                                            >He nods and extends a forehoof toward you.

                                            >"It's Carrot Cake, by the way. But everypony just calls me Mister Cake."

                                            >You reach out a hand and shake his hoof.

                                            "Anonymous."

                                            >After you retract your hand, he gives you a friendly smile.

                                            >"Well, you two have fun, now." He chuckles. "But try not to go *too* overboard in there; our kitchen is only *so* Pinkie-proof."

                                            "Ahah… I'll keep that in mind."

                                            >With your greetings exchanged, you continue on your way and head through the doorway, pushing through the double swinging doors to head deeper within the building.


                                            ***


                                            >Soon enough, you find yourself in Sugarcube Corner's kitchen.

                                            >There's a large rectangular counter in the centre; it has some small bowls and a small book stand placed on it.

                                            >You see Pinkie off to the side; she stands on her hind legs, balancing a large mixing bowl on her snout much akin to how a trained seal can balance a beach ball.

                                            >Her eyes are closed, and she's humming to herself as if she's in some kind of meditative trance.

                                            "Um, hey."

                                            >Her eyes shoot open and lock onto you.

                                            >"Oh!"

                                            >She bumps her snout upwards, launching the bowl into the air.

                                            >It flips and turns in mid-air, yet it somehow lands on the centre counter, right-side up and completely undamaged; Pinkie then nudges the bowl towards one end of the counter.

                                            "Wow."

                                            >"Nonny! Are you ready to bake some cupcakes?" She falls back onto all four hooves and smiles at you.

                                            >You smile back, although you could never hope to match the exuberant energy that she exudes.

                                            "Ready as I'll ever be."

                                            >You walk over to the counter.

                                            >"Super duper! Let me just get…"—she stuffs a hoof right in her mane and pulls out a cookbook—"this! And now we can started!"

                                            >She sets the cookbook against the small stand; it's positioned at the end of the counter that's opposite the mixing bowl.

                                            >Then, she opens it and peruses the contents within, happily humming to herself.

                                            >"Let's start off with something simple, then we can slooowly but ever-so-surely move onto the really-deally exciting cupcakes."

                                            "Cupcakes can be 'really-deally exciting?'"

                                            >She peeks over the book at you, her eyes are sparkling so much that the stars themselves threaten to burst out of her irises.

                                            >"Oh Nonny, I have much to show you…"

                                            "If you say so…"

                                            >You try to maintain your scepticism, but you can't hide your earnest anticipation of what's to come.

                                            >"Okie dokie! Let's start off with some vanilla cupcakes first!"

                                            >She walks along the counter towards the mixing bowl; she lifts it up, staring at it intensely.

                                            >"Mixing bowl…check!"

                                            >She places it back down and looks inside.

                                            >"Free space inside the bowl…check!"

                                            >You glance at the other bowls on the counter.

                                            "Oh, and the other bowls…?"

                                            >She briefly turns her head to them, and then back to you; she nods vigorously.

                                            >"Also check! Great initiative, Nonny!"

                                            >You rub the back of your neck.

                                            "Eheh, I aim to please."

                                            >She suddenly trots over to you and wraps you up in a big hug.

                                            "Wha—?"

                                            >"Two super-duper bakers ready to make super-duper cupcakes…double check!"

                                            >She releases you, giggling to herself.

                                            >"Okie dokie! All we need are the ingredients! Oh—and the cupcake cases! I'll get those. Nonny—could you grab the flour and sugar? They should be in the cupboard over there." She points a hoof towards the cupboard in question.

                                            "Got it."


                                            >You walk over to the cupboard and open it, easily finding your targets.

                                            >After grabbing a bag of flour and a bag of sugar, you make your way back to the counter.

                                            >You see Pinkie also trotting back to the counter; she balances a tray of cupcake cases on her back.

                                            >She deftly tilts her body sideways, sliding the tray onto the counter.

                                            "Nice moves."

                                            >"Heehee!"

                                            >Her smile widens when she sees you set the flour and sugar on the counter.

                                            >"Ooh!"

                                            >She trots over to you and eyes the flour with glee.

                                            "How much do we need?"

                                            >The cookbook is on the other side of the counter, so you begin to make your way over to it—but Pinkie stops you.

                                            >"Allow me!"

                                            >She moves in close to the flour, pressing one of her ears against the bag.

                                            >"Mmhmm? Uh huh?" She rhythmically nods against the bag. "Oh? Is that right? I see!"

                                            >She grabs the bag in her mouth and pours some of it into one of the smaller bowls; she places the bag back and nods at you.

                                            >"Mister Flour said we'll need about thiiis much!"

                                            >You blink at her.

                                            "…I think I'll leave the 'talking to ingredients' bit to you, Pinkie. I'll stick with the cookbook."

                                            >"Aw, don't be like that, Nonny! Stick with me, and I'll have you whispering to the food in no time!"

                                            "You're probably right, which is what scares me."

                                            >Despite the absurdity of her methods, you can't help but light-heartedly chuckle at the level of energy she carries them out with.

                                            >She giggles alongside you for a few moments, before you speak up.

                                            "So,"—you tilt your head towards the bag of sugar—"does 'Mister Sugar' have anything to say?"

                                            >She loudly gasps, ears pointed up.

                                            >"Nonny! It's 'Miss Sugar!' Not 'Mister!'"

                                            "Oh! My mistake. Miss Sugar."

                                            >"Teehee! She might have something to say…but I'll let you do the honours this time; I'll go ahead and pour the flour into the mixing bowl."

                                            "Gotcha."

                                            >After grabbing the sugar and a clean bowl, you walk over to the cookbook.

                                            >And you read through the vanilla cupcake recipe that the two of you are working on.

                                            "Six spoonfuls of sugar and a…teensy weensy bit more?"

                                            >You sigh; you should never have expected precise measurements when it comes to baking with Pinkie.

                                            "…Alright then."

                                            >You grab a nearby (clean) tablespoon and stick it into the bag of sugar, soon extracting a generous chunk of the white powder onto your utensil.

                                            >Spoonful acquired, you think; you dump it into the small bowl that had brought with you.

                                            >After five more spoonfuls and what you assume to be a "teensy weensy bit more," you finish measuring out your sugar; you pick up the bowl containing it.

                                            >Before you walk back to the mixing bowl, you glance at the box of sugar and lower your head as a show of remorse.

                                            "Sorry for not listening to what you had to say, Miss Sugar."

                                            >Pinkie walks up to you and squints at the box for a few moments; she then solemnly nods at you.

                                            >"She forgives you."


                                            >Pinkie then hops over to the side of the counter with the bowl and waves at you.

                                            >"Let's get that mixture *mixing,* Nonny!" She waggles her eyebrows at you for emphasis.

                                            "Yeah, yeah…"

                                            >You follow her and gingerly empty the bowl of sugar into the mixing bowl.

                                            >"Mmm! Looks good enough to eat already!"

                                            >You glance at her; she's looking at the mix—is she drooling?

                                            >Yeah, she's drooling.

                                            "Come on, Pinks. Let's get a move on."

                                            >Her ears perk up as she looks at you, wide-eyed.

                                            >"Pinks?"

                                            >Your own eyes widen in response to your own slip of the tongue.

                                            "Oh, er, yeah. Unless you don't like that nickname—"

                                            >"Wait!"

                                            >She holds up a hoof.

                                            >"Pinkie Pink Pinks…I like the sound of that! Oh, let's get the butter—no wait, *I'll* get the butter, and—"

                                            >She zips away, leaving a cartoonish cloud of dust behind.

                                            >In just a couple of seconds, she zips back in the same location, blowing the cloud of dust away; she holds a large wooden spoon in her hand.

                                            >She gently sets the wooden spoon on the counter.

                                            >"—You mix the mix! Mix it real good, Nonny! Pinks will be back soon!"

                                            "Right," is you all get to say before she zips away again.

                                            >You grab the spoon and begin mixing the flour and sugar together in the bowl.

                                            >As you mix, you ponder to yourself—at least she liked the nickname.

                                            >Pinkie soon returns, trotting up to you with a bowl on her back; the bowl contains a chunk of butter.

                                            >"And now for some buttery goodness!" She arches her back, bumping the tray up slightly. "You can do the honours!"

                                            >You nod and retrieve the bowl of butter from her and dump the contents in the bowl.

                                            "So what now, stir?"

                                            >"Nope!"

                                            >She reaches a hoof deep into her mane and pulls out a whisk; she holds it out to you.

                                            >"Whisk!"

                                            "Huh…"

                                            >You set the spoon down and take the whisk from her hooves.

                                            "Should I clean it, first?"

                                            >"Nopely dopely!" She shakes her head. "It's already spotless!"

                                            "Oh…er…"

                                            >Considering the utensil in your hand has spent God knows how long within the depths of Pinkie's mane, You're understandably hesitant about using such a utensil to prepare food.

                                            >So you examine the whisk; it certainly seems clean enough, with not a speck of dirt or any strands of mane hanging off of it.

                                            >Perhaps the inside of her mane is surprisingly hygienic? You can never tell with this Pink Paradox.

                                            >Either way, she's the expert here; you'll follow her lead.

                                            "Sure."

                                            >You whisk the contents of the mixing bowl from side to side, making sure to properly mix the butter with the rest of the batter.

                                            >Pinkie eagerly watches you work your magic, so you decide to make conversation with her while you whisk.

                                            "So, Pinks—what's the quota looking like for our cupcakes today? I remember you mentioning that you had a lot of orders."

                                            >She nonchalantly twirls a hoof about in the air.

                                            >"Oh, only about three hundred or so."

                                            >That stops you dead in your tracks.

                                            "Wait—three hundred?!"


                                            >"Don't worry! It sounds like a lot—because it *kinda* is—but if we put our noggins together we'll be done before we know it!"

                                            >Her eyes drift to the side.

                                            >"It *will* take a few hours though, so I'd understand if you wanted to leave early after this batch is finished. I should be able to handle these orders myself, just about, so I won't mind."

                                            >Her ears droop slightly.

                                            >"Really, I'm just glad we got to hang out at all today because…because…"

                                            >You reach out your free hand and gently caress her cheek.

                                            "Pinkie, hey."

                                            >She looks up at you.

                                            "I don't plan on bowing out just yet; so far, this has been a lot more fun than whatever I was gonna do back home."

                                            >Her ears slowly perk up and she gives you a soft smile; she doesn't say anything, but her tail swishes about a bit.

                                            "Now come on; let's whisk this—uh."

                                            >As you return to your whisking, you realise that you're now running your utensil through a smooth, uniform batter.

                                            "…Job done, I guess."

                                            >"Oh, oh! It's time for the next part! Eggs!"

                                            "Right, where are the—"

                                            >You turn your head to see Pinkie placing down an egg carton on the counter.

                                            "Eggs…"

                                            >"Right here, silly!"

                                            >You give her a wry smile as she opens the carton; there are two eggs in there.

                                            >"One for each of us, you can go first!"

                                            "Mhmm."

                                            >You grab an empty bowl and lightly tap your egg against the bowl rim.

                                            >With its shell sufficiently softened, you use your thumbs to gently pry it apart, dropping the egg's white and yolk into the small bowl.

                                            >Pinkie watches your egg cracking with clear interest.

                                            >"Ooh, good technique!"

                                            "Aha, thanks."

                                            >You pour the contents of the egged bowl into the mixing bowl and begin to whisk the batter once again.

                                            >While you do so, Pinkie performs a series of stretches and cracks her neck a few times.

                                            >"Okie dokie—it's time for Pinkie to get her groove on!"

                                            >She takes the remaining egg from the carton and positions it on the rim of the now-eggless bowl in such a way that it's perfectly balanced on both sides.

                                            >She clears her throat.

                                            >"Alright, buster…"

                                            >She narrows her eyes, glaring at the egg with an intense gravitas—the likes of which you never would've expected from such a cheerful pony.

                                            >"We can do this the easy way…or the hard way. What's it gonna be, huh?!"

                                            >The egg doesn't respond.

                                            >"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?"

                                            >She huffs.

                                            >"Well, if you want to keep playing the 'cool, silent egg' with me, that's fine. Perfectly. Fine."

                                            >She leans in, lowering her tone of voice.

                                            >"Just as long as it's fine with you that I let everypony in the room know what you were up to with Miss Sugar last night."

                                            >She leans back, turning her snout up and pursing her lips.

                                            >A heavy silence hangs in the air.

                                            >Suddenly—the egg cracks on its own, spilling its contents into the small bowl.

                                            >You blink, halting your whisking.

                                            >Pinkie's absurdity has just stopped you in your tracks once again.

                                            >The egg…she just made it "crack."


                                            "I—uh…wow."

                                            >She turns to you with an apologetic shake of the head.

                                            >"Sorry about that, Nonny. They usually aren't that difficult."

                                            >You chuckle in response.

                                            "Really glad I'm not an egg right now."

                                            >Looking down at the mix, you see that your egg has been fully mixed in.

                                            >So you take the small bowl once more and, after removing the eggshells, pour Pinkie's egg into the mix and whisk it thoroughly.

                                            >"I'll go get the rest of the ingredients while you whisk!"

                                            "Gotcha."

                                            >With no distractions like the fatalistic interrogation of an innocent(?) egg, it doesn't take much longer before the batter is fully mixed together.

                                            >You are given but a few moments to admire your handiwork before Pinkie returns; she merrily trots back to you once more, and she…uh…

                                            >Well, she certainly has the ingredients.

                                            >"Here we are! Milk, baking soda, salt, and—last but not least—vanilla extract!"

                                            "I can see that, but—um…"

                                            >She tilts her head at you.

                                            >"Mmyes, Nonny?"

                                            "I've…never seen a pony hold things like that."

                                            >Indeed, the ingredients are not held in her mouth, or within her hooves, or even on her back.

                                            >She instead holds them with her very mane; thick, seemingly prehensile strands of her hair hold the ingredients aloft around her.

                                            >Her eyes flits from you to her ingredients as she picks up on what has you stumped.

                                            >"Oh, this?" She flexes one of her hair 'tendrils.' "This is just Pinkie-style porting! Pretty neat, huh?"

                                            >You raise an intrigued eyebrow.

                                            "I'm learning more about you by the minute."

                                            >"Is that so…?"

                                            >She takes on an uncharacteristically nervous expression as she scuffs one of her hooves across the floor.

                                            >"And…what do you think?"

                                            "What do I think? Well…"

                                            >You think that Pinkie is unlike any other cartoon pony you've seen in this world.

                                            >Which in itself is saying something, considering that even the "standard" talking cartoon pony is a concept that you still struggle to wrap your head around.

                                            >…But her uniqueness isn't a bad thing.

                                            >Actually, the fact that she's one-of-a-kind makes her sort of…relatable, in a way.

                                            "You're interesting—in a good way, I mean."

                                            >Pinkie perks up at your response and gives you a big smile.

                                            >"Hehe. Thanks, Nonny."

                                            >You quickly raise a finger up in the air and waggle it around.

                                            "Hey—you can thank me once we finish up this batch of cupcakes, alright?"

                                            >"Oh my gosh—you're right! If we dawdle any longer—the batter's gonna go batty!"

                                            >After all you've seen her say and do today, you firmly believe that she's telling the truth.

                                            "Let's not waste any time, then."

                                            >You glance at the containers still held in her mane.

                                            "I'll, uh, let you do the honours of adding the remaining ingredients."


                                            >She salutes you.

                                            >"Roger doger! Let's see here…"

                                            >She moves closer to the mixing bowl, lightly jostling the containers within her mane along the way.

                                            >"First, we'll start off with a morsel of milk to make it moist…"

                                            >Using her mane, she tilts the milk carton, pouring some into the bowl.

                                            >"Next, a bit of baking soda to make it fluffy…"

                                            >She shakes the box of baking soda over the bowl, pouring some of that in as well.

                                            >"After that, an excerpt of extract to make it flavourful…"

                                            >She squeezes the bottle of vanilla extract, spritzing some of it into the bowl.

                                            >"And finally—a smidgen of salt to spice things up!"

                                            >She shakes the salt shaker just a little bit, just enough to add a pinch of salt to the mix.

                                            >"Phew! All done!"

                                            >After wiping some sweat from her brow and setting the ingredients down, she turns to you and salutes again.

                                            >"Whisker my whisker! Would you whisk this wad until it's well and whole for me?"

                                            >You salute her back.

                                            "I'm on it."

                                            >With a bit more whisking, you finally have your mixture combined.

                                            >As you look upon the viscous, cream-coloured batter in the bowl, you can't help but feel a building sense of pride wash over you; you puff out your chest.

                                            "Hey, that's everything for the mix, right?"

                                            >Pinkie mimics you as she also puffs out her chest.

                                            >"Mmhmm! Nice work, Nonny! Next up—we need to scoop these bad boys into some empty cases! Aaand…"

                                            >She nudges the baking tray of cases towards you.

                                            >"We can take turns! One scoop from you, one scoop from me, and so on!"

                                            "Hah, alright then. Guess that means I'm up first."

                                            >You take another clean tablespoon and dig through the mixture, soon extracting a spoonful.

                                            "Hm…"

                                            >You glance between the cases and your spoonful of cupcake mix; you think you've scooped up too much.

                                            "Eh…"

                                            >So you put your spoon back and cautiously take another scoop.

                                            >Looking at it again—you think you've scooped up too little…

                                            "Uh…"

                                            >"Don't sweat the small stuff, Nonny!"

                                            >Pinkie snaps you out of your uncertainty, giving you a few friendly pats on the back.

                                            >"You don't have to worry about getting it perfect—remember, baking is all about having fun!"

                                            >Her words embolden you; you add just a little bit more of the mix to your existing scoop and pour it into an empty case.

                                            >"Ooh! Nice work! Pass the spoon!"

                                            >She faces you expectantly and parts her lips slightly—wait, she's going to use her *mouth* to grab the spoon?

                                            >You know better than to question the master, so you carefully place the spoon in her mouth.

                                            >She then walks over to the mixing bowl and sifts her spoon through the mix, humming a little tune all the while.

                                            >Soon, she scoops up what looks to be a perfectly-balanced portion of the batter and gently places it in an empty case.

                                            >After that, she faces you and leans in slightly, presenting the spoon to you.

                                            >You take it from her; surprisingly, it's completely dry.


                                            "Wow…you're a master at this, Pinkie."

                                            >"Aw shucks! It comes with experience!"

                                            >She beams at you.

                                            >"With enough time, I think you'd be really good at it too, Nonny."

                                            >She lightly taps her forehooves on the floor.

                                            >"If you wanted to bake more, I mean."

                                            >You chuckle.

                                            "Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves here? We still haven't finished one batch, yet."

                                            >"Oh! You're right!"

                                            >And with that, the two of you get to work on filling the rest of the trays, with ten empty cases yet to be prepared.

                                            >You continue to alternate the spoon between each scoop; while Pinkie's scoops are precise and prompt, yours are skewed and slow.

                                            >Yet despite your inexperience, Pinkie watches your movements with both patience and pep, consistently providing encouragement when she thinks you need it.

                                            >Her unbridled optimism never fails to bring a smile to your face.

                                            >Soon enough, you and Pinkie manage to fill up all twelve cases.

                                            >Pinkie sets the spoon on the counter and raises her forehooves into the air in victory.

                                            >"Woo-hoo!"

                                            "Next up is actually baking the things, right?"

                                            >"Yes indeedy!" She nods. "Oh! And the oven's already preheated."

                                            "Gotcha."

                                            >You grab the baking tray and two of you head over to the oven.

                                            >She opens the oven door for you, and you place the tray inside.

                                            >After closing the oven door and setting the timer to fifteen minutes, you switch the oven on; the two of you watch the cupcakes bake through the translucent door for a few moments.

                                            >You turn your head to Pinkie.

                                            "So…what should we do now? Get started on another batch?"

                                            >"No, silly!" She shakes her head. "We have to make sure the cupcakes feel comfortable!"

                                            "…In the oven?"

                                            >"That's right!" She nods vigorously. "Everypony knows that you only get the tastiest cupcakes from the happiest of batter!"

                                            >She leans towards you with a building grin.

                                            >"Aaand do you know the best way to spread cheer, no matter what?"

                                            >You stare at her for a brief moment before your eyes widen in realisation.

                                            "Oh… Oh no—"

                                            >But it's too late; Pinkie has already taken a deep breath.

                                            >She turns back to the oven.

                                            >"Cupcake, cupcake, rise and shine~"

                                            >"'Cause Pinkie's here, and you'll be fine~!"

                                            >"Cupcake, cupcake, don't you fuss~"

                                            >"'Cause Nonny's here, and that's a plus~!"

                                            >"Cupcake, cupcake, please delight~"

                                            >"Pinks and Nonny will bake you right~!"

                                            >She bounces in place as she hums the tune to herself for a few moments.

                                            >Then she turns to you with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.

                                            >"And it's as simple as that! Now you try, Nonny!"

                                            >You glance at the timer.

                                            >Thirteen more minutes.

                                            >…But you can't deny that smile.

                                            >You sigh.

                                            "Cupcake, cupcake…"


                                            >Thirteen minutes later, and your vocal cords have been given a thorough workout.

                                            >The ding of the timer heralds the end of you and Pinkie's impromptu singing session.

                                            >"Oh! It's done!"

                                            >After opening the oven door, you take the baking tray out.

                                            >Pinkie gratuitously sniffs through the steam emanating off of the baked products

                                            >"Mm-mm! Smells delicious! Come on, Nonny!" She walks back to the centre counter and enthusiastically waves to you.

                                            >You follow her back to the counter and set the tray on it.

                                            >"Ooh, we're almost there! Are you excited? I'm excited! Our first batch of cupcakes together is almost done!"

                                            "Heh, yeah. It's been a good time."

                                            >"Aaand now—last but certainly not least—the buttercream!" She procures two tubes of the icing from…within her mane, where else.

                                            >She holds a tube out to you in a hoof; you take it.

                                            >"Six for me and six for you!"

                                            "Gotcha."

                                            >She turns to the tray and arches her back, poised like a predator ready to pounce.

                                            >"Get set…on your marks…SQUEEZE!"

                                            >Taking her tube of buttercream in her mouth, Pinkie immediately goes to work on her side of the tray; she haphazardly spritzes and spurts, somehow making perfect swirls on each cupcake.

                                            >For your part, your actions are more controlled—more methodical; yet, try as you might, you could never hope to match Pinkie's level of expertise when it comes to cupcake decoration.

                                            >Soon enough, the both of you finish your work, and the two of you stand in front of a dozen frosted cupcakes.

                                            >Hers are neater than yours, obviously, but looking at them as a whole—you can't help but feel a tinge of pride.

                                            >"Nice work, Nonny!" Pinkie nods at you with triumph.

                                            "You too, Pinks. So that's the first batch done, yeah?"

                                            >"Nooot quite."

                                            "Hm? What do you mean?"

                                            >"There's just oooneee more thing we need to add, and it's…"

                                            >She quickly zips away and then zips back; she now holds a shaker between her forehooves.

                                            >"Sprinkles!"


                                            >Before you can respond, she shakes the sprinkle shaker above the baking tray, covering all of the cupcakes in an excess of sugary particles.

                                            >"There! Now we're done!"

                                            >With the cupcakes fully sprinkled, you question Pinkie.

                                            "But did the recipe call for sprinkles?"

                                            >"Hmm…I don't think so… But you can never go wrong with sprinkles!"

                                            >You raise an eyebrow.

                                            "Well…"

                                            >You glance at the cupcakes; they *do* look pretty good…

                                            "You know…I think I can see where you're coming from."

                                            >"Hehe! You get it, Nonny!" She extends a forehoof towards you. "Hoofbump!"

                                            >You hold out your closed fist and perform some unholy amalgamation of a half-hoof-half-fist-bump with Pinkie.

                                            >Okay, it wasn't that horrifying—you just bump your fist with her hoof.

                                            "So, what next?"

                                            >"I'll put these cupcakes away, then we can get started on the next batch."

                                            "Sounds good."

                                            >"Prepare yourself, Nonny—I said I have much to show you when it comes to cupcakes…"

                                            >She narrows her eyes.

                                            >"And I meant it."

                                            "O-oh."

                                            >She giggles as she lifts the baking tray, balancing it onto her back.

                                            >It's gonna be a long day.

                                            >But a fun one, you think.


                                            "…So with that batch, that takes us past three hundred, right?"

                                            >"Hm…"

                                            >Pinkie stares intently at the latest cupcake-filled tray.

                                            >She then mumbles to herself—no doubt running a series of complex calculations within her cotton candy computing core.

                                            >"…Yep! You're right! That makes three hundred and three cupcakes to go! Good eye, Nonny!"

                                            "Hey, if there's one thing I can say I'm confident in—it's my counting." You double-trap your chest in triumph.

                                            >"And your baking! Don't forget your baking! You really helped me out a bunch today!" She beams at you.

                                            "Hah, fair enough."

                                            >Indeed, you and Pinkie have finally passed the three hundred mark of cupcakes baked.

                                            >And that's excluding the cupcakes that went bad, *and* the ones that the both of you snacked on during your breaks.

                                            >True to her word, Pinkie made sure to thoroughly instruct you on the different kinds of cupcakes outside of the vanilla ones you made during your first batch.

                                            >Chocolate cupcakes, coconut cream cupcakes, apple cupcakes, pineapple cupcakes, tomato cupcakes, spicy cupcakes, pizza crust cupcakes, the list went on and on…

                                            >You even somehow baked her pet alligator into one of the cupcakes at one point; luckily, he remained unharmed, but that particular cupcake had to be completely scrapped.

                                            >Over time, you found your prowess in the art of cupcake crafting steadily improving, little by little; Pinkie even trusted you enough to leave you alone in the kitchen for half an hour while she went on a supply run.

                                            >You're not exactly sure how long the two of you spent baking, which surprises you; you didn't expect to lose track of time in this place.

                                            >As you look out of the nearby window, you notice the sun beginning to set.

                                            "Oh wow, Luna hours already? Time flies, eh, Pinks?" You turn to her.

                                            >"Yup! Oh, but…"

                                            >Her expression falters slightly.

                                            "What's up?"

                                            >"Well…this means that we're done baking for the day, doesn't it?"

                                            "Oh. Well, yeah, I suppose."

                                            >"Aw…I had a lot of fun today, Nonny. I…I really wish it didn't have to end…"

                                            >She turns her head to the side, pouting; you see a few tears roll down her cheek.

                                            "Pinkie…"

                                            >You crouch down in front of her and caress her wet cheek.

                                            "Hey, I had a lot of fun today, too."

                                            >She turns her towards you.

                                            >"Really…?"

                                            "Of course. I said it before, remember? If you didn't invite me here, I'd probably have wasted my entire day away as a couch potato."

                                            >"I know…but I thought…well, I thought you were just saying it to be nice."

                                            >You tilt your head.

                                            "What do you mean?"

                                            >"I *did* kind of spring this on you when you woke up. I never thought about if you actually *wanted* to bake cupcakes or not. I…I have a bad habit of doing things like that—acting without thinking…"

                                            >You blink at her; you never expected her to utter such self-doubting words.

                                            >You've been so focused on yourself; you never considered that she has her own worries—her own fears.

                                            "Well, maybe…"

                                            >You smile at her.

                                            "But I'm glad you did, Pinks."


                                            >"Nonny…"

                                            >She leans into your hand, smiling back at you.

                                            "'Course, all good things have to end eventually, and all that."

                                            >"Yeah…"

                                            "But you know, I wouldn't mind doing this again sometime, Pinks—the baking thing, I mean."

                                            >Her eyes widen.

                                            >"Really? Really-deally-wheelly?"

                                            "Yes, and yes…I think."

                                            >She leans forward.

                                            >"…Pinkie Promise?" She playfully wiggles her eyebrows at you.

                                            >In your head, images flash by of Pinkie's esoteric promise-keeping pacts, and the dire consequences that come from breaking one of them.

                                            >Not that you ever plan on breaking Pinkie's trust, but even merely knowing that such binding ritual exists sends a chill down your spine; you're not sure if your spirit is ready to undertake a "Pinkie Promise."

                                            "Um…do I have to?"

                                            >She giggles, then shakes her head.

                                            >"You don't have to! I trust you, Nonny."

                                            >You sigh in relief.

                                            "A-ah, great."

                                            >She suddenly reaches out her forehooves and squeezes both of your cheeks.

                                            >"Buuut…don't think you'll be off the hook forever, Nonny! One of these days, I'll have you making Pinkie Promises left, right and centre!"

                                            >She releases her grip on you.

                                            "Ahah…"

                                            >Taking another glance out of the window, you can see that it's nighttime.

                                            "Well…"

                                            >You slowly retract your hand from her cheek and stand back up.

                                            "Looks like it's time for me to head home."

                                            >Pinkie's eyes flicker for a brief moment.

                                            >"Oh!"

                                            "Hm?"

                                            >"Um, yes! You should head home!"

                                            "I…yeah. See you around, Pinks."

                                            >"See you!" She waves at you in an exaggerated motion.

                                            >You turn around and make your way over to the kitchen's back door which leads to the outside world.

                                            >Pinkie suddenly darts in front of you, blocking your path with her forelegs outstretched.

                                            >"N-not that way! It's—um, employees only! Friends and customers have to leave through the front door!"

                                            "Uh…okay."

                                            >Strange, but it doesn't bother you that much.

                                            >So you turn around and leave the kitchen through the doorway you first entered the kitchen from.

                                            >As you move further away, you hear a door open and slam shut from within the kitchen.

                                            >Very strange. But this *is* Pinkie Pie you're talking about here.

                                            >You leave Sugarcube Corner through the front door; you see Mister Cake along the way, still manning the shop counter, and the two of you exchange farewells.

                                            >As you make your way back home, you reflect on today's events.

                                            >When you woke up today, you definitely weren't expecting to take a crash course on baking cupcakes.

                                            >Pinkie is a mirthful mentor, but a memorable one.

                                            >You still haven't pinpointed *why* she bothered to invite you; *you* certainly wouldn't be your first choice as a co-baker.

                                            >Perhaps it's just that Pinkie Sense of hers, inspiring her to spread cheer wherever she goes, even towards extradimensional loners such as yourself.

                                            >Whatever the case may be—you're glad that she reached out to you.

                                            >Even if you don't deserve it.


                                            ***


                                            >You soon arrive in front of your house; you rest your hand on the handle.

                                            >After opening the door, you head inside.

                                            >You stand in your living room; the natural nighttime shade makes it quite hard to see through the darkness, so you make your way over to the nearby lamp to improve your visibility.

                                            >As soon as you turn the lamp on and illuminate the room, you hear a loud *HONK* noise from within the room.

                                            "H-huh?"

                                            >You turn your head towards the centre of the room.

                                            >And you see Pinkie leap into the air from behind the couch

                                            >She grins at you and strikes a pose; she holds a party horn in a forehoof.

                                            >"Surprise!"

                                            "P-pinkie?"

                                            >And above her, you see a banner hanging from the ceiling, it reads…

                                            "'Happy Nonny Day?'"

                                            >Pinkie blows through her party horn, making another *HONK* noise.

                                            >"Yep! Happy Nonny Day!"

                                            "Ah."

                                            >You blink.

                                            "…What's 'Nonny Day?'"

                                            >"Well…it's the day you helped me bake cupcakes, for one!"

                                            "Aw, shucks."

                                            >"And…and it's also the anniversary of when you came to Equestria!"

                                            "Wait, really?"

                                            >She nods with a "Mhmm!"

                                            "Wow. I…didn't even notice."

                                            >You make your way over to the couch where Pinkie now sits; there's a coffee table in front of it, and you see a tray with cupcakes on it.

                                            >You examine the cupcakes up close; they seem familiar…

                                            "Hey, these cupcakes—they're vanilla. Are they…?" You look at Pinkie.

                                            >She nods again.

                                            >"Yup! They're the first batch we made together! I thought it'd be nice if we could share them!"

                                            >You sit down next to her on the couch and give her a smile.

                                            "Sounds like a plan."

                                            >The two of you take a cupcake each and begin munching on them.

                                            "Hey…how did you find the time to set this up, anyway?"

                                            >She gives you a knowing wink.

                                            >"Ooh, Ol' Pinkie Pie's got her ways~"

                                            >She doesn't elaborate any further, but as you recall how your day went, you begin to see how Pinkie would've found the time to set up this…

                                            >Party?

                                            >Is this a party? It has nearly all the makings of one, but you notice that it's missing one crucial component as you glance around the room.

                                            "So…it's just you here, then?"

                                            >"Oh… Well, yeah…"

                                            >Her ears flatten and you mentally curse yourself for being so careless with your words.

                                            "Wait—uh, no. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anything. I'm really glad you made the time for me today."

                                            >You purse your lips briefly, trying to decide on what to say.

                                            "I just…don't want to bore you, you know? Not a lot to do here."

                                            >She shakes her head.

                                            >"You'd never bore me, Nonny."

                                            >She absent-mindedly ruffles a hoof through her mane.

                                            >"Um…how about this? We could tell each other stories from our past!"

                                            >You give her an intrigued smile.

                                            "Stories, eh?"

                                            >She gives you a smirk right back.

                                            >"You betcha! Why, just this one time I…"

                                            >You take another bite out of your cupcake as you listen to her go on.


                                            "…So let me get this straight—you were *right* there at the gates to Yakyakistan, but then the ground gave way from underneath you and…"

                                            >You gesture your hand towards Pinkie, your mouth still unable to even recall the full tale in its entirety.

                                            >She nods.

                                            >"I fell! And then I slid! And slid and slid and slid! All the way past the Crystal Empire, past Manehattan, past Appleloosa, into Ponyville and right into my secret party planning cave in Sugarcube Corner!"

                                            >You raise an eyebrow.

                                            "But…that doesn't make any sense; isn't the Crystal Empire all the way to the north of Ponyville? And then Manehattan's to the east—Appleloosa to the south? How does that even work?"

                                            >Pinkie raises a hoof up to her chin and hums in thought.

                                            >"You know…I never really thought about it! Maybe it was kind of"—she twirls her hoof in a circular motion—"like this?"

                                            >As you watch her hoof circle in the air, your eyes widen slightly.

                                            "You mean…like the icing on a cupcake?"

                                            >She gasps.

                                            >"Oh! Oh! That's exactly it! Nonny—you're a genius!"

                                            "Hah, I try."

                                            >Actually, you still have no clue how she managed it.

                                            >When it comes to Pinkie's antics, you can never be sure if what she's recalling actually happened or not.

                                            >But you like that about her—it keeps you guessing.

                                            "…By the way, Pinkie."

                                            >"Yes, Nonny?"

                                            "Why go through all this trouble?"

                                            >"Whaddya mean?"

                                            "Well…you know, why did you bother including me in your plans for today? First, you showed up in my bed in the morning. Then, we spent most of the day together baking. And now…well, we're here."

                                            >You gesture around your house.

                                            >"Oh…did you not like it?"

                                            "I…loved it, but…what do *you* get out of this, Pinkie?"

                                            >"I get to see you smile, of course!"

                                            "Is that all?"

                                            >"Well…um…"

                                            >Pinkie glances to the side, unsure of how to respond.

                                            "Because…I don't know. I just think that…well, there are probably other, sadder peop—ponies out there who deserve your kindness way more than me."

                                            >"That's not true!"

                                            >Pinkie snaps her head to look at you with a serious, focused expression.

                                            >"Non…Anon. You're always way too hard on yourself. To the point that you spend most of your free time locked away in here; that…that's not right for anypony."

                                            >You purse your lips.

                                            "Well, that's because—"

                                            >She leans in towards you and squishes your cheeks together.

                                            >Being this close to her, you can see some tears forming in her eyes.

                                            >"It's because you think you don't deserve to be friends with anypony, right?"

                                            >She furrows her brows at you.

                                            >"Well, let me tell you this, Anon: you *do* deserve to have friends; you *do* deserve to go out there and enjoy life; you deserve all that and so much more because you're kind, thoughtful, attentive, friendly, and I…and I…"

                                            >Pinkie sniffles through tears, unable to continue; she then releases her hold on you.

                                            >You refuse to leave her like this.


                                            "Pinkie…"

                                            >You gently rest your hands on her shoulders.

                                            "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to turn this party into a pity party."

                                            >After sniffling once more, she turns her head away from you and huffs.

                                            >"It'll take a lot more than that for me to forgive you."

                                            "What can I do to make it up to you?"

                                            >There is a desperate tone in your voice; after everything you've gone through today, the last thing you'd ever want to do is turn Pinkie against you because of a depressive outburst.

                                            >She takes a deep, shaky breath before speaking.

                                            >"I…want you to be kinder to yourself, the same way that you're kind to everypony else. I want you to not be afraid of putting yourself out there."

                                            >She turns to you with red, puffy eyes.

                                            >"And I want you to promise me that you won't be so hard on yourself in the future."

                                            "I—"

                                            >She silences you by placing a hoof up to your mouth.

                                            >"Pinkie Promise."

                                            >You slowly turn your head to the baking tray on the table.

                                            >There's one cupcake left.

                                            >You slowly turn back to Pinkie—she slowly nods at you with a serious gaze.

                                            >You gulp.

                                            "Okay."

                                            >You gingerly pick up the lone cupcake.

                                            "I promise to take it easier on myself. No more self-doubt from me."

                                            >You give the cupcake one last look before sighing to yourself.

                                            "Cross my heart. Hope to fly. Stick a cupcake in my—OW!"

                                            >As it turns out—sticking icing into your eyeball isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

                                            >As you wipe the sugary mess from your face, you hear a giggle from beside you.

                                            >"That's more like it, Nonny!"

                                            "And all we had to do was sacrifice a cupcake."

                                            >"Sawifiw? Whaya wean?"

                                            >You turn your head to look at Pinkie; she's chewing on something.


                                            "…Are you eating the cupcake that I just smushed into my face?"

                                            >She gulps down whatever she was eating.

                                            >"What can I say? Nonny-flavoured cupcakes are"—she licks the frosting off of her lips—"delish! I might have to add them to the menu later!"

                                            "Er, I'd prefer to stay *off* the menu, thanks."

                                            >She giggles in response.

                                            >You notice that her eyes are still slightly puffy.

                                            "Hang on. I'll go get some tissues,"—you rub your eye—"for the both of us."

                                            >"Okilly dokilly!"

                                            >After briefly heading into the kitchen to retrieve a box of tissues, you return with them, and the two of you wipe your own faces down…

                                            >…Is what you would say, but—

                                            >"Nonny—you missed a spot!"

                                            >Pinkie wipes your cheek with a tissue; she then licks the frosting off of it.

                                            >"Mmm!"

                                            "Thanks, Pinks."

                                            >"No problemo!"

                                            >Your eyes drift upwards to your clock hanging off of the wall; the time reads eight-o-clock.

                                            "That time already? Huh."

                                            >"Hm?"

                                            >You turn to look at Pinkie.

                                            "Looks like it's getting late, Pinkie."

                                            >"Oh!"

                                            "It's been—"

                                            >She suddenly hops off the couch and zooms away, leaving nought by a cloud of dust in her wake.

                                            "…Fun."

                                            >You glance around the room; there's no sign of Pinkie.

                                            >Considering the time, it's likely that she went back to her home over at Sugarcube Corner.

                                            "Huh."

                                            >The fact that she sped off just like that, right after all of the time that you had spent together today stings you a little bit.

                                            >You didn't even get to say goodbye to her.

                                            >…But you can give her an earful over her vanishing act when you see her tomorrow.

                                            >As you yawn to yourself, you decide that sleep is high on your priority list at this time of night.

                                            >You glance at the party banner that still hangs off of the ceiling…and you make another decision to deal with that tomorrow.

                                            >So you make your way upstairs to your bedroom.


                                            ***


                                            >As you approach your bedroom door, you notice that it's slightly ajar.

                                            >Strange, you're usually quite good at the whole "closing doors" business.

                                            >You open the door, stepping into your bedroom, and…

                                            >Well, you are indeed in your bedroom.

                                            >And that is indeed your bed, over by the corner of your room.

                                            >And there is indeed a large lump hiding under your bed cover.

                                            >Can beds grow tumours? Maybe it's an "Equestria" thing.

                                            >After you switch on the nearby lamp, you are given one more conundrum to ponder as you spot something peeking out from under the cover:

                                            >Can bed tumours grow tails?

                                            >Pink, poofy tails?

                                            "…Pinkie?"

                                            >The lump travels up the bed, and a familiar pink pony head pops up near your pillows.

                                            >"Mmyes Nonny?"

                                            "Uh…what are you doing in my bed?"

                                            >"Weeellllll…"

                                            >Her forehooves poke out from under the cover, and she nervously shuffles them between each other as her eyes flit around the room.

                                            >"I thought you could use the company…so I thought I'd sleep here—you know, just in case you had a bad dream and needed a cuddle buddy because if you had another bad dream in the middle of the night my Pinkie Sense would go off so me being here already saves me the trouble of coming all the way over here from my house so that's why I'm here."

                                            >She grins at you.

                                            "Um…"

                                            >It is a cute grin.

                                            "Sure, why not."

                                            >She emits a high-pitched squee as you change into your smallclothes and lay down in bed next to her.

                                            >As you lay on your back, you hear a shuffling sound as Pinkie siddles up close to you and wraps her hooves around your body; she rests her head against your chest.

                                            >Who's the cuddle buddy here?

                                            >Still…you're not complaining.

                                            >Just like this morning, she's very soft to the touch, and she smells faintly of cotton candy.

                                            >You wouldn't be surprised if she was made of the stuff; she's a very sweet pony—in every sense of the word.

                                            "Hey, Pinks?"

                                            >"Mm?"

                                            "Thanks for—well, everything, today. It means a lot to me."

                                            >She nuzzles into your chest.

                                            >"It means a lot to me too, Nonny."

                                            >A warm smile creeps up on your face as you wrap an arm around her.

                                            >It has been a good day.

                                            >The two of you lay there together for a while, enjoying each other's company.

                                            >But all days, good or bad, must eventually come to an end.

                                            >"Good night, Nonny."

                                            "G'nite…Pinks."

                                            >The two of you drift off to sleep soon after.

                                            >And it would be another good dream.