One last apprenticeship by Anon

 

 

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Despite what everypony said, Pinkie would always deny having special magical powers. Things just happened sometimes, and besides, she was a very good ponywatcher. Ears that could detect a disappointed sigh through a crowded party didn’t hurt, either.

 

“Pumpk-i-i-i-n!”

 

There, in the distance, was the shrill and plaintive warning cry of the Brotherus Nervosa, desperately trying to avert catastrophe. And that usually meant that, if one listened carefully… yes, there it was. The deliberate, heavy stomp-stomp-stomping of the Fillyus Maximus Peevedibus. Oh dear. That meant Trouble, and Pinkie had heard the consequences of that through the walls a little too much lately.

 

“I’ve cleaned up back here,” she shouted through the kitchen, “I just need to head out for a moment!”

“That’s fine, Pinkie!” came the response. “If you see Pound and Pumpkin, remind them they need to be home soon, or we’ll be late!”

Leg twitch, ear flop and … tingly rump? Oh dear. Somepony was in for a BIG punishment. Pinkie grimaced. Not if she could help it!

 

“Go ‘way, Pound!”

“N-no, sis, you can’t! Don’t!”

“It’s nothin’ to do with you!”

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“WE won’t. I’ll be fine, and you aren’t gonna be there.”

“Pumpk-i-i-i-n! Please! Come on…”

 

Oooh. This sounded bad. Pound was buzzing around his sister with that half-hop, half-glide that Rainbow had assured the Cakes was perfectly normal for young pegasi, whereas Pumpkin… her mane was slightly frizzier than usual, her eyes glistening, her muzzle scrunched tight and her marching so firm of purpose that Shining Armor would have made her Sergeant Major on the spot. Although Pinkie was fairly sure a Sergeant Major should still have the saddlebags they’d left with in the morning. Mysterious.

 

“Hi twins!” Pinkie called, pronking over to them.

“Pinkie!” Pound cried back, terror and relief battling over his face. Pumpkin, by contrast, seemed to get even grumpier.

“Hi Pinkie,” she drawled, looking away.

Pinkie's eyes lingered on Pumpkin for a moment, before returning to Pound’s anxious smile.

“I’m soooo glad to see the two bestest foals in Equestria!” she beamed, “it’s been such a busy day today, all I can see are cakes! Hee hee, are you an eclair?” as she made a playful grab for Pound. He flinched backwards, stopping her in her tracks.

“Uh oh, looks like some sourdough here! Something bad at school?”

“Yes, Pump-“

“NO!” came the firmer answer from Pinkie’s right.

An awkward pause. The foals looked at each other, one alarmed, the other angry, blinking a little too quickly.

“No.” Pumpkin repeated, eyes fixed on Pound. “Normal day. Boring.”

“Um, yeah. Boring.” Pound looked away.

“O-kaaay,” a puzzled Pinkie looked from one to the other, “Well, that’s fine, we’ll go home and …”

“Sorry Pinkie. I, uh, I gotta go.” Pumpkin interrupted, heading off again. She didn’t get far before her world was filled with Pinkie’s face.

“But Pumpkin, your mom and dad are taking you to – “

“I know.” The walk resumed past a slack-jawed Pinkie Pie.

Pound trotted on the spot, wings flared, his gaze flicking between his sister and the young mare.

“Um, I, er, um, I …”

Pinkie squatted down, eye to eye with the young colt.

“Pound, if something’s wrong, you can tell me. I’ve always…”

“Igottago, seeyaPinkie!” he blurted, and dashed after Pumpkin.

Open-mouthed, shocked to immobility by such open rebellion, Pinkie could do little else but watch the two walk away.

“But… but…!” she gasped at thin air, drawing a confused expression from a passing townspony. What to do now? Tell the Cakes? She probably should… But something was wrong here, and a thorough scolding – at the least – was not going to solve it. On the other hoof, if she didn’t say anything, then the twins would get in more trouble at home – and her tingly rear was still, well, tingly. A bead of sweat rolled down her face as she looked from foals to bakery and back.

 

Ponyville had grown almost along with the twins. Even the Everfree was being forced into retreat – not by mighty mages, but simple construction workers. It was to one of these building sites that Pinkie (carefully) followed them. She was growing more concerned; the foals had been lectured long and often about how they were to stay well clear. Yet here they were. More Trouble. The tingling was getting worse. Fortunately they hadn’t spotted her behind a mound of sand.

“Come on, Pumpkin,” Pound whimpered. “We’ll see Goodie Gumdrops at school...”

The sideways scowl silenced him.

Pinkie was so engrossed that she almost missed the approaching grumble behind her.

“Goodie, we ain’t allowed here,” came a low moan. “Cain’t we jutht go home?”

“In a minute, Butters. I bet she won’t even be here anyway” replied a voice that sounded almost as tetchy as Pumpkin had. Pinkie ducked back out of sight, just as a lime green pegasus sporting rose pink pigtails, and a pale yellow earth pony with a curly tan bob trotted past. And – was the earth pony wearing Pumpkin’s saddlebag?

“Oh look, Buttermilk,” the pegasus sneered, “Turnip actually showed up.”

“Shut it, Bumdrops.” Pumpkin snapped back. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” asked the pegasus, a little too innocently.

“My schoolbag!” Pumpkin shouted, stamping a hoof. “You stole it!”

“I did not!” Goodie Gumdrops replied indignantly, jumping into the air. “I just borrowed it. After SOMEPONY got me sent to the principal’s office, I had to get our homework somehow, didn’t I?”

“You pushed Pound off the swings!”

“He cut in!” with an indignant rear hoof stomp. “It was Buttermilk’s turn!”

The two fillies snarled in each other’s faces.

“Er, Goodie, ah could’a…” the earth pony started.

“Pumpkin, we’re gonna be…” Pound whined.

“YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!” their champions yelled, simultaneously. There was an awkward pause as they looked back at each other. Goodie recovered first, landing with a snort.

“Well, if you really want it. Buttermilk?”

Buttermilk removed the bag and mouthed it over.

“He-here, Goodie.” she mumbled. Goodie turned back to Pumpkin with a spiteful grin. Suddenly she took off, shooting to the upstairs level of the scaffolding. The bag was dropped with a malicious giggle.

“Then come and get it.”

 

Pumpkin crouched, growled, a pale blue corona lighting her horn. Quickly, Pound jumped in front of her.

“Sis! It’s ok, I’ll get it.” Taking a deep breath, he flapped slowly past the triumphant Goodie Gumdrops, maybe with just a bit of side-eye.

Pinkie gave a gentle sigh. Well, looked like everything was working out. She could take them back home, tell the Cakes there’d been a problem at school, the foals would just get told off for being late and then they could all finally go -

“Ha ha!” the filly crowed, “Stupid Turnip can’t even go upst- WOAH!” she ducked back, as a ball of sand wrapped in shimmering blue magic sailed past her head. Enraged, Goodie swooped at her target. Looking behind him, Pound dived in with an angry shout to defend his sister.

“Hey! That’th not fair! Leave her alone!” hollered Buttermilk, leaping into the scrum. The dusty foal ball rolled, snarling and yelling, into Pinkie’s dune. Right, this had gone too far.

“STOOOP!” Pinkie shouted, jumping out from behind the sand. The tableau froze, all staring guiltily at the surprise grown-up.

“Pinkie?” Pound spat a pigtail from his mouth. “What are you..?”

“Trying to keep someponies out of trouble,” Pinkie sighed. “Just - get up, all of you. Goodie, give Pumpkin her stuff back.”

The still miffed but now deflated foals slowly did so, carefully not looking at each other. A temporary truce signed in the face of adult authority, they stood together, heads bowed, awaiting judgement. Alas, this needed a higher court.

“Let’s... let’s just all go home”, Pinkie groaned. All the bounce had definitely gone out of this day. That could certainly not be said about the funny feeling in her flanks.

 

She took Goodie Gumdrops and Buttermilk back home first. She could hear angry voices and pleading whines almost before the doors closed. It was quite depressing really, how identical the “she WHAT!”, “she was WHERE?” and “not half as sorry as SHE’S going to be, Pinkie” had been at each location. Her thoughts had occasionally turned to parenthood lately, what with Cheese Sandwich’s latest tour taking a personally welcomed and increasingly extended stop in Ponyville, and she was starting to suspect that the maternity hospital gave you a big book of scripts along with your precious bundle, especially as the words apparently hadn’t changed since she’d been the filly cringing behind the parent. Ugh.

 

Back at Sugarcube Corner, initial frustrations about timekeeping had almost immediately given way to outraged demands on the topics of bruises, cuts and manes full of sand. The twins had slouched upstairs. Pound had tried to beg for mercy, but the parental trump card of what exactly had stopped him from returning by himself silenced that. Mrs Cake tutted at her husband as she removed her best earrings.

“Well, there’s always another day, muffin,” she said, turning from the sideboard, holding a manebrush. “Anyway.”

The itching in Pinkie’s rump was unbearable.

“Mrs Cake, wait!” she blurted. “It was my fault. I saw them on the way out, I could have stopped them. I could even have come back and told you. But I thought I could keep them out of trouble. I’m sorry. If you have to blame any pony, blame me,” she groaned, hanging her head.

Surprised, the older mare simply stared, then chuckled.

“Oh, Pinkie Pie. Pound and Pumpkin have to take responsibility for what they did. Everypony does.”

“I do! I will!” the pink pony pleaded.

Mrs Cake held out the brush. “Here,” she stated.

Pinkie blinked; looked from Mrs Cake to the brush, and back again.

“You’re not the apprentice we took in, Pinkie,” Mrs Cake continued. “You’ve become a lovely young mare. You’re trotting out with your own stallion now.” This caused a blush. “You might even have foals of your own, one day. But that brings a new type of responsibility, dearie. I truly hope that you’ll be one of the lucky ponies who never needs to spank,” (Pinkie winced) “but we weren’t. So. Here.”

Pinkie’s rear twitched and vibrated, ending with an almost audible pop that felt like the brush had swatted her instead.

“Oh,” she groaned, flatly, as she looked at the offending area. “Now I get it.”

She reached out, slowly, shaking, and took the tool. She turned to the door.

“I’ll, I’ll just…”

Mr Cake nodded. “You should.” he said, warmly.

Another step. Pinkie looked back. “I don’t… When my sisters… I just couldn’t…”

Mr Cake joined her with a gentle smile. “One last apprenticeship?”

Pinkie gulped, nodded. He followed her out.

Mrs Cake listened to Pinkie’s hooves slump heavily on the stairs, the bedroom door clicking. The sound of her voice was interrupted by disbelieving noises, then the all-too-familiar desperate bargaining. Mr Cake’s soft rumble followed.

Silence.

The sound of the first crack almost made her jump. At the second she released a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. And when the wails began, her husband reappeared, giving her a quiet nuzzle.

“First time was always hardest, sugar plum.”

“It’s never easy, muffin.”

Pinkie came downstairs later, wordlessly placing the brush back on the sideboard. She returned upstairs, her breathing choked and wet. The Cakes pretended not to see. They never could tell who cried more that night. It really had been a big punishment.

 

Bonus:

 

The twins were cuddling on the bed. In different circumstances it would have been adorable, apart from the tears. The quizzical looks reminded Pinkie why she was here.

"Pound? Pumpkin?" she managed. "S-sit up, please."

Still puzzled, they obeyed. Why couldn't they have done that before?

She'd been working on a little speech on the short eternity it took her to climb upstairs. The words had fled as soon as her hoof had touched the handle.

"Your ... your mom told me to come up. It, it was naughty, what you did..."

"Pinkie," sniffled Pound, "we're sorry, we didn't mean..."

"We really are, Pinkie." Pumpkin continued. "I didn't want to get you or Pound in trouble. Can you tell momma, maybe she'll..?"

She could see Limestone. Limestone looking up at Dad (at her), all hoping that he would say -

"I accept your apology, kids, but," deep breath, "that's not why she sent me."

She pulled out the brush.

She was sure she could feel their stomachs drop. She could certainly feel hers.

"Pi-pinkie?" Pound stammered. "What, what are you..?"

"NO!" Pumpkin screamed, yet more tears instantly welling. "NO! That's not fair!"

Moral support arrived as Mr Cake stepped in from the landing, standing next to Pinkie. "Pumpkin..." he warned.

"You... You knew you weren't allowed to go to..." Pinkie stumbled on.

"YOU SAID WE WERE FRIENDS!"

It felt like it bounced off the walls. It felt like it hammered into Pinkie's ears. It felt like an icicle to Pinkie's heart. Mr Cake could feel himself becoming physical support.

"We are," she quavered through tears of her own. "I am..."

"Friends don't do thi-i-isss." Pumpkin dissolved into incoherent sobbing. Pound joined her.

"Pumpkin!" barked her father. "That's enough! You've brought this on yourself, both of you. You didn't just disobey us, you disobeyed Pinkie Pie. Or would you prefer me?"

"Please Pinkie," Pound begged, "please, we'll be good!"

"I'll, I'll say sorry to Goodie and Buttermilk, just, please, Pinkie!" his sister tried.

Pinkie had never been so grateful to feel a fellow pony leaning against her. She almost felt the strength flowing in.

"N-no. You have - your father is right. You have to take responsibility for your actions," she heard Mrs Cake's and her parents voices say through her lips. She was glad - she didn't think her own was capable. "And that can mean taking ... Taking..." She took a deep breath and spat out the horrid word. "A sp-spanking."

 

There were wordless moans of protest. The script, the sweet, blessed script, her parents gift, continued for her.

"So - get up, turn round, and bend across your bed, both of you...?" she ended on a slight question mark, glancing at Mr Cake. He nodded; not their usual, but not an unknown recipe.

Softly crying, the twins obeyed (now they did!), slowly, reluctantly. Pinkie moved behind them, the brush weighing more heavily with every step. She blinked back more tears. More years. This was mom and dad's view when ... It was getting harder to see. She was trying not to listen.

She lined the brush up on Pumpkin. A glance over. The Mr Cake shaped blur nodded.

Two breaths. A thundering chest.

This was it. No going back.

She swung.