Author's Notes:

Edited on 19 Sep 2015
Edited on 26 Sep 2015
Edited on 25 Oct 2015
Edited on 26 Oct 2015

Pinkie Pie’s mini-train grinds to a halt outside of Donut Joe's Donut Shop. The parking lot is almost completely empty, save for half a dozen other vehicles. When Pinkie Pie hops out of the vehicle she grabs her saddle, carelessly puts over her back, and upon entering the building she finds that it has a clever mix of techno and contemporary design. While Pinkie Pie waits patiently for a patron she listens to the music being played over the radio. It’s a simple, yet catchy, techno tune.

“Welcome to Donut Joe's Donut Shop,” says Donut Joe brightly. “What can I... Oh, its you again.”

Pinkie Pie grins and leans up against the counter, squinting her eyes and stretching her smile until it hurts. “That's no way to talk to a guest, stud.”

Donut Joe steps back a little. “Are you hitting on me?”

Pinkie Pie forces an obnoxious laugh that get the attention of the few patrons and bangs her hoof on the counter. “Am I hitting on you? No, I'm not hitting on you. I don't hit on any pony. I just talk to them like normal talking ponies who talk to other ponies. By the way, do you like my dress?”

“Uh... yeah, its very nice.” Donut Joe smiles nervously. “Why don't I recommend something that won't ruin it. Like water or a donut with no frosting?”

“How about an extra large strawberry milkshake and a dozen chocolate donuts smothered in strawberry frosting, instead?” says Pinkie Pie.

Joe blinks. “Um, okay then.”

He scribbles down the order and after Pinkie Pie pays the appropriate amount he gives the order to one of his workers and starts on making the milkshake.

“Where's your friend from yesterday? Is she at a hospital? Or in jail?” says Joe, having to yell over the screaming engine of the blender.

“No, she's at work. Maybe if I'm lucky she didn't get fired,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Oh, okay. It just looked like she was part of a fight club and I was curious is all.”

“Well, if she is part of a fight club, she doesn't talk about it.”

The blender stops and Joe pours the drink in the proper cup, puts it on a tray and slides it over to her. “There you go, Miss. We'll have your donuts fresh for you in just a few minutes, so have a seat and relax a little.”

Pinkie Pie thanks him, takes her drink and heads to the farthest corner of the store, silently thankful that there is hardly a soul around to listen in on her and her meeting partner. Once she takes a seat, she starts sipping her drink, shuddering at the cold deliciousness of the strawberry, ice cream and milk mix, and she takes out her notebook and flips it open to her Mare-Do-Well design. She studies it for a few minutes, but spends the remainder of her time daydreaming of fighting robots and aliens in the suit with Twilight, Applejack, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash and Rarity by her side in an epic battle worthy of biblical tales.

Thinking about the thrill of saving ponies from disasters and the rush of fighting criminals way back then in their suits brings a smile to her face and quickens her heart with excitement. But then she thinks about Terra's mutilated face and horrific cackles and Spike's blood all over her and how all of her so-called friends became her enemies in a fortnight. She swears she can feel Spike's sticky blood all over her hooves and chest again, and to be certain that she is not covered in blood she looks down, relieved to see just her sleeves and dyed fur.

'Do you really want to wear blood again?' asks the voice in her head.

Pinkie Pie closes her eyes and bows her head, shaking her head with drooped ears.

“No,” whispers Pinkie Pie.

“This isn't your order?” asks a stallion, his voice overly manly, yet Pinkie can picture it to be extremely emotional in a matter of seconds.

Pinkie Pie snaps open her eyes and sees a large, white, muscular pegasus stallion with amagnificent wingspan balancing a tray of her donuts on his bald head. He also seems to be sparkling in the light and has an epic, gold mustache that covers his lips. But Pinkie Pie does not ogle at his physique for too long since she is more concerned about her food.

“No, sorry, I was just talking to myself. Put the donuts right there, please,” she says, smiling apologetically and tapping the table.

The stallion carefully places the tray on the table and takes a peek at her drawings, which has the basic Mare-Do-Well design, only covered in armor plating and a jet pack. Said armored Mare-Do-Well is fighting a robot tentacle monster powered by a demonic pickle in a teddy bear suit.

“Impeccable skill in the art of doodling. Surely you must have a talent in drawing,” says the stallion.

Pinkie Pie places a hoof over her notebook and shakes her head, forcing a smile. “No, I just doodle when I'm bored.”

“What a coincidence, so do I! In fact, the art of doodling has been passed down the Biceps line for generations! Perhaps we can exchange doodles sometime over coffee?”

Pinkie Pie seethes and leans back slightly, her ears drooping and her hooves drumming on the table nervously. “Uhhhh, I don't...”

“Strong Biceps, stop flirting with the customer and get back to washing dishes!” shouts Donut Joe from behind the counter.

Strong Biceps snaps to Joe. “Apologies, boss! I shall return!” He looks back at Pinkie Pie and nods courteously. “Enjoy your meal, madam, and may your doodles continue to be a blessing on notebook paper.”

“Er, thanks,” says Pinkie Pie slowly. She watches the stallion leave, and once he is out of sight, she sighs with relief and adjusts her wig while eying her meal. “Jeeze, and ponies think I'm weird.”

“Guten Tag, Frau Sprinkles,” says a male with a heavy German accent barely a few seconds later.

Pinkie Pie jumps slightly from the sudden voice and looks up to see a middle aged, gray furred, black haired ibex standing at her table with a pressed suit and an expensive saddle strapped to his back. She quickly establishes a fancy composure that she has seen Rarity do countless times at the table and nods politely to the ibex.

“Witaj, Ink Well,” says Pinkie Pie.

She motions him to have a seat and when he does, she relaxes in her seat and offers him a donut, which he politely refuses.

“Hmm, I didn't realize you were Peltish. Your name hides those roots,” says Ink Well.

Pinkie Pie shrugs. “Names change, but my family has roots going back to Germaneigh and Peltland. Its kind of a weird looking tree, but my father's side is more Peltish than Germane and my mom is more Germane than Peltish, so I'm trying to get back to the Peltish roots. Besides, I have a cousin slash old friend now turned enemy that is mostly Germane, so I don't want anything to do with her or her whatevers.”

“Even at the expense of denying a piece of your own lineage?”

Pinkie Pie frowns. “Let's not get on that subject. I got to pick up somepony in a few hours, assuming she didn't flip out and beat up somepony over something stupid and lose her job.”

“Of course.”

Pinkie Pie takes a bite out of her donut and speaks with her mouth full. “How was the flight to Equestria?”

“Hectic. The zeppelin port security is nothing like Bernese. Ponies here are paranoid. Do they honestly think someone will be dumb enough to take down the same vehicle they are flying in?”

“I think our fear is justified. You’ve heard what’s going on here, right?” says Pinkie Pie after swallowing her food.

“Yes, but quite honestly I am not interested in the turmoils of your nation. I am only interested in the transaction.” Ink Well removes from his saddle a folder and slides it to Pinkie Pie. “As requested, Frau Sprinkles. Everything you wanted is there and awaiting your approval. Everything except for the jet pack, though. Iron Will said it was impossible to make without lighting the suit on fire, so we left it off.”

Pinkie Pie studies the blueprints inside the folder, which consists of all the materials for her dream suit and costs for each part. She is disappointed that they could not put on the jet pack, but after she looks at the price, she gets an idea that fate made it so to make the blow to her wallet's groin a bit easier to take.

“Is this all, or are there hidden fees?” asks Pinkie Pie, her eyes not being able to tear away from the 300,000b printed in the total box.

“Frau Sprinkles, where I come from it is considered dishonorable to have hidden fees. It is actually very much illegal,” says Ink Well.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Ink Well sighs. “No, there are no hidden fees. All together, this suit you are requesting is three hundred thousand bits. The price includes the labor fee.”

“I can see that. Does it really have to be a hundred thousand bits?”

“Its only business, Fraue Spinkles.”

“Yeah, a blood sucking business. Jeeze.”

“If you are not happy with the price-”

“I'm not happy with the price, but you're actually the cheapest I found, so I have no choice but to take this.”

Pinkie Pie traces her hoof down to look at each of the materials and does some quick math. Ink Well’s price is one hundred percent correct, but the labor fee puts her in a pickle. Not too much of a pickle, though, since she knows a certain pony in her custody has a fat inheritance waiting for her and can easily afford it. She just needs to convince Trixie to fork up three hundred thousand bits of her inheritance for her special suit.

“Listen, I don’t have the money for this, but I will soon enough,” says Pinkie Pie while returning the folder to Ink Well.

Ink Well furrows his brow and puts the folder away. “My colleague and I were under the assumption you already had the money for this commission, Frau Sprinkles.”

“Hey, I got bills to pay, too, you know? Besides, I'll have the money soon enough, so don't worry. Just relax and enjoy the sites.”

“I took a zeppelin from Bernese to get here. I spent a small fortune getting tickets and a hotel room and a rental, only to find that this has been fruitless, and you expect me to relax?”

“Um... Yes?”

“Frau Sprinkles, I am going to need one good reason from you about why I should stay and push this commission to Iron Will. If you do not provide, I will leave and make sure everybody knows of your ill character.”

Pinkie Pie holds up one hoof, and with the other, she grabs her milkshake, takes a deep, long sip, resulting in her scrapping the bottom of the cup. Her brain feels like it has an ice spike being shoved in it from her nose, but seeing Ink Well's twitching eye is more than enough to make it bearable.

After finishing her drink, he takes a breath, wipes her mouth, clears her throat, and the folds her hooves on the table and leans forward slightly.

“Well, Ink Well, I don't think Iron Will would like you walking away on a three hundred thousand bit deal,” begins Pinkie Pie.

Ink Well grunts, and Pinkie Pie slides over by his side, dragging her chair with her so it scratches on the floor, once again getting the ibex visibly annoyed by her antics. This time it is a cringe. Once Pinkie Pie is next to him, she grins and places her hoof under his chin and makes him look into her eyes.

“But let's leave Iron Will out for just a second,” she continues. “That one hundred thousand bits in 'labor' translates to about one hundred and twelve thousand coins for you after that currency thingy. I'm just going to assume that Iron Will gives you twenty percent profit, so that'll give you twenty two thousand and four hundred coins for you to buy a house, a new wagon, pay some debts or invest in the market or put in for retirement.”

Ink Well rolls his eyes.

“Also, you need to think about the reputation you and Iron Will will get from this thing,” says Pinkie Pie. “This is no normal suit, and when it is done and put in use, people all over are going to be all: Whoa, who made that?”

Pinkie Pie slinks her hoof around Ink Well's shoulder and pokes him lightly in the chest, grinning from ear to ear.

“And I'll say, this guy and his boss, Iron Will, made it at a great price. And in comes all kinds of cool commissions and you two will be raking in the dough and Iron Will can quit his crappy seminars and make those awesome suits for a living. In no time you guys will be millionaires fifty times over, sitting on your beaches with scantily clad girls and an endless supply of martinis, and it will all be because you did not walk away from a deal of a life time.”

Ink Well is silent, but it is obvious to Pinkie Pie that his gears are turning if the subtle twitches in his face and the tiniest tugs of his lips say anything and twinkle in his eye say anything. But Pinkie Pie still sighs with exaggerated disappointment and pulls away from Ink Well.

“But, if you are impatient and leave, all that money you could have gotten will go bye-bye,” says Pinkie Pie.

Ink Well's tiny speck of hope dims, and Pinkie Pie leans against the table, her head on her hoof and her other hoof poking at her plate.

“Just think, you'll be stuck with your crappy house, crappy wagon, crappy debt, and you won't be able to pick up chicks because they'll see a loser who was too impatient for the deal of a lifetime,” says Pinkie Pie sadly. “And all the pretty goats will go with the other guy who's a complete douche, but nobody will care because he made a lot of money because he was patient for a lifetime deal.”

Pinkie Pie finishes with a sad sigh and looks at Ink Well with big eyes misting over and her lips puckered to a pout. The goat remains stationary in his seat, still as stone, but a moment later he takes a breath and pulls out a planner from his saddle.

“How soon is soon enough, Frau Sprinkles?”

Pinkie Pie grins.

A few minutes later, Ink Well has left and Pinkie Pie finishes up her donuts. A chunk of her wants to stay a bit longer to try more things on the menu and in no way, shape or form ogle Joe for any reason whatsoever, but that plan of hers changes when a pair of pegasi enter the building. Both are familiar and well built; the stallion has big limbs and tight abs -truly a great specimen despite him being almost twenty years older than the mare; and the mare has gotten bigger the last time Pinkie saw her. She still has her lean figure, but she is no doubt built up with bigger muscles than before, and her rainbow mane has been cropped so it just barely stays above her shoulders, and it is tied into a ponytail for some reason.

Pinkie Pie stiffens in her spot, and her throat feels like it is being invaded by her heart in its attempt to climb out and run away. All she can do is watch and swallow nervously as the couple chats away, with the mare giddy as a filly and the stallion anxious and stumbling over his words.

When they reach the front counter, Pinkie Pie takes the opportunity to high tail it out of the donut shop. She packs up her stuff as quickly as she can and speed walks to the exit, shaking all the way. It is at the moment when she is behind Rainbow Dash does her fellow Element turn around and bump right into her, muzzle to cheek.

The two mares grunt and stumble, and Rainbow Dash rubs her muzzle, chuckling uneasily, and smiles at Pinkie Pie.

“Whoops, sorry about that,” says Rainbow Dash.

“It’s okay,” blurts Pinkie Pie.

Rainbow Dash's body locks with wide eyes and Pinkie Pie gallops out of the building, biting her tongue until she tastes blood, and she runs even fast when she hears Rainbow Dash calling her.

Rainbow Dash watches the minty colored pony that she bumped into run in the parking lot and practically dive into her obnoxiously colored mini-train and zoom away, leaving black marks on the asphalt. She blinks a couple of times, swearing that pony she bumped into looked and sounded like Pinkie Pie. Though, she does remember seeing her friend being buried, no thanks to what the others did, and for that, her curious look devolves into an angry snarl and she turns around, shaking her head and mentally telling herself that she is not seeing dead ponies.

“Snap out of it, Dashie,” mumbles Rainbow Dash.

“What?” says Soarin, looking over his shoulder with a bag of bits in his mouth.

Rainbow Dash shakes her head again. “Nothing. Just get me one of those chocolate and strawberry donut things.”