Though not one for arriving as the first guest, Artifex was far from one who liked to be the last addition to an event. More or less, he preferred being the middle arrival; neither first, nor last. In this case, though, he recognized he had not much of a choice in the matter.

Certainly, he could refuse, and leave much later than 7:30. Maybe eight-o’clock. If memory served, the party wasn’t to start until nine, at the earliest. There wasn’t much of a need to be there before then.

But there was an incentive. Pinkie. Artifex had half of him not wanting to disappoint his superbly-exuberant friend, and the other half not wanting to somehow incur her latent wrath. A wrath that, according to Swift, was a literal raging inferno; fire often sprouted from her poofy hair. The thought alone provided the push for Artifex to get himself together and head out.

Fear was like that. An incentive. Both for good and bad, he supposed, though in his case he felt that it was more likely to lean on the latter outcome.

The fear quickly changed to discomfort when he walked to the front door. His left leg’s limp lagged with him, and he found himself needing to compensate more and more. He sighed, knowing he’d have no luck in easing whatever tension was in his limb.

His eyes scanned the area next to the door, falling upon a simple, wooden cane. Dust had gathered on top of it; its end was dulled, but not completely flattened. His hand reached out and grasped the handle, wiping the dust off. He twirled it for a bit, ruminating.

He supposed he’d be able to force himself through the day without the cane, but he also supposed that such an idea would result in more pain than anything. He cursed the nightmare once more; if he hadn’t had it, he wouldn’t need to resort to old tricks and techniques.

A cane was just another stark reminder of a physical weakness. Did he really need it?

He looked outside. The sidewalk to the city was a long, winding route, with curves along the edges. With a limp, he figured it’d take maybe a half-hour just to reach the first tall building.

Again he was confronted with the possibility of waiting a moment longer.

Then the old Manehattan maxim rang in his ears: “If you’re early to something, it’ll give you extra time to think.”

His hand clenched around the top of the cane. He refused to look at it.

He took a few, experimental steps around, then pat his pocket, realizing he had forgotten his keys. A short walk to the holder later, he had them back in his left pocket. His thumb traced around the ring, then ran down the side of the fake jewel. It was colder than he expected, but was quickly warming up.

He gazed at the snowdrop flower that was still on the dining room table. It had not been moved since Tuesday. But it seemed a bit more depressive. Was it his imagination, or was it bending over more than usual?

He felt his phone vibrate, and he pulled it out, reading the new message.

‘Get that butt moving, Arty!’

He just stared at the message, his thumb grazing over the keyboard. Eventually, he pressed the power button, and pocketed the phone without so much of a reply.

No point in stalling. Better move on.

Just as his hand twisted the doorbell, he heard a familiar mewling.

“What do you want, Francis?” he asked, turning around.

Francis meowed back. His chocolate-cherry eyes remained centered on Artifex.

“Yes, I’m going out.”

“Meow?”

“To Sugarcube Corner. Another party.”

Francis purred, then made a scrunched up his face, as if incredulous.

“Yes. The second one this week for me. Surprising, isn’t it?” Artifex shook his head. “That’s Pinkie Pie for you.”

Artifex felt his phone vibrate. Pulling it out, he saw Pinkie’s follow-up message:

‘You’re probably super busy, which might be why you didn’t respond, but in case you missed my text, here it is again: get that butt moving, Arty!’

He pocketed it, looking back at Francis. “Well, I guess I’d better get going.”

His pet companion meowed with a fluctuation, asking a question. Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Really? You want to come along?”

Francis purred in confirmation, then scuffed at the ground with a paw.

Artifex thought about it for a little bit, then said, “Alright. You can come. Wouldn’t make sense to leave you in this house all alone.” He looked around. “Though, I suppose I wouldn’t want to be alone here either.”

Turning, the boy grabbed the doorknob once more, and twisted it, before pulling it wide open. After pushing the screen door, he stepped to the side. “After you, Francis.”

The cat nodded his thanks, then stepped out. Artifex then closed both doors, and locked the front one, before following Francis out.

Artifex met with a colder wind once he was outside. It wasn’t particularly cloudy—he could still see the blue sky—but he noted with slight interest the prevalent appearance of clouds. The weather was changing; the world was growing colder and darker; soon, it’d be much darker in the mornings, and hard to see at night. The world would be covered in a luscious, white blanket, comforted only by the raging iciness outside its doors.

A thin smile formed on thin lips. Autumn was fine and all, but winter was something he looked forward to especially.

Also showing the signs of change was Francis, whose apricot coat puffed up in response to the wind. The cat shivered, but didn’t seem at all willing to head back in. He saw Artifex staring and, after a hiss, stomped twice on the ground and held his head up high.

The action morphed Artifex’s smile into a slightly larger one, and he shook his head with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Artifex himself wasn’t too affected by the chill. His choice of attire, while light in material, didn’t do anything to subtract his bodily heat. He hardly shivered as he stepped off the porch and headed down the driveway. The cane helped right his stance, though he still felt disgruntled by it.

A year without needing it… if only I hadn’t had that nightmare.

He shook the thought away. Mulling time would come later.

The young man strode beside his cat, keeping a steady pace, even with his cane impairment. They stopped at the end of the driveway. Francis flicked his head towards him, then cocked it in a questioning manner.

Artifex raised and swung his cane towards the right. “We go that way,” he said, eliciting an agreeing meow from Francis.

They walked at a steady pace, taking into account Artifex’s limp and Francis’s smaller size. Besides themselves, the wind was their only company. It seemed that the rest of the world had decided to sleep in; though, there was no surprise there, as the sun had only risen a few hours before. Artifex looked into a few windows, seeing that the lights were all turned off. No cars had left the garages; no father or mother had said goodbye to his or her children. No children, actually, had decided to come out and enjoy the day.

His looked back to his home, and remembered how different his family was. A sadness, one that felt familiar but truly wasn’t, welled up in him. It was with a mix of hesitance and gruff force that he pushed the feeling away.

The wind wailed a breathless song, leading them down the concrete path with its beckoning voice. And the giant, metal towers that stood alongside their stalwart, smaller, sister buildings answered the call with a brighter tone. The world wasn’t completely asleep.

Supposedly, Pinkie Pie worked with the Cakes family at Sugarcube Corner. Artifex had no reason to doubt that claim; but he had yet to even meet the pair in person. He wondered what they were like; if they were nice, or just as—he searched for a softer term—rambunctious as the party girl himself.

From Swift, he had learned that the Cakes had twins of their own; a boy and a girl, named Pound and Pumpkin Cake respectively. Pinkie helped babysit them when she could, and Swift aided from time to time. Soul had also, apparently, had experience in babysitting the twins; a detail that Artifex decided he would not ask for clarification.

Such thoughts made their way into the young man’s mind as he approached Sugarcube Corner. Francis had stopped along the way to converse with a resident tabby cat; of the topic, Artifex had no clue. Judging by the soft meowing and purrs, though, he surmised that his own cat had, at the very least, made a new friend. Now they were together again, looking at the Corner with varying emotions.

Artifex, for his part, knew the place well; Pinkie had thrown him his first party on his first day at Canterlot High. Whether it was a welcome sight to behold or a revolting place to witness remained unseen; in truth, he was more indifferent to it than anything. Francis, however, immediately focused in on the exterior decor. There was no doubt in Artifex’s mind that the cat’s eyes were glued to the chocolate-looking roof tiles and the table-sized cup that hung at the edge. There were some new additions, though, that hadn’t been there before. For starters, the sign was now a large cupcake instead of a simple rectangle, painted with pink in order to convey frosting. It shone with neon coursing through its veins, illuminating smaller tubes that looked like sprinkles.

Francis licked his lips in anticipation, and let out an impatient meow.

“The food’s pretty good, I guess,” Artifex said, “though I’ve only had that one mousse cake that Pinkie made.”

Francis hissed, then clawed at Artifex’s jeans. He danced just out of reach. “Okay, okay! I’ll make sure that Pinkie gives you some sweets to sample. Sheesh!”

The cat nodded at the negotiation terms. Artifex crossed his arms. “You can be really stuck-up, you know that?”

The only response he got was a little too self-satisfied of a purr.

Uncrossing his arms, Artifex resumed his walk, cane in hand. He stopped at the crosswalk leading over to the side where Sugarcube Corner lay. No cars appeared to be passing by, and no policeman was on traffic duty. He checked both sides numerous times. Then, satisfied that it was clear, walked across to the opposite sidewalk.

He paused in front of the doors, though. Francis, catching on quickly, mewled at him with concern.

“Was I supposed to bring anything with me?” Artifex asked the cat. “I mean, Pinkie didn’t say so… she just said I had to get over here as soon as I could.”

Francis blinked, then meowed back. Artifex sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. If Pinkie didn’t say anything, then I don’t need anything… unless she meant for me to bring something by not saying it.”

He shuffled nervously on his feet, feeling a bit of pain run up his limp side. Francis cocked his head and meowed, this time more in a questioning manner.

“Hey, you never know. Pinkie seems like the kind of girl who’d do that.”

“Pinkie’s the kind of girl who’d do what, Arty?”

The door had swung open so fast and without warning that both Artifex and Francis jumped in fright. While Francis landed on his feet easily, the boy toppled back into one of the tables. His hand still gripped the cane in a deadly lock. He managed to prevent himself from crashing even further by shooting his arms back and grabbing the edge, but didn’t stop the rapid jolt of misery that coursed through his left leg. The discomfort was evident on his scrunched-up face.

“Oh, shoot!” Looking back over, Artifex realized that Sonata, of all people, stood in the doorway. The ex-Siren immediately rushed over, helping Artifex to his feet. “I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”

He winced as the pain slowly but surely made its way out of his system. “It’s fine, Sonata, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Are you okay? Do you need some ice?”

“No, I’ll be fine, I think.”

“You sure? And what’s with the cane?”

Choosing to try and divert attention away from the tool, he simply said, “Bit of an old injury kicking in.” He looked at her strangely. “What are you doing here, though?”

The question easily pushed aside any concerns regarding the cane. “Me? I’m helping Pinkie out, duh! Isn’t that what we’re all here for?”

“‘We?’”

“Yeah. All of us! You know, the gang, the compadres, the companions, the… uh… other terms for our friends?”

He leaned over, looking past Sonata. Inside, he saw that, indeed, their friends were all busy setting up the party. He didn’t bother counting how many, and leaned back in. “Well, yes, I suppose we are all here to help out. Though, why me?”

“More hands to help out?” Sonata shrugged. “That, and she wanted you to meet with the Cakes before they went on their September vacation.”

He was about to ask what that meant, when Sonata gasped, interrupting him. “Oh, who is this cutie-patootie?” she exclaimed, pointing a finger at Artifex’s companion.

“Oh, right. Him.” Artifex gestured between the two. “Sonata, meet Francis, my cat. Francis, meet Sonata, my friend. Say hello, Francis.”

“Hi!”

“… I said for Francis to say hello.”

The cat nonetheless let out a greeting meow, and seemed to puff out his chest slightly. Sonata giggled. “Aw, he’s so cute!”

Francis took the compliment in stride, letting out a thankful purr. Artifex mumbled, “Careful, you’re inflating his ego.”

Sonata started, staring at Artifex with wide eyes. “Wait, you can understand him?”

He shrugged. “Kind of. It’s not perfect, my method of understanding, but I can at least figure out what he is trying to say in human terms.”

Sonata suddenly grabbed him, staring at him intensely. “Teach. Me. Everything.”

He pried her off, keeping his balance on his cane. “Maybe later. For now, I’ve gotta go inside.”

“Ah! Right!” Sonata leaned back inside the Corner. “Hey, guys! Artifex’s here!”

“We already know, Sonata!” he heard Rainbow’s raspy voice yell back. “We heard you scare him!”

“Oh, right.” Sonata giggled. “Anyway, why don’t you guys come on in?”

She stepped back in, allowing the both of them to enter through the glass doors.

Nearly all of the bakery had been completely redone, transformed into a mish-mash of party decorations and assortments. The sound of balloons being blown combined with the smell of whatever delicacy was being prepped in the kitchen. Just by looking around did Artifex see how busy everyone was.

Applejack, Sunset, and Soul were at the booths, placing down pink, thin tabletops at each table. Coupled with each top were sets of plates, napkins, and fork-and-spoon combinations. Artifex’s eyes were briefly entertained by view—Applejack and Soul were arguing over proper utensil arrangement (“Spoons go on the right side!” Applejack argued, while Soul insisted that they be next to the forks), much to Sunset’s amusement. Soon, however, Artifex looked away.

The young man then looked to where Sonata was leading him past. A ladder held up Rarity as she placed and taped several, iridescent lights onto the paling ceiling. Below and beside her were Rainbow and Clyde, handing her the lights strand-by-strand.

“C’mon, Rarity!” Rainbow huffed. Her voice was more raspy than usual. “Just tape them up there! You don’t need to be super precise!”

“On the contrary, Rainbow Dash!” responded the fashionista, slamming a strand hard against the ceiling for emphasis. “Placement is key to providing a positive atmosphere! And it helps make the whole mess not look so bad!”

“Look bad? Rarity, they’re just lights!”

“Perhaps, but they are important to the decor!”

As the argument continued, Artifex saw Clyde look his way. They waved to each other.

“Having fun?” asked Artifex.

Clyde shrugged. “Hey, I’m helping my boo out. I can’t complain.”

“Clyde? Who are you talking to?” Rarity craned her neck, then gasped. “Oh, my! Artifex! There you are!”

Rainbow coughed. “Uh, Rarity? I literally just said that he was here!”

“Yes, well, I was busy working on these lights! And… he’s with a cane, no less.” Rarity frowned. “Sonata, you didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“Me?” She shook her head. “No, he brought it with him.”

“Old injury,” he clarified sharply.

“Ah, I see. Well, you’re here now, so you should be able to help out.” The boy raised an eyebrow at the slightly demanding tone. “Be a dear and tell Rainbow the importance of light placement!”

“What…?” he asked.

“‘What,’ exactly!” Rainbow exclaimed. “You tell her Arty! Nobody’s gonna care about stupid lights!” She shook the ladder with vigor at the last, excited statement.

“Rainbow! Quit shaking! You’re gonna make me fa—AAAAA!”

“Whoa! Gangway!”

In an alabaster-and-teal twirl, both girls came tumbling down. Clyde managed to dart under and catch his girlfriend, while Artifex, maneuvering swiftly even with his cane, was able to grab Rainbow before she hit the ground.

“Rarity! Geez, are you okay?” Clyde asked, gazing deeply into the fashionista’s eyes.

“I am now,” she whispered back. Her hand reached up and caressed his cheek.

Artifex distinctly heard Rainbow sigh and smack herself between the eyes. “Who’d say that kind of sappy crap?” she groaned. “At least you aren’t doing any of that!”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he recalled just “who” he thought would say the “sappy crap.”

Rainbow pulled herself up and dusted off. “Nice save, though,” she added. “You and No Clue can be quick when you need to be.”

The ghost of a smile faded into a phantom’s frown at the mere mention of the name. Sudden as the change was, it somehow sent a jolt from his cane to his impaired leg. Rainbow didn’t notice.

“Artifex!” Sonata called from somewhere ahead. “There’s some people over here who want to see you.”

“You better move on,” Rainbow said. “Before Sonata talks your ear off.” She shivered. “Trust me, I know.”

He only offered a somewhat sullen nod.

Looking around, he found that Francis had seemingly disappeared. But a dash of apricot revealed in his peripherals revealed that the feline had followed Sonata to the kitchen. Which, he figured, was to be his next destination. He got up, swinging his cane lightly.

After saying goodbye, Artifex continued past the counter area. With a dart to the left, he found himself in the kitchen, where he could smell various bakery items being… well, baked. He rested his walking stick at the side-wall, letting his body lean against it, as he observed the room.

To his surprise, even the appliances were as colorful as the rest of the establishment. Contrasting the typical, grey-metal ovens, the one in Sugarcube Corner more closely resembled a gingerbread house, with its brown face and whipped-cream edges. The stove was more akin to gumdrops than blank, circular roundabouts. The sink, just as colorful, was filled to the near brim with dishes, pans, pots, and other kitchenware; yet, somehow, managed not to overflow, despite the clear presence of continuous, running water. As soap bubbles floated out of the sink, Francis jumped onto the side and stared at them. He stuck a paw out, and poked the bubble, curious. It popped, and his fur stiffened in surprise, and he leaped away—right into Artifex’s arms.

“Gotcha,” the young man said as he managed to wrap the cat between one arm. Francis squirmed and hissed but, to his dismay, could not gain enough leverage to break free. Using his stick, Artifex pointed at the counter, emphasizing it with an air-drawn circle. “That’s what you get for jumping where you shouldn’t jump.”

In an oddly human manner, Francis stuck out his tongue and made a “blowing-raspberry” gesture with his lips. Artifex booped him on the nose. “There’ll be none of that. Behave yourself.”

Francis sulked, but resolutely fell silent and still, and Artifex did his best to hold him comfortably.

“Eek! Swift!” cried a familiar voice. “That’s not how you do the cakes!”

“Well, then how do you do the cakes?” the aforementioned Swift replied.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” Sonata called.

“Oh, Sonny! No, it’s fine, come in! Is Arty there?”

Sensing that as a cue, Artifex strolled in with Francis hanging by his arms.

Immediately, he saw that Swift was in front of another oven, toiling away at some sort of delicacy—a cake, if not several, according to Pinkie’s previous statement. Said party girl was behind him, seemingly attempting to coach the somewhat klutzy lad. Swift, leaning over the stove, had one hand placed on the counter, while the other was holding a blue icing bag. The cake appeared misshapen, with its brown complexion not quite rich, nor quite poor; if Artifex could choose a word to perfectly describe it, it would have been “conflicted.”

“Oh, hi, Arty!” Pinkie greeted exuberantly, her attention seemingly taken away from Swift’s baking. “You got here just in time!”

“Did I?” He raised an eyebrow at the display. “I suppose I got here just in time for something… Oh, and hello to you, too, Swift.”

“Hey, Artifex!” Swift said with a wave. His other hand, still holding the bag, moved with the other hand, effectively spraying down the side of the cake and the rest of the counter. “Yipes!”

As he made to grab a paper towel, he somehow managed to lean down on the stove’s switch, pushing it all the way to its limit. With a roar, the stove flared to life, engulfing the cake in a fearsome inferno.

“Aack!” Swift and Pinkie jumped away, while Sonata jumped into Artifex in surprise.

“Quick! Someone call the fire department!” Sonata yelled.

“No, wait! I have a better idea!” Pinkie threw herself off of Swift and collided with the back wall. Beside her was a glass container with a fire extinguisher within. Unfazed, she pulled open the case and grabbed the extinguisher, then let it loose on the flame.

“YAAAAH! Take that, ya flaming freak!”

“Pinkie, quit waving that extinguisher around!” Swift cried. “The flame’s already out!”

“… Oh.”

Artifex, repressing a huff, surveyed the kitchen. Indeed, the cake’s flame had been truthfully and fully extinguished—as had a good deal of the rest of the appliances. Pinkie stared, dumbfounded for a second, then shook the steel tube. “Huh,” she murmured, “it’s empty.”

Pinkie had done it; emptied an entire chemical container’s contents in barely a minute. That, in it of itself, should have been impossible. But Artifex supposed it was to be expected.

Pinkie then tossed the extinguisher aside. “Well, that was exciting! But onto the more important stuff—hi again, Arty!”

“Artifex.”

“Artifex! Thanks for coming by so early!”

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice. Nor, really,” he added, “a reason as to why I ought to come.”

“What?” She cocked her head. “Didn’t my text explain it?”

He pulled out his phone and read off the series of texts. When he was done, Sonata said, “Actually, that does sound pretty vague.”

“Oh, well!” Pinkie giggled. “What can you do?”

“You can start by telling me what you need me here so early for.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Suddenly, she procured a clipboard and a pen from her hair. “I just need you to answer some questions.”

“Some questions?” He frowned, grip accidentally loosening. Francis wiggled free, and jumped to the floor. “Wha—hey! Get back here!”

“I’ll get him!”

“Sonata, wait—and, she’s gone…” Artifex sighed, rubbing his hand down the length of the cane. “I suppose no harm in letting them go. Now, what are these questions about?”

“First question!” she said, completely ignoring his own query. “What kind of cat food does Francis like?”

“What kind of—hang on.” He narrowed his gaze. “How’d you know his name?”

“Well, duh! Isn’t it obvious?” Pinkie leaned a bit forward, putting on an expectant smile.

“… No.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. I thought it was!”

Artifex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the topic on hand. Francis doesn’t really have a preference, though he’s more partial to the store-brand than anything, in my experience.”

“Super duper!” She scratched that down. “Next question: if a tree falls in a forest, and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

“Are you actually being serious right now—”

“Correct! Next question! Where’s No Clue?”

“Well, I—” Artifex stopped. His mouth remained gaping open as he turned to stare at the pink-haired girl. “I… I…”

“You’re what?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head. “Confused? Unsure? Bewildered? Befuddled? Baffled? A bunch of other B words?”

“No, I…” As his voice trailed off, he shook his head. “Nevermind. Your question just caught me off guard.”

“Okay?” He knew she wanted to question further, and immediately he moved to interrupt her.

“I don’t know where Clue is,” Artifex said. “The last time I saw him was on Thursday.”

“Really?” Pinkie leaned in, squinting an eye at him. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” He felt a bit of bitterness slip into his tone. “What, do you think I’d lie about that?”

Pinkie recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the sudden level of toxicity in his voice. “Wha-no! Of course not!”

Artifex simply stared at her in silence.

She rubbed the back of her head. “Well, shoot. That kinda makes it hard to ask the rest of these questions.”

“They’re all about No Clue?” Swift asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Yup! I wanted to try and surprise him by getting Artifex’s input!” She smiled brightly; then the smile faded away. “Of course, I guess since you haven’t seen him, that means you wouldn’t know what his favorite animal was. Or his favorite color. Or his favorite animal color.”

Artifex shook his head once again. “We’ve only known each other for less than a week. I hardly think that, in that amount of time, I’d learn about him to that extent.”

“I don’t know about that,” Pinkie replied, tucking the clipboard back into her poofy hair. “I mean, I’ve known you for about the same time, and I already know that your favorite color is blue!”

“… It isn’t.”

“Green?”

“No.”

“Orange?”

“No.”

“Red?”

The image of the crashing truck raced through his mind. “No,” he said tersely.

“Oh… I guess I don’t really know you that well.”

Artifex made no move to answer. Instead, his eyes drifted to the wall, following the lines to the exit.

“I haven’t seen Fluttershy,” he eventually commented. “Where is she?”

“Oh, she’s upstairs with the Cakes,” said Swift. “She’s helping them pack while Pinkie and I help bake.”

If Artifex strained his ears enough, he could faintly make out several voices on the floor above. Though, it was hard to discern whose they were; the hissing coming from the stairs was distracting enough.

Wait… hissing?

Artifex glanced back at the kitchen. The stove and oven had been turned off; no boiling water in a pot could be seen anywhere; and no source of steam could be found. It was unlikely that the sound was coming from here, then. Where was it coming from? And why did it sound familiar?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sonata suddenly rushing down the stairs. Breathless, she stood in front of him. “Uh, Artifex? Could you come upstairs? We have a situation.”

“A situation? What do you mean?”

“It’s Francis. He’s…” She looked from him to Pinkie. “He’s met the twins.”

“Oh!” Pinkie clapped her hands, back to her usual chipper self. “That’s not so bad, Sonny! Pound and Pumpkin are great with pets!”

“If by great, you mean they like to cover them with peanut butter and set them loose.”

Artifex’s eyes widened. “Ah… Francis won’t like that.”

“Yeah, which is why he’s hissing,” Sonata said with a nod. “At least, I think that’s why he is.”

“Alright. I’ll be up in a second to reel him in.” He looked back at Swift and Pinkie. “Nice to see you two again.”

“Likewise, Artifex,” Swift said.

Both he and Pinkie waved the young man goodbye, before returning to the kitchen. Artifex then nodded to Sonata, signaling her to lead on. She did so, and they made their way up the stairs.

“Is it just me, or did Artifex seem… different?” Swift asked once the young man and ex-Siren were gone.

“No, I noticed that to,” Pinkie said. She bent down and took a tray of cookies out of the oven. She placed them on the stove to cool off. “There! And that’s how you make awesome gingerbread men cookies!”

“Pinkie, it’s not Christmas yet… why are you making gingerbread men cookies?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Swift decided that was good enough of an answer. He returned to squeezing icing onto another cake. “Still, though, do you think he’s having an off day?”

“Maybe he is,” Pinkie said. “Which is why a party ought to cheer him up!”

Swift smiled. “Yeah. If it helped him back then, then it ought to help now.”

She nodded. “And maybe it’ll help him and No Clue make up!”

“Make up? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice? They’re obviously having some sort of argument! A party like this ought to bring them together!” She spread her hands, grinning. “And then the magic of friendship will do the rest, and they’ll be friends again!”

Swift couldn’t help but smile at his girlfriend’s enthusiasm. “Right. So we shouldn’t worry.”

“Right! Now, let’s get back to baking!”