Equestria is finally trekking into spring. The air is still nippy at this hour, but the sun is starting to rise about the same time as I get out of my house. I can look forward to not walking through Canterlot in utter darkness soon. It won’t be long until the pegasi cut back on the snow and start up the rain cycles.

I lock the door to my house just as the first lights of dawn cross the sky. Two Royal Guards walk past my doorstep. They look tired and groggy, as would anyone who has to work the late night shifts. Their shift change is at the end of this hour, so those two will soon be sleeping in their bunks while I’ll be busy getting ready to start my own day. There’s got to be irony in there somewhere.

They both wave at me as I walk down my steps, and I wave back. I turn towards where they just came from, facing away from where they’re going, and make my way up Canterbury Street. It’s a nice little road to live on. Lining the street are townhomes tucked together, colored with whites, blues, and golds with speckled flower beds attached to the windows, typical of Canterlot architecture. The street’s not too far from the business district, yet not too pricy that I need a king’s ransom just to live here. Of course the rent is still sky high, this is Canterlot after all, but at least my job can easily pay for it.

As I trot through the capitol roads, I come across more ponies scattered about, all rising for their early morning work. A pony here, a pony there, the street is peaceful compared to the crowded business district at lunch time. It’s peaceful, but not as peaceful as midnight. At midnight, the city is sound asleep, resting quietly while it dreams the night away. Morning is when the city grumbles as it has to get out of bed. It wants to sleep for ten more minutes, but it needs to do things today. Sours the mood a bit. I prefer midnight peace to morning peace.

After fifteen minutes of walking, I make it to the business district. Two minutes after that, I’m at a door underneath a sign that says, “Buttermilk’s Family Scones.” I flick out a key and unlock the door, opening the gateway to my sanctuary with a little bell jingle.

The shop is still asleep. Chairs are flipped on top of the tables and rugs are rolled up to the side. I ignore these for now and head for the kitchen behind the counter. The ovens roar to life as I turn them on one by one. Powder fills the air as I pour my ingredients into the big mixing bowls. The building hums with life as the large industrial whisk machine blends those ingredients together. Mmm, I love the sound of that machine. The store is waking up to start its day.

With the machines do their morning routines, I head out to the lobby and prepare everything. The chairs get flipped back onto the ground. The rugs are put back into their places. The windows get a quick wash to get rid of the hoof prints kids like to make. I swear the kids have it out for me. They just can’t keep their hooves off perfectly good windows. Got to put their hoof grease all over the glass. Every day man, every day.

When I’m done with the windows, they’re clean enough to see my own reflection. I smile at the handsome devil in the window, and he smiles back. He’s got a lemon cream coat with an eggshell white mane. His smile comes with a few lines on his face, typical of a stallion his age. The spectacles over his eyes make him look ten years older, but they do give him an air of wisdom. I thought the spectacles were a nice touch.

Through the window, I see another pony coming in from the street, a pink unicorn with a purple mane. Right on time. The door jingles when the mare comes in. “Good morning, Mister Buttermilk,” the mare says.

I smile back at her when she greets me. “Morning, Berry Tart.”

Berry Tart returns the smile, and it makes even my grumpy old heart flutter. The mare has one of the prettiest smiles in Equestria. I swear this shop wouldn’t be half as successful without that smile. The mare holds out a folded newspaper for me while she charms me with that precious smile. “The paper boy gave this one free today.”

“Of course he did,” I mutter, just quiet enough for Berry not to hear. That’s the thing with Berry Tart. She has the prettiest smile in Equestria, and she knows it. She melts stallions in her hooves with that smile. I’ve caught a couple guys giving her generous tips at the cash register just because she smiled at them. I don’t even accept tips! She deliberately butters up my customers to get more spending cash out of them. It’s the big reason why I adore her.

I take the paper from her and thank the girl, and she heads to the back to move the dough to the next stage of prep.

At least she’s a good worker. She’s not my best worker, that honor goes to Teacake, but she’s still good. She knows her way around a bakery, and she was quick to figure out her smile doesn’t work on me like the other stallions. It’s a mystery to her why that is. “It’s my eyes,” I told her once. “They can’t see like they used to. But I can see your happiness.” I don’t think she bought it.

Enough of her, let’s see what she brought. With newspaper in hoof, I look at today’s headline. “Blackwatch”- My stomach drops when I read the first word.

The world freezes around me for a long moment. I put the paper down and look out the window. More ponies are starting to walk through the streets. There’s a pair of Royal Guards on patrol in the middle of the growing crowd. Given the time, they have to be the morning shift. Neither of them pay my store any mind. The Guards continue on doing what they always do at this hour, walking the road.

I breathe in. I hear no airships. I hear no static. I hear no growling. Blackwatch is not in Canterlot. They’re hundreds of miles away in Manehattan. There is nothing I need to worry about.

I look back at the headline on the paper. “Blackwatch Captures Manehattan Bioterrorist.” I breathe out. That's not me. It’s not something to worry about. Good riddance. I toss the paper on the counter for a customer to look at and head back to the kitchen to assist Berry Tart. Don’t get distracted, there are scones to bake!

The shop soon fills with the scent of baking goods. The smell relaxes me as I keep on working. It’s such a pleasant, warm smell. I know of no soul who would decry the scent of baking goods. If there are any out there, I pity their existence, as their lives must be miserable if they can’t appreciate the scent.

Ten minutes before we open, the first batch of scones comes out of the oven. They’re piping hot and tickle my nose. Berry puts them in the glass display case that’s part of the front counter, and I go to unlock the door and flip the window sign from “Closed” to “Open.” Right on the dot, the door jingles as the first customer comes in, and thus Buttermilk’s Family Scones begins its day.

Over the next few hours, the volume of ponies out on the street continues to grow as Canterlot’s business district, for lack of a better word, does business. A steady stream of customers pours in from the crowd, each marked by the jingling of the door bell. Berry and I bounce back between the cash register and the ovens and mixers, selling scones to the hungry masses, keeping the store living and breathing as the hours go on. It’s like this every day, some days more busy than others. Today is slightly below average. We’re starting off a bit slow, but that’s okay. It’ll pick up around lunch time, and Teacake should be around at that time to help with the rush.

I love my store.

The clock ticks to nine thirty, almost half an hour before Teacake arrives. Around this time, the door jingles to announce a peculiar customer. The jingle grabs my attention, there’s a customer to attend to, but it doesn’t grab my interest. It’s not until she speaks that my senses tingle.

“Oh, what a lovely bakery,” I hear her say. “The décor is quite rustic, exquisitely charming.”

Berry and I are kneading dough next to the industrial mixer, which is running. Mixers are rather loud when they’re running, loud enough that Berry could never in her life be able to hear what the mare who walked through the door just said. I, on the other hoof, heard every word, every inflection, every quality in her voice, and it all sets an alarm off in my head. It’s not a bad alarm, but more of an alarm for me to pay attention. The best way to describe it is to call it a friendly alarm. Odd, never felt something like this.

While Berry can’t hear the mare’s voice, she did hear the door jingle. She’s about to head up to the counter to greet the customer, but I signal I will get it. Something has my curiosity, and I have to see it for myself. I leave my dough to be kneaded at a later minute and head for the register. “Welcome to Buttermilk’s Family Scones,” I say. My aging grandpa voice gives my greeting a warm spirit to it. “How’s your day treating you?”

The mare looks at me with a smile when I grab her attention. She’s a gorgeous unicorn, with a coat that’s as white as the marshmallows I put is some of my scones. Her mane is a purple, shiny curtain that curls and drapes down the side of her face. She has a truckload of makeup on, though I have to say she applied her kit in a tasteful way. The mare is obviously skilled with her beauty products.

She’s a new customer. I’ve never seen her before, yet something about her feels familiar. I can’t figure it out, but that friendly alarm is now a blaring siren trying to tell me something. Peculiar indeed.

“My day is treating me splendid, thank you for asking,” she says with a smile. “I have several new dresses to put on display at my boutique, and I’m quite excited to see how Canterlot reacts to my new line.” Just hearing her accent sends that alarm screaming up the mountain. I don’t get why. It’s nothing special, just one of those fake uppercrust accents Canterlot is fond of. I hear those all the time.

“Sounds like something special,” I say, hamming up the grandpa voice. “And you came here to fill up for the day, I bet.”

“Indeed,” she continues. “But it comes from a sense of curiosity more than hunger. I keep walking past this place for the past year, yet I never have the chance to visit. I’m always either in a rush to get to my boutique, or I eat breakfast before I come, so I never feel compelled to come inside.”

“You’re here now,” I say. Clearly this mare is going to be a talkative customer. That’s fine, it’s a tad slow at the moment. I can spare some time. “Any special reason today is the day you decided to visit my little bakery?”

The mare shakes her head. “Nothing special. I just decided last night I’d stop by this morning to see what the fuss is about. So far I’m intrigued. Your choice of furnishings reminds me of my grandparents’ house. That’s a good thing, by the way. It’s a nice breath of fresh air from the high end designs most Canterlot restaurants go with.”

I shrug as I take the compliment. “I just set things up the way I like. I enjoy my cozy sanctuary.”

What I don’t say is I got most of the seating and the decorations from a flea market. The six wood tables, twenty bits total. The twelve chairs, forty bits. Other decorations that can only be described as tack and knick knacks, thirty bits and a beer for the merchant. I make more in one hour selling scones than what I spent decorating the shop. Order a baker’s dozen and she’ll pay for five of the chairs!

“It’s heavenly. Makes me want to live here,” she says.

“I work here so much, I might as well live here. ” I say. She giggles at my little joke. I think she's just being polite. “Since you’re here, anything on our menu that interests you?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” She taps her chin as she looks over the display case of scones and pastries, fresh from the oven. I have a warning for anyone who comes in. If you look at the display case for even a second, you’ll be bombarded with colors and smells that will send your stomach into a riot just to eat them all. It’s a serious problem for mares on a diet. This mare looks like she might be on a diet. Those are my favorite mares. “It looks all so good.”

Ah, I see it in her eyes. Her mind says no. But her taste buds say, Out of the way, mother fuckers! Anyone who gets between me and that strawberry scone is getting cut! Too starve for beauty, or to gorge for pleasure, the ultimate challenge for any woman.

I tap on the glass, pointing out a lemon tart scone that came out of the oven a mere ten minutes ago. “We’re experimenting with a new recipe that doesn’t use any sugar. It’s a recent addition, but so far everybody who’s tried them can’t get enough of them.”

The mare’s head tilts as she examines the scones in question. “Sounds enticing. I think I am in a lemon mood, now that you mention it.”

I smile. Hook, line, sinker. Her bits are mine, Mwahahaha! “They’re fresh out of the oven. A warm way to start your day.”

“I think I’ll go with the lemons then.” Yes! Give me your money! “Six please, if you would. I want to share some with my assistant.”

“You ask for six, I shall give you six.” And you’ll pay the ridiculous marked up price on these goods. Canterlot is where the money’s at, baby. Food here is insane. Heck, my stuff is on the cheaper end of the spectrum. If I ran a fancier place, all my flee market furniture just needs one scone to pay it all off. It’s guilt free extortion! “To go, I assume?”

“Three to stay, three to go. I want to enjoy this place a little longer.” The mare’s eyes glance down at the counter, and her gaze falls upon the newspaper I placed earlier. “Mind if I sit down and read that? I’m terribly behind on the times.”

I wave at the paper, not bothering to look at it. I don’t need to see that Blackwatch headline again. “Be my guest. It’s for anybody to read.”

She thanks me with a smile. I silently thank whoever’s watching that this mare’s smile isn’t as potent as Berry’s. I don’t need two perfect smiles in my life. I bag the scones for her, she happily pays the outrageous price in bits, and we finish the transaction. The mare takes the newspaper and heads to a table by the window. I head to the back to finish kneading the dough. Nice girl. Don’t know why that alarm is still going off in my head.

When I get back, Berry Tart is staring me down with wide, intense eyes. “Don’t you realize who that is?”

She points to the mare, and I follow her gaze. The unicorn is sitting at the window, nibbling at a scone and flipping through the paper. I take a moment to analyze her. The only thing of notice is my internal alarm. “Nope, never seen her in my life.”

“That’s Rarity,” the young baker hisses. “How can you not recognize her? She’s one of the biggest ponies in Canterlot! You should get her to sign something.”

At this point the alarm stops blaring and instead goes for an ungodly shriek right in my ear. Good thing it’s in my mind, otherwise I’d have fire ponies inbound to hose my store down. “Sure, she’s not petite, but she’s not fat either.”

Berry gives me a light jab in the shoulder. “Not that! I meant she’s big as in she’s famous.”

“You know I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

“You should. They’re your customer base.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t get paid enough to care. Wait a moment, I pay myself! “Fair enough. Why is she famous?”

“She’s like… well, you know… She’s…” Berry looks up at the ceiling as she stumbles over her words. “She like… knows people.”

One of my eyebrows goes up. “She knows people. Is that it?”

Berry shrugs. “She also saved the world a couple times. I guess that counts.”

“Bullshit,” I say. My eyes snap back at the unicorn sitting at the window. That does not look like a pony who saved anything more than a diamond earring falling down the drain. And yet the alarm is still blaring. “What, does she recycle? Did she donate money to a few charities?”

Berry looks up again as she thinks. “Um, I think she helped defeat five, maybe six evil entities that wanted to destroy Equestria.”

“Pfft, please, the mare is too dainty for that.” A mare with those looks wouldn’t dare allow herself to step in mud, let alone get down and dirty with a bunch of villains.

“Apparently she made it work with a few other ponies,” Berry says. “Something about the Magic of Friendship or some mooshy stuff like that. In all honesty, no one cares about that. She’s famous because she knows people.”

Geez, the girl allegedly saves the world and ponies only like her because of connections? “Seriously, celebrity status is in higher regard than heroism in Canterlot?”

“She also makes pretty dresses,” Berry adds. “She’s really good. I got a couple of her gowns.”

“So she knows people and makes dresses, and saves Equestria as a side job.” I glance back at Rarity. If all that’s true, then she must live an interesting life. “I believe two thirds of that.”

Berry shrugs. “Hey, it’s what everybody says, though I don’t know if anyone’s ever seen her save the world. I think it’s her fan clubs hyping her up as a bigger than life figure.”

“Fan clubs? You Canterlot ponies have fan clubs?”

“Don’t act surprised. Even a country bumpkin like you should know this stuff. Heck, you have a bakery in Canterlot. ”

“So I do, but it’s going to take more than the heavens above for Canterlot to beat the country out of me.” Which country, I don’t specify. I’ve intentionally left my place of origin vague and mysterious. Oh, people try to figure it out. Teacake is on a theory of how I’m running from the mob because I didn’t pay off my protection insurance. I like that theory.

Our conversation breaks when the door jingles again. A new customer walks in, and Berry trots off to go service the guy. She sees he’s a young adult stallion, so she immediately puts on her perfect little smile and starts playing the coercing game with the poor dude. I allow her to do so. I still make more money than her.

I head into the kitchen to finish kneading my dough. At the same time that unicorn won’t get out of my mind. Rarity, oh Rarity. Seems you have a reputation in these parts. She’s nice, I suppose. I don’t know if you actually saved the world or not. Some investigation is required to figure out the truth behind that. Here’s the question, do I care enough to investigate?

After a quick wash at the sink, my hooves sink into the dough for me to knead. Will I investigate? Normally, no. I’m above Canterlot debauchery. However, there’s an alarm in my ear that’s been going off since that unicorn walked through the door and it’s pissing me off. I got to do something about it!

Again, it’s a friendly alarm, no danger about it. Rarity doesn’t look like she’s going to blast me with a magic shooter anytime soon. Or stab me with a bunch of knives. Or turn into a tentacle monster and bite my head off. She looks harmless. Then again, looks are deceiving. Case in point, me.

Friendly alarm, so maybe she has a surprise party planned for me? That would be awfully nice for a stranger to do. Emphasis on awful. I don’t have time for a surprise party right now. I have a store to run.

Do I recognize her from somewhere?

The subconscious equivalent of a “Ding Ding Ding” goes off along with the alarm. Oh good, she’s someone I recognize. I don’t know who or what or when I recognize her, but I guess that’s what it is. Alarm’s still going.

So I recognize her from somewhere. Um, a party? Hoofball game? Cousin’s cute-señera? Sweet mercy this is killing me.

Alleged national heroine, slayer of multiple villains… Did she try to kill me in Manehattan?

A scream breaks my train of though. This isn’t in my head, it’s in the store. The friendly alarm switches over to my danger alarm. At least it’s not screeching in my ear anymore. I drop the dough and rush to the front of the store, where the scream came from.

Finding where the scream came from is easy. The couple customers in the store and Berry all are looking at the same spot. The scream came from the one mare on my mind, Rarity. The unicorn looks to be in complete shock. Her pupils are pinpricks, her eyes are watering, a hoof is over her mouth, and she’s on the brink of sobbing.

Being the good baker boss I am, I run up to my shocked customer to figure out what’s going on. “What happened?” I ask as I come up to her table. “Did you see a rat? I’ll kick that exterminator in the rump if there’s a rat!”

Rarity looks at me, then shows me the newspaper she’s holding. “My friend,” she says, voice quivering. “They have my friend.”

I glance at the paper. It’s the headline, the same one I dismissed earlier. “Blackwatch Captures Manehattan Bioterrorist.” I didn’t pay much attention to it earlier, but now that a customer is freaking out about it, I take a closer look.

Below the large words is a black and white picture. The picture is of a troop of Blackwatch goons escorting a pony in hoofcuffs. Right away, I recognize the pony the blue-eyes have in custody. Pinkie Pie.

“They have my friend,” Rarity whimpers.

…

Fuck!