Lunch rush started around its usual time. One moment our flow of customers amounted to a steady trickle. The moment after, groups of three or five ponies are walking in at the same time. Happens every weekday. As usual, Teacake came in about two hours before we got rammed. The extra staff on board helps during the lunch window. They make things flow smoother, especially if another one of us is lagging behind for an emotionally devastating reason. Help helps, go figure.

Lunch rush is done now. There wasn’t anything too special about it, other than needing to do things faster. A lot of customers were here, and they had lots of bits I’m going to have to count after we close. In just three hours, enough customers came in to pay for the day’s expenses. That’s a good thing. I don’t have to worry about paying bills. I don’t have to worry about anything. I don’t have to worry.

Damn it, I don’t have to worry!

A light brown pony in an apron comes up to my side. “Hey, Mister Buttermilk…”

I jump at the voice. Several small blades jut out from my hoof. After seeing there is no threat, my composure returns to see who’s talking to me. Teacake. I look up from what I’m doing and give him a smile. “Yes, Teacake?”

Teacake is a straightforward pony. He does his job and he does it well. He’s also a quiet pony. He doesn’t say much when he’s baking and he tries to avoid serving the front counter whenever he can. He also never starts a conversation. Strange kid, but he’s the best guy I got, knows the kitchen better than himself. With all this in mind, whenever Teacake does say something directly to me, I know something is up.

In this moment, Teacake is saying something to me. Something is up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Sure I am, never felt better,” I say. “What makes you think otherwise?”

Teacake points at the table I’m working on. “You’re not kneading the dough. You’re tearing it apart.”

I look down at my hooves, expecting wads of scones ready to go into the oven. Instead, I have a single blob, with strips and pieces flung all over the table. It’s a bit of a mess, sure, but it’s not as bad as four small monster blades sticking out of my hoof and tearing up the dough. I hope Teacake didn’t see that.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say. I toss the dough ball onto the blades to hide them, allowing them to shapeshift to normal without Teacake seeing. “I just drifted off, that’s all. Had a late night playing poker with the boys. Happens to all of us.”

Teacake doesn’t seem to buy my answer, but he at least accepts it. He nods and turns to go on with his business, but then Berry Tart happens.

“Is it that thing with Rarity?” she says, poking her head around the industrial mixer. “She spooked you pretty good when she screamed this morning. You’ve been on edge since then.”

Of course it’s Berry. The girl has a need to talk. She’s learned over time her coworkers are of the silent kind, but that doesn’t stop her from finding any excuse to start talking with us. I’d wish she chose any moment but this to get us talking.

“Somebody screamed?” Teacake asks. No, you’re the good one! Please don’t get Berry going.

“Yeah, someone famous,” Berry says. Teacake doesn’t react much to the famous part. We get a lot of famous ponies walking through here. It is Canterlot, after all. And it is Teacake. “She screamed and started crying over something in the newspaper, then she ran out without taking her scones.”

“It’s a non issue,” I say. “We’ll give her a bag of free scones if she ever comes back. Though if she keeps on doing it, she might be scamming us.”

“No, you don’t get to dismiss it as an issue,” Berry says. “This is Rarity who freaked out. Rarity! This is a big deal. The whole city will be asking us questions about what happened.”

“And I trust my staff to tell the press we have no comment,” I say. I give Berry a stern glare. “I’m not joking. No comment. That’s the last I want to hear about it.”

Berry holds her hooves up in a defensive manner. “Alright, alright, I won’t say anything. You, on the other hoof,” she points a hoof at me, “Rarity set you on edge. You were going slow during the entire lunch rush, and you were almost unable to talk to the customers. A bunch of them gave you weird looks.”

“I’ve noticed that, too,” Teacake says. “You’re falling behind on all your tasks today. I’ve been picking up the slack to make up for your efforts.”

I wave a hoof in the air. Fortunately, the hoof doesn’t have any blades sticking out of it. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m as well as ever. None of this is a serious issue.”

I try to go back to kneading the dough, but Teacake places a hoof on my shoulder. “Sir, please go home. We all can tell you’re not well.”

“I’m fine, I told you that already,” I say. I brush off his hoof and go back to the dough. “It’ll take more than one screaming mare to throw me off my game.”

“We all know you’re a sturdy guy,” Berry says. “A screaming mare shouldn’t bother you at all. But something about Rarity got to you and you know it.”

“Except she didn’t,” I say.

“You can say she did or didn’t,” Teacake says, “But you’re still not feeling well. It’s going to affect the rest of the store. You do care about the store, don’t you?”

Teacake isn’t bothering to hold back his punches. I grumble. “Yes...”

“Then go home,” he says. “We can take care of the store. Just go home and relax. You don’t have to worry.”

I don’t have to worry!

I slam the dough on the table and walk off. My minions aren’t going to let this go until I do something about it. “Fine, I’ll go home. The store better not be on fire when I get back.”

“You’ll thank us later for this,” Teacake says.

“I’ll thank you by giving you your weekly paycheck,” I say back. I point at Berry Tart. “You better stay and help Teacake. You’re part responsible for sending me home.” And for kicking me out of my sanctuary. I want my sanctuary.

Berry nods. “Hey, I’ll take the overtime.”

“You better enjoy it, because I won’t be giving out more overtime anytime soon, to either of you.” Overtime’s expensive. I’ll lose a chunk of today’s profit just paying Berry the extra bits. She’s supposed to be getting off in an hour after she’s done the mid day cleaning. A few more hours of her sticking around it going to bite.

“Just get some sleep,” Teacake says. “We have you covered.”

I grumble some more as I step out of my store. Another thing I like about Teacake, he knows how to run the store without me, which he’s had to do on a couple of my sick days. He’s also responsible with the money. I double checked his profits against the ledgers and he’s an honest kid. Better than most of the griffons I know, that’s for sure.

Oh no, I’m going native. Tanya would smack me for even implying anything bad about griffons.

I don’t have to worry!

Usually I’d be going home close to or past dark. The sun is high in the sky. This feels weird. It’s far more crowded than it was when I woke up. The streets are full of ponies going back and forth doing business wherever business needs to be done. And here I am, amongst the business ponies, going home so I can nap or whatever.

At least it’s not Manehattan. Traffic there is a literal apocalypse.

I said I don’t have to worry!

I pass by a pair of patrolling guards. The smile at me, I smile back. Nothing is wrong between us. Everything is fine. I am just an ordinary citizen, nothing to report to your superiors. I am certainly not an at-large fugitive wanted for the murder of over a hundred mercenary personnel and the assisted escape of one of Equestria’s most dangerous villains. No, I bake scones and donate to local charities.

I said I. Do. Not. Have. To! Worry!

Ugh, maybe my minions were right. I think I am on edge. How the heck is Rarity friends with Pinkie Pie, anyways? They live in two different worlds, how does it happen? Alright, Pinkie Pie is Pinkie Pie. She gets around a lot. But was she such good friends with Rarity that she made the unicorn cry? Oh no, your acquaintance is a terrorist, you shall now bawl your eyes out and scream through Canterlot. I bet I was a closer friend to Pinkie Pie than Rarity ever was. Heck, I saved the mare’s life! I should have the right to cry, not Rarity.

If I know Pinkie Pie better than Rarity, then why am I not the one crying? Should I cry? Am I supposed to cry? Is that not what a friend is supposed to do when something terrible happens to another friend, cry?

To be fair, Pinkie isn’t dead or anything. I’d cry over that. She’s just in custody under the authority of Blackwatch, the organization that’s bent on hunting me down and holding a power grip over Manehattan. She’s not dead. I bet she’s fine.

I don’t have to worry.

I said I don’t have to worry!

…

“Fuck! I’m worried!”

The ponies on the street look at me. Some of them jump back in surprise. Woops, I wasn’t supposed to scream that. I give them all a sheepish smile and wave. Everything is fine, carry on. Some of them relax. Some don’t. Either way, they all continue on their way. A lot of them look over their shoulder to make sure I don’t do something crazy.

Am I going to do something crazy? If I’m going to be honest with myself, it’s a legitimate concern these ponies should have on their minds. I should not be around anyone.

Ah great, I think I am going off the deep end. I speed up my walk to a near run, making my way as fast as I can towards home. Can’t be outside right now. Can’t be outside. It’s a bad idea for me to be outside. Someone could get hurt.

Some guards and cops take notice of me rushing through the streets, but they don’t pay me any more heed. I’m just going a little fast. A bit odd, but nothing illegal. I make record time to the line of town houses on Canterbury Street, and by extent I make record time to my own home. I fumble with the keys when I arrive. I get through my door fast, but not fast enough.

The door slams behind me, and I’m quick to go around and close all the shutters. The place goes dark, too dark for any normal pony to see. Of course I can see. I can do a lot of things ponies can’t. See in the dark, run fast, eat ponies whole, I can do it all.

I don’t have to worry!

Need to relax. I slump on the couch when all the blinds are closed. My pony body shifts into my familiar griffon form. At home, I’m safe. Safe at last. And the world is safe. Everyone outside is safe, too. My head leans back and I let out a breath.

But I can’t relax. My eyes won’t close. I stare off at the ceiling. Pinkie isn’t safe. She’s not safe at all. I’m here, lying on a couch, and she could be wailing in agony in a Blackwatch dungeon somewhere. But how can I know? I can do a lot of things, but I’m not omnipotent.

My Gilda senses ping for Pinkie Pie. Nothing comes back. Either she’s too far away, or she doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a fifty-fifty chance in favor of either possibility. Gilda sense isn’t fine tuned in telling me the status of the people I’m looking for. Nor is it great at telling me if they’re actually those people. Not many frills with this ability.

My talons rap on my stomach. Ah, Pinkie, Pinkie, Pinkie. Could be alive, could be dead, could be deep underground guarded by hoards of blue-eyes. She could be anything, and I have no way of telling what’s happened.

Got to relax. Got to relax now. I get up and head to the kitchen, where I grab a beer out of the fridge. I pop the cap and chug it down in one go. I don’t even know why I’m drinking this crap. Alcohol can’t do squat for me. I never buy the stuff. A friend gave me this six pack months ago and I’ve never touched it since.

I finish chugging the bottle and wipe my mouth with a claw. Can’t taste it, can’t feel it, it’s a poor choice in psychological remedy. Maybe I should find something stronger to calm my nerves. Light the fire place and huff the smoke, or maybe paint the house black with the windows closed and breathe in the fumes. Or I can drink bleach. Does bleach work?

I slam the beer bottle on the counter. It shatters into a hundred glass fragments. I don’t really care. Damn it, why am I on about Pinkie? First the thing with Rarity, and now I’m going on about Pinkie. Is this guilt? Do I feel guilty? I shouldn’t feel guilty. I did nothing to Pinkie that would make me feel guilty. This can’t be guilt.

The couch beckons for me. I walk over, but then I remember about the bottle. I got to clean it up. I head back into the kitchen, but I don’t care about the bottle. So I head back to the couch. But I need to clean it up. Back to bottle, then couch, bottle, couch, ad nauseam. I’m so glad I don’t have roommates. I’d drive them nuts!

Back, forth, back, forth. Am I guilty of something? Well, yes, Luna seems to think I am. But Pinkie, did I do anything to her? Did I do anything to make me feel guilty for her? I partook in the destruction of the daycare. No, I don’t think that’s it. The boat, I didn’t take her with me on the boat. I didn’t get her out of Manehattan when I had the chance. No, that’s not it. She wanted to stay in Manehattan. Help the needy or something like that.

My fist smashes into the wall, leaving a clean hole in the plaster. I leave it in there as I hang my head. Pinkie, Pinkie, Pinkie! Do I owe you something? I think I owe you. You gave me a boat ride out of Manehattan. You gave me a chance to escape. I gave you the empty promise of breaking out a friend. You gave me a boat and bug lady stiffed us both. Wild goose chase for Rainbow Dash, you gave me that, and you gave me a boat to get out.

What would Rainbow Dash say right now, the real one? Gilda, use your Gilda senses right now to find me this instant so we can hang out and do stuff. Do what good friends do, you know?

…

Nah, too much effort. She wouldn’t be in Canterlot anyways. This place is too upper crusty for her.

No, Rainbow wouldn’t want me to find her. She’d want me to be an actual friend, a hero friend. She’d want to go find Pinkie, break her out, and beat up any Blackwatch goon that stands in my way. Rainbow’s all about loyalty and stuff, right? Loyal friends will risk their beaks for their other friends.

I pull my arm out of the wall and groan. Aww, I can’t. I can’t go out on an adventure, not right now. I have a scone shop to run. I’ve put so much of my life into the place, I can’t give it up now. I head over to the couch and plop down, staring at the ceiling again.

Go save Pinkie, that’s what Rainbow wants me to do. Let’s think about what will happen. I will go, I will probably break Pinkie out, no problem. Blackwatch isn’t too hard to deal with if you catch them by surprise. But that means I can’t run the scone shop for a while. I can’t play with dough. I can’t play with the ovens. I can’t play with money at the end of the night.

Going after Pinkie means giving up my sanctuary.

Maybe I could leave it for a while. Berry says I need a vacation. I could let Teacake manage for a while. But if I promote Teacake, then I’d have to find someone to replace Teacake’s position. And then when I come back, I’d have to get rid of the person because I can’t afford the extra guy. I’m not ready to expand my employee count just yet. I’m still saving money for more store renovations.

My claws run over my face. Oh this is tough. Why’d you have to get captured now of all times, Pinkie?

Hold on, let’s think. Pinkie is probably still near Manehattan. I don’t know for sure, but I can check. It would take me a day by train to get to Manehattan, or at least near to it. If I take a few days off to find and rescue Pinkie, and then two days for a round trip, I don’t think I’d be gone for more than a week. I’d leave Teacake in charge for the time being, and I’d get a week of “vacation” to do what I need.

But I’d have to dip into my savings to pay the guy overtime. A week straight of morning to evening shifts is not cheap. I also made a slight conniption about not giving more overtime today. Can’t go back on my word, can I?

This is hard.

My hooves fall on my stomach and I stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an hour. I’ve never had the inclination of becoming a parent, but I think I have an idea of how it feels to have kids. Shit comes up but you got to take care of your baby. Oh, woe is me, a single mother of a well off bakery.

…

I have a thought.

What if, bear with me on this… I don’t go and save Pinkie Pie?

…

Nah, that’s stupid. I got to do it, one way or another. There’s no getting out of this.

I clap when another thought pops in my head. The suitcase!

I still have the blue suitcase as leverage. Well, I don’t have it in my house. That’d be silly. I put the suitcase in a spot only my Gilda senses would find. I don’t want someone robbing me and stealing my greatest advantage against my enemy.

The suitcase, it’s the big reason no one’s come after me, I hope. I’d be slightly worried if I made those threats to Luna and the only reason they haven’t come after me is because they don’t know where I am. If they’re still hunting me down, that means I would actually have to do good on my threats and see if I can pull an apocalypse out of that suitcase. I’d rather not. For one thing, I don’t think it will give me an apocalypse on the first go, or the second, or third. For another, I like the world. I don’t want to end it.

In any case, I can still use it indirectly. A devilish little grind spreads over my beak. I hop off the couch and head up the stairs to my study. That’s where my desk and writing tools are. I throw open the door to a cozy little room. An oak desk, a bookshelf stuffed with documents and ledgers from the store, a heavy locked safe, and a lamp overlooking the desk.

I jump into my desk chair, pull out a sheet of paper and a quill, and begin writing. The letters I write come out in beautiful calligraphy. My words look drop dead gorgeous. As a griffon, I could never write anything close to this good. All my writing came out as chicken scratch. But as it turns out, there was a Blackwatch goon I ate a while back who had the most incredible penmanship skills. Boom, overnight calligraphy.

Before the hour is over, I finish the last word of my document, and give it a swift signature. I look it over once more to see how I like it. I smile. It’s exactly what I need.

Written before me in fancy letters is a letter that says the following. “I know you have Pinkie Pie. I want her released. Let her go within seven days or I will unleash the end of the world. You know I can, Princess Luna. The terms are non-negotiable.

XOXO – Gilda.”

Perfect. This will take care of everything. What is the fate of one mare compared to the entire world? Of course the Princesses will let Pinkie go. They know I can unleash the apocalypse. Everything will be fine.

I put the letter in an envelope and seal it. With some more fancy calligraphy, I address it to Royal Sisters at the Canterlot Palace. I put the return address as my old apartment in Manehattan. That’ll get them thinking.

I hold the envelope up to the light and lean back. Yep, this should solve my problems. I get Pinkie released and I don’t have to pay Teacake overtime. Gilda, you’re a genius. Ignore what all those bullies said back in highschool, you’re the smartest kid on the block.

Ah, this is good. I’m not freaking out about Pinkie Pie any more. I wonder what I’m going to do for dinner tonight. Pizza sounds tasty. I think I’ll order in a pizza.

Author's Notes:

Publisher's Notice: It has come to our attention you recently installed a mod to a licensed instance of our property. With the data we extracted when you installed our software, we found where you live and will be mailing you a fine for recompense. If you wish to avoid more fines, remove the mod immediately and cease any further illegal activities. We thank you for your future cooperation.

- Activision Blizzard Inc.