Pinkie hopped gaily along the street of Ponyville, ignoring the fact that she lacked legs, any means of contact-based propulsion, and that her current relationship with gravity was akin to that of a distant cousin; they kept aware of each other but didn't really interact except on occasion.

Despite this, she still somehow managed to bounce and hop along the way as if everything was perfectly fine.

The streets were empty as she made her way to Sugar Cube Corner; not even the Cakes would be up at this hour. Well, Pumpkin and Pound might be, but their relationship with sleep was, unfortunately for their parents, rather similar to Pinkie's relationship with gravity.

In the pre-dawn hours, Pinkie's home and place of employment looked a little gloomy. Without lights to show off the vibrant paint and intricate architectural details, it looked rather less like a house made of cake and more like a normal house with a severe case of arthritis that could collapse at any moment.

But Pinkie did not concern herself with such things; there was baking to be done! But first, she had to get inside.

Unlike her friends, Pinkie was more familiar with moving in ways that the normal equine body was not meant to and had thus taken much more naturally to her ghostly form. After all, flying is easy if you already know how to swim. Even then, the door presented a difficulty.

"Hmmm..." she pondered, "What to do, what to do. Can't go under it." True, the bottom of the door was flush with the floor. "Can't go over it." As was the top.

She grinned. "Gotta go through it!" Luckily, the door was designed to swing open in three parts, which left a thin gap in the middle. Pinkie leaned in and pressed her face to the gap. The worn old wood resisted her, but she continued pushing as she began to slide between the cracks.

Like the world's strangest noodle press, her lips poked out into the cafe's interior, squished into a strange triangle. The rest of her muzzle soon appeared, followed by her eyes, ears, and mane. The moment all of her head was through, it popped back to its normal shape.

"Heeeeeres's Pinkie!" she giggled, before suddenly shushing herself as she heard movement from upstairs. "Whoops! Gotta be sneaky and quiet. Don't wanna wake anypony up. Ninja mode, activate!"

Her head dropped to the floor as the rest of her body passed through the cracks in a thin stream of smoke. She slithered along the floor like a python that had started to eat a pony, then given up with it got to the head. From shadow to shadow she moved, which was easier than it sounded since the room was mostly shadow anyway, but it was still an important step for proper ninja-ing.

Only when she reached the kitchen in the back room did she let her body snap back into shape. She continued floating from there into the catering kitchen; a secondary room reserved for when they had extra large orders to fill, or when Pinkie felt the need to experiment while the main kitchen was in use. She'd be safe to make noise here. The Cake's had had the room magically soundproofed after one-too-many of her Midnight Experimental Baking Parties.

She tapped the light switch, having easily figured out how to manipulate things without physical hooves, and let the room be cast in a soft yellow glow. Surprisingly, she was not alone.

"Hiya Gummy!" she cheered to the baby alligator on the counter. "Were you waiting for me to come home? Aw, that's so sweet of you!"

Gummy licked his eye impassively.

"Oh don't I know it," she laughed as she did a mid-air flip, "I'm so wispy and floaty." She sailed in to give her pet a hug only to have her hooves pass right through him. Pinkie frowned. Gummy blinked. "Huh. Sure takes a lot of focus to touch stuff. Or maybe it's just cause you're alive that you're harder to touch." She brightened. "But I can fix that!"

Curling her tail like a spring, she tightened, released, and sproinged in a perfect arc to the high shelf where the heavy duty cookbooks were kept. In mid-flight, she gave the book on the end just enough of a push that it lost its balance and followed her to the floor. It landed with enough of a thud to garner a dust cloud of finely ground flour and sugar particles that had, until then, peacefully resided between the floor tiles.

Once again, Pinkie thanked the silencing charms built into the walls.

The encyclopedia-like cookbook had fallen open to a page somewhere in the middle. Pinkie began quickly rifling through them, finding the pages much easier to affect than Gummy.

"Alright Assistant Chef Gummy," she said, "Here's where we are. The girls and I took down the bad guy but got all exploded too. Twilight can make us new bodies, but it'll take a while. Probably because she has to note every little step and write a research paper on it just in case. So until then, I need something to move around in so I can keep baking cakes and hosting parties and doing all those important little things that keep everypony happy and smiling. You got all that?"

Recently promoted Assistant Chef Gummy blinked.

Pinkie turned back to her cookbook, which she had finally flipped past the extensive pudding section and entered fudge territory. "Now, I think Twilight said I needed Styxian fudge to make the best golem, but I don't know that recipe so let's see what Mr. Croquebouche's-Complete-Compendium-of-Confections has to say.

Her hoof scrolled down the page, past standard fudge, strawberry fudge, and striped fudge. It continued going until it hit superb fudge at the bottom of the page. She checked again, in case she had missed it. But despite a second search, there was no Styxian fudge recipe to be found.

"Aw, that's disappointing... and I was looking forward to trying a new recipe too," Pinkie muttered before clapping her hooves and brightening again. "Well, you know what they say: When life doesn't give you lemons, make a milkshake instead!"

She began flipping through the book's pages once more, abandoning the use of her hooves and letting a few strands of ghostly mane do the work. It was just as easy and much faster to boot.

"If it's going to last a week then I'll need a recipe with a long shelf life. Something good and solid too that'll hold my weight." She continued to flip, faster and faster. "Something I can decorate and make pink, no, pink." In an instant, the pages came to a screeching halt on a page that landed between the cake and cookie section. She blinked as she reread the page's title and a wide smile grew on her face. "Oh, that'll be perfect. And this mane trick is pretty handy too. I wonder how far I can take it?"

Pinkie's face scrunched as she concentrated, focusing everything she had on this new goal. Many ponies, especially those visiting from out of town, thought of Pinkie as being somewhat dim. A bright and happy mare yes, but without much complicated going on upstairs. This was not true. Pinkie Pie was, in fact, remarkably clever. She was just always thinking about so many things at once, that sometimes her mouth and even her body couldn't keep up with her brain. When she put her mind to something; the pink mare could accomplish wonders. And now those troublesome physical limitations had been removed.

It happened slowly. Like an ethereal octopus awakening from its hibernation, ghostly tendrils separated from her mane and began to twist and spread out across the room. Some grabbed bowls and trays from the cupboards. Others began to switch on the ovens. A few lifted up a floor tile and made their way down a tunnel, returning moments later with industrial-sized bags of flour and sugar. One strand in particular weaved it's way back to the main shop floor where it scrawled a quick message on the daily specials display board.

Morning Mr./Mrs. Cake! it read, Got back late and didn't want to wake you or the foals up. Working on a big project in the catering kitchen. Special rush job. Don't worry, I'm using my own stock of base ingredients from the party cave! May need to borrow some spices though. Pop in to say hiya when you get up!

A few hesitant strands made their way to the back of the kitchen where they fumbled with a matchbox as they tried to light Grandfather's pilot light.

'Grandfather' was an ancient oven that filled the entire back wall of the auxiliary kitchen. Made of tough red brick rather than metal, it was as strong and sturdy as the day it was built. In fact, up until the birth of their son Carrot, it had been the most treasured possession of Bundt Cake and Sugar Cube. It could produce miraculous results, but as a drawback it usually needed multiple ponies to operate. Someone had to be on the bellows at all times.

Pinkie hmphed in dissatisfaction. This was going to be trickier than she thought. While she could manipulate her new mane tendrils easily enough, she still couldn't see what she was doing at each station. She could feel, kinda sorta, but there just weren't enough eyes to go around. For a moment, her mind wandered back to that one time with the mirror pool...

"No. Nope. Nooooooooosiree." Pinkie chided herself, "Don't even think about it. It was way more trouble than it was worth, and who even knows what might happen with me like this." Still, this was going to be a big job and she couldn't help but think of how many hooves made light work. "Though I wouldn't turn down some help." As some of her thoughts still lingered on the Pool, others started to wander off. It wasn't very long at all after that Pinkie felt a small hoof patting her shoulder in a comforting manner.

She looked up, wondering who it could be and how they were managing to touch her so solidly. Much to her surprise, it was herself. Or rather, a miniature Pinkie who had formed at the end of one of her mane tendrils.

She blinked. "That'll work." She offered a hoof to the tiny mare. "Hiya tiny Pinkie."

"I-ah!" Tiny Pinkie shook the larger hoof as best she could with both teeny hooves.

A grin split the larger mare's face. "Oh you are just too cute! I could eat you right up! Omnomnomnom!"

The little mare giggled and Pinkie Prime felt the sensation come down the link through their mane.

"You know, I think we should invite a few more friends to this baking party. Whaddya say Pinksqueak?"

"Oiyo!" came the cheerful reply.

With a burst of joyful energy, a blue pulse travelled the length of Pinkie's body from the wisp of her tail up and across the network of manipulated mane. As the energy reached their tips, another quarter-sized pinkie popped into existence on the end of each tendril, their tails forming the connection to Pinkie's main body. Aside from being smaller, their only visible difference from the original Pinkie was that they lacked the vibrant blue glow where her eyes would have been. They waved to each other as Pinkie inspected them encouragingly.

"Oh yeah, now we're cooking! Alright teams, gather up!" The puppet Pinkies hopped smartly into equal lines and threw a coordinated salute. A sergeant's helmet formed out of the little bit of Pinkie's mane that hadn't yet been co-opted into a ghostly tether. "We've got a big order to fill so let's all do our best, okay!"

Small Pinkies cheered in soft wordless mewls.

"Alright, first team: Icing and fondant station. Second team, secondary cake. Third team, go mare the bellows; we need Grandfather good and hot. Team four, you're freelance; help the other teams as needed. Teams five and six, you're with me making the main dough. Pinkies, roll out!"

As the Pinkies spread out across the kitchen the air began to hum and thrum with magical energy, producing a ghostly, but surprisingly catchy and upbeat tune.

Ripping open a burlap sack of flour, Pinkie dumped its entire contents into the industrial mixer, and then another one as well. Cooking team five formed a conveyor belt to the refrigerator from which they unloaded pounds of butter and countless dozens of eggs. Team six hit up the pantry and purloined a king's ransom in cinnamon, ginger, and other spices. Keeping an eye on her smaller compatriots, Pinkie added a pinch of salt and another of baking powder for every pair of eggs that entered the rapidly filling mixer.

In other sections of the room, the other teams were hard at work as well. The bellows team had found a steady rhythm, and were were bouncing up and down like giggling yo-yos. The icing team too was beginning to gather their ingredients, pinching a few eggs and boxes of powdered sugar off the chain of transport.

Meanwhile, the dough team was making excellent progress. The mixer was ago, blending together the dry ingredients as Pinkie slowly added nearly a gallon of molasses and a whole sand castle's worth of brown sugar. With quickening pace, the disparate ingredients blended and incorporated themselves into a thick brown paste. Even now before baking it gave off a scent that filled the room with sweet, spicy goodness.

When it was done, Pinkie (as well as her assisting teams) carefully carried the whole mixing bowl into the walk-in freezer to let it cool.

Team two was hard at work mixing their own set of batter. Though they were working in a more normal quantity, it still was a group effort. One mini-Pinkie could hold a wooden mixing spoon, but it was like a spear on her tiny frame. Half the team carried over more eggs and delicately removed the yolks. Several more members held a large mixing bowl steady, while a lone Pinkie sat atop an eggbeater which she pedaled like a unicycle. With swift teamwork (and swifter pedaling), she beat the eggs into fluffy white peaks.

The icing team had scoured the depths of the pantry and returned victorious with a bowl of dragon fruits, which they were now juicing and adding to their simple mixture of egg whites and sugar.

Everything was chugging along smoothly. Pinkie mentally juggled the simple actions of her helpers and the sensations they sent back while doing all the intricate work personally. The icing was progressing steadily, the body batter was chilling, and the mane batter was nearly mixed.

And then all work suddenly halted as a soft cough heralded the arrival of Mr. Cake.

His mane was disheveled and his eyes carried heavy bags. Clearly it had been a difficult night for the twins, and the bone-dry mug he held in his hoof indicated that he had yet to find any relief. His under-caffeinated brain churned through what he was seeing at the speed of molasses.

Pinkie was back. And was baking. A lot. Also she was grey. And had apparently become some sort of recursive gorgon-pony. Huh. Hopefully she wouldn't turn him to stone. That would make getting coffee hard. Did recursive gorgon-ponies turn ponies to stone? He'd never bothered to think about it. Maybe it would turn him into a Pinkie instead. At least then he'd probably know where the reserve coffee beans are. Which was why he'd come in in the first place. Right. Coffee.

Unable to handle such abstract concepts at such low-power, Mr. Cake's brain firmly decided to outright dismiss the things his eyes were telling him in favor of a more acceptable worldview.

"Mornin' Pinkie." he greeted plainly, "Welcome home."

"Good morning Mr. Cake!" came the synchronized reply of the Pinkie platoon.

"You have a safe trip?"

She glanced at herselves spread about the room and shrugged. "Eh. More or less."

"Good, good." He nodded along blindly. "Say, do you know where the Missus keeps the emergency coffee beans?"

"Of course! Here, I'll get them for you!" He lifted his leg as a Pinkie smaller than one of his foals ran under and past him, returning mere moments later with a glass jar filled to the brim with small brown beans of salvation.

"Thank you." He took the jar from her and emptied it into his mug, taking a long sip as he crunched them expressionlessly between his teeth. He turned and left without another word.

Pinkie shrugged and returned to her baking.

The big blob of dark dough was done cooling, and the light airy batter was ready for baking. She sent a team each to deal with them. She could feel Grandfather getting hot. His tenders had worked relentlessly, jumping up and down on the bellows in perfect time. These were large pieces she needed to bake, and they had to be done all the way through lest her legs give out on her.

She took a hunk of thick clay-like dough from the chilled bowl and smacked it down on the floured table before her. And then she began to sculpt.

Strange shapes grew on the table as she worked her magic. Odd oblong pieces of dough bristling with tabs and slots. Some had rounded ball-like ends while others had truncated spherical voids. Complicated parts in some bizarre three-dimensional puzzle. Her helpers prepared new sections of dough, roughly parting them into the right sizes, but only the OverPinkie did the fine shaping and details, following a guide that only she could see.

And then, off into Grandfather's great, gaping mouth they went as flames roared in the back of his throat. The wrought iron door clanged shut behind them.

In a display of perfectly coordinated cooking, the timer on the modern stoves went off at just that moment. Three teams of Pinkies hopped into action, carefully transporting the comparatively enormous tray to their originator. Pinkie flipped over the over-sized mold and carefully ran a knife along the inner edge. Then, with a soft *pomf!*, out popped a perfect, fluffy Celestial food cake the size of a large foal.

Pinkie poked it with a spoon. It gave and gave, and continued to give until the spoon nearly protruded out the other side, and then sproinged back smoothly without so much as a blemish.

Juice from the dragon fruit had been added to the mix, dying the cake a lovely shade of pink.

"Looks good," Pinkie confirmed, "Now it just needs to be styled."

With meticulous control of her morphogenic field, Pinkie raised a very special and very expensive bakery tool. A length of razor-thin wire, braced on each end by a wooden handle. She clicked a button and the enchantment sprang to life. The wire began to move. It raced out of one handle and into the other, never lengthening, never losing tension. Tenderly, she touched it to a corner of the cake.

It passed through like the cake wasn't even there. The cut was so clean, it even took gravity a moment to realize that something had happened and that it needed to apply itself.

Pinkie grinned and raised it above her head. In a flash of light and a whirl of angled strikes, she sliced at the cake too many times to count. It held still for a moment before most of it suddenly fell off in bite-sized portions, perfect for topping ice cream with. What remained were two large pieces of cake, cut perfectly into the exact shape of her usual mane and tail.

She passed it off to her helpers who moved it to an empty table for the final assembly. She took a few minutes to clean up a little while her body pieces continued to bake. Not that cleaning took very long when you physically could not become fatigued and had a team to help.

A bell dinged, and the shrunken sous chefs raced to be the first in line to help. As the iron door was opened, the rich mellow scent of ginger saturated the air.

Everything was cooked to a perfect dark tan, not an ounce of char anywhere. Pinkie's minions brought the rapidly stiffening confections to her, where she used a file to clean up a few rough edges that had swollen or otherwise distorted in the heat.

And then she began to assemble them. Tab A fitted into Slot B, and Flange C twisted and locked into Hole D. Each connection was secured with a healthy glob of thick royal icing. Bracing supports interlocked and stacked layers fit into place like books on a shelf. Pinkie sang as she connected pieces together like a foal's block set.

"Oh the hoof bread's connected to the *Snap!* hock bread. The hock bread's connected to the *Scrrchk!* hip bread. The hip bread's connected to the *Pop!* pelvic bread. And that's how the leg is made bum bum bum..."

The hip joints did not actually make popping noises (the lubricating jelly around it silenced any noise), but Pinkie felt it was fitting, and added the sound effects herself.

In no time at all, the pony-sized jigsaw puzzle grew in shape and detail, quickly assuming familiar dimensions. A few things she changed as she worked. Hollowing out a limb here, or adding some surprise filler there. Whatever amusing changes came to mind in the heat of the creative moment. A thick coating of pink icing sealed everything in place and ensured that, if worst came to worst, she wouldn't find herself without a leg to stand on. Pinkie ran a damp towel across her creation, smoothing out imperfections and giving it a beautiful sheen. While it was still moist, she lightly ran a fine comb across the surface, giving it the barest fur-like texture. With a few carefully arranged pieces of fondant, she had her eyes and cutie mark back. The mane and tail, once glued on with more icing, completed the grand work.

It was stupendous. A true marvel of culinary engineering, the likes of which Equestria had never seen. Layers of decadent dragon fruit flavored royal icing surrounding a sturdy gingerbread skeleton (baked to holiday-quality perfection) and topped with a mane and tail of the lightest Celestial food cake. Putting the mouthwatering fragrance aside, you'd have to be close enough to take a bite before you could even realize it wasn't even a real pony.

Pinkie nodded, satisfied with her efforts. "Alright girls," she spoke to her aides, "Thanks for the help, but like the Buddhist zebra at the Manehattan hot-carrot-dog stand once said, it's time to make you one with everything. And I'm the everything."

Like a fishing line being reeled in, the many strands of animate mane began to retract, slowly merging back into the whole. The little Pinkies waved cheerfully to each other as they diminished. They were not sad. After all, they had never been separate beings to being with; only fragmented parts of a larger whole. As the last few strands returned to Pinkie's usual mane shape, she shook her head a little woozily. Suddenly having a few dozen slightly differing memories could do that to you.

Shaking it off, she turned around and squared up with her delicious double.

"Run, run, run as fast as a wink," Pinkie rhymed as she took a running leap into her completed golem.

*VWORP!*

Frosting lids blinked over fondant eyes above a growing grin. She struck a triumphant pose. "You can't catch me, I'm Ginger Pink!"

She paused and tapped her chin contemplatively. "Should that be The Ginger Pink? Ginger Pink pony, maybe? But then we'd lose the rhyme. Eh, it's a work in progress."

She spun on her heels (a feat made easier by a pair of giant jawbreakers she'd installed just for that purpose) and struck a few poses as she slowly rolled over to Gummy, who had not moved since she'd returned home.

"Whaddya think Gummy? Am I not the picture of pilotable pink pastry perfection or what?"

Gummy leaned forward, then overbalanced and fell into Pinkie's waiting arms.

"Aw, you big ol' sweetheart." Pinkie cooed, "C'mon and give your mommy an overdue hug."

She clutched him to her chest in a true bear hug, accompanied by a soft squishing noise. She pulled him away after a moment, confused. The tiny gator was covered in pink frosting, for which an equal amount was missing from Pinkie's chest and forelegs.

"Oops," she giggled, "Guess I should have let it set up first. That's okay though, I have plenty more where that came from!"