Thunk, thunk, thunk…

With the final nail fully sunken into the painted piece of wood, you stand back and admire your handiwork.

Before you is, by all accounts, the most perfect wooden stand the world has ever seen. Every single piece is perfectly level, down to the millimeter. Zero chips or splinters anywhere; you could wrestle naked on this thing and not come away with a single scratch. That won’t be happening, of course, but you feel that the outlandish example is absolutely necessary to capture the full scope of your craftsmanship.

You circle your breathtaking work, enraptured by its magnificence, unwilling to tear your eyes away from the divine cut of the-

“Geez, Anon, are you gonna buy it dinner first, or what?”

You’re brought back to attention by Spike calling out to you from behind, holding the tool bag open for you while he walks closer. The hammer is dropped back in, its weight dragging the bag downward slightly before he zips it shut.

“Might as well, if it looks that good. How many of the stands are fully up and running now?”

The question is more apt to floating around in the open air, rather than be directed at anyone in particular. Both of you swivel your heads to survey the park in its entirety, more than happy with the progress you three have made in such a relatively short amount of time.

The snowfall from earlier this morning had died down a fair bit since you had all made it to Ponyville Park, reduced to naught more than a fleeting few flakes fluttering in the wind here and there. The morning fog, too, had disappeared, leaving you with a full view of the snow-covered field, white as the surface of the moon. You felt bad, marring the downright picturesque landscape with your boot prints, but alas, there was work to be done.

And work, you did; within only an hour and fifteen minutes - give or take a few - the three of you had finished helping with nearly the entire roster of vendors present, stopping only for a brief respite here and there. Twilight handled any logistical problems, while you and Spike sorted out any problems with anyone’s physical setup, a la their stands, overhead tarps, positioning, et cetera.

Now, the only thing that stood between you and a fun day at the fair were two booths. Coincidentally, these two were the ones you looked forward to helping the most.

With pep in your step, you grab the tool bag from Spike, who hands it to you without much thought. Slinging it over your shoulder, you turn in the direction of the end of the park, where the final two points of interest awaited you across a small, snow-capped bridge hanging closely over the gently flowing creek that separated the park into two sections.

Wordlessly, you turn to Spike and kneel down, holding out your hand for him. He climbs up to your left shoulder and perches on it, steadying himself with his claws as you stand to your full height once more. He’s not tiny, per se, but while most ponies come up to your hips or lower waist, Spike clocks in around your knees.

As you begin your brief walk toward the final two tents, you hear him sigh into the open air, his eyes skyward.

“I hope the weather stays like this for a while,” he muses, almost wistfully.

“For the day, or the season?”

“The season. The last winter we had was pretty short thanks to something that happened at the weather factory, so I’ve really been missing the cold like this.”

You cock an eyebrow at the mention of a mishap up in Cloudsdale.

“What happened up there?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“I dunno. They said it wasn’t serious, but they wouldn’t really talk about it beyond that.”

“So, while the rest of Equestria had a genuine winter, you guys had, what, two months or something?”

“Something like that,” he grumbles, as if it had just happened. “I mean, it was still pretty cool outside for a while because of the natural weather, but it would’ve been nice to have a blizzard or two, ya know?”

You’re not entirely sure about that one. Heavy snowfall is one thing, but a blizzard? No thanks.
“Yeah, I understand. I thought dragons loved the heat, though?”

“Most of us do, but I didn’t grow up in the Dragonlands, so I’m way more used to Ponyville temperatures. Still immune to lava, though, so that’s pretty cool.”

Before your conversation has the chance to continue, you’ve come upon a rather grandiose tent, styled extravagantly with all sorts of candy-centric designs and flair. Stopping a few meters shy of the entrance, you pick up on a jovial conversation within, singling out the voices of what sounds like BonBon and Mrs. Cake, among others that you can’t quite place yet. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you’ll figure it out soon enough. Besides - the one you’re primarily here for is probably in the back.

Rather than simply enter, you get Spike’s attention with a nudge of your shoulder, addressing him with a hushed voice.

“Can you check and see if they’re facing the doorway for me?”

He looks confused by your request at first, but quickly switches to a knowing grin, complete with a raised eyebrow.

“Trying to surprise the queen of surprise parties herself?” he jests, clearly confident that you’ll fail.

You know you’ll fail, too, but that won’t stop you from trying. Hell, you being here in the first place is a surprise in and of itself, so maybe it’ll work!

“Well, it’s definitely worth a shot. I feel like she’d appreciate the effort.”

“Either way, she’s gonna flip, so I’d get ready if I were you,” he replies, shifting himself to disembark from your shoulder as you kneel.

With a mild spring off of your shoulder, he takes off into the entrance flap, disappearing behind it as it takes its natural form once more. Standing back up, you stretch out your back with measured gusto, your breath hitching for just a moment as it reaches its apex.

It shouldn’t take him too long, hopefully. How big can one tent-

Before your thoughts can fully form, you feel two slender, minimally fuzzy appendages snake around your torso, interlocking in front of your stomach. The grip tightens to an ungodly level of pressure, and for a brief moment of breathlessness, you consign yourself to what might become the loss of your entire lower torso.

Thankfully, the intense initial grip subsides as quickly as it arrived, sparing you from a paraplegic fate.

“NONNY!!!” she squeals with delight, giving you another, far lighter squeeze.

Still, you double over, but the frenetic mare holds on tight, smushing her cheek against your back and rubbing it up and down in affection. You laugh with what strength you have left, straining your arms to reach behind you and give whatever you can reach - thankfully nothing risque - a squeeze.

“Pinkie!” you gasp, using your free hand to tap out on one of her hooves.

Mercifully, she lets you go, and the oxygen once again returns to your lungs as you turn to face your cuddly assailant. She beams up at you, her toothy smile spanning across her entire face.

You could swear she’s vibrating.

“OH MY GOSH! I had no idea you were in town! How long have you been here?” she exclaims, absolutely no pauses in between sentences.

A few years ago, you would’ve asked her to repeat herself. Thankfully, even with your extended absences, you’re accustomed to it enough now that you can usually just pick up on what she says the first time.

“Just last night, actually. Uh, how’d you-”

“Get the jump on you?” she finishes for you, not missing a beat.

As if to couple her explanation with a physical demonstration, she starts mimicking what she was doing when she supposedly noticed you coming.

“That was easy! I was helping Mrs. Cake make the last few batches of cupcakes ‘cause we were running out of time to get the stand ready for the festival, and when I went to throw one of the batches in the oven, I got this itchy feeling right behind my left ear that I only get whenever you’re nearby and I haven’t seen you yet, so I threw it in the oven really quick and snuck out of the back of the tent while you were sending Spike in, and when I saw my chance, I went in for a good old Yakyakistani bear hug!”

Well, that explains why the hug almost outright severed your spine. But, wait-

“An… itch told you I was coming?” you ask in confusion, a frown of disbelief dragging your brow downward.

“Yep!” she responds, almost proud of it. “I’ve got a different one for everypony!”

…How has this never been brought up before now?

She brings a hoof to her chin in brief contemplation.

“Well, it isn’t always an itch. Sometimes it’s a tingle, sometimes I get the shakes… You get the idea, don’t you, Nonny?”

Not at all.

“Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying. Anyways, how’ve you-”

A miniature cupcake finds its way into your mouth, courtesy of one baby pink forehoof rather haphazardly shoving it in there.

“No time for small talk!” she resolutely proclaims, a determined expression quickly replacing her signature smile. “How’s that taste?”

Were it most other mares, you’d be a bit upset at this sudden invasion of your personal space, but you’ve long since come to realize that popping personal bubbles is just something Pinkie was born to do, and very likely couldn’t help herself from doing it.

Without hesitation, you bite down, her sense of haste unusually infectious. A bit tart, with a hint of cocoa somewhere in the mix. The cream cheese you taste before you swallow binds it all together, and a cavalcade of sweet, yet savory flavors spread over every inch of the inside of your mouth. A terse grunt of approval rises from your soul; you sure do love red velvet cupcakes. Red velvet anything, honestly.

Glancing down at the best baker you’ve ever met, you stifle back a hearty chuckle when you see her head cocked at an awkward angle, one single eye pointed straight at you with the mother of all raised eyebrows reaching nearly up to her hairline.

One succinct gulp later, and you smile as your judgment is delivered.

“That was ridiculously good.”

Her beaming grin returns once more, with her beginning to bounce in place to help vent her mountains of contentment.

“Think you can help us make some more?” she asks. “We’ve only got a few batches left to make, and I could reeeeeeeally use some helping hands!~”

She punctuates her request by dragging out the final few words into a sing-song rhythm, flashing her pearly whites at you for effect. Couple that with the fact that she bothered to make the distinction for your hands in particular, and you find that it’s genuinely impossible to say no.

“As long as you don’t mind me being slower than you. Honestly, I haven’t done any baking in a really long time…”

“That’s okay!” she beams at you, content even with your self-deprecating answer. “Mrs. Cake and I can handle all the tricky stuff, like decorations. All you gotta do is fill the liners with batter and throw ‘em in the oven!”

…

Do not make the obvious joke. Not with her.

Devoid of an immediate response, she searches your face for any sign of an implicit answer. For some reason, she starts to giggle uncontrollably.

“You’re thinking of a dirty joke, aren’t you, Nonny?”

You suddenly feel a few degrees hotter, and it’s not the jacket’s fault.

“What?” you blurt out, looking unambiguously guilty.

Her giggle blossoms into full-blown laughter that doubles her over, a hoof held up to her chest to help keep her balance.

“Oh, I missed you lots, Anon,” she says after coming down from her howling. “Now, come on!”

She quickly takes your hand in her teeth and starts dragging you into the tent, careful not to bite down hard enough to hurt you. She winks back at you as you file through the tent’s entrance flaps, a rush of warmer air enveloping you both.

“That batter isn’t gonna make itself!”

The tent comes alive with the sound of duetted laughter.

---

A single bead of sweat rolls down your forehead, caught quickly by the sleeve of your undershirt before it can fall any further.

Letting your arm fall from your forehead, you gingerly pull the portable oven open, the last batch of cupcakes finally ready to be taken from its blisteringly hot cocoon. Keeping your eyes on the fuming maw, you reach to your left, pawing at the plastic table for a second or two before finally grabbing hold of the pony-sized oven mitts and slipping them on with a smidge of difficulty. Despite the fact that they were obviously not designed for human hands, you were able to find a workaround relatively quickly, even if it was a bit tedious.

With your appendages roughly three quarters of the way up the mitts, you scrunch the remaining length against the tray of cupcakes, using the slack to get a far better grip on it than if you had slipped them all the way on.

“You know I can get that without all the mitten issues, right?” Spike interjects, walking over from his perch on the table where he was helping you make the batter. “Heat resistance is pretty cool, ya know.”

“Yeah, but it’s easier for me to handle since I’m bigger.”

He frowns for a moment before considering your logic, ultimately deciding that an awkward grip on something small is better than having to leverage a tray that’s half his size.

“Touche, treetop.”

His little ‘jab’ earns an honest chuckle from you.

Cupcakes firmly in hand, you place them on the table, looking over each one individually before deciding that, yes, the batch is up to snuff with the rest of them. You smirk to yourself, feeling satisfied that your hideously amateur baking skills hadn’t diminished over the years in Canterlot. Years of late nights and early mornings never really left any time for hobbies, sadly.

You look back over your shoulder at the tent flap leading to the frontmost room, where you can hear Pinkie humming away as she and Mrs. Cake work on decorating the cupcakes.

“Last one’s out!” you call out to them, picking the tray back up and heading in their direction.

“Go ahead and bring it to the prep table, dearie,” Mrs. Cake calls out to you from the front room.

Pinkie was being exceptionally modest when she said they only had ‘a few batches’ left. In reality, it was something more like six batches. Not a ton for a bakery, mind you, but with the rather diminutive portable oven only able to hold one rack of something at a time, the whole ordeal became a rigorous test of time management in order to get the batches done before the fair started.

In between preparing batches and waiting for them to finish, you brought the Cakes anything that they needed so that their process, too, was sped up. They even let you decorate a couple of the cupcakes when there was downtime. Your handiwork couldn’t compare to their confectionary perfection, of course, but they seemed to love it all the same, arranging them randomly into their lineup of desserts to sell while you headed off to the kitchen again.

Coming out of your daydream-induced stupor, you brush aside the tent flap and head into the main sale area, where Mrs. Cake and Pinkie, backs turned to you, are working together on making sure the product shelves look good before the shop opens. It’s an impressive spread, really. Cakes, cupcakes, finger foods - you name it, Sugarcube Corner’s vendor tent has it.

That’s not where it stops, though. Interspersed throughout the displays are candies of all shapes and sizes, wrapped delicately and placed perfectly to compliment the ensemble of desserts that dominate your vision.

That’s strange. You don’t remember the Cakes selling any candy.

Hold on, didn’t you initially hear-

“Got that last batch for you, Mrs. Cake!”

Across the room from you, another tent flap spreads apart, revealing the candy mare of the hour holding a tray of sweets in her teeth. Her eyes rest on the center display for a moment, combing it over to find any empty space, before they eventually find you. Surprise dominates her features for a moment before Mrs. Cake’s voice brings both of you back to ground.

“Oh, good timing, Bon Bon!” she says in gratitude, both her and Pinkie turning to face the both of you. “Anonymous just finished with the last batch of cupcakes, so we’re almost done setting up.”

You take the opportunity to adopt your usual friendly disposition, flashing a smile at Bon Bon while bringing the tray over to the prep table behind the sales counter.

“Nice to see you again, Bon Bon.”

She flashes one right back at you, an eyebrow raised for flair.

“You too, Anon,” she responds after setting her tray down on the same table, subtly confused by your presence. “Celestia, it’s been a while since I last saw you. How’ve you been?”

You grab a frosting bag as the four others conglomerate around the prep table, each of you immediately setting to work.

“I’ve been…”

You trail off as you delicately pluck a cupcake out of its slot, liner and all, before handing it to Pinkie, who smiles at you before taking the frosting bag and beginning the base of the decorations.

It’s a difficult question to answer. Life has been quite shit, if you’re honest, but as of this moment, you’re pretty happy with where you are. Unemployment notwithstanding, obviously.

“…Decent, all things considered.”

She nods at your answer, taking a stack of cellophane wrapping and applying it to her candies as delicately as she can, her hooves working as well as any horn could.

How does that even work?

You chalk it up to some sort of innate magic before mentally moving on.

“Well, that’s good,” she replies, focused intently on her work while she chats with you. “Last I heard, you were up in Canterlot’s business district. Kinda surprised you’re able to be here at all, with the reputation that place has. You got a job at Flair, right?”

Memory of an elephant, this one.

“Yep. It was the ‘opportunity of a lifetime!’” you mockingly parrot, remembering their hiring manager’s exact phrasing she used to rope you in.

Another cupcake removed from the tray; this one you start to work on yourself, shadowing Pinkie’s speedy expertise with your own careful mimicry.

Your face sours as the past four years crawl through your mind.

“Until it wasn’t. I’m just glad I’m out.”

To your left, a long, drawn-out gasp rings out as Pinkie nearly drops the frosting bag she’s working with.

“You QUIT?!” she exclaims, going bug-eyed at you. “I thought it was your dream to live in Canterlot!”

Yeah, Anon. Wasn’t it your dream?

You frown as you stop your cupcake-centered ministrations. Thinking back on it now, you genuinely did want to live in Canterlot before your escapades with Flair. You met Peachy Keen there, who was one of the few reasons for your continued employment at Flair, in the last year at least. Was the agitation and displeasure you felt as you were leaving yesterday genuine disillusion, or was it something more temporary?

Pushing the business sector out of mind entirely, you think of Canterlot proper, with its stunning architecture and bustling streets. Your mind drifts to the conversations you listened to on the way home, recalling memories of regular people trading tales of family, success, and other things back and forth.

It finds Canterlot Castle at last, recollections of your first half-year in Equestria painting its halls and corridors. The two sisters smile at you from the vignetted past, as well as others who spent time with you, took care of you, and brought you up to speed with a life so unlike your previous one.

It dawns on you, then, that your attachment to Canterlot wasn’t to its brilliant locale, or its place at the throat of the nation - it was to the friends you had made. You didn’t need a stuffy job or a fancy set of dinner clothes for that. Besides…

It’s not like you can’t visit often, right?

You bring up a free hand to ruffle Pinkie’s mane, which she leans into despite still being superbly surprised.

“Guess I’ll need to find a new dream, huh?”

It’s Mrs. Cake’s turn to be surprised, looking up from her generously sprinkled cupcake to address you while she applies the finishing touches.

“You’re alright with giving up on it? Just like that?”

You shrug your shoulders, resituating your grip on the frosting bag.

“I’m not sure it was ever mine to begin with.”

A quick glance over at Pinkie turns into a held gaze as you scan her expression. Gone is the shock of your bombshell reveal; in its place is a soft, knowing smile, as if she had somehow heard every thought running through your frantic head. It’s almost prideful, in a way.

“Well, in any case,” Bon Bon chimes in, setting aside her final piece of candy. “It’s nice to have you back in Ponyville. Honestly, it was kind of weird not seeing you around for so long.”

“For some, more than others,” Spike quips from the right of you, done with his helping of cupcakes.

Actually, wait-

They’re all done with what they were doing.

You look down, and are met with a completely empty cupcake tray. In fact, the only one left is the one in your hand, still lacking any decorations beyond your adequate layer of frosting. You set it down, only for it to be immediately set upon by Pinkie, who dresses it up perfectly in a matter of seconds.

“Wh-”

The frosting bag hits the table with a resounding thud.

“How did you guys do that so fast?”

“Pinkie took, like, half of my share,” Spike replies nonchalantly, as if this had happened before. “Pretty much all of yours, too.”

…How?

“How?”

She giggles to herself as she moves to the front of the sales shelves, placing your cupcake right in the front of one of the ensembles.

“Baker’s secret!” she calls out teasingly as she surveys the counters for any missing spots.

From across the table, Mrs. Cake breathes out a sigh of relief, content with the composition of the goods.

“It looks like everything is ready,” she states resolutely, reigning in her excitement.

She looks over at Pinkie, who stands at the ready for whatever directions may come from her boss.

“You can take the rest of the day off, Pinkie Pie! You’ve earned that much, at least.”

Her surprise returns in full force.

“A-Are you sure, Mrs. Cake?” she asks. “Who’s gonna operate the sales counter?”

“Mr. Cake and Lyra will be over in a bit to help with that,” Bon Bon interjects with a smile, plucking a candy from behind the counter and unwrapping it for herself. “Four’s a crowd, don’t you think?”

Coupled with the promise of extra assistance, Mrs. Cake’s reassuring smile melts any apprehension Pinkie might’ve had.

“Go have fun with your friends, dear,” she nearly coos, her soothing tone putting even you at ease. “We’ve got this.”

Even from across the tent, you can feel the vibrations begin.

Casting your gaze toward Pinkie, you realize that as her smile grows ever wider, the tremors grow stronger, an indicator of the elder pink one’s undeniable power. As it reaches crescendo, Pinkie blinks forward within the span of what must be milliseconds, wrapping both Mrs. Cake and Bon Bon in an exceedingly familiar spine-crushing type of hug. They’re in abject agony, but their faces, with their pained smiles, paint another picture.

“OHMYGOSHTHANKYOUSOMUCHICAN’TBELIEVEIGETTOSPENDTHEWHOLEFESTIVALWITHMYFRIENDSAND-”

A strained wheeze is all that escapes their lips. Finally realizing her own strength, Pinkie relents, setting the two future chiropractor patients down on their hooves.

“Oops… My bad,” she apologizes, a bashful grin dominating her features.

She shifts her gaze over to you and Spike, and for a second, you’re afraid that your spine may not be safe after all.

“Come on, you guys!” she exclaims, hastily throwing on her winter apparel that she had left on a clothes hook behind the front counter.

You do the same, retrieving your sweater and jacket from the highest hook, slipping them on amid the heat of the tent. It’s uncomfortable at first, but you know that you’ll be thankful when you head out into the winter winds again. You file in behind Pinkie as she quite literally bounces out of the front entrance, the pom of her beanie bobbing to the rhythm of her hops.

A quick look down at your watch reveals that it’s nearly time for the festival to officially start. With Twilight not having popped over to check on you and Spike in the hour that you’ve been helping, you imagine she must be dealing with some sort of logistical nightmare in that final tent. Normally, you’d like to stay far away from something like that, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving her alone to deal with it.

Even if she does enjoy it.

The three of you cross into the snowy field once again to find that none of the snow from earlier has melted; it remains the same winter wonderland you first happened upon hours ago.

Next Chapter: 5 - Reunion Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 20 Minutes