Too Hot to Handle
by FanOfMostEverything
Prompt: Difficult Rice
Pinkie always looked forward to meeting new creatures, and Twilight’s time on the throne had led to all kinds to befriend. In just the first few months, the new diplomatic outreach programs had covered most of the globe, sometimes making inroads to nations that had barely even heard of Equestria until now. Pinkie had gotten to shake all manner of appendages, learn of all manner of new holidays, and try all manner of new dishes.
She’d also had to fend off hostile threats to her home and sometimes the world, but they couldn’t all be winners. And the new friends vastly outweighed the unearthed ancient evils, so it more than balanced out.
But in Twilight’s enthusiasm to cover new ground, she’d forgotten about some of the earlier groups that she and the other Bearers had helped before she’d taken the throne. In one case, that lasted until Applejack got a rambling postcard one day a few years into the Twilit Era. (Twilight hated ponies calling it that, but she hadn’t exactly offered any alternatives.) Only then was the formal alliance festival between Equestria and the kirin of the Peaks of Peril planned.
Pinkie naturally had a hoof in it as Minister of Laughter, though she left a lot of the formal ceremonial bits to ponies and kirin who knew their way around that kind of thing, like Lemon Hearts and Fern Flare. No, Pinkie herself was in charge of the street-level stuff, the games and plays and especially the food stalls that would line the tiers of Canterlot as the whole city welcomed their neighbors to the south in a way that everycreature from the harpies of Ornithia to multiple nations of Diamond Dogs had already enjoyed.
As a Minister of Harmony, she did have stick around for some of the Big Important Ceremonies with Big Important Ponies and Big Important Letters. There was no getting around it, and Rarity would’ve stuffed her in the most fashionable straitjacket imaginable if she’d tried. But after the bowing and the formalities and an honestly neat ceremony with a leaf that Twilight and Rain Shine ignited together, it was time for her to head down to the less formal celebrations. Officially, it was to oversee everything and make sure there weren’t any issues. Unofficially, it was to enjoy an international-scale party.
And first, she needed lunch. Ministering was hungry work, after all, and the kindling ritual had taken three hours from start to finish. And of course she went for one of the booths staffed by a kirin, who was doing really cool things with a wok and her own angry nirik flames.
“Hi there, Grease Fire!” Pinkie had personally vetted everypony and everykirin who was part of the celebration, so of course she’d made files for all of them, both mental and literal. Grease Fire had a oil-golden coat, a bright red mane, a pistachio allergy, and a growing smile on her face.
“Minister Pie!” she said. “A most auspicious first pony customer of the festival.”
Pinkie blinked and looked around, seeing nothing but empty seats around the stall. “Really? Nopony’s come yet? This all smells great!”
Grease Fire dipped her head. “I thank you, but it seems your fellows are afraid to try something unfamiliar.”
That got another, wider look around, and that time Pinkie caught the wary glances and shifts further away from the untested, unreviewed cuisine. She sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like the Canterlot crowd. But I’ll happily try…” She took a moment to review the menu. “Ooh, the daffodil fried rice sounds great!”
“A house specialty.” Grease Fire started gathering ingredients in her magic. “Did you want that spicy or plain?”
“Spicy as you can make it!”
Everything froze. Grease gave Pinkie a wary glance. “Minister Pie, I have to remind you that we kirin have a special link to fire in all its forms, including flavor. Spicy as I can make it isn’t something you want to try.”
Pinkie waved that off. “Sure it is! We’re in Canterlot. If I wanted to bore my taste buds to sleep, I’d go to Restaurant Row. Some ponies are still trying to cater to Zesty Gourmand.”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“Long story. Point is, make with the rice and spice!”
After another few moments of thoughtful silence, Grease sighed and resumed preparing the dish. “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Minister Pie.”
Pinkie watched, rapt as the flames and ingredients danced. It was like watching Rarity make a dress ,except she’d get to eat it afterwards. When she was served, the plate looked… well, red. The rice looked like some of the more exotic griffon dishes out there, the kind that cost less if the customer let some ingredients go unidentified. There were more chiles than daffodils, and the flowers that were there had been dyed to match until they looked more like roses. The smell was almost chemical, at least until Pinkie’s muzzle went numb out of self-defense.
She licked her lips. “Looks amazing!”
Grease Fire offered an uneasy smile. “Please don’t sue me if you don’t like it.”
“Pssh.” Pinkie wrapped a fetlock around one of the clever flat spoons the kirin had set out for ponies without grippy magic. “I would never do something like
Pinkie woke up, and the first thing she noticed was that her mouth felt like she’d tried to bite a rosebush, all stinging pain and a coppery aftertaste.
The second thing she noticed was that she was in a hospital bed. “Oh. That can’t be good.”
Twilight appeared in a burst of light and air, followed by a burst of speed and hugs. “Pinkie! Thank goodness you’re okay.”
Pinkie returned the embrace. Aside from her mouth, she felt fine. No stiffness or pain anywhere else. That at least was a good sign. “What happened? How long have I been out.”
Twilight pulled back. Pinkie managed to hold back a smile at the awkwardness of her friend’s latest alicorn growth spurt. Her legs were trying for Luna, her neck for Cadence, and her body was just trying to keep it all attached. Her expression, meanwhile, was going for “angry, disappointed Fluttershy,” and that definitely helped hold back any levity. “You had to get your stomach pumped of more capsaicin than most ponies eat in a moon. You’ve missed the whole cultural festival.”
“I what!?” Pinkie gasped as she realized the situation was even worse than a missed party. “Grease Fire’s stand! I didn’t ruin the festival for her, did I?”
Twilight got that funny flat look she developed whenever ponies were sillier than she’d expected. It showed up pretty often these days. “Actually, a good number of ponies started going to it to see if they could handle her food any better than you could. Mostly stallions. I asked her to keep it mild.” With a sigh, she added, “And assured her she wasn’t going to be imprisoned.”
Because Pinkie knew spice enthusiasts, she asked, “How many more got hospitalized?”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Only the one who tried to make a pass at her and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Fair.” Pinkie scowled. “But I can’t believe that made me miss the whole dang festival!”
“Well, hopefully you’ve learned something important about your—”
“I thought I was way better than that!” Pinkie crossed her forelegs and pouted. “Cheese gave up halfway through the hot sauce tasting for the wedding!”
Twilight frowned. “Pinkie, that isn’t—”
“No, I’m not going to accept this. I need to try that rice again.”
“That rice made you pass out with the first bite still in your mouth,” Twilight said flatly.
That just got a shrug. “So it’s a tricky dish. I can train up and try again next year.”
“Next year? Why next year?” Twilight blinked. “I mean, why at all, but especially next year.”
Pinkie frowned, feeling as confused as Twilight sounded. “Aren’t we doing this again?”
They stared at each other for a few moments. Finally, Twilight said, “No? Why would we?”
“Hmph.” Pinkie tried to look as authoritative as she could while sitting in a hospital bed. “Well, I’m Minister of Laughter, and I say we are.”
“Pinkie, you can only have one alliance festival per nation. I’m not going to break the treaty just to give you a do-over.”
“Then I’m at least calling Grease Fire for a rematch.” Pinkie grinned. “We can make a whole event out of that!”
Twilight stared at her for another few moments before smiling and shaking her head. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this completely, am I?”
“You are not, no.”
“I’ll just going to take the win for talking you down from an international incident.” A scroll and a quill popped into existence next to Twilight, and the first steps of the rematch began writing themselves out. “You’re lucky the kirin were all good sports about this.”
The door to the room opened, and a pony in scrubs sighed. “Princess Twilight? We’ve talked about this, Your Highness. You can leave your vital trackers on your friends, but we really must insist that you follow the usual visiting hours.”
Twilight blushed and rolled up the scroll. “Got to go. Get well soon, Pinkie, we can hash out the details later.”
Pinkie gave a solemn nod. “We certainly will…”
The most important aspect would require help, but Pinkie knew just where to go, even if it required entering a different royal domain
“So,” Saffron Masala said in her kitchen, “just to make sure I fully understand, you tried food so spicy it made you pass out.”
“On the first bite,” Pinkie confirmed.
“And you, champion of the Tasty Treat’s annual curry eating contest three years running, think I can help you take your spice tolerance even further?”
“Well I can’t ask the kirin to do it!” Pinkie cried. “That would be cheating!”
Saffron tilted her head. “Cheating according to whom? Are there some kind of rules here?”
“She is Pinkie Pie,” Coriander Cumin said as he passed through the room. “She is crazier than most Equestrians, my flower.”
“Father, she is standing right here!”
“And she agrees with me.” Coriander and Pinkie traded a nod and a small smile. “I have nothing but respect for her as a regular customer, but I do not claim to understand her. Nor should you. Better to go along with her whims. So long as she pays for the ingredients.”
Pinkie’s grin widened. “Oh, I’ll supply them. Applejack’s getting in touch with some of the more experimental branches of her family.”
“And you’d rather do this than accept that some food may be too much for you?” said Saffron. “Did the rice even taste good?”
“I don’t remember.” Pinkie glared at the experience taken from her. “And I want to know!”
“And you’ll probably just eat whatever absurd chiles you’re getting raw if I say no.”
Pinkie nodded. “Probably, yeah.”
“Very well,” Saffron said with a sigh. “This still seems very foolish, but I will go along with it.”
Pinkie wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it!”
“I already kind of do.”
“Truly, my daughter grows wiser every day.”
“Shush, Father.”
“Alright, to begin with, the hottest thing on our own menu, naga paneer.” Saffron set a plate of chiles and cheese before Pinkie. “Not made with actual naga venom, of course, but it should—” She blinked at the empty plate.
Pinkie dabbed at her cheeks with a napkin. “Yeah, we’re going to need to go a bit harder. I’ll let you know when the first shipment arrives.”
“Ghost peppers. I’ve heard of these.” Saffron slowly spun a spare one of the white, waxy peppers in her magic, taking in the black spots that suggested a moaning face. “Is it true that they contain the souls of the dead?”
“Kinda sorta. There’s a long Twilight-grade explanation, but apparently no given soul sticks around for long.” Pinkie licked her lips as she finished the last samosa. The resulting belch sounded more like a haunting wail, echoing in ways that the Tasty Treat’s acoustics couldn’t account for. “Nice kick to them.”
“Dragon’s breath.” Saffron had grimaced when she’d first seen the pepper, saying the red, wrinkled fruit looked like it hurt to exist. Pinkie couldn’t argue. She wasn’t the kind of earth pony who could feel that kind of thing from produce normally, but she could sense something from the pepper beyond her own imagination. “It is a nasty substitution. Nearly impossible to balance the flavors. What do you think?”
Pinkie looked up from licking up the last bit of rice out of what had been a biryani and gave a thoughtful puff. The flames were a vivid enough pink that they left green afterimages in her sight. “I could probably send a few letters with it.”
“No.”
“But—“
“No, Pinkie. I am willing to experiment with many ingredients. I am deeply grateful to you and Rarity saving my restaurant. But I draw the line here.” Ever so gingerly, Saffron held up the offending pepper. It wriggled in her magic, stinger-stem twitching and dripping a drop of transparent juice.
“I will still help you with this folly,” she said. “But so help me, I will not work with live scorpion peppers.”
The day of the rematch, Pinkie sat at a specially built podium on the same plaza where Songbird Serenade had performed during that first disastrous Festival of Friendship. She looked out over the crowd from an elevated seat, illusory fires burning behind her and the resulting backlighting giving her a menacing air that usually required a broken Pinkie Promise. Images of dragons, flames, and chiles festooned the great seat and its supporting box.
A band played what some news coverage would describe as a needlessly ominous buildup as Grease Fire prepared the rice. (To her credit, she seemed to relish the attention. “It’s done wonders for tourism,” she’d told Pinkie during the dress rehearsal the day before.) Grease marched up the stairs as solemnly as if she’d taken another dip in the Stream of Silence, steaming plate held out in her magic. She laid it before Pinkie and retreated off the podium backwards, head bowed and never facing away from the challenger.
All were silent as Pinkie took spoon in fetlock and scooped up the first crimson grains, topped with a single blossom.
It went in her mouth.
It went out.
She chewed contemplatively, eyes gazing out at the distant horizon. The crowd held its breath. A single chirping songbird made many flinch and more than a few scream.
Pinkie remained sitting. Thought her face began to flush, she scooped up another bite.
She did not fall. Though she began to sweat, she scooped up another bite.
She did not fall. Though her ears folded back, she scooped up another bite.
Another. Ponies started to filter out as it became clear that there wouldn’t be any further street theater beyond watching a mare have lunch.
Still, a good number stayed to watch her clean her plate, including the songbird. With the faintest of smiles, Grease Fire ascended the podium anew, stood at Pinkie’s side, and held up her foreleg like that of a newly crowned boxing champion. Cheers rang out among the audience.
“So, we agree that this was all ridiculous, yes?” Rarity said even as she stomped her applause.
“Sure,” said Cheese Sandwich, “but it’s important to Pinkie. Also, this whole thing has lined up great with her pregnancy cravings.”
“I suppose there is that.”
Sweating, panting, lips burning, Pinkie could only smile. “It was delicious,” she told Grease Fire. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t cut the heat, did you?”
The kirin shook her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
That got a nod. “Good. The last thing I wanted was you going easy on
Pinkie woke up, and the first thing she noticed was that her mouth felt desert dry and just as crusty.
The second thing she noticed was that she was in a hospital bed. “Huh. Deja vu.”
After a few minutes, a deeply chagrined Twilight—who had grown into Celestial proportions for the most part in the intervening year—entered the room with a doctor or a nurse or at least a mare in scrubs. “How are we feeling, Miss Pie?” asked the medical professional.
“Confused, mostly. Did I manage the rice or not?”
“You did,” said Twilight.
Pinkie frowned. “Then what happened?”
“You passed out one bite into your victory cupcake.”
Pinkie considered her diet over the last year. Spice, spice, and more spice. And whenever she’d thrown a party, because every training regimen needs rest days, she’d still hit the hot sauce more than the punch. “I lost my sugar tolerance!?”
The doctor-nurse nodded. “It would seem that way, Mrs. Pie, yes.”
The scream could be heard from Ponyville.
Pinkie always looked forward to meeting new creatures, and Twilight’s time on the throne had led to all kinds to befriend. In just the first few months, the new diplomatic outreach programs had covered most of the globe, sometimes making inroads to nations that had barely even heard of Equestria until now. Pinkie had gotten to shake all manner of appendages, learn of all manner of new holidays, and try all manner of new dishes.
She’d also had to fend off hostile threats to her home and sometimes the world, but they couldn’t all be winners. And the new friends vastly outweighed the unearthed ancient evils, so it more than balanced out.
But in Twilight’s enthusiasm to cover new ground, she’d forgotten about some of the earlier groups that she and the other Bearers had helped before she’d taken the throne. In one case, that lasted until Applejack got a rambling postcard one day a few years into the Twilit Era. (Twilight hated ponies calling it that, but she hadn’t exactly offered any alternatives.) Only then was the formal alliance festival between Equestria and the kirin of the Peaks of Peril planned.
Pinkie naturally had a hoof in it as Minister of Laughter, though she left a lot of the formal ceremonial bits to ponies and kirin who knew their way around that kind of thing, like Lemon Hearts and Fern Flare. No, Pinkie herself was in charge of the street-level stuff, the games and plays and especially the food stalls that would line the tiers of Canterlot as the whole city welcomed their neighbors to the south in a way that everycreature from the harpies of Ornithia to multiple nations of Diamond Dogs had already enjoyed.
As a Minister of Harmony, she did have stick around for some of the Big Important Ceremonies with Big Important Ponies and Big Important Letters. There was no getting around it, and Rarity would’ve stuffed her in the most fashionable straitjacket imaginable if she’d tried. But after the bowing and the formalities and an honestly neat ceremony with a leaf that Twilight and Rain Shine ignited together, it was time for her to head down to the less formal celebrations. Officially, it was to oversee everything and make sure there weren’t any issues. Unofficially, it was to enjoy an international-scale party.
And first, she needed lunch. Ministering was hungry work, after all, and the kindling ritual had taken three hours from start to finish. And of course she went for one of the booths staffed by a kirin, who was doing really cool things with a wok and her own angry nirik flames.
“Hi there, Grease Fire!” Pinkie had personally vetted everypony and everykirin who was part of the celebration, so of course she’d made files for all of them, both mental and literal. Grease Fire had a oil-golden coat, a bright red mane, a pistachio allergy, and a growing smile on her face.
“Minister Pie!” she said. “A most auspicious first pony customer of the festival.”
Pinkie blinked and looked around, seeing nothing but empty seats around the stall. “Really? Nopony’s come yet? This all smells great!”
Grease Fire dipped her head. “I thank you, but it seems your fellows are afraid to try something unfamiliar.”
That got another, wider look around, and that time Pinkie caught the wary glances and shifts further away from the untested, unreviewed cuisine. She sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like the Canterlot crowd. But I’ll happily try…” She took a moment to review the menu. “Ooh, the daffodil fried rice sounds great!”
“A house specialty.” Grease Fire started gathering ingredients in her magic. “Did you want that spicy or plain?”
“Spicy as you can make it!”
Everything froze. Grease gave Pinkie a wary glance. “Minister Pie, I have to remind you that we kirin have a special link to fire in all its forms, including flavor. Spicy as I can make it isn’t something you want to try.”
Pinkie waved that off. “Sure it is! We’re in Canterlot. If I wanted to bore my taste buds to sleep, I’d go to Restaurant Row. Some ponies are still trying to cater to Zesty Gourmand.”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“Long story. Point is, make with the rice and spice!”
After another few moments of thoughtful silence, Grease sighed and resumed preparing the dish. “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Minister Pie.”
Pinkie watched, rapt as the flames and ingredients danced. It was like watching Rarity make a dress ,except she’d get to eat it afterwards. When she was served, the plate looked… well, red. The rice looked like some of the more exotic griffon dishes out there, the kind that cost less if the customer let some ingredients go unidentified. There were more chiles than daffodils, and the flowers that were there had been dyed to match until they looked more like roses. The smell was almost chemical, at least until Pinkie’s muzzle went numb out of self-defense.
She licked her lips. “Looks amazing!”
Grease Fire offered an uneasy smile. “Please don’t sue me if you don’t like it.”
“Pssh.” Pinkie wrapped a fetlock around one of the clever flat spoons the kirin had set out for ponies without grippy magic. “I would never do something like
Pinkie woke up, and the first thing she noticed was that her mouth felt like she’d tried to bite a rosebush, all stinging pain and a coppery aftertaste.
The second thing she noticed was that she was in a hospital bed. “Oh. That can’t be good.”
Twilight appeared in a burst of light and air, followed by a burst of speed and hugs. “Pinkie! Thank goodness you’re okay.”
Pinkie returned the embrace. Aside from her mouth, she felt fine. No stiffness or pain anywhere else. That at least was a good sign. “What happened? How long have I been out.”
Twilight pulled back. Pinkie managed to hold back a smile at the awkwardness of her friend’s latest alicorn growth spurt. Her legs were trying for Luna, her neck for Cadence, and her body was just trying to keep it all attached. Her expression, meanwhile, was going for “angry, disappointed Fluttershy,” and that definitely helped hold back any levity. “You had to get your stomach pumped of more capsaicin than most ponies eat in a moon. You’ve missed the whole cultural festival.”
“I what!?” Pinkie gasped as she realized the situation was even worse than a missed party. “Grease Fire’s stand! I didn’t ruin the festival for her, did I?”
Twilight got that funny flat look she developed whenever ponies were sillier than she’d expected. It showed up pretty often these days. “Actually, a good number of ponies started going to it to see if they could handle her food any better than you could. Mostly stallions. I asked her to keep it mild.” With a sigh, she added, “And assured her she wasn’t going to be imprisoned.”
Because Pinkie knew spice enthusiasts, she asked, “How many more got hospitalized?”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Only the one who tried to make a pass at her and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Fair.” Pinkie scowled. “But I can’t believe that made me miss the whole dang festival!”
“Well, hopefully you’ve learned something important about your—”
“I thought I was way better than that!” Pinkie crossed her forelegs and pouted. “Cheese gave up halfway through the hot sauce tasting for the wedding!”
Twilight frowned. “Pinkie, that isn’t—”
“No, I’m not going to accept this. I need to try that rice again.”
“That rice made you pass out with the first bite still in your mouth,” Twilight said flatly.
That just got a shrug. “So it’s a tricky dish. I can train up and try again next year.”
“Next year? Why next year?” Twilight blinked. “I mean, why at all, but especially next year.”
Pinkie frowned, feeling as confused as Twilight sounded. “Aren’t we doing this again?”
They stared at each other for a few moments. Finally, Twilight said, “No? Why would we?”
“Hmph.” Pinkie tried to look as authoritative as she could while sitting in a hospital bed. “Well, I’m Minister of Laughter, and I say we are.”
“Pinkie, you can only have one alliance festival per nation. I’m not going to break the treaty just to give you a do-over.”
“Then I’m at least calling Grease Fire for a rematch.” Pinkie grinned. “We can make a whole event out of that!”
Twilight stared at her for another few moments before smiling and shaking her head. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this completely, am I?”
“You are not, no.”
“I’ll just going to take the win for talking you down from an international incident.” A scroll and a quill popped into existence next to Twilight, and the first steps of the rematch began writing themselves out. “You’re lucky the kirin were all good sports about this.”
The door to the room opened, and a pony in scrubs sighed. “Princess Twilight? We’ve talked about this, Your Highness. You can leave your vital trackers on your friends, but we really must insist that you follow the usual visiting hours.”
Twilight blushed and rolled up the scroll. “Got to go. Get well soon, Pinkie, we can hash out the details later.”
Pinkie gave a solemn nod. “We certainly will…”
The most important aspect would require help, but Pinkie knew just where to go, even if it required entering a different royal domain
“So,” Saffron Masala said in her kitchen, “just to make sure I fully understand, you tried food so spicy it made you pass out.”
“On the first bite,” Pinkie confirmed.
“And you, champion of the Tasty Treat’s annual curry eating contest three years running, think I can help you take your spice tolerance even further?”
“Well I can’t ask the kirin to do it!” Pinkie cried. “That would be cheating!”
Saffron tilted her head. “Cheating according to whom? Are there some kind of rules here?”
“She is Pinkie Pie,” Coriander Cumin said as he passed through the room. “She is crazier than most Equestrians, my flower.”
“Father, she is standing right here!”
“And she agrees with me.” Coriander and Pinkie traded a nod and a small smile. “I have nothing but respect for her as a regular customer, but I do not claim to understand her. Nor should you. Better to go along with her whims. So long as she pays for the ingredients.”
Pinkie’s grin widened. “Oh, I’ll supply them. Applejack’s getting in touch with some of the more experimental branches of her family.”
“And you’d rather do this than accept that some food may be too much for you?” said Saffron. “Did the rice even taste good?”
“I don’t remember.” Pinkie glared at the experience taken from her. “And I want to know!”
“And you’ll probably just eat whatever absurd chiles you’re getting raw if I say no.”
Pinkie nodded. “Probably, yeah.”
“Very well,” Saffron said with a sigh. “This still seems very foolish, but I will go along with it.”
Pinkie wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it!”
“I already kind of do.”
“Truly, my daughter grows wiser every day.”
“Shush, Father.”
“Alright, to begin with, the hottest thing on our own menu, naga paneer.” Saffron set a plate of chiles and cheese before Pinkie. “Not made with actual naga venom, of course, but it should—” She blinked at the empty plate.
Pinkie dabbed at her cheeks with a napkin. “Yeah, we’re going to need to go a bit harder. I’ll let you know when the first shipment arrives.”
“Ghost peppers. I’ve heard of these.” Saffron slowly spun a spare one of the white, waxy peppers in her magic, taking in the black spots that suggested a moaning face. “Is it true that they contain the souls of the dead?”
“Kinda sorta. There’s a long Twilight-grade explanation, but apparently no given soul sticks around for long.” Pinkie licked her lips as she finished the last samosa. The resulting belch sounded more like a haunting wail, echoing in ways that the Tasty Treat’s acoustics couldn’t account for. “Nice kick to them.”
“Dragon’s breath.” Saffron had grimaced when she’d first seen the pepper, saying the red, wrinkled fruit looked like it hurt to exist. Pinkie couldn’t argue. She wasn’t the kind of earth pony who could feel that kind of thing from produce normally, but she could sense something from the pepper beyond her own imagination. “It is a nasty substitution. Nearly impossible to balance the flavors. What do you think?”
Pinkie looked up from licking up the last bit of rice out of what had been a biryani and gave a thoughtful puff. The flames were a vivid enough pink that they left green afterimages in her sight. “I could probably send a few letters with it.”
“No.”
“But—“
“No, Pinkie. I am willing to experiment with many ingredients. I am deeply grateful to you and Rarity saving my restaurant. But I draw the line here.” Ever so gingerly, Saffron held up the offending pepper. It wriggled in her magic, stinger-stem twitching and dripping a drop of transparent juice.
“I will still help you with this folly,” she said. “But so help me, I will not work with live scorpion peppers.”
The day of the rematch, Pinkie sat at a specially built podium on the same plaza where Songbird Serenade had performed during that first disastrous Festival of Friendship. She looked out over the crowd from an elevated seat, illusory fires burning behind her and the resulting backlighting giving her a menacing air that usually required a broken Pinkie Promise. Images of dragons, flames, and chiles festooned the great seat and its supporting box.
A band played what some news coverage would describe as a needlessly ominous buildup as Grease Fire prepared the rice. (To her credit, she seemed to relish the attention. “It’s done wonders for tourism,” she’d told Pinkie during the dress rehearsal the day before.) Grease marched up the stairs as solemnly as if she’d taken another dip in the Stream of Silence, steaming plate held out in her magic. She laid it before Pinkie and retreated off the podium backwards, head bowed and never facing away from the challenger.
All were silent as Pinkie took spoon in fetlock and scooped up the first crimson grains, topped with a single blossom.
It went in her mouth.
It went out.
She chewed contemplatively, eyes gazing out at the distant horizon. The crowd held its breath. A single chirping songbird made many flinch and more than a few scream.
Pinkie remained sitting. Thought her face began to flush, she scooped up another bite.
She did not fall. Though she began to sweat, she scooped up another bite.
She did not fall. Though her ears folded back, she scooped up another bite.
Another. Ponies started to filter out as it became clear that there wouldn’t be any further street theater beyond watching a mare have lunch.
Still, a good number stayed to watch her clean her plate, including the songbird. With the faintest of smiles, Grease Fire ascended the podium anew, stood at Pinkie’s side, and held up her foreleg like that of a newly crowned boxing champion. Cheers rang out among the audience.
“So, we agree that this was all ridiculous, yes?” Rarity said even as she stomped her applause.
“Sure,” said Cheese Sandwich, “but it’s important to Pinkie. Also, this whole thing has lined up great with her pregnancy cravings.”
“I suppose there is that.”
Sweating, panting, lips burning, Pinkie could only smile. “It was delicious,” she told Grease Fire. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t cut the heat, did you?”
The kirin shook her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
That got a nod. “Good. The last thing I wanted was you going easy on
Pinkie woke up, and the first thing she noticed was that her mouth felt desert dry and just as crusty.
The second thing she noticed was that she was in a hospital bed. “Huh. Deja vu.”
After a few minutes, a deeply chagrined Twilight—who had grown into Celestial proportions for the most part in the intervening year—entered the room with a doctor or a nurse or at least a mare in scrubs. “How are we feeling, Miss Pie?” asked the medical professional.
“Confused, mostly. Did I manage the rice or not?”
“You did,” said Twilight.
Pinkie frowned. “Then what happened?”
“You passed out one bite into your victory cupcake.”
Pinkie considered her diet over the last year. Spice, spice, and more spice. And whenever she’d thrown a party, because every training regimen needs rest days, she’d still hit the hot sauce more than the punch. “I lost my sugar tolerance!?”
The doctor-nurse nodded. “It would seem that way, Mrs. Pie, yes.”
The scream could be heard from Ponyville.