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Swear on Camembert,Chapter Three

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Swear on Camembert, Chapter Three

Comedy is Hard

It was too bad, Cheese thought numbly, as they trotted through the gates of Mane-tua, that Ponyacci’s son Pickle Barrel had all the comic razzmatazz of a pizza left in the rain.  You could practically hear the sad sack “waw-waw-waw” soundtrack as he talked. It wasn’t Pickle’s fault—heck, his own mom and dad had wanted him to be a doctor—but it left the family at a definite loss when the situation called for some serious fun.

“I could see Dad was slowing down, but he was enjoying himself so much,” Pickle Barrel droned. “He’d get up early and fall downstairs, saying ‘wa-ha-hey!  Who’s ready to laugh?’ The grandkids fought for a chance to sit next to him at breakfast.  Then he’d have a quick trot around the enclosure, and go straight to the classroom tent every morning.”

“He was supervising the pie throwing class and they were just getting to the point where he said they could juggle eggs.  He was giving them a demo and he missed one.  He said, ‘Gotta sit down. Don’t want to wind up with egg all over my face,’ and he sat down and coughed a couple of times and he died. I guess he went easy, ‘cause he always said comedy was hard.”

To his left, Pinkie Pie snorted up a puff of confetti, but he couldn’t tell if it was a snicker or a sob. The whole town was subdued in a way Cheese had never seen it before: nopony in the market square, nopony leaning out of the windows to talk, no fillies and colts chasing each other in the streets, trying to get out of going to school. He could hear the flapping of Ponyacci’s circus tent school, and it couldn’t be more obvious that class was cancelled now, for who knew how long. It was—it was—

Well, it was making him want to juggle, that’s what it was doing.

“What am I going to do, Cheese?” Pickle lamented, kicking one of the dustballs that always accumulated wherever he went. “Dad always said he didn’t want anypony to be sad when he died.  He wanted us to have a big party and celebrate. That’s what Ma wants us to do.  She’s keeping it together like a real trooper. We know he would have wanted it this way. But,” the green stallion went on, “I’m just not feeling all that funny.”  He dolefully blew on a squeaker.

Pinkie and Cheese exchanged a glance, but he spoke for both of them. “Funny is what we do.”

~~

The party was the funnest, most fantabulous, superbial party in all of Equestria. It was, in fact, epic. The marketplace blazed with hundreds of lights.  Ponyacci’s matched set of party cannons roared out a glittering salute against the night sky as Cheese and Pinkie somersaulted past each other, exchanging a hoof-bump on the way. Ponyacci’s clown school recruits had dropped their moping and risen to the occasion, each contributing his or her specialty in a way that would have made their teacher proud.  On this corner, you could hear the crack of slapsticks; on that, balls, bottles, colanders, egg whisks, and even hammers whizzed by in a flurry of juggling; on another, ponies rattled off shtick:

“And I said to him, ‘pull the hind hoof, it’s got bells on!’”

“You nincompoop!  They’ve all got bells on!”

Fillies and colts shrieked as they zoomed down a giant slide and bounced off an enormous Ponyacci balloon statue. The bakery turned out hundreds of cupcakes, the street vendors pushed carts of chestnuts and popcorn, and the ice cream never stopped coming.  In fact, it seemed as though all of Mane-tua had wanted to give the old clown the affectionate send-off he deserved, and only needed the positive persuasion of a pair of polka party ponies to do it.

They capped it with a reprise of their Ponyville Goof-Off as a finale, and while it was missing a little of the original venom, he got to use the sea lions and the alpenhorn, so it all balanced out.

The cider and grape juice flowed freely, and as the party went on into the small hours, a lot of ponies were feeling no pain, and inclined to get talkative about it.

“Great party,” a brandy-colored stallion with a cherry as a cutie mark confided, hiccupping.  “Say, Uncle P usedta talk about you. ‘Sour Mash,’ he’d say---he called me ‘Sour Mash’ on account of that’s my name—‘Sour Mash, that Patty Melt---' "

“Cheese Sandwich.”

“—yeah. He usedta say, ‘that Cheese Sandwich, he’s quite the deal.  Not naturally funny, knowwhadImean? But he makes it work.’ ”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.  So you –you and that Cherry Bomb—her an’ you—you a thing or are you---"

“Oh, look, a distraction,” Cheese blurted, pointing towards a small lake of fermented grape juice. “Here, you’ll want some cheese with that.  Gotta run!”

~~

The party went very, very late.  They only got away because Ma Ponyacci insisted.

“You,” she said firmly.  “Both of you. You’ll sit down, you’ll eat something, you’ll get some sleep.”

“Sleep? What’s sleep?”

“Aw, thanks, Mrs. Ponyacci,” said Pinkie, stars in her eyes, “but I’m so, so, so happy I could help throw Mr. Ponyacci’s last party.  I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

The older mare shook her head.  “You’re not going to stop trying to make ‘em smile while you’re still here, are you? Don’t answer that.  You’re all the same, I swear to Celestia.” She escorted them out of the gates and hugged them both till they squeaked. “Don’t be strangers, either of you, hear me? And eat something, Luna out loud. I don’t know why I bother," she muttered, "the colt practically inhales cheese and he’s still thin as a rail.” She turned and walked back through the gates, Pinkie waving after her in a blur of pink hoof.

“Wasn’t she nice, Cheesie?” said Pinkie, as they trotted back the way they came. “I’m so lucky to have so many new friends. And it’s not as though I’ll never talk to Mr. Ponyacci again, right?”

He must have looked bewildered, because she explained, “My talking Ponyacci doll. I left him at home, but he can always talk to me again.  You just squeeze him, and he says . . . he says . . . 'wa-ha-hey! Who’s ready t-to laugh?' ”

Pinkie slipped to her knees, put her muzzle between her front legs, and wailed. Every single sob she’d been saving up all day was gushing out in a fountain of tears.  And he wanted to cry, too, but he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t, not yet . . .

because he had to make her laugh.

He sat next to her for what seemed like ages until she had almost cried herself out, and then wordlessly dropped Boneless, the rubber chicken he'd given her, in front of her nose where she could see it. Her hoof came down on it, almost automatically.

Squee.  Squee.  Squee, squee, squee. She giggled feebly, then stopped.

“Cheesie,” she said in a small voice, “I’m really tired, and I want to go home.”

She did look exhausted, crouching there on all fours. He thought for a moment. “There’s a railway switch near here, where the trains have to slow down. The train line runs through Ponyville.  I’ve slipped into the boxcars myself, lots of times.  I can get you on that.”

She took in one deep, shaky breath.  “OK,” she said, getting to her feet, and they walked slowly down the hills, down to the tracks, the sky still the dingy, bruised gray before dawn. As the train slowed to a crawl, he hoisted her into the boxcar, then, a split second later, without thinking about it, he jumped in after her himself. He pulled together some sacking into a pile, and she sank onto it gratefully.

“Thanks, Cheesie. I’m so tired. I kind of get all coco-loco when I can’t be with my friends in Ponyville.”

“We’ll get you back there,” he said firmly.

“And you’ll stay with me the whole way?” she said sleepily. “Pinkie Pie swear?”

Pinkie, I can’t promise anything. If my Cheesy Sense goes, I have to go. Even right this minute, even though I know exactly how miserable you’d be, even though I’d kick myself for being a heel, I’d jump out of this train, and hit the open road, and I’d slay ‘em when I got there, because funny is what we do.

He sighed. “Swear on Camembert,” he muttered, and dropped his neck over hers, even though he knew their manes would tangle into a brown and pink mess. He felt better almost immediately. He could do that much, right? He could at least get her home. He couldn’t break a Cheesy promise.  Could he?

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Spottedlions's avatar
Yay!!! Awesome story!