1321/Safehouse Pancakes

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Safehouse Pancakes
Date of Scene: 12 January 2015
Location: Divided Equestria
Synopsis: Pancakes and personal grievances
Cast of Characters: Mortimer Balman, 470
Tinyplot: Crying Clowns

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    After the Everfree temple fiasco, the nearest safehouse available is, hilariously in Moon and Star territory. Though Pinkie promised she'd be on her best behavior. One bobby pin, some jerry rigging, and a rubber chicken later, and the door to Winter Withers' house popped open, and Pinkie and the twins helped themselves to the fridge, the couch, and the spare beds.
    And the TV and the nachos.
    After promptly crashing out, and then several huge stags of pancakes and cupcakes whipped up by Pound and Pumpkin, all there is to do is kill time. Pinkie is still in her jammies. They are, as expected, bright pink and polka dotted. And over them she's wearing a stolen fuzzy robe from Winter Withers' closet as she lounges on the couch, shuffling a deck of cards.

Mortimer Balman has posed:
     Naturally, Morty is there too. After all, he said he was going to keep an eye on Pinks- at least for a while- and he darn well intended to keep to it. Naturally he'd help the twins with the cooking, if only to make sure there would be enough leftovers to keep them fed for a few days. Ahh, breaking and entering. Just like old times. Those times sucked. He didn't like them. He didn't like this time, either, but then the more he learned about this Equestria the more pissed off about it he got. Well.. One thing at a time. A brief ten minute power nap and he woke up to see Pinkie shuffling her cards, and decided to pull his pipe out to have a smoke. "Well.. Glad you seem to be holding up alright, Pinkster. ...Where'd the kids go? They still cookin' or did they finally pop off for a snooze?"

     And speaking of 'where the hell', he wondered where Nettle had gotten off to. He hadn't heard anything out of his little ghost since they left. He was going to be quite cross if something had happened to her, or if she was out playing games with the Cult and its astral horrorterror pets.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    "Knowing them, they've probably already started hunting clues about Maud." It's an easy answer. Pinkie trained Pound and Pumpkin personally. Nevertheless the shuffling rustle of cards in motion continues as gloved fingers cut the deck once. She then holds it out, indicating Mort to do it as well. "They've always been a better pair of eyes and ears for me than my own set, huh."
    Despite flinging one of her masks, the killer one, the night before thanks to Staren, it's on the table in one piece as if it had never happened.

Mortimer Balman has posed:
     Mortimer, of course, cuts the deck for her. "They're already gone? ...Damn, those kids're fast. Heh, I'd say their folks ought to be proud of that, but.." He trails off a bit, lazily exhaling a plume of peach-scented smoke from his nostrils. And then a smoky sigh. "...Y'know, Pinks, you don't need to wear that all the time. Not around me at least. Can't be comfortable havin' that thing on /all/ the time.." Though he presumes it's gotta be kind of itchy. With his biology constant contact with metal over your face would tarnish it and melt the edges and then you get metallic bits seeping into your pores and that's just fifty kinds of itchy and slightly toxic depending on the metals involved! "I already have a halfway decent idea of what all's happened- though I'm bettin' Nettle knows more- but it's not somethin' what makes me uneasy." The mask being on the table is to be expected.

     After all, he's known at least one Pinkie for years now. It would be stranger if the mask /wasn't/ there.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    "They work fast. If it wasn't for them I'd probably be about ten steps behind everything." The clown notes. "But if their parents hadn't drowned they'd probably be world class bakers by now." With the deck cut, Pinkie takes the cards back and slides them all together. Though a sidewards glance of one green eye and silence is her reply for a good, long, moment. She endures the mask well enough though, hers is actually a smooth white-pink porcelain rather than the brass masks of the twins. and those are padded on the inside.
    "You don't want to see what's under it." She decides after a moment before dealing the top card and hands it over.
    It's a tarot. Flipped upside down. A unicorn woman holding a sword. The Queen of Swords.

Mortimer Balman has posed:
     Mortimer nods. "Bakers? Hrm. Which family was it? Someone from Manehattan, Fillydelphia.. Baltimare?" He'd been to a lot of cities. For all he knew those were Donut Joe's offspring. The thought made him wonder if ol' Joe was alive here in this Equestria, or at least well. He hoped so. He hoped for the best for everyone. "..Pinkie." He'd extend an arm to slowly reach out and poke the mask in the nose. "You lost a mask last night, remember? I already got a good glance. No matter what you look like under that.. I can still see my dear little Pinkie Pie, always with a laugh and a cheer and an emergency ball or springy-thingy stashed somewhere in the town." He'd offer a small, gentle smile. "If you weren't.. I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    A slow sigh filters through the slat of that happy, smiling, mask. The light shift of porcelain says her own nose is wiggling beneath it at the poke, but the tarot deck is set down.
    "Ponyville. The Cakes. Sugarcube Corner."
    While it's true she removed her mask to breathe, it was in a dark room, full of shadows, face covered in sweat, grime, and obscured by that thick mass of pink hair, a definitive look wouldn't have been easy. And she's silent for a long few beats.
    "That card really was appropriate." She decides after a moment, rising to stand. "Things just aren't that cheerful here anymore. And nothing I can do is going to change that. But I can at least cut out the root of all the problems. Or try to anyway." The clown decides with a shrug before glancing back over her shoulder. "I don't know. If you couldn't see it; if you could see something far worse. Would you?

Mortimer Balman has posed:
     Blink. Bliiiink. "Cakes.." Long pause. "...Oh.." That's about all he can really muster and bring out of his mouth for several minutes. Pumpkin. Pound. Their bright little faces locked behind brass prisons. Remaining objective about this whole thing was becoming increasingly harder. And harder. And it was obvious, not just because of the look on his face, but the rapidly fluctuating temperatures coming off of that mane of his. It's a struggle just for him to bring his hand to his chin so he can rub it thoughtfully, though as tense as his arm looks, as tight as the muscles are woven at the moment, it looks like he might break his own jaw.

     After a long period of silence, he finally moves up off the wall he was leaning on and walks over to Pinkie, then leans down... So that he can give her a big, huge, almost too hot hug. "I'm sorry, Pinkie.." If his internal temperature- which is not the same as the external one, thankfully- was not so high he might be seen to be making tears. But all he's making is steam. "I don't know what all happened yet.. But whatever happened, whatever's happening now, whatever /will/ happen- it don't matter to me." He'd slowly let go, and try to look her in the eyes past that mask.

     "You're still the soul of Laughter, to me if no one else. You're still at least an echo of one of the little ponies that gave me a /home/, that gave me /family/. And that's somethin' worth throwin' myself into, if it can help you and everypony else here even a little bit." Another smile, this one small and somewhat sad. "Whatever I can do, I'll do it. Don't care about the consequences to myself, if it makes even one pony's life here better."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    Yes. The Cakes. Those Cakes.
    The hug however results in a tension; the pink clown stiffening before vivid green eyes peek up. "The soul of Laughter?" She repeats, as if turning it over on her tongue. But eventually breaks herself away.
    A slow breath and she tips her head back, running fingers through lank pink hair while trying to collect her thoughts, and it leaves her silent for a time as she re-shuffles her cards and draws one, with her back to the 'morph.
    Whatever it is, Pinkie sighs heavily. And then she begins to laugh. ... And laugh. And laugh. Wild, uncontrollable laughter that heaves shoulders and makes her clutch her sides before she slides the card back into place and pauses for breath.
    "That was a good one... But it can't be true."
    A shadow might be a better descriptor for her, rather than an echo, green eyes slowly sliding closed. "That died fifteen years ago. There is no Element of Laughter anymore." A shrug and her hands come right up, palms out. "But the world needs a Pinkie Pie. So here I am~. I just wish it really was that easy. But if you want to help..."
    "Baltimare. We're heading to Baltimare. But. You, and the others, might learn something terrible."

Mortimer Balman has posed:
     Mort nods, and hefts up his colossal blade. "Pinkie.. I don't know how else to get through this yer silly little head, but I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes, endure whatever is needed. And even if you don't believe.. I still do. If that only matters to me, so be it." He'd kick the door open. "Welp. Let's get goin', then. Baltimare's gonna be a long walk, and I have a feelin' them Culty folk won't make this a short trip on us."