Too Many Pinkies Plus One [Chapter 4]

 

“Howdy, Rainbow,” Applejack said, tipping her hat back. “You’re kickin’ up more dust than a stampede. What’s got you in such a rush?”

 

Rainbow Dash hovered a foot off the ground, wings buzzing. “You will *not* believe who I just saw slinging milkshakes like a pro.”

 

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “If you say Pinkie Pie, Ah’m gonna remind you there’s only one of her again… mostly.”

 

“Nope! The *other* one. Diane. Straight-mane Pinkie. The clone we almost zapped.”

 

Applejack paused mid-reach for another apple, letting it drop back into the basket. “You don’t say. She’s still around?”

 

“Not just around—she’s *working* at the Milkshake Palace. Been there a couple weeks now. Calls herself Diane Pie, wears an apron, makes the best strawberry shake I’ve ever had. And get this—she’s chill. Like, *actually* chill. No singing, no confetti, just… good shakes and dry one-liners.”

 

Applejack leaned against the cart, crossing her forelegs. “Huh. Ah figured she’d either skip town or turn into some kinda chaos magnet. But workin’ a steady job? That’s… surprisingly responsible.”

 

Rainbow dropped to the ground, folding her wings. “Yeah, I know. I felt kinda bad about how quick I was to side with Twilight that day. Went in ready to throw hooves if she got mouthy, and now she’s just… making milkshakes and shutting down bullies like it’s nothing.”

 

Applejack’s ears perked up. “Bullies?”

 

“Yep. Crusaders told me the whole story—Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon came in mouthing off, and Diane basically told ’em to buck off without raising her voice once. Had a little sign and everything. ‘Be kind or be gone.’ Totally legal, totally calm. Fillies said it was the coolest thing they’d ever seen.”

 

Applejack let out a low whistle. “Well, Ah’ll be. Sounds like she’s got more backbone than half the ponies twice her age.”

 

Rainbow scuffed a hoof in the dirt, looking a little sheepish. “Kinda makes me think… maybe we were too quick to judge her. She’s not hurting anypony. She’s helping, even. Pinkie says she’s happy, the Crusaders think she’s awesome, and those shakes are legit.”

 

Applejack nodded slowly, gazing out over the orchard as she thought it over. She remembered that day at the lake clear as day—how fast she’d reached for her lasso, ready to wrangle what she’d figured was a loose copy that didn’t belong. She’d been thinking of the farm, the town, the mess the clones had made. Protecting what was hers.

 

But watching Rainbow talk about Diane now—seeing the easy respect in her friend’s voice—made Applejack’s chest tighten just a bit.

 

“Ah reckon Ah owe her an apology too,” Applejack said finally. “Was ready to help send her packin’ without givin’ her a fair shake. Ain’t exactly the Element of Honesty’s proudest moment.”

 

Rainbow smirked. “You gonna go get a milkshake and say sorry?”

 

Applejack snorted. “Might just do that. Been meanin’ to try that peanut-butter apple swirl the Crusaders keep ravin’ about. And if Ah happen to tip my hat and say ‘sorry for almost un-existifyin’ ya,’ well… that’s just good manners.”

 

Rainbow laughed. “I’ll come with. Moral support. And because those shakes are seriously awesome.”

 

Applejack hooked herself back up to the cart and started pulling it toward the barn. “Tell you what—give me half an hour to finish up here, then we’ll head over together. Reckon it’s time Ah met this Diane Pie proper-like.”

 

Rainbow saluted with a wing. “Deal. See you in thirty, AJ.”

 

As Rainbow zipped off into the sky, Applejack glanced back toward Ponyville, a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips.

 

Turned out second chances weren’t just for ponies who’d been around forever.

 

Sometimes they were for the ones who’d only just started existing.

 

===

 

Applejack pushed open the door to the Ponyville Milkshake Palace just as the evening light was turning everything soft and golden. Rainbow Dash was already perched on a chrome stool at the counter, halfway through what looked like her second strawberry shake of the day.

 

“Told ya she’d show,” Rainbow said with a smug grin, jerking her head toward the earth pony behind the counter.

 

Diane Pie—straight pink mane in a neat ponytail, striped apron tied snugly around her slightly chubby middle—was calmly rinsing a blender. She glanced up when the bell jingled, blue eyes meeting Applejack’s without a flicker of surprise.

 

“Evening,” Diane said in her usual flat, even tone. “What can I get you?”

 

Applejack removed her hat and set it on the counter, giving Diane a proper once-over. Up close, the resemblance to Pinkie was uncanny—same coat, same cutie mark, same face—but the calm, almost weary set of her shoulders and the total lack of bounce made her feel like a completely different pony.

 

“Howdy,” Applejack said, tipping her head politely. “Name’s Applejack. Ah reckon we’ve… met before. Sorta.”

 

Diane paused, drying her hooves on a towel. “The lake. Lasso. Almost-zapping. Yeah, I remember.”

 

Rainbow Dash snorted into her shake.

 

Applejack’s ears flicked back a touch. “That’s the one. Look, Ah ain’t one for beatin’ around the bush. Ah came here for two reasons. First, Rainbow here won’t shut up about your peanut-butter apple swirl, and Ah figure Ah oughta see if it’s worth the hype.”

 

Diane’s mouth twitched—the tiniest hint of a smirk. “It is.”

 

“Second,” Applejack continued, meeting Diane’s gaze straight on, “Ah wanted to say sorry. Face to face. Ah was ready to help send you back into that pool without so much as a how-do-you-do. That weren’t right. You hadn’t hurt nopony, and you’ve been doin’ good since—helpin’ Pinkie, lookin’ out for the fillies, holdin’ down a job. Ah misjudged you, and Ah’m sorry for it.”

 

The shop was quiet for a moment, just the low hum of the jukebox and the soft clink of ice in Rainbow’s glass.

 

Diane leaned her forehooves on the counter, considering Applejack with that same unflinching calm.

 

“Apology accepted,” she said finally. “You were protecting your friends and your town. I get it.”

 

Applejack let out a slow breath. “Still. Ain’t no excuse for not givin’ somepony a fair chance.”

 

Diane shrugged. “I’m still here. That’s what matters.”

 

Rainbow Dash raised her glass. “To not getting zapped!”

 

Applejack rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, yeah. Now how about that peanut-butter apple swirl? Extra thick, if you please.”

 

Diane nodded once and turned to the blender, scooping ingredients with smooth, practiced motions. “Coming up. On the house—this time.”

 

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to—”

 

“I know,” Diane said without turning around. “But I want to. Consider it a ‘thanks for not lassoing me’ discount.”

 

Rainbow Dash barked a laugh. Applejack chuckled too, settling onto the stool next to her friend.

 

A minute later, Diane slid a tall, creamy shake across the counter—perfect swirls of peanut butter ribboned through apple-cinnamon ice cream, topped with a light dusting of crushed nuts.

 

Applejack took a long pull through the straw and paused, eyes widening.

 

“Well, Ah’ll be darned,” she said, voice low with appreciation. “That’s the best thing Ah’ve tasted since Zap Apple jam season.”

 

Diane allowed herself the smallest satisfied nod. “Told you.”

 

Applejack took another sip, then looked at Diane again—really looked. “You’re doin’ alright here, sugarcube?”

 

Diane glanced around the little diner: clean counters, happy customers in the booths, soft music playing. “Yeah. I am. One shake at a time.”

 

Applejack smiled, genuine and warm. “Good. Ponyville could use more ponies who know how to make a day a little sweeter—without coverin’ the whole town in frosting.”

 

Diane’s smirk returned, just a little wider this time.

 

“Sure thing.”

 

===

 

The bell over the Milkshake Palace door jingled just after the lunch rush had died down. Diane was restocking straws behind the counter, moving with her usual unhurried calm, when she looked up and saw two very familiar ponies step inside.

 

Twilight Sparkle entered first, ears half-lowered in that tell-tale sign of nervous self-reproach. Right behind her, Rarity glided in with practiced grace, though even her perfectly coiffed mane couldn’t hide the faint tightness around her eyes.

 

Rainbow Dash, still lingering over the remains of a mango-chili shake in her usual corner stool, raised an eyebrow. “Wow. It’s a regular reunion in here today.”

 

Diane wiped her hooves on her apron and gave the newcomers a neutral nod. “Afternoon. Booths are open if you want to sit.”

 

Twilight cleared her throat. “Actually… we came to talk to you, Diane. If you have a moment.”

 

Rarity offered a small, elegant smile. “We won’t take much of your time, darling.”

 

Diane glanced around—the shop was nearly empty, just Rainbow pretending (badly) not to eavesdrop and old Mix Master dozing in the back office. She untied her apron, folded it once, and set it aside.

 

“Slow hour. Talk away.”

 

Twilight took a tentative step closer. “Diane, I… I owe you an apology. A big one.” She swallowed. “That day at the lake, I was ready to cast a spell that would have erased you completely. I justified it with books and rules and ‘magical stability,’ but the truth is I didn’t stop to consider you as a pony. As somepony with feelings, choices, and the right to exist. I almost made an irreversible decision out of fear and certainty, and that was wrong. I’m truly, deeply sorry.”

 

Rarity stepped forward beside her friend, voice soft but steady. “And I must add my own apology. I stood there with the others, ready to dismiss you as a ‘mystery for another time.’ I allowed aesthetics and order to blind me to compassion. You had done nothing to any of us, yet I was prepared to see you banished simply because you were… unexpected. That was unkind and unworthy of the Element of Generosity. I’m sorry, Diane.”

 

Diane listened without interrupting, her expression as unreadable as ever. When they finished, the shop was quiet enough to hear the faint tick of the wall clock and the low hum of the freezer.

 

Finally, she exhaled through her nose.

 

“I won’t lie,” she said, voice low and even. “It wasn’t great hearing I wasn’t ‘supposed’ to exist. But I get it. You were protecting your friends, your town, the pony you thought was the only real one.” She glanced toward the window, where Ponyville bustled peacefully outside. “I’ve had time to think about it. You didn’t know me. You only knew the chaos the other clones caused.”

 

Twilight’s ears drooped further. “That’s not an excuse—”

 

“Maybe not,” Diane cut in gently, “but it’s an explanation. And you’re here now. That counts for something.”

 

Rarity tilted her head. “Does that mean… you accept our apologies?”

 

Diane’s mouth curved—just slightly—at the corners. “Yeah. I do. Clean slate.”

 

Twilight’s shoulders sagged in visible relief. Rarity let out a delicate breath she’d clearly been holding.

 

“To show there are no hard feelings,” Rarity added quickly, “we’d like to treat ourselves—and you, if you’ll join us on your break—to whatever milkshakes we desire.”

 

Twilight nodded eagerly. “I’ve been meaning to try the lavender-honey oat milk one Pinkie keeps raving about.”

 

Diane picked her apron back up, but this time with a faint, genuine warmth in her eyes. “Break’s in five minutes. I make a mean lavender-honey. And Rarity—rumor has it you like gem-inspired flavors. I’ve been testing a sapphire-berry swirl with edible pearl dust. On the house, for both of you.”

 

Rarity’s eyes lit up like gemstones themselves. “You *darling*!”

 

Twilight smiled—small at first, then wider. “Thank you, Diane. Really.”

 

Diane shrugged, already reaching for clean blender cups. “Like I keep saying—one shake at a time. Turns out that includes making amends, too.”

 

Rainbow Dash finally spun around on her stool, grinning wide. “So does this mean I get a free refill for being moral support?”

 

Diane rolled her eyes. “Don’t push it, Dash.”

 

But she was already scooping extra whipped cream for all four glasses.

 

Outside, the late-afternoon sun glinted off the shop’s chrome trim, and inside, four very different ponies sat at the counter together—talking, laughing quietly, and sharing the kind of sweet, cold peace that only comes after bridges have been carefully, honestly rebuilt.