Merchant of Metal and Mind: My First Monster

>You awake once again.  The second time you had slept in months, and there it was, outside a bakery.  Yet, still in the open, with a slew of ponies about you.  No fear of stolen goods, no fear of having to distribute retribution of any kind.
>But this time, the dreams had not returned. It had been blank.  Restful.
>How very disturbing.  Could it be, laze had worked into your core?  Keeping your mind otherwise occupied?
>No.  You argued a moment, against the fear in your head.  Cognitive dissonance, that was the only thing making you uncomfortable.
>You had merely grown weary of taking so many turns in the fine, long game of waiting.  You seemed to be doing a lot of it lately, and the latest turn with Pinkie had simply furthered your goals.  Changing a cutie mark, the pure representation of a talent and internal capacity.  A fine goal.
>But with the mind, there was much in the way of waiting.  Luckily, you were a patient man.
>To be truly idle was not a sin.  To be consistent in such a practice, was.
>Especially to you.
>You decided to check on Pinkie.  Earlier than what you had planned, from the gears that you felt clicking away in your pocket watch.  Perhaps, then, the events on your progression with Pinkie had eroded enough of the trust in your method to enable an early check.
>Or, perhaps, that particular action of simply showing up early had been so much like your master. You had no concept of actually teaching, merely showing.  But this pink mare...  Perhaps changing your practice, if just a little, was what had you so disheveled.
>Perhaps it was simply the sleep.  It had a way of sterilizing your thoughts, forcibly, through the perception of it's necessity.  You needed to be reminded of things afterwards.  And you hated that.
>So you strode into the bakery with great, accelerated intent.  This was not, after all, a machine you were oiling.  It was a mind.  And breaking them was, in some ways, preferable.  Repairing them in an image that was better suited toward a goal- that is what made a great assistant.
>As you walked past the counter, you spotted the largest apple you had seen in your life. You thought it a novelty, at first.  But no.  Upon further inspection, and a quick touch, you found it had the consistency and pliability of any other real apple.  It was merely the size of a small dresser.
>Curious.  What, Miss Pinkamena, had you stumbled upon?
>A side effect? Did the chemicals you had brought with you – and in some cases synthesized from local ingredients – have different effects in this strange world? Since they had worked just fine in your other endeavors, you had assumed them a constant.
>But this...  You whittle a chunk out of it, after producing a clean scalpel from your backpack.  Tugging at it with your fingers, the flesh of it rips, and you begin to examine it while you walk up the stairs.  Had whatever had been injected into it been metabolized into the fruit?  Though your stomach goaded you, was it safe to eat?
>So many QUESTIONS, this pink mare provided.  Your appreciation for her had to be reigned in quickly, lest you lax in your teaching. Your expiriment with her could fail, otherwise.
>Pinkie was still in her room.  As you entered, you stood at the door in momentary confusion.
>the room was littered with scattered notes.  Most of them were doodles, and crayon scribbled blotches.  Upon further inspection, you realized they were a color coding of sorts.  She had organized chemicals not by name, but by vision.
>The notes, forming a bizarre form of wallpaper and rug, had been the results of her experiments.  She was busy at a bubbling table of liquid ingredients, and a barely organized shelf of odd herbs and powders you had not seen her with last night.
>She was wearing one of the bakery aprons, as makeshift protection.  Her front hooves were inside what looked like dish gloves, long and extending across her forelegs.
>Oh, Pinkamena.  How proud, you were.  The daughter you could have only wished for.
>However, it was not a time for such things.
“Miss Pinkamena?”
>”Shush-ushush!” she waves you off.  She turns to you with wide eyes and whispers. “The sound effects the mixture while it's cooking.” She then resumes watching it.
>You step once. The floor creaks.  She turns and pouts at you.
>You step again, continuing your approach.  Another squeak of an anonymous floorboard.  She turns with thinned eyes and an absolutely adorable growl.  The kind of which you found humorously endearing, and honestly wanted to hear more of.
>However, that could compromise science.  You stand politely, hands clasped at your back, the chunk of apple clutched within.
>It only takes a moment or two.  She quickly removes the vial from the heat with a set of tongs, the existence of which made you question her acquisition of such.  She begins to blow upon the top of it, tossing an oily smoke about the room that smells, oddly, of cotton candy.
>She places it within one of the brass vial containers, upon her bedstand, which had been moved nearby.  Several other vials filled with pink liquid are within the holder, all different shades, but of similar hue.
>They were labeled in lots.  Had she been prototyping?  This quickly?
>My my, how impressive... But that, of course, was not the point of the visit.  You were after results, if for nothing more than to inspire more expirimentation.  That would, of course, require a bit of harshness on your part.  Even if it was undeserved.
>One only excelled if they were strictly held to lofty goals.
>She sits proudly in front of the pink collection of vials, tossing the tongs to the side in a showy sway of her head.  They exit her teeth and land upon the bed, where you finally notice the collection of tools.  Where HAD she gotten those?
“Well now.  Are you ready to be graded?”
>”Graded?” she asks.  “Oh gosh, I totally didn't know that!” she got honestly worried.  How amusing; she had been working through the night with no pretense other than experimentation.  Now, she was concerned about you being impressed.
>You have to bend forward to examine the fluids in their vials.  You keep your distance from them, examining each one in turn.  Acting quite professional, you put on your best showman's face.  You did not have any idea what any of these odd vials contained, so bringing down judgement was foolhardy.
>So, you asked her.
“Well, whatever you have done, you seemed quite intent on completing it. Even without my intervention.  So, I suppose...”
>”So you like it?” She was eager again, brushing a fraction of that long pink hair from her eyes.
“I cannot say either way, my dear Pinkamena.  However,”
>You begin to toss the chunk of apple, catching it in your gloved hand.  It had lost most of it's juice, even before you'd taken it, and you felt no worry in it staining your gloves.
“That was not the purpose of the exercise.  It was to show you the simple reward one can receive from the act of reaching the goal, not the goal itself.”
>Pinkie tilted her head toward you. Shifting her eyes between the vials and you, she quirked a brow.
“Take a glance at the room.”
>You gesture outward, holding the apple piece and extending your forefinger to point.  She turns and follows where you point, as you track across the room.  Quizzically, she peers back.
“take a look at yourself, for that matter...”
>She stands on her hind legs. She tugs at the apron with her gloved hooves, and then looks at the gloves themselves.  She holds one hand up, silently looking back at you as if to ask: “What? This is just how I do things.”
>It makes you chuckle.
“Miss Pinkamena, did you have any idea what you would make when you started?”
>She shook her head with that contagious energy, for a quick second-long burst. “Nope.”
“Yet you still ventured onward the entire time.  Studying, acting, calculating.  All for the sake of simply reaching a single goal-”
>You pointed at the vials.
“That you did not even know you would reach.  That, my dear, is what I was testing.  Weather or not you had the capability for it.”
>She trots over to the vials.  She looks up to you from below, and listens as you regard the apple cube by balancing it upon extended fingers.  You turn it this way and that.
“For that, you've passed swimmingly.”
>Instead of seeming elated, as you expected (or perhaps simply hoped), she leaned into the vials. She nosed them carefully, turkey-necking to look at each one.
“But, I have to ask. Is it drinkable?”
>”I have no idea!” she said, without hesitation, and with that perpetual cheer.  You bring the piece of apple before her, lowering it down to wedge between her face, and the vials.
“Really?”
>”Oooooh yeah. It did do that, but only with apples.”  She looks up at you with a little pout.  “I tried it on lots of other stuff, but it mostly just made it smell nice.”
“Really?  … May I?”
>You reach to one of the vials, placing the apple chunk on the corner of her bedstand.  She gives a nod and an “Uh-huh!”
>You remove one of the vials, keeping it still. You twirl it between your fingers and view the opaque pink from different angles.  You grin to her, swilling it about in the vial.
“Pinkie... are you pondering what I'm pondering?”
>”I think so, Mr. Hat.  But where could we find that much bacon?”  She rubs her chin with a hoof, deep in thought.
“What? I... No.  No Pinkamena, we have to experiment with it.”
>”Oh. OOOOH- I get it!  If we don't know what it is, we-”
“Exactly.  You're better at this than you think, Miss Pinkamena.  Reginald- Heel!”
>Your backpack folds into it's canine shape.  It clatters over, waggling expectantly.  Gears rotate and glitter. You look for a spot on the metal that was easily replaced, and quickly find it thanks to your intimate knowledge.  The service door; something you could replace with wood, if need be.
>Considering the fact that the fumes from the fluid had done nothing to her all night, you considered it at least safe enough to touch. You put your leather-clad finger on the end of the vial, and upturn it.  You turn it back over to keep the fluid inside, and drag the wet finger along the small panel.
>Nothing.  Indeed, there was the peculiar scent of cotton candy.  But that was all.  At least it was not corrosive.
>Pinkie looks about the room.  She starts to knock on various objects about the room.  You watch her, befuddled- but then, when had she made any direct sense?
>She pulls out a shelf from her dresser.  She dips her head inside, and like a cat holding it's kitten, produces a miniature alligator.  She plops it down upon the floor, making sure to stuff a clump of notes into one of the apron pockets for a clear spot for it to sit.
>It simply stands and blinks.
>Odd.
>”Now Gummy,” she begins. “Whatever happens, just know I love you okay? This is for mommy. And more importantly, for science!”
>It simply stands and blinks.
>Still odd.
>Pinkie takes the vial from your hand, and you look at the apple for a moment.  Oh- perhaps it only effect things that could metabolize it?
>Before your realization can fully take hold, you stop yourself from stopping her.  This could perhaps be humorous.  Or vile.  Either way, you wanted to see the result.
>She tugs at his tail, akin to that of flipping a lever.  The small gator opens it's mouth wide, and she dumps in the vial.  Not a drop.  Not dollop.  The entire, pink, vial.
>Within moments, Gummy is the size of a large dog- about the same as Pinkie herself.  At first, she is amused.  Happy even.  “Yes, YES! It's working!  Oh this is so neato-nifty-” she starts to list words, and you're forced to point back toward Gummy while she dances.
>”Oh.  Wow, he's getting big, huh?”  She watches a few more seconds.  His growth is showing no signs of stopping.  “Um.  This is kinda bad, huh Mr. Hat?”
“I suggest getting rid of him before your house is destroyed.”
>”Good idea!” She rushes over to her window.  She noses it open, and returns to gummy, who has the alligator equivalence of a toothless smile.  He's far too big to actually get out the window at that point, however.
>With a strength belied by her size, she hurls gummy out the window.  Rather, through it, considering his new, still expanding girth.  Glass exploded harmlessly outward, and stroll over to peer carefully outside between the shattered panels.
>Gummy rolls onto his stomach.  By then, he's the size of a regular alligator.  A confused, horrified set of ponies is watching this neon green monstrosity continue to grow.
>After thirty seconds, the apparent dosage finishes it's effects on Gummy. A single, giant purple eye is staring at you through the window.
“Well.  You certainly figured it out, Pinkamena.  Now... how do you expect to solve this new problem?”
>She looks at the blinking eye. “Um.  Strong, insistent language? It worked with obedience school.”
>You chuckle.  You turn back to your backpack.
“Reginald, I believe we may have a problem.  We must capture this beast while Pinkamena works to devise a counter-agent.  Right, Miss Pinkamena?”
>”But... It's my first giant monster!”
“Pinkie...”
>She pouts.  “Fine.”
>It had been a while since you wielded your devices.  Especially here.
“Come, Reginald. We have mettle to show.”
>Perhaps it was about time.