The Permits and the Pies

The Prime Path had never looked more chaotic. Burnt sugar clung to the cobblestone like a sticky memorial to failure. Tommy stood on an overturned barrel, addressing a crowd of confused server members. "Citizens of the SMP! Today marks the dawn of the SMP Bake Sale—a corporation built on flour, hope, and three diamonds!" Tubbo tugged at his sleeve. "Tommy, we need a permit. Dream said so." "Permits?" Tommy scoffed. "We are the law. We are the government of baked goods!" From the crowd, Fundy raised an eyebrow. "Actually, George declared the Prime Path a historical site. You need a permit from the new Ministry of Public Events." "A what now?" Ranboo asked, clutching a bowl of suspiciously green frosting. "It was formed yesterday," Fundy continued. "After the flour explosion. Schlatt donated two stacks of oak logs to fund it." Tommy's face reddened. "Schlatt? The guy who once ate a whole cake in one bite and blamed it on a ghost?" "He's the Minister now," someone muttered. Before Tommy could respond, Niki pushed through the crowd. "I can help. I've baked before. Properly." "Niki! A true friend!" Tommy declared. "You're hired—as Minister of Actual Baking." "I don't need a title. I just don't want anyone to get sick." She looked at the green frosting. "What is that?" "Spider eye frosting," Ranboo said proudly. "It's very green." "No. Absolutely not." Niki took the bowl. "We're starting over. Real butter, real sugar, real cocoa." "But our budget!" Tommy wailed. "We spent the last diamond on a second feather!" "Then I'll donate supplies," Niki said. "But only if Tommy stops calling himself CEO." "Fine. I'm now Grand Executive Baker. Same thing." Tubbo laughed. "Tommy, that's exactly the same." "It sounds fancier!" The argument was cut short by a loud cough. Dream stood at the edge of the path, arms crossed. "You can't hold an unlicensed bake sale on SMP land. I'll have to confiscate your ingredients." "You wouldn't dare!" Tommy shouted. "I already did." Dream held up a sack of flour. "You can have it back after you file the paperwork. Four forms. In triplicate." "This is a political crisis!" Ranboo whispered. "Everything is a political crisis with you," Tubbo muttered. Niki stepped forward. "Dream, let them bake. It's for server debt. It's charity." "Charity needs permits too." Dream tossed the flour to Tommy. "Fine. One bake sale. No glitter, no spider eyes, and you clean every bit of burnt sugar off the Prime Path by sunrise." "Deal!" Tommy said, before Tubbo could object. "Wait, every bit?" Tubbo asked. "Every single smudge." Dream smiled and walked away. Tommy turned to the group. "We have flour. We have Niki. We have a mission. Let's bake." An hour later, the smell of actual, non-burnt cookies drifted through the air. Ranboo was carefully piping frosting onto a tray of cupcakes. "You know, this might work." "Don't jinx it!" Tubbo said, flour dusting his hair. "Too late," Tommy said, pointing down the path. Schlatt was marching toward them, flanked by two sheep in tiny suits. "HALT! This bake sale violates Ministry of Public Events regulation 7-B: 'No baked goods shall be sold within earshot of a functioning clock tower without prior approval from a certified timekeeper.'" Tommy stared. "What clock tower?" "The one we're building next week," Schlatt said proudly. "This sale is illegal." Ranboo's frosting bag trembled. "I told you. Political crisis."