Tonight’s Going to Be Hot, Bon Bon!
“Lyra.”
“Mhm?”
“Our house is burning.”
“So it would appear, Bon Bon.”
“Indeed.”
“…”
“Lyra.”
“Mhm?”
“Why is our house burning?”
“Most probably because it is on fire.”
“How observant of you.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, why would my question have implied anything like a demand for a logical answer?”
“What’s wrong with my observation? I can scientifically prove that there is no way to make my answer any more logical.”
“Lyra, if you were ever to even start attempting anything that resembled science by a bare minimum, the world—as we know it—would stop existing.”
“Oh, you mean like it would go poof? Awesome! Where’s the next science?”
“Lyra!”
“Do you not know where the next science is?”
“Right in our house.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. In fact, you should run right in. Science has yet to fully know everything about ponies mysteriously disappearing in burning houses.”
“That’s weird.”
“Why?”
“If burning houses are hard to grasp, I wonder why I don’t see half of Ponyville aflame every other day.”
“Actually, the answer to that is quite simple, Lyra.”
“Does it have anything to do with your cooking skills?”
“…What.”
“So it does! Huh. Well, to be honest, that’s hardly a surprise.”
“Considering it came from you, there must be an insult hidden somewhere in that line.”
“It’s way less fun when you point it out!”
“And past experiences have shown that everything you say is actually an attempt to get me into bed. Including that one.”
“Or… maybe not… Maybe that wasn’t what I tried to say at all…”
“Just thank Celestia you’ve never been any good at lying.”
“Now that isn’t entirely true. Look at our house. We’ve definitely got the ‘hot’ part down!”
“To which I’d like to raise the question, ‘How does that work?’”
“Simple, Bonnie. You get on the bed, we do humpa-humpa, I will feel awesome, and then there will be candy.”
“In that exact order?”
“Results may vary.”
“They probably will. Our bed is currently busy being converted to charcoal.”
“Maybe I have a burning-beds fetish!”
“You have a fetish for everything that has legs.”
“Last time I checked I didn’t humpa-humpa your favorite chair!”
“Then your definition of ‘last time’ must be very questionable.”
“Why?”
“You literally humpa-humpa’d my favorite chair ten minutes ago!”
“That’s a weird word.”
“Humpa-humpa?”
“No, chair.”
“Yeah, it definitely is, Lyra. Whoever invented such a weird word?”
“Well…”
*Boom*
“…probably not the explosion that just catapulted your chair out of our house.”
“What in the name of Luna did you store in there?!”
“If I tell, you’ll just laugh…”
“Lyra.”
“Yes?”
“I haven’t laughed once since you came into my life. It won’t change now.”
“That’s what you think! Have you ever seen yourself while drunk?”
“I don’t think so. And I wish for it to stay that way.”
“Oh man, you were just like–”
“Lyra. House. Fire. Chair. Boom-boom.”
“And humpa-humpa.”
“Yes, that too.”
“What about it?”
“There is some big picture I’m trying to grasp here, but I just don’t have the ability to do so.”
“Aww, that’s too bad. Wanna let me give you a helping hoof?”
“That was another attempt to seduce me.”
“Dammit!”
“Can you please stay focused?”
“Focused on what? Your sweet flanks?”
“And another one.”
“Haha, get it? Sweet flanks? Get it?!”
“Those sweet flanks will bash your head in if you don’t answer my question.”
“I’m okay with that, Bon!”
“Okay, then they will bash your head in if you do.”
“Hey, that’s cheating!”
“Rules never exist while you’re around, Lyra.”
“It can’t be that bad. Rule number one: Always stay inside, preferably on a bed!”
“We would be dead by now.”
“But it would’ve been hot!”
“We would’ve been screaming in agony.”
“The best orgasm ever!”
“Nobody would’ve ever found our bodies.”
“What happens in the burning bedroom disappears in burning the bedroom!”
“So it would’ve all been in vain.”
“Says you.”
“You wouldn’t have any working nerve endings left to enjoy it.”
“Oh…”
“Exactly. So how about you finally tell me why you humpa-humpa’d my favorite chair so hard it exploded and set our house on fire?”
“Okay, seriously, stop using that word, Bon.”
“Chair?”
“No, hard.”
“And what’s wrong that word?”
“Looking at the fire while thinking about that word gives me a hard-on.”
“You’re a mare.”
“Oh, right. Never mind then.”
“Still doesn’t explain the four-legged thing ponies sit on going boom.”
“Well, what if–”
“Lyra, stop trying to talk your way out of this. You will not escape.”
“What, your cooking skills?”
“Huh?”
“How else would you imagine this all happened?”
“You putting some inflammable stuff into my chair.”
“How does that make any sense? The house was on fire and then Mr. Chair became Mr. No-Chair.”
“You’re doing it again. What did you put in there?”
“Sigh. Okay, you win. You’re good at this game.”
“Thank you.”
“Like really, you’re good at every game we play, Bon. You must be cheating.”
“I’m not cheating!”
“You’re probably cheating right now too. The house is probably on fire because you cheated.”
“And the chair also exploded because I cheated.”
“That too. Don’t you have any mercy for chairs?”
“The only kind of mercy I ever had was the one involving not bashing your skull in with my flanks.”
“Truly a shame and the wrong decision, if you ask me.”
“Equestria is truly crying for your loss, Lyra.”
“I do believe the only crying thing right now is our house.”
“Oh wow, you’re being smart and metaphorical! Watch our for your brain before it starts crying too.”
“With your flanks around, my brain would never start to cry!”
“Oh right, it can’t start crying when it has already been doing exactly that for its entire lifetime.”
“He’s a good buddy, though. Sometimes we talk about mutual interests and such!”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”
“Actually, no. He always talks about things involving orphans and steam engines. Also his taste in music is terrible!”
“He must be your best friend.”
“No, that would be your flank.”
*Boom*
“Look, Bonnie, there goes another chair!”
“Where did that one come from?”
“Probably from the two hundred others in our attic.”
“Our attic is filled with two hundred explosive chairs?!”
“Well, by now there’ll only be one hundred ninety-seven.”
“Is that the reason why our house is on fire?”
“No, that would be your cooking skills, again.”
“My cooking skills have nothing to do with anything!”
“How do you think these chairs keep exploding?”
“That is literally the only thing I have actually wanted you to answer for me for the past I don’t even know how many minutes!”
“What’s your cutie mark?”
“Lyra, I– Wait what?”
“Your cutie mark. What is it?”
“Uhh, candy.”
“More precisely?
“Candy wrapping paper.”
“Exactly.”
“What about it?”
“It’s really cute.”
“That wasn’t what you really wanted to say.”
“Well, no.”
“Then, please, go on.”
“You see…
“Yes?”
“I needed your original ones for something else…”
“Lyra. What did you do with my wrapping paper?”
“Well… What if I told you I made chairs of it?”
“Well, I would probably smile…”
“Two hundred, more precisely.”
“…position my flank in front of your face...”
“And what if I told you I covered those in nitroglycerin?”
“…prepare to bash your skull in…”
“Which I then set on fire?”
“…and catapult you right into our attic.”
“Deal!”
“Deal?”
“Sure! With your amazing flanks we could get pretty far. I’m not aerodynamic enough to reach the attic, but we might land in our bed!”
Author's Note
Rituals are awesome. On the day I have posted this fic (December 2nd, 2014) I have moved out of my hometown after having lived there my entire life, as I’m moving towards my university. What could be better than writing a closing chapter for that part of my life via a short story about burning houses?
Story Five in my Dialogue-only Cycle:
Last Night, Pinkie Pie Exploded – The Perfect Gift for a Cellist – Let Me Tell You Where This Will End – Wohoo, We’re About to Crash – And Then Our House Went Boom
For more, check out the Group!
