“What is it?” Rarity asked.
“It’s an experimental new mixture. All I know about it is that it is extracted from the entrails of a rare animal,” Red Cell answered. He unwrapped a syringe, pumped the brown liquid into it, pricked the right leg of Sweetie Belle and slowly injected the fluid. “The tests have demonstrated that it works very well against corticonephrite,” he added.
“When will we know if it’s really that effective?” inquired Rarity. She was thoughtfully contemplating the body of her sister, who was lying on the hospital bed; Sweetie Belle seemed lost amidst large white sheets, so immaculate that her mane was almost dull in comparison.
“Come back tomorrow morning,” the doctor advised. “If she reacts positively to the mixture, she might even be able to regain consciousness by then.”
Rarity nodded. “I suppose she’s not aware of my presence, is she?”
“No. There is nothing you can do for her right now. Better go home, have a solid rest if you can and turn back tomorrow. She couldn’t be more cared for anyplace else.”
Rarity sighed, thanked the practitioner and left.
❦
The next morning, Rarity was welcomed to the cold, impersonal room by the glee of her sister. The doctor was there, too.
“Hi sister!” greeted Sweetie Belle. Her voice sounded frail and quavering, though.
“Sweetie Belle!” Rarity exclaimed joyfully. “I am so happy! How do you feel?”
“I feel… pooped, but better. I suppose I just need some rest.”
“Didn’t I tell you it was miraculous?” the doctor bragged, butting in.
“I can hardly believe it,” Rarity said. “Which lab produces this panacea?”
“Cartea Inc.,” the medic replied.
“Cartea!? Really? Its CEO is one of my best clients. I am going to thank him personally.”
❦
“The practitioner said it was miraculous, and I totally agree,” Rarity said, sipping a cup of rare tea.
“Indeed. We consider it one of the greatest breakthrough in modern pharmacology,” Blue Pill, Cartea’s CEO, acknowledged. “I’m so happy it helped your sister recover.”
“I was told it is extracted from the organs of a rare animal. Is that true?” Rarity asked. “Can you tell me more? I’d like to know.” She batted her eyes somewhat coyly.
Blue Pill dithered for a short while. “All right,” he finally said, sighing, “but mum’s the word! We could face severe prosecution if all the details surfaced.”
“Why, of course, dear!” Rarity replied in a warm and sultry voice.
“You know,” Blue Pill began, pulling a drawer and grabbing a ring of keys, “here in Canterlot we are subject to stricter rules than in the outer lands, where the authority of the princesses is – hmmm – less palpable.” He stood up, rounded his desk and exited from the office, inviting Rarity to follow him. “The animals we use to prepare this molecule are protected: the specimens are scant, and it costs us a foreleg and a hindleg to buy them from shady smugglers.”
Rarity did not answer. They stepped into a lift, and Blue Pill, using one of the keys, activated a lock switch. The cabin went down and down until it reached the fifth basement level. They walked out and ambled along dingy stairs and corridors. At last, Blue Pill stopped in front of a heavy metallic door. He picked up another key; the lock clanged, and the door hinged open.
“Please go ahead,” Blue Pill said.
Beyond the door was a gloomy, nondescript room. Right in its middle, a cage had been put up, in which three stretchers had been installed. Tied on each of them were rangy beings, of pink complexion with short strange manes, two black and one blond, and four long legs terminated in – hands? Their “barrels” were curiously swollen. Their eyes were closed; maybe they were sleeping? In their mouths, flexible tubes hanging from the ceiling had been stuffed. At this sight, Rarity froze; was it fascination or horror, she couldn’t decide.
Blue Pill turned towards Rarity. “The liver is a wonderful organ,” he explained. “If you slice a small part from it, it regrows spontaneously. We feed those animals with a brew enriched in concentrated nutrients, so that they develop hepatomegaly: an oversized liver, in common words. Then, every so often, we remove a gobbet, and it regenerates. Over and over. And from those gobbets, we extract the molecule that saved your sister’s life.”
Inexplicably, Rarity found herself drawn to the cage. She came closer, mesmerised, and silently examined one of the creatures, the one with a blond mane. On the right side of its belly she saw the long, thin festering welt.
At this very moment, the eyes of the animal opened wearily. Their green irises roved around for a few seconds until they locked on Rarity. In that glance, the unicorn read infinite distress, grim resignation and unquenchable hatred.
She averted her gaze.
Lyra’s secret pastime (random)
Dedicated to Super Trampoline.
Originally written as a script.
Whistling softly, Bonbon walked into her home. She closed the door carefully.
“Lyra?” she called. “Are you home?”
She looked around, but the living room was obviously deserted. She pricked up her ears, waited for an answer, but none came.
“LYRA! Where are you?” she called again, louder this time.
Still no response. But, Bonbon realised, a very faint, almost inaudible noise was floating around, a spate of irregular clicks, like somepony using a… Oh no! she thought, and her ears flopped down in dismay. As silently as she could, she climbed the stairs, then tiptoed to the bedroom’s door, that she flung open. Lying on the bed, a smirk playing on her lips, Lyra was typing on a laptop. Startled by the noise of the door banging against the wall, the unicorn lifted her gaze, saw her fiancée, and hurriedly slammed the computer’s lid shut.
“Lyra Heartstrings!” Bonbon growled. “What were you doing?”
“Oh! Hi sweetie!” Lyra answered with a simper. “Err… Oh, nothing. Just… you know, browsing around over the Marenet.”
“My hoof! Don’t tell me you’ve taken to visiting those dating websites for humans again?”
”Don’t be ridiculous, hon!” Lyra protested. “It was such a crazy experience…”
”Whose fault?” remarked Bonbon, rolling her eyes and shrugging.
“Okay, maybe I just went a teensy-weensy bit too far with my profile picture?”
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to pick that – err… girl – what was her name? Paloma? Padilla? Pastella?…”
“Pamela Anderson,” Lyra specified.
“And nude at that!”
Lyra arched an eyebrow. ”So what? Do we clothe?”
“Of course not! But we ponies are a superior species,” Bonbon replied, strutting a step forward.
“I swear I simply riffled through images tagged ‘horny humans’ on Poodle!”
“What’s Poodle?” asked Bonbon taken aback.
“An up to sniff search engine,” explained Lyra.
Bonbon grumbled. “And why the hay had you to specify horny?”
”It’s pointless to tell you, you’re not a unicorn!” rejoined Lyra, shrugging.
“Horseshit!” Bonbon snarled. “Now tell me what’s your hugger-mugger business with that computer?”
“All right, all right, peace!” Lyra said and sighed. “I was writing a fiction for a contest.”
“What!?” blurted Bonbon, goggled-eyed.
Lyra reopened the computer’s lid, shifted on the bed and magically turned the computer so that the screen faced Bonbon. “Take a gander,” she said.
Bonbon made several steps towards the bed, until she was close enough to be able to make out the tiny glyphes on the laptop’s screen. She squinted: “Err… This time, the contest was fraught with unbearable tension. Would Platinum Lezard, who had vanished from the face of the earth three weeks ago, eventually reappear? The suspense was overwhelming.”
“What do you think of it?” Lyra asked, beaming.
“Charming but not very specific. I don’t think you’ll ever earn a prize with such a prose. What is it about?”
“It’s a collective contest. Everypony has to write a short story around the same prompt. For this round, the prompt is: ‘I regret nothing’. Well I was planning to write something about Princess Twilight Sparkle brooding about her former library, but it fell flat.
“Who is that Platinum Lezard you write about?” asked Bonbon puzzled.
“The #1 rule of the contest is anonymity. Everypony picks a nickname, a sort of disguise. It’s a funny game to guess who’s hiding behind each one.”
“Show me! Show me!” shouted Bonbon, suddenly worked up. Lyra brushed one hoof over the trackpad, and the text scrolled down. “Oh! Platinum Lezard… now that I think about it, it’s an obvious one. Who’s next? Periwinkle Whirlpool?”
“So? Any idea?” asked Lyra with a amused smile.
Bonbon pondered and finally shook her head: “No. Beats me…”
“That’s Rarity,” answered Lyra.
“Uh!? Why?”
“Think about her mane!”
Bonbon rolled her eyes. “So stupid… Err… Megahopper… Now who can that be?”
“Oh come on! Don’t pretend to be dumber than you are! Who keeps bumping around all day long?”
“Got it!” exclaimed Bonbon. “I think I’m cottoning on to that game.” She pressed the down-arrow key to scroll the screen further down. “Recondite Voice… Must be a singer… Err… Fluttershy!”
”Well done, hon!” congratulated Lyra.
Bonbon beamed; her eyes were glistening with excitement. “Hmmm… Lemme see. Rhodopsin?”
“This one is more difficult,” noted Lyra. “Pick a guess!”
Bonbon hummed and hawed. “Rosebud?” she finally proposed.
“I don’t think so,” replied Lyra. “Well, she says she lives in the boondocks. At first, I thought it was AppleJack. But she also claims to teach at Equestria university in Canterlot, and she rambles often about fancy science. I’m not positive, but I think it’s Princess Sparkle herself.”
Bonbon gasped. “Gee! Princess Sparkle! Even the royalty’s keen on your contest? Eerie Descent?… got it! Rainbow Dash!” She pressed the down-arrow once again, but she had already reached the end of the text. Slightly disappointed, she raised her head. “But, by the way, hon, what’s your nickname?” she asked.
“Here”, said Lyra, pointing at some word on the screen.
Bonbon pulled a dubious face. “Now can you tell me what the hay does that mean?”
“Nothing particular”, answered Lyra. “No more than ‘Cowlick Bull’ or ‘Tag a Muffin’.”
“Agreed, but it sounds cr—”
“Yeah yeah, enough yackety-yaking!” Lyra cut in huffily. “I’ve two hours to finish and touch up my fiction, so I’d rather get cracking.” She seized Bonbon in her minty magic glow, and kicked her unceremoniously through the open doorframe. “See you in two hours!” she said, and slammed the door of the bedroom shut. Good riddance, she thought.
On the other side of door, Bonbon, dazed, slowly pulled herself together. Disgruntled, she muttered some slurs, then yelled: “GOOD LUCK, Lady Gaga!”
