Judgement

by Amit

Rating: teen
Tags: Pinkie Pie, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Lyra, Romance, Comedy, Bon-Bon
Length: 8885

Lyra loves Bon-Bon very, very much. Enough to overlook the beautiful mare's caricatural homophobia.

Lyra loves Bon-Bon very, very much.

Enough, in fact, to overlook the cream-coloured, beautiful-voiced, wondrous-smelling mare's raging, overwhelming, caricatural homophobia.

This would be the state of the union; Pinkie Pie, however, being as she is, thinks all this 'unrequited love' nonsense is nonsense for silly fillies and dusty old books, and as such decides to intervene.

Background PinkieDash.

omaigawd I got put on eqd

now with a reading

Published 2012-06-11 06:44:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-21 01:21:55 UTC

Katadikazete

I'm sitting on the bench, looking at all the ponies playing in the park. Smiling, laughing. Movement, everywhere. I fiddle with my lyre a bit, imagining little appendages plucking through the strings as I play gently. Practice, nothing conscious, as I survey the ongoings.

I see a sight that makes me pause. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash, two of the Elements of Harmony—harmonising.

“You're the best marefriend ever,” the pink-maned Earth pony says, her voice carrying over to me as they walk alongside each other, as she nuzzles her neck.

The cyan pegasus looks away, and the red against her cheek intensifies. “Not here, Pinkie,” she says, but she doesn't make a move to push her away. “Everyone can hear us.” I try to conceal my look by closing my eyes slightly so that I can only barely see them, but I don't seem to have alerted them to my gaze.

“Ugh.”

That voice. Bon-Bon.

“Oh, hey, Lyra. Didn't see you there.”

That beatific voice. I open my eyes up and turn to look at her, see the pink streak running through that beautiful indigo mane. “Bon-Bon! Aren't you supposed to be tending to the shop?”

“I took a day off.” She looks over to the two, sitting down alongside me. She's nice enough to avoid mentioning my idiosyncrasies—in favour of highlighting others'. I like to think that she does it out of love; there is, however, a large problem with that theory.

“Look at those two filly-foolers, walking around in public like that.” She turns her muzzle up in disgust. “To think that they're two of the Elements of Harmony. Isn't it just gross? I don't know how Celestia stands it. And in front of the foals!” She highlights the various foals about the place with her hoof, none of which are really paying much attention to the couple.

Quod erat demonstrandum. I smile nervously, as I always do whenever the topic is brought up. “Uh, yeah! Yeah. Bunch of filly-foolers.” I try to match her vitriol, keeping my voice down. No one else seems to be noticing the two mares as they go about; Pinkie Pie is hopping around Rainbow Dash, saying some inane thing or another.

“Come on, Lyra,” she says, tugging me from my seating position and pulling me along with her forehoof wrapped around mine—the contact is exquisite—as we go off back towards the town. “They're spoiling my day off.” I don't resist; her fur rubs gently on mine, and I shudder as I smell her conveniently close mane.

I suppose it's silly, really, to pine for her; we've been staying with each other for years, now, but I still cannot stop and think for myself about her rationally for more than a few seconds before I'm overcome by the thought of that soft fur, that angelic voice—

“Thank Celestia we're not like that, huh, Lyra?”

—that angelic voice, her wonderful, kind personality—

“I mean, if I were like that, I'd totally just kill myself.”

—Celestia damn it, I love her nonetheless for reasons I could never possibly explain. So I nod absentmindedly, soaking in her scent. She speaks again.

“I knew you'd agree with me. You're like, the best friend ever. Everyone else in this town acts like there's nothing wrong with it. Like it's normal or something. Ugh.”

She smells particularly good today.

Like sweets.

Aiteite

The bakery is filled with the smell of sweets, candies, little tidbits. The entire place smells like Bon-Bon—perhaps Bon-Bon smells like the place. Either way, I'm getting slightly flustered. I had the idea to play at the entrance, to attract customers; the wonderful mare agreed, as is her wonderful nature.

I choose to interpret 'whatever' as 'of course, my darling Lyra'.

So I play. It seems to be working, at least partially. A few new faces walk in, tipping their hats at me. I even get a few bits thrown at my feet. A wonderful day, overall, and Bon-Bon comes out rather happy.

“I got like five new customers today! Whatever you're doing, Lyra, don't stop.” She whips her hoof around to smack me on the haunches congratulatorily. The simple motion makes me beam wider than Pinkie ever could.

A perky voice. “You two sure make a cute couple!”

I look over to see Pinkie Pie.

Think of Nightmare, and here she comes. “Oh hey, Pin—”

I'm interrupted by the loudest sound that I've ever heard in my life.

“We are not a bunch of filthy filly-foolers like you!” She pulls her hoof from my fur and stomps it hard on the ground. “Come on, Lyra. Let's go. Before she infects us with her mare-fiddling germs.” She turns around and trots back into her bakery. I can tell why she'd want to be abrasive to her; she is a business competitor, of course. Very rationalisa—reasonable.

“Wow! That sure was a lotta italics!” She keeps the grin on her face, unfazed by the rant.

“Wh—what?” I have half a mind to run in after my beloved, but something makes me want to stay for a while.

“So—you're in love, huh?” Her smile seems almost lecherous, looming in close to me. I step back a bit, backing up into the side of the building. I feel beads of sweat running from under my fur.

“What'd ever make you think that?” I say, pushing my forehooves back as I get up on my hindlegs, trying to avoid coming into contact with her steadily approaching face.

“Well, it was either the lovey-dovey eyes,” she raises a hoof, “the fact that you were totally sniffing her mane,” another hoof, “or the fact that you hang around, like, all the time! I wasn't born yesterday, y'know.” Another hoof.

“How are you standing on one hoof?”

“That's not important, you silly filly!” she admonishes, thrusting her hooves down onto the dirt with surprisingly great force. I cough a bit from the cloud of dust she throws up as her voice pierces through the particulate matter. “What matters is that you two have got to get together!”

I can't help but snortle as the dust fades and I come face-to-face with the pink mare's smiling face. “Bon-Bon'd rather die than date me.”

“Well, you're obviously not happy. And I'm not happy unless you're happy!” Her face changes, now into a determined glare. “Even if she's gotta die to do it!”

“How would that make her happy?” I pause. “How would that make me happy?”

She seems to realise that she's overlooked something. “Oh dear! I tooo-tally forgot about that! I'll find a way to make you and Bon-Bon happy!”

That beautiful voice comes from the open door. “Are you still out there with that filly-fooler? Oh Celestia!” she shouts, the sound like a masterfully conducted symphony, “Is she, like, molesting you right now?”

“I'm fine!” I shout, before lowering my voice and hissing. “How in the name of sweet, merciful Celestia are you going to get me together with her?”

“I dunno,” she says, “but I'm sure I'll come up with a solution in twenty minutes! That's how it always works.” Her tail twitches a bit, and she hops to the right just in time to avoid a thrown caramel apple.

“Get away from Lyra, you freak!”

“Looks like it's time for me to go! See ya in twenty minutes, Lyra!” She hops away without the slightest hesitation, as if her emotions were helium. I get back onto all my hoofs as I watch her bounding away, leaving a cloud dust in her wake.

“Come on, Lyra,” she says, tugging at my forehoof again and grumbling. “Can't believe she'd have the nerve.”

I follow along as I usually do, nodding. “Yeah. Can't believe she'd have the nerve. To say that kinda thing.”

On one hoof, that pony is mad.

On the other hoof, so was Buckhoof, and I still play his symphonies.

My line of thought is disrupted as Bon-Bon dusts me down to clean the 'marefiddler germs' off my body, her touch making me shudder a bit as my insides feel warmer than usual. I suppose whatever that Pinkie Pie's going to do can't possibly be worse than surreptitiously cleaning soaked bedsheets.

I hope.

Lipsesthe

A knock on my window.

I turn over, shaking my head a bit.

A louder knock.

I turn over onto my front and put my pillow over my head.

“Psst.”

Oh, dear sweet Celestia.

I turn around as fast as I can, coming face-to-face with a pink mare. Before I can scream, I feel a hoof being jammed into my mouth.

“Sssssh! Bon-Bon's gonna wake up!”

At this juncture, I'm not sure if I wouldn't want Bon-Bon to save me. I look up into her determination-filled blue eyes, and realise that she's pushing up against me. I'm not sure if I've ever been more profoundly uncomfortable.

“Don't scream, alright?” she says quietly, as she retracts her hoof from my mouth. “I said I'd be here in twenty minutes, and here I am!” I'm not sure how she manages to be quiet even while shouting happily. I try to put it out of my mind.

“It's been—” I check the clock, “five hours,” I hiss, looking over to my side. Bon-Bon is sleeping just as well as I am, on the other side of the room in her own sugar-smelling bed. “Where have you been?”

“Well, I was worrying, y'know, 'how can I come up with a solution to this problem in just twenty minutes'? So I thought and thought and it took me five minutes, and then I thought 'hey, it's been five minutes', so I realized I could go and do a montage! So I did those five hours in, like, ten min—”

I stuff my own hoof into her mouth for a bit and let her talk herself out into it; it takes her about a second before she realises that sound no longer issues from her mouth. I look sternly into her eyes for a second before pulling it out again.

I sniff at my hoof.

Ugh.

Cupcake frosting.

“Okay, look. That doesn't matter. How in Equestria did you get in here?”

“I did a scene transition, silly filly!”

I put my forehoof up to my face, closing my eyes as I rub under my horn. “Okay, okay. Forget I said anything.”

“Okie-dokie-lokie!” She seems to scrunch her eyes up for a bit. They open, and as they do I realise that her new expression is one of undiluted suspicion. “Heyy. Why'd I tell you how I got my idea if you didn't ask why? Are you a psyker, miss? That's heres—”

“Look. What exactly's your plan?”

She seems to change track entirely, her grimace turning into wide grin. “Well, I had a great idea.”

Then she leans in and gives me the worst idea I've ever heard in my life.

“That's going to kill her, Pinkie,” I say, looking over at the slumbering mare of my dreams. “She'll have a complete breakdown.”

“It'll be great! She'll think about it for sure.” I open my muzzle in protest, but she just continues. “Besides,” she says, as I keep quiet to at least try and stop Bon-Bon from hearing me trying to talk over her, “you're from Canterlot, right? They have those all the time there. Like, once a year.”

“How did you know I came from Canterlot?” I raise an eyebrow.

“You think your 'realize's with an 's' in them. Anypony could see that.”

I realise, at that point, that arguing with Pinkie Pie is an action fundamentally detrimental to my mental health.

“Look, Pinkie Pie, I'm trying to sleep. Just... whatever you do, don't hurt her. Alright?”

“Okie-dokie-lokie!”

I feel the weight shifting off of me.

Immediately, I sit up.

No one.

I turn back under my pillow. I shouldn't be awake for another five hours.

This isn't going to be a very short day.

“May Celestia protect me,” I say, as I go back to sleep, Bon-Bon's gentle, harmonious breathing reassuring me that she hasn't been awoken.

I never thought I'd be praising Pinkie Pie, of all ponies, for her stealthiness.

Plerosai

I awake to the sound of parading.

My first thought is of Bon-Bon, as it usually is. Normally, it’s about the smell of her mane, the melody of her breath. Now, it’s a deeper, more complex concept, intertwining sociology with psychology and incorporating various elements of physics and evolutionary biology.

Neatly summarised, the thought is Oh Celestia damn it she can’t see this.

I turn over to see her stirring at around the same time. “Hey,” she says, “I didn’t know we had a parade going. What’s it for?”

“Uh, we didn’t,” I say, rushing over to her bed, putting my forehooves on her soft belly. “You should stay in today.”

She pushes me off without the slightest sign of strain. Sometimes I forget that, as celestial as she is, she’s still an Earth pony. “What in Equestria are you talking about, Lyra? If there’s a parade, I’ve got to see it. Do you know how many sweets they sell on parades?” I can almost see her eyes fill with bits as she pushes herself onto her finely toned legs, her hooves clopping onto the floor.

Loud, incoherent, joyful shouting from the outside. “Sounds like a real doozy!” she says, grinning as she trots over. She puts her hoof on the doorknob; in a panic, I force a mint-green field of energy to form around the locking mechanism and jam it. We normally leave it unlocked, but as it is I force the inside bolt to bash itself into the little hole made for it, the entire thing shutting with a loud ‘click’.

“Come on, Lyra,” she says, laughing as she pokes on the bolted door. “What the buck could possibly be that bad?”

“Er,” I say, making sure to keep her from opening the door with a firm application of magic, “you’re—you’re working too hard. You’ve got to rest.” I use the little bit of strength I have left in my horn to nudge her gently towards the bed.

“Even if I wanted to rest, I couldn’t possibly with all this racket. The bits’d haunt my dreams.” She puts her hoof firmly against the opener and pushes. I feel the kinetic field imploding, the shockwave bashing into the base of my skull.

Oh, yeah. Earth pony.

That beautiful, kind voice pulls me out of my slumber. “You okay, Lyra?”

I can see the chance like a physical thing, and I reach my metaphorical hoof out to grab it.

“Ach...” I moan, putting my hoof against the back of my head. “I don’t think so...”

“I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly scooping me into one of her hooves and escorting me gently to my bed. “I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine, Bon-Bon.”

Her voice is filled with that genuine concern, and its genuity fills me with purpose. “Lyra, I’ve been to every parade this town ever has had. Nothing would scare me. Sure, this one isn’t scheduled. Doesn’t mean I’m afraid of it.” She laughs a little. “You’ve got to learn to loosen up a little.”

“I—I just wanted to protect you.”

She laughs. “Did that marefiddling pony infect you, or something? Because you’re sounding pretty gay right about now.”

She constantly teases me in that manner, but I can tell that she’s not serious; she wouldn’t tolerate my existence otherwise, I’m sure. “No, of course not.” I laugh a little in return.

She pats me on my withers. “Look, you stay here. I’ll give you half the bits. You’re my friend, after all.” A turn, and she begins trotting off.

It takes me about ten seconds to process what she’s just said, and one more to react. “Wait!”

No response.

I shunt myself off the bed in a burst of mint-green, sliding a bit on my hooves as I hit the wooden floor. Before it’s too late. Must stop her.

I bound down the steps in a single leap; my legs, thankfully, hold. With a grunt, I force myself out of the stairwell into the main room, where I see Bon-Bon holding her pack of sweets, hoof at the door. I reach out with my magic; she doesn’t even notice it, opening the door.

“Wait!”

“It’s okay to be gay!”

I rush up next to the shock-still mare.

“Let’s juggle with the duggles in the gay way!”

I see Twilight trotting past, blushing as she puts her head down. Singing to herself quietly.

What’s more concerning is the fact that her tail is tied to her mane, and she is wearing something very pink and frilly. Almost everybody seems to be wearing something ridiculous as they go around, and I see Pinkie Pie waving her hooves on top of a gravity-defying float and singing loudly into a microphone as Rainbow Dash makes rainbows in the sky.

“Hooray for the kind of girls that you will find in the gay way!”

The blushing purple unicorn’s anguished whispers drift over to me through the overwhelming sound; a sort of tortured lament, a mantra of despair, a massive contrast to the generally upbeat atmosphere. “...dans quatre heure, je m'en lirai, la jument céleste pourra avoir sa lettre...”

Bon-Bon seems to awake from her little stupor long enough to run over to Twilight and grasp her by the shoulders. “What have those harpies done to you?” She looks, horrified, at the procession of flamboyance.

Her blush only deepens as she comes face-to-face with the beautiful mare. “Oh. Bon-Bon. Hi.”

“Answer me, damn it!” She shakes her hard, as if to pull her from her reduced state. “When’d this place turn into Filly-Fooler Central?” She twitches a bit, her body reacting with total grace to the pressure.

“Uh, it was Pinkie’s idea. She said somepony wasn’t okay with, uh, filly-fooling.” She looks to the side a bit. “So she said we should throw a gay pride parade, like they do in Canterlot every year. I personally think it only exacerbates the stereotypical attitudes held towards homosexual individuals, but, uh, it’s not like I’m homophobic or anything—”

“Homophobic? Have they indoctrinated you with that marefiddling propaganda? Snap out of it, marepony!” She gives her a firm smack across the face with a hoof.

“Wait, you’re the one Pinkie was talking about?” Her eyes widen, almost to the size of saucerplates. She looks towards me, and then back to her. “You mean you and Lyra aren’t—”

My beloved Bon-Bon recoils elegantly in a fluid motion, hoof pressed gently on her chest. “Nonsense! Total nonsense!” She backs up. “You’re in on it, aren’t you! You’re all in on it!” She turns about-hoof and gallops back through the doorway, bucking it and sending it back into its place as I stand haplessly.

“So, you and Bon-Bon aren’t, uh—?”

I shake my head and hoof at the ground. “Nope.”

“Uh, so, is this a friendship problem, or—?” She seems to be going through a mental checklist.

I shake my head and turn back in after that beautiful mare, pushing into the candy-shop. I’m fairly sure that this is the worst thing that could possibly have happened.

As I get up the stairs, I hear quiet sobbing.

What?

I open the door to see Bon-Bon staring at the picture she has on the countertop, of her father. Just looking at it, and crying, tears like crystals. Most ponies, no matter how pretty they are, become ugly with snot dripping down their faces.

She’s just as beautiful as always.

“...Bon-Bon? What’s wrong?” I ask, making my hoofsteps quiet as I move gently towards her. The singing outside would probably mask them anyway, but I try to be respectful nonetheless.

“You know,” she says, looking at the portrait. “Mom always said I should ‘love’, and ‘tolerate’.” To most others, her voice would be nothing more than a series of gasping, incoherent cries. But they strike my soul like an orchestra. “That whore.” The dragged-out ‘r’ is terrifyingly beautiful, like the tip of a crashing wave.

“Do you wanna talk about it, Bon-Bon?” I say, taking care not to make any sudden movements. I’ve never seen her like this before; she was always the superstructure, and I was always the one to depend.

“‘Love’ and ‘tolerance’ and she runs off with that whore. Pile of fewmets.” She seems to be lost in the apocrypha of her beautiful mind. I approach her, and I lay a comforting hoof on her. She looks up at me.

“You can’t blame everypony for what she did, Bon-Bon.” Everything makes sense, now, to me. I knew she, in her wisdom, wouldn’t be like that without a good reason.

“That’s not why I don’t like filly-foolers. I don’t like them because they’re disgusting, and they oughta be—”

“Oh, Bon-Bon,” I say, shaking my head.

She looks up at me, face stained with tears, and hugs me deeply.

“This isn’t gay, right?” she says, as she buries her wonderfully fluffy and slightly wet head in my chest, holding her sobs a bit out of her boundless concern.

I put my arms around her head and sigh. “No. Of course it isn’t.”

We hug each other for a while, and she stops sobbing after a bit.

She lets go after a few minutes, shaking her head a bit. “Not a word to anypony about this, alright?”

“Not a word.”

She looks down at her hooves as she sits on the side of the bed. By now, the parade has gone past us, and there is only silence.

“Thank Celestia,” she says, looking past me to the window. “Damned filly-foolers’re gone.”

I nod slightly, going back to my own bed and sitting in my usual way; she looks at me, and laughs a bit. “I guess they’re not all that bad.”

I suppose I can’t change a pony’s worldview in one night.

But I suppose I can cherish these little steps.

“Hey, girls!”

Oh, Celestia.

“I totally saw you two making out through the window! Just wanted to check in on you two, see—”

Oh, Celestia, peer of heaven.

“Get the hell out of my house, you Celestia-damned filly-fooler!”

“Actually, since I’m kinda, y’know, one of the Elements of Harmony, I’m literally Celestia-blessed!”

Loud noises. I keep my head in between my forehooves as the noises move away.

A more distant voice. “Pinkie’ll be back! I’ll never stop until you two’re together!”

“Out!”

I can’t fault that mare, really.

But I swear that I want to wring the life out of her.

Phylakes

“...and when I heard that Steady Fight had been followed into the Everfree by not only the clergycows holding property but the noble-minded clergycows living on alms as well, O Total Victory, I couldn’t hope to win. And when I heard that Silverbow had pleased the greatest aspect of Celestia, Three Eyes, by his skill in combat, O Total Victory, I couldn’t hope to wi—”

“Lyra!” My recitation and playing is interrupted by a shout issuing from below, and a series of steps bashing against hooves.

“I’m, er,” I stutter, checking the notes Twilight had lent me, “reciting the Book of the Beginning of the Mother of Fire-Maintainence? To the tune of, er—” I look at my lyre, trying to remember the little improvisation I’d made to fit the meter. I haven't time to look over to the scrolls before she interrupts again.

“Nevermind,” she says, exhaling deeply. “I was just—worried. Don’t—don’t go anywhere, alright?”

I nod. “I haven’t gone anywhere since I got Twilight’s notes, Bon-Bon.”

She seems to digest my proclamation for a bit before turning around and going down the stairs. I continue reciting the excuses of Firm Empire as I continue the melody, singing a bit softer.

Bon-Bon’s been awfully twitchy ever since the incident with Pinkie Pie; she seems deathly afraid that the mare’ll try to kidnap me, or worse. She hadn’t outright tried to force me to stay, but seems to twitch unhappily every time I try and step out the locked door.

I’m fine with that, for the most part. More time with Bon-Bon. She seems, however, to grow more paranoid with each passing hour. It’s beginning to worry me, and I haven’t the slightest clue what to do about it.

No point ruminating. I delve again into the improvisation; Twilight’s managed to make a sort of recording-scroll, allowing me to go without interruption.

Well, without unnecessary interruption.

Two hours pass in which I am left unmolested, and in which I am allowed to compose without interruption.

“...O griffon amongst ponies, what you have said is worthy of you, O exalted. But O Lit Kindling, for you I wish to do something with much cheer. I am a great artist, an All-Accomplishing amongst the Flowing. O son of Whiteyellow, let me—”

“Hey!”

That mare.

“Pinkie! What are you doing here? Bon-Bon’s going to go ballistic.”

That Celestia-blessed mare. I look to the window, and see it open; multi-coloured balloons float beyond it, tied to the little spikes.

She bats a hoof. “Don’t be silly, silly!” she says, shaking her head as she walks a bit. “She left, like, half an hour ago.”

“You’ve been watching?” I don’t try to conceal my voice, now, instead letting it bloom. “You’re been stalking us?”

“Don’t you wanna know how I’m gonna get you and Bon-Bon together?”

I look speechlessly at her for a little while. “You’re still on that? After that fiasco yesterday?”

“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” she says happily, as she goes through a series of bizarre motions, “I’m gonna get you together no matter what!”

“Pinkie Pie—what if she’s just, you know—heterosexual?”

Her eyes open wide. “Oh, no no no. That’s impossible! I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. She’s totally locking you up to keep you for herself. Like some sorta evil ogre!”

“Pinkie,” I say, raising my brow. “Those ogres never actually tried to—”

A hoof in the mouth. Figures. “I Pinkie Promised, and I’m gonna do it!”

The hoof comes out. The sugar is almost painful against my tongue. “The last time you tried, she had a mental breakdown. What the hay do you suggest we try now?”

“Ahh,” she says, her smile widening even further. “More-than-one first-pony. You’re thinking like Pinkie, now!”

“Celestia save my soul.” Her words do, however, remind me that I am as complicit as her in this whole mess. I suppose that if I am to dive into the abyss, I am to do so with gusto.

“So,” she says, “this is what I was thinking.”

A whisper in the ear.

“If this works,” I say, “I’ll give you my first foal.”

“No need for that, silly,” she says, batting her forehoof and looking away as if it were nothing. “I just wanna do the wedding!”

“It’s a bit too early for that, isn’t it?”

She seems ready to respond, but is interrupted by the sound of trampling hoofsteps.

“Oops! Silly me, I forgot to tie the loop!”

“You what?”

I look to the door in a hurry; a glance back tells me that the madmare’s no longer in the room. The door bursts open just as the bottoms of her hooves float out of view.

“Lyra! You’re still here!” Bon-Bon pants, sweat moving through her beautiful fur; she’s apparently run a long way, and I note with dread a slightly reddish mark around one of her hooves. “I had to go off to the store a bit, and I got my hoof tied up in something somehow.” She shakes the reddened hoof a bit, the injury failing to make her lose her grace.

I realise, at that point, why Pinkie Pie hadn’t come immediately. I look nervously about the place. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “I was worried about you. I saw those balloons—that Pinkie Pie didn’t come again, did she?”

I shake my head, thinking as fast as I can. “She just gave me some balloons and ran away.”

Her soul, thankfully, is too pure to pierce through the veil of my deceit. “That filly-fooling marefiddler,” she rages, her hoof shaking in the air, “I’ll never let her close to you again.”

“Are you... okay, Bon-Bon?”

“Okay?” she says, with slight menace; her pupils constrict slightly. “I’m never going to let those damn filly-fooler scum take you away. Not like that.” She grins wide. “You’re too young to go so quickly.”

Even her madness has a beautiful method. I stand, silent.

She marches over and latches the window shut before turning to me, the grin plastered on her face. “Just stay here. I’ll get you whatever you need. I’m not gonna let them take you away.”

“Bon-Bon?” I say, looking at her with the slightest measure of doubt. Sacrilege to her wisdom, of course, but I’m sure one would empathise—even when confronted with one so wonderful. “This might be a bit... much. I don’t think there’s, er, a conspiracy or anything like that.”

Her eyes open wide. In all my years, I’ve never raised more than the slightest doubt. As befits her patience, she gives a very well-reasoned response, giving me time to contemplate her serene composure.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “nothing’s too much. Not for you.”

And then she marches out and presses the door shut.

Oh, Celestia.

How I love that mare.

Esphalisanto

Bon-Bon has apparently decided to barricade the entrances; she's spending more time in the room, now, pacing nervously. The confectionary, she's convinced, can wait. She seems awfully distressed, and I worry for her deeply; I hope Pinkie Pie's plan works.

I check the clock. She should be coming by soon. I don't know how, but the madmare's probably going to find a way.

“So,” Bon-Bon says, her mane slightly frayed. “Wanna play Monopsony, friend?”

I grin nervously. “Sure, Bon-Bon.” She always wins, but now would be a great time to reinforce her. Pinkie Pie will be coming in two hours, and I suppose that a little game won't hurt.

About two hours later, as Bon-Bon's about to buy out the labour certification institute for the Griffon Principalities, a little knock comes from the floorboards.

“What's that noise?” Bon-Bon says, suddenly cautious.

Scratching sounds. “I—I don't know.” I sniff a bit. Rotten cabbages?

“Open the windows!” she says, going towards the door worriedly, pushing it open without much effort. It's meant to open with less force from the inside than from the outside; a safey feature. “Might be some kind of gas leak.”

I nod, looking nervously about as I run over to open the windows, pulling the bolt out with a 'click' and letting the air in. I look to the ground and shake my head, hoofing at the floorboards. What has that mare done?

“Hi!”

I look up to see a pink face staring into mine, and refrain from screaming.

Very admirable of me, I think.

“What in the name of Celestia did you do, Pinkie? Did you—did you start a gas leak?” I put my hooves over my muzzle.

“Naww. I just got some cans of stink and stuffed them in the vents!”

I look around the wooden room and raise a brow. “The vents?”

“The vents.” She nods happily.

“Right.”

“I set the oven on fire, too!”

“You what?”

“Just a teeny-tiny fire. Bon-Bon'll spend plenty of time putting it out, though. Straight from the mains. Like a Buckson burner!”

“Oh dear, sweet Celestia.” The heating room is made of stone, of course; a fire wouldn't spread. I still am half-tempted to run down and help Bon-Bon right now.

“So, anyway,” she says, climbing in and letting the balloons tied to her float away. “I got what we needed!” She pulls a suspicious-looking bag out of somewhere; I levitate it and put it on the bedside table.

“This is going to do the opposite of work,” I say. “Why, again, am I involving myself in this?”

“Because you wanna tap that!” And with that unexpected bit of crudity, she leaps back out the window. I look out just in time to see her speed off, leaving a trail of dust in her hopping wake as the smell begins to clear, the cans of 'stink' apparently having done their job.

A rhythmic knock on the door. “Lyra! It was a fire!” I run over to open it. She's panting and sweating in that terribly attractive way. “I put it out, though, so we're gonna be fine. Did anything happen here?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Everything's quiet on this front.”

“Great!” she says, closing the window once more. She doesn't appear to see anything wrong. “Now, where were we?”

“You were about to gain a monopsony over the Griffon Principalities.”

She looks at the board with a bit of distaste. “You know, you'll never win if you don't buy agencies. Seriously,” she says, poking at my ideologically unified union spots, “Zebrican Farmer's Collective? Canterlot Service Worker's Union? Stalliongrad Kolkhozy? Those're, like, the cheapest spots.”

My face reddens a bit. “I think that certification should be left to the government.”

She puts her hoof to her face. “It's just a game. You didn't even bribe anypony. Look, I've got COMEQUES and Guild Gilda at the same time.” She looks at the charts. “They're literally on completely different sides. I've got them at a hundred percent.”

“Well, er, want to do something else, then?”

She raises her brow. “Like what?”

Pinkie Pie never told me how to broach the subject. I clean the pieces up quickly with my magic as I try not to look straight at her. “So, er, I found, er, something on the floor, after Pinkie visited.” Half-truths. I prefer not to think of the other half.

She nods angrily. “I can't believe the nerve of that marefiddler. What was it?”

A sideways glance to the packet. “It's labelled, er—”

She marches over and grabs the packet, pulling out a compact disc smeared with red marker. “Blue Spots?”

“...yes?”

She picks it up gently in her teeth and goes up to the player, pushing it in. The video comes up on the television, and the sounds fill the room.

Squelch.

Moan.

Squeak.

About five seconds into the video, she ejects it, blushing furiously; the red is a beautiful ornament to the cream. “I—I think I need a shower.”

My time to shine. “Well, er, why don't we watch it anyway? You know, as a joke. Because we're both straight.”

She freezes. Metaphorically, of course.

“Of course!” she says, nervously, pushing it right back in. Squelching sounds fill the room, and I can see her physically holding her gullet as she sits on her own bed, looking silently at the screen. “Of course. Doesn't bother me. Ha. Ha ha.”

“Gross, huh?”

This is the worst idea I've ever gone along blindly with.

My voice is emotionless as I try to pretend to be disgusted. “Ew. Filly-foolers are so gross.”

“Yeah, they totally... are.” I don't detect the slightest hint of repression. Just shock.

Worst idea, worst idea.

Twenty incredibly uncomfortable minutes later, as the moans die away, she pulls the disc out silently and puts it back in the bag.

“Okay,” she says, breathing in deeply. “From now on, I'm not gonna leave this room, ever, and neither are you.”

Worst idea.

“What?”

“Now that I've seen what they do, I can't let you out of my sight. Just thinking about it—” she shudders, shaking her head in that wonderful way, her mane flowing a bit over her crest. “No. Never. I'll get the supplier to bring food to us and hire someone to pony the register and make the candies. Can't leave you to be taken.”

“Bon-Bon?” I suppose there are worse fates than to be locked up with your one true love forever, but this certainly isn't what I had in mind; then again, what exactly did I have in mind? 'You could wash laundry on that plot?'

Maybe I should have gotten some cider first.

“Average local wage reasonable, no union, high cronyism, nepotism; non-Pegasus socially isolated ponies tend to be unemployed except by government services. Blank-flanks particularly useful. Variable costs easily covered. Optimal profits high. Firm will succeed.” She seems to have shifted into her role as business manager, whispering figures to herself in a controlled panic.

“Bon-Bon?” I say again, my voice a bit higher.

“Yes, Lyra, my best friend in the whole world?” she says as she turns to face me, her face now in a wide smile.

I don't exactly know what to say. “Maybe not all filly-foolers are... like that?”

She looks at me for a moment.

Then she laughs hysterically, the sound like chimes in the wind. “Oh, Lyra. All those books can't prepare you for real life. Just let your old friend take care of things the old-fashioned way.”

And then she shuts the door neatly, and she bolts it nimbly, and she picks the receiver from the nearest phone and dials numbers, giving out very reasonable orders in the form of angelically polite requests.

And I sit down, quietly, and let the competent pony do her work competently.

Oh, Celestia.

How I love that mare.

Eleutherosei

It is near night.

I look up at the ceiling.

Wood. Of course.

To my side.

The most beautiful, the most wonderful mare in the world, Bon-Bon, working the keratin off her hooves so that we may continue this.

Of course.

I’ve managed to do a lot of work, the last three days we’ve had in our little hermitage; composing a veritable skin to the epic poem, with Bon-Bon besides me. I’m content; I’m happy. Her very presence inspires me, and it’s not like I really miss going out to play for alms.

Not, of course, that she ever required rent; she just let me be as I was, on those months where I didn’t get much. Pocket-change.

But despite her withdrawal into eremitism—our withdrawal into eremitism, really—she seems to be working ten times harder than usual, setting up various bits of ‘infrastructure’. I don’t understand half of the things she says, and perhaps it’s for the best.

She bites down hard on the pencil and, with that beautiful look of determination, fills up another form.

But she’s not happy. I can see it in her eyes—those beautiful, sincere eyes. I just don’t know what to do. Don’t know what to say to her.

Of course I know, deep down. But I can’t. I can’t bear to witness the shock I would cause. So I keep quiet, and occasionally talk to her, and she always responds with that kind of tired warmth, no less sincere as it always has been.

And yet, looking at her, I can’t help but wonder what she thinks. What she feels, under that amazing exterior. She’s not happy, that much I can tell, but she’s trying so hard to make it seem as if she is; and her beautiful soul has no capacity, I think, for deceit.

I carry my contemplation on to the night, and I think deeply; but no amount of thinking can solve an unsolvable problem. But I think nonetheless, and grind against the stones with toothbrushes, because there’s nothing left. Just thought. Just mind-numbing thought, feathers thrown against a Royal Guard.

A whisper.

“Psst.”

That voice.

Celestia damn it.

I don’t bother asking her how she got in.

“Yes, Pinkie Pie?”

“I have another idea.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Pinkie Pie.”

“It’s a great idea.”

I sigh and speak as quietly as I can. “Bon-Bon isn’t happy. I’m sacrificing her happiness just so I can spend more time with her, and that’s horrible; I can’t bear to do that to her. Everything you’ve done so far’s just made it worse.”

“C’mon. Hear me out.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Nope!”

“Fine.”

She tells me to do what I know I have to do.

And then I realise that I have to do it, no matter what happens.

“...thank you, Pinkie.”

“No problem!” she says, and I sit up to observe her method of entry, she is gone.

I lie back down, and I know what I have to do.

I wake up that morning to see Bon-Bon working as hard as she always had. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lyra!” she says, tiredly cheerful as always; probably happy that I’m still there, that I haven’t been stolen away from her.

“I need to tell you something, Bon-Bon.”

“What is it, Lyra?” She’s earnestly attentive, smiling at me even though the wrinkles around her face betray her fatigue, her utter exhaustion. I’d expected her to be so engrossed in her work that she’d delay me, give me time to formulate what I’m about to say.

“It’s something, er, that I’ve never told you before.”

She laughs a bit, the gentle sound filling the room like a short string of expertly arranged, high-pitched notes. “What is it?”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’d never be mad at you, Lyra. Friends don’t get mad at each other for telling the truth.” She puts her hooves to her sides, turning to face me as she laughs that same laugh. “Besides. It’s not like you’re gonna tell me you’re a filly-fooler or anything totally ridiculous like that.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Hmm?” she says, uncomprehending.

I take a deep breath, and I put my heart into it.

“I’m a ‘filly-fooler’, Bon-Bon. And I love you more than anything else in the world.”

And behind those stunning, motionless eyes, and behind that angelic, unmoving smile, I see a world breaking apart.

Anastantes

Her smile doesn’t stop as she speaks.

“No, no. No, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. “Nope. No. No, no, no. No! You’re not. You’re not one of them. No, no, no.”

I put a forehoof on her shoulder and she yanks the shoulder back. “No! No, can’t. No.” Hoof on her shoulder, brushing it. “Not you. Tried to protect you. Not you. Can’t be you. Must be a joke. Funny.” She laughs a little, smile wide. “No, no. No.”

“I love you, Bon-Bon,” I say again, looking into her eyes. “I’ve always, always loved you. From the moment I first saw you. I can’t bear to see you hurt yourself like this, work yourself to the bone just to sustain our isolation.”

“Is that what this’s all about? Working?” She pushes the papers aside. “No more work. Nothing. Please. Don’t do this.”

“And I can’t lie to you like this. I can’t keep lying to you like this, like I always have. I love you more than anypony else. I love you more than myself.”

She looks down at her hooves, and then up to me.

And then she pushes me aside, pushes the door open—and she just runs.

“Fewmets.”

I run down the stairs and come face-to-face with the filly she’s apparently had someone to choose to work the register. “Where did Bon-Bon go?”

She shrugs, her chicken-like wings fluttering a bit. “I dunno. Outside, I guess.” A snicker. “Why? Lover’s quarrel?”

“I wish.”

And with that, I run out of the front. The dust cloud in the distance tells me that Bon-Bon’s gone towards the north; I can’t hope to keep up with her, but I try anyway, the town proper coming towards me, ponies turning to look as I run past them. Where would Bon-Bon go?

“Where’re you going, Lyra?”

That mare.

“What do you want, Pinkie Pie?” My voice isn’t nearly as venomous as I intend it to be. “I’ve had enough of your advice.” That’s better.

“What’re you talking about?” She cocks her head to the side. “I thought you were having your honeymoon! I Pinkie Promised!”

“You didn’t give me any more advice in my sleep?”

“Nope!” she says, looking at me strange. “You should go see Doctor Stables if you’re seeing things, Lyra! Well, unless you’re seeing Doctor Stables, in which case there wouldn’t be anything wrong with you, but if you are seeing Doctor Stables, that means there is something wrong with you, unless you’re seeing Doctor Stables, not that there’s anything wrong with...”

I filter out the rest of her speech as I realise the immediate implication, and find myself questioning my mental competence. No time for rumination, now. “I’m sorry for being so rude. Look, I’m looking for Bon-Bon. She ran off around here.”

“Oooh, you had a lover’s quarrel? That’d explain why she was in such a hurry. She went, uh—” She seems confused for a bit. “To the park? I think.”

“Thank you so much, Pinkie Pie.” I rush off towards the park. Where in the park would she—

Of course.

I am there within minutes; as I approach the bench, I hear sobs. Beautiful, heart-wracking sobs. I walk up towards her.

“Bon-Bon?”

She doesn’t seem to notice me.

“Bon-Bon, I’m sorry. But it’s who I am.”

“That’s what that whore said, too.” She shifts over, so that I may not see her face.

“Is that all I am? I’m the same as her?”

She doesn’t answer. I approach, my hooves clopping on the grass.

“I love you, Bon-Bon. I’ll never leave you.”

“She said that all the time. ‘I’ll never leave you, Bonnie. You’re my little foal.’ Baloney. Left us to rot.” She taps at the bench, keeping her glare away from me.

“You can’t blame me for what she did. Is that all I am to you? A copy of her?”

“No.” She shakes her head a bit, her voice hesitant. “No, you’re not her. You’re better than she ever was.” Her voice hesitant, but unmoving.

I approach further. “I’ll stay with you forever, Bon-Bon.”

She seems to stop breathing for a moment, and then she looks towards me, tears coming from the sides of her beautiful, enormous eyes. “Really?”

I nod, smiling as I come next to her and sit in that way, the light of the morning sun filling the world as I lean in towards her. “Really.” And then I hold her, and she does not resist.

And then, I reach in for a kiss.

And then, I feel a hoof in my mouth.

“Mmphf?” I look at her, uncomprehending. Her other hoof dries her tears as she looks into my eyes.

“I’m, uh, okay with you, uh, liking me. But I’m really not, uh, gay. But, don’t be, uh, sad. You can be my wingpony or something! Hornpony? Uh—oh, sorry.” She pulls the hoof from my mouth. “You’re a great friend and all, my best friend, and I really want you to keep staying with me. But I’m really not attracted to you in, uh, that way.”

I look at her for about three seconds, unmoving.

And then the only thing I can possibly say, the only thing I can possibly think, comes out.

“Are you bucking kidding me?”

Wait, that wasn’t me. I look behind and see a pink head popping out from a shrub. She puts her hooves over her mouth and promptly jumps from it and runs off into the distance, her tail flying high as she goes as fast as I've ever seen anypony go.

And I say what I mean to.

“I love you, Bon-Bon. No matter what.”

She smiles weakly. “What’s that thing you always said to your friends, back in college? ‘Se philo’?”

I nod. “Kai eraoimin.”

She nods back.

And with the understanding that the gesture is not the same to me as it is to her, we hug.

And I'm okay with that.

Pseudometha

This adds a bit of colour to Allocatastrophe (and allows me to have a neat chapter count of ten). This is told from Bon-Bon's perspective, and it's a foil to Lyra's unreliable narration. This completely ruins the diabetes mood, so feel free to ignore it if you like sweet nothings.

She's, like, all over me.

Okay, I know I'm doing this for my best friend, but the whole part where she's gone and put her tongue down my throat wasn't part of the plan. So I kinda push her over, and she's under me and she's still sticking to me like that and I'm pretty sure this is worse than that time in college I tried to put wine up my—

“Oh hay yeah!”

I swear I'm gonna break that filly-fooler's neck for roping me into this. At least the voice makes her pull her tongue out of my throat so I can bucking breathe for a second. I'm not sure why I'm doing this, but it can't be worth it.

But then I look down at Lyra, and then I know why I'm doing it. Girl couldn't take a rejection to save her life. Always been the bucking big sister. Can't change that just because she suddenly wants to stick her slob down my neck.

She looks at me with that really goofy smile, and I give her this big grin and I'm kind of worried I'm overdoing it.

“I love you, Bon-Bon. No matter what.”

She never did manage to sense moods. I put my muzzle on her neck to try and hide my face for a bit while I try and think of something sappy.

“What’s that thing you always said to your friends, back in college? ‘Se philo’?”

She sticks her muzzle in my mane. I hope she doesn't lick it. Just because I'm a candymaker doesn't mean my hair tastes like candy.

“Kai eraoimin.”

I'm pretty sure that's Greek for 'I want you to stick something up my butt'. It doesn't take long to think of something good to say back.

“Alla eimi.”

I think that's 'Celestia help me'.

Then she looks real deep into my eyes. I'm pretty sure I've seen that look on some stallions.

Oh, Celestia, she wants to do it in the park?

She's all over me, and I really want to push her off, really want to get her off me and tell her that it's fine to be how she is but that doesn't mean we can do that.

But I don't want to hurt the poor filly.

So I lie back and I think of Trottingham.

Allocatastrophe

This is an alternate ending to the chapter Anastantes; that is to say, it is nonsensical, feel-good drivel, an alternative to drink, the written equivalent of a clump of semi-solid, glucose-laden mush. For the love of Celestia, take not a word of it to heart.

“No.” She shakes her head a bit, her voice hesitant. “No, you’re not her. You’re better than she ever was.” Her voice hesitant, but unmoving.

I approach further. “I’ll stay with you forever, Bon-Bon.”

She seems to stop breathing for a moment, and then she looks towards me, tears coming from the sides of her beautiful, enormous eyes. “Really?”

I nod, smiling as I come next to her and sit in that way, the light of the morning sun filling the world as I lean in towards her. “Really.”

And then I hold her, and she does not resist.

And then, I reach in for a kiss.

And I feel love coming from that beautiful mouth, as she pushes me over in unleashed repression, as she pushes me down onto the bench, as she hugs me tighter than I’ve ever been hugged. And she wraps her hooves around the back of my neck and caresses me, the hard keratin as soft as jelly to me.

And I hug her back, and we roll off that bench, and we strengthen our embrace; her buried emotions coming out in a flurry as she licks about inside my muzzle; and I pull away, tongue trailing saliva—hers, and mine, together—and I say the only thing I can possibly say, the only thing I can possibly think.

“Oh hay yeah!”

Wait, that wasn’t me. I look behind and see a pink head popping out from a shrub. She puts her hooves over her mouth, jumps from it and runs off into the distance, her tail flying high as she goes as fast as I've ever seen anypony go.

I shake my head a bit, and smile at her; and she smiles with a kind of impossible happiness, and we just lay like that, grinning like idiots at each other, before I say what I mean to.

“I love you, Bon-Bon. No matter what.”

And she nuzzles my mane. “What’s that thing you always said to your friends, back in college? ‘Se philo’?”

I giggle and bury myself in that wonderful mane, letting myself be entombed by those dark and light strands. “Kai eraoimin.”

“And what’d you always want me to say back, when you said it to me?”

I look up into the beautiful morning sky, and I look at her.

“Alla eimi.”

And we look at each other, look into each other’s eyes; and we cannot control the sheer joy, as we release every bit of repression, every inhibition, and know each other fully, as the sun watches over us.

And we are so, so happy.