Chapter 10: There is a Dog in this Chapter

“Careful…careful…” Toaster adjusted the oblong object on the plate with her hoof, positioning it just right. Her nose peeked over the edge of Lyra’s kitchen counter, bringing herself to eye level with her enemy.

“So,” she said,” “we meet once again, egg. This time, you WILL cook evenly and give me a nutritious breakfast.”

She lowered her horn to the egg and charged it. The tip glowed with the slightest red light, and Toaster took a deep breath, trying to control her magic evenly as her horn tingled with energy. “That’s it,” she whispered to herself. “Just a tiny bit of- -”

The energy burst out of her horn and into the egg. She had reduced her output to the smallest possible amount, and the beam still cut a small hole directly through the center of the egg without cooking it- -and through Lyra’s wall. And Muffins’s.

“Mein leiben!” cried Bread’s voice from next door.

Toaster cringed. “Sorry!” she called out the kitchen window. “No eggs, I guess,” she said to herself. As she deposited the egg into the trash with its deceased brethren, she heard the sound of Lyra’s door opening and then shutting. That, she knew, was odd; Lyra was not yet awake. Toaster had checked.

Not caring much, though, Toaster sat down with a pile of bread and assorted jams. As she took out the first slice of bread, a pony walked into view. At first, Toaster was not entirely sure if she was being robbed, but she hoped that she was so that she could pay the intruder with her body- -but then she recognized the mare who had entered the house.

The pony standing at the edge of the kitchen was an off-white eggshell color, with bicolored blue and pink hair and a cutie mark of three wrapped candies. Her eyes were a pleasant blue, but she looked extremely confused to see Toaster sitting at Lyra’s kitchen table.

“Hey, I know you!” said Toaster, setting the last heal of the bread she had just toasted in a pile next to her. “You’re Lyra’s friend!”

“Friend…yeah…” sighed the pony. “Um…who are you?”

“I’m Toaster!” said Toaster. “I’m the prostitute who lives with Lyra!”

The eggshell pony’s eyes widened. “Prostitute, you say?”

“Oh, yes,” said Toaster. “I’m VERY good friends with Lyra at this point!”

“Oh,” said the pony. “I see. Toaster, was it?”

“The toastiest!”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

She passed out of view, and then back into it as her hooves clicked against the stairs as she headed upward. Toaster shrugged and got some more eggs from Lyra’s refrigerator, disappointed to see that she was out of cheese.

From above, a shrill voice began yelling very quickly.

“Lyra! Come osi portare una prostituta in questa casa! Madre Celestia e tutti i Santi, cosa ho fatto per meritare questa disgrazia! Come hai potuto dare il tuo prezioso corpo a una puttana? Cosa direbbe tua madre, tuo padre? Come si potrebbe rompere il mio cuore come questo!”

This was punctuated by the sound of hooves hitting something soft, and Lyra screaming. “What? What the?! Ow! Bon Bon! Stop hitting me! I don’t understand!”

There were more dull thumps, and more shrieking in Italian. Toaster largely ignored it and continued what she was doing. After several minutes, the thumping stopped, and two sets of hooves came down the stairs. Lyra and the other pony- -who Toaster now understood to be named Bon Bon- -came into the doorway.

“Toaster,” said Lyra, rubbing the side of her head while Bon Bon glared at her. “We need to...um…where did all this toast come from?”

“What toast?” Toaster looked around, and realized that she had been compulsively toasting again. The entire kitchen was filled with hundreds of plates of toast, all of it perfectly charred. Some was buttered, and others covered with assorted jams or swirled in chocolate in hundreds of different recipes.

“Is this…this is French toast,” said Lyra, picking up a succulent piece covered in fresh blueberry syrup. “How the hay did you make French toast so fas- -oof!” She stopped when she was elbowed in the side by Bon Bon. “Right, right. We need to talk.”

“I thought that was what we were doing right now.”

Lyra sighed. “Toaster, what exactly is your job?”

“Oh. I’m a prostitute. I take stallion wieners in my various orifices for bits.”

“And you didn’t think to, oh, I don’t know, TELL ME THIS?”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.”

“I thought I did.”

“If you did, I wasn’t listening.”

“She tends to do that,” added Bon Bon.

Lyra groaned and put her hoof to her temple. “I mean, I knew you were a slut- -”

“Oh, so you KNOWINGLY let a slut into your home?” said Bon Bon, raising her voice.

“No, I- -”

“Hey!” said Toaster, angrily. “I resent being called a slut like that! Sluts have lots of sex with lots of ponies, I have sex for cash! I’m a slut for hire!”

“But you told me you were a virgin!”

“So you only like virgins, then?” cried Bon Bon.

“No, I didn’t mean- -”

“I am,” said Toaster.

“How the hay can you be a prostitute AND a virgin?!” cried Lyra. “And what are you even doing in my house, eating my bread?! Why aren’t you back in your crawlspace?!”

Bon Bon’s eyes widened, and she took a step back from Lyra. “You mean you hired a prostitute and force her to live under your house? Lyra, do I even know you?”

“It’s not like- -it isn’t- -arrrg!” Lyra put her hoof on her temple.

“I came up here because I needed to use the toilet,” explained Toaster. “I passed about twenty five pounds or rasins and wax paper. You know, from the muffins. And those pink papery things that were hanging inside the house.”

“Pink papery things?”

“Oh yeah,” said Bon Bon. “Pinkie invited everypony to something…I didn’t go, because I was going to go out with SOMEPONY today…somepony who clearly does not believe in being well rested and would rather rub horns with a young unicorn instead of with- -”

“Wait, you ate invitation?”

“They smelled like frosting. I assumed they were edible.”

“Where they?”

“Eh,” Toaster shifted her hoof in the air. “Debatable. Anyway, I fell asleep on the pot and woke up hungry.”

“So you ate all my food? And where’s my rent?”

“In some stallion’s pocket right now, I guess.”

“LYRA! You’re pimping this girl for money now?”

“What- -no! NO! She just lives under the house, and- -and- -” She took a deep breath. “Toaster,” she said. “Please tell Bon Bon how you feel about lesponies.”

“It’s really, really, really gross!” said Toaster, making a face. “I mean, I guess they’re ponies too, but the idea of doing it with another mare is just- -eew! Even I can’t be paid enough to do that!”

Lyra turned to Bon Bon. “See?”

Bon Bon’s expression softened slightly. “So…you didn’t have sex with my Lyra?”

“Eew! No! Although sometimes I watch her sleep…”

“Wait, what?”

“And besides, Leera has a coltfriend. She told me so.”

Bon Bon’s eyes suddenly narrowed again. “A coltfriend on the side now, too?”

“Yes,” said Lyra through gritted teeth. “A ‘coltfriend’ who is very, VERY thick-skulled.”

“Of course, I’ll still hit a stallion if he has a coltfriend. Or fillyfriend. Hey, do you think I could charge extra for them to watch?”

“That’s gross.”

“Not as gross as the taste of vagina.”

“HER OWN!” cried Lyra suddenly, before Bon Bon could glare at her.

“Actually, that reminds me,” said Toaster. “What day is it?”

“Um…Tuesday, maybe?” suggested Bon Bon.

“Oh sweet Celestia,” said Lyra. “Why did you have to tell her that?”

“Why? It’s just- -”

“TACO TUESDAY!!”

“That’s why.”

“I forgot what day it was!” cried Toaster, searching under plates and bowls and measuring cups of toast. “Where’s my saddle, my perfume? Tuesday is the BEST day for prostituting, and I need to get an early start if I want to get my start earlied!”

“What does that even mean?”

Toaster ran out of the room, and then poked her head back in. “You can have the toast,” she said. “I don’t really care for it much myself.” She left again, and then poked her head back in. “Oh, and Leera, you might want to call a plumber.” Then she left a third time, and her departure was punctuated by the slamming of the door as she left.

Bon Bon watched her go, and Lyra entered the room and slouched at one of the chairs to the kitchen table.

“Don’t you lock your door?” asked Bon Bon, pulling up a chair across from Lyra.

“She gets in anyway. I’m not sure how.” She slid a plate of extremely fancy toast to Bon Bon. “Want to have breakfast?”

“Sure,” said Bon Bon. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you were doing it with a prostitute behind my back!”

“But I wasn’t!”

“Doesn’t matter, I thought you were, and that’s why I’m mad!”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“But,” said Bon Bon, taking a bite of a plump piece of decadent French toast drizzled in what Lyra hoped was raspberry syrup, “I suppose you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Eat your toast before it gets cold. Then we’ll go upstairs, and you will be spending the rest of the morning eating something else entirely.”

“Snickerdoodles?”

Bon Bon sighed. “No. Me. You will be eating me.”

“What, like in cupcakes? Or made into little candies?”

Bon Bon kicked Lyra beneath the table, and Lyra broke out laughing. After realizing that Lyra was joking, so did Bon Bon.

Toaster ran out of the house, nearly tripping on Lyra’s staircase. She found her clothes in one of Lyra’s shrubs and quickly put them on. She ran down the path to street, and turned the corner suddenly to find herself face-to-face with a monster.

“Gasp!” she cried, jumping backward and falling onto her back. Her legs flailed for a moment, and then she stood up to realize that it was not in fact a monster but some kind of dog with a long, narrow face and a shaggy white coat. Holding onto its leash was a gray Pegasus, and Toaster realized that it must have been Muffin’s dog- -not just because she was holding the leash, but because it, like her, had severely derped yellow eyes.

“What are you?!” cried Toaster to the dog.

“Oh,” said Muffins. “Hi Toaster. He’s a borzoi.”

“He has a mosquito head! I don’t know if I should hug him or run screaming! What even is a borzoi?”

“It’s a type of sight hound.”

The dog sat on its haunches and stared at Toaster- -or, rather, it faced her while one eye looked up at the treeline and andother seemed to contemplate the edge of the sidewalk.

“Sight hound, you say? As in, seeing?”

“Yes,” said Muffins, excitedly. She descended slightly and scratched the dog behind one of its floppy ears. “He’s my wittew wuvvy boy, insn’t he?”

“Is that question rhetorical?”

“Actually, Toaster, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have a minute.”

“I don’t,” said Toaster. “It’s Taco Tuesday, and Tostadora necessita el chorizo en su taco ahorita!”

“It’s not Tuesday,” said Muffins.

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Toaster paused. “I have been deceived!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure it’s Tuesday somewhere.”

“It’s just not the same.” Toaster sank to the ground in disappointment.

“Oh. Does that mean you have time to talk?”

“Sure.”

Muffins dropped to the ground and walked off the sidewalk, into the green that was across from her house. She sat down at the bench where Toaster had seen the gray-eyed unicorn sitting the previous day. Toaster did not move, but was rather pushed and rolled to her new location by Muffin’s dog, which was now leashless.

“Wow,” said Muffins as Toaster was finally repositioned at the base of the bench. “You really are disappointed.”

“I love Taco Tuesday,” said Toaster. She looked up, seeing that Muffins was confused- -perhaps about the meaning to Taco Tuesday, but also just perhaps in general. “Back at the brothel, we always had a huge sale on Tuesdays nights. The other girls had lines out the door. But no one ever came for me.”

Toaster got up and sat on the bench with Muffins. The dog immediately sat at the base of a nearby tree and stared up at it- -or rather, at a nearby shrub and at a trashcan while it faced the tree.

“Bark! Bark! Bark!” it said.

“Is that what dogs sound like?” asked Toaster, surprised at how similar to a pony voice it sounded.

“You’ve never heard a dog bark before?”

“He’s the first dog I ever met. Or even seen.”

“Really?”

“We didn’t allow them into the brothel. There’s a law against that sort of thing.”

“But what about before you worked there?”

“Before? I was a filly. How could a filly ever get to see a dog?”

“I don’t understand.”

Toaster almost made a comment about Muffins’s obvious inbreeding, but decided that it would probably be insulting.

“So,” she said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Muffins paused, and the dog seemed to notice. It walked back to the bench, and Muffins put her hoof on its oddly narrow head. “There was a town meeting last night,” she finally said.

“Yes, I know. I ate, like, twelve invitations for it.”

“Really? I only managed to get down two.”

“Yeah, no gag reflex,” said Toaster. To demonstrate, she shoved her hoof up to the carpus down her throat. “Fee?” She pulled her hoof out, shaking off the various digestive secretions. The dog shuddered.

“Did you read the invitations, Toaster?”

Toaster paused, slightly ashamed. “I’m not so good at reading. On account of never having gone to school.”

“Oh. I had that same problem when I was younger. Because of the double vision.”

“Yeah, how do you actually see anything with your eyes like that?”

“Practice.” Muffins realized that she was getting off topic. “Oh yeah!” Then, less enthusiastically, “oh, yeah…I remember now.”

“What? How you got derped?”

The dog seemed to take offense to this, and growled loudly at her.

“It’s okay,” said Muffins to the dog. “She turned back to toaster. “The meeting was about you.”

“Really?” said Toaster, confused. She knew that she was new to Ponyville, but she was just an ordinary pony, the same as anypony else. “Were there cookies?”

“No, but there were cupcakes.”

“Did you eat one with blue frosting?”

“No, why?”

“Because you know what they say about the blue ones.”

“No, actually. But at the meeting, there was some concern over your profession.”

“You mean slip-sliding stallions on my babymaker for fat cash?”

“Yes. That.” She sighed. “Toaster, I’m really worried. They seemed really mad.”

“Angry sex is best sex.”

“Not like that. It’s just…do you really have to be a prostitute?”

“Yes,” said Toaster, without hesitation.

“But…why?”

“Because it is what I was made for,” explained Toaster. “Just like you were made for…” she leaned back and looked down at Muffins’s rump. “Bubbles? Um…bad example?”

“But isn’t it dangerous?”

“A little bit, I guess. But it is necessary.”

“Why?”

Toaster looked Muffins in the eye- -only one of them, because the other was looking somewhere else- -“because it is so important. We whores, we do important work. When stallions feel lonely and sad, they can come to us. When they can’t find love, or when they just need to hold another pony. We give them pleasure when they can’t form or don’t want a real relationship. I just want to make them happy.”

“Aww…” Muffins passed a handkerchief to her dog, which was tearing up.

“Besides,” said Toaster. “I think you’re misinterpreting the interpretation a bit. Everypony loves prostitutes! They’re all so nice to me!”

“But it’s not just that,” said Muffins. “Toaster, something is going to come…”

“Right inside me, hopefully.”

“Hopefully, but not that. Something bad is going to happen here, and soon.”

“Like what?”

Muffins shook her head. “I don’t know…but something really, really, REALLY bad.”

“Bark,” added her dog.

“That’s why my family sent me Bread, and why I sent my daughters to my parent’s house in Las Pegasus…”

“Wait!” cried Toaster, her eyes wide. “You mean you have…DAUGHTERS? How old even are you? And they’re not- -” Toaster shuddered at the thought. “- -I mean, he’s your brother!”

Muffins chuckled. “I got a little wild in my graduate school days,” she admitted. “But I don’t regret anything. They’re two beautiful, talented unicorns…my little muffins…and I love them. I hated having to send them away, but it’s just not safe here right now.”

“Looks safe to me,” said Toaster, looking up at the idyllic pastoral landscape that surrounded her. There were trees and grass and the sound of children playing in the distance. She liked this place, and liked it a lot.

Toaster got off the bench, and hugged Muffins. She smelled surprisingly good, and her wings were very soft. “Thank you for the advice,” said Toaster. “But you’re overacting. I know what I’m doing. I’m a professional.” She looked down at the borzoi. “And it was nice to meet you two, even if you have a funny head that horrifies me on an instinctual level! You’re just so cute!”

She then trotted off, and Muffins’s expression fell. Her dog seemed to notice, and put its head on the bench, its derped eyes looking up at her.

“I know, I know,” said Muffins. “You told me she wouldn’t listen. But I didn’t listen. I just hope she’s okay.”