Sprouting Some Heartstrings
“Oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh...”
Following a long day at the market, Bon-Bon returned home to the unmistakable sound of Lyra panicking. Gasps, rants, the clopping of hooves, and the clatter of various cleaning apparatus filled the room as Bon-Bon opened the front door. “Uh, Lyra?” Bon-Bon frowned. Watching from the entranceway, she let the doors swing open as she watched Lyra canter around the living room.
The mare was hyperventilating, dashing from item to item, dustpan and cloth floating in her magic as she hurriedly went about cleaning every surface within reach.
“Lyra, what’s going on?”
Lyra froze—“Oh. My. Gosh.”—her eyes growing wide, and coming to a screeching halt. The rag beside her flicked and bobbed. It gave the mantel one last lick, then pulled away from cleaning it for the fifth time as Lyra glanced to Bon-Bon. “Bonnie!” Her eyes lit up, and the rag immediately dropped from her field.
Lyra leapt across the distance, tumbling over the sofa and tackling Bon-Bon in a bear-hug as she screamed. “Thank Celestia you’re finally here!”
Bon-Bon pulled back in shock, gasping for breath as Lyra crushed the breath from her lungs. “Elk—” She could almost feel Lyra breathing down her neck—or up her nose, so to speak. It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it? Inhaling deeply, she pushed Lyra away and out of her personal space. “Calm down, Lyra,” she hissed, locking the mare with a firm gaze, “What’s going on?”
“It’s terrible!” Lyra screamed, causing Bon-Bon to wince. The mare stumbled, catching herself with a hoof, and rubbing her ear with the other. Lyra quickly dashed to her side, dragging her by the ears and gesturing for her to look. “Look!” she shouted, redoubling the borderline-tinnitus, and held a scrap of paper in front of her nose. “My family’s coming to visit, Bon-Bon!”
“Wha—” Bon-Bon frowned, crossing her eyes to inspect the piece of paper. She barely made out the first few letters before the paper was promptly teleported away and out of reach.
“They’re going to be here any minute,” Lyra continued, “The house is a mess; the garden hasn’t been brushed...” She left Bon-Bon’s side to begin pacing small circled. The rag and dustpan joined her, each of them marching along behind Lyra’s hurried rant. “I still have to trim my teeth and polish my mane, and we’re not ready!”
“Mhm,” Bon-Bon simply nodded. Pulling her eyes from Lyra, she quickly glanced across the room, and was caught in shock. If there was any words she could use to describe it, they were anything but a mess. Quite the contrary, the place was cleaner than she’d ever seen it. It was almost sparkling it was so clean.
Every shelf was sorted and in the process of being magically dusted by an enchanted feather duster. She caught a glimpse of Lyra’s music equipment—the same pile of junk she always had to beg Lyra to pick up—neatly packed and polished in the corner.
Even the potted plant, she noted, had a little bit of an extra shine to it, almost like it had been... Bon-Bon’s eyes narrowed, focusing past the plant to a spot of blue resting atop the window sill behind it.
She sighed.
Horn polish, of course.
“Lyrraaaa,” Bon-Bon sighed, readying herself for the normal weekly lecture. She started off by stopping the mare with a hoof to the shoulder, and was immediately met with a loud clatter as she contingent of cleaning supplies came to a crashing halt. “First,” she said, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. And second”—she pointed to the potted plant—“We spoke about this, you can’t just go polishing the—”
“Bon-Bon,” Lyra cut in, “I know you mean well, but please, please, please help me on this one! I really need your help and—” Lyra’s eyes shot to Bon-Bon’s saddlebag and she immediately interrupted herself. “Oooh,” she squealed. She grabbed them in her magic, uttering a quick “yoink~”
“Hey!” Bon-Bon gasped. She watched in horror as Lyra levitated the saddlebags clear from her back, flipped open the top, and began digging through the contents. “Lyra, you can’t just—”
“Did you get more scrubs and detergent?” Lyra’s voice came, muffled, from the bottoms of the saddlebags as she rummaged through the contents.
Bon-Bon did a double take, and quickly shook her head. “N-no, Lyra, why would I—”
DING-DONG
Both ponies jumped as the doorbell rang between them. “No time!” Lyra flipped the saddlebags closed and sent them flying towards the kitchen, where they landed with a resounding crash. She whirled back, pushing Bon-Bon out of the way as she trotted towards the front door, donning a big grin.
“Lyra,” Bon-Bon shouted, half whispered as she was buffeted out of the way. “You didn’t answer my—”
“Lyra!”
The door swung open to reveal a sea-green unicorn, much like Lyra, but with a brown mane and a potted plant for her cutie mark. She leapt through the doorway and wrapped her hooves around Lyra, pulling her into a massive hug as she screamed.
“Sproutie!” Lyra squealed back and returned the hug best she could. The two squealed loudly, making Bon-Bon cringe as they spun in their embrace, “I haven’t seen you in, like, forever!”
They both parted—“O.M.C,” Sprout gasped. She flicked a hoof through Lyra’s mane. “I love your mane!”
“Thanks!” Lyra squealed back, suppressing her excited giggles.
“It’s so soft!”
“I know!” Lyra giggled. She turned to prim the back of her bangs. “I’ve been trying out a new mane and tail conditioner. It’s just doing wonders for my follicles!”
“You should, like, totally show it to me.” She ran a hoof through her own mane, flicking it past the brown little sprout poking out the back. “Mine always makes my sprout wilt and it takes, like, forever to get it back up.”
“Sure, I’ll show you in just—”
“Ahem.” A cough sounded from behind, grabbing both ponies’ attention. They turned to find Bon-Bon standing behind them tapping a hock with her hooves crossed.
Lyra gasped, “Oh, how rude of me!” She spun round next to Sprout, putting a hoof over her shoulder, and pulling her further into the room. “Bonny”—she gestured to Sprout—“This is my sister, Belle Sprout”—The mare nodded frantically, and then Lyra gestured Bon-Bon, “Sprout, this is my bestest-mostest-favouritest-friendliest friend in the whole entire world—”
“Bon-Bon,” She said flatly, “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi!” Sprout shouted, and before Bon-Bon could do anything or even get away, she’d crossed the small distance between them and crushed her under the force of a thousand steamrollers. Bon-Bon gave off a tiny squeak as the air was forced from her lungs, “I can already tell we’re going to be best friends!” Sprout shrieked, rocking Bon-Bon back and forth in her hug.
Somepony kill me now. Bon-Bon struggled against her restraints, “Yes, well...” She pulled a hoof free and patted Sprout lightly on the back, trying her best to keep up a happy smile, for Lyra’s sake, “It’s, uh, nice to meet you... too.” She pushed the over-affectionate mare away.
The two separated, allowing Bon-Bon a moment of respite. She gasped loudly and pressed a hoof to her chest, then looked between the two Unicorns standing in front of her with wide—almost creepily identical—grins plastered across their faces.
Bon-Bon felt her eye twitch. It was almost like looking into a mirror, a weird, twisted, funhouse mirror that swapped around all of your colours. These two were just too similar, and Celestia knows what she’d do if there were two Lyras.
“...well”—she felt her other eye twitch, and quickly rubbed it with a hoof. Okay, Bon-Bon, remember your training, remain calm. It’s just two Lyras, no biggie; just one afternoon. Nothing you can’t handle. She cracked a smile, and did her best to hide her minor freak out.
“Hey, Sprout,” Lyra said, “Are mom and dad going to be here soon?”
“Yeah, they’ll be here in just a minute, they’re just outside sorting the luggage.”
“Well why don’t we sit down whilst we wait?”
“Great idea!” Sprout chirped and bumped past Bon-Bon as she headed towards the living room with Lyra close behind. She ran up to the couch, and vaulted the back, flopping down in the middle and instantly taking an interest in the plate of food set out, “Ooh, you even have finger sandwiches.” She levitated one of the tiny sandwiches into the air and into her mouth, “Mmm, you alwash mashe she besht shantwishes.”
“Yes, well,” Lyra blushed and took a seat next to her sister.
Bon-Bon was the last to join them, still recovering from her not-so-minor meltdown. She took a seat in the recliner and rubbed her temples before finally opening up a line of questioning, “What brings you to Ponyville anyway?”
“Hm?” Sprout quickly swallowed her third sandwich, “Oh, well, we’re actually going to Las Pegasus but Ponyville is so close along the way that we decided”—She shrugged, “Hey, why not come visit Lyra?” Another sandwich levitated off the plate and into her mouth. “Ansh shear we are!”
“Ooh, are you going to see the gerbil trainers? I always found those guys really cute.”
“Yeah, and ever since last time Citrus has been looking for a rematch in Prance Prance Revolution.” She cupped a hoof over her mouth, leaning in close to whisper. “I think she’s jealous.”
Pffft
There was a loud snort from across the room, and everypony turned to find a dark blue pony, almost black, trutting through the open front door. “As if,” she spouted. Her curly mane hung in long bangs, and she tossed them with a hoof and a sigh. “The cart’s fixed, by the way.” She trotted around the seating area, eyeing the sofas with a critical gaze, before finally settling on her haunches beside Bon-Bon’s recliner.
“...Well,” Lyra continued. Turning away from Citrus, she glanced back to her sister. “You always were the dancer of the family,” Lyra remarked, “Bon-Bon keeps beating me.”
“With a stick.” Bon-Bon quipped.
“Oh!” Sprout bounced in her seat, her eyes lighting up. “You have one here?”
“Eeyup, there’s one at the place down the road. We got to dance there just last month, but Discord was involved and things got a little bit... crazy.”
“I’ll say,” Bon-Bon added with a roll of her eyes. She shifted in her seat, stealing a quick glance at Citrus, before settling back on her haunches. “He dragged pretty much everypony into it, even the Princesses. I wouldn’t be surprised the owners haven’t laid on a ban after the stunt he pulled.”
“But,” Lyra jabbed with a hoof. “They did make a massive profit on that.”
“Yeah, I suppose...” Bon-Bon agreed begrudgingly. “But it’s not like—”
There was a sudden, loud thump on the door, and a knock that made bon-Bon jump. She stifled a yelp, and Sprout practically leapt out of her seat. “Oh!” She hopped past Lyra, bounding towards the front door. “That must be them now!”
Lyra jumped to her hooves with barely a glance back to Bon-Bon. “Come in!” she shouted, and ran off to joined her sister in welcoming the other guests.
Celestia forbid—Bon-Bon sat back in her seat, grimacing—there couldn’t possibly be any more Lyras.
The room filled with a loud commotion, the stomping of hooves, chatter, and the loud fumbling of baggage as Lyra and Sprout returned, joined by two new ponies. The first, a tanned light-blue stallion, towering over the rest, with his hooves draped over the other mares as he levitated a heavy trunk behind them. He was clearly well-built, despite the tacky Hawaiian shirt he was sporting. “So how’s my little pumpkin?” Mr. Heartstring began, his thick moustache twitching—almost like a giant purple caterpillar—tickling each mare’s face.
“Pffft—“ Bon-Bon snorted, barely containing herself as she rolled onto her hooves. She reared up to look over the tops of the sofas. “Pumpkin?” she shouted, then burst into laughter, joined soon after by Citrus.
Lyra turned a deep shade of crimson, her cheeks burning as she recoiled back to hide behind her mane. She quickly glanced to her sister covering a snicker, which caused her only to blush deeper. “D—” she choked, “Daaaa!” Lyra shoved him away, which only made the other ponies laugh louder. “I’m not a little foal anymore!”
“No, you’re not...”A violet pegasus, quite the opposite of her husband, shouldered in front of him to get a better look at both of her daughters. “You’ve grown up so much!” she squealed, catching Lyra in her hooves and immediately crushing the mare in a rough bear hug. “Why”—Lyra wheezed, squeaking like a stuffed animal under the weight. Mrs. Heartstrings separated, holding Lyra at an arm’s length to look her up and down, and sniffed, wiping a tear from her eyes. “Why, it feels like just yesterday we were pushing you out of the nest...”
More laughter, stronger, and more ferocious.
Lyra’s blush deepened. “M-moooom.” She shied away from both of them, now almost completely red. “You’re embarrassing me!”
“Now tell me,” Mr. Heartstrings returned, glancing to Lyra, and then looking around as if in search of something. “How is the lyre playing going? Where is it? I’d love to see.”
“Oh yes!” Mrs. Heartstrings nodded, “Any new concerts to tell us about?”
“Wait”—Bon-Bon’s giggling stopped cold, and she straightened to see both Lyra’s parents clear. “Concerts?” she asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, “Lyra doesn’t play at an—Oopf!” There was a flicker of motion, and Bon-Bon suddenly found herself choking. She stumbled back, clutching at the edges of her seat with a cushion shoved down her throat. “Mmmf!” She tried to scream, but the sound only came out in muffled grunts and high-pitched cute squeaks as she squeezed the cushion between her jaws.
She looked to Citrus and Sprout, silently begging for their help with her eyes. Instead, both mares took one look at her, then glanced to each other, and burst into side-splitting laughter.
Lyra turned away from the three, her horn dimming as she smiled at her mother. “It’s great!” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “The last one had five—six—no, eight, thousand ponies!”
“Wow,” Both parents beamed, Mr. Heartstrings nodding, and his wife covering her mouth and let out an awed gasp. Mrs. Heartstrings ruffled Lyra’s mane, adding to her—thankfully receding—blush. “That’s great, honey. We’re so proud of you.”
“And what about this, um...” Mr. Heartstrings brow furrowed and he paused to think, glancing to his wife to ask, “What was her name again?”
Mrs. Heartstrings shrugged. “Octave?”
“Octavia?”
“Yes, that’s her.” She nodded. “How are the lessons going?”
“Oh, um...” Lyra paused to think. A stray bead of sweat trailed down her forehead as she glanced to the floor. Sauerkrauts, I forgot about that. She glanced back to the couch to see Sprout watching with rapt attention, whilst Citrus attempted to remove the cushion from Bon-Bon’s jaw line.
Bon-Bon, all things considered, was taking this remarkably well. She was lying back down on her chair, screaming and flailing whilst Citrus attempted not to pull out her mane. “Uh, It’s, um—“ Lyra swallowed—“going great! I’m a prodigy!”
Another loud grunt sounded from the seating area, and Bon-Bon came cantering up next to Lyra. She shot daggers to the unicorn, pointing a hoof to the cushion still protruding from her face. “Mmmm!”
Mrs. Heartstrings waved a hoof. “Honey, manners. You should really try to chew your food.”
“Mm!?” She spat out the cushion. “Lyra,” Bon-Bon grumbled. She scrambled to her hooves, side-stepping the two laughing mares, and squeezed herself between Lyra and her parents. “I’m so, so, so, sorry, Mrs.... uh...” Bon-Bon paused mid-stride, raising a hoof as she glanced, beckoningly, to Mrs Heartstrings.
“Harpsichord, sweetie,” she responded then, hoofing her husband in the ribs, “and this is my husband, Double Barrel.” She leaned in closer, shielding her mouth with a hoof, and whispered, “Don’t mind the moustache, it’s a fake.”
“Hey!” Barrel guffawed. His moustache visibly wiggled at that. “Don’t tell them that!”
“Yes, well.” Bon-Bon nodded, resuming her shoving as she pushed Lyra away from them. “Please excuse us, Harpsichord”—she nodded to Barrel, flashing a smile— “Double Barrel, but I have to speak to Lyra.” She glanced back to Lyra, gritting her teeth, and began shoving the mare ahead of her towards the kitchen. “Privately, in the kitchen.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” Lyra blinked, smiled, and then waved to her parents. “Okay, just a minute, I’ll see you both later and please make-yourselves-at-home-by—”
SLAM
The door slammed shut behind both of them, leaving Harpsichord and Double Barrel alone in the living room, with Belle Sprout. The former perked up, glancing around. “So, uh... Lovely weather we’re having?” she said.
Belle Sprout nodded. “Oh yeah, yeah, it’s... uh... great?”
~ ~ ~
Bon-Bon dragged Lyra all the way into the kitchen, spun her around and pinned her against the wall, “Okay, what’s going on?” She leaned in close, the tips of their snouts pressing together as Lyra tried to move away, “You’ve never played any concerts, and what’s this about lessons with Octavia?”
Lyra rolled her eyes and squirmed out from under Bon-Bon. She turned away as she moved over to the dining table, averting her eyes as she spoke, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lyra,” Bon-Bon stated flatly, crossing her hooves, “I know you’re lying. Your ears are twitching.”
“No they’re not,” Lyra huffed and crossed her hooves. Turning her back to Bon-Bon, her left ear flicked all on its own. Bon-Bon’s eyebrow rose and the two lapsed into silence.
For a long while the only sound was that of a wooden clock ticking away in the corner, the faint murmur or Lyra’s family in the next room and the distant yell of school fillies giving their teacher a hard time.
At length the clock chimed with a loud coocoo, coocoo noise, and Lyra broke the silence with a sigh, “Okay, fine, so I lied.” She turned around to face Bon-Bon again, her ears drooping as she began to beg, “Please don’t tell them I’m a fraud,” She dropped to her knees and shuffled up to Bon-Bon, “Please”
“You can’t just go lying to your family like that!”
“I know! I’m a liar Lyra, but what was I supposed to do?” Lyra looked up into Bon-Bon’s eyes, her own trembling as she forced a pout. “Pleeease just play along, for today?” For me?”
Bon-Bon sighed, “...fine,” then glared at Lyra and prodded her in the chest with a hoof, “But you owe me for this one.”
She then spun around, headed to the refrigerator, and opened it to look inside. After digging around for a moment she produced a plate of daisy sandwiches and held them out for Lyra to take, “Here, take these out to your folks. I have to go check on the laundry.”
“Oh, that’s already taken care of.” Lyra said as she took the plat in her aura and a clean tray floated up from the counter.
Bon-Bon’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean ‘taken care of’?”
“Well,” Lyra began. The sandwiches dumped themselves onto the tray and began lining themselves up, and she levitated the now empty plate over to the sink, “I couldn’t just leave dirty washing lying around with my parents coming to visit. My mom is drawn to them like a magnet.”
“So you...”
“I put them in the wash,” she said, “and turned on the machine.” A wide grin spread across Lyra’s face, the same one Bon-Bon always saw and read as trouble. Seeing Lyra’s glazed-over stare of otherworldly terror, she responded with the only reasonable answer she could come up with, given the situation. “You’re welcome!” she chirped.
Bon-Bon swallowed, clearing the lump in the throat. “You...” She left the fridge door to swing closed behind her. Oh Celestia She swallowed again. “Okay, now I really have to check on the laundry.”
~ ~ ~
Lyra bounded out of the kitchen with a skip in her step, trailed behind with the tray and several jugs and glasses in her magic. Bon-Bon followed soon after and the two quickly parted their ways, the latter turning a sharp left to head down the hall and visit the laundry room whilst Lyra continued on to introduced her family to their treats.
“So...” Lyra cooed, smiling as she made her way around the front of the sitting area. She levitated the plate beside her and set it down in the middle of the table, to various surprise ‘ooohs’ from her parents. “I brought you snacks,” Lyra said. Next were the jugs. With a flourish, Lyra set glasses in front of each pony then set the jugs to work pouring lemonade. “And drinks,” she added with a giggle.
“Oh my, Lyra,” Harpsichord gasped. “Dear,” she said, waving a hoof as one of the jugs flitted past her. “You really didn’t have to. We’re not even going to be here that long.”
“Mhm.” Double Barrel nodded. Immediately snatching a sandwich from the table, her bit into it and moaned as the cucumber and mayo mixed in his moan. “Mmmhm... Yoush were always such a great cook, honey.”
“Pfft.” Citrus rolled her eyes. “Magic.”
“It was nothing, really.” Lyra suppressed a nervous giggle, hiding her blush behind her mane as she made her way carefully around the table. “It was just, you know... sandwiches.” She slotted in between her sister and Citrus then levitated two glasses from the table, one for her, and offered the second to Sprout. “I mean, literally, Bon-Bon’s the one you should be—“
“LYRAAAA!”
She jolted. The glasses shook to a halt, nearly spilling their contents all over herself and Bell. “Oh?” Lyra’s ears perked and she left the one glass, allowing it float for a moment in bell’s aura. “What was—?”
“LYRAAAAAAA!”
The scream sounded again, this time a bit more insistent. If she wasn’t sure what it was before, there weren’t any doubts. “Oh!” Lyra shot up from her seat, dropping her glass. “Bon-Bo-”
“Lyra, get in here. Right now.”
Lyra glanced to her parents, and then to Citrus who glared daggers back. “Oh, uh...” Her ears drooped and, whispering a quick apology to Citrus, Lyra cast a spell to dry the mare off and then shimmied her way past across the coffee table. “S-sorry,” she stammered, “It sounds like Bon-Bon needs me, again.”
Her parents nodded their understanding, the former’s moustache twitching. They, Citrus, and Sprout, watched as Lyra once again galloped off to some other part of the house.
Belle Sprout took a sip of her lemonade, looking back the way Lyra had gone with a smile. “They are such a cute couple,” she said, then looked to Citrus. “Don’t you think?” Grinning, she added a wobble to her eyebrows to add special effect.
This resulted in a snort and a giggled, and Citrus almost sprayed lemonade from her nose as she doubled over, barely containing her laughter.
“Oh yes.” Double Barrel nodded his agreement with a chuckle. He looked to Sprout, raising one eyebrow for a wobble of his own. “Makes me wonder when you’ll be finding your own special somepony.”
“Eep!” Sprout squeaked in surprise, her nose scrunching up as her face turned a bright red. “D- daaad!”
~ ~ ~
Lyra arrived in the laundry room to find Bon-Bon standing, fuming, in an ocean of bubbles and soapy water. The washing machine was still trundling away with its top lid flipped open, and yet more suds spewing over the top across the room. “Woah,” Lyra mouthed silently, “What happened in here?” Water and suds covered everything, even creeping up the walls and flowing out the door into the corridor.
Bon-Bon started sharply, “What did you do?”
“... the laundry?”
Bon-Bon’s glare grew harder. “I am literally standing waist deep in suds.” It was true, in part, Lyra noted. In the short time they had been standing there, the suds seemed to have risen by at least two inches. It was now closer to Bon-Bon’s lower chest, a little higher than her waist. “I told you last time to use one scoop, Lyra,” Bon-Bon said, deadpanned. She then screamed to be heard over the noise of the washing machine. “One.”
“But I did! I used the big scoop!”
Bon-Bon raised an eyebrow, leaning in close and whispering in her normal voice. “What big scoop?”
“Well...” Lyra’s horn lit and a large plastic container levitated out from under the suds. It sloshed, splashing water down their knees as it floated over to Lyra’s side.
Bon-Bon sighed, “Lyra...” she said, resisting every fibre in her being telling her to facehoof. “That’s a bucket.”
Lyra took one look at the container. She flipped it over, dumping its contents out onto the floor in a splash that spread the suds even further up the walls, and caused Bon-Bon to have to cover her face to keep from getting splashed herself. “... So it is.”
Bon-Ban face hoofed. From under the suds, that now hid most of her body, Bon-Bon listed up the box of detergent. She flipped it over and shook out a little plastic cup, about the size of a tablespoon, and held it up for Lyra to see. “I gave you a scoop, Lyra, remember?”
“...Oh.” Lyra’s eyes rolled. “Oopsies?” She gave a wide I’m-sorry-please-don’t-hurt-me-Bon-Bon smile.
Bon-Bon rubbed her temples above the red patch left over from her earlier facehoofery. She slapped a hoof across the machine, finally shutting it off for good and—hopefully—halting the production of suds before it engulfed her completely, then began fishing around in the water with her hooves. She came out with a mop that she pressed into Lyra’s hooves as she passed, and trotted out into the corridor without a word.
"Hey!” Lyra rounded and called after Bon-Bon. “Why do I have to clean it up!?”
Bon-Bon stopped cold, rounded on Lyra and shouted back, her face gone completely red. “Because you caused it!” She stomped back to the laundry room, and slammed the door shut, leaving Lyra alone with nothing but a mop and her wits to fend off the oncoming hordes of bubbles.
“Oh.” She glanced around the room again. One of the mounds of foam suddenly shook, and a low growl sounded, making Lyra jump to alert and hold out the mop as a makeshift spear.
~ ~ ~
Several minutes later Lyra came dashing out from the laundry room. She slammed the door shut behind her and spread her forelegs on both side holding it in place, gasping for breath. She levitated the mop beside her, then, glancing to the door, flipped upside down, and slotted it securely underneath the door’s handle.
A loud banging sounded, along with a ferocious rumbled, and the door bulged slightly as Lyra stepped away to inspect her handiwork. The mop was holding, albeit with a precarious bend in its handle, but it was good enough for now. “That should hold it,” she nodded to herself, and then turned to trot back out to join Bon-Bon and her family.
“...and then I said, ‘that’s not my hat; that’s my Trombone!”
Lyra returned to a chorus of laughter, just in time to see her dad.
Lyra made a beeline for the seating area, timing her dash to cross Bon-Bon’s chair just as the mare took a sip of her drink. She slotted in between Sprout and her father, putting on an innocent—not at all suspicious—grin as she looked between them. “So...” Lyra began. She leaned in close to her dad, “What ch’u talking about?”
“Ooh, ooh!” Bell Sprout bounced happily in her seat. She grabbed Lyra’s hooves and shook them in her own as she shouted. “I’m so glad you’re back! Now we can tell them about the time Lyra got her head stuck in the fence!”
There was a loud snort, and a guffaw, as Bon-Bon promptly spewed her drink across the carpet. “Wh—” She gasped between chokes, stifling her laughs. “Wh-Lyra, you what?”
Lyra turned a deep shade of red, her ears pinning back as she slunk further in her seat. “I—” She was broken off by a snicker from Sprout and immediately rounded on her sister. “Oh, no, no, no”—she prodded Sprout in the side with a hoof—“That was you!” she shouted. “I remember because I had to go get the worker-ponies to cut you out because dad was about to get the hacksaw!”
Mr. Heartstrings straightened to attention, bristling as several glares shot his way. “Wh-” He gulped, glancing to his wife then raised his hooves in self defence. “D-D-don’t bring me into this!”
Bell Sprout rolled her eyes. Pushing Lyra off of her, she stood and trotted around the table, her nose raised as she held a hoof to her chest. One treat from the table levitated before her as she quipped back, “I’m pretty sure that was you —” She crunched down on her sandwich, and continued, spewing crumbs in her wake. “Mr. Woodcut even remarked how amazed he was that Lyra could even get her head to fit!”
“Ha!” Lyra laughed, strutting from her seat to meet her sister on the level. Their muzzles pressed together as she looked Sprout in the eye. “You were always the one with the small head!”
This garnered several giggles, most surprisingly, from Double Barrel and Harpsichord. It was Sprout’s turn to blush as she quickly shot back, with a push to Lyra’s chest. “Small head, big brains, empty head!”
She gasped. “How dare you!” Lyra screamed, and tackled her sister to the ground. She went straight for the kill, catching Sprout in a headlock as she pinned her to the ground. “You know—“ Smack She slapped Belle Sprout, barely dodging a second hoof coming her own way. “—The Shell Head Syndrome—” smack “—is—” slap “—just a—” She dodged a flailing hoof, then gasped as Belle Sprout almost toppled her. “—a,” Lyra growled between gritted teeth, re-enforcing her headlock, “a condition—”
AHEM
A short cough interrupted their spat, and both sisters froze in the spot. Lyra, on top, glanced up, with Belle Sprout mirroring from below as they both looked to Citrus.
Citrus sat completely deadpanned, leaning against the side of Bon-Bon’s chair with her book in hoof. Her one ear flicked, and she carefully turned the page and continued to read. “I seem to remember it was both of you, and we ended up calling the weather patrol.”
Bon-Bon frowned. She glanced from Lyra and Belle, on the floor and currently locked in a competition to see who could turn the deepest shade of turquoise, and to Citrus who just continued to read, nonchalantly. “Um...” She smacked her lips. “How?”
“Big knotholes.”
“Oh.”
She lapsed back into silence, the moment dragging on as Bon-Bon looked around the room. She glanced to her drink then took a sip.
“So, um...” She rolled a hoof in the air, taking a moment to draw out the moment and think. “Wasn’t there, I don’t know, a bottle of shampoo you were going to show each other?” With a flick of her eyes, she cast the question to Lyra in particular.
“Oh?” Lyra blinked then the light went on. “Oh!” Her ears perked and she quickly followed suit, bouncing to her hooves with Sprout pulled behind. “Yes, of course!” She nodded, and started past Bon-Bon. “Come on, Sprouty!”
Belle Sprout nodded, their previous spat all but forgotten. “Coming!” she squeaked, and both sisters dashed off somewhere—Bon-Bon hoped—far enough away that neither of them would have to put up with both Lyras for a good while.
Citrus breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she whispered, casting a smile to Bon-Bon. “I don’t know how much more of that I could take.”
“It’s not a problem.” Bon-Bon waved it off nonchalantly. “I figure we mares have to stick together, and Celestia knows”—she rolled her eyes—“One Lyra is more than enough.”
“Tell me about it,” Citrus scoffed. She scooted from her position on the floor to squeeze in next to Bon-Bon then leaned with a hoof over the back of the chair. “One time, Sprout was convinced the trees in the backyard could talk, and she spent about a week working on some kind of translation spell.”
“Let me guess,” Bon-Bon giggled, “It backfired?”
“Horribly,” Citrus confirmed. She snatched a glass of lemonade from the coffee table and took a sip. “The worst part is she was right.. The arborist came in the next month and—”
“Tree-ents?”
“Eeyup.”
“Well, my Lyra is always going on about ‘Humans’ and”—she grimaced—“pants. ‘Was convinced it’ll be the next biggest fashion craze since ‘wearable saddles’.”
“Really?
“She has a stack of them in the back—”
Ahem
They were broken from their reverie by a cough from Double Barrel’s side. “So, Bon-Bon,” he said. Setting down his glass, Double Barrel leaned back in his chair and fixed Bon-Bon with a gaze. “How is it staying with our Lyra?” He laughed. “You’re not giving each other too much trouble, I hope?”
“Oh—” Bon-Bon scoffed, covering her mouth for a giggle of her own. She turned away, waving Barrel’s comment off. “It’s nothing, really. We’re quite happy and—”
“Oh yes ”—Harpsichord leaning into the conversation, hey eye gleaming. She immediately cut across the room, pinning Bon-Bon with her eyes.
Bon-Bon halted, a sudden chill running up her back as she looked between Mr and Mrs Heartstrings. The room went oddly quiet, and Bon-Bon couldn’t quite tell what it was about her eyes. They weren’t sad, not angry either, but they just seemed to be overflowing with a kind of heartache, the kind of pitying sadness she only saw when—oh now.
“You must be so, so, so lucky you have a mare like our own dear Lyra around,” she said.
“Um...” Bon-Bon smacked her lips. She could feel the lump forming in her throat, and she quickly forced back the bile, forcing a smile, as if she hadn’t quite heard. “Excuse me?” She couldn’t help a slight bit of disbelieving creep into her voice, as she turned to face Harpsichord head-on.
“You know...” Double Barrel waved a hoof, chuckling again. Somehow, Bon-Bon felt like he was mocking her, just the way he swished the cubes of ice in his lemonade reeked of ‘gotcha.’ He draped a hoof over his wife, and pulled her close. “In Lyra’s letters; she told us all about you two. And we couldn’t be happier, to be honest.”
SLAP
Bon-Bon could’ve sworn she heard her chin hit the coffee table. Were they insinuating that she—and her—that they!? “Uh-wh-wha—”
“It truly warms out heart to know Lyra’s doing her part for the community.”
The community!? Okay, now this demands an explanation. Bon-Bon had just picked her up chin from the floor, and was all but ready to quick fire questions until Lyra’s entire family looked more like Swiss-cheese, when Double Barrel chimed in with his own remark.
“Mhm,” he said, nodding, “It was such a good gesture of Lyra’s, to offer for you stay in her house.” He paused. He blinked, and then grinned. “Until you get your hooves together, that is.”
Now the pieces slotted together. Bon-Bon released her breath, relaxing a moment, before his words truly sunk in and brought it all crashing down again. “W-Wait—” She almost did a spit-take. Having the presence of mind to stop the glass inches from her muzzle, Bon-Bon whirled around to glare at both ponies. “H-h-Her house?” Bon-Bon spat. To be honest, she didn’t know if it would’ve been worse if they thought they were fillyfoolers. “Wh-What do you mean ‘her house’?”
~ ~ ~
Bottles and jars clattered together, several scattering across the white bathroom floor. Lyra wiggled her rump, humming to herself as she squeezed further into the cabinet. Belle Sprout watched on curiously, an eyebrow raised, as Lyra more than half-way disappeared beneath the their sink.
“Umm...” She leaned in closer, squinting to see over Lyra’s shoulders. She couldn’t see much farther, but it was starting to become evident this cabinet was nearly bottomless. “Are you sure it’s in there?”
“Ye—”
SLAM
The counter shook, causing Belle Sprout to jump back with a yelp and sending Bon-Bon’s toothbrush flying with several more bottles clattering out from under Lyra. The mare, herself, stiffened for a moment then, slowly, relaxed as she reversed out more slowly.
Lyra reappeared rubbing the back of her head. “Eeyup!” She chirped, and a large clear bottle floated out after her, bobbing in Lyra’s field as she levitated between them. “This is the one.” The label was a startling bright pink, with the flowery words, ‘Sunflower’s Herbal Conditioner’ plastered across the front.
“Um...okay?” Sprout took one look at the bottle then glanced to Lyra, frowning. “I dunno, it looks a bit big. Don’t you have anything smaller?”
“Oh, definitely.” Lyra masked a giggle. Holstering the shampoo on her back, Lyra carefully picked her way around the ocean of discarded jars and cantered towards the exit, chanting, “I know exactly what we need...”
~ ~ ~
“Oh come on, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, dearie,” Mrs. Heartstrings assured. She leaned forwards, looking to Bon-Bon with those same, soul-crushing delicate eyes. She felt like she could break into tears at the sight of them. Harpsichord laid a hoof on Bon-Bon’s trembling shoulder, and patted. “We all run into hard times on occasion, and being a Delicatessen—”
“Confectioner.”
“Celestia-bless you—can be such a cut-throat business. Especially with Sherry Cone Point—”
“Sugar Cube Corner.”
“Bless you, again, dear.” She passed Bon-Bon a clean tissue. “—around the corner.”
Bon-Bon pushed back her rage, staying the trembles as she took a long, deep, lengthy, gulp of her lemonade. She slapped the empty glass down on the table, then looked to Harpsichord—Oh hell no—and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Heartstrings,” she seethed, with delightfully gritted teeth, “We are all so proud of Lyra, I am truly blessed.”
“Thanks, Lyra,” a mare’s voice suddenly chirped, and Bon-Bon’s ears perked. She, along with Lyra’s parents and Citrus turned to watch as Belle Sprout cantered, cheerfully, back into the room. She trotted right past Bon-Bon, smiling with a blue bottle dangling behind in her aura. “But”— she paused, giving a wiggle to the bottle as she looked back—“Are you sure you’re not going to need this back? I could always—”
“Oh no, please,” Lyra insisted. With a flicker of her horn, he shoved the bottle back to Sprout’s side, All the while, Bon-Bon‘s eyes remained glued to the tiny object. It somehow felt... familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was only when Lyra continued, that the pieces snapped into place. “Keep it. It’s one of Bonnies’ old bottles, we have tonnes. If you don’t like it, just throw it away.” She shrugged. “No biggie.”
Bon-Bon felt an eye twitch. She silently simmered, watching the bottle exchange hooves. Her bottle. Specifically, one of her bottles. The bottles she’d been keeping in the—“Lyra,” Bon-Bon whispered, looking to Lyra with narrowed eyes. “...what did you do with the contents?”
“I poured it out.”
She poured it out.
“Hey,” she hummed, sauntering over to Lyra’s side, and putting a hoof over her withers. A sly, dirty grin slid across her face, and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for what she was about to do, but it was totally going to be worth it. “Lyra, I’ve had a great idea,” she said, glancing to Sprout and the other guests, before continuing. “Why don’t you give us a little demonstration of your song?” She punctuated with a prod to Lyra’s chest.
“Uh...” Lyra looked back with a frown, clearly confused. She scratched on ears. “B-Bonny,” she said, forcing a nervous smile. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you know...” Bon-Bon patted Lyra’s chest, adding an innocent chuckle to her act. She leaned closer to Lyra’s side, to whisper into her ear, but made sure to speak loud enough for other ponies to hear. “The special song, the one you’ve been practicing all week for your next orchestral performance?”
Lyra stiffened. Hook, line, and sinker.
A slight blush spread across her cheeks, and she shied away from their parents, turning herself to whisper back into Bon-Bon’s ears. “I don’t know if that’s such a—” She tugged Bon-Bon close, and quickly whispered. “What are you doing!?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly added, in an even more hushed tone. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this!”
Bon-Bon responded with a chuckle, patting Lyra’s back as she turned them around to face their guests. “Consider the promise off,” she whispered, adding in her normal, “Come on, Lyra, it’s a special occasion!” She motioned to both parents, suddenly noting how Double Barrel had crept to the front and was almost leaning over Belle Sprouts shoulder as they both tried to ease drop. She ignored it. “When’s the next time you’re going to have us all together in the same room?”
Double Barrel nodded before Lyra could respond, adding in his agreement with a squeal from Harpsichord’s behalf. “That’s a great idea!” they both shouted, followed by Harpsichord. “We’d love to hear it, Sweetie,” she said.
“You’ve been telling us all about your career—”
“And auditions—”
“—and shows—”
Double Barrel crossed the distance, ruffling the mane on a progressively more flustered-looking Lyra. “And I’ve wanted to see if this ‘Octave’ teacher was really everything she was cracked up to be,” he said with a chuckle.
“But we’ve never been able to attend,” Harpsichord said sadly, frowning. She looked aside, looking slightly downtrodden. “It’s almost like they never even existed...”
“What do you say?”
“Plus!” Belle Sprout squeaked. Bouncing in position, she nosed right up to Lyra and booped their noses together as she shouted, “We can finally see—” she paused, giggling, “Hear how great you are, Lyra!”
Bon-Bon raised an eyebrow, saddling in beside Lyra to apply just a little bit more pressure. Come on, won’t you do it for us?” She smirked, “Please?”
“B-But—” Lyra’s blush deepened and she stammered. “I-I—I don’t know if that—we can...” She pulled away, putting distance between her father and ‘best friend’, watching them all with a critical eye as she searched hastily for an excuse, any excuse. “I—I don’t have the equipment!” she blurted out, the followed up with a nod and a grin. “Yeah, I need my sheet music, a stand, and my lyre to—”
“You mean those?” Bon-Bon pointed.
Bye Celestia, Bon-Bon, I’m going to... She facehoofed. “F-ff-fine,” Lyra groaned past her hoof. Then, looking up, she gave Bon-Bon the stink eye, prodding the mare roughly in the chest. “But if we’re going to do this, you—Another rough prod caused Bon-Bon to wince—“are going to help by being my backup singer.”
Bon-Bon nodded. “Yeah—” She stopped, doing a double-take. “Wait, I didn’t—” A jerk, and a yank, and Bon-Bon cut herself off with a yelp. “H-hey!”
With Bon-Bon’s tail clamped tight in her aura, Lyra dragged the mare behind her as she trotted them both to the music corner. “I’ll give you your cue—” She spat, dropping Bon-Bon down beside, and then setting to work pulling out the sheets of music.
Everypony else gathered around the outer perimeter, forming a tight circled around the makeshift stage, with Double Barrel leading up the front. He hoof pumped, almost knocking his moustache clean off. “Att’a girl!” Harpsichord and Belle Sprout—mother like daughter—both facehoofed beside him.
~ ~ ~
Atta girl
A lump formed in the back of Lyra’s throat, her ears flattening as she fought the rising heat in her cheeks. She felt her face scrunch up into a cringe as Belle Sprout’s protests rang out behind her. “D-daaad!” The mare buffeted Barrel beside her as their mother facehoofed.
Lyra swallowed and took a deep breath, steadying her nerves as she sidled up onto her small stool and set about gathering her things. A quick spell and the chairs height adjusted, and Lyra levitated her golden lyre out from between its casings.
“Okay, Lyra, no big deal...” She breathed long and slow then pressed a hoof to her temples. It was simple. She rubbed in small circles, clearing the throbbing in her mind, and quieting the beating of her chest. All she had to do was play a song.
That’s it: one tiny, little song. A tiny little fantastic song. The type of song that will blow her parents away, and show to them the magical genius that she was. That she wasn’t.
She glanced sideways to Bon-Bon, watching momentarily as her friend—rather ex-friend was in the middle of making herself comfortable on her own chair. Bon-Bon paused, noticing Lyra’s stare, and responded with her own half smirk, to which Lyra turned away with a huff.
“Hmmf.” She turned up her nose then buried it into studying her music notes. Another quick spell and the pages flung open to the last spell she’d been working on: a passion project. It was barely anything she’d consider a ‘masterpiece’ but it was the only one she could reliably—
Sly tendrils of doubt crept into Lyra’s mind and as her eyes met the page, her stomach suddenly dropped. Bouts of nausea rocketed through her. It was as if a shard of ice has been plunged through her heart, catching her stuck, frozen, as it slowly began to twist.
It was complete gibberish. Nothing but a smattering of jumbled symbol, smeared with hoof marks and doodles, seemingly mocking her as they danced across the page, endlessly mixing and jumbling them to nothing that even remotely resembled music.
The sound of a clap and somepony’s giggles brought Lyra’s attention back to her audience and she seized.
She had to play this.
But she couldn’t.
But she had to.
But it was rubbish.
But her parents.
But.
But.
But.
Trembles ran throughout Lyra’s body as she mentally flip-flopped between the two minds. She couldn’t do it, but she had to—there had to be solution, but somehow a part of her didn’t want to. She was racking her brain for something, anything, anywhere, anywhen, whatever could get this out of her.
She was half way to jumping out the window and calling ‘Human Attack!’ when a voice broke through the haze.
“...Lyra.” It was faint, but enough to cause her to blink. “Lyra.”
Again, and Lyra’s ears relaxed. She clicked her tail, the lights around her slowly coming back as her vision restored.
“Lyraaaa!”
“Yipe!” She squealed and jolted upright, almost falling from her chair and, simultaneously, causing Bon-Bon to jump back in fright.
“Lyra, oh my Celestia,” she gasped, holding a hoof to her chest and panting. “You almost gave me a heart-attack. I—” A flash of concern washed over her face and her features softened a bit, her voice lowering as she crept closer. “...Lyra?” Bon-Bon whispered. She put a hoof to her friend’s shoulder and Lyra flinched. She was shivering. “Are you okay? You... kind of zoned out there.”
“N-No—” Lyra shook her head then sucked in a deep breath through her teeth, steadying her nerves. “I mean—y-yeas,” she lied, “I’m fine.” Lyra glanced back to the page, blinking as she looked over the notes one more time.
She felt a wave of relief wash over her. They were readable. Not just that—Lyra couldn’t help but chuckle, both half-heartedly and nervously. They looked good.
She could do this.
Lyra brushed Bon-Bon’s hoof off of her shoulder and levitated a second booklet from the pile, shoving it into her friend’s chest. Bon-Bon stumbled away, clasping the book with a confused look.
“Let’s do this,” Lyra said, “Page 3.”
Bon-Bon’s ears pinned back. She blinked, then looked to the book, glancing to Lyra wearily as she made way back to her own corner of their makeshift stage. She quickly leafed through the pages, and Bon-Bon’s eyes widened as she landed on the right page, quickly scanning past the title. “Uh... Lyra, this is—”
BRRRRIIIINNG
Lyra drew out a long, bubbling, note across the harp, soft and malodorous as she ran her magic across each string.
Bon-Bon jumped. “Oh, uh—“ She snapped to the pages, scrabbling with the booklet for a moment as she struggled for purchase against her seat. “Uh-uh...” Her ramblings turned into a broken, sing-song voice and she cracked out the first line. “Uuuh-huuUuuuh-H-Human beings f-fascinate me?”
Lyra frowned. Really, she couldn’t have just—It didn’t matter. She sighed, drawing a deep breath. The deed was done; the only way was forward now. Thus, Lyra stretched out her magic one last time, twanging the notes as she did. They formed tiny tendrils, fingers in her mind, each one delicately gliding to its well-timed places.
“...Being just the way they are...” Bon-Bon’s voice floated inwards.
She flicked her ears back, scrunching her nose and squeezing her eyes shut as she focused on remembering the next note. It was there, all she had to do was...
Silence.
Lyra breathed. Her brow creased. “This is it,” she whispered, “Do it, Lyra. Just do it.”
Silence again, turning heavy and hollow. Lyra felt her hooves waiver, the harp bobbing of its own accord. She sucked in a breath and bit her. As the moment drew longer, a sense of strange eat at Lyra’s gut, and whispers started. Soft and gentle at first, distant, but whispers all the same. She could feel them again, judging, watching, pulling her apart with their eyes and above all else expecting.
She plucked the string.
TWANG-ng
The note broke, jarring an odd kilter. Lyra flinched, as did several ponies around her. She cursed herself under her breath and it suddenly dawned on her.
She couldn’t do this.
Lyra almost broke down on the spot, tears welling in her eyes and the harp almost dropping right then and there. It waived in her aura as she forced, willed herself to look up; stared her parents in the eyes and wept. “I—”
Bon-Bon still appeared there, burning in the corner of Lyra’s eyes, but she couldn’t look at her, her best friend. “I—Sorry, I—I lied.” It hurt, mother of Celestia it hurt, but there was no stopping it. Lyra felt her chest heave, and this time she really did drop the harp. It clattered to the ground, forgotten at her side as she cried, “I’m m-not a famous musician, alright?” She screamed, tears streaming from her face.
Bon-Bon’s smile was gone in an instant and she suddenly faltered, looking on with concern as Lyra teetered from her perch, and started off from her chair. “I’m not a prodigy student to Octavia Harmony, I’m not playing orchestra concertos, I’m not—” She hiccupped, “I-I’m not—I’m a fraud.” Lyra limped across the makeshift studio, facing both of her parents. They were both so tall, foreboding, like dark statues hovering over her, and still she wept. “I—I was just so afraid, and”—
Bon-Bon flinched, suddenly hurt. She stumbled as if a lance of poison ice had struck her heart, turning wretched with Lyra’s own words.
— “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Lyra said. “M-Mom’s a—I love you both so much, and—”
Lyra hadn’t even noticed Bon-Bon move, but suddenly felt a shiver run up her back as she was pulled into a warm embrace, two hooves wrapping around her barrel and a warm touch at her ear as Bon-Bon whispered. “Lyra,” she said, choking back her own so, “I’m so, so sorry, I didn—”
“No, Bon-Bon.” She pushed the mare away, whispering back, “Y-You were right. I shouldn’t have lied.
She turned, looking up to face Barrel and Harpsichord, sucking a deep breath. They hadn’t changed, or even moved. They seemed more like a black obelisk than ever before, a vision to haunt even the strongest filly’s nightmares. “M-Mom? Dad?” she whispered, looking to each in turn. “I’m sorry.” She gestured around them, to everything. “This house; it isn’t mine. Bon-Bon’s the responsible one around here. She has the job, the money. I wear the pants and she always sews them back together when I inevitable rip them apart. If you’re going to mad at anyone, it’s me, and...” She couldn’t think anything else to add, other than “I’m sorry.” She dropped her head, shying away from them in shame. “I understand if you don’t...”—she sniffed—“f-f-forgive me...”
“Lyra...” She heard Barrel sigh. It was that same tone, always the same tone. She’d known it before, but only once.
She winced, ready for the harsh words to come.
But then nothing; instead, Lyra felt a hoof to her shoulder, and one under her chin, lifting her gaze up to look in their eyes. Barrel’s eyes softened, and his moustache bristled with warmth. “Honey,” added Harpsichord, “You know you could never disappoint us. You’re out baby, and we’ll always love you, no matter what.”
Something stung deep down, and Lyra felt herself wince as she cracked a half smile.
Double Barrel chuckled, sidling in beside Lyra and pulling her into a rough, sideways hug. “He-heh-yeah,” he said, throwing ruffling Lyra’s mane. “After all, we all know Sprout’s the true disappointment in the family.”
“H-hey!” Belle Sprout squealed from the back, turning beetroot red.
There were laughs all around and Lyra, finally, felt her smile crack into a full on grin. “Oh, you guys!” she cried, tears of joy as she returned the hug, pulling everypony in reach into her patented Lyra-group-hug.
Sprout was the last one to join, begrudgingly. She hung back, but couldn’t resist the first glance, still red and in a huff. “Come on in!” Barrel called, waving a hoof and gesturing to Belle Sprout-shaped hole in the huggle pile.
She pouted. “Oh, no-n-” Hanging back, she put on a pout and crossed her hooves, doing everything in her power to resist her. “Okaaaaay...” She squealed and threw herself into the pile, wrapping her hooves around all of them and adding a good, hard squeeze as she mushed her face in next to Lyra’s. “I can’t stay mad at you guys!”
~ ~ ~
“...and are you sure you can’t stay any longer?” Lyra asked.
“Mhm...” Belle Sprout hummed, shaking her head as she returned Lyra’s hug. She added a quick squeeze, holding onto the moment for as long as she could, before finally, begrudgingly, releasing her sister and stepping back across the porch. “I’m sorry,” she said, ears and mouth drooping, “I wish we could, but Dad wants to get to Las Pegasus before the lines form...”
“Yeah!” Citrus laughed. “Not to mention in time for Gladmane’s big performance.” She wobbled her eyes, slightly pink in the cheeks as she nudged Belle Sprout in the barrel.
Both Lyra and Belle gave out a long, wispy sigh at the mention of the name. “Glaaaaadmaaane,” they sung in unison, practically melting on their hooves. Their eyes fluttered into the distance, wide goofy grins creeping across both ponies’ faces.
Bon-Bon rolled her eyes. Of course. She strutted past the two sisters, sighing. “Yes, well...” she said, glancing away. Citrus met her half-way. They bumped hooves, and Bon-Bon smiled. “It’s been great. You should call us, or write...” She paused to think, then waved a hoof, “Hey, I wouldn’t even mind a visit.”
“Oh, definitely!” Citrus nodded, rolling her eyes. “You won’t believe how much of a relief it is to have another pony who knows my pain.”
There was a loud giggled between them, and both ponies glanced to see the sisters, Lyra and Belle, still coupled together. Lyra’s mane was done up into a pair of ponytails, with a very distinct sprout shape at the top, whilst Belle Sprout’s was looking more like a pair of upside down pants, both still glowing in each other’s auras. They’d move long past just fawning over the idea of Gladmane, and had moved on to whispering and chattering like a pair of middle-school fillies about Celestia-knows-what.
Bon-Bon groaned. Cracking her smile, she pushed back her latest, and possibly greatest, impulse to facehoof, instead turning her attention to Citrus. “Well—” She stopped cold, and Bon-Bon snorted, stifling a giggle as she watched Citrus pull her face out of her own hooves. “Oh”—she pulled Citrus into a sideways, hug—“I feel ya, sister.”
They broke into loud guffaws, causing Lyra and Belle Sprout to stop and look at them. They stared with raised eyebrows as Citrus and Bon-Bon both laughed, and laughed, and laughed...
~ ~ ~
The sun was dipping low, draping a warm yellow and orange mist across the landscape. Lyra and Bon-Bon stood at their entrance ways, watching and waving as they caravan trundled further and further out of tone. It was but a spec, barely visible, when they finally looked away and Bon-Bon turned to Lyra.
“So, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lyra asked.
“I guess,” responded Bon-Bon. She bumped Lyra’s shoulder, giggling as she turned back into the house. “Just next time: tell me when you’re about to come. Celestia forbid what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been here.”
Lyra nodded, almost shaking her whole body. “Oh yeah, sure.” She watched as Bon-Bon trotted back through the living room, then took a right and began down the passage at the end. “Uh...” Lyra frowned. “Where are you going?”
“I’m checking the laundry.”
Lyra gasped. “Wait, wait—” She turned, reaching and raising her hocks to a gallop as she screamed. “Bon-Bon, don—”
BOOOOM
“....Lyraaaaaaaaaa...!”
