Sunlight streamed in through the open window. Golden motes of dust floated gently in the rays. Lyra watched the tiny particles spiral around one another, like tiny fish in an ocean of light. Her eyes sparkled, and a little smile played around the corner of her mouth. What a beautiful morning it was.
She had been afraid the wing commander of the Weather Patrol hadn’t listened to her. In the depths of a last-minute planning session so long and intense she scarcely recalled it, she had gone to his office and begged on her knees for fair weather. He had politely informed her he could not help her, but after a lot of shouting, more than a few tears, and a solemn promise to bring the entire string instrument quartet to perform at all three of his daughters’ cutecenearas at whatever point they took place, he had grudgingly promised to do his best.
Lyra’s smile widened. Bon Bon deserved no less. They could only get married once, after all.
_______________________________________________________________
Bon Bon padded slowly through the Town Hall. Its usual dull brown hue had been transformed to a riot of bright colours. Every surface was festooned with leaves and flowers; forget-me-nots and cowslips were bundled everywhere, carefully chosen to complement Lyra’s mane. Huge bouquets of pale blue and butter-yellow roses adorned the end of every row of chairs, and the floor was thick with their petals. She and Lyra would begin their new life by walking down an aisle carpeted with the softest and most fragrant blossoms in Equestria.
Bon Bon had doubted the rationale of Lyra’s insistence on obeying the tradition of spending the night before the wedding separately, but in hindsight, it was a very good thing that she had agreed. She and Roseluck hadn’t finished tying the flower arrangements together until the early hours of the morning.
Roseluck had outdone herself with these roses; Bon Bon had never seen anything like them. She had given specific instructions — she wanted roses as close to the shade of her own and Lyra’s fur as she could get, and Roseluck had delivered. But the shipment had been slow, and Bon Bon had spent a frantic few hours with the florist, desperately trying to finish the flower arrangements. Bon Bon had paid out the nose for Roseluck’s trouble finding the flowers, as well as the overtime, of course, but it was worth it.
Lyra had thrown herself into wedding planning with unexpected abandon, and had wanted many of the details to be a surprise to Bon Bon on the day itself. But Bon Bon had insisted that the flowers be left to her. She had an eye for colour that Lyra did not, and of course she and Roseluck had been friends for years. They made a good team. But even so, they had needed every minute they could get.
Lyra was under strict instructions to stay in her dressing room above the Hall, accessible only by the back stairs. Bon Bon imagined for a moment the way Lyra’s face might light up when she saw what she and Roseluck had done, and did a gleeful little dance on the spot. She was positively itching with anticipation.
_______________________________________________________________
Lyra undid the ties on the bags containing the two wedding dresses for perhaps the fifth time that morning. Just one more peek at them wouldn’t hurt. Both dark bags opened to reveal smooth, creamy swathes of fabric, each with an ivory lace veil resting on top. The two dresses differed only slightly; Lyra had decided it was very important to take this first step together as a team, matching each other closely. But there were some very subtle differences — Bon Bon was proud of her long neck and slender barrel, so the neckline of her dress plunged a little deeper, the fabric would hug her hips a little tighter. Lyra hated sleeves that constricted her movement, so her dress had loosely tailored cuffs to allow her a full range of motion.
But the full skirts of the dresses were exactly alike, their layers of tulle lovingly stitched by Bon Bon’s elderly aunt, a retired seamstress. Lyra knew that Bon Bon would be thrilled at the inclusion of Auntie Needlesharp, which would be revealed when she got the dress. A shame that Lyra wouldn’t be there to see her reaction, but no matter — she had plenty of other surprises in store today!
But despite Lyra’s confidence, all was not completely perfect. Her father, Harpsichord, should have been here by now, his harp in tow, ready to play the wedding march. Lyra knew she wasn’t meant to leave her dressing room, but her Dad should have come upstairs to check in with her as soon as he arrived. And where was Pinkie Pie with the cake? Lyra had given very explicit instructions on how exactly she wanted the reception to be set up, and Pinkie had saluted and said “Sir, yes, Sir!” in that squeaky voice of hers, but Lyra still wasn’t sure she could be trusted. Ponyville’s finest party planner she might be, but reliable Pinkie Pie was not.
Lyra paused her internal monologue to chew nervously at a hoof, but stopped herself just in time before she ruined what Lotus had called ‘the best bridal hoof-manicure bits can buy’. Lyra’s hooves were certainly much shinier now, if nothing else.
She tried pacing up and down the room a few times — wasn’t that what ponies in novels did to calm their nerves? — but it did little to settle her stomach. There were so many balls in the air; what if one of them were to fall? She so desperately wanted to give Bon Bon the perfect day.
Coffee, Lyra decided. Coffee might settle her nerves. She went to the door and peeked out. Seeing no forbidden flowers, she felt safe to take a few steps into the corridor. Where was her father? And for that matter, where was Octavia? Her best friend and bandmate in the Ponyville Classical String Quartet, choosing Octavia as her Mare of Honour had been the easiest part of planning the wedding. But a Mare of Honour was meant to help the bride out, run errands and make her life easier — how could Octavia do any of that if she was nowhere to be found?
Lyra trotted down beige corridor after beige corridor, and thanked Celestia that she was not cursed with the misfortune to work in local government. At last, she located the Town Hall’s minuscule upstairs kitchenette and dug hopefully through the cupboards. After a few minutes of searching, she finally found a jar with a few crusty-looking coffee grounds left in it. Sighing with relief, she poured them into a mug and waited impatiently for the kettle to boil. There was no milk, but it would have to do.
Gratefully clutching the steaming mug of black coffee in her magic, Lyra headed back to her dressing room. Closing the door behind her, she bent her head and took a sip.
“Yech!” It was foul. Bitter and oddly sticky. But it was all she was likely to get to tide her over, so she wrinkled her nose and took another gulp.
Feeling a little better as the caffeine coursed through her system, Lyra decided that with or without her Mare of Honour, it was probably time to get dressed. She placed her mug onto a side table and undid the bag containing her dress one last time. Hopefully somepony would turn up soon, or she would have to take Bon Bon’s dress downstairs herself.
The dress slipped on like a second skin, the smooth silk gliding over her flanks and settling into place easily. By Celestia, Auntie Needlesharp was good. Lyra turned to the mirror on the back of the door and smiled at her reflection. Octavia would still need to help her with her mane, but she knew that the rest of her looked fantastic. Her fur was clean and freshly groomed, her hooves were positively gleaming, and her eyes were alight with excitement.
She reared up onto her hind legs and twirled around, loving the feel of the fabric against her legs. Her skirt swung out dramatically and she felt a little like a princess in a ballgown. Lyra regarded herself once more in the mirror and couldn’t help but smile. She was getting married today! And if the dress looked this good on her, just imagine what Bon Bon was going to look like.
Lyra reignited her horn and reached for her coffee again. She scooped the mug up in her magic and brought it towards her, glancing up idly at the clock above the door as she did so. It was nearly half eleven —
Wait. Half past eleven? Lyra’s mouth gaped open in horror and her magic sputtered. It was only for a moment and she was able to snatch the mug up again before it hit the floor, but it was too late. Lyra could only watch, aghast, as the treacly black coffee tumbled down, down — to splash all over the front of her beautiful white dress.
_______________________________________________________________
“Oh, hi, Harpsichord, Tavi!” Bon Bon called, from underneath a mountain of flowers that almost completely blocked her from view.
Octavia jumped, but Harpsichord didn’t seem surprised to see his future daughter in law looking like a rosebush.
“Ah, Bon Bon, m’dear — so good to see you,” he said warmly, pushing his glasses back up his nose and setting his enormous harp case down with a slight groan. “Where shall I set up?”
“Oh, just over there would be great, Harpsichord,” Bon Bon answered distractedly, pointing vaguely over at the head of the aisle. “And if you could put these—” she dumped an armful of blue roses into a surprised Harpsichord’s hooves, “—on the harp, that would be great. Hope the train ride from Canterlot was good?”
“Ah, yes, can’t complain,” Harpsichord said affably, heaving his pile of flowers and the harp case down the aisle.
Bon Bon winced at what that giant case was doing to her precious rose petals, but decided not to say anything. Instead she switched her attention to Octavia. “Tavi, will you take Lyra’s bouquet to her?” She rummaged in her bundle of flowers. “Where has it gone? Oh, for Celestia’s sake — ah, here we go!” She emerged with a bundle of yellow roses set in clover leaf, and passed it to Octavia. “Mine’s all blue,” she explained, conscious that Octavia hadn’t asked but ploughing on anyway. “I thought they would complement each other, and our coat colours, of course.”
“They’re lovely,” Octavia said politely. “I’ll head up to Lyra now.”
“Ah,” said a voice from behind them, its tone one of dismay.
Bon Bon’s heart sank as she turned to face him. “What’s wrong, Harpsichord?”
“Well, m’dear,” the aged stallion said slowly, patting nervously at the pockets of his suit, “It seems that in the excitement of packing…I may have forgotten my harp strings.”
“What?” Bon Bon yelped. “But you were meant to do the wedding march!” She wrung her hooves. “Harpsichord, that was the one thing you were supposed to remember!”
Harpsichord’s own face filled with distress. “I’m sorry, Bon Bon, my dear — it’s just…I’m not so young as I was — it’s been a long time since I even took old Herbie here out of the house.” He laid a loving hoof on the golden curve of his instrument, now also decked in blue and yellow roses. “I took the strings off, folded them up in their case…and I must have put them down somewhere. Without Athenodora to remind me of things, I fear I’ve become quite forgetful.” His weak blue eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, no, Harpsichord, it’s okay.” Bon Bon rushed to comfort him. The last thing she needed on her wedding day was for Lyra to be reminded further of her beloved mother’s absence, a gap that was already obvious enough.
“I could fetch my cello?” Octavia offered.
“No, no,” Bon Bon said distractedly, offering a clover leaf as a hanky to Harpsichord. “Lyra wants her Dad to do it.” An idea came to her and she pounced on it. “Wait — Tavi, you must know — where in Ponyville can we buy more harp strings?”
Octavia rubbed anxiously at her forelock. “I’m not sure…most of the time I have to order in from Canterlot, and a cello isn’t even a specialty instrument like a harp.”
“Think, Octavia!” Bon Bon demanded. “This is Lyra’s big day. We have to make it perfect for her.”
_______________________________________________________________
“Oh, motherbucking tartarus!” Lyra’s usually husky voice climbed into a shrill soprano.
It was half eleven, the wedding was at twelve, and where was everypony? Not even Octavia had shown up yet! And now, worst of all — Lyra looked once more in the mirror and clapped a hoof to her mouth to stifle her groan of pain.
The once beautiful dress was a wreck. Its creamy surface was spattered head to toe with enormous splotches of black. Tears sprang at once to Lyra’s eyes. She looked like a dalmation. She couldn’t get married like this — poor Bon Bon would be completely humiliated.
Lyra threw the now empty mug away from herself in disgust and tore the dress off. She raced back to the kitchen, hoping maybe she could get the stain out before it set, and was about to plunge it under that tap when she paused. Wait — didn’t she remember reading somewhere that silk and tulle couldn’t get wet? Weren’t you meant to steam clean wedding dresses?
With a curse, Lyra ripped her dress away from the sink. Think, Lyra. There had to be a way out of this, a way to solve it in half an hour.
She cantered back to the dressing room as quickly as she could, and had just finished hiding the dress back in its bag before there was a knock. She hurtled over to the door and opened it just a crack. A surprised Octavia looked back at her.
“I have your flowers,” Octavia said.
“Great,” Lyra answered flatly, taking the bouquet and tossing it onto the chair without fully looking at it. Should she tell Octavia about the dress? If she took Octavia into her confidence, maybe she could help her. But on the other hoof, what if she let slip to Bon Bon what Lyra had done?
She was still furiously debating the question when, to her surprise, Octavia turned to go. “Octavia? Where are you going?” Being careful not to fully open the door, Lyra nosed her head out a little further through the crack.
Octavia fidgeted. “Uh…sorry, Ly, but Bon Bon needs a hoof with the…flowers,” she said, her eyes flicking from side to side as she spoke. “I’m going to go help her for a bit — see you at twelve, okay? Okay!”
“Wait!” Lyra called. “At least take Bon Bon’s dress!” She pulled the bag over with the amber glow of her magic and passed it through the crack in the door.
Octavia snatched it.
“But are you sure you can’t stay?” Lyra tried again. “I’m having a bit of an issue myself…”
“I can’t, sorry!” Octavia said hastily. “I’m sure you’ll do great — I’ll see you at twelve, then. Great! Bye!” And without giving Lyra time to answer, she turned and bolted.
Lyra sighed and sank down onto the floor. Some Mare of Honour Octavia had turned out to be. Clearly, she was on her own. And she had twenty-nine minutes to find her way out of this mess.
_______________________________________________________________
Bon Bon was completing her third rummage through Harpsichord’s instrument case and suit jacket pockets when Octavia tumbled back into the Hall, a huge black garment bag hanging from her mouth. Bon Bon spread her hooves in a question and Octavia spat the bag onto the floor.
“Lyra’s all taken care of,” she said rapidly. “She seems fine — I think. I don’t think she’s onto us, anyway. She seemed to think it was all going well. She gave me your dress.”
“Oh!” Bon Bon supposed that really, the wedding dress was the only thing the huge bag could be, but she still felt a little surprised. She hadn’t really given much thought to that aspect of this morning. She had carefully arranged her mane this morning, each fluffy curl done just so, and had her hooves manicured as Lyra had directed, but that was all the preparation she’d thought she’d need to do. What if the dress was some complex affair with a corset, or lots of small zips, or something? Might it not take a long time to put on?
“Better put it on now,” Octavia said, seeming to read her mind.
Bon Bon nodded and hurried forward, scooping up the bag in her own jaws. “Let’s go to the mare’s room.”
Octavia looked surprised. “You want me to come? Shouldn’t I go back up to Lyra?”
“I don’t know!” Bon Bon expostulated as best she could around a mouthful of black garment bag. She put it down again to finish her sentence. “You’re in this as deep as me — we both want Lyra to have a brilliant day. And I need somepony to help me deal with this crisis. We need those harp strings.”
She knew it to be true. Lyra had described to her the way she wanted it to go; they would both walk down the aisle together, side by side into their new life, with Harpsichord providing a beautiful soundtrack for them. According to tradition, a pony’s mother would escort him or her down the aisle, to give them away. Lyra’s mother could not fill that role, and Bon Bon had not seen her own parents since she became a S.M.I.L.E. agent at the age of thirteen. Coconut Swirl, Lemon Sprinkle, Sweetie Drops — she had worn so many names and identities since then, she was no longer sure who she had originally been. But she was Bon Bon now, and she loved Lyra Heartstrings, who loved her father Harpsichord and wanted him to play his harp for her as she walked down the aisle. And Bon Bon was going to make damn sure that Lyra had exactly that. No matter what it took.
Octavia nodded. “Lyra deserves to enjoy today; she’s worked enormously hard on it.”
“We’re going to be wives; we’ll share everything,” Bon Bon said, trying to find the humour in this situation. “Why not start with our Mare of Honour?”
A flash of guilt passed for the first time across Octavia’s muzzle. “I did want to be there with her this morning,” she murmured.
“No time!” Bon Bon said, ushering Octavia ahead of her towards the public restroom at the rear of the Town Hall. “You’re on my team now.”
_______________________________________________________________
Lyra stood on her hind legs, her front hooves hooked over the windowsill, looking desperately for some way down that didn’t involve the stairs — and inevitably, stares, from whichever guests had arrived early.
But there didn’t seem to be anything. The wall of the Town Hall was smooth and featureless. The stones were cut straight and laid flush to one another. Any hoofhold they could offer would be all but useless to anypony other than a mare with a rock-climbing cutie mark. Lyra turned to look rather disconsolately at her own lyre. She adored her instrument and the music she could weave with it, but if there was ever a time she had wished for a different talent, it was now.
She could try and sneak back out via the staircase she had entered from, but what if Bon Bon chanced to see her? She might think Lyra was leaving, less than half an hour before their wedding was due to start. Or somepony else might see her, and tell Bon Bon. And the risk of her own special somepony thinking she had left her at the alter was just not worth it. No. She needed to find another way out.
Lyra was scanning the rooftops of Ponyville for the fifth time when the sound of wingbeats finally met her ears. Lyra twisted this way and that, trying to see who it might be.
As she craned back to peer at the sky above her, a grey figure passed overhead. Derpy Do - the mailpony. As Lyra watched, she executed a slow turn in the air over the street. Lyra waved frantically. “Hey! Hey! Down here!”
Derpy seemed to pay her no mind. She was flapping back and forth in pursuit of a particularly small and shiny bubble, and was utterly intent upon her prey.
“Hey! Derpy!” Lyra hissed in her loudest stage whisper, trying to flag down the mailpony without having anypony downstairs hear her. She was leaning as far out the window as it was possible to do without actually falling onto the street below.
Derpy, finally within reach, reached out a gentle hoof and popped the bubble. She reached into the mailbag that hung at her side, and Lyra watched as Derpy carefully pulled out a small cylinder of liquid. Cradling it close, Derpy drew forth a second object — a carefully constructed wicker loop no bigger than her own eye.
Lyra was practically dancing on the spot with frustration. What was Derpy doing?
With great care, Derpy unscrewed the bottle cap and held in for the time being in her teeth. She hovered perfectly still and prepared to lower her wicker loop into the liquid.
In a flash of understanding, Lyra grasped the grey mare’s purpose. For Celestia’s sake, she was blowing bubbles and chasing them all over town. “Derpy!” She cried, her voice almost at its normal volume. It was no use trying to stay quiet if that meant she was stuck here with her coffee-splattered dress.
Derpy’s ear twitched, and to Lyra’s immense relief, she looked over at last. “Oh, hey, Lyra,” she said in her sweet, high voice. “What can I help you with?”
Lyra had the answer ready and waiting. “I need you to get me down from here.” She waved a hoof at the street below.
Derpy frowned. “But what about the stairs, Lyra?”
Lyra threw her hooves up in exasperation. “Derpy, listen, there’s no time to explain—” but Derpy was frowning, her hooves still on her bubble equipment, and Lyra had no choice but to let the whole story flood out of her in one long breathless sentence. “—But I’m getting married today, you RSPV’d yes so I know you know, and I was a bit stressed so I wanted coffee but there was no milk so my coffee was black, and then I spilled it, all over my wedding dress, and I have to go get help, and Bon Bon can’t see me because she might think I was abandoning her even though everypony knows I would never do that so I need you to fly me out of here!”
Derpy nodded in understanding, but her frown did not lift. “But where can I take you?”
“I need you to carry me to, uh,” Lyra fished for a pony that could help her, “to Rarity’s! Yes, to Rarity’s.” Rarity was a fashion genius, everypony said so. Surely she could fix a little coffee mishap. She might know a stain-remover spell — or something. Surely she would know something that could fix this.
“Gee,” said Derpy uncomfortably. “Ponies are a lot heavier than mail, Lyra.”
“Its my wedding day, Derpy,” Lyra hissed. “Do this one thing for me.”
To her vast relief, Derpy at last nodded in acquiescence and replaced the lid on her bubble mix. She moved slowly, clearly not wanting to spill a drop, and Lyra was hopping frantically up and down on the spot and making encouraging noises halfway between grunting and screaming by the time Derpy finally flapped her way over to her.
She hovered outside the window, still looking a little hesitant, but Lyra intended to give her no space to dither. She lit her horn and snatched the garment bag up in her magic and hopped up onto the windowsill. Derpy gave another reluctant whimper.
“I’m not so sure about this, Lyra. What if I drop—‘
“Shhhh!” Lyra reached out over the divide and shoved her hoof into Derpy’s muzzle. “Shh, don’t say it. You’ll be fine. You’re as strong a flier as Rainbow Dash herself, everypony says so, Derpy.”
“Do they?” Derpy sounded doubtful. “But it’s an awful long way down if you did fall.”
Despite her best intentions, at Derpy’s words Lyra automatically glanced down. What she saw made her stomach flip within her. It was a long way down. The ground blurred in and out of focus and bile rose in her throat.
“Lyra?” Derpy asked.
Lyra looked back up at the other pony. Concern was writ large across the mailpony’s brow. But at least looking at Derpy’s face made that sudden wooziness recede, and she was master of the situation once more.
“No ifs or buts,” she said firmly. “You won’t drop me; you’ll carry me to the Carousel Boutique. It’ll be two or three minutes’ flight if we go over the rooftops. Even if you’re laden.”
“But—”
Lyra knew she couldn’t give her the chance to finish that thought. “Here I come!” She clenched her eyes tight shut and jumped.
_______________________________________________________________
“Twenty-five minutes!” Bon Bon howled, as she and Octavia dashed down the high street, their manes flying out behind them.
“Calm down!” Octavia said, her voice loud with exertion. “At least you’re already dressed. We can make it to the music shop and back by then.”
“But will they have harp strings?” Bon Bon gasped back. Her wedding depended on Ponyville’s tiny music shop being well-stocked.
“Maybe not,” Octavia answered. “But they might have bass or guitar strings — something long enough to fit onto a harp, even if it doesn’t sound quite right!”
“Either way,” Bon Bon said grimly. “We have to try. For Lyra.”
_______________________________________________________________
Lyra saw only darkness, but she clawed with outstretched hooves at the empty air before her. For one awful moment she was falling, and she had to swallow a shriek, gritting her teeth as she braced for impact on the street she knew must be rushing up to meet her —
And then her barrel connected with a solid, warm back. It knocked the air out of her and she almost slid off sideways, but she grabbed down on it and hung on grimly.
Derpy gasped and flapped hard, just managing to maintain her altitude. Lyra did her best to pull in her legs where they were at risk of catching on Derpy’s wings. She double-checked she still maintained her grip on the garment bag, and then tightened her hold on Derpy’s neck. “Let’s go.”
_______________________________________________________________
Bon Bon’s stomach executed a technically brilliant triple backflip. “Octavia,” she whispered, as the salespony turned away to put the guitar strings into a bag. “I don’t have any money.”
Octavia’sface fell. She ran a hoof over her formal black dress, which was very form fitting and almost certainly concealed no pockets or wallets at all. “Oh, stars— nor do I!”
Bon Bon’s eyes narrowed. She would do anything for Lyra, and it looked like now was the time for that anything. There was only one way out of this that ended in her leaving with those guitar strings. Theft. She had stolen before, of course — one of her previous identities had been a very prolific pickpocket, a sure-fire way to infiltrate the criminal gangs trading in enslaved diamond dogs in Fillydelphia — but never as Bon Bon. Bon Bon was her clean identity, her fresh start. But there was no way out of it. “I promise I’ll pay you back,” she muttered under her breath, before sucking in a gulp of air and screaming as loudly as she could. “Oh my sweet Celestia! It’s an Ursa Major!”
The salespony blanched and swung to follow her pointing hoof, his eyes pinpricks of terror. Bon Bon surged forward and snatched the paper bag in her jaws. Then she turned and galloped as hard as she could for the shop door, not stopping to see if Octavia was coming.
As she barrelled through the swinging door, she heard the shop pony shouting something, but she didn’t look back.
_______________________________________________________________
“Well?” Lyra demanded, feeling close to tears. “Can you get the stains out?”
Rarity frowned, running her hooves quickly over the ruined fabric. “Well — ah — I’m not sure that I can. Certainly not in the next twenty minutes. Coffee and white tulle are not a good match, I can tell you.”
Lyra slumped to the floor. “So you can’t help me.” All hope was gone. Her perfect day, her surprises for Bon Bon, all her hard work — all for nothing.
“Of course I’ll help you, darling,” Rarity said breezily. “That’s what designers are for, your dream gown.” She paused, discomforted. “It’s just — ah — I don’t have time to make your dream gown again.”
“Well, what do you have?” Lyra demanded. Hope surged anew. “I’ll take anything!” Her hooves still ached from pounding on Rarity’s door, and her beautiful manicure was completely wrecked from their rough landing, and time was ticking on. She looked around furtively until she spotted Rarity’s clock, almost obscured by that fat, pampered cat of Rarity’s. But it was still legible. Eighteen minutes to go.
Rarity ran a hoof through her mane. She was beginning to look a little frazzled too. Good, thought Lyra, almost spitefully. About time somepony understood what she was going through!
“Well, I do have a gown I was making for a pegasus filly,” Rarity offered, crossing to a rack of dresses and rifling through hangers. “It’s for her promenade, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind somepony in need borrowing it for a day. It's white, and it’s just about finished—” she held up a dress for Lyra’s inspection.
The dress was sheer white satin, with a glossy sheen that reflected the afternoon sun almost too strongly. It looked a little small — it would be very form-fitting on Lyra, but she supposed she could deal with that. It had no sleeves to speak of, and would not conceal Lyra’s tail like her own dress would have; she hadn’t planned on that and her tail was completely ungroomed. Perhaps worst of all, the dress had two gaping holes in the side to allow the pegasus girl’s wings through. Lyra was no alicorn — two holes on either side of her croup would look ridiculous. But what other choice did she have?
“I’ll take it.” Her voice was firm. No shaking at all. She was proud of herself.
Rarity floated the dress next to Lyra, looking from one to the other with a critical eye. “Maybe we have time for a few very quick alterations,” she murmured, not seeming to speak to Lyra anymore. “Just a few stitches here — a seam there, of course, a temporary one. Yes, I think I can make this work.”
“Just do it fast,” Lyra begged.
Rarity snapped out of her reverie and was all focus once more. “Of course, darling. Just let me slip it onto you…” And Lyra's sight was lost in a haze of silk.
After a little wriggling, some grunts and some rather aggressive tugging on Rarity’s part, Lyra was in the dress. It felt a little like she couldn’t breathe, but she sucked her stomach in and tried to bear it. For Bon Bon.
Rarity was moving quickly around her, a spool of white thread materialising as if from nowhere, her needle flashing in and out of Lyra’s vision faster than she could follow. She felt the hiss of the thread against her hide a couple of times, but never the prick of the needle. Rarity was skilled at what she did.
Lyra allowed herself to be pushed and turned as Rarity directed, her hooves twitching and her eyes on the clock all the while.
“Done!” Rarity said breathlessly, biting off a thread and taking a step back.
Lyra nodded her thanks. “I have to go, Rarity!”
“Of course!” Rarity was already shooing her out the door. “I’ll see you at the Town Hall, just as soon as I’ve hunted out Sweetie Belle from wherever she and her friends have snuck off too; she said something about high speed scooter testing, can you believe, a filly with her constitution — but I’m rambling, and you must go, darling, go now! Look for me in the front row!”
“Deal!” And Lyra was gone.
_______________________________________________________________
“Faster!” Bon Bon panted, though her thighs were burning and her lungs felt like they were full of smoke. She was so out of shape. Too many cakes shared with Lyra at their midnight feasts. And the enormous ruffled skirt on this dress wasn’t helping either.
Octavia wasn’t faring much better. Bon Bon knew Octavia had wonderfully strong legs; she had seen her stand in place at concerts, holding herself and her heavy cello at attention for hours as she played. But that clearly did not translate to general fitness levels. Octavia was gasping even more than Bon Bon was, and her lovely black evening gown had ripped up one hind leg in the madcap gallop.
To make matters worse, the shopkeeper was still coming after them, five streets later! After the first three, he had at least stopped shouting their names and telling them that he knew where they both lived, but the continued hoofbeats behind them were just as much a reprimand to Bon Bon. She felt ashamed — what would Lyra think of her? — but at the same time, she knew she had taken the only path available to her.
They sped back towards the town hall, cutting across the plaza where the Carousel Boutique sat in splendour in the centre of the square, but the shopkeeper was gaining. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, came those three dreadful troublemaking fillies on that dratted scooter, all of them shouting incoherently, and Bon Bon was swerving desperately to avoid them — and then the plate-glass window of the Carousel Boutique was looming before her and everything went black.
_______________________________________________________________
Lyra burst back in through the back door and hurtled up the narrow stairs to her dressing room. She peered anxiously up at the clock on the wall — five minutes to twelve. Thank Celestia, she had made it! There was just enough time to get finish up and get downstairs. She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the back of the door and winced. Her once-perfect mane had been ruffled and rumpled beyond recognition by the wind of her hasty gallop back to the Town Hall. She had gone as fast as she dared in the confines of her new gown. But at least her mane matched her tail now, she thought wryly, trying somewhat futilely to smooth both with her hooves.
And the tacking Rarity had done to stitch up the wing-holes had held up. The gown wrinkled a little at the shoulders, but that was the only giveaway that the dress had not in fact been made for a unicorn.
Lyra looked briefly at her long veil, and decided against it. A long frilly veil would clash with this rather minimalistic gown. And it was too late now to worry about it. She could hear the sound of ponies talking even from up here, and the rumble of hooves on wood. All the guests had arrived. It was time to go down.
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Bon Bon blinked blearily and raised a hoof to touch her aching head. As she gingerly probed the new and very large bump, she became aware of a voice calling her name repeatedly.
“Bon Bon! Bon Bon! Talk to me, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
It was Octavia, Bon Bon realised slowly, and the thought was distant, as though it belonged to somepony else. She tried to sit up, and bumped into Octavia, who was crouching over her, tears in her eyes.
“Ow,” she mumbled.
“Oh, thank the stars!” Octavia cried, clutching Bon Bon to her. “I thought for a moment you were dead!” She began to smile and wiped at her watering eyes. “Lyra would have murdered me if I’d got her bride killed on her wedding day.”
“Ow,” Bon Bon repeated, sitting up slowly. This hurt more than the time she had taken the honey away from that ursa minor and it had thumped her on the head to get the honey back. And that time she had woken up in a hospital in Canterlot, a hundred leagues and three weeks away from the town where the incident had taken place.
Octavia hovered over her like a mother with a newborn. “Careful, careful!”
Bon Bon tried to remember her training. What was it? Oh yes. First, assess the damage to the injured agent. She looked down at herself. Several shards of glass were embedded in her front leg below the knee, but they were only shallow wounds. They would heal cleanly. She looked at her flanks. She had plenty of scratches, but surface wounds healed fast. She wasn’t worried about that.
What next? Take any casualties into account, both friendly and enemy. Well, she was fine, Octavia was unhurt, and those little terrors on the scooter were nowhere in sight. It seemed safe to assume they were fine. Even the shopkeeper was gone. Perhaps the sight of her unconscious and bloodied in her wedding dress had finally been enough to send him packing.
Wait. A horrible feeling of falling suddenly flooded through Bon Bon. Her flanks were covered in scratches from the broken glass. How would she be able to see that, unless—?
She turned anxious eyes to her dress. It was worse than she had feared. The beautiful plush skirt was gone, its layers of tulle torn away by the jagged glass and scattered one scrap at a time across the Carousel Boutique. The upper portion of the dress remained, just about, but the sleeves were ripped, and it was more red than white now.
Tears threatened to engulf Bon Bon. She picked up a scrap of the lovely gift that Lyra had designed and Auntie Needlesharp had made for them. The first few droplets spilled out onto her cheeks as she imagined her crochety old Auntie labouring for hours and weeks over the intricate dress — the dress that lay in rags on the floor around her.
“Bon Bon?” said Octavia anxiously.
“My dress!” Bon Bon sobbed, the tears pouring down her muzzle now as she clutched its remains in her hooves.
“Oh, oh, no,” Octavia said, her tone horribly awkward, and she hesitantly patted Bon Bon on the shoulder. It didn’t help at all; it only made Bon Bon want to cry harder.
She remembered dimly that she had dropped the little bag of guitar strings just before the crash, but that small mishap now seemed to pale in comparison to this utter disaster. She buried her head in the remnants of the skirt and wailed into it. The wad of fabric did little to muffle her grief.
“Oh, Bon Bon,” Octavia said helplessly. And then suddenly, with a little more spark, “Wait — Bon Bon — isn’t that your dress there?”
“Yes,” yowled Bon Bon. “It’s all my dress. It’s all over the room! Auntie Needlesharp’s lovely wedding present!”
“No, really — Bon Bon, look, look, will you?” Octavia shook her, hard.
Surprised enough to stop mid-keen, Bon Bon looked up from the white rags and shards of glass and followed Octavia’s pointing hoof. Sure enough, there was her dress, lying discarded on a workbench atop the same black garment bag that Octavia had delivered to her back in the mare’s room of the Town Hall. But how could that be?
Bon Bon got to her feet and padded over to the workbench. She reached out and gently brushed a hoof over the white tulle mound. Sure enough, it was the same soft fabric. She could hardly believe it.
She picked up the dress in both hooves and shook it out. It was her dress — or an almost exact replica, but for a few details. It had a more modest neckline and the cuffs hung loose at the end of the long sleeves…and it had an enormous series of black splodges down the front of the bodice and skirt.
Bon Bon sniffed and wiped her nose. She couldn’t pretend to understand how this had come to be, but it was a gift from the goddesses. This dress was undeniably in much better shape than the one she was currently wearing. She had already stolen today; what was one more little crime to add to the list? Besides, Rarity was a guest at their wedding, and the element of generosity besides. She surely would not begrudge Bon Bon a soiled dress as a wedding gift.
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Lyra waited at the end of the aisle, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Even Mayor Mare, always so stoic, was beginning to look uncomfortable waiting up there at the dais. The guests were rustling anxiously in their seats, and Rarity’s comforting smile started to look strained.
Lyra felt tears pricking at her eyes again and blinked hard to clear them. She had tried so hard, and it had all gone wrong. Her lovely gown, ruined. Here she was, in this borrowed frock, waiting for her fiancee, but Bon Bon wasn’t here. Was she coming at all?
It didn’t make any sense. Why would Bon Bon spend so long on the flowers, which had clearly had huge amounts of love and thought poured into them, only to leave at the last second? Look at Roseluck! If Bon Bon was even half as scratched up by the thorns as Roseluck was, Lyra would have a a very bloodied bride. And you didn’t do that unless you wanted to get married.
Besides, Bon Bon would never call off the wedding without talking to her. They always told each other everything. Lyra’s mind began to race. What if something else had gone wrong? What if Bon Bon had been ponynapped? Or some old vendetta from the S.M.I.L.E. days gone wrong, or a rogue timberwolf coming into Ponyville from the Everfree — the possibilities were endless!
Mayor Mare broke into Lyra’s train of thought with a cough. “I wonder if perhaps we should adjourn—”
“Stop!” somepony yelled, bursting through the doors behind Lyra with a huge crash. Two precariously balanced pillars seemingly constructed entirely of yellow and blue roses toppled to the ground. They landed with two distinct thuds and a puff of rose petals.
As the petals settled once more, Lyra strained to make out the figure coming through the whirl. Could it be?
She hardly dared hope — but there she was! Lyra gasped with delight to see Bon Bon pounding down the aisle towards her. She was wearing a strangely ragged dress — how had she managed to stain her dress with coffee too? What were the chances? — But that hardly mattered, nothing mattered but her, because she was here, Bon Bon was here and she did want to marry Lyra!
Lyra flung herself at her marefriend, and they hugged one another hard enough to squeeze the air out of both their lungs. Lyra was bawling, Bon Bon was crying — and Lyra’s heart was so full she almost wanted to sing. Instead, she just clenched her forelegs even tighter around Bon Bon, and breathed in her comforting scent, and tried to imprint on her memory forever what she thought was possibly the most beautiful moment of her life.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Bon Bon whispered.
“I don’t care!” Lyra was laughing through her tears now. “I’m just so glad you made it!”
“Are you ready to do this?”
“Yes, yes, I’m ready!”
And hoof in hoof, they turned as one to face their future together.
