The Sweetest Music

by psp7master

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance
Length: 44528

Lyra is perfectly fine with her life in Canterlot. She has a nice job, a loving and caring family, and loads of money. Then why does she want to escape so badly?

18+ Lyra is perfectly fine with her life in Canterlot. She has a nice job, a loving and caring family, and loads of money. Her life is steady and smooth, and she has all the rights not to have a care in the world.

Then why does she want to escape so badly?

This is a prequel to The Snow on Her Cheek and takes place several years before the events of the story.

The stunning cover art was drawn by the amazing AcreuBall, who is also a very skilled writer.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-11-04 16:39:26 UTC

Puttin' on the Ritz

Sometimes we're not prepared for adversity. When it happens, sometimes we're caught short. We don't know exactly how to handle it when it comes up. Sometimes we don't know what to do when adversity takes over. I have advice for all of us. It sounds like what you're supposed to say when you have that kind of problem: "Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!"

Cannonball Adderley (slightly paraphrased)

The Sweetest Music

Chapter One

Puttin' on the Ritz

***

The snowstorm hadn't subsided.

Contrary to the weather forecast, snow was erupting from the grey clouds, rushing down in a whirlwind of white flakes, making Lyra shiver and cover her neck with a hoof. She'd lost her scarf on the way, and she knew better than to try to look for it in the middle of the fervent show of nature's blinding rage.

The mint pony trotted down the frost-bitten street, past the grimy lampposts and muddy windows, the wheat-soaked bars and perfume-spoilt hairdresser's', and the empty looks of occasional passerby; glares, curiosity, sadness, delight. The night was young, but Lyra liked to take her time before the performance. Especially given that it wasn't she who was to perform tonight. She could just sit back, toss a few drinks, and take in the music, the weeping howls of the guitar, the cries of the horns, the drum's chatter, the bass's sombre resonance, the piano's droplets of teary notes. And, honestly, who ever plays blues on a lyre?..

Lyra's chin and cheeks were assaulted with an especially violent, turbulent whirlwind of snow as she turned the corner and faced the uneasy storm muzzle-to-muzzle. The flakes cut at her face, rushing through, up the busy Canterlot street. And indeed, Canterlot downtown was unusually crowed for the night. Countless ponies, none of them familiar, trotted along the street: the club-goers in their classy suites and ties, and the musicians in white tuxedos, and the busy business ponies with grim looks that showed very well that they didn't want to have anything to do with nightlife and were just returning home from work, and the common passers-by who were in no mood to pay heed to anything going on around them, their eyes fixed on the ground beneath their hooves, and the strollers, and the buyers, and the sellers, and eveypony who could possibly come out at half to eleven.

Lyra breathed in the fresh scent of the snowy city. She liked Canterlot, in a way. It was... unique, to say the least. A yesterday for the tomorrow. A silence for the noise. A thesis to the antithesis. Or both. Or all of them, at once. Or something else entirely. One way or another, Canterlot was really something else, in the purest, absolute meaning.

However... Why did she feel so alien in this city of tall lights and muffled music? Why was the everpresent sense of loneliness her constant companion? Was it the city itself, or the way she chose to perceive it? Was there anything worth perceiving, after all? Maybe she was wrong, and Canterlot was a marvel itself. But now, more than often, she found herself thinking that it wasn't Canterlot she found appealing; at least not in the city sense. Substituting the city with murky blues bars, she had come to love the nightlife. Her Canterlot was the bars, and the booze, and the blues. It was the Canterlot of the Night, and it was not the same Canterlot that brought about so many - far more than eleven - kinds of loneliness.

But if there was one thing worth living here, in this angry and dismissive city - if there was one single thing that kept her going, in spite of everything - it was the music. Not just the blues, the music of aching soul, the soothing wail of the city's tenants, but the tune of the city itself: the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves stomping the wet asphalt into dust, the abrupt horns of the wind, the flutes of the sour breathing, the huffs, the talks, the whispers, the murmurs, the shouts, the giggles, the frowns, the mutters and the utters, and the gasps and the rasps, and the crooning, and the swooning - the bawdy symphony of the real Canterlot, the Canterlot behind the pictures in papers and the rusty facade of classical music and classical ponies.

Lyra lit up a cigarette as she stepped around the corner onto a painfully clean street, the Manehattan's Fifth of Canterlot, the elongated square, the rushing current of the forest river. The smoke evaporated in the air in a matter of mere seconds, mingling with the winter breeze, consumed by the dispassionately angry snowflakes, exchanging its usual how-do-you-dos with the night.

It was not quite the centre of Canterlot - or was it? - but it surely was its heart, with all the fancy shops and the giant clocktower molded in the zeitgeist of modernity, and the hotels with their everpresent lights and the ads with their everpresent lies, and the lampposts striking the snowflakes with righteous vigour, and the white, blue, yellow, green-ish moon with its smiling frown that seemed to be peeking at every passer-by, every snowflake, every minute molecule of the air.

Lyra strolled past all the shining glory of the street, puffing on her cigarette as the tobacco depleted by the seconds. The bar wasn't far - just a couple more minutes, right in the middle of the labyrinth formed by the peculiar buildings of Old Canterlot. Just to think that her own mother would suggest she accompany her to such a "lively place"! Heh, that's not the kinda place you'd take your mother to. Lyra smirked. Of course, her mother was concerned about the self-inflicted solitude that the lyrist relished in; but she did want to be alone. After all, she was still relatively young - Thirty-Years-Old was still a far-away land - and... And, well, the dates her mother had tried to set her up had gone bust. Because, clearly, stallions weren't quite to her liking.

Lyra slowly turned her head from side to side. Of course, they couldn't read minds, but... But you had to be cautious. Be careful. Be aware. No filly-fooling thoughts. Only a law-abiding smile. The mint mare gave such a smile to a nearby policepony. The pegasus stallion didn't return it.

Lyra turned round the corner, and stepped into the maze of old Canterlot buildings. She never admired such architecture, if only because it breathed antique - if stone could breathe. It wasn't the new Canterlot, constantly erecting upon the old city, following the example of Manehattan, which, by now, had been swirled away in an army of skyscapers and neon lights. Maybe she could just move to Manehattan, Lyra mused as she followed the narrow path. Maybe she just needed to move.

Canterlot itself wasn't the place she wanted to live in: it just wasn't what she could get a kick of, and, if she knew anything about life, it was the fact that if you weren't getting a kick out of something, you should just move. But not anypony can move away, right? she thought as she spotted the familiar old building. She could move away, of course: she had the money, and her mother would probably support her, but... Well, for one thing, she didn't want to leave her mother. For another thing, she wasn't sure that it'd be so different somewhere else - anywhere else. And...

Well, maybe there was one thing worth living here. Music. Not the kind of music played in concert halls or dinner parties, but the music of the bars - such bars as the one she had just approached. The kind of music that made her drink the night away and breathe in the scent of smoke and lean back and tap her hoof against the floor, despite the fact that she'd still have to get up at six and go to work, work that she didn't find interesting in the slightest but that her mother insisted that she do. And Lyra didn't want to upset her.

But this music wasn't really Canterlot's speciality, was it? The capital wasn't the only place where blues and this newborn 'jazz' flowed freely across and about the night. But there was no use thinking about it now. Now, Lyra wanted nothing more than to shoo all the grim thoughts away and just enjoy the night.

She sighed and knocked at the rusty metal door.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Two

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

***

Shivering, Lyra took off her boots, placing them in the corner right next to the stairs she'd just traversed. The little corridor - more like a half-room, really - met her with its usual cosy homeliness: the newspapers in the corner, the shoe stall in another, the other half of the corridor leading to the toilets. And, of course, the Great Opening - a little peek-through, un-curtained, un-doored, leading to the Room: the bar counter, the round tables, and, of course, the Stage.

The Stage: the sacred, bawdy place where the angels and demons of blues (and sometimes the newborn - or newly-being-born - 'jazz') indulged in their holy blasphemy of horns and guitar, and the keys, and the drums, and the rusty vocals, and the smooth backup, and the soul, and the deep equinity of music, and compassion - the compass in the world of disorientation.

Lyra coughed in a short fit: her throat was still sore and ticklish from the cold, but it wasn't worth staying at home. Had been worth taking an early leave from work, though. The mint pony turned towards the manager. "Lyra Heartstrings."

The manager nodded and left her spot near the security pegasus, leading the lyrist into the Room: the shrine of food and drink, and smoke and music, and the calm wildness of the patrons' mild excitement, the kind of excitement that builds up inside gradually but demands instant release: first, you're tapping your hoof against the floor, then your forehoof goes clicking against the table, your head is shaking, your lips break into a smile, and then you're up and going on the floor, dancing the night away.

Lyra took her seat at the round table next to the VIP lounge - a similar table, just a little bigger, with cushions instead of chairs. She liked her place, though: the wood of the table - the speciality of this bar - always made a nice contrast to the usual metal nakedness of Canterlot tables: a Manehattan trend, no doubt. Besides, it was the only table on this side of the bar, with a clear view of the stage; all other tables were on the other side, and that added a pleasant touch of solitude.

Lyra took up the menu. The VIP lounge erupted in laughter. The mare took a glance at the nearby table: all stallions, all laughing out loud, holding their drinks and smoking their cigarettes. Nothing worth paying attention to. Not that she wanted to, of course: stallions weren't in her particular field of interest. Still, she couldn't help but overhear bits of their conversation.

"Can't get a show in Ponyville," one of the stallions lamented, sipping on his gin-and-tonic. "Town's taken by the blues guys, meh."

"Oh come on!" His friend gave the stallion a playful punch at the shoulder. "You used to be a blues guy, too, you know."

"All better than Los Pegasus," a stallion in the far corner called out. "Imagine what: after a show, this guy approaches me, okay?, and he's all like, you know?, huggy. I got all careful, of course, and then he tries to lean in!" An expression of severe disgust crossed the pony's face. "Had to kick the homo good and get out of that damn place. I'll never play a gig there - Celestia forbid!"

Lyra lit up a cigarette, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling, vanishing in the dim light of the bar. Apparently, they're musicians, she thought idly, toying with the lighter.

"Why didn't you call the police?" The first speaker wondered.

"Nah. You know I don't like those guys." The table erupted in laughter once again.

Lyra puffed out a veil of smoke. Who does, though? A waiter came up to her.

"Ready to order, ma'am?"

Lyra nodded. "You still have that daisy salad, right?"

The waiter shook his head apologetically - even though he didn't look apologetic in the slightest. "Sorry, ma'am, not serving that anymore. Maybe you'd like something else?"

The mare sighed. "An Old Fashioned." She buried her eyes into the menu. "And bring me those tomato sandwiches."

As the waiter took his leave, Lyra looked around, slowly, taking in the Room. In the corner, four mares and two stallions were sitting around a large table, cake resting on it gorgeously. Must be a birthday. The few tables next to them were occupied by couples, mostly, save for the two in the corner: one table was occupied by a pair of stallions, sitting next to each other, casting short, scared glances, exchanging private messages. Their hooves rested close to one another, only a few centimetres away - a valid distance. Good for them, Lyra thought, her mind immediately recognising two ponies in a secret love affair. Limit your exposure. It felt as if she were sending this mental message not only to the two colt-cuddlers, but also to herself: a reminder of what she needed to do. What all of them needed to do.

The other table hosted two young mares, one of whom Lyra found disturbingly pretty. Those two, however, weren't so skilful at concealing their feelings: long, longing, loving stares, hooves resting atop each other, even occasional pecks. The ponies around them made an effort not to look. And so did Lyra.

The drink arrived and the mare took a sip. The pleasant warmth of whisky was softened by the cold touch of water and ice: not something she'd want on such a cold winter night, sure, but still, the drink was good. Lyra flicked the cigarette against the glass of the ashtray.

"Have a smoke?"

Lyra raised her head briefly to see a brown earth pony, his beige mane already sweaty and dishevelled. "Sure, here you go." She levitated a cigarette, which the stallion caught in his mouth with a casual, "Much obliged." Passing by the table, he swished his tail against the little candle, making the light flicker. Lyra sighed. It was one of the few disadvantages of her table, with its being in the way of all and any passer-by.

The sandwiches arrived, and Lyra wasted no time munching on one. Tomato juice dripped onto her chin, and she wiped it off with a napkin. A gulp of her drink - and she was ready to enjoy the show.

And the show was about to begin indeed. The stallions next to the mint mare rose from their seats and swiftly trotted onto the stage, taking up their instruments: sax, trumpet (that looked suspiciously like a sax), drumsticks, bass, guitar. Vocals mikes. No piano. Lyra raised her brow.

"Gooood evening, friends!" the drummer greeted the audience, waving his drumsticks in the air with his telekinesis. The ponies in the Room erupted in applause. Lyra tapped her hoof against the ground. Because, of course, we are all friends here.

In fact, many of them were, as it seemed: ponies conversed freely and, even though Lyra frequented this place often, she didn't have this feeling of brief friendship; or any sense of belongness at all. If there was a word to describe her current situation - or maybe her whole life? - it was unbelongness. A pleasant unbelongness, too. In some way, it gave her a feeling of certain exemption, leash-freedom, uncircumscribedness.

Meanwhile, the guitarist took up the mike, "We're gonna play some hot dance tunes - none of that blues stuff - so I ask all mares to go down on the dancefloor and swing!"

"Swing." Lyra lit up another cigarette, watching mares of all colour and complexion assemble on the dancefloor. That's what they call this new music? Sure, this whole 'jazz' thing was nice, but... the blues appealed to her more, with its sombre, kind word of empathy and compassion, and not the 'forget all problems, dance and swing' attitude of jazz.

"What about the stallions?" one of the already drunk birthday-mare-companions called out.

"Weeell, we don't wanna see sweaty stallions on the dancefloor, if that's what you're wondering," the drummer replied with a short laugh, shared by the audience, "but I'm sure the mares here would like to see some guys dance with 'em!" Lyra had a sudden desire to hurl the ashtray against the wall.

Accompanied by good natured - or was it? - laughter, the band began to play. Stallions rushed to the dancefloor and took up mares, and swirled in a wild dance as the guitar and the trumpets sang their jazz. This music, this jazz... This was new. But this particular band? They were ahead of their time, music-wise. Lyra found, to her surprise, that she just couldn't dislike them. Homophobia was the trend of the whole society, not just the band. The law prohibited homosexual relations. Hell, if anything, it was she, Lyra Heartstrings, who was in the wrong, in accordance to the morals.

The mint mare just watched the ponies dance, step here, step there, and spin, and spin again, and hit her table - of course they would - and spin again, and step here, and hit her table again. And so on. She didn't dance, one of the few ponies in the bar: along with those two evidently gay stallions who just watched the dancefloor nervously. She didn't know how to dance, on one hoof; and, well, on the same hoof, she didn't want to. The feeling of unbelongness demanded her abstracting from the dancefloor.

One of the obviously lesbian mares swung jovially with her 'special' friend, shaking her flank right before Lyra's face. It took some effort to look away. Finally, one of the table-bound stallions smiled weakly and moved onto the dancefloor, picking up a mare to dance with. His... friend's eyes were fixed on him all the time, concern and understanding evident in them.

They are covering up nicely, Lyra mused. Good for them. Meanwhile, one of the filly-foolers hit the table with her flank accidentally. "Oh, sorry!" she called out, immediately diverting her attention from Lyra and carried on with the posterior-swinging.

The lyrist's eye twitched. She sighed. Time to get freshened up.

***

Cold water was a blessing. Lyra was perfectly sure of it as she washed her face all over again, for what seemed like a good ten minutes. The arousal was gone, and there was nothing to keep her from being calm and restrained. She didn't want to come off as a filly-fooler. Even if she was one. One way or another, doing time in prison wasn't exactly what she dreamed of.

Lyra felt a familiar urge and, with a grunt, directed herself towards the stalls. Great, and now I'll have to wash my hooves all over again. She leaned against a stall door and pressed it in.

As she stepped inside, the sight of two very familiar mares met her eyes. Those two mares, one of whom possessed what seemed to Lyra a perfect flank. Those two mares, making out. Don't you people just lock the door, dammit?

The mares stared at the mint pony in horror. Finally, the one with the Perfect Flank spoke in a trembling voice, "Please... Don't tell anypony! We just started dating, and..."

"You people," Lyra hissed through gritted teeth. Was she this irritated because she couldn't have what they had? Was she this angry because she didn't have a mare of her own, all be it a secret affair?

"Please..." Perfect Flank's marefriend begged.

Lyra just narrowed her eyes. "I give you one good piece of advice: Limit. Your. Exposure." She sighed and leaned against the wall, shapes dancing behind her closed eyelids. "Now get out. Just... get out."

She didn't watch the mares leave. Her heart was pounding in her chest, jumping all the way to her throat. It was probably round about midnight.

She was ready for another drink.

***

The clock had struck two - well, it would have, if there were a clock in the bar - and the dancefloor was going wild. Most ponies had occupied their seats once more, but the ones that carried on with the swinging - how come the band didn't get tired? - were going overboard. In all aspects: the two lesbian mares had, apparently, forgotten their previous horror, and were making out in alcohol-soaked bliss. Other patrons pointedly tried to avoid looking at them - which wasn't really hard, with most ponies being wasted.

Lyra couldn't get drunk, though. An Old Fashioned after an Old Fashioned, and the alcohol didn't even hit her. Her head was still clear, and the grimness was stepping in. The kind of grimness she had to fight. She cracked her hooves in an attempt to not even start stepping on those dangerous mental grounds. For now, she was successful.

"Down! Everypony down!"

In an instant, Lyra found herself plastered to the floor, her face hitting the wood of the dancefloor after a well-placed kick. Screams filled the Room. The mare grunted but kept lying still, having encountered police raids before. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the two filly-foolers weeping openly as two pegasus stallions in fine police barding grabbed them violently, dragging them across the dancefloor, towards the exit. The pressure on Lyra's back was released, and the mare stood up cautiously. She glanced at the policepony.

"You all right, ma'am?" he wondered innocently. The contrast was so vivid that Lyra couldn't collect her thoughts for a while. But of course. That was perfectly normal: policeponies were supposed to hit you on the back and then wonder if you're all right. Then why didn't she find it normal in the slightest?

"Yes, thanks." Lyra looked at the two filly-foolers. The one with the perfect flank glared at her fiercely, whispering something under her breath. Then they both disappeared, taken away by the police. The police pegasi retreated as well. The sudden silence in the room, the silence that nopony had recognised prior to this moment - the silence that took over the moment the police broke in - was unbearable.

Lyra watched a brown earth pony stallion, beige-maned, veil-eyed, look over the Room for a moment, standing in the always-open doorless doorway, and leave after the police. Her gaze lingered for a moment, and she returned to her drink.

The band continued to play.

I'm Old Fashioned

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Three

I'm Old Fashioned

***

The sky was lighting up an early white as Lyra walked away from the bar, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. Finally, the snowstorm had ceased and the air was fresh and had this wonderful winter bite that hits the insides of your nostrils when you breathe it. Lyra gulped it down greedily. It seemed that even winter itself, the famous Canterlot winter, with its serene beauty, had now become a Manehattan winter: wet, and grimy, but ever so appealing, with a beauty much more appealing that the clean stateliness of classical Canterlot winter.

In a way, it was nice when the snowstorm took over from time to time, especially at night, with the snowflakes dancing in the illumination, and the frost biting at your nose and lungs, and the wet puddles of melting snow under your hooves. And the air spoke of something otherworldly, of that mild, spur-of-the-moment transcendence that shows you glimpses of places you've never been to, but know better than your own hooves, places that scream home from a distance, places that show up but never lure you, claiming that you've already spent your quality time there.

Lyra took another gulp of sobering air and stopped to light up another cigarette. Chain smoking will do you bad etc etc, she remembered her mother's warning with a sour sigh. Because, apparently, I can just stop anytime I want. She took a step forth when a loud crash from behind her made her freeze dead in her tracks.

"Dead" was a right choice of wording, the mare suddenly realised as she turned round, only to see shattered remains of a beer bottle. For a moment, she stood there, eyeing the shards dumbly. If she hadn't taken that little step... Lyra tossed the cigarette away and stomped on it.

She walked on. The near-death experience seemed to have cleared her mind of the usual winter grimness and the remains of the late-autumn post-depression, if only for a moment. Though, everypony was under the risk of dying almost all the time, statistically speaking. However, Lyra's mind couldn't - or didn't want to - think about statistics; it could only picture an alternate-universe Lyra, hit on the head with the bottle, dying of blood loss or a severe concussion.

Maybe she was overthinking it; but then again, it gave her something to focus on. Lyra watched the ashes dance in the wind, swirling, swinging without mercy. She was afraid of dreaming up dreams of death and adversity: do they come true or not? Hadn't she once, just once, had a vision of herself getting crushed by something falling from above? She could never get rid of that piece of unreal mysticism in the life of doubtless materialism.

A claxon shriek commanded Lyra's attention as she turned the corner and stepped onto the street. Right opposite the Ritz with its boastful light and pride, a cab was parked, waiting for somepony. And Lyra knew exactly who it was waiting for, as she directed her hooves towards the vehicle.

"Hi, mom," Lyra said with a sigh as she sat next to a dark green mare who rested regally upon one of the cab's cushions, her slightly lighter-coloured mane curled up perfectly around her horn, her general outlook similar to Lyra's, only neater, more regal, more prim and proper.

"Hello, sweetie," the older mare cooed, hugging her daughter and planting a warm peck on her cheek. "Been up all night, have you?"

Lyra groaned mentally. She did love her mother - more than anypony, more than anything in the world - but she just couldn't stand the everpresent overprotectiveness. They had talked about it, granted, but... But it had only made her mother sad, and more distant; it didn't actually fix the issue. And Lyra didn't even want to think about making her mother sad. So she played along.

This play-along didn't add to the discreetness of the situation, if only because there seemed to be no discreetness any more. There was love, sure, but... No buts. Lyra didn't want to think about it. It was already hard to keep her sanity without such thoughts. And sanity is a full-time job.

"Mom, you shouldn't have." Lyra smiled at the mare warmly, almost indulgently - and a touch apologetically. "I could've got home on my own just fine." She got more comfortable, squishing in the cushion as the cab began to move.

"Nonsense, sweetie." The gorgeous mare waved her hoof in the air. "It is far better to ride than to walk."

Lyra sighed inaudibly. Their verbal exchange always consisted of banal formalities: how-was-the-dinner, what-do-you-want-to-buy, how-was-your-day-at-work, good-night, good-morning, try-not-to-be-late etc etc. But what could she, Lyra Heartstrings, do, if she was the reason behind such alienation? If she just couldn't bear infringement upon her private life - not that there was any, for her - and anything that her mother said came off as such infringement.

She had never been rebellious as a teenager; she wasn't, still, as far as she could tell. However, there was this sullen itch inside her mind - and heart - that told her to get a flat of her own, get a mare, for hellsake, get moving!

Lyra gritted her teeth slightly, all thoughts vanishing, if only for a moment. "Thanks, mom." She smiled. To tell the truth, she really was thankful for the ride: she was exhausted. For a moment, she considered skipping work. Hmm... I've already taken an early leave this week... Or was it two? Hell, who works on Saturdays anyway?! "I think I'll get a scarf and head straight to work," she said, despite - or maybe in spite of? - herself. She tapped her neck with a hoof. "Lost mine on the way."

"We should buy you a new one, sweetie," the older mare insisted with that mild insisteveness that only mothers can have.

"Yes, sure," Lyra agreed readily. She knew she wouldn't buy a new scarf. She knew her mother knew. Despite their being exceptionally well-to-do - or maybe in spite of it - she didn't want to spend family money. There was her money; and there was family money. Taking family money was an unpleasant necessity sometimes, despite her mother's assurance that she, Lyra, was welcome to spend it. To her mind, though? It worked just the other way round. Sharing her personal money with family was all right, it was natural; taking family money, though? A no-no, to be avoided at all costs if possible.

To think about it, what was her family, after all? Sure, she had a grandfather, and a grandmother, and she was pretty sure there were a lot of cousins, and uncles, and aunts, but... Her family was her, and her mother. And that was it. Thus, taking money from family meant taking money directly from her mother. This wasn't the issue of being self-dependent; this was an issue of her mother spending money on her, and not herself. Many a time would the elder mare sacrifice her own needs for her 'little filly's ones - even the needs Lyra didn't actually need.

The cab stopped before the familiar building - not a shrine of gold and marble, of course, but still a commendable achievement in architecture. The regal mansion looked like a prim countryhouse, mostly - were it not for its size and the spacious garden, cherry trees covered by thick, protecctive blankets of snow. No lopsideness dared offend the house, no stain to shed a shadow upon its straight, prim elegance.

"Straight" was definitely the right world, Lyra had come to conclude. Nothing extraordinarily, nothing out-of-the-way, nothing out-of-place. Just as it was intended: straight, serious architecture, an utilitarian statement to beauty - and life.

Lyra followed her mother inside the garden, her boots leaving shallow hoofprints in the snow. She looked at the building one more time before acending the few steps and going through the front door.

Home.

But Not For Me

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Four

But Not For Me

***

Lyra inhaled the blissful snow-enhanced air of the Canterlot Central.

The park was covered with the same white nature-sewn blanket as the rest of the city, but this one seemed different: Lyra didn't actually mind looking at the blindingly-white snow covering the alleys, and the benches - each one holding a story - and the frozen lake, and the neatly naked trees, and the ground - everywhere. This snow, the snow in the park - the snow of the park - was rather pleasant to cast a glance at, holding the green of grass and the brown of dirt, and the warmth of wind, and the rays of sun, and the flowers, the weeds, the roots - everything. It contained everything.

The snow in the city - of the city - wasn't worth casting her eyes upon.

Lyra tugged at her scarf idly, watching the rare passer-by live up to their name and pass by her, not casting a glance, eyes down, moving at a quick, staccato pace, directed towards their goal - eyes on the prize. Of course her mother would give her an itchy scarf. Because, apparently, those are the warmest kind. Her neck itched, but the cold prevented the mare from taking off the relatively-comforting piece of clothing. At least, she was glad her mother didn't know about the police raid; or she'd be out of her mind with worry, much more than Lyra herself.

And probably prohibit me to visit that bar, the lyrist added mentally. Or any bar, for that matter. She chuckled grimly to herself. Now ain't that just a wonderful perspective?

She couldn't sacrifice bars. They were, by far, the only possible escape she had in the whole of Canterlot - given that she was stuck in the damn city forever. Or were they?

Lyra yawned, tired from the full-day work. The early winter sunset was already threatening to cover the city with a dome of darkness, and she hadn't even walked halfway home yet. Still, sometimes, she would take the long way home - she just had to: there was this crucial need telling her to - and walk through the park, and past the train station, and past the forsaken conservatoire that she would occupy on a few select evenings - Saturday evenings, mostly - and play the lyre, concealed from a curious eye and ear, and past the prison - the gaol of medieval, barbaric nonsense: do the crime, do the time, don't do the crime, still do the time, for whatever you do: your orientation, your political stance, your attitude, your honest attempt to help that turned out to be illegal - and then, only then, passing the prison as quickly as she could, without looking back, she could be home.

She could. But did she want to?

The train station was unusually empty for a Saturday evening. As it came into view, Lyra couldn't see any of the usual weekend away-goers, or forever-leavers with their family-criers and foal-clingers, or just curious faces, both of those who came here by accident and those who came here on purpose; and, of course, those who just wanted to see if it was different in other towns, not Canterlot.

Many a time had Lyra stopped there, waited, and moved on. Someday. Someday. So she did now: stopped and looked around.

In the far corner of the station, a guard slumbered, his rust-coloured head resting on beneath his equally-tinted wing. A couple - a stallion and an a-little-younger-looking mare exchanged their goodbyes and kisses. Judging by the suitcases, the stallion was going on a long trip. A group of young stallions, all visibly inebriated, staggered away from the station. Either they had just met a friend arriving in Canterlot or were seeing him off on the train. Or they could all be going somehwere, as a group of friends.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Lyra directed her attention towards the source of the voice - the little ticket office that she just so happened to be standing next to - or had she done it deliberately, subconsciosly?

The mint mare looked at the cashier. He was a young, joyful stallion - a student, probably; they always employed students for such jobs - his short-cut mane curled around his horn, the grin on his face genuine - not the kind of polite, artificial smiles older ponies wore.

How many times had she stood there, thinking of just leaving - up and away! But Canterlot was the place, wasn't it? But not for me, Lyra thought, just staring at the cashier. There are times in every pony's life when they have this realisation - an epiphany? - and they act accordingly, and think later, if at all, Lyra remembered. Was this an epiphany?

"Can't get a show in Ponyville," Lyra remembered. "Town's taken by the blues guys." She could just... leave. For a day. She would be back the next day, right? Not that she actually considered those possibilities - or any possibilities, when she leaned in to the tiny window and hoofed a few golden bits. "Ponyville, two-way for the earliest ride."

The young stallion smiled apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am, only one-way tickets for Ponyville."

Lyra nodded.

The little compartment was nice. Her cushion seat was just a little stained, and there were no other ponies there to share it with her. It had taken her twenty-seven steps to get in there. It would take her two hours to get to Ponyville.

Everything around her revealed itself through a hazy tint of daze and crystally clear confusion. Maybe something was wrong with her, to take such on-the-spot decisions. And to actually make them, fulfil them immediately. Maybe this was the right way to do things. Maybe she was just overthinking the whole situation.

Lyra looked out of the window.

Canterlot unveiled before her, a deep shade of grey. She had never truly noticed how grey, how painfully grey it was, even during the white, snowy winter. Grey buildings surrounded by grey trees. Grey dust covering the grey streets. Grey dirt of grey facades of grey cafes and grey restaurants and grey bars - even bars - and grey recording studios, and grey pastry in grey bakeries, and grey ponies in grey clothes - the grey of grey. The grey of everything.

But this grey attracted ponies, in some mysterious, ridiculous way. Ponies craved for Canterlot, from all over the country. You couldn't leave the country - but you could change towns. And, for some reason, uknown to the lyrist, Canterlot was the top destination for travellers and movers. The best-lit, best-crumped, best-tinned cage in all of Equestria.

Born free, raised in a cage. That could be applied to all of them, Lyra thought. Canterlot wasn't the only place. Sure, with the bars - probably the main reason for its being so popular - and the concert halls, and the department stores, and the hotels, and the museums, and the castle - always the castle - and the pavements, and the shops and stores and halls - it probably was the place. Maybe. Maybe it is, Lyra thought one last time as the train began to move.

But not for me.

One Way Ticket (to the Blues)

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Five

One Way Ticket (to the Blues)

***

Snow in Ponyville wasn't so different from snow in Canterlot.

That was the first thing Lyra noted as she stepped onto the train station in the quaint town she'd bought a ticket to so spontaneously. Well, maybe not quite: she wasn't sure that this snow, patch-like, leaving some place for rusty grass to peek through, wasn't any different from Canterlot's blanket-like, omni-covering snow; but, in many ways, it was just the same.

At least, she wanted to think it was a little different. Pretend that it could be different; that something - anything at all - could be different. Hope that there was a better place, somewhere. Somewhere in Equestria.

As she walked across the train station, further differences struck her eye: one-storey, village-looking houses replaced the Canterlot skyscrapers; the paths were straight and narrow; Canterlonian orderly parks gave way to secluded trees making up shapely forests, and the number of ponies Lyra could see was as close to none as she had ever witnessed: apart from the lonely stallion with his belongings, and the pegasus guard, and the cashier in the ticket office, there was positively nopony at the station or the surrounding area.

The just-arrived stallion moved swiftly in the direction of a somewhat tangled track leading into town; the station was on the far outskirts, as it seemed. He sure looks like he knows what he's doing, Lyra mused, noticing the no-funny-business attitude of the unicorn, his straight determination towards a goal known only to himself.

She was lost. What else could she do?

She followed him to the narrow path.

***

Having got used to solitude - most often self-inflicted than not - Lyra wasn't one to give in to unease, but the current situation seemed awkward even to her: two ponies on a narrow road, walking towards town, in complete silence.

At first, Lyra had directed her attention at the surroundings, taking in the magnificence of snow-covered trees - They're better than those in Canterlot, right? Right?.. - and the marble-tinted stones scattered all about the place, and the white-blanket-covered sleepy fields of green, and the farmland conquered by winter - just for a few months, till it could spring back to life, and bring forth life, and provide life and nutrition.

But now her gaze was fixed on the town ahead. Her eyesight being far from perfect, the lyrist couldn't make out more than mere shapes of the buildings ahead. She was sure there was a clocktower. And a windmill. By her estimations, it would take her - them - about fifteen more minutes to reach their goal; if their goal was mutual.

What was her goal, though? Having come here off the hat, just for the sake of coming here, Lyra wasn't really sure what to do next. Of course, she could always buy  a ticket and hop on the train to Canterlot. She could; and this was probably the best course of action. But the 'best' didn't necessarily mean the one that she would follow.

She couldn't leave just yet, without seeing the little town itself. She wanted - she needed - to see if it was any different. She wanted - she needed - to tell herself it was, just so she could know, always, that there was a place that was something else; a place that, despite following the same law and moral, was still somewhat contrasting to the fake glory of the capital. And if it was not...

Well, she would just hop on the train to Canterlot, then. After all, there wasn't much to lose.

Sometimes, Lyra had this nagging feeling - firm certainty that she had already seen it all, that it couldn't be any different, ever. Sometimes, she would think that it all didn't really matter; at least in the way that, should she die - just cease - it would still be the same. Maybe it was so. On one hoof, it gave her an apathetic outlook that really told her to stop trying; stop even bothering to try. And she had stopped long ago. After all, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Or so she assumed.

But on the other hoof, with this certainty also came its dialectic counterpart - the thesis to the antithesis, the night to the day, the sky to the ground (or was it the other way round?) - the clear, solid uncertainty in the future, the kind of uncertainty that bore art. Music.

Yeah, because, apparently, blues sounds so amazing when played on a lyre. Lyra looked at the unicorn stallion. His coat, grey as it was, was only accentuated by the snowflakes that descended slowly, one by one. The mare could only marvel at how individually the snow fell upon Ponyville, so contrary to the stately, orderly fashion of the many snowflakes of Canterlot. Or she just wanted to believe in that. Yeah, 'cause the sky is the same over the whole country. ...Was it, though?

She raised her head, but the sky was covered by the same grey cloud curtain as in Canterlot. Lyra averted her eyes. The unicorn stallion was gazing off in the distance, seemingly lost in thought. Still, it was evident that he wanted to make conversation: the spring in his right hindleg, the way his eyes drifted around for a mere second, from time to time, the way he would slow his pace, allowing Lyra to catch up.

Never one to start a conversation - or, almost never - Lyra just smiled politely (and a little encouragingly) at the stallion as his eyes lingered on the mare for a moment. She didn't want to talk, but she wouldn't mind. Besides, she could get some information, whether she really wanted it or not; she wasn't sure: not the musical kind of uncertainty, probably - just uncertainty.

That seemed to do the trick.

"Your first time in Ponyville?" the unicorn wondered as he turned his head towards the mint mare, quickly adding, "ma'am." Lyra didn't mind the form of addressing.

"Yep," Lyra nodded. She didn't feel the need to elaborate; still, the simple outdoor winter conversation was utterly pleasant - maybe even more so than Lyra would admit.

"Sightseeing?" the stallion carried on in - at least as it seemed - a totally non-infringing tone, the kind of tone you use on a train ride, or with a stranger over tea in a cafe, or a golf course.

"Kinda." The claim almost made the mare shiver. Sightseeing - but of course. It's not like she was stuck to Canterlot, forever; if anything, her cage-liness was mostly self-inflicted, if not absolutely. They were all allowed to travel within the country freely - and who needed to ever go abroad? Yes, technically, she was sightseeing. Maybe she was just exaggerating the state oppression, taking it on a personal level. But how could she not, when the law was directed against her?

No. Lyra almost slapped herself on the cheek. The law can't do shit to me. Never broke it, never gonna. I may be a filly-fooler inside, but I'll never show it. And not just because of the law: she didn't want to lose what she had, because of the ponies' opinion. Yeah. What I have. Because, obviously, it all mattered so much for her.

Her mother, Lyra immediately reminded herself. She couldn't abandon her mother. But... Wasn't she abandoning her now, just by being here?

Lyra would have shaken her head if it weren't for her companion, just to get rid of the thoughts. Usually, it would help, if only for a short while. "You're on business here, aren't you?" she wondered, if only to cleanse her mind.

"Nah." The stallion shook his head with a smile, and this smile - or maybe it was the quaint, simply-dropped 'nah'  - was all the disposition needed for Lyra to relax just a little and let out a smile of her own; a genuine one. "I'm visiting my family down here. Had to leave town when I got married," he explained. So, that was his wife, Lyra concluded, remembering the mare on the Canterlot station - a place that seemed so distant, even though it was close, an event that seemed already worn out by time, even though not a day had passed since then. He's married. Somehow, that fact made her feel just a little safer in the company of this smiling, talking stanger.

"It's still nice to escape the rhythmic din of Canterlot once in a while," Lyra's companion observed. The mare nodded. "Where are you staying, if you don't mind my asking?" the stallion carried on, omitting the "ma'am". Because, apparently, we're such good acquaintances now. As if reading the lyrist's thoughts, the unicorn added, "I'm Crimson Flake."

You don't look crimson, buddy, Lyra thought, eyeing the very not-red stallion. But then again, when Mom called me Lyra, she didn't actually expect me to play the lyre. "I'm Lyra." She didn't offer her hoof. "Lyra Heartstrings." She paused for a moment. "And I don't have a place to stay yet." It was getting dark, and the sun was ready to wink away for the night, with the crimson - real crimson - sunset preparing its glorious show. It would be reasonable to look for a place to stay overnight. "Any suggestions?"

"Well, you won't find a Ritz hotel here, if that's what you're asking." The stallion laughed. Lyra found mild disturbance welling in her chest, spiced by irritation. That ain't what I'm asking. Why did ponies assume things so easily? "Still, there's a nice inn called Happy Inn. It's near the windmill, not far from my parents' home."

Lyra inhaled the evening frost of the early winter. "Lead the way."

***

Lyra dropped on the bed with a heavy sigh.

Her head felt sore, hazed, drunk on the air itself. Lyra lit up a cigarette. The last time she'd smoked was on the train and her lungs were already craving nicotine. Breathing in the soothing chemical, strong, biting at the insides of her nose and throat, tickling her lungs, caressing her mind, she looked around, taking in the simple interior of the room: the bed, and the wardrobe, and the desk with a weathered chair, and the little round table next to the bed, filled with papers and magazines.

"It's not much, but it's cosy," Lyra mentally reiterated the young registry mare's claim. She had reminded her of the ticket office stallion at the train station in Canterlot. Canterlot. She had to go back there, didn't she? Her mother was probably worried sick about her now...

Lyra groaned and put out the cigarette. She would think about it in the morning. Now she just wanted to tuck in the blanket, roll over, and fall asleep.

And so she did.

On Green Dolphin Street

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Six

On Green Dolphin Street

***

Lyra woke up eariler than she would usually awaken on her days off. The harbinger of her wake was also unusual: fear. The kind of fear that seized you suddenly, but gradually: first, you are stricken, your breath slows down, but the heart rate goes up - not in your chest, but in your throat; your front hooves start tingling, they freeze, your mind starts running from possibilites, you try to calm down, and, for a moment, you calm down, but then the possible repercussions rush into your mind, like a current, like a tidal wave, like a harmless stroke; and then you finally calm down for good, but you know that tomorrow, and in a few days, and maybe in a year - you'll come back to it. Or, it'll come back to you.

The fear of leaving Canterlot, leaving her mother, losing her concrete disposition. Losing her orientation - not the sexual orientation that could prompt her to be against the law (wasn't she already, though, just by being a filly-fooler? But being a filly-fooler was no crime; acting like one was a crime. Liking the same sex wasn't a crime. Fulfilling this liking was a crime. All she needed to do was limit her exposure.) - but the territotial orientation, the orientation of belongness, the steady ground beneath her hooves.

The fear of losing her mother's trust, or, more accurately, more terribly, losing her love.

But she wouldn't lose her love, anyway - right? Right, Lyra confirmed to herself. Trust wasn't a necessity in love, just as love wasn't a necessity in trust. As terrible and depressing as it seemed, it was painfully true. What did matter was love, and not trust. Trust meant being loyal to a pact, a mutual agreement. Love meant being loyal to a pony.

Trust meant following the agreement, never breaking it, and, so long as you never broke it, it would still remain. Love meant following the pony, staying by her side, despite all arguments, despite occasional mistrust, despite, maybe - or, quite possibly - offending the pony in question. Love meant blaming the pony - maybe internally, maybe subconsciously, maybe hating to admit it - who gave you your life for giving it within the oppressed Equestrian borders, and still loving her. Though, wasn't it the same within other borders?

It isn't, Lyra thought, wiping off her face from a morning wash-up and lighting a smoke afterwards - smoking on an empty stomach had long ceased to have a disturbing effect on her. It could seem the same, but... But there, at least - she believed; she hoped! - you couldn't get beaten up for being gay, and the law wouldn't protect those who have beaten you. There, despite similar laws, it was the laws, and not the morals, that reigned.

Or was it?

On the whole, it was love, and not trust, that united her with her mother - that united families all over the world. Love that allowed Lyra to peck her mother before work, and when at home, and cuddle up to her, and fall asleep, for she knew she was always her little filly. Love that allowed Lyra's mother to toss a rubber duck into the bath while Lyra protested against her entering. Love that allowed them to talk, sipping tea on a dull autumn evening, and feel a little better.

Yes; it was definitely love.

Even though at times, her mother wouldn't pay her the attention she deserved - but, in all honesty, didn't desire that much, apart from, maybe, those inherent instincts, pre-installed in any pony's brain - or mind - that demanded such attention; even though she, herself, didn't pay enough attention to her, perhaps - it was love. It was definitely love.

"Good morning, Miss Heartstrings!" the receptionist called out cheerfully, as if she had got a good night's sleep. Which didn't seem to be true, judging by how her eyes were just a little red and the way her eyelids struggled to remain open. Still, to Lyra, it seemed that the young mare, yesterday's filly, tomorrow's mother - Because isn't that what all mares should strive for? Lyra mused in a spur of dark irony - was genuine in her jovious behaviour. That, she could handle. "Are you staying for breakfast? We offer great daisy salad and fresh orange juice!"

Well, at least she's not talking about the weather, the lyrist thought as she shook her head slightly with a polite smile. "I'd rather eat out." After a brief pause, she added, partly just to reward the mare for her honest and friendly disposition, partly because she did want to know, "Know a place?"

"Well..." The mare rubbed her chin. "There's this new place, Sugarcube Corner, on the other side of town; but if you're not in the mood for walking across the whole of Ponyville, there's a nice cafe nearby, Bon-Bon's."

"Thank you." Lyra nodded and walked out of the door.

***

Lyra wasn't in the mood for walking across the whole Ponyville. If anything, she was in the mood for having breakfast.

She'd spotted Bon-Bon's the moment she'd stepped out of the inn; and now, as she was staring at the small, cosy two-storey building, with a molded roof and a thin-glass Prench window that read, Bon-Bon's, encircled by a heart, she couldn't help but feel ridiculously relaxed. Maybe this was one of those things - one of those things that remind you of a home you'd never been to.

"Good morning!" a sweet, rather low voice reached Lyra's ears. "How may I help you?"

The mint mare turned round, looking at a cream-coloured earth pony mare, who'd just emerged out of the building. Her mane was bicoloured: a delicious blue and a delightful pink; it curled up neatly, emphasising the round depth of her cheeks, and the sweet hills of her shoulders, and the attractive - attracting - curvy flank... And stopping right there, Lyra.

"Hello." Lyra gathered her composure, dispersing away thoughts of how exactly this beautiful mare could 'help' her. "I'd like to have a nice breakfast. I hear this place can provide it?" She couldn't help but smile at the eagerness with which the cream mare's eyes lit up, a divine blue disarming Lyra on the spot.

"Oh yes! My cafe offers a wide variety of breakfast options!" the mare - Bon-Bon, as it seemed - exclaimed in what seemed to Lyra a rehearsed slogan, still retaining the open honesty that the mare seemed to radiate. Maybe, all Ponyville ponies were like this? Or, at least, some of them? Maybe it was different here, after all?

Having been seated down at a table just next to the window, under the protection of the roof - all the tables seemed to be outside, most of them unprotected; Lyra could only assume it was a summer-type establishment, and this justified why she was the only visitor; or maybe it was just a bit too early - Lyra took a glance at the menu as the mare - Bon-Bon - excused herself inside.

The prices seemed reasonable, and she still had enough money with her. Lyra sighed, considering the owner of the little cafe. It wasn't the first time she had laid her eyes upon a mare; and  it wasn't the first time she had tucked those feelings away, if only out of fear. She didn't want to do time in a tiny gaol, stuffed with sour, angry ponies, and catch pneumonia? - because cells were meant for five ponies and solid windows, and not sixteen prisoners and broken shards of glass on the floor, every second prisoner dying of some illness that would never be treated.

Maybe the law is stricter abroad, Lyra thought, deciding on a blueberry muffin with coffee. But at least they make verdicts according to the law, and not to the morals. They do what's just, and not what's believed by the society. ...Right? But then again, wasn't justice a formal representation of the morals, the guardian of the society, the mask of the mores?

"Are you ready to order?" Bon-Bon emerged from behind Lyra, almost making the mint mare squeak. Keep it calm, Lyra. Limit your exposure, dammit.

"A blueberry muffin and a coffee, decently black." She didn't want to opt for very black, despite the early hour. This pleasant mare, with her outlook, and the way she talked - without "ma'am" or artificial politeness - had already woken her up enough.

She really did need to limit her exposure, even mentally. Thoughts weren't a crime, but thoughts could lead to a crime. Elaborate thoughts made it only easier. Lyra didn't feel like limiting her ken, but, at least, she could limit the amount of such thoughts - or just thoughts, in general: not any thoughts, but the thoughts, the ones that commanded you whole when they arrived - when they occurred.

"I'll be with you in a minute~" Bon-Bon cooed jovially as she trotted inside. Lyra's heart fluttered at the "I'll be with you". She had to cease thinking about the cafe's owner in such a way. Post-haste.

The lyrist looked around. Mild, rain-ish snow unleashed its droplets over Ponyville, Bon-Bon's being no exception. The little round tables - wooden, Lyra observed with moderate satisfaction - were richly sprayed by the wetness of the snowflakes. Tame wind sang into her ears - and through the ears.

Her attention was drawn by a yellow-ish paper plastered to the window from the outside, the kind of cheap paper made to look expenisve to an oblivious eye. "Now Hiring!" was all that the paper said, and this simple phrase made Lyra shiver, her  neck - and throat - tickling, the scarf once more angering her vulnerable skin, her head heavy, forezen in place. This was a chance - but she couldn't even put it in words, the remains of morning fear returning if not in full scale, then at least in half-scale - this was a chance to begin anew; or, at least, to see the pretty mare more often and spend a legit time here, away from Canterlot. The shameful thoughts about her mother, her family, rushed into her head at once: it was becoming difficult to choose either option. She needed to go; she needed to stay. She wanted to return; she wanted to stay. She couldn't stay; she couldn't return.

"Here you go!" Bon-Bon placed the meal on the table with a smile. "Sorry for the long wait - it's hard to do all the work alone. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you," Lyra replied. Her third - fourth, fifth, sixth? - cigarette was flicked into the ashtray. "What help are you hiring?" She pointed at the announcement. Maybe it was the insecurity. Maybe it was her own sexual desperation. Maybe it was the despair of a pony losing the very notion of home. After all, maybe it was Bon-Bon's flank. Definitely the flank. Still, she asked the question, even though her mind had almost - almost! - decided on avoiding the issue entirely.

"Oh, any kind of help!" Bon-Bon sighed. "Another chef, or a waiter, or a musical performer - something to attract visitors." The cream-coloured mare smiled sadly. "I'm not exactly rolling in customers."

"I play the lyre," Lyra said suddenly. This was madness. But then again, being afraid of even so much as wiping off her nose in front of a police pegasus was madness too. Being stuck in a city that never slept - but only ate, feasted on its old-fashioned ignorance. Besides, it plainly hurt to see the beutiful mare sad.

"Oh!" Bon-Bon's eyes lit up with what seemed - to Lyra, at least - hope. "It's such a rare intrument! It would be just great if you could... I mean, if that's what you mean..." she trailed off.

"I'd love to." Lyra smiled, her internal argument forgotten. For the time being. "And I don't care much about payment," she quickly added. In fact, she didn't have that much money on herself, but it was still enough to last. For the time being. "Lemme just get my lyre and I'll-" Lyra's voice broke.

The 'time being' seemed to have ended abruptly - at least partly - as she reminded herself that her instrument was in Canterlot, the place she had, frankly speaking, run away from. Escape from Canterlot. Via domus. Or, to be more exact, via domus - through home.

"Is anything wrong?" the earth pony mare wondered in a worried tone. Lyra couldn't make out if the mare's concern was about her or her establishment. Probably both. Quite possibly both.

"I left my lyre in Canterlot," Lyra explained simply.

"Oh, you have just moved here?" Bon-Bon smiled once more. "I knew I hadn't seen you around. Not that I see many ponies, with all the work..." She averted her eyes for a moment. "But you can always get it, right?"

"I can't return to Canterlot." She could; she couldn't. Stating the fact did not change the fact; it did.

"Oh." Bon-Bon fell silent for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, thanks." I don't want to discuss personal matters with every pretty flank I lust for. Even though she did like this mare - didn't she? She was nice... but she had had enough solitude in her life to gain from it and not talk about everything she wanted - or needed (or both) - to talk to.

"Well, seeing as there aren't much visitors at the cafe... And, forgive me for being presumptious, but I don't think you're a chef..." Bon-Bon blushed a little.

Lyra chuckled. "I can't cook. But I can help."

"Maybe you would like to help me with the sweets store?" the cream-coloured mare suggested, evidently delighted that there was something that she could offer to Lyra - in exchange for company. She had this look of a lonely mare, and Lyra, being a lonely mare herself - though, in many senses - could read it perfectly.

"You have a sweets store?" Lyra raised her brow a little.

"It's my main source of income," Bon-Bon explained, tossing her mane a little, just a little business attitude crawling into her tone. "The cafe is subsidiary; ponies visit it in summer, usually..." She frowned. "If at all."

"I'd love to help." Lyra smiled. What was she doing? What in the ever-living Tartarus was she doing? "What exactly do I need to do?"

Bon-Bon motioned for the mint mare to follow her inside, with her tail swishing graciously. Lyra cast a sad glance at her yet-untouched breakfast, but followed.

"Basically, I get a few customers - if not quite a few - every day," Bon-Bon explained as the two mares stepped into the house, the first floor immediately revealing itself as, indeed, a sweets store, of the quaint variety, with the glassed wooden counter showing off the latest additions to the store, and the shelves with the Buyer's Choice, and wrapping paper - everywhere. Best befores, and sugar percentages, and flavour additives - all there, on the little piece of wrapping paper, each concealing a delight of its own. "So, I need somepony to mind the shop, the counter, while I'm in the kitchen making new sweets."

"Does 'sweets' stand for 'drugs'?" Lyra winked, her mood somewhat higher than ever: after all, after months of depression, every positive emotion feels discreet - and discrete - and colourful, and vivid.

Bon-Bon deadpanned. "No."

Lyra blushed slightly, pink covering her cheeks. "Sorry. Was trying to be funny. I kinda fail at this." Now that was awkward... and pretty stupid, she admitted to herself. "I'm ready to start working whenever you want me to start working," she said, trying to step aside from the uneasy joke.

"Great!" Bon-Bon's face lightened up, a smile once more adorning her face, tiny, youthful wrinkes forming in the corners of her mouth. Lyra couldn't make out whether the mare was actually younger or older than she was. About the same age, probably. Yep, I guess so. "If that's all right with you, you could start tomorrow?" There was definitely an interrogative intonation in her voice, a question, not a statement.

"Sure thing." Lyra extended her hoof. "Name's Lyra."

Bon-Bon shook the offered mint hoof. "Bon-Bon. But... I suppose you've already guessed." She chuckled a little sheepishly. Lyra nodded. Yes, and not just because you run the store that's your namesake. You also have bon-bons as your cutie mark on that sexy flank of yours. She kept that to herself.

"Lyra, sorry for asking: are you staying far from the store? I can allow an extra half an hour for the road." It was evident that Bon-Bon didn't like the idea, but that she was prone to offer possibilities.

"Nah, I'm good." Lyra waved her hoof dismissingly. "Just tell me when to hit up work, and I'll be here on time."

"Well, I open the shop at six. You could come up by quarter to seven, maybe?" Bon-Bon suggested.

Lyra nodded. "Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Bon-Bon." For some impossible reason, she so wanted to call the beautiful, sweet mare something equally beautiful and sweet. Like 'Bonsie'. Or 'Bonnie'. 'Bonnie' sounds good. Of course, those thoughts were too tucked away to the safety of the deepest nooks of her mind. If they were ever safe - if they could ever be safe.

"See you tomorrow, Lyra!" Bon-Bon waved her hoof as the mint mare directed her hooves outside. She enveloped the muffin in her telekinetic field and took a sip of coffee. It was cold. Placing the muffin in her saddlebags, she extracted ten bits and put them on the table. She was pretty sure the meal was cheaper, but she didn't really care. Now, she had a goal ahead of her. Maybe for the first time in her life. Not a stative, stable goal; an active goal. Something to look forward to.

Tomorrow.

Early in the Morning

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Seven

Early in the Morning

***

Lyra tiptoed around Bon-Bon's, frost biting at her ears, and exposed nose, and cheeks.

Who the hay opens up a store at six? It was five to six when she arrived. Now it was five past six, and the doors of the sweets store were still closed. So much for punctuality. For some reason, she assumed Bon-Bon was quite a punctual mare, with a particular fondness of exactness.

But, after all, it had been her choice to come here in advance. Not only because of the excitement, a feeling she seemed to have long forgotten - and even nervousness, the good kind of nervousness; not anxiety, just the tingling in your stomach - but also because there was absolutely nothing else to do in town. She had traversed it whole yesterday, and when tomorrow became today, she realised that there wasn't nothing to catch her eye - except for Bon-Bon's. Or was it just Bon-Bon? (If it was any indication, the dinner she'd had at Sugarcube Corner had proved to be bland, despite Lyra's rather high spirits. Maybe she was just scoring a point for Bon-Bon, subconsciously. Or consciously.)

Having no desire to stay at the inn in the morning, she had once again refused breakfast and, instead, came here. Her nose was running already - the remains of the old cold; or, the beginning of a new cold - and her throat was itching from both the inside - soreness; the desire to cough - and the outside - the scarf.

Her second cigarette was dying, and she tossed it away, watching the red light melt a tiny hole through the snow, vanishing in the white confines of winter. For a moment, she felt a kind of sympathy towards the flickering light; but then she calmed herself. It was the fallout of fear, the fear that you either just learnt to live with - because everypony had it; it wasn't a matter of circumstances, it was a matter of nature - or... Well, there was probably a reason why public toilets had hooks attached to the ceiling.

"Lyra!" Bon-Bon's voice drew the mare out of her grim contemplation. "How long have you been here?!"

Lyra looked at the beautiful mare, who had just opened the door from the inside - apparently, she lived there. But of course. There's a second storey. Bon-Bon's voice, low, sweet, delightful, shining with concern like a glass bell, set a longing, sentimental mood in Lyra's heart, the kind of mood that brought up memories from the past, tiny peeks into the forgotten, or purposefully forgotten - abuse, or what seemed like abuse but was normal according to the society. Her father, for example.

Lyra shook her head slightly, tossing the thoughts away in a dust bin, hoping that Bon-Bon wouldn't notice. That was all in the past. Her father was dead, and so was her foalhood. So was every day that had come to an end. There was no past, only the past she chose to keep in her mind: her mother, her family, and music. And love. The kind of love that made it worth listening to sweet nonsense, and keep it in mind, and cherish it. The kind of love that made it worth keeping  (some) glimpses of the past.

"Just came," Lyra replied, immediately blaming herself for her wording. I'd definitely come from such a sweet flank... she caught herself thinking, instantly wanting to slap herself for such thoughts. On one hoof, there was a certain humour to the situation - if it weren't for the very real chance to do time in prison. And Lyra didn't want that - not only because of the outrageous conditions that the prisoners had to suffer - that prisoners had to suffer, everywhere, she assumed; or was it different abroad? It may be. It probably is. - but also because she did value her freedom, be it only inner.

But inner freedom was the only freedom, wasn't it? Wasn't our stance on it the only way to know - or to guess? - with the fact standing that, so long as there was a state, any state, you could never truly be free? Did our objective outlook - the outlook to society, because it was the objective outlook; or not? - matter? Was there even such a thing? Dammit, was a slave thinking he or she was free truly free?

"Come inside!" Bon-Bon urged the mint mare, who was struggling to keep the possible imaginary implications of that phrase to herself. The cosy sweets store proved to be a perfect shelter from the cold. Lyra undid her scarf.

"Want a tea?" the cream-coloured mare enquired, placing the Open sign on the inside of the door. "A coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you." Lyra shook her head. "I'm not hungry." She paused for a moment, estimating whether the remark would be appropriate. She remembered those mares in that bar, and she knew - maybe she did overcompensate - that she had to limit her interaction. As much as possible. "The meal you made yesterday - it was delicious." Yes. It was true; and it could pass as a mere pleasantry. Wasn't it, though?

"Thank you." Lyra all but froze at how simply, how gorgeously, how beautifully the sweet mare accepted the compliment. She didn't even blush - maybe apart from a tiny, minute tint of pink on her cheeks; but then again, that could be from the cold. She just took it as a compliment, but for granted. If only because it was granted. It was to be taken for granted, wasn't it? We just forgot our way on and about compliments, didn't we?

"Which reminds me!" Bon-Bon extracted a few golden coins from a small pouch, placing them on the counter, right before Lyra. "You overpaid for your meal yesterday. I apologise that I couldn't look you up at once; but I don't know where you're staying."

Lyra shook her head. "Keep the money."

Bon-Bon's eyes pierced her narrowly, the fierceness restricted only by politeness - or maybe something else? No. Not likely. "No. Please take it." The mare's eyes softened a little. "Now that you are working with me, you must understand that I work for money. I work, and I get paid for work. I don't want to gain money for what I haven't done."

Maybe it was the 'working with me' - as opposed to 'working for me' - or maybe it was the notion of working for money, working for herself, not for the state, or the country, or the abstract 'greater good' - or maybe it was just the general appeal of the beautiful earth pony mare - but Lyra took the money and put it in her saddlebag.

"I'm staying at the Happy Inn," the unicorn said suddenly. It felt right: as if she were repaying Bon-Bon with information - wasn't she? Besides - An excuse, isn't it, Lyra? - it would make it easier for them to work together, wouldn't it? And it wasn't like she was giving away her room number, was it? It was all right, within the natural dialogue. Right?..

You really need to ease a bit, Lyra, the mare told herself. By suppressing even natural verbal exchange, she was only coming off as secluded and artificial. Suspicious. Suspicious by nature - just like gay ponies were gay by nature; they were different; identifiable - at least, mostly. Suspicion led to charges. Charges led to punishment. It wasn't like she could make herself talk - but she didn't need to force herself with Bon-Bon. She really did want to talk with this mare. And she could. Maybe even needed to. Maybe it was just another excuse. But then, she'd gladly grasp at it.

"Ah, that's near." Bon-Bon nodded, the whole money argument forgotten in an instant. "Explains why you're here so early. Or you just can't wait to get started?" The mare winked at Lyra, the mint pony's heart skipping a beat. Almost.

Lyra smiled. "You could say so."

"All right, I'll be in the kitchen making new sweet treats while you watch the counter. The price tags and best befores are all there; you'll just have to sell them stuff." Bon-Bon explained.

"Can do," Lyra nodded, watching the cream-coloured mare disappear into the kitchen. She sighed, and it seemed to her that it was a content sigh. Putting her saddlebags aside, she looked around the room, watching the clock.

It was half past six and there was a counter with her name on it.

Blue in Green

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Eight

Blue in Green

***

It was half past eight and the desk with her name on it seemed more and more outrageously boring by the second.

The unicorn mare groaned and hid her face in her hooves. There had been no customers. No movement whatsoever, save for the occasional click-and-clank from the kitchen and Bon-Bon's hushed and angry whispers. Feels just my old work... Lyra mused boredly.

Wait. She... she never quit. Suddenly, fear rushed back to her, for a few moments, at the whole surrealism - surreality - of the situation. She still had a job to do, a mother to care for, a city to live in... But instead, she was trying to settle - no, she was actually settling! - here in Ponyville. She was thinking of this... temporary business affair as a job, and her hotel as the new home. She had just caught herself thinking that - but hadn't she realised it prior?

"And here are the sweets~" Bon-Bon cooed, emerging from the kitchen. The mare seemed to have an enigmatic, even awesome, effect on Lyra: all thoughts ceased in her presence, all worries faded, the anxiety left - for a while. "How are you doing so far?" the beautiful mare wondered, placing a tray full of delicious treats on the counter.

"Fine." Lyra sighed. And bored. "Can't say the same about the store, though." Staying true to her decision, she allowed herself to indulge in conversation with the pretty mare a little more. "Haven't had any customers yet."

"That's all right," Bon-Bon assured. "I don't really get that many customers." She sighed. "Sometimes, I do, though, hence the need for help. And it's Monday morning, after all." Was it already? Lyra blinked. Time flies, she thought idly.

"Why would you open up so early on Monday then?" Lyra wondered, quickly adding, "Not that I'm complaining."

"There's always a chance for a customer,"  the confectioner explained simply, followed by a short pause. "Like you, yesterday, for example." Did she... blush? She blushed! No, of course she didn't... But... There was a tiny, almost imperceptible flush in her cheeks - yes, it could very well be a blush, maybe a blush of attraction, even. But... So what? It would just forever remain unspoken. For the best, Lyra told herself, not sure whether she was lying to herself or not; hypocricy was part of life, after all. Even if there was a possibility - there wasn't? - of  attraction...

"Why do you need to make new sweets every day, anyway?" Lyra wondered in an internally desperate, yet externally tranquil, attempt to change the topic. "Can't you just make enough for a week?"

Bon-Bon's smile looked both exhausted and indulging. "Lyra, I don't just make sweets - those that don't need to be freshly made." She pointed her hoof at the tray. "Take a look." Lyra took a look.

The tray revealed to her all kinds of pastry: the crispy biscuits, and the ever-so-slightly-sweetened crumpets, and the big, deliciously-looking Scoltish cookies, and the muffins, and the cupcakes - absolutely everything. Well, almost everything, at least. But of course, Lyra mused. That freshly-baked blueberry muffin didn't appear from nowhere.

"Try it," Bon-Bon suggested - no, she offered generously, adding the obvious, as if it couldn't be read in her face, "Free of charge! Don't even think about paying."

With a grateful, appreciative nod, Lyra took up a muffin in her telekinetic grip - a strawberry one; a little diversity wouldn't hurt, would it? - and munched on it delightfully. Fresh filling assaulted her tongue in an entirely pleasant way, the taste of fresh strawberries in winter both surprising and utterly satisfactory. "It's delicious," Lyra said honestly. "You are an amazing confectioner."

"Thank you." Bon-Bon smiled. "I wish I could spend more time cooking and less time dealing with papers." The mare sighed. "Which reminds me..." She trotted towards a desk resting - waiting - in the corner and swept up documentation with another sigh. "I still need to go through the bills."

Lyra stopped with her meal - it could be considered breakfast - and stared at the cream-coloured mare. As much as she hated her old... No, that's not the word... As much as she hated her Canterlot work, there was a chance - a possibility - to help this wonderful mare, the beautiful, good-natured, cute, sweet, sexy mare... "I can do this for you."

Bon-Bon raised a brow in evident disbelief. "What do you mean?"

Lyra smiled a little sad smile. "My job in Canterlot involve...d," she began, pausing before saying the key word, the key tense, the truth of the matter - wasn't it? "Well, it pretty much consisted of running through papers: bills, accounts, stuff like that." The lyrist couldn't help but feel a little grim - at the memories of boredom, and a little proud - at her skill: "I am pretty good with law and finance stuff. All I ever did was help other ponies run their businesses." Now that was a statement she'd never put to words before - or so it seemed.

But wasn't it so? It was. She had never had a business of her own; not just a business - a band, a flat, a pet, hell, even a mare; of her own. She was just there to help others. But, at least, now I'm doing it willingly, Lyra told herself, and that somewhat calmed her down. For the time being.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bon-Bon wondered. Lyra looked into her eyes, those pools of divine, calmly hectic blue. It wasn't just a polite offer, or a psychiatrist's job-like request, or the kind of suggestion done in the best interests of the asker, and not the recipient. No, it was honest and genuine.

Still, Lyra declined with a shake of her head - not a sharp one, lest she offend the mare (and there was some uncertainty still) - but still a decently firm one. "Let me take a look at the papers, Bon-Bon." Lyra managed a smile. Oh, how did she want to call the mare 'Bonnie'! "I think you'd better catch some sleep. I'll handle the customers, if any."

"Thank you." Bon-Bon hesitated for a moment and leaned in for a quick hug, before leaving the room swiftly.

For a while, Lyra just stood in place, blinking dumbly. Her body couldn't even perceive it: Bon-Bon's skin touching hers under the fur, her front hooves embracing her neck for a moment, her breath falling onto her ear for a millionth of a second... Stop that. Lyra shook her head violently, now without fear of being noticed, and levitated the papers. It was just a hug. Straight mares do it all the time. But... Filly-foolers were different by nature, and acted differently - she knew; she felt; she was -  and that hug felt like...

Lyra had to slap herself on the cheek - lightly, not to get a bruise or cause actual pain; just to cut off the thoughts with a sudden, rough movement.

She stared at the bills, redirecting her mind at the paperwork. Numbers danced before her eyes, and Lyra lit up a cigarette. She didn't know Bon-Bon's policy on smoking - especially now that she was an employee... She was, right? - but then again, she'd never seen a non-smoking establishment before. Lyra closed her eyes and let out a sigh, smoke emitting out of her mouth and nostrils. The mare concentrated.

She had work to do.

When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Nine

When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer

***

Bon-Bon threw herself onto the bed, burying her muzzle in the pillow.

The feelings rushed inside, pounding in her head, raising her heart rate, tickling at every nerve, making her blood run cold and hot at the same time. Those sudden, uninvited feelings. What did I do?! She wasn't afraid of the law - she was a model citizen, an entrepreneur, a tax-payer. Her lust for mares remained in her mind - and they couldn't sue your mind.

She had long lost desire, with its being suppressed and shoved away. Her orientation was not an issue any more - had not been an issue for a long time, ever since she started devoting herself to work, wholly and completely.

What she was afraid of, however, was Lyra. Or, more exactly, Lyra's possible reaction. Of course, straight mares hugged all the time. Of course, Lyra had just accepted the hug as a friendly gesture - hadn't she? Straight mares hugged all the time... But Lyra wasn't a straight mare, was she? Gay ponies acted differently because they were different. Bon-Bon knew; she felt; she was. She could distinguish. But she was afraid - of making a mistake.

Even if - just assuming that - Lyra was indeed a filly-fooler, what were the chances that they would have some resemblance of a relationship, with the law having its mighty eye policing the whole country, with the ponies torn by disgust and anger, and hatred? What were the chances that Lyra felt the same? Dammit, what were the chances that she, Bon-Bon, felt the same? What if I'm just drawn to her out of desperation? Partly, she knew this wasn't true: she'd met a few - quite a few mares - but with Lyra, it was... different.

And, dammit, dammit, dammit, what were the chances that Lyra didn't have a mare in Canterlot?

Why did she escape? Bon-Bon asked herself, not for the first time since she'd met the wonderful mint mare, her minty mane accentuating the soft green of her coat, her flank slender and smooth to the eye... Bon-Bon's imagination didn't stop at this image. It led her away from the thoughts about Lyra's past - she had to ask her later, if the minty mare was willing to answer - to the impossible - Possible, please, make it possible! Bon-Bon prayed to whatever deity there was; or wasn't - future.

Lyra's tender, soft lips caressing her neck, and meeting her own; her minty tongue - the confectioner was pretty sure that her new assistant's breath was minty - sliding inside her mouth; her hooves massaging her back and flank, going lower and lower...

Bon-Bon's hooves, in the real world, followed her daydreams and slid under the blanket, with which she had conveniently covered herself against the cold of winter.

She imagined them buying a house somewhere in the mountains: a small abode where they could live happily, without being endangered, without fear or adversity. She imagined them spending nights in that house, in every possible way, not bothering to muffle the sounds of ecstasy. Wow, it's getting hot...

"Bon-Bon?"

The cream-coloured mare let out a little shriek that may have just as well possibly not been registered by the unicorn's ears and sat straight up in bed, turning her head towards the source of the voice.

Lyra stood in the doorway, the papers in her telekinetic grip, an unreadable look on her face - though, for a moment, Bon-Bon could swear she saw a glimpse of confusion on the mint mare. Lyra! Didn't they teach you to knock before entering?! Bon-Bon snapped mentally, for a moment, before she ralised that, in her confusion, she had probably forgotten to lock - or even close - the door. And, in the wake of her... activities, she may have just as well not heard Lyra's knocking. One way or another, this was not a matter to discuss, lest the situation become completely awkward.

"I brought you the papers. I'm done with filling out the bills," Lyra said meekly. "Sorry if I woke you up." Yes, because you were obviously just sleeping. With hooves under blanket. And moaning. In your sleep. Probably dreaming of... Aaand stopping right there, Lyra!

"That's all right, don't mention it," Bon-Bon replied, waving her hoof dismissingly as she stood up and straightened herself.  Her eyes seemed to convey the phrase, Seriously. I mean it. Don't. Mention. It.

Lyra seemed to understand that.

The mint mare nodded. "I'll be downstairs. You get your sleep." With that, she left.

Bon-Bon groaned and buried her face in the pillow, again.

Now, though, the urge to fall asleep overwhelmed her, and the mare gave in to the temptation.

***

Lyra released a breath and leaned against the wall behind the counter.

Her eyes closed, she could still see Bon-Bon, her hooves under the blanket. Only now was the image finally sending signals to her body, sleep- and sex-deprived, and to her mind, restricted, self-bounded, gagged on what to think. Or, what not to think.

Why was this mare breaking her composure? Why was she invading the privacy of her mind, with that sexy smile of hers, with that perfect body, not slender, not artificially attractive, but naturally beautiful, with that sweet, inviting demeanour? What was going on with her?

Limit your exposure, Lyra. The chant wasn't working. What was the feeling? Higher love? Unlikely. Desperate attraction? Probably? Love, just love, no strings attached? Maybe.

Lyra lit up a cigarette and let nicotine do its soothing work. Thoughts dispersed just like the thin veil of smoke. This was new, wasn't it? It was what she had wanted so desperately, wasn't it? It was the reason - or, at least, one of the reasons - why she had come to Ponyville, escaping from Canterlot, wasn't it? That was it. That was the question. That was it.

The snow was assaulting Ponyville from all directions: Lyra could feel it. Snowflakes spiralled downwards angrily, striking at the windows, the ground, the passers-by - if there were any - in a sucicidal attempt to keep winter alive. They didn't need to: winter could sustain pretty well by itself, its minions only shaping it up.

Winter would reign for a long time, Lyra thought. It didn't need help. As stately, stative as it was, it wasn't stable: it was wild in its primness, carnal in its elegance, primeval in its high excellence. And she still liked winter. She couldn't hate it for being cruel - or did she just imagine that? She probably did - just like (just as?) she couldn't hate those musicians from the Canterlot bar for being homophobic. It was the nature of life; no, it was just nature. Nature always took its course, with the spring taking charge, and the hopeful summer shedding its sunlit rays on Equestria, and then the autumn reminding them of the real queen of the world - winter. Winter always returned, in due time, and reigned. This was going to be a long winter, Lyra thought, taking a deep drap of her cigarette.

A very long winter.

Worried Life Blues

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Ten

Worried Life Blues

***

Apparently, customers weren't fond of hitting a sweets store in the morning.

Lyra sighed and took a sip of her tea. Tuesday morning seemed painfully similar to Monday morning (apart from the embarrassing situation neither Lyra nor Bon-Bon had any desire to talk about), in the way that there were still no customers. Bon-Bon had assured her that it was all right, that customers would come at the weekend; besides, they had made a few sales yesterday. But just a couple, and those were in the afternoon, and the evening, respectively.

Still, there was a nice bonus to the morning: she could just sit in the kitchen and sip tea, watching the beautiful confectioner tinker with utensils and create delicious sweets and pastry. So she did now; and the experience was pretty relaxing, especially considering that Lyra had suggested putting a little bell on the door so that she could hear it if somepony entered the store.

Lyra lit up a cigarette, watching Bon-Bon extract a tray of crumpets from the oven. The mare couldn't help but marvel a little at the confectioner's sweet flank as it swished back and forth to her movements. She averted her eyes. Why couldn't it be normal? Why couldn't it be considered normal? And, out of the two, what was more important? What was truer? And it would take years, decades, maybe aeons, for the mores to change - or, for the whole system to change, if it could ever change. And-

"Lyra?"

As usual, Bon-Bon sweet voice drew the mint mare out of her self-induced - or was it? - contemplation. The tray with pastry made its way to the table as the cream-coloured mare came up to the gramophone and placed the needle on the record.

The music was definitely jazz; but it was the kind of smooth - almost bluesy - jazz. The sax was soothing and relaxing, the piano was sad and slightly aggressive, and the drums sounded desperate enough to consider this jazz a wayward relative of blues. "You like jazz, don't you?"  Lyra wondered idly to avoid - more like, to delay - the continuation of the question on Bon-Bon's lips. For, surely, after the troubled addressing, a question would follow.

"I do. You don't?" Bon-Bon placed herself opposite Lyra and poured herself a cup of tea. The tender liquid warmed up her throat enough without burning it like whisky.

"I do." Lyra shrugged. "But I like blues more. Jazz offers temporary salvation, while blues tugs at... the heartstrings," she finished lamely. "Heartstrings. That's my surname," the mint mare explained her slight embarrassment. And now that sounded cryptic.

Bon-Bon just nodded, simply taking in the fact. To her, this wonderful mint mare seemed more and more enigmatic: wit hidden beneath brevity, a soul hidden within a body so beautiful, so slender... Bon-Bon sighed, diverting her attention from such matters. She knew how to avoid being noticed, but... she just wanted to make sure. Right? "Smoking so much is bad for your health," the cream-coloured mare observed idly, just to change the topic. (Was there a topic, to begin with?)

"I know." Lyra took another drag. She really did take that into consideration. She did. That didn't mean she would heed, though.

"Lyra," Bon-Bon began carefully, putting her front hooves on the table. "I'll understand it if you don't want to talk about it, but I can see that something is troubling you." Lyra frowned. "And yes, I assume that it is important. Could you tell me about your life in Canterlot, please? What made you move?"

I didn't move, was Lyra's first, mental, instinctive reaction. But... she did, didn't she? She'd moved. She'd escaped. She'd come here, to Ponyville, never looking back... No, always looking back, maybe even lingering, but still going on.

Maybe it was the 'please'. Maybe it was the music that was setting a romantic, sentimental mood. Maybe it was the fact that she'd already shared a piece of information, all be it about music. Most probably, though, it was the mare herself: the fact that it was Bon-Bon who asked her, the Bon-Bon she had got to know just a little better, through small talk and tea-drinking, the Bon-Bon she had known for only a couple days, but felt like she knew very well; yes, it was because of her that Lyra, finally, heavily, nodded. This may not be love; but it was a show - yes, definitely was, in a way - of trust.

And decided to open up.

At least a little. "I got tired." Was it that simple? No, 'tired' is not the word... "I got sick," Lyra paraphrased. "Sick of Canterlot," she elaborated. "Sick of the city. Sick of the way my mom acts." She couldn't actually bring herself to say "Sick of my mom" - mostly because it wouldn't be true. "Sick of the ponies. Sick of their laws." That was walking on edge. That was reaching for the edge and staring in the abyss. But then again, she didn't actually specify which laws. Freedom of speech still existed, if not in the streets, but in the relative safety of home. (Home - was she home now?) And, to tell the truth, wasn't it exciting to stand at the edge just for a moment? As long as you don't fall.

What laws, Lyra? Bon-Bon looked at the mint mare.  What laws? Were they the same laws - the same law - she was thinking about? Suddenly, instead of following her intial plan of quiet support and silent sympathy - If not empathy - she wondered, "Is it really different here?" Lyra seemed to be lost. "You said you were sick of Canterlot. Sick of the city. Sick of the ponies. Sick of their laws," Bon-Bon reiterated Lyra's lament perfectly. "But here, there are the same ponies. Same laws."

What laws is she talking about? Lyra couldn't ask; but she wanted to. What laws, Bonnie? At least in her head, she allowed herself to indulge in pleasant name-calling. What laws? Were they the same-

"I don't want to ruin your dream," the confectioner apologied bitterly. She really didn't. Then, why was she doing that? Was that simply because she had no dream of her own - not any more - and the very notion of somepony having a dream was alien, disturbing, painful to her? Or was it because she really did care about the wonderful minty mare? Maybe both? "But... It seems that you're not trying to escape from Canterlot. It seems - from what I gather - that you're trying to escape from your whole life."

What the hell are you - a shrink?! For a moment, Lyra felt real, vivid anger veiling, if not boiling, inside her, anger not particularly directed at Bon-Bon - or maybe it was - but just pure emotion that soon ceased in the wake of those gentle, sympathetic - Maybe even empathetic - pools of blue. "So what?" There was no irritation, just acceptance. "Maybe I am. I probably am. But what else can I do? I can't escape life. You want me to commit suicide?" Lyra chuckled darkly.

Bon-Bon didn't get the intended joke - was it a joke? Of course it was a joke! - her eyes widening slightly, her mouth forming a worldless 'No', which was immediately verbalised by a scared exhale, "No." She almost exclaimed it: the very thought of losing this mare immediately after having found her... But had she really found her? "You just have to find something to cling to. Something to live for. Maybe..." Almost breathlessly, "Somepony..." She was sure that Lyra heard her. She wasn't sure what she was doing. This was madness. Especially if Lyra got the implication. And, judging by the mint mare's expression of hope (was it really hope?) and understanding...

The bell rang.

No - it screamed on top of its tinny non-existent lungs, breaking the conversation for good. Or for bad? Was it for the worse or for the better that the unspoken question, the mutually understood implication, the implication that both mares knew that the other one understood - even though they were not sure of their own stance on the matter - in the matter - was left unpoken?

Bon-Bon moved into the store room as if in a daze, still wondering whether she really had said that 'Somepony'. Was she speaking about herself? Of course she was. But she was also speaking about a 'Somepony' for herself, wasn't she?

Lyra followed the cream-coloured mare with similar thoughts that, for some reason, she knew Bon-Bon shared. That 'Somepony' was twofold, two-sided, aimed at both mares. Either that, or she was severely overthinking it. Then, she needed to stop. But she wasn't overthinking, was she? Either way, she needed to stop before it would go too far. If it hadn't, yet.

As she saw the visitor, her whole body seemed to have frozen. It felt as if the few-day-old fear had returned in a spur, but, at the same time, it contained meek acceptance, slight anger, and - even - maybe - awe. Her thoughts jumped between, Police ponies can buy sweets too, right? - which implied that the police were ponies too, a fact that Lyra wasn't that sure of, with the violent, mindless raids - and, That's it. They found out. We haven't even said it - because there's this attraction, isn't there? Bon-Bon - Bonnie - feels it too, right? - and they have found out! But they can't read minds! They can't punish thoughts - can't punish for thoughts! ...Can they?

"Good morning, ma'am," the police pegasus addressed Bon-Bon, tapping his cap. Bon-Bon almost scrunched her face at the dirty, artificial politeness. She was pretty sure this policepony had inspected her establishment a few times already: but, of course, he wouldn't call her by name. Why would he, though? The police weren't particularly friendly ponies - if they could ever be called ponies. I should be thankful he's not pressing me face to floor or beating me up. Or raping me. Or all three. Because, apparently, being expelled from the police was such a terrible punishment - not to mention that even that punishment was rarely used, usually turned to only in case of 'upper' involvement - up to Princess Celestia herself. But, of course, the Princess didn't meddle in everyday affairs, raising the sun and all - or did she just not want to?

Meanwhile, Lyra's mind roamed, drifting away from her previous thoughts. Why were all the policeponies she had met pegasi? There wasn't a rule against other races to be accepted into the force, and the mare was pretty sure she'd seen an earth pony or an unicorn policepony a few times. But then again, it only made sense: all pegasi were under an obligation to serve in the army, and it was only obvious to enrol in the police after military service. There, they could unleash their wild, violent anger (mostly born in the army barracks of pain and cruelty) - on citizens.

"I'm looking for a Lyra Heartstrings," the pegasus continued, tapping his cap ridiculously once more. "I have been informed that I may find her here." By that innkeeper, no less, Lyra thought, suddenly devoid of any emotion, even negative, towards the cheeful young mare.

Lyra stepped forward with a strained smile. "That would be me." She produced the passport. There was no use hiding. Whatever she did - whatever she had done - had been done. They can't do anything to me, right? Her mind desperately clung at the edge of the abyss she had dared to peek into. I haven't done anything against the law. Haven't. I haven't. Besides, there was a thin, ethereal chance that there was bad news about her mother: as much as she didn't want to know it, she needed to know it; to be able to act. If acting can help.

Before her mind could step on to acting - the way she was acting - like an actress, perhaps? - the police pony said, "Miss Heartstrings, I have to ask you to accompany me to the train station for a trip to Canterlot, first class, all expenses paid." Lyra's blood ran cold.

The policeman offered a sour smile. "Your mother has been searching high and low for you." He produced a paper. Gone missing, unicorn mare etc etc, Lyra read to herself. About herself. So she is really worried, was the only thought in her mind.

She turned towards Bon-Bon slowly. "I have to go. I... I need to go." And I want to go. Didn't she? But, at the same time, didn't she want to stay so badly?

Bon-Bon smiled sadly, nodding her head. The mare she had a possible future with - maybe only in dreams, but, for those dreams to come true, she needed at least to see her in the flesh, right there, right by her side - the mare she so desperately wanted to be with, at least as colleagues, maybe even friends? - definitely friends! The mare who had conquered her heart. In any way, it was true. She knew it. Because, if it wasn't love, the what the hell was love? - Was there love at all, then?

There was only one course of action for Bon-Bon. The cream-coloured mare stepped forth and put a hoof on Lyra's shoulder in a comforting gesture, her smile growing genuine and happy.

"Lyra, I am going to Canterlot with you."

Blue Train

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Eleven

Blue Train

***

"Didn't know they have first class on trains," Lyra observed, picking up a cigarette despite the silent protest in Bon-Bon's eyes.

The cushions were rather soft and cosy, but not far better than those in the compartment Lyra had occupied on her way to Ponyville. The irony. Escaping from Canterlot only to return to Canterlot in a golden cab. Figuratively speaking. Although... Her mother might have arranged a golden cab for her prodigal daughter.Who knows?

"They do on all international trains," Bon-Bon observed, sitting opposite Lyra and drinking coffee. "On some of national ones, too."

Because, apparently, you can just hop on a train and go abroad. Hop aboard and go abroad. She knew it wasn't so, if only because of how rarely visas were issued - and not only because of that. She knew Bon-Bon knew. And the police pegasus sitting diligently next to her probably knew too. Not that he wanted to escape, as it seemed to the mint mare.

Before the proximity of the policepony - or just life in general - could bring about the vanishing fear - fear of being accused, fear of being proved as a filly-fooler - and just fear - Lyra decided to force her mind on to - onto, into - a new topic. Or, rather, not so new.

"I'm going to Canterlot with you." It was a statement. It was a sign - maybe - that Bon-Bon did care. Of course she did. But... Even if - even if! - they could find a way to confess their feelings - Lyra hoped that they were mutual; she prayed that they were mutual; but, deep inside, she prayed that they would not be, to avoid issues for both herself and her new beloved, Bon-Bon, Bonsie, Bonnie - even if they could find a way to tell each other... There was no bright future for them, was there? The whole ridiculous unfairness struck at Lyra. If one day... One day... The law is abolished... She had this sudden strange urge to dream that, if such even were to occur - unlikely, highly unlikely, at least for the time being - she would become happy, and she would tell her friends, if there would be any - of course there would! - that Bon-Bon and she - now openly dating, maybe married - had never hid their feelings anyway. Whatever the reality, Lyra knew that this sudden urge, this little dream would be stuck in her mind. And, if there was ever a chance of fulfilment, she would fulfil it.

Bon-Bon had mentioned Canterlot. Lyra chewed on her cigarette a little. It wasn't just an "I'm coming with you"; the sweet mare had deliberately mentioned - or not deliberately - the name of the city. Why? Was it an attempt to remind her, Lyra, about her past? And, if so, was it proof of Bon-Bon's determination to traverse that past with her?

"Past." Just a few days - and Canterlot was already a "past" to her. Lyra didn't want to speculate further.

Bon-Bon watched the mint mare turn her head and divert her attention towards outside the window. She took a sip of her tea: the pleasant liquid was doing its job of warming her up just fine. What was hiding beneath the mask of delicate abstraction this wonderful mint mare wore? How to deal with that concealed, unconcealed unbelongness? How to get her to open up?

Did she want to, though? Even if her feeling towards Lyra was mutual - she was sure of it; she was sure that Lyra knew that she knew - the terrible impossibility of putting that clear, of telling her - of telling each other... Or, they could tell each other, but would there ever be a happily-ever-after? Was it worth breaking that shell that Lyra had put around herself - was still putting around herself, despite occasional peek-through, mainly because of her, Bon-Bon, the confectioner prided herself upon - even knowing that it could bring pain - temporary or, Celestia forbid, permanent?

Yes. Looking at Lyra, Bon-Bon knew it for sure. This mare was worth anything - everything - in the world. And Bon-Bon wanted so badly - so goodly? - to show it to her, to prove it somehow, even if she knew - she knew? - that already, and knew - she knew! - Bon-Bon's desire.

"Could you leave us alone for a moment, please?" the cream-coloured mare addressed the policepony in an almost non-pleading - but not demanding, of course - almost nonchalant tone. After all, it was natural for two friends just to talk in private. Right? Were they even friends? Or, maybe, this stage had been skipped - was being skipped - already?

"Sorry, ma'am." The pegasus shook his head, no sign of being actually sorry on his face. "I have my orders, and those are to accompany Lyra Heartstrings to Canterlot."

Bon-Bon nodded slowly. At least he's not being rude. Not like those policeponies in the streets who would "Move along" you or "Nothing to see here" you or something of the kind.

Lyra didn't show any reaction, as if she hadn't heard. "Accompany", eh? More like "escort". But why did Bon-Bon bring this up? Was she just tired of the pegasus's company or... did she want to talk to her in private? Maybe... confess something?

Anyway, it didn't matter - at least for the time being. The police pegasus was there, with them, in the compartment. The train started to climb the mountain of Canterlot, ascending towards the still city.

The wheels clicked against the railway rhythmically, and Lyra dozed off.

***

Snow in Canterlot wasn't so different from snow in Ponyville.

Or was it the other way round? One way or another, the streets were covered by afternoon snow, the kind of snow that falls preliminary to the evening snow that stays till the morning; just the first layer, sparkling in the past-midday sun.

Ponyville was different, though - at least in the feeling of the place. But so was Manehattan? - the dream that they wanted you to dream - or maybe the one that you dreamt yourself? - and Los Pegasus, and Chicoltgo? It was all different, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Ponies passing by the strange entourage of the mint queen - or was the policepony the king? He certainly must feel so - didn't pay so much as a second glance, looking down, inspecting something on the ground, expecting something. Were they?

Past the conservatoire, its dome white and not so unwelcoming; past the prison - not thinking anything, not speeding up the pace, just passing by, just passing it; past the narrowly-positioned shops and stores; past the straight and prim lampposts; past the dust bins and the rust tins, past the trenches and the wrenches, past the grimy-red blocks of flats and newly-erected skyscrapers of glass and steel - and, finally, she was - they were - before the ever-so-familiar mansion.

Was it home any more? Yes. Despite everything and anything, it was. This straight, stately, maybe even dispassionate, mansion was still the place. Her place. Maybe not her own - maybe not the place where she belonged - but still her place.

Home.

Deception

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twelve

Deception

***

"Lyra!"

The mint mare was immediately crushed in an embrace. Tears welled in her eyes at her mother's loving, tender hug, the feeling of her hooves clenched around her back, the feeling of her fur tickling her nose, the smell of rose perfume and... smoke?

Lyra raised her head, freeing herself from the already-mutual embrace, only to see her mother's mane dishevelled, her eyes red and eyelids heavy, her wrinkles more visible than ever, screaming, deep, flangrant. The odour of cigarette smoke hung in the air - Lyra wouldn't have guessed it, being such an avid smoker, if it weren't for the hints of cherry, the trademark of the cigarettes her mother had once smoked.

Did she pick it up again? Lyra wasn't concerned about her own health; but she was concern about how cigarettes would affect her mother: negatively. Still, she decided that asking about the given-up - or, as it seemed, newly-picked - habit wasn't the best way to start the heavy talk that was already lingering above the two - three? Bon-Bon will want to hear it too, won't she?- mares, threatening to crush them, or, at least, Lyra, unless it was fulfilled.

"Hi, mom," Lyra offered lamely, her hoof rising in a weak greeting. What else could she say?  Sorry I ran away? She wasn't sorry. Mom, here's Bon-Bon, the mare I love? This was ridiculous. What could she say?

The policepony coughed gruffly in an effortless pseudopolite interruption. The dark green mare immediately smiled and reached for a small pouch, extending it in her telekinetic grip.

The pegaus grabbed it with his wing. "Much obliged." He tipped his cap, making anger well in Lyra's chest. That was a gesture of showing respect and honour - and those didn't have any respect or honour. For anypony. But then again, who ever said that the police were your friends? Well, maybe they taught that in school. Lyra didn't know for sure. She had been home-schooled.

"Oh, it's the least I could do!" Lyra's mother cooed, waving off the policepony carefully. "It's the least I could do for bringing my little sunshine back!" She closed the door, looking at the two mares.

Finally, she sighed and placed herself on the floor, as if she were tired ot standing. She probably is, Lyra observed painfully. "I am very sad, angry, and disappointed," the older mare said. Lyra winced.

"Mom, listen, I can explain." Lyra sneezed - the cold still remained, stirring up inside. But how?

"You will." The green mare frowned and stood up, motioning towards the hall. "But before that, let's go to the dining room so we can discuss it." Her eyes fell upon the cream-coloured pony.

"This is Bon-Bon, a friend of mine," Lyra quickly supplied, encouraged by the confectioner's nod. She seems to accept it, even if it's just a show. Was there real friendship, though? Or, maybe... they could skip the stage altogether? Maybe... Maybe they had skipped it already?

"You may stay in the living room, if you wish," Lyra's mother suggested, but the earth pony shook her head firmly.

"I would like to stay for the talk too, if you don't mind," Bon-Bon replied, almost retorted.

The green mare raised her brow at the surprising boldness, but shrugged in a 'well, anyway' way, before proceeding into the hall.

Lyra waited for a moment before taking a hesitant step forth. Home didn't really look like home; just didn't seem like it. The mint mare sighed and hung her head.

Suddenly, she felt a hoof on her shoulder, a wonderful, supportive, cream-coloured hoof. "It's going to be all right," Bon-Bon said softly in her low, almost-rumbling, sweet voice. What else could she say? Still, to both mares, it didn't seem like a screaming and pointless, useless banality. "I know it'll be all right."

Taking a quick look around - nopony to be seen - Lyra placed a short-lived peck on the cream-coloured, now blushing - She is blushing! - cheek. Bon-Bon touched the reddening spot before replying with a similar gesture.

Lyra smiled, and that smile was shared by the confectioner. It wasn't a pact; if anything, it could pass as a friendly gesture - straight mares did that too, didn't they? - but Lyra could see that it was something more. And so could Bon-Bon. And either mare knew that the other knew. It just had to be put in words - but it wasn't time for such words now. If ever.

Now, the words that came out of Bon-Bon's mouth were, "I'm with you." And that was enough for Lyra - for now.

The mint mare sighed and stepped into the hall.

***

Lyra looked around the dining room.

Its regal, prim stateliness had more than once been the ground for heated arguments - Lyra just couldn't bear discussing modern world issues with her mother: not because she disagreed, but because she wanted to at least believe that Equestria evolved, that it was evolving, that it could change and be different (even if she, maybe, did not believe it - in it - herself) - but her mother would, unintentionally, claim otherwise; and that drove Lyra out of her mind. But, without those discussions - be they leading to arguments - there would be very little talking, anyway. And, while Lyra didn't mind it, she somehow, on some level, realised that it was wrong.

Maybe her mother was just old - old enough to be passionless about all the political, societal, economic issues? Or maybe it was a result, a consequence of such self-inflicted pasionlessness that Lyra was inflicting on herself?

The clock struck two, and Lyra lit up a cigarette. It seemed that the whole day had already passed, but it was still afternoon - had the train been a little faster on its way to return her home? Lyra's mother followed the motion, the cherry-flavoured smoke of her cigarette mixing with the rough tobacco of her daughter's.

Lyra frowned. "Mom, I thought you didn't smoke."

The green mare nodded. "I didn't. But you ran away - vanished - and I picked up the habit." Lyra groaned mentally. Great, now I feel responsible. But she was responsible, wasn't she? - at least for that. Or was it an excuse?

The older mare looked at her daughter. Lyra sighed. She had to begin - but how? "I ran away," she said finally, "because I had issues."

The green mare just raised a brow. But of course. There would be no motioning to continue, no troubled "Issues? What issues?" - not anything of the kind. That was her mother's way, and Lyra had learnt to know it and - maybe - to accept it.

"I had issues with working at that damn place with those damn idiots. I had issues with living here - with you - but not because of you but simply... Hell, I don't know!" Lyra slammed her hoof against the table, making Bon-Bon jump in her seat a little, while Lyra's mother, used to such fury - or just fury in general - such outrage, just kept listening.

"I just can't stay here, mom." Lyra felt that she was on the verge of crying now. She couldn't. Not with Bon-Bon near her. She wasn't really afraid of Bon-Bon seeing her tears; she was afraid of Bon-Bon comforting her. Who knew what it could mean - what it could look like - what it could lead to? "I... I'm just sick of the whole place. I needed to move. I can't. I just can't." And now that sounded not only cliche, but pathetic, Lyra regarded herself. But what could she do if it was that way?

Wasn't it?

"I understand," the older mare said. With a sigh, she reiterated, "I understand, sweetie." A few puffs on her long, thin cigarette. "But you could have just told me. I would have understood. We would have come to a solution-"

"I can't, mom. I couldn't," Lyra explained desperately. "I'm sorry that I scared you and made you worried, but I just couldn't - I had this urge to just leave, just run away, just escape." She sighed. "I know you understand me - and I love you - but I just couldn't discuss it with you." Drained, she leaned back in her chair and took a few deep drags.

"Then, maybe..." The green mare paused, placing her cigarette in the ashtray. "Maybe you should see a specialist? A psychiatrist - a doctor - who can help you deal with the issues?" Softer, "Lyra, sweetie, I do care about you, and it pains me to see you like this. Maybe you could try - maybe therapy would help?"

Lyra sighed. Maybe. Maybe it would. Did it change anything, though? Could she tell the psychiatrist her inner worries? Sure. Could she tell the psychiatrist about her mother? Sure. Could she tell the psychiatrist about Bon-Bon? No. At least out of fear of punishment. Maybe there was certain secrecy - privacy, whatever. But didn't any doctor give away a patient who expressed murderous tendencies? Wasn't this the same, in law's stern, hawk-like eye?

"That's why she came to me."

Lyra turned her head towards Bon-Bon, startled by the confectioner's sudden statement. What is she-

"When Lyra came to Ponyville, she was disoriented. She dropped by my office, and I offered my services," Bon-Bon explained in a well-rehearsed - the kind of rehearsed tone only pure improvisation can give - and believeable tone. "I'm a psychiatrist, and I specialise in anxiety disorders and depressions." She offered the green mare a smile. "This is why I insisted on my being present during the talk."

Lyra's mother turned to her daughter for confirmation. Lyra slowly nodded: "It's true."

"Why didn't you tell me at once, sweetie?" Now it was more chiding than a question, so Lyra just replied with a soft, apologetic smile. The fact that she was apologetic for lying to her mother like that didn't change the emotion the gesture conveyed.

"So... Miss Bon-Bon, is it? How are you planning to conduct the treatment?" Lyra's mother enquired. "Will Lyra have to go to Ponyville weekly for your sessions or?"

Bon-Bon shook her head firmly. "No, Miss Heartstrings. It is vital for Lyra to undergo the whole treatment in Ponyville - not because I work there, but because it is the place her subconscious prompted her to go to. It is very important," the mare stated.

"So..." The green mare paused. "At least for a while... Lyra will have to move to Ponyville?" There were hints of mild sadness - accepting sadness - in her voice.

"At least for a while," Bon-Bon confirmed softly. And then a little more. And then we'll live forever and have our happily ever after. The confectioner sighed internally at her dreams.

"All right," the elder mare said finally. "So, Miss Bon-Bon, I assume that Lyra will have to buy a house there? I can arrange that." It was obvious that renting a house, in her opinion, was out of question.

"No, Miss Heartstrings. Lyra has to do it herself." Bon-Bon smiled a little. "And it's just Bon-Bon."

"Well, in that case, I will at least provide the money." Seeing her daughter frown, she shook her head firmly. "I won't take no for an answer, sweetie. You may have your own money, but I am giving you enough bits to buy a nice house and that's it. On condition that you write to me and come to visit regularly." That's the punishment for running away, Lyra observed idly. The green mare turned her head towards Bon-Bon with a smile. "And it's just Marianna."

Bon-Bon nodded, extending her hoof. Marianna Heartstrings shook it. "One little thing, Bon-Bon," she said, as if remembering something. "I couldn't help but notice that your cutie mark depicts sweets. Why have you chosen to become a doctor and not a confectioner?"

"I do own a sweets store," Bon-Bon replied immediately - not too immediately, to seem the lie seem plausible enough. Though, so far, it was no lie. "And I got my cutie mark while making sweets. But I have an assistant run it while I work as a psychiatrist - the job I love."

Don't ask for a license don't ask for a license don't ask for a license, Lyra prayed while Bon-Bon just calmly observed the growing and receding disbelief on Marianna's face. "I needn't tell you that a cutie mark does not shape a pony's destiny, do I, Marianna? You must know, having a glass of wine as your cutie mark and being a musician and - correct me if I'm wrong - a composer?"

Lyra's mother raised her head a little, promting the cream-coloured mare to elaborate.

And so she did. "When you're sitting at table, your hooves don't rest one upon another, but are parallel to each other, with the left never moving into the right's comfort zone. You don't tap your hooves against the floor because that is for guitarists - and a pianist surely knows hooves are meant for pedals. You also keep your back very straight but your head constantly moves - not only your eyes - which is a sign of spending years reading and writing sheet music for whole orchestras - to see the whole score and a particular part at the same time." Bon-Bon smiled at the obviously impressed mare. (Lyra had to admit that she was impressed as well.) "So, I assume that you are a pianist and a composer."

Marianna smiled. "You are quite right, my dear." It was definitely a nice shift from 'Miss Bon-Bon', Lyra thought, still marvelling at how Bon-Bon had managed to guess it so perfectly. Maybe she really was secretly a psychiatrist? "You are very observant. I see now that psychiatry is your calling in life. You read ponies very well."

Bon-Bon smiled in return, taking a small, almost invisble glance at Lyra - but, somehow, the mint mare immediately knew that the reply would be for her - about her.

"That's what I do."

I Fall in Love Too Easily

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Thirteen

I Fall in Love Too Easily

***

Lyra shut the door behind her, groaning as she leant against the brown-ish redwood.

She had till tomorrow to pack her things. Bon-Bon and she would be on the train to Ponyville, with her mother's blessings. This was too surreal. Too good. Too good to be true.

No. Not 'too good', Lyra immediately stopped herself. Over the years, she had learnt not to have high hopes - or any hopes at all. Great expectations led to great - or maybe even greater - disappointments. Didn't they? Thinking that it was going to be great, that everything was going well - and then a stumble, a crash - and the fall would be terrible. No. It was better not to have hopes. Not expecting something good meant not getting disappointed - broken - by the reality. It was always good to walk a steady road than to climb a mountain and fall.

A knock at the door delivered her from this reverie. "Come in!" the mint mare called out, taking a step aside. "There's no lock."

It was obvious that it would be Bon-Bon - as much as Lyra loved her mother, she knew that the older mare wasn't in the habit of knocking. The cream-coloured pony slid into the room, shutting the door behind her. "Are you all right?" she asked, putting her hoof - that wonderful, comforting hoof - on the mint shoulder. Of course she isn't! she chided herself immediately. But she knew that Lyra knew that she knew. This mutual knowing - not knowing - wasn't really - was it?  - ruining their relationship - their not-relationship.

"Not really," Lyra admitted, surprised at how open she was with Bon-Bon - or maybe how open she had become in the confectioner's presense? "I'm all right, but it's just so strange." The mint mare moved towards the window. "It's what I wanted, but..."

The earth pony placed her hoof on the lyrist's shoulder again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No. You did good," Lyra interrupted, looking out of the window. The sun was already setting over Equestria - a nice touch of disregard towards the official propaganda - be it self-mockery - on the matter. The blanket of snow - new, evening-born snow - was darkening with the very air, as it seemed. "Thank you for helping me." The honesty in Lyra's tone was making Bon-Bon's heart melt. "I've dreamt of it - moving away..." The mint mare's eyes cast one last look out of the window before focusing on the sweet cream-coloured mare. "But now that I have you, Bonnie, I want nothing more than to just stay with you."

Bon-Bon felt a little faint, the closeness of the beautiful unicorn driving her insane, her words music to her ears, her minty smoke-enhanced breath enticing her, and that name - 'Bonnie'... Bon-Bon didn't want to be called any other name, from now on. "I..." Bon-Bon gulped, shifting just a little closer. "I want it too. That's why I... That's why I had to say - why I said - what I said. I want to stay with you too, Lyra."

This weren't the words. They didn't actually mean that much - or they did; depending on how to look at it. But it was a pact. The words may never be said, and the two mares in love knew it. That didn't change the pact: this was not a pact of trust; this was a pact of love: a strange, beautiful abomination that Lyra had yet to understand. Did anything change at that moment? Maybe. What they said only made the form of the pact, while the feelings existed already, mutual, both mares knowing about them, knowing about the other's knowledge. Did the form of the pact make a difference?

In a way, it did. In the way that Lyra leaned in breathlessly, closing her eyes, and kissed Bon-Bon on the lips. The emotion that had been tucked away neatly found its passionate, vivid way in the assault on the cream-coloured mare's lips - mere seconds, only a moment for her tongue to explore the sweet mouth before Lyra had to broke the kiss, in fear of them being noticed.

They weren't, as it seemed.

The mint mare looked at the blushing earth pony mare, who had a goofy smile on her face. Maybe that wasn't a good kiss; maybe it was a desperate kiss, like the whole affair - or was it because of love? It was; it had to be. Born of desperation - maybe - it was still love; it had to be.

In any way, Bon-Bon enjoyed the kiss. Her heart was beating fast, galloping, reaching for the sky, as she cast a loving glance at Lyra, a glance that - she knew! - was returned. The kind of glance that could cost them so much. The kind of glance that needed to be well-concealed (ill-concealed?) most of the time. No words had to be said - no, they had to, Bon-Bon realised as she stopped lamenting at the brevity of the kiss (She didn't even meet the wonderful minty tongue with her own!); they couldn't be said.  The kind of words that could cost them so much.

Thank you, Lyra, Bon-Bon thought, and wanted to mouth - or even say aloud - but, instead, focused on what the mint mare was already saying.

"I'll have to fill the papers for work." Lyra felt a sudden urge to talk - just talk to the wonderful mare, about anything. And we haven't even had sex yet. The lyrist stopped herself. Such thoughts weren't acceptable. But... they were? Now that they had kissed... And that kiss did mean something. Lyra couldn't miss the loving gaze Bon-Bon - Bonnie; if felt so good to call her that - shared with her. She was pretty sure her own gaze was the same. "I don't want to..." Do I really want to just take a holiday? "I want to quit," Lyra amended suddenly. "And I will. Mom will give the application to them. I think I'll do just fine working at your store. That is," the mint mare smiled, "if you'll have me."

Bon-Bon couldn't restrain herself. She pecked the minty mare on the lips gently, smiling and smiling and not able to - having no desire to - stop smiling. "Of course, Lyra." She rested her head on the mint shoulder for a moment. "Please don't forget to take your lyre. I would love to hear you play." She added, "For me."

Lyra smiled and nodded. It was easy to speak to Bon-Bon; maybe it was the first time she had actually talked, really talked, apart, maybe, from some talks with her family: her mother. The old walls of the mansion, just like the walls of Bon-Bon store - she hoped - could host such talk, for, while they could not protect from the law or the government; from force - they could hold a certain extent of privacy, devoid of bugging and tapping and overhearing. "Of course, Bonnie. I'll go pack my things. Including my lyre."

"Good." Bon-Bon nodded. "I should go." She didn't need to explain why. Lyra understood it as it was. No suspicion could be raised; they had to be careful.

"I'll catch up with you," Lyra replied, gazing out of the window. It's okay, Bonnie. I understand. Suddenly, with a bitter sigh, she turned towards the cream-coloured mare. "Where are we going with all of this, Bonnie?" To Ponyville, she replied to herself with a cynical mental chuckle.

Bon-Bon smiled, looking at the concerned mare. I don't know, Lyra. But we're going together. She didn't need to say that aloud: Lyra understood, and she knew it. Instead, Bon-Bon just shifted a little closer to the mint mare, following her gaze out of the window as the snowlakes danced and fell in the evening wind.

Way Back Home

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Fourteen

Way Back Home

***

The road from Canterlot hadn't been that long.

At least so it seemed to Lyra as she followed Bon-Bon on the narrow path into town. Just as they had left the train station, the lyrist noticed that even the snow seemed to be different today - and not just because of Ponyville's individuality of snowflakes that she'd noticed on her first day here. Maybe it was love? Maybe.

Still, the air didn't seem different, and the sun didn't feel different laying its rays on her skin. Maybe it was a serene, tranquil kind of love, Lyra mused, watching the cream-coloured flank in front of her. Maybe it was for the best. 'Maybes' didn't really bother Lyra that much, with the sweet mare trotting in front of her with her saddlebags on, humming a tune in a low, beautiful tone, while Lyra herself struggled with heavy bags and suitcases, and the lyre case, of course, which she was holding at a distance.

And I'll still have to get my things from the Inn, Lyra added mentally, reminding herself to check out as soon as they had reached Bon-Bon's place and dropped the substantial luggage. Suddenly, the mare realised that she had just assumed that she was welcome to live at Bon-Bon's - based on the kiss; based on their... relationship? Was there even a relationship? And if there was, wouldn't living together ruin it? But then again, straight mares did live together, right? As roommates?

She had to ask.

"Bonnie." The cream-coloured mare slowed her pace a little at the sound of her name - the wonderul, minty variation of her name - and glanced at Lyra over her shoulder. "I was wondering. Maybe I could stay at your place till I can find a house?"

Bon-Bon stopped. Lyra stopped as well, a little thankful for the brief rest as she lowered her possessions, letting her telekinesis recharge a little. The cream-coloured mare pierced the lyrist with her beautiful - beautifully angry - blue eyes. "I thought you would live at my place, Lyra," she said, both sternly and hopefully. "But if you don't want to-"

"I want to." Lyra winced. "I so want to. But I didn't know if you'd be all right with that," she explained. Or did I?

"Of course I'm all right with that, you silly mare!" Bon-Bon exclaimed, making Lyra take a quick look around: there were no ponies, apart from them, on the quiet empty road. "Now come on. Let's get to the store so I can kiss you like the silly mare you are."

Lyra's cheeks reddened a little, but her heart wanted to burst into a song. And so she did. It wasn't a bluesy tune; but it seemed appropriate. Bon-Bon sweet rumbly voice joined hers in harmony as the two mares trotted down the road.

The roads are the dustiest,

The winds are the gustiest,

The gates are the rustiest,

The pies are the crustiest,

The songs the lustiest,

The friends the trustiest -

Way back home~

***

"Come on, Lyra, just a little more!"

The mint mare grunted, her telekinesis almost giving out, as she crawled up the wooden stairs to the second floor of Bon-Bon's. Bon-Bon's cheers certainly didn't help; but, at least, it was funny to see the cream-coloured mare act as a cheerleader. She'd definitely look sexy in a skirt, Lyra thought lustily as she finally dropped the bags on the floor in the - as it seemed - the only room: a nice, spacious bedroom with a huge bed, a wardrobe and a writing desk.

"I knew you'd make it!" Bon-Bon cheered the exhausted lyrist, who dropped herself on the bed.

"You could've helped me, you know," Lyra pointed out, rolling onto her back, her eyes closed. "My magic's gonna take a lot of time to recharge and-"

Bon-Bon pressed her lips against Lyra's as she crawled onto the mare, her weight pressing the mint unicorn to the bed firmly, her tongue entwined with Lyra's, her lips dancing around the minty lips of the unicorn mare. The kiss, finally, lasted long enough for both mares to enjoy.

"-And I think it just recharged," Lyra finished with a goofy smile. It felt so good. It felt so perfect. So natural, even. Even if it wasn't natural, maybe. It still seemed natural to her. The afternoon was smiling brightly at the two mares, after the long evening, and the almost-sleepless night spent in different rooms, and the tearful breakfast with Marianna, and the train ride... Are things looking up, finally looking up? Lyra wondered to herself.

She didn't dare anwer that question.

"I'll get my things from the Inn," Lyra said, tossing a look around the room. "And... I think we'll need to buy a house." She smiled and  quickly added, "For us. There's so much stuff that we'll need a bigger place to live in. We... We could always pass as roommates, you know? Like, friends?" she suggested hopefully.

Bon-Bon smiled a gentle smile. "Get your things from the Inn, honey." Lyra's ear twitched pleasantly from the sweet form of addressing - or was it Bon-Bon's lips tickling at the skin of her ear? Or both?

"Gimme a minute," Lyra groaned back, exhaling as she looked at the cream-coloured mare lovingly. "A minute of rest, and I'll get down to it."

She rolled over, grabbing the mare in her hooves gently, and closed her eyes.

***

Lyra extinguished the cigarette carefully.

Calm serenity washed over her: not just because of her afternoon nap that she'd had before checking out of the Happy Inn ("We wish you all the best, Miss Heartstrings! Hope you enjoyed your stay!"); she was in the bed with the mare she loved, and the night was beautiful, and the curtains were shut, and the door was locked - if anything, there was always a spare bed in the living room on the first floor for Lyra to pretend to have been sleeping there: Bon-Bon had thought everything through - and the lamp was flickering mildly while Bon-Bon was reading some book about pirates and uninhabited islands and something of the kind.

Vim vi repellere licet, a phrase surfaced in Lyra's mind. Force may be defied with force. Maybe. Maybe it may. But it was better - easier - to avoid defying, or meeting, force at all. It was better to lie in bed in a lover's embrace, in privacy, than to go marching in the street for your love, only to be punished.

Lyra rolled over and hugged the cream-coloured mare, who put the book on the stand immediately, and met the embrace. Their lips met, and it seemed that Lyra was enjoying each next kiss more and more; loving it; expecting it. Bon-Bon sighed into the kiss, closing her eyes. This was so good... But it could be better? "Lyra." Bon-Bon looked into the minty mare's eyes seriously, but warmly. "Honey. I want to make love to you."

Lyra blushed, but did not avert her eyes from the mare, instead gazing into those pools of blue lovingly. "So do I." Lyra shifted closer to Bon-Bon under the blanket, feeling the warmth of her body meet hers, her heartbeat making her own heart gallop.

Bon-Bon smiled and turned off the light.

Three O'Clock Blues

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Fifteen

Three O'Clock Blues

***

"Maybe we could go to a bar tonight?"

Lyra lit up a cigarette as she downed a glass of rye - not her drink of choice, but Bon-Bon didn't have a wide choice of hard liquor. It had been a week since the... 'treatment' started (If 'treatment' stands for daily sex, Lyra remarked delightfully), and Lyra was pretty delighted with it: they had had a few customers, she'd made a couple acquaintances (though she could not remember their names, only faces), and, of course, the amount of loving and tender care she received from Bon-Bon in private was divine. And sex, Lyra reminded herself. Can't forget that.

Still, her soul craved for some blues: Bon-Bon's record collection consisted mostly of jazz, and, while she had grown to love jazz - at least in Bonnie's company - blues still held a dear place in her heart. Lyra was sure that, even if her newfound love for jazz eventually surpassed her previously-established love for blues - if only because it could be associated with her old life, the life she was trying to forget or, at least, pay no attention to - or, pay as little attention as she could; even if... Well, she would still love blues in a very special way: once a year, maybe more, maybe less, she would put on a blues record or two and indulge in a little whisky and tobacco.

Besides, she wanted to treat her mare out - funny how she'd quickly grown to see Bon-Bon as 'her' mare, and was sure than Bon-Bon thought of her the same - even if they would go out as just friends. Technically, their relationship had never been put to words, and Lyra assumed that it could, with a little help of alcohol and good music - after the bar, at home, of course.

"You know, a small place where they play blues and serve booze?" Lyra elaborated, chuckling at her pun that was met with an unamused stare from Bon-Bon.

The confectioner rubbed her chin, looking out of the window. It was way past eight - the time she - they - closed the shop - and evening was already crawling onto Ponyville, and into the dimly-lit living room they were sitting in. "I don't think we have one in Ponyville..." she replied slowly, trying to think of an establishment. Suddenly, an idea hit her. But of course!

Bon-Bon smiled. "I think I know just the place."

***

"The place" wasn't quite what Lyra had expected.

Contrary to Canterlot's basement-like, sub-level, sub-floor club-bars, this one was just a one-storey building that looked more like a pub - or even a restaurant, with the abundance of tables and the whole... cleanness of the establishment. If it weren't for the stage (which was too big for a bar stage), Lyra would have assumed that this was a restaurant - not a fancy one, but still a restaurant.

Bon-Bon placed herself on the chair, straightening the folds on her dress - that made Lyra want to pounce her right there right then - while Lyra just took off her scarf (it didn't itch any more, as it seemed; or she'd got used to the itch), having decided against wearing clothing. Not that she had much.

Lyra glanced at the menu that the waiter had conveniently supplied. She wasn't really hungry, but she could do with a drink. The whisky range of this bar was incredible; way too incredible for Lyra, who liked to just come to a bar and order whisky, and expect that she was served whisky - because what's the need for different sorts?

Meanwhile, Bon-Bon had decided on her order, tapping her hoof against the table. "A daisy salad with yoghurt topping, lettuce soup and... a bottle of rose wine, Bordeaux." The waiter nodded, turning his head towards Lyra.

"For you, ma'am?"

Lyra sighed. Bon-Bon already ordered a whole bottle of wine... But there was never too much to drink, was there? "An Old Fashioned," the mint mare ordered.

"Anything to eat, ma'am?" the waiter suggested. Lyra raised a brow. In Canterlot, a waiter would never infringe like that; and she didn't really like it. Let waiters be waiters, and customers be customers. After all, the waiter didn't look like a maitre d'hotel in a fancy establishment.

"No, I'm good." Lyra closed the menu, watching the waiter collect it and go off to the kitchen. "Who's performing tonight?" Lyra wondered, watching Bon-Bon look at the stage, around which several stallions were already gathering, dragging guitars and equipment. The show was about to begin, as it seemed.

"It doesn't work that way in Crossroads," Bon-Bon explained with a smile. The name of the bar, generic as it was, held some meaning to Lyra: in a way, Ponyville itself was the crossroads that made her make a choice. And that choice was made in Bon-Bon's favour: in the favour of love. Not just Bon-Bon's love, but love in general: her mother's love, family's love, still remained. "Blues guys gather and jam for a while," the cream-coloured mare elaborated as four stallions sat on the stage, cross-legged, their guitars taken from the cushions.

The show began, offering a 'king of the blues' and his three companions.

Lyra had to admit, the music was very nice. It was a smooth, slow blues, and the guitarists really knew how to play: tasty licks supported the raspy vocals, the groovy rhythm was outstanding, and the solos merged perfectly. The performers took turns in their improvisations, but not solitarily: their solos supported one another, made each other stronger, sturdier.

The drinks and the food arrived, and Lyra lit up a cigarette. She had even brought her cigarette holder. Now I just look classy, she chuckled to herself as she sipped on her drink. She didn't really share Bon-Bon's fondness for wine, and the sweet mare knew it.

Once the improvisations had been dished out, the raspy singer gave way to one of the other three stallions to sing a few lines. Still, the four seemed to realise that the 'king of the blues' had a voice superior to his fellow musicians, so he took the lead again, his guitar supporting the vocals.

For a while, Lyra just stared at the musicians, a sense of wrongness welling inside her. Maybe this was just the place - or the fact that she'd listened to jazz for a while - but the performance seemed way too lewd to her. It felt as if the musicians weren't performing, per se; it felt as if they were having an orgy, just letting the audience watch and tap their hooves against the floor.

Lyra scrunched her face with a sigh. "Can we go away, please?" she whispered to Bon-Bon, who was finishing the salad.

The cream-coloured mare only needed to take one glance at the pained, tired face of the wonderful minty mare to reply, "Yes. Just let me get the bill."

***

They had split the bill - like friends do. Though, Lyra would rather have paid for her mare; but, outside of the relative safety of home, they had to put on the masks.

Lyra kicked her hoof against the snowy ground as they trotted home along the night road. "I'm really sorry, Bonnie." Now that they were alone - Ponyville fell asleep pretty early, Lyra had come to understand - she could speak freely again. "But I just couldn't stand it. The performance, I mean," she explained. "It felt like those guys were just having their way with some mare and we were made to watch." Now that she actually said it, it sounded ridiculous. But true. "There was no connection with the audience; it was... bawdy." Lyra paused, searching for words. "Not in the good way; in the disgusting way. It made me want to leave. Maybe it reminded me of Canterlot," she observed. There was some truth to that. She wasn't just making excuses, was she? "I swear I'll treat you out to dinner, in a non-musical place," Lyra promised. "Just a restaurant." She realised they would have to split the bill still. But maybe they could make a show of Bon-Bon having left her purse at home?

"Sure, honey," Bon-Bon agreed, maybe a little too readily. Of course, she did understand Lyra's fragile state; but... of course, she was rather disappointed. Not because she didn't get to finish her meal or because they'd managed to listen to only one song - she hadn't found the music particularly appealing - but because she had been hoping to make Lyra happy. And now the wonderful minty mare - her mare - was disappointed.

Lyra understood Bon-Bon's emotions. At least, she thought so. "Listen, Bonnie... The night's not over." She smiled. "Let me get my lyre and we can spend a nice romantic evening, maybe? I'll play for you. We could just do that at home, of course." And then have some nice romantic sex.

"That would be lovely," Bon-Bon smiled. "And, if you don't mind playing outside, I know a nice place. A place that you'll really like."

***

"I do really like this place," Lyra observed aloud as she looked over the nice, tranquil spot that Bon-Bon had led her to, just outside town. They were alone on the snow-covered plains - just Lyra, and her mare, and the music. Constellations smiled at them from the sky: the observers that wouldn't mind two mares expressing their emotion. And that, they could do, being away from the city, away from the ponies, away from everything.

The lyrist nuzzled her mare and unpacked her instrument, gazing at it lovingly. Her very first - and her favourite - lyre, the one that was bought by her mother and her grandparents - at her mother's side. She did love her grandparents, even though her grandfather could be rather grumpy - but he was so wise - and her grandmother would occasionally call her 'lee-ra' instead of 'lai-ra' - but she was one of the sanest ponies (were there any?) she knew. Of course, there was a possibility of her father also providing bits, maybe indirectly, but Lyra didn't want to think about it. Or him. Not because she wanted to forget - but because it was simply not worth mentioning. If Bon-Bon asked, she'd tell her; but she knew there would be no emotional attachment to the topic.

"I... I've never performed that song before, even to myself," Lyra admitted. "I composed it a couple days ago, but never picked up the lyre since I came here from Canterlot. I wrote it for you." The mint mare blushed slightly. "It's not long, and it's not blues or jazz-"

Bon-Bon silenced her mare with a breezy kiss. And that was all the inspiration and encouragement needed for Lyra to take up her instrument and play.

The song started out a simple tune - just playing over the chord, tugging at the strings with her telekinesis; but is soon grew into a development, and a quite powerful one; or, at least, so it seemed to Bon-Bon. Lyra herself didn't pay attention to it, lost in the sad, yet hopeful, serene melody. She had written it as a lullaby to her mare - and the said mare, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, was smiling through tears.

Next came the chords, heavy, longing, desperate, even, but the melody, the solo gave them meaning, and a way to develop. A pause - and, with a reprise, Lyra finished up the song on a chord.

For a moment, both mares lay still, Lyra suddenly feeling the weight of her mare's head in her lap. She instantly relaxed, remembering that there was nopony around to see them. "This was so lovely," Bon-Bon whispered, kissing Lyra's knee. "Thank you, honey."

"I wrote it for you..." Lyra paused, unsure whether to continue. Ah, to hell with it. Just say it already! You know that's true!  "Because I love you." The unicorn kissed the top of her mare's head, inhaling the soft smell of her mare, the cold having nothing against the two lovers.

Not even a tiny second had passed before the meaning of the words sank in. Bon-Bon smiled happily. "I love you too, honey." She nuzzled her mare's knee. Finally the words were said. Did it change anything? No? Maybe? Did it even matter? Did it matter, now that she could lie in her lover's lap, breathing in the fresh night air and say those sacred words?

"I love you."

Time After Time

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Sixteen

Time After Time

***

Lyra groaned and tossed the paper into the dust bin.

The letter was proving realy difficult to write, especially given Lyra's cold - at least she assumed it was cold - that was hindering her progress with constant coughing. Lyra lit up a cigarette. Bon-Bon had suggested that she smoke less, given the illness - but Lyra was already smoking less, wasn't she? Besides, nicotine had a soothing effect on her.

Dear Mom,

Lyra paused, resting the quill on the paper. She couldn't get past 'Dear Mom'. The mare erupted in a coughing fit, catching a disapproving glance from Bon-Bon, who tried to chide softly, "Honey, you really should take some pills. You could catch pneumonia."

Lyra shrugged, leaning back in the comfortable chair. The living room at Bon-Bon's was definitely a wonderful place. In the evening. With curtains closed and voices if not a little muffled, but not too loud. "You know I get stomachache from pills, Bonnie. That's just a cold." She sighed, staring at the near-blank piece of paper. "It's been - what? Ten days? A fortnight? I'm sure mom insisted on weekly letters." She sneezed. "Not sure why she hasn't written yet - or showed up at the door." The lyrist chuckled, taking a drag of her cigarette.

This Saturday evening was especially cold, as it seemed: ponies hadn't really visited the store during the day, contrary to their usual weekend rush; also, Lyra had to cuddle in the woolen plaid that Bon-Bon had provided (although she was waiting till night to cuddle with Bon-Bon herself): fantastically enough, this plaid didn't make her itch. Maybe it was just Canterlot wool she was allergic to, Lyra mused half-jokingly.

"Well, you should have written a letter in advance," Bon-Bon chided her mare softly, reminding Lyra of her grandfather, who always insisted on doing everything 'in advance'. "You had plently of time. So hurry up and think of something so we can go have a sexy time." The confectioner winked, her words having an immediate positive effect on the mint mare.

"You know, it's because of the sexy times that I couldn't find enough time to write a letter to mom," Lyra grumbled, even though insde, she was already - always - ready to have another sexy time with the wonderful sweet mare. With her mare.

"Oh?" Bon-Bon raised a brow in mocking amusement. "Then, maybe, we should suspend sexy times for today? Or the whole weekend?" It was so nice, just talking to her mare, just exchanging jokes - and also not being afraid of being noticed, overheard; not being cautious about what to say. But, of course, it only applied to the comfort of home - their home. And not just because now, Lyra pays the bills too, Bon-Bon chuckled to herself.

"No!" Lyra blurted out quickly, a thick blush covering her face. "You know how much I like our sexy times," she admitted. And now I've used the phrase 'sexy times' how many times? "And don't tell me you don't," Lyra smirked. She moved closer to the cream-coloured mare. "Don't tell me you don't like it when I put my little skilful tongue in your sweet longing-"

"I do!" Bon-Bon almost shrieked, her voice restrained only by years of self-control. She felt sweat forming upon her brow. Regaining her composure, "Now go write that letter and we'll go to the bedroom."

Lyra saluted to her winking mare. "Yes ma'am! Straight away, ma'am!" Even the military humour, usually disgusting to her, seemed funny in Bon-Bon presence. What if I was a pegasus? a thought ran through her mind. I'd have to serve in the army and-

And I need to write the letter, Lyra reminded herself, wary of her mind's habit of roaming about. She sighed and looked at her mare. Her head was still devoid of ideas. Squinting her eyes, she noticed that the book Bon-Bon was reading was unusual. "You can read Zebric?" Lyra exclaimed in amusement.

Bon-Bon nodded with a smile. "I took up foreign languages in college, you know." She placed the book on the desk, cover up. "It's a book on ancient zebra myths. Pretty interesting."

"I thought they didn't sell foreign-printed books," Lyra observed, having no particular interest in zebra myths. Of course, they did have books in zebric - Equestria-printed. Yes. "We" have. Because, apparently, I am part of something greater than myself. But wasn't she? Whether she wanted it or not, she was part of something greater - the Equestrian nation, for example; even if she sometimes wanted for this nation to perish. But those thoughts were washed away by the reminder of some good ponies who were also Equestrians: her mother. Her grandparents. Bon-Bon.

"They do." Bon-Bon smiled. "Studying original literature and all that. The delivery may take a while, though," she lamented, "and they don't have a wide choice." At least the books are new. Or they seem so. But those label tags that I always have to take off and that leave such stains! "But I guess you just roll with what you have."

"Yes, Bonnie." Lyra stared at the wall for a moment. "You roll with what you have." Before she could give in to philosophical thoughts, however - the kind of thoughts nagging her - the difference of understanding, the shift between her and herself and herself and the others - the kind of thoughts leading to thoughts to thoughts and to thoughts again and against - so that she just labelled them 'thoughts', for her sanity's sake -  she felt her mare's breath on her ear.

"You have me," the earth pony whispered into the mint mare's ear. Lyra smiled and got off the chair, pinning her mare to the floor, the soft, warm carpet tickling their fur.

"And I just love to roll with you," Lyra purred into the cream-coloured ear. "Now, what do you say if we-"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lyra groaned, her weight still preventing Bon-Bon from moving freely. "Don't open, Bonnie. Let's wait till they go away and then have our sexy times, mhm?" She nibbled on her mare's ear. She knew it was unachievable. They had to open the door. What if it was the police? Lyra really hoped it was not. Can't they just leave us alone in our little private haven?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Honey, I have to get the door," Bon-Bon insisted softly, making Lyra roll over and get to her hooves grudgingly. The lyrist watched her mare get the door, praying mentally that it wouldn't be the police. Can't they just leave us alone? she reiterated inside of her mind.

"Lyra, could you come here for a moment?" Bon-Bon's voice reached the mint ears. The lyrist sighed, hesitation urging her to stay, and trotted into the store; or, more exactly, the store room. ("The room with the counter", as Lyra's mind titled it.)

She almost froze at the sight of a police pegasus standing there idly, looking around. Was it the same pegasus who had escorted her to her mom? She realised she couldn't remember. But weren't police ponies all the same - and not just because of the uniform?

The other visitor was wearing a smart suit that covered his brown fur, his beige mane neatly groomed in the way only earth ponies can groom it. Because they don't have horns to curl the hair around, Lyra thought idly as she caught a glimpse of Bon-Bon's perfect mane. She could swear it was a little messy some two minutes ago. Does Bonnie have some super earth-pony-confectioner-mane-making magic?

"Good evening, Miss Heartstrings," the suit-wearing stallion greeted the mint mare. "I am sorry to interrupt you so late, but you must forgive me: it's my job." He passed a business card to Lyra while turning to the police stallion. "Thank you for your help locating my client." He nodded towards the police pony, who picked up a small pouch from the brown stallion's hooves and tapped his cap before vanishing into the night. "Client?" Lyra blinked in confusion, watching Bon-Bon close the door just after the pegasus left.

"Miss Lyra Heartstrings." The stallion bowed his head a little. Seeing Lyra's motion to reach for her saddlebag, he waved his hooves in the air, "Please, there is no need for a passport. You look just like your mother." A sad, artificial smile appeared on his face. Well, after all, we don't need to produce passports all the time, Lyra thought about her habit, born - maybe - out of the sheer mistrust reigning - or, at least, present - in the society.

Lyra immediately didn't like the stallion. Maybe it was because of his outlook - as ashamed as she was to admit it - was she? - she knew that outlook did matter to her. Maybe it was because he'd mentioned her mother. Maybe... Maybe it was because he was the exact stallion whom she saw in that bar in Canterlot - the very stallion who, as if was apparent, had reported on the two filly-fooling mares in the bar. Well, they pay money for that, Lyra shrugged mentally. Now that she was in a relationship herself, it was strange to feel such lack of passion towards fellow filly-foolers. Maybe that's because I don't go making out in public so that it prompts even more hate towards gay ponies.

"I hate to be a bearer of bad news, but I am afraid that you..." The stallion seemed to have stumbled upon his own words. He cleared his throat. "As your mother's lawyer, I have to inform you that Miss Marianna Heartstrings is dead, as of yesterday evening, ten twenty-eight p.m."

Lyra stared at the lawyer. What was the first stage of whatever she was supposed to feel? Anger? Or was that the second stage? She couldn't say that... She didn't even want to say anything. There was no disbelief, no emotion, not even lack of emotion. Just, maybe, exhaustion. And not just because of the mentioning of her mother. Her brain was refusing to register the meaning behind the stallion's words. If her mother was dead - she would definitely grieve later. But... She wasn't dead, was she? This wasn't a shitty detective novel, and this was all just some tricky plot. Wasn't the whole life a novel though? Lyra was too tired for even thoughts.

"Get out," she exhaled, closing her eyes. "I don't wanna see you." She directed her hooves towards the living room.

"I understand," the lawyer began to say, "I will come back tomorrow, when-"

"Just get out," Bon-Bon snapped, practically shoving him out of the door. She closed it, locked it, and leant against it, releasing her breath. She couldn't lament or think now. Lyra needed her. She trotted into the living room, where the mint mare was lying on the floor dumbly.

"Lyra, honey-" Bon-Bon began, lying next to her mare, but the lyrist interrupted her with a sharp shake of her head.

"No, Bonnie. Just hush." She exhaled into her mare's cream-coloured fur, lying in Bon-Bon's lap. "I don't- I just don't. Okay?"

Bon-Bon bit back emotion. "Okay."

Lyra watched the paper on the desk. What was she supposed to write now? "Dear mom, I just heard you're dead. Can you believe that?" or something of the kind? This was getting ridiculous. This was all too ridiculous. Why did those things - just things - keep happening? Couldn't life just leave them alone - her and her mare? Hell, I don't want rights. I don't want equality or legal marriage or whatever. I just want to be with her. She just wanted to settle down. But, as soon as she thought she had finally settled down, life had another gambit up its sleeve. Lyra closed her eyes, her head devoid of thoughts - or thought, her heart devoid of emotion - maybe apart from warm love towards her mare, who was brushing her hair with her hoof: the mare she so desperately wanted to settle down with. The mint mare sighed.

Will I ever settle down?

Heartaches by the Number

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Seventeen

Heartaches by the Number

***

"Tell me the truth."

Lyra's tone was low, growling, menacing. The lawyer gulped, sweating profusely as the two mares and the stallion sat in the kitchen - Lyra did not want to allow him into the sacredness of the living room. Neither did Bon-Bon. "Tell me the whole truth," Lyra repeated, "because I don't believe that my mother is dead." It seemed that now the five stages - or whatever - were finally kicking in, in the morning, after the thoughtless, emotionless, dreamless sleep. (Or had there been dreams? Lyra didn't remember.) Anger, grief, disbelief, denial - yes, probably. All at once. Not without a reason.

"Miss Heartstrings, I have already told you: I am very, very sorry, but your mother was killed - along with several other ponies - in a terrorist attack. According to her will, you are to inherit her property," the stallion reiterated in a dull, sombre tone. "Now, if you will just come with me to Canterlot to come into your inheritance..."

"What the hell are you talking about," Lyra snapped. "A terrorist attack? And why would I want to come with you, of all ponies? Who. The hell. Are you?!" Now her mind was slightly blanketed by anger: not enough to infringe upon her mental stability, but enough to muffle the voice of inner tranquillity.

The lawyer sighed. "I have told you: I am Discreet Heart, your late mother's lawyer. You've seen my badge. You've seen my license. You have my business card." He sounded almost desperate. Almost. "So please let me do my job."

Of course. It's all about doing your job. Lyra wanted to punch the stallion in the face really badly. She wasn't sure if Bon-Bon would help her, though. Perhaps she would. Bon-Bon herself just sat next to Lyra, keeping enough distance to be discrete, yet near, offering her support. Why can't we just be together, without fear of being put in prison? Is it really too much to ask?

Lyra just wanted to be left alone - alone with Bon-Bon. But if that wish could come true, would she crave for something else? Would she go out in the streets, yelling for her love? Would she willingly infringe on the life of ponies who, as of now, were infringing on hers, via silent - or not so silent - support? No, Lyra replied to herself. Maybe she would claim to have been open, but she knew that, by nature, she just wanted a quiet, peaceful life with her mare.

"What's up with the 'terrorist attack'?" Lyra exhaled. The night of sleep hadn't done wonders.

"A terrible explosion in the Central Square." For a moment, Discreet Heart looked sad, even apologetic. Evidently, it wasn't easy talking about that. Did he lose somepony? Lyra mused. Maybe he lost another client. "The news was in all yesterday's newspapers."

"We don't read newspapers," Lyra retorted. Because is there any truth in them - to them? Well, there was some truth, probably: but it was so concealed beneath the lies. A terrorist attack. Another one. Those were rare, very rare, and, as it seemed, limited only to the capital: at least she knew that there had never been any such attacks in the streets of Manehattan, for example, or the quickly developing Los Pegasus. Still, why couldn't the government, with all of its mighty intelligence and police force, predict such attacks and prevent them? Maybe they didn't want to? But then again, what was the gain - their gain: the government's gain - in it? Because they are so occupied with raids on gay ponies, Lyra thought bitterly. Of course, this wasn't all that they did, but...

"We're going to Canterlot," Bon-Bon said before actually having realised what she'd said. Her heart leapt to her throat. She tried to control herself, to restrain her body - and mind. This was walking the fault line. This was implying she was having a say in Lyra's matters - that she generally had a say in her mare's matters. But of course I do! She's my mare. But she couldn't show it.

Lyra had to think. Fast. Despite her surprise - or maybe in spite of it... "Yes, Bon-Bon," she nodded, implying that there was a questioning tone to Bon-Bon's words. "We are going to Canterlot, and I'll need your help." Smart move, Lyra, the mare congratulated herself. "We need to visit all the hospitals and... morgues." Lyra collected herself a little, a lump on her throat still forming against all disbelief. "I... I won't believe in that unless..." Unless I see the body, she couldn't bring herself to say.

The lawyer smiled sadly and shook his head. "I am terribly sorry, but... there is no body. It was an explosion. Let me spare you the details." Lyra's disbelief only grew, on one hoof; but on the other hoof... It did make sense, right? It could make sense, at least? "Please do not take me for a liar. I have proof." With that, he reached for his saddlebags and extracted a wedding ring. A ring meant for a long, slender horn. Of a middle-aged green unicorn mare. Once Lyra touched the ring with her telekinesis, there was no doubt. No, there was doubt - but there was no mistake. No forgery could replace the feeling, the magical mark that a bearer left on the ring. And she knew her mother's mark. And it was present. It was there.

"This is your mother's wedding ring," Discreet Heart said unnecessarily. "I was allowed, by the police, to present it to you as evidence. And, well, seeing that it is lawfully yours, anyway..." Why doesn't he wear glasses? Lyra thought stupidly. He would look more professional with glasses on. "You see, there's no mistake: even though there was no body, per se, you must understand that unicorn horns can withstand great damage, and your mother used to wear her ring-"

"Shut up," Lyra commanded, leaning back. "Shut up. We're going to Canterlot. I'm going to Canterlot. You will take the next train. I will see you tomorrow in mo- my residence, at noon." Lyra lit up a cigarette, suppressing tears. "And yes, I want you to execute my orders as they stand. Because now you work for me."

Lyra couldn't help but notice a small, tiny, almost invisible, imperceptible spark of mild admiration, the kind of admiration that sparkles at the show of strength.

"Very well, Miss Heartstrings." The lawyer nodded, getting up. "I will see you tomorrow, Heartstrings residence, twelve p.m." Bon-Bon got up to see him out.

Lyra sighed and closed her eyes - a gesture that seemed her usual companion. She would have to go to Canterlot. Her mother had probably died - no, she had died. Unless that ring was stolen. But... The mint mare took a deep drag, sensing an approaching headache. She didn't feel anything - apart from sheer exhaustion and a lump in her throat. She would deal with it after a short nap - when she and Bon-Bon had taken a train ride. A ride to the place she'd lived in all her life, away from the place she thought she'd finally settled in.

Home.

Come Rain or Come Shine

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Eighteen

Come Rain or Come Shine

***

"I don't believe it."

Lyra took a puff on the cigarette, sipping the late morning coffee. The house seemed alien to her. Without her mother, it was not home any more: it just didn't feel like home. But, at least, she had Bon-Bon.

The cream-coloured mare just put a comforting hoof on her mare's shoulder, giving her an encouraging peck on the cheek. "I can't believe it either, honey." She looked at the clock adorning the wall of the dining room. "But... I'm really afraid that it seems to be true. Listen. That lawyer should be coming in five minutes. We will demand more concrete proof."

"He has concrete proof," Lyra retorted. "Proof that this ring is hers. My mom's magic is all over it. I can feel it. It's a wedding ring, Bonnie," she explained. "It's very special magic." The lyrist sighed. "But what if he just stole the ring? Where's my mom, then? Has she been abducted?"

"Honey." Bon-Bon placed her hoof on her mare's. "Listen. If you're right, then talking to him about that won't help. If he's a criminal, telling him your suspicions won't do any good. Let's just listen to what he has to say." She smiled reassuringly. "You're good with papers. If it's just common documentation needed to come into inheritance, just sign them and get them off your mind."

Lyra sighed. "Bonnie. If my mom's alive, how can I possibly come into inheritance?" Not that I want to.

"Well, the papers just won't be valid then and Discreet Heart will be punished." I hope, the confectioner added mentally.

"All right," Lyra agreed, a little reluctantly. "But what do we do after he leaves? How do we know if he's speaking the truth or if he's a criminal?" I know, Bonnie. Don't say it aloud.

"Lyra, I think..." Yes, it's hard. But it's the only way, Lyra, Bon-Bon said in her mind, sending the message via the look she gave her mare. We both dislike the police. But...

The doorbell rang, its soft chime a peculiar contrast to the bell they'd installed at home - at Bon-Bon's. "I think we need to get the door." With that, Lyra stood up, walking out of the room, her nose brushing against Bon-Bon's shoulder for a second. The cream-coloured mare sighed and relaxed a little. They'd continue the talk in private after the inheritance matter had been solved.

The lawyer - now Lyra's lawyer, as it seemed; she still couldn't accept... What was there to accept anyway? Nothing had been proved! - entered the dining room disturbingly on time. Lyra had been hoping he would come - just a little. Or was it the other way round?

"Good day, Miss Heartstrings!" he greeted the mint mare, sitting at the improvised meeting table: basically, the dining table devoid of utensils and tablecloth. "I don't intend to waste your precious time, so how about we get down to business at once?" I really wanna strangle him, Lyra observed with strange calmness. As in, reeeeally. Bon-Bon could hide the body - or at least help me hide the body... Lyra stopped such thoughts: maybe the presence of the lawyer reminded her that non-punishable thoughts led to punishable intentions. If you intended to kill somepony - you were already subject to prosecution; thoughts were unpunishable - or weren't they? Actions were. Intentions were. Damn, my thoughts are getting ridiculous. While Lyra might not want to admit it to herself, she was really concerned about her situation, hence the even more swiftly-changing thoughts, even they be true.

Bon-Bon briefly considered offering Discreet Heart tea or coffee, but immediately decided against it, especially given Lyra's attitude. Besides, the lawyer had already extracted some papers from his saddlebags, placing them on the table.

"You see, according to your mother's will, you are the only heir, with the right to-" the stallion began, but Lyra didn't listen. She remembered her pact with Bon-Bon and did not fall to accusations. Otherwise, she really didn't have to pay attention: she wasn't interested in inheritance. For, her mother really had to be dead for her daughter to come into inheritance. And she wasn't.

Right?

Instead, her attention resurfaced to what Bon-Bon had suggested - had almost suggested: she was quite sure about that. See the police: that's what her mare was going to suggest, wasn't it? But it was out of question. Her gaze briefly fell on the paper that the lawyer had brought with himself and had laid on the table - intentionally? The big news about the terrorist attacks was, of course, occupying most of the front page; but what commanded Lyra's attention - maybe she just didn't want to pay attention to the incident that may or may not have involved her mom? - was the current events section, one note standing out: a mass meeting of gay activists in Manehattan was 'dealt with', with the police - as usual - showing 'professionalism and dedication'. The article boasted that the police had protected the participants from the society's wrath by isolating them. In a way, it was correct: if the protesters hadn't been taken by the police (and probably beaten up in process), they would have been beaten up by ponies around them. In a way, this was protection: the morals - which generally stood against same-sex attraction - were, as it seemed, even more dangerous that the law. But then again - if they weren't the same thing - political oppression was based on social oppresion, wasn't it? Lyra was pretty sure it was - at least in most situations.

"Now, if you'll just sign here, and here," the stallion said pointedly, tapping the papers in the respective areas, obviously wrapping up the talk.

Lyra stared at the documents for a moment, then nodded. "I'll take that into consideration. I'm not signing them now."

For a moment, she could see despaired irritation on Discreet Heart's face. "Miss Heartstrings, what is there to consider? I have drafted all the papers, here they are. You just sign them, inherit a fortune, and I get my payment. It's easy as that."

Of course you'll get your payment. Lyra couldn't be disgusted - feel disgusted - by the lawyer. It was his job, after all. Yes, and also his job to report gay ponies to the police. She picked up a few dozen bits and put them into one of the brown pouches lying on the cupboard. "Here's your payment for drafting the papers. Again, I'll look through them, on my own," she emphasised. "I'll drop by your office in a few days," she lied. Or maybe she would? But then again, she'd have to find out the truth. If the truth could ever be found out - entirely; or at all.

The lawyer glanced at Lyra estimatingly - the kind of ill-concealed estimation that ponies of the lower standing gave to those of higher standing. Some found it slimy. Some found it flattering. Some found it disgusting and irritating. Lyra didn't care.

The stallion took the pouch and scribbled down an address on one of his business cards. Now I just might start collecting those, Lyra chuckled internally. "Thank you, Miss Heartstrings. Please drop by as soon as you are ready to come into your inheritance."

With that, he bowed a little and headed to the door, Bon-Bon following him to see him out. Lyra thought that it would suit him to wear a hat. Then, he could tap it before departing. The mint mare sighed and levitated a bottle out of the wine cabinet, pouring herself a glass. The whisky didn't kick in at once, and Lyra had to take another gulp to feel the touchy, pleasant burn in her stomach. And now I may be becoming an alcoholic. Lyra lit up a cigarette. Just like my father.

Bon-Bon entered the room and placed herself on the chair with a sigh. She cast a glance at her lover. "Lyra, it's not even one in the afternoon."

The mint mare sighed and downed the glass in silence. She placed the bottle back into the cabinet.

"Lyra, honey," Bon-Bon began again, as if the whole lawyer's visit never happened. It so never happened. "I know this sounds hard, but if we want to find out what really happened..."  To your mother, she added mentally. "We need to go to the police station. They have the information, and you have the right to get it." She looked at her mare pleadingly and understandingly. "Just there and away. It won't take long."

Lyra looked at the clock. It was quarter to one. Had it been forty-five minutes since noon? Forty-six now. Time flies. She had the right for the information, and the police had it. Who could claim it was correct, though? Who could say for sure if it was true?

She didn't need a visit to the police station. She didn't want a visit to the police station, for reasons obvious. Her thoughts shifted to the police pegasi she'd met. Even though they seemed similar - they were similar - there were some tiny differences in their behaviour. In a way, it was so ironic that most police ponies were pegasi: according to rumours - the kind of rumours that floated around, with no ground beneath to support them; yet they were mostly true - pegasi were one of the most open-minded ponies; at least Cloudsdayle pegasi. Many of them were gay - and while they didn't show it, not to be put against the law, they could act a little more freely. Being gay prohibited them from serving in the army, and the government needed them to serve: this is why no charges of homosexuality were ever pressed against them: officialy they were all straight and ready to serve in the army. Lyra didn't know if this coin was two-sided or more; or something else. After all, while prison didn't seem like an appealing opportunity, the conditions in the army weren't much better, if any better (rumours, again; those true, anonymous, faceless rumours): and, after the abuse and the near-impossible training, pegasi came out rough, steeled, different. The openness was closed. (Would it ever reopen again? Could it ever reopen - or be reopened - again? Lyra wasn't sure.) Sent to different cities around Equestria, they served the law. And the law was directed against filly-foolers; and thus, she was on a different side of the river than the police. Even if they didn't know - didn't need to know.

Just as her mind jumped on to comparing social and political oppression in Cloudsdayle and in Canterlot - and in Ponyville - and the rest of Equestria - a thought hit her. Maybe it was the whisky that reminded her of her mother's - or, to be more exact, her father's - acquaintance; maybe it was her subconscious - but did that really matter?

The police weren't the only ponies who possessed information. In fact, there were ponies possessing more information than the police - in addition to being honest and trustworthy, or, at least, relatively honest and trustworthy - as opposed to police ponies. Memories of foalhood swished through Lyra's mind and an image of a stallion - just a few visits - was firmly there, with the precious knowledge.

"Bon-Bon." The cream-coloured ears perked up at the mentioning of their owner's full name by the minty mare. "We won't go to the police station." Before Bon-Bon could speak out, Lyra carried on, "Bonnie. Please. I know I'm probably asking too much from you, but do you trust me enough to just agree with me on what I'm going to say next? Regardless of what I say?" Should've said 'love', not 'trust'.

Bon-Bon seemed to understand. "I love you enough - so much that if you tell me we have to kill somepony, I'll just get a knife and a sack." The confectioner smiled a little, still terrified that there was truth to her words. (Lyra was pretty much terrified - but strangely not disturbed - by that too.) "Just speak out. Tell me."

Lyra nodded, reiterating, "We won't go to the police station. But I know a pony - he lives in Chicoltgo - who has information - and who can help."  The cigarette made its way to the ashtray. Bon-Bon kept looking at her mare, waiting. Lyra knew that she would agree to anything - but was this step worth taking? Yes. Because he can help us. Or was it help her, Lyra? But then again...

"So, who's this pony of yours?" Bon-Bon interrupted Lyra's flow of thoughts. "Not that it matters." She smiled a little. "You know I'm always with you. I'll always be with you, come rain or come shine."

Lyra couldn't help but peck the mare on the lips, hugging her. After all, they were in the relative safety of home. Not their home - but still home. In a way. Releasing her mare from the embrace, Lyra sat back in the chair. "He..." Lyra paused. No secrets from Bonnie. "He's head of one of the marefia gangs." She waited for Bon-Bon to gasp, but the mare just placed her cream-coloured hoof on hers comfotingly, nodding in agreement - or, at least, acceptance. Come rain or come shine.

"His name is Alexandro Philarmonico."

I Didn't Know About You

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Nineteen

I Didn't Know About You

***

On the road.

Once more, Lyra was on the road. Or was she? Being 'on the road' evoked certain associations in her mind: thoughts of freedom and unrestrictedness. But this wasn't freedom, and she wasn't on the road. She couldn't even emigrate, leaving the country altogether, getting on another road - or continuing the old one; the only one?

She was just on the train. Again.

The lyrist took a sip of her whisky - unpeated and strong, just the way she liked it - looking at her mare, who seemed to be asleep, if gentle snoring was any indication. Lyra couldn't blame her: she was in a sleepy mood as well. It was quite a long road to Chicoltgo. Quite a long way.

The rhythmic din of the wheels beating against the track slumbered her: her eyelids felt heavy, and her head didn't want to focus on anything. Chain-smoking her cigarettes, the lyrist couldn't help but fear the upcoming meeting, sudden, unscheduled. What if Alexandro wouldn't recognise her? What if he wouldn't want to see her? What if he wouldn't like to help?

Deep inside, she knew that a pony as busy as him was probably, well, busy with other affairs - it was no secret that he was connected to the marefia in a high position, and noblesse oblige and so on. But... Maybe he would remember her, and offer a helping hoof? That was her only choice. And not just because she needed information about her mother.

She also needed information on Discreet Heart.

She didn't like the lawyer: there was some antagonistic, slimy attitude about him. Something that just yelled rip-off and dishonesty. And not just because he earns money reporting in filly-foolers. But that was a point too, wasn't it, for her?

Lyra tucked away her fears and worries - for a while. She knew they would be back, as all fears and worries. Troubles never really faded away; but they could be tucked away, and then avoided. Concentrating on them all the time would drive pretty much any pony insane, no matter how resilient. And Lyra herself wasn't really that resilient, was she?

The mint mare closed her eyes, the chuck-chuck-chucking of the train singing her a sleep-inducing lullaby.

***

Lyra gulped as Bon-Bon and she stopped before a large, regal-looking mansion on the outskirts of Chicoltgo, feeling the fear - or fears - getting back to her - at her. Maybe it was just the impasse that the building seemed to be inflicting upon her: the feeling of being stuck, with nowhere to escape. And how she'd wanted to escape - her whole life! Maybe not the whole life, Lyra amended mentally, but for a relatively long time, at least. (And that notion had probably been blossoming inside her since even earlier.) Sometimes, she would even fear for her sanity: the urge to escape - abroad, it was usually associated with the Abroad - was so terrible sometimes, that she believed she would give up everything: her family, her principles - anything - just to escape. (Well, maybe apart from smoking.) However, deep inside, she realised - she knew; she did - that it wasn't true. It wasn't like that. She still wouldn't give up her mother for anything.

Mom... Once more, Lyra looked at the mansion. It held - it must! - answers. But did she want them? Of course she did. Didn't she? But she was afraid... Or, it wasn't that. Maybe it was some feeling other than fear that made her feel that way: cautious. Hesitant.

Bon-Bon placed her caring hoof on her mare's shoulder. "Lyra, come on. Let's do it."

But even Bon-Bon encouragement couldn't urge Lyra to make the step, now. Maybe it was the lack of 'honey' that she knew Bon-Bon couldn't use at the moment. Maybe it was the fact that Bon-Bon had been in her life for a short period of time, while her mother... Her mother had been her life, while Bon-Bon had been in her life. "Is" still in my life, both of them, Lyra assured herself, almost ready to take a step.

Instead, she took a look around - a look back, even - taking in the surroundings. The snow of Chicoltgo strangely resembled both Canterlot snow and Ponyville snow - in outlook if not its imperceptible texture. Or was snow the same in every nook and corner of her homeland? It felt so strange when her brain - ever so rarely - called Equestria 'homeland'. Lyra didn't have a... feeling of homeland, these ties of belonging, the plight of belongness - at least consciously. Maybe, on a genetic, involuntary level, there was a realisation of Equestria as her homeland. But she didn't like it when her mind gave in to such thoughts - just to thoughts.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Lyra was somewhat thankful for the sudden distraction in the form of a gruff, low voice belonging to an equally gruff stallion in a ridiculous black suit and sunglasses. Or were they called shades? Lyra had always needed a nudge - she still needed a nudge - to bring her out of reverie; and, while usually, now, Bon-Bon's soft touch was enough, at the moment, it was the stallion who seemed to have materialised before them, who brought her back to Equestria. Sometimes, we need an alien distraction, Lyra philosophised briefly. Sometimes a familiar nudge wasn't enough. And now that Bon-Bon's nudges had become familiar, would they fail to help?

"We need to see senor Philarmonico," Lyra said, remembering to use the proper form of addressing preferred in the Philarmonico family, reminiscing the way ponies addressed Alexandro Philarmonico when he was in the company of her father. The very notion of turning to one of her father's friends - or so-called "friends" - was a little sickening to her. Her father had never been a good pony, and his friends... Probably neither had they. But were there really good ponies and bad ponies, Lyra had to ask herself. Sure, she had got used to thinking that she was one of the good ponies and all... Actually, no. She didn't think of herself as a good pony. Maybe seldom. She hadn't considered herself a bad pony either. Most of the time. She just lived her life.

"Is he expecting you?" the stallion wondered in what seemed to the mares a suspicious manner.

Bon-Bon instinctively thought of a response: a believable one, an intricate lie that the pony in a black suit would believe. For a moment - as she did often - rather often, to think about it, if not quite often - she thought how lies had become an essential part of her life. She lied not just because she wanted to - even though that was a deciding factor too - but because it just came out naturally. With the lies mixing up with the truth, she couldn't really tell any more. Or could she? Had she lied to Lyra, on some occasion? Had she even noticed it? Or, noticing, disregarded it as non-vital? One thing or another, this was her life. And Lyra's life is Lyra's life, Bon-Bon had to remind herself. Overprotectiveness could be dangerous not only in public, but in general. It could push her mare away from her. Bon-Bon bit her tongue (literally, letting out a muffled moan at the pain in the gentle organ) and just waited for Lyra's response. Bon-Bon's mind, she mused ironically. Where the truth lies.

Lyra considered lying - after all, she was no stranger to lies - but decided against it. After all - sometimes - honesty was the best policy; at least, if she remembered Alexandro's attitude correctly. "No. But he must remember me. My name is Lyra Heartstrings, and-" Lyra began, only to be interrupted by the stallion.

"Senor Philarmonico is a busy pony. If he is not expecting you, you won't be let in," he rapped out with the kind of cold disrespectful respect only security could have - though, it was not limited to them.

Bon-Bon almost opened her mouth, her legs pushing her to take a step forth, but Lyra pierced her mare with her pleading gaze - but for a second; but it was enough - and the cream-coloured mare stopped, falling behind a little.

Lyra sighed, glancing at the snow-erupting sky. Well, it was worth a try. But what would they do now? Go home? See the police? Wait here till Alexandro came out in the garden and saw them? The security stallion seemed to be getting impatient already...

"Heartstrings," a voice reached the mares' ears from the garden, a brown earth pony emerging from around the corner of the castle-like mansion, his light mane neatly cut, his fine narrow tie hanging around the neck loosely. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while." For the love of Celestia, Lyra couldn't remember - or guess - the stallion's name; and she was pretty sure she hadn't seen him before. But the simple, regal attitude with which he carried himself, and the way the black-suited stallion stepped aside, nodding his head respectfully, made her realise the importance of this pony. "You must be Lyra Heartstrings. Pleased to meet you." The stallion kissed the mint hoof as he stepped out of the garden, making Bon-Bon's heart twitch in a pang of jealousy that she didn't dare to show. "As far as I know, our fathers were well acquainted, but I never had the pleasure to meet you in person."

"Pleased to meet you too," the mint mare said quietly, taking in the information as efficiently as her brain allowed her. "And it's just Lyra."

"Tom," the stallion introduced himself, proceeding to kiss Bon-Bon's hoof. Lyra just watched. "And you are?"

"Bon-Bon," the confectioner supplied, quickly realising who this stallion was, putting the pieces together - utilising both the information she'd got from Lyra and just now from Tom, and logic. "Just Bon-Bon."

"Pleased to meet you, Bon-Bon." Tom paused for a moment. "How may I help you today?"

Because, apparently, you help us all the time, buddy. Lyra cleared her throat. "I need to see senor Philarmonico. It is..." she searched for a right word - the right word. "It's a family matter."

"A family matter." Tom chewed on his lip. "Para la Familia." His gaze became unfocused for a moment. Suddenly, he snapped out of it. "Please, be my guests!" He led the mares into the fine, neat garden.

"I am sure Father will be glad to see you."

Riding with the King

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty

Riding with the King

***

Lyra wasn't sure if Alexandro Philarmonico was glad to see them - or, her, at least - but it seemed that he was at least interested in it, judging by the way he greeted the mares in a spacious dining room, and the way his old eyes flickered a little as the black unicorn stallion with greying hair smoked his long, sourly sweet cigar. Lyra was somewhat glad that it wasn't an office or a study; dining rooms seemed cosier to her, if only a little.

"Lyra, my filly, how much you have grown!" Alexandro tsked, shaking his head as he sipped on a fine brandy - a gesture that made him look even older. Though, it wasn't that bad - at least for stallions; or, at least, for stallions of his complexion: if anything, it made him seem only wiser in Lyra's - and probably other ponies' - eyes. "I haven't seen you in years." He tapped his hoof against the table. "How have you been?"

"Fine, thank you," Lyra replied immediately. Honesty was a good policy - sometimes - but with Alexandro Philarmonico, one also had to remember to be polite; as with all of those who hold power. Never complain and never ask until the moment they wonder about your troubles themselves - or unless they wonder about that. Lyra didn't ask the same question back. Alexandro was the host. Being polite, Lyra. Being real polite here, remember that.

"What's your drink of choice?" the stallion asked Lyra as another black-suited pony entered the dining hall, standing next to the two near-identical security stallions. Lyra struggled to muffle the screaming similarity between these and police ponies that was threatening to seize her mind.

"If you offer me a whisky, I'll have a whisky."

Alexandro chuckled, nodding at the just-arrived stallion and placing his own glass on the tray that seemed to have mysetriously appeared on the table in the matter of mere seconds. Though, with his means, it would be well possible, Lyra mused, eyeing the bronze ashtray. "And what will you be having, Miss..?"

"Bon-Bon," the cream-coloured mare supplied. She wanted to add "Just Bon-Bon", but was too wary and cautious - maybe even terrified; despite being impressed (or maybe in spite of it?) - of the black stallion to say that aloud. Let him call her Miss - if he wants to. "I- I don't really want to infringe on - upon - your hospitality..." Bon-Bon began, almost shivering - shaking - gulping - she was actually gulping in fear, wasn't she? - but a well-placed, soft kick from her mare under the table made her amend, "But I wouldn't mind a glass of wine." She let out a weak smile which grew more genuine - if it was possible - ever possible - in the wake of Alexandro's own smile. This was her mare's business, and she just had to tag along and support her. Because that's what marefriends do, right?

The marefia boss nodded at the suited stallion, who disappeared immediately. "I would offer you dinner, but I assume that you have come to discuss something with me, am I right?" Lyra nodded. Bon-Bon blinked dumbly. "Back where I'm from, it is considered impolite to discuss business at dinner table," he explained, seeing the confectioner's confusion. "Hence no dinner. Yet."

Lyra lit up a cigarette, levitating a small glass ashtray towards herself, not before having taken a questioning glance at Alexandro, who wordlessly permitted the action. "You are right, senor Philarmonico." The mint mare nodded.

"Just Alexandro, Lyra." The older stallion put out his cigar. "I've known you since you were a filly."

Lyra sighed with a tiny smile. Yes, embarrass me before my marefr... totally-not-marefriend-while-we're-here. "I did come to discuss something." She paused. "I don't know where to begin. So much has happened, and I don't know how to... Well, I don't know how," Lyra wrapped up lamely.

Alexandro just smiled his fatherly smile. Lyra couldn't make out whether this smile reminded her of her father and thus was offensive or differed from it greatly and thus was comforting. "Then maybe you'd like to begin ab ovo, from the very beginning?"

Yes, because apparently, there's a beginning. Lyra was too tired for thoughts. But she didn't choose them - they chose her. Right? The mare tried to think of a decent starting point. An idea entered her mind.

Lyra chuckled a little. "You know, a few days ago - a few weeks already, probably - I almost got killed by a falling bottle..."

***

Lyra puffed on her cigarette. She had never noticed how fast time was moving. It had been what - half an hour? - and the room already fell silent. She looked at the empty whisky glass. She had told her part of the story - save for the truth about her and Bon-Bon, of course - and Alexandro, in return, told his part. He gave answers.

The mint mare looked at Bon-Bon sipping her Scoltcilian wine in silence. What was she thinking? Did it even matter? Now that she had the answers - the truth, or, at least, what she could consider to be truth - something to believe in, something that she could believe in - what was there to do?

There had been a terrorist attack, presumably conducted by the griffins - at least that's what Alexadnro said his sources could confirm. Are they planning a damn war? Lyra mused to herself, genuinely astonished by how the griffins were acting towards Equestria and why the government hadn't taken austere measures. They're just so busy hunting down gay ponies and tax-escapees.

Her mother had "most certainly" died in the attack: "a terrible, terrible tragedy, my dear, I would have told you at once, but I thought you already knew and I did not want to stab an open wound." What now? Where were the tears? Why aren't I crying, dammit? Where was the grief and the sorrow? There was no more dibelief - there could be no disbelief. Or could there?

Alexandro levitated a vinyl record onto an old gramophone, placing the needle on the record gently. Soft pizzicato sounds of a cello reached the mares' ears, soon followed by a tranquil, soothing cello melody. It was haunting, chillding, evocative, reminding, reminiscing - all in itself. Bon-Bon felt a tear crawl down her cheek.

Lyra only felt calm serenity washing over her. There were no tears. Why didn't she cry, for Celestia's sake? Why wasn't she crying, even with the help of music - the divine cello music - the essence that can make the very soul cry? Even if she wanted to - could want to - cry, it was because of the sombre undertones to the melody, and not because of the adversity to the realisation of which she had come.

"That's my daughter performing the solo cello," Alexandro said with a hint of pride: a well-concealed one, for, the remark was presumably aimed at Lyra to help divert her from the terrible news that he had delivered. "I have just got the record delivered from Manehattan."

Lyra nodded. Bon-Bon repeated the motion. "It's beautiful, sen- Alexandro," the cream-coloured mare corrected herself.

"I guess I'll just have to go. Sign the papers. Come into inheritance," Lyra said with a sour, bland acceptance. "Thank you, Alexandro." So, she would just return to Ponyville. Maybe sell the estate - no, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do that. Just live off the fortune she'd have inherited, and live with Bon-Bon together in Ponyville. Wasn't it what she wanted, though?

"I can offer you the services of one of my lawyers," Alexandro suggested. "It's the least I could do."

"Thank you," Lyra replied, "But I think Discreet Heart will do his job just fine." Slimy as he is.

For a moment, Alexandro's face was perfectly calm, absolutely devoid of any emotion. But then his eye twitched a little - just a little - but enough to get - be - noticed. "Discreet Heart. A Canterlot lawyer, brown earth pony stallion, beige mane?" Lyra nodded to every clarification. Alexandro leaned in a little, his eyes radiating steel. "I have interest in him." Lyra gulped. "Can you arrange a meeting with him, say, in three days, two in the afternoon, at Archie's? I will take care of the rest." Lyra opened her mouth to speak. "Of course you will be rewarded," the stallion hurried to add - the very point that was unnecessary for either Lyra or Bon-Bon, in this case. Or any case, probably. "I know that Miss Bon-Bon has been struggling with her sweets store in Ponyville, did I get that right from your explanation?" Bon-Bon couldn't help but nod almost imperceptibly. "And you, Lyra, I know, never liked paperwork. So, in three days time, wouldn't it be a marvel if you got a license to run a chain of sweets stores all around the country - and you, Lyra, got to run your very own recording label?" My... own... This seemed like a ridiculous, crazy dream. "Of course, officially, I will be the owner of the label - the taxes would be too outrageous to put on your shoulders."

"Alexandro, we really appreciate that, but-" Lyra began, basically vocalising Bon-Bon's very thoughts, but was swiftly interrupted by the stallion.

"No, Lyra, you didn't quite understand me. We are making a deal here, on my terms, which, if I may say, are very convenient for both parties. You will get the license and the label, and I will get that appointment with Discreet Heart. Tom, my son, will personally draft the necessary papers - including those regarding your inheritance - and you will move to Los Pegasus."

"What?" Lyra didn't even bother to hide her shock, and, well, mild disgust, fuelled by disapproval. Bon-Bon proved to be  calmer, just chewing on the inside of her bottom lip almost invisibly.

"You will be safer in one of the blocks of flats I own - in the city one of my companies is pretty much building up right now. Los Pegasus, Coltifornia. As far as I get it, you are already flatmates, so it won't be a problem. You could also just refurnish the flat as you wish. Besides, it will be close to the label, which is located in Los Pegasus. This is why you are moving there."

We "are" moving there, Lyra thought bitterly. On one hoof, the opportunities were golden - even if, maybe, she didn't really want them - but on the other hoof, they didn't get to choose. The situation reminded her of her grandfather's habits: always deciding for the others. But this was Alexandro's way, and he decided that it was fair. And you don't really argue with a marefia boss.

"Thank you, Alexandro," was all that Lyra could say. And so she did. And so did Bon-Bon. They rose from their seats.

"I am very glad we are both satisfied with the outcome. Please make the necessary arrangements upon arriving in Canterlot, and I will, on my side, prepare all the papers so you can sign them and pick them up when you drop by on your way to Los Pegasus." His tone carried a hint of satisfaction - the kind of satisfaction one has when they have drafted a plan that they know will be successful. "I can't offer you accomodation - noblesse oblige, and I have a lot of work here - but I can book you tickets." He tapped his hoof against the table, rapping out into nothingness, "Two tickets to Canterlot. Earliest train. First class."

Maybe it's for the better, Lyra thought as she shook the black hoof. After all, she didn't really like Discreet Heart. He could, after all, enquire into whether she and Bon-Bon were just flatmates or something greater. Lawyers were sneaky like that. And, since Alexandro was after Discreet Heart... Well, bad day for Discreet Heart, then.

"Are you going to kill him?" Bon-Bon finally blurted out in a gasp, dread overcoming her as she realised what she had just said and to whom she had just said that. Lyra's blood ran cold for a moment.

However, Alexandro seemed to be merciful. "I am after Discreet Heart. Have been for years. Killing him would be meaningless, and torture isn't my way." The stallion smiled. "You see, I have a friend in Canterlot who will love to see him at the time we have decided you will assign for him. He likes law too - a lot, in fact." Alexandro laughed the laugh of a middle-aged stallion growing old.

"He is a tax inspector."

Yesterdays

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-One

Yesterdays

***

This is a damn joke.

Lyra's thoughts could be well applied to both Alexandro's proposal - or, rather, imperative deal forced upon her and Bon-Bon (she still couldn't understand why the stallion took an interest in Bon-Bon all of a sudden: he couldn't know... Lyra attributed that to Alexandro's value of friendship that he couldn't fail to see between the two mares) - and to the fact that she, once again, was on a train.

The first-class compartment seemed ugly and ridiculous to her. The fact that she couldn't even hold her mare close to her heart - the law, the social mores - was driving her insane. The fact that her mother had died and she couldn't even cry scared her to no avail.

Alexandro didn't give them an option to make a choice - and she didn't want to cross a marefia boss; so, naturally, they had to obey and be thankful for the terms: just as they had to obey, always, the world around them. And try to be thankful. But... he didn't give her, Lyra Heartstrings, a choice, the mare realised suddenly - or, maybe, it had been a gradual realisation. Bon-Bon, however... Would she go with her on such a journey - a trip of change, a leap into the unknown? She looked at her mare, whose beautiful eyes were staring out of window as the confectioner seemed to be thinking something. Maybe she's considering just that, Lyra thought. She had to ask her - when they got home. To the current home. Canterlot. But she was so afraid to hear the answer, despite - or probably in spite of - hoping and pretty much knowing that it would be affirmative. Positive. The answer that she wanted to hear - and that she still was afraid to hear.

She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to give Bon-Bon what she needed and wanted, as cliche as it sounded in her mind. But it was so; she was also afraid that she was going slightly insane - or, more insane that she usually was - with being unable to even cry.

Had her heart grown that dispassionate? She knew she was a passionate pony deep inside, a pony with vivid feelings that she had suppress-

A loud snore from Bon-Bon made Lyra smile and lose that trail of thought. However, a frown soon made its way onto her face as she remembered just what Alexandro had failed to tell her - them. About Discreet Heart. There was obviously something terribly fishy about him, if even a marefia boss was after him. But what in Tartarus was he? Will I ever know? Lyra sighed, leaning back, feeling sleep again overwhelming her, supplying rustic images of Ponyville, and the things they had to pack - will Bon-Bon have to move her utensils? Lyra placed her head against the cold glass of the window. And, even if I never know, do I really care? She yawned, feeling the mild vibration from the seat beneath her cradling her.

Will I ever care?

***

Bon-Bon gazed at her mare lovingly and passionately as she watched her sip tea in silence. The dining room seemed warm and pleasant. She felt somewhat cosy - maybe because she had closed all the curtains in every room of the spacious Canterlot mansion, and shut the door, triple checking the lock while Lyra was making tea.

She had a wild desire to pounce her mare straightaway, and would have done so, enjoying the rare moment of safety and privacy, if it weren't for the feeling of guilt welling inside her as she looked at Lyra: she, Bon-Bon, was so happy to move, to start a new life with her mare! She had contemplated it on the train on their way here, and had come to the conclusion, that life, through Alexadro Philarmonico, had given them a gift, and that they had to cherish this gift. After all, it couldn't get worse, could it? And even if it could, wasn't an opportunity to face adversity side by side with her mare better than... Well, no, it wasn't better than just living side by side with her mare in Ponyville, facing no adversity whatsoever, apart from being threatened - perspectively threatened, at least - to be found out and punished. But they hadn't had a choice in the matter - they just didn't have a choice. And the fact that Alexandro had decided for them wasn't, in the end, bugging her that greatly.

But the guilt was welling inside her chest, crushing her: she was happy, but her mare was not. It was only obvious: losing one's mother was most possibly the most terrible kind of adversity one could ever endure. But Bon-Bon felt guilty not just because of being happy - or, at least, feeling happy: that wasn't that terrible, given that she really did sympathise with her mare. She felt guility - was guilty - because she couldn't bring herself to mourn Marianna's death. Why would she? Marianna was just another face in the crowd to her - just another pony she'd lied to. Why? Because she was my mare's mother. And I have to be there for Lyra. She needed to offer her mare a helping hoof, a shoulder to cry into. She needed for her to know that she would always be there for her - and with her. "I'll always be with you, Lyra, honey," Bon-Bon broke the silence. "I know that you probably know that already but I just wanted to say that. Wherever we go-"

The dam broke.

Lyra threw herself onto Bon-Bon, almost knocking the cream-coloured mare off the chair as she tried to gulp down the tears that were now streaming freely as her breath became shallow, troubled, abrupt: the tears of hysteria blocked her senses, made her physically hurt. Bon-Bon's words were just the trigger - if they were, of course, a trigger - for the emotion that Lyra had been holding for so long - way too long. She wanted to tell Bon-Bon how hurt she was, and how she was afraid, and how much she loved her mother, and how much she loved her, Bon-Bon - but the tears and the gulping, the painful, terrible gulping, were blocking the way.

Soon, she felt a little light-headed and sleepy: she had been getting sleep only in short spurs recently, mostly on train rides. She just couldn't sleep at night that well, instead just watching Bon-Bon snore peacefully next to her, or getting up for a smoke next to the moonlight-covered window. Now, though, she had a distinct feeling she would be getting a good sleep, given the mental and physical exhaustion - that feeling may be not conscious, with her current state, but there was definitely such a feeling, and it seemed true. As true as it could be.

Bon-Bon held her mare in a tight embrace, both happiness and guilt fading in the wake of eternal compassion pouring out of her soul and - she hoped - straight into Lyra's. She stroked the minty mane and whispered words of love in comfort into Lyra's ear, up to the moment she felt the mare's breath regain a certain extent of stability and then heard soft, dreamy whistling. The cream-coloured mare lifted her sleeping mare and placed her on her back, heading for the bedroom.

Finally, Lyra would be getting some good, peaceful sleep, which she so needed for the upcoming meeting with Discreet Heart, and which she so deserved.

Now's the Time

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-Two

Now's the Time

***

Lyra didn't stop before entering the building.

Maybe for once in her life, she didn't linger. She just went through the door of the newly-built tall skyscraper that served as an office building, closing the glass door behind her. There was no porter.

Maybe she was just tired of lingering; or maybe she was just too tired to linger. It was probably the latter: she was trying to strain herself - the sleep certainly had helped - to rush through all the affairs weighing on her just to be able to relax, finally. Usually, she'd just be able to relax without making an effort. Now, in this rare, almost impossible situation, it seemed that she needed to make an effort. And she wanted to be through with this effort - just effort, in general - as quickly as possible.

There was no reception table; just a metal glassy plank with the names of the organisations that had already filled up the newly-built block of offices, and the direction to the respective floor. Discreet Heart's Discrete Office, floor sixteen Lyra read. What a ridiculous name. But, it could make sense: the lawyer probably had a separate office, and, well, he was nothing if not discreet, from what Lyra could gather. He was discreet - or, at least, seemed discreet: cautious; wary; restricted; restrictive.

The lift was self-operated, as most lifts now were. They used to be operated by a specially trained pony, but now, with the advance of technology, lifts were automatic. Just like my life, Lyra thought bitterly. Get up. Brush your teeth. Wash your mane. Eat your food. Kiss your mare. Deal with your problems. Bear with your life. Automatic.

Automatic.

Didn't they all live their lives like this? Didn't everypony live their lives in such an automatic manner? Wasn't all of Equestria - and maybe beyond - so? Automatic.

Lyra walked out of the lift, facing a glass door with the company name on it. The building was peculiarly planned, with little space between the lift and the door leading inside the company office that seemed to occupy the whole floor. Just before the door, there was a receptionist's desk - with a receptionist this time.

The present receptionist was a good-looking mare, a young beige earth pony with shining eyes - only slightly younger than Lyra, but with the eyes of a hopeful teenage filly. She reminded the lyrist of the receptionist mare at the Happy Inn, back in Ponyville. It seemed so long ago, so far away... No, actually, it didn't. It seemed near, if only because she'd be -with Bon-Bon - in Ponyville to collect her things soon. As soon as she dealt with this matter.

"How may I help you today?" the receptionist mare chirped, uncomfortably reminding Lyra of Tom. No. Not now. Sometimes, Lyra could suppress thoughts - her thoughts - for a while.

"I'd like to..." Lyra paused. She didn't want to see Discreet Heart. She just needed to make an appointment - on Alexandro's secret behalf. But she...

"See Mr Discreet Heart?" the young mare supplied with a frown even though it seemed that nothing was really troubling her. "I'm really sorry, but he is away for a few hours. Is there anything I should tell him?"

Lyra stared at the receptionist. If Discreet Heart were there at the moment, would it be any different? She just had to make an appointment. And, maybe - just maybe - it was even better - or, at least, more convenient - that the lawyer wasn't present: she could just make an appointment. To talking. No coaxing. No disgust. Just make an appointment.

"I would like to make an appointment. My name is Lyra Heartstrings, and I am one of Discreet Heart's clients." Lyra watched the mare check her schedule with a nod. "I would like to arrange a meeting with him about ineheritance matters. The day after tomorrow, two o'clock-"

"Ma'am, I am afraid Mr Discreet Heart has a very busy schedule-" the receptionist mare began, but Lyra interrupted her before she could elaborate.

"And I am afraid that he will have to make time for me in his busy schedule if he doesn't want to lose a particularly important and affluent client," Lyra said firmly, piercing the mare with cold, steely eyes. For some reason, there was no voice of conscience to be heard. "Lyra Heartstrings, the day after tomorrow, two in the afternoon, Archie's, I'll take care of the table."

The young mare held Lyra's gaze - with a gulp but defiance in her eyes - and wrote down the information. "Will that be all, Miss Heartstrings?"

Lyra nodded. "Yes. That will be all."

***

Bon-Bon had just finished making dinner from what supplies they had in the mansion - and there were quite a lot - and was waiting for Lyra in the dining room, the daffodil meal on table, already envisioning how they would lie in bed, and how she would cuddle up to her mare... Maybe Lyra wasn't in the mood, true, but cuddling with the minty mare would be enough. For now.

The confectioner heard the door open, close, and be locked with a click. She rose to meet her mare in the corridor, but Lyra swiftly entered the dining room, wrapping her hooves around the mare, about her shoulders, nuzzling her neck and pecking her cheeks. Bon-Bon felt pleasantly surprised and aroused by this.

"How did it go?" she wondered as her lyrist buried her nose in the cream-coloured fur. She wasn't sure if she was asking because of that was what good marefriends did - did they? - or because she was (just) concerned about her mare. Or, maybe, she wanted to know if their lucky ticket to Los Pegasus was valid. Bon-Bon scolded herself for such thoughts, but couldn't help having them.

"It went," Lyra replied vaguely. Just went. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about anything. She (just) didn't want to think. Instead, she tossed her lips upon her mare's, feeling the warm softness of Bon-Bon's tongue meeting hers, moaning into the passionate, exhausted, desperate kiss.

Lyra broke the kiss and gazed at her mare. Here she was, the mare she loved. Here she was, confused and afraid of the future. Here she was, concern shining in her gentle eyes. And here was she, Lyra, disregarding the needs of her mare because of the - well-based - apathy. The depression would kick in, she realised. Her mother's death was another terrible - the most terrible - trigger. But she was not alone. And she couldn't leave her mare in the darkness. Suddenly, she felt very, very tired.

But I can't go to sleep yet. I have to make the best of what I have now. "Bonnie." Lyra placed her hooves around the mare's neck, breathing on the cream-coloured cheek as she whispered, much like Bon-Bon herself did - back in Ponyville. "I want to make love to you."

"I think..." Bon-Bon blushed. "That can be arranged. But what about-" Lyra silenced her mare with a kiss. Now, there could be no 'what about's. Now, there was a way to escape adversity, if only for a while: something to make life worth living, if only for rare, precious moments. Something that both mares so desperately craved for and what they seemed to have achieved. Something that hurt so badly when lost and cradled warmly in its embrace when found. Something that made them forget the troubles of the world for a while and go to Lyra's bedroom, silently, without turning on the light, the whole mansion dark, with the shut curtains preventing light from breaking in. Something that - presumably - was worth dying for. Something that - presumably; definitely; maybe - was worth living for.

Love.

Milestones

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-Three

Milestones

***

The sex had been desperate.

It had been fast, fervent, and angry. It hadn't been bad, Bon-Bon mused. It was nice, for a change. She had been somewhat pleasantly surprised by her mare's fervour. But, if anything, it was a show of deep inner turmoil Lyra was going through.

The packing had been fast and efficient.

There was nopony to say goodbye to, no debts to pay. They'd arrived in Ponyville in the morning, packing up everything they possibly could, their tickets being first class. I might get used to such comfortable compartments, Bon-Bon thought, watching her mare stare out of the window, lost in thought. She had been pretty quiet all day, and the confectioner knew that they needed to talk. But only after they'd settled down a little, in Los Pegasus. Otherwise, the talk might as well be pointless or do Lyra bad. And Bon-Bon didn't want to do anything bad to her mare.

They were on their way to Chicoltgo. Again.

Just passing through, Lyra reminded herself as the train danced on the trail. Just stopping by to get the papers and the deed to the flat and tell Alexandro that everything's ready. Was it, though? Tomorrow, Discreet Heart would meet his fate, his judgement, no matter how severe it might be - for crimes unknown to her. With her help. She didn't feel guilty in the slightest, though. For some reason, she knew he deserved what he would get. But would he? What if he found out it was all a trap? What if he would escape? What if-

"Chicoltgo!"

The announcement brought Lyra out of her reverie. Chicoltgo. Another milestone on their way to Los Pegasus, which, itself, was another milestone. Life itself seemed like a sequence of milestones, not important or unimportant, but just... points. Occasions. Events. Milestones.

Bon-Bon stood up, placing their bags under the seats. It was a two hour stop. They'd just drop by Alexandro's mansion and be back on their way to Los Pegasus. No need to take their possessions with them.

It was strange and surprising not to be woken up by the announcer's voice, for a change, compared to the last few rides. More like 'latest'. I just bet I'll have to take the train many more times.

With a sigh, Lyra followed her mare outside.

***

"Lyra! Bon-Bon! I'm so happy to see you both!"

Of course they would be greeted by Tom. Of course they would be greeted in the garden. The chilly, frosty wind assaulted Lyra's skin and penetrated her lungs deeply with each shallow - and not shallow - breath; but she knew better than to ask to come inside the mansion without permission. Not that she wanted to, really. Really.

Besides, the papers were right there. "Here's the deed to the house, here's the license - you will want to take a look at the attachment, Bon-Bon: I've attached a map with the shops you can start with, of course, there'll be enough staring money - no loans, just a pure gift, in the best Scoltcilian tradition, and here are the inheritance papers, but you know all about papers, Lyra, why am I even telling you all of this?" The stallion passed the papers to the mares. Bon-Bon began to read through her papers. Lyra just signed those after a passing glance. The papers were valid: she could see it at the first glance. The papers were all right.

Tom, however, didn't seem all right. Maybe he was. He seemed terribly excited, more than he'd been the last time Lyra had seen him: his calm, reserved facial features were now shining with vigour, his speech quick and streaming, his actions swift and edgy, even his breath strangely abrupt. He was obviously excited.

But was this vigour in his eyes passionate, youthful vigour? He was only slightly older than her, Lyra realised. A young stallion on his way to the middle-aged milestone. Or maybe he was younger. Lyra wasn't that good with deciphering age. She only knew that Bon-Bon was older than her: just a little - but old enough to be the responsible one in their relationship. At least so it seemed to Lyra.

Bon-Bon couldn't help a smile as she'd read the papers. Her own chain of sweets stores. All around Equestria. Operated from Los Pegaus - a new city with great perspective, great prospects and opportunities, where she would live with her mare. She wanted to slap herself for not mourning with Lyra - but she just couldn't bring herself to mourn. She made a mental note to mention it in her upcoming talk with Lyra. They really did have to talk it all out: not only for their relationship's sake (I'm in a relationship! With a cute sexy minty mare! Bon-Bon squeed mentally), but also for Lyra's sake.

Lyra sighed. "Tom, we did our..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Part of the deal. I made an appointment with Discreet Heart at the time and place Alexandro wants it." There. I said it. Tom nodded. So... Now they could just go? Go away, no strings attached - Of course there are always strings attached - aren't there? - and begin... to begin their new life. At least, that was what she called the milestone they were about to reach in her mind.

The mares turned round, papers packed, still much time till the train left. Lyra took Tom's nod as a farewell. Bon-Bon just followed her mare. Tom cleared his throat with a rusty cough.

"Oh, I almost forgot - I think you would want to know that." Lyra turned round again, Tom's look just a perfect amount of sombre, with wild excitement still alive in his eyes. Usually, the mare would apply such look to ponies who were about to boast something. But... Tom didn't seem the kind of stallion - the kind of pony - to boast. "First of all, let me say that all is valid, our deal is in power, and Alexandro sends you his best wishes and hopes that you settle down easily in Los Pegasus." Lyra grew suspicious. She didn't show it. "He was so upset about the outcome, though... Not that it was your fault in any slightest. Again, a deal is a deal and honouring the deal is the Philarmonico way, so you shouldn't be worried..."

Spit it out, Lyra wanted to tell the stallion. Instead, she just kept looking at him dispassionately.

"Unfortunately, Father won't be able to talk to Discreet Heart." Tom made a grimace. "Your lawyer died of pneumonia a few hours ago. I have just been informed, and told Father about it." Tom paused. "He was rather accepting, even though he would have wanted to talk to him in private... You can always turn to me, of course, for any legal matters."

Lyra stared at the stallion. Bon-Bon gasped, "Pneumonia?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, pneumonia. Natural causes. So sudden, and so... almost incurable. He couldn't be helped. I don't think his death should trouble you: he would have probably died of pneumonia anyway - in prison. Or..." Tom let out a dark chuckle. "Say, food poisoning. I hear that Archie's doesn't have particularly high standards."

Lyra stared at the stallion. He shifted closer. "What's the matter, Lyra? Don't be shocked. You and your friend Bon-Bon will both be all right, and that's all that matters. Don't you trust me?" Lyra failed to gulp at the well-concealed, warning menace in Tom's tone - or his voice, in general. At least so it seemed to her. "Do you trust me, Lyra?"

Lyra stared. No. "Yes."

"Good." Tom nodded approvingly. "Your train is waiting for you."

Lyra turned, and walked away, followed by her mare.

Tune Up

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tune Up

***

Los Pegasus wasn't quite what Bon-Bon had expected.

It was... in progress. While there already were a number of tall, majestic skyscrapers all about the city, starting with the very train station, which they'd left just about half an hour ago, and plain tall blocks of flats, of which there were fewer, and department stores, and recording studios - the city was probably the new Manehattan of music industry - or, was going to become one - there were still a lot of yet-to-be-erected buildings, with cranes all around, and the noise! The noise of a newborn city, developing, the builders erecting the pillars of the earth: the shouts and yells, the grinding, swishing, thumping. It would take some time to get used to, Bon-Bon mused. Though, if I recall correctly, they promise to finish the construction in a few years. Of course, with Alexandro and his... organisation guiding the construction, it could very well be possible, if not true entirely. Bon-Bon shivered in the cold wind. Or, maybe, because of such thoughts, which gained a new colour in the wake of the recent events - and the information Tom had given them. We definitely need to have a talk, Lyra and I, Bon-Bon thought, glancing at her mare, who seemed to be lost in thought.

Lyra took in the openness, the strange, plain-like site of the city as she walked side by side with her mare, in the direction of their new home. She couldn't sat that the city was pretty much what she had expected, if only because she hadn't really expected anything. Still, she could see - feel - a difference here: a new, maybe even tolerant - almost tolerant, at least to a greater extent than the rest of the country - or, the world - city, where they could both live in peace: not showing off, just living together in privacy, they could hope for lack of threats - including potential threats - if not from the law, but at least from the ponies. And the ponies themselves, here, in this city, were strangely different - if only because there were more pegasi than in other places Lyra had been to. (At least, so it seemed; not that she'd been to a whole lot of places, of course.) Or, it wasn't the ponies who were different: it was the way they walked: many of them smiling, the distance between them short, even between ponies of the same gender: maybe they weren't afraid of being viewed as gay; or, maybe, it was because of the all-around construction works that the ponies walked so close to each other. Or, maybe, she just wanted to believe in it, one way or another.

Finally, the mares stopped before a tall block of flats that Tom had directed them to. Bon-Bon took in the sight of home - their new home. From the outside, it looked the same as other buildings in town - in the city. Still, Bon-Bon's heart fluttered a little at the thought of them getting a flat in such a nice house: it wasn't as prim as the Canterlot mansion, but it didn't have the rustic charm of their Ponyville home. If anything, it was... unique.

Lyra opened the door and directed her hooves towards the lift, followed by her mare. By the lift, three stallions, one of them evidently drunk, were discussing some matters. Lyra didn't pay attention to them, only noting that there were two earth ponies and a pegasus, who was the one slurring in a drunken manner. Maybe he had just finished basic military training and was returning home after celebrating that with his friends, she thought. Maybe they were all from the marefia: the house had been built by one of Alexandro's companies, after all.

She didn't want to think further about the marefia, or Alexandro, or Tom. Or Discreet Heart. Who would probably - definitely. Definitely! - die in prison anyway. After all, what was better: the police or the marefia? Lyra wasn't sure. At least any more. Both were dealing with crime - in their own way. Both were criminals - in their own way.

With a ding, the lift doors opened. Lyra considered waiting for the next one, briefly, but Bon-Bon was already entering the lift, and Lyra followed her mare. The stallions bulged into the lift, the pegasus slightly pushing the cream-coloured mare with his wing as he took his place next to his companions, swearing loudly, "Bucking lifts."

Lyra glanced at him. The lift was really crowded.

"Hey, watch the tongue," one of the earth pony stallions warned the pegasus. "There are mares here." On one hoof, this was nice: the courtesy, but... Lyra didn't want such courtesy, this kind of courtesy. Neither did Bon-Bon.

The drunken pegasus turned a little - which proved to be a feat, given his condition and the little space in - inside - the lift. He looked at Bon-Bon, who was closer to him, with dumb, unseeing eyes. "Sorry, ma'am." He grabbed Bon-Bon's hoof, kissing it over and over. "Real sorry, you see-"

The doors opened and the pegasus's friends dragged him out of the lift wordlessly, seemingly paying no attention to his actions. Bon-Bon hid a frown beneath a soft, polite smile: she couldn't be let down because of this tiny flaw in the otherwise good city. Because it was good. And it would be good. To her and Lyra. For her mare and for her. She stepped out of the lift, followed by the minty mare.

If I had a gun, I could kill the bastard, Lyra thought idly about te pegasus. Just shoot him in the head. Or it the chest. Or just show him the barrel so he would buck off. But the law prohibited civilians from threatening other ponies with weapons. (Not to mention that, in her current emotional and mental state - and, well, her permanent emotional and mental state - she'd probably just shoot the gun.) And she didn't want to do time in prison, and not just because of the conditions - but because leaving her mare just wasn't an option. She loved Bon-Bon, and she knew Bon-Bon loved her. Mutual love, unlike mutual trust - or, maybe, like mutual trust, of a higher level - could not be broken. And must not be broken.

"Lyra, are we coming in?" Bon-Bon extracted the keys from her saddlebags, her other bags shifting on her back heavily. "Here are the keys."

Lyra replied with something between "Yeah" and "Yep". It seemed that even the accent - her own accent - seemed to be about to change in this new city - or was it changing already? The very foundation of language: the pronunciation, the grammar... Did it change as well when one moved somewhere else, with a clear intention to live there peacefully - or was it a subconscious, maybe even conscious change, brought about by mere desire - a mere desire to change - and, maybe, be changed? Live peacefully. As peacefully as such drunkards will allow us. Lyra knew - or, at least, hoped - that not the whole city was like that. Still...

Lyra snatched the keys telekinetically and brought them to open up the door. Bon-Bon frowned. We are *so** having a talk later.*

The mares walked inside.

Kind of Blue

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kind of Blue

***

"Lyra, we need to have a talk."

Lyra groaned a little and extinguished her cigarette as she rolled over on the single bed, which, placed right next to a similar bed that they had brought from a similar room, made a quite cosy double bed. Maybe they'd buy a real double bed: they could think about the justification - the cover-up - later. They could make this room their bedroom and the other one a library or something: Bon-Bon had a real love for reading books at home. They could always just separate the two beds if they were expecting guests. If they were ever expecting guests.

"Lyra, I-" Bon-Bon began, but the mint pony just interrupted her, staring at the ceiling. There was a lamp that she didn't particularly like: they'd have to replace it, probably. Replacing things made them look more homely, more suitable to one's self - didn't it?

"Bonnie, you don't even realise how I hate that guy." The door was closed, the curtains shut, the bedroom door closed, their voices lowered. They'd have to invest in some soundproof walls, both for making music and... well, "making music". As in, sexy times. "The pegasus who kissed your hoof. He was so... ugly. I just wanted to kick him straight in the face. I wanted to tear him apart. I still want it. Or I don't. I dunno." Lyra buried her face in her mare's fur as the cream-coloured pony just lay next to her, listening. "I love you so much, Bonnie," the minty mare mumbled into her mare's fur. "More than you can imagine. Probably even more than I can imagine. I... Don't try to understand." Love didn't need to be understood, after all, right? It needed to be felt. Just felt. Experienced. "Just take it for granted. As a fact. I love you, Bonnie."

Bon-Bon stroked her mare's mane. "I know, Lyra. I love you too. I love you so very, very much." Even though they hadn't known each other that much - and even though they had probably been drawn to each other by despair and desperation, not in the least sexual; though, of course, there had been a desire to love and to be loved - Bon-Bon was sure that she loved Lyra. And she knew that Lyra knew. And she knew that Lyra felt the same and knew that she, Bon-Bon knew it. And vice versa, and so on. "That's why it pains me so much when I see you depressed, or apathetic, or angry. And forget that pegasus in the lift! It never happened. It so never happened. We have a bright, wonderful life ahead of us. There will be difficulties, but we know how to hide. We know how to make enough money to make sure we have all the necessary conditions to be isolated and happy in our isolation." And maybe, some day, the law will be abolished... No, such thoughts would do no good. They had to do with what they had. With what they could - have. "We will have a nice, happy life. Together."

"Together," Lyra echoed. Yes. That sounds right. She sighed. "Bonnie, you know there's a reason why I've been so... distant." That must be the right word.

"I know, Lyra, honey. I know." Bon-Bon winced. "And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!" she almost shouted. Almost. "I'm sorry that I just can't mourn your mother's death. I'm sorry that I'm so hopeful, so... happy. I'm happy because I have you, Lyra: nothing else. No other reason. No other reason needed. I'm sorry for not mourning with you, but I just can't grieve!" Bon-Bon felt tears crawling onto her cheeks, a lump in her throat finally breaking.

Now it was Lyra's turn to calm her mare, stroking the two-toned mane. "Shh. Bonnie, listen, it's all right. No really. I do not want you to grieve. I do not want you to be sad. It's... It... was my mother, not yours." Bon-Bon opened her mouth to protest - somehow - but Lyra hushed her. "I mean it, Bonnie. Maybe I have become heartless but... I am coping. Really. It's hard, and sometimes impossible, but I'm... you know, I think I'm coping. I'm overcoming." Lyra nodded to herself - and to her mare. "I know it'll hurt a lot - for a while - and I can't even cry..." Bon-Bon dried her own tears. "But I know that, maybe, in a few years, I'll... move on. We all have to move on." Bon-Bon looked into her mare's deep, pained eyes and couldn't help but plant a kiss on the minty lips. "I love you, Bonnie," Lyra said upon breaking the kiss. "And I want you to be happy. When you are happy, I look at you and I want to be happy too. There's enough adversity in the world. I want happiness. I will mourn my mother's death, but... But I know she would want for me to feel happy, and sappy as it sounds. And I feel happy when I'm with you - near you. Just lying with you like that, you know?"

"Lyra," Bon-Bon whispered, now feeling the minty mare giving her a gentle, prolonged kiss. "I... I understand. I will try to make you happy." A flash of determination could be well-seen in the confectioner's eyes. "Because I love you."

The mares just lay there in silence for a while. But it was comforable - or, at least, acceptable - silence. The talk had gone... pretty well. Not really what Bon-Bon had expected. but... No, pretty much what I had expected, actually, she thought. Yes, she felt... easier now. And so did Lyra, she mused, if only the small, tired smile on Lyra's face was any indication. Lyra did feel better. The mint mare lay next to her confectioner, thinking about how simple words from one's lover could heal one's - damaged - maybe even very damaged - soul.

"Lyra, honey." The minty mare turned her head. "I have an idea. Maybe you won't like it," Bon-Bon said carefully, "but how about we check out that recording studio at that label of yours?" She didn't want to emphasise on, 'the label you're running now'. So what if Alexandro was the owner - what was the difference? He didn't have interest in the label. He would just pay taxes. "You could take your lyre. You know, to check the equipment and everything." Bon-Bon smiled a little.

The minty mare returned the smile, maybe on a lesser scale - but a smile, a genuine one, nevertheless. "Yes, that would be wonderful, Bonnie. Just let me catch an hour of sleep."

Lyra closed her eyes.

My Favourite Things

The Sweetest Music

Chapter Twenty-Six

My Favourite Things

***

"This is my studio."

Lyra stared in disbelief at the tall, glossy skyscraper with a sign that read, Philarmonico Records, just above the large front door that seemed to be made entirely of glass. It was surreal. It was fascinating. It - or, maybe, the whole city - was giving her confidence that she hadn't felt before, and a little cheerfulness - a trait that wasn't normally part of her character. Did it mean that her very character was changing? And, if it was - it definitely seemed to be - then was it necessarily a bad thing? Lyra hadn't been used to change - but now she seemed to accept change as a concept if not as a particular thing, after all the change life had put her through recently. She didn't see life or fate as a living being - but the string of events, this chain of enthropic coincidences seemed to have put her - and seemed to be putting her - and her mare - through change. Well, let it be. Lyra could cope. She would cope. And, if the change was positive - well, she would just be glad.

"Are you coming?" Bon-Bon wondered, holding the door for her mare.

Lyra smirked a little. That's what you said twenty minutes ago, Bonnie~ They just couldn't resist a little sexy time after the nap, especially given that the house was new, and they were yet to have neighbours. For now, they were alone on the floor; but they still had to make their walls soundproof, even though they weren't particularly loud while... making music.

Lyra breathed in the fresh, invigorating air. Yes, there was definitely some confidence floating in the air. Or, maybe, it was the fact that she had had a talk with Bon-Bon that seemed to have been very... curing. It had had a nearly medical effect on the lyrist.

The two mares walked along a set of small corridors, ponies passing by them, lost in their own business. Lyra considered putting up a receptionist table with a mare just like she'd met at the Happy Inn (And at Discreet Heart's agency, her brain reminded her unnecessarily), but decided against it. After all, this was a label, meant to record bands. not a hotel or an agency.

What bands would she work with? Lyra concluded, by the portraits of classical composers adorning the walls, that the label currently produced classical music, or, at least, focused on it mainly. If she could, she would sign up some blues bands - and some jazz bands, if she could find those who wanted to work with the label. After all, jazz was fairly new, and was primarily performed and produced in Canterlot. Could she sign new bands? What was her authority within the company? What was within her power? She needed to take another glance at the papers.

"I'm very sorry, we are having a recording session: you can't come in." An amber mare appeared before Lyra and Bon-Bon as the two mares made their way to an open door at the end of one of the corridors.

"Is that how you treat your new employer?" Lyra raised her brow, levitating the papers out of her saddlebags, as well as her passport, so that the amber unicorn could see them. As she read, her yellow mane messy, her neck glistening with sweat, her eyes widened.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Heartstrings! I- We were told that you were arriving, but we didn't know exactly when." Lyra winced a little. Damn, that mare is sure easily scared. But wasn't she herself easily scared? "Let me show you around your studio!"

Lyra stopped the mare by raising her hoof. "Wait. First of all, it's just Lyra. You are?"

"Amber Mane, Miss Heart- Lyra." The mare blushed cutely. Bon-Bon smiled a little, thoughts of the mare's attractiveness battling the upcoming potential jealosy, weak and unbased.

Lyra deadpanned. "Your mane is yellow. You are amber."

"Tell that to my parents," the mare grumbled aside, immediately amending, "I mean-"

"No, that's all right," Lyra chuckled. Definitely the air of confidence. "I like your attitude. Don't hide it." Amber Mane smiled softly.

"Now..." Lyra put her passport and the papers in her saddlebags, taking jut enough of a professional's glance to see what she wanted - and needed - to see. Her lyre resting on Bon-Bon back comfortably,  Good. Full power within the label, with the exception of selling or closing it. "Since I run the place now, I have an order of business first. A few, actually."

"Um, lemme get a pen?" Amber Mane chuckled sheepishly.

Lyra winked - a gesture new to her; but a gesture that seemed appropriate, at the moment. "I think you'll manage to keep eveerything in mind. First, I want the place renamed: from now on, it's Heartstrings." The amber mare nodded. "Next, change those classical portraits in the corridors to modern blues musicians." Another nod. "And, last but not least, I want a golden lyre sign above the front door. See to it." Definitely the air.

"What kind of sign, Miss- Lyra?" Amber Mane asked.

Lyra tapped the cutie mark on her flank, noting, not without a hint of a delight, a small, well-concealed blush on the unicorn's face - the kind of blush she could notice because she had been hiding such blushes for so long. She noted that Bon-Bon had noticed it too, judging by the minute look that the cream-coloured mare tossed to the lyrist. "Just like my cutie mark. We're going to make some changes to this place."

Bon-Bon smiled. Changes. That was what she wanted. That was what they both wanted. Right?

"I'll see to it immediately!" The mare rushed away, still a little pink from embarrassment - a sign that was hard to notice on her amber fur.

Lyra exchanged a short knowing glance with Bon-Bon and walked back, taking another corridor that led to a similarly opened door, nopony blocking the way. The two mares entered the room, which turned out to be empty. A recording room. Equipment, buttons, knobs - everywhere. A wall-large screen of thick glass - or was it plastic? And a small door to the recording room itself, in which Lyra could see a white grand piano - a divine dream, white as snow - and a few microphones. I need to test it out.

"Bonnie," Lyra said, for the first time not afraid to call her mare that name outside the comfort of home - their home. After all, friends did have such names for each other. Right? "Can you hit that button," she extended her hoof, pointing at the mixing panel, "when I tell you to? You'll need to put on the headphones."

Bon-Bon nodded, the delight and awe of Lyra's firm, calm, positive behaviour still bathing her in happiness. Her mare was overcoming. She would overcome. They both would. Together. She watched her lyrist take up her lyre, walk into the recording room and sit on a chair right before the plastic wall - or was it glass?

"Okay, Bonnie, hit the button." And so the cream-coloured mare did.

Lyra took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to play.

***

Lyra breathed in the fresh air of Los Pegasus as she walked away from her studio, side-by-side with her mare.

Was it really her studio or did she just run it? Did it even matter when she knew that she had a record label she ran, a flat in one of the most progressive towns in Equestria - if rumours were to be believed - and, more importantly, the most wonderful mare in the world? A future; a perspective; love. My favourite things.

Lyra smiled and took a quick look around. The evening street was empty, save for her and her mare, who was smiling blissfully, still under the impression of her lyrist's spectacular performance at the studio. Her first day at the studio had turned out to be wonderful. Bon-Bon hoped for many, many days like this; hoped - knew - that they would come.

Lyra placed a quick peck on the cream-coloured cheek after double-checking the surroundings. Bon-Bon gasped and looked at her mare in shock and awe. Sometimes, it was worth to take risks - if only well-estimated ones. Ones that wouldn't make you - let you - get caught. Lyra smiled and winked at her mare in a spur of cheerfulness and confidence. She took another deep breath.

Yes. It's definitely the air.

Epilogue

The Sweetest Music

Epilogue

***

"Bonnie."

The confectioner raised her head to look at her mare, who had just entered the room: they had bought a ridiculously large bed for one of the bedrooms and fully refurbished another to make it a library and a room to work with papers. That was what Bon-Bon was doing right now, casting longing glances at the couch in the corner that they'd bought to keep up the act. How she wanted to just lie there, doing absolutely nothing! But the whole new businesses she had got from Alexandro demanded her attention: for a few weeks already, she had had to work harder than she'd imagined. But, somehow, this was making her feel good. It was challenging. It was satisfying.

"Yes, Lyra, honey?" Bon-Bon turned back to the papers while Lyra placed her saddlebags in the corner. "You're early from work." She smiled as she looked at her mare, again, unable to concentrate on her own work in Lyra's presense. They'd been together for... months, already? - and, still, every day, she couldn't avert her eyes from the minty mare, as if she were seeing her for the first time, studying her, scrutinising her, loving her at each glance as she loved her at the first glance.

"When you run the whole place, it's easy to sneak away early," Lyra winked, extracting a small box from her saddlebags. "Bonnie. I... I want you to have something." With that, the mint mare opened the box with her telekinesis.

"It's... a horn ring," Bon-Bon observed aloud, her brain trying to make a connection. I'm not a unicorn. Why would she-

"Not just any horn ring, Bonnie," Lyra said with a sad smile. "It's my mother's wedding ring. It was infused with her magical field. And now... now that I've enchanted it, it's infused with mine. This is very important for a unicorn," the mint mare explained. "Enchanting a ring with the magic of love. A wedding ring."

Is this going where I think this is going? Bon-Bon could barely suppress tears of happiness. Please, please let it be going where I think it's going!

"Now, I know that filly-foolery is, well, against the law and that we can't get married officially, and... What I mean is, I know that you'll have to keep this ring at home so that nopony can sense the magical aura of love I've infused it with... And you can't really wear it because you don't have a horn..." Bon-Bon chuckled, making Lyra blush and stammer. Damn it, I'm blowing it, aren't I? Lyra took a breath. Words didn't come easy. Even though the new city was raising her confidence and tranquillity with each passing day, it was still hard, so hard, to say the words that she wanted to say. The words she had been looking forward to saying for so long.

"Bonnie. I... We haven't known each other that much, but I don't think it matters. What does matter is that I love you. I love you so much that I just cannot imagine my life without you. You make me happy. You make me feel wanted. You make me feel at peace with myself, and just at peace. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, whatever it takes. And, even though we can't get married officially, is it really the paper that matters?" Bon-Bon shook her head, in a daze.

Lyra placed herself on one knee awkwardly, struggling to keep her balance. "Bon-Bon. I love you. I want to be with you, be it in sickness or health, and in wealth or poverty, and in everything that life sends our way. I want to be with you forever, all my life. Will you marry me?"

Bon-Bon grabbed the ring, pushing it against her chest as she sobbed openly, the blurry image of her mare before her as she leapt at her, pinning the minty mare to the floor, kissing her passionately. Finally, as soon as she could speak, she smiled through tears, looking at the expectant and content face of her mare, who seemed to have understood everything. Bon-Bon nodded, smiling, and said the only word she wanted to say, the word that she had been looking forward to saying for so long: "Yes."

That was all Lyra needed. The mint mare enveloped her confectioner in an embrace, resting her head against the cream-coloured fur. Lyra had her Bon-Bon, and Bon-Bon had her Lyra.

And that was all they needed.

Afterword

The Sweetest Music

Afterword

***

"Hey, Bonnie!"

The cream-coloured mare rose from the couch with a lazy yawn as Lyra burst into the flat, her new grey hat covered with snow, her scarft dripping wet. She frowned disapprovingly at such disregard towards clothing, but, with a sigh, reminded herself that it was Lyra. Her Lyra. Her mare had changed throughout the years they had lived here, in Los Pegasus. She had become more cheerful. Happier. Her very speech had changed, just as her attitude; and Bon-Bon could feel that she herself had changed too: had been changed by the city. Over the years, she couldn't help but notice the changes in it, the changes that, eventually, brought about the abolishment of the anti-gay laws and introduced same-sex marriage.

But the legal changes weren't that important, Bon-Bon had come to realise. It was the change in ponies, the changes in their attitude and behaviour, that mattered. And such change had occurred - no, it had happened, gradually, systematically. Though, there were still a lot of haters around. Oh well, haters gonna hate. Bon-Bon shrugged mentally. Now, at least the law was on their side. But, then again... The law didn't matter that much. They had been officially married for a mere day, and it still seemed that it hadn't been such a gloriously memorable occasion. In fact, it was just a legal approvement of the relationship they had already been in for years. Not counting all those journalists who wanted to take a picture of the first same-sex couple to get married in Equestria and "totally getting to make out in the registry office", Bon-Bon remembered her mare's yesterday words with a smile. They had officially got married. But, in fact, they had been married for years. It wasn't the law and the mores that decided such things as love affairs. The common definition was not necessarily the correct definition. The papers weren't a sign of their marriage. Love was. And, as the mares had concluded, on that day of Lyra's proposal, all those years ago, the papers didn't really matter. Love mattered.

"I have news~" Lyra cooed as she undressed, leaning in to peck her mare on the cheek. Once again, she found herself utterly lost in her wife's magnificent, mesmerising eyes. Her wife. They had been married for a day, but the excitement was no greater than the excitement Lyra got every single day, just by being with her mare. We've been married for years, to think about it. Official papers don't make it different. "We're finally getting neighbours today!"

"Really?" Bon-Bon asked in surprise. They had lived alone on the floor for so long that the very notion of the neighbouring flat getting occupied seemed ridiculous to her. Well, it would be nice to meet some new ponies. Maybe even make friends.

Echoing her thoughts, Lyra exclaimed, "Now, wouldn't it be nice to meet them? Hey, maybe we can become friends, whaddya think?" Lyra paused for a second, her brain making a brief analysis of her phrasing. She didn't notice it most of the time, but it seemed that the city of Los Pegasus, Coltifornia, had changed her very speech patterns, her very speech - and, maybe; partly - her outlook on life. In a positive - or, at least, mostly positive - way, though.

"That would be wonderful." Bon-Bon smiled. "Who might they be, though? I thought Alexandro's been holding that flat for somepony special?"

"They are special, if the rumours at the label are to be believed." Lyra lowered her voice, mostly out of habit. "Octavia Philarmonica, the very daughter of Alexandro Philarmonico, and her... friend." Lyra chuckled. "Doubt the friend part, though." The mint mare rubbed her chin. "Unless 'friend' stand for 'the mare I rut on a daily basis'."

Bon-Bon groaned, having a desire to launch a pillow at her wife. "Lyra, don't you think they may be, you know, straight?"

Lyra waved her hoof in the air. "Nah. It never entered my mind." The minty mare dropped her smile for a moment. "But, I think we should greet them: they'll be here in a few hours. Also see if they're tolerant towards us. I don't think they need to be shown around their own flat, though." Lyra chuckled. "If rumours are to be believed - and they're usually true - Octavia has been in Los Pegasus already. Alexandro took her here when she was a foal; and all the flats in his houses are the same. But, showing them around the city would be a good idea - if they aren't haters, of course. Maybe even showing them to my studio: I hear they're both musicians."

Bon-Bon nodded, a frown appearing on her face as the realisation hit her. "Lyra, honey... You do realise we will have to tell them... about the studio. You know, the deal? All that..." The confectioner didn't want to think about it. She so didn't want to think about it.

Lyra shrugged. "Eventually." Eventually.

"You know, if you do anything stupid while we're meeting our new neighbours, I'll hit you," Bon-Bon said with a smile, eager to change the subject.

Lyra laughed. "Oh, I have no doubt." She shifted closer to her mare, putting on a sultry expression. "In fact, it has grown on me~" Bon-Bon blushed, leaning in for a kiss. "Saaay..." Lyra kissed her mare tenderly. "We still have a few hours till our neigbours arrive... What would you say about a little sexy time, mmhm?"

Bon-Bon looked directly into her mare's eyes. "I would love that." She cradled her mare in an embrace. "Come on." The confectioner smiled, remembering their first night together, all those years ago. She whispered lovingly, while Lyra mouthed the same, remembering the same event, "I want to make love to you."

And they did just that.

~THE END~