'How to Handle a Rope'
"Hey! How was your day?" Lyra called to the opening door.
The sound of slamming and a sharp huff of breath was all the answer she got.
"So, not so good?" she asked as Bon Bon stormed in behind her. She put the magazine she had been reading face-down on the arm of her chair. She had been mostly skimming that interview with Octavia anyway.
"Ugh! Just... just... ugh!" Bon Bon heaved her saddlebags into the couch, where they bounced from the force of impact and barely managed to fall to the floor. Bon Bon then threw herself onto the couch, simmering.
Lyra got out of her chair. There was a certain rhythm to her fillyfriend's meltdowns, she had learned. She walked around behind the couch and started rubbing Bon Bon's shoulders. You could almost time the point of the explosion. Three... two... one...
"I can do more than one thing!"
First would come an aggressive statement that didn't seem to be connected to anything. It was the introductory brash flourish of a symphony, the opening gambit of a chess match. Lyra had found it was best responded to with a sympathetic mm-hmm.
"I mean, the weather department lets Raindrops handle more than rainclouds, right? And what's-her-name, who has the bear and that little house in the middle of nowhere—"
"Fluttershy?"
"Her cutie mark is butterflies! Does anypony think all she does is... butterfly stuff?!"
The next stage often involved rhetorical questions. Lyra was starting to get an idea of what this particular rant was all about. Leaning over the back of the couch to better work on the knot in Bon Bon's left shoulder, she told her, "I don't think anypony thinks all she does is butterfly stuff, hon."
"Right! Right." The tension faded from Bon Bon as she relaxed into the pressure from Lyra's hooves. "She does all sorts of animal stuff. And you do more than play your harp-y thing."
Now came the last stage. Frustration at the world at large voiced and vented, Bon Bon could take the leftover residue and apply it to the core of grouchiness that resided somewhere deep inside her. She had a tough time letting go of the things that bugged her—the tinier the irritation, the more reluctant Bon Bon was to forgive it—and from time to time that deep well of pet peeves would overflow. Other ponies might have called Bon Bon unpleasant to be around, but Lyra saw her a bit like an instrument string pulled too tight: all it took was a little bit of unwinding to put it back in tune.
"It's a lyre," she reminded her.
"I know it's a lyre."
"New display didn't go so well, huh?"
"No." Bon Bon's tone in that single word was icy cold. "You saw how long I worked on that fudge recipe!"
Lyra had. Batches and batches of the stuff had filled the house, and every fresh tray would be accompanied by a frantic Bon Bon insisting on a flavor comparison or waiting to hear feedback on how this texture compared to the last round. It all tasted like fudge to Lyra, but she had known better than to actually say that.
"Days and days," Bon Bon continued, "of testing and refining and getting it perfect. I spent nearly two hours on decorating the final batch, and I hate decorating."
"I know, sugar."
"And it's untouched." If her voice before had gone cold, now it dropped deep into the sub-zero range, dripping with jagged icicles. "All everypony wants to buy is..." She said the last word with extreme reluctance. "...Bon-bons."
"Well," Lyra said, moving over to the right shoulder, "that is the name of the store."
"No it isn't!" Bon Bon flared up again. "It's Bon Bon's, not Bon-Bons!" she exclaimed, somehow able to make that distinction through just her words. "Apostrophe! Implying ownership! Implying me, the pony who can make all kinds of confectionary but all of Ponyville only wants to buy bon-bons from."
"Sweetheart," Lyra said, leaning way over the couch to wrap her forelegs around Bon Bon, "not every pony is going to know that to begin with."
"They should," Bon Bon said, sulking, "and stop calling me stuff like that."
"Stuff like what, sugar dumpling?"
Bon Bon swatted her horn. "That. Cutsie-wutsie sweet names."
"It's only because you're so sweet, honey-pie." Lyra kissed Bon Bon on the cheek.
"That's not going to work."
"Isn't it?" Lyra fell over the back of the couch, entangling herself with Bon Bon and forcefully kissing her until she felt her fillyfriend relax beneath her.
"Cheat," Bon Bon murmured.
Lyra nuzzled up against her. "I could come by the store tomorrow. Maybe help you shift some new product." She looked up into Bon Bon's eyes. "If you want."
She watched Bon Bon's thought process play out on her face. She really was a lot like the hard candies on her cutie mark, Lyra thought; layers and layers of tough shell that might chip a tooth if you tried to bite into it without knowing quite what you were biting into.
"If you're not busy tomorrow."
"Just being helpful, hon."
A shy smile appeared on Bon Bon's face. She kissed Lyra on the tip of her muzzle. "Thanks," she whispered.
And like those hard candies, there was something soft and sweet hidden deep inside.
