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."