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.