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.