The bakery is filled with the smell of sweets, candies, little tidbits. The entire place smells like Bon-Bon—perhaps Bon-Bon smells like the place. Either way, I'm getting slightly flustered. I had the idea to play at the entrance, to attract customers; the wonderful mare agreed, as is her wonderful nature.
I choose to interpret 'whatever' as 'of course, my darling Lyra'.
So I play. It seems to be working, at least partially. A few new faces walk in, tipping their hats at me. I even get a few bits thrown at my feet. A wonderful day, overall, and Bon-Bon comes out rather happy.
“I got like five new customers today! Whatever you're doing, Lyra, don't stop.” She whips her hoof around to smack me on the haunches congratulatorily. The simple motion makes me beam wider than Pinkie ever could.
A perky voice. “You two sure make a cute couple!”
I look over to see Pinkie Pie.
Think of Nightmare, and here she comes. “Oh hey, Pin—”
I'm interrupted by the loudest sound that I've ever heard in my life.
“We are not a bunch of filthy filly-foolers like you!” She pulls her hoof from my fur and stomps it hard on the ground. “Come on, Lyra. Let's go. Before she infects us with her mare-fiddling germs.” She turns around and trots back into her bakery. I can tell why she'd want to be abrasive to her; she is a business competitor, of course. Very rationalisa—reasonable.
“Wow! That sure was a lotta italics!” She keeps the grin on her face, unfazed by the rant.
“Wh—what?” I have half a mind to run in after my beloved, but something makes me want to stay for a while.
“So—you're in love, huh?” Her smile seems almost lecherous, looming in close to me. I step back a bit, backing up into the side of the building. I feel beads of sweat running from under my fur.
“What'd ever make you think that?” I say, pushing my forehooves back as I get up on my hindlegs, trying to avoid coming into contact with her steadily approaching face.
“Well, it was either the lovey-dovey eyes,” she raises a hoof, “the fact that you were totally sniffing her mane,” another hoof, “or the fact that you hang around, like, all the time! I wasn't born yesterday, y'know.” Another hoof.
“How are you standing on one hoof?”
“That's not important, you silly filly!” she admonishes, thrusting her hooves down onto the dirt with surprisingly great force. I cough a bit from the cloud of dust she throws up as her voice pierces through the particulate matter. “What matters is that you two have got to get together!”
I can't help but snortle as the dust fades and I come face-to-face with the pink mare's smiling face. “Bon-Bon'd rather die than date me.”
“Well, you're obviously not happy. And I'm not happy unless you're happy!” Her face changes, now into a determined glare. “Even if she's gotta die to do it!”
“How would that make her happy?” I pause. “How would that make me happy?”
She seems to realise that she's overlooked something. “Oh dear! I tooo-tally forgot about that! I'll find a way to make you and Bon-Bon happy!”
That beautiful voice comes from the open door. “Are you still out there with that filly-fooler? Oh Celestia!” she shouts, the sound like a masterfully conducted symphony, “Is she, like, molesting you right now?”
“I'm fine!” I shout, before lowering my voice and hissing. “How in the name of sweet, merciful Celestia are you going to get me to ”
“I dunno,” she says, “but I'm sure I'll come up with a solution in twenty minutes! That's how it always works.” Her tail twitches a bit, and she hops to the right just in time to avoid a thrown caramel apple.
“Get away from Lyra, you freak!”
“Looks like it's time for me to go! See ya in twenty minutes, Lyra!” She hops away without the slightest hesitation, as if her emotions were helium. I get back onto all my hoofs as I watch her bounding away, leaving a cloud dust in her wake.
“Come on, Lyra,” she says, tugging at my forehoof again and grumbling. “Can't believe she'd have the nerve.”
I follow along as I usually do, nodding. “Yeah. Can't believe she'd have the nerve. To say that kinda thing.”
On one hoof, that pony is mad.
On the other hoof, so was Buckhoof, and I still play his symphonies.
My line of thought is disrupted as Bon-Bon dusts me down to clean the 'marefiddler germs' off my body, her touch making me shudder a bit as my insides feel warmer than usual. I suppose whatever that Pinkie Pie's going to do can't possibly be worse than surreptitiously cleaning soaked bedsheets.