//------------------------------// // 29. When Life Gives You Lemons // Story: It's The End Of The World As We Know It // by Samey90 //------------------------------// Muffins groaned and looked at her shoes. Taking a shortcut through the soaked, muddy grass definitely wasn’t her best idea. She was already longing for a day when she could ride her bicycle to school. Right now, it was so rainy that she was afraid she’d crash at the first corner. She ran towards the school and hid inside, bumping into Sunset Shimmer, who stood next to the door, and knocking her down. “Hello,” Muffins said. “Are you okay?” “Yeah…” Sunset got up. “I was just looking at this girl over there…” Muffins smirked. “Never knew you were into that… And my shoes are all wet.” “What?” Sunset asked. “No, I’m watching her because the last time a girl in a hoodie was hanging around the statue, it ended with Twilight making– Muffins, what are you doing?” “I’m not gonna spend all day in wet shoes.” Muffins looked at a pair of rollerskates she just produced from her backpack. “Why do you carry rollerskates with you?” “Why not?” Muffins shrugged and sat on the floor to put the rollerskates on. Sunset sighed. “Nevermind. Anyway, that girl is kinda suspicious. I don’t know her and she’s just sitting there on the postument, despite the rain.” “Oh, that’s Lemon Zest. I can see her hair from under the hood.” Muffins walked towards the door as close as she could without actually getting outside. “Lemon! Come here! You’re gonna get cold!” Lemon raised her head and looked at Muffins who was waving her hand at her. After a while, she slid off the pedestal and ran to the building, joining Muffins and Sunset. Her clothes were soaked and she was shuddering before Sunset handed her her jacket. “What are you doing here?” Muffins asked. “Do you want to join our school?” “Nah, I’m just taking a walk,” Lemon replied. “I’d rather get back to school, but it’s still closed after–” She sighed. “Well, anyway, I’m fine. Guess I could’ve waited for the weather to improve, you know…” She chuckled. “Are you sure?” Sunset stood in front of Lemon and looked at her. “May I?” When Lemon nodded, she touched her hand, closing her eyes. “Wow…” Lemon muttered when Sunset let out a muffled scream and staggered, pulling her hand back. “Are you a psychic?” “Yeah… Something like this…” Sunset whispered. “I’m fine,” she said to Muffins who shot her a worried look. “It’s not as bad as reading drunk Rainbow Dash, you know…” “I may have borrowed Sour Sweet’s pills from her sister in the morning,” Lemon muttered. “She also drove me here.” “Anyway, Sweet Leaf isn’t here,” Sunset said, taking a few deep breaths. “Also, I know much more about Bulk Biceps than I’d ever like to know and I feel like eating tacos now.” “Yeah, we talked with Indigo yesterday.” Lemon blushed. “Sweet Leaf’s not here? Too bad. I heard she keeps hanging out with Sour Sweet, but I wouldn’t want to go there.” “I know.” Sunset nodded. “But at least it seems your other friends are nice… I guess?” Lemon shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to bother them too much. They may not like this. Or they’d want something in return.” “If they’re really your friends, they won’t,” Sunset replied. “I know you don’t trust people after that whole thing with Sour, but from what I saw, I think Sugarcoat and Indigo are fine.” “You think so?” Lemon sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Maybe I should go to them. I don’t know.” “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea,” Sunset replied, giving Lemon a reassuring pat in the back. “Good luck.” “Thanks.” Lemon smiled just a little bit. “I’ll catch a bus or something… See you, girls.” She opened the door and ran across the square, trying to shield herself from rain. Muffins watched her for a while before turning to Sunset. “Have you ever thought about starting a cult?” “What?” Sunset arched an eyebrow, looking at Muffins. “Why would I–” “You can read people’s minds,” Muffins replied. “And you can get them to do what you want. That’d make you a great cult leader. But yours would be a good one, not like those evil cults where–” “No, I’m not starting a cult,” Sunset muttered. “Sunny Flare already wanted me to take over the world with her.” Muffins shrugged. “On a side note, how come you’ve never read my mind before?” “Because I still didn’t get over Pinkie’s mind.” Sunset sighed. “And Lemon’s mind… No, that wasn’t fun…” “You’ve seen more than you wanted, right?” Muffins asked. “Don’t worry, my mind is much better!” She grabbed Sunset’s hand, causing her to back off, her eyes wide. “Sweet Flash Sentry on a bicycle…” Sunset whispered. “Yeah…” Muffins blushed. “That got kinda mixed in my head…” Sunset shuddered. “He doesn’t exactly look like that. I’ve seen it when we were together.” “I have a vivid imagination,” Muffins replied. “Also, there’s one thing you haven’t seen…” “What now?” Muffins smirked, pointing at the door. “Lemon stole your jacket…” The rain kept banging against the roof and since Sugarcoat still didn’t have to go to school, she decided to spend the whole day in her basement. Indigo would probably put either a workshop or a gaming computer in there, but Sugarcoat was above that. The basement of her house was neatly furnished, with leather armchairs, a wine cabinet, and a snooker table in the middle. Her father called it the smoking room, even though he never smoked. Sugarcoat didn’t smoke either. The most cancer-inducing of her numerous hobbies were watching reality shows and reading liberal newspapers. Currently, however, she wasn’t doing any of these things, standing over the table with a cue in her hand and trying to find a way out of an elaborate snooker in which the cue ball was trapped between the cushion and the green ball, with pink and blue blocking the access to the sole red ball standing on the opposite side of the table. Sugarcoat calculated all the angles and rotation in her head before putting her hand on the table and aiming. That was why she preferred snooker over chess; in chess, she’d just do whatever her mind was telling her. In snooker, first she had to come up with a solution and then make sure her body would follow – especially since she set up the whole situation in such a way that it was hard for a left-handed player to line up a shot. She struck the cue ball which bounced off the top cushion and travelled down the table, striking the right cushion and then left, few inches above the pocket. It narrowly missed the blue ball, rebounding off the bottom cushion, and struck the red ball, sending it towards the rail. Sugarcoat nodded. She didn’t pot the ball, but her imaginary opponent wouldn’t either. Looking at the situation at the table, she realised they’d be able to send the cue ball back in the place behind the green ball, thus making her get out of the snooker again. “Just great,” Sugarcoat muttered. She aimed at the ball and did just that, barely scraping the red ball with a cue ball, which rolled back to the top of the table. She was about to think of the solution, when she heard a doorbell. Her parents weren’t home, both of them working in their dental clinic. Or at least Sugarcoat hoped so, as her parents recently started talking about having a second child. They got an unexpected support from grandma Zuckerlöffel, who said that since Abraham could have a son at the age of one hundred, then Sweet Tooth could father one at the age of forty-one. Sugarcoat was less enthusiastic about that, but she was only religious on holidays and even then usually for an hour or so. The ringing continued. Sugarcoat sighed, put the stick on its rack and walked up the creaking stairs, muttering curses under her breath. It kept raining and Sugarcoat started to regret leaving the stick in the basement – the visitor, after all, could always be a serial killer. Sugarcoat briefly thought of going to the kitchen to grab some knife, but then she heard the doorbell again. She rolled her eyes and walked to the door. “What do you want?” she asked, opening the door and seeing a girl in a soaked hoodie and a black, leather jacket. “Umm… Lemon?” “May I come in?” Lemon shuddered. “It’s cold outside.” “Sure, why not,” Sugarcoat muttered. “Whose jacket is that?” “Sunset Shimmer’s,” Lemon replied. Sugarcoat raised an eyebrow. “Please, tell me you didn’t murder her and you don’t want my help in hiding the body…” “No, I didn’t,” Lemon said. “Guess I’ll have to give that jacket back to her. She told me to spend more time with my friends.” “In such a weather?” Sugarcoat shook her head. “You’re gonna get sick… Come with me, I’m gonna find you something…” Five minutes later, Lemon Zest was sitting on an armchair in Sugarcoat’s smoking room, wearing an incredibly pink and incredibly fuzzy bathrobe, clashing horribly with her skin tone. Nevertheless, she was combing her hair and looking at the tea and biscuits standing on a tray in front of her. “Why are you wearing that vest?” she asked Sugarcoat, who stood by the snooker table, putting the red balls in a triangle. “I play snooker. Training or not, I prefer wearing appropriate clothes,” Sugarcoat replied. “A waistcoat and a bowtie are in the rules.” “Ah.” Lemon nodded. “So that’s why Indigo said you’re an elitist cu–” “Yeah.” Sugarcoat frowned. “I’m pretty sure she said that.” “Yup.” Lemon grabbed a biscuit. “Anyway, I’m here because Sunset Shimmer told me that my friends would help me.” Sugarcoat nodded slowly. “And you went to me?” “Yes!” Lemon exclaimed. “I’m not the master of empathy,” Sugarcoat said. “But let me get this straight: your mother died last year, your girlfriend turned out to be an abusive psychopath, the girl you hoped would be your girlfriend prefers your ex, and now you only have Indigo and me left. And you went to me because Indigo would just throw you in mud and hope you’d get better, am I right?” “More or less.” Lemon sighed. “Though I didn’t want to bother Indigo because she recently broke up with Bulk.” “Like she cares.” Sugarcoat rolled her eyes and put the stick on the table. “So, generally, your life turned into a blues song. What do you want me to do? I don’t think I can fix any of this.” “You could just listen to me,” Lemon replied. “You know, nobody ever listens to me.” Sugarcoat shrugged. “It’s hard to, given that you usually put your headphones on and sit in a corner, not saying anything. Don’t give me that look, that’s how I see it. How do you want us to listen if you don’t talk?” “Now I want to talk,” Lemon whispered. Sugarcoat sat on the armchair on the other side of the table with tea and biscuits and rested her hands on her laps. “I listen, then.” Lemon shrugged, blushing. “Umm… well…” Sugarcoat lowered her head, staring at Lemon from above her glasses. “Yes?” “Well, you already said that,” Lemon muttered. “And I’m so done with it all that I don’t even care anymore… I’m not sure I can even care.” “So, what exactly is your problem?” Sugarcoat asked. “I don’t care about  many things and I feel fine.” “Yes, but it’s you.” Lemon shrugged. “And it’s not like I don’t care, I just don’t really… Like, feel anything either. And that sucks.” “Well, I’m not the one to help you with that,” Sugarcoat replied. “Tell your therapist that your pills don’t work and get some new ones. And actually take them, unlike Sour Sweet. And don’t take anything else… I know you sometimes like to put your hands on meds that aren’t yours.” Lemon furrowed her eyebrows, crushing a biscuit in her hand. “You don’t have any advice other than ‘take more pills’?” Sugarcoat sighed. “I stopped believing in psychiatry when I heard Sour Sweet’s parents were shrinks. What I believe in is biochemistry.” She pointed at her head. “It’s all a matter of rewiring and regulating a few things.” Lemon groaned. “Is that all you have to say? It sounds like I’m a broken washing machine or something.” “I told you I wouldn’t be much help,” Sugarcoat muttered. “I hate you, Sugarcoat.” Lemon stood up. “It was a bad idea to come here.” “I told you so.” “It’s never your fault, huh?” Lemon rolled her eyes. “It’s always ‘I told you so’, ‘you are dumb, expecting me to help you’, ‘you’re stupid, Lemon’, and so on.” Sugarcoat raised her finger. “Well, to be honest–” Lemon took a deep breath and smacked Sugarcoat in the face, knocking her glasses off. “I’m done with your honesty!” “Get out.” Sugarcoat picked up her glasses and looked at a slightly bent frame. “I give you two minutes to get your clothes and get out before I break the cue stick on your head. How’s that for rewiring?” “I didn’t feel like staying in your house any longer anyway.” Lemon turned back and walked towards the stairs. “You’re no better than Sour Sweet,” Sugarcoat muttered. “You ask for help while you don’t really want it. Hey, even punching people is there…” “Shut the fuck up, Sugarcoat!” Lemon walked up the stairs and slammed the door. Sugarcoat stood there for a while, staring at the door, before turning back to the snooker table and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Then she looked at the door again, as if making sure Lemon wasn’t coming back. Slowly, Sugarcoat relaxed. She nodded and a grim smirk adorned her face. “And yet she feels something…” she whispered.