//------------------------------// // Port? I Don't Mind If I Do // Story: Sell Me A Lemon // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// Of course, they had to disillusion Lyra on the way over. Or rather, they didn’t. It was impossible to disillusion the mare; the best anyone could hope to do was replace one illusion with another. “So, you see,” said Lemon over the roar of the propellers and the whipping of the wind, “instead of doing everything they do, we show them all the cool things we do. And then they show us all the cool things they do. And then a miracle happens. And then we’re friends.” “I’m not stupid, you know,” said Lyra bitingly. “Never said you was.” Lemon’s hooves came together as though in prayer. She almost sang with innocence. Yet Lyra had a thoughtful look about her. They’d at least managed to get the sari off her at the port, and the curry out of her luggage at customs, but the dot on her forehead turned out to be permanent ink. “Oh, come on,” said Lemon, patting her towards the door. “Let’s go back inside. I’m sick of looking at the sea.” “So’s Minuette,” said Lyra. “She hasn’t come out of the little filly’s room yet.” They slid the door shut behind them and passed the bar, Lyra threading between the tables, Lemon simply knocking legs and kicking chairs out of the way. Around them, the windows of the cabin glowed with the blaze of yellow and purple fighting for sunset. The two of them stopped to stare again, and then walked among the white circles of table to their own. Saffron Masala watched the others playing cards. Sighing, Lemon noticed the four cards in the middle and the six sets on either side. “You’re playing my blasted game again,” she muttered. After a while of watching, she added, “Badly, I notice. You could win with that set, Spike.” “Hey! Stop looking over my shoulder.” Twinkleshine slammed her chosen set of four down, then noticed they were face-up and hastily flipped them over. “We’re just so tense, Lemon. I for one positively welcome a distraction.” On the sidelines, Twilight scraped her chair across to give Lyra some room. Unlike Saffron, whose face pointed at the game as a tensed arrow, Twilight had the slumped air of a heap of logs. “Fascinating,” said Saffron after a few cards shifted. “Yes, I think you could adopt this to three players. So, if you gave each one four sets of four cards instead of six sets, but kept the other rules the same… Curious, though: sometimes, you trade one card from a set, sometimes two or more. Isn’t there a fixed rule?” “No,” snapped Lemon. “So long as you discard first before picking up, it’s legal.” “It reminds me of Rummy. Or Go Fish. Maybe…” “Yes, thank you for that insight, Saffron.” Saffron looked at her as though she’d uttered a rude word. “Well, excuse me, Lemon-By-Name, Lemon-By-Nature, for taking an interest.” “All right, all right. Don’t mind me. Take as many interests as you like.” To keep her hoof in, Lemon swiped another chair from nearby. There was a thump of someone about to sit down on it. They’d been in the air for hours, which was at least an improvement over the port, where the dead weight of queues, chairs, and hay burgers slightly less tasty than the cardboard they’d come in had all bitten at their minds with mosquito patience. Twinkleshine had insisted on lugging a tower of suitcases everywhere, even to the bathroom; Lyra and Saffron had wandered off twice, which no one minded and everyone envied; Minuette had taken so many pictures of the airship that she’d run out of film; and Twilight and Spike had made the mistake of attempting small talk, which in particular was the equivalent of standing in the jungle, removing the safety net, and shouting, “Come and get me, flying bloodsuckers!” So far, Lemon had dealt with the situation by not dealing with it. Instead, she’d gone to the bar. The result was that her bladder was rumbling for an ambush, and in any case she had no intention of venturing near the bathrooms so long as Minuette was being airsick in them. “Saffron,” said Lyra, who’d chosen a seat next to her new friend, “what’s Indrabhumi like?” “Well…” Saffron’s tones rubbed their hooves together for a tale – “I mean, I’ve heard it’s a very spiritual place, and that sounds wonderful, but will we get to see all the temples? And I heard there were snake charmers too, and ponies walking on hot coals!” Not for the first time during the trip, Saffron gave Lyra a look. It was a look Lyra often attracted: from someone who wasn’t sure if their head was being wound up, or if Lyra’s own was unravelling at the seams. “Let’s see,” Saffron said, pursing her lips. “I suppose I could teach you about the music I grew up with.” “Like sitars? I’ve always wanted to play one of them, but they’re hard to come by in Canterlot. Hypnosis by string instrument: what a neat idea!” There it was again. Lemon marvelled at how Lyra managed to get away with talking like that. But then, she was hopping on her chair – hopping while sitting down, at that – under the ever-present spell of childhood, and whether hypnotized by her innocence or her joyful stupidity, Saffron could only manage a small smile. Eventually. It was uncanny. Even Lemon had started squabbles using more tact than that. “No,” said Saffron gently. “My mother taught me that there were lots of different genres all over Indrabhumi, but the best one was the classical music of the northern mountains. They have no concept of harmony –” Twilight’s ears twitched. “– but they do have their own melodies and rhythms, passed down from ancient rituals and kept alive by modern artists. You use your voice to create music just as much as you use your instruments.” Twilight’s ears drooped again. “Tell me more, tell me more,” mumbled Lyra, elbows on the tabletop. She sighed and sagged. While Saffron droned on, Lemon looked around for someone less specialist to eavesdrop on. Briefly, she took in the game; Spike was leading five sets to two. Presumably, if she slowed her perception of time and surgically removed what remained of her sanity, this would be a tense one-on-one between champions instead of a pretty sad reminder that Twinkleshine didn’t have Twilight as a teacher. “What do I do when I get there?” said Lemon suddenly. All five of them shot a collective glance at her. Worry, blankness, irritation, pity: all flashed like a rainbow of emotions from them to her. Under all the staring, Lemon fidgeted. “Not that I’m worried or anything. It’s more a tactical sort of thing.” She found herself drawn to Twilight’s eyes in particular. The pupils were so engulfing they swelled with concern. Lemon’s stomach gave a threatening heave. “You don’t have to say anything,” said Twinkleshine somewhere nearby. “And as for ‘tactical’, hmph! So long as you mean well and speak nicely, you’ll be welcome anywhere – er, most places, at least.” “Ha!” She heard Spike slap the last set of cards down. “I win!” Twinkleshine groaned. “Just tell them,” said Lyra breezily, “how much they mean to you and what you want to do. No harm in being sincere, Lemon. I’m sure they won’t think any less of you for it.” Lemon’s heart almost exploded at the thought. Thank goodness no one can see what I’m thinking. Although Twilight sure looks like she’s giving it a go. Wait. Princesses aren’t psychic too, are they? Hoping it’d work, Lemon forced a smile onto her face. She even heard the sickly sliming of lips over teeth. “Of course,” she said, and her voice hardly trembled at all. “No harm in being sincere. Mean well. I can do that. Second nature to me.” Oho, she saw the looks Lyra and Twinkleshine exchanged at those words. They foretold a couple of mares who’d be keeping a really close eye on her sincere well-meaningness, if only to see how long it lasted under the friction. Twilight still bore into her soul… And then the ship lurched. There wasn’t a violent throw or anything, only the sudden attempt for the stomach to jump up and grab the heart, and for the brain to jump out via the horn. Twilight blinked first. “We’re descending. That means we must be near!” “Oh, this is so exciting!” Saffron’s chair scraped back. “Let’s go and watch. I haven’t seen the homeland in so many years. Father told me the view was spectacular.” “You’re on!” Lyra leaped out of her seat, and the two of them cantered among the tables to the doors. Thankful for small mercies, Lemon hopped to her hooves. “All right. Who wants to stare at a load of continent before it starts causing tourist trouble?” “Will they be waiting for us, do you think?” Twinkleshine cast a blinking look at the blazing war of colour beyond the windows. Like they’d miss the opportunity, Lemon thought with a scowl. Out among the roar of the propellers and the wind flailing at their manes – Twinkleshine howled and covered her precious curls – they joined the line of crowds peering beyond the main deck’s partition. They found room because Twilight was a princess and Lemon was a devil with a sharp elbow. All of them leaned over the rail, Spike to the point that he’d easily flip over and fall. Reflecting the sky, the golden velvet of the sea cushioned the slip of the land rising to meet them. A lone border guard of a mountain lurked to the left, capped by a cloud like a bearskin helmet. To the right, a crowd of hills and scattered deltas jostled for space as though aggressively fascinated by the arrivals. And in between them lay the flat land, patiently and serenely ready to serve, stretching its welcome to and from the distant misty haze of the horizon. Even the propellers softened and the wind eased as though nervous of the expanses. “Look at those plains!” murmured Lyra, and Lemon saw her tilt back. “So much wide open space…” “Look at that town,” said Twinkleshine. “So picturesque… Don’t you think it looks like Ponyville?” No, Lemon thought. Her insides squirmed for a way out. Canterlot is more like it. Half the buildings look like temples! I’ve never seen so many different spires in one place. Heck, even Canterlot only settled for white towers with trimmings. “Look!” Spike pointed. “There’s the dock!” “Spike!” Twilight summoned him back onto the deck. “Careful! You’ll fall!” Finally, Saffron put hoof to mouth. “Oh my. Father was right. Indrabhumi is so beautiful…” Now the propellers had slowed down, the individual swipes of the blades swung across their ears. Even their docks looked like stone steps to immediate temples, as though the town couldn’t wait to usher them into a congregation. Ponies crowded along the one pier. On the opposite pier… A member of the crew tapped her on the shoulder. “Lord and Lady d’Agrume will receive you from the port side, Miss Hearts.” “I know,” she said. “I can see the blasted thing!” He gave her a wan smile. “You misunderstand, Miss Hearts. ‘Port side’ is the left side of the ship. Starboard is the right side, and only for the common passenger, Miss Hearts.” “Oh. Right.” Common passenger, eh? “Good.” As soon as he was gone, she rounded on Twilight. “How much did you pay for this trip?” “We all chipped in,” said Spike, standing defensively between them. “You do know, for the record, I'd have been just as happy to pay for all of you?” said Lemon. Unwisely, Twilight opened her mouth and then promptly slammed it shut again, thus managing to say everything without a single word. All the same, Lemon decided to let this one go. She knew exactly how much money she had in her vaults. No point getting silly about it. “Also, I’d have been just as happy with the regular fare,” Lemon lied. But it was a lie that needed to be said; she’d take the cushy beds and the high-quality grape juice. Those were perks. Nothing about the arrangement meant she had to agree there were two classes of pony. Sure as sugar not! The airship lowered, hummed, slopped onto the water, and finally stopped with a stumbling surge. Twinkleshine lost her balance and bumped into Saffron, setting off a frenzy of apologies on both sides, one burbling, the other bursting. While the crowds surged to the exits on the starboard side, they ambled over to the port side of the ship. Dreading what she might see, Lemon peered over the rail. “Oh snap…” she muttered. There was the carriage. That was all Lemon would concede. So she wouldn’t call it e.g. a horse-drawn omnibus with more curls and fiddly bits than a temple crossed with a crown and hammered into a decorative box. At least she knew the gold along the chassis must be gold leaf only, else the thing would hardly move even on those millstone wheels. And they had a coachmare. And a carriage dog which looked like it hadn’t been fed in a month. And three outrider ponies hanging around looking bored. And four servant ponies yoked to the thing, because if the family wasn’t as opulent as it used to be, it sure as heck could scrounge something up so no one would notice. Lemon’s teeth clenched tightly. Two figures were waiting next to the gangplank, or at least about ten yards from it, which was probably about as close as they ever wanted to get to something so workpony-like. Both of them wore suits that were nibbles for moths, albeit moths with good taste. Cravats of gravestone cotton bulged on their chests. Lemon and all of her accomplices descended the gangplank, Lemon leading the way on the basis that she’d rather the others fled at the first sign of trouble, and if nothing else she always had her elbow. Despite herself, she couldn’t stop a warm ache rushing through her chest. Probably heartburn, she thought in desperation. The coachmare clambered off the seat and hurried to chaperone the two parties with butlery haste. “Presenting: Lord and Lady d’Agrume. Miss Lemon Hearts, formerly Lady d’Agrume the Second and her…” The coachmare barely paused, but Lemon heard it all the same. “Select company.” Neither of her parents smiled. Both bore lemon coats all right, though age and general solemnity had faded them on their way to greyness. Both, however, bowed their heads, and Lemon was put in mind of two lawyers deciding that, yes, this token of goodwill was permissible under international statute. Their eyes flowed with life, however. Irises rushed under the cardinal red of intense blood. It was as if they saved up their life force and focused and shot everything through pinprick pupils. “Which of you is Her Highness the Princess Twilight Sparkle?” rumbled the tones of Lord d’Agrume. Lemon felt the weight of Twilight pressing in on her flank – not literally, but as a sudden heated awareness of where all that life force was pooling. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord and Lady d’Agrume.” The duck and rise of Twilight’s voice suggested a bow. Both parents bowed back. “We are truly honoured,” spoke the shrill warble of Lady d’Agrume, which nevertheless had the hint of plush cushions in its lower, lingering harmonics. “To be graced with a visit by one such as yourself. We hope you find Indrabhumi to your liking.” “Er, actually, I’m here to accompany Lemon Hearts. Uh, Lord and Lady d’Agrume.” Cardinal stares focused – somewhat less full of life – upon Lemon’s face. “Uh,” said Lemon. “I brought gifts.” When no one moved, she shot a back leg out to kick Lyra into gear. Some embarrassed scuffling later, Lyra hopped forwards and opened up Lemon’s suitcase. It snapped shut without warning; the tricky lock was playing up. “Didn’t know what to get you, of course,” said Lemon hastily, “so I went for something, uh, traditional.” Traditional on a budget, at least. Lyra reared up, said “Ta da!” and levitated the moulting bouquet of yellow and purple carnations. The price tag dangled from it, and it still had “NOSEGAY” printed on the one side. Yellow and purple petals snowed onto the stone. There was also a battered box of chocolates, because customs had insisted on searching and Lemon had been in a bad mood. Both parents eyed the gifts, apparently expecting the lot to explode. “Yes,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Most thoughtful.” “Well, I didn’t know what to get, I said.” Both parents cast their energetic gaze across the gathering. Lemon fancied, for a moment, that they lingered a little too long on Saffron, who coughed under all the attention. “Ahem,” said Lady d’Agrume. “I see you brought quite a sizeable gathering of Canterlot… citizenry, Your Highness. We apologize for the lack of pomp, Your Highness –” “Please, call me Twilight Sparkle,” said Twilight. “But of course, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle. One fears one’s lineage has not quite obtained one’s former glory, though one endeavours to retain some of the legacy.” “Uh… does one?” said Spike. “Indeed, Mister the Dragon,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Under normal circumstances, of course, we would have dispatched the servants alone, but of course, a mare of Your Highness’ station and breeding requires the personal welcome from those of our own humbler station and breeding.” “We are indeed truly humbled,” said Lady d’Agrume. “We trust you had a pleasant flight?” “Well, er –” Twilight began. Lemon stuck out a foreleg as a bar. This was her goshdarned visit. She’d be blowed if she’d be upstaged by a swotty classmate who’d stumbled her way into princesshood. “It was a sweet ride,” she said, and caught the wince in their eyes. “Mom. Dad. Hi. Good to see you again, and all that. Shoot, it’s been so long. Gimme a hug, you two.” They stepped back, but Lemon was a locomotive in this mood. She seized their stiff necks and squeezed. She’d hugged statues warmer than these two, though usually not in a clear frame of mind. “Yes,” they managed to say. The three of them backed off, watching each other. Lemon tried a smile. She really did. Only afterwards, it occurred to her that, amid all the grins and smirks and knowing looks and cherubic simpers and downright evil gapes of glee she’d pulled off over the years, her facial choreography wasn’t prepared for a genuine smile yet. After a painful few seconds, she added, “Wow. Stiff. Fair enough, fair enough, it’s been donkey’s years –” they winced “– and heck –” they winced again “– have I got a lot of tongue-wagging to do.” Wince. “Betcha –” wince “– a lot of stories been waiting to be told on your end, eh?” Wince. Lord d’Agrume hummed his assent. He sounded as though it had been dragged out of him. “We have a lot of ‘catching-up’ to do, it seems,” said Lady d’Agrume’s shrill voice, now with undertones of silk dagger. “Not that that’ll be hard, what with us being related and having the same pedigree and everything,” said Lemon, trying to think ladylike. Sadly, the very air was crystallizing all around her. “Catching-up” was going to be an Equestria Games marathon. She almost sparked with the static charge of unseen emotions building up… “Yes,” said Lord d’Agrume gruffly. “Well, let us not ‘lollygag’, as it were.” He gestured. “Our carriage. If you’d kindly step this way, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle and Mister the Dragon, we shall commence with the evening dinner which we hope shall prove satisfactory to you. We have reserved enough seats for… I say, are we one short?” A thud on the gangplank: they all turned and looked up. “Aw… dear…” gurgled a green-faced Minuette. “Did I… miss… the landing?” Her cheeks bulged.