//------------------------------// // The More You Travel, The Less You Change // Story: Sell Me A Lemon // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// “Lemon Hearts!” rumbled Lord d’Agrume across the silverware. “Elbows off the table!” The assembled company froze, some in mid-chew, some with forks halfway to their mouths. All eyes turned to Lemon. Who gave her parents a solid five seconds of glare, and then continued eating as though nothing had happened. The seating arrangements for the evening dinner were odd. For one thing, both Lord and Lady d’Agrume had insisted, as protocol decreed, that Princess Twilight Sparkle sit at the head of the table, being the most senior pony there. Spike, or “Mister the Dragon”, sat by her right hoof. The d’Agrumes, being lesser hosts, sat by her left hoof. This left Lemon to sit next to Spike, officially as daughter of the hosts and thus next in seniority, but mostly because she’d picked the spot before anyone objected, and she knew her sloppy eating was making their eyelids twitch. Twinkleshine had the unenviable spot next to his lordship, though she ate so daintily with knife and fork – and had even remembered to put her napkin on her lap – that no one was about to object. By contrast, Minuette, Lyra, and Saffron were stranded at the other end, as though the d’Agrumes were holding them at bay on the end of a pair of tongs. So far, the atmosphere of the country manor had been exactly as it would have been at Canterlot. Silver candelabra, an overhanging chandelier, portraits looming up the walls to allow noble ancestry to sneer down at them… There was nothing to suggest another country even existed outside these walls. Lemon munched her vegetables. Not even any spices in the food. She heard the voices of her friends not speaking at all. The air echoed with unspoken words. Ha. They’re expecting some teary reunion, I’ll bet. Opposite, Lady d’Agrume cleared her throat. “Dear. I expect you have made something of yourself in fair Canterlot?” Lemon shovelled some more peas and carrots into her mouth. “Limonada!” At the sound of her full name, Lemon swallowed and winced. “Oh, yes,” she spat. “I’m unempl –” Ever so subtly, Twilight coughed. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to blow up. Just yet. Lemon said, “I’m a lady of means now, rest assured on that front.” “Glad to hear it,” said Lord d’Agrume. “At least some levels of ignominy have been spared.” Clink of cutlery. Slurp of forks. “Don’t eat in that slovenly manner, please,” said Lady d’Agrume. Through a mouthful, Lemon said, “Or what?” “Limonada Hearts, attend to your manners! We have guests.” “Really? Cor, I didn’t know.” She swallowed. “Fancy me coming here all on my own, and all this time we had guests. You could knock me down with a feather.” Another subtle Twilight cough tapped her warningly on the ear. Further down the table, Lyra and Saffron were chatting away happily, alone in their little world. Neither levitated their knives and forks. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten the plates in front of them. “So what else is there?” she heard Lyra say breathlessly. “Well,” said Saffron, “there are the Carnival Musics of the south. Father knew those ones best. He told me that the music wasn’t as important; it was the singing that gave Carnival Music its soul.” “Oh.” Lyra sank a little. “But there are instruments, aren’t there?” “Yes, of course.” Lyra’s ears shot up. “A sitar?” “No. Enough with the sitars, Lyra. Indrabhumi music is much richer than sitar this and sitar that. Especially in the Carnival Musics, all you need to focus on are the melody and the rhythm.” “No harmony? Again? Isn’t that like listening to someone droning on?” “You mean is it monotonous? I suppose, but –” “Ooh, ooh!” Lyra almost threw back her chair in her effort to straighten up. “I think I got it! It’s supposed to be one-tone, because that’s how they hypnotize you! Of course! Now it makes sense!” Saffron shook her head sadly. “Sure, sure. Let’s go with that. Father told me he used to take part all the time in festivals with his friends from –” “Ahem,” said Lady d’Agrume. Caught by surprise, Lemon blinked her way back to her seat. Hearing the only two voices alive with enthusiasm, she’d almost forgiven the world for putting her here, in this house. “Yes?” she hissed. “You appear to have finished your main course, dear.” A frown flickered on Lemon’s face. She glanced down. “So I have,” she said. “In which case, would you mind desisting from scraping your fork across your plate?” Once again, a soft cough from the direction of the princess, which suggested that tactical thinking would serve her, Lemon, extraordinarily well at this juncture. Wisely, Lemon put the fork down. Unwisely, she did so by dropping it with a clatter. At once, the waiting unicorn mare hurried over to her. Sympathy stirred in Lemon’s heart. She levitated the plate up to the servant. “Thanks,” she said. “Tell the chef they could rival the best of Equestria with cooking like that.” To her surprise, this earned a regal nod from her mother. The waiter bent at the knees briefly before vanishing into the kitchens. Perhaps it would have gone fine from there, if her father hadn’t added, “I see you’ve learned some manners in Canterlot, then.” “No,” snapped Lemon. “As it happens, I figured that one out by myself. You know, it’s funny: everywhere I go, ponies will insist on teaching me manners, even though I never asked. Anyone would think I’d signed up for a course on how to be a humourless –” “So!” said Twilight. “Lord and Lady d’Agrume! Uh! T-Tell us about, uh…” “About life!” said Spike. “In, uh, life in uh…” “The country. Nice digs you’ve got here.” Lady d’Agrume allowed them a peep of her smile. “Such freedom of expression. Of course, one understands the nobility are much more relaxed in fair Canterlot. Alas, we have so little association with the wonderful city.” “Oh,” said Twilight innocently, or at least with what passed for her as innocence, “you don’t have any relatives there, by any chance? Besides the obvious, I mean, heh.” Lord d’Agrume swallowed his mouthful. “Only my poor elder brother, Your Highness Twilight Sparkle. I rather fear we lost contact some time ago. He used to be one of the Royal Guard – an officer of considerable standing, as it happens – and was part of a garrison here several decades ago during a few… troubles.” “Sounds fascinating,” said Twilight, placing her front hooves together as though to rub them. “My brother serves as the Captain of the Royal Guard.” “Yes,” said Lady d’Agrume, “it is nice when one’s relatives make something of themselves.” “Other than a spectacle,” muttered Lord d’Agrume to his bread roll. Lemon wished she had dessert. Dratted thing was that no one was allowed to move onto the next course until everyone had finished the current one, and Twinkleshine alone was the sort to nibble at her food. “Well,” she said brightly, leaning back and putting rear hooves on the tabletop, “it’s nice to think Miss Sparkle’s big brother worked his way to the top instead of getting an invite to the Country Club from school chums.” “Limonada! Please! Hooves off the table!” Lady d’Agrume snapped. “Why? Someone’s gonna wipe it down anyway.” “Your Highness?” Lord d’Agrume turned to the head of the table. Out of the corner of her mouth, Twilight hissed, “What are you doing!? You’re supposed to be setting things right.” “I am,” hissed Lemon back. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” whispered Spike, sitting between them. A pause. Even Lyra and Saffron had stopped talking. Then Lemon withdrew her feet and huffed theatrically on the tabletop, giving it a quick wipe with the back of her hock. “So sorry,” she said. “Pardon me, Ai’m sure. Ai hope no offence was taken, Lay-dee and Lor-dee of the Mar-nor.” Soon enough, the cutlery clinked and mouths munched and the threatening sea monsters rolled back under the waves of the conversation. “Um,” said Twinkleshine. Given that the mare’d put down her knife and fork to speak, Lemon could have strangled her. Gateau and cream were just around the corner, for pity’s sake. “Ah,” said Lord d’Agrume turning in his chair, and Twinkleshine flinched. “You must be one of Lemon’s friends, I take it? Fine Canterlot posture and bearing, if I do say so myself. Always welcome to meet a purebred.” His eyes narrowed. “You are a purebred, yes?” Twinkleshine reddened, but managed to say, “My parents were both Canterlot ponies. Um.” “But of course. There must always be a bastion against the grinding forces of modernity. I believe my brother spoke of a certain Twinklestar from the outer regions of the citadel. A relative, I take it?” Not so much as a squeak. Twinkleshine nodded, and even then only just. “Auntie,” she whispered. And now he was turning to Minuette, almost certainly to ask the same question. Lemon groaned. They really didn’t change, did they? Jade statues looked ephemeral as sandcastles by comparison. “Excellent. And you, Miss –” “When you’re done measuring family trees,” Lemon snapped. “It would be nice to know you’ve learned to treat ponies as ponies, not as prize pigs.” “Limonada,” said Lady d’Agrume wearily, “for shame.” “Quit calling me Limonada!” She shot out of her chair. The clatter echoed off the walls. “What is wrong with you?” Lemon thumped the table and the plates shuddered and Twinkleshine yelped. “One minute, it’s all ‘Oh Lemon’s writing to us again, let’s invite her over to make amends and stuff’, the next you’re acting like nothing ever happened!” Lord d’Agrume rose out of his chair with the fiery inevitability of a space shuttle. “We were under the impression, dear Lemon, that you had come to your senses. Sit down at once.” “I’d come to my senses!? What about you!? ‘Elbows off the table’, ‘don’t eat with your mouth open’, ‘swallow before you speak’. Good grief, why the heck do you think I ran off to begin with!? And now you’re doing it all over again. Dredging up all that – let’s face it – garbage.” “Young lady,” said Lady d’Agrume, “a proper unicorn does not use the g-word, especially not when there are guests present.” “You have no understanding,” said Lord d’Agrume coldly. “Manners maketh the pony.” Lemon cast about for help, but the only one daring to watch was Twilight. “What does that mean?” “It means, Lemon, that so long as you are under our roof, and so long as you wish to consider yourself our daughter again, you will abide by the terms of our generosity. Good manners. Respect and honour. Etiquette, hallowed by tradition.” “Dead pony’s rules, you mean.” “Sit down, Lemon. I shan’t ask again.” Lemon drew herself up as tall as she could without lifting her hooves off the carpet. “A cat can look at a king. I can randomly stand in the middle of dinner.” “The trouble with you, Limonada,” said Lady d’Agrume, patting her husband until he sat down again; a waiter scurried across to lift his chair for him, “is that you lack, and always have lacked, self-control. Celestia knows why, for we’ve always sought to teach you discipline and thoughtfulness. Surely, you don’t expect us to believe you customarily behave this way near your friends.” Embarrassed throat-clearing ensued up and down the table. Lemon was trembling. She wished she didn’t; the moment called for a smooth carelessness, but her chest rebelled and her muscles insisted. The fact was that they’d travelled all the way across the ocean just to end up in the same sort of place she’d left behind. Her parents had imported Canterlot. She could storm out. She could forget the whole thing. She couldn’t skip gateau with cream, though. Oh, and Twilight was giving her a funny look. She slowly raised her own chair up and eased herself back down onto it. “That’s better,” said Lady d’Agrume. Sighs broke out. The imp of the perverse broke into Lemon’s chest. Under its prompting, she leaned back and threw her rear hooves up onto the table. Adding to this was the steady creak as she gently rocked herself back and forth. Both parents froze. Twilight began, “She doesn’t mean anything by it –” “I confess,” said Lady d’Agrume, “we’re unsure how to take this.” Lemon met her gaze and projected as much insouciance as she could without popping. “Take it and don’t bring it back.” Both of her parents gasped. Faces solidified from seething magma to pitiless rock. “You will insist on being a disgrace!” barked Lord d’Agrume. “Butler: fetch me walking stick! I’ll prod her out of the house if I have to!” “Very good, sir.” The butler – previously the coachmare – bustled out of the room. Lemon threw a single chuckle. “Fine. I wasn’t planning on staying anyway. I’m off to bed, and then in the morning I’m outta here. I don’t know why I bothered coming in the first place.” “Come back here, young lady! Dinner has not finished!” “Yah boo sucks!” she yelled on her way to the door. “Limonada, attend to us,” called Lady d’Agrume. “Cease this scandalous display and behave like a proper daughter.” She hung back at the grand oak portal. “Bark, bark! Yip, yip! Talk to the tail, ‘cause this lapdog ain’t lapping a thing.” “Lemon!” called Twilight. “Allow us, Your Highness,” said Lord d’Agrume. “Young lady, it is clear to me that you have not changed. You stubbornly refuse to be less than our equal, a propos of nothing but your own youthful arrogance. The disownment will not be lifted, until you have learned to behave like a true lady.” This stopped her dead. Her rising leg ground to a halt. The words echoed around her head, cutting off the supply to the rest of her body with their full import… Then she grinned. “I knew there was something about me I liked,” she said brightly. She walked out. If all went well, she could wait a few hours and then nick some gateau from the larder. As she paused outside the door to cock an ear, she heard bustling hooves come back in. “Your walking stick, sir.” “What on earth for?” said Lord d’Agrume with evident puzzlement. “You requested it earlier, my lord,” said the butler-cum-coachmare patiently. “Return it, then. I clearly don’t need it.” Bustling hooves faded away. “Um…” said Twilight. “Well…” said Twinkleshine. “We apologize, Your Highness,” said Lady d’Agrume smoothly. “Rest assured we tried to bring her up properly, but one rather suspects the Dickens got into that poor child, as they say.” An awkward pause hung over everything. Surely, someone would say something at some point… “I know a good… card game we could play,” said Minuette hopefully. Lemon stomped up the stairs, ignoring the ugly portraits glaring down at her as she passed.