//------------------------------// // 3. Never Kill a Boy on the First Date // Story: Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// Bon-Bon dumped her suitcase down and surveyed the little house. The interior was okay. It was no high-rise Manehattan apartment but it had modern conveniences at which the thatched exterior did not hint. She was marginally less dissatisfied with her new living quarters, though no more pleased to be in Ponyville in the first place. Princess Celestia knew what she was doing. Bon-Bon had to convince herself of that. This Twilight Sparkle pony must be really, really special to warrant the princess sending the Slayer ahead to protect her. From what Bon-Bon could gather, Twilight did not yet know she was coming to Ponyville either. Apparently springing sudden changes in location on ponies was a thing Celestia liked to do. The city was calling Bon-Bon like a phantom limb. She hadn’t felt like that when she left Manehattan but Canterlot had taken hold of her in ways her birthplace had not. The memories in both cities, however, were tainted in different ways. It was probably a good thing she had been packed off to the countryside. Yeah, right. She sighed and turned to fetch the rest of her bags inside – and came nose to nose with another pony. There was no warning, she was just there. Bon-Bon leaped backwards in a ready position before she remembered that ponies tended to react badly to a punch to the face as a greeting. “Whoa, hey, didn’t mean to startle you.” The other pony spoke in a breathy alto, her words accompanied by what could only be called a ‘cheesy grin’. “Hi there. I saw the moving cart and thought I’d come over to say hi.” She pointed vaguely to her left. “I live next door. This house has been empty for ages and ages and AGES, so when I saw somepony moving I was all, like, hey! Wow! Somepony’s moving in! I’d better go over and say hi. So … hi!” She waved a hoof enthusiastically. “Um, hi.” Bon-Bon’s response was less effusive. “Do you need help bringing all your bags inside?” “No, thanks. I don’t have much.” “Really?” Her new neighbour looked disappointed but brightened again a moment later. “Then let me show you around the town. You’ll love it here in Ponyville. Everyone always does. It’s a heck of a town.” “I’ll bet it is,” Bon-Bon said dryly. “Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather just get to unpacking.” She wasn’t here to make friends. In fact, making friends was the last thing she should do. She was here to do a job and nothing should distract her from that, especially other ponies. Her track record for keeping friends safe was one of her biggest regrets and she had no intention of repeating her mistakes here, too. It was better for the Slayer to remain apart from other ponies even if she lived amongst them. Her new neighbour blew a large raspberry. “No way. That’s totally boring. Ooh, I know! I’ll take you to Sugarcube Corner for lunch! They do the best banana cake with cream cheese frosting. It’s amazing! A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!” She spelled out the word like an overeager cheerleader. “C’mon, it’ll be my treat.” “No thanks.” Bon-Bon was polite but firm. “Aw, please!” “I’m fine, really.” “That’s as may be, but are you hungry?” “Excuse me?” Bon-Bon processed those words a few seconds slower than she should have. “Are you hungry?” her new neighbour repeated, taking a few steps closer and staring intently like a cat stalking a frozen mouse. “Hungry? You? Want to eat?” She raised herself into her hind legs and rubbed her stomach with one hoof. “Om-nom-nom?” Bon-Bon blinked at her. “I’m not an idiot. I do understand what hungry means.” “Oh, good.” The other mare dropped back to all fours. She did not come across as either patronising or unkind. Bon-Bon got the feeling she had genuinely just been trying to make herself understood. “So do you like cake? What am I saying?” she laughed. “With a cutie mark like that, I’ll bet you’re really into sweet things.” Bon-Bon frowned. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really not interested in going out for lunch. I just want to unpack my things in peace.” She emphasised the last two words, hopping the other pony got the message. She didn’t. “Nonsense. Just get the bags inside now and unpack them later. They’ll still be here when you get back. Oh, unless there’s somepony else moving in here with you who could unpack them?” “No.” Bon-Bon was terse. “There’s only me.” And this new Watcher who lived in the woods, but she hadn’t met that pony yet. The old resentment and grief bubbled in her stomach at the mere idea of a new Watcher. She didn’t want a new one; she wanted her old Watcher back. That, however, was never going to happen and it was all her fault. “That’s perfect!” her new neighbour declared blithely. “Nopony to tell you of if you sneak out for lunch and a guided tour of the town with me.” She nodded as if it was all decided. “I’ll even help you.” “No, it’s all right –” Bon-Bon didn’t finish. The other pony’s horn glowed with golden magical aura. Outside, her remaining luggage also glowed gold and dragged itself across the threshold. The other pony’s face pinched a moment with the strain of picking up several heavy bags at once but she deposited them against the wall before allowing the gold magic to dissipate. “Wow, what have you got in those things?” she panted. “Bricks?” One was filled with training equipment, including a punching bag and several weights Windwhistler used to make her strap around her ankles before jogging around Canterlot. A Slayer’s strength was legendary but moving quickly while encumbered was something she had been keen for Bon-Bon to learn in case she ever had to fight while carrying an injured victim. All Windwhistler’s regimen had been rooted in the logical, with application in the field clearly mapped out every time she introduced a new exercise. Canterlot ponies never batted an eyelid at somepony running around wearing weights in the park. They reasoning she was just trying to tone up to better fit in with the waiflike fashion models that frequented the city’s swishier districts. Bon-Bon wondered what the residents of Ponyville would think if she put the weights on and jogged down their quaint cobbled streets. “Helloooo.” Her new neighbour waved a hoof in front of her nose. “Anyone in there?” Bon-Bon reared back. “Do you mind?” “Whoops. Sorry.” The other mare gave a rueful smile. “We should go. That banana cake is really popular so if we don’t hurry we won’t get any.” “I’m not going to –” “Come on.” She reached for Bon-Bon’s foreleg to pull her out of the house. Bon-Bon knocked aside her hoof without a second thought. The other mare looked shocked, her ears flicking back in dismay. “Sorry,” she said in a much more subdued voice. She rubbed at her leg, leading Bon-Bon to wonder whether she had used too much of that legendary strength. “I was just trying to be friendly.” “Yes, well …” Bon-Bon was about to say that she didn’t need anypony to be friendly to her but something in the mare’s expression stopped her. The honest hurt in her eyes was more cutting than any dagger blade. In an instant, her entire posture had gone from open and excited to sad and disappointed. This pony did not do subtle. She wore every emotion like a target just waiting for someone else to fling darts at. Or maybe the ponies of Ponyville weren’t like that. Maybe they were all ridiculously accepting and kind and that was how somepony could become this unprotected with her feelings around a total stranger. Whatever the reason, her expression made bon-Bon feel like a heel for rejecting the hoof of friendship she had offered. Which was ridiculous. She had worked everything out on the train from Canterlot. Her time in Ponyville was to be spent alone, concentrating on her mission and acclimating herself to her new Watcher. The way she was feeling about a replacement for Windwhistler, all the time she wasn’t on patrol would be taken up with not hating whoever Celestia had picked. “Yes … well …” Bon-Bon tried again. “Well what?” her new neighbour said in a small voice. Bon-Bon stared at her for a long moment. Then she sighed harshly. “I … have a thing about personal space.” “You do?” The other mare’s ears flicked forward again. “Yeah, I do.” “Oh. Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, invade yours or anything.” “I know. It’s … it’s okay. You didn’t know.” She paused, wrestling with herself a moment longer. “So this banana cake. It’s really that good?” The other mare’s whole demeanour lifted like clouds rolling away from the sun. “It sure is!” “Then we’d better get going. Or we’ll miss it. And that’d be bad. Yeah.” Bon-Bon tried to sound motivated, she really did, but even to her own ears it sounded hollow. “You won’t regret it!” Her new neighbour clapped her hooves together excitedly. “And afterwards I’ll show you all the cool things to see in Ponyville!” “Yeah, sure.” That wouldn’t take long. How many interesting things could there be in a sleepy little rural town like this? “Cool!” The other pony trotted to door, skidded to a halt and whirled around. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot. What’s your name?” “It’s Bon-Bon.” “Duh!” She knocked a hoof against the side of her head and stuck out her tongue. “Should’ve guessed.” She turned and wiggled her flank, which bore some kind of stringed instrument Bon-Bon didn’t recognise. “I’m Lyra. Nice to meet you, Bon-Bon.” Bon-Bon killed time walking around Ponyville before finally admitting to herself what she really wanted to do. Nevertheless, it took a further forty-five minutes to amble her way over to the far side of town, plus fifteen minutes after that to sidle up to the small building with ‘Music Makers’ painted on its swinging sign. The sign creaked like crazy and in high winds they had to risk life and limb on a stepladder to take it down in case it flew off and hurt somepony, yet no-one ever considered switching to a static one. The front of the building sported only musical notes and swirls of colour with no words whatsoever to indicate what went on inside. Once a year everything had to be repainted, which meant ponies with various music-themed cutie marks singing at the tops of their lungs as they went about their tasks while their co-workers and students accompanied them on a variety of instruments. Bon-Bon paused to study the front of the building. Repainting Day couldn’t be far off from the looks of things. The swirls were peeling in places and one of the treble clefs had lost a curve. Bon-Bon hesitated. Part of her loudly stated that she should just walk away. This was getting ridiculous, it chastised. She knew the score. She knew why this was stupid. She was acutely aware of just how stupid she was being – how ridiculous she had been from the very start. The moment she arrived in Ponyville she should have been standoffish with everypony and cultivated a reputation as someone unapproachable and distant. That would have made her whole life much easier – although it would have made getting rid of her catharsis confections more complicated. Sugarcube Corner would have received mysterious packages on its doorstep every time she was stressed or had a bad dream. Slayers were notoriously short-lived. Bon-Bon had survived far longer than generations of her predecessors. The reason for that made her scowl and duck her head even though there was nopony around to see it, nor anyone who would have understood if they had. She carried her guilt and grief like a carefully wrapped chunk of glass that cut her every time she got it out to look at it. When it was fresh she had unwrapped it constantly and compulsively, holding it to her because she couldn’t bear to let it go even though it hurt. Letting go felt like a betrayal but hanging on had been killing her in a different way – inside and slowly, piece by piece, until Celestia stepped in before Bon-Bon was nothing more than a hollow shell patrolling Canterlot each night. “It is dangerous for you to operate alone. I am sorry; I know your grief still feels fresh, but you know I speak the truth. You need a Watcher.” The short life of a Slayer made forming connections with anypony outside that world fraught with difficulty. Mares who were chosen were barely out of fillyhood, some not lasting long enough to get a first crush, much less start a relationship. Bon-Bon knew from experience what it was like to be the one left behind. She never wanted to put anypony through that; to bury a chunk of glass in somepony else’s heart the way one had been driven through hers. On any given night she might die. She didn’t want to, had no plans to and fought with every fibre of her being not to, but she wasn’t a fool. Slayers died. It was an integral part of the magic that made them and bound them. Demons killed Slayers and Slayers banished demons; an endless cycle that had gone on for hundreds of years. And yet … And yet. Bon-Bon hung her head. And yet she had not been standoffish or cultivated a reputation as someone unapproachable and distant. And yet she had allowed herself to make friends. And yet she had made the mistakes she had sworn she would not make: she had allowed herself to care about others and let them care about her. “Lose something?” She looked up to see a heavyset blue stallion watching her with a quizzical expression. His cutie mark of two sets of backwards facing quavers delineated him as an employee of Music Makers. The name-badge strung around his neck helped, too. “You’re staring pretty hard at that patch of ground.” His tone carried a hint of humour. “Or are you pondering the secrets of the universe?” “Just wondering whether I left the oven on,” she replied. “Cute. It’s Bon-Bon, isn’t it? Are you here for Lyra?” “Uh …” “Did she forget her lunch again? You were here last week, what, three times with sandwiches for her?” “Only twice,” Bon-Bon replied, not managing to keep the sullenness out of her tone. The stallion chuckled. “I wish I had someone to bring me my lunch when I forget it. If I’m absent-minded I just go hungry.” He gestured with his nose at the doorway, which suddenly seemed bigger and more imposing than a simple shop door should. “I think she’s on the front desk this morning. She has a class this afternoon and some one-on-one tuition with students after that.” Music Makers was a combination one-stop-shop for buying and repairing instruments, purchasing sheet music and finding lessons in everything under the sun. Woodwind, strings, brass, percussion, voice; if it could eke out a tune, somepony there would teach you how to use it properly (or at least help out your neighbours by teaching you how to sound less like a squalling cat fighting a seagull). Bon-Bon freely admitted she had less musical talent than a frying pan being used as a gong so she had never booked herself in for anything. “Um…” she said articulately. The stallion raised an eyebrow. “You’re not here for Lyra?” “Uh … yes, I am, but uh …” “You forgot her sandwiches too?” “No. I mean yes. I mean … I didn’t bring her any sandwiches.” “Ouch. I guess it’s grumpy times in the tummy department for her.” Bon-Bon was temporarily stymied by the oddness of his wording. When he raised his eyebrow yet further at her, she impetuously reached into her saddlebag and pulled out the pink Sugarcube Corner box, hoping it would convince him she was here for a legitimate reason and not just because being within twenty feet of her next door neighbour gave her fluttery insides. He whistled appreciatively. “Ponyfeathers, you sure spoil her.” Bon-Bon shrugged. She was doing a lot of that lately. Maybe that should have been her response to Lyra’s first ‘hello’ when she moved in. It would have saved an awful lot of bother, not to mention oxygen. Think of all those inane conversations about nothing at all that had eaten up so many hours between them – “Are you coming?” The stallion was holding open the door for her. From inside her sharp ears could pick out the sound of a quivery soprano singing off-key and somepony else correcting her. Bon-Bon walked forward, only slightly stiff-legged. “Thanks …” “Noteworthy,” he supplied. “Thanks, Noteworthy.” “No problem. Just think of me the next time you stop by with food, okay?” Lyra was sprawled across the reception desk, face towards the ceiling, trying to balance a pencil on her nose. Noteworthy coughed meaningfully and she turned over in the manner of a cat being forced to move out of a sunbeam. Her expression shifted from boredom to utter delight when she spotted Bon-Bon and she all but leaped the counter to greet her. “This is so unexpected!” Lyra exclaimed. She paused, expression shifting with breakneck speed to doubt. “I’m pretty sure I remembered my lunch today.” “Why does everyone think I only drop by to bring you food?” “Because you do,” Lyra laughed. “Tell me you don’t have something tasty in your saddlebag right this second.” Bon-Bon was forced to concede that she did, especially since Noteworthy was watching. She brought out the pink box, which sent Lyra into paroxysms of glee. She clapped her hooves like a little filly. “I’d hug you, but my boss is standing right there and he’ll see me leave my post.” Noteworthy chuckled. Bon-Bon was surprised; in all the months she had visited Music Makers she had never thought to ask which pony was in charge. Noteworthy didn’t exactly exude leadership vibes, though there was an assessing quality to his gaze as he looked at her. He kept looking at her even though he was clearly speaking in Lyra. “And you wouldn’t want to tick off your boss, would you?” “No sir. The way I hear it, he’s a real meanie. He makes us pay for the candy bars out of the chocolate machine ourselves and everything.” “Wow, what a tyrant.” Noteworthy check the clock on the wall. “It’s too early for your lunch, Lyra, but you can take a break if you like, since you won’t have time for one this afternoon. I’ll watch the desk.” “Half an hour?” Lyra said hopefully. “Ten minutes.” “Twenty.” “Fifteen.” “I’ll take it!” Lyra bounded from behind the desk and grabbed Bon-Bon, dragging her backwards out the door and onto the street again. “You’re the best, boss-pony!” “Don’t call me boss-pony!” Noteworthy called after them. “And you’re welcome!” They settled at the fountain, perched on the low stone wall around the base. The morning was bustling with ponies rushing to and fro. On the far side of the square the market was already in full swing. Lily stood by her flower cart looking uncomfortable but pleased whenever anypony stopped to buy something. Golden Harvest was unloading a wagon of carrots, potatoes, leeks and other vegetables onto her own stall, while Mr Zippy hobbled along checking the contents of his mailbag. The elderly stallion was so preoccupied with squinting at the letters that he didn’t see the sack of potatoes on the ground. Golden Harvest snatched them up, preventing an accident and displaying a surprising amount of strength for a mare her size. Seeing the old mailpony reminded Bon-Bon of Derpy. She hoped Derpy had honoured her word and gone to the doctor. Despite the chaos she tended to cause, none of it was malicious and Derpy was an honourable pony, so Bon-Bon turned her thoughts back to the present moment. “So, what have you got for me?” Lyra asked eagerly. “Who said it was for you?” “You wouldn’t bring food and not share it with me! That’s too, too cruel.” Bon-Bon pointed her nose in the air. “Maybe this time I did.” Lyra jutted out her bottom lip. “Too, too cruel, Bon-Bon,” she repeated. “Too, too cruel.” Bon-Bon glanced at her and quickly scrunched up her eyes. “Not the face! Don’t do the face!” She unscrunched one eye. “You’re doing the face.” Lyra’s bottom lip began to wobble. Her amber eyes grew large and pleading. As the final touch, she gave an affected sniff. Sighing, Bon-Bon unpacked the pink box. Lyra’s face changed like quicksilver, all evidence of upset wiped clean, to be replaced by impatient anticipation. “One day you’ll do that once too often and then it’ll be like the colt who cried timberwolf,” Bon-Bon cautioned. “No-one will believe you when you really are upset.” Lyra shrugged. “Meh. Ooh, gingerbread! Hey, it looks like you. And the cupcake is the same colour as your mane and tail, too!” Bon-Bon said nothing as she also brought out the polythene bag of Salty Caramels and untied it. She placed the four candies she had saved on the stone and waited for Lyra to choose something. She didn’t much care what, just that something was eaten to justify her even being here. Lyra considered the food carefully, picked up the cupcake and put it down. She studied the gingerbread pony but shook her head. “I couldn’t. It’d be like biting your head off.” Bon-Bon swiftly snapped the thing in two and offered Lyra the non-head section. “You expect me to eat your butt instead?” Lyra sniggered. “Kidding, kidding, although it does feel weird. Uh, that the pony looks like you, not the gingerbread itself. I mean, I’m not saying the gingerbread actually feels like your butt … I’m totally going to shut up now.” She licked at the icing in determined silence. She never ate any cookie, cake or confection until she had rid it of all traces of icing. Sandwich cookies, in particular, held a particular fascination. She would peel them apart, trying to make every scrap of icing stick to one side in some ritual Bon-Bon didn’t understand, and then dunk the dry cookie halves in milk until they were so soggy pieces floated to the bottom of the glass. Bon-Bon thought that was disgusted but saying so only made Lyra do it more. Bon-Bon watched for a moment before nibbling her own half. “I hear you have classes this afternoon.” “I know, isn’t it cool?” Lyra grinned. She had only recently advanced to teaching other ponies after rigorous on-the-job-work training and was loving every second of it. She was the most junior tutor in Music Makers and determined to prove she was worth just as much as anypony else, even if they did have years more experience than her. “I’m giving Crafty-Crate singing lessons.” Bon-Bon nearly choked. A piece of gingerbread caught in her throat. “Crafty-Crate?” she hacked. “Uh-huh. Isn’t it cool?” Bon-Bon banged her own chest with a hoof. “Which … one?” she wheezed. Even though she was an outsider she had heard of the long feud between the Crafty and Crate families, which had lasted so many generations nopony could even remember why they didn’t like each other. Eventually their differences had been settled, not because they reached a mutual conclusion of love and tolerance, but because the favourite daughter of the Crafty family ran away with the favourite son of the Crate family and they produced their own herd of hulking offspring who kept all the rest of their relatives in line. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure how many Crafty-Crate brothers there were – she had counted at least three – but even the little she did know of them did not compute. “Was it the one who took over Crate Construction when Mr Crate Sr. died?” she asked between wheezes. Lyra tapped her chin in thoughts. “Y’know, I don’t think it was. I’m pretty sure that one’s a pegasus and called Cory. Or maybe Cherry. No, wait, Cherry’s the one who runs the fruit stall in the market on Saturdays. The one I’m teaching is an earth pony named Caleb. He wants to learn opera.” An image of the burly brown stallions, with their permanent five o’clock shadow and soup-plate hooves, crept into Bon-Bon’s mind. None of that image coordinated with the word ‘opera’. “Really?” “Uh-huh. He’s on his second lesson. He’s actually really good; but he made me promise I wouldn’t tell his brothers what he’s up to. He wants to sing some old song for his mom’s birthday and it’s supposed to be a surprise.” “That’s … actually kind of sweet,” Bon-Bon was forced to admit. “Music is the best gift,” Lyra agreed. “And food. Music and food are the best gifts. Ooh, or musical food! That’d be awesome.” “You can be so odd sometimes.” Lyra grinned. “But you love me for it.” Bon-Bon’s entire ribcage attempted to fold in on itself, like a tiny black hole had opened up in her chest and was sucking away her internal organs. “I wish I’d brought a drink,” she said as a distraction, swallowing the gingerbread she had choked on. Her throat felt suddenly dry and scratchy. Lyra leaped to her hooves. “Leave it to me!” she declared before cantering off. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!” “Uh…” Bon-Bon could do nothing but let her go. “Okay?” She kicked her hind hooves against the fountain, looked around aimlessly and tried not to appear too grateful when Lyra returned carrying a pair of large plastic cups with detachable lids moulded with a sealable straw through the middle, of the kind marathon runners wore so they didn’t dehydrate on hot days. “Aren’t they cool?” Lyra raved. “I saw them when we passed the store earlier. Here.” She passed one to Bon-Bon and sucked at her own. “Oh, that’s good apple juice.” Bon-Bon was more circumspect. When she tasted the liquid, however, her mouth tingled. “Strawberry fizz?” she asked in surprise. “Isn’t that your favourite?” Lyra frowned. “Did I get it wrong?” “No, no, it is my favourite; I just didn’t know you knew it.” Lyra rolled her eyes. ”Well duh, Bon-Bon. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t know something like that? I can also tell you your favourite flavour of ice-cream. It’s mint chocolate chip, right?” “Uh, right.” Lyra took a mock bow. “Boo-yah. Watch me know stuff. And you say I have a bad memory? Tch, as if.” “Your memory is only bad with things like paying your electricity bill on time and remembering to get to work with your lunch in your saddlebag.” “Picky-picky. I remember the stuff that matters.” The conversation flowed easily. A little too easily. Bon-Bon’s head jerked up when the clock tower chimed the hour and Lyra bolted upright. “Oh my gosh, I’m totally going to be late back to work! Noteworthy will kill me! He’ll skin me with a violin bow! He’ll slice me up by pushing me through harp strings! He’ll lock me in the piano and play The Song That Never Ends! He’ll –” “Lyra!” Bon-Bon interrupted. “What? Oh, yeah.” Lyra scuttled away, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight if you’re around, okay? Have a great day, Bon-Bon! And thanks for the food! I totally owe you. Again.” “Don’t worry about it!” Bon-Bon called back with a less than enthusiastic wave. “Take care…” She trailed off. Lyra could no longer hear her. Bon-Bon let her hooves fall into her lap and watched until her friend turned a corner and passed from view. Then she methodically tidied away the now empty pink box, sliding the flattened card into her saddlebag to post into a recycling receptacle on the way home. Rather than get up and leave, she spent a further minute or so sweeping crumbs onto the floor and watching as pigeons fluttered down to gobble them. She didn’t need to watch. She didn’t even want to watch. She just couldn’t help herself. The alternative was getting up and going home to wait for her training session with Zecora. While the glow from her time with Lyra remained, that just seemed intolerable. As with all good things, however, the glow eventually faded and she levered herself upright. The pigeons scattered as she walked through their midst and made her way back to the little thatched house she called home. One thing about living alone was that things were always exactly as you left them. Nothing and no-one disturbed the pattern you had set down, which was both a good and bad thing. You never had to ask where the scissors or soap were but you could never step through the door with a greeting on your lips. The air inside Bon-Bon’s house felt lifeless. Even the dust motes seemed to just hang in the light of a sunbeam through the window. “Perhaps I should get a pet,” she said, if only to break the oppressive silence. “A cat or a dog.” She imagined a slobbery hound bounding up to say hello, or a little terrier turning happy circles, or a falsely disinterested feline gaze from the top of a cupboard. The idea was not unappealing. As she removed her saddlebags and kicked the door shut with one hind hoof, she caught sight of the mail she had dumped on the sideboard this morning. Picking it up, she leafed idly through the adverts for a new Saddle-Arabian themed café, pizza delivery and a call to support her local branch of Friends of the Everfree. “Because forging relations with the denizens of the forest and learning to understand their ways is the first step to a more utopian way of living,” she read aloud, a chuckle invading her voice. She wondered how many Friends of the Everfree had actually been into it. True, there were areas that were less dangerous than others, but ponies who thought the only problem was understanding the creatures that lived there were fools. Ponies had long held sway over many aspects of nature in their world, from weather and seasonal change to the rising and setting of the sun and moon, but that didn’t mean there weren’t parts of Equestria where nature itself was still allowed to run free. The name ‘Everfree’ was only a small indication that the forest did not welcome the touch of creatures who had tamed the land all around it. It would fight to protect itself from invaders. Those who wandered in soon became aware that anypony, invader or not, was treated the same way and would be lucky to re-emerge in one piece. Ponies were not wanted or needed in the Everfree Forest and no amount of prettily worded leaflets would change that. The package from Canterlot held most of Bon-Bon’s attention. She turned it over, carefully squeezing to see if she could guess what was inside. The contents were lumpy but unidentifiable until she tore off the brown paper and removed the bubble-wrap. Inside was a book, its pages crackly and yellowed with age, which she assumed was for Zecora. Living in the Everfree was a dangerous business Zecora could not have accomplished without all the protective wards around her house and her own formidable skills. It was impressive; but not impressive enough for Equestrian Royal Mail to make trips out there. Thus, anything Celestia wanted Zecora to have, she sent to Bon-Bon. “The Collected Papers of Sea Storm Pinkshell,” Bon-Bon read. “Yep, sure looks like something for Zecora.” Idly she flipped it open and tried to read the first line, however the style of writing was so flowery she could barely make out the words. She squinted, decoding ‘Watcher’, ‘record’ and ‘Slayer’ with some effort. “Another Watcher diary? How many dos she have now? There can’t be many more for Celestia to send. The Canterlot archive will be empty before Zecora’s finished.” It was as she was placing the book back in its bubble-wrap that she noticed the other letter. It had been tucked inside the brown paper like a lollipop in a game of Pass the Parcel. Bon-Bon picked it up but could see no address, only her name: Bon-Bon Sweetie-Drops. The writing was doggedly neat and had the look of a unicorn about it. The ability to use a quill using magic made it a lot easier to have elegant penmanship than those forced to use their own hooves. When Bon-Bon slid the letter from inside, however, she quickly amended that assumption. Dear Miss Sweetie-Drops, I would appreciate an audience with you at your earliest convenience. I understand that you have duties in Ponyville but my sister assures me your attendance at Canterlot Castle will not interfere with these. Twilight Sparkle will be returning to Canterlot for a meeting with my sister upon May Day. Please take the same train and also come to the castle. Tell the guards that you are applying for a job as a lady’s maid. They will understand. There are things I wish to know that only you can furnish me with. Yours, Princess Luna. Bon-Bon stared at the letter for several minutes. The words did not change; not even when she turned it over to see if it was some kind of trick. There was a small red wax blob at the bottom which had been pressed with Princess Luna’s personal seal. It even smelled vaguely like the letters she sometimes got from Celestia, though a little spicier. “Wow,” Bon-Bon mouthed. “What the hay could Princess Luna, of all ponies, want to ask me?” “Perhaps she wants to talk to you because she feels it’s overdue,” Zecora suggested. “She’s been back in Equestria for over a year,” Bon-Bon pointed out, ducking. “There’s overdue and then there’s OVERDUE. Just ask Twilight about overdue library books.” Zecora considered this. “Perhaps she calls you now to go because before she did not know. You and I are both aware that Slayers do not secrets share.” “Watchers either.” Bon-Bon grunted as she easily dodged a wooden hoof and brought her own down on it. The enchanted practise dummy danced away, avoiding her blow just as easily. “Why did you want those old diaries? And who is Sea Storm Pinkshell, anyhow?” “Pinkshell lived at the seashore. As I have explained before, Watchers write down what they’ve learned; information they have earned. Pinkshell’s writings are not lots and his style ties brains in knots. Even so, I feel I should see for myself if they are good.” Zecora patted the book. “Never underestimate a diary’s true hidden weight.” “Not lots, huh?” Bon-Bon knew what that meant; the Slayer whom Sea Storm Pinkshell had been set to train had not lasted long. Bon-Bon didn’t like learning the names of Slayers of the past. It made them seem too real and hammered home the thought that receiving this power had shortened the number of days she had as well. When she first found out about that she had not reacted well and had no desire to do so again. “Hey, Zecora, can’t you up the ante with this dummy?” “You find this challenge not enough? You used to find it very tough.” “I guess the increased demon activity lately has made me sharper than usual.” Bon-Bon balanced her weight on her front hooves and kicked out at the dummy. Its left foreleg flew off so hard it buried itself in the trunk of one of the trees surrounding their secret training area. Zecora had enchanted the place with a sound-muffling spell and some sort of ward that caused unwanted attention to become easily distracted if anypony happened across them. Since they were deep in the trees beyond Zecora’s hut, however, it was unlikely anypony would just happen by. The dummy’s leg juddered but, separated from the rest of it, did not move again. Zecora stepped towards the chalk ring she had drawn on the ground. The purpose of the exercise was to practise fighting in restricted spaces; something Bon-Bon needed to be good at in Ponyville. It was much better to take on a demon in an alleyway than banish it in the middle of the marketplace. In restricted spaces, however, demons often had the advantage of size. Bon-Bon had to rely on manoeuvrability and speed. Pointing at the dummy, which was twice the size of her, Zecora muttered an incantation. Her hoof glowed for a moment and the dummy’s hollow eyes pulsed with the same light. “For me it would be remiss if I missed out: ‘you asked for this’.” The dummy snarled. The noise momentarily startled Bon-Bon. That was new. Moments later she had other things to think about as it lurched towards her, remaining foreleg outstretched. It walked on two legs as easily as four and swiped at her, its heavy wooden tail swinging behind it. She backed up but stopped at the edge of the circle. She could step outside it but that would end the spell and she would have failed. The dummy roared and came at her again. It was faster than it had been and whirled in a jump that shook the ground as she tried to get around it. Bon-Bon calculated the risk and threw herself forward, sliding between its hind feet. She was halfway up its back before it reached behind and knocked her off. She hit the ground in a roll that took most of the impact and came up in a ready position. She barely had enough time to stand before it was on her again and she caught the brunt of its foreleg in her shoulder. When Zecora upped the ante, she really upped the ante. “Use the tools you have been given or you will surely be driven right over this line of chalk. Concentrate and do not talk!” Who’s talking? Bon-Bon wondered. Her shoulder ached. She should have been able to avoid that strike. Well, like Zecora said; she had asked for this. The dummy lunged at her. Bon-Bon ducked, balled one hoof and punched upward. A blast of wood-chips sprayed from the dummy’s disintegrated shoulder. It looked at the shattered stump with bewilderment, which gave Bon-Bon the chance to jump onto its back. Few other ponies would have been able to make such a jump from a standing start. She hooked her hooves into the uneven wooden grooves along its body until she reached its head. The dummy, maybe realising what she was up to, threw itself onto the ground in an attempt to crush her. Bon-Bon struggled to hold on and clambered over it like somepony rolling a felled tree down a river. The dummy got up again with surprising speed, considering it was missing both forelegs, and snapped its mouth at her. The mouth was hinged, a row of sharp wooden teeth on either jaw. Rare was the demon that didn’t have razor fangs, even though they ate auras and magic, not flesh. Bon-Bon arched her spine so that her body formed a backwards C, drew back her right foreleg and punched straight through the top of the dummy’s head. It shuddered once and toppled over. She leaped free before it landed, whipped out the vial of salt crystals she used in lieu of actual banishing powder during training, and dashed around the fallen ‘demon’ in a circle only slightly smaller than the chalk one. Zecora clapped her hooves together. “You have achieved victory against this deadly enemy.” Breathing hard, Bon-Bon took a mock bow. It was not something she would usually do; more something Lyra might do if this was her task. Lyra always made light of everything. “You sure don’t mess around, do you?” “Weaponless and all closed in, I know you’d still surely win. This much sets my mind at ease – even if you’re fighting trees.” Bon-Bon blinked at her. “Um … okay.” “As Watcher I watch over you. I care about the things you do. You did not request this calling.” Zecora’s eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Oh, so many fillies falling. Through the ages they’ve been fighting each and every demon sighting. Only one and one alone, forced to fight them on her own. Warring nightly for us all; lonely in that final fall. This does not seem right to me. I refuse to let it be. Bon-Bon, I am not a Slayer but I am still a key player. I make sure your skills are keen, oldest who has ever been.” “What?” “I will do all that I can, as I have done since I began.” “No, no, what was that about oldest? You mean … oldest Slayer?” Zecora nodded. “In my research I have found that you’re the oldest one around. Watchers who have written prior prove that I am not a liar. This shows you are very good and shows you have understood what it takes just to survive; but also what it takes to thrive. Slayers past would only kill. You’ve made a life in Ponyville.” Bon-Bon bit back a laugh. Made a life? Yeah, sure; one that could be al turned around at any moment if Twilight Sparkle ever left, or if a demon ever finished what so many others had started. A life in which she was forever a part of the scenery, part of the background who couldn’t make too many lasting connections in case her death caused too much of a rift. Past Slayers had been prevented from having even as much as she did for the simple reason that when they died – not if, but when – questions would be raised that had no easy answers. Making a life in Ponyville had been accidental at every step and filled with regrets. “A Slayer’s lot is not just giving, it is also about LIVING,” Zecora insisted. Bon-Bon she did not respond with the scathing retort hovering at the back of her throat. She instead glanced at the sky and the position of the sun. Zecora noted this as did likewise. “Dark won’t come for hours yet. See how much sleep you can get.” “You always seem to be feeding me or sending me to bed,” Bon-Bon said tightly. “I’d say you’re being motherly, but the whole ‘trying to beat the crud out of me with giant puppets’ thing gets in the way.” She set her jaw. “Did you find anything about why the demons might be appearing more often but NOT heading for the most magical aura in the area?” “Bon-Bon–” “Zecora.” Bon-Bon struggled to find the right words. “Just don’t, okay? This is not a conversation we’re going to have right now.” “Before I do, in my defence, I did not mean to cause offence. Your happiness means much to me, as well, of course, as your safety.” “Yeah.” Bon-Bon turned her face away. “Thanks. So did you find anything?” She kept her face turned and could only hear Zecora’s response, which seemed more reserved than usual. “Many things are possible. Only some are plausible. Solids answers I have few; only what I learned from you. I’ll continue with my reading, though some signs may be quite misleading.” “Misleading?” “If one has an allergy; many culprits it could be. Some symptoms seem like each other, the only thing to do is smother one thing, then the next, and so on, until you have more to go on. Thus it is with demons too. Discount causes to find what’s true. Though a list I can compile, it may take me quit a while.” “Well that’s helpful.” Bon-Bon might not have been so acerbic if Zecora had just stuck to things like this, instead of trying to give life advice outside of her role as the Slayer’s Watcher. The adrenaline from the fight had leeched away, leaving Bon-Bon grumpy and filled with swirling frustration that had been inside her for a while, but which Zecora’s words had allowed to fling themselves to the forefront of her mind. “I’ll go home and see if I can get some sleep before it’s time to patrol.” “Bon-Bon –” “See you later, Zecora.” She left without looking back. “Hey! Hey, Bon-Bon! Hey, wait up!” Bon-Bon was so lost in thought she didn’t register the voice at first. She stopped and turned to see a familiar blue stallion cantering towards her. “Noteworthy?” “Yup,” he huffed, drawing up next to her. “Boy, you were really moving. I thought I’d never catch up with you.” “I was just trotting.” “Yeah, but if I admit that running to catch up with you when you were only trotting made me this out of breath, my machismo will never recover.” He sucked in air, raised his head and gave her a toothy smile. “Where are you headed?” “Uh, home.” “Do you have time for a coffee?” She glanced at the sky. Slayers could function on very little sleep but she wouldn’t be a hundred percent unless she got in a nap before patrol. Noteworthy looked at the sky too. “The pegasi have rain schedule for tomorrow. Or was it tomorrow night? Either way, it’ll stay clear today. We could sit out and, I don’t know, have some cake or something. Do you like Sugarcube Corner?” “What pony in town doesn’t?” she asked absently. What time was sunset today? Sunlight made demons sluggish and burned their hides, so the more sunlight there was, the more it burned them and the harder it was for them to escape it. No demon would even think of rising until past seven o’ clock this evening. It was four now, which gave her a good few hours to rest up and – “Bon-Bon?” “Hmm?” She blinked out of her reverie. “Excuse me?” “Wow, you must be thinking about something really important.” Noteworthy tilted his head to one side. “Also, you have leaves in your hair.” Before she could stop him, he reached out and plucked part of a twig from behind her ear. Her Slayer reflexes strained to lash out at the unbidden contact but she held them back with some effort. “There you go. Been collecting firewood?” “Uh, yes.” She nodded. Her cover story was helped enormously by the logs and twigs in her saddlebags, which were closed but lumpy. Nopony would question someone re-entering town from the direction of the Everfree if she was carrying something as innocuous as firewood. “Then you really should relax and have some cake and coffee with me.” Noteworthy spoke as if he had planned for her to collect firewood just so he could make the offer. “What do you say?” Bon-Bon stared at him. “Uh…” “I won’t take no for an answer, by the way. Hard work deserves a reward.” “I really should be –” “Please?” His smile wavered a smidgen; not enough for a regular pony to tell, but for someone with Slayer senses it was obvious. Likewise the way his eyes flickered a little, as if he wanted to know how many witnesses there were to the sight of him about to be shot down. “I hear Mr Cake baked his famous banana cake with cream cheese frosting today.” Bon-Bon sighed. “Who could say no to that?” Pinkie Pie served them, giggling the whole time. Since Pinkie spent the majority of her life in perpetual giggles, this didn’t mean anything. The way she dashed through to see Mrs Cake with a squeal was more telling. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! MrsCake! MrsCake! You’llneverguesswhojustcameinheretogether!” “Shall we sit outside?” Noteworthy suggested, glancing back over his shoulder. The inside of Sugarcube Corner wasn’t busy but Pinkie’s voice cut through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. It was impossible not to hear her. “Yes please.” Bon-Bon wanted to hold the tray but he carried it through the door without asking and placed it on a table of wrought metal filigree. A massive sun umbrella poked through the centre of the table, weighted down by a concrete block in the shape of a slice of cake. It even had a concrete cherry on top. Years ago, when the newlywed Cakes opened their as yet unnamed café, they had promised theirs would be an establishment that did not skimp on details or quality. They had never gone back on their word, which accounted for why Sugarcube Corner had outlasted all the other cafés that had been operating at the time. “Is this an okay spot?” Noteworthy asked belatedly. “We could move if you don’t like it.” “Here’s fine.” Bon-Bon sat down and turned the tiny pot of tea so she could hold the lid shut as she poured. While Noteworthy had stuck with his original suggestion of coffee, she had opted for something less caffeinated if she planned to get any sleep when they were done. “We were lucky to get the last two slices,” Noteworthy observed as he passed her one of the plates. The ceramic chinked as he placed a dessert fork next to the slightly battered slice of banana cake. The slice he kept for himself had completely disintegrated on one side while hers at least retained its triangular shape. He was making small-talk in the face of her troubled silence. “Yeah, we were.” Bon-Bon poured milk, tore open a sachet of sweetener and stirred it in. “Sweetener?” Noteworthy said in surprise. “Not real sugar? I would have pegged you as a triple-cube girl for sure.” She shrugged. “I’m sweet enough already.” Though she adored making confectionary, ponies always made the mistake of assuming she loved eating it too. There were only so many sugary things a pony could consume before she became tired of them. “Me, I like my coffee black.” Noteworthy pulled the sugar bowl towards him and picked up four cubes at once in the tiny tongs. He brandished them dramatically. “With lots and LOTS of sugar.” Since the tongs were never designed to hold so many at once, the middle two cubes slid free before he was ready, plopping into his brimming mug and splashing him. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” He brushed at his chest, voice rising to an almost feminine pitch. “Hot! Hot! Hot!” “Here.” Bon-Bon grabbed a serviette and whipped around the table almost faster than the eye could see. She sponged the coffee off before it could scald him any further. When it was gone she looked up, realising too late how close his face was to hers in that position. His breath blew onto her cheek. She took a hasty step back and retreated to her seat, where she stirred her tea so hard a little whirlpool appeared in the light brown liquid. “Thanks.” Noteworthy cleared his throat. “Well that was embarrassing. I should write a book: How to Humiliate Yourself in Front of a Pretty Girl in Five Easy Steps.” Bon-Bon’s head jerked up. Did he just say ‘pretty’? Oh no, did he think this was a … had she missed him saying this was a … had she stupidly agreed to a … date? She shook her head. No, no, she would have remembered the word. It leapt out of the conversation like a Catherine Wheel amongst sparklers. Still, he had looked at her strangely just now when she got so close to him. She hoped he hadn’t misinterpreted her actions to mean more than they did. Noteworthy sighed. “Sorry, I’m really bad at this.” “Don’t worry about it,” she replied in a slightly strangled voice. “I don’t usually get much time off from the shop. For a long time I was the only vocal coach. Now Lyra and Minuette are taking some of the workload I have more free time than I know what to do with. A guy can only do so much admin in his office before he starts to go stir crazy, right? So I’ve ventured back into the world of ponies who aren’t chained to their workplace and I … have apparently forgotten even the basic manners I knew before I started the place. I’m sorry.” He winced. “I am really, REALLY bad at this.” Despite her automatic impulse to flee the scene, Bon-Bon couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault he had picked the worst possible mare in all of Ponyville to ask out. He was trying, even if his attempts at social niceties were clearly unpractised. “Don’t worry about it,” she repeated. Reaching for something to throw into the conversation, she asked, “So, um, how long have you owned Music Makers?” “Three years.” “And was it something you always wanted to do?” “Celestia, no. I wanted to be a singer. I used to daydream about crooning blues numbers into a microphone in all the nightclubs in Canterlot. Then I grew up and realised singers are a bit a dozen but singing teachers are pretty thin on the ground.” “So you opened Music Makers.” “Nope. First I moved the Canterlot and busked while I applied everywhere I could think of for work as a performer. Then I swept floors in a club called Swingmeisters, hoping I’d get my big break on open mic night. Then I woke up to myself and moved back to Ponyville after six months of living in a grotty shared apartment with three other stallions who never discovered deodorant. THEN I started Music Makers.” Noteworthy seemed much more comfortable talking about the shop. His posture visibly relaxed. Even his ramrod ears lost some of their tension. “At first there was no shop, just me travelling from house to house around town giving music lessons. The only reason I put down roots was because one of my customers repaired violins for a living and wanted somepony to take on his store after him.” “You know how to repair violins?” “Nope, but I put an ad in the paper to find somepony who did. There are a lot of starving musicians in the world, let me tell you. I called the place ‘Violins and Voices’ until we were successful enough to take on other ponies to offer instrument lessons, and they knew ponies who could repair instruments other than violins, and they knew ponies who knew ponies who knew other ponies…” He shrugged. “The whole thing kind of snowballed. I never expected to end up where I am today but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Paperwork is a nightmare but the rest is golden. I couldn’t ask for a better job.” “Not even crooning blues numbers in Canterlot clubs?” He laughed. “Not even. My employees smell daisy fresh every day.” Bon-Bon tapped her teaspoon on the side of her cup and lifted it to her mouth, blowing off the steam. “It must be nice to have a job you love.” “What about you?” Noteworthy leaned forward, genuinely interested. “What do you do for a living?” Bon-Bon cursed herself. She had walked right into that one. “Oh, this and that.” She spotted the familiar shapes of her own Salty Caramels, which Pinkie Pie had put on a complimentary plate along with their order. The salt glistened like actual crystals. “I’m a confectioner.” “What does that mean?” “I make candies.” She nudged the plate. “These, for example.” “You made these?” He swiftly picked one up and popped it into his mouth whole. His expression as he chewed was comical. He tried his best to look like he had expected the mixture of flavours and liked them. “Um, they’re not … quite as sweet as I was expecting.” “They’re Salty Caramels,” she informed him. “Bittersweet candies.” Kind of like her: looked sweet but with a bitter zing inside. “They aren’t for everyone.” “No, no, they’re, uh, really good.” Noteworthy swallowed and made a valiant attempt to swig coffee without looking like he was washing an unpleasant taste from his mouth. “So you work here?” “No.” “Then how come –” “I bring in excess produce sometimes. The Cakes can find a better use for large quantities of candy than I can.” “Oh.” Noteworthy frowned in confusion. “So where do you work? Do you have a market stall?” “No.” Bon-Bon sighed. “I don’t work, as such. My family owns a couple of candy factories in Manehattan and Fillydelphia. I moved here to get away from all that.” Lies danced off her tongue, the threads of truth running through each not enough to make her feel better for saying them. Her family really did own candy factories but she had no access to the fortune she would have someday inherited. Nevertheless, she couldn’t exactly admit that her expenses were being covered by one of the rulers of all Equestria without provoking questions she was not permitted to answer. “Oh.” Noteworthy nodded. “My family and I don’t get on,” Bon-Bon explained. “We have … different ways of looking at the world.” That much was true, at least. “And now I’ve made you uncomfortable. You think I’m one of those kept mares who wouldn’t know hard work if it hit her in the face with a bag of sugared almonds.” “No, I don’t … sugared almonds?” She shrugged. “It sounded better in my head.” “I know that feeling.” Noteworthy sipped his coffee hesitantly, as if the rest might leap out and scald him too. “That explains why you’re available to keep bringing Lyra her lunch when she forgets.” Bon-Bon drank her tea and didn’t respond. “I despair at her sometimes,” he went on. “She can be so scatter-brained it makes me want to tear my mane out but she’s also one of the best teachers I’ve ever seen; and talk about a performer! When she plays her lyre everypony stops to listen. And if she’s singing as well? Boom! Everything and everyone grinds to a halt.” “I know,” Bon-Bon said quietly. Not picking up on her emotion, Noteworthy chuckled. “That’s nothing compared with when Minuette joins in, though. When those two sing a Capella … well, let’s just I had to get them to stop doing it during working hours or nopony was getting anything done.” “I can believe that.” “Really?” he quirked an eyebrow. “Most ponies would be at least a little sceptical – even if it is one hundred percent true.” “If Minuette is even half as good as Lyra, I can believe you.” Bon-Bon pensively sipped her tea. She tried to think of something else to say but drew a blank. Awkward silence descended like a damp blanket, muffling both sound and mood. “So …” Noteworthy was also struggling to find a topic for conversation. He put down his mug, picked up a fork and scooped banana cake into his mouth. “Wow, it really is as good as everypony says. You should try it.” Bon-Bon dutifully did so. She agreed that the cake was lovely but even she didn’t buy the fake enthusiasm in her voice. Tiredness had blossomed behind her eyes and all she wanted to do right now was go to sleep and forget, however briefly, all the things churning in her head. She was being rude and she knew it. She didn’t want to be but this entire situation was making her uncomfortable. Finally Noteworthy put down his half eaten slice and jabbed the fork upright in it. “I get the feeling you’d rather be anywhere but here right now.” “Hmm? No, of course not. I was just –” “Just staring into space. It’s okay.” He gave her a smile that made her stomach twist, though out of pity and regret rather than desire. “Sometimes there’s a spark between two ponies and sometimes there isn’t. You were good enough to agree to have coffee with me and I appreciate that. When I asked Lyra and she told me you weren’t dating anyone, I just thought I’d try my luck.” He lifted one muscular shoulder and let it drop. “Though for the record, I didn’t say you were pretty just because I’m attracted to you.” Bon-Bon’s cheeks grew warm. She tried to hide behind her raised teacup, which she held between both forehooves like a shield. “No, really.” Noteworthy tried to peer under her hooves to meet her eye. “You’re a very attractive mare, Bon-Bon. Whichever stallion you pick to date is sure going to be one lucky guy. Whoa!” The legs of his chair squeaked as he shoved involuntarily backwards away from the table. Bon-Bon looked at the pieces of broken cup in her hooves. Hot tea dribbled down her forelegs and dripped onto the floor. It wasn’t scalding anymore so she didn’t leap up or even cry out. She had experienced far worse pain than that during her patrols. “Bon-Bon, are you okay? You’re bleeding!” “No I’m not.” She turned her hooves over but they were fine. “Not there; your cheek.” Noteworthy picked up a paper serviette and leaned across the table to dab at her face. The serviette came away red, though only a little. The cut was shallow from a piece of ceramic that had flown off at an angle when she crushed the teacup. It had been an accident but she cursed herself anyway. She was usually so careful about keeping her abilities hidden. The frustration and overtiredness of the day must have gotten to her more than she had thought. She stood abruptly. “I have to pay for the damage.” “What?” Noteworthy stared at her. “No, you have to get that cut cleaned and checked out. It might need stitches. At the very least it needs sterilising –” “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” She compelled herself to stop acting like an idiot, slow down and deal with this rationally. “There must have been a hairline crack in the cup. You can never see those things until it’s too late and you’re wearing the remains of your drink.” She rolled her eyes as if to say ‘what can you do, huh? Ha-ha-ha, nothing to worry about, everything’s perfectly normal here.’ “I’ll go and tell Pinkie Pie what happened. Then I really do need to go home. Thank you for buying this for me, Noteworthy, and for being so understanding.” “Uh, it’s fine,” Noteworthy replied uncertainly. “Really. But you really should get that cut –” “It’ll be fine. I have some salve at home that I bought from that zebra in the Everfree. It’s supposed to aid healing.” “You’d trust some potion from a zebra over a trained doctor?” Noteworthy sounded incredulous. She hoped he wasn’t prejudiced against zebras the way a lot of Ponyvillians still were. It would be such a glaring flaw in an otherwise decent, genuinely nice personality. “Thanks again,” Bon-Bon replied, choosing to treat the question like it was rhetorical. She hurried inside Sugarcube Corner, holding a fresh serviette to her cheek. “I’ll bring some candies for you the next time Lyra forgets her lunch.” Bon-Bon lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She had drawn the curtains but sunlight still filtered around the edges and birdsong was clear through the closed window. That wasn’t the problem, however. She had long since adapted to a vaguely nocturnal schedule and her circadian rhythm was more of a spontaneous jazz solo most of the time. No, what was keeping Bon-Bon awake was a combination of an overworked brain, a heavy heart and the suspicion that if she fell asleep those two were going to spark another nightmare. She knew resting up was the sensible thing to do but no matter how she tossed or turned she couldn’t nod off. “This is ridiculous,” she told the ceiling. Needless to say, it did not reply. She thought about Princess Luna’s letter. May Day was two days away. She would have to buy a train ticket, provided Twilight Sparkle really was going to Canterlot too. Bon-Bon had no reason to distrust the moon princess’s word but she answered to Celestia and had to make sure the note and its contents were authentic before abandoned the mare she was here to watch over. Watch over. Watcher. Zecora. Bon-Bon’s traitorous brain twisted like a basket of overturned snakes. Zecora. Their disagreement. Making a life in Ponyville. Living. Being the longest surviving Slayer. Being the Slayer at all. Lyra. One thought led to another until Bon-Bon pulled the pillow over her head and yelled into it. “This! Is! Ridiculous!” She rolled onto her side, still clutching the pillow. She didn’t know how long she lay that way, warming her own face with her breath. It was long enough for her cheeks to become damp with condensation. She closed her eyes and willed sleep to come and wipe her mind for a while. It didn’t. Finally she pulled herself into a sitting position and sighed. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. “This is …” She paused before covering her face with both hooves. She felt like she was running headfirst at a brick wall through a field of broken glass and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop because her heart kept telling her it wouldn’t really hurt when she got where she was going. “I’m ridiculous.” She swung her legs out of bed and trundled down to the kitchen. She hadn’t finished her tea at Sugarcube Corner. Perhaps some warm milk would have a soporific effect. She fetched a bottle from the fridge, poured it into a milk-pan and leaned heavily against the counter as she tried, once again, to convince herself that she was better off alone. A sharp knock at the front door grabbed her attention. Well, it wasn’t the middle of the night; it was understandable that ponies might knock her door in the afternoon. The only problem with that was that she had no idea who might knock at any time of the day or night. Ponies did not just drop by her house. They knew she wasn’t the kind of mare you just called on unannounced. She hurried to see who it was. Zecora? No. While Zecora had fewer qualms about coming into town these days she still wouldn’t risk knocking Bon-Bon’s door in broad daylight. Nopony was aware that they even knew each other; to them Zecora was the mysterious magical zebra in the woods and Bon-Bon was the most mundane of mundane earth ponies. Lyra? Since when had Lyra ever bothered knocking? If the door was locked she just yelled until Bon-Bon unlocked it. When Bon-Bon opened the door she got such a shock she was rendered momentarily speechless. Noteworthy looked ruefully back at her, his strong back not even bowing a little under Lyra’s weight. She was sprawled on her belly, head lolling, a bead of drool ready to drip from her open mouth. As Bon-Bon and Noteworthy stared at each other with varying levels of embarrassment, Lyra let out a little snore. “Sorry,” he apologised. “I tried my best but I couldn’t wake her. She was asleep in the practise room after her last student.” He shifted Lyra’s weight. She rocked from side to side but her eyelids didn’t flicker. “I thought I’d take her home but when I got here her door was locked. I knew you lived next door because she mentioned it so I thought maybe you’d have a key?” “Uh, sure I do.” Bon-Bon stepped over to the key rack on the wall. It was a stylised musical note Lyra had given her when presenting her with the spare several months ago. Bon-Bon had used it several times to make sure her friend was up and breakfasted in time for work, though she hadn’t returned the gesture. She couldn’t afford to have other ponies just letting themselves into her house; not even Lyra. “Here.” She offered the key to Noteworthy, realising too late that he couldn’t accept it without tipping Lyra onto the floor. “I’ll, uh, let you in, shall I?” “Thanks.” He followed her as she pulled her own door shut and trotted down the path, around the picket fence and up to Lyra’s porch. “I appreciate this, Bon-Bon.” “Don’t mention it. It’s Lyra who’ll be thanking you when she realises what you did for her. That, or she’ll curl up in a ball of shame that her boss saw her drooling.” “She’s drooling?” “Uh, go right in.” Bon-Bon unlocked the door and stood aside to let him enter. Noteworthy took only a few steps inside before looking around uncertainly. “Where should I put her?” The same rule applied now as had when Bon-Bon offered the key: if he tried to go upstairs Lyra would likely slip off his back. “I’ve never been here before.” “This way.” Bon-Bon ushered him through to the living room. “The couch will have to do for now. Here, let me help you unload her.” “I think this is the moment when I’m supposed to say she’s not a sack of grain, but quite frankly I’m not sure. She weighs a ton!” Noteworthy breathed out as Bon-Bon lifted Lyra off him. “Phew, that’s better. Uh, don’t ever tell her I said that, okay?” “Your secret’s safe with me.” Bon-Bon cradled Lyra momentarily, feeling the warm weight of her sleeping body, before depositing her on the couch. She levered Lyra’s head up and shoved a cushion under it. “There. I think there’s a blanket in the cupboard under the stairs.” She trotted away to find it. “You’re really strong,” said Noteworthy. “You lifted her like she was light as a feather.” “Here it is.” Bon-Bon ignored the observation, instead flourishing a tartan blanket Lyra once used on a picnic they had taken. She unfolded it and covered Lyra, tucking it under her chin and only just resisting the urge to smooth her mane off her face because Noteworthy was watching. “Wow, she really is zonked.” “Zonked?” Noteworthy echoed. “I’ve never heard that word before.” “I think it might be Manehattan slang. I’ve never heard it outside the city.” “Oh.” He scuffed a hoof on the carpet, pointedly not looking at the clutter scattered throughout Lyra’s house. Plates with used forks, empty food containers and wrappers sat on the table and floor. Hats, scarves, socks and other clothes hung off chair and, in the case of one sock, dangling from the end of the curtain rail. “I guess I’ll go then. Thanks for your help, Bon-Bon.” “It’s fine,” she said awkwardly. Getting to her hooves, she turned to face him. “Listen, Noteworthy, about before; I didn’t mean to –” “It’s okay.” He held up a hoof to stop her. “Really, it’s okay. I understand.” “You do?” He nodded. “You were embarrassed that you broke the cup. That’s understandable. I’ve broken more than my fair share of delicate things over the years. When I was a colt I had a growth spurt before any of my classmates and I was the gawkiest, clumsiest thing you’ve ever seen. My mom actually had to start using paper plates and ban me from doing the washing up because of the number of the things I accidentally dropped and broke.” “Embarrassed. Yes.” Not a total lie, though not what she had been going to say. She wasn’t sure what she had been about to say, actually, but that hadn’t been it. “So it’s fine. I’m just sorry I made you uncomfortable by asking you out in the first place.” “No, it was … it was very nice of you.” He gave her a disbelieving smile. Celestia, he was such a nice guy. So many mares would kill to have a nice guy like him show interest in them. Bon-Bon, on the other hand, continued to wish the floor would split open and swallow her, then spit her back out when he was gone. “I’d better go,” he said. Bon-Bon didn’t move as he trotted past her. At the door he stopped and added over his shoulder, “That salve you got from the zebra must really work. Your cheek’s all healed already.” Bon-Bon whirled but he had already left through the open front door. She advanced to see him trotting down the garden path, not hurrying away but not lingering either. She watched until he had travelled all the way down the street and passed out of sight before finally shutting the door. Lyra had curled into the blanket’s warmth. She lay facing the back of the sofa, her spine a long curve of tartan with mint green tail hanging out the end. She was snoring in earnest now, a testament to how exhausted she must be. “I’m not surprised,” Bon-Bon murmured. “What have I told you about pulling all-nighters? You can’t burn the candle at both ends, Lyra.” She sighed, tucking the blanket more firmly around her. Lyra snuggled deeper and gave the biggest snore Bon-Bon had ever heard come out of a pony. “Excuse you.” Bon-Bon rose to leave but stopped. She watched Lyra sleep, revelling in the simple comfort of the moment. It was stupid. She always harped on at Lyra to clean her house or at least tidy the mess a little. Yet being here in that same mess brought Bon-Bon a sense of peace that her own neat, orderly house had not. There was a strange kind of cosiness in the disarray of Lyra’s home. Hesitantly, her feet dragging as if they expected at any moment for her to come to her senses, Bon-Bon crossed the room and eased herself into one of the wingchairs. She drew all four legs up and tucked them under herself, resting her chin on one of the wings. It gave her exactly the right position to watch the ride and fall of Lyra’s blanket in time with her snores. A woolly vest, totally inappropriate for the warm weather, sat next to Bon-Bon’s head. It had probably been there since Winter Wrap Up. Usually she would have felt compelled to fold it and put it away. Now, however, she left it exactly where it was. When darkness fell, she would wake. She always did. She would rise, leave this comfortably messy house and its sleeping occupant, don her cloak and belt and go back out on patrol. If she found any demons she would fight them. If she won she would banish them back to whatever plane of existence they came from, just as hundreds, if not thousands of mares had done before her. She would do it because she was the Slayer and that was what the Slayer did; but also because she needed to keep the world safe so ponies like Lyra could sleep after a hard day at work without the forces of darkness threatening their safety. Afterwards she would come home and check to make sure Lyra was all right, because deep in her core Bon-Bon could not countenance a world in which Lyra Heartstrings was not happy and safe – even if keeping it that way meant she risked the darkness someday taking her the way it had taken all the other Slayers. Even if it meant keeping her own feelings for her secret, so that the pain of her inevitable disappearance, whatever the reason for it, would not leave Lyra crying into her pillow the way a little filly in Manehattan had when her grandmother died. “Ridiculous,” she murmured drowsily. “I’m … so … ridiculoussss …” At last, Bon-Bon was able to sleep.