//------------------------------// // 13. Consequences // Story: Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// What do you suppose? I can scarce believe it myself! Princess Celestia somehow discovered that Master Starswirl intended for me to work the entire celebration days and has instructed him to give me leave. I was shocked that she would even remember my presence, yet she spoke my name as if there could be no question she knew exactly who I am. I was shocked as a cat that had fallen into a rain barrel. I could do naught but stand with my mouth wide as she informed Master Starswirl that I was to own my time this day and spend it as I wish, not as he does. I might have tried to protest, save for the manner in which she looked at me as she spoke. She smiled at me and expressed her hope that I might have a pleasant day exploring Horseshoe Bay. I could not help but look to Master Starswirl to see his reaction. He was not at all pleased, yet he did not contradict Her Majesty and I was given leave of their presence. Well now, I did as I was told, yet the moment my hooves reached the street I had no notion of whence I was to go. It is one thing for the princess to say I am to explore the town. It is another to actually do the thing. I was frozen in place for several minutes, until a passing cart fair spun me around, it passed so close. I was forced to retreat to another spot, whereupon I instructed my hooves to keep moving until I told them to stop. Horseshoe Bay is a far busier place than I expected. It is filled to brimming with ponies in attendance of the Summer Sun Celebration, yet beneath their gabble flows the conversation of local ponies, which I found even more intriguing. Everypony, it seems, knows everypony else. Mares and stallions call out to each other as easily as they would to family, with earth ponies, pegasi and even unicorns mixing as easily as … as vegetables in a giant stewpot! Many times I wished to simply stand and stare at them all, yet they were so free with each other that to do so would have made me conspicuous like a single stupid pigeon in a flock of chattering sparrows. One thing I did not realise about Horseshoe Bay is this: all roads eventually lead to the harbour. It is as if the entire town is set upon a slope and the streets greased like Mistress Quickly’s best baking pan, so that sooner or later all ponies slide to the water’s edge. I slid there so fast I was not even aware of it until I observed the sparkle of water running alongside the street and realised it was no street, but a series of wooden slats ranged between posts thrust into the sea. I could glimpse water through the gaps between each plank, which rattled and shook as hooves trotted up and down them. My hooves, however, were remained where I had stopped. I could not have moved them if I had tried. I was too transfixed by all that water beneath me and the sudden remembrance that I cannot swim. It was as I thought this that a voice sounded that I recognised, though the owner did not also leap into my mind until I saw his face. It was the Mister Drake, sailor from yesterday, grinning like a cat that has stolen a canary without opening the birdcage door. He walked right up to me, bold as you please, and said he was glad I had chosen to meet him after all, though I was quite late! The cheek of him, thinking I had come to the harbour for his benefit. I said nothing, though that was more because I had not the ability. The rattling planks and glittering water had stolen my voice as well as the power of my legs. The sailor gave me a strange look in return for the one I was giving him. It cleared quite suddenly, as if realisation had swept his features as easily as pegasi may sweep the sky of clouds. “Is this the first time you’ve been on a wharf?” he asked me, as if I was intended to know the word. He tapped the plank beneath his forehoof, however, so I did not have to feign freedom from my own ignorance. “Are you scared of being on the water?” he then asked, before informing me it was very shallow and nothing at all to worry about! I could easily swim back to shore, he told me, especially if he was there to aid me. “I could not easily swim to shore,” I gritted. “I could not easily swim anywhere since I cannot swim.” One might think I had slapped him across the face, such was his shock. “Can’t swim”?” he said. “What kind of earth pony can’t swim?” Well I was so offended it loosened my hooves right up. I marched my way back to solid ground, flicking my tail at him in a clear sign of annoyance and instruction to leave me alone. It was unfortunate he did not understand this, for he followed me back to the street, apologising all the way for any offence he might have caused. He claimed he did not know his own tongue sometimes and spoke to landlocked ponies like myself the way he spoke to his crew when he should have known that he ought not to. I tried to ignore him but he cantered ahead of me and blocked my path, begging to make it up to me by way of confectionary from Mrs Apple Pie’s teashop. I know I should have walked straight past his impertinent self but … something in his eyes gave me pause. He did so look very sorry, to the point I did not doubt his truthfulness on the matter. And my stomach did so choose that very moment to rumble, reminding me that I had walked a long way and it had been hours since breakfast. Diary, I accepted his offer! Do not judge me harshly. I am not some wanton strumpet. I had every inclination to remain aloof and meet his wiles with reserve and detachment. Yet the moment Mrs Apple Pie’s sweet apple fritters arrived at our table and I did nibble upon one, I was lost to the immeasurably wonderful flavour held therein. I did not think any food could ever taste so good! Whereupon I took such enormous bites that the sailor did laugh and opine his pleasure that I did so enjoy the vittles in this establishment of his choosing. I could not believe the sheer piggishness of my own behaviour, but my blushing called only more soft laughter to his lips. I would have jumped to my hooves and escaped there and then, but the food was indeed so tremendous that I found myself unable to leave while my plate still sat full. “What be your name, fair maiden with the excellent taste and pretty eyes?” he asked. I swear, I tell nothing but truth; this is what he called me, the impudent wretch! “Or am I to call you Strong Little Mare forever more?” I told him my name is Peaseblossom and he complimented the flower for trying to match my beauty! My blush grew so much, I did think I might render myself in a faint upon the floor in front of all the other patrons of Mrs Apple Pie’s teashop. “Though methinks Strong Little Mare is an equally accurate descriptive for you, Miss Peaseblossom.” “You are too forward, Mister Drake,” I replied, attempting not to sound as though I was being strangled by my own embarrassment. “Am I? Perhaps I have been too long at sea, then. I am apparently much the worse at talking to pretty mares than I was when I was last ashore in Equestria.” “And when was that?” Diary, he had not set foot in our fair land for nigh on seven years! In all that time he had explored faraway places with such names as Graeco where minotaurs live, Faunaria from which goblins herald and the insular land of the Belle Boot earth ponies, who struck out from Equestria before the reunification of the three tribes and never re-joined the mainland after pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies united once more. I asked if he had ever missed home and he replied that it had stopped being his home after his family perished in a fire that burned up their home. After that he took work as a cabin boy on a ship bound for Prance and never again called dry land his home. He was fascinating to listen to. His stories sounded so strange and fanciful, I suspect he must have embellished them, but his skill as a storyteller rendered that problem moot. I ate pastries and listened to him until the basket of fritters were all gone and Mrs Apple Pie herself came over to ask if we wanted to try her famous apple crumble too. Mister Drake declared this a day of celebration, for he had managed to talk to the Strong Little Mare who had occupied his thoughts since yesterday and she had not run away nor cuffed him about the ear as he had feared she might at his impudence. And I … I did not become angry at these words. I blushed scarlet up to my eartips but the anger I had felt previously did fail to stir inside me. Instead, I asked Mrs Apple Pie if I could partake of the bill with the money I had been given for my day out and insisted she not listen when Mister Drake attempted to protest. I squirm to admit that I have arranged to meet with him again. Clearly the sea air of Horseshoe Bay does bring about madness in land born ponies! -- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS. Fleur looked up at the sound of the bolt being pulled back on the door. On cue, all the little fillies and colts around her ran for cover behind the items scattered around their cell. Fleur knew there was nothing large enough to conceal her fully, so she merely huddled into the shadows in the farthest corner and hoped whichever demon had come to feed them would leave quickly and without incident. Fleur gaped at the staircase. Instead of Somnambula or the nameless powerhouse demon, a small tan unicorn filly with a tear-streaked face stood at the top of the steps. The filly peered down at them, leaned backwards as if wanting to run away from what she saw. She even managed to take a step before a brash, nasally voice rang out. “Heeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaw! Move along there!” The filly shot forward, propelled by the hoof of a lumpy donkey behind her. She squeaked as she was forced to canter down the steps to avoid tumbling down them on her face. No sooner had she reached the bottom then another filly was pushed after her, then another, and another. Fleur watched in horror as eight tiny unicorns gathered at the bottom of the stairs and clustered together as if for protection against … herself. The donkey stayed at the top of the steps. In so many ways he was just the same as any donkey Fleur has ever seen in her life: ordinary long donkey ears, ordinary green eyes, ordinary wide hooves under shaggy fetlocks, ordinary tufty donkey tail. Yet something about him felt … off. He wore an orange and red head covering of some sort that stretched down his neck to rest on his chest, like an old fashioned court jester. Fleur recognised the expression on his face as he looked down on the collection of children he had brought to the dungeon: disgust. “You’ll be fed later,” he whinnied. “Don’t try to escape. There’s no way you’d be able to break the enchantments on the window or door and the walls are six feet thick and made of stone. And don’t think anypony is coming to rescue you, either.” He smiled nastily. “As far as anyone in Equestria thinks, you’re all dead already.” He laughed, elongating the noise into a grating bray. “All burned up and dead as doornails. No-one is coming for you.” He raised his eyes, scanning the rest of the dungeon. “Not any of you.” Fleur gulped when his gaze came to rest on her. His smiled dimmed a bit and his nostrils flared, as if seeing her provoked unpleasant thoughts for him. “Certainly not you, Fleur De Lis.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her; and yet his tone was not what caught Fleur’s attention. None of the demons who had visited the dungeon since she arrived had used her name, nor the names of any of the foals. The way this donkey said her full name, though … Something clicked in her memory. Involuntarily, she got to her shaky hooves. “You!” The donkey blinked. Then his smile widened. “Not as dumb as the world thinks then, eh?” “You were … but how …” Fleur shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts and memories into clearer shapes. “Fancy? But that can’t be. How …?” “Or maybe you really are as stupid as you look,” the donkey sneered. Fleur frowned. “So there are changelings here?” He laughed. “I’m no changeling, you bimbo! I’m one-hundred percent pureblood donkey – and proud of it!” Her frown deepened. Maybe she had been mistaken. The donkey reached into a pocket sewn into the chest portion of his headgear and pulled out a tinkling object. Fleur gasped, recognising the sound. The last time she had heard it, she had thought it was a ring her beloved Fancy Pants was going to use to propose to her. Now, however, she could see that it was a tiny metal bell on a length of cord. It pulsed once with magic that extended out and out until the outline of the donkey’s whole body seemed to ripple. Fleur squinted, but the more she tried to bring him into focus, the more his form blurred and wavered until – She inhaled so sharply that her throat ached. There at the top of the steps, looking as handsome and regal as he did in her dreams, was Fancy Pants. And yet she knew it was not her Fancy – could not be. Her Fancy had never worn such a vicious grin, nor laughed so cruelly. “You ponies think you’re so wonderful, so powerful, so intelligent,” Not-Fancy sneered. “But you’re all so full of your own self-importance, you can’t see the truth if it’s literally standing in front of you.” He tossed his head, making his beautiful blue mane flow behind him as if in an invisible wind. “Pathetic. You don’t deserve to rule Equestria and lord it over the rest of us like we’re nothing.” Fleur’s mouth opened and shut like a fish thrown onto dry land. At the bottom of the steps, the crowd of new fillies whimpered and cried. She was acutely aware of the other fillies and colts watching from their hiding places. every hair on the back of her neck was on end at the sheer hatred in the disguised donkey’s voice. “Bray!” barked a familiar voice form behind the donkey. “What’s taking so long?” Not-Fancy’s face froze. His outline flickered and suddenly the donkey’s true form was back. He tucked the little bell into his pocket and turned away. “Coming, Master!” The door slammed behind him, plunging the dungeon into sudden darkness. Fleur’s eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden cessation of light from the corridor beyond. She knew she should move; go forward and see to these eight newcomers, check them over for wounds and explain to them as best she could what was happening. It was the right thing to do: they were all so young, so vulnerable. As the only adult in the room, Fleur knew she should look after them. Yet all she could do was stare at the closed wooden door and think the same few words over and over again: Fancy, oh my Fancy, please say you’re all right, please say he didn’t hurt you before he came for me ... The day of the funerals dawned grey and dull. Bon-Bon suspected the weather pegasi had arranged it to be so. They kept the drizzle off until after the ceremony, when everypony had retreated into Town Hall for the wake. There had been no blood family members to weep at the eight tiny gravesides but for that day it did not matter; for that day all of Ponyville was the family of those lost in the orphanage fire and they mourned them as sincerely as any parent could have. The fillies and colts at the town’s little school were traumatised in their own way. Those who had survived the fire were offered counselling and housed with townsponies who opened their homes in the wake of the disaster. Cheerilee realised that the other children also needed care and kindness at the sudden loss of eight schoolmates all at once, and though not all the fillies who had died were the same age, she petitioned the mayor for extra funding to bring in a therapist from out of town and rented out her own spare room to him for as long as her students needed him. Bon-Bon watched the proceedings with detached approval. The night after the funerals, she called past the cemetery and paid her own private respects at each little fresh mound of dirt, vowing not to fail anypony else the way she had failed them. The way she had failed Wind Whistler … Sometimes it felt like all Bon-Bon ever did was run from or try to atone for her past. Though it was vague and distant in Zecora’s hut, her connection with the sword hummed with its desire to help ease her emotions but she knew that monsters of that kind could not be slain with any blade, no matter how magical. “I won’t fail again,” she muttered after patrol, as the sun crept over the horizon and she settled into bed. “I refuse to let anything like this happen again.” She should have known, of course, that such promises are inevitably futile. The darkness is calling. She can hear its voice like a wind across moorland. The words are indistinct but there ARE words, calling her … summoning her … Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret. She wants to run away but she has no hooves. She wants to get as far away from the encroaching darkness as she can but it just comes calling, calling, calling. She wants to cry out but she has no voice. She wants to scream for help but there isn’t anyone here except her and the darkness. Always the darkness. Always, always, always the darkness. Keep it secret. Keep a secret. Keep the secret. It’s getting nearer. She can feel it. Soon it will be close enough to touch her. Terror quickens her mind, sharpens her soul, and sends her spirit into the physical through sheer force of will. She CANNOT let the darkness reach her. She knows this with the certainty of a thousand lifetimes: she and the darkness can never meet. Now she can run! Hooves thud a ground that isn’t there. Legs extend in a furious gallop. Her body leeches into being, inch by painful inch, muscle by necessary muscle. For a few seconds she is a running torso until her tail flaps behind her and her neck lengthens into ears, mane, forehead, jaw, nose and, finally, useless eyes that can see nothing ahead but emptiness. Keep IT secret. Keep A secret. Keep THE secret. The darkness keeps calling her, louder than before even as she puts distance between them. Where can she go to escape it? Where can she hide that it won’t find her? Everything is flat and black and grey and EMPTY. She has to find colour. She has to find shape! She can hide behind shapes and blend into colours. The darkness can’t. The velvet voice seeps into her ears, wrapping around her even as she bucks at nothing like a mindless animal. The words are still indistinct but the message is clear. The darkness is coming. The darkness is coming for her. The darkness is coming … coming … coming … The darkness is … here. Bon-Bon sat bolt upright, the sword’s presence jangling in the back of her mind. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. It had been so long since that nightmare, she had thought herself free of it completely. Tension hummed in her every muscle and tendon. Gradually, as she perceived the lack of threat here in reality, she relaxed, though the sword still clattered its alarm against her synapses. “I’m fine,” she assured, both thinking and saying the words. Speaking out loud crystallised her thoughts and brought more clarity at this distance. “It’s fine. It was only a nightmare.” It was already fading from her mind, just like all the other times. The echo of the Lunar Sword spiked with apprehension. “No, not Nightmare Moon,” Bon-Bon quickly corrected. “Just a regular bad dream.” The sword did not agree. The dream had rung against the stretched-thin mind-bond between them and twanged it very oddly. No ordinary bad dream had ever done that before, it insisted. Bon-Bon’s hooves balled in the bedclothes. “Are … you sure?” she said uncertainly. The sword rippled its assent directly into her brain. It was very, very sure. This bad dream was more than it appeared. Bon-Bon sighed and got out of bed. The details of the dream were already gone, leaving nothing but a vague sense of unease and the sword’s insistence that she’d had it at all. “Then I’d better come to you and talk to Zecora.” She was stuffing a hastily constructed, calorie-enriched sandwich into her mouth when someone knocked on her door. Bon-Bon froze. She was not expecting anyone. It was daylight, which both narrowed and broadened who it could be. As if demons knock? Come on, Bon-Bon. Even you’re not that stupid. Although … it could be Lyra. They had not spoken since Bon-Bon was released from hospital. The oddness of their last exchange rankled Bon but when Bon-Bon had seen her at the funeral, Lyra had not acknowledged her. Bon-Bon wasn’t sure whether that was a consequence of her continued anger or because of the solemnity of the occasion. She hoped it was the second and it was Lyra knocking now, calling in before she headed to work to squash the oddness and restore their usual ease. It was not Lyra on her doorstep. “Hi,” Twilight Sparkle said brightly. “I hope I didn’t wake you?” Bon-Bon stared, half a sandwich dangling in her forehoof. “Uh …” “Sorry, I just … I couldn’t sleep because of … well, you know. And since I was awake anyway, I figured I’d make you some of this.” She held out a glass phial in her aura. Bon-Bon looked stupidly at it for a moment before decorum won out and she opened her free hoof to take it. The glass glinted a deep blue, the colour so resonant it obscured more than the merest slosh of liquid within. “Uh … thank you?” “It’s hair stimulant,” Twilight explained. “There aren’t actually any spells for instantaneous hair regrowth once it’s been lost. I always thought there were but apparently not. So I did some light reading of a few dozen books and discovered that there are ways to stimulate hair follicles’ natural growth to speed up their processes a bit. Nothing dramatic and it can’t overcome a pony’s natural mane-baldness or anything like that but I thought … well, you seemed so upset about your tail …” She trailed off, smile dimming at Bon-Bon’s underwhelming reaction. “It’s okay if you’d rather not. Like I said, I was awake anyway so I just thought … well, might as well be useful … y’know?” Bon-Bon gawped. Her brain struggled to follow the situation and properly process it. “You … made this… for me?” “Um, yes?” Twilight scuffed a hoof. “You’re the town hero, after all.” Ohnoohnoohnoohno – “Uh … are you okay?” Bon-Bon snapped back to herself. “I’m fine!” She paused. “Well … as much as can be expected under the circumstances.” Twilight’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah.” Awkwardness settled between them like a stone dropped into a shallow pool. Bon-Bon cleared her throat. “I–” “Sorry,” Twilight interrupted. “I guess I was too forward. I do that sometimes. I’m still figuring out this whole friendship thing. Or this whole interpersonal-but-not-parasocial-or-symbiotic-relationships-in-general thing, to be honest. I get things wrong sometimes. Um, well, a lot. I’m sorry if this is one of those times. I’m not really clued up on where the line is for giving gifts within friendships or acquaintanceships or … anything.” She shrugged, her expression so well-meaning and self-conscious that for a moment something broke through Bon-Bon’s internal panic and she was struck by how … adorable Twilight looked. Adorable?! “I’ll just … go.” Twilight swiveled to leave. “I hope the tincture helps. If you rub it into the hair follicles it should … help. I was, uh … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” “Wait.” Bon-Bon could have tied her own tongue in a knot to make her next words stop. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, you just caught me unawares. Ponies don’t, uh, give me unexpected gifts very often. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’m very … touched that you thought of me and went to all this effort. Thank you.” “Oh, it was no trouble.” The wattage of Twilight’s smile turned all the way up, as if Bon-Bon had paid her the biggest compliment possible. “Once I had the recipe it was really very simple. Well, there were a few recipes but I went down to my lab and tried some of them out beforehand just in case they didn’t work, then combined and tested and refined until I had that version. Spike insisted I let him rub it on his upper lip as a final test and by the time I left the library this morning there was some fuzz growing there.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s really into the idea of having a moustache. He thinks it’ll make him look more mature and therefore appealing to, uh, his crush.” Spike’s idolisation of Rarity was the worst kept secret in all of Ponyville. Bon-Bon nodded, looking down at the blue phial. “That certainly sounds like you went to a lot of effort.” “Pfft. Not really.” Twilight waved a hoof. “To be honest, I appreciated the distraction. I couldn’t stop thinking about … y’know.” Oh yes, Bon-Bon knew. She knew all too well. Twilight winced. “Sorry. You don’t need me reminding you. To be honest, bringing over that tincture was only one reason I wanted to come over so early. The other was that I wanted to check up on how you’re doing after the funeral yesterday.” How am I doing? Bon-Bon pondered this momentarily. “I’m doing okay,” she answered finally. “Not souffle-that-didn’t-fall perfect but smooth-topped-brownie even.” Twilight blinked at her. “That is … such an interesting way of putting it.” Her horn glowed and a notebook levitated out of the saddlebag at her side, followed by a pencil. She scribbled something on one of the pages. “I’ll have to start looking out some cookery books so I can understand what you’re talking about. Rarity told me that just smiling and nodding is polite but doesn’t really do for making friends feel valued when they’re talking to you about their special interests.” An ice-cube tinkled into the bottom of Bon-Bon’s heart. “Wh-what?” Twilight paused. “Oh. Um … sorry, I do that sometimes.” She replaced the book and pencil. “I love learning and I especially love finding new things to learn about. Since I moved to Ponyville I’ve always relied on Spike for household chores and meal preparations; and before that Princess Celestia had her chefs make and deliver food for me each week because she knew I wouldn’t remember to feed myself otherwise, so I never actually learned how to cook. I mean, I think I could make toast? Maybe. Toast can’t catch on fire, can it?” That had not been the part of her diatribe that had snagged Bon-Bon’s attention. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you directly, she thought wildly. And you’re talking about us being friends!? Ohhhhh, this is bad, this is so bad. Twilight was watching her. She cleared her throat. “Um, well, it can if you toast it on a toasting fork over an open fire but most ponies use electric toasters these days and those have lower settings to prevent toast-fires.” “Then I could probably make toast.” Twilight nodded to herself. “I’ll have to try it when I get home. I think we have a toaster. Although I’ve seen Spike using his fire breath on bread before so maybe not.” She scrunched up her face. “You must think I’m pretty incompetent.” “What? No!” Bon-Bon exclaimed. “Heh, it’s okay. I’ve heard all around town about what an awesome cook you are. Pinkie Pie never stops talking about your candies whenever you take them to Sugarcube Corner. They’re her favourite – and that mare really knows her candy.” Twilight beamed. “Confectionary is a fascinating thing – one part science, one part art, one part pure deliciousness. Do you think you’d be able to teach me some of your recipes sometime?” Bon-Bon stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “Me. Teach you. How to make candy.” Her voice came out so flat that it dimmed Twilight’s smile again. The purple unicorn lifted a hoof as if on the cusp of running away. “Sorry, was that too forward again? I’m learning interpersonal skills, I swear I am.” Yes, go on, leave, whispered Bon-Bon’s brain. Get out of here and never talk to me again. It’s safer for both of us that way. Twilight’s ears swiveled to press against her head. “Sorry, that was so presumptuous of me. Of course you have better things to do than teach me how to make candy. I rescind the request. I should probably cover the basics before I try anything that complicated anyway.” “It’s okay.” What am I doing? “I’m not offended.” “You aren’t?” Twilight’s ears flicked upright again. “Oh gosh, I’m so relieved. I’m making a total mess of this.” “Of what?” “Um …” Twilight spiraled a hoof. “Well, I really was hoping we could get to know each other better after our talk in the hospital.” “You don’t have to ask me for cookery lessons to get to know me.” The ears flattened again. Bon-Bon lifted a hoof before she could stop herself, guilt sluicing through her. “I mean, there are other ways. I’m not exactly a complicated mare.” Ha! Twilight’s ears pricked forward. “Would … you like to go get breakfast then? Since it’s so early?” Her eye fell on the half-eaten sandwich. “Oh! Wait, no, you already –” “Sure.” Stop! Stop! Abort! Abort! “I think Sugarcube Corner is open this early. Their breakfast menu is pretty nice.” What in the name of Celestia’s sweet shiny horn am I doing?! “Nicer than this sandwich.” Twilight Sparkle practically danced on the spot with delight. “Cool. C’mon! My treat.” Sugarcube Corner was indeed open, though the ‘closed’ sign had only barely been flipped around when they arrived. Pinkie Pie’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head when Bon-Bon and Twilight walked in together. Bon-Bon tried her best to ignore the pink mare’s wide grin as she and her breakfast companion chose a booth in the empty café and shuffled onto opposite sides of it. And she was just a companion because befriending Twilight Sparkle was just about the most stupid thing she could possibly do. Then what are you doing here at all, idiot? “Hihihihihihi!” Pinkie interrupted the self-recriminations, bouncing over with a pair of laminated menus that she plonked down in from of them. “Hi Twilight! Hi Bon-Bon! Didn’t expect to see you two here so early like this. What can I getcha?” “Earl Grey tea and some lemon please, Pinkie,” said Twilight, levitating the menu up to study it. “I’m paying for us both. Bon-Bon, would you like something to drink?” “Coffee.” Bon-Bon stared at the wording on the menu without taking in any of it. “White with extra cream and eight sugars please.” Twilight’s eyes widened at the number of sugars but pinkie did not even pause. “So the usual for you both.” She clapped her hooves and bounced away. “Back in a jiff!” Bon-Bon continued to stare unseeingly at the menu. “Do you see anything you like?” Twilight asked. “I can recommend the breakfast burrito. Pinkie tested it out on Fluttershy, Applejack and me in its beta stage and it was pretty yummy.” “Um…” “I’m thinking cinnamon oatmeal with banana slices myself.” Twilight tapped her horn. “Magic burns energy like you wouldn’t believe and I used up a bunch last night so today I get to eat as many calories as I want to replenish my stores.” She smiled. “Um … Bon-Bon?” Bon-Bon startled. “Hmm? Sorry, I was just thinking.” Thinking what a fool she was. Thinking how Celestia was going to be so mad about this. Thinking how she should have said no to this entire idea. Thinking – “I know.” Twilight laid her menu flat and laid her hooves flat atop it, staring out the window. “I’ve been thinking a lot about them too.” She had it wrong but Bon-Bon didn’t want to correct her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been thinking about the fire as well. “Sugarcoat. Sunny Flare. Indigo Zap. Lemon Zest. Sour Sweet. Glory. Fizzy. Ribbon. Those were their names,” Twilight said softly. “I have an eidetic memory but even without it … They all had hopes, dreams, futures – things they’ll never get to do or see or live. It’s up to us to make sure they don’t get forgotten. It’s up to us to honour them by living life to the fullest and making the most of it in ways they no longer can.” Bon-Bon swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah. I guess so.” “I lost my grandmother when I was ten,” Twilight murmured. “She had a heart attack while she was supervising me and my brother at the park in Canterlot. I saw her fall over from the top of the slide but by the time I got there …” She fiddled with the corner of the menu. “You’re never prepared for death when it comes. You think: ‘Was there something else I could have done? Some way I could have prevented this from happening?’ Logically there isn’t but … grief doesn’t care about logic.” Bon-Bon’s lower jaw hung open. She hastily clicked it shut. “Sorry.” Twilight turned back to her. “That was probably too much sharing. I just wanted you to know that I’m not a complete stranger to … losing ponies. I’ve encountered death, so when I say I understand and I hope you feel able to talk to me if you need to, I’m not just saying it to be polite.” “I …” Bon-Bon rasped. She paused to gather herself. “I … me too.” “Huh?” “My grandmother died. I was a kid. I was the only one there. I was … cooking. We used to do that together. It helped calm me down when I was stressed. That day … I was really upset and she calmed me down with our shared hobby. And I got my cutie mark; the same as hers. I was so excited and proud to tell her but …” She took a breath. “Aneurism. It took less than five seconds. She wasn’t in any pain, the doctors said. But … I was the only one there,” she repeated lamely. “Like you say, grief doesn’t care about logic.” Twilight took a moment before nodding sagely. “I’m sorry.” “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry about your grandmother too.” “Thank you.” As is summoned specifically to dispel the dour mood, Pinkie Pie reappeared. She slid a teapot, cup, saucer and lemon wedge in front of Twilight, spun and deposited Bon-Bon’s coffee before her as well with all the grace of a ballerina. A plate plunked down between them. On it a pair of muffins radiated heat and the delicious aroma of blueberries and lemon. “These just came out of the oven. Bon appetit! Heh, or should that be Bon-Bon appetit?” she giggled, waggling her eyebrows. “They’re on the house! Except that’s totally a lie because they’re on this plate, not on top of the house, and this isn’t even a house, it’s a café – although I do live upstairs so maybe that part counts as a house? But that doesn’t matter because they’re still not up there –” “Pinkie!” “Sorry Twilight.” Twilight smiled tolerantly. “That’s okay. But Pinkie, we can’t accept this. I know whenever you try to give your friends things ‘on the house’ it ends up coming out of your pay.” “Actually, this time it won’t.” Pinkie gestured at the counter, where Mr Cake was just visible through the door to the kitchen. He waved through the gap, kicking closed the oven behind him. “It was Mr Cake’s idea and he’s the owner so it’ll come out of his pay, not mine.” “On the house for two of Ponyville’s heroes!” Mr Cake confirmed. Bon-Bon felt blood rushing into her cheeks. “I’m not a hero,” she said reflexively. “Twilight is a hero. So are you, Pinkie Pie. You’re both Elements of Harmony. And even outside of that. Twilight stopped anyone else’s houses from burning down. You saved the town from parasprites. I’m just some idiot who nearly got herself killing by running into a burning building and then falling out of a window.” “Do I need to hug you?” She startled. “Wh-what?” Pinkie rose onto her hind legs, the better to fold her forelegs and squint at Bon-Bon like she was a bug under a glass. Her eyeball even seemed to balloon towards her in an impossible manner. “That’s the kind of thing ponies who don’t get enough hugs say. You’re totes a hero. Us doing all that stuff doesn’t make what you did any less heroic.” She tuned her face sideways like a bird eyeing something to see if it was a pebble or a piece of bread. “I think I need to hug you.” Bon-Bon leaned away. “Please don’t.” “But you need a hug!” “Pinkie,” Twilight admonished gently. “Personal boundaries.” Pinkie pouted. “But hugs are good for the soul!” “Only if other ponies want them. Remember what we talked about?” “Hmmph.” Pinkie dropped to all fours. “That some ponies aren’t comfortable with casual physical contact even if it’s meant totally innocently and I can’t assume everyone has the same sensory input or personal boundaries that I do and may not appreciate hugs, pats, noogies, boops or other things I do.” With each word her mane seemed to deflate, becoming lank and limp on either side of her neck. “Sometimes being considerate sucks.” “Could I possibly get another slice of lemon, please?” Twilight asked. “I don’t think this will be enough for the whole pot of tea.” At the prospect of being useful, Pinkie brightened. “Sure thing.” She paused, hooves twitching as if she was physically fighting her urge to embrace Bon-Bon. “YoustilldeserveahugbecauseyouaretotallyaheroandaprettyawesomeponyandyouclearlyneedmorehugsevenifIamnottheponywhogivesthemtoyouarghhhhhhhhthisisitoohardddd.” Bon-Bon struggled to disentangle the string of words as Pinkie dived back behind the counter. “She’s … a lot, isn’t she?” “She is.” Twilight deftly levitated the teapot into the air and pouring herself a cup. Bon-Bon watched as she lifted the lemon and squeezed until a few pale drops splashed into the brown liquid, then lifted the cup to her face, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm, I love the smell of Earl Grey in the morning.” Bon-Bon pulled her coffee mug towards herself and began stirring in the eight neatly stacked cubes of sugar. Reflexively she made to lick the excess off the spoon but paused with it halfway to her mouth. She wasn’t at home in her own kitchen right now; she was out in public where ponies could see her. Instead, she placed the teaspoon on her napkin and raised the mug so she could blow off the sweet-scented steam and very precisely not look at Twilight Which was made much more difficult when Twilight split a muffin neatly in two and levitated half at her. “Here. I’ve tried these before, they’re really good.” Bon-Bon accepted the muffin and took a bite. It was indeed lovely; the flavours subtly intertwining without any one overwhelming the others. She felt bits of candied lemon peel rolling around on her tongue and the twang of blueberries offset by the sweet stodge of the muffin itself. Bon-Bon could recognise craftsponyship when she tasted it. “You’re right, it’s really good.” “I know righffe?” Twilight sprayed a few crumbs. One landed on Bon-Bon’s nose, provoking an expression of horrified embarrassment from Twilight. “Oopsh. Shorry.” She flicked it away with her magic, making Bon-Bon blink at the nearness of her aura’s crackle. “Personal boundaries, Twilight!” Pinkie called, unseen, from the kitchen. Twilight nearly choked on her mouthful. “OhmygoshIamsosorry.” “It’s fine.” Bon-Bon cut her off before she could start apologising again. “Don’t even worry about it. Also, how did she even see that?” “But personal space is an important facet of friendships and respecting other ponies.” Twilight looked flustered. “And she’s Pinkie Pie. At a certain point you just have to stop questioning how she can do things. I’m so sorry for invading your personal space without permission, Bon-Bon!” Bon-Bon watched Twilight carefully. “You’re really jazzed over learning all about friendship, aren’t you?” The faintest blush crept into Twilight’s cheeks. “Well, to be fair, the power of friendship did help me save Equestria multiple times.” Bon-Bon paused. “That’s true.” “Friendship is Magic!” Pinkie screeched joyously, accompanied by the sound of what could have been tumbling saucepans. “Pinkie, it’s rude to eavesdrop!” hissed Mr Cake at a level Bon-Bon could hear but which she would bet Twilight could not. Pinkie replied in a whisper like raindrops on cobblestones. “But they’re so adorab-rrggghhfff!” Bon-Bon recognised the sound of somepony having their muzzle forcibly held shut. “Don’t you think friendship is a good thing?” Twilight asked, blithely ignorant of the happenings in the kitchen. Bon-Bon refocused on her. “To a certain extent,” she admitted. “There are undoubtedly some benefits to it, I guess.” Twilight frowned. “You almost sound like me before I came to Ponyville. I had no faith in the power of friendship back then, only in myself and my own capabilities. If I couldn’t handle a problem, well then it couldn’t be handled.” Bon-Bon’s mug paused on its way up to her mouth. Twilight carefully levitated the lemon slice to squeeze another few drops into her tea. “It’s a lonely way to think. I thought I was happy back then but it’s only after I came here and experienced real friendship that I realised what true happiness is, and that what I had back then was only a pale facsimile.” Bon-Bon put down her mug and stared into the swirling depths. “You don’t know what you don’t know, as Princess Celestia used to say when I was in her school. I took it to heart a little too much and thought that if I studied enough things in enough detail, I’d always know enough. But some things can’t be learned from books.” Twilight sipped her tea and sighed happily. Bon-Bon made a non-committal noise in reply. Twilight was speaking a little too much truth for her comfort. She averted her eyes, searching for inspiration of a subject to which she could divert this uncomfortable conversation. Since the café was empty, she looked out of the window next to their booth. Ponyville’s citizens were increasingly up and about, making their way to work and school to start a new day. A flash of mint green caught Bon-Bon’s attention. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she just saw Lyra dart down an alleyway that was absolutely not en route to Music Makers. She leaned forward, trying to crane her neck to get a better look. “Oh! You want some more? Here, let me help.” Bon-Bon turned her head just in time for telekinesis to squash one half of a freshly bisected muffin into her snout. Crumbs went up her nose and she started to cough, shooting backwards into her seat. Twilight’s forehooves flew to her mouth, her purple eyes huge and apologetic. “Oh my gosh, I’m so incredibly sorry!” she gabbled. “I thought you were leaning over to get your half! Here, let me just –” She retracted the muffin, levitated up a paper serviette and instructed, “Blow.” Like a foal whose parent is wiping their nose, Bon-Bon blew. Twilight removed the tissue and floated up the mug of coffee in its stead. “Drink some of this to clear your throat. Words cannot begin to describe how sorry I am!” “It’s okay,” Bon-Bon croaked, accepting the drink. It was still too hot but she took a few cleansing sips anyway. “No harm done.” “Except to your opinion of me.” Twilight dragged the flat of one hoof down her face. “You must thing I’m an absolute goober!” Bon-Bon blinked at her, nonplussed, and took another sip. “Goober?” “Uh, Rainbow Dash’s word. She keeps encouraging me to sound less, um, ‘eggheady’ if I want ponies to like me.” “Ponies already like you. Why else do you think they chose you as May Queen?” “I guess so but …” Twilight began absently shredding the serviette with her magic. “I’m aware that I’m … weird. A lifetime of purposefully not engaging in social situations isn’t something that can be fixed in a few months. I’m trying but …” She gave a wan smile. “Still weird and out of practise. But trying.” The corners of her mouth downturned and her eyes unfocussed as her thoughts went elsewhere. “Always, always trying.” Bon-Bon dabbed at her mouth with another serviette, considering her words. She sighed. “Well … if it makes you feel any better …” Her tongue balked; her teeth clamped down. Yet both were loosened by Twilight’s earnest purple gaze. “I don’t think you’re a goober. I think you’re … um, nice.” It was the faintest of faint compliments, delivered with all the elegance of a right hook, but Twilight beamed as if Bon-Bon had just recited a two-hundred-line poem extolling her virtues. “Thank you, Bon-Bon!” Inwardly, Bon-Bon cursed herself for a fool. Outwardly, she concentrated on sipping her coffee. And no part of her noticed a mint green pony watching the café from the shadows of a shadowed side alley outside. When Bon-Bon arrived at Zecora’s, it was mid-morning. Smoke billowed from the chimney and she smelled heavy spices on the air, despite the closed windows and door. Her connection with the Lunar Sword, which had been growing stronger ever since she entered the Everfree Forest, thrummed with delight in the back of her head. The sword was pleased at her nearness, arching like an eager cat into her consciousness as she knocked and waited for her Watcher to answer. For the second time that day, Bon-Bon was surprised at the pony on the other side of a door. She took an involuntary step back. “Princess Luna?” Luna looked stern. When she spoke, her voice was frosted with irritation. “I sensed the Lunar Sword’s distress. I could not depart Canterlot until dawn had concluded but thence I travelled here as swiftly as I was able.” She looked down at Bon-Bon. “I am surprised it took you so long to make your way here also. I was under the impression you had told the sword you were on your way.” “It told you that?” Bon-Bon asked. Luna raised her chin. “Somewhat. I had a distinct impression of reassurance from it and the anticipation of your presence. It was not difficult to decipher the rest.” The connection resounded with the sword’s delight, high and clear like notes on a flute. Bon-Bon winced, partially at the loudness in her head, partially at Luna’s unimpressed expression. She took a moment to centre herself and try visualising the sword in her hoof, quiet and pliable. She sent out waves of calm, seeking her own sense of zen. It took three tries but eventually the sword understood and quietened its rampant delight. Bon-Bon breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to Luna. Her centre shifted, her inner calm skittering away. “I was with Twilight Sparkle,” she said to the question that had not been asked. Luna’s eyes narrowed. “She … took me out for breakfast after bringing me a hair potion to help me regrow my tail.” “I was under the impression you were not to make direct contact with Twilight Sparkle unless strictly necessary. Were those not amongst the parameters of the mission upon which my sister sent you here?” Bon-Bon tried not to let guilt show on her face. “Yes – but to be fair, I didn’t initiate the contact, she sought me out and insisted on attempting to befriend me.” “And you rebuffed her, yes?” The guilt crawled into her lips, twisting them up. “Not … exactly.” Luna stared at her for a moment, her expression fixed. Then she sighed, shoulders slumping out of their imperious curve. “I supposed it would have looked suspicious for you to rebuff her. Certainly, it would have brought more notice from other ponies than merely acquiescing to her attention. She is quite intense when she has decided to befriend a pony. She did much the same with me upon Nightmare Night.” Bon-Bon had not realised how much tension she was carrying in her own shoulders until it released. The moment she saw Luna, she had expected a reprimand. One still might come from Zecora or Celestia but this minor reprieve was a welcome one. She remembered the reason for her visit and cleared her throat. “Can I come in? There’s something I wanted to discuss with Zecora but … actually, it might be good idea to talk it over with you too, Princess.” “Is this the reason behind the Lunar Sword’s disquiet?” “It is.” “And what, Bon-Bon, upon my oath, could bring you here to see us both?” Zecora trotted up behind Luna, who moved to let the zebra stand beside her. “You wear such worry on your face. Bon-Bon, what brings you to this place? Though seeing you I’m uncomplaining, I don’t think that you’re here for training.” “No, Zecora, I’m not.” Bon-Bon nibbled at her lower lip. “I’m here because of dreams.” “And you cannot remember the specifics of these dreams after waking?” Bon-Bon shook her head. “To be honest, if not for the Lunar Sword, I might not have even remembered I had them at all, or might just have dismissed them as regular nightmares. But it’s pretty insistent they’re not, even if it can’t exactly tell me why.” Luna sat on the floor of Zecora’s hut and tapped one metal shoe with the other in a motion that had the feel of a longstanding habit about it. “That is troubling. The sword was forged by Nightmare Moon’s power. It knows the feel of dark magic. It would not mistake it for anything else.” “Do you think someone is trying to attack me in my sleep?” “If they are, they have thus far been unsuccessful, since you sit before us unharmed.” “Before we plan for things most tragic, are we sure it is dark magic?” asked Zecora. Both Luna and Bon-Bon looked at her in surprise. “What else could it be?” Luna frowned. “Does the repertoire of Slayer abilities include prophetic dreams?” Zecora shook her head, continuing to stir the cauldron bubbling over the fire as she had been doing since Bon-Bon started talking. Bon-Bon spotted a potato chunk floating to the surface, surrounded by what she thought might be sugar beans that danced around it like backing vocalists around Countess Coloratura. “Slayer traits are mainly physical. Yet these dreams, they leave me quizzical. I suggest to stop confusion we refrain from a conclusion which relies on our assumptions – little good comes from presumptions. In my books by Watchers past lots of knowledge is amassed of things that seem to defy reason; more with every passing season that each Slayer did survive. More time added to each archive.” “You are saying … that past Slayers developed more abilities the longer they remained at their work?” Luna clarified, speaking slowly as if that would aid in her understanding of the zebra’s customary rhyming speech. It was remarkable that Zecora managed to keep up her strange verbal affectation but sometimes it made what she was trying to say less than crystal clear. “I am indeed. Several were agreed. They wrote their findings in their papers of their Slayers’ many capers. Some Slayers, if they lived for longer, seemed to become oddly stronger. Not in body but in their ability, challenging the realms of feasibility. As such, many dismissed such theories. Myself … your dreams ignite my queries.” Bon-Bon was shocked. This was news to her. “So I could be developing new abilities because I’m the longest lived Slayer that’s ever been?” Zecora lifted the spoon from her cooking pot, examined the end and plopped it back in to stir some more. She seemed reluctant to look at Bon-Bon. “Bon-Bon, before the Slayer was you there were … admittedly few who lived for years with Slayer powers. I have spent so many hours reading of their lives and names, studying journals with such claims. There in text their Watchers write of things their Slayers did despite those things not being usual traits for those who follow Slayers’ fates. The Collected Papers of Sea Storm Pinkshell are the latest that do tell of one poor mare who, before her end, developed skills that may portend to more behind old Starswirl’s spell than we have capacity to tell. Pinkshell’s Slayer was a mare who one day saw things that were not there. Pinkshell thinks it was clairvoyance, though much to her immense annoyance nopony would listen when she told her theories unto them. Earth ponies have magic none, this is known to everyone, and the Slayers have even less. She persisted nonetheless. She left when she had had enough upon the death of poor Sweet Stuff, her Slayer whom she loved quite dear.” Zecora nodded at a book open on her desk. “She wrote about her troubles here.” Bon-Bon gaped at her. “And … you’re only telling me this now because …?” “Pinkshell writes in old dialect – of which there is much disconnect between her words and modern Equestrian. Translating is no task pedestrian. I’ve been working every day and still have not done each essay.” Zecora fixed her gaze on Bon-Bon at last. “Bon-Bon, listen to me true: I would not keep such things from you.” Bon-Bon got the distinct feeling Zecora was saying more than she seemed to be. At that moment, however, Princess Luna flared one wing to gesture at them both. “It seems that we cannot be sure either way,” she declared. “Your dream may be dark magic or might be a progression of Starswirl’s spell. If it is the latter, I hesitate to call it a good thing, given the Lunar Sword was quite certain your dreams are nefarious in nature.” Bon-Bon nodded. Starswirl’s spell didn’t exactly work in a Slayer’s best interests already. Who was to say that any later developments in a longer-serving Chosen One would be ultimately good for her? “I shall continue with my translation to dispel this keen frustration,” said Zecora with a grim nod of her own. “In the meantime, I suggest, Princess you should seek some rest. Outside it is full daylight and since your province is the night perhaps some sleep would do you good? If not, there is all likelihood that come the night you’ll be too tired to perform your duties as required.” At the word ‘duties’ Luna opened her mouth with a sharp inhalation that was almost a gasp. “My dreamwalking!” “Excuse me, Princess?” said Bon-Bon. “At night, one of my duties is to travel the Dreamscape to allay the worst of any nightmares I find – if I can. I am … somewhat out of practise,” she added with a rueful frown. “I do not find it as easy as I once did but my skills are sharpening since I returned to my duties. I can currently help assuage up to three dreams a night without exhausting myself.” She tapped at her peytral again in that nervous gesture. “A thousand years ago, when I was at my full power, I could visit dozens of dreams each and every night without tiring.” “You shall be that strong again,” Zecora reassured her. “It’s not a case of ‘if’ but ‘when’.” “Thank you, friend Zecora. Your words are much appreciated. Yet I did not tell you this in order to receive comfort but to say that the next time you have such a nightmare, Bon-Bon, I shall attempt to cross the Dreamscape from wheresoever I am and examine it for myself. I sensed your dream this time because of our shared link with the Lunar Sword. If you were to keep the sword with you, that same resonance would be much stronger and thus I may be able to reach you before you wake and thus see the dream for myself.” Bon-Bon looked over to where the Lunar Sword was propped against the wall. She felt like it was watching the conversation, then realised it probably was in its own strange way. At the prospect of Luna’s suggestion she take it home with her, the sword’s presence blossomed in her mind, radiating delight. Bon-Bon was about to try visualising when it seemed to realise how overwhelming it was being and the feeling subsided to a tolerable purring at the base of her brain. She blinked. Well … that was progress. “This suggestion seems a good idea,” said Zecora. “What do you think, Bon-Bon dear?” Bon-Bon sighed. “You’re right, it is a good idea. Maybe you’ll be able to tell whether the dream is a product of someone working dark magic on me or my own abilities doing even weirder stuff than usual.” “Excellent.” Luna looked intensely pleased with herself. “It is decided then. Good show!” Zecora reached behind her to pick up a wooden bowl, into which she ladled several spoonfuls of whatever it was she had been stirring this entire time. “Now who would like some fresh Umngqusho?” The warm scent of highly spiced vegetables, what smelled like corn and the sharp tang of chillies filled Bon-Bon’s sensitive nose. Her mouth started to water and her stomach growled, informing her that her body had already metabolised her breakfast sandwich and the muffins she had eaten at Sugarcube Corner. Zecora smiled and held out the bowl. “I’ll take that tummy growl as yes. Join us for this meal, Princess?” Luna looked a little shocked at the invitation and hesitated. Bon-Bon expected her to decline, citing things she needed to do back in Canterlot. However, Luna smiled. “I would be … delighted to join you both.”