When it came to up-and-coming musicians, Lyra Heartstrings was an exception to end all others.
That isn’t to say Lyra wasn’t just as driven, passionate, hard-working, and devoted to her art as everypony else. Far from it. What separated her from her contemporaries was that she perfectly and fully awake at 7 o'clock on a Saturday morning.
Yes sirree, Lyra Heartstrings was one of those ponies.
Lyra skipped down the stairs, whistling to herself. Once her hooves struck bottom, she waited a moment for her eyesight to adjust. It was dark downstairs, what with all the blinds down so, as a first order of business, Lyra decided to pull them all back up.
A lump on her couch stirred.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Lyra chirped. “It’s a brand new, wonderful day, Bonnie!"
The furry lump rolled over on itself more. The air was silent because not even sound could withstand the smell.
With practiced steadiness, Lyra tip-hooved over to the couch, maneuvering around the metal bucket next to it, and lowered her mouth to a sniffing distance from the presumed location of the lump’s head.
“Did you have a fun night?!”
Once Bon Bon had stopped moaning painfully, she spoke up. Her voice was groggy and came out muffled by the cushion her head was buried in. “There is a special place in Tartarus for you, Lyra Heartstrings.”
“Aww, c’mon now, Bonnie,” Lyra cooed. She poked at her roommate, who futilely tried to bat the offending hoof away. “Gotta get up and seize the day! Isn’t that what you say? Carpet, Dye ‘em.”
“That’s Carpe Diem, you moron!”
“Eh, as long as you had fun, no harm done!” Lyra turned on her heels and made her way to the kitchen.
At this point, it’s probably best to point out that the two ponies living together were near polar opposites of one another: one was a unicorn, the other an earth pony, one a musician, the other a candymaker-slash-secret agent, the former a morning pony and the latter nigh-nocturnal. You’d think they never got along.
You would be right.
But no matter how unique a case Lyra Heartstrings may be, she, like all up-and-coming musicians, did not swim in bits. And nopony, not even exceptional musicians, were exempt from the bane of all up-and-coming musicians—a corporate evil more sinister than the most befoul monsters in Tartarus:
Rent. Something which was considerably easier to make with the help of somepony with a semi-steady source of income.
In the kitchen, cabinet doors were flung open, and their insides rifled through. Cobwebs and dust, as well as dry-grub and canned rations were found to be in abundance, but on its designated spot, right beside the cartons of milk, was a vacant spot where a very important container usually rested. A vial so vital its disappearance could endanger the reputation of one Bon Bon’s liver.
“Oh dear Celestia!” Lyra yelped. “We’re out of milk!”
“So?”
“I can’t have my cereal without milk! This is a disaster!” Lyra flung the empty carton in the trash. “Oh, and we're also out of hangover-cure.”[1]
Bon Bon’s shoe came flying in so fast it embedded itself on the cooler door, an inch left of Lyra’s head.
“Fine, okay, I’ll go get more.”
---
[1] Barnyard Bargains, aisle eleven, top-shelf, middle—Lyra knew the place by heart. The store’s weekly stock usually only lasted one day. [2]
[2] Ever since Twilight Sparkle's appearance in town, disasters, both natural and super-, had multiplied. Shortly thereafter, distilleries had begun working round the clock to fulfill the assuredly unrelated increase in demand for alcoholic beverages which, in turn, resulted in never-beforehoof seen numbers of painkiller consumption. Livers may have gotten damaged, but at least unemployment was low.
---
Back in the living room, Lyra glanced towards the couch. She nudged her head in the direction of the metal bucket, lying at hoof’s length.
“Try to be clean while I’m away," Lyra said.
Bon Bon, as much as she seemed able in her tortured state, lifted one of her forehooves, its shoe half off already. Lyra closed the distance to their front door in a hurry and looked outside for the first time that morning.
She slammed the door shut not a second later.
“Bon Bon?” Lyra asked. “Why are there two dozen Royal Guards outside?”
Bon Bon, whose face had begun taking a rather colourful disposition, lifted her head to peer at Lyra over the backrest. The two looked at each other for a solid half a minute in silence.
“Oh,” Bon Bon said, “that wasn’t one of your philosophical questions.”
“No. No, it wasn’t.”
Bon Bon rolled into a foetal position, and waved her hoof outside. “Well, why are you asking me? Go ask them, I’m hungover.”
Lyra pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I think they're mad.”
“Give it up, you’re surrounded!”
Lyra hummed pensively. It drowned out Bon Bon’s moans at the volume of the loudspeaker quite nicely. “I'm not a hundred percent sure, though. Could be that they’re just taking a stroll—with all their siege equipment.”
“Come on out with your hooves up!”
Lyra stepped over to the window. The blinds had been knocked back down by the loudspeaker, and she couldn’t be bothered to pull them back up, so she just spread them enough to peek.
She let out a whistle. “Is that a flamethrower?”
Bon Bon moaned. "Just get them to leave. I’m dying over here.”
“I don’t think they’ll be leaving anytime soon. I think they’re trying to smoke us out.”
There was a resounding crash somewhere next door, where the window on their neighbour’s house shattered. A voice galloped outside, screaming this and that about the end times.
“They missed."
“Poor Roseluck.”
“You can’t escape, so c’mon out, and we will not harm you.” The loudspeaker cut off momentarily. “C’mon out, and we will only harm you a little.”
Bon Bon clutched her head. “What could they possibly want with you, Lyra?”
“We know you’re in there, Bon Bon!”
“How’d they confuse you with me? We look nothing alike,” Bon Bon asked.
Lyra shut the blinds and sat on the couch just as the window in their other neighbour’s house went crack with another round of smoke bomb.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened yesterday?” Lyra asked
“What’s there to tell?” Bon Bon’s eyes were like those of a cod. “Can’t remember a thing after getting thrown out of Berry’s pub.”
“C’mon, there must be something. Anything!”
Bon Bon put a hoof to her chin and, lo and behold, it was as if a light bulb had turned on. Lyra could almost see the words forming in Bon Bon's brain as she opened her mouth—
And dunked her head right in the bucket. Lyra trotted back over to the window and did her best to ignore the sounds of retching.
After an indiscernible amount of time, Bon Bon's head popped back out. “Are they gonna throw smoke bombs at us, now?”
“Nope." The noise in the background had doubled, then tripled. “I think they’re fresh out.”
“Then what’s with all the ruckus?”
“Battering ram.”
Lyra Heartstrings was a musician, and therefore an expert on noise. She could’ve deduced what was happening outside from the sheer cacophony alone.
Bon Bon couldn’t, and Lyra knew that. To her, it must've all been just grinding, thumping, shouting, explosions, fire, general commotion, and swearing.
Lots and lots of swearing.
“What was that?”
Lyra didn’t move from her spot by the window. She stood like she was watching two trains full of fireworks collide. Mesmerized.
“You know how you fell asleep on our lawn?”
Bon Bon's eyebrows furrowed. “No?”
“Oh, right.” Lyra smacked herself on the head. “That was last night.”
Lyra ran her tongue on the inside of her cheek, smacked her lips. “So, last night, you fell asleep on our lawn. Your unconscious body left a hole in the ground.”
“Yeah?”
“The ram hit the hole.” Lyra peeked through the blinds again. “Now everything’s on fire.”
Behind her, Bon Bon gurgled and fought to sit up. “Did you remember to lock the door?”
“Uhh, no? Should I?”
“Please?”
*Click
“Thank you.” Bon Bon hugged the bucket to her chest. “About last night…”
In almost an instant, Lyra was beside Bon Bon again. “Yeah?”
“I don’t remember much." A dopey smile started its foundation on Bon Bon's lips. “But I do remember meeting this dreamy stallion.”
Lyra groaned. This was the one thing she should have seen coming. The thing about Bon Bon was when she got drunk, she got amorous.
And clingy.
And desperate.
And needy.
Lyra took a deep breath. Something told her that this time it would probably require a little more than just a postcard with one night stand on it to smooth things over. “For the love of Celestia, what did you do?”
“Huh?” Bon Bon shook herself back to reality. “What do you mean? We didn’t do anything.”
Lyra deadpan stared at her. “Likely story. You mean to tell me you never played a round of the ‘bedroom rodeo’?”
Bon Bon, with her cheeks tinted pink, tittered. “No.”
Lyra rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay, Bon Bon,” she sighed. “Who was it?”
“Oh,” Bon Bon chirped. “No idea.”
Lyra wasn’t surprised in the least. She wanted to punch herself in the face.
Then the loudspeaker came back on.
“Step on out, Bon Bon! You’re being sought for sexual misconduct involving a minor, and we will not leave until…”
Lyra almost upturned the couch. “You banged a kid?!”
Likewise, Bon Bon was suddenly a lot more present, a lot less hungover, and more than just a little bit shouty. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! He told me he was fifteen!”
Lyra blinked.
“That’s still underaged!”
“Yeah, but it’s close enough!”
“How could you do something like that?!”
“But we didn’t do anything!”
“They’re otherwise occupied! Charge!”
"And whatever happened to 'as long as you had fun, no harm done'?" Bon Bon asked accusingly.
Lyra bit her teeth together, and grabbed Bon Bon in her magic.
“What are you doing, Lyra?” Bon Bon fought against the grip but was too weak in her sickly state. “Let me go!”
“No,” Lyra replied gravely, marching straight for the door. “You brought this on yourself.”
Unbeknownst to Lyra, something rose within Bon Bon. Something that seemed to distress her far more than her friend throwing her out to the figurative wolves.
“W-w-w-wait! Lyra!”
Through miraculous luck, three things happened all at once:
First, Lyra opened the door. Second, one of the guards—the one who had lost the round of rock, paper, scissors, hooves—had begun running to barge in through the door. In place of which Bon Bon now stood.
Third, it was also right then that Bon Bon’s nausea came back.
Once she’d managed to get herself back up and wipe the worst of the splatter off, Bon Bon wobbled back indoors. The guard, the one now covered in vomit, had by then stopped writhing and wailing on the ground to start running blindly around the yard, but still writhing and wailing.
Lyra watched idly by, only following Bon Bon inside much later, once she'd had her extra daily dose of facehooving. She forgot to close the door in her wake, but none of the guards braved to enter.
Inside, Bon Bon was grabbing stuff by the hoofful, including the bucket.
“Bon Bon.” Lyra gripped herself by the temples. “I have half a mind to throw you at them!”
“They’re planning to attack! Fall back!”
“How could you be so irresponsible?”
Bon Bon shook her head. “You’ll never understand, Lyra,” she said sadly, “he was more a man than you’ll ever be.”
Something inside Lyra’s brain went *plink.
“That’s because I’m a mare!”
“Say what you will, Lyra.” Bon Bon trotted up to the door to their backyard. “But I’m going to find that kid, and we’re going to have a happy ending, even if it means on the run from the law. You’ll see!”
Bon Bon slammed the door shut behind her.
“Hey, you can’t come here! This is our retreat spot!”
There was a brief moment of silence. A calm before the storm, if you will.
Then:
“Is that hangover-cure?!”
There was Commotion. Oh, so much Commotion, capped C for Chaos. There was so much Commotion that Discord, the very incarnation of entropy, wet himself a little.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” the voice of Bon Bon at one point commanded, uncharacteristically devoid of nausea. “I’ll sue you for harassment!”
“That’s not how it works,” the loudspeaker replied. “Get ‘er!”
And long after the voices had faded into the distance, Lyra kept staring into nothingness.
She knew this would happen. She’d even put it in her schedule. This was the sole reason she had to get up at 7 AM on. Every. Single. Saturday. Morning.
Because by 9 AM, she'd want to off herself.
Lyra flopped down onto the couch. The smell failed to make her feel worse. A hammering headache, one she was readily familiar with, had begun to make itself known to her, and therefore it was entirely reasonable that it took her some time to realise the hammering wasn't coming from inside her head, but rather from somepony knocking on her door.
Which she’d left open. She only had herself to blame.
“Umm,” a young voice hesitated, “anypony home?”
Lyra sighed. She got up and trotted all of five steps to the doorway wherein a pinto colt, barely tall enough to reach her withers, was standing.
“Pipsqueak, is it?” Lyra asked. Pip nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed the guards,” Pip replied with the youthful mirth that only children, and the hopelessly inebriated, exhibited. “I was looking for the same mare, the one with pink and blue mane. Have you seen her?”
The bottom of Lyra’s stomach found gravity.
Bon Bon.
He was looking for Bon Bon.
Because of course he was.
Lyra hid her face, and no, she didn’t care the kid was watching.
“Just to confirm,” she asked from behind the forehoof she hoped would shield her from the ickiness that was no doubt on its way. “Are you the kid Bon Bon harassed yesterday?”
Pip seemed confused by the question. Hope within Lyra grew.
“What’s har-ass mean?”
Lyra bonked her head on the floor. Quite the achievement, considering the zero effort she put into it. “I meant were you with Bon Bon yesterday?”
“Oh, yeah!” the little tyke said. He even lowered himself just so he could look her in the eye. “We had sex!”
Lyra made a sound.
As a musician, she would have described it as a little bit of one inhaling their own tongue, mixed with a healthy dose of throwing up, and a lot of dying inside.
“Kid, look.” Lyra eyed the child, this colt wagging his tail in joy. He must’ve been traumatized for life. “I’m really sorry for what happened.”
“Really? I’m not!”
Really, really traumatized.
“I liked it!”
He was going to need so much therapy.
“I was thinking we could do it again!”
The floorboards gained a rather sizeable hole that day when Lyra resorted to banging her head into them repeatedly. She didn’t stop until she began to feel woozy.
“That’s better. Now, what were you saying again, kid?”
“I was thinking we could do it again?”
She didn’t stop until she thought her horn would crack.
“Why are you doing that, miss?”
“Watching my sanity,” Lyra droned and blinked until there was only one Pip left in her field of vision. “And the next step would be: you’re not actually fifteen.”
Pip harrumphed. For some reason, the colt seemed insulted by this. “Yes, I am!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am!”
Pip’s face contorted into a childish frown, his tongue sticking out to the side. “Wait, what’s that number that comes after ten?”
Lyra cocked an eyebrow. “Eleven?”
“Oh, right.” Pip laid his gaze down. “I’m not good with numbers…”
“Figures,” Lyra muttered. “Bon Bon’s not here.”
The smile on Pip’s face shattered. “Oh,” he ohhed. Like only a child could ohh when something that they’d anxiously been waiting for gets taken from them. “Well, thanks anyway, miss.”
He turned to trot back out.
But a pony named Lyra Heartstrings could not be a monster.
“Hold up, kid.” The colt stopped.
“I know you might have—" a part of Lyra's soul punched her in the gut, "enjoyed it, but you are a little young to be experiencing something like that. Be patient, you’ll have plenty of time for that when you’re older.”
Pip sighed. “It wasn’t that.”
He turned back around. His tail wasn’t wagging anymore. His inflection had dropped, as had his entire posture, really. “She made me feel funny.”
Lyra blinked several times and tried not to faint. “That’s sort of the point of it.”
“No-no, I mean, she actually liked me for who I was. Most of the colts at school just bully me because I’m so small. She talked to me, she heard me out, and she actually listened!
“Then she said something about seizing the day and something about carpets.” The colt deflated slightly. “That part was a little confusing, but it was just so inspirational! Nopony had ever spoken to me like that before!”
Lyra didn't even realize she’d started grinding her teeth together. “But she should really learn to watch out for the consequences, though.”
“Wow! Are you psychic? That’s what all the other ponies said too!”
“Thank Celestia.”
“She replied that a wise pony had once said: ‘as long as you had fun, no harm done’. Isn’t she cool?!”
Lyra Heartsrings smiled. It was far less difficult than you'd imagine. After all, she was having so much fun screaming on the inside.
Her fault. Of course, it would end up being her own fault. She really must have pissed Karma off in her previous life.
The colt, with his attention span of a common foal, must’ve found her moment of unresponsive introspection too long. Because the next thing Lyra realised, he’d hopped up to her side, and hip-checked her.
And made a weird sound.
Lyra reined in the urge to reinforce her personal space violently and so only semi-roughly caught the colt in her magic.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Well, you looked like you needed something,” the colt began, “and my dad always says what every mare needs is a ‘good bump’. So I thought we’d do that.”
The colt punctuated this by hip-checking her again. With added sound-effects that really should never be coming out of a child.
Something that had previously clicked inside Lyra clicked back into place.
“That’s what you think sex is?! Bumping someone?”
“It isn’t?!” The colt gasped. “That’s what we did with that other mare last evening!”
“And she didn’t say anything?!”
“I think she may have been asleep at that point. It was a little hard to tell. But that’s what all the other colts in the class said sex was!”
“The same colts that bully you in school?”
“...Eeyes?”
Lyra facehooved. "Why didn’t you just ask your parents?!”
"I didn’t want to! They’re so lame," he whined. "They'd never let me have sex with them."
“Thank Celestia for that.”
“I mean, just look how they reacted when I told them.”
Lyra imagined. She could understand now the two dozen Royal Guards, and felt appalled at the smallness of the number.
That’s when something inside her snapped for the third, and final time.
“Would you like me to explain to you, in detail, what sex actually is?”
The colt hesitated for a moment. “Uhh, sure?”
And Lyra did.
One traumatised child—for real this time—later, Lyra was left alone again, staring out the window at the colt running home from the 'crazy music mare'. She decided she would like to spend the rest of her Saturday like many of her contemporaries: with a bottle of the Town’s finest for a companion.
“Bon Bon was right,” she said to herself, sipping artistically—something which plebeians often confused with chugging. “There really is a special place reserved for me in Tartarus. And I’ll be damned if I can’t get there soon enough.”