//------------------------------// // Kerfuffle // Story: A Delightful Journey // by FeverishPegasus //------------------------------// I wake up. That blasted pony’s face is right over me, peering into my gaping mouth. I shut it and look up at her angrily. Her face reddens a little. “Ooop! Sorry.” She takes her forehooves off of my bed and returns to a sitting position next to me. “But did you know that you have little ridges in your mouth? And your tongue is sooo tiny! It’s kinda cute really—“ This makes me furious. “When I say leave me be, I mean it Lyra! When I say leave me be, I mean for you to stay gone until I ask you to come back! When I say—“ “You’re in my room,” Lyra remarks. That shut me up. I look around the room to do something other than realize I’d just been put in my place by a pony. Apart from the lyre resting on a wall-shelf to my left, I see a dresser in front of me, pressed against the wall beyond my bed’s foot board. On it, are a handful of trophies that read, “Best Beginning Musician,” “Louie Williestrong Award,” “Student Musician of Choice,” along with at least three or four others. To my right, I see a few posters, stuck on the wall with intentional off-kilter orientations. Octavia, playing the cello, has light gleaming off of her eyes in one poster. The other is a depiction of mare in a suit of armor, standing up and aiming a blaster attached to her right hoof. The last poster reminds me of something, but my memory chooses to remain spotty. Below these posters, I see piles and piles of music books shoved up against the walls. Many of the larger tomes remain against the wall, unopened. The thinner ones however, are strewn about in a clump near the large tomes, displaying a chaotic mess of staff lines and rapid-fire music notes. I look to my left again. Lyra’s face slides into view, a few inches away from my nose. My body hitches up, but I quickly regain my composure. I start to say something sardonic, but stop myself. Instead, I say, “Lyra…I understand that this is your room, but it really does drive me crazy when you look at me so intently.” She blinks. I continue, “So, while I suppose you can go into your room whenever you want, please…please try your best not to look at me like I’ve come from another planet.” She pauses for a little, tilts her head to the side, finally says, “I’ll try.” That’ll do, I think. I find myself surprised by how I handled that situation. From what I’ve seen of myself in this world so far, I’ve wanted nothing but to be angry. I can’t help but feel prideful of my new-found self control. “You’ve calmed down,” Lyra remarks. I just look at her. “Why…why does it make you uncomfortable when I stare at you like that? Shouldn’t you be happy to display what you have to offer, to others?” she asks. “I’ve never looked at it like that.” “Why not?” “I just—I just haven’t.” “What goes through your mind when I look at you?” “Well, um…I—“ my brain struggles. “Gimme a sec.” Why does it bother me? I mean, all Lyra’s staring shouldn't mean much at all. Maybe I’m afraid that she’ll find out what’s inside me...yeah that’s it. I kinda just feel…wrong in this place. I don’t fit. And if she finds that out, she won’t admire me anymore. If she finds out that I’m broken, that all that drives me is fear, worry, and selfishness, she’s gonna look at me different. She’ll look down on me as if I’m a disgrace. I don’t want to feel small while she sits tall in her self-righteous throne, yelling out empty strings of sympathy. I can’t give her leverage, or she’ll no longer try to feel for me, understand me. I want her to help me, but that can only be done if I hide. “Uhhh, yeah. I’m not sure if I can explain it in words…” “Give it your best shot,” Lyra encourages. “Even if I could, I don’t think I want to. For a reasons undisclosed, it would reveal way too much.” “What is this problem with revealing too much?” “I think I’m done with this conversation now.” “But wait! Your ‘not wanting to reveal too much’ has something to do with my staring at you doesn’t it?” I don’t respond. A small part inside of me wants her to figure it out. “You’re trying to hide something, and if I look too deeply into you, you’re afraid I’ll find out.” “Whatever,” I coolly remark, trying to close the conversation. “Are you a murderer?” she asks. “What?! No!” I laugh and turn back to her. “Why would you think that?” “Are you sure?” Lyra drawls. She walks up to me and stares at me full force. “You may want to admit it before I find out!” I’m laughing hysterically now. I pick up the pillow I'd been resting on and throw it at her. It impales itself on her horn and she blinks dazedly. “Ehehehehe!” I giggle. Naturally, I would be embarrassed about my laughing, but not right now. Not in this world. I’m all curled up and my chest heaves with merriment. Lyra sits on the floor, a little too hard, and starts to laugh herself, leaving the pillow on her horn, all of the strength sapped from her limbs at the moment. It doesn’t stop. Tears start to sprinkle the bed below me as Lyra slowly sprawls across the floor, guffawing with endless bouts of uncontrollable giggles. Bon Bon comes in, a little worried about the commotion. I imagine her first impression was that we were both weeping over a big fight that we’d had. It would explain the pillow still stuck on Lyra’s horn. “Look at you children!” Bon Bon scolds. “Just two days living together and you've already caused collateral damage!” She trots up and yanks the pillow from Lyra’s horn. “Wait…” It dawns on her that we’re not sobbing. “What in the hay is so funny here?!” Lyra tries to explain. “Well—heehee—y’see—heehee—I-I thought it,” she points to me. “I thought it was a murderer…and…and…—heehee—I’m all starting at it intently, y’see? And…and—it throws the pillow—hahahahaha! It…it throws the pillow…and…a-and it—,” Lyra bursts into another fit of laughter. “It got impaled on your horn,” Bon Bon finishes the sentence. She looks at the ponies and shakes her head confusedly. “I’m gonna make some dinner. Lyra, when you’re done doing…doing whatever, I’d love some help.” We watch her leave through our tear-clouded vision. Eventually, gradually, we pull ourselves together, flipping tears off of our cheeks and recovering from countless chest spasms. I’m out of breath, but I manage to squeak out, “Rain check?” “Yep,” Lyra responds as she brushes her coat back out. She leaves, but not without saying, “as if you had a choice!” Lyra walks back into the room, her eyes excited. “Come on to the table! You should be feeling well enough to walk around, lazy fish!” I raise my finger to make a comment on how fish are actually sleek and muscle packed, but she’d already left. I shift around and sit at the side of the bed, preparing for Step 3. My legs don’t take any of my weight at first and I’m forced to crouch there on the floor. I use my hands to drag myself up into a standing position, but once again plop back down. I try again. And again. The fourth time I get it and I shakily attempt to take a step forward. My leg holds. Slowly, carefully, I make my way to the main living quarters, stumbling every now and then when my legs choose not to cooperate. Lyra looks at me from the kitchen bar, where three salads are arrayed next to three chairs. “Whoah, you’re tall,” she comments. I keep going, too focused on my legs to say anything. “Do you always have trouble like that when you walk?” Lyra butts in again. “I do no—“ My legs crumple and I plop to the ground three feet from the open chair. I sigh. “No, I don’t. But right now, I’d really appreciate your help,” I respond, a bit edgy. “I’ll help. I just wasn't sure if you were going to get angry at me for it.” “Oh,” I say. It hurts me a little that I’d left that impression. Using my hands to boost myself off of Lyra, I manage to drag myself into my chair and immediately start shoving lettuce leaves into my mouth. Sleeping through lunch had made me ravenous. Both Lyra and Bon Bon look at me with utter fascination. I see them and freeze, choking down lettuce leaves to free up my throat. “What?” I ask them. Bon Bon reddens. “Oh, nothing," she goes back to picking at her lettuce with a fork. Lyra painstakingly tears her gaze away from me, saying nothing. Every now and then, I see her stealing peaks at me to see if I’d begun eating again. A fork. There had been a fork next to me all along. I redden a bit as I pick it up this time and spear some lettuce. I hesitate before eating. “Do you have any salad dressing?” Lyra snickers. “How in the world would you dress a piece of lettuce?” I sigh and explain, “I mean salad dressing as in, sauce, for lettuce.” “I guess that makes a little bit of sense, but typically you need cloth to dress something up, not sauce.” “Just…just. Could you please get me some?” I’m exasperated. “Ok, ok,” Lyra goes to her fridge. I hear a whoosh as the suction pulls off. “We have…uh…tomato, banana, mang-go,” she says the “mang” in mango with some emphasis, “and cider n’ oil.” I choose the dressing that sounds the most like Italian dressing, cider n’ oil. Glad to just have some flavor, I pile it onto my meal. To my surprise, the cider n’ oil tastes just like Italian dressing, excluding its distinct apple aftertaste. I lean back and savor the lettuce for a bit, glad to be enjoying the meals here for once. I go back to eating and finish pretty quickly. “Do you have seconds?” I ask. “I count at least more than two million in my life time,” Lyra remarks. “No! I—“ “Haha, don’t worry. I understood you there,” Lyra winks. “I’ll go get some more.” She takes my bowl and walks over the next counter top, where I can see an oven is embedded into the woodwork. It strikes me that the dials don’t have their normal shape. Rather than a single ridge down the center, there is just a hoof shaped hole. Clunk! Lyra drops the bowl in front of me and I snap back to attention. Food, is all I can think about until I finish. When I’m done, I feel my neck prickle and know both ponies are watching me. I choose to ignore it and try to get out of my chair. It doesn’t work out so well. My chest hits my knees and I’m forced to huff as the breath is shoved out of my lungs. Lyra rushes up. “You all right?” “Yes, but I’m going to need help back.” “That’s fine.” Lyra calls Bon Bon over to help. With one hand on each pony to support myself, I struggle to make it to bed and drag myself in. Lyra and Bon Bon leave, intent on finishing their meals. As they leave, I hear Bon Bon remark, “It didn’t even say thank you.” Lyra replies, her voice getting quieter, “Give it rest Bon Bon, how do we even know…” After that, their voices drop out of earshot. It makes me happy that Lyra chose to defend me. I lay in bed and think about what’d happened today. My angry rants towards Lyra, her ridiculous displays of patience, not to mention interest in me, and that heartwarming moment with the pillow all come to mind. My eyes water a little. This place…this place has done so much to care for me, nurture me. In just one day, my broken heart has already started to mend…how far will this all go? When will it happen? How will Lyra go about betraying me?